All the words to this silence
The library smelled of old pages, peppermint and stone. After Zack complained one too many times of Vanitas escaping his lessons, Lockhart drew a roster of different members to keep the rookie occupied. She walked in, her long, waist length hair dancing with movement.
Sitting straighter in his desk, Vanitas resolved to pay attention however...
A crackle of splintering wood roused him from his dozing and he ducked as a shelf cartwheeled past his head. Smiling, Tifa raised another bench, effortlessly cracked it in half and chucked one, dangerous end at him.
He unsheathed his sword and sawed through the projectile, a shower of splinters stuck on his jacket and shirt.
Barely pausing, Tifa hefted a book and flung it at him, the ancient tome soared, a few tea stained pages trailed after the leather bound volume and Vanitas raised his sword to counter it.
She punched him in his gut and grabbed the book with her free hand.
"You can't destroy old relics," the vice-chief admonished. "This teaches you magic spells, have you ever paged through it?" She tossed the book and caught it,
Coughing and bent limp over his desk, Vanitas gulped the pain balling in the pit of his stomach. "You threw it at me first," he protested, "and who in their right mind would page through a moth-eaten book?" he wrinkled his nose, "it's falling apart..." he feebly said as the book stitched itself together.
Tifa slotted the book back into a stained oak wood shelf and whirled around. Her kick landed squarely on the side of Vanitas' head and he flew into a pillar. Leaning against the door, Zack grimaced and tried to rescue his student but she warned him with a steely glare. The rookie got up, brushed marble dust from his jacket and grabbed his sword. He glowered furiously when Lockhart neatly plucked the katana from his grasp and hurled it, the blade dug into the library wall and quivered in place.
He crossed his arms when she punched and inhaled sharply when his forearm shattered. A teardrop earring winked on Tifa's ear as she jumped over the desk and descended with a kick. Her foot landed on the table and it crumpled like tinfoil.
The brass lamp shattered, glass speared everywhere.
Grabbing the light stand, Vanitas tried to block a backhand but the flimsy thing wrenched out of his hold and crashed into an alcove. He followed it, twisting through the air and trying to make sense of it all. He tasted blood, flowing from his nose. Vanitas landed in a heap at the base of a bust and stars burst in his eyes. He swallowed a whimper and through sheer stubbornness, pushed himself upright, smearing bloody fingerprints on the pristine, alabaster white wall.
The vice-chief hovered over him with hands on her hips. "What did you learn?" she asked and gently dabbed the blood on the corner of his lips.
"You're tough, just my type," he flippantly stated as Fair watched with a pained frown.
Leather jacket lapels bunched in her fist, Lockhart raised Vanitas off the floor and dangled him in the air. "If this was a mission, what would you do?" she questioned as the monitor flickered.
The room spun and shaking his head to clear it, Vanitas focused on Tifa's face. Her neutral expression infuriated him. "I'd fight my way out of it." He kicked and she slammed him against a bookshelf and toppled a row of books. The volumes hung, suspended by bronze chains to the shelf. "...I'd still fight my way out of it," he cheekily wheezed and clawed on Tifa's gloved fingers. "What should I do?" he hissed when she finally let go and he dropped to the floor, pain ramming up his spine.
"Forfeit," Zack replied and cast cure; his student's wounds knitted immediately. "Not every fight can be won." He righted a desk and Tifa pushed the skewed shelf back into place. "When you are confronted with an adversary who outstrips you in strength and intelligence, your best course of action is to run away. Tifa will teach you escape tactics," he raised his voice, "make sure to learn them well." Zack pulled the quivering katana and sheathed it. "Running from a fight does not make you dishonorable, live to fight another day, do you understand?" He held the katana out.
Scowling disbelievingly, Vanitas rubbed his aching back. "Yes sir," he droned and parked himself back in the desk.
A melancholy sadness washed over him when Zack turned to leave after conferring with the vice-chief. To date, Vanitas clashed with two members of the KBWA and both of them left him rolling in the dust without breaking a sweat. His thoughts spun to Nox, the silver haired pansy disappeared to who knew where and Vanitas envied his former classmate. Zack spoke about the Keyblade wielder with a certain measure of respect, The Grey Knight; they called him and parted like waves when he stalked past.
Wrestling with his stray thoughts, Vanitas diligently copied the notes projected on the electronic board.
Three, grueling hours later, he stumbled out of the library, clutching a bag of books to his side. White dust lay on his shoulders, a button on his collar hung loose, held by a thread. Scrubbing a blood stain on his chin, Vanitas splashed water on his face and rolled his shirt to inspect the bluish-purple bruise on his stomach. His forearm throbbed with the memory of an ache, the lessons he learnt in the library ran a grotesque rhyme in his head.
How to escape, taught by Tifa. Reconnoiter, lectured by a petite, Land of the Dragon lady with a ruby scaled, talking dragon for company and Deductive Reasoning finished off his classes. The last lecturer was a brat, possibly younger than Vanitas and wearing an inane, all knowing smirk. Vanitas wanted to mop the floor with him.
But something in the teenager's haughty smirk and ultra-confident gaze warned Vanitas to stay in his desk and wait it out.
Opposite the library, guards patrolled the archives.
Instead of the mundane firearms issued to the front gate security, they wielded gunblades, holstered in a black sheath around their waist. The men let no one in and growled at Vanitas when he loitered at the entrance. Only those with clearance from Squall could enter the chamber. The archival room contained dangerous monsters from different worlds, magical tomes, research texts and anything confiscated or labeled as a hazard. Breaking in the archives will either result in death from the monsters inside it, or permanent banishment from the KBWA.
Hitching his backpack, Vanitas left the archive entrance, much to the relief of the four guards, and ascended to Basement floor 5.
A dozen people worked out in the gym, the smell of acrid sweat stung the air. Fake windows provided the illusion of light and spinning away, Vanitas peeked into the cinema hall where a series of black and white clips played on the large, silver screen. He searched the upholstered seats for viewers and found the tiny outline of Jiminy Cricket scribbling in his mini journal. Not in the mood to discuss ancient, black and white films with a top hat wearing worm, he continued exploring.
The KBWA dedicated the fifth underground floor to culture and recreation, for the first time since he left for work this morning, Vanitas smiled when the double doors to the gaming lounge loomed large and colorfully at him.
The door opened to a blast of cool, air-conditioned air and a pumping beat throbbed in his ears. Screens dominated the walls and neon, hexagonal plate lights lent the room a futuristic feel. Letting his bag drop with a thump on the laminated floor, Vanitas grinned like a child given too much candy; he stalked to a corner, brushed his fingertips across gleaming game consoles and settled on a bubblegum pink bean bag to watch the room's sole occupant destroy his opponents in Pokken Tournament.
Pikachu back flipped and punched Machamp into oblivion, the screen lit in dazzling sparks which danced across the gaming lounge's pastel walls.
Sakuraba, acutely aware of another person joining him in the room, tossed the controller in a glass drawer once he finished a round and pulled the noise cancelling headphones off. The brunette sprawled across the bean bag observed him with a pair of hawkish, golden eyes and said nothing.
"Want to play?" Neku queried. "There's more than one console," he nodded to the opposite screen, "or even a gaming PC if you prefer." He motioned to a computer in the corner, a glossy tower of chrome and three monitors fanned out on a drop leaf table. His pocket buzzed and frowning, he pulled out an outdated, button phone model and rapidly typed on it.
Vanitas tried to hold in a snort but it came out. He laughed till his battered ribs hurt. "You seriously use those?" he asked and wondered why he found it so funny; Zack used a flip phone too. "I don't understand through," he admitted when the orange haired dude glowered at him. "Aren't these gaming things from Organization XIII? Who else but them makes such high quality stuff?"
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Neku studied the golden eyed man. Messy hair, messy jacket, bruises flowering on collarbones. "Organization XIII's stuff are not allowed in the KBWA," he explained. "No advanced technology is." The stranger raised an eyebrow and waved his hand around the gaming lounge. Purple strip lights flashed across the ceiling, bathing the room with a preternatural glow. "The KBWA made them." Neku's brows furrowed. "Actually, I'm not sure." He jammed a pair of Organization XIII headphones over his ears and scrolled on an MP3 for suitable music. "I heard they come from another micro-planet, but," a crooked smile lifted his lips, "I do think Organization XIII makes the best things."
Finally, a kindred spirit in the world of savages.
Getting up from the mushed bean bag, Vanitas pored over the stacks of different gaming consoles lined neatly in a cherry wood cabinet. He settled for Street Fighter just as the orange haired member left the gaming lounge, a pair of headphones blaring music.
09:30 a.m.
Wright and Co. Law offices
Boardroom
Folders lay scattered across the table and three easy chairs squeaked. The marble top cooled Sora's sweaty hands and he listened intently as Apollo Justice and Athena Cykes respectively slammed their hands on the desk and attempted to lecture him on how to tie his case up. Quivering under their predatory, expectant gazes, Sora quickly searched the boardroom entrance for Trucy, from his position, he could see the lunch room and inside it, she chopped onions on a wooden counter and burnt the fringes of her silk cape on the gas stove.
"Are you listening to me?" Cykes interrupted and slammed her hand twice in rapid succession. Not one to be outdone, Apollo followed with a forceful thud and tiny vibrations tingled Sora's fingertips.
"...I need to think of a motive as to why Raven would murder Clark," Sora bravely interjected and his smile froze when his senior co-workers stared at him. "They...they were friends." He swallowed nervously.
"You need to be forceful in your perception-" Justice began.
"No," Athena cut in and leaned forward, her long ponytail brushing the table surface. "You need to find his psychological weakness and draw it out so he confesses himself," she concluded triumphantly as Apollo sagged. "Honestly," she twirled her hair, "I think it's best to hone your particular skill and use it to augmenter your arguments." Her crescent moon earring bobbed hypnotically. "What are you good at?" she questioned. "Apollo has perception," she nodded at his wrist, "and uses the bangle to enhance it. He can pick up the nervous tics betraying a lying witness."
Apollo muttered under his breath when Sora fearfully eyeballed him.
"And I studied psychology overseas," Athena continued. "I use Widget," she touched her winking necklace with a gloved palm, "to sort out emotions and pinpoint feelings which do not correspond with a witness' testimony." She beamed confidently. "What is your skill?" her voice softened when Sora blinked bewilderedly.
Social anxiety?
"Mr. Wright has a knack for finding raw talent," Apollo mused, "I'm sure you have potential, you don't know it yet." The boardroom door opened to admit Trucy sailing in with a tray of breakfast, the edges of her cape singed to coal black. "How many times did I tell you to be careful with the stove?" Apollo admonished when she stuck her tongue out playfully at him. "Seriously, remember the time you burned the evidence? Mr. Wright nearly grounded you!"
"Nearly grounded isn't the same as grounding me, Polly." Trucy blew on her soup and slurped indifferently.
The wood paneled wall opposite them soaked Apollo's grunt of rage.
Skimming through the case documents, Athena followed the flow of arguments as Sora contemplatively zoned on a steaming bowl of mushroom soup. Porcelain clattered sharply on marble as they ate and debated.
"Judging by the scandalous photographs Raven has of Clark, I'm sure their friendship is not as solid as we are lead to believe." Cykes laid the evidence on the table. "Also," she indicated the budget letter, "this might be the motivation the murderer needed." Athena spun the stack of letters towards her. "Hmm… overspending and squandering of company funds," she read the documents. "Aha!" she grinned victoriously, "here you have it, a motive."
"But, they are addressed to Raven."
"You found them in Clark's luggage though?" Justice spoke through a mouthful of food. "Therefore Raven must have passed them to his friend."
Why?
Placing his empty bowl on the tray, Apollo tapped his forehead. "Clark is an actor who plays the main role in the popular detective drama, Professor Layton. The director for the show happens to be his longtime friend, Raven Miller." He positioned two photographs next to each other. "The director overspends the company's budget," he placed the letter next to the images of the men, "and he has scandalous photographs of his star co-worker on his laptop."
At this, Trucy remembered the pictures, her appetite vanished and she stirred the soup listlessly.
"Therefore, we can conclude Clark is the one actually squandering the funds instead of Raven; the director sent the letters to him; probably as a warning." Apollo arranged the pieces of evidence and linked them together. "Raven killed Clark, I think, to save himself."
"Don't forget Clark might possibly blackmail or force him to do his bidding," Athena crossed her arms and surmised.
Sora accounted the evidence and logic as the clock ticked unnaturally loudly in the boardroom. "Why do you think Clark could blackmail Raven?" he queried. "I... it's not clear..." he broke off.
"Why would the director of a show allow his actor to overspend the budget?" Athena retorted. "Also the bottle of poison had its fingerprints wiped, but I bet you would find Raven's prints on there, it was a coup-de-grace," she tilted her head. "A spiteful confession at the moment of the victim's death."
11:00 a.m.
District Court
Courtroom no. 3
Miller maneuvered his bulk on the witness stand. The courtroom lights shone harshly on his balding head and he adjusted his glasses, smiling uneasily when the defense lawyer caught his eyes and timidly glanced away. The co-counsel studied him with a cold, calculated calm and unable to hold the spiky haired man's stone eyed scrutiny, Miller absentmindedly scratched a blister on his palm.
He repeated his testimony under his breath, prosecutor Payne assured him that he would not be accused of a crime he did not commit.
The witness' irises surreptitiously moved to the defenses bench again, the two attorneys whispered to each other and he heaved a sigh of relief, knowing the bumbling neophyte will handle the case. He did not trust the other one, Phoenix Wright and, Raven titled his head to the viewing gallery, his associates. A brown haired man glared at him, his simmering rage almost palpable. Next to him, the woman waved her hands over a floating screen and a brief spasm of fear ran through Raven before he grinned, safe in the knowledge of his innocence.
"Witness, state your name and profession," Payne instructed and Raven turned to him.
"Raven Miller," he said. "I am the director for Professor Layton; I hope you are a fan of the show."
I hate Professor Layton, Sora scathed. The show sucks, poor acting, poor music and long hiatuses.
"What happened on the night of the murder?" Winston further inquired. "Speak clearly so the judge may be convinced of your alibi."
Self-consciously straightening, Miller recounted the episode, "Clark and I decided to smooth a few kinks in the show, away from the studio's influence so we booked a few days at the hotel." He paused as the attorney scribbled energetically. "At dinner, the manager arrived with a pastry chef," Raven indicated the dock, "and told us the desert was a complimentary service." He scratched his palm. "The trifle was very delicious by the way." He flashed a grateful smile at Kairi who lowered her head when the viewing gallery twittered. "I knew Clark enjoyed it too, he wolfed it down without pausing. We finished our dinner over talks and he left, perfectly hale, perfectly healthy."
Miller sniffed and adjusted his glasses.
"Not an hour later there is a commotion, my friend, my star actor, is dead!" His irises glassed over. "What is going to happen to my show?" he enquired rhetorically when the sound in the courtroom swelled.
Falling silent, the witness slumped over the stand, an image of despair. His spectacles slid down his nose and he peered imploringly at Winston Payne.
"Hmm..." Wright placed his palms on the bench. "His testimony contradicts the evidence we have." Sora agreed enthusiastically. "You simply have to present the pieces and convince the Judge the witness is lying."
Sora considered the diagram he constructed in the boardroom with Athena and Apollo's guidance. "I'm still not clear on Raven's motive," he anxiously confessed, "I know Clark spent way too much money and Raven couldn't really stop him. If the show's budget becomes unmanageable, it's Raven who suffers first and foremost...but, he didn't have to murder in this situation, he could threaten Clark with the photos he had."
"Save them for later," Phoenix crossed his arms, "now, you need to clean his testimony."
Holding the poisoned tissue with Raven's fingerprints, Sora began his argument, "Mr. Miller, this tissue has stains of diethyl-mercury and your fingerprints, we found it in the trashcan at the kitchen, care to explain?"
"Objection!" the prosecutor interjected, "that has nothing to do with the case." Sora paled. "Your honor," Winston gesticulated to Raven, "the witness is clearly distressed with the death of his friend; I request the defense do not pointlessly harass him."
The Judge banged his gavel. "Objection sustained," he said, "Mr. Clavius, you are warned not to strain the witness, he is grief stricken and unhealthy."
On the witness stand, Raven scratched his palm and miserably fiddled with his glasses.
A sudden feeling of nausea clawed Sora's throat and he swallowed repeatedly. "I stand by...by my question of why we found Raven Miller's fingerprints on a tissue saturated with poison," he instinctively brushed his thumb across his badge when the prosecutor and witness glared at him."
"Well?" Phoenix prompted.
"I have a habit of wiping everything down with sanitizer," Raven chuckled fretfully, "the poison on Clark's spoon could've gotten on the serviette; as for why it was in the kitchen trashcan…perhaps a waiter gathered it after the meal and disposed of it?"
Urk... Sora opened the case record and his attention fell on a worn glove. The woolen scarf wrapped his neck like a hot noose and he clutched it desperately, unwilling to take it off.
"Mr. Clavius, if you have nothing else to say," the Judge's words floated from the raised seat, "then I will announce the verdict, this trial has dragged on long enough." He raised his glinting gavel. "Wright, I'm afraid I have been too lenient, I complied with your requests but," the Judge's eyebrows knit regretfully, "it seems your attorney's client is really guilty."
Grabbing the glove, Sora timidly placed it in view of the court. "Hold it..." he belatedly ordered as Phoenix grinned ruefully. "I...uh... this," Sora took a deep breath, "I found this glove in your room Mr. Miller," he banged his hand on the defense's bench, "it's a latex glove-"
"We can see it is a latex glove, attorney," Prosecutor Winston cut in acidly, "what of it?"
Momentarily losing his train of thought at the rude interruption, Sora quickly collected his rapidly scattering views. "The glove was worn by the witness and it contains traces of poison." A tide of excited voices drowned his statement; Sora cleared his throat and squeaked louder. "I want to know why such an object was in Raven's room."
Phoenix slid a photograph to him and smiled like a friendly shark.
"This photo," Sora beamed the image to a pair of large screens and the Judge gasped, covering his mouth, "was also found on the witness' laptop, a lot of them." He blushed awkwardly. "A hoard of scandalous photos, which could ruin Minella's career were found on Raven's laptop," Sora repeated, welcoming the exhilarating rush for having the upper hand. "I also present to you this-" he triumphantly placed an envelope and a stack of letters next to the glove, "-this is a company letter addressed to Mr. Miller. The contents of the letter is a complaint from the studio for squandering company funds-"
"Objection your honor!" Payne wheezed.
"And I found the envelope in Clark's luggage," Sora continued, ignoring Winston much to everyone's amazement. His eyes glittered like azure fire and the scarf around his neck hung loose, exposing a thin, black ribbon tie threading his shirt collar. "The defense requires an explanation," he demanded, fist clenched.
"Well Mr. Miller?" the Judge urged, "care to amend your testimony?"
A drop of blood welled on the blister Raven scratched. He smoothed his t-shirt over a rotund belly and spoke, "Clark is my best friend and I shouldn't say this, but he has a rather nasty habit, as you can see in the photograph." The photograph flashed on screen much to the Judge's distress. "He likes to take candid photographs when he's having a tryst with his girlfriends." Sora frowned and bunched his hands. "He gave me those photographs to keep you see, his trust in me runs very deep."
Lies! Sora looked at Wright and back at the witness, his breath coming in short gasps.
"As for the gloves," Raven held up his hand, "I have a rash on my palm and I wear gloves for hygiene purposes."
"Yes, it does make sense," the Judge considered.
"But the poison?" Sora insisted and strangled himself with the scarf. "What about the poison?" His confidence drained like water down a sinkhole.
"I probably touched Clark's spoon," Raven casually commented.
"Mr. Wright..." Sora wheezed. "This isn't happening."
"Unfortunately, it is," Phoenix retorted and glowered at Miller. "Your honor, the witness claims he wears the glove for sanitary purposes?" he directed the question at Raven who nodded quickly, "yet, we only find traces of sweat and poison, if the rubber did come in contact with his blister, Sora care to continue?"
Huh? What? I don't know!
"..."
"Mr. Clavius, please speak up," the Judge implored with a long suffering sigh.
"No tissue fluids or blood..." Sora mumbled. "The glove is free from them." Raven sweated, his irises glazed. "You used those gloves to administer poison to a serviette." Sora's voice grew louder with each accusation. "You used the tissue to rub poison on the spoon, because the trifle itself wasn't poisoned and the entire spoon was. You made sure Clark died when you were in your room."
Raven Miller clutched the witness stand and doubled over. "How can you insinuate I killed my friend?" he hissed. "What motive do I have to kill him? He is the main character in my show; if he dies I'm the one in trouble!"
Motive...
"No." Sora's tone dropped dangerously low. "It's the other way around. Those letters you gave to Mr. Minella showed you were in dire straits." Dropping his chin into his muffler, Sora wracked his brains. "Clark was using you," a strained silence descended in court, "he squandered the money and you couldn't do anything about it...why?"
"Why?" echoed Raven, "what do you m-"
Slamming his hand on the table, Sora sheepishly rubbed his aching hand. "I wasn't asking you!" he countered. "Obviously you owed a debt to Clark. That debt became the snare around your neck. To dig yourself out of the hole you fell in, you decided to sacrifice Clark and keep your neck safe from the guillotine by maintaining ties with the studio... after all; Professor Layton is a commercial flop. Clark is a horrible actor."
Hah, I said it!
Opening and closing his mouth, Raven stared at Winston. Beads of sweat cropped across his hairline and the blister on his palm set his hand on fire. Pearls of blood dropped to the courtroom floor. Crimson flowers on a field of white. Faces and walls merged into one.
Somewhere, he heard laughter as he slipped on the stand and fell backwards.
01:45 a.m.
District Court
Courtroom no. 3
The court bailiff rushed into the room with a stack of documents from the nearby hospital. He weaved his way to the judge and respectfully handed the papers. The Judge read them and a smile bloomed on his face at the spiky haired attorney slumped over the bench. Phoenix spoke softly to the young man and Clavius slowly raised his head
"I have a verdict," the Judge proclaimed and an electric tingle arced across the air. "I now pronounce the defendant, Kairi Madeleine..."
The tension proved to be too much for Sora and he clutched his lapel tightly.
"Not guilty!"
A shower of bright, multicolored confetti swirled from above and flashed, catching the stray sunbeams slanting through the windows. A glittering circle of foil landed on his eyelash as he blinked rapidly. The viewing gallery erupted in a cheer and from the top; Athena and Trucy leaned out of their seats and waved at him while Apollo grinned widely. Shivering at the excitement, Sora sedately made his way to Kairi who wiped a tear from her eye.
The Judge banged his gavel. "Order in the court," he commanded half-heartedly. "I have something else to say," he consulted the hospital documents, "ahem, it seems Mr. Miller is currently hospitalized due to diethyl-mercury poisoning." The chattering the courtroom grew subdued. "According to these reports, he spilled a bit of poison on his palm and neglected to take care of it. Diethyl-mercury is extremely slow acting..." the Judge trailed off, "that is all." He banged his gavel one last time and rose with a sweep of his robes. "Court is adjourned," he declared. "I must say Mr. Wright, you and your attorneys never fail to amaze me."
I won the case!
I'll be home late today. Vanitas scrolled downwards to a picture. A stab of loneliness hit his stomach. It showed his brother, confetti nestling in his hair, standing in a sea of glitter. A blue suited man stood to his right and their old classmate, Kairi to his left. She wore a dazzling smile; and he grinned at the relief evident on her face.
I didn't wanna go to the party; the texts came in, gradually.
So I declined Kairi's invitation...she said we could party in the Gatewater Hotel's Viola Dining hall.
...I hate parties...
Vanitas smirked.
But Mr. Wright and everyone at the office insisted so...
Should I rescue you? Vanitas's fingers flew over the touchscreen keyboard
I'll manage as long as I can, Sora replied and the conversation ended there.
The silent apartment magnified the emptiness pressing like a weight on his chest. Vanitas rose from the couch; his reflection stared back at him from the blank television mounted on the wall. The hum of the fridge and the muted, city noises stuffed his ears like cotton, ghostly and insubstantial. Orange waves crashed in the apartment and he moved to the kitchen, where land kissed sea.
I won the case. Vanitas checked his phone and threw it on his bed; he kicked a chair and cursed when his toes stung.
Zack said he did well on the training mission; Vanitas remembered killing a bunch of lowlife heartless, facing off against his mentor and failing miserably. His anger bubbled slowly. What did he achieve during the past few weeks? Absolutely nothing. He hoped for a successful career once he joined the KBWA, however, getting tossed around like a ragdoll and sitting through grueling lectures did not appeal to him.
Choking on his bitterness and anger, Vanitas held out his hand. Nox drew the keyblade effortlessly, like tugging it out of thin air. Gritting his teeth and concentrating, Vanitas imagined a wicked weapon materializing in his grip. He managed to wake the Earth Titan's blade therefore he could be a potential wielder. Desperate thoughts whirled maelstrom above his head and a flicker of envy forced him to wish for a Keyblade. For success.
For respect.
Shadows gathered under his outstretched palm and he held his breath expectantly.
A flash of dark light. The glasses on the table rattled and air rippled through his fingers.
Cold metal, shining a foreboding ebony, gleamed in the dying rays of a setting sun.
Special Assignment
Dawn
KBWA, Special Assignment room
Flowers glowed silently in the dark, a mute witness to two people. Tron lines ran the length of the cube, the only light apart from the flowers. Leon perched on a desk, his hand resting awkwardly on a stack of documents. No sound entered the room; no sound left it.
"They succeeded in the Replica Project?" he asked.
The silence stretched longer than a beat. "Yes," came a reply, "he looks exactly like the Wind Mage."
"And the by-product?" Leon's griever necklace glimmered like fallen star on his chest. "What of it?"
"A girl, still in a test-tube, but reacts only when the replica is near. The replica can't speak yet, it trails the Organization members, we are teaching him how to function."
Squall grabbed a page off the pile and squinted at it. "I'm sure you do realize how important it is to destroy the Replica project?" he waited for an answer.
"You are asking a lot of me, Leon. Remember I am part of them."
The KBWA leader hopped off the table and muffled a curse when he bumped into a stack of boxes. "Don't get caught," he handed a file to the operative, "traitor."
A/N: No, I don't hate Professor Layton, but the endless puzzles are exhausting. Sora wins the case and poor Vanitas feels like a loser in comparison. If anyone is confused, the Special Assignment segment took place before the events of this fic.
Read and review, constructive criticism is always appreciated. I'm grateful to the readers.