AN: Because I don't count the Interludes as chapters, we are now at chapter eight! Earlier than I thought I would post it, but what the hell, right? Sorry about that angst-fest last chapter. I just get so discouraged sometimes. Anyway,
Define Anonymity- Yeah, it would be completely unfair of me to take this down when you've been with it since the beginning, sorry for freaking you out. The begging freaked me out a little bit but at least it shocked me into realizing how much you cared. :)
Cherucha- Oh my... thanks for the encouragement, and sorry but I am most definitely not putting Mickey, Donald, and Goofy in here. xD I love Disney like a second cousin twice removed, but those three get on my nerves so bad... and putting them in here would make the entire story a great big comedy. It's supposed to have some measure of seriousness and symbolic meaning and I would completely trash that image if those three came into the picture. But thank you for reviewing nevertheless.
StarShinobi- :0 Thank you so much for the praise! xD And I know they don't review as much anymore. It's disappointing to me, really. Every story I read, no matter how good or bad, I always review to give them constructive criticism or to just tell them how great they did. I'm just remembering three years ago when even my most horrible writing got at least twenty reviews. You'd be the first person to comment on my 'style' and it makes me really bubbly inside. :) It's taken me years to reach this point in writing, and way too many advanced writing classes to get my grammar as close to perfect as it can be. Anyway, the main inspiration for this story actually came from a KH fanfiction on here. It's probably THE BEST fanfiction that I've ever read and the themes between mine and hers are a little bit similar, so you might want to check out hers. It's called '6,581 Miles to Luma' and is by CaseyV. Now SHE is a writer that everyone should look up to. Anyway, thank you so much for the review, I'm glad you like this story that much. Plot bunnies like these only hop around so many times a year, so I'm super happy I'm not wasting my time on this. :)
On to the story!
CHAPTER EIGHT: Between War and Paradise
When they noticed him, most people looked at Vincent with curious but wary eyes, as if they knew exactly what he was by the general look about him. But as it was his presence usually went unnoticed by many, even when he was standing not five feet from the person. His Clandestine mother gave him many abilities that passed through blood, as well as the dark-black hair and reddish eyes, so it was no wonder that he grew to become one of the best Turks in Military history. Just growing up as a half-Clandestine child in the streets of Hollow Bastion- after his parents were murdered when he was seven- taught him how to go unnoticed and how to melt into the shadows. When he was just a child he could manipulate even the coldest, most calculative of men. He could survive for a week with no sustenance at all, thanks again to his Clandestine blood, and had perfected the arts of thievery and conning by the time he was fourteen.
He joined the Turks when his one true love appeared as a scientist for the Military's North Branch. His skills went beyond those required, and Turks travelled between the branches constantly, so it was only logical that he joined to become closer to the woman he loved. Tseng even assigned him to the North Branch, knowing his affections towards Lucrecia. She was a beautiful woman, a shy and intelligent and very, very beautiful woman. Every smile or airy giggle had a young Vincent Valentine falling deeper and deeper. It didn't matter that the tender brunette was nearly ten years his senior; she was his, and he was hers, and she knew it. They were made for each other. It was obvious in every shared glance, every corresponding word, and every single time they came within the same room. They were like magnets; they were drawn to one another with an invisible pull that neither could resist.
Lucrecia taught him how to laugh, and to express his emotions even if it was laughable for a Turk to do so. And in return he taught her how to survive. He showed her how to shoot a gun and use a knife, the latter she preferred. Guns seemed to frighten the bright-eyed woman, and he had noted mentally to conceal his own customized pistol from then on when around her.
On the rare days they both had off they would picnic out in the rolling fields that surrounded the compound, conversing quietly about a number of varying topics until words became meaningless and they finally just sat together in silence, watching the misty clouds in the intrusive sky. They had never had the chance to kiss. It had never felt like the right time, and Vincent after a while wasn't even sure he was attracted to her in a sexual sense. Yes, her beauty drew him in, but it was more like a little boy looking at an authoritative female figure. He looked at Lucrecia with respect and all-consuming affection, but instead of them being level, he was looking up to her. As if she was a greater being, he felt it wouldn't be right to bring his lips to hers, to claim her mysterious body as his own. She was unattainable, and maybe that's what had attracted him to her so powerfully.
For years he had been at her side, had grown to love her more than he had ever thought possible. For years he had worked and smiled and laughed with her, only to turn around and morph into the cold mask that being a Turk required. For years he had become close to his colleagues, before realizing that they all died off too fast to become truly close to. For years it seemed like he had been leaping between Heaven and Hell, between war and paradise, until the paradise was lost and war prevailed.
It had been while he was on a seven month long mission that Lucrecia 'disappeared', and he hadn't found out until he returned from the West. Immediately he began his own private investigation which lasted another year and a half. He had his suspicions, but he had had to be sure, and it turned out he was exactly right. The Military, the Turks, the very people he had worked with for almost eight years, had executed her in the blink of an eye as soon as the order came.
The Why was what infuriated Vincent the most. Lucrecia was 'suspected' to be working privately for the Clandestines, who had allied with the Church countless years ago. His relationship with her was only more proof against her. He, being a half-breed, was part of the reason she was ruthlessly executed, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life. Needless to say he was instantly disenchanted with the Military and left as soon as the embers of her death began to die down. He had known he was under scrutiny and constant surveillance, and leaving any time before the year was up would have been a mistake. In that year of Knowing, he became closed off, cold, and clinically efficient in missions. In essence, he had become the perfect Turk in a matter of months, and disappeared with Turk-like perfection as soon as it was possible.
Revenge had been an option, but who would he have to take out? Rufus Shinra had signed the order of execution, Tseng had initiated it, but who had issued it? Vincent would never know for sure, so he would never be satisfied. He couldn't blame Tseng, even if he was the one to pull the trigger. They were both Turks, so Vincent knew what disobeying an order meant. Death to Tseng and everyone close to him, as an example for the rest of the Military.
So Vincent could only flee to Hollow Bastion in hope of finding something beyond the gnawing, numbed pain that was eating at his heart ever so slowly, leaving behind the coldness that would remain for lifetimes. Loss was not an easy feeling, as he had learned from his parents, but it could be dealt with using distraction as a coping tool. He had wandered the familiar streets for months, observing the simple pedestrians around him and avoiding the Turks that were tracking him down. It was too easy, really, seeing how only three or four men could be spared to play hide-and-seek. Turks were a dying breed and the ones that were left alive were poor at their jobs. They melded to the shadows clumsily, their footfalls not entirely silent as they searched for their pray, while Vincent crept along the roofs above them soundlessly, watching them with a vague sense of curiosity and disappointment.
The least Tseng could do after such a harsh betrayal was give Vincent more competent entertainment.
The closest the assassins ever got to even getting a glimpse of him was when he had been in a bar one night. They must have given up the hunt for the day, and had walked right past him without even noticing the strange, Clandestine-looking man in the shadows of a dingy booth sipping a hard amber liquor. They merely sat at the bar and proceeded to drown themselves in the intoxicating liquids at their mercy. Fascinated and sick of being bored, Valentine stayed where he was, even going so far as to shift out of the shadows and into the filtering light of the crowded canteen.
Part of him had wanted to get caught and eliminated on the spot. That part of him viewed life as meaningless and cruel, something to be checked out of as soon as possible. The greater part of him felt that he would be disappointing Lucrecia, where she surely now resided with the Gods, if he were to kill himself. And so he didn't commit suicide by going up to meet the group of young Turks. He instead gave them the fair opportunity of discovering him, like tossing a coin. They had the abilities, had trained under him for a couple of years, so they should have found him out quickly.
But they never looked his way. They never scanned the room, which was incredibly ignorant and stupid of them, and walked right past him again on their way out without becoming aware of his presence. Only a young blonde woman met his eyes for a fraction of a second before stumbling and being led out by another young woman with red hair. He heard her slurred voice rising as they made their way outside, and caught his name in the midst of it, but her companions only laughed at her, chalking up the silly claim of finding their target to drunkenness.
Vincent had been disappointed and relieved, until a man sat down across from him in the booth, crystal-blue eyes hard and blonde hair matted with oil, as was the rest of his body.
Cid and he had talked for hours upon hours, even after they had to leave the closing bar, until dawn came into being. Cid knew who he was, and he knew who Cid was. He also knew every person that Cid mentioned he was staying with. Every one of them was ex-Military, and apparently they were about to head West. Vincent flippantly informed the man that there were many oasis's along the center of the desert, directly between Hollow Bastion and Radiant Garden, which would help a walking group along.
Cid had smirked and said that Valentine could direct them himself, since the half-Clandestine Turk bastard was coming with them.
And that's how Vincent Valentine's Church life began.
Now, years later, he contemplated on the one fact that had been true ever since he had left the East. You could take a man out of the Turks, but you couldn't take the Turk out of a man. Over and over, this thought ran through his mind as he blended into the shadows of a bookcase in the Cathedral of Hearts' library, listening to an extremely intriguing telephone conversation as he leaned motionlessly against the sturdy wood, pondering over what the one side that he was hearing could mean.
Zexion was a sort of enigma to him; the boy was a curiosity that he had no idea how to go about solving, not that he had ever been really interested enough to try. The youngest Guardian only crossed his mind in the sleepless hours of night when he drifted through the Cathedral or the peaceful city beyond its walls. In those times he thought of many things, and Zexion Ienzo was only a fleeting contemplation among the many others that crossed his thoughts.
But what he was hearing was certainly interesting enough for his full attention now, so he focused on remembering all he knew of the boy.
Zexion wasn't the best Guardian, but what was important was that he tried his best for Demyx. He had worked with the Military, under the infamous Doctor Vexen Even, but had abandoned that dream when Demyx was seriously injured a few years ago. Other than that, all he knew was that the teenager was more mature than most adults now. His thoughts were objective and actions clinically efficient. If he was less of an intellectual and had lower morals he would have made an excellent Turk.
But Zexion was passionate about human life in such a way that taking one would be near impossible for the boy.
Vincent knew that the Guardian was talking to Doctor Even, but couldn't help his surprise at the flustered finger-tapping the boy was doing. Slate eyes were scanning the words of an open book in front of him blankly, fingertips dancing along the page as his face contorted with countless emotions. Through every nervous gesture and tortured expression, though, the boy's voice was shockingly even and empty, until the end of the conversation neared.
Once Zexion set the phone down, Vincent turned away, slinking deeper into the dark side of the library, wondering over the new information running through his mind. So the Guardian was still making an attempt at figuring out what was wrong with the youngest Angel, Sora. Noble, but it was stupidly dangerous for him to even think of going to the East alone.
Zexion departed the library somewhere around an hour later and Vincent Valentine finally crept from the shadows to place a book on Demonology back on a shelf before following after the steel-haired Guardian. He caught up to the boy in the dining hall, where the majority of the Cathedral's occupants were now sitting. There were now only about seventy people in the Cathedral, the rest having departed after the emergency meeting, and so it took a number of seconds' scanning before he found the Guardian. He was sitting with Demyx on his right, Lexaeus on his left, and Sora and Riku in front of him. Riku and he were the only ones without a plate of fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats in front of them. Aerith and Zack sat facing each other a little ways down the table, so Vincent crept to the table on the side farthest away from the two. It's not that he didn't like them, they just made him uncomfortable with their obvious joy and love of life.
Lexaeus looked up only momentarily when he sat next to him instead of with his usual group across the huge room. Vincent could already feel Cid's gaze boring into him from across the massive distance, but his own red-hued eyes were locked on Zexion, of which Riku immediately took note of.
"Evening, Valentine," the silverette drawled in a companionable monotone that told that the young man understood the ex-Turk, unlike most of the others who lived here, "is there something you want, or are you just looking for a change of scenery?"
The rest of the group of youngsters finally looked up at him with varying looks of fear, wariness, and tentative speculation. He didn't even try to smile reassuringly for them. That may have been his first reaction many years ago, but now he simply remained blank-faced as he tilted his head slightly to indicate a small empty table in a corner, about fifty feet away.
"I need to speak with Ienzo."
Zexion hesitated, but nodded and stood. Vincent swept to his feet and led the way away from the now whispering Riku and Sora. Lexaeus simply watched them as they left, dark eyes speculative still.
Before they'd even gotten to the chosen table Vincent whirled around and crossed his arms, glaring down at the young Guardian, "You're not going to the East alone."
That small body immediately stiffened defensively but the face remained totally still and emotionless, "You were spying on me?"
He didn't answer, only kept his intent eyes on the boy.
"I am going to the East alone, and I can't recall a reason why my actions would be any of your concern, Valentine."
"Your actions are going to put us all in danger. I can't let that happen."
"Are you going to attempt to keep me here, then?"
"No, I'm coming with you."
"Absolutely not."
"Who will protect Demyx? You're not strong enough to do it on your own."
Through the hurt, Zexion narrowed his eyes and a faint sneer marred his lips, "I'm not bringing Demyx."
"Yes you are."
"And why is that?"
"We all know what happened the last time you left him alone," Vincent growled, ignoring the violent wince that struck the boy, "are you really so eager to recreate what happened?"
"Demyx… is safer here."
"No," now his voice had turned sharp, and for once the ex-Turk was almost snapping, "Demyx is safer with his Guardian. He's safer with you in the middle of a battlefield than he is alone in a sanctuary."
Knowing that Zexion wasn't departing right away, Vincent decided to let him brood over the words he'd exchanged, and left in a flurry of tattered red cloak and a sense of incompletion. Ignoring Highwind and that table altogether, he strode from the dining hall, intent on putting his affairs in order for the short leave he would be taking.
†
Demyx, despite popular belief to the contrary, wasn't that stupid. As soon as Zexion got up and began talking to Vincent, he turned to Sora and Riku, who were going on about a plan of theirs about getting the healers to the Clandestines involving Twilight Town, listening idly while wondering silently to himself and keeping an eye on Zexion's back. He knew enough about Turks to ignore Vincent altogether and focus on Zexion's reactions. Every tensing in the shoulders and subtle tilting of the head was enough to give Demyx a feel for the direction of the conversation. When his Guardian was practically bristling, he considered getting up, but a consoling hand on his wrist made him look up at Sora, who was smiling brightly.
"You should leave them alone," the brunette whispered in a playfully conspiratorial way, even going so far as to lean in and dart his eyes about, "who knows what scary Turk secret things Vincent is telling Zexion right now."
Demyx decided to play along, letting the somberness fall away into a smug grin as he too leaned towards his fellow Angel, "I'm more worried that Zexy is trying to get training from him! If that vampire dude corrupts my little buddy… you just wait. I'll use ancient Clandestine water torture on him!"
The two broke into chuckles while Lexaeus and Riku watched on coolly. They were always the spoilsports of the group, handing out clean logic to fanciful musings that- though Demyx understood it perfectly of course- bored the blonde to death. Demyx tried to cheer them up and joke around with them all the time but their responses- or lack of- put a damper on any good mood. To get his mind off Zexion, Demyx let out a loud, good-natured sigh and slumped back, smiling at the two gloomy males of the table.
"Hey, why don't we play a game?"
Riku was the fastest in shooting him down, and did it none-too-gently, "A game?" He scoffed, "Demyx, in case you haven't noticed I'd like to let you know that we're in the middle of a war, we have no time for games. You're too old to continue on with things as childish as that; why don't you try to get some maturity, or at least help out around the Cathedral, instead of wasting time on something so stupid. Come on Sora, we have to get going. Let's talk to Aerith about our strategies."
That last part was directed pointedly at the blonde, in such a poisonous tone that he didn't know how to respond and the smile froze on his face. Stricken by the cold, harsh response, Demyx could only sit blankly when they got up, missing Sora's apologetic smile in his bemusement. Zexion returned quietly and sat without a word, leaning over to pick fruit off of Demyx's tray. But the Angel was frowning grumpily now, elbow anchored on the table and head tilted into his hand.
Geez, what was Riku's problem? It was only a little suggestion to lighten the mood. But then, Riku had never been one for games. He acted like taking part in something that wasn't productive was like getting a tooth pulled. Without anesthetic. By a farmer.
"-yx. Demyx!"
"Huh? What?" he jerked himself from his thoughts, arm slipping and face crashing onto the table. From that viewpoint he looked up at Zexion, who was frowning in an almost worried way.
"Have you not heard a word I've said?"
"Of course, Zexy. Um… could you give me a quick review?"
The teenager let out a swooping, exasperated sigh that made his thick hair shift in protest, "I was saying that I need to go East, and that I would like you to come with me."
"Me? Why?" Although Demyx was gleeful at the thought of Zexion actually needing him for once, the shock was pushing aside the smug, pleasant thoughts.
"So you don't get yourself killed while I'm gone."
The gleeful feelings crashed and burned, and he felt a pout turn his lips as he sat back up.
"What do you need to do?" It's not like the blonde had anything else to do. Getting out of Radiant Garden would be a relief.
"I need to acquire a tome that may be of help in solving Sora's little puzzle. One of my former colleagues has it; I spoke with him earlier. He's expecting me in a few days, so we need to leave in the morning. While packing, keep in mind that we may be there a few days and it takes a full day to make it through the desert. I'm going to prepare. I'll meet you tomorrow morning in the chapel."
As Zexion was standing up, Demyx finally sputtered out his concerns, rising as well to stare down at his Guardian, "What, a colleague? We're going onto a Military base? Does Aerith know about this?"
A dangerous gleam entered those dark gray-blue eyes that stared up at him warningly, "Aerith is not our superior, Demyx. We will not be telling her of our plans, understand?"
"But Zexion-!"
"Shut up and go get ready, Demyx-" The coldness in which the words were said seemed to seep straight through the Angel to clench around his heart, and it hurt. He turned away before either of them could say anything more and stomped away, ignoring the fact that he probably looked like a moody, petulant child.
Moving through the doors of the dining hall without looking back, he yelled ruthlessly, gaining many people's shocked attention, "No one in this DAMNED place knows how to LIGHTEN THE HELL UP!"
Many moments later, the furious slam of his door echoed down the entire living area, causing many eyes to light on the door with concern and astonishment. They promptly retreated when the shouting and banging began. By the time his fury had tapered off into a heady weariness, Demyx's room had been torn apart. Colorful glass was shattered all around and every uplifting painting he had had been ripped apart and scattered around a now-stained plush aquamarine rug on the marble floor. The azure bedspread was covered in angry slashes, bleeding out feathers. The guitar that had once stood proud in the corner was a mess of sleek light wood and snapped strings, the wall nearest where the remnants lay gouged and dented and streaked black, marring the white-smudged blue paint.
The young Angel collapsed onto the destroyed bed and ignored it when an army of feathers floated up and landed on exposed skin, scratching at him lightly as he closed his eyes. The roiling emotions underneath the skin had settled, but were still tearing at his insides with claws and leaving an icy, hollow twinge in his chest. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep.
But when he woke up, a pair of slim arms was draped securely around his midsection and he could feel the tell-tale sign of a nose and forehead between his shoulder blades. Rolling his eyes groggily, he turned onto his back, nudging the figure away a bit before relaxing and pulling the still-slumbering boy closer so that Zexion's sleep-mussed head was resting on his stomach.
As he woke up he glanced around the room, smiling dimly when he noticed that it had been somewhat cleaned up and there were a few travel bags loaded to bursting sitting by the door. It looked like his little Guardian had been up for some time after him. The sun was beginning to filter in through the single window of the bedroom that faced into the courtyard. Demyx lay mutely and considered not waking Zexion at all; wondering if the Guardian would forget about leaving on this stupid little trip.
Before the idea could really take root, though, there was a gentle but insistent knocking on the window, making Demyx jump and in turn causing him to wake up Zexion. And when the boy woke up, he was up. He jolted into a sitting position, following Demyx's eyes toward the source of the noise.
Vincent Valentine stood outside the window, looking like a total creeper- in Demyx's opinion- his gold gauntleted hand raised to the glass. Behind him the sun was beating down on the glossy green plants and white and gold flowers, making the ex-Turk seem entirely out of place. Zexion struggled to his feet, pushing on Demyx to get the blonde moving as well.
"Damn it," the Guardian hissed under his breath, straightening the white and gold-embroidered jacket that hung heavily off of his small frame, "the sun's already up."
Demyx simply sighed as he got up and pulled on his boots, ignoring when Zexion opened the window and murmured quietly to Vincent.
So the creepy assassin dude was coming too. Why was he always the last to know these things? Everyone thought he was too stupid, too shallow to understand fully what was going on, but he understood things all too well. Sora may talk to the Gods, Zexion may be a genius, Riku may be strong, and everyone else may be more experienced, but Demyx had a light within him that no one could replicate. He fought to bring that light out and let it shine on everyone around him, to brighten their lives or at least the moment. Everyone was always so serious that they rarely took the time to look up.
Only minutes later the Angel and Guardian were climbing out the window like delinquents, following after the red-cloaked man as he led them through the emergency exit situated under a bench in the flowery sanctuary. Demyx was the last down and took an extra moment to gaze around at the flowers before smiling slightly and lifting a hand upward so that the sun was kissing his palm. He closed his eyes and focused, letting the energy thrumming in his chest flow out, to settle on his palm. With barely a twitch in focus he sent that power up into the sky. Before he could even open his eyes once more, water droplets were raining down on him, glistening in his hair and caressing his face like the softest of diamonds.
Water shimmered on the large glossy petals of Aerith's beloved flowers and continued to fall from above from a single dark cloud situated directly above the courtyard.
All the dark emotions and thoughts that had been clouding Demyx's head and heart since the day before dissipated and a brightness filled the places that had been vacated. He wanted to lift his arms and move his feet to the soothing, gingerly thunderous beating of the rain in a cheery dance, but Zexion's voice from the trapdoor echoed up to him, slightly concerned in tone. Reality wound down on Demyx, and he could feel the ache in his legs where the water hit. Aches that told history; how his limbs had been broken and torn to hell by ruthless, heartless soldiers. With this reality came an image of Zexion's face, full of tears and icy shock as he stood by Demyx's sickbed, the teenager's hands enclosing his tightly, desperately.
"It's alright Zex. It wasn't your fault."
The Angel's fading smile morphed into a grin and he spun around, away from the beautiful garden, and ducked down the trapdoor to catch a ladder between his fingers. Shuffling from below told him that Zexion was becoming nervous and was pacing, overlaid by the sound of rain tapping the ground they were walking under. He slid down the rails with a gleeful shout and dropped onto the ground beside his Guardian, toppling over from the loss of balance and increased momentum. Cold, damp stone pressed into his palms as he pushed himself up, grimacing momentarily at the chill of the tunnel. When's the last time anyone went through here, anyway? It's freezing!
"Myde, must you pretend that everything is a playground? Honestly, you are so insufferable."
The words were harsh, but Zexion looked as if he was struggling not to smile, and the hands that helped him up were gentle and tender.
Vincent's husky growl was tinted with amusement, making Demyx jump and whirl around to face the looming vampire of a man. He was also smiling, "I don't know, Zexion. He took that drop like a professional Turk."
"I will not join your legions of the undead!" Demyx blurted without thought, immediately clasping his hands over his mouth afterward.
Zexion's expression was of priceless shock, mouth open and eyes blank. Vincent Valentine, the grim ex-assassin and all-around somber son of a bitch, had thrown his head back and was laughing uncontrollably.
Demyx's hands lowered and his grin returned full-force. It didn't matter where he went, as long as there were people like Zexion and Vincent he could cheer up. What was so bad about going to the East? It's not like they would take one look at Demyx and know what he was.
They started down the dark tunnel, Zexion leading, as Vincent began to talk lowly, pressing something square and stiff into the blonde's hand.
"That is your false identification. They'll ask for it at the North Branch. Zexion and I won't need it since they already know who we are, but Demyx, you need to be extremely careful, understand?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" he pocketed the ID badge and began to wring out his soaked hair and clothes. The coolness of the tunnel was beginning to make his drenched body shiver with cold.
Not that he had to worry for long. Soon Zexion was shoving a boulder to the side and sunlight flooded the dreary enclosure, leading them out beyond the edge of the force dome. It would take a few hours before they would even reach the edge of the desert, and then it was almost a full day of walking- if they were lucky- to get through to the other side. The North Branch was supposedly only a mile or two from the desert, but that was only a small blessing.
The sun was glaring down from above, a great fire sweeping heat across the forests of the West that surrounded the dome, was pleasant now, but when they reached the bowels of the sands of the desert it would be torture. Demyx caught Zexion's anxious look and smiled brightly in encouragement, taking two of the larger bags from his Guardian. He hefted them over his shoulders and nodded to both his companions, starting off ahead of them with a bounce in his step and a grin on his face.
When they reached the desert hours later, he was whistling.
When there was sand all around and his allies were dead-silent in the oppressive heat, Demyx began singing.
Refreshing rain began to fall from the sky.
"It's alright, Zex. It's just sand."
"It's alright, Zex…"
AN: So how was it? You shocked, disappointed, ecstatic? All of the above? xD Indeed, I made Demyx a bit bipolar, but to my defense he was extremely bipolar in the game! I know I probably trashed Vincent's character completely; he's just so damn hard to write! I've played Dirge of Cerberus and everything but he's still a mystery to me that I just can't seem to grasp.
Next chapter- Zack and Aerith. You gotta love 'em. :)