A smartass remark was right there on the tip of his tongue, a 'maybe next time' right on his lips. Of course, that was right before the blue-haired punk paid more than two seconds of attention to the guy. The armchair -- definitely out of place. Just like the guy himself, really.

It was a normal pub, populated mostly by college kids and people under the age of 40. Grimmjow had seem some salty, older guys in some of the places he'd been, but they were usually protecting their corner of the bar. This guy? There's a moment where Grimmjow nostrils flare, sniffing the air. Usually, supers have a strange smell. Well, most of them.

"Sorry gramps, just the luck of the draw. Maybe next time. Or maybe never."