Namine wakes to a sterile white hall, that one near-empty floor of Castle Oblivion where she has long been sitting and waiting. Her trusty sketchbook is splayed open in her lap; she was drawing before she fell asleep, and one can now easily catch where the blue crayon she carefully wielded has, in her uncontrolled pitch forward, broken from the drawing and ridden off the page.
She traces the line it has left, trusting the wax not to smudge.
n.o.i.t.a.i.v.i.l.b.O
Larxene strides through the corridor of an upper level of her castle, wondering just how the hell she got herself into this. The Organisation, that's a no brainer. She once awoke on the dingy streets of The World That Never Was to find Nobodies, and to look for life. Castle Oblivion, she was sent out by word of the big boss. Looking after a whiny, self-absorbed brat, she's not so sure.
Where the nobodies of the lower floors - Vexy, Lexy and Zexy - run a democracy, sharing duties and opinions and the shallowest of loyalties, Larxene and Axel live an anarchy beneath a dictatorship, listening to the flower power man spurt his twisted hippy rationales about freedom and oppression, all nodding and smiling, then behind his back operating loudly on a policy of open season.
So for Larxene to be mothering the white witch on a near-daily basis without order from the almighty pink hair, something must be up.
Either she originally was getting back at Marluxia somehow with Namine or she was trying to weed out a piece of non-Sora related information, trying to sway with the loyalties in case a fellow roman numeral ever needed their memories fucked up.
It just isn't like her to work without an ulterior motive, she thinks. Hell, she's no Zexion but there has to be some sort of proper reason to that doing, even if she's forgotten it. (Time passes so slowly in the Castle that sometimes, you forget it's passing at all.)
She resolves to stop visiting tomorrow if she can't remember by this afternoon.
"Hey, Number Zero." Laxene greets.
Namine looks up, and a flash of hurt slights her face to be tucked away neatly again, she bows her head and fashions her features into wary indifference, eyes dropping to the floor.
"What, no hello for your kind guest? Who has graciously come at her own inconvenience to alleviate your boredom? How impudent."
"Hello," Namine mutters.
Number Zero. That is what she is called, as the elder blonde Nobody never fails to remind her. She is not one of them. She is not a Somebody. She is not a fighter. If she's anything, it's an inept tool no one believes in ready to be discarded at the slightest opportunity. She is a witch, and she is worthless. Ultimately nothing. Zero.
They don't even have a roman numeral for that.
"And what exactly is it you're doing that's more important then entertaining your better?" Her crayon, idly scribbling to amend its prior misgiving halts, and Namine looks upwards guiltily.
Larxene snatches the paper from her hands and appraises the drawing, scoffing. "A two year old could draw themselves better then this. Yes, you're just so self-obsessed aren't you." With a smirk, Larxene tears the paper in half, then in half again. "Because when it comes down to it, you're just an ugly little girl in way over her head. You don't matter, zero." The paper flutters to the floor.
The anger curls her nails into the side of her chair, but Namine works to show no emotion on her face. She doesn't want to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her upset.
Larxene cackles, and skips around the chair in an odd sort of dance, to kneel afront the younger girl all too deliberately. Larxene knows just how Namine sees them all from her distorted viewpoint. The witch's resentment manifests itself in their tall, arrogant patronization, and she prides herself on her own foresight. Namine loves the notion of the organisation's incapability, their fatal flaw of overlooking how powerful and worthy she truly is.
"It's satire, that you feel so bad for yourself when you have so much luck thrust upon you," Larxene explains. "You have a heart, a mind and the ability to manipulate the memories of anyone advancing through the castle. So much more than let's say another nobody, constantly suspected and competing with others, life permanently at risk from fighting and tied to the crutch of obtaining actuality. You think you're so good, but you spend all this time sulking and feeling sorry for yourself and never actually doing anything to thwart Marluxia's plans."
"I can't," Namine whispers. "It's wrong."
"Is it really?" Larxene hypothesizes. "Marluxia's a very bad man, and though he hasn't hurt you, none of us have your best interests at heart. What can I say, we don't have any. Hmm. But you should've at least altered the perceptions of Sora- surely you don't actually want him to forget his best friend, who he's been forever searching for? Isn't that wrong too?"
"He's a very bad man." Namine repeats. Larxene stares at the shaking younger girl in amusement for a moment, then realises the doll's too afraid. Afraid of what Marluxia might do to her, afraid of not having Sora's genuine (but misplaced) friendship, afraid of what might happen if she tries to change everything and it all spirals out of control.
Larxene's respect for her suddenly drops a length. "Who would have thought it. Namine, the coward." Larxene sneers. "Look at me when I talk to you, child."
Namine's head is a badly oiled pivot joint that refuses to tilt upwards. Larxene takes her chin in her hand and lifts it, appraising the other girl with that something the witch doesn't understand in her eyes. "You lonely, lonely, little girl."
Larxene leans down over her and pressed her lips to Namine's. She guides the frozen mouth open and eases her tongue inwards, threading a hand through the witch's fine, silk-like hair.
She pulls away after a moment and breathes out, standing straight again.
"And you think you know everything," Larxene purrs.
"Funny, I could say the same thing about you." Wavering voice.
Larxene folds her arms, knowing she's won the battle with a kick at the paper beneath her feet. "Here's something to think about. Why don't you try laying back and enjoying life instead of always trying to capture it?"
Satisfied, she turns and stalks off.
Namine raises a still shaking finger to where she has just been kissed, furious beyond belief and hardly daring to breathe. Nothing.
O.b.l.i.v.i.a.t.i.o.n
"Yo, twelve."
"Axel."
He waves, she inclines her head and motions for him to sit down.
"So how are you faring, Larxene?"
"Well enough. I've been having a lot of run ins with Marluxia, talking about what to do in regards to the key blade's chosen."
"He has been advancing floors alarmingly fast. Lexaues was just suggesting capping the map cards we give him, but that will only lead to him getting stronger faster, training in the levels of the castle already available."
"Agreed, I'm not sure a stall for time would be doing much good right now, especially as we're trying to coax him upwards and not push him down. Still, if he gets powerful enough to pose a serious threat to the replica…" Their whole scheme could be undermined if Marluxia lost grip.
"We'll all just have to keep working to fight him off."