Chapter Eight: Is That A Friend in Your Heart (Or Are You Just Glad To See Me?)


There is a stink of death over Traverse Town, which shelters the refugees of doomed worlds. It is home to the destitute, the forgotten, and the hopeless. Vagrants gather there in defiance of copyright laws, abandoning their homeworlds for an elusive taste of freedom. Their lifeless corpses usually end up in back alleys, stripped of their worldly goods.

Donald swung the Gummi ship into handicapped-access parking spot with a sense of grim satisfaction. The handicapped were way overrated.

"Are you sure we can park there?" asked Goofy.

"Yeah, bitch. We've got diplomatic immunity."

Goofy still looked nervously. "I don't think we should let folks know where we're from. We've got to protect the world border. Hyuck!"

Donald rolled his eyes. "Yeah, a bunch of filthy animals fighting for scraps of food are a real threat to the Company."

A group of Jewish refugees from Anatevka, Russia shook their fists at him. "If I were a rich man, all day long I'd kick your feathered ass!" yelled their leader.

"Hey," said Goofy, "There's another star goin' out!"

Donald looked up at the sky. "Where?" he said.

"Over there!"

"I see it! To the right, right?"

"No, up on the left, there."

Donald paused. "You know what? There are two stars going out."

"Sunrise, sunset," said the villager sadly, "Swiftly go the years. One season following another, laden with happiness and tears."

"Hey buddy, why don't you shut the hell up before your ass gets laden with my foot?" said Donald. "C'mon Goofy, let's go find that 'Key.'"

At that very moment, Noel woke up in a back alley that smelled vaguely of cheap booze and urine. He had a killer headache. Lying next to him was an unconscious 14-year-old boy with spiky hair.

"Ugh," thought Noel, "It's that weekend in Vegas all over again."

Looking around, Noel couldn't help but notice that he was in a strange new world. A feeling of poetic inspiration came over him, and he waxed eloquent about his situation:

"To be in an alley, or not to be: that's a stupid question.
Whether 'tis crazier in the head to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous Moogles,
Or…ah, screw it, I tire of talking like a damn fairy."

Noel sighed. This was going nowhere. He needed someone smaller than himself to take his anger out on, like the big yellow dog at the mouth the alleyway. "Get out of here, you freaking mutt!" he screamed, throwing his stick at it. The dog gave him a reproachful look a walked off.

"At least the PS2 is safe," Noel mused, patting it where it lay on the ground. Then, he noticed the army of Heartless that had been behind the dog. He screamed like a little girl. The alley suddenly smelled a lot more like urine.

"Of all the times to waste a perfectly good stick!" he cursed.

Noel's screams woke up the 14-year-old with the tortured hairdo.

"What's going on?" the kid muttered, still sleepy.

Noel's mind spun. There was only one way he was getting out of this alleyway in one piece. He grabbed the kid by the arm, dragged him down the alley, and threw him at the Heartless. They pounced on the fresh young meat as Noel high-tailed it out of there.

Then, he remembered that he had left the PS2 in the alley. Screaming an obscenity, he ran back, hoping that the Heartless would still be feasting on the kid's entrails. But what he saw amazed him.

The kid, the spiky-headed, dorky-looking kid with oversized yellow shoes, was fighting back against the Heartless. Fighting and winning. Within seconds, every single Heartless had been reduced to green, health-restoring globules (available wherever fine globules are sold).

"How did you freaking do that shit?" said Noel.

The kid just grinned wide and scratched the back of his head.

"It's 'cause I've got this bitchin' Keyblade."

Noel's heart froze within him. That was his Keyblade.

"This bastard's working with that jail-bait bitch Kairi!" he thought; rage consuming what was left of his soul. Smiling outwardly, he extended the hand of friendship to the stranger.

"Hi. I'm Noel. My world was destroyed by those guys you just owned."

The kid shook his hand. "The name's 'Sora.'"

"No, it's 'Noel.'"

"No, I meant that my name is 'Sora.'"

"Oh."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"You're not the sharpest sword in the stone, are you?"

"Uh… I've got a PS2!"

Sora frowned. "What's that?"

"It's a video game system, little dude!"

"I don't play video games. I have magical adventures with my friends, exploring islands and getting swept into universe-shaking conflicts."

Noel shook his head. "You do not know what you're missing."

There was another uncomfortable silence.

"Well, I've got a pre-scripted fight to be getting too…" said Sora.

"Mind if me and the PS2 tag along?"

"Nope, it's cool. I should be finding wandering rouges and vagrants to form a party anyways."

"Sweet."

Donald and Goofy, however, were having a terrible time finding the 'Key.'

"Are you sure that the little punk is supposed to be in Traverse Town?" bitched Donald for the tenth time.

Goofy sighed. Four years getting a liberal arts degree for this bullshit.

"That's sure what I thought." He paused reflexively. "E-yup!"

Donald tried to light up a cigarette, but it refused to stay lit.

"Fucking cheap matches," he muttered, throwing another on the ground. "Am I a mage or what? I'm using Fira!"

"Careful there, buddy," said Goofy.

Donald grimaced. "Stick a gummi block up your… AAAARRRRGGGGHHH!"

Goofy sighed. The moron had set himself on fire again.

A young woman in a pink sleeveless dress ran up and cast a water spell on Donald, who was stumbling towards an orphanage constructed of hay, old tires, and (for some unknown reason) lighter fluid bottles.

"Thanks there, missy!" said Goofy.

"Hmmm… an anthropomorphic duck with attitude and a tall dog-thingy with speech impediments. You the guys the CEO sent?" said the girl.

"E-yup!" said Goofy, but he was dying inside.

"C'mon. I'll take you back to the Hotel. I'm Aerith Redshirt, by the way."

"'Redshirt?'" said Donald. "What kind of a name is that?"

"Ever seen the original Star Trek?" she said ominously.

Noel and Sora wandered through the mysterious town, fighting the Heartless and gaining EXP. Things were actually going quite marvelously, as they chatted about this and that and the other thing.

"So, you play games on this machine?" said Sora.

"Yeah, little dude! It's freaking awesome."

Sora frowned. "If it's the only thing you saved from your world, it must be pretty important to you."

"Yeah," laughed Noel, "I'd rather sell my family into slavery than lose this baby. I'd die without it."

"I know how you feel," said Sora, "When my world died, the only people who survived were my friends. Or at least the two cool ones. I'd give anything to find them." He stopped walking. "Noel? Do you have any friends that survived the… you know…"

"Well, one may have. But…"

"Let's find them! Your friend and my friends. Together, we can do it!"

"Ya know," mused Noel, "If this guy's lady friend hadn't stabbed me in the back and doomed my world to destruction, he'd be the freaking man!"

"That sounds-"

"They'll come at you out of nowhere," interrupted a tall, lanky guy dressed in black pants, a white wife-beater, and a black short-sleeved jacket. His greasy hair was pulled back into an impromptu rattail tied with a rubber band. Propped up on his shoulder was a Gunblade, which he appeared to have recently constructed from cardboard scraps and silver spray-paint. He was wearing belts everywhere but the loops in his pants.

"Hey buddy, why don't you use one of those belts to keep your loins girded?" said Noel. "There's children present."

The stranger stared at Noel. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"He's my friend," said Sora, "And friends are in our hearts!"

The stranger hiked up his pants and pushed his wire-frame glasses up his nose. "Whatever. Now let me see that Keyblade."

Sora struck a dramatic pose. "What? There's no way you're getting this!"

The stranger shrugged in a very angst-ridden way. "Have it your way," he said, voice cracking.

Sora leaped forward with the rage of a thousand wild piglets, swinging the Keyblade with all of his might, but the stranger grabbed him by the hair.

"Rule number one of being a hero:" he sneered, "Never have a massive haircut unless you know how to use it!" The stranger laughed maniacally and drew his Gunblade. "Now I'll give you a little haircut, you ankle-biting waste of plot!"

The cardboard blade swung in a deadly arc. Sora covered his face and screamed. There was the terrible crunch of something solid breaking in two.

"Am I… dead?" thought Sora.

But the stranger let go of his hair and fell forward onto the ground. Standing behind him was Noel, holding a broken PS2.

Noel, seething with rage, screamed, "I freaking HATE BISHOUNEN!"


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Author's Notes:

For those of you who have never heard of Anatevka, Russia, it's the setting of Fiddler on the Roof, a wonderful musical comedy about the persecution of Jews under the Czar. Not that ethnic/religious persecution is particularly comedic. Not that this stopped Hitler from penning the muscial comedy Mud Peoples of the Earth in the Gas Chambers, but I digress.

My point is, as a 1/4 Jew (a 'semi-semite, if you will), I like Fiddler on the Roof. At least, I think that was the point.

Deleted Metaphysical thingie:

For those who have never cared for others, learning can be a difficult task. It is like opening your eyes to the sun after a long time in the darkness: though it hurts, how else will light enter your body? It is like waiting to be born a second time: though we are a long time in the womb, life is a prize much worth the trouble.

Next time: PartNine- A Tale of Two Graceless Segues