By The Book

By Snare-chan

Pairings: None
Ratings: K+
Category(ies): General
Warning(s): None
Status: Continuation, 2/2, complete
Summary: A story about where Demyx lives, and how it can be a bit crazy, sometimes.

Notes: How this went down was the first chapter was the actual gift, and then I wrote this as a sequel because the original idea I'd had for it included this additional section. The time allotted me only allowed me to finish the first chapter, and then I said to hell with it and wrote this after the actual anniversary. :V As for the story, I think it would have been beneficial for Demyx to watch Fantasia and learn a little something…

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts; wish I did like everybody else. They should put KH in stock, then I'd buy it all!


The library was of reasonable quality, as far as a place filled with ancient books with little to no pictures in them could be. It was one room as white as the rest of The Castle That Never Was, reminding Demyx of a hospital rather than a palace. Stark and sterile and boring. He'd visited this part of the castle once, back when he was new and getting the ten-munny tour, and after taking one glance at it he'd never returned.

Until now.

Zexion had made sure he kept his word, especially after he'd taken the effort to uphold his end of the bargain and talked to Saïx and Xemnas for him. Dragged, somewhat forcefully, to the library, he was then instructed to first find any missing volumes and second, to catalog them and the rest of the collection. Thankfully, it didn't sound hard, but un-thankfully, the work was time-consuming and dusty. And dust was gross.

Pacing in front of an army of Dancers, Demyx idly browsed through one of the books – an original copy of The Swiss Family Robinson – and snapped it closed, a small cloud of dirt billowing from the pages.

"Alright, ladies!" he announced, not really sure if they had a gender but decidedly giving them one. He stopped at the center of the group and struck a solid pose, like a drill sergeant.

Holding up the story in his hand, he said, "This? Is a book. They're typically old and smelly – and you need to go and find any that don't belong to an Organization member. Search the castle, the other worlds, wherever. Don't come back without any, okay? NOW GO FORTH AND ROCK!"

He pointed at the door, and the lesser Nobodies scattered, flitting off or disappearing to do as ordered. Left alone, Demyx grabbed a seat, twirling it around once, and flopped back into it. Habitually, he tilted it back so as to rest his booted feet on the table and his head in his hands. Number IX was just considering that this might not be so bad when the solitude was broken, Zexion making his reappearance and dropping a tower of books onto the table. His superior purposefully slid them over to knock Demyx's feet off.

"Here is the initial set," he indicated. "Record the author, title, summary, and any unusual activity in this."

Zexion handed him a set of four binders, thick with clear, plastic inserts and paper that had lines and some text printed on it. The musician's wrist screamed in such high-pitched agony at just thinking about all of the notes ahead of it that Demyx was sure he was the only one who could make it out. Thus, he determined that there was no justice in the world.

"Can't I use the computer?" he whined; typing wasn't his specialty, either, but it went slightly faster.

"Not after what you did to the mainframe the last time you used it. You're fortunate that the data was able to be recovered and a more serious punishment wasn't issued."

"Window-washing and double recon isn't exactly a light punishment, ya know! Do you have any clue how many windows there are on the west side? I lost count at fifty!"

"Don't tempt the extent of creativity, lest you regret the consequences of your wishful thinking."

"…What?"

"Get to work," Zexion advised.

He sighed and grabbed the top book on the stack, grumbling, "So what should I do if I get sucked into another book? Do I put it under 'U' for 'uh-oh' or what?"

Un-amused, Number VI didn't dignify that with a response and merely vanished through the darkness corridor, leaving him to deal with the task and figure it out on his own. Sulking, he grabbed a pen and began to jot down notes. The book creaked as he opened the stiff cover. Author and title – Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame – were written down, and he grabbed the pages to flip through them. A few pages in, his ears picked up the sounds of church bells ringing. He counted that as 'unusual activity' and recorded it.

In the middle of writing for his second selection, one of his Dancers came skirting back. It was carrying a tiny thing, at least in comparison to the others he had set before him.

"Sweet! That's my girl," he congratulated, and accepted the book. "Good work. How about you take the rest of the day off, huh? Consider it your reward."

The Dancer swayed its hips in a thankful dance, then sauntered off to parts unknown. Demyx wished he could go, too. He finished the one he'd been working on prior to the interruption, then did two more, including the new arrival. When he picked up the next one in the stack he had to quickly snatch the one under it because it had begun to float. Demyx made sure to write about that one and then sat on it to keep it from flying away.

Another Dancer showed up, then – no, two did, carrying seven books between them. They must have hit up one of the nearby worlds, because the novels looked foreign, maybe from that desert planet, Agrabah. A part of him was proud to see they'd done their job so awesomely, but the other half was exasperated because it meant more work for him.

"Put them over there, I guess…" he instructed, indicating the empty corner of the table. Before they'd finished that, another one of his Nobodies showed up, three various sized books in her arms.

Then the count reached twelve, and then twenty, and on and on and on; he didn't remember ordering so many Dancers, never mind that each had to have an average of 3.5 books.

"Ah maaan, this can't end well," Demyx moaned, as more Dancers came in, one in particular balancing several novels on its head.

He was right about that, at least. Though he would later wish he wasn't.


When Zexion returned to check up on Number IX's progress, Demyx could tell from the look crossing his face that his superior felt…lost, no doubt assuming he had taken the wrong passage and ended up in the wrong room.

The library was now chock full of more books than it could hold – floor to ceiling, table to chair, door to wall, with one single path left to take. Dancers were gliding along it like ants in a colony, twirling and setting fiction and nonfiction alike down to a unified rhythm. The only reason Zexion wasn't swept up in it was because when he exited the corridor, he'd stepped onto a mound of books.

"Zexion!" Demyx screamed, muffled. "Help!"

"Where are you?"

"In a fort."

The other didn't comprehend his meaning until he stumbled across Demyx entirely by accident, trapped inside a makeshift structure of paper and hard covers.

"What did you do?" Number VI demanded, pushing some aside and pulling the musician free.

"My Dancers got a little hide-and-seek crazy! I can't get them to stop."

"I thought you claimed they were 'flighty'? Surely they must get bored eventually."

Demyx bent slightly in dismay as he said, "I've been waiting for hours, dude! I'm not sure how much this place can hold before they start flooding the castle."

Zexion simply shook his head, perhaps a little bit in disbelief, before summoning his Lexicon. Wisely, Demyx took a purposeful, huge step back, knowing full well that whenever his superior felt the need to pull out his 'weapon' of choice, things were about to Get Handled. The Tome of Judgment popped open, seemingly of its own accord, and the pages turned at the barest touch of the other's fingers, landing on a chapter that Demyx couldn't quite make out.

As predicted, the activity was mind-blowing and fast-paced the minute Zexion got to work. The books scattering the floor suddenly levitated and then shot onto nearby shelves, impressively going in alphabetical order, and once there was enough room to move, the shelves actually jutted out! Number IX had to jump aside to escape getting bowled over by one pulling out at his back, revealing more places to put books, and they were readily filled, too.

When all was said and done, the library returned to its previous state of organization, save for a couple dozen Dancers still hanging about and two Organization members taking up residence.

"You need to teach me how to do that," Demyx declared. "Seriously. I can think of a million ways I could use that. I'd never have to get up again."

"It's exactly for that reason that the skill shall remain with me," Zexion retorted. "Now explain: how did that mess happen?"

"Okay…okay, it was like this! You wanted me to find books for you, right? So I sent my Dancers out, but I wasn't very specific, and they sort of…just grabbed whatever they could find," the musician explained. "But there's a positive side to this! They brought back some cool-looking picture and coloring books. I can feel this place getting more interesting already."

Zexion stared at him. Not so much the polite 'yes, I'm listening' kind of stare, nor even that 'this is me concentrating really hard on what you're saying' kind, but that blank sort of non-blinking, non-comprehending stare that signified to Demyx that he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"What?" Number IX asked, confused.

A Dancer interrupted then, one of the few that he hoped was finishing their rounds, and held out a black book, hand-bound tightly with a cute caricature on it.

Zexion snatched it and pushed it up against Demyx's chest, curtly saying, "You will return here after the evening meal and personally go through the collection, remove all the useless books, and then finish cataloging."

"B-but…that could take hours! Days! Weeks! Years!"

Number VI seemed to think on it, then said, "You're correct in that assessment. It would be better if you started immediately. I advise you get to it."

Maybe the other had been right earlier – washing windows didn't sound so bad anymore.

-Fin-