There was a tremor in Zexion's reiatsu as Ulquiorra approached. Ulquiorra was distantly aware of it, and considered it curious, but paid it no further heed as Zexion delved into his book, and it settled again. Ulquiorra didn't pretend to understand what the alchemist may be thinking, or what may trigger such a response.
He turned his attention instead to the books in front of him. A few were written in Old Rozarrian, which presented Ulquiorra no problem. Some were primers on speaking and reading the language--
One was the book Ulquiorra had first learned from when he was a child, and he hesitated before slowly taking it off the shelf. He'd left his own copy behind when he'd headed to Archades, but it had been one of the few things he'd packed and brought with him when he'd left his parent's house.
He'd brought a book, but left his stuffed rabbit, because he'd thought he'd be able to go back and collect the other things later, and he could live without the stuffed toy, but he'd be bored without a book. There were so many nights he'd spent as a child, working through the exercises, learning how to form the sounds, and the characters, with L on one side of him and his mother sneaking them cake.
Ulquiorra's throat had gone dry, he realised, and he closed his eyes, clamping down on his own reiatsu again as it threatened to spiral out of control, taking a breath and holding it for a moment. L had made such memories painful in entirely new ways; the revelation of his betrayal had soured any happiness Ulquiorra remembered.
You were not at fault, Aizen-sama had said, as if L had been issued punishment from some higher force and Ulquiorra had been merely the vessel of its delivery.
A sibilant voice niggled in Ulquiorra's head, Careful, Quiorra-chan, we don't want to have another outburst.
Ulquiorra pushed that voice, and the thoughts he was having away, sharply. He pushed them down, as he did with his reiatsu, out of the way. Then he opened his eyes, and put the book back where it had come from, turning his attention to an entirely different part of the bookcase.
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Date: 2013-07-15 10:37 pm (UTC)He turned his attention instead to the books in front of him. A few were written in Old Rozarrian, which presented Ulquiorra no problem. Some were primers on speaking and reading the language--
One was the book Ulquiorra had first learned from when he was a child, and he hesitated before slowly taking it off the shelf. He'd left his own copy behind when he'd headed to Archades, but it had been one of the few things he'd packed and brought with him when he'd left his parent's house.
He'd brought a book, but left his stuffed rabbit, because he'd thought he'd be able to go back and collect the other things later, and he could live without the stuffed toy, but he'd be bored without a book. There were so many nights he'd spent as a child, working through the exercises, learning how to form the sounds, and the characters, with L on one side of him and his mother sneaking them cake.
Ulquiorra's throat had gone dry, he realised, and he closed his eyes, clamping down on his own reiatsu again as it threatened to spiral out of control, taking a breath and holding it for a moment. L had made such memories painful in entirely new ways; the revelation of his betrayal had soured any happiness Ulquiorra remembered.
You were not at fault, Aizen-sama had said, as if L had been issued punishment from some higher force and Ulquiorra had been merely the vessel of its delivery.
A sibilant voice niggled in Ulquiorra's head, Careful, Quiorra-chan, we don't want to have another outburst.
Ulquiorra pushed that voice, and the thoughts he was having away, sharply. He pushed them down, as he did with his reiatsu, out of the way. Then he opened his eyes, and put the book back where it had come from, turning his attention to an entirely different part of the bookcase.