It's going to be a shit day. Yeah, one of those days. The kind of day I fucking dread, where everyone is irritable and bitchy and not a single goddamn thing works right. Where, inevitably, I end up on the last fucking threads of my patience because everyone, somehow, needs me at the same time and no one seems to understand that I'm a single goddamn human and can't be in seven places at once.
Like I said, one of those days.
And you know how I can tell? It's because I walked into the airport – I'm a translator, working for them – and the entire fucking board of flights had one of those two bright and shiny red words next to them, the ones everyone hates.
'Delayed', or, even better, 'Canceled'.
Fuck my life.
"Kurosaki Ichigo, please report to holding room three."
Fuck. I've been on my feet for eight hours straight, running from one room to the next and generally just trying to keep the whole damn place from turning into an angry mob, and right as I turn away from one Japanese man, - "Yes, sir, they really do mean all your metal." – right as I'm about to finally, finally, be able to sit down for a few minutes – this. I stifle a scream of frustration, turning on my heel and trudging, dutifully, out of the main lobby and into the side corridors. As I approach the room I glare heavily at the guard lounging against the entrance of the door.
"Renji, this had better be goddamn important."
He grins at me, totally unconcerned at my mood, and straightens up off the wall. "Yeah, yeah. Japanese, though he doesn't look a damn thing like it."
"And?" Renji gives me a quizzical look and I almost snarl. "Why's he in there?"
Renji's grin widens and he snickers, "he slapped Rukia's ass."
What? The guy lived to tell?
"I didn't think Rukia had that much control."
"Yeah, well, I don't think even Rukia would go up against this guy, you'll see." He steps aside, pulling open the door, and I smooth out my scowl to presentable levels, stepping inside.
The guy – he's maybe twenty-six – is leaning his chair back on two legs, hands behind his head, but he falls back to all four when I walk in. He'd be just over six feet tall if he was standing, and if he is even vaguely Japanese in origin then it's a tiny, tiny, part of him. His eyes are blue, to start with, and his hair is equally vibrant but lighter in color. It's piled in a disorderly 'I just had great fucking sex and don't care if you know' tousled mess on his head and strands are hanging down into his eyes. He's wearing decidedly American clothing in the form of tight jeans and a white tank-top that stretches over a definitively muscled chest, and there's a black leather jacket hung over the back of the chair. The door shuts and he grins at me, blue eyes narrowed and broadcasting confidence and anticipation.
He speaks in flawless Japanese but there is something that is just not, quite…
"Come to give me a stern talking to about morals and proper behavior?"
"I'll listen to you talk all fucking day so long as you do it on your knees."
Oh, motherfucker. He's got an American accent. My eyes narrow to slits and I stalk forward, leaning to brace my hands against the table and get right in the bastard's face. I speak quietly, in just barely accented English.
"The next time you feel like fucking around do it at a different fucking airport with a different fucking person. Get it?" His eyes widen in surprise but narrow again just as quickly, grin slipping to a smirk.
His next words are in English, and his voice is deep and rough. "Pretty and feisty, I like it. Wanna fuck, pretty boy?" Only the press of the metal table against my hands keeps me from punching the asshole, but it's a damn close call. It's been a long time since anyone so blatantly messed with me – at least four years. This kind of shit hasn't happened to me since high school.
"Not likely, fucker." I reply, shoving off the table and turning to the door. I throw it open, making Renji jump and spin into the doorway with his red eyes startled.
"He speaks English perfectly fucking well!" I snap at the redhead and yeah, it's a little unfair of me, but it's been a long fucking day that isn't near over and I don't have the fucking patience to deal with the blue haired bastard. If I spend another fucking minute in the room with him I'm going to hit him, and I can't afford another mark on my already spotty record.
"Bit wound up there? I can fix that for you, pretty boy."
I thank small miracles that he's switched back to Japanese, so the words are just between us. I'd never hear the end of it if Renji caught wind of even half this conversation.
"Good hard fuck will loosen you right up."
I glare at the bastard, uncaring of Renji at my back, and answer in the same language, "Sorry, I make a point not to fuck arrogant bastards."
He laughs as I turn away, pushing past Renji into the corridor.
"Takes one to know one!"
To hell with this day.
"Know how long we're gonna be stuck here, Forte?" My voice is low, barely audible over the buzz of the airport crowd, but my friend – by loose definition – hears me anyway.
"Yep. Girl at the desk told me it'll be at least a day till the next plane over to France. We're all kinds of fucked."
I snarl softly, elbows braced on my knees. "Of fucking course it will." I straighten up from the seat – and those pieces of shit were made by some sadist, I swear – and stretch my arms over my head. "Fuck this. I'll call Aizen, let him know. Get our stuff together, we're fucking outta here."
Il Forte nods, blonde hair hiding his face for a moment, and follows me to standing. "It might take awhile, Grimmjow."
I grin, leaning over to pick my jacket up off the backpack at my feet. "I'll entertain myself."
Il Forte winces at my response, gesturing at a passing airport hostess to catch her attention. "Please don't get yourself arrested again." I shrug and back away as the hostess, looking hassled as all fuck, approaches.
"Yeah, yeah, I won't."
I wander off, fishing my phone out of my jeans, flipping it open with a flick of my wrist. A few more presses has it calling and I raise it to my ear.
"Grimmjow, shouldn't you be on a plane by now?" My father answers the phone in French, an amused but almost exasperated note to his voice, and I switch from English without a thought. It's a side effect of being adopted by an eccentric billionaire and growing up on a near constant traveling schedule – I know way too many goddamn languages.
"Yeah, that's what I'm calling about. Something fucked up all the flights, next plane out to France won't leave 'till tomorrow," I explain.
He chuckles; I can practically hear the shake of his head. "Just stay in New York, Grimmjow. I'll see you next time we cross paths." I almost sigh in relief. My adopted father, Aizen Sousuke, is a right bastard, and while I wouldn't dare to flat out refuse to do as he says, anything that keeps us apart is a good fucking thing. "I have a meeting to be at. I'll speak with you later, Grimmjow. Do try to keep out of trouble."
I snort, "Yeah, see you later," then the call ends with a click and I lower the phone, closing it and shoving it back in my pocket. Now to keep myself entertained till Il Forte can retrieve our luggage. I cast my eyes around the lobby of the airport, scanning for something, anything, interesting, and lo and behold, I find something.
There's a man in his early twenties maybe, wearing an airport staff uniform, dark blue dress slacks and a collared blue shirt with a black tie loosely knotted around his neck. He's speaking with a Japanese businessman to the side of one of the metal detectors. The brat's obviously Japanese in origin, though not full blooded if his wider than normal – for a Jap – eyes are any indication, though he hits an average height at somewhere close to five-eight. Not to mention his bright fucking orange hair which just can't be natural, though it's not like I'm one to talk about weird hair colors.
He looks just as hassled as the rest of the staff and his brow is drawn down into a scowl – he's obviously struggling not to slide into full blown glaring.
Well, there's a way to entertain myself. I walk closer and catch the edge of their conversation. They're speaking in Japanese, and the orange haired man is explaining airport procedures and that yes, the other staff really had meant all metal he was carrying, with forced respect in his voice.
Well, it'll be damned easy to get his attention. They probably don't have more than one employee who speaks Japanese.
I back off, turning towards a different part of the lobby, and see my chance approaching me. There's a staff member approaching. She's a tiny black haired girl, with a much taller red haired guard at her side. As I pass I lean down – Christ, she's tiny – and slap her ass. She immediately whirls on me with her eyes narrowed to slits and mouth open. She starts yelling at me, not that I bother paying any attention, and the guard stops and turns, eyes raising to me.
"What's the matter, midget?" I ask her in Japanese, grinning. "Did I offend ya?" The guard sighs, stepping between the two of us and motioning for me to follow him.
My lucky day.
When the guy enters the little room the guard escorted me to, I grin. There's tightly controlled irritation in the brown eyes and the scowl is deeper than it was earlier.
"Hey, beautiful," I say in Japanese, "come to give me a stern talking to about morals and proper behavior?" His head just barely cocks towards me, like it's an unconscious reaction, and I can't help baiting him. "I'll listen to you talk all fucking day so long as you do it on your knees."
He stiffens for a brief moment and then his eyes narrow to slits, oh man is he pissed.
He moves towards me and I watch the way he walks; all grace and power even though he's tense with anger. He spreads his hands on the table and then leans across so that he can get right up in my face. He speaks in English, and his voice is a low, venomous, hiss.
"The next time you feel like fucking around, do it at a different fucking airport with a different fucking person. Get it?"
Hot damn. My eyes widen at the guy's voice, all husk and anger, and I legitimately begin rethinking my previous baiting. Fuck yes, I would listen to him talk all day, just as long as I got to be the one to make him talk.
I lower my grin to a smirk, eyes narrowing. "Pretty and feisty, I like it." I revert back to English, no point in trying to keep the charade since the guy'd seen right through it, somehow. I'll have to ask him about that later. "Wanna fuck, pretty boy?"
I see his jaw clench, his hands scrape against the metal table, and fury burst to life in brown eyes before he reins it in. "Not likely, fucker."
He backs off, moving to the door and throwing it open, and I stifle a laugh as the red headed guard spins into the doorway, clearly startled. "He speaks English perfectly fucking well!"
The red head winces and I can't help grinning again. The orange haired guy is too fun to mess with, and if I can badger him into a fuck, all the better.
"Bit wound up there? I can fix that for you, pretty boy." I do switch back to Japanese, as a favor to him. I doubt he wants the guard knowing what I'm saying. "Good hard fuck will loosen you right up."
He turns his head to glare at me, snapping back at me in Japanese. "Sorry, I make a point not to fuck arrogant bastards." I laugh as he turns away, shoving past the guard and into the hallways outside.
"Takes one to know one!"
"Fuck you!" he yells back, already out of sight, but that doesn't stop me answering.
"Exactly!" I can't stop the laugh that leaves me, looks like I've found something new to play with.
What an awesome day.