Yes, I know I'm neglecting this. But, you see, reviews make it go that much faster, remember? -winkwink-

"…One eve'ning I was there, when I heed a showman shouting underneath the flair…"

Luxord sat crosslegged on an enlarged card as it floated down to the warehouse, nodding at the lesser nobodies as she moved aside for him. He grinned to himself, watching a Gambler trip a Dusk onto the white floor.

That'll teach the little bastards.

"… I've got a luverly bunch'a'coconuts, there they are a-standin' in a row…"

He took another turn, yawning as he padded at the regrowth over his eyebrows. Once again, Axel's zealotism had left its mark… a scorch mark. He cursed fire in its forms, glad that at least there was a full sharpie in the castle.

"… Big 'uns, small 'uns, some as big as yur 'ead…"

He continued singing, sure that at least today would hold some entertainment. The plan to upholster the new Castle was proceeding nicely; Xemnas bathed, Axel was turning a little more moderate, Vexen had stopped accusing him of stealing his porn, and Larxene still hadn't learned of the hidden camera above her seat. Unlife was good.

"… Ya give 'em a twist, a flick of the wrist, that's what the showman said!"

And with that in mind, he headed into the storeroom, sneezing at the dust left by the massive blanket of feathers. At least, he tried; the card was too big and ended up throwing him off when the edge of the door barred its entry.

--

You know, for a guy that has the abilities of Time and Luck as his chosen elements, Luxord seriously has shit-all in the good fortune department. Seriously, he's caught every kind of illness, been caught in every kind of disaster, been dutch-ovened by none else than Xigbar, and managed to get his head set on fire.

Oooh, actually, there was a good story behind that. See, it doesn't involve Axel at all, and that's why the fire is so weird, yeah? See, back in the day, ol' Line-o-lux was pretty gullible, and kinda spotty. Seriously, he had acne so bad you could spot constellations among 'em. If he did that little pimple-squirty thing, chances are he would've blown out half his head from all the escaping pus.

And to be fair, it was kind of his fault. He insisted on English food to match his accent and false-personality, but only certain kinds of English food. Bangers and Mash, Fried potatoes, Fish and Chips, Jam Puddings, Deep-fried Ice Cream… you seeing a trend here? Yeah, grease by the bucket. Actually, no, he ate the bucket too. You'd watch the guy and your ventricles would squeeze in sympathy for his clogged up vessels! Seriously, he isn't going to have a heart attack, his heart's just gonna burst from his chest in all its facehugger glory, punch in the nose and say 'I've had enough of your bullshit! Die, you poncy bastard!'.

Okay, maybe not, but that would be so cool! He'd be all 'Argh! My own organs are committing Grievous Bodily Harm against me! I will sue my organs on behalf of me and win! Oooooh, I must sing some random British Crap in true ancient style!' and we'd be all 'I bet you 20 Gil he doesn't even know that Nobodies don't have hearts' and we'd…

Holy Shit.

Holy Jumpin' Jesus Juice Jackal Jandal Shit.

If he doesn't have a heart, he can't have a heart attack.

Ergo: He can eat whatever shit he wants and he won't die.

I want to eat that British shit, now. If I get pimples, I can just expel them with my uber-water.

Now, where was I? Oh, right, the face-burning stuff. 'Kay, Marly kinda told him that if you pour petrol over your head, the fumes extract the toxins and oils and stuff and clear up your skin. I suppose it might work, all that evaporation might actually exert a little pressure, not to mention the osmosis side of things…

Ahem, anyway, Luxord decided to do just that. After coughing for a year and a day, the results of which left him smelling like the kind of man a car dreams about running away with and having Naughty tailpipe adventures with, Luxord found himself with nothing to do.

And the idiot didn't do something normal, like train or read or play Pantyraids on Larxene's room. No, the stupid git had to go and fry up his favorite snack, Bubble and Squeak, which is basically fried up veges and sauce, quite nice. I stole his leftovers once, and my gut has been killing me ever since, but now I know, and knowing is half the battle!

Now: Frying. Frying ain't so bad, right? Well, We use Gas stoves, something about making this castle 'Environmentally friendly'. Gas stoves equal open flame. Open flame plus petrol equals boom. Open flame plus man soaked with petrol plus grease and unwashed cloak equals smoking crater with large hole through several walls ending with zitface faceplanted in Larxene's ho-hum region. Only bit of luck that guy ever got, except for the armour-piercing slap he got after that. Coma'd for three days.

Still, it blew off his pimples.

And his hair… eyebrows… cloak… bits of his flesh… yeah. Ow.

Oh, and there's another thing, he isn't even a gambler by trade, before he came into our fold, Mr Join-the-dots only dealt with one thing even remotely papery were… well… stamps.

Yes, that's right. Luxord is a nerdy Stamp-collector. He even sorts them according to value, how chumpy can you get?

"As chumpy as 50,000 Gil in the hand from one deal, Number Nine." Luxord smirked as he watched, amused.

And he listens to Progressive Metal while he does it! Come on, how nerdy is air-guitaring to 'Through the Fire and the Flames' while looking at a Three cent stamp from Hollow Bastion's fiftieth Jubilee? I mean, he even makes his stamps into a guitar and rocks out on the table, that's… huh, that's actually kind of cool.

Anyway, he would use them in battle but for two reasons, one is that he thinks they're too valuable, two is that once he licked one of them in practice and slapped it onto Larxene's shaky-bakey regions. I won't tell you where she shoved the rest of them, but it rhymes with 'Cup Mrs Grass' and it ruined the entire book. Not that I'm concerned, of course.

So, that about raps up the dirt on Luxord. Oh, and Luxy-boy, don't cringe and make that card wall when we're about to pour a ten-gallon jug of whoopass on your five-gallon ass. It'll get you in trouble one of these days. We're only telling you because we care, alright?

Peace! Nocturne out!

--

"Hey, Demyx?"

"Yeah, Lux?"

"Thanks."

…

…

…

"Huh?"

Righto! Now, there's a poll up on my profile, check it out. And remember to click the link at the bottom of my profile, it's a great spoof of popular animes and pretty damn fun in the bargain. Oh, and review too, that would be sweet. Feel free to question me!