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I thought I'd post my KH fanfiction here. They're all relatively short, from drabbles of only a few hundred words to longer one-shots. You can find all of my other fanfiction here.
Charades
[pre-COM: Saïx + Axel, G]
Notes:This is the first fic I wrote about Saïx, before I even finished KH2. So the characterization is a little iffy. But I like the interaction between him and Axel. This takes place during the first Kingdom Hearts.
Halloweentown was silent this time of night. It was a strange world, its bizarre occupants some of the cheeriest creatures that he had ever seen, despite their dark architecture and strange festivities. Saïx might have envied them for it. He did not, because he knew that his "envy" would merely be a weak imitation of an emotion which was only a hazy memory. His former life was like a glimpse of a dream, waking up before the story's end. Memories fluttered like flower petals blowing in the wind, shadows darting out from his reaching fingertips, and leaving only the faintest whisper behind. Not that he was dwelling in the past. It seemed that his old life really was only a dream. First he had forgotten his true name, and then the gaps grew even bigger before he wasn't even sure he knew what it meant to be human anymore. To feel, to care, to love and to hate -- he wondered if any of that even truly existed. Or was it beyond his reach, like his memories?
Saïx closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the wind tousle his long hair and the icy chill that prickled his neck. It held no satisfaction for him. This, this physical feeling, was empty. A mocking glimmer of something much truer, meaningless without the emotions beyond it. But it was a start. It meant he wasn't completely dead. Perhaps that was why, shortly after he first awoke as a Nobody, dazed and uncertain and cold, he took a pin and put holes in both his earlobes, and then stuck a tiny mythril stone on the end of each. Mythril was known to be icy cold to the touch. It meant he always felt something, even if it was just pain. He didn't bleed -- Nobodies never did -- but it hurt like hell, and that was why he liked it.
"It sucks, doesn't it?" Saïx felt his body tense, as he recognized the voice and the familiar whirl of someone stepping through the Dark Corrider.
"Axel." He didn't like the flame-wielding man. But then, he didn't really like anyone, did he? He did not turn around, but kept alert, in case Axel felt like throwing a chakram into his back.
"It sucks, doesn't it?" Axel repeated. "Not being able to remember who you are, not knowing if what you're feeling is real or if it's just a sick delusion." Saïx finally turned around to face him, startled that the normally impulsive man could be so certain of his thoughts. Axel was leaning against a large tombstone, his arms crossed and his face serious, the red of his hair clashing with the dull gray of the graveyard. Saïx liked gray. Colors simply seemed too bright -- too expressive -- for a Nobody, and the fire of Axel's hair seemed like it should not be allowed. Axel was one of those Nobodies who didn't accept the truth, who struggled to find any remaining scraps of emotion so that he wouldn't be completely empty. Saïx had been like that once, hadn't wanted to believe that this was truly his fate. A being without a heart, a being who shouldn't exist. It was a cruel act of nature, which could not be undone by mankind's silly inventions and useless tinkering. Saïx would give anything to be one of those silly humans.
"Only fools think they can change their fates by dreams alone," he said aloud, more to himself than to the other man, and Axel raised an eyebrow in question.
"I don't need your platitudes," he replied, the mocking, haughty expression that Saïx was accustomed to back on his face.
"You can't change who you are."
The red-haired man tapped a gloved finger to his chest. "It's not me who wants to change himself. I know why you slipped away so suddenly at our gathering. Some fresh air, right? Wanted to wallow in the moonlight, didn't you? It's the same for all of us." He pointed at Saïx. "You can't stop feeling that you can't feel."
"Nonsense," Saïx said, waving away Number 8's accusation. How dare he call Saïx wallowing. "I am devoid of feeling. I accept it."
Axel laughed, but it was a hollow laugh -- sharp and cutting as a razorblade. "You never can really accept it. Not unless you totally forget how to be human."
"I'll never forget," Saïx said firmly, wishing he was as certain as his voice sounded. "You're forgetting what you are, Axel. You think if you talk loud, if you scowl and smirk and laugh, playing through all the charades of human emotion, it will change the truth."
Axel's smile faded, and his green eyes narrowed. They were like acid, piercing and bright.
He took a step closer to Saïx, his boots making dull echoes against the ground. The moon was full and bright behind him, his hair like fire above his pale skin. There was a time when Saïx had loved the moon. Now all he felt was an empty remembrance. It was all he felt for anything he had ever loved. He would have hated the nocturnal watcher, if he had been capable of that too. Now he stared at Axel with alert golden eyes that shimmered in the moonlight, ready to call on the darkness for his broadsword, if necessary.
Axel stopped, stretched a hand behind him, and a Dark Portal swirled into existence behind him. He started to walk into the portal, and then paused. He turned his head to look back at the blue-haired man.
"The truth is, Saïx," he said, barely louder than a whisper, the shadow of a smile on his lips, "I'm not the one playing at charades."
Notes: I enjoy mixing Disney characters with Organization members.
It was certainly an unsavory sort of place, he thought. The air in the crowded bar was thick with the scent of alcohol, cigar smoke, and cheap perfume. The voices of those inside conglomerated into a loud unintelligable rumble, intermingled with shouts and whistles for the serving girls. A man with eyes red from too much drink stumbled into his path, and he sidestepped quickly to avoid being knocked over. There was a nasty-looking brawl in the corner; a red-haired girl winked at him as she passed, carrying a tray of drinks. Luxord smirked; it was perfect. Oh, how he was going to enjoy this mission.
He made his way to the corner of the bar and noticed someone watching him. It was a man, a rogue in appearance. His tangled mess of dark hair was interspersed with colorful coins and trinkets, and his beard was braided into two forks. He was leaning back contentedly in his seat (or perhaps just drunkenly), his feet crossed in front of him as he sipped at the pewter tankard. He squinted at Luxord in one-eyed surveillance as the other man approached and sat opposite him.
"Nice jacket you got there, mate," the man said, and a few golden teeth flashed in the murky light. "Reckon it cost a fair amount of gold, eh?"
"You could say that," said Luxord, handing over some coins to a serving girl for a pint of amber-colored rum. It was merely for show; no amount of alcohol could intoxify a Nobody.
"Now I understand that Tortuga is a hit with the locals," the strange man continued amiably, "but what is a great grand toff like yourself doing in such a scallywaggin' little establishment?" Luxord chuckled, pulling out a pack of cards from the pocket of his jacket.
"It really is quite a long story, I regret to say." The man clearly perked up at this, sitting up straight in his chair and looking at Luxord with eager eyes.
"Ooh, I love stories, mate! No worries there," he said, and pointed at himself with a grimy finger. "Captain Jack Sparrow at your service, savvy?"
Captain of what? Luxord wondered. He began to shufffle the cards with nimble fingers, and arranged them in neat stacks on the wooden tabletop.
"However, I'll need some incentive to recount my tale. How about a game of cards?"
"Blackjack?"
"If you wish."
"What's the wager?"
Luxord smiled, resting his arm casually against the chair arm and crossing his legs. It was best to get comfortable. "If you win, I tell you my whole sorry tale. If I win," -- he saluted Jack with a tilt of his head -- "you must give me your most precious possession."
He watched the other man's face carefully as he considered the offer. Jack was staring at some space above them, his forehead furrowed and a slight frown on his face. Finally he placed both palms against the table in finality.
"Deal."
The blond-haired man shuffled the cards expertly, then dealt them for he and Jack, and settled back into a position of ease.
He stroked the shiny plastic back of the Jack of Spades, grinning at the utter irony of the situation. Interesting that a man would give up everything, including his heart, for a fleeting fantasy, when all along Luxord had had nothing to offer in return. He didn't need to keep his end of the bargain.
Notes: This is a little darker than I usually write, but Riku seems to lend himself to these kinds of fics. I didn't intend for this to be yaoi, but a look into what it's like to have the darkness take over you. A tale in three parts.
i. inertia
In the place between dark and light, Riku dreamed. He dreamed of voices that cast silent echoes in his memory, fading laughter and a red-violet streaked sky. He dreamed of eyes like the sky and a smile like adventure, but the face was swept away in a flurry of dark waves, and he was falling. He dreamed of a princess exiled from her throne, weaving sweet promises from discarded shells in her island haven. He dreamed he was a knight, with a sword that gleamed in the light of dawn, climbing the castle tower to rescue the princess and slay the dragon, but in the end the dragon had captured him in her green-poison eyes, and the princess had been saved by the peasant boy.
But then the dreams stopped, drifting away on endless currents, except he hadn't yet been waken by the sun. In the evanescent clear space behind his closed eyelids, Riku found himself looking into a pair of narrow golden eyes. He heard a voice calling his name, deep as the shadowy locked places of dungeon rooms, ever present and all too real. You can't hide from me forever, the voice said. I'll be waiting for you.
When Riku awoke, he hadn't forgotten the voice, and as he followed another mysterious disembodied voice to the moon-bright castle of forgotten memories, he could hear it echoing again and again. He couldn't understand why the fallen sage would continue to plague his thoughts, continue to poison his heart with a thirst for power. But with the help of the king of light Riku managed to bind the darkness seeker and focus again on the way to light.
ii. vertigo
It wasn't until the castle was left far behind, and his clothes became as black as his mood, that he could hear the voice again. The rain plastered his bangs to his face as he walked through the nonexistant city, searching for questions and chasing answers. He crouched, eyes squinted shut, as the voice wrapped around him, caressed him with its silken words.
This place is saturated in darkness, it said. Imagine the power you would obtain if you sought me here.
It had been so long since the voice had broken into his consciousness, that Riku wasn't sure how to handle it.
"Leave me alone!" he shouted, clutching at the empty air, as if to tear the voice away. Laughter left his ears ringing.
Who are you talking to, Riku? There's no one here but you.
"Shut up!" Riku drew his sword, eyes scanning the grayness for Heartless eyes.
You must accept me Riku, the voice persisted. Because you're just like me. Deep inside your heart you, too, crave the darkness.
"No!" Riku's voice echoed against the empty walls of the tall buildings, their hazy lights like watching eyes, reproachful and malign. "I'll never be like you!"
If that's what you think... the voice whispered, and Riku had the sensation of icy-cool wind against his neck. He shivered, but the voice was already gone.
iii. evanesce
When he was in DiZ's service, Riku kept his hood up at all times. He couldn't bear to look at his reflection in the shiny-complex mirror of the computer monitors. The man was easy to work for, as crazy as he was pompous, but he didn't ask questions.
The one time Riku did lower his hood, he spoke with the voice that had constantly haunted him, and he couldn't look away from the face silhouetted against the data readouts of the screen.
You were right, Ansem, he thought. I've become just like you.
That night, he dreamed of fallen castles and fingers on his skin and mad voices that sounded like his own. He awoke shivering and didn't sleep again until dawn.
Notes: I tend to characterize Ienzo/Zexion as being crafty, sly, and very persuasive. He seems like a man who could get you to do anything he wants, because he has a perfect understanding of human thought and emotion.
They sent the youngest, because he could do with words what the others could only do with science and weapons. What tools their teacher had given them they were not so willing to part with. The process was as interesting than the expected result of their experiment. He thought perhaps there would be no result, that they had spent the past five years snatching at shadows. He thought he liked it better that way. Ansem the Wise was already suspicious of his apprentices, and all Ienzo had to do was confirm them, feign a little discomfort and anxiety. He wove together pretty words and sincere gestures as he stood politely in front of the other man, looking down at his shoes as he smiled behind his hair. Ansem was tired, strain showing in the lines of his brow and the wrinkles around his mouth, and Ienzo was a very good liar. The other five were restless, who knew what they might do, Ienzo was scared. And Ansem believed him.
Ienzo had spent the last five years crafting his façade. Being pretty had its advantages. No one could distrust him, because he seemed so reasonable, so polite, a logical and shy man. But the truth was he just liked to see things fall apart. It was terribly good fun.
Ansem's desk was scattered with papers, books, an empty coffee cup. A portrait of Xehanort hung on the wall, crooked. It was disgusting. Ansem let out a long breath and ran his hand through his hair. Ienzo let his mouth curve into a smirk as he looked at the man. Ansem had made a terrible mistake. He let himself show weakness in front of others, let his emotions rule his features, let his thoughts write themselves across his eyelids. Ienzo had learned long ago had to shut himself inside, so no glance or misplaced word betrayed him. Once, he had admired Ansem, respected him. Now he saw him for the pathetic being he was. Ansem thought he was the one in control, because he was allowed the title of "Master" and they were not. But he was wrong. For several years, his apprentices had been uprooting him, slowly and without even realizing it themselves.
Even Ansem the Wise eventually had to break. Ienzo left the room, with Ansem's approval that they could begin the experiment.
Ienzo knew he was walking into madness. He wanted to laugh hysterically, but all he could do was smile.
Notes: Pictures from a normal life. She was always smiling.
Selphie loved to jump rope. As her tiny wrists deftly twisted the scarlet cord, she would close her eyes and count softly to herself, forgetting everything else but the steady rhythm of her feet and her hands moving the rope.
"Ten--"
A small girl with green eyes like glass peeked out from a feather-covered hat. A long pearl necklace hung down to her waist, and her little hands tried to hold a dress around her body that belonged on a much larger woman.
"Look, Mommy! I'm just like you!" She posed dramatically, looking like a doll in oversized clothing. Her mother laughed and started to wipe a smudge of red lipstick from Selphie's face.
"Twenty--"
"I love you," the boy said, and she felt her heart thumping pitifully in her chest. His hair was the color of chocolate and her skin tingled where his hands had touched. She closed her eyes and let herself be engulfed by infinity.
"Thirty--"
...And she was laughing through her tears as the ring disappeared beneath the shimmering gray foam of the tide.
"Forty--"
She smiled to herself as she watched Kairi, Riku, and Sora happily walking together in the marketplace. Kairi's head was against Riku's shoulder, red hair streaked with silver, and her hand clasped Sora's arm. Some things never change, she thought, as she bought a new school tie for her son.
"Fifty--"
"Do you love her?" Her tone was harsh as she regarded her son--a young man now, she reminded herself--with a critical eye. He blushed beneath his freckles and nodded. Selphie punched him lightly in the arm. "Then what are you waiting for, boy? Marry the girl!"
"Sixty--"
The sand formed little craters beneath her feet as she ran along the shore of the island she had played on as a child. She felt like a little girl again, only now her hair was longer and her legs were quicker.
"Slow down, woman!" her husband panted behind her. "You're not young anymore!"
She looked back, eyes mischievous. "I may be old in years but I'm young in spirit!"
"Seventy--"
Some days she just needed peace and quiet. The old woman sat on her porch watching twilight burn across the sky. The only sounds were the distant hum of the sea and the wind whispering around her face. She grinned and thought what an improvement it was over her grandchild's screams.
"Eighty--"
"Mom, you're not young anymore!" Her son was a nice man but a fool, she thought with annoyance, always badgering her to go to the doctor for some afflection or another.
"I think I can handle carrying my own suitcase," she snapped, clutching the bright pink bundle against her bosom. "You children are so lazy." Her son watched after her with an incredulous look on his face. She giggled in childish delight as she threw the empty suitcase on her bed.
"Ninety--"
The woman's face was wrinkled and brown from sunlight and hard work. She huddled into pastel-colored dresses and was nearly as small as she had been as a young girl. But her eyes were the same brilliant green, alight with intelligence and enthusiasm. She wasn't too old yet for a little fun.
"One hundred--"
Selphie stumbled as her jump rope was caught by her foot. She breathed in deeply for a moment, trying to shake the strange thoughts she'd had in her near-daze. Then she laughed.
"One hundred! A new record!" She went off to find Tidus and Wakka to tell them.
Axel didn't believe in fate. In fact, there were a lot of things he didn't believe in. He couldn't, because as much as he thought the Superior was full of shit sometimes, he knew that there was a point to what Xemnas taught them. It had taken some time for him to really understand that Ael was gone--dead--and that Axel was all that was left. His memories of his other life were hazy, but sometimes in the hazy realm between sleep and wakening he could see the red glow of fire and hear a child's laughter.
Axel was something of a renegade among renegades. He had been enlisted into joining the Organization when he had been lost and wandering, delirious on half-remembered moments and broken promises. He had been weak, and it was easy for Xaldin's promising words to have him throw in with the group. Yet now he finally realized the folly; twelve lost souls could not help one another find themselves. The supposed goal of the Organization was to find a way for them to retrieve their lost hearts. But Axel didn't believe it; he could see the greed in the elders' faces, the craving for power and the thirst to control and manipulate others.
Trust, hope, mercy, sadness. Axel knew the words yet could not understand their meaning. He lived for no rule but his own. The Organization was a pit of carnivores; allies turned against each other, whispered words and secrets forged in black-cloaked rooms. It was a thrilling game to watch. So Axel carefully built his reputation with deception and mocking smiles, careless gestures and an attitude to suit his element. He knew they saw him as a fool, a hot-tempered idiot playing both sides and playing for profits. But what they didn't know was Axel's single most impressive talent. He could look at a man and see the measure of his person. He shot his mouth off, while at the same time being ever-watchful. His eyes missed nothing--no twitch of muscle nor betrayal of tone or gesture. He could see beneath the underneath, read the motives within motives. He knew he had more to fear from the obscured gaze of Zexion than any other. He saw Vexen's weakness in his anger, his thirst for understanding and mathematical thinking making him forget reality. There was something animalistic and scary about Xaldin's manner, and a gentleness in Demyx's music that could be exploited. Larxene and Marluxia, too haughty for their own good, too sure of their abilities.
But then there was Roxas, whom he didn't understand at all. Maybe that was why Axel found himself drawn to the boy, watching him like a mother watches a reckless child. There was no calculated treachery in the boy's eyes, no feigned emotion or hidden hope. Nothing at all. He was a puzzle to be solved, a link to the Keyblade Master, a step in understanding the mysteries of the heart. And in time he found the impossible happening; he let down his flame-built hackles and put himself at the boy's mercy.
Axel had never believed in the future, either. His only concern was the moment, because to a creature that didn't exist there could be only one fate. But after he met Roxas, he realized he could defy his fate. He looked forward to what tomorrow would bring. And that was enough to break him away from the Organization, to seek the friend he had known and lost. In the end, he understand that a Nobody was not doomed to a half-life. He cast away his title of "VIII", and when the time came to let go, he looked to meet his friend in the time that awaited them.
"You know what I miss?" Demyx asked, strumming idly on his sitar. Vexen continued going over his notes and said nothing. The Melodious Nocturne took that as a sign to explain.
"I grew up in a mountain village," he said, his hand gesturing as he balanced the instrument on his knee. "There was a little stream running through the center of town, all bubbling and joyful. But one month a year its singing would stop, and it would freeze over. Then we knew it had started."
IV looked irritatedly at Demyx, his wheat-colored hair spilling onto the paper. Demyx's face looked almost emotional, held captive by memories of a past life. "You know: making snowangels, men with sticks for arms and carrot-noses, flying across the landscape on wooden sleds..."
"All the trivial activities of fools," Vexen said shortly, shuffling the pile of notes against his leg for emphasis. "Those men don't breathe, the angels don't fly."
Demyx shook his head and smiled, as though he didn't expect Vexen to understand. "But they still had life," he said.
Vexen huffed impatiently. "A life that won't last."
IX was quiet for a moment, plucking a few more notes. The sound curled away from them, like a gentle and tangible wind, ruffling the front of Demyx's mohawk and nearly capturing Vexen's papers. The note rang out for a few seconds, and then faded away. There was a moment of silence, and then a drop landed on the first note page, smudging the fresh ink into a streak of black. That was all the warning IV had, because suddenly he was surrounded in a drenching downpour.
"IX, you fool!" he screeched, getting to his feet and gesturing angrily with the ruined papers. The other Nobody was already walking away, his instrument tucked under his arm. He spoke, and Vexen strained to hear him over the rush of water. "That's what you don't understand, Vexen. It was special because we knew it would never last."
Demyx was gone, but the Frozen Scholar could hear him as clearly as if he was speaking in his ear. "We're just like snow, you know."
That night, Demyx looked up from his instrument and glanced out the window. It was snowing.
She ran gentle fingers over blank pages eager to be made into something beautiful. The components of her memory book lay neatly on the table, and she would occassionally lift her eyes from her work to reach for the scissors with glue-stained hands. A box beside her contained all of the most precious ingredients: a yellow ribbon from a balloon Roxas had given her--
"Can I have two, please?" the young blond said, handing over the gil and receiving two balloons. He gave the yellow one to Olette, who tied the end of the ribbon around her finger so she wouldn't lose it, and kept the blue one for himself. As thanks Olette bought cotton candy, and they licked the sweetness off her lips as they enjoyed the end of summer festival. Olette cheered as Roxas won a few prizes from the festival games, including a plastic barrette which he hurriedly gave to her.
--a wooden stick left over from Pence's favorite ice cream--
Sweat stuck uncomfortably to her neck as the sun beat down, hot and unyielding. It was the hottest summer she remembered, and all she had really wanted to do was sit inside in the air conditioning and read, but Pence had showed up at her door bearing two sea salt ice creams and a big smile.
"Don't sit inside all day," he said, waving the dripping ice cream in front of her. "It's beautiful outside."
"It's too hot," she said, but followed him anyway. They walked beneath an eggshell-blue sky, lazy and quiet as children and dogs ran past. They reached the plaza in front of the train station and leaned against the fence. The city spread out below them like spun gold, fading into rolling green hills.
"Hey, Olette?" Pence asked after a moment. She turned, and watched the ice cream drip down his hand. He didn't seem to notice. He met her eyes and finally noticed the cold liquid splashing onto his shoes. He spent the next few minutes trying to clean up the puddle, and when she asked him what he was going to say, he just replied, "Nothing."
--a token Hayner had won in a game of cards.
"That's not a king, you idiot, that's a jack!" Seifer said as he squinted at the cards Raijin had placed on the table. It had been, surprisingly, his idea to play cards that night, although there was only one small lightbulb in the usual spot to see with. Hayner sat hunched over his hand, frowning thoughtfully. Roxas was next to him, scratching the back of his head in puzzlement as he considered his own cards. Pence was concentrating on the table, muttering something that sounded like, "...two Aces, then I'll..." Olette's gaze met Fuu's, who simply glared, and then sighed and looked down at the cards in her hand. She didn't have anything worthwhile that would help, although she could tell by Hayner's expression that he had something up his sleeve.
Seifer tossed a few cards onto the table.
"Full Station," he said smugly, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Hayner bit his lip, nervously appraising his hand. He had only two cards left, and it didn't seem like they were good ones. But Olette wasn't fooled.
"VICTOR," Fuu said sharply, making everyone flinch.
"Looks like no one can beat me," Seifer said, reaching for the small pile of gil and trinkets in the pot.
Slowly, a grin spread across Hayner's face. He raised the cards for everyone to see. Twilight Double. An instant win for the one to play it.
"Fooled ya."
When the fun was over and Hayner had collected his prize, and Seifer's posse had departed after calling him a number of unsavory names, Olette decided to head home. It was getting late, and she really wanted to start on her summer reading.
"Hey, Olette! Wait up!" Hayner called, catching up to her. He handed her the token.
"You beat Fuu with that Sunset Double; you should get her prize. His brown eyes were strangely serious as he handed it over to her. She smiled as she thanked him.
None were more special than the others, because each one told a unique and different story.
The pages were not looking so empty now; little reminisces lay in white pools of glue, and the scent of paper and art permeated the air.
But something was missing. Out of the box she pulled a packed of photographs, slightly crinkled on the edges but clear. Each moment was captured in a camera lens, irretrievable and precious. She glued the photographs of the gang--Hayner, Roxas, Pence, Olette--next to the other pieces.
She stopped and considered her work. She smiled at the countless memories caught in the pages of the scrapbook. But it still needed a title. She took an orange marker and wrote the name in neat, looping letters across the top of the first page: "Memories."
The next day, Olette woke up shaking, a strange and unexplainable feeling of loss in her chest. When she opened the scrapbook again that morning, she found some pages blank. Something wasn't right. There was a distinct lack of blue.
Notes: I read a theory on this board once that Saix's Other was an astronomer to Ansem the Wise, and the idea stuck. Inspiration also comes from the song "A Stranger" by A Perfect Circle.
The mirror was an elegant object, of a time and place long forgotten by the inhabitants of Radiant Garden. Its surface was dull with years of dust and debris, clustered between odds-and-ends and old indicipherable documents. Saïx lifted it to better get at the papers beneath, careful not to shatter the glass any more than it was already. Delicate cracks ran across its silver plane like pale spider webs. He traced them with his finger -- a black widow scuttling along in search of prey -- leaving a smooth trail in the dust.
He nearly discarded it in search of the important reports that Xemnas had sent him here to find, but paused, and bent down to peer through the window made by the line of his finger. An eye was watching him. It was narrow and glowing golden, with a small pupil, dark and endless. It was looking at him! He leaned closer, strands of hair spilling against the surface like indigo dye. He lifted a hand and wiped the rest of the dust away. A face stared back at him, eyes surprised and mouth slightly open. He shut his mouth, and the other face mirrored his action. Then the image in the mirror smirked back at him as he realized it was his own reflection. How foolish he was. That was the mirror's trick, reflecting the light of its surroundings and casting it back to its subjects eyes. He had never seen his reflection.
He scrutinized his face carefully. Blue hair, once inky black, long in front and cut untidily short in the back -- slashes of his broadsword -- framing his face, eyes that had once reflected the color of the night sky, turned Heartless gold with years dwelling the path between darkness and light, and twin scars criss-crossing the bridge of his nose (he could feel this). He stared into the mirror, through it, past it, and saw dim flickering silhouettes in the corners of his mind. He clutched his forehead, bent over the mirror and eyes shut tight against the reflection. But the images continued, pushing past years of living bordering on nothing.
The moon on a starless night. Colorful orbs dancing across a map of calculations. The sound of water (falling up). Moonlight-yellow, shadow whispers, glowing heart-shaped light rising from his chest as they pulled him under, falling-makeitstop-nothing but darkness... Empty and cold. Waking up to find rain against his face and a hollow nothingness in his chest. Anger (fake), rage (not real), tearing into himself so the pain told him he wasn't dead --
The mirror crashed into the far wall as he flung it away, wooden frame splintering like a spine against concrete, sharp moonlight-thin shards scattering in a broken web on the floor. The glass, continuing to reflect his dark profile, crunched under the heel of his boots as he stamped them even further into nonexistence. Some things, he decided, were better left forgotten. It was no use trying to make amends to the dead.
The Colors of Halloween
[KH COM: Sora, Riku, Kairi, Naminé; G]
Notes: A false memory. A lighter side to the witch's doings.
Yellow, brown, red, silver. There were memories in those colors. Two shades of blue, violet, sea-green. But they were not real, and as Naminé used them to form shapes on the blank pages of her memory-tablet, she felt both happy and sad at having to add those colors that didn't belong to a picture that was more real than crayons could ever create.
As Sora walked past the slate-colored buildings of Halloweentown, he suddenly remembered a night on Destiny Islands, the first time he and his friends had ever gone trick-or-treating without their parents. They had all met at Kairi's house, since hers was in the middle of all of theirs, and had to restrain their energy while they posed for pictures from the parents.
Riku got to stand in the back since he was the tallest, and he proudly showed off his cardboard sword and knight's costume and slashed at invisible monsters. Kairi was a princess dressed in pink with a plastic tiara, but when Riku said he would save her from the dragon she said she would just hit it with her shoe and run away. Sora had wanted to be a knight, but since Riku was going to be one first he settled for a pirate, and he got a sword anyway so it was okay. His mom had put some fake blood on his shirt with paint, and he scared little Naminé, who thought he had really gotten hurt. She was a little fairy, dressed in a sparkly white dress, and she waved her wand at him and said she was curing his boo-boos.
After that they walked from house to house and got lots of candy. Sometimes people would ask them to sing a song or do something funny to get candy. Riku and Sora had pretend fights with their swords, while Kairi jumped up and down and cheered for both of them and Naminé smiled nervously and peered behind her hands, worried that they would get hurt. Kairi would sing a cute little song about three little pumpkins and then curtsy at the end as though she was in a big play. Naminé was a little shy, but she was encouraged by her friends, and so, blushing just a little, she would recite a little poem she had written about a ghost that didn't have any friends but then met a family of goblins and was happy. The first time she did Sora said that her poem was too sad for trick-or-treating and she felt silly. The next few times she changed it just a little so it talked about the goblins' adventures instead.
Riku and Sora had a contest to see who could get the most candy, and Sora won but it was only because he took two handfuls one time instead of just one. Kairi said she thought Sora won, but only because Riku kept trying to scare her. Naminé kept the lollipops but gave them the rest of her candy.
They were almost back to Kairi's house when Naminé started to cry. Kairi was patting her back gently and told Sora and Riku that she'd lost her wand. Sora said he would find it and he and Riku went looking. Eventually Sora found it lying on the ground and gave it back to Naminé. She smiled and said thanks and held it tight after that. Sora said that it was a pirate's job to find treasure.
Notes: An exposition of the Frozen Scholar. The quote in the beginning is from "Good Country People" by Flannery O'Connor.
"Nothing--how can it be for science anything but a horror and a phantasm?"
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For as long as he could remember, Even loved to experiment. He had an insatiable curiosity about the world around him, the way all the pieces fit together and created a self-sufficient, organic machine. He felt that he wanted to understand everything. Once he trapped a firefly in a jar and observed it for days, barely sleeping, watching its futile movements inside its glass prison until it died. That was when Even learned about death. Surely it was the greatest mystery of all, he thought. Finally his life had a goal. He would learn the secrets of death.
Fate and destiny didn't fit into Even's world, but by some strange chance he ended up as an apprentice to Ansem the Wise. It was a cold winter that year.
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"And what if you fail?" she asked him frantically, clasping at the threadbare fabric of his coat. He pulled out of her grasp, gazing harshly into her eyes.
"I will never die, because I will never fail." That was the last time he saw her. He found the ring two days later, buried in the snow.
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Darkness held an endless fascination for Even, because it was the first step toward death. Xehanort also intrigued him, like a puzzle to be taken apart and put back together in new and interesting ways. Even treated his new obsessions as experiments worthy of all his life's effort.
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He failed, for the first time.
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"What will you call yourself?" the man with the golden eyes asked.
"Vexen. I shall begin my research immediately."
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He watched as ice curled like pale frigid vines across the snow-white skin of his hand.
His lips curved in a smile.
"Fascinating."
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There were twelve others like him. It became a tradition that the new members were greeted with a black coat and an examination by number IV. Vexen discovered VIII's element when several of his most precious chemicals reacted after the man touched them. And XII was another problem, poking around and ionizing his solutions with the electricity on her fingertips. Eventually, Vexen just gave up the whole business, passing them on to Lexaeus. Number V saw the frost creeping across Vexen's temples and silently obliged.
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Vexen realized suddenly, in the middle of a particularly tedious experiment, that he had already succeeded in his greatest experiment. Death was infinitely more boring than he had ever thought it would be.
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Number XI came to him once, all half-concealed smiles and veiled eyes like nightshade. Vexen didn't trust him (although that was no change).
"They say you're the scientist."
"What do you want?" Vexen had no patience for neophytes.
XI stretched out his hands. A scythe appeared in one, and a bouquet of pink roses in the other. The man leaned against one of Vexen's examination tables, his scythe like a deadly flower at his side. Vexen had once read of plants that lived in the deepest tropical jungles and fed on insects that wandered into their hungry mouths. XI reminded him of those plants.
"Don't you know it's all pointless? Nature has no need of science. It has accomplished nothing."
"Do not speak of things you don't understand!" Vexen snapped. Ice began to creep up the roses' petals like cool glass.
The pink-haired man smiled. "You should tell yourself that."
Vexen threw a beaker at his head, but the man was already gone. It hit the wall and shattered into a hundred pieces, shimmering like ice on the floor.
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"I'm intrigued by your choice of test subjects." Zexion appeared without a sound from the shadows, only seen and heard when he wished to be. The smaller man stood by Vexen's side, examining the form that lay on the table.
"He will soon be complete."
Zexion took a strand of the subject's silver hair in his gloved fingers. "Impressive. He is nearly exactly like the original."
"He is better than the original. He is perfect."
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They were all useless idiots! Lexaeus and Zexion, who sat idle when they knew their superiority was being threatened. Sora, because he could not see the lies cast upon him by the witch-girl. Even the Superior, because he had not seen that all of this would happen. Vexen felt betrayed and cheated. He was the only one, it seemed, who still remembered what the Organization was striving for.
I must take this into my own hands and right this foolish charade.
He could only hope that Roxas's memories were strong enough.
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The betrayal came without warning. Fire, ever the enemy of ice--how could he not have expected it?"
"Now you can tell me I don't respect my elders."
The first time Vexen died it seemed like he was watching his whole life unfold through a dusty, cracked microscope. His graduation certificate, his favorite coffee, the smell of her perfume, a firefly in a jar. He had felt as though a vacuum had opened in his mind, sucking it all away.
Now he could think of nothing at all.
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"He was a fool," Larxene said sharply, crossing her legs as she lounged on the couch. Marluxia took a book from one of the shelves (the faded lettering on its cover read Macbeth) and turning to face her. His hair always reminded her of rose petals; it was kind of disgusting.
"He trusted too much in something that he himself was defying." He opened the book, leaning against the arm of the couch. "Well, he should have expected I would have him killed. Ice always gives way to Spring."
He arrived in a forest. The trees were merely shadows in the darkness, but he knew them by the scent of life and growing things. The smell brought back memories: of cool green moss and brown earth, broken twigs and half-hidden tracks in the leaves. Xaldin breathed deeply for a moment (but only just--he had a duty to fulfill). Memories were the only precious things a Nobody could have.
He remembered the many autumn and winter days when he had hiked the steep paths of Radiant Garden's forests, bow and quiver strapped to his back and a knife attached to his belt. He had become familiar with nearly every acre of the forests, and knew which animal life and food sources to expect in each area. From adolescence he had been familiar with the bow, and his hands were calloused from much use. Many days he'd brought home a catch for his family, and later when he had lived alone he ate fresh meat nearly every night. Even when he was in the service of Ansem the Wise, he continued to seek a peaceful retreat to the shelter under the trees.
At twenty he built his own house, with timber from the forests he walked, grasses and mud from the wildlands on the outer perimeter of the Garden, and dwelt there in solitude. His was the heart of a hunter, and even in death the old urges could not be destroyed.
Now he hunted with spears instead of arrows, and the wind was his ally instead of his foe. His prey was also of a different kind; he sought hearts instead of animals, although both were game to him.
He braced his shoulders resolutely and started walking. Now was not the time for reverie; not when there was fresh prey to capture.
Dead leaves crunched beneath his boots; this world was in its autumnal phase. The season of death, when the trees lost their life-essence and slept in a comatose state, bereft of their beauty. It was oddly appropriate. Nobodies would never have another summer in the cold dampness of the Nonexistent World. And yet Xaldin did not miss it; he had made his decision, when he had willingly followed Ienzo into the darkness (And Ansem thought Xehanort was the puppeteer?). He regretted nothing.
In fact, a Nobody had many advantages over a human. Xaldin's senses were sharpened immensely. His eyes could penetrate the darkness like those of a cat. His ears picked up the slightest sound, the smallest rustle of leaves or lightest footsteps. He also had another sense, awareness of living beings and the ability to communicate silently to his comrades. The loss of petty emotions was no huge disappointment.
Soon he encountered a pair of tall iron gates, shut against intruders. But he was a Nobody. He feared no human constraints. Like a winter breeze Xaldin sifted his body through the spaces in the iron bars. His body solidified and he moved forward again.
He crossed a bridge of stone spanning a quiet stream, and passed through a pair of a thick doors. He was standing at the corner of a large courtyard. Moonlight cast a pale glow across the gray stones, illuminating several carved statues, standing motionless. Xaldin glanced with mild interest at the images blunt with age and harsh weather. Of more concern to him was the castle that imposed over the courtyard. It was old and crumbling, an ugly rough thing. It was completely different than the smooth, colorless architecture of his Castle. Xaldin thought he liked the change. One could tell much about a man by his possessions.
He began to stride toward the castle wall, an invisible figure in the dark of the courtyard, as his body cast no shadow (for something that did not exist could not impair light).
Slipping under the cracks between the heavy wooden front doors and the stone foundation was a simple task. The entrance hall was dark and silent. Xaldin tucked back his long braided hair with one hand and with the other raised the hood of his coat. For tonight, his task required mystery, and inspiring fear. To give his prey eyes to look into, a face to remember, would limit his ability. For tonight, he was nobody.
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The creature once called Prince Alexandre St. Claire thrust open the doors of his bedchamber, his blood still boiling from an argument with the girl. It was so tiresome, dealing with her--
He stopped. Someone was in his room. Someone was in his room!
"Welcome, Prince." The voice was deep and mocking, with a strange hollow quality, as though the speaker was not entirely there. It seemed to come out of the darkness like a winter draft.
"Who are you?" the Beast exclaimed, clawed hands clenched furiously. "You have no right to be here!" A figure stepped from the shadows. He seemed to be swathed in darkness. The Beast grabbed a candlestick near his hand and lit it with fumbling hands. The light seemed to be swallowed in the stranger's clothing. Only the man's eyes reflected any light; they were deep and blue and something inhuman, like shadows under the trees at midnight. He felt his heart stricken with fear.
"To answer your question, I am called Xaldin." He stood straight with soldier's precision, arms clasped behind him, perfectly at ease. He expressed no amazement at Beast's appearance. This disturbed the Beast more than anything else.
"What do you want?" he growled, ashamed at the blatant fear in his voice.
"What I want is not your concern," the stranger, Xaldin said. "But, for now, I'll accept what you have to give me."
"I will give you nothing!" the Beast snarled, striking out at the dark figure. His claws grabbed at air. There was a burst of sharp, cold laughter behind him. The Beast turned, stumbling, saw Xaldin standing beside his precious rose.
"You will do as I say, Beast." His tone clearly showed he expected no argument. "I know of the girl who stays within this castle."
Belle! His breathing was heavy, enraged. "A village wench. She means nothing to me!"
"Is that so?" said Xaldin, gesturing with a black gloved hand. "Shall I kill her then, since she is no consequence to you?"
"No!" The Beast inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his anger. His fears were answered, then. He did care for the girl. It hardly seemed possible.
"Leave Belle out of this, or I'll kill you."
Xaldin laid his hand over the glass case of the rose, his intention clear. "Then, you had better start listening to me."
Notes: I read a theory that Tifa was actually a ghost, and it intrigued me. Her determination to find Cloud was a quality I could admire.
It had been eight years since she had seen him last, since the place she called home was drawn into the darkness. She was running, blindly, searching for the boy with the face of a child and the eyes of an adult. Laughter like thunder, and the sword of General Sephiroth shining in the light of the burning town. Yellow eyes in the blackness, and screams ringing in her ears. Claws ripping at her skirt and his blue eyes, saving her. He turned, swords clashed in a river of blond and silver. Someone grabbed her hand, her friend Aerith, green eyes strangely calm, pulling her away as she called his name. She separated from the survivors in Traverse Town, and chased him across worlds, following the light in her heart and what was left in his. All she had was a name and a memory.
She traveled among the vast stars, bartering passage on Gummi vessels with the little money she had, offering to work on the ship to earn her keep. She ate and slept little, training until her legs felt like lead and her heart seemed to tear from her chest. She had no map or compass, no photographs or letters, but only her intuition. On a small backwater planet with rough bars and rougher residents, she learned of a yellow-haired man carring a large sword on his back. She rented space on a warrior's ship and headed to Olympus. The grumpy goat-legged satyr who greeted her at the door said he knew a man named Cloud, who had left two years ago on a Gummi ship that had arrived from another world. She left again to find this new world, reaching for the darkness that lay in his heart. She dragged herself across stardust and comets, her strength and resolve never fading, even as her body burned away. She became a ghost of flesh and bone, unlike a Heartless in that instead of darkness she was only light. But her heart ceased to beat, her skin was pale and cold. A star shone in the distance, brighter than any other. That was where she headed.
Finally, she was home. It was only a shadow of what it had been: the castle, once a magnificent structure of pale marble shining in the sun, was torn with ugly bronze pipes and untamed vines, meek and feeble next to the towering costruction equipment. Once she had walked among beautiful lush gardens among gleaming houses, smelling the bright flowers and laughing in the sunshine. Now the streets were lined with rubble, the verdant hills a barren rocky wasteland, the air filled with smoke and dust. She walked through the cobblestone streets, thinking of the times she had run through them laughing, in a game of tag or hide-and-seek, tugging Cloud along by the hand as he protested that he had to go to fencing practice. There was no laughter now. The few children she passed were solemn as they carried tools to the workers or helped their parents with chores.
She passed by the workers and merchants, a shadow among them, invisible in their view. Eventually her eyes settled on the towers of the castle gleaming in the autumn sunlight. She started towards it, her feet following familiar paths she had often traveled as a child. She had never been inside the castle, as council meetings were reserved for meetings of the privileged class (mostly esteemed lords, merchants, and scientists). However, children were allowed to play in the courtyards, and that was were she met Cloud and Aerith. Cloud was a soldier's son and lived in the barracks, and Aerith was the daughter of a middle-class merchant, and sold flowers to help her father. They became almost unseparable, and later met a studious loner named Squall and an optimistic girl named Rinoa. When she did reach the castle entrance, she found it nearly buried in blue rock formations and ugly pipes. The gates stood crushed and rusted, the emblem of Ansem the Wise twisted like origami. As she stood in front of the decayed castle, she knew that she would find what she was looking for.
The deep halls of the castle basement, the only part left intact, were cold and damp, Heartless staring from the shadows with their luminous eyes. She opened every door she passed, searching through aged documents, diagrams showing the anatomy of the heart and human mind, and chemical tests half-finished sitting on dust-covered tables. Finally she reached a door at the end of a long white hall. She found no man with yellow hair, but a boy with eyes like the sky and two strange talking animals. She had heard of the three: Sora, the fate of the worlds, and his two companions searching for
their lost king. They saw her as a normal person, and she wondered at this boy and the light that seemed to shine from his smile. She drifted in like a black-clad cloud and away again, leaving them baffled and staring. She could wait for no one; she had only one thing on her mind. She left the castle with no clues for her search, yet on her way she saw a man with scruffy brown hair and a gunblade, and a girl with eyes like the hills of the country and a long braid. Squall and Aerith. Squall's face was serious, thoughtful, unheeding of anything around him. Aerith was talking gently, placing a hand on his arm. Tifa thought, although she wasn't sure, that Aerith glanced at her as she walked by.
Days later, the Heartless invaded. She helped the boy of the Keyblade fight the creatures, and as she broke through them with kicks and punches that could break through steel. Years of martial arts training made the battles quicker, although it need not have mattered. Her light burned their claws, and there was no heart for them to steal. She started back for the borough, although on the way a navy-blue and brown blur passed her by, shrieking with glee. She glanced over her shoulder, smiling, as Yuffie's shuriken hit a Heartless in the eye. Even eight years later, Yuffie was the same as ever. As she stood at the top of the wall defending the city, she thought she
could see yellow among the black.
At night she passed by warmly-lit houses, laundry swinging like pale phantoms on its lines. She came to a clean wooden house, windows shut against the cold. She gazed past the white curtains and looked into a dining room. The table was neat, and she smiled slightly as she recognized her friends. Aerith poured tea as she laughed, and Tifa knew it was a quiet and gentle laughter. Cid, the man who had saved them those years ago, was talking excitedly, waving his hands for emphasis. Yuffie was helping Aerith serve the drinks, nearly spilling a glass of water in Squall's lap. He was leaning back in his chair, occassionally saying a comment, sometimes even smiling. When Aerith put a plate of food in front of him, his eyes lingered on her face and Tifa thought she saw Aerith blush. It was the same way he had once looked at Rinoa. She watched them as they ate (Aerith's cooking had always been delicious). It was nice to see them all together again, although there was something in her that regretted that she would never be a part of it again. Aerith passed by the window on the way to the sink after dinner was finished, and Tifa ducked out of sight. She didn't think they could see her, but all the same, she knew they couldn't help her.
The door opened, light spilling out onto the street. Tifa looked up,
surprised.
"Aren't you cold?" Aerith asked. Her raspberry-colored sweater and corduroy pants were as immaculate and free from wrinkles; she had always kept her clothes clean, except when it came to gardening. Her green eyes looked straight into Tifa's coffee-colored ones. Tifa considered saying no, but had never lied to Aerith and didn't want to start. Although they were only two years apart, Aerith had been like an older, kinder, wiser sister to her.
"Yes," she finally replied. "So you can see me too."
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Aerith asked. She sat next to Tifa where she leaned against the side of the house.
"Guess not. But you should know that I'm not really 'me' anymore. I think the light did this." She held up her black-gloved hands. They felt real.
"I haven't seen you in a long time," Aerith said, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. "Were you looking for him?" She was watching Tifa's face carefully. The other girl looked at the ground, knees drawn up to her chest. She spoke quietly, musingly. "You were the only one he ever liked. I could always tell. I tried everything to make him happy, to get his attention. And we became friends I think." She looked at Aerith. "But he only really looked at you."
Aerith smiled, as enigmatic as usual. "I think I was trying to understand him," she said. "I wanted him to talk to me. You got him to laugh. That's the important thing."
"You think so?"
"He doesn't talk to me, even now. He's got a lot on his mind."
Tifa sighed. "I've been looking everywhere for him. I died for him. But now I don't know what to do."
"Keep searching," Aerith replied. "He's here."
"He's here? He really is?" Tifa jumped to her feet, excitement making her muscles jittery. "Where? How do I find him?"
Aerith stood up gracefully, brushing the dirt from her clothes. "Tomorrow go into the barren lands beyond the wall. You'll find him in front of the fortress down there."
Tifa hugged Aerith tightly. Her chestnut hair smelled like flowers. "Thank you! I will find him, I will! Tell the others 'hi' for me!" She ran away without another word towards the barracks, disappearing into the shadows.
Aerith watched her for a moment, knowing in her heart that she would never see Tifa or Cloud again. She went back to the warmth inside.
"Where were you, Aerith?" Yuffie asked, looking up from where she was playing cards with Cid.
"Talking to a friend," she replied calmly, sitting next to Leon to watch.
Tifa did find Cloud the next day, and confronted the man who had haunted her nightmares for years, with the man who haunted her waking thoughts. Light and dark met and clashed, and in the end they faded into the sky together. The next day Aerith sang a prayer as rain fell from the sky, and the land turned to green.
Notes: Written to the theme of "Teenage Rebellion." I saw a fanart for this pairing, and since then I've been a devoted fan. There's a longer story in the works. Girl/Girl.
After a while, Olette stopped caring about Hayner and Pence finding out and making fun of her. She didn't care if they saw the way her mouth quirked into a secretive grin at the mention of Fuu's name, or how she never walked home with them and wouldn't say why (the all-girl's private school down the road let out in fifteen minutes and she had to wait).
People said that relationships were all about communication, but Olette found that funny because her favorite moments were the times they sat and watched the sunset, with no words exchanged between them. And Fuu didn't talk much anyway, but Olette was okay with that because there were better ways than words to communicate, and Olette thought she was beginning to understand.
You look cute in your uniform, did I ever tell you that? Olette said as she breathed into Fuu's hair (and it smelled like raspberries today).
Olette didn't care if people thought it was wrong, if they got strange stares from the other girls, because with Fuu's arms around her she couldn't possibly imagine what could be so bad about it. She couldn't remember being happier.
Notes: I wanted to see if I could write about Sora's feelings in a realistic way, so this drabble was born. I also wanted to try to convey the personality changes that happened in KH2. I really do like this couple when they're written well. Boy/Boy.
Sora stopped trying to find a word for what he and Riku had. They were best friends--that had always been, since the day he threw sand in Riku's face when he was three, and would never change--and there were times, when the storm clouds gathered outside his window and he found himself looking across the water to the island where they used to play, that he knew he wouldn't have gotten far without Riku. The boy who always seemed to know what he needed most, whether a pat on the shoulder in encouragement or a punch to say What are you doing?
And they were once rivals, playing their games like naive island children always do, racing and swimming and laughing with Kairi cheering them on. She was still rooting for them, but in a different way now.
There were plenty of things he tried not to think about, after returning to the islands, thoughts and feelings and images that kept surfacing in his mind. But after a while he started to notice: the way his gut seemed to drop as though he was falling from the tops of the coconut trees, the way his gaze lingered, in ways it shouldn't. And what was once a clean label of "best friend" suddenly blurred to "bestfriend-rival-somethingelseentirely" Riku.
Sora was not very good with words. His comfort was in feeling, in knowing. He and Riku had always been able to understand each other with other means of communication.
So he never had to tell Riku how he felt. A look and a kiss, and Riku understood his message perfectly.
Curiouser and Curiouser
[KH gen: Axel, Cheshire Cat; G]
Notes: After reading Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, I decided to have some fun with two characters who have similiar mad grins. Definitely read it if you haven't.
The mission briefing called the place Wonderland. Axel was not the type to admire scenery, but even he had to stop and take a moment to get his bearings. Falling an indeterminate distance down a rabbit hole will do that to a person, and he wondered if drinking that potion had been the right thing to do. He could practically hear IV lecturing about "the dangers of unknown substances." He wondered what Vexen would make of this world, where nothing seemed to happen the way it was supposed to.
Axel smirked and turned his attention to the mission at hand. "Bring me the heart of the Red Queen," Xemnas had said. Axel gave his Assassin minions the instructions and sent them to find the way to the Royal Castle. He would take the heart from the Queen himself.
The path turned into a thick forest. Fields of flowers bordered the entrance, and as he passed he could have sworn a group of poppies was watching his steps.
The air didn't feel right, but Axel wasn't worried. He looked forward to what the unknown had to offer. Suddenly he heard a voice from the tree tops.
"Are you lost, or are you found?" Axel looked up to see a large Cat sitting on the tree above him. He'd seen enough of strange things and worlds where animals weren't what they seemed that he wasn't surprised.
"Who are you?" he asked, though he knew the question would do no good. The Cat grinned, and Axel realized just what a strange place this was.
"I am only a Cheshire Cat, or whatever word you want to call me," the Cat said, its round yellow eyes fixed on the man's face. "It's you I'm more curious about. You aren't a man, yet you look like one." Its teeth looked sharp, but Axel knew it was no threat.
"I am VIII," Axel said. He'd heard of the intelligence of cats, but its comment had unsettled him.
The cat looked at one of its paws in what Axel supposed was boredom. "The world must have gone mad," it said. "Creatures who look like men and smell like nothing, who think they're numbers." Its grin widened further, as if it had just told a joke.
"I think you're the mad one," Axel said, with a grin to mirror the Cat's.
"Oh, we're all mad here," the Cat replied with a flick of its tail. "But I like you. You're madder than most I've talked to. That silly girl was completely in over her head, I'm afraid, and the Queen is another matter entirely..." For some inexplicable reason the Cat had begun to vanish, and only its head was left before Axel realized what it had said. Its powers of disappearing were too much like his own.
"The Queen is who I am looking for. Tell me how to find her."
"I fancy a game of croquet," it said, and only its grin remained. "Best look for me there, in her courtyard." And then it was gone.
Well, Axel thought, watching the place where the Cat had vanished. It looks like I'm going to be interrupting a very important game.
Heart of the Sea
[post-KH2: Kairi/Tia Dalma; PG-13]
Notes: Takes place some time after KH2. Kairi decides she can't wait for Sora any longer. Inspired by the song "Voodoo" by Godsmack. Spoilers for Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End as well as being girl/girl.
Sora goes missing one day, and Kairi decides that, this time, she will be the one to save him. Her footsteps across the stars lead her to the sea-scented bayous and bogs of the pirate days, searching for her lost light. Her boat drifts through the fog, and she is mesmerized by the glimmering light of fireflies. Shadows flit by, half-seen shapes watching. She gathers her courage and asks their help. They tell her to seek the shamaness, that Tia Dalma will tell her the way.
The house is small and ramshackle, and as Kairi steps nervously inside she wonders if she has made a mistake. Various objects of witchery hang from the ceiling, dried snakeskins and bones, pickled salamander eyes in green jars. Kairi looks around, and for the first time since she has set out on her journey, she is afraid.
Finally, a woman steps into view. Her eyes and face are dark, and she wears a tattered dress and silver locket.
"Are you Tia Dalma?" Kairi asks, and she finds the woman beautiful.
"'Tis one of my names, though there are more," she replies, and her teeth are black as she smiles. "But who would seek my services?" She steps closer, eyes measuring, a slender hand upon her hip.
Kairi does not hesitate when she gives this strange woman her name. "I am looking for my friend, Sora," she explains. "He is the Keyblade master." She has little hope this woman's trickery can help her, but she has seen magic and miracles before.
"Ah," Tia Dalma replies with a knowing smile. "The Keyblade bearer. I seen the darkness spread through this world, suck it dry like a plague. I was called upon to curse the dark creatures. They would try to take me heart, but ha! the heart of the sea cannot so easily be tamed." She touches the locket hanging around her neck with stained fingers.
"Can you help me?" Kairi looks into the woman's eyes, which are deep like earth and just as cool. Tia Dalma smiles and touches a lock of Kairi's hair. The girl feels her pulse quickening, wants to look away but cannot.
"I require payment," the shamaness whispers, her voice a musical lilting sound.
Kairi's mind goes blank. "What would you have me give?"
Tia Dalma chuckles, and the sound is surprisingly innocent and girlish. She leans closer. Her breath smells of fish.
"You 'ave the sea in your eyes." Her hand touches Kairi's face, thumb stroking the pale skin of her neck. "I would have them burn with passion."
Kairi finds her voice, at last. "So you would use your voodoo to seduce me?"
The look in the woman's face is unreadable. "They called me Calypso, once. The Heart of the Sea. They caught me and caged me in this frail, useless form. I see it in your face, girl. You too wish to be free."
The girl from Destiny Islands finds no words to say. She lets Tia Dalma kiss her, push her down on a ragged cot, and her lips taste like salt and ink and bones. And for a time she forgets about everything, as their bodies curl and intertwine in the throes of passion. She forgets about Sora and the darkness. She is free.
Notes: In my personal canon for KH I've thought that Roxas and Naminé were the only Nobodies who could dream during sleep because their hearts were still in the world.
In her dream, she sees the sky. There is laughter and motion. The sun burns her skin, and she runs to the water, its icy foam splashing around her. She tastes salt on her tongue and smells it on the light breeze. A boy's voice calls her name, and she turns to greet him. Her dress is wet, but she doesn't care. Two boys are waving to her, one with messy brown hair and eyes like a summer sky, the other with silver hair that covers his eyes, and something restless about his stance. The boys exchange a glance and start running, and as she hurries to follow them, bare feet leaving trails in the sand, she calls after them.
Don't leave me behind! she says. When they reach the hut that the three of them had built, they break out in laughter and collapse together on the sand, faces gleaming with sweat and happiness. Then the brown-haired boy looks at her, his face suddenly serious. We would never forget you, Kairi, he says. And she knows it is true.
In her dream, her name is Kairi. But then she wakes up, and it is not the sunny beautiful island she sees, but the walls of her white prison. The laughter of children has never warmed those cold halls, and she has never seen the sky. Only Sora's memories give her an escape, and she hopes that, someday, she will be able to thank him. She doesn't tell Marluxia what she sees, because he would tell her that Nobodies cannot dream. But they desire their hearts again, and isn't wishing also a kind of dream?
She turns to a fresh sheet in her notepad and begins to draw. She must capture those memories before she forgets, before she makes him forget.
Larxene knows she is not a poetic person, but sometimes, when she watches Marluxia, she can find no other way to describe him. She loves to watch him, study his features with half-lidded eyes and a smirk. She envies his grace, his soundless footfalls, his hands gesturing with finesse bred of nobility. His walk is deliberate as a cat's, his eyes like autumn nights as he speaks one night before the other members. She hears his words, his voice soft but passionate, vehemently striking the wall as he becomes lost in his speech. The Superior tells him to be silent, and she can't see the look on Marluxia's face but she know's he's angry, and in a swirl of black leather he is gone. Her legs long to follow him, tell him that she will listen and that he doesn't have to look so sour anymore.
Somehow, though she does not believe in fate, she finds him one day. He is in the Castle library, draped like a content feline in an old armchair, his hair brushing the pages as he reads. Surely he knows she is there, for among them all he seems the most intuitive, and she fears to disturb him. But as she's walking away she hears his voice, and she looks behind her to see if he is talking to someone else. But his eyes are no longer on the book; they are on her and for a moment she is frozen. "Would you like a castle?" he asks, and the question is so unexpected she doesn't know what to say. But she doesn't want to seem stupid, not to him, so she lifts her head a little higher and pretends that she's not really as interested as she is. She knows he can see through her but she doesn't mind. "Why?" she says. He sits up a little straighter now, carefully folds over a page of the book to save his place, and regards her more seriously. "Come with me," he says, "and I'll show you." He stands and walks by her, almost touching, confident that she will be obedient and follow. She does.
They walk out into a courtyard which lies in shadow under the eternal night. She stops, confused, as a myriad of strange and unknown scents drifts around her. "This is my garden," he says. She looks around, eyes wide, arms crossed from cold and confusion. She thinks her Somebody may have liked flowers; a memory of jasmine and brown eyes surfaces and she pushes it away. The small garden is filled with night-shaded plants, leaves whispering in the faint breeze, tangled around one another in a constant but never-moving dance. The place is unlike anything else in the Castle, so disorganized, so full of vibrance and life that the cold gray stone they left behind is suffocating in contrast. But she can only look and think of the irony; there is no heart to be moved.
When Marluxia speaks, she realizes she has almost forgotten about him. He leans down to touch a pale bud on a rosebush.
"They thought I was delusional for wanting to grow flowers here," he says, and she thinks his eyes are closed, but it might just be the shadows.
"Maybe they were right," she says, and she doesn't want to admit to herself that she finds him infinitely more fascinating than the greenery. He looks back at her, and for a moment there is something on his face that is ugly an unexpected thorn prick when she expected only a smooth petal. But he laughs, a quiet, bitter chuckle, and she thinks she'll have to be more careful around him; even the prettiest flowers can be poisonous.
"I don't doubt that they find me--unconventional," he admits, his fingers gesturing to illustrate his point. "But they are all too blind, too consumed by the Superior's dream-weaving to think for themselves." He pauses a moment, his eyes searching the darkness for a moment, perhaps because he had not realized that they might not be alone. Larxene watches with interest, observing the way his eyes become serious and his gestures more poignant. This must be something he has deeply thought about, and she finds herself wanting to hear more. He is like those convoluted puzzles that her Other Self loved, filled with strange twists and turns and dead-ends, the prize buried deep beneath. He is watching her now, perhaps waiting for her reaction; caution and distrust are a necessity. She doesn't think she'll ever trust him--he's too unbridled, too unpredictable--but she can listen.
"Tell me more," she says, and he smiles again. He extends a hand, fingers slender and strong beneath the leather gloves, and she places her own over his. She will never allow herself to be caught, but she can dodge the net forever if she must.
Days come and go, if time ever truly does pass in the Nonexistent World, and plans grow and change. They hardly speak before the others, for that would have been suspicious, but they meet secretly in dark corners, footsteps tracing the way to hidden rooms and soft linen. What they do there is called love-making, but she has to laugh at the name because what they have cannot be called love, cannot be called by any name, but just is, and that's enough for her. The moments of their intimacy are just fragments; the faint scent of roses, his disheveled hair strange beneath her fingers, lying exhausted in a tangle of pale limbs. He tells her his greatest secrets at these times, whispering plans of betrayal and alliance, and he says her fervor is a refreshment. She's his savage little nymph, but still she manages to dance out of his grasp.
His arms are around her now, but whether an expression of caring or possession she doesn't know, yet she supposes the latter. He is not a man to pick favorites lightly, not unless he thinks she will ultimately be of some value to his plan. Gradually he's told her of his aspirations to overthrow the Superior and make the Organization into something wonderful, something far greater, and he leans forward to whisper something in her ear.
"We'll build our kingdom from lightning and roses, and you can be my queen." And she believes him.
It was the kind of sunset that made him stop what he was doing to watch. Cloud walked to the edge of the battlement, gazing out toward the red and gold glow streaking the horizon above Villain's Vale. It was a beautiful sight, the colors mixing together like spatters of some cosmic artist's paintbrush. Cloud didn't usually like art; he just didn't understand it. But this held his gaze, held him entranced and transfixed like a little kid staring through the window of a candy store.
The sky was darkening now, the red giving way to a deep purple. The gold was now a slim stroke in the vast sky, nearly overwhelmed with the darker color. It mirrored the darkness in his own eyes. He knew it dwelled there, behind the glow of his blue iris, bright as a field of sunlit periwinkles. He knew it would never go away; it was a part of him, and he would never get a good night's sleep unless he could extinguish that darkness. It appeared when he least expected it, a river of silver and black leather and demon's wings -- his demon.
The sky was completely dark now, and stars smiled at him from above. He would never give in. Sephiroth was the darkness and he was the light, and, as Aerith had told him, the sun always rose after the darkest night.
