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[xSeraphym]

inspired by x___g e r m a n i c

H O W-- M U C H-- P A I N-- H A S-- C R A C K E D-- Y O U R-- S O U L
H O W-- M U C H-- L O V E-- W O U L D-- M A K E-- Y O U-- W H O L E
Y O U ' R E-- M Y-- G U I D I N G-- L I G H T N I N G-- S T R I K E
i ' v e-- t r a v e l e d-- h a l f-- t h e-- w o r l d-- t o-- s a yxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

R É P O N D S-- À-- M A-- T E N D R E S S E ---- / ---- V E R S E - M O I-- L ' V R E S S E

Test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test.

Test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test test.

i-- b e l o n g-- t o-- y o u

inspired by x___g e r m a n i c

[xSeraphym]

Palette that I like and decided to put here:

FD64A6
EE286F
A30050
7D0473
1F051C

[xSeraphym]

♉ Xeren

000000
012548
005780
89D104
608302

♏ Larxene

045958
37A18B
F2D230
D6BC0F
B58C00

♎ Luxord

BA0000
D16B04
FFBC21
4E00A1
5121FF

♑ Zexion

C2C6CC
9EAFBA
7A9DB9
4C7A91
1D3857

[xSeraphym]

W A T C H-- T H E-- E N D-- T H R O U G H-- D Y I N G-- E Y E S
S H O W-- M E-- W H E R E-- F O R E V E R-- D I E S
T A K E-- T H E-- F A L L-- A N D-- R U N-- T O-- H E A V E N
i-- a m-- n o t-- p r o u d ,-- c o l d - b l o o d e d ,-- f a k exxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

I-- W I L L-- N O T-- F A L L ---- / ---- I-- W I L L-- N O T-- F A D E

Veryx spoke again, easing some of the Agent’s worries (as well as encouraging some others). At least, Xeren brooded, he had done well in coming in the first place. Perhaps the blonde would not be disconsolate…but that was yet to be seen. The Deleterious Chemist suggested that Xeren consider what it would be like to lose Xylida; and he did.

What would it have been like to lose Xylida? Xeren imagined. A few months ago, it wouldn’t have mattered. She would have been deemed a failure – an accident, like she surely was. Easily replaced – or perhaps not, since she wasn’t supposed to exist at any rate. Maybe there wouldn’t have been a new Replica as a replacement; maybe there wasn’t a need for one. But where did Xeren stand now? Xylida wasn’t simply another Replica. She was someone – one of the few people – who Xeren found easily tolerable – someone whose company he even enjoyed. An acquaintance; a friend; a sister. Someone he cared for and, pride-be-damned, trusted; neither of which were qualities easily earned. How would he feel if he lost that?

Anger, distress, melancholy; chaos, desolation, sadness; misery, bitterness, hate.

Hate, hate, hate…

And Xeren realized that he had mourned for someone, whether he knew it or not – for Saïx, whom he refused to believe was dead, but did not refuse to believe was gone. He had experienced all of that and more, knowing why without precisely knowing why, not in any way he could explain until now. He had mourned for the Luna Diviner, for the loss of his scarred creator. But Saïx had returned. The knowledge, or lack thereof, of where Saïx had gone, what he had done, and the fact that nothing disproved that he might return had served as a cushion for Xeren. A chance, a possibility – it had given him hope. Saïx had returned. But there was no hope for Dax. Dax would not return.

The realization had Xeren’s mind reeling. What if he hadn’t had hope – or worse, what if hope had failed him? That was where Veryx stood at that moment, forlorn and bereft of hope. The Deleterious Chemist had summed it up nicely, if in a phrase that screamed understatement: it would hurt.

The Enigmatic Agent sat gently beside Veryx on his bed, much closer than was normal for the bluenette. Proximity was the least of his worries here. For a long moment he said nothing, instead simply looking ahead at nothing as he contemplated his words. When he did speak, it was with deliberate slowness. “To be hurt…is understandable,” he began, his low baritone voice carrying the weight of his thoughts in its cadence. “Is emotion weakness?” he mused the question, then answered himself: “Emotion itself…I don’t believe it is. Not necessarily, at any rate. Consider Saïx…” At this, a grim half-smile forms, “Formidable man that he is, he is doubly so when incited into going berserk. No…I do not think emotion is weakness, but rather it is what one does with it that determines whether they are weak or strong. Emotion spurs action, as they say.” Xeren paused for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps that is why the heart is so powerful.”

It was a long moment before Xeren spoke again. He reflected upon the events of Christmas Eve in a detached way, as a scientist might – once again showing signs of Xemnas’s parentage. After a while, the bluenette looked to Veryx. “Spar with me,” he said suddenly; seriously. He glanced away momentarily, realizing how abrupt and bizarre his request was. “I apologize. Sparring…it is something I like to do when I am unsettled. I thought: perhaps your emotions could be used to fuel a vengeance against the Cuore – surely, Dax was not overcome by mere Heartless. But considering that tracking down the Cuore lately has not only been useless, but would be stupid to do on your own, and that much of the Organization will be too tired or unwilling to accompany you, perhaps you would like to find other methods to utilize your emotions.” Xeren looked at Veryx again, noting the blonde’s clothes. “But perhaps changing would be a wise idea, if you’d like to do so…” he added, an amused half-smile threatening to paint his features.

i-- w i l l-- s h u t-- t h e-- w o r l d-- a w a y
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Y O U ' V E-- N E V E R-- S E E M E D-- S O-- T E N S E ,-- L O V E
I ' V E-- N E V E R-- S E E N-- Y O U-- F A L L-- S O-- H A R D
D O-- Y O U-- K N O W-- W H E R E-- Y O U-- A R E
a n d-- y o u ' r e-- t h e-- f o o lxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx x

W H E N-- Y O U-- W A L K-- M Y-- W A Y ---- / ---- H O P E-- I T-- G I V E S-- Y O U-- H E L L

Ugh, Christmas. It was Larxene’s first thought upon waking up. If her Christmas Eve had been any sort of omen, then surely Christmas wouldn’t be any better.

The Savage Nymph hadn’t bothered staying in the Grey Area for much longer than it took to yell at Demyx for her present. She had easily dodged his sloppy throw (as if the kid was going to peg her with a pair of antlers) and watched as he, along with Xaldin (who had been toting the Gambler and the Freeshooter), left the Grey Area. Where they had gone, Larxene didn’t know – she hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation beforehand. Or, more accurately, she had been blatantly trying to ignore them, and everyone else for that matter. After the incident with Xeren (ugh) and losing her bet with Luxord (ugh again; that was the last time she’d wager against him – what had she been thinking?), only Marluxia’s appearance (or perhaps that of the the former Axel, the Nobody Axel) had a chance of brightening her mood. After all, causing trouble was a lot easier when the whole room wasn’t against you. When Demyx had finished giving out Christmas presents, the Nymph had been far from any mood to be friendly with anyone. She left to her room without bothering to wait any longer for Marluxia; she didn’t even spare Axel, who looked a lot more jovial than he had in the past few weeks, a second glance. Of course the living stick-figure would be happy now that his precious Roxas had returned.

She hadn’t brought Demyx’s gift with her, so it was with much dismay that she discovered the ineffectual thing lying innocently on her bed. “What the hell?” the Nymph exclaimed in disbelief. Demyx honestly had the mentality of a child – Larxene found it hard to believe that the Nocturne was older than she was. How did one innocently go about getting that kind of thing (because it wasn’t simply just a plain black bra – it looked more like something that belonged in a lingerie set) at his age (which was technically twenty-seven, if you considered his pre-Nobody memories) without some ulterior motive? How does someone go through someone’s laundry without seeing something wrong with it? Larxene had blatantly ignored the insignificant article of clothing until she was ready for bed, and then she had simply tossed the thing to the floor.

In the morning, Larxene was greeted (once again) by blinking white Christmas lights that refused to let her sleep in. She hoped they would be gone the next day. “I hate Christmas,” she complained, sitting up. A small, gold-wrapped box on her night stand caught her eye. A quaint silver bow adorned the very centre of the box, with a card attached that said “Merry Christmas, Larxene; From Santa.” The Nymph picked it up and shook it, sure that she hadn’t done anything to warrant a gift from the obese, bearded man. Something solid clattered against the inside edges of the box. She opened it, intrigued, and then smirked. No, indeed, she hadn’t done anything to warrant a gift from Santa. “And Christmas hates me,” she said with a sneer. “We’ll get along just fine.” She stood and, on the way to her bathroom, tossed the chalky black lump of coal in the trash.

“Maybe we’ll get a day off today!” she wondered aloud as she ran the water in the shower, waiting for it to heat up. “I’d kill for some vacation time. Maybe Christmas won’t suck, after all.” She didn’t keep her hopes up – vacation was rare, particularly when there was an extreme need for work, like now, and the Organization had never been let off for holidays in the past. She spent a long time in the shower, though, hoping to put off work for as long as she could – and the hot water felt particularly good. That was another thing she disliked about Christmas, and this particular Christmas, especially: she had been perpetually cold since the snowfall started. The World That Never Was was cold, of course – if there was a sun, it never showed itself – but apparently the castle wasn’t equipped to handle freezing temperatures.

Larxene dressed simply when she was done and dry: a dark teal, long-sleeved blouse; black thermal leggings for warmth more than anything; and black fitted jeans over the leggings. Socks and the standard Organization-issued clothes – boots, gloves, and coat – followed shortly thereafter. Larxene had seen the need for the extras early on – traveling through the Corridors of Darkness was a b***h without her coat – but wearing the same thing every day, or at least appearing to, really sucked in her opinion. And the Organization coats were so fashion-missing. Larxene had tried to personalize hers by changing the zipper from black to silver and letting out her sleeves. She had seen others do their own personalization – Demyx’s shoulders were more pointed than normal, Luxord’s coat looked like it was too big, and Axel’s coat was too small for the already too-small man. She rolled her eyes. She knew there were a lot of people out there who would kill for Axel’s secret, whatever that might be, to staying stick-thin. Thankfully (for both Axel and Larxene), the Nymph didn’t particularly care – nor had she a reason to at that particular moment. Who did she have to impress?

i-- h o p e-- t h a t-- i t-- p u t s-- y o u-- t h r o u g h-- h e l l
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T H E-- J O K E R-- L A U G H S-- F R O M-- T H E-- S T R E E T
H E-- W E A V E S-- H I S-- W E B-- B I T T E R S W E E T
A N D-- I T ' S-- A L L-- I N-- T H E-- D R A W-- O F-- T H E-- C A R D S
a i n ' t-- n o-- c r i m e ,-- w i n n i n g-- a l l-- t h e-- t i m exxxxx xxxxx xxxx

R U N-- M E-- L I K E-- T H E-- N U M B E R S ---- / ---- R O L L-- M E-- L I K E-- T H E-- D I C E

Sometime between then and now, in the early hours of the morning, Luxord had found sleep – or perhaps sleep had found the Gambler. Now, the blonde felt more than heard or saw the opening and closing of a Corridor of Darkness. He opened his cerulean eyes in a squint, his lips pursed; Xaldin had decided to leave the table early, it seemed. “The Lancer is more entertaining when inebriated,” Luxord announced, yawning. He was quite aware of how true his statement was. Xaldin would never have participated in the fun during the previous night had he been sober. How the quartet had fit on the bed in their tangle of limbs and bodies was beyond him: the bed was big, but perhaps not fit for four fully-grown men. Still, he had slept comfortably – Demyx’s head was pillowed on Luxord’s naked torso, and the Gambler lay practically pinned to Xigbar’s side – he didn’t know where Xaldin had slept.

Luxord carefully removed Demyx from his person and sat up. What time was it? The Gambler of Fate and master of time answered his own question even before it became coherent thought – it was around eight in the morning. 8:13 and…25 seconds, if he were to be exact. Apparently, the Organization – or at least the men in Xigbar’s room – were being given a day off for Christmas; Luxord, at least, was usually up bright and early in the morning. Despite the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed on the previous night, there was no trace of a hangover on the Gambler of Fate’s features – he felt perfectly fine. “Mmm.” Number X yawned again. “Xemnas must be feeling charitable today. How lucky for us,” he chirped, stretching. His usual knowing half-smile already adorned his countenance. “Well, good morning and happy Christmas,” Luxord said. He slid off the bed and stood unashamedly – what use was there for modesty after the previous night? – and added as an afterthought, “I hope you don’t mind my use of your shower, Xigbar.” He didn’t offer an excuse as to why he couldn’t use his own shower, nor did he wait for an answer – positive or negative – from the Freeshooter before making his way to the bathroom. He washed his face first, the first part of his morning routine, more out of habit than anything. Luxord hadn’t always been an early riser, or, at least, not a willing one – washing his face with cold water had never failed to rouse him from sleep. He ran the shower and waited for the torrential water to warm. He didn’t understand how people showered before they slept, instead of as they woke – the Gambler preferred to start the day clean. And after the previous night…he certainly wasn’t clean. His smile spread into a grin as he stepped into the shower. He hummed contentedly to himself, although the shower’s downpour drowned out the sound, and washed.

He still grinned in his ever-present smirk when he was finished. The Gambler toweled himself dry unabashed with one of Xigbar’s towels, sure that the Freeshooter wouldn’t mind – he had spares, after all. Luxord’s mood didn’t even falter when he considered traveling to his room briefly to fetch a spare set of clothes via a doorway to the Corridor of Darkness – a somewhat daunting task without his coat. Towel wrapped around his waist, Luxord opened a raging dark portal and stepped through it.

The feeling of the darkness within the Corridor leeching at flesh and spirit was not pleasant. It wasn’t pleasant without a heart, and it was worse so with one, now that the darkness had found something new to wear and worry at. Only the strong-hearted and strong-bodied – namely, the members of Organization XIII – could travel through it stripped bare of their coats, and even then it tended to take a toll on a person who wasn’t at their healthiest. Luxord didn’t fit that bill, though, and though he felt the discomfort of darkness trying to leech the stuff away from him, that was all he felt – simply discomfort. He arrived at his room without troubles, although his curiosity piqued at the addition to his bedside table. Xylida’s gift had been returned there, but it had been added to: a set of glasses of different kinds – martini glasses, tumblers, wine glasses and more – all sharing the same simple pattern as Xylida’s gift. A small card rested against one of the glasses that simply said “From Santa.” Luxord smiled. “Why thank you, Father Christmas,” he said aloud, turning away to find a new set of clothes.

He decided to go for simple – a straightforward white button-down dress shirt and black denim pants. What did it matter, anyway, with the coat that covered everything? Luxord donned a fresh coat, boots, and gloves – he didn’t particularly care for the idea of travelling through the Corridor of Darkness again without them. Finally, he returned to Xigbar’s bathroom through the same Corridor, closing it behind him. Ten emerged clean, dry, and fully-clothed. “I’m out,” he announced to Xigbar and Demyx, mischievous smile back on his face, “And you’re lazy. Up with you, articles. Do you intend to sleep all day?” His scolding words were in good humor, however, much like everything else about Luxord – the man never seemed to be upset over anything. “It’s nearly nine in the –”

The Gambler of Fate was suddenly interrupted by the sound of an explosion. “Bloody hell!” he cried, ducking away from the sound. Without giving any conscious thought to the summons, Fair Game appeared in his hands, each of the razor-edged cards bigger than normal and fanned out, ready to be put to use. A few minutes of ear-ringing silence followed the explosion, and then he heard another one on a smaller scale prior to the sound of weapons clashing. Luxord left Xigbar’s room to find Larxene and Xeren facing off in the hallway just outside. Xeren looked completely cool and apathetic – no change from his normal visage. The same couldn’t be said for the Nymph, however – her countenance screamed frustration. Both had their weapons drawn, although a few of Larxene’s knives had embedded themselves into the ground or a wall. Large blackened scorch marks indicated where Larxene had apparently decided it would be a good idea to cast Thundaga. The Gambler of Fate could see the woman preparing another spell.

“Now, now, children,” Luxord said wearily, dropping his hands and desummoning Fair Game. “Let’s settle this like civil people, shall we?”

i-- p l a y-- f o r-- b l o o d
_________________________________________________________♎

T H E-- E N D I N G-- I S-- J U S T-- A-- B E G I N N E R
T H E-- C L O S E R-- Y O U-- G E T-- T O-- A-- M E A N I N G
T H E-- S O O N E R-- Y O U ' L L-- K N O W-- T H A T-- Y O U ' R E-- D R E A M I N G
w e l l-- i f-- i t-- s e e m s-- t o-- b e-- r e a l ,-- i t ' s-- i l l u s i o nxxxxx xxx

F O R-- E V E R Y-- M O M E N T-- O F-- T R U T H ---- / ---- T H E R E ' S-- C O N F U S I O N-- I N-- L I F E

Pale lids lifted to reveal astoundingly bright (while still remaining deep) cerulean eyes. They were blank, as was the expression of their owner, who couldn’t find it in himself to be interested in the morning. Or the day – what time was it? The Schemer sat forward and rubbed his face tiredly, using the motion to also try to tame his ever-present bed-hair, or at least get some of it out of his face. It was the first time that VI had woken up in his own room in a while. He had remained outside long after the Butterfly’s departure, long after the feeling of being cold out in the snow had come and gone. He had spent a while simply gazing at Kingdom Hearts, trying to think of nothing or at least divert his attention to the intrigue of the heart-shaped moon that had been the goal of he and his colleagues, although those attempts failed on several occasions, and his thoughts were often brought back to the loss of his Replica. After a long while – he had no means by which to measure exactly how long, other than that he was numb from the cold – Zexion went to his room through a Corridor of Darkness, stood under hot water until he could feel it scalding his skin, and went to bed.

Now, the effects of his late night had begun to show themselves on his weary countenance; his face looked drawn, and shadows formed under his eyes. He wasn’t tired anymore – or at least, not physically – so he stood and made his way to the shower to actually get clean this time as opposed to simply standing under the water. As he came fully awake, Zexion wondered how Lexaeus was doing with the news; he had looked as shaken as Zexion felt the previous night. The Silent Hero was just that – silent – but he was far from emotionless. It just took someone who knew the man, like Zexion, well enough to know how to read the minute changes in expression in order to determine his emotions. It also helped that Zexion could “smell” the emotions of his colleagues as simply as he could smell a flower or a fresh cup of tea. The Schemer sniffed once and found to his surprise that the Silent Hero wasn’t in the castle…although his emotions had made a clear imprint. A new scent had come to his attention as well…familiar, but he couldn’t place its owner. Whoever it was, they weren’t in at that particular moment, either.

VI dressed simply in black clothes when he was done with the shower and dried off – not his normal attire, but fitting for the time: Zexion was in mourning. Once fitted into his coat, gloves, and boots, the Schemer headed out of his room, irresolute about where he planned on going. He ignored the wrapped gift addressed to him, not in the mood for holiday festivities.

He decided on the kitchen for breakfast and tea; if anything, the hot drink would help him feel better at least somewhat. Zexion shivered, as if his body replied to the thought. He didn’t want to get sick after the previous night’s foray into the cold and wet. What he would do afterward, he didn’t know – perhaps check on the new scent, or look for Lexaeus, or chat with Xylida, who currently was somewhere in the vicinity of the Grey Area. The Cloaked Schemer made enough tea for two when he arrived at the kitchen, deciding on the latter of the three options; he certainly did not feel up to chatting about Dax’s death, and whatever the new scent was, there was no alarm involved around it, so Zexion put the investigation low on his list of priorities. No, now, the surest way to lift his spirits was to visit with the Butterfly; and perhaps, if she was also upset, he could offer her some comfort. He felt stronger around the woman.

The Replica did lounge in the Grey Area, where Zexion had predicted he would find her. As he’d thought, the sight of Xylida lifted his mood noticeably. He wasn’t better, he still mourned, but the weight of the loss on his shoulders now seemed that much easier to bear. “Good morning, Xylida,” he greeted politely, sitting across from her. He frowned at her drink; he hadn’t thought that she would make her own, although the idea made perfect sense. Certainly, he was out of it that morning. “I apologize…I made you some tea, but I neglected to think that you would have made something for yourself already.” He set both cups on the table, otherwise unconcerned with having gone through the effort – which was almost nonexistent – of making an extra cup of tea. Zexion followed the Butterfly’s gaze to the looming Kingdom Hearts beyond the great wall-window of the Grey Area. “Last night was the first I’ve seen of it, as well,” he said conversationally in his cool, tenor voice. “Intriguing, certainly. Although incomplete, I can smell its power even from here…” He mulled on the thought for a moment, reaching to grasp his cup of tea and sipping from it while he mused. After a long pause, he asked, “How are you this morning?”

b l i n d-- y o u r-- e y e s-- a n d-- s t e a l-- y o u r-- d r e a m s
_________________________________________________________♑

[xSeraphym]

W A T C H-- T H E-- E N D-- T H R O U G H-- D Y I N G-- E Y E S
S H O W-- M E-- W H E R E-- F O R E V E R-- D I E S
T A K E-- T H E-- F A L L-- A N D-- R U N-- T O-- H E A V E N
i-- a m-- n o t-- p r o u d ,-- c o l d - b l o o d e d ,-- f a k exxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

I-- W I L L-- N O T-- F A L L ---- / ---- I-- W I L L-- N O T-- F A D E

“Nnnghh.” Xeren woke slowly, like every morning: first trying to shut out the effulgent, glaring nets of Christmas lights by squinting his eyes shut; then, realizing that the effort was futile, the Replica turned and buried his face into his pillow. His dreams the night before had been peacefully blank, his imagination perhaps too weary from the events of the evening to formulate anything worth remembering in the realm of wakefulness. That peace had been broken by something…the systematic, shifting flashes of the incandescent lights, perhaps. Xeren sighed in his state of half-consciousness, his unmoored mind already drifting aimlessly back into his impassive dreaming.

The sounds of something scrabbling pricked at his consciousness, rousing him from sleep again. Conceivably, this was what had woken him in the first place, as opposed to the lights – Xeren’s keen hearing picked up even the smallest of sounds at great distances. It was odd that a sound had roused him from sleep, though: the apathetic Replica generally tuned out the small, indistinct sounds while he slept to keep just that from happening. With a sense of hearing that rivaled that of a hound’s, it was impossible to rest without learning to tune out the world around him. Xeren ignored the sound, not bothering to move; likely, someone had probably just scuffed by his room outside on the way to doing whatever it is the Organization did when it was way-too-early in the morning. The Enigmatic Agent was far from the kind of person who enjoyed waking up in the mornings – particularly after the intense sparring match he had had with Veryx the night before. He had been pleased with the results; the duo had sparred until the early hours of the morning, and, at the very least, the Deleterious Chemist seemed to be simply too tired to grieve at that particular moment. Even Xeren had been tired after their match.

Something whimpered. In his room. The Replica growled a low, menacing sound, wondering blearily who would have trespassed into his space while he slept. If it wasn’t Xemnas, Saïx, Xylida, or perhaps Veryx, they wouldn’t be there for long. They wouldn’t be living for long. And considering none of the aforementioned had ever whimpered, in his experience, the Agent doubted that whatever company he had was welcome. Not even those four were welcome at that particular moment – merely tolerable. Xeren lifted his head and peered dully through the messy screen of cobalt hair, searching for the source of the intruding din. The whimpering had seemed oddly muffled, as though it had come through something, although it had definitely sounded near enough to be in his room. Something scuffled again, and Xeren’s eyes zeroed in on the source of the sound: a large box under the oversized tree that the Replica had tried to throw out nearly a month before. As he watched, the box made more noises, and even shuffled around a little bit, like there was something inside it trying to escape. Little wuffling noises, more whimpers, emitted from the blue-and-black-wrapped box.

“Oh, no.” Xeren groaned at the sight. This must be his present from Santa Claus – who else had a reason to gift him with anything? – and it was something that lived. Oh, no. Whatever it was, the Replica knew he wouldn’t be able to take care of it. Even he wouldn’t have the patience. He pushed himself up to get a better look at the ineffectual box, inwardly groaning for a second time when it moved again. “Okay, what are you?” he asked aloud, slipping out of his bed. He was bare, save for a pair of black boxers; the chilled air raised goose bumps on his skin. Xeren knelt and carefully unwrapped the box, exciting whatever lurked within. He barely lifted the lid before a dog – or a puppy, more accurately – leaped out and into his lap, nearly knocking over the disconcerted Replica with the force of its momentum. The white-faced creature – a Malamute, by the looks of it – regarded Xeren with heterochromatic eyes: one a striking, nearly white ice-blue colour, and the other a rich chocolate brown. A happy grin stretched across its mischievous-looking face as it panted, its pointed ears perked straight up. Xeren studied it with his own sunset eyes, and leaned back in disgust as the thing jumped forward and licked his face. “Alright, you have to go back to Christmas Town…or wherever it is you’re from.” He lifted the small, fluffy thing up and away from him, noting that it was, in fact, a she – not that it mattered. The pup was far from ugly – her coat was sleek, ash-grey and white, with a white mask around her eyes and muzzle. She wagged her tail fiercely at the attention. “No,” Xeren said firmly, placing it on the ground. “Don’t get comfortable…we’re leaving soon.” He stood and went to the bathroom to shower, unhappy about the fact that he’d have to visit the holiday town. If anything, he was thankful that at least whatever abilities Santa Claus had kept away the Heartless – Xeren was sure it would have been difficult to fight with lights strung around him.

The puppy was waiting for him when he got out of his shower, sitting on the tile floor and peering out into the rest of his room like a sentry stationed at guard. When Xeren stepped out, she turned and barked happily, tail wagging furiously. He frowned at her while he toweled dry, the force of his glare seemingly enough to quiet the creature. Were dogs smart creatures? Xeren had no idea, but this one seemed to understand his expressions well enough. He dressed normally – all black, long sleeves to counteract the cold of winter, with the standard Organization gloves, coat, and boots. For simplicity’s sake, he decided to tie up his hair in a loose ponytail, not bothering to style it out of his face like he normally did. But before he did anything else, Xeren was going to have coffee.

“You, stay here,” he told the puppy. His voice was anything but firm – he had no idea how to make the creature stay put, and had still less of an idea as to whether or not the dog could actually understand him. But she sat and cocked her head at the Enigmatic Agent, her pointed ears turned down a bit, as if sad that he was leaving. Satisfied, Xeren turned and exited his room to head to the kitchen. He lingered there while the coffee pot worked, gazing at the heart-moon just visible out of the windows. His heart grew anxious at the sight of it for reasons that he couldn’t explain, like it had the night before. Kingdom Hearts… he mused silently. His citrus eyes burned with unexplained emotion as they gazed at the radiant moon. Would it make him go berserk, like it did for Saïx? Perhaps that was something he would have to ask Vexen… Xeren inwardly cringed at the thought of having to visit the unpleasant scientist, but eagerly took the opportunity to postpone his trip to Christmas Town – even Vexen was preferable to being dressed like a Christmas tree.

Xeren lingered for a while yet, enjoying his morning luxuries in silence. The pup had managed to wake him before much of the rest of the Organization, it seemed. Eventually, reluctantly, he left to make his way to the lower levels of the castle, to the lab where Vexen worked. Xeren was sure the Chilly Academic would be awake by now – whenever now was.

He heard the din of footsteps – Larxene, by the sound of their light tapping – far before she noticed him. Of course he had; Xeren had inherited Saïx’s practically supernatural senses. He heard her hesitation, and he heard her try to silence her steps; he even heard the soft sounds of her weapons coming into existence, tearing the fabric of reality. His lips twitched, pressing into a thin line in a grim expression. Was she really going to try to attack him?

The answer to the question presented itself almost before he finished thinking it: his keen ears easily picked out the sound of one of the Nymph’s knives headed in his direction. At the last possible moment, Xeren simply stepped aside, fluidly shifting the motion into a turn as he drew his weapon into existence in a manner that one might draw their weapon out of a scabbard. He lifted his weapon with both hands in front of him in a defensive position as if it weighed nothing. “I see now why they call you a traitor,” he said in an inflectionless voice. Her bewildered expression amused him, but that emotion did not show on his countenance. Clearly, she hadn’t taken into account the fact that Xeren could hear her long before she could see him. “You would attack your own allies for the sake of revenge, in a war where we can’t spare one loss, let alone two. Pitiful.” He lifted his weapon higher and crouched slightly, ready to move at a moment’s notice. He had to be fast against Larxene; because clearly, she aimed to kill. “Do you really want to fight me?”

Larxene bristled at his comments. She spat at him, retorting, “You’re not an ally. You’re a doll, made to fight for us.” Xeren frowned at her sentiments, and, seeming to sense his hesitation, Larxene threw another of her knives. The Replica quickly moved to deflect the projectile harmlessly aside, and the Savage Nymph made a frustrated sound. Xeren could feel the charged energy as she prepared a spell, and shifted his stance, ready to move. He couldn’t parry lightning. “You’re nothing to us; just an expendable, replaceable puppet. You’d do well to remember that!” She lifted an arm to release the spell, and in the fraction of a second between her motion and the spell’s strike of white-hot lightning, Xeren moved quickly out of range, ending up behind the woman. He winced at the onslaught of sound and light that struck him hard, but resolved that the damage was minor in comparison to what would have happened if he hadn’t moved. Deep black scorch marks burned into the floor and walls around where he had previously stood.

The Nymph’s next spell was more sloppily cast, and Xeren easily dodged it. Perhaps Larxene would have been a formidable target if her anger hadn’t gotten the best of her, but as of now her moves were too easily predictable. She took a step toward him, apparently giving up on magic and long-range attacks. Xeren prepared to fight her in close-quarters combat, but Luxord spoke up before she could come any further. The man’s appearance seemed to completely disarm the Nymph, and Xeren straightened up. He wasn’t sure if she was actually done yet, or if she was merely distracted, and sure enough, she spoke:

“Don’t think you’ve won this, puppet. You can’t beat me.”

Xeren rolled his eyes at her childish words and dispelled Solbrandr before stepping forward again to head to Vexen’s lab. Larxene grabbed his wrist on his way past – a grave mistake on her part – and began to speak again. “Hey, I mean it—” she began.

The Replica, in no mood to mess around, grasped her wrist with his free hand. The Nymph winced in response to his natural strength. He forced her hand off of him and held it up for a moment, wanting to keep her attention. “I suggest not touching me in the future, unless you want to lose your hand.” He nodded to the hand he held before dropping it like a venomous snake. He left the woman to nurse her wounds and continued toward the labs.

The next steps he heard certainly weren’t familiar to him – nor were they even human. Xeren glanced behind him, wondering what on earth could possibly be bothering him this time, and spotted his pup – no, the puppy, because she certainly wouldn’t belong to him by the end of the day – tentatively following along at a respectful distance. Her ears lied flat against her head and her tail was still behind her; had she been following him this entire time? Xeren rolled his eyes. “Go,” he commanded, waving her away. She didn’t seem inclined to follow his direction. “I thought I told you to stay in my room,” he nearly growled. The puppy took another step toward Xeren, clearly unwilling to leave after the recent spectacle. Her actions forced another eye-roll from the Replica. “Fine,” he said, exasperated. “Stay out of my way, or you’ll get stepped on.” The Malamute bounded forward, like she did understand his words, and followed him closely enough to irritate the Agent, but always skipping out of the way in time to avoid getting trod on.

The subtly fervent sounds of arguing reached his ears some time before he arrived at the lab. Veryx and Vexen, arguing? Xeren had never thought he’d hear the two scientists ill at ease with each other. An azure eyebrow quirked high when he heard that he was the topic of conversation. His lips twitched upward in dry amusement. So Vexen didn’t approve of Xeren, it would seem. The bluenette Replica arrived in the lab just as Veryx left through a portal to the Corridor of Darkness. The husky pup managed to slip her way into the lab before the door closed, and sat eagerly next to Xeren when he stopped. “Is there a problem, Vexen?” he asked idly, as though he hadn’t heard a deal of the Academic’s conversation with Veryx.

i-- w i l l-- s h u t-- t h e-- w o r l d-- a w a y
_________________________________________________________♉

[xSeraphym]

Another moment on your own
A life shot full of holes
Calm your restless soul

Hear the roaring of the gun
I deal with darkness ruthlessly / I love the way it feels

Gunsmoke on the setting sun
#739999
#BACCC2
#919191
#6D5B6E
#472D43




Helpless hysteria
A false sense of urgency
Possessed by anxiety

All wound up / On the edge / Terrified
Overwhelmed by this complex delirium

Run, try to hide
#127A7E
#0EE6B0
#65BAAA
#ADC7B4
#6A7D7B




I was walking straight with my head down.
Following the orders you sent down,
Without sound, not a sound.

Covered up my face from the sunshine.
Cave away my freedom / I resigned.

Staring face to face with the enemy.
#000A42
#003060
#306078
#9EADAD
#BACECF




Once my life was plain and clear
Once my ignorance was bliss
Binding promises were made

Grand illusions lead astray
Nightfall came to my troubled mind

Ice cold winds swept my heart away
#BFDB5A
#DBEF8F
#8BBCD6
#5886AD
#2F6394

[xSeraphym]

A N O T H E R-- M O M E N T-- O N-- Y O U R-- O W N
A-- L I F E-- S H O T-- F U L L-- O F-- H O L E S
C A L M-- Y O U R-- R E S T L E S S-- S O U L
i-- d e a l-- w i t h-- d a r k n e s s-- r u t h l e s s l yxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

H E A R-- T H E-- R O A R I N G-- O F-- T H E-- G U N



i-- l o v e-- t h e-- w a y-- i t-- f e e l s
_________________________________________________________ ♊

H E L P L E S S-- H Y S T E R I A
A-- F A L S E-- S E N S E-- O F-- U R G E N C Y
P O S S E S S E D-- B Y-- A N X I E T Y
a l l-- w o u n d-- u p-- / -- o n-- t h e-- e d g exxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxx

O V E R W H E L M E D-- B Y-- T H I S-- C O M P L E X-- D E L I R I U M



r u n ,-- t r y-- t o-- h i d e
_________________________________________________________ ♊

I-- W A S-- W A L K I N G-- W I T H-- M Y-- H E A D-- D O W N
F O L L O W I N G-- T H E-- O R D E R S-- Y O U-- S E N T-- D O W N
W I T H O U T-- A-- S O U N D ,-- N O T-- A-- S O U N D
c o v e r e d-- u p-- m y-- f a c e-- f r o m-- t h e-- s u n s h i n exxxxx xxxxx xx

C A V E-- A W A Y-- M Y-- F R E E D O M---- / ---- I-- R E S I G N E D



s t a r i n g-- f a c e - t o - f a c e-- w i t h-- t h e-- e n e m y
_________________________________________________________ ♉

O N C E-- M Y-- L I F E-- W A S-- P L A I N-- A N D-- C L E A R
O N C E-- M Y-- I G N O R A N C E-- W A S-- B L I S S
B I N D I N G-- P R O M I S E S-- W E R E-- M A D E
g r a n d-- i l l u s i o n s-- l e a d-- a s t r a yxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx x

N I G H T F A L L-- C A M E-- T O-- M Y-- T R O U B L E D-- M I N D



i c e-- c o l d-- w i n d s-- s w e p t-- m y-- h e a r t-- a w a y
_________________________________________________________ ♒

[x___s y l p h]

H E L P L E S S-- H Y S T E R I A
A-- F A L S E-- S E N S E-- O F-- U R G E N C Y
P O S S E S S E D-- B Y-- A N X I E T Y
a l l-- w o u n d-- u p-- / -- o n-- t h e-- e d g exxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxx

O V E R W H E L M E D-- B Y-- T H I S-- C O M P L E X-- D E L I R I U M

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r u n ,-- t r y-- t o-- h i d e
_________________________________________________________ ♊

[x___s y l p h]

A N O T H E R-- M O M E N T-- O N-- Y O U R-- O W N
A-- L I F E-- S H O T-- F U L L-- O F-- H O L E S
C A L M-- Y O U R-- R E S T L E S S-- S O U L
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H E A R-- T H E-- R O A R I N G-- O F-- T H E-- G U N

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i-- l o v e-- t h e-- w a y-- i t-- f e e l s
_________________________________________________________ ♊

[x___s y l p h]

I-- W A S-- W A L K I N G-- W I T H-- M Y-- H E A D-- D O W N
F O L L O W I N G-- T H E-- O R D E R S-- Y O U-- S E N T-- D O W N
W I T H O U T-- A-- S O U N D ,-- N O T-- A-- S O U N D
c o v e r e d-- u p-- m y-- f a c e-- f r o m-- t h e-- s u n s h i n exxxxx xxxxx xx

C A V E-- A W A Y-- M Y-- F R E E D O M---- / ---- I-- R E S I G N E D

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s t a r i n g-- f a c e - t o - f a c e-- w i t h-- t h e-- e n e m y
_________________________________________________________ ♉

[x___s y l p h]

O N C E-- M Y-- L I F E-- W A S-- P L A I N-- A N D-- C L E A R
O N C E-- M Y-- I G N O R A N C E-- W A S-- B L I S S
B I N D I N G-- P R O M I S E S-- W E R E-- M A D E
g r a n d-- i l l u s i o n s-- l e a d-- a s t r a yxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx x

N I G H T F A L L-- C A M E-- T O-- M Y-- T R O U B L E D-- M I N D

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i c e-- c o l d-- w i n d s-- s w e p t-- m y-- h e a r t-- a w a y
_________________________________________________________ ♋

[x___s y l p h]

W A T C H-- T H E-- E N D-- T H R O U G H-- D Y I N G-- E Y E S
S H O W-- M E-- W H E R E-- F O R E V E R-- D I E S
T A K E-- T H E-- F A L L-- A N D-- R U N-- T O-- H E A V E N
i-- a m-- n o t-- p r o u d ,-- c o l d - b l o o d e d ,-- f a k exxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

I-- W I L L-- N O T-- F A L L ---- / ---- I-- W I L L-- N O T-- F A D E

Veryx spoke again, easing some of the Agent’s worries (as well as encouraging some others). At least, Xeren brooded, he had done well in coming in the first place. Perhaps the blonde would not be disconsolate…but that was yet to be seen. The Deleterious Chemist suggested that Xeren consider what it would be like to lose Xylida; and he did.

What would it have been like to lose Xylida? Xeren imagined. A few months ago, it wouldn’t have mattered. She would have been deemed a failure – an accident, like she surely was. Easily replaced – or perhaps not, since she wasn’t supposed to exist at any rate. Maybe there wouldn’t have been a new Replica as a replacement; maybe there wasn’t a need for one. But where did Xeren stand now? Xylida wasn’t simply another Replica. She was someone – one of the few people – who Xeren found easily tolerable – someone whose company he even enjoyed. An acquaintance; a friend; a sister. Someone he cared for and, pride-be-damned, trusted; neither of which were qualities easily earned. How would he feel if he lost that?

Anger, distress, melancholy; chaos, desolation, sadness; misery, bitterness, hate.

Hate, hate, hate…

And Xeren realized that he had mourned for someone, whether he knew it or not – for Saïx, whom he refused to believe was dead, but did not refuse to believe was gone. He had experienced all of that and more, knowing why without precisely knowing why, not in any way he could explain until now. He had mourned for the Luna Diviner, for the loss of his scarred creator. But Saïx had returned. The knowledge, or lack thereof, of where Saïx had gone, what he had done, and the fact that nothing disproved that he might return had served as a cushion for Xeren. A chance, a possibility – it had given him hope. Saïx had returned. But there was no hope for Dax. Dax would not return.

The realization had Xeren’s mind reeling. What if he hadn’t had hope – or worse, what if hope had failed him? That was where Veryx stood at that moment, forlorn and bereft of hope. The Deleterious Chemist had summed it up nicely, if in a phrase that screamed understatement: it would hurt.

The Enigmatic Agent sat gently beside Veryx on his bed, much closer than was normal for the bluenette. Proximity was the least of his worries here. For a long moment he said nothing, instead simply looking ahead at nothing as he contemplated his words. When he did speak, it was with deliberate slowness. “To be hurt…is understandable,” he began, his low baritone voice carrying the weight of his thoughts in its cadence. “Is emotion weakness?” he mused the question, then answered himself: “Emotion itself…I don’t believe it is. Not necessarily, at any rate. Consider Saïx…” At this, a grim half-smile forms, “Formidable man that he is, he is doubly so when incited into going berserk. No…I do not think emotion is weakness, but rather it is what one does with it that determines whether they are weak or strong. Emotion spurs action, as they say.” Xeren paused for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps that is why the heart is so powerful.”

It was a long moment before Xeren spoke again. He reflected upon the events of Christmas Eve in a detached way, as a scientist might – once again showing signs of Xemnas’s parentage. After a while, the bluenette looked to Veryx. “Spar with me,” he said suddenly; seriously. He glanced away momentarily, realizing how abrupt and bizarre his request was. “I apologize. Sparring…it is something I like to do when I am unsettled. I thought: perhaps your emotions could be used to fuel a vengeance against the Cuore – surely, Dax was not overcome by mere Heartless. But considering that tracking down the Cuore lately has not only been useless, but would be stupid to do on your own, and that much of the Organization will be too tired or unwilling to accompany you, perhaps you would like to find other methods to utilize your emotions.” Xeren looked at Veryx again, noting the blonde’s clothes. “But perhaps changing would be a wise idea, if you’d like to do so…” he added, an amused half-smile threatening to paint his features.

i-- w i l l-- s h u t-- t h e-- w o r l d-- a w a y
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Y O U ' V E-- N E V E R-- S E E M E D-- S O-- T E N S E ,-- L O V E
I ' V E-- N E V E R-- S E E N-- Y O U-- F A L L-- S O-- H A R D
D O-- Y O U-- K N O W-- W H E R E-- Y O U-- A R E
a n d-- y o u ' r e-- t h e-- f o o lxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx x

W H E N-- Y O U-- W A L K-- M Y-- W A Y ---- / ---- H O P E-- I T-- G I V E S-- Y O U-- H E L L

Ugh, Christmas. It was Larxene’s first thought upon waking up. If her Christmas Eve had been any sort of omen, then surely Christmas wouldn’t be any better.

The Savage Nymph hadn’t bothered staying in the Grey Area for much longer than it took to yell at Demyx for her present. She had easily dodged his sloppy throw (as if the kid was going to peg her with a pair of antlers) and watched as he, along with Xaldin (who had been toting the Gambler and the Freeshooter), left the Grey Area. Where they had gone, Larxene didn’t know – she hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation beforehand. Or, more accurately, she had been blatantly trying to ignore them, and everyone else for that matter. After the incident with Xeren (ugh) and losing her bet with Luxord (ugh again; that was the last time she’d wager against him – what had she been thinking?), only Marluxia’s appearance (or perhaps that of the the former Axel, the Nobody Axel) had a chance of brightening her mood. After all, causing trouble was a lot easier when the whole room wasn’t against you. When Demyx had finished giving out Christmas presents, the Nymph had been far from any mood to be friendly with anyone. She left to her room without bothering to wait any longer for Marluxia; she didn’t even spare Axel, who looked a lot more jovial than he had in the past few weeks, a second glance. Of course the living stick-figure would be happy now that his precious Roxas had returned.

She hadn’t brought Demyx’s gift with her, so it was with much dismay that she discovered the ineffectual thing lying innocently on her bed. “What the hell?” the Nymph exclaimed in disbelief. Demyx honestly had the mentality of a child – Larxene found it hard to believe that the Nocturne was older than she was. How did one innocently go about getting that kind of thing (because it wasn’t simply just a plain black bra – it looked more like something that belonged in a lingerie set) at his age (which was technically twenty-seven, if you considered his pre-Nobody memories) without some ulterior motive? How does someone go through someone’s laundry without seeing something wrong with it? Larxene had blatantly ignored the insignificant article of clothing until she was ready for bed, and then she had simply tossed the thing to the floor.

In the morning, Larxene was greeted (once again) by blinking white Christmas lights that refused to let her sleep in. She hoped they would be gone the next day. “I hate Christmas,” she complained, sitting up. A small, gold-wrapped box on her night stand caught her eye. A quaint silver bow adorned the very centre of the box, with a card attached that said “Merry Christmas, Larxene; From Santa.” The Nymph picked it up and shook it, sure that she hadn’t done anything to warrant a gift from the obese, bearded man. Something solid clattered against the inside edges of the box. She opened it, intrigued, and then smirked. No, indeed, she hadn’t done anything to warrant a gift from Santa. “And Christmas hates me,” she said with a sneer. “We’ll get along just fine.” She stood and, on the way to her bathroom, tossed the chalky black lump of coal in the trash.

“Maybe we’ll get a day off today!” she wondered aloud as she ran the water in the shower, waiting for it to heat up. “I’d kill for some vacation time. Maybe Christmas won’t suck, after all.” She didn’t keep her hopes up – vacation was rare, particularly when there was an extreme need for work, like now, and the Organization had never been let off for holidays in the past. She spent a long time in the shower, though, hoping to put off work for as long as she could – and the hot water felt particularly good. That was another thing she disliked about Christmas, and this particular Christmas, especially: she had been perpetually cold since the snowfall started. The World That Never Was was cold, of course – if there was a sun, it never showed itself – but apparently the castle wasn’t equipped to handle freezing temperatures.

Larxene dressed simply when she was done and dry: a dark teal, long-sleeved blouse; black thermal leggings for warmth more than anything; and black fitted jeans over the leggings. Socks and the standard Organization-issued clothes – boots, gloves, and coat – followed shortly thereafter. Larxene had seen the need for the extras early on – traveling through the Corridors of Darkness was a b***h without her coat – but wearing the same thing every day, or at least appearing to, really sucked in her opinion. And the Organization coats were so fashion-missing. Larxene had tried to personalize hers by changing the zipper from black to silver and letting out her sleeves. She had seen others do their own personalization – Demyx’s shoulders were more pointed than normal, Luxord’s coat looked like it was too big, and Axel’s coat was too small for the already too-small man. She rolled her eyes. She knew there were a lot of people out there who would kill for Axel’s secret, whatever that might be, to staying stick-thin. Thankfully (for both Axel and Larxene), the Nymph didn’t particularly care – nor had she a reason to at that particular moment. Who did she have to impress?

i-- h o p e-- t h a t-- i t-- p u t s-- y o u-- t h r o u g h-- h e l l
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T H E-- J O K E R-- L A U G H S-- F R O M-- T H E-- S T R E E T
H E-- W E A V E S-- H I S-- W E B-- B I T T E R S W E E T
A N D-- I T ' S-- A L L-- I N-- T H E-- D R A W-- O F-- T H E-- C A R D S
a i n ' t-- n o-- c r i m e ,-- w i n n i n g-- a l l-- t h e-- t i m exxxxx xxxxx xxxx

R U N-- M E-- L I K E-- T H E-- N U M B E R S ---- / ---- R O L L-- M E-- L I K E-- T H E-- D I C E

Sometime between then and now, in the early hours of the morning, Luxord had found sleep – or perhaps sleep had found the Gambler. Now, the blonde felt more than heard or saw the opening and closing of a Corridor of Darkness. He opened his cerulean eyes in a squint, his lips pursed; Xaldin had decided to leave the table early, it seemed. “The Lancer is more entertaining when inebriated,” Luxord announced, yawning. He was quite aware of how true his statement was. Xaldin would never have participated in the fun during the previous night had he been sober. How the quartet had fit on the bed in their tangle of limbs and bodies was beyond him: the bed was big, but perhaps not fit for four fully-grown men. Still, he had slept comfortably – Demyx’s head was pillowed on Luxord’s naked torso, and the Gambler lay practically pinned to Xigbar’s side – he didn’t know where Xaldin had slept.

Luxord carefully removed Demyx from his person and sat up. What time was it? The Gambler of Fate and master of time answered his own question even before it became coherent thought – it was around eight in the morning. 8:13 and…25 seconds, if he were to be exact. Apparently, the Organization – or at least the men in Xigbar’s room – were being given a day off for Christmas; Luxord, at least, was usually up bright and early in the morning. Despite the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed on the previous night, there was no trace of a hangover on the Gambler of Fate’s features – he felt perfectly fine. “Mmm.” Number X yawned again. “Xemnas must be feeling charitable today. How lucky for us,” he chirped, stretching. His usual knowing half-smile already adorned his countenance. “Well, good morning and happy Christmas,” Luxord said. He slid off the bed and stood unashamedly – what use was there for modesty after the previous night? – and added as an afterthought, “I hope you don’t mind my use of your shower, Xigbar.” He didn’t offer an excuse as to why he couldn’t use his own shower, nor did he wait for an answer – positive or negative – from the Freeshooter before making his way to the bathroom. He washed his face first, the first part of his morning routine, more out of habit than anything. Luxord hadn’t always been an early riser, or, at least, not a willing one – washing his face with cold water had never failed to rouse him from sleep. He ran the shower and waited for the torrential water to warm. He didn’t understand how people showered before they slept, instead of as they woke – the Gambler preferred to start the day clean. And after the previous night…he certainly wasn’t clean. His smile spread into a grin as he stepped into the shower. He hummed contentedly to himself, although the shower’s downpour drowned out the sound, and washed.

He still grinned in his ever-present smirk when he was finished. The Gambler toweled himself dry unabashed with one of Xigbar’s towels, sure that the Freeshooter wouldn’t mind – he had spares, after all. Luxord’s mood didn’t even falter when he considered traveling to his room briefly to fetch a spare set of clothes via a doorway to the Corridor of Darkness – a somewhat daunting task without his coat. Towel wrapped around his waist, Luxord opened a raging dark portal and stepped through it.

The feeling of the darkness within the Corridor leeching at flesh and spirit was not pleasant. It wasn’t pleasant without a heart, and it was worse so with one, now that the darkness had found something new to wear and worry at. Only the strong-hearted and strong-bodied – namely, the members of Organization XIII – could travel through it stripped bare of their coats, and even then it tended to take a toll on a person who wasn’t at their healthiest. Luxord didn’t fit that bill, though, and though he felt the discomfort of darkness trying to leech the stuff away from him, that was all he felt – simply discomfort. He arrived at his room without troubles, although his curiosity piqued at the addition to his bedside table. Xylida’s gift had been returned there, but it had been added to: a set of glasses of different kinds – martini glasses, tumblers, wine glasses and more – all sharing the same simple pattern as Xylida’s gift. A small card rested against one of the glasses that simply said “From Santa.” Luxord smiled. “Why thank you, Father Christmas,” he said aloud, turning away to find a new set of clothes.

He decided to go for simple – a straightforward white button-down dress shirt and black denim pants. What did it matter, anyway, with the coat that covered everything? Luxord donned a fresh coat, boots, and gloves – he didn’t particularly care for the idea of travelling through the Corridor of Darkness again without them. Finally, he returned to Xigbar’s bathroom through the same Corridor, closing it behind him. Ten emerged clean, dry, and fully-clothed. “I’m out,” he announced to Xigbar and Demyx, mischievous smile back on his face, “And you’re lazy. Up with you, articles. Do you intend to sleep all day?” His scolding words were in good humor, however, much like everything else about Luxord – the man never seemed to be upset over anything. “It’s nearly nine in the –”

The Gambler of Fate was suddenly interrupted by the sound of an explosion. “Bloody hell!” he cried, ducking away from the sound. Without giving any conscious thought to the summons, Fair Game appeared in his hands, each of the razor-edged cards bigger than normal and fanned out, ready to be put to use. A few minutes of ear-ringing silence followed the explosion, and then he heard another one on a smaller scale prior to the sound of weapons clashing. Luxord left Xigbar’s room to find Larxene and Xeren facing off in the hallway just outside. Xeren looked completely cool and apathetic – no change from his normal visage. The same couldn’t be said for the Nymph, however – her countenance screamed frustration. Both had their weapons drawn, although a few of Larxene’s knives had embedded themselves into the ground or a wall. Large blackened scorch marks indicated where Larxene had apparently decided it would be a good idea to cast Thundaga. The Gambler of Fate could see the woman preparing another spell.

“Now, now, children,” Luxord said wearily, dropping his hands and desummoning Fair Game. “Let’s settle this like civil people, shall we?”

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T H E-- E N D I N G-- I S-- J U S T-- A-- B E G I N N E R
T H E-- C L O S E R-- Y O U-- G E T-- T O-- A-- M E A N I N G
T H E-- S O O N E R-- Y O U ' L L-- K N O W-- T H A T-- Y O U ' R E-- D R E A M I N G
w e l l-- i f-- i t-- s e e m s-- t o-- b e-- r e a l ,-- i t ' s-- i l l u s i o nxxxxx xxx

F O R-- E V E R Y-- M O M E N T-- O F-- T R U T H ---- / ---- T H E R E ' S-- C O N F U S I O N-- I N-- L I F E

Pale lids lifted to reveal astoundingly bright (while still remaining deep) cerulean eyes. They were blank, as was the expression of their owner, who couldn’t find it in himself to be interested in the morning. Or the day – what time was it? The Schemer sat forward and rubbed his face tiredly, using the motion to also try to tame his ever-present bed-hair, or at least get some of it out of his face. It was the first time that VI had woken up in his own room in a while. He had remained outside long after the Butterfly’s departure, long after the feeling of being cold out in the snow had come and gone. He had spent a while simply gazing at Kingdom Hearts, trying to think of nothing or at least divert his attention to the intrigue of the heart-shaped moon that had been the goal of he and his colleagues, although those attempts failed on several occasions, and his thoughts were often brought back to the loss of his Replica. After a long while – he had no means by which to measure exactly how long, other than that he was numb from the cold – Zexion went to his room through a Corridor of Darkness, stood under hot water until he could feel it scalding his skin, and went to bed.

Now, the effects of his late night had begun to show themselves on his weary countenance; his face looked drawn, and shadows formed under his eyes. He wasn’t tired anymore – or at least, not physically – so he stood and made his way to the shower to actually get clean this time as opposed to simply standing under the water. As he came fully awake, Zexion wondered how Lexaeus was doing with the news; he had looked as shaken as Zexion felt the previous night. The Silent Hero was just that – silent – but he was far from emotionless. It just took someone who knew the man, like Zexion, well enough to know how to read the minute changes in expression in order to determine his emotions. It also helped that Zexion could “smell” the emotions of his colleagues as simply as he could smell a flower or a fresh cup of tea. The Schemer sniffed once and found to his surprise that the Silent Hero wasn’t in the castle…although his emotions had made a clear imprint. A new scent had come to his attention as well…familiar, but he couldn’t place its owner. Whoever it was, they weren’t in at that particular moment, either.

VI dressed simply in black clothes when he was done with the shower and dried off – not his normal attire, but fitting for the time: Zexion was in mourning. Once fitted into his coat, gloves, and boots, the Schemer headed out of his room, irresolute about where he planned on going. He ignored the wrapped gift addressed to him, not in the mood for holiday festivities.

He decided on the kitchen for breakfast and tea; if anything, the hot drink would help him feel better at least somewhat. Zexion shivered, as if his body replied to the thought. He didn’t want to get sick after the previous night’s foray into the cold and wet. What he would do afterward, he didn’t know – perhaps check on the new scent, or look for Lexaeus, or chat with Xylida, who currently was somewhere in the vicinity of the Grey Area. The Cloaked Schemer made enough tea for two when he arrived at the kitchen, deciding on the latter of the three options; he certainly did not feel up to chatting about Dax’s death, and whatever the new scent was, there was no alarm involved around it, so Zexion put the investigation low on his list of priorities. No, now, the surest way to lift his spirits was to visit with the Butterfly; and perhaps, if she was also upset, he could offer her some comfort. He felt stronger around the woman.

The Replica did lounge in the Grey Area, where Zexion had predicted he would find her. As he’d thought, the sight of Xylida lifted his mood noticeably. He wasn’t better, he still mourned, but the weight of the loss on his shoulders now seemed that much easier to bear. “Good morning, Xylida,” he greeted politely, sitting across from her. He frowned at her drink; he hadn’t thought that she would make her own, although the idea made perfect sense. Certainly, he was out of it that morning. “I apologize…I made you some tea, but I neglected to think that you would have made something for yourself already.” He set both cups on the table, otherwise unconcerned with having gone through the effort – which was almost nonexistent – of making an extra cup of tea. Zexion followed the Butterfly’s gaze to the looming Kingdom Hearts beyond the great wall-window of the Grey Area. “Last night was the first I’ve seen of it, as well,” he said conversationally in his cool, tenor voice. “Intriguing, certainly. Although incomplete, I can smell its power even from here…” He mulled on the thought for a moment, reaching to grasp his cup of tea and sipping from it while he mused. After a long pause, he asked, “How are you this morning?”

b l i n d-- y o u r-- e y e s-- a n d-- s t e a l-- y o u r-- d r e a m s
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H E L P L E S S-- H Y S T E R I A
A-- F A L S E-- S E N S E-- O F-- U R G E N C Y
P O S S E S S E D-- B Y-- A N X I E T Y
a l l-- w o u n d-- u p-- / -- o n-- t h e-- e d g exxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxx

O V E R W H E L M E D-- B Y-- T H I S-- C O M P L E X-- D E L I R I U M

Vexen sat in a cold metal chair, which was as cold and achromatic as the rest of his lab, fuming upon Xeren’s leave. Things were just piling higher and higher today, none of which were improving his mood.

First, there was Veryx. Why did the Chemist’s situation with Xeren irritate him? Number Four could not find an answer…but he refused to believe that the feeling was paternal, of all things. Vexen was beyond such emotions, of course he was. No, it must have been because the Academic rather disliked the Agent – and who wouldn’t, with Xeren’s parentage? Saïx or Xemnas – take your pick: either would likely kill Vexen in an instant without a second thought. And the Replica…well, if he were to be honest, the Replica rather frightened him. The Diviner’s anger and the Superior’s prowess all rolled into one…the thing was a weapon.

And therein laid the heart of the problem: Xeren was a weapon. And for that matter, so was Veryx – the Replicas had been made to fight the Cuore; the Organization desperately needed the numbers to fight off the power of the mutated-heart-beings. Their successful creation was likely why Vexen still lived. The Replicas…they weren’t created to have feelings, and to feel care and – goodness forbid – love. Oh, if only there was a way to create a Replica with the heart’s power, without its complications…

Complications. Vexen nearly growled as he stood and, turning sharply on his heel, made his way to a room in the back corner of his laboratory. Speaking of complications, whoever had meandered around his lab had obviously not known what in the world they were doing. Which, by the looks of things, may have been the point – everything looked like it had purposefully been switched around or otherwise disorganized, as if whoever had done so had been trying to make Vexen go bald (prematurely, of course) by pulling his hair out in frustration.

The Chilly Academic flipped a switch to shed light into this back room – the room he used to create Replicas. Only one of the three giant opaque-glass pods was lit, indicating its occupation. Vexen tapped a few keys on the keyboard in front of it and the frosted glass cleared itself like defrosted ice. It showed the pale form of a girl, curled slightly in a fetal position, her features as of yet mostly undefined – the process had only been started sometime that morning.

Vexen frowned. Yes, she was coming along quickly, this unexpected Replica. The combination of magic and science sped the process – it wouldn’t be long now before she would emerge from that pod, confused and vulnerable, unknowing of the world around her. The Academic wasn’t sure if he’d be around to teach her the basics of this world, as he had with Veryx and Xeren. The thought made him nervous. Of course, he hadn’t told Saïx about this new addition to the Organization. Not yet. But he would have to eventually…after all, this Replica was the “offspring,” so to speak, of the bluenette berserker.

The Luna Diviner and the Flurry of Dancing Flames. Easily, two of Vexen’s least favorite people. And this girl embodied both of them.

Complications, indeed.

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I-- W A S-- W A L K I N G-- W I T H-- M Y-- H E A D-- D O W N
F O L L O W I N G-- T H E-- O R D E R S-- Y O U-- S E N T-- D O W N
W I T H O U T-- A-- S O U N D ,-- N O T-- A-- S O U N D
c o v e r e d-- u p-- m y-- f a c e-- f r o m-- t h e-- s u n s h i n exxxxx xxxxx xx

C A V E-- A W A Y-- M Y-- F R E E D O M---- / ---- I-- R E S I G N E D

The Enigmatic Agent was a hard worker, but he liked to sleep as late as possible. Saïx knew this from experience – he had had to drag his “protégée,” so to speak, out of bed on more than one occasion during the Replica’s first days in The Castle That Never Was. So the Luna Diviner found himself surprised – if the vague hint of the emotion that he actually felt could be called “surprised” – that Xeren was not in his room, taking the opportunity to sleep in. That posed a problem: where was he? Did he think that just because his training was over, there wasn’t work to be done? No, the Diviner knew better than that. In the months of training, there had only been an eagerness to learn, and to do. Xeren was far from perfect, but he certainly could have been classified as a successful Replica. But Saïx, being in charge of the Replica program, would have to find a more efficient method of training… The Organization simply didn’t have months of time to spend on a new Replica. Xeren had spent too long in training for Seven’s tastes – he had to, in order to learn to control his berserk state. Saïx could…not quite empathize – which would require that the Luna Diviner felt more than the barest threads of emotion that he did now – but he did understand. And he was the only one who could. But what if the next Replica had some wild aspect about them, something that needed extra time and care to control? Saïx didn’t have time to spend the extra months on special training. He didn’t know why the Cuore had allowed the Organization their castle in The World That Never Was – and he certainly didn’t appreciate the fact that the only reason the Organization was still here was because the Cuore let them be here – but he didn’t know how long it would be until they decided to attack. And, as much as he loathed the idea, Saïx was certain that the Cuore would have their way if they decided to attack in force.

The Luna Diviner contemplated these things – ways to make the Replicas’ training more efficient and ways to eliminate the powerful Cuore – as he searched for his Replica. Seven didn’t know where the Enigmatic Agent would be, only that he was in the castle: Xeren didn’t know how to get to any worlds outside of the ones he trained in. Saïx rarely saw his protégée outside of training – he was simply too busy for spare time, although he knew that his workload would lighten now that he lacked a Replica to train. He started with the Grey Area – the unofficial gathering place of Organization XIII, and the place where Saïx usually gave out orders. Someone was here, sleeping, but certainly not the someone he had been trying to find. Fell-gold eyes narrowed in slight irritation upon catching sight of the mop of bright red hair. “Hmph,” Saïx intoned in a baritone voice that could almost be described as blank. “How like you, sleeping during valuable work time.” The back of a pale hand struck the top of Axel’s head sharply – although the motion could be considered gentle for Saïx. “Feel free to rejoin the land of the living. It would appear that you have a report to finish.”

s t a r i n g-- f a c e - t o - f a c e-- w i t h-- t h e-- e n e m y
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A N O T H E R-- M O M E N T-- O N-- Y O U R-- O W N
A-- L I F E-- S H O T-- F U L L-- O F-- H O L E S
C A L M-- Y O U R-- R E S T L E S S-- S O U L
i-- d e a l-- w i t h-- d a r k n e s s-- r u t h l e s s l yxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx

H E A R-- T H E-- R O A R I N G-- O F-- T H E-- G U N

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i-- l o v e-- t h e-- w a y-- i t-- f e e l s
_________________________________________________________ ♊

O N C E-- M Y-- L I F E-- W A S-- P L A I N-- A N D-- C L E A R
O N C E-- M Y-- I G N O R A N C E-- W A S-- B L I S S
B I N D I N G-- P R O M I S E S-- W E R E-- M A D E
g r a n d-- i l l u s i o n s-- l e a d-- a s t r a yxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx x

N I G H T F A L L-- C A M E-- T O-- M Y-- T R O U B L E D-- M I N D

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i c e-- c o l d-- w i n d s-- s w e p t-- m y-- h e a r t-- a w a y
_________________________________________________________ ♋

[x___s y l p h]

L I G H T N I N G-- B U G :-- T H E-- S A V A G E-- B I T C H
[ O N L I N E ] ----- -----/----- ----- m o b i l e ----- -----/----- ----- a w a y ----- -----/----- ----- o f f l i n e
▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇-- ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇-- ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇-- ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇-- ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇

----- ----- -----
┏ xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx ┓
I-- F E E L . . . O R-- N O T :-- mischievous - but-- when-- don't-- i?-----/--/-----I-- A M :-- taking-- a-- break-- from-- tormenting-- the--
organization...physically,-- at-- least.-- digitally-- is-- another-- story.-----/--/-----I-- T H I N K :-- new-- computer!
I-- L O V E :-- you've-- got-- to-- be-- joking.-----/--/-----I-- L I S T E N :-- n/a
┗ xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx ┛

a n d-- y o u ' r e-- t h e-- f o o l ,-- < C H A T R O O M >

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