Walter raised one eyebrow smiling at the quincy who had called dibs on him. He could feel the man’s battle lust, knew well the sensation, the call to darkness, a subtle whisper to stain the world in crimson. His demeanor shifted, his body language became less rigid and more fluid, his eye’s burned with a passion and lust. Reaching up to loosen his tie he spoke his Wisconsin accent gone, replaced by a thick English accent dotted slightly with traces of Italian… His actual accent, the pregame was over and Walter wanted to play.

“I suppose there’s no use hiding that fact anymore, my bloodthirsty friend. I couldn’t agree more with you. This dull and dreadful night, should sing with sounds of battle and bloodshed. If you want teams I’ll happily help you paint this beach crimson.”

Walter let out a chuckle his eyes scanning for the prey he wanted first, landing squarely on the pink haired Quincy. He had never fought one before, the look of confusion and anxiety on his face was like the tantalizing carrot that drove a horse to the finish line. Then the Vizard spoke, dribbling some inconsequential non-sense about the logistics behind the fight, teams no teams. It made no difference, as long as he got to injure, maim, or kill tonight. Suddenly a new dancer arriver, another actor in this beautiful ballet of death and destruction some strange woman in fatigues, she wanted to join and why wouldn’t she after all one could hear the sweet song of death beginning to play its opening notes.

“Teams no teams, I don’t care. The promise of battle and death has been made the rest means nothing. However, if we’re calling dibs on targets, Id like to use our pink haired Quincy friend over there to see how quincy blood looks reflecting in the moonlight”

His hand stretched out and a thin cloud of smoke condensed from it into a seven-foot long see through glass chain as strong as a zanpakuto. He gripped it by the end, its form barely distinguishable in the darkness. But his eye’s gleamed in the night, hungry for bloodshed.

The vizard lay out a challenge for the strong quincy, who accepted, but wanted to try teams. His first choice was the human who claimed to be a camera man. But the vizard would have no such thing. Zezel realized though that a fight was inevitable, as the human decided to call dibs on the pink haired Quincy, the one who had shot at Zezel. It would make sense for him to also attack the quincy two, but before he could make up his mind a newcomer appeared. He was pretty sure she was a human who was supressing, our a bount, considering he felt no energy from the newcomer. He was on the verge of leaving, when it occurred to him that he had never fought a bount before.

He considered the idea, there was nothing to gain from it really, he'd prefere to sit back and watch how things played out. It made sense that he didn't have to attack anyone, he never agreed to fight, it was the strong quincy who assumed he was "bursting at the seams to fire some ceros". He looked between the three other people who he would be fighting, and considered what to do. He considered leaving once again, but decided not to. He would wait and see, and take the side of the person who doesn't attack him, if any of them didn't, which seemed unlikely, seeing as he was the only arrancar, and was surrounded by people who hated his kind.

He stayed ready though, reaching for the tanto like dagger in his sleeve.