"Oh my, Kurotsuchi-taichou seems to have brought around more technical troubles again."
This is his defense mechanism.
"Fix the situation. Now."
"So Kurotsuchi did something again, hm? How unexpected…"
Even the blind guy.
BUT HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING.
"It’s all Clown-taichou’s fault."
"No one gave you permission to be out."
"Mayuri, the fuck did you fuck up this time?"
"Do not blame me for something I did not do."
— For some reason, perhaps shared by many others, even in Soul Society, and not even a little questionable or intolerant thing, Inoue didn’t really feel comfortable in the presence of that creature. Not only by the differentiated appearance that caused her chills down the spine, but also the way in which he spoke, stared, thought and acted… Everything was questionable in the view of Inoue regarding him and what, without any doubt, caused her chemical reactions in the body being started with the rush of adrenaline in the body, causing rapid heartbeat and tremors. Causes exaggerated attention to everything that man does, every gesture even in a blurred vision. Fear is a reaction obtained from the contact with some physical or mental stimulus that generates an alert response in the body. And Mayuri could do more than this contact straightaway just driving his word to the redhead. Anyway, Inoue had a conscience that this man was an ally, one Taicho of Soul Society, obviously it didn’t make her feel much better, but at least indicated that she would have to stay calm and act normally, as if he were any other older creature in that location. Which means: He’s not going to kill her, not in a open sky like that.
— After stopping suddenly when approaching the other, she took a deep breath and tried to contain the nerves that throbbed inside her frightened, perhaps by the tension of the moment, she received the icy glare that made her remember the first meeting of the two. One occasion she didn’t like to remember , after all she left Ishida by himself, alone with him, a Taichou! She was a coward! She ran when she should help, even though she wouldn’t have any chance with someone of that level. But she was glad that, at least, doesn’t disturbed the both’s fight. Maybe Ishida couldn’t fight accurately knowing he needed to protect a girl like her. Moreover Mayuri wanted to use her as a guinea pig, do with her what he did with Quincies. Studying part by part of her body, open it, making absurd experiences that even now she doesn’t understand how they are legal in the Soul Society. What guarantee her that he wouldn’t take the chance now to make his wishes at that time? Calm down Orihime. Calm down. She took a deep breath and pressed both hands, together, in her chest to comfort her in an attempt to contain herself in a single gesture.
— Inoue, don’t push your luck, just ask what you need quickly.
— ”Mayuri-san, I heard you stayed a little longer in Hueco Mundo, collecting corpses for your studies.” She paused. “I don’t know how was your results, not even know if they are already finished… But I was wondering if you would have bared somehow, some…” She took a deep breath. A question of those could put at risk her own conduct, but she was willing to risk. “… Some way of bringing them back to life.”
He was well aware of the history the two of them shared. For him, it was a rather fond memory whilst for the girl, not so much. That did not matter to the scientist. Eyes casted their selves away at the proper title, though he much preferred it if she did not speak to him at all. However, if she had a question, he supposed he had no other choice but to answer the best his pitiful tolerance could allow. She paused. She held her hands up to her chest, and it was not that difficult for him to notice some sort of terror within her overall position. While it was not something fully relatable to fear, she was, indeed, nervous. That was more than enough for Mayuri to take advantage of if deemed necessary. This was an open area, however, and he knew better than to physically injure her. Mentally incapitating her, though, was always there as a choice. For now, he deemed it unnecessary. For now, he would only listen with a somewhat bored expression about him. Sometimes, her curiosity would be her downfall, and if it was not because of today, it would certainly occur to her sometime in the near future.
Mayuri would be sure of it. “I’ve collected more than my fair share,” he informed her with a roll of his eyes. It was a cruel cutting into her own sentences, not once showing some amount of sympathy or apology for nearly interrupting her. Both of his arms lifted up to cross their selves over his chest, spindly fingers clutching what they could of the captain’s upper arms within the enlargened sleeves of his haori as he waited. There were a couple of questions that immediately plagued the painted Shinigami’s mind as soon as the suggestion was passed his way. It was her question, and he wondered when the girl thought to herself that this was a good idea. Granted, he could possibly reanimate the corpses and allow for them to fulfill the roles of drones, guinea pigs, or that of simple house decorations. For personal reasons, he did not choose to waste precious time and equipment on beings that had already lost their chance. Eyes narrowed sharply at Inuoe’s question, lips pulled into a somewhat bitter smirk after he questioned, “Why is it that you ask, girl?” Tone overall was cruel, hasty, and generally not pleasant. He made it evident that he was not in the position nor mood to put up with her or her childish curiosity.
If her reasons were not good enough, he would simply blow it off like he did many other things. He was not in a true hurry to complete everything nor did he believe that it was impossible. Reanimation, truthfully, just never did interest him as many other of the sciences did for him. He was specific and others could have gotten away with calling him picky. Cocking his head so it almost rested upon his left shoulder, he shot her a look of widened eyes with a clearly displeased frown. “They’re already useless, so what is the point of reviving them? Frankly, they had their chance.”
I hate you.
I hate you.
I wish you’d just go and die.
As if that was supposed to mean something to the monster.
Kenpachi’s blood lust still stood firm, Pressing the other captain into the wall by one of his tiny wrists, his own body inches from him. That beast snarled and hissed in the back of his head, green eye wide open and wild with the desire to do nothing but see what colors Mayuri might bleed if he should cut him open. He liked being dissected, right? Why would this be any different? Sure, he wasn’t a surgeon like the other, but Kenpachi was sure good at cutting things. That was all the same, right?
I’ll even do you a favor and slit my own throat in front of you. A slight shift of his body language caused the outcome of such a statement to draw clarity. Disappointment in the form of a squinted eye and a less strained grin caused Kenpachi to straighten his spine a bit, standing taller from his previously hunched over position where he had kept himself on the edge of anticipation. The excitement in his eye died down and he let out a single low chuckle.
"Slit yer own throat for me, huh?"
He looked at his zanpakuto, sliding it from its sheath with a long and drawn out pause. Gripping Mayuri’s wrist tightly, he lifted the blade to the other’s neck, pressing the ragged and tooth-like edge of it right up to Mayuri’s skin. It might not be the fight he wanted… but he was curious. Part of him - well, most of him actually, wanted to just give up then, but a small sliver wanted to see. Wanted to know if he really would. If he did, he’d leave. If he didn’t… he’d probably leave, too. This was getting real boring real fast.
“What’re ya waitin’ for, then? I wanna see ya do it.”
Some might call him desperate while others would deem him as insane. However, Mayuri knew better than anyone else that he was doing what was correct. It was not a matter of his morals nor was it a matter of his health. Neither of those petty things mattered to him, if at all, and he hinted at this with not even a budge of his hands when he felt the grip upon his wrists increase. This was nothing more but another experiment, another test, and another procedure that the researcher could easily weasel himself out of if necessary. The blade of the other’s sword was held up to the base of his throat, and he almost lifted his head as if to encourage him to do it himself. Of course, the painted individual knew better than to believe that Zaraki would perform such a lazy task. He revealed his upper row of teeth in a halfhearted sneer, and he muttered, “You’re only going to get bored.” This seemed to hint that he would not.
"So be it." He did, though. Shoving the entirety, of what he could after all, of his upper torso forward he felt the blade slash and slice into the skin of his neck. Everything was swift. He was careless yet, at the same time, not. He knew the impact effected how well the blood would spread. He preferred a mess. The paint would remain in its multitude of layers, but the blood would be everywhere. In other words, it was another mess for the scientist to clean up. This was nothing. The pain was nothing. He had done something like this before. This was nothing. It would never be anything. He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing his eyes to remain as is instead of widening further. His fingers, however, betrayed him a little by curling into his palms as his head lowered harshly in response to the sensation of rough blade cutting into his skin. He had done this before, he constantly reminded himself inwardly as he pushed further and further. Everything was surprisingly clean. There had yet to be blood, but he knew this was only for so long. Blood would be shed. He knew it. He was not in pain, though. This was familiar.
The feeling of blade pressing into him was nothing alien. It would always feel odd, though, because of how quickly it invaded. It felt like a knife pressing into the exposed forearm for anyone else. To him, it felt like a pinch. This was mild. This was minor. With a releasing of a loud breath, he kept his footing quite well and glanced up at Zaraki with a look of defiance before a thin grin touched painted lips. He did not talk, did not bother to laugh, and, merely, lifted his head to expose a spray of blood that soon settled into wide streams of blood erupting from an open wound and flowing down from his neck to the insides and outsides of his captain’s outfit. His fingers, by then, began to relax. They curled out from his palms though reacted with an occasional twitch. Again, he reminded himself that he had done this before. This was normal. This was child’s play. It was nothing more but a physical tirade for him to rid him of the barbarian’s presence.
"I feel as if you could have assisted," he said finally in a slightly stifled voice.