Redundancy Is Key
Perhaps this would a good time to mention that if you're allergic to sarcasm, this might not be the best story for you. :) Otherwise, please enjoy!
Prologue
I hate rain.
When wind splits the sky's veins into a downpour of cold, clear blood, I can hardly keep myself awake long enough to enjoy the much-raved about scenery. All I find pleasurable during such times is the riveting activity of lounging about like the decomposing corpse that I, apparently, am, wasting the precious time of my inexistenceon sleep.
I put the 'hopeless' in 'hopeless romantic', could you tell?
To my defense, however, I would like to point an accusing finger at the group of happily deceased who I happen to share living quarters with. I'm not certain that the muse visits half the populace I am blessed with enjoying the company of. If by some randomly-granted, heavenly miracle you have the astonishing luck of gauging a response or reaction from these lively individuals, all you're really getting is a monosyllabic snippet of an answer or a mere, imperceptible narrowing of the eyes.
Then again, in certain cases (a.k.a. Demyx and Larxene), I'd much rather prefer holding their exceptionally well-functioning vocal chords in my hand rather than leaving them in the throat of each respective owner. The muse, as I have so kindly baptized the simple concept of communication, seems to overly enjoy the company of this duo…at my expense, no less.
But my lack of sentimentality and abundance of charismatically-challenged comrades aside, I would still love to know which bloody deity I pissed off enough to deserve such a cruel punishment; mainly, my morning greetings being delivered in the form of obnoxious pitter-pattering against the closed window. That's right; it was raining.
Needless to say, I wasn't inclined to do much moving past opening my eyes.
"Axel."
Not inclined, but apparently would, anyway. Bad things tend to come around at the most inopportune of moments.
"What d'you want?"
"You."
The response was a feminine, sarcastic, and openly hostile alto, which I could easily identify as Larxene. It really was entirely too bad that I've never lacked testosterone in my system; otherwise, warning bells pertaining to the fact that Larxene doesn't want anything—besides inflicting large amounts of torture on poor, unsuspecting males—would start going off rather promptly. But as the situation stood, my mind was being purposefully quiet about the large amounts of wrong, sarcasticanswers that perhaps shouldn't leave the sanctity—as if—of my mouth, and which, unfortunately enough, I was starting to formulate.
Example:
"Took you long enough, Larxie."
And then, I just had to follow up with the truly moronic action of petting the mattress in invitation.
Yes, indeed. My pitiful inexistence was dangling off a very large cliff, suspended by a very thin piece of string.
Then there was also the issue that my eyes drooped closed, and I couldn't coax them open despite all the begging and whining my brain was doing. And, of course, can't quite forget about my state of dress—or undress, to be exact—under the plethora of blankets that didn't quite allow for much movement in case I really was going to be attacked; which, for the record, I wasn't doubting.
Larxene, however, seemed to be in a rather forgiving disposition, opting instead to drop onto an armchair next to my bed with a tired exhalation.
"You're lucky I have a headache," she pronounced dryly, fatigue easily lacing the words.
I was tempted to agree but kept my tongue. Prying open one ocular with tremendous difficulty, I shot her a weary glance.
"Well what did you expect, prancing into a young man's living quarters with such provocative statements?"
She regarded me wordlessly for a moment before promptly throwing a shoe in my general direction. My own shoe, mind you.
"Can I help you?" I bit out mock-politely, regarding the offending object on my mattress in an irritated manner.
"No, but apparently you can help Xemnas."
"With what?" I inquired testily. I was obviously not petitioning for my 'sulk-about-the-rain' time to be cut so dismally short.
"I bet you're just dying to find out!"
"I fail to see how the allegation of dying applies to me, seeing as I'm but a well-preserved corpse," I stated modestly. Oh the lengths I was willing to travel simply to displease Larxene. She has, after all, screamed at me upon numerous occasions about how she loathes my utilizing her words out of context.
And, as expected, my quip didn't fail to promote a scowl from the blonde.
"Do you want me to arrange the end of your inexistence?"
I turned my—finally—open eyes to the closed window. The rain was still beating relentlessly against the hazy glass, sliding in fractured drops down the smooth surface. The offer was actually not without its appeal, admittedly; but, I wasn't about to admit that to Larxene any time soon. Seriously, the woman would happily oblige if I gave her any sort of verbal assent…or even if I didn't, I daresay.
"That depends," I settled on instead. "What does Xemnas want?"
"How do you look upon babysitting duty?"
"Not favorably," I scowled.
"Good." A condescending grin spread over her otherwise stone-hard features. "'Cuz that's what you're going to be busy doing: babysitting."
Have you ever heard the saying 'when life throws you lemons, make lemonade'? Yeah, well…I tend to disagree. That, perhaps, was exactly the reason for my next grand performance, which, admittedly, would have been much more mortifying if only I hadn't repeatedly gone through these same actions in the past.
Eh, at least I didn't have to run into Larxene this time around; she was already present and well aware.
So without further ado…
Picture: an irritated-looking Axel (me) stalking out of his room in an indignant manner…in nothing but his boxers…with a comforter around his waist for company.
Regrettably, I've never had the chance to glance at myself from the sidelines, but I have been informed—in no uncertain terms, by Larxene (bless her inexistent heart)—that my actions, oftentimes, make for quite the entertaining scenery. And I couldn't help but guess, for some odd reason, that perhaps such was what she was referencing.
And I was going to go impress Xemnas with my deep and thoughtful argument pertaining to my maturity level and usefulness to the Organization in a sad—and probably soon-to-be failed—attempt at skiving babysitting duty.
Fat chance of that ever happening, let me assure you. (And, apparently, for good reason.)
Now imagine: Axel (me) stalking back to his room, huffing, puffing, and stomping his feet in a perfect image of a teenage tantrum…still in only his boxers…and still clutching his blanket for company.
It's safe to say that Larxene was having a field day with this.
Getting back safely to my bed, if only a little ruffled as far as male pride and dignity are concerned, I settled for glaring at the floor in a half-hearted fashion.
"If you say one word," I warned my immediate company, trailing off for dramatic effect. Perhaps my maturity has been suffering for as long as I can remember, but over dramatization has yet to fail me.
"Wasn't even considering it."
Smart woman.
"So who's the lucky child?" I finally scrounged up half a brain to ask. Maybe I was making a bigger deal out of this miniscule amount of ennui than was absolutely necessary.
"Elizabeth Swan."
Then again, maybe not.
"Do not, under any circumstances, tell me that she's the chick from Port Royal."
I didn't receive any verbal reply in agreement, but I think the sadistic smirk, which I was promptly granted—courtesy of Larxene—sufficed quite nicely.
"All you're required to do is hide her somewhere…anywhere; give Luxord a breather, so to speak."
"Care to elaborate?" Not that I was particular pumped about hearing much else. One such depressing piece of information a day is quite enough, thank you.
"You know hero wannabes, Axel! If she's gone, Sora and his gang of happy-go-lucky morons will continue running around the Port, searching for her; especially after pouts and puppy eyes from her beloved." She sighed, shaking her head at the unnecessary amount of sentimentality our 'wannabe heroes' were prone to displaying. "Luxord needs an extra seventy-two hours to set up. That's all that's needed: three days."
"Set up?"
"Do you absolutely need to know?"
"If I said 'yes', would that happen to coax an answer?"
"No…but truthfully, I have no idea." She snorted, rising to her feet. "Since when has Luxord shared any ideas with the rest of us, simple-minded beings?"
"Point," I admitted. "Think he'll be nice enough to let me watch…after seventy-two hours of torture?"
The proposal wasn't, frankly, all that appealing, but curiosity tends to fuel most of my more brilliant ideas. Either that, or morbid fascination in sadistic bents.
"If you'll survive."
And with that, I was left in my room, yet again, absolutely alone. A rather disconcerting feeling of dread settled over me in a matter of seconds, post the parting, to the point of pain. Keeping one, Elizabeth Swan, occupied didn't sound like much of an easy task. And I was not, just for the record, going to do charity work with the kittens for the woman's sake. That was absolutely out of the question!
Not that she comes across as the type to care for the kittens—probably has more of a preference towards crows and vultures, if I were to take a guess.
Perhaps I'd stuff her in the nearest available chest and carry her around like the treasure we all know her to be. Heh, I'd probably have to do that no matter what. Because, disregarding what Larxene wants the male populace to be convinced of, women always use their nails as a last resort. And I, thank you very much, happen, for one, to want to keep all my skin.
Complaining, however, wasn't going to do much. All that was left was the appealing option of earplugs and knight armor for protection's sake…hopefully covering my testosterone source as well as the rest of the body.
Ah, yes, I was in for it.
Author's Note:
Political correctness? Phht, who needs it? Hopefully, I didn't have the female readers too offended as of yet. But seeing as I'm of that gender myself, I'm entitled to the slants, no:) I don't know what prompted me for the pairing, but I think it was mostly the fact that…well…I was going for something different. With any luck, you won't find the duo of Elizabeth Swan and Axel too eccentric ;) Tell me what you think! Hate it? Love it? Think the sarcasm should be brought down fifty percent? I actually enjoy criticism!
-Thank you for the time.