Chapter Title: And All That Jazz
A/N: Well, this one took a hot second to get out too. Sorry, guys! I just got a new job. (If you'll notice, my profile has changed from saying "Perkins wench" to "Chili's wench.") And it's midterms. What's a girl to do? However, we are starting to kick things off (how many times am I going to say that until it's true? XD) and I'm positively giddy with how much I want to show what I have planned.
This chapter, also, is dedicated to Cirque Du Macabre! Thanks for being my 50th reviewer!
I'd love to dedicate another chapter to someone. Perhaps the lucky 100th reviewer?
Anyway, please, please, please review with your thoughts. I love to hear them, even if they aren't all glowing praise. (If you see something wrong, tell me!)
The lights faded in and out, dancing along the edges of his consciousness. They were welcoming in a world surrounded by darkness. Those lights were a break from the ever-present voices that taunted him. Rats scurried by, but there was always a persistent one at his side.
"You don't think you're free, do you?"
He didn't. Flames sometimes scoured the limits of the darkness. They shed some light on the barren ground, of the faceless people there. Sometimes he would see brick walls with messages written on them. There was no color, except for the flames. The messages were illegible.
He was stuck. His back felt held together. And then he woke up.
The room was dark, extraordinarily dark. He couldn't even see the lights from the windows. When he glanced that way, he saw the curtains shift in the light air-conditioned wind. He groaned, and let go of the sheets he hadn't realized he'd been clutching.
He struggled to sit up, and pain splintered through him at random points. The poison, Axel had told him, was strong. He was lucky he wasn't a heartless by then.
"It's how they kill. They scratch the hell out of their victim, anything to get one drop of their poison in. Some people call it darkness, but poison sounds better to me."
"Is that how all the heartless are created?"
He could barely remember asking the question. His head was foggy, even then. His hands twitched and shook. His knuckles ached from having held on to the sheets for so long. He was a wreck, he knew. His stomach felt sick, and he could feel prickles of sweat dripping down his back.
"No. That's just the painful way."
"How many ways can they be made?"
"Two."
He pushed the covers off and climbed out of the bed. He felt as though he were a hundred years old. Everything ached and screamed for him to go back to sleep. But he couldn't sleep because of the pain running through his limbs. He took a shaky step forward, away from the bed, and felt like sobbing.
How could Axel be such an asshole? He wanted to bash the redhead's skull in with the keyblade he prized so much. Who would be laughing then?
Another step forward. He wanted the morphine that had kept this feeling sedated. He didn't mind sleeping until the whole spell blew over. He was at the door then, staring down the hallway.
It was too dark to see anything, and he realized he really couldn't hear anything outside. He wouldn't have been surprised if the summery days had already turned into winter, though he didn't remember what winter was like. His stomach rumbled, and he crouched down, unable to move anymore.
Where was that damned redhead anyway? Probably asleep. Or not even there. Roxas wasn't sure. He forced himself to stand up and walk out the doorway, into the hallway and down the hallway as far as he could.
Somewhere between his door and that point, his toes collided with the solid frame of a table-stand and he cried out.
"God damn it!" He yelled as he hunched over, elbows resting on the table, lest he fall over. His foot felt numb and warm. He knew that he'd hurt himself, yet again, and he growled.
Roxas was frustrated. He hated pain, and the God he heard about on Sundays was a cruel bastard for inventing it. "God damn it…" He grabbed the table and flung it against the wall. Something crashed and broke and a light switched on.
"What the hell are you doing?" Axel grabbed the boy and pulled him away, shook him for good measure, and decided that youngsters were idiots all in one fell swoop. He hadn't imagined that the kid would do something like that, and there was going to be someone banging on the door in a minute.
"Don't you realize this is an apartment?" Axel demanded, eyes flickering towards the broken vase and table. Someone, anyone, maybe even the landlord would be banging on the door any minute.
"Shut up!" Roxas shouted, his glare settling on the redhead. "This is all your damned fault!" His voice was rising with his anger. He pushed Axel away.
Axel stared at the kid, not saying anything else because that just seemed to make Roxas shout louder. Speak in a whisper, and get a scream back. He watched the boy stumble towards the living room, or maybe the kitchen. Where was he going, anyway?
Outside, he could hear the shrill whine of a car horn, and Axel finally stepped forward and decided to help the kid who was stumbling around, not unlike a drunkard.
"Here." A grab of the arm and a steady walk to the couch and he threw the boy on it. Roxas looked at him, and Axel had a sneaking suspicion that the boy was only capable of throwing his steely glare around. Forget the keyblade.
"What's the other way?"
"To lose your heart to darkness all on your own merit. Of the two, I would rather some heartless to rip my heart out than to lose it all on my own. Everyone who's ever lost their heart that way agrees."
They stared at each other. It was a matter of importance that Roxas make Axel look away, because that bastard could still wear that smug expression on his face. He shouldn't look so pleased, not when Roxas couldn't sleep without nightmares. Like lightning, pain raced up his spine.
And he looked away.
"I'm hungry," Roxas said, pride tingeing his words. He didn't want Axel's help, and Axel really didn't want to offer it.
But need made him do strange things, and he needed this kid with his strange key, sword, whatever the hell it was. Because God's good grace just wasn't spreading over the generosity in the area, and beggars still held tin cans while little girls ran about, buying enough candy for a week with thirty cents.
Roxas could hear Axel's steps and looked up. He watched him pace around the kitchen, making something. No, more like slapping something together. He lifted his head and Axel came back, some sort of sandwich in hand. The pieces of bread that everything was shoved between were unevenly cut. But it looked delicious.
Axel held the sandwich out. Roxas snatched it immediately and began chomping down, ravenous. He had never been taught any sort of table manners, Axel noted disdainfully.
He walked away from the boy to the phonograph, leafing through the huge records and settling on the Memphis Five. Record in place, phonograph cranked up, and the bright notes of Phil Napoleon and his trumpet. God, Axel loved this music, and Roxas felt like he might start to like it too.
They sat in silence, the sandwich gone almost without chewing. What time was it? It was late, they both looked tired.
"Are most of the people on the streets nobodies?"
"No. They're all whole. Nobodies, kid, don't last very long. Without a heart, it takes a strong personality to find a reason to keep on living."
"And if they don't?"
Roxas's hands were shaking, pain racing up and down his spine. His head felt as if it were about to explode, and his palms were damp, light prickles of sweat were forming on his back. He was shaking all over, and Axel was decidedly ignoring him. Roxas reached out. To what, he wasn't sure. He just reached out.
His hand caught on Axel's sleeve. The music started to skip. Axel cursed and pulled away from him, choosing the music over Roxas.
"Please," Roxas begged. "Please, morphine."
He was begging, and he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand how Axel was looking down on him, and he wanted to scream at the redhead for getting him in this situation in the first place.
He couldn't catch a break.
Axel pulled away from his grip and Roxas curled up into a ball on the sofa. They sat in silence as the record repeated over and over. Neither moved, until Axel finally said something.
"You're desperate, kid. I'm not giving you any more morphine." The record screeched and then resumed playing, no more skipping. "You'll thank me later."
Roxas could hear Axel sit down again, and Axel could hear his muffled, rushed breaths. The music overtook Roxas, flooding his senses. Or rather, he grabbed the music and clutched to it, wishing he could be rid of his senses. Axel watched, silently, until the boy's even breaths replaced those rushed and ragged ones.
Axel exhaled slowly, though he hadn't really been holding his breath anyway. He rested his head against his palm, thinking in between not-so-bitter curses over his lost sleep. Thinking about what would happen if Roxas found the remaining morphine, found out that he'd been cut off.
Well, Axel mused to himself, he'd have to raise a toast to the boy for doing more than just whine, wouldn't he? But, still, restless and angry youngsters were such pains to deal with.
He glanced down at Roxas's sleeping form and stood up. He'd have a crick in his neck if he slept like that, all curled up, and he'd wake up sore besides. And Roxas would wake up and whine, or maybe curse, or even maybe pretend to sleep some more. Who knew?
Axel didn't. Didn't quite care, either. He reached down and lifted Roxas's sleeping form, knowing the boy was still far too light. It was all too easy to carry him to his bed and place him under the covers. Roxas was just tired enough to stay asleep throughout all of the movements
"Gawrsh, Sora. Why would ya want to go to Chicago? It's purdy out here," said Goofy.
The boy, Sora, lifted his head and made a grand bow, before pulling out three balls. He juggled them, in an exaggerated motion. The light wind ruffled his hair, and the trees around him whistled and clapped their branches together with its help. Flowers grew in odd patches on the ground.
Bees ran around from flower to flower, desperate to meet the fall quota.
"Because I want to be a part of the Vaudeville. Not the small time stuff, I want to be a part of the big ones, to be part of the acting and the playing," he trailed off with a grin, the balls falling into a pile on the ground.
"Are you sure you wouldn't be better suited for the circus?" Donald asked.
He laughed. "I think Kairi would like it. She's been so sick lately, I thought I'd give it a shot. For her."
"Kairi…"
Axel looked down at the boy, looked down and frowned.
"Axel… let's go see Kairi tomorrow," he continued and rolled over. Within another minute, light snores could be heard every few seconds or so. The curtains flapped against the windows as the air conditioning clicked on noisily.
"Hey, if it shuts you up for a few days," Axel said slowly, shutting the door behind him.
Roxas shifted under the covers, and had a dream where he managed to flush a cocky rat down the toilet.
"But I'm not gone yet!"
"Who cares? You're all washed up." Roxas turned away from the sopping wet rat, who danced a jig as he shook toilet paper off his feet.
"Washed up, but not dead, my idiotic little friend!"
"What do you mean, Mickey?" Kairi demanded, hands clamped around her cotton skirt. Blue, the room looked blue, but maybe it was because of her skirt.
Riku stood behind her, aquamarine eyes focused on something else, a stain on the wall. Kairi was the one who looked worried, and more than just a bit guilty. Their mouse companion sat across the tiny table, its surface cleared of books just this once.
"Leon's with him, but he sent the telegram two days ago," Mickey said, thoughtful frown on his face.
They were all silent, Kairi playing with the collar of her shirt. Riku's hands rested in the pockets of his jacket. A tommy gun was propped against the wall, reflecting in the dim light onto his pinstriped pants. None of them had any clue of what they should exactly say to the news that Mickey had given them.
"I should go see him," Kairi said, each word sounding as if she had forced it out. She opened her mouth to continue, but there was a knock on the door, and the mood was changed.
"Riku," a cheery voice called through the door. "We need you out here, so don't make me come in there and drag you out."
The three looked at each other, saying nothing for a moment before Riku moved, room bluer than ever. He picked the gun up from the floor as he made his way towards the door. Behind him, Kairi sighed and laid her head on the table.
Feet shuffled outside the door, and conversation hummed on. It didn't sound like he was needed out there, and he really wasn't.
The girl, Yuffie, just wanted to make sure the group looked a little bit intimidating, especially to the new comers. Riku emerged from the secluded room, and she waved, grinning wide enough to split her face. She didn't trust the new guy, and DiZ seemed to be utterly oblivious to the fact.
Riku stared at the room, or rather the small gathering. Yuffie, DiZ, and a strange man in an expensive trench coat.
DiZ raised a gloved hand, motioning him towards them, a smile playing on his lips. "Riku, we have this man requesting membership into our… club."
Riku remained silent, an eyebrow raised. He and Yuffie were thinking the same question: so what?
"I just wanted him to see the face of the man he'd be answering to. Now, sir, please introduce yourself to us," DiZ continued genially.
The man made an elegant bow, old fashioned and dated. "My name, good sirs and madame, is Vexen. I hope to be of some service to you."