Our group gets a small in class assignment each morning designed to improve our vocabulary. I got bored and wrote this. Not much else to it, really. ^^; Note, I'll update this every once in a while.
I'll leave it to you to figure out the word we were given. Yeah.
With furtive elegance, Xigbar would stroll lazily across the ceiling, often times creeping up on unsuspecting neophytes. Demyx never quite understood why the older man preferred keeping a vertical separate from the others; it must make him feel young, Demyx decided.
***
The man had always maintained a predilection towards shadow and its supposed might; and Vexen, for all his apprehensive caution, never failed in following. Eventually, he lost himself to darkness for the final time, no longer able to outstretch his arm to graze his fingertips against the leather of Xemnas' coat.
***
Xemnas' aversion to any and all forms of conversation bordered insult; his aversion to human contact was both expected and intriguing in the sense that, considering the amount of time he spends in reclusion, the man's sanity should have faded years ago (or perhaps it already has?). Now, his exaggerated revulsion towards the innocent roach that merrily etched its path across the dinning room table was near comical.
***
The two cloaked men walked at leisure, not caring for the suspicious and at times terrorized glances they received form the occasional passersby. Sure, the pair was obviously misplaced, yet they strode with enough confidence to fool any, as if they'd grown alongside the townsfolk, as if they'd spent eternities walking down the cobblestone sidewalks.
"In any case," Xemnas drawled, "IX actions were inexcusable. We Nobody's have no hearts. We cannot feel fear. What reason was there to run…?" Saix nodded in agreement. He anticipated another five minutes of monologue form the other and was surprised in hearing the sole click of his own heels on the stones accompanied by silence; it was unlike Xemnes to digress in the middle of his rants.
"Xemnas?" Saix began only to pause at the site of his lord staring off in the opposite direction. Saix closed the distance between them in two elegant strides.
"That woman has broken her heel," Xemnas stated bluntly. Sure enough, on the opposite side of the road, lay a woman on the ground, scraped-kneed and red faced desperately trying to reassemble her stiletto heel and dignity.
"So it seems. How unfortunate," Saix replied nonchalantly. The two stood a while as they witnessed the woman ungracefully lift herself from the stones only to once again drop, face first and quite violently. Saix sighed. "It appears that her other heel has snapped."
***
Vexen was wretched with plants, Marluxia knew, and for it Vexen was disparaged. Relentlessly. The belittling ceased, however, following the morning of a particularly nasty frost which promptly dispatched half of the flora rooted in the castle gardens.
***
As the week draged on, Vexen reduced himself to a lowly recluse in the sheltered fortress of his labs. Secure though the labs were, a lone sandwich on a porcelain platter accompanied by a red rose would always find its way through the bolted door and onto his desk; there were no doubts over who was the sender.
***
Axel was verbose in nearly all respects: loud was his natural setting; eccentric was his state of calm; shouting was his form of greeting; and above all this, he always had something to say about everything. This man was a run-on sentence, a continual conversation about nothing. Yet Roxas remained at his side, for within Axel's words lay promise of knowledge; so the boy allowed himself to hope. For, as we all well know, hope is the very last thing to die.
***
"Your enjoyment is antiquated at best, sir," Luxord hummed, his thick English accent slurring heavily over a mouthful of chips, crumbs gingerly dusting his goatee.
"I would hardly call stamp collecting 'antique'," was Xaldin's dry remark.
"With all due respect," Luxord swallowed, tongue lapping out briefly to wet his lips, "stamp collecting is an old fashioned diversion, though not completely unexpected from a senior member," he trailed off with a devious smirk.
"And what, pray tell, has 'seniority' to do with stamp collecting?" Xaldin glared accusingly.
"Oh, nothing," the blond man rubbed his finger tips against his thumb, liberally trailing crumbs over Xaldin's stamp books, then made for the chocolate bonbons across the table, grabbing one delicately between his index and thumb. "Simply put," Luxord continued, "not even my own grandfather entertained such frivolousness."
"And that is to do with your clan's fascination with gambling."
"Touché." Having long since devoured the confectionary, Luxord licked his fingers clean and turned to leave. "You are likely to grow ancient along with your art," he tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Xaldin shifted in his chair.
"Luxord." The Nobody paused, his hand on the knob.
"Nobodies are incapable of aging. You should know this by now."
***
The air was dank with delicate aromas; the scent of lilac and carnation strung with blends of various other blooms suffused into his pores, permeating the leather of his coat. What a wretched nuisance it would be, Saix thought, to remove this pungent disgust from his garments; it was unfortunate that just that morning Axel had found amusement in setting the washers ablaze.
***
Marluxia was aesthetic in many regards: he spent the days meticulously pruning his gardens, while simultaneously dousing his pink mane of hair with a healthy dose of aerosol. Maintaining the appearance of grace, health, and all together being the embodiment of beauty in male form was essential for day to day existence (or at least in his mind it was).
***
Defaming the others would be a simple matter; all it would take were a few incriminating snapshots from New Year's Eve's alcoholic party and irrefutable pieces of evidence (personal lubricants, birth control…preservatives…). Yes, demolishing the others' reputation would be a simple task indeed.
I had Saix in mind while writing, but feel free to plug in whoever you see fit