A/N: Hello, hello everyone! Welcome to Thorn :D I really hope you enjoy it, and if you do, please, don't be shy - review and let me know! Reviews make authors like me very, very happy.
All quotations are courtesy of the Marquis de Sade.
"In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice."
"Look, Marly. The azaleas are in bloom."
"They're pretty, Mommy."
"Aren't they? I love them."
The child, auburn haired and small at five years old, affected a pout. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the azaleas warily. Sure, they were pretty - but he was jealous. His mother could only stand to look at him like that for an instant before she burst out into laughter. It was infectious, and he began to giggle despite himself, negative feelings placed aside.
"Of course," his mother said, when she had managed to stop laughing, "I don't love them as much as I love you. I don't love anything more than I love you."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart."
Marluxia jerked, as if he were waking from a bad dream. The memory had come so quickly - but that wasn't unusual in the springtime, when the first petals emerged from their winter homes beneath the snow and bloomed to life in the sweet, fresh air. Their scent and beauty brought back things he tried to forget. The good memories were always the worst.
He scowled as he pulled his hand from the stem of the rose he'd been tending. A thorn had gone in deep; blood welled up from the puncture. He was quick to raise his finger to his lips and suck on it before a single drop spilled onto the precious soil. It wouldn't be the first time his blood was shed in his garden, but it was something he tried to avoid at all costs. The flowers didn't like blood. They were too innocent to have a taste for it.
He was careful with them as he tended them, moving from the roses to the azaleas. He touched a pink petal tenderly, lovingly.
"How are you today, mom?" He asked the flower. Roses were his favorite, but azaleas were his mothers', and he felt her among them, was certain that her spirit lingered there - he could hear her in the rustling of the wind stirring the petals, in the cry of the mockingbirds, in the quiet hum of the bees gathering their nectar.
For a long time he stayed there among the flowers in quiet reverence, until the moment was broken by the shrill ring of his cell phone.
He almost didn't answer it, but the number displayed on his caller ID was not one that it would be wise, or beneficial, to ignore.
"We have work tonight." Saix informed him. "Get changed and get over here - that is, if you're in."
"Don't be an imbecile. I'll be there in a half-hour."
He slid the phone shut, muttered an apology to the garden, and went inside the small house. He scrubbed his weathered hands clean of soil, then changed into a pair of black jeans, a plain grey t-shirt which he knew he would be out of as soon as he arrived at headquarters, and his leather riding jacket. He was always up for some throttle hopping - and besides, the Superior had them running almost all the time now, doing some of his dirty work. Marluxia had no qualms about this because his moral boundaries were extraordinarily low (don't rape women and try not to kill anybody), and he could always use the cash...and the snow.
Xemnas was a powerful man. Saix sat at his right hand; Marluxia, at his left. Often called a faggot during his childhood due to his affinity for daisy chains and azaleas, the gang of boys was the first place in which he was truly respected, even feared. They were all strays, just like he had been when Xemnas found him four years ago. They were nobodies, once alone and unloved, given a place to belong, a job to do, and money to spend.
He'd risen through the ranks quickly. Saix, who was both his partner and competition, had been envious of how quickly Xemnas had taken to him. He would never say it, of course. But Marluxia saw that look in his eyes, and he watched his back.
"You." His father said from the couch as he gathered his bike keys from the counter and headed for the door. "Where are you going?"
"Out."
Jack rose to his feet unsteadily and swayed towards his son. He reeked of alcohol, which made the hairs on the back of Marluxia's neck stand up in some kind of Pavlovian reaction to the smell despite that he felt no fear anymore, just a dull expectation. "That's not an answer, you little son of a bitch. What're you gonna do? Go get some seeds for your garden? Gonna spend some more time with your flowers?"
"That's none of your business."
"The hell it isn't. I'm your father."
He sneered at the use of that term. He didn't like Jack and the feeling was clearly mutual. As far as he was concerned, the man who was biologically his father was nothing more than a sperm donor, just a lousy drunk who spent all day at dusty construction sites and hated the flowers. How, he wondered, had a woman like his mother ever loved a man like Jack?
"You're not." He said. "You aren't my father."
Then he closed his eyes and cranked up the volume in his head, dreamed of flowers and loud rock music as meaty, calloused hands struck him.
"Marluxia." Xemnas nodded to him.
"Sir." He responded, bowing.
"Take your place."
"Yes, sir."
The group of boys parted to let him through, their eyes full of respect and...admiration. It was a strange thing to think that they looked up to him, that they trusted him. He nodded to them as he passed and took his proper place opposite Saix.
"Saix," their Superior said, "tonight you will take the south side. Marluxia, that means you'll be going north. Decide which boys you will take with you. As usual, I've prepared for you a list of calls for the night. Your satchels have already been placed on your bikes. Any questions?"
There were none. He reached into the black hooded leather top that served as their riding uniform and pulled out a bag of white powder, then tossed it casually to Marluxia.
"Go ahead and do a little," he said, as if he were doing him a favor, "but make sure to share with the others. You know I like to keep my boys happy."
Marluxia didn't have to be told twice. He spread out a few lines on the nearest flat surface he could find, took out his cut straw, and breathed in each one.
It was an immediate rush, comforting and familiar, and exhilarating, focused feeling. He watched as everyone did their share. He felt like moving. And it wasn't long before they were.
Noir belonged to them.
It was a dark and broken city of neon and yearning skyscrapers, and it seemed as though a constant rain cloud hung over it - as though God wished to bar them from a true day - as though punishment were being exacted. But it was their city, the place they roamed, their stomping ground.
He whipped around a corner on his motorcycle, making a sharp turn; the cool wind whipping his face and the purr of the bike's engine between his thighs, made him feel refreshed and alive.
With Vexen and Cloud riding behind him, he headed north through the city. Soon the skyscrapers gave way to dilapidated buildings where the poorest of the poor lived, to graffiti'd stretches of concrete. It feltpoor, as if poverty were something that could be inhaled and ingested as easily as cocaine.
He lived on this side of the city, though closer to the central drag and away from the most impoverished – though his father was certainly poor, spending all his money on his damn liquor. Growing up he'd never had anything nice. One of the first things that attracted him to Xemnas' enterprise was the money it brought in, and when he had begun working, he had been almost stunned when he discovered he could buy his own clothes (ones that fit him right) and things that he actually wanted. His bike and his cell phone were paid for by Xemnas himself. Business expenses, the man called them.
They pulled up to a ramshackle duplex that looked one gust of wind away from falling apart. He held up a hand for his back up to stay, then dismounted his bike, his right hand laid cautiously on the butt of the .38 special that he kept tucked under his top during business calls. All of the boys carried guns - most had .9 millimeters, but he favored the .38 and it had been given to him by Xemnas as a reward.
The client met him in the driveway.
"Y-you got my shit, man?" He asked. Marluxia noticed that he was shaking, jonesing, and he laughed in the back of his mind.
"You got my money?"
"...yeah."
"Then I have your shit."
He held out a hand, waiting. The shaking man laid a crumpled hundred bill in his hand, and he gave him a gram.
"I trust we'll see you again."
"Y-yes." He said, antsy, and raced back into his shitty flat to consume his drugs.
It turned out to a night that was both profitable and enjoyable. The buzz of cocaine in his bloodstream made him feel invincible, at the very top of his game, and between calls he and his boys found themselves tearing through the city as fast as they could go. A few times cars revved their engines to race. He left them in the dust every time.
They returned to the warehouse that served as their headquarters tired but accomplished. Marluxia smiled to see the look of approval on Xemnas' face; he'd added to their clientele, something that was looked upon highly.
It was alright that he didn't have a father, or a family, because he had everything he needed right there.
His father was unconscious on the floor when he returned to their house. He would not call it a home, because the only thing that made him feel at home there was his garden. It was difficult to keep in a city where sunshine was rare, but the struggle was worth the small refuge it afforded him.
Spitefully, he kicked Jack in the ribs, knowing that it would not wake him up. Jack groaned.
"Yeah, you bastard," he muttered, "doesn't feel good, does it?"
He did not bother to pick the man up and instead went to the bathroom to examine the damage done earlier. Bruises had started to form along his left cheek bone and underneath his eye.
Nobody ever suspected a thing, because Marluxia was the kind of boy who clearly got himself into fights all the time. What the administration didn't know was that he was good at fighting - or else it was a fact they ignored. Which was perfectly fine with him.
He didn't want their fucking help.
Larxene Carmin had lived a charmed life.
Blonde and pretty and rich, she had never wanted for anything; she lived in a perfect house on a perfect street populated by perfect people with perfect tans and perfect teeth, and nearly everything she'd ever desired was given to her from her designer clothes to the electric blue Audi that she drove everywhere.
Which was why she hadn't understood her father's choice to send her to a public high school. She'd rallied against it, tried every trick in the book. She had cried and yelled and pleaded and batted her big blue eyes, but to no avail. She'd even tried reasoning with them, but nothing worked.. Her parents were staunch in their decision to send her to Central High.
They'd told her it would be good for her, a new experience they thought she should have. She thought it was a drag, and she was glad it was her senior year, because she was ready to be done with it all.
She pulled into the senior parking lot fifteen minutes before the bell would ring to send them to class. It was the first day of her last term at Central, and even in the deep chill of January summer seemed within her reach. What she would do after that, she wasn't entirely sure - she supposed she didn't have to do anything but lounge in the country club drinking mimosas and playing tennis, but she wanted to do something.
Boredom was her greatest enemy. Boredom, and the Nobodies.
She scowled at the shining black bike that was currently sitting in her parking spot. She knew exactly who it belonged to, and she was certain he had taken her spot for the sole purpose of getting under her skin. She parked in the space next to it, shot it one more dirty look, and climbed out of her car.
"Fucking Nobodies." She muttered.
"Larxene! Over here!"
She looked towards the voice and saw her group of friend standing several yards from her. She smiled and headed towards them; like her, they should have rightfully gone to the city's best private school. Sometimes she wondered if their parents had held some kind of conference before deciding to submit them to this very unique brand of torture.
Belle's father, as well as Ariel and Jasmine's, were high ranking employees at her own father's company. Ella and Aurora were sisters whose family came from old money, and Yuki's family owned a car company. But Larxene's family was wealthier than all of them, and that in tandem with her domineering nature cemented her place as the leader of their little posse.
They were the royalty of Central High, and she was their queen. It was the only benefit of attending public school.
They moved across the parking lot with a confident, assured grace, chatting about all the things they'd done over the winter holiday. It was a given that they would be stared at, and the sight of them inspired a veritable cornucopia of feelings. Boys stopped in their tracks to gawk at them, or tried to talk to them if they had the guts; girls either adored and followed them or envied and hated them. They wanted Ariel's long, fiery hair or Jasmine's caramel beauty or Larxene's paralyzing blue eyes and sharp, electric presence. To command any room they entered was not a difficult task.
Yes, they were certainly royalty among the student population, but even royals had their rivals.
In this case, their rivals were a rowdy, obnoxious, arrogant gang of boys who rode around on their motorcycles like the throne belonged to them. As far as Larxene was concerned, they were fools. They were nothing but poor, stray junkies who thought they had some kind of claim when they were really just nobodies.
To her dismay, they had taken a liking to her 'pet name' for them. But it was no large matter. Every time they called themselves that, it was only a reminder that they were nothing and no one. Or so she hoped.
She looked over her shoulder and saw the boys standing against the section of chain link fence dubbed 'smoker's corner' (so called for it's vantage point just of out of sight of the administration, and therefore the chosen spot for kids looking to get a quick nicotine fix before school or between classes), some of them talking in low voices and others just standing there quietly.
Marluxia met her eyes directly, and he smirked around the filter of his cigarette; she wanted to wipe it right off his face, but she settled for a sneer. He was trying to get under her skin, she knew it, and she wouldn't let him have that small satisfaction.
He winked at her. She scoffed and turned her nose up, turned back to her friends and their idle chatter as they walked towards the building on the outer edge of Central's open campus. Before long, the boys were out of sight and out of mind.
The day, for the most part, passed uneventfully. At the beginning of every semester, their schedules were shuffled so that they had the same teachers and the same classes at different times with different classmates; she was glad to find that she had at least one class with every one of her girlfriends except for Jasmine.
English was her last period according to the new schedule. She walked in just a moment before class began and examined the rows of desks - upon seeing nobody that she was particularly fond of, she slid into a seat that had an empty desk on each side of it. When the bell rang, she was fairly satisfied that it would stay that way.
It would have been the perfect seating arrangement for that particular situation, had it not been for Marluxia Alexander.
He strode in ten minutes after the start of class, as if he had the right to enter whenever he chose, and plopped down in the seat right next to nearly made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He offered no explanation or apology for his tardiness, and in fact looked rather bored with the whole ordeal even as the teacher lectured him on punctuality.
She couldn't blame him for being bored. Mr. Evans had a voice that could put anything to sleep, dull and drone-like. But she couldblame him for choosing to sit beside her when there were so many empty desks left for the taking, and she did, because she knew it was wholly intentional.
It wasn't that he wasn't aesthetically pleasing, or unattractive in any way. She didn't think there were many people who would say otherwise - he had sort of a bad boy charm, with his long auburn hair and mischievous blue eyes, but what lay underneath all that was positively repulsive to a girl like her. He was a pauper pretending to be a prince, and it was infuriating.
Besides, she knew he'd probably turn around and cut her throat the second he'd gotten his rocks off. Marluxia seemed like he'd been into fucking dead chicks - those biker girls he was always bending over were close enough. Or maybe, she thought, maybe he liked them because they looked like dykes. Maybe he pretended they were men.
She spent most of the period texting Ariel about the bastard's nerve, and just what they could do to put the strays down once and for all.
She was relieved when the period ended, but she hadn't seen the last of him; as she climbed into her Audi, he was mounting his precious bike.
"Hello, neighbor." He said, smirking. She scowled.
"Don't talk to me."
"It's a free country, isn't it?"
"Only to simpletons like you who have no respectfor the proper order of things. But don't worry. I'm going to teach you in the most painful way I can think of."
He laughed, and revved his engine so loudly it made her spine hurt. "Good luck with that, babe." He said, and drove off, leaving her shaking with rage in his wake.