Men. Beautiful creatures, aren't they? The plus to our minus. Everything about them invites us in; their face, their eyes, and don't get me started on the aroma they seem to emit. All that from one Y chromosome. Sadly, sometimes it's hard to appreciate that beauty, especially when you're in a position like mine. Number XII, The Savage Nymph, the only female in Organization XIII. Welcome to a typical day in the life of me - Larxene.
It starts off like any other day; there is always variation, of course, but whatever happens, I'm never woken up by the sun gently shining through my curtains - I have my personal Swiss Army alarm clock, with eleven different functions at least. Today it's function number three over nine, type four. That bohemian bastard Xaldin is chasing Demyx (the most annoying Nobody in non-existence) through the castle with the assortment of knives from the kitchen. I wonder what's provoked him this time; maybe Mullet-Head made Fuzz Face's cereal soggy.
I yawn and stretch out of bed, pulling on a skimpy vest top over my bare top half - I don't need a bra, I'm that thin. And yes, I'm rather proud of it as well. I guess this is one advantage of being the only girl; I can't compare myself to anyone else, but then I can't make anyone else feel like shit, either. Blessing and a curse, really. I run a comb through my short, blonde hair except for the two strands that never seem to go. When I leave the bedroom I run into the very reminder of my insecurity, and remember that I do compare myself to one other in this place.
Marluxia greets me with a cheerful smile and offers me breakfast. As we walk down the many stairs, I admire what he's done with his image today, and my insides sting with envy. His hair is a soft shade of coral pink, coming down to his shoulders and every flick is perfectly symmetrical. His fringe hangs in short, loose bangs above his eyes. Oh, his eyes. A gorgeous sapphire blue, abundant with expressions galore. He is wearing a tight, mint green shirt before he has to change into his uniform - what a body. There really is nothing wrong with him. I hate Marluxia. And yet, he is the closest one to me. I can't recall a time I'm not by his side - I need him. I thrive on him to bitch about anything that moves, for him to listen to my mindless, petty, feminine rants. He gets sick of me sometimes, I can tell. But who doesn't?
We enter the kitchen and he insists I have breakfast. Reluctant as I am, I can't help but obey, so go to dig out some bread and butter - the guy can't expect me to eat that much. As I slot it into the toaster, both Marluxia and I are greeted by a monotonous grunt. I glance over my shoulder to find that Vexen has emerged from his lab - I swear that man lives in there. He grabs a cereal bar and a glass of milk, then quickly paces off back to his cavern. God knows what he works in there, Vexen is such a geek. I'm indifferent about him, though. The only times I see him are for school, meetings and meals, so I rarely get a chance to talk to him. Better that way, I think, I'm sure he's a boring prick.
My toast pops up, barely done - I like it that way. I spread a fractional amount of butter on it and join Marluxia who has poured me a glass of skimmed milk. I thank him and start to take small bites. He watches me intently, making sure I actually eat it. Another thing I hate about him; he's so overprotective, always makes sure I'm staying 'healthy'. As if I need that kind of attention. I force down the last bit of it, and wash it down with my drink - it may as well be water, but Marluxia insists I need calcium in me. I take both our stuff to the counter and leave it there - as far as I'm aware it's Luxord's turn to do the dishes.
Now that he's on my mind, I hope to see the gambler as Marluxia and I go back upstairs to change. Sadly, no such thing happens. I quite like Luxord - it's the accent that gets me. Oh come on, what do you expect? He's British. So well spoken and gentlemanly. That is until he lays his cards down, and becomes the most logical and smug git on the face of this earth. It pisses me off to see him play, I gave up on participating a long time ago. I'm only interested when there's stripping involved.
There are too many things I hate in this Organization, and the uniform comes very close to the top. Black is so last season. That's all it is; a black coat, with black underclothes that you don't even see. It does nothing for my figure, and yet does absolutely everything for the men's. Typical, really. Still, I'd get hauled over the coals, as they say, if I didn't wear it inside the castle.
Speaking of coals, or anything to do with fire actually, I can hear Axel's overly irritating whooping and cheering. I dread to think what he's up to this early in the morning as I poke my head round the door. All clear. The sound seems to be coming from upstairs. I don't need to wait long before I see its source. That red-haired twat zooms past and down two fights of stairs on yet another household appliance. What the fuck could it be this time? Judging by the noise it's making, I can tell that Axel has somehow managed to decapitate Lexaeus' treadmill and turn it into a fucking race car. Honestly, how the fuck can such an idiot like him be loved by practically everyone?! If I'm honest, that's what I hate about him more. Not because of his annoying antics and pranks, but the fact that no matter what he does or how much shit he lands himself in, people can't help but be infatuated by him. It makes me so angry I can't receive that kind of attention. And what's worse is that I can't help sometimes but have a soft spot for him. I can feel myself shaking viciously - the urge to zap him is unbelievable.
Then, any animosity I feel disappears just like that as another voice shouts after Axel. My legs find it hard to support me as Xigbar runs from the end of the corridor above. His voice is rough, and crafted into the sexiest surfer accent that I have ever known. He bounds down the stairs and stops directly opposite me, I swear I have become a pool of bubbling liquid, and can feel sparks jumping from my body. He still hasn't got changed, so only a pair of black slacks hang loosely from below his waist, leaving his amazing body on show. Dear God. His muscles are naturally toned, but that's not even half of it. Nearly all of Xigbar's upper body is covered in scars. No one dares ask him where or how he got them; they vary in shape, size and depth, and almost seem natural, like they're supposed to be there. My favourite one, though, has to be the largest one on his back. It goes all the way from his left shoulder down to his right hip, and just seeing it makes me melt. I once had the privilege of counting how many there are during a lovely game of strip poker. Sixteen. Sixteen beautiful scars cover just his torso. What I wouldn't give to count the ones below. Oh dear, I think I may have developed a scar fetish.
He lifts his arm up and waves slightly, flexing his waist. I want to melt. "Hey," he grins. "I think I got myself a new scar, wanna check it out?" He laughs and walks over to me. I can't be seen to be weak, so I pull myself together and put on a sarcastic if a little flirty persona.
"Another scar?" I roll my eyes. "Geez, how many is this now?" I ask as he comes to a stop.
"Dunno, you've only counted my top half," he smirks. I grimace and am finding it extremely difficult to keep my cool - Marluxia would be getting beatings later. In fact, as soon as I've seen this. Bitch. He can't keep anything to himself, can he? Whatever, I'm totally distracted again as Xigbar lifts up his trouser leg. I can see which one it is; fresh and bright crimson, and yet it isn't weeping. It's quite small, and goes horizontally above his ankle. Even so, I'm transfixed by it. The temptation to touch it is almost unbearable. I want to make my own mark on him. Still, I retain myself and stand back up to his height. Well, as far as I can - I'm up to his shoulder.
"So how didja get this one?" I smirk slightly.
"Caught it on the treadmill, Axel- Oh shit yeah! Forgot about that dude. See ya later, Larx!" And with that he runs off, yet again the fire demon has got his better attention.
I sigh and remember that I have other business to attend to. Right. That pompous pink haired puff was getting the slapping of a lifetime. I turn on my heel and storm through his door, where he is sewing something by hand. He jumps as I burst through the door - I hope he's pricked his finger.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?!" I yell. "Who the fuck are you to be going around spreading shit about me?!" He doesn't flinch at my words, this gets me even more angry.
"What are you talking about, Larxene?" He asks innocently, an edge of annoyance in his tone.
"You bloody well know what you gay prick," I spit, knowing that this will get to him.
He rises out of his seat, and for the first time I feel intimidated by Marluxia. "Actually, I don't. Care to explain?" He keeps his voice controlled, but his eyes have changed; they're almost cat-like.
All of a sudden I feel like an idiot. I don't want to admit it, but I've wrongly accused him. I bite my lip. "I- I thought you uh, told Xigbar that I counted his, um, scars..." I trail off, too embarrassed to look him in the eye now.
I feel his body ease a bit, and it's safe to look at him. His face has completely changed again, only this time he's laughing. I can feel a vein twitch somewhere, what's so funny? "You counted his scars?" He pushes me playfully. "You sad shit."
Oops. "Mm," I reply. "And he knows this somehow." I exhale angrily and fold my arms, trying to make sense of it all.
"Well I certainly didn't tell him - I didn't know until now," Marluxia comments. "He must've noticed you doing it."
Oh shit. I bite my lip even harder - was I really that obvious? Hmm, I take these men for less than what they are. Marluxia says something, I don't listen, but I get the implication he wants me to leave. So I do as he says and let him resume his sewing. I quickly dash into my room and look in the mirror. I look a state; my eyes are wild, slightly quivering, and my pale face is smeared in red. I need to calm down, think this over. I decide the best way to do this is some target practise. My kunais appear in my hand, and I make my way to the recreation room to let off some steam.
Bullseye. Again. The dart board is boring me - I need moving targets. But I think most of my frustration has gone. While throwing my last few I think to myself; for a woman I don't get nearly half the respect I should, stupid male species. I tell you, if the Organization was female dominated... My trail of thought is interrupted by someone entering the room, quickly I turn around and launch a kunai at the bastard. Demyx yelps and runs off before I can pelt him any more. He always seems to be on the receiving end of my temper, or anyone's temper for that matter. I guess that's because he's so vulnerable, and, let's face it, water isn't exactly the most intimidating element. So you can imagine that he and I clash terribly, he keeps his distance. Wise choice, I'd say. If he's not being used as target practise for me, he's usually being tricked into pulling a stupid stunt or the victim of another 'SpaceFire Incorporated' prank - yeah, I know, Axel and Xigbar have weird brand names.
The morning passes by with a relatively normal pattern, as normal as it can be in this castle, that is. I find myself watching some kinda trash TV - America's Next Top Model crossed with Big Brother, or something like that anyway. I confess, I'm addicted. About half way through Marluxia joins me; we both love to watch it, that and Desperate Housewives. He shows me what he's been sewing all morning; it's a delicate white handkerchief with the tiniest, most intricate rose embroidered onto the corner. All done by hand. Wow, he really is a genius. I compliment him and then we both get stuck into this little modelling zoo - that Philipino male model cheated on the British girl! What a prick! And now she's crying. I swear, if I were that girl I'd show that twat what it means to mess with a woman! Pah, I could make a better model any day.
When the show has finished, the channel it's on reminds me of the day today. I close my eyes and try to keep my breathing even - it's Saturday. Yet another thing I hate about this group - the meetings. Every single bleeding Saturday. And half the time it isn't even a proper discussion. We just have to listen to our twat of a Superior prattle on about shit. Only his little bum chum, Saix, listens avidly, taking in every detail. Suck up. But then I guess it becomes a bit like school after that. Usually Axel or Xiggy lose concentration and start lobbing anything they can get their hands on. Hmm, my kunais may come in handy today.
The clock strikes twelve.