Kingdom Hearts (c) Disney.

Business As Usual (c) Scribbification, 2012.

{business as usual}

It looked dead, but I started to back away anyway. This place was creeping me the hell out, damn it.

Stupid car.

Ugh, I better start from the beginning… but if-slash-when I get out of here alive, I'm murdering my old man's board of administrators. And when I'm done forcing my idiot brother to suck their brains out with a straw, I'm going to draw and quarter them. Then I'll hang their extremities around RadiantGarden by skateboard, then blame it on the idiot brother.

Now, do you want to hear – yeah, I'm talking to you – about this freak hotel I'm staying in or about my idiot brother?

Doesn't matter. Idiot brother first, creepy hotel later. I'm the one setting the rules here, got that?

The idiot's name is Demyx. Apparently Daddy Dear had these awesome names all cooked up for me and Dummy, but then when Mommy Dearer was high off painkillers in the hospital and Daddy Dearest wasn't there to stop the bitch, she mixed up our names and added an X.

Twice.

Hang on, I think I just figured out where Dummy got his stupidity from – Mummy! Duh. At least the old man managed to manipulate his way into being a katrillionaire. As far as I know, Mummy is wandering the streets looking for five bucks of crack cocaine and thinking about selling Dummy.

Hell. I forgot that I'm saddled with Dummy.

Sometimes I wonder why the birthgiver and sperm donor bothered to have brats at all if they were planning on being on business all the time – actual business for Daddy; whoring, drinking and drugging for Mommy. Wait, whores do it for money; sluts do it for free. Edit: slutting, drinking, and drugging for Mommy. Business as usual for the, ah, parents.

Dummy – or Demmy, as I'm sometimes inclined to call him when I'm drunk and he's not being completely retarded – is four years younger than I am, for all the damns I give. Since I like to call people how I think of them, I'll just say Shit Face.

Shit Face was the one who's caused me to go to that damned corporate meeting for the last twelve and a half years. How? By not being born first. Ugh... All his fault. I'm not even going to inherit a katrillion bucks; that's all going to the babies out in Haiti and various charities. Damn babies and charities. Thieves. Stealing my money. Little shit faces...

Yes, twelve and a half years. Oh God, you must think I'm so ancient!

I started attending when I was fourteen. That's about when my Angry Birds scores began increasing exponentially, incidentally. And when my phone bill skyrocketed, not that I cared because cha-ching, Daddy's a katrillionaire. Might as well spend his money while I can get at it is my philosophy.

Now, since I can drive and shit, it takes me four hours to get from home to the meeting. Two hours on the damn ferry and two more driving; vice-versa on the way home. It's at the home of the old man's top associate or something – cue giant eye-roll, that means that Daddy's having a great affair with the bitchy anorexic vegan wife – and it's supposed to start at five, end at eight. I'm supposed to get home in time for a midnight snack and a night-owl show.

But since those old assholes socialize for so long and play poker from six to seven as a fucking 'short break', I always, always get home at two in the friggin' morning.

If I eat, I feel sick the next day. And there's only the sucky soap operas on TV and ancient reruns. And Dummy is always, always playing his friggin' guitar.

Oh wait. Sitar. Sor-ry.

Not. I don't friggin' care, Dumbass.

So the valet put my briefcase in the back seat and shut the door. The same valet who fantasizes about me naked every time he sees me, and trust me, I can tell because the Leaning Tower of Pisa appears in his pants. Sometimes I wonder if I should have a beach party, invite him, and wear a bikini just to screw with his head. Then get him on sexual harassment charges.

I turned the radio on and drove off. Some retarded rap song was blasting through the speakers of the car, not that I cared. Bass keeps me awake better than coffee. Which is why I HATE Dummy's music. Do you get that? HATE. H-A-T-E. As in, utterly loathe. Have strong dislike against. Wish to murder with a toenail. And Dummy always manages to play his friggin' shit-through-speakers right as I'm about to go sleep. I swear I've thrown out at least sixty pairs of speakers over the past five years.

I drove for a while without any problems. Bass pumping like one of those retarded dwarves in that stupid movie… Snow Whale or something like that. All I remember is laughing my kiddie ass off when the chick died.

Then out of fricking nowhere, there's a herd of deer crossing the street.

The only reason I swore so loud and wrenched the wheel is because I knew the damn animals would do some serious shit to my car if I just tried to kill them. Which would've been entertaining, but still. This car wasn't total shit, which made it worth giving a damn about.

In the end, I end up panting facing the wrong way in the middle of the road.

Panting. Oh God. I sound like a dying pig, panting doesn't cover it. Worse, I sound like Demyx singing in the shower. Now that's self-insulting if I've ever insulted myself. Which I haven't, really. Unless in the end it ended up insulting someone else, which is just buckets and buckets of fun and giggles.

I got out of the stupid car and took a look. Yeah yeah yeah, I don't know shit about cars. Who the hell cares? Maybe I just wanted to look like a bitch in the know about vehicles to anybody driving by. So just shut your piehole.

After a while of 'surveying' the damage, I got back in the car and tried to start it. I cussed at the engine as if that would help when the damn thing didn't so much as make a sound to appease me from ripping its pathetic components apart and throwing them into the ditch.

Yep. Business. As usual.

I got out of the car. Fuck it, shit happens. I'm way too tired to flag some idiot down and act like I'm a relatively polite person in need of help so that they'll pull out the Good Samaritan somewhere in their black scheming souls and help me. Goddamn it. Goddamn today. But first, the idiot engine is going to know just who it messed with.

I literally ripped up the hood. Maybe it was that adrenaline crap, maybe that personal trainer actually helped instead of just groping me discreetly. I don't know and I don't care. When I was done screaming and chucking little metal bits, my hands were a bloody mess and Dummy is going to try to yell at me about the manicure he did when I get home. Whereupon I will promptly smash his stupid face into the wall and go to my room. Maybe I'll get out the window and go break some hearts in a local nightclub, or better yet, get as smashed as Demyx's face will be.

While fantasizing about the agony I was going to deal to Demyx's more than dorky body, I began walking. Maybe there was a hotel around to suck my wallet dry and give me some crappy continental stuff as a shitty excuse for breakfast, while their cleaning ladies steal whatever crap I have in my room. Lovely. Just lovely. About as lovely as Demyx's face is going to look when I get home.

I'm so looking forward to this trip next month. Not. I wonder what'll happen if I don't show up. Maybe Daddy Dear will try to reprimand me. Ooh, how exciting. First time for everything, they say!

Pfft.

Point being, I'm alone, pissed, tired, and walking in four inch heels on this godforsaken country back-road. Again, lovely. Stupid fucking car.

…Okay, okay, maybe it isn't exactly a country back-road, but there's no one around, and for all I care it could be the dirt path around the back of my grandma's house. Whatever.

Pretty soon some hobo is going to have a new pair of black platforms. These things might make me look as classy as one of the old man's whores, but they're hellish.

Oops! Did I say whores? I meant call girls. Silly me. Slip of the tongue, I swear.

I grabbed the heels off my feet and chucked them off to the side. Some animal squealed.

Um, hello? Score! Ten points to the blond chick without shoes. Didn't even aim for the dirty little thing.

I kept walking. There had to be a hotel around here somewhere. If not, next month, I'll make the old man's board of advisors build one here, even if I have to feed their sliced dicks to them myself. Not that there'd be much to slice 'n dice, but still. It'd be fun to make them chew thoroughly.

Just when my calves began to burn, I spotted a dimly flickering sign a few hundred yards ahead.

God, if only. I think I prayed right then for the first time since the old man told me I couldn't do some occult sacrifice of Demyx when I was five. I mean, whatever deity up there in the sky, even though such a thing is impossible and stupid, if it's a hotel, I will stop mixing Demyx's rabbit's shit into his Cocoa Puffs. I swear. I really, really will.

I began to run and about five minutes later, I ended up catching my breath six feet away from the sign, which read 'HOT'. The rest of the letters were all unlit and I didn't care anyway. I was too focused on it being a hotel and sweet escape from the car, from Dummy, from everything.

Oh my God, I'm way too tired. Was that me actually thinking that someone's not dumb as shit? Pfft, no, seriously, that so didn't happen. Just no. Even when Demyx put lemonade flavored vodka in the punch at my not really sweet sixteen did I even consider not thinking everyone in the world is a complete screwball. And I was drunk. I have voice recordings to prove it. Needless to say Dummy got a nice long scar on his arm when I got over my hangover, but that's really beside the point.

There were only a few cars out front and some landscaping, both of which I wasn't concerned with. Why do these shitty hotels even have landscaping? Are their customers going to be sleeping in the flowerbeds?

Ugh, let's get this over with then.

I kicked open the door and walked in like I owned the place. After this, I probably would, come to think of it.

God, the place looked like even more of a hellhole than I thought it would. Stains everywhere. Sleazy-looking trash at the counter in desperate need of a shower and some industrial strength shampoo.

Trash glanced over to me and pulled a twig or something out of his mouth.

"Name?"

"Larxene Foudre," I ground out, an inch away from snapping. "One room, one night." I slammed a wad of money down on the stained counter.

Somebody else walked in. Joy. Now I have to restrain myself from killing two men. Hang on, I don't think any real man would have his hair fuchsia pink... Now that's a great idea for Dummy's hair, rather than that ridiculous gel-tastic mullet he has.

Fuchsia flipped her hair and took the money. Oh my God, this is just great... Not!

"Enjoy your stay," Fuchsia said. His name tag read Marluxia, and his voice was way too deep for him to be a girl. No conclusions drawn; I'm too friggin' tired to friggin' care, so he can just piss off and leave me alone.

I snarled at them and grabbed my key roughly from Trash. Oops! As long as I'm calling one by his given name, might as well name this one too. I grabbed my key from the hippie dude Xigbar. When I wake up, I'm grabbing a knife and cutting all that damn hair off. And I'll dunk Marluxia's head in bleach.

I vaguely heard them talking as I strode away.

"As if!" Xigbar snorted in response to what Mar-Mar told me.

Oh good. At least they know their own hotel is shit.

I checked the time. I was driving about an hour when the damn deer appeared and caused all this shit. Midnight. I've never been more tired in my life, it can't be midnight. Damn phone clock must be broken. I tossed the whole thing behind me. The cleaning lady would enjoy it at least.

I crunch along this rock-hard carpet on the way to my room. Number 12. I slid my key into the lock; sweet, sweet sleep awai-

It's dark. Trash must've turned out the lights. Mother of sadism, I'm going to murder him in the most painful way possible when I get my goddamn claws on him. Something's crunching behind me. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. If there's ever a moment where I'm remotely seriously religious, let it be this one. Cold sweat rolled down my neck. I tried to move. More crunching. More crunching. More crunching. Bricks weighing down my legs. More crunching. Oh God!

I spun around finally. The lights flickered on at the same time. I looked around wildly for the crunching.

A cleaning lady. Cleaning man, s'cuse me.

He'd stopped his cart a little away from me, but I wasn't interested in what he looked like. He was holding my phone and staring at me.

"What're you looking at?" I growled, snatching my phone back. Mine, you thieving scum. He said nothing. I forced my key into the slot and stomped into my room, slamming the door shut.

Nothing creepy as hell here. At least... I hoped.

After throwing my wallet, keys, and phone on the single, ratty-looking bed, I inspected the bathroom. As I expected, it was like everything else in the damn hotel: horrible with a capital H. Ugh, this is the worst.

I stripped and turned on the water. It looked vaguely brown.

That's it, I'm going to tear this place down in the morning and build something modern! Use a couple of thousand dollars sitting in Father's bank collecting interest and dust and have everybody staffing this hellhole assassinated! God, what the hell does it take?

This has put me in the foulest mood I've been in since Demyx gave me a bear-hug goodbye when I left. Yeah yeah yeah, he barely escaped getting a knife in the stomach. Whatever.

Did I say that this is the worst already? Oh no. No no no. NOW this is the worst.

"God..."

I huffed and stepped into the shower. At least the brown was lukewarm. ...Oh ew; it's sewage, isn't it? So gross!

I showered as fast as possible, eyes shut, back facing the shower head. The thing began bubbling. Somebody, spare me the stupidity of the plumber of this hotel.

Wait. If the shower head was bubbling, the water would be coming down on my back in bursts. Which meant something else was bubbling. I turned around, searching for the source of the bubbling as I pressed my back against the wall.

The lights turned out.

There is nothing like being naked and alone in the shower with barely warm shit-water spraying on you, a weird bubbling noise, and the lights out.

Slithering. Slithering and crunching. Water hitting something other than me. Crunch crunch crunch.

Something curled around my ankle.

I screamed and stomped my feet, eyes wide, heart trying to beat out my chest. It wouldn't let go; getting tighter, and tighter and tigh-

xxxxxxxxxx

I found myself wrapped in a bathrobe, and sitting on the bed. Phone and wallet next to me. Somebody in front of me. Nothing around my ankle. No crunching, bubbling, or slithering.

I stared at the nobody. He. Another man; yay. Although with his long dirty blond hair, I could have mistaken him for a girl easily. What is it with the people here?

"Who the hell are you?"

I got hit by a stare from poison green eyes; like a snake. A slithering snake...

"That's no way to greet a stranger." The eyes left. I started to breathe easier without realizing I'd stopped.

He got up. "My name is Vexen," came the superior-sounding sniff. "You may call m-"

"Listen up, creep," I snapped. "Get the hell out of my room or I'll call the police."

The Vexen dude huffed like a girl and spun on his heel, taking his high-and-mighty self out of my hotel room. He slammed the door shut. The room got colder. I glared at the door, knowing that Trash or someone must have turned down the heat on me.

Fucking pricks. In the morning, their balls are going to get ripped off and used to replace their eyes. I swear.

I listened for a while to see if I could hear anything.

No crunching.

No bubbling.

No slithering.

I let out a breath and fell back on the bed. Must have been my damn imagination playing along with the idiots' pranks.

I closed my eyes. I knew what I was going to do tomorrow - kill everyone in the hotel, then steal their keys and drive off in the nicest shit display in the lot.

I smiled.

But then something in the room started to move.

I'm sick of this. I'm so, so sick of being freaked out.

There was a free-standing lamp by me. I grabbed it, wrenching the plug out of the wall, and tore off the shade. Time to kill whatever is doing this.

Crunch, bubble, slither, snap. Crunch bubble slither snap. Crunchbubbleslithersnap. Crunch bubble slither... snap.

I broke the lamp beating it to death and then fumbled for the light. At my feet was something.

It looked dead, but I started to back away anyway...

Demyx woke up to the television. The volume was up louder than Larxene liked it, and she hadn't come home last night anyway. Slowly, the blond made his way out and looked at the television.

His frame crumpled to sit on the couch.

The news reporter, clearly a newbie on the job, was trying to keep the horrified tone out of her voice.

"Last night at around two in the morning, a young woman was found beaten to death in an old abandoned building off Interstate 13. A broken lamp was by the victim but the police are still not releasing any information as to suspects or indeed, the identity of the young woman. However, a photographer at the scene managed to obtain a blurry, but clear enough photo of the body."

"Larxene..." Demyx would know his sister's hair anywhere - the lemony color as sour as her attitude and the hairsprayed strands styled into things he called antennae in his head.

With a gulp, he picked up the phone and dialed the toll-free number at the bottom of the screen...