G'day, those who know me, know me well.

Those who don't, well...

Read on, kindly.

Xemnas floated through the twilight realm of 'The storeroom that you can never find', his calm face matching his cold, distant thoughts as he nodded at a passing Dancer nobody. He turned, waved the door open, set to work. Once again, the hot-water piping had burst in Castle Oblivion and replacements were required. Who did he count upon to fix such inconsequential matters? His subordinates.

Where were his subordinates? Hanging out laundry (All black cloaks, with one that had somehow, in some unimaginable way, been mixed with number 12's underwear and had come out a shocking hot pink…), on patrol, comms, cooking, flower arranging, Solitare, ballroom dancing and Sitar tuning…

At least, they said that was what they had to do the minute he announced yet another leak.

He held up a long, rusted piece of tubing, muttering under his breath. "Who, me? Ya' know, Superior, I'm not really into menial work, yeah? If I'd brung a resume, that's what it would say, 'Can't do shit with stuff and junk'! You'd definitely be sending the wrong guy!" He said all this in a high falsetto, his forehead beginning to redden in frustration.

Damn that number nine! This was exactly his calling, water was his chosen element, yet he couldn't patch a seam to save whatever remained of his life! If only he could find a weakness, some sort of trigger, a switch, a final tug to bring the insolent musician to heel! He continued to rummage in the huge warehouse, eventually, everything turned up here.

Reporting. No sign. Continuing. All allegiance. A voice sounded in his head, emotionless and completely devoid of personality. A sorcerer nobody.

He smiled, the-

He paused, his eye caught by a strange glow surrounding what appeared to be a…

… A font?

The highest of Nobodies drifted to the basin, watching the swirling contents, opaque and almost silver in their movements. The sight reminded him of the dusks, and thus he was comforted.

He looked to the side, a tag had been crudely tied around the indention, marked with an 'IX' and coloured aquamarine to indicate that the item had been claimed as a personal belonging.

Attached to this was a small piece of paper, folded up and stuffed in a crevasse on the side. Xemnas picked it up and read, intrigued.

Congratulations, we at Hell-Hammer supplies wish to applaud your wonderful purchase, you (Demyx), have ordered the (Pensieve) and arranged the point of acquisition at (Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry) and the price of (1500 munny) as indicated in invoice (387420489) to be paid upon delivery in (Get me out of here), located in (The big, boring castle that defies both Gravity and Fashion sense, look for the big heart-shaped moon and the two guys wearing dresses that yap to it all frickin' night). We hope you enjoy your purchase. (Go to hell)

To use, simply hold your wand (Or stick) to your forehead, think hard about the memory or thought that you wish to extract (Hell-Hammer would like to point out that this brand of pensieve was especially designed to decrease the chance of permanent loss of brain function by 50 percent, all rights reserved) and hold out the globe that forms to the basin. When you wish to re-enact a thought or memory, simply speak the keyword and hold your head to the basin. It will detect your wish to cease automatically.

Below that, the names of the Organization had been hastily scribbled in blue pen, with a love-heart painstakingly drawn next to Namine's name.

Xemnas looked thoughtfully at the paper, then peered into the murky depths. Just what he needed for a little blackmail.

"Xemnas." He spoke, and the liquid within the basin suddenly moved with a purpose, clearing to show…

"That is… my personal chamber?" Xenmas' face held a puzzled expression, from this distance, it looked like his room. He leaned in, trying to get a better view of the goings on.

To say that he squealed like a girl as he fell in was a gross exaggeration. Well, maybe not.

Xemnas landed on the cold, marble floor, and watched the scene unravel before him. Demyx was standing alone in front of Xemnas' desk, shifting his feet and looking worn, battered. His shirt was slashed, and blood stained the fabric of his trousers, but his face held no emotion, just a cold, confused shell of a man looked from within those eyes.

This is… When I inundated him into the Organization.

He waited, and then his younger version began to speak…

If you like, tell me so. If not, nothing will happen here.

Toodles.