Disorganization
Stage II
oh they're sortin' through what's left of you and me
"This sucks. And not in any way that could remotely be construed as good, you know? There is no bright side. Okay, yeah, there's no bright in the city, period, 'cause even the overuse of neon only serves to emphasize how dark and dismal and indicative of the state of our tortured souls this pit of nightmare is — but you know what I mean." Demyx shifted the Icy Cube further along his jaw, ignoring the frigid water dripping down his neck to soak into the dove-gray sweater (knitted by Zexion, and how that man could wield duel crochet hooks; the Organization will never be the same — for they'll be shabbily dressed in next to no time without the Hand-crafted Cloaked Schemer to make them fuzzy-warm comfort clothes). "I should be in my room resting in bed… Oh, that's right," he gave a lukewarm (but growing cooler) glare to the red haired man standing one table away, "you burned down my room and the bunk beds won't be delivered until — pht, whenever. Regardless, I should be sleeping but instead I'm out here, in pain… You have a hell of a left hook, Axel. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to natter on and on like this? I hope you appreciate all I do for you; no point in putting the sun catchers up front, there isn't any sun within two Worlds' distance—"
"What was Xemnas thinking?" Roxas was sitting (precariously) in a chair short one leg and missing a third of its seat. He'd been sitting there for what seemed like hours (and the cuckoo clock that could tick but not tock agreed with his assessment, but the brightly painted bird was jumping out and announcing the hour every few minutes, so there's a chance that the clock ((and by watching it, Roxas)) was running a smidge faster than the actual flow of time), rearranging the bric-a-brac cluttering his table to no purpose. "There's nobody but Nobodies around here, and nobody but nobody is stupid enough to buy this crap."
"Treasures," Axel corrected, picking up a chipped, stained glass night light to dust with a damp paper towel. "These are the hidden, forbidden treasures of the Organization. A thousand years from now archeologists are going to uncover—"
"The Organization's secret stash of tasteless crap." Getting to his feet, Roxas kicked the chair and watched in morbid fascination as it collapsed, crushing an inquisitive Shadow that had been emerging from the asphalt-paved street. "And it's not even my crap." He flicked a bobble headed chihuahua, setting off a flood of nods and demands for tacos. "I haven't been a Nobody long enough to collect crap. Not that I'd ever buy," he held out a black tee shirt stating in small orange letters 'You laugh now... But will you be laughing when I crawl out from under your bed ', "something like—"
"Dude! So that's where my shirt amscrayed." Xigbar hopped over his table and ran across the street, snatching the tee from the blond boy's hand. "I've been looking everywhere for this. Thanks!" With no further ado he stripped out of his monogrammed (HB — an un-birthday gift from Luxord) polo shirt and pulled on the tee (and we're all grateful for the speed in which he completed the change, 'cause the balloon-toting teddy bear tattooed over his not-actually-a-heart is frighteningly kawaii).
"You gotta pay for that," Demyx said — not because he cared, but because Xemnas had given them very specific instructions (Arial 10pt double-spaced, five pages long if you don't count the cover sheet), and giving away their clutter was at the top of the Under No Circumstances list.
"Oh, right. How about…" Xigbar grubbed through his fanny sack, and pulled out an assortment of fruit-scented novelty erasers. "We'll trade. Erasers for shirt. Fair enough for ya?"
"Not a chance of selling those, either, so yeah, toss them on the table." Roxas (having spent the night curled up in the hallway listening to Luxord sobbing in his sleep, Demyx snoring, and Axel muttering something about kneepads and Santa hats) wasn't in the best of moods, exacerbated by his Wake Up Grumpy mug going missing (and currently for sale over at Saïx's table) thereby depriving him of his morning dose of fortifying cocoa. "Lesse, offensive tee shirts, fruity erasers, sun catchers featuring our most despised enemies… Who brought those, anyway?"
Axel sniffed and carefully placed the night light down where it would catch the glow of the neon signs just so. "There you go, being all judgmental; it's not like I can just walk into a store and buy a stained glass panel depicting scenes of unrivaled horror. Lately all they've been getting in are hummingbirds and roses — which were much more Marluxia's thing, I know, but beggars — or in this case, shoplifters — can't be choosers." He nudged a warm vanilla-scented candle an inch to the left, and admired the way his wares reflected the light. "Thousands of little fires," he said in deep-seated satisfaction, "burning all for me."
Dropping the Icy Cube to shatter on the pavement, Demyx leaned forward to admire the view. "That's nice. Pity the Neoshadows despise light; are you trying to drive our customers away?"
"Yes."
"Glad to know we're on the same wavelength. Scary, yet oddly reassuring." Demyx raised his arms and bent his knees as water fountained theatrically around him — then casually reached down and pulled his sitar out from underneath the table, the frothing water falling back to the ground dispiritedly before running into the gutter. "Roxas has a point: He hasn't been around long enough to've collected whatnots and rattletraps, you burned all of my possessions, and all you've bothered to save over your illustrious career are shiny glass knickknacks and vintage cookie cutters. Between the three of us there's not enough junk to fill a garbage bag, so why do we have to participate in the rummage sale? I mean, we already paid our dues! What more does Xemnas want?"
"He's testing us, D-dude." Admiring his reflection in a convenient puddle (they congregate around Demyx, causing all sorts of rude jokes) Xigbar gave himself a thumb's up. "After those do-gooder brats took out a third of the Organization over at Châteaux Oblivion the boss man wants to make sure we're up t' snuff. If we can survive the humiliation of having our personal foibles picked through by bargain hunters, he'll know we have what it takes to, umm…" He scratched his (braided and beaded because he'd been too ((hung-over)) busy this morning to take them out) head, and his visible eye blinked in startlement. "What are we supposed to be doing? As long as, uh, You Know Who is napping…" he studiously avoided looking at Roxas, who in turn was studiously avoiding the Samurai that had strolled over to inquire about the price of the broken Icy Cube.
"Voldemort?" Saïx (beyond bored and having already read his back issues of Huge Honkin' Swords back to front) had taken it upon himself to join their conversation — just in case he needed to put a stop to their gossiping. (When you're throwing a party, Saïx is the loser you never invite that shows up anyway — with the police, complaining about the noise. It's why the other Organization members send him invitations… with directions that ensure he winds up lost in Wonderland.)
"No… the other You Know Who. The one that's napping."
Saïx didn't like being confused. There are many things he doesn't like, and encountering any of them unexpectedly is likely to tick him off. (Just ask the White Rabbit; he's rotting in Wonderland, permanently late. His very important date eventually went home with Flopsy instead.) "Yeah. Voldemort."
"Ease up on him, Xiggy," VIII warned II, worried about his table full of highly breakable glass objets d'art. "You know he never got past the second book."
Xigbar yanked at his braids, took deep breaths, and yearned for nacho fries. "No, O oblivious one. I'm talking about He Who Must Not Be Named coz Roxas is standing right there, you yutz!"
"…Oh. Oh." The (dyed) blue haired man sniffed, his faux-feelings hurt. "You could have just said it was So—oww! You kicked me, Axel! You barbarian; you'll be punished for attacking someone of higher rank. I'm telling Xemnas!"
"When you're there, mind letting him know I finished writing 'I'll never, ever betray a mostly loyal flunky again' twenty times on the door to Vexen's lab?" Axel smiled impishly as the candles illuminating his table flared, their flames dancing wickedly two inches above their wicks. "I tell ya — that was harsh. I so learned my lesson. You do the crime, you do the time: All ten minutes of it."
"I despise you." Turning around quickly (to hide his teary eyes, 'cause all he's ever really wanted was a friend. Or a corndog. Without a heart to steer him in the right direction, it's hard to recognize the impulse, though with his digestion a friend would be less likely to turn on him) he walked off, stopping only at Xaldin's table to admire his Hostess collection (four decades past their non-expiration, and the Zingers were still squishy to the touch).
He'd been striving for a dignified departure but couldn't quite manage it with Demyx plucking a jaunty tune that Axel soon joined in on. "And he throws an angry tantrum if he cannot have his way…"
"Man, that guy is such a spaz." Flinging his polo shirt over his shoulder, Xigbar tossed a few coins (whoops, no, they look more like foil-wrapped con… oh dear…) into the straw boater hat the musician had set out along with a sign reading Support the Arts, Kill a Critic. "Guess I'll be heading back to my table, looks like there's a dupe checking out the necklaces. Later dudes, little dude." He raised his hand for the secret Organization handshake, but no one returned his high five (since Demyx had segued into an instrumental piece originally penned for a banjo, Axel had yet to stopped laughing, and Roxas — well, Roxas had ignored the entire conversation like the good, clueless Keybearer he is).
"He has a customer?" Axel asked, a bit breathless from his giggle fit. "He's selling stationary and beaded jewelry; there's not a single Nobody in the city that would be interested in…" His eyes widened (and it's quite the feat, 'cause while he has beautiful eyes they're rather narrow, and angled, and not really designed for going all round and confounded looking) and he barely managed to stop himself from diving underneath the table to hide. "It's Naminé; she's tracked me down."
"She's not the only one." Pushing up the sleeves of his Cashmere mock turtleneck sweater, Roxas prepared himself for battle (though what role pushing up his sleeves had in his preparations is hard to figure. Maybe he was just hot). "Looks like my mysterious adversary came with her."
Riku approached, the gauzy scarf that doubled as a blindfold currently tied around his forehead. With his fringed leather pants and baggy tie-dyed shirt, he looked far less deadly than during their previous encounter — and very much like a teenager exploring emerging hippie tendencies. "Hey." The silver haired boy raised a gloved hand in greeting (though it might have been friendlier without the bat-winged Keyblade in it). He glanced over the tables, but kept darting quick looks at the (not wearing heavy black coats 'cause it's casual Friday and muggy to boot) Organization members. "What's up?"
"Rummage sale." Nonchalantly Roxas pushed fruity erasers towards Riku. "For the everlasting glory of the Organization. Could I interest you in a Maleficent mug? Keeps hot liquid hot, and cold liquid — not as hot." He held it up so the taller boy could read the graphic.
"'I'm wicked, what's your excuse?'" Snorting, Riku took the mug and turned it over in his hands, examining it for chips. "She'd have loved this… But I'm more interested in the sun catchers, actually. Especially the Snow White one." He moved towards it (but kept the cup in his hands since it was apropos and amusing him to no end) but didn't pick it up. "Amazing; it's an exact replica of Sora's mind."
"…Sora?" For some reason the name made Roxas feel all goosepimply and giddy.
"Yeah, he's—"
"Just some loser friend of your mysterious adversary's that you don't need to concern yourself with!" Axel cut in (rather literally, as both bladed monstrosities he calls weapons are out and spinning, forcing the silver haired boy away from his wares). "And, ah," he grimaced sheepishly at Riku, "the similarity isn't a coincidence. Naminé designed them for me when she was staying with us, and I had the set made up because they'd make a bitchin' mobile to hang in front of the window… And why am I telling you this? You wanna buy it, or not?"
"Okay, okay!" Setting the mug down, Riku pulled out a (wee bit melted, but still edible) wad of munny. "How much? I can't believe how expensive today's been. All I wanted was a rematch with Roxas, but Naminé talked me into getting her Suzy Qs, peridot earrings, another box of crayons, and now she's drooling over stationary… You guys are evil. Totally, unredeemably evil."
"We aim to please." After stuffing the sun catcher haphazardly into a plastic grocery bag, Axel prodded the oozing lump of munny into the Toy Story lunchbox that was doubling as their cash drawer before handing over the purchase. "Actually, it's sorta nice t' hear. Xemnas always tells us we're totally, incompetently evil."
"He's one to talk." Roxas bumped against Demyx as he took back the coffee mug (but Demyx, singing wistfully, 'One dyin' and a buryin'…' didn't notice; not the bump, not his audience of quietly crying Dusks, and not Luxord making off with his beloved straw boater hat). "How long has he been working on the Master Plan? At the rate he's going, our heart-shaped moon-thing is going to be a permanently kidney-shaped asteroid-thing."
"You know," Riku said, craning his neck to stare upwards, "that looks familiar…"
"You've probably seen it on a strategy guide." The stress of keeping two teenaged boys ignorant of particulars even Xaldin on a sugar high could figure out if given a chance (and an hour's lead-time) had Axel close to flaming out. "That's not what's important. You're here. And so's Roxas. Were you gonna fight, or what?"
"I dunno." The blond toyed with his key chains, then lifted his shoulders in a minimal shrug. "Wouldn't be worth the bother. He's weak."
"Ha!" Stung by the accusation, Riku looped his arm through the handles of the plastic bag before reaching into his pocket once more. "I've trained. I've faced the dark." He pulled out a square of Scharffen Berger 82 percent cacao extra dark chocolate, unwrapped it, and placed it in his mouth, sucking on it with evident delight. "This time, I can't lose."
"Huh." Unimpressed, Roxas pulled out the by now well-known (and well-feared by Shadows everywhere) box of Delite bars (for Xemnas hadn't entirely given up on his first fundraising venture — mostly because XVII didn't believe in refunds). "That sure, are you? Then what about — this?"
Riku read the label of the bar thrust an inch away from his nose, and paled. (Well, as much as he could. He's already pretty pale; the poor dear's been away from his island paradise much too long. Donate to the Get Riku a Tan Fund; Ansem will thank you for it.) "…With raisins? They make them — with raisins?" Unable to withstand the sheer revulsion 'with raisins' engendered, Riku fled, leaving behind the Wicked mug he'd decided to buy, Naminé (who was ecstatic over her new straw boater hat), and his Soul Eater key chain (that Xigbar picked up and promptly sold to Luxord, who was always on the look-out for good luck charms.)
"Like I said," Roxas told Axel, dropping the bar back into the box before kicking it at the clustered Dusks, "not worth the bother."
"Heh. What does that tell us about Lexaeus, then?" Blowing out his candles, Axel gave his roomie a smug wink. "What do you say we call it a day? I'm in the mood for something spicy. Szechuan sound good to you?" Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the blond's hand and tugged him away from the table. "We can stop by Miz Maizy's after."
With a small quirk of his lips that could have been interpreted as a smile and a small tilt of his head that could have been a nod, Roxas allowed Axel to drag him off without complaint.
That is, he didn't complain. Demyx, snapped out of his (depressing yet appealingly lyrical) thoughts when the box of Delite bars smacked him, had plenty to say, starting with, "…Where's my hat? Guys? Where are you… Naminé? Why are you wearing my hat?"
With a sweet, tinkley laugh, Naminé held out her hand, displaying the foil-wrapped, urm, notcoins Xigbar had left. "Are these yours?"
end Stage II
Riku: Master of the Soul Eater Keyblade, Riku's intimately acquainted with both Light and Dark (but prefers caramel when given the choice), finding ways to use both — though not without cost. (The toll on the Twilight path is a killer — and the monthly pass doesn't save you much.) Assigned by DiZ to bring Roxas to their secret laboratory deep under ground (DiZ loves the classics), Riku often confronts XIII but has yet to defeat him — or even actually fight him. Yet still he tries — poster boy for 'If at first you don't succeed' — because it's to help his good friend Sora. He'll do anything for Sora, except choke down a Delite bar… with raisins.
advance to Stage III
what's now pathetic, weak, and sad was once a human being
End Notes: The Phony King of England — lyrics by John Mercer, from Robin Hood, where Alan-a-Dale was voiced by Roger Miller, which got Demyx a singin' One Dyin' and a Buryin'. Woo, got dizzy connecting the dots.
Reviews! Sweet, charming reviews! AnimeDutchess: Sadly, some seriousness (next part didn't want to go with the flow; it demanded down time) but the silly eventually comes back. Gogo-chan: :D Would you believe I was already considering ginger? Hee, run run as fast as you can… For some reason the scene tickles me senseless. Many many thank yous to you both for staying with the story and letting me know what you like (which sorta points the way to spots that aren't working as well). Thank yous to all kind reviewers for taking the time t' let me know I'm not the only one laughing. What can I say, I crack me up. Then again, I'm easily amused.