Patience was a virtue that Marluxia did not possess. Vexen had seen that in their meetings; Number XI would lose interest in Xemnas's long-winded speeches and begin to sneak glances at the members around him, or he would run his fingertips against the rough edge of his coat zipper, or he would take great interest in the seemingly pointless pull-strings on his hood, memorizing the intricate details of silver. Xemnas didn't seem to notice, he was always far too busy getting lost in thought.
Now that the six of them lived in Castle Oblivion together, however, Marluxia was the forgetful leader. Xemnas had seen the Assassin's weak point and had exploited it, as a lesson for those who wanted to seize the throne. Vexen knew who Xemnas disliked, who Xemnas felt threatened by, who knew too much; they had all been sent to Castle Oblivion as a final exile.
Marluxia had to cook the dinner that night, because Zexion was sick that day, and the other members agreed for once to combine their efforts and help with preparations. Unfortunately, Vexen realized, "combine" had apparently meant "have him and Marluxia cook while the rest of them set the table and then left the two of them alone." He sighed and prepared to face the task ahead.
The stove was old and Zexion was the only one who knew how to use it. Marluxia frowned at the heap of metal, which was taking a long, long time to warm up.
"Glaring at it won't make the butter melt any faster." Vexen said. The Marluxia started, surprised by the man who had just appeared in the doorway. Vexen smiled almost darkly as Marluxia poked the saucepan with a spatula in childish determination. "Really, you just have to wait for it to get warm enough to bubble. You know, you're not very patient, Number XI."
Marluxia glowered, but Vexen noticed that the neophyte's cheeks were pink. "Who asked you?!" He muttered, once again stabbing the plastic spatula into the little square of butter. "I'd like to see you cook."
Vexen laughed, which made Marluxia shudder. "Believe it or not, I was taught a little about cooking. Everyone of us – the senior members – were taught to cook. Part of Ansem's 'make-us-into-gentlemen plan." He snorted, "Didn't work very well, did it?" He laughed, lost in the cloudy memories of his Other's life. Marluxia tried his best to ignore him, as the stove had finally warmed up enough to melt the butter. Vexen leaned against the doorframe as the memories faded, and he watched the neophyte for a while before speaking again. "Well then, Number XI," he smiled, "What are we having for dinner?"
"I don't know." Marluxia replied, annoyed, "I'm making a rice thing."
"Ah. A rice thing. Can't wait to try it." Vexen said. Marluxia's face turned a deeper pink, similar to his hair color. "Would you like any help?" Vexen asked. Marluxia shook his head as he poured a few cupfuls of rice into the pan, his hair whipping against his cheeks. He continued to stir the rice around and added some broth to the concoction. It boiled, and Vexen watched.
Marluxia turned the oven knob to the 'off' position as he transferred the pan from one of the places on the stove to another and pulled another pan out of the cupboard. He tried to turn the stove on again, but all the stubborn appliance did was hiss and click at him, like some wild Heartless. But the gas finally
switched on and let out a large blast of heat and flames; Marluxia let out a frightened squeak and stumbled backwards, and in doing so he lost his balance and landed gracelessly on the ground. Vexen looked up, somewhat startled as well.
"Are you singed?" He asked the neophyte. Marluxia shook his head, eyes wide, still on the ground. Vexen held out his hand, ready to help the boy to his feet again. "Are you all right, Number XI?"
Marluxia nodded, but ignored Vexen's hand, choosing to get up on his own, still determined to show everyone that he was absolutely able to handle things on his own. He walked to the stove and put the saucepan on it, almost timidly.
Vexen sighed again and resumed his observation. "Is there anything you want me to do? Something…I can chop up for you? Salt? Pepper?"
"No, you can go if you want. Check on Zexion or something." Marluxia suggested, back turned so that all that Vexen could see was his whispy pink hair.
"I may do that." Vexen mused. He left, choosing to walk rather than teleport.
Marluxia found that there was nothing more to be done with his disappointing rice dish, and he turned the oven off. Once again, it refused to do so, and it spluttered fire at him. Marluxia felt the tiny flame burn his hand slightly. The oven then clicked off, on its own. Marluxia ran cool water over his burn as he waited for the other members to slowly file in. Vexen eyed him suspiciously from the doorway, almost as if he had been watching the whole time.
As the five of them ate the overcooked rice, the lights above them flickered and dimmed. Halfway through the depressing meal, the power went out completely. All eyes turned toward Larxene, but she told them again and again that the power outage had nothing to do with her. They all had to teleport or, in Larxene's case, have Axel lead them back to their room – the girl had not learned yet to teleport – and there they waited.
Room illuminated by moonlight, Marluxia found his way to his bed and fell asleep without even changing into his pajamas.
When he woke in the morning, the power was back on. The burn on his hand had a bandage on it. When he examined the burn, he saw that the mark was in the shape of a heart. This made him feel slightly nauseous, but he told himself that he had most likely caught Zexion's illness.
For the rest of the day, Vexen ignored him completely.
I tried to do a 411 story...watcha think?
Ooh! Disclaimer! The Organization belongs to Gaaaaaackt! (and, yeah, Nomura too.)
Please review - This is my first Mar/Vex-type thing, so I may have butchered their personalities.