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Summary
Grimmjow recognizes Abarai; looming shoulders, thick red hair and wires of black ink covering him from neck to wrists to waist. He doesn’t recognize the other kid, save for his name, apparently (he does do a double take, but Ōmaeda had said Kurosaki, alright). He’s gaunt and gangly; thin legs, wiry arms. Orange hair. Grimmjow raises an eyebrow from where he’s parked himself at the back of the crowd of curious onlookers just at the inside of the Anchorage Shatterdome’s Combat Room.