Not your name
A dark corridor in the portal room ripped open and the central pillar of light flared. Donald flapped out of the vortex, quacking indignantly, Vanitas emerged next, cut off in mid argument as he yelped and fell. He crashed on top of Donald, spread-eagled on the circular dais. Goofy exited the high corridor with composure, dropping to the floor elegantly while the Black Saint rose and brushed the feathers stuck to his chest.
The vulnerability surrounding him in Atlantica vanished. Vanitas pondered over his therapeutic session with Ariel and stomped to the podium; he logged his exit from the underwater kingdom and fished out the giant pearl bulging in his pocket. The familiar threads of rebelliousness wrapped over his heart and his cheeks prickled with shame.
How could he spout his secrets to the mermaid? What did she do to him?
"Water has a softening effect," Goofy declared. "And Ariel is one of the KBWA's best healer and theparist."
"Therapist," Donald corrected.
The lustrous pearl reflected stained glass and a column of light. Tiny, distorted dark corridors shone from its surface and jamming it back in his pocket, Vanitas checked the crown necklace around his neck and climbed the platforms leading to the elevator and teleportation moogle. The hangar buzzed with extra activity and he lingered as he passed.
Workers donned in reflective clothing wove batons of light and directed a Gummi ship inside. A heavyweight gate opened on the opposite end, revealing the murky depths of the cosmos.
They were nine stories underground, how could the hangar open in space?
Stars twinkled brightly in the slice of space and an asteroid whizzed past as the hangar gate clanged shut. The Gummi ship purred to a stop and the door opened to an unknown pilot.
Disinterested, Vanitas stopped before the moogle, squinting at him with an inscrutable expression and opted for the elevator when his companions vanished.
The elevator's mirrored floor reflected dark circles under his eyes. His hair stuck in odd angles and he brushed his fingers through it. Self-conscious of the shirt opened all the way to his chest; Vanitas buttoned it to the collar, concealing the purplish bruises blooming underneath his throat.
He stepped off at Basement floor 8 and buckled his boots. Yuffie, passing in the hallway, subjected him to a long, appreciative grin and he mustered a halfhearted glower before entering Leon's office and freezing at the sight of Tifa, Belle and Jiminy Cricket crowding the boss' table.
The group turned and Vanitas' stomach dropped anxiously. The tension in the office shattered when Donald and Goofy barreled in, the latter offering a sloppy apology for being late.
Mentally thanking them, Vanitas stalked to a corner of the spacious office while the higher ups conducted their talks in hushed tones.
Belle, chestnut hair in soft curls around her shoulders, typed the minute on a netbook while Jiminy further refined them on his miniature journals. Leon conducted a meeting on his laptop, a circle of other leaders showed on screen and Vanitas peeked at Jasmine, resplendent in a sheer headscarf threaded with polished emeralds.
The officials talked in turns and Tifa scribbled possible solutions to different problems as they came in. Later, the vice-chiefs will have their own meeting to discuss loose ends.
Uncomfortable by the atmosphere of oppressive importance smothering the office, Vanitas retreated to Tifa's chambers and studied the photos hung on her wall. He recognized Cloud in a group photo, standing glumly apart from others. The beautiful lady with forest green eyes was there too, hugging Tifa tightly.
Another shot showed Cloud sitting on a chair, a boy child on his lap while Tifa carried a cute young girl behind him.
"Clavius," Leon called. The high tech silk screen dividing the two offices was pulled apart. "You are back early."
Peeling away from the photos, Vanitas stood to attention before his boss. "Were you expecting me to stay there forever?" he grouched. "You look like you need a week of sleep."
Leon cracked an exhausted smile. "Sit," he indicated to an easy chair, "I need to update you on the investigation."
Vanitas hesitated. "Before that, I want to... I want to apologize," he mumbled and forced himself to meet Squall's pale blue eyes.
The boss arched his eyebrows and straightened from his slouched position. "What?"
"I want to formally apologize for my behavior." Vanitas bent into a perfectly ninety degree angle. "I overstepped boundaries, obstinately picked a fight with Strife and failed to obey orders from both you and vice-chief Tifa. I'm..." the words strangled out of his throat, "I'm sorry."
08:05 a.m.
Wright and Co. Law agency
Apollo's office
The phone buzzed with a string of messages and Sora lethargically checked them. Justice dragged the mike from the corner of his office and warmed his throat in preparation for the Chords of Steel. He wore a navy blue tracksuit, decorated with white stripes. Sora scrambled out of the chair and elatedly waved his phone in Apollo's face.
"Vanitas is back!" Sora announced in relief. "He's currently checking in with his boss before coming home. I can finally eat some real food for dinner."
Apollo chuckled. "Cut him some slack." He adjusted the mike stand. Both he and Sora were of similar height; more on the shorter side and it irked him. "Imagine him coming home only to find out he has to cook dinner for you." Justice stepped back. "It's ready," he announced.
Eagerly assuming his place behind the mike, Sora clamped a pair of oversized headphones, borrowed from Athena, around his ears. "Can I start?" he asked, voice several decibels higher than normal and Apollo nodded. Taking a deep breath, Sora bellowed, "I am FINE!"
"LOUDER!" Justice hollered, his voice matching Sora's amplified one.
"I AM FINE!" Sora emptied the air in his lungs. The objects on the mantelpiece rattled. Apollo the cactus shivered in its pot, the golden ornament trembled while Klavier inspected the two attorneys from the wall. Sora screamed some more, coming to a squeaking stop when the door opened abruptly and Phoenix entered, face scrunched into a grimace.
"Mr. WRIGHT!" Apollo shouted. "Do you want-"
Wright yanked the headphones off Sora's ears and jammed them over his own. "Polly, one of these days I'll need to go for an eardrum repair surgery thanks to you." And I'll deduct the costs from your salary. "You need to soundproof your room; I don't want Pearls waking up with a heart attack." He pushed the golden ornament back to its proper place and sprinkled water over the white flowers wilting in a vase. "Is your Chords of Steel routine done?"
"No-"
"Because Sora is long overdue on a lesson on how to object properly," Phoenix cut in.
The senior lawyers of Wright and Co. Lawyers agency gathered like the harbingers of doom around the boardroom table. Cowering under the onslaught of their gazes, Sora ducked behind the downy comfort of his scarf and waited with bated breath for one of them to cleave the silence.
Athena tapped her nails on the marble surface. Tap; tap.
Tap.
Apollo crossed his arms. He changed out of his casual tracksuit for a formal, crimson waistcoat and tie. His gelled fringe stuck menacingly upright.
Wright sat between them, on the opposite end of the marble table, the magatama glowed jade between his palms.
The light in the boardroom seemed to congregate on the three attorneys like a spotlight. Sora squinted; he needed a pair of sunglasses to shield him from their combined, blinding brilliance. He focused on the crescent earring dangling from Cykes' ear; the irregular shaped calmed him somewhat.
"I am in the opinion that all Ace Attorneys should have a signature mode of objection which defines them," Phoenix started and both Apollo and Athena nodded gravely.
What?
"The courts of law, the judge, the prosecutor, the viewing gallery and," Wright slammed his hand on the desk, "the witness, should be able to identify us solely from the way we object and present evidence, it is our defining quality."
Huh? Sora panicked, I've never heard of this!
"I've noticed your objection is weak," Phoenix continued and Athena smacked her fist into her palm in rhythm to his words.
"Thena, stop it," Justice admonished, "he's about to faint," he gestured to the quivering Sora.
"...Ach," Athena conceded after a final punch to her palm.
"As I was saying," Wright resumed after the interruption, "your objection should completely silence the prosecutor and show your overwhelming confidence-"
"None of us are overwhelmingly confident when we are presenting evidence Mr. Wright," Cykes recalled, a slender finger on her chin and smiled disarmingly. Her blue irises glittered.
"Besides," Apollo added, "we have yet to learn the seamless bluffing you are so famous for."
Phoenix crumpled. "I don't bluff!" he heatedly defended himself. "Also, we are here to teach Sora how to object, not to discuss how I defend my clients." Straightening his tie, Wright slipped the magatama into his pocket.
"Touché," Athena shrugged. "Let me go first," she slammed her hand twice in rapid succession. "A good objection always needs to be forceful," she advised, "you show assertion by slapping the bench." She smacked the table again for emphasis, "like this, the louder you smack, the more the people will respect you."
No wonder my hand stings each time I object. "And the more people will notice you," Phoenix reminded. "Although you are not comfortable with attention, the sole purpose of objection is to divert the court's interest so you can introduce doubt to a prosecutor's claim." Wright spread his palms on the table. "You can sum up our job by one formula, to make the court and judge question the prosecutor, of course, here at our agency, we don't question the prosecutor simply for the sake of arguing; sometimes defendants are falsely accused and it's up to us to make sure they don't get their lives grinded into nothing by the clunky reaches of law."
Phoenix quieted and the tick of the clock echoed loudly in the room.
"Here, I've made a commitment to take cases where the accused is innocent," he paused, "and to help acquit them from whatever charges they are seemingly guilty of."
He thought of Mia's death, the sting of which will never ease; and of Maya, shivering and sobbing as the police led her away in handcuffs, minutes after she discovered her sister's brutal murder.
"Most of the time, the prosecutors are vicious," Apollo filled the silence, "and will force their point across. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about." Sora replied in affirmative. "If you don't speak up, they will steamroll you; you can't depend on your co-counsel all the time." Justice rotated the bangle biting into his wrist and the rookie stared at it, a question swimming in his irises. "This bangle is made of a special alloy which tightens when I notice someone being shifty," Sora shifted in his seat, "it's very useful to crack obstinate witnesses apart."
Tired of standing, Apollo dropped into a chair and the bangle eased.
"Polly has the power of perception," Phoenix explained. "Which reminds me, Maya said you can see shadow… er… heartless things?" His brows furrowed inquisitively. "Apparently it happened when you cross-examined those Bluecorp witnesses?" He leaned forward. "Can you explain it to me?" Wright's mud blue irises gleamed and he smiled warmly.
Wondering how to best explain the bizarre situation and hoping it never happens again, Sora tentatively unwound the muffler and began, "I started... I gained the second sight after the Keyblade came to me," Apollo blinked in startled astonishment. "And when I cross-examined Ms. Keats, there was a point in her testimony when she lied blatantly, and the shadow... heartless, it came from under her foot. There was quite a few swimming in the ground."
"And Jean?" Wright prompted.
Looking at the lights stitched in the ceiling, Sora continued, "he lied shamelessly, there were so many heartless," he massaged his temples, "it stained his pants grey. Eh... I can see it when people are lying."
Justice grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah, it's annoying."
"Now back to your objection training," Athena pressed. "I remember watching a case while studying overseas; it was Mr. Wright versus Prosecutor Edgeworth-"
"You make it sound like a duel," Apollo commented.
"-and when he presented evidence." Athena rose excitedly, the chair squealed on the floor. She smacked both her hands on the table, imitating Wright and pointed, index finger out. "Objection!" she grinned. "How was it?" she queried, "Did I do it like him?"
Sora clapped, vibrating in his seat. "You did it just like Mr. Wright," he declared and their boss embarrassedly rubbed the back of his head. "I used to follow him while at high school, he inspired me to be a lawyer!" Sora gushed, trying to contain his fervor.
I have all the old cases, cut from newspapers.
"...Me too," Apollo refused to regale his smugly smiling boss and glowered at the wood paneled wall. "Till you got disbarred," Wright's smile melted. "But I suppose it's Mr. Gavin's fault..."
The airy mood inside the boardroom coagulated into a strained silence. Hands sweaty, Sora wiped them on his slacks and searched for patterns on the ground.
"In any case," Phoenix changed the subject, "Sora, you can adapt any style you want-"
"But we all do the pointy index finger thing, even I picked it up." Justice frowned. "So you do it to, slam your hands and yell: OBJECTION! Try it."
"Now?" Sora squeaked.
"Yes, now." Apollo and Athena advanced on the junior attorney, devilish smiles stretching across their faces. "We're going to make an Ace Attorney out of you."
In the lounge, Maya, Trucy and Pearl reclined on the crimson couch, hands wrapped around cups of steaming tea; the muffled yells echoing from the boardroom drowned in the theme song of the Steel Samurai show.
Vivid green saplings photosynthesized in terracotta pots. Leon regarded Donald and Goofy dipping their heads politely along with the Black Saint.
"When I read your military academy profile," Squall clasped his gloved hands, "I reasoned the possibility of you disobeying orders and doing what you thought was right; despite this, I considered you for my KBWA and you behaved within parameters." He remembered discussing the raven haired candidate with Lockhart. Vanitas Clavius scowled from his identification photo, stapled on the KBWA entry forms. "However, your conduct after Zack's death surprised me, if you hadn't run off to Hollow Bastion; I would have put you on the investigation team, contradictory to Tifa's advice." Leon ran a hand through his hair. "I've said this before, I'll say this again; your attachment to Fair surprises me."
Back hurting from his bowed position but not daring to straighten, Vanitas replied, "He... Zack is very important to me; and I want to be someone he can be proud of."
But he's gone; he'll never have a chance to be proud of me.
"Sit," Leon commanded and pushed his chair. "Wait here, I have matters to attend to." He exited his office, leaving Vanitas and his companions alone.
The laptop on the table pulsed dimly and resisting the urge to trawl through it, Vanitas wheeled around the office. Squall did not have any personal artifacts on his desk or walls. The silk screen, dyed in colors of beige and cobalt, depicted a large school and at the fringes, Vanitas read Balamb Garden. It faced the interior of Leon's office.
Sheet lights blazed bright yellow on the outskirts of the central chamber and wheeling to a miniature office, Vanitas marveled at the tiny ivory table, arranged with old fashioned writing utensils. A miniscule inkpot and several stained feather quills lay in a penholder. Book cases lined the glass booth from top to bottom and thick, leather bound journals rested on the shelves. Using the tip of his fingers, he opened the door, accessible by a tiny, functional elevator from Belle's desk and reached for the little volumes. Vanitas touched one and an entire row of books tumbled from the shelves.
Cursing under his breath, he collected them in his palm and with Donald and Goofy hovering over his shoulder, flipped through them carefully.
"If you're going to yell at me for snooping through the historian's journals, now is your time," Vanitas stated. Donald kept quiet and taking his silence as a yes, Vanitas opened the first journal, marked by a grey diamond. "Hey," he exclaimed, "it's about the silver haired pansy, I wonder if I can get any dirt on him, it'll be useful if he makes Sora cry."
Donald Duck snatched the journal from him. "Don't," he warned, "Riku is very dear to his majesty, these journals detail his rehabilitation program."
"Gawrsh," Goofy clumsily opened a book, "this is about Clavius-"
"Lemme see," Vanitas grabbed the book, careful not to tear the pages. "It's Sora's." A sinking feeling rooted in his stomach. An image of the Kingdom Key spanned two pages and he spared them a passing glance before shutting the book. "Isn't there one of me?" he asked and Donald tossed him a volume marked by a black halo. Opening it, he smirked at his data. "What's this?" he questioned at a series of sketches. Him, wearing a bunch of different, colorful clothes. "I wouldn't be caught dead in this," Vanitas drawled, indicating an azure jacket and pants, flames at the cuffs and hems, "though the red one isn't bad, I like red." He turned the pages where more incomplete drawings waited. "This is weird," he shrugged.
He froze when footsteps came from Leon's office and hastily slotted the books back into the small bookshelves.
"I suppose Zack told you not to snoop around but you never listened," Leon tiredly sighed. "Whatever." He crashed in his leather chair. "See yourself in my office," the boss announced and abruptly spun the laptop towards him.
Closing the booth door, Vanitas navigated through Belle's chamber, crammed with sunshine blossoms and piles of books on every available surface. Papers peeked between the pages of books; a stack of forms bookmarked a thick tome on the study of magical creatures. Passing through Tifa's office, Vanitas stopped before his boss.
"Is Jiminy designing new outfits for me?" he demanded.
Closing a window on his laptop, Leon removed his fur lined jacket and draped it over the seat. "Jiminy told me you are eligible for drive forms," he held a hand to stop Vanitas from questioning, "ask Goofy and Donald for-"
"Drive forms with him?" Donald quacked indignantly, "phooey."
Miffed by his reaction, Vanitas glowered. "I don't even know what those are and I'm already getting insulted."
"Whatever." Leon interjected. "Save you arguments for another time and make sure you explain those Drive forms so the Black Saint can master them."
Folding his wings, Donald pointedly turned his face the other way.
"Clavius," Leon picked a glimmering medal off his desk. "You are being promoted to a Mid-tier rank," Squall weighed his words, "the amount of people who bypassed the Low-tier from a rookie status, can be counted on one hand and you are one of them." Vanitas puffed his chest in pride. "As a Mid-tier member, you have more responsibilities and though we normally have a small ceremony when an Association member is promoted, in light of the events currently surrounding us," Leon droned emotionlessly, "I thought you might want a private service."
The Black Saint solemnly nodded.
Pinning the medal to Vanitas' lapel, Leon rubbed a thumb over the slightly dented silver. "This belonged to Zack," he stated. "He wanted to give this to you."
A familiar prickle surfaced in Vanitas eyes and he blinked rapidly.
"Don't tarnish Zack's legacy," Squall advised. "He said he was proud of you."
Satisfied by his lecture, Leon gave Vanitas space. The Keyblade wielder pulled his jacket and fondly examined the old medal. He traced the dents and engraving, a sentimental smile curving on his lips.
"I'll try my best to obey the rules from now," Vanitas vowed sincerely and did a perfect salute. "I'll be part of the High-tier before long," he earnestly announced.
Handing him an A4 sized envelope, sealed with a rune from his griever pendant, Squall nodded for the Black Saint to open it. "I trust you not to go rogue," he said. "Those are the investigation details and further instructions. You will follow them," the boss asserted.
The more Vanitas read the case details, the angrier he grew. He clutched the papers, crinkling them. "You... you brought him back from the dead?" he disbelievingly questioned and received a languid reply. "I wasn't there," his shoulders sagged. "...Why do I have to be on standby when you know who murdered him?"
"If you question absolute orders," Leon's voice could cut granite, "you are welcome to leave."
Stuffing the reports into the envelope, Vanitas cradled it protectively to his chest. "I'll follow instructions." Goofy patted his shoulder comfortingly. "I promise, please, let me see this investigation to the end."
He spun, marching to the hallways. The envelope crumpled under his tight grip and he furiously pushed it into his pocket, pausing to mutter a destination to the teleporting moogle.
Vanitas arrived at the bustling Living quarters and identified Cloud by his bandaged arm. Suddenly shy, he aggressively retrieved the oversized pearl and stomped to the lone blonde, sedately spooning rice in his mouth. Vanitas thrust the pearl under Cloud's nose and the latter looked up perplexedly.
"What's this?"
"Are you blind?" the keyblade wielder scathed. "What does it look like? It's a giant pearl. It's..." he swallowed self-consciously, "for you. Give it to your girlfriend or something." Vanitas dropped the pearl; it narrowly missed the soup bowl and rolled across Cloud's lap. "Now we are even," he added and stalked away, pausing after a few meters to peek at Cloud confusedly studying the pearl.
Gratified by his good deed of the day, Vanitas squared his shoulders and teleported to the reception, he collected his phone, answered a few enquiries from Belle and hurried out of the KBWA, a bit overwhelmed by his desire to get home. Wondering if Sora clocked out of work yet, he checked the time. Nope. Still a couple more hours before he could fuss over his brother. Deciding to kill time by shopping for groceries, Vanitas hailed a cab and fired off a text.
I'm cooking crab for dinner. He grinned savagely.
You better be hungry.
He didn't know whether to gasp in alarm or help put out the fire licking across the silk cape. For all her expertise in the kitchen, Trucy constantly found a way to set things on fire and while he flailed uselessly and stuck to the wall like a limpet, she expertly twisted out of the cape and tossed it in the damp sink where the material hissed. Smoke curled from the scraps of blue silk slowly degrading to ash.
Trucy wiped her forehead as Wright and Apollo barreled into the lunch room, concern painted on their faces. While Justice started screaming to mask his relief, Phoenix patted his daughter on her head and leaned against the wall, knees weak.
Picking the charred remains of the cape from the smoky sink, Trucy forlornly held it to the air. "My favorite cape," she lamented, "it's gone." She sighed heavily and dumped the wrecked cape in the bin. "Oh well, I suppose I need to make extras," saying this, Trucy extracted her magic panties and reaching into it, pulled another silk cape out. "Ta da~" she chirped and with a whirl, clasped the silk material around her shoulders. "How do I look Daddy?" she asked and Wright smiled indulgently.
Apollo shouted again and Maya poked her head in, drawn by the commotion. "How many times did you set your cape on fire?" he clamored. "I told you not to come in the lunch room wearing your outfit," Justice's eyebrows knit together; "do you listen? You nearly set me on fire the other day when I helped you!"
"I burnt my fingers on the pan," Wright offered.
Edging out of the chaotic room while Trucy pouted at the reproval Apollo rained on her, Sora slid against the corridor and curled on the floor. Strands of limp noodles clung to his apron and it smelled of caramelized onions. He recalled Trucy's earlier agreement to accompany him to Organization XIII and doubted she still remembered after the chaos. He wanted to buy a few comfort things for Vanitas.
His brother hardly slept since Zack's untimely demise. Vanitas' pallid features blanched further, dark shadows ringed his eyes.
"Shouldn't we go?" Trucy startled Sora out of his daydreaming and he rose, massaging the cramps from his thighs. "Don't you want to take the apron off?" she helped him out of the stained piece of fabric and he muttered gratefully.
"Let me... I need to change," Sora mumbled as Trucy balled the apron and chucked it in the kitchen. "Won't senior yell at you again?" She stuck her tongue playfully out at him. "You... um... you look," the compliment he strung together evaporated when Phoenix passed, a bottle of mineral water in his hand.
"You were saying?"
"Nothing," Sora bumbled, "I won't take long." He rushed to the lounge, inwardly groaned at Pearl practicing origami on a space she cleared on the floor and ducking behind the couches, swapped his suit for a loose fitting, orange shirt. "Sorry," he apologized to the spirit medium when she smiled at him and lugging his bag, emerged back in the corridor.
Apollo leaned against the door frame of his office. "You can keep you stuff here," he gestured to his workspace with a thumb. The drawn blinds threw his chamber into shadow. "I'm sure Mr. Wright or Thena wouldn't mind keeping your things either." Athena emerged from her room with Detective Skye. "And Trucy," he addressed the magician, "don't wander off and leave Sora on his own."
The junior attorney blushed, Trucy mock saluted, a jeweled clasp holding her hair together. "Of course, I wish you could come with us," she said and Apollo tilted his head apologetically.
05:00 p.m.
Commercial district
Organization XIII Headquarters.
Uproarious applause and screams bled from the Level 9 shop. People packed themselves inside the music store and squealed loudly when Demyx paid an impromptu visit, whistling nonchalantly and strumming his Arpeggio; he finger-gunned as he entered and an entire crowd swooned at the gesture.
Stuck in an aisle and praying for the crowd to clear the front of the store, Sora browsed the metal music collection and tucked his chin in his scarf while Trucy went to investigate. Her pinstriped sundress swished and anxious, Sora rifled through the records till he found one which he hoped Vanitas might like. A number by Demyx, Slash, which consisted of him screaming and growling in the mike. Sora never understood why his brother liked metal.
"The singer is doing a fan-sign," Trucy informed. "Do you want to get the album signed?" she indicated to the CD in Sora's hand.
A long line snaked from singer; the people clutched their albums expectantly. Demyx lounged in a wire chair, clad an indigo mesh shirt; caramel brown bangs fell messily across his forehead and he winked smoothly at his loyal fans. The idol sipped from a large coffee cup and signed records with a flourish, cyan eyes crinkling in amusement.
Paling at the frothing crowd, Sora stammered, "No... no thanks, I want to get out of here." Trucy paid for the album at the cashier while he inched to the exit. He consulted the mini-map the reception offered. "Blankets," he mumbled in his scarf, "and chains. Vanitas likes fluffy things, I guess I can get the blanket at the E-mart, and a pair of jeans from Level 8? Maybe I can buy myself a scarf?"
His wallet mocked him.
The automatic doors to the Level 8 clothing store slid apart; a waft of clothing conditioner and hints of men's perfume blew outdoors.
Inhaling greedily, Sora zoomed off to the pants section, Trucy tailing after him. He bypassed the blue jeans and searched for a soul sucking black. Several of the skinny jeans had attached metal studs and chains dangling from the waist. A model grinned from an LED advertising screen, a giant, silver belt buckle peeking from underneath his shirt. The image changed to him wearing a sleeveless tunic, two teardrop tattoos under striking emerald eyes and a finger to his temple.
Got it memorized? The punch line read. Shop at Level 8 for all your clothing needs.
"How long are you going to stare at him?" Trucy prompted and Sora grinned sheepishly at her. "Is he Axel?" she questioned.
Finding an ebony jeans with silver stars on the pockets and a thick chain crossing over the waist, Sora folded it over his forearm. "Yeah, Axel designs and models Level 8 clothing, his stuff are mostly for guys. Sometimes he collaborates with Larxene to produce luxurious formal wear. His and hers. Tsk," he tutted, "the suits sure looks nice." Sora seized when he approached the cashier and gripped his purchases tightly.
Sensing his obvious discomfort, Trucy graciously offered to pay for the things and he breathed a sigh of relief on exiting the store. The clerk waved cheerfully.
"Please come again."
"I normally shop with Vanitas," Sora explained as they rode the elevator to the basement floors. The glass box offered them a sweeping view of the setting sun. "He does all the interacting," Sora pressed his head against the cool surface of the elevator, "and… well, I can't do anything on my own."
Scarlet stained the sky, the heavy shopping bags bit into his palm.
"You do a lot of things on your own," Trucy corrected as they stepped off. "You saved Pearl and Kairi and even your own brother from getting falsely accused and sent to jail." She beamed, low heels clicking softly against the tiles. "So don't ever think of yourself as worthless, people are different and it's okay, as long as you are comfortable with who you are." Trucy mused, a hand on her chin, the delicate bracelet on her wrist flashing. "Are we nearly done?"
Sora nodded. "I need to get blanket and a plush toy, a dragon one. He likes dragons."
By the time Trucy and Sora spilled out on the pavement in front of Organization XIII, the sun already set and a pale moon showed its face in the night sky. A heart shaped moon lurked behind the spherical one and cheeks flushed in exhilaration and the success of his shopping, Sora gathered the bags, refused to let Trucy help and started for the cab station situated behind the behemoth building, he chattered cheerfully and Trucy listened without interrupting.
She stopped abruptly and a second later, Sora felt it too, the sensation of being watched. He clutched the bags tightly, breathed into his scarf and turned.
A teenager wheeled a delivery moped across the staff parking of the headquarters and undid his helmet, he balanced it on a handlebar. A black cloak clothed him from head to toe.
"Ven?" Sora enquired, temporary relief morphing to freezing fear. "You're the delivery boy." His breath stopped in his chest.
A bag fell from Sora's grasp as the delivery guy put out his hand and a dark grey Keyblade materialized out of thin air.
"My name is Roxas," the words seeped between clenched jaws, "they call me the Wayward Wind." A flash of bright light introduced the appearance of a second, dual shafted Keyblade.
Two? Sora's breath came in quick gasps.
"I have a mission," Roxas crossed his Keyblades, "to eliminate the King." Metal clanged on metal. "Please don't take this personally."
Terrified out of his mind, Sora let the plastic bags drop. A stuffed dragon dropped to the asphalt. He summoned Kingdom Key and assumed a crude stance in front of Trucy.
"Let... let her go," he pleaded. "Trucy has nothing to do with this." He stiffened when she gripped him; her fingers spearing into his shoulder. "Please, you can do whatever you want with me."
Sweat stood in drops on his forehead. His scarf became damp. The air was too heavy to breathe in.
"Wait, I'll call-" Trucy shrieked when Roxas sliced her phone in half. Blood welled on her fingers. She tumbled to the ground, knees grazing on the tar.
The remains of her phone scattered in front of her. Wincing at the stinging pain, she pressed her hand on her dress; blood oozed across the pinstripes, dyeing them red.
A windstorm of obsidian and silver winds tossed in the space above Roxas' head. He regarded the crown perched on the side of the King's dark brown hair and the fear congealed in his eyes.
The King held the Keyblade like a baseball bat, his knuckles white, he clumsily parried when Roxas slammed Oathkeeper. Flashes of light lit the parking area. Sora hissed in pain when the second Keyblade stabbed into his shoulder and ripped downwards. Fire spread across his left side. Kingdom Key clattered to the pavement and dematerialized in a muted pop.
A scream pierced through the fog of pain clouding Sora's mind. He stumbled back, vision blurry and tried to stop the dual Keyblades from slashing him.
It hurt. It burned.
Trucy scrambled to her feet as he fell and stopped his body from smashing against the rough floor.
The dual keyblades raked a jagged cross on Sora's chest, shredding his clothes. His skin parted like water at the Keyblade's touch. Roxas carved him with grim determination, his uniform protected by the black coat.
He dismissed his weapons and reached for the ashen woman protectively cradling the King in her arms. Her dress stained a garish crimson.
So much blood.
Roxas twisted her arm out of her socket and she screamed.
So much fear.
Falling
Dusk
Twilight Town.
Do they call this sadness? This weight on her chest; like a giant rock crushing her ribs, scrambling her insides and flattening her heart?
Roxas offered a popsicle to Xion and smiling weakly, she nibbled on the cold confectionery. Axel sat on her other side, long legs dangling as the three of them lounged on the platform in companionably silence.
The clock tower chimed. Once. Twice. The melodious peals rang through the town bathed in perpetual twilight. Thrice. Xion listened and imagined a dismal finality as the chimes stopped.
Falling.
She felt like she rushed through the air, the intricate clock face blurred past her. The town and its shades of orange gold melted as she fell, arms wind-milling through the air.
"Don't be so glum," Roxas finished his ice-cream and abruptly took a bite out of hers. "Xemnas does nothing but sit in his office listening to muted news. He's useless that way."
Axel's ice-cream dripped. "Bet he is a real expert when it comes to lip reading," he drawled, mouth lifting into a grin when Xion smiled. "Don't mind what the superior says," he ruffled her hair, "we are entitled to take breaks whenever we damn please."
Fortunate for her two best friends, Xion giggled at their efforts to cheer her up. Axel draped an arm over her, he smelled of musk. Roxas stared at the sky, his head on her shoulder and she squeezed their hands warmly.
But why... Xion pondered, did she feel so sad?
A/N: Things always take a turn for the worst when you least expect it. Poor Trucy, having to live through so much grief. Imagine the horror when a random stranger tries to kill you for no reason at all.
Please read and review, constructive criticism, are welcome, questions and theories too.