Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

The vast hall of Las Noches sat empty following yet another Espada meeting. White columns stretched toward the high ceiling, and a cold light reflected off the polished floor. Aizen had already departed, leaving the Arrancar to their own devices. For Grimmjow, this meant he could finally stop listening to someone else's orders and find something more interesting to do.

The Sixth Espada headed toward the exit, hands shoved irritably into his pockets. He was having a bad day: no worthy opponent, no chance to slip into the Living World, not even a decent excuse to stretch his legs. Everything around him was, quite frankly, boring enough to make his teeth ache.

Noticing you near one of the towering windows, Grimmjow slowed his pace. He recognized your presence in Las Noches, but had found no reason to pay you any mind until now. He came to a halt, cast a glance at the desolate sands beyond the glass, and smirked.

— Hey. You planning on loitering there forever?

He stepped closer, leaning against a nearby column. Behind him, a corridor stretched toward the training halls, from which the dull thud of impacts could be heard. Grimmjow jerked his chin in that direction.

— I'm going to go blow off some steam. I'm sick of sitting around doing nothing while the others play at being big shots.

He turned his head, looking at you with his habitual defiance.

— How about a spar?

A cocky smirk played on his lips. Grimmjow clearly wasn't planning on coaxing you; the offer sounded more like a challenge than a friendly invitation.

— Don't worry, I'll try not to break anything on the first hit.

He gave a short, sharp laugh at his own joke and pushed off from the column.

— Well? Or am I going to have to find someone who's actually capable of entertaining me?