Lost the Game

by blaqkout

Larxene-centric, Highschool AU. Photoshoots and bio labs. Storage rooms. Whatever. At her wits' end with Axel, Larxene seeks out Namine to relieve some pent-up stress. Making her cry has always been such fun.

A/N; sequel to "bested in verbal combat" by SAAVE. lolol, let the good times roll.

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Naminé always hangs around the art room, after school. There's an art club going on twice a week, but not every day-- but Naminé. She's always there. Helping the teacher clean up, whatever. The teacher's generally out the door a little after the students themselves, but Naminé is there when she's still around. Common knowledge; Naminé's the quiet blonde girl, and the art teacher's little pet.

Not that Larxene takes art class; she's not good with that sort of stuff. She can't create; can only destroy.

But anyways-- it's this common knowledge coupled with the fact that the art teach's car is still parked in its spot that tells Larxene that she'll find the aforementioned blonde over in her cozy little corner: surrounded by her pencils and sketchbooks and paints, crude crayons and brushes. Larxene hopes to take away that comfort, at least for a while. She needs to blow off steam; being left to await the ringing bell at the door of a certain Mr. Yoo's classroom in order to retrieve her left behind belongings was … hardly optimal. That, and a certain Axel had left her particularly agitated, a feeling that remains with her now. Waiting outside a door for near half an hour stewing in anger generally casts this sort of effect.

Making her way through the school's hallways, Larxene might as well own them; most people steer clear of her, and she's endlessly amused at how her reputation precedes her. It nearly brightens her mood; nearly being the key word. Axel knows how to ruffle her feathers and push her buttons (none of the pleasurable ones, mind you,)-- a feat she is none too pleased with. Axel certainly has nerve.

Spotting a certain freshmeat's gel-lathered head, Larxene stalks over, deciding to take a pit-stop on her way to torment Naminé-- hands on hips, he's turning to see her before she even opens her mouth. Him, looking as though he's seen a ghost, fidgeting and swallowing already. Near laughable, really.

"Uh, Larxene," he says, nervous. Roxas isn't used to visits from the school's notorious bully; and on the few occasions she has visited, in the past, it's never been pleasant. "What's up?"

"Where's your boyfriend." Snappy and to the point: typical pissy Larxene.

"What, Hayner? He--"

"-- no, you idiot. Axel. Axel. Red hair, atrocious beanies."

"Ah. He left early, I think." Roxas seems to think he's done for now. Hah-- hardly. Larxene sneers at him, taking a step forwards: Roxas holds his ground.

Prodding his signature checkered shirt, Larxene leans in close enough to kiss the boy and instead looks him in the eyes, a playful little smirk on her lips. "Ohhh? Really? Little Roxy-woxy doesn't know where his probably-more-than best friend is?"

"Back off, Larxene." Roxas looks irritated, but refuses to budge-- a sort of stubbornness that Larxene, too, happens to possess. "You're a little close, y'know?"

"I heard the two of you in the locker room, you know." A whisper, now. "You know. Fucking? Yeah. Heard it all. Naminé did, too. Was weeping about it one day."

Looking a bit bewildered, Roxas takes his step back, now-- successfully forfeiting the battle, but at the same time it doesn't matter whether or not you win, when it comes to Larxene. "What the hell are you even talking about? You have to be hearing things. Sure it wasn't the gym teacher and the bookworm?"

Smirking mirthfully, recognizing partial victory, Larxene shrugs, tossing her palms up in the air before setting them on her hips. "I'm pretty sure I heard, in the thralls of passion, the name Roxas being called. Sort of difficult to confuse that with Zexion."

Giving her a dirty look, Roxas crosses his arms over his chest and looks the other way, clearly agitated. "Just screw off, Larxene. Last time Axel and I were in the locker room together was when we were cleaning up a big mess we'd made."

"A mess? Ohhh?" Tilting his chin to face her, Larxene's gloved fingers nearly caress Roxas' cheek-- this earning her another scowl and her hand all wrapped up in black leather smacked away. She laughs, waving her hand in a dismissing gesture. "Like I care. You're funny when you're mad, you know, Roxy-woxy. Smell you later, though. I've better fish to fry, you see."

"Good fucking riddance," Larxene hears Roxas mutter, under his breath, as she turns her back and begins to stalk away, and she can only grin.

Hm, so that had gone well but not well enough-- well enough would have been getting Axel's current location and then being able to ditch bugging Naminé entirely; sure, it was fun making the little freshmeat cry, but revenge was so much… sweeter, and simply much more fulfilling than making children cry could be. Whatever. Deciding to deal with Axel last, Naminé first, Larxene stalks down the hallways-- which, by now, are emptying out rather nicely-- and is about to start climbing the stairs when bustling about in the photography room catches her eyes, as its door is so conveniently placed just before the stairwell.

Larxene's always been a very curious Georgie (even if Ahamed is the champion at that,) and so, she can never refuse the urge to explore when it comes like it is now.

Stepping delicately inside the classroom whose class she skipped this morning-- seven o'clock seeming just far too early to awaken-- and glancing around, Larxene finds it deserted, the only sounds in the room the clack of her own heels against the tile and the whirr-hum of computers set up in rows down the middle of the classroom. Photography is more like Photoshop 101; it's rare that the teacher ever lets the students touch her precious cameras. Rolling her blue eyes at the memory of a certain eccentric teacher, the blonde decides to creep over to the curtains over at the opposite side of the room. It is often behind here that photos are taken should precious cameras be picked up-- and it's more often than not that any props used are left set up. Sometimes they're interesting, and sometimes they're boring; Larxene finds herself hoping for the latter so she can be on her way as soon as possible.

The curtains are heavy, and made of something that looks to be a sort of velvet; dark purple like a bruised plum, and lined with golden trim, the rest of the class is decorated to "go" with these particular hanging atrocities. Even the poster-diagrams have been color coordinated with them. Sighing, Larxene brushes them back and--

-- is met, face to face, with a pair of giant scissors. More like garden sheers, really. Startled, she steps back, and the person behind the scissors-- Larxene is far too hypnotized by the ideas of death connected with the shining, sharp (and bloodied,) blades produce to look at them properly-- steps forwards, driving her back until the center of the room. And suddenly, they're drooped.

"Larxene?" Sora sounds bewildered, to see her-- of all people-- in the photography room. And he proves it. "What're um. You doing here?"

"What, do I have to get a permission slip to set foot in the room?" Scoffing, Larxene gestures to the sheers Sora had been holding, and Sora himself. He's dressed up in this horrible outfit-- tattered, faded brown stuff-- and is wrapped up in bloodied bandages all around. And then there's the face makeup. Which makes him look positively ghastly; white paint blended with foundation (or something, Larxene isn't sure; foundation just seems to be the best bet,) and brown so that it looks as though the boy is very pale as well as very dirty. "Mind explaining, freshmeat?"

"Huh? Of course you don't need a permit--" grinning perhaps just a little bit sheepishly, Sora shrugs. "Uhh, this? Kairi and me are doing a photography project. Everyone was assigned a holiday to base a photoshoot on, and we got Halloween. So we decided to do something scary."

Crossing her arms over her chest, it's obvious that Larxene isn't pleased by this answer, but nonetheless satisfied-- Sora sort of stiffens in what is a sort of awkwardness, and wanders back to his curtained photobooth station. There are a few fake rocks in there, and gravel, she notes. Whatever, boring. Larxene is about to leave when she hears, over her shoulder-- "Um. Larxene."

"What is it?" She replies, snappily. If she hangs around here too long, she's going to miss tormenting Naminé. Great, just great. Just leave her curiosity to lead into an adventure. "I've places to go, people to see, so make it quick."

"Well, you don't really have any reason to do me a favor, but um-- Kairi's been in the dark room for too long. She's developing some pictures we took just now. I'd go in myself, but I'm sort of … in costume. I don't want to mess up the chemicals with my makeup." Sora's voice is quiet, but still audible-- nervous and unsure, it's obvious that he's worried about his friend. She knows where this is leading. "Could you, um-- please look in on her for me?" Yes. Right as always.

Pausing, and striking a thoughtful pose, Larxene pretends to ponder. "I… don't know," she says, sounding decidedly unsure. "I just-- I don't know."

"Please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top," Sora replies, knowing what she's doing but just wanting a hand anyways. Who knows when the next person might step in.

"Oh, fine," Larxene says, sighing. "But only because then you'll owe me." She winks over at him and Sora scratches the back of his head sheepishly in return-- grateful.

"Thanks, Larxene." And oh, how this blonde-haired, blue-eyed witch never thought she'd hear that, coming out of this particular brunette's mouth. Satisfying? Definitely.

Strolling to the twisty-turny black corridor that led to the darkroom, Larxene yawns and otherwise is silent-- as is the interior of the darkroom. It's also quite empty in there, the bath of red light not revealing anything organic. Not impressed, and hoping the brat didn't just spring a trap on her, Larxene strolls inwards-- the darkroom is rather large, after all, and she's only been to the first quarter. There are the dipping stations, first-- and Kairi definitely not lurking between the rows of those things, she's almost a little cautious in the way she strides forwards, onwards towards the exposure stations. There's a dark curtain separating the two areas-- it wouldn't do to contaminate good work, after all-- and Larxene pushes through it fearlessly, only to stumble back a pace in surprise.

There, lying on the floor, face down, is a certain redhead: in a pool of red liquid, she's motionless. Severely unimpressed, Larxene strides over and taps the body with the front of her shoe. Nothing. All that happens is the girl's arm flaps over. Sighing loudly, Larxene crouches down-- pushes back the short red hair, and feels along her neck for a pulse. Finding the right spot and lingering a few moments, she feels the pulse-- okay, so the brat isn't dead. Inspecting dead things isn't exactly her forte or preferred way of wasting time. That's more Axel's idea of fun. Dead things and starting fires. Positively charming. She wouldn't be surprised if he had a penchant for necrophilia.

Heaving the now evidently alive Kairi onto her back, Larxene slaps her sharply across the face-- "Wake up, princess." At the sharp gesture, Kairi begins to stir-- groaning, she reaches up to cup her cheek, and sits up, hand falling into the mysterious pool of whateveritis. Alarmed at finding herself residing in a sticky sort of wetness-- Larxene has some of the stuff on her fingers from moving the girl onto her back-- Kairi holds up her hand. Stares in horror for a few seconds, before letting out a sharp scream. Giving the girl a look as sharp as the slap, Larxene dips her fingers into the water in order to investigate further-- it's thick, and doesn't have much of any smell. Had it been blood, the smell of iron would have been evident come the second she walked in. Sticking a digit into her mouth, it's got a disgusting flavor-- like flour and water and maybe corn starch, too. By now, Kairi has stood and Larxene has done the same, straightening out her skirt.

"K-Kairi?! What's wrong, are you okay!" Sora's voice from the beginning of the hallway makes Larxene snort in amusement; he sounds so positively worried. "I-I heard you scream!"

Swallowing audibly, Kairi replies, voice shaky-- "Um, it's okay, Sora. Just-- the fake blood we made got everywhere, somehow. It scared me. What's Larxene doing here?"

"Oh, okay. And she's here because um-- she stopped by, and you were taking so long and I was worried so I asked her to go in. I can't go in because of the costume, remember?"

"Hmph, you know, I'm right here." Crossing her arms over her chest, Larxene moves to follow Kairi out of the dark room-- and just as she's about to step into that stupid twisty turny black corridor, she hears a giggle from behind her. Turning to face the source of the noise, Larxene spots a small girl-- black hair, and darker skin-- she giggles again, and puts a finger to her lips. "The culprit?" Larxene whispers, in reference to whoever had been behind coating the floor with fake blood, and said girl nods. One of the schools' more notorious pranksters, Larxene knows her to be a certain Rhode Kamelot; known more for her cruel pranks; it doesn't really surprise her.

Laughing quietly to herself, Larxene walks out-- leaving the shorter girl behind, she stays around a second in the room to overhear Kairi saying she slipped and whacked her head-- and she can only smirk at the fake-bloody mess splattered all over Kairi's crisp white uniform blouse as she shuts the photography door behind her.

Sighing and wiping the flour/food-coloring mixture off on her blue skirt, Larxene now heads up the stairs-- moving quickly, so as not to lose any more time. Coming to the second floor, she stalks off in the direction of the art room. By now, the hallways are completely empty and Larxene ponders the chances of Naminé still being around at all; she's usually very eager to get away from the building, as she's far too shy for her own good. Endearing, almost. Except for the part where it's rather pitiful; lips pinched tightly in amusement, she sweeps down the hall, turning when a turn needs to be made and coming to the cheerful door of the art room. Trying the stainless steel doorhandle, she finds it unlocked and so by extension finding herself pressing it open slowly, the doorhinge creaking eerily. The stools are all placed up on the desks, and while the lights are evidently on in the teacher's office, Naminé is nowhere in sight.

"Oh, lovely," Larxene mutters to herself, scowling as she goes to knock on the office door-- and a few seconds after doing so, it opens, and the expectant teacher's face is revealed. "Naminé. Where is she? I'm looking for her."

Blinking-- perhaps a little taken off-guard by Larxene's tendency to be rather forward-- the teacher pauses before replying, a little slowly-- "Naminé? She couldn't stay after school today. A shame, as she's such a pleasant girl. I believe she had to do something in the biology room… or was it the… hnn, I can't recall. Sorry, dear."

"Can't recall?" Placing her hands on her hips, Larxene stares the woman in the eye-- obviously unhappy. "Hmph, fine. Useless woman. I'll go look for her where you think-- and hopefully you shan't be wasting my time."

"Excuse me? There's absolutely no reason to be so rude--"

Unfortunately for the teacher, Larxene is already walking away, carefree. After shouting after her a moment in vain, she returns back to her little office, unhappy. Larxene just as unhappy-- not liking to waste time, she deals with things in a smooth sort of efficiency should her sense of humor not be invoked. Okay-- so, biology room. That isn't so far-- just 'round the corner and down the hall. Stepping with a sort of irritated haste, she whirrs down the halls in a chorus of stiletto gunshots-- ceasing fire only when the biology door is in front of her. Brushing her blonde hair back with her unpainted fingernails, Larxene's blue eyes narrow in annoyance. From the window perched in the door, she can see inside-- the classroom empty, but a back door open. The trophy room, as many have come to call it-- it's the place in which a certain transsexual (this being only rumored, of course,) teacher-- 'Mr.' Vexen keeps his precious collection on shelves in jars. Aforementioned collection consisting of various animal samples.

Basically? Anything you could possibly want pickled. And by anything, one can assume anything.

Creepy place. Slipping into the classroom-- careful not to pull the door shut all the way, in case she should lock herself in mistakenly despite it opening to her with relative ease come first try, Larxene's heels are again the only sound in the room. How repetitive; how boring. She'd nearly be glad to hear the regular hustle and bustle of students leaving-- oh, you know, besides the part were she wouldn't. Glancing to the chalkboard, Larxene notes that it's blank; not unusual, knowing the bio teacher's penchant for tidiness.

Suddenly remembering something when halfway through the room, Larxene goes to stand before the wooden desk; it had been in this class that Axel had his lighter thieved away from him. Lips folding into a mischievous smirk, Larxene goes to sit in the office chair tucked behind the heavy oaken desk. Comfortable chair; feels as though it's real leather, too. Although particular Vexen may be, he'd hardly risk paying his own good money to get a nice chair. So it's likely pleather. Lounging in it for a moment, she goes to ruffle through drawers; finding paperclips, a romance novel, and a few cue-cards wound up in elastic bands. No doubt these were Demyx's; the words scribbled down on them confirm it for her.

"Should Laureen or Axel pop up to tease (I'm DEMYX, not Ahamed, not Georgie) use aggression to get them to go away. Try not to break into tears." Amusedly placing the cards back into the drawer, Larxene sticks her hand in deeper-- feeling along until she finds the lighter. Pulling it out and examining it, it's definitely Axel's; metallic as it is, the fruity engravings of flames along the bottom are a dead giveaway. Satisfied for the time being, she shuts the drawer and stands up out of the chair, now headed for the trophy room.

The trophy room is a bleached white room; there are a few long shelves running up and down the room, and stacked carefully on aforementioned shelves are the subjects of lore. This room is normally locked up; Vexen keeps it so, worried that students might find it to their fancy to contaminate his pickled delicacies. Which has in fact happened in the past; it was funny, really, to hear 'him' screeching up and down at the students. Chuckling lightly to herself as she's walking up an alleyway of preserved organs, Larxene spots the white curtain of this room's rather large window; rolling in a breeze, she's surprised to see it open-- the screen hasn't been replaced ever since one student went berserk and threw himself as well as another student out the window here. (Another reason to keep the damn place locked up.) And so, that window was generally kept closed.

Obviously, today, this was not the case.

Having taken decidedly careful steps, Larxene's shoes have yet to make a clack against the tile of this floor-- now, she steps boldly from the aisle and sitting at a small table stood just a little while away from the open window is-- all blonde hair and white dresses-- Naminé. She turns her head to face Larxene at the sound of her shoes, obviously startled, and the scared look doesn't vanish from her face when she sees who it is coming 'round the corner.

"Why, why," Larxene starts, before Naminé can get a word in. "Look who it is! I've been seeking you out, you know. I went to the art room and your smart little teacher told me what you were doing. Aren't you glad?"

"Um…" Naminé is quiet, obviously not glad. Having turned around in her seat as she has, Larxene can see her tiny, pale little hand balling into a fist, a near hopeless look filtering onto her features.

Laughing grandly, Larxene strolls closer, Naminé seeming to shrink away in her seat as she nears. Leaning down as to see with her eye-to-eye, Larxene places a delicate hand on her shoulder, making Naminé wince. It's not often that Larxene physically hurts Naminé, but it's more than enough to have her be afraid of Larxene's touches; last time she hurt her like that, she managed to sprain a finger on her dominant hand. Punishment. It was a while until she could draw right again.

"Hmmm? Glad or not glad, Naminé?" She strings her along, standing up at her full height and bringing the hand once on her shoulder to her chin, tilting it upwards to face her. "Come on."

"…" Staying silent for a moment longer, Naminé replies, voice small and polite despite-- "I'm… what do you want from me, Larxene?"

Feigning shock, then going to mock hurt, Larxene places her spare hand on her hip. "Oh! You say that as though I need a reason to come see my dear, oh so very dear friend Naminé. Really." Laughing, she smirks over at the smaller girl. "I just came by to see how you're doing. What you're doing. You see? Now, Naminé. What is it you're doing in the trophy room, of all places."

Silent for another moment, Naminé replies slowly, as if uncertain on whether or not this answer will satisfy. "I'm… I'm just doing a project. For class."

"Let's see," Larxene offers, voice sing-song-- fluttering her lashes at the other girl and smirking mischievously, she looks anything but innocent. "Let's see oh let's see."

Swallowing, then moving her slight little arms off of the paper, Larxene can see the beginnings of a very meticulously drawn diagram; all colored up and labeled just perfect, it's so very obvious that Naminé does good work. Oh, and how good this work is; picking it up and examining it much to Naminé's disdain, Larxene chuckles, placing a hand on her hip. Stooping just a little bit, so as to tower over the small girl, Larxene scrunches her eyebrows up. As if in disbelief. "Little witch, you know this is completely wrong? Arrows are pointing all in the wrong places, you misspelled a few words…" Slapping the paper down with a gloved palm, Larxene picks up one of the pencil crayons Naminé had been drawing the diagram with. Red.

Making a small noise of protest in the back of her throat, Naminé daringly puts a hand to Larxene's own-- trying to halt her from making a mark on her work. "I… I know it's right, please. Larxene, please don't…"

"Don't what? Do this?" Smacking Naminé's hand away, Larxene draws bold lines along the arrows already drawn. Writes nasty words in the spaces where correctly spelled and correctly labeled words had once been carefully penciled in, and then under Naminé's name writes 'The Witch'. Naminé looks close to tears; has her hands balled up on the front of her pretty little dress in a silent protest.

"… w-why did you do that?" Naminé's voice is small, shaky, and afraid. "I worked… so long…"

"Oh, really? I'm so sorry. Really," slipping an arm around the smaller girl's shoulders-- making her shudder in maybe revulsion, maybe fear-- Larxene looks her in the eye, insincerity obvious. "So, so, so sorry." Holding the red pencil up, as if showing Naminé what had ruined her project, Larxene laughs-- but has it cut off when something is noted: erasable. Well, that just can't do. "Wait, what's this? Erasable. Ohhh, Naminé, looks as though I've got to do something else instead."

Slinking away from the smaller girl-- to aforementioned girl's overwhelming relief-- Larxene goes towards the window, project in hand. Sweeping aside the curtains in a dramatic gesture, Larxene motions towards the openness of it all. "Why oh why is this even open?"

"I wanted the breeze," Naminé replies, hesitantly.

"Don't you know the stories?" Larxene sits on the window's ledge, crossing her long legs. Behind her, there's a roof that runs flat for a little and then pulls up in a ledge. Then it falls down sharply. "The rumors. The truth the staff doesn't want you to know about."

"… stories?" Naminé seems curious; Larxene can tell she is by the glimmer in her eyes, different from the gleam of fear that is often there. Maybe, like art, Naminé enjoys fiction. Something they have in common, then.

"Yes," Larxene says, placing the paper on the table, smiling a temptress' venomous smile. "Stories. I'm guessing you haven't heard them. I don't know if I should tell you," looking up at the ceiling, a look of false puzzlement befallen her features; "you might not be able to sleep tonight. They're not stories for children."

Naminé seems hesitant, but that gleam of curiosity is still there. She's cute when cowering, but Larxene likes the pseudo hunger better. How will she appear once fed? "I'm… I'm not a baby. Please tell me." Project forgotten: two girls, caught up in a moment.

"If you insist. Don't come complaining to me about sleepless nights." Winking over at her, Larxene shifts her position on the sill. "Vexen keeps this room locked up, as you well know. Know why that is, though?"

"Because he doesn't want anyone to sneak in and steal."

"As if. That's not it at all-- besides, who would want pickled eyeballs? Honestly. No, Naminé. The reason is because this room is haunted."

"Haunted?"

"That's right."

"But… how?"

"Ever heard of a boy? Maddy. Madman Maddy. The genderconfused one. And a ginger girl. Hana. The one from Sheepy Follow."

"Um… no, I can't say I have."

"Well, let me tell you of their story. It'd be no fun to tell if you already know the punchline. Well, in this very room--" she gestures about, leaning forwards. "-- in this very room, there was a double suicide. Two people died in this room. The very spot you sit now."

Stepping up sharply from her seat, Naminé looks alarmed-- laughing, Larxene waves her closer and Naminé complies. When she's standing within arm's reach, Larxene continues on. "Yes, that's right. Hana bled nearly to death in that very spot-- see the stain in the tile? Blood. You know what they say about blood-- never comes out of anything once it's made its way in."

"B-but what about Maddy?" Naminé takes a step closer to Larxene, now, arms drawn tight around her bosom. "Double suicide…"

"Yes, double suicide generally refers to two people killing themselves at the same time. C'mere." Flipping her legs over onto the roof-- probably flashing her panties in the process, but it's not as if she cares-- Larxene strolls out onto it. Waving the smaller girl over, Naminé hesitantly crawls out after her. When she's close enough, Larxene wraps her arm 'round her shoulders, gesturing over across the green, green field. The air is fresh up here; crisp. Not yet hit with the mugginess of summer, they still glide through spring.

"Why did you…?"

Larxene knows what she's talking about. "Why did I pull us two out here? Well, Naminé. Just think of the possibilities." Pulling her to the edge, and peering over, Larxene gestures to the intricate bundle of hanging ropes, wires, cords and strings under one part here. Students really haven't any idea what the hell that's supposed to be for-- just that it's there. "See the birds' nest? Hanging. See the cement? From up here, you could crack your head open rather well, don't you think?"

Feeling Naminé shiver under her forearm, Larxene tugs her closer, turning her head to whisper in the little girl's ear: "So many ways to die… don't you think it's the perfect place? And inside, so much glass upon glass upon heavy things. Snap. Crack. Dead. Just like that, gone." Snapping her fingers for emphasis, Larxene chuckles wryly, still into her ear. "Life is a fickle thing, don't you think? Fragile, like a china teapot. Like a porcelain doll. Death is within reach every step, every breath."

Stepping away, now. Naminé stands there, transfixed on the tangle of ropes. "You can't be sure what poisons you're not taking in, after all. Can't be sure of anything. Funny, how little control over our own lives we really have…"

"… you can choose. I know a person can."

"Ohhh? Naminé, what do you mean?"

"You can… you can choose your own destiny." Turning around to face Larxene, she's hot with courage. With the wealth of words. "You can do it, if you want to enough. You can choose who you want to remember, who you want to forget-- you can choose whether or not you want to die, whether or not you want to live. You make it… seem… so. So hopeless. When all life is is an endless wealth of opportunity, of vibrancy," Naminé takes a breath. "... of life. 's why it's called life."

Cackling, Larxene ruffles Naminé's blonde hair near affectionately. "Oh, how sweet a girl you are. A shame that girls like you never get anywhere," Larxene goes to sit on the roof's ledge. "Girls like you all end up in ditches. Too hopeful for your own good, you will only go through things expecting something and getting nothing."

Naminé seems dampened at this, but not too much. That's good. "Maybe… maybe you're right. Would you call it naivety?"

Larxene nods. "Ditch your project. Consider it lost to the wind. Come with me." More order than offer, Naminé recognizes this and nods after a beat's hesitation. "Good girl. Come on, don't you want to hear the rest?" The story, right. Can't leave any tale untold.

"Oh, right. Your ghost story."

"Ghost story? No, this is truth. Consider me your temporary history teach." Sliding off of the ledge, Larxene strolls over to the window-- slipping in gracefully. Naminé teeters in, gracelessly. Contrast has never looked so similar. Naminé is quiet, as Larxene paces a moment before finding a spot to stand. "You asked after Maddy. It's obvious, isn't it? Our double suicide wasn't a suicide at all," Larxene watches Naminé for a moment, her own expression greedy, Naminé's a mixture of curiosity and horror. "It was murder. Maddy smashed a jar over the girl's head when she was stooped over that very desk. Slit her neck, watched her bleed. Then after realizing what he'd done, he had jumped the ledge. Hana fell on the ropes; Maddy snapped his neck. Snap, just like that. Two tortured souls, in this very room."

Larxene strolls over to the shelf, and picks up a jar. Back to Naminé, she continues. "They say Hana didn't scream. Not because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't. Did he cut out her tongue? Did he stuff her mouth full of cotton? What did he do, exactly? No one can be sure. Least, not anyone in school. Police files have the facts, but these facts? I think they're just as accurate."

Turning to face her, Larxene approaches Naminé, a smirk playing sly on her face. "They say other things, too. They say that Hana's murder and Maddy's suicide should play themselves out every few years. A girl will be doing her homework innocently enough, and then someone will come seeking her out." Larxene is closer now, jar still in hand. "See, look at this? In the jar. Pickled pig heart. Says so right on the jar. Now, tell me-- what do you know about hearts?"

Naminé, pale as her dress, opens and closes her mouth in a way that is like a fish. It's enough to make Larxene chuckle. "Ah-- um-- uh-- ah-- w-well. It's it's it's. Muscle." She holds out her small little fist. "About this big. Vital. P-pumps blood."

"Very good." Larxene sets the jar none too gently on the table, coming even closer to Naminé. They're nearly touching, now-- Naminé is breathing hard, and Larxene is laughing again at the fact. Touching a hand to the girl's chin, she tilts her head up, examining her throat. Running a thumb along the blue vein so obvious against her pale, pale skin. "Know what happens if I cut this?" Under her fingers, Naminé's heart races. She swallows, and it's cute, the way she looks up at Larxene helplessly. Her hands have come to settle on Larxene's own hands, as if trying to prevent them from doing as they wish. As if so feeble a gesture could hamper Larxene.

"I die," Naminé says, voice raspy, low, near inaudible. "If you cut it, you kill me."

"Your life is in my hands, then, is it?" Larxene laughs again, stepping back a little, but not much. Leans down, to look her in the face. "In my hands… my palms."

Naminé's eyes are now glistening with something more than fear, something other than curiosity; she's close to tears, and it shan't take much more to make her break down completely. Crumble, but not break. Larxene doesn't break playthings, after all.

"Y-yes," choked out, it's obvious that Naminé is holding back. That won't do at all.

The two of them are close enough to feel and smell each other's breath on their cheeks; Naminé's is rapid and nervous, whereas Larxene's is static. Smooth. Narrowing her eyes, but lips breaking into a smile, she goes closer-- closer-- until their lips are nearly touching, and still Naminé refuses to cry. Fine, then. Letting her eyelids droop only a little bit, Larxene roughly-- yet carefully-- places her lips against Naminé's own. The smaller girl squeaks in protest, and struggles a little, but Larxene is pressing them closer together, planting her arms on either side of her head, so she can't escape. Trapped, Naminé eventually yields.

When she does-- and it doesn't take long-- Larxene is teasing her. Running her tongue against her lips, she deepens the kiss in her rough way-- biting and nibbling at her lips, Larxene slips her tongue into the other's mouth. Tasting spearmint, Larxene wonders if this is perhaps Naminé's first kiss she's stolen; it's obvious in the way she makes soft little noises of shock, surprise and maybe even pleasure that she's not experienced. And in order to spare Naminé some dignity nothing will be said on the way in which she attempts to use her mouth. Least her hands are wound 'round Larxene's waist and don't seem to be moving any time soon. Bad groping isn't what she's after.

Out of breath, Larxene breaks the kiss; Naminé's face is bewildered, flushed, and crying; although it doesn't seem as though she's aware of it. Blowing a bubble with stolen gum, Larxene giggles, having gotten what she wanted. Going to wipe them away with her thumb, Larxene pretends to look sorrowful. "Don't cry. You're really ruining the mood--"

"-- and speaking of ruining the mood, holy cats. Larxene, never know you swung that way. Just wait 'till the rest of the school hears this piece of dirt." A particular voice Larxene finds can ruffle her feathers perhaps too much speaks up from behind them-- and whirring around, her suspicious are proved correct.

"… Axel." Larxene narrows her eyes over at the redhead, wanting nothing more than to smite him where he stands. "Enjoying the show?"

"Yup," he says, throwing palms up. "I came twice. You guys should make a porno."

Rolling her eyes, but not yet stepping away from Naminé-- almost cuddling, because it's not as if she can burrow-- Larxene spits over at Axel: "What are you doing here, besides peeping in on things that aren't any of your business?"

"Roxas told me to come hang out for a little. First I came to get my lighter off of Mr. Vex." Axel seems rather satisfied with himself; Larxene wants to take his stupid ugly beanie off of his head and stomp on it a few times. "Mrs. Vex, whatever. Looked through the drawers and didn't find it, saw Trophy room's door was open. You know what they say about curiosity."

"It killed the cat, am I correct?" Larxene now lets Naminé off of the wall; straightens up her skirt and wipes the spit off of her chin. "Guess what, Axel?"

"What, you changed your name to Curiosity? Man, I think Experimentation'd be more suiting--"

Overtaken by just sheer annoyance and a sort of quiet, lurking fury made to explode, Larxene decides to take drastic measures. Revenge for today can be taken now. Throwing the picked-heart-in-a-jar over at Axel, it hits him off guard and while it doesn't hit him directly, the glass shatters all 'round and he's got preserving juices all over his shoes, pants, shirt. And a heart that somehow bounced is now in his hands. Yelling out sharply, Axel nearly drops the heart. But seems to have second thoughts and ends up throwing it instead at Larxene, who ducks. Leaving the heart to smack Naminé right in the face. Which then causes her to scream and kick and flail and knock the thing away like hot potato; Larxene catches it in midair by mistake and ends up throwing it at Axel, who throws it behind him--

-- smacking a certain teacher right in the face.

Hearing the sharp noise of contact, Axel turns around slowly, face darkening in horror. Naminé is still crying softly, sniffling and wiping at her face. Larxene is both amused and horrified. Standing tall behind Axel, eyes narrowed sharply and hands curled into fists, is a certain bio teacher. Vexen.

"Well, uh-- fuck, shit, motherfucking cocksucking Christ-- fuck fuck-- uhhh! Hi, teach!" Axel's voice is nervous and uneasy, green eyes darting from the yellowed, almost red stain on Vexen's face and to the one on this signature lab coat and to the heart, laid on the tile right by his shined black shoes. "Don't kill us, 'cause as I'm sure you know, that's illegal."

"I wouldn't soil my hands with such neophytes as you, so don't worry, Mr. Allen Walker." Vexen looks near smug for a second at the look of positive horror on Axel's face, but then his voice is back to carefully controlled anger. As if anything could soil the biology teacher's hands. What with the elbow-length latex gloves he's always got on. "You three, however, are to soil your own. Clean up this mess immediately. Cleaning supplies are in the closet." Gesturing over to a door only seldom noticed, Vexen crosses his arms over his chest. "Naminé, you can go after you help clean up. I've got a bit of talking to do with the students who sat in my chair, went through my drawers, and destroyed one of my precious specimens." How in the world the guy knew Larxene had sat in it, no one knows-- as weird as the guy is, it should be expected by now.

Naminé nods slowly, but Axel isn't so willing to give in. "Come on, teach. This crazy bitch threw the jar at me--" Axel gestures to Larxene, who sends him a sharp dirty look, "-- why do I have to clean up, too? C'monnnn."

Wiping the … whateverwater off of his face with his sleeve, Vexen sneers over at Axel. "Just do as you're told, child. And watch your language. Do you perhaps need a lecture on that, as well? Show some respect."

"Yeah, fine." Kicking a bit of glass in Vexen's general direction, Axel is obviously not pleased. "Whatever."

"I'm going to retire to my office. You'd best have this cleaned up quickly, and you'd also best come check in before you take off." Haughtily trotting off, Vexen leaves his students in silence.

"… Allen Walker?" Larxene's voice is snidely amused. "Isn't that also the name of some dorky sophomore--"

"Cram it, Roachy." Taking out a red phone with similar etchings to his lighter on it, Axel flips it open and hits a few numbers. "I've got to make an important call. You and your girlfriend best start cleaning up. I won't be long." Strolling up the aisle, Axel puts the phone to his ear.

Naminé looks awkwardly towards Larxene-- stealing her wrist, Larxene leads her towards the closet. Opening it, she hands Naminé a broom as well as a mop. And a dustpan. And Larxene puts rubber gloves on over her regular ones. Deposits the heart into a garbage bin, hardly caring if it attracts maggots or something disgusting. Instructing Naminé to mop up the juices, Larxene watches and hears a glimpse of Axel's conversation-- "Yeah, yeah, love you too, sweetheart,"-- that makes her grin smugly over at Axel as he comes over to help with the cleanup.

"'Sweetheart?'" Placing hands on hips, Larxene laughs. "Talking to Roxas, I assume?"

Axel looks a little surprised for a second, then rolls his eyes at her, shrugging. "Sora. None of your business, anyways, Larxene. You can go back to molesting Nami any time you want, you know."

Scowling at Axel, Larxene swats him with the dustpan before going to get the broom-- "Bite me."

"Only if your girlfriend won't get jealous--" cut short by Larxene throwing the dustpan at his head, Axel can only laugh. And Naminé can only stand there awkwardly, not liking being discussed in such a way, but too shy to say anything in protest.

As the sun sets and hookers are stba stba stabbed by geeks-- their lovers drowning in lakes-- a very harmonious trio cleans up the remains of a pickled pig heart.

Sometimes, days can be just too long.