Well, to be fair, most other ball-goers can't punch each other in the soul. Dammit. He was so sure that would work.

There's nothing right here! he wants to protest. But instead, he just gives Ichigo a sulky, defeated look.

An annoying, distracting, sickening feeling rises in his chest. He recognizes it, but not from his own private experiences. This was despair, something he had felt through Ichigo only a few times. But only once for himself before, when he and the old man had fused, and had to teach Ichigo had to say goodbye for what might have been forever. He flinches again as his hand is grabbed, and the claws flake away like old paint underwater, returning to black fingernails.

Finally it is him that has to break eye contact, and he looks down at the floor.

"I'm... not..."

What more could he do? Was Ichigo doomed to this stupid brainwashed life of frivolity and lace? There's plenty of things he could do, of course. He could haul up and punch him in the face. He could stab him through the gut with his sword. He could knock him out and carry him out of here. But that would piss off His Royal Stick-up-the-butt, and he's not sure they're ready for a full on war in their addled state.

... And besides, would it even work?

Thunder rolls outside as despair strikes a certain Ringmaster as well and he can't help but think how appropriate it is.

He jerks his hand away and replaces his sullen look with a matching scowl. He can't give up yet. There's still options.

"Fine! What is it you want to do, then?"