This was actually written last Halloween. I only remembered to post it now. It was a request for Saix and Vexen in Halloween Town, so um... yes.

Borrowed Skins

Vexen does not, as a general rule, particularly enjoy traveling to any of the more exotic worlds available to the Organization's reach. Part of it is because they call for ridiculous transformations to blend in with the population, and the fact that he possesses a history of rather unfortunate experiences with them. Three years after the fact, he still flatly refuses to travel to the Pride Lands after a particularly humiliating stint as a bandy-legged gazelle. (In his defense, having a rather overenthusiastic, leonine Demyx nearly biting out half his flank in a case of mistaken identity is a particularly compelling reason to refrain from future visits.)

Beyond such unpleasant memories, most of his reluctance stems from the fact that he prefers to barricade himself in his laboratory come hell or high waters.

This time, much to his displeasure, departure is unavoidable: after all, Xemnas happens to be far more persuasive than any force of nature.

"They say there's a mad doctor in Halloween Town," the Superior muses quietly, lounging against one of Vexen's lab benches with all the audacity of a tomcat. "A man of science. He's researching hearts, I believe. Saix is an ideal candidate for the mission; the residents, from what I understand, are of a peculiar disposition, but he should be more than capable of dealing with any ... complications that may come his way." His voice lingers on the pause with entirely too much deliberation, and Vexen feels the silence grate.

"And what has all this to do with the price of silk in Agrabah?" Regardless of the fact that he knows what the answer will be, IV snaps the question anyway.

Xemnas' expression turns entirely too neutral. The Superior cants his head to the side, a calculated angle that Vexen has seen before: generally, when he's about to say something that he'll find entirely displeasing.

He's not disappointed.

"Well," Xemnas says, eyes sliding to the side. He minces his words as carefully as he cuts into his dinner, and his fingers tap thoughtfully against a beaker. "Now that you mention it..."

That, really, is the only reason he's here now.

He hesitates before the pumpkin cut into the doorway-- VII is already holding the portal for him, placid as ever. Only the diviner can look so completely unruffled with one hand on a pumpkin door cut into a tree trunk. He does nothing but stare at the academic, almost expectantly.

And there's nothing more for Vexen to do but close his eyes and step through.

No pain ever accompanies the physical change, but it ripples over him anyway, tangible as a breath of air.

The berserker's transformation is the first thing to greet him when his eyes slide open. It's... odd. He blinks.

It's difficult to register the subtleties in Saix's expression even at the best of times, but watching VII stare down at his arms, now slightly florescent and considerably translucent, Vexen can almost hazard the guess that he's displeased.

He hides the smirk by examining the changes to his own appearance with an air of clinical professionalism. His ears feel strange, and when he reaches up to touch them, they're set higher than they should be, and his fingers encounter fur, short and smooth. Bringing his hands back down in front of his face present him with the sight of blunt, black claws set into the beds where his fingernails once lay; a quick flex of his fingers prompt them to extend. He licks his lips and his tongue encounters newly-sharpened canines, pointed as a predator's. Movement out of the corner of his eyes catches his attention, and he half-turns to see a black tail trailing out from beneath the hem of his coat, switching and curling on its own.

Saix is a ghost, and Vexen is a cat. The irony is almost enough to make him laugh, except, of course, that he doesn't.

Without quite thinking about it, he moves his hand curiously through Saix's middle without warning, feeling a brief chill on the back of his fingers as they slide through translucent flesh.

"Stop that," Saix snarls, as vehemently as though Vexen had taken his fingers and dragged them through his guts; and technically, Vexen supposed, he had just done exactly that.

"We have a mission," is all Vexen says, and he can feel the flesh of his tail knock against his leg as it curls.

This may not be such a waste of his time after all.