This is a mish-mash of an AU, and it will be my second attempt at one. The genre warps constantly. I attempted to be creative, but I apologize in advance, it was spurred on by a random thought.

Pharmacy
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Only Sage
----------------------------------------------------------------

In many amazing tales of fantasy and awe there is the existence of a special sage in one form or another who grants the protagonist an astounding means with which to solve their problems. This great gift ranged from being a miniscule trinket to an exercise that taught a powerful and priceless lesson. And because these wise sages owned such potent items, they all lived in distant lands where access was severely limited or travel was excessively harsh. Supposedly it was to weed out the ungrateful and weak of heart. Whatever the reason, people came to call them hermits due to how obscure some of residence's locations were rather then their true titles as sages. Many of the sages took great offense to this and as a result, "upped" the prices for their remedial wares.

As a result of such "inflation", these items of wonder became even rarer as well as greater magnets for dust bunnies as they lay untouched in the attics of the sage's homes. The common people began to forgo even bothering to try making the journey to the sages. With all the prices and interest they ended up paying, the "cure" was worse than the problem. Essentially it was either face the fire breathing lizard without help or receive the desired aid at 56 percent compounded interest. Let it be said that many a village became human fries thereafter. For you see, the people who really needed these great items did not have incredibly deep pockets or Mastercard.

And so the necessity and the commerce between sages and people began to dwindle and degrade with time. The sages foolishly ignored this lack of attention for they were self-sufficient enough to disregard the people's negligence. After all, the people needed the sages, but the sages did not necessarily need the people.

However, that all changed when karma finally kicked their sagely asses when things like mortgage payments, bills, taxes and the internet became vital aspects of life.

Wise or not, they could not combat the great powers of government repossession or internet providers. The sages were soon forced to take drastic measures if they planned on keeping the clothes on their backs, roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. Once revered sages of life became hospital interns, wise philosophers became high-school counselors, alchemists of great esteem became bank clerks and so on with their integration into the other blue collar jobs of the modern day. Although they were arguably wise, sages never obtained the appropriate degrees from college.

Eventually all of the sages of lore ceased to exist, only the hollow shells of their long tarnished glory remained, cursed to minimum wage to repent for the rest of their immortal existences. Be it by taking your order at a restaurant or being the person that so graciously purifies your sewage line.

Except for one.

The youngest, most hermitic and infamously stingy of sages is all that remains of the linage of ancient knowledge. He resides in a great citadel of a house constructed of the finest marble and atop the most desolate mountain. He willfully embraced the more modern ways of man but continued to hold onto the arts of the past. His adaptability is why he can be considered the greatest sage of all.

His name is Vexen. He is a gauntly built man with droopy green eyes and long but neatly kept dirty blond hair. He was originally a sage of snowflakes, but he became knowledgeable in other areas through years of meticulous research and is now known as the Great Sage of Winter. Aside from his prestige as the last sage and of winter, Vexen is known to be fond of a variety of formal coats and business wear regardless of the weather. He also has a particular affinity with Moogles and keeps several around his home.

Vexen possesses astounding talent in both the scientific and mystic fields. How he manages harmony between the two opposites, no one knows, but whatever it was, it was what that ultimately saved him from taking your order at a McDonalds Drive-Thru.

Many say that it was because he was the first and only sage to understand the ways and bane of taxes. And to counter that threat, Vexen invested in stocks and other business ventures. Although he was ridiculed by his peers and called insane, Vexen ultimately had the last laugh. Vexen's endeavors were rewarded with profits and success that made multibillion dollar corporations cry tears of blood and envy.

Another factor that helped with Vexen's triumph was that he was extraordinarily inventive and benefited greatly from creating and selling massively marketable products such as post-its, Starbucks and sliced bread.

Because of this, Vexen was able to fully sate the tax vultures that loomed hungrily over his home and drive them away for good with deluges of golden spheres. With the collectors gone, Vexen continued to live life at its mellow pace luxuriously while his sage-kin went the way of any other now extinct species- horribly and their remains gawked and mocked at by snot-nosed brats from behind a sheet of glass. Vexen laughed at their painful demise while he drank his double-sage frappuccino grande in front of the HD viewing globe on his porch.

Vexen was indeed a fortunate man as well as a powerful one (having bought all the other sages legendary items at amazing retail prices), but karma was polishing a particularly hard-tipped boot with which to metaphorically kick Vexen's ass.

It was only a matter of time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Vexen gazed contently at the tranquil white that crowned the ashen massif that lay before him. The tender billows of refreshing air lightly danced through his untied hair and the loose tails of his buttoned shirt. In his bony hands he held a fragilely expensive and exquisite ceramic teacup. The vivid steam of the tanned and creamy liquid that resided in the little piece of china drifted lazily upwards. A complacent smile was cracked onto Vexen's pale lips as he spoke to himself, "Ah the mountains, expansive and fortifying of my home as always. Hmm, Mt. Midgar seems to be leaning a little too much to the right...Mooglesworth, do change it to a more barring position."

A small Moogle with a blue pom-pom that was standing by his feet saluted him with a kupo and padded into the marble estate. Vexen hummed a low tune as he slurped another minty sip of his tea from his snowflake patterned teacup. A terrible screech of heavy metal gears erupted out of nowhere among the virgin caps of the mountains and continued to grate arduously. Onlookers would have gasped in astonishment at how Mt. Midgar inched towards the left and closer to the other mountains. Vexen ignored the geological feat and continued to drink his tea nonchalantly.

The deafening screams of gears grinding ceased and its horrible echoes faded into the scenery and silence. The Moogle came back out from the building and kupo'd happily to his master. The sage gave a final sip of his tea and placed it politely back onto the saucer he held in his other hand. He savored the lingering aftertaste momentarily before kindly handing the cup and plate to the waiting paws of the Moogle.

"Another cup if you would. Add more mint while you're at it."

Once again the Moogle disappeared into the marble domain and Vexen surveyed the new arrangement of the mountains much like a fanatic feng shui enthusiast would fawn over the chi-riffic placement of their furniture.

So it wasn't surprising that he was too engrossed in the improved appearance of the mountains to notice the petite blonde girl that was standing next to him. Vexen managed to overlook her hyperactive hand movements to the side of his face. In fact he didn't even acknowledge her existence until she had nearly ripped off his shirt's cotton and polyester sleeve from tugging at it too earnestly.

Irritably he pulled back his arm and respectively snarled at her, "Who are you? What are you doing here? Keep in mind if you're a door-to-door salesman you will be shot out of a cannon."

The blonde girl blinked dumbfounded for several seconds, then opened her mouth speak. Vexen shot her an even more venomous look as he tagged on another cold threat, "-And if you are a Jenova's Witness you will be thrown off a cliff into very impaling formations of rock sediment." Vexen took a polite breath of a pause and cocked a daring eyebrow, "So do you still have business with me or will you be on your merry way?"

The blonde girl placed a hand over her face and giggled ignorantly. "You're a very funny sage." Vexen's other eyebrow rose skeptically to join its mate, his jaw slackly jutting down in disbelief.

The stranger's blue eyes widened with abrupt recollection and she avidly plucked Vexen's hand from his side with both of hers and shook them vivaciously, "I'm Naminé by the way."

Vexen stiffly yanked back his hand from her unpleasantly warm grasp. Vexen's brows deepened with annoyance as he addressed her. "How wonderful for you, but what are you doing up here? Unless you have something terribly important to discuss with me, I will consider this trespassing, and I do not treat trespassers kindly." Naminé laughed once more and swung her hands playfully behind her as she rocked brightly on the heels of her sandaled feet.

"I've come here in search of your help Winter Sage Vexen!"

No sooner had Naminé spoken those optimistic words had Vexen's metal doors been slammed, dead-bolted, vacuum sealed against freezer burn, chained and nail boarded shut. She stared at the heavily secured door blankly and thought nothing of it.

Naminé stepped forward and pressed a dainty finger to the button on the convenient intercom speaker next to the entrance's frame. "Are you there Vexen?" She pulled back her hand and waited for a response.

The speaker crackled in agony, "Yes."

She wet her lips and pressed the button again, "So you'll help me right?"

The intercom's speaker lunged forward, "NO!"

Naminé pouted dejectedly, "But why not? You're a sage...you're supposed to help people!"

The intercom sneered at her, "I have the right to refuse service! Now GO AWAY!"

Anger sparked in Naminé's eyes, she whipped out a small notepad from out of the bosom region of her white dress. She jabbed a defiant finger into the speaker button as she read off the writing in the little book, "That is only for clients with whom you have had previous and negative correspondence with! I am a new client and therefore have no previous or negative history. The Sage's Service Refusal Right is therefore NULL AND VOID. Thereupon you are liable to be sued for every PENNY for false pretext in accordance to business ethic code-"

"ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! Just...give me a few minutes to let you in." The intercom slumped to its previously lifeless and square position. Naminé smiled proudly to herself.

Vexen twitched painfully on the other side of his protective barrier. He placed two therapeutic fingers to his temple and cursed how properly informed Naminé was, "Damn Sage Union Code..."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

With great hesitance and displeasure, he removed all of the locks that barred evil customers from his cheerful abode. Naminé skipped all too happily into the cool marble building and chattered mindlessly about how thankful she was. Vexen ignored her and expressed his discontent with the entire situation by slouching miserably and grumbling disdainfully as he guided her to the room where business was usually discussed.

The room itself was a quaint one with a round dining table which had a decorative glass sphere placed in its center. On the sides of the colorless table were two artic colored plush and low backed chairs. Ornate, snow tinted curtains with crystal designs emblazoned on their fabric hung tastefully from the ceiling in a flourish that tapered and focused on a hive of glass that was a chandelier. A set of grandiose windows complimented the room with a picturesque view of the surrounding mountain range. Naminé gasped loudly at the dazzle of the surreally clean room. Vexen rolled his eyes and nudged her to the seats near the table.

Naminé plopped onto the chair with childish dexterity while Vexen slid gracefully onto his own chair. The older blond dug into his shirt's pocket and produced a delicate blue bell. Vexen gave it a tiny ring before stowing it away again. With a deep sigh he beckoned forth a twirling white quill, a pot of royal blue ink and an undulating leaf of aged paper from a swarm of deathly white wire. Noticeably the parchment was entirely blank save for the loopy cursive "Contract" at the top and "sign" at the bottom.

The summoned items floated in the air for a moment before gliding down onto the table. Naminé watched this entire scene in a mute daze. Vexen politely coughed to bring her attention back. "So tell me, what is it that you need my aid for exactly? Keep in mind that what you ask comes at a price which matches and may very well even surpass the value of your ordeal. Do you still seek my help after knowing this?"

A flash of hesitation passed over Naminé's face and she took a nervous gulp to calm herself. With an affirmative nod and shaky "Yes, I do." The dove colored quill sprung to life, it dipped into the cobalt pot and began to write furiously on the contract.

The beseeching client, Naminé, acknowledges the risk in seeking the aid of the Winter Sage, Vexen. The client, Naminé, has been appropriately warned and agrees to waiver any injury, death or any other damages that may be connected to the services that the Winter Sage, Vexen, has so graciously provided. The client, Naminé, also acknowledges that appropriate compensation for the services of the Winter Sage, Vexen, will be specified and paid (AFTER the client, Naminé has signed the contract), be it monetary or otherwise according to guidelines set forth by the Sage Union Code and at the discretion of the Winter Sage, Vexen. Whatever and whenever this price is decided, the client, Naminé, will be required to pay it in full unless sizable evidence of error in the creation of this contract is found to be the sole fault on the Winter Sage, Vexen's, part. Wherein, the client, Naminé, will be reimbursed equally and fairly by the Winter Sage, Vexen in accordance to the Sage Union Code.

The quill froze upon dotting the period of the most recent sentence, Vexen looked from the sheet to Naminé. "What is it that you are asking for?"

Naminé bit her lip before responding, "I want to become an artist." Vexen tilted his head to the side skeptically. Naminé immediately noticed it and hastily added, "A-a great artist, so that I can use any medium to convey the picture I see in my head." Vexen closed his eyes and flicked his wrist for the quill to continue writing.

The client, Naminé, requests for the gift and/or enhancement of the talent for artistic expression. The stated stipulations for the range of the artistic augmentation are to include "high caliber" as well as "use of any medium" to appropriately convey the client, Naminé's, desired "image" onto visible artistic compositions. Due to the fact that enchantment pertaining to a skill, such as art, is a volatile one, the sage object known as Amilan's Book will be lent out to the client, Naminé. The client, Naminé, is granted temporary ownership until her death, voluntary forfeit or return of the sage object, or violation of one of the rules set by the Winter Sage, Vexen.

Vexen calmly folded his hands together, "As you may or may not know Naminé, in order to grant your request, I must give you a sage's treasure. I must stress that they are NOT playthings, they are powerful tools. Now, I am generally a fair person in terms of their usage...however, four rules will be set forth, and under no circumstance will you break them. Understood?" Naminé gave an anxious nod. The quill began its task again.

The Winter Sage, Vexen establishes four rules for the client, Naminé, to obey. The following lines specify these conditions:
1. The pages of Amilan's Book can only be removed only after first asking to take them out with the phrase, "May I be generously given this image?" And only when the book does indeed respond by tearing out the very corner of its page, may the client, Naminé, remove it from the book.

2. The client, Naminé, cannot lie or give false testament about how she acquired such sudden artistic talent.

3. Any pictures drawn in Amilan's Book cannot be sold to other people, they may be displayed and shared, even given as a gift, but NEVER sold or with any intention of personal financial gain or fame.

4. When the client, Naminé, is complemented on a picture from Amilan's Book, she must say a recognizable form of "Thank you" and be humble, if the client, Naminé, is arrogant, Amilan's Book will never lend its powers to the client, Naminé, ever again.

The quill went limp and floated into Vexen's waiting hand, with his other he gingerly took up the contract. He briefly looked over the writing and gave it an approving nod. Vexen then set the sheet onto the table and slid it towards Naminé. He held out the quill cordially to Naminé who reached out a nervous hand to take it. As soon as she grabbed the bulk of the tuft, the pot of blue ink obediently zipped over to her in case she needed more ink. She gave the quill a reassuring dab into the inkwell before positioning it over the bottom of the contract.

Just as she was about to sign her name, Vexen spoke to her and the tip immediately pulled back, "Normally, I have no interest in my client's affairs, but it is somewhat unsettling that you don't even know what price I will ask of you, yet you are so eager to sign it anyway."

Naminé glanced from Vexen to the contract, she chewed her lower lip as the quill tip hovered closer over the line. Vexen cocked his head to the side, his face clad in the universal expression of inquisitive curiosity. His voice took on a lighter tone and carried an air of rhetorical interrogation, "You don't have to tell me, but why exactly do you still desire this...power?"

No sooner had he asked the question did she reply, "There's someone very dear to me who asked for a picture...I still haven't given it to him. Nothing I drew was nearly good enough. So, this is the only way." With that, Naminé signed her name onto the contract and it flew into Vexen's hand as a stiffly curled scroll. The paper pact dissolved in a spout of white from his hand and in its place appeared a simplistic sketchbook. Vexen gave her a wry smile before relinquishing the spiral bound pages into her eager hands.

"May you find fortune in the near future, little girl."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The sun was sinking ever closer to the fringe of rock and horizon, the dusk's amber wave of vermillion brillance blanketed the blue and grey monotone of the land. Naminé had departed many hours ago, a brilliant smile affixed to her face as she made her way back down the mountain path. Vexen was once again standing outside on his porch and absorbing the scenery. In his hands was a teacup full of creamy liquid, its comforting warmth having long abandoned the contents.

A Moogle with a blue pom-pom sat on the polished porch rail next to Vexen. Its paws rested where its knees would have been if Moogles had said joints, its pom-pom bobbing silently in the gentle wind as it too somehow surveyed the mountains through shut eyes. A clink of delicate ceramics brushing each other caused the Moogle to turn its attention to Vexen.

The rim of the cup hovered in front of Vexen's lips thoughtfully. "Young people are so oblivious to what truly matters. They waste so much time catering to feelings and thoughts that shift as much as the tides do, and to what avail?" The Moogle kupo'd quietly before animatedly gesturing with its digitless paws at its master.

The sage scoffed sharply and shook his head with slow disappointment. "You think it was for love Mooglesworth? I suppose you still have much to learn then." The lukewarm concoction of cream and mint drained from the cup in a single, fluid tilt. Vexen let out a relieved gush and handed the empty container and plate to the Moogle. "Another cup." The Moogle gladly took it and padded off to refill the cup with more tea.

Vexen's eyes softened considerably as he continued to watch the red glare of the sun eclipse behind the rugged outline of the mountains. He held up a tired hand and a tightly wrapped scroll appeared in the air along with a regal fountain pen. The sage leaned on the smooth railing with his forearms crossed over one and other. The paper unraveled and danced before him, the fountain pen loyally close to the paper's surface and awaiting words for it to write.

A bitter curl began to etch onto the corners of Vexen's mouth as his eyes trailed from the name signed at the bottom up to the remaining blank section of the paper. "So what shall your payment be Naminé?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Many miles of expansive territory away, within the blessed confines of civilization, lay a moderately sized hospital, complete with a sterile shade of white that managed to glow even though it was night. On the sixth floor, in room 23B sat a boy in a bed, his bandaged face turned to the single window that told him the time of day. Several monitors surrounded him and his clean linen sheets, more than a dozen tubes and cords were connected to his battered body.

Blue eyes sluggishly shifted focus from the window to the bleakly tiled ceiling and fluorescent lights.

She wasn't here today. What happened to her?

The boy's thoughts flickered hazily at the memory of a melancholy girl with blonde hair sitting on the stool next to his bed.

Why'd you visit so randomly then disappear for three days?

Drooping lids slid closed over dimming eyes of blue.

I thought you hated me since we were kids, Naminé.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Naminé stared at the open sheet in front of her, her pencil still pressed into the paper. The plane's cabin rumbled quietly from a combination of the engines and the chatter of other passengers. She bit her lip and rubbed at her tired eyes with her skinny arm. Once again she stared at the sheet that lay in front of her.

The picture she had just finished was no longer there, only a painfully blank sheet.

She couldn't even remember what the picture was of, but it filled her with weary sadness.

The plane lurched forward and Naminé was harshly jolted by the force and the sharp pinch from the seatbelt. She recovered moments later and looked at the sheets in the book once more.

An unexplainable curiosity rose in her at sight of the empty page. She tapped her pencil tip lightly to her chin as she attempted to gather her thoughts.

"What should I draw first...?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Vexen sat comfortably in a cushioned chair dyed a deep hue of blue, the light that hung above his head beamed with enough power to mimic a luminosity of day. In his hand he held a sketch of a meek girl in a plain sundress holding the hand of a shy boy with haphazard hair. The carbon background was a detailed portrayal of the lively bustling commonly found in city fairs. Both children were smiling broadly at an invisible camera.

The sage's eyes bore hard into the picture over the back of the knuckles his cheek rested on. He gave the paper an idle flip and it disintegrated in a wisp of burning blue and white.

He turned his attention to the teacup that sat on top of the stand by the arm of his chair. Vexen lifted up the cup and took a brief sip of the tonic.

"...It still needs more mint."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The client, Naminé is to pay the Winter Sage, Vexen, no more and no less then the fair price of:
The first happy memory of the client, Naminé that is reproduced in Amilan's Book. The memory is to be released into the Winter Sage, Vexen's, ownership. When the memory is illustrated in Amilan's Book, upon completion, it will be immediately forfeited to the Winter Sage, Vexen. The memory will furthermore be wiped from those who know the client, Naminé and those in the illustrated memory. In addition, any physical evidence of that specific memory will be erased. The illustration is to be kept by the Winter Sage, Vexen as proof of payment as well as a record of business.

Naminé has paid in full.
----------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Those familiar with series such as Petshop of Horrors or Jigoku Shoujo (Hell Girl) will notice Pharmacy follows a similar pattern. I have no idea why I associate Vexen with Moogles. Please share your thoughts and suggestions on this story. Continuation depends on the reader's reactions.
Extra: If you somehow become addicted (bad pun) to this story and wish to see it continued, drop me a PM or email about becoming a beta (if you feel confident and patient enough about proof-reading) and/or a second opinion of this fic. You will be thanked graciously and duly credited if you decide to contribute.

(First Version: 2.7.07)