It was lunchtime when the members are released for the day, and to say that Roxas was hungry would be a severe understatement. He is halfway through his meal, shoveling down meat and bread down his throat, when the dining room door opens. "What are you doing here?" he says through a mouthful.
"I heard you had some free time." says Sora, taking a seat at the table. Sora has changed his clothes and taken a bath. He pulls a platter of salmon towards him and piles it on his plate. Roxas makes a disgusted face, his nose crinkling. "You don't care for salmon?"
"I hate fish. I'd rather die than eat it."
"That's surprising." Sora says taking a bite.
"Why?"
"Because you seem like one."
Roxas opens his mouth to expose the ball of bread and beef that he is chewing. Sora shakes his head. "You might fight well, but you manners are a disgrace."
Roxas waits for Sora to mention Axel's earlier vomiting, but he doesn't continue. "I can act and talk like a gentleman, if it pleases me."
"Then I suggest that you begin to do so." After a pause, Sora asks. "How are you enjoying your temporary freedom?"
"Is that a snide remark or an honest question?"
Sora takes a bite of fish. "Whichever you like. But really, why would I make a remark? I'm not like Maleek."
The window reveals the afternoon sky, slightly pale, but still lovely. "I'm enjoying it for the most part. Especially now that I have books to read whenever I can't stand being locked up in here. And, at least Cloud doesn't know where to find me."
"You mean you father?"
Roxas shakes his head. "He's not my father. I'm not his son. I don't suppose you'd understand."
"On the contrary." Sora starts, and Roxas looks to him expecting to hear some backstory about his parents, but instead he says, "I might not have as much free time to read as you do, but that doesn't mean I love books any less."
Roxas chuckles, a little disappointed but doesn't force it. There's something about Sora's demeanor that seems questionable. He seems nervous to be here. Roxas bites into an apple it is tart, with a sweet, honey-like aftertaste. "Oh? And what books do you love?" Sora names a few, and Roxas blinks. "Well, those are god choices – for the most part. What others?" Roxas asks, and somehow, an hour flies by, carrying them on the wings of conversation. Suddenly the clock chimes one, and Sora rises.
"I'm to inform you that the afternoon is yours to spend in any way that you like."
"Where are you going?"
"To rest my limbs and my lungs.
"Yes, well, hopefully you'll read something of quality before I see you again."
Sora sniffs the air as he walks out of his room. "Hopefully you'll take a bath before I see you again."
Sighing, Roxas calls to hi servants to draw his bath. An afternoon of reading on the balcony beckons.
The following dawn, Roxas' bedroom door opens, and a familiar stalking gait echoes through the room. Maleek stops short when he finds the blonde assassin dangling from the beam of the bedroom doorway, repeatedly hoisting himself up to touch his chin to the wooden bar. Sweat soaks Roxas' bare chest and runs in rivulets down his pale skin. He's been exercising for an hour already. His arms quiver as he lifts himself again.
Though he may be the best out of his own group, there is no reason to train like this. Even if every repetition makes his body scream for him to stop. Roxas isn't that out of shape – after all, his weapons have been heavy. And it definitely has nothing to do with his fellow members competing against him in the race.
Roxas already ash an edge on them. He just needs it to be a bit sharper.
He doesn't pause his exercising as he smiles at Maleek, panting through his clenched teeth. To his surprise, Maleek smiles back.
By that afternoon, a vicious snowstorm arrives, and Roxas walks around the castle with Sora after he finishes training with the other members. Though they speak little, Roxas is glad to be out of his room, and it would seem that his wrappings are his new permanent uniform even when on and off duty. At least it's comfortable, and should any trouble arise, he'll be dressed appropriately.
Sora examines the assassin, and Roxas knows he's taking in his clothes, his gait, his posture – everything Roxas himself had observed about Sora already. Finally, Roxas can't help but give a breath of laugh. "What?"
"You just seem, not like them."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, beside you being better." Sora gives a playful jab of his elbow. "You're not like the other assassins."
Roxas can only manage a nod to the boy as they turn their attention to the hall ahead. "Well, since I seem different, perhaps you can tell me wrong, but you seem rather nervous to be around me. Does my reputation scare you that much?"
"Your reputation is part of the reason, but . . ."
"But . . ."
Sora pauses when they pass a large floor to ceiling window glass window. He peers out past the wall of the castle and out towards the village – no, past the village and out towards the mountain beyond.
"Sora?"
Something cold and bitter glitters in Sora's eyes. "Servants aren't allows to speak much with the members." he says.
"Why?"
"Level of superiority."
"That's ridiculous." Roxas scoffs. Which it is; even back at his mansion in Twilight Town, Roxas still had a mutual respect for his servants as did most of the other associates. Either that or they usually never paid much attention since that's all they saw them as, simple servants who do their job and keep quiet otherwise. Still Roxas wanted to make sure they knew they were acknowledged as well as their work.
In fact, Roxas was practically raised by the servants around the house while he was an infant up until he was out of his toddler years. He would follow them around and help around with their chores, then when Cloud found out he reprimanded the servants from it and only ordered them to do their job of caring for him and the members.
"What does Tifa have to fear in the acquaintance of servants and members?"
"Scandels?"
"With who? They're all women here."
"I think she meant with Maleek."
"Like he has no self control?" Sora sighs and they continue walking. Roxas follows after him, keeping his pace. "So if I may ask, what will happen?"
"I don't know, and I don't think I want to. I can only assume something that will even rattle your spine with fear." Sora says. "This is only recently upon the arrival of you and your men."
"Ah, but what's the harm of you?"
Sora shrugs. "Perhaps your preference of men over women?"
"I'm already spoken for, and not like I'd fall for you anyway."
"Wow, thanks." Sora snipes.
"Not like that, and don't pretend I meant it like that." Roxas says as he harshly rubs Sora's hair. "You know what I really meant."
"I don't believe I do." Sora says in a sarcastic tone. "I'm not smart like most assassins. Enlighten me." he says with a bat of his eyelashes.
Roxas rolls his eyes and smiles. "Truth be told, I'm surprised at how well we acquainted very quickly. You're actually one of the few people I feel comfortable around."
"Awww!" Sora claps his hands to his cheeks and gives an exaggerated smile. "You're so precious!"
"Shut up!" Roxas says as he shoves Sora. The two chuckle as they continue down the hall.
"Do you hunt?" Sora asks as he keeps his gaze on the rain splattered window.
"Yeah, though honestly I'm more of a reader."
"Huh, a scholar. Well I guess that's why you're separated from the rest of the others. Not many assassins are smart."
"Did you not just say how much you admire their photographic memories?"
"Don't act like you've never had that one teammate who just wanted to slice everything in sight." Sora smirks.
Roxas does remember; Seifer One and Two. "I suppose. You've got argument skills."
"If only I would shoot a bull's-eye from miles away." Sora says as he mimics pulling a bow string back and shooting an invisible arrow at a vase of roses set on a long hallway table. "That'd be cool."
Roxas sigh as he lets out a long sigh through his nose, and follows Sora's gaze to the window, as if he can see all the way back to Twilight Town. Suddenly, Sora grabs Roxas' hand and squeezes it. Sora's fingers are surprisingly callus – in all the spots where the hilt of a sword or dagger might rest.
"Can you teach me, Roxas?"
Roxas blinks at the request – feeling, despite himself, honored. "Um . . . well . . ."
"I know it's probably against our protocol, but I'm more than eager to learn. Please! I want to learn how to do all that cool roof leaping and sword fighting!"
"Sora, I -"
"Please!"
Roxas opens his mouth to respond, but when he blinks, the hallway vanishes and Sora's features alter so little, but enough to reveal Ventus' innocent face, brimming with laughter as Roxas has just flopped the boy on his back for the fifth time in a row. Roxas gasps and takes a step back, jerking his hand away from Sora's grip.
That's right. Roxas was mentoring Ventus to be a fighter, or better fighter. Before he . . . Roxas claps a hand over his mouth and leans against the wall. He stares at the carpeted floor as it flashes from wood to tile. Slowly, red splotches of blood creep in from the corner of his vision.
He starts to make awkward choking noises that have Sora hovering over him ready to catch Roxas should collapse or vomit. But Roxas steadies his breathing and carefully swallows gulp after gulp of air. Even when he manages to collect himself, he can't look Sora in the eye in fear of seeing Ventus staring back.
"Roxas?"
He cringes at how soft and ingenuous Sora's voice sounds. Sora gazes, despite Roxas' arrogance, he is clever, and relatively kind, and somewhat charming. But where is that writhing darkness? Why didn't it show itself so that Sora can be there and help him? Because he doesn't' want it? Because he's stubborn?
"I can't." Roxas quietly speaks.
"What?"
"I can't afford to." This is bad. Roxas can feel his stone walls starting to come up as the icy silence grows inside him and consumes the feeling of guilt and swallows the sharp pain of loss.
"But Roxas -"
"I just can't!" Roxas shouts and quickly leaps back and away as Sora was about to place his hands on Roxas' shoulders. He has to leave, now. Or else he will break down in tears or fury, and Sora doesn't deserve it, nor does he need to witness just how truly broken Roxas is.
Sora can see there is something great and deadly concealed within Roxas, and admittedly he didn't like it. Yet he doesn't fear it.
There's an unnerving silence that quickly grows between them as a rumble of thunder rattles the frame of the windows. Roxas peers over his shoulder to see Sora fidgeting with his fingers. A pain tugs at Roxas' chest.
"If you'll excuse me." Roxas callously says. He heads down the opposite end of the hall, careless of where he was going, but just wanting to get away from those eyes. Those sweet . . . chaste eyes; eyes that could see clear through Roxas' tough façade and lead right down to his hollowed out interior.
For a moment, Roxas can see why Tifa wouldn't want the servants close to her assassins. It only makes sense for that flash of seconds, because easily a part of Roxas wishes to have a friend like Sora . . . like Ventus. A beautiful ray of light that penetrates the darkness with a beam so powerful that it's the only thing that can crack the silence inside Roxas that blooms at his core, taking away all emotion and feeling.
He is a haughty, vulgar, utterly impertinent assassin. No one should see him as anything else.
Roxas can't afford them to.
His cape whispers against the carpet, causing a painful pinch of electrical shock on Roxas' fingertips as he touches the railing of the stairs. The clinking of his weapons quietly against his hips is all he hears.
As he passes by a mahogany vanity set near the grand staircase, he hears it. At first he assumes it's a mirage of the wind, but no, he hears it again. A whisper. It's soft, breathy and sends a chill down Roxas' spine.
Something brings Roxas' gaze up to the mirror as he approaches. He stops right in front of the mirror, gazing at it. His eyes flick around for a moment before another breath tickles his right ear. Roxas looks over and finds nothing, but feels odd relief when he sees a vase full of flowers, the petals wiggling from a small gust. Turning his head back, Roxas nearly screams, his hand shifting to his dagger when he looks back at the mirror.
He is beautiful beyond reckoning. His golden hair flows around his youthful face like a halo of sunlight. His eyes are crystal, sparkling blue, and his skin is white as alabaster. And he wears an outfit of all pure white; a golden sash around his waist.
"Ventus." the word is barely above a whisper, but Roxas can still hear the tremor in his voice.
The apparition only stares at him, the faintest smile on his lips. Roxas whirls around to look behind him, heart beating as he finds the space empty.
This has to be a dream.
Turning back at the mirror, he still finds Ventus there; surprising relief flooding his heart, tears brimming his eyes. Roxas hopes Ventus won't speak of what his heart refuses to remember, hopes that the angel won't mention what Roxas has spent so long trying to forget.
"You can't trust them." he says.
"What?"
"They're after you." Nausea creeps into Roxas' stomach. Why is he speaking in cryptic? Nothing good can come of this. "You didn't protect me."
Roxas finds himself at a loss for words. He can only stare, with mouth agape.
"You can't afford to be foolish." Ventus says. Roxas swallows. "Nothing good will come of this."
"What?"
"You can't afford to fail again."
Rage suddenly blooms at Roxas' core and he irrationally snarls at Ventus. How? Why?
"Let her in, but you mustn't trust . You can't he fooled."
"Shut up!"
Bringing his fist up, Roxas slams it into the mirror, shattering it to pieces and sending fissures cracking along his own reflection. Intoxicating pride and pleasure fuel through him as he feels the bits of glass bite into his knuckles. Small pieces drop onto the wood of the vanity. His breathing is ragged as he removes his shaking hand from the mirror.
The fissures spiderweb their way across the broken surface, crackling his reflection and dejecting his eyes from his cheek, his chin from his neck. He only finds himself looking back with an indignant expression.
His breath quivering, Roxas holds his hand as the pain starts to sing its way through his bones and stinging his skin. Warmth dribbles along his palm and he knows he is bleeding.
Almost frantically looking around the gigantic hallway, Roxas only finds it empty and silent.
In a burst of anticipating fear, Roxas bolts off down the hallway, navigating his way through the corridors so easily until he finds his bedroom. He hurries inside and bolts the door tight behind him. Without bothering to change out of his wrappings, Roxas throws himself onto the bed, hauling the sheets over his head.
Only does his heartbeat slow after two hours does he manage to close his eyes without seeing Ventus' angelic face and find sleep.
For the next four days, Roxas awakens before dawn to train in his room, using whatever he can to exercise – chairs, the doorway, even his billiards table and cue sticks. The balls make for remarkable balance tools. Around dawn, Maleek usually shows up for breakfast. Roxas doesn't expect Sora for a while, but after his encounter in the hall – of which he still hasn't told anyone yet – he misses having his company, and yes a little bit of his flattering remarks. After breakfast, Roxas and the men run through the game park, where Roxas keeps pace with all of the Faceless members. Maleek never says anything when some of Roxas' men double over, hands on their knees, and vomit up their breakfast, nor did he comment on the fact that Roxas can go farther and farther each day without stopping for breath.
Once they've finished their run, everyone trains in the open room. Until, that is, a handful of them collapse to the ground and cry that they are about to die from hunger and fatigue. Of which Roxas would clap his hand against his face and bow or shake his head in shame. The only members that seem to keep up with the training at all are Vanitas, Lexaeus and the former guild masters Terra, Cid and Leon. Thought Roxas shouldn't be too surprised. Most of Axel's men have never experienced such grueling training before, so this must be a brutal wakeup call as to out of shape they are compared to Roxas and the others. At least Axel seems to be trying.
At lessons, the knives remain Roxas' favorite, but a wooden staff becomes dear; naturally, it has to d with the fact that he can freely whack Maleek and not chop off an arm. Most of their training was just so make sure they actually know how to use weapons. And while they are rough around the edges, they are decent with swords.
Since his last initial meeting with Sora, he hasn't seen or heard from the boy – not even chatter from other servants. He has half a mind to go down to the servants' quarters himself and speak with him since he doesn't want to translate a message through servant to servant. An apology is definitely in order, wanting to train him however is still debatable.
After his half hour of sword play with Maleek, of which Roxas won two of their three rounds, he wanders over to the archery station eager to lose his thoughts in the repetitive shooting.
There's a table lined with identical bows and arrows, and Roxas fits himself with one of appropriate draw-strength and a quiver of a dozen arrows. The giant circular targets are composed of five colored rings – yellow marking the center, with only a tiny black dot to make the bull's-eye. Each target gets smaller the father back it is placed, and because the room if so long, the final target is nearly seventy yards away.
Roxas runs his fingers along the smooth curve of his yew bow. Archery is one of the fist skills Cloud had taught him – a staple of any assassin's training. Two of the Faceless assassins, Namine and Aerith further prove it with easy, skilled shots. Though they don't hit the bull's-eyes, and their shots get sloppier the farther the target, Tifa certainly knows what she is teaching.
As he readies to take Namine's place behind a white line, sparing her a friendly smile, he finds Paine leaning her shoulder against the pillar closest to the station, a grin on her lips. Roxas doesn't return it.
"What, no "Hello?" Paine asks with sarcasm.
"Not like you'd be interested in conversing." Roxas says.
"Only if someone's interesting enough."
"I'm honored then."
Sensing something is going to erupt, Namine steps in between them, blocking Roxas' view of Paine. "So, Roxas, do you like archery?"
Roxas looks to her, the corners of his mouth tugging into a ghost of a smile. "It's fun. Helps to clear my mind."
"I'm eager to see you shoot." Aerith speaks. "If you can beat Maleek in a training battle, it'll be astonishing to watch."
"If he can back up his swaggering." Paine interjects.
"Paine," Namine warns.
Something sparks inside Roxas and his body grows strangely calm. Before Paine has a chance to make another snide comment, Roxas draws back the bow, the wood making a creaking noise, and fires.
Again, and again, and again, within the span of a few seconds.
And when the sound of his final shot stops echoing in the suddenly silent chamber, Roxas gives a grim smile as he watches Paine's expression shift, showing real human emotion. Five bull's-eyes. Though none of them had been on the black dot, one had one close though.
Footsteps approach the station, but Roxas keeps his head high as he readies his bow for another round. Roxas' can't help but fester the pride that buzzes through the back of his mind. He's killed men from longer shots than the farthest target. Clean shots too. Right through the throat.
Roxas pulls back the bow, the sore muscles aching with the effort. He shuts out the noise, shuts out movement, shuts out anything other than the sound of his breathing as his focus narrows on the first target. He takes a steady breath. As he exhales, he lets the arrow fly.
A bull's-eye.
An absolute bull's-eye.
Roxas pays his onlookers no heed as he nocks another arrow and fires at the second target. He aims for the black dot, which he hits with deadly precision. He could've made an entire circle of arrows, if he wanted to. And if he had enough ammunition.
Roxas gets another bull's-eye on the third target, the shaft lining perfectly in place of that little black dot. He does the same for the fourth target. Where he aims, the arrow meets its mark.
As he reaches for his last arrow, he hears one the members, Xigbar, snigger to one of the other members of the Faceless. Roxas clenches his bow tightly enough for the wood to groan, a smile playing his lips as he pulls back his final shot.
The target is a little more than a blur of color, so far back that its bull's-eye is a grain of sand in the vastness of the room. He can't see the dot in its center. His arms tremble as he pulls the string back a bit farther and fires.
The arrow hits the absolute center, obliterating the last black dot. Everyone is dead silent.
No one says anything to him when Roxas stalks away from the line and tosses his bow back onto the table. All of his crewmen are smiling. Roxas sighs and joins Zexion across the room at an alchemy section. He too has a smile of pride on his lips. The only satisfaction he has is seeing the look on Paine's face as he passed by her, feeling her pride shrivel in his shadow.
The only thing that concerns is precisely their reactions. If they didn't know Roxas was this good, or are surprised, what does that say about their training? Is it even worth his time if he is already ahead of the game by ninety miles? He had no idea Cloud's training was this advanced until now. The Faceless are claimed to be the best, and despite his fights with Maleek, if they are surprised by his shooting, how will they react to his creative kills if they ever get the opportunity to see them?
Roxas spends the rest of his time with Zexion, learning about the different types of spells that can be useful in battle and healing incantations. Roxas would've complied to Zexion about his lack of reading and interest in the library of the Faceless, but it would seem his interests has morphed into an interest in magic. Because when Roxas asks about a particular cloaking spell, Zexion leads him to a back corridor and into a room lined with bookshelves brimming with massive tomes and volumes and ancient scrolls. The room smells of old parchment and dusty leather as Zexion pulls hardback after hardback, reveling through more than six thousand pages of spells, charms and incantations.
By the time dinner comes, Roxas has already retreated back into his room where he immersed himself into more of the books he'd received from Tifa. Except it was hard to concentrate when he still has so much going on. Axel stopped by, of which Roxas eagerly let him into his chamber. With freshly new clothes to accompany his steaming warm bath, Roxas was grateful he doesn't reek of sweat and grime.
They now sit on Roxas' bed, Roxas leaning on Axel's shoulder as he reads through the pages of the third book of a series about divergence and the dangers it holds for the strong female protagonist. Axel rests his head on Roxas' and simply shuts his eyes.
Roxas hasn't spoken to Tifa since almost a week ago after her confession, not counting when she spoke to the members on the first day of official training. He still remembers Vanitas' words about forgiveness, and Roxas knows a part of him really wants to forgive her and have his mother back; as well as that shred of hope that he can somehow maintain a somewhat normal lifestyle, at least as normal as he can get. And yet . . . something in his gut, as well as Ventus' message seems to be holding him back.
Ventus mostly. Roxas hasn't seen nor heard of him since he stopped appearing in Roxas' dreams, of which the feeling is bittersweet. But his words were to, urgent, demanding. Still Roxas could easily rule out that he's seeing things because of his, post trauma; reminding himself he had thought he'd seen Ventus when he was speaking with Sora.
But this encounter seems so . . . real. Those flowers being his proof of showing that the breeze wasn't a conjuring of his imagination. And Ventus mentioned "her," who else than the leader of the Faceless, the Queen of the Underworld. Not every other member wouldn't qualify.
Yet it completely contradicts Vanitas and his whole speech on forgiveness. It would really be a lot easier to just brush the whole thing off as a mirage of his imagination, so that's what Roxas decides to do. So why can't he?
Frustrated, Roxas claps the book shut and chucks it across the bed, causing Axel to stir from his slumber and the book smacking into the end frame of the bed.
"Whoa," Axel groggily speaks as he rubs his eyes. "What's up?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." Roxas leans his head on Axel's shoulders and feels him chuckle as he wraps an around the blonde. "Come on, tell me what's up." Roxas doesn't object as Axel laces his arms under Roxas' legs and hauls him over until Roxas is sitting in between Axel's legs, his head still resting on Axel's shoulders.
Axel's arms wrap around him and Roxas feels like he could just snuggle down into his warmth and forget about all his troubles in kisses and rough sex, and yet, but he doesn't. Perhaps talking might make things fall more into place.
"Well, it's about my . . . about Tifa." Roxas starts.
"Hmm, judging from your sudden change in title I can tell you're still debating over what to do."
"What about you? How are you, feeling?"
Axel shrugs. "I'm, coping I guess. I mean, I'm still a little, on edge, but it's getting to the point where I think you were right."
"Well that's a relief."
"And you?"
Roxas sighs as he angles his head to peer up at Axel; something about the shape of his jawline even seems attractive to Roxas now. "I'm trying to reach a decision with reason, but my feelings, like gut feelings, don't seem to agree."
"The heart and the mind are always at a struggle. I can't really tell you which to listen to, since it's your decision." Axel says.
"It's times like this I didn't have emotion, and just relied on logic." Roxas says as he folds his arms.
"Hey don't say that. Emotions are one of the things that make you human."
"It's also the cause of so much war and destruction." Roxas distantly says, picturing the flames enveloping Twilight Town.
"They're also what make me want to see you every day." Axel says, emphasizing his point by tilting up Roxas' chin and placing a soft kiss on his lips.
Roxas chuckles under the laugh and kisses back. When Axel pulls away, Roxas licks his own bottom lip. "Yes, I suppose there is that."
He averts his gaze momentarily and allows his emotion of forgiveness and what it could bring. While their lifestyle isn't the best, and while he doesn't expect his mother to make him breakfast in the morning and crafting a lunch before training lessons, he still sees her hugging him when he needs advice. He can picture the two of them sitting out on her balcony and talking about the best and worst books they've read, the two of them training together in the game park and learning a few new techniques.
The image is beautiful.
A smile makes its way onto Roxas' lips as he delves deeper. Then with a small flicker of hope and possible desperation, Roxas sits up and eases himself off the bed. Axel doesn't protest.
"Your mind's made up?" he asks.
Roxas glances over his shoulder. "If I have a chance to get my mother back, who am I to object?"
"You know I want you to be happy." Axel says. "And if you feel this is the right thing to do, then you should."
"Truth be told, I still don't know. But . . ."
"But you won't know until you try."
Roxas smiles as he turns and starts to head to his door. He opens it a crack and peeks back inside before leaving. "Uh, perhaps you should get to bed." Axel cocks and eyebrows. "Alone."
With Axel's grin and chuckle beaming his courage, Roxas turns down the hall and begins his trek.
Following by his memory of when Namine escorted him, Roxas steps left and into the hall of paintings. Following all the way down, he begins to feel the trademark symptoms of fear: sweaty palms, racing heart, tightness in his chest, dry mouth, a lump in his throat, difficulty breathing.
When he reaches the big oak doors, Roxas lifts his shaking hand and taps the wood with his knuckles. At first there's no answer, and Roxas thinks he may have tapped too lightly, but as he readies to knock again, he hears Tifa's dainty voice muffle through the wood.
"Come in." her voice chimes.
Roxas pushes open the door only enough for him to slip inside.
The room is only lit by the grand fireplace on the far back wall. It burns, casting a glossy look on all the silken fabrics on the couches. Roxas looks around and finds a weapon rack on the far left wall, next to a display case and bookshelf. Over on the right, he finds two large mahogany dressers and chests as well as another bookshelf with trinkets and odds and ends.
Tucked in the right corner is a gorgeously designed vanity with a gold outline done with the delicate design of feathers. There sits Tifa on a velvet red divan, combing through her black curly hair.
The curves of her body is accentuated from the silk red robs she wears. The neckline plunges down with black lace tracing along it, and there's a slit in the ankle long skirt that cuts its way up to her thigh. On her feet are high black heels. Her eyes flick from her own reflection to Roxas'. When it does, Roxas feels her heart skip a beat.
Her eyes still as piercing as ever, and Roxas can't get past the cold glare that's embedded within them. "Oh, Roxas." Her first word is quiet, but her eyes widen in surprise. "I didn't expect you."
"I apologize for the late intrusion."
"No, no, no. Please come in." she stammers.
Tifa motions a dainty hand in an inward circle. As if drawn by the motion, or as if it's reeling him in like a fish caught on a line, Roxas takes careful steps closer, one foot in front of the other.
"Glad to see you're getting to know you're way around." Tifa continues, her tone louder this time as she turns herself to face Roxas. "I trust you're finding your stay, adequate?"
"Better than anything I've lived in." Roxas blurts, his reaction making Tifa giggle.
"But, let's be honest, you didn't come here just to give me a goodnight kiss."
"No, I didn't."
"Then speak." She softly says with a small wave of her hand. She sits with her legs together, her hands on her knees and sitting up straight.
Roxas looks around and finds plenty of chairs in the room, but stays standing in fear that he might not be able to get back up should he sit. "I'm still upset by what you did to me, as a child. There is so much more that you could've done. But at the same time, I understand that, you didn't have a choice. It was a rather spit second decision on your freedom, and that all that you've gained, you've earned and deserve."
He sees Tifa swallows, her eyes starting to glimmer.
"And I'm hoping, that if you're willing to accept my apology about the unfair and impulsive insults I said, I want to give you a second chance. And maybe you, can give me a second chance."
"Roxas, you have no reason to apologize." Tifa rises from her seat, and it is here Roxas can see with her heels she has Roxas by a foot taller. "I was a coward. Cloud may be a monster, but he wouldn't hurt his own family -"
"Yes he would." Roxas interrupts. Roxas flashes back to when Cloud had him pinned to the table while injecting him with the serum that mimics the poisonous effect of mermaid venom. The hallucinations, his vomiting, his cries of mercy.
"Roxas," Tifa speaks to him, and Roxas realizes his gaze has averted and he has to turn his head to face her again. "Sweetheart?"
She reaches up an arm and carefully she extends out her hand; her fingers brushing along Roxas' jawline before cupping his cheek. He cringes upon reflex, waiting for her to pinch his ear, yank him to the ground and scream at him like Cloud did if he ever spoke out of turn. He can hear her sigh in anger.
"That bastard." She growls. "How dare he lay a hand on you! How dare he -!"
"Mother," Roxas suddenly blurts, silencing them both.
They stare at one another for a painful few seconds before Roxas clears his throat. "It's over. What happens in the past, it's in the past. You can't punish him for that now, just as I can't punish you."
Tifa gives a sympathetic smile, and strokes her fingertips over Roxas' temple, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear. She sets her hand on Roxas' cheek, and he turns his face into it. Her wrist still smells of her perfume. "So, will you give me another chance?"
Roxas looks to her, and gives a small beam. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much, mother."
The dark mistress has tears in her eyes and she begins to laugh. Then her arms reach out and wrap around Roxas' neck. Roxas envelops her in his arms, taking in her sweet scent that he can only describe as reminding him of spring. She breathes heavily into the crown of his head and Roxas nuzzles next to her neck.
"I truly have missed you, mother." Roxas mutters. "I just never knew how much."
"As have I, my child. My beautiful child."
Tears sting his eyes as he hears her begin to sniffle and stroke the back of his head.
"My gosh, you must be, eighteen now?" She says as she pulls back quicker than Roxas would like.
"I'm actually nineteen now." Roxas smiles.
"Oh!"
"Yeah, my birthday was a month ago."
"What?! And you didn't have a proper celebration?"
"We were in the road from my father." Roxas laughs at his mother's surprised expression.
"Oh my goodness! We must throw you a celebration!" she grabs his shoulders and beams. "We can have your celebration right here!"
"Oh now, mom."Roxas chuckles.
"Of course we'll need to order a cake of your favorite flavor and of course we'll have to throw an immense party -"
"Mom . . ."
"And line up the tables with your favorite foods and -"
"Mom!" Roxas laughs as he takes his mother's arm. "It's fine. Really. I'm fine."
"But sweetheart."
"I promise." Roxas smiles.
Tifa pouts and tickles under Roxas' chin, then starts to fiddle with the spikes of his blonde hair. "I still think you deserve a celebration. Would information on your first case ease your decision on the matter?"
Roxas chuckles. "Well now I know where I get my stubbornness from."
"You get most of your best qualities from me." Tifa says with a flip of her raven black hair. "So, about the party and the mission."
Smiling, Roxas says. "Tell me about it tomorrow."
"Oh, very well. Now, it is quite late, and you need to get to bed young man."
He bursts into laughter. "Are you serious?"
"Of course! I have a lot of years of parenting to makeup." Tifa smiles.
"Which is why I think I deserve a tuck in goodnight. Perhaps even a bedtime story."
Something inside Roxas eases as he feels her wrap her arm around his shoulder. "Very well, and how about we add some milk and cookies to that?"
"Great minds think alike."