Roxas walks the streets of the marketplace with his hood up over his head, ignoring the sweat gathering around the roots of his follicles. He looks left and right for any signs of Axel or signs of the crew. He was going to just head to the docks, when his stomach growls like that of a ravenous dog.
He holds his stomach and only then does he realizes that he hasn't eaten since they settled in the city. Roxas looks around and considers taking a pear or something from the stands, but his stomach craves something more than a simple fruit. With the tavern on his right, he sighs and decides to enter. But his choice is arrested when a monstrous man standing at the door stops him.
"Sorry there boy, you need to be of age to enter here." He says. Roxas looks to him with a plain face, his eyebrows narrowed in challenge.
The man was tall and built with muscles that look as if large-sized rocks have been implanted in his arms. He has a shaved haircut with the triad scar of a clawed creature crosses over his one, now dead eye. His pupil is milky white, the red and ugly; the outer edges bloody. He wears a wheat brown tunic with the sleeves looking as if they've been ripped off. With his arms folded, he stands at the entrance like a guard of a King's treasure.
"I don't suppose a man of your stature can easily be swayed by coin?" Roxas persuades.
The man huffs through his nose like a bull. "How old are you, kid?"
"I don't see how that's you business." Roxas says.
"It is if you want to get into this bar."
"I go where I please." Roxas growls.
The man's eyes grow angry and he snarls. "Not here you don't. Now get out of here kid, before I throw you out myself."
"You can try." Roxas challenges.
The man's face grows aggravated and he unfolds his arms.
There's the sound of a scuffle and two men jump as Roxas kicks open the door to the pub, abandoning their dice and reaching for their blades. Roxas remains standing, glancing around at all who occupy the tavern, though he at least has the decency to close the door behind him before he continues his way to the bar.
The tavern has a large iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling, then a few sets of candles placed at the center of the booth seats that line all along the walls. At the center are several tables scattered about with men and wenches walking around, then there's the few drunkards vomiting in the corner as well as two lovers feeling each other up in the corner. A few prostitutes are around the bar hoping to gather customers, and they all now eye Roxas, even if they are sprawled across the lap of other men. The air smells of sweat and piss and alcohol, and yet still Roxas can spot a recognizable member sitting at the bar area in the back.
Roxas pulls down his hood, ruffling his pale blonde hair and approaches the bar where the keeper has paused on his duty of polishing a tankard. Roxas pulls up a stool next to the member and sighs.
"You almost look human, Axel." He says.
He hears Axel chuckles. "Ah, you survive on what they serve you here, you can survive on anything." Axel keeps his head down, staring at the counter as if stuck in a drunken stupor.
"How're the men?" Roxas asks.
"Hungover. What else." Axel sighs. He takes another sip from the tankard in his hand and sighs.
The bartender comes over to Roxas, seemingly bothered by his young age. He has a bald head, but a faded five o'clock shadow. He wears a white tunic with poofed sleeves that look wrinkled from him keeping them rolled up. Around his waist is an apron with more rags and a pen and pad.
"Aren't you a little young, to be here?" he asks Roxas. Axel turns his head slightly away, and Roxas doesn't expect him to say that he's here with Roxas. The only other time a child is allowed in the bar is only by escorted by a parent.
"As long as I pay I don't see the problem. Money is money, after all." Roxas says.
"It's bad for my business if my clientele sees I allow kids in here." The bartender whispers. "The last thing I need is a mother coming to me about how I let a kid stay and here and he goes home talking to her about a hooker trailing her finger down her son's cheek."
"Well I'm no child, and I have no mother." Roxas says.
"How did you even get in here?" he asks.
"You're bodyguard and I . . . we . . . came to an agreement." Roxas words. Axel turns his head slightly, his fingers coiling around the near empty tankard.
"What agreement?"
Roxas leans back and fishes out of his long black cloak a large, overstuffed coinpurse. When he tosses it onto the counter of the bar, its weight is so heavy it rattles the other cups and glasses, and gains the attention of nearly the entire tavern as it makes a harsh slap against the wooden surface. Axel can see on the pouch that it has a similar emblem as does the back of Roxas' cloak.
"That kind." Roxas sternly says. "Now . . . bring me your best meal, and if I don't approve, or if it comes back to me in the future, I'll see to your put out of business."
"What can I get you, sir?" the bartender stutters as he hauls the coin purse off the counter, away from greedy eyes.
"Some slices of bacon and a bowl of rice, and a glass of water." Roxas orders.
The bartender nods and quickly stammers off into the back room to retrieve the order. Meanwhile, a wench comes over and serves Roxas his glass of water. Roxas nods and takes the cup.
"How does a young man like you take coin like that?"Axel finally speaks when the wench leaves.
Roxas first finishes his two gulps of water before answering. "My job."
Axel shakes his head, knowing he should've guessed better with the son of an assassin that he won't be very forthcoming with much information even about the simplest tasks. "So, where were you? Xigbar says you went out to gain clients." Axel asks.
"If you knew that, then what part don't you understand, because it's arguably the clearest message I've ever given." Roxas says.
"Taking up clients shouldn't take you all night." Axle says, raising a questionable eyebrow at Roxas.
"Don't give me that look, I'm all alone out here." Roxas says as the bartender comes up with Roxas bowl of rice and a plate with four slices of bacon.
"Enjoy, sir." He stutters.
Once he leaves, Axel calls for a refill. "What do you mean you're alone? I thought your father had 'connections'." He puts air quotes around the word, his fingers arching like a crow's foot.
"It takes time for news to reach from one city to the next, Axel. Common sense tells you that, or has the sea washed that away from you as well?" Roxas takes a sip of his water, the tankard now half empty, and another wench is there to fill it up full. Roxas nods and she nods back before leaving.
"You sure seem to know your way around a tavern, boy." Axle says, ignoring Roxas' comment, though Roxas can hear the edge in his voice.
"Years of my father taking me out at night, showing me its life and dangers and wonders." Roxas says.
Axel stares at the boy as he takes a delicate spoonful of rice, gently blows on it and then places it in his mouth. Compared to his abrupt and harsh actions displayed over the span of one to nearly two days, this seems to nearly age the boy to his proper year. His face relaxed, and his tentative eating of rice reminds Axel of how Ventus eats. Soft, relaxed and calm. Roxas turns to Axel, the spoon still in his mouth, and for a moment, Axel catches a glimpse of Roxas in a near vulnerable state before his eyebrows narrow and his eyes shift to guard when he catches Axel staring.
The metal spoon slips out of his mouth. "What?" Roxas says through a mouthful of rice.
Axel can't help but smile and snicker. "Nothing. Just . . . remember we're leaving again at twilight."
"I won't." Roxas promises.
As the two mingle, a suddenly eruption of laughter catches their attention. When Roxas and Axel look over their shoulders, they spot two men sitting at a table with nearly three empty mugs, laughing and hollering and slapping their knees and clapping their hands.
A third man, a rather ugly man with a missing ear, looks at both men in horror. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry, and Roxas can already gather the situation. He must've told a story about something that's not believed in by many, and now his story was told and the men mock him for having an active imagination.
"No! No, I'm serious!" he says.
"I'm sure you are.' One of the laughing men says, he has an eyepatch on his left eye.
"No! Really! The Guilds, they're all in it together now . . . swear!"
More laughing. Roxas turns in his seat and Roxas flicks his eyes from the men to Roxas, seeing his face serious and stern.
The second man laughing, one with tattoos covering him from neck to ankle wipes a teary eye. "Oh really? And what proof do you have of this, teamwork?"
"I saw a Shadow Guild member!" the man with the missing ear says. This catches the attention of some other people in the bar, and the two men laughing seem to grow slightly serious. "Oh yeah, I saw him, and I could tell he was with another thief from within the city."
Axel looks to Roxas, but Roxas doesn't spare him a look, too locked in the story and not in the mood to find a disapproving look on Axel's face when finding out he lied.
"They were walking together, side by side on the streets like old friends. They laughed and joked, but I could see the blood. I could smell it." he continues.
"How do you know it was a Shadow member, and now you just being drunk off of the raspberry ale?" the man with the eyepatch degrades.
"He had the emblem on his cloak. I remember. It glistened in the moonlight. Waved over his back with every step he took, and his clothes, with one step into the shadows, he could vanish."
At this, a few of the bar's activists glance at Roxas and he can feel their assumption, but he doesn't move. Instead, Roxas leans further out, acting as another person at the bar interested in the man's story.
"You're making up nonsense." says the man with the tattoos. "The Shadow Guild doesn't have the connections here."
"Have you no sense, man?! Cloud Skyes is all powerful. His word is law, and his son . . . gods help us. His son is to be his heir and people say that he's far more ruthless, trained by his father first-hand."
Axel glances back to Roxas, and can see the corners of his mouth twitch up.
"A mere boy, able to become more feared and cold than his father. If I were Cloud, I would've killed him long ago."
"And that is why you are not Cloud Skyes." says the man with the eyepatch. "If you kill you child, you have no heir and therefore you cannot have immortality in stories now legends."
The man with the tattoos boasts. "I'd be so legendary that I won't need some snot-nose brat to keep my name alive. In fact -"
A dagger plunges into his back. He shrieks. The lovers in the corner dash out the door, the guy struggling to pull up his pants and looking damn foolish doing so. The wench shouts something about no blades, but Roxas doesn't listen. The man twists to one side, hoping to keep the blade from pushing in farther, but then Roxas' hand grabs his head and slams it against the table. Stars swarm before his eyes.
Roxas yanks the dagger out. The tattooed man clutches his arms against his chest, rocking back and forth as pain shoots through his body. Warm blood runs down his spine. The man with the missing ear nearly squeals and stumbles back in his chair, rattling against the floor and clutching one arm behind the back, gripping with clawed fingers.
"What was that you said about me?" Roxas sits opposite of the tattooed man, next to the man with the missing ear, now physically shaking in his seat. Twirling in his hand is the bloody dagger, fleck splattering across the table. The tavern owner nears and starts to speak, but a single glare from Roxas shuts him up.
"This is Guild business." He says.
That is all the tavern keeper needs to hear. He goes back behind the counter and picks up a grimy rag to smear across the greasy countertop as if cleaning is suddenly a priority.
"I overheard your conversation about my father and guild." Roxas says. "I wasn't too flattered."
"Wait," the man with the eyepatch says. "You mean, you're . . ." He trails off and Roxas looks at him. He evilly smiles, still twirling the dagger. Roxas can see the realization slowly crawl across the men's face, then slowly spread out like oil around the tavern as people's faces morph into shock and surprise and even, envy and desire.
"So," Roxas leans back, and arm draping over the chair. His first word is quiet. "What exactly," he adds. "were you saying about me?" His tone is calm, and that is probably what scares everyone the most. He is not a maniac, he is perfectly controlled, perfectly poised. Careful and quiet.
For the first time, Axel recognizes Roxas for what he is: a genius we well as a sadist, a cold and ruthless predator. Roxas' eyebrows lift, forcing creases in his forehead.
"I . . . I don't remember." says the man with the tattoos.
Roxas grabs his hand and thrusts the dagger through his wrist. The man squeaks, a cry stopped in his throat as soon as it starts.
"Try again." Roxas says.
The man coughs. No doubt the pain in his back feels like it's on fire. With how wet his cough sounded, Roxas knows he's pierced his lung. It's not fatal, not yet . . .
"Look at me." Roxas coos. He jams a finger towards his eyes. "Right here, right here, come on."
"I . . ." he stammers, and suddenly he breaks down. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!"
Roxas yanks the dagger out and then rams it back downward, this time penetrating the man's wrist. He screams. The women squeal and cower further into their potential hosts, others overdramatically gasp, clutching their hands to their chest.
"That doesn't answer my question." Roxas cruelly interrogates.
The man grunts and clenches his teeth in pain. Roxas snarls and twists the dagger, causing him to scream again.
"I was mocking you! Foolishly, stupidly and unworthily mocking you!" the man pleads. "But I'm sorry. I won't do it again!"
"You're lying." Roxas says. He slowly rises, keeping the dagger in the man's hand. As he rounds to face the man's front, Roxas looks him square in the eye.
"How could I lie?! I have nothing to gain from it!"
"You may not realize it, but you are." says Roxas. "Once I'm gone, once your wounds heal, you'll go back to your shenanigans and then you'll continue on your means to humiliate my father and his reputation."
The man shakes his head. "No, no I won't! I promise! Please, I won't ever say anything degrading anymore! Please, just let me live!"
Roxas stare unemotionally in his eyes.
"No."
Roxas yanks his dagger out and thrusts for the man's chest. The dagger punches through his clothes, and pierces into his chest burying up to the hilt. Blood runs down Roxas' wrists and he watches as the man's body slacks. The blood slid off his robes like water. He pulls the dagger free, wiping it clean on his pant leg, and then sheathes it.
When done, he turns and sees the tavern keeper looking at him with wide eyes.
"Burn the clothes." Roxas says as he tosses him the man's bag of coins. "Consider that ample payment for keeping your mouth shut."
He then turns and leaves the tavern, knowing that no one else will target or follow him. Axel still sits at the bar, not wanting to be accommodated with Roxas, putting a target on his back for anyone who thinks they can't take Roxas, they'll aim for Axel next. He waits about two to three minutes, when everyone has gone back to their doings and the tension is slowly deflating. From there he gets up from the stool and digs into his pocket.
"No charge." He hears. Axel looks up and sees the bar attendant cleaning another mug, his eyes down at the cup intently. "On the house." He adds.
Axel looks to him and the man nods, and Axel nods in return. He leaves the tavern as nonchalantly as possible and then turns right. Walking down a few steps he soon finds the boy in an alleyway, back pressed to the wall with arms folded and a foot resting against it.
Axel gives a breathy laugh. "You sure do take pride in your father."
"As I should." Roxas replies. "He is a man deserving of anyone's respect. Those who defy him pay dearly with cruel retribution."
"And you, are his heir to his criminal empire." Axel states.
Roxas nods.
"But is it something that you want?"
Roxas looks up to him in bewilderment. "Of course it is."
"Or maybe you think it is."
"What are you saying?" Roxas asks pushing off the wall, his tone insists that Axel is challenging him.
"Do you really want to take over his rain? Is that something that you want, or something that you need to follow because it was thrown upon you?"
"I dare you to ask this to the prince of a kingdom. See how his reaction is, because I can assure you it'd be no different than mine." Roxas sneers as he exits the alley, but quickly turns away and starts to walk towards the decks.
"It's a simple question, Roxas. You don't need to be so defensive." Axel says as he levels with the boy.
"I'm not it's just, a reflex." Roxas says.
As they head for the docks, Axel can't help but listen to the clanking of the boy's gun, as it's tied at the grip and clangs against his daggers. Axel chuckles. "You shouldn't carry your gun like that. You need a holster."
Roxas stops and looks down at the gun. "I don't know where to get one."
"I might have one that's about that size."
Roxas looks up in surprise. "There are sizes?"
Axel smiles and softly laughs at the boy's sudden naive nature. He may know a lot about poisons and daggers, but when it comes to foreign things such as guns and sailing, he's as lost as, Ventus really. So innocent rather, and while the word may sound so foreign for a term to describe Roxas, it's all Axel can think of to describe the boy at the moment.
"Yes. And there are more kinds than that, or more rather different designs." Axel says. "And unless you're just wearing it for show, you need to learn how shoot it."
"I would if I had the time."
"So what do you call right now?" Axel teases, but Roxas only looks to him straight-faced.
"What are you implying?" Roxas says with a rather, pleased tone. Axel smiles back, knowing the boy is bound to be excited for his next anticipated answer.
But Axel only continues to smile and takes the boy's hand. "Come on." He feels Roxas naturally wrench his hand away, but Axel doesn't act like it's bothering him.
"Where are we going?" Roxas asks.
"Just follow me." Axel says.
They make it back to the ship by early afternoon, where the men have prepped the sails and raised anchor. As the men pull the bridge back onto the deck, Roxas hears Ventus call to steer clear. Roxas looks and finds the boy at the wheel, wearing a simple white tunic and a familiar navy blue vest as well as the Captain's hat.
Roxas walks over to the side of the boat, leaning his elbows on the wooden railing. He can't help but think back to Vanitas waking up to finding Roxas gone. A part of him doesn't want to leave without giving a proper goodbye, even if he's not one for sentimental intimate goodbyes. Still, a part of Roxas is appeased at the thought of him leaving the note, explaining all that's happened to him since their goodbye at the age of thirteen. Roxas sighs as he watches the city settle on the horizon.
Within minutes it's out of sight and the salty sea air wafts away the scent of the factory smoke as well as the scent of the baker's goods and the smell of fruit and soft perfumes.
Axel crosses the deck and calls to Luxord. "Hey Luxord, I hope you saved a few bottles."
"A little early to be getting shit-faced don't you think?" Luxord says as he gladly hands Axel two bottles in one hand.
"It's not for me." Axel smirks as he nudges Luxord. "Why don't you men head down to the pub?" Axel suggests.
"Why?" Xigbar asks.
"And lower anchor." Axel adds. "I'll need the ship steady."
"For what, sir?" Ventus asks as Demyx steadies the ship before Marluxia lowers anchor.
"I'm, going to teach the boy how to shoot." He states as he lines up three barrels.
Roxas looks down at the weapon on his belt, then carefully draws it, holding the grip with all fingers.
"And boy does he need it." Xigbar provokes, and while he earns laughter from the crew, Roxas gives them a glare and they cease.
"We'll dock here for now, the waters are calm and we have a day before the next town." says Axel. "And until then, you men enjoy yourselves."
Most of the crew salute him and head down towards the stern of the ship where the alleged pub is located. Ventus is hesitant to follow, and settles with settling into the Captain's quarters.
Roxas watches as Axel sets three empty wine bottles onto the top of the barrels. Once that's done, he goes over to Roxas and reaches behind him, pulling out a leather holster sheath made to cinch a smaller waistline. Axel hands it to Roxas. Peeking at how Axel' has his, Roxas slings it on his waist like a belt. Axel then then pulls out his own pistol and grips it firmly.
"Okay, I want you to watch me now." He instructs. "This is far more powerful than a dagger, and it has quite the kickback. So you need to grip it firmly, and do it with the hand you're most comfortable with."
Roxas nods and looks at Axel's grip on the weapon. He tries to mimic it, but Axel corrects him.
"Not like that. See that little hook? That's called the trigger, the outer part is the trigger guard. You want your pointer finger on the trigger, but lightly. Don't want you shooting up the entire deck."
Roxas nods and gets his hand used to the strange holding of the gun. Normally with his daggers he has all fingers gripping on handle, here his one pointer needs to be stretched and bend to sit smoothly into the trigger.
"Where does my thumb go?" Roxas asks.
"On the outside of your fingers, but make sure it's able to reach back and pull he hammer, this little bit right here, otherwise known as the safety. This'll keep the bullet from firing should you accidentally shoot."
"I don't make accidents." Roxas says, and Axel laughs.
"Then how do you suppose you got on our ship boy?" he asks.
With this Roxas is silent, with a small hint of pink on his cheeks.
"So, watch me."
Axel faces the port beam of the ship, the three barrels with two bottles each on the tops. He stands with his feet apart, holds the gun in both hands, and fires. The bang is so loud it hurts Roxas' ears. Roxas cranes his neck to look at the bottles. The bullet went thought the middle of the one on the far left, shattering it to bits.
Roxas turns to the barrel on the far right. He takes a deep breath, sets his feet shoulder-width apart, and delicately wraps both hands around the handle of the gun. It's heavy and easy to lift away from his body, and he wants it far away from his face as possible.
He squeezes the trigger, hesitantly at first and then harder, cringing away from the gun. The sound hurts his ears and the recoil sends his hands back, towards his nose. Roxas stumbles, and his hand winds up gripping on Axel's arm for balance. Roxas doesn't know where the bullet went, but he knows it's no near the target.
He feels Axel's chest vibrate from a laugh. "Things take time, Roxas. You of all people should know this."
Roxas straightens himself out and fires again and again, and none of the bullets hit the bottles.
Axel has meanwhile settled into a stool near the mainmast of the ship. "Okay, well you had to have hit at least one bottle by now, even if it's just a braise wound."
"Is that so?" Roxas says without inflection.
"Yeah. I actually expected better." Axel challenges. He takes the gun from Roxas' hand and reloads it for him; Roxas' eyes watching calculatingly.
Roxas grits his teeth and turns towards the middle barrel, resolving to at least stand still. If he can't master this weapon, what kind of son would he be to his father? Then again, how would his father handle such an advanced piece of weaponry?
Roxas squeezes the trigger, hard, and this time he's ready for the recoil. It makes his hands jump back, but his feet stay planted. A bullet hole appears at the neck of the bottle, and Roxas sees it for a split second before the top of the bottle is blown off.
Roxas raises an eyebrow at Axel.
"Ah, now that's more like it. A little pressure and your hesitation turns to determination." He says.
Roxas smiles a little.
"Hey, you actually cracked a smile." Axel smiles easily.
Roxas shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he turns back to the barrels. Now with four of the six bottles they had before, it takes Roxas five rounds to hit the middle of the bottle, and when he does, a rush of energy goes through him. He is awake, eyes wide open, his hands warm. Roxas lowers the gun, slipping it into the holster. There is power in controlling something that can do so much damage – almost like how his father must see him.
The thought leaves Roxas bewildered at how he feels. Proud? Important? Used?
Looking at Axel, clapping and smiling and praising Roxas at a bull's-eye, Roxas can't help but fester the feeling of being welcomed.
Maybe there is something more to him than blade and shadow; silence and death.
He holds onto this feeling as he continues to trifle through Axel's bullet supplies.
