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PLAYING FOR KEEPS
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Act III
"Remember," the physician advised, "don't engage in anything too stressful if you plan on not coughing up blood again. Your fever has subsided, but your immune system is still a little out of sync. Drink tea before bedtime and take some of the remedy I've been giving you if you think you need it. Use your own discretion."
"I got it, I got it," Sora said, grinning and handing over his hospital gown. "I'll do whatever I can if it means I won't have to wear that rag again. Never have I felt so exposed . . ."
Goofy and Donald looked on delightedly. Sora had healed physically; after a week in the hospital ward, spent relaxing and being carefully monitored, his disposition also seemed to have been patched up. He hadn't been as energetic as this in months. He ate enough, slept enough, was easy to talk to—and best of all, he no longer ranted and raved about some half-baked conspiracy theory involving the Court, nonexistent letters from his friends, and an imaginary cloaked man.
"It was just a phase," Donald whispered to Goofy.
"Angst," Goofy whispered back.
Donald smirked. "Hormones."
"What are you two chattering about?" Sora said, crossing his arms and giving them both a stern look. "Aren't you supposed to be my escorts for a while? Your sweet nothings to one another are going to give me a headache at this rate."
"Yeah, we're your escorts," Donald said, refraining from a squawk. "We have your agenda planned out and everything."
"Lots of 'stay in bed and don't make any noise,' huh?" Sora said. "Sounds like this is going to be a lot of fun."
"It's not really like that," Goofy negated. "Since you've been resting for a while, we're going to the training grounds so you can do some stretching and low-impact stuff. You don't want your muscles to atrophy or nothing."
"Gwarsh," Sora quipped and laughed.
The three of them walking outside together reminded Sora of old times. They took the path that connected the castle with the training grounds; it passed through the countryside, and the escorts did not notice when Sora's pace faltered because the grass rustled all around them like hushed voices. His memories were still too fresh. At the crossroads some ways away right now, the hallucinatory shadow had accosted him one week ago. However, during daylight it wasn't so intimidating out here, he noticed happily. The grass wasn't too tall and it didn't cast shadows that resembled men. Clouds that blocked out the sun came and went quickly, so never did any webbed patches of light touch the ground. The conspiracy he had convinced himself of before his stay in the hospital ward was now a stranded, grotesque thing that looked silly in light of reality. Donald and Goofy had been right: a phase, angst, hormones, or whatever. It didn't matter now.
He was happy to be here on this planet and knew he'd get home eventually. First there was a war to fight against the Heartless, and he had to be prepared for anything. Some warm-ups would be great for his rusty joints. The physician told him he could easily pull a muscle if he decided to dive right back into his rigorous training, so this would be something of a stepping stone.
"You okay, Sora?" Goofy asked, looking back at him.
Sora flashed a victory sign and everything was okay . . .
. . . until he looked off into the countryside, expecting to see only endless waves of grass being buffeted by the breeze. There was a hill several meters to his left, and he immediately noticed the dark shape lurking atop its crest. He stopped walking.
"Sora?" Donald said, but his voice sounded so distant.
The shape was definitely humanlike. It had a head and a long, straight body hidden by a cloak that looked too heavy and hot for this sunny day; its two arms were slim, and one was lifted to reveal a hand poking out from the sleeve. Tapered, gloved fingers were beckoning for him.
"Postman," Sora whispered.
"What is it? We're almost to the training grounds."
This can't be happening.
After all the time he had spent in the hospital ward, picking apart his memories and pointing out every fallacy, traitorous reality was going to drop something like this into his lap? It was unacceptable. This morning he had woken up; he had looked in the mirror and had seen these bright, dynamic blue eyes that caught the light and threw it back. His aches were occasional, unpleasant pangs. Murderous rebellion didn't even exist in his vocabulary. The last three months of his year-long stay in Disney Kingdom had been hellish, and he refused to stand idly by if destiny wanted his remaining months here to be the same. There wasn't going to be any more unhappiness or anger or bitterness or depression or a fucking dark cloud hovering over him, spawned of guilt because he couldn't get off this godforsaken rock and go find his friends. He was needed for once, he was needed here to fight in the upcoming war, he was needed by the Kingdom to be the pillar of hope that Senator Axel had described.
In a flash of light the Key appeared in his hands. He went racing through the long stalks of grass toward the shadow.
"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO RUIN THIS FOR ME!" he screamed.
It took less than a glance to wreck the stability he had painstakingly forged after a week of convincing himself of many, many lies about his reality, though they had been beautiful, elysian lies.
Hello, uncompromising Truth. You bastard.
His friends called after him, but their voices were of no importance. All that mattered was the distance separating him from a shadowy delusion (a reality?!) that wanted to fuck things up. He brought the Key down and reaped grass as he went; a flare of green went into the air, marking his streaking path. Donald and Goofy ran after him, staff and shield readied, but not before Sora conjured his magic and turned the shadow's hilltop into an inferno.
Goofy grabbed him as he recoiled from the force of his attack.
"Let me go!" Sora shouted and struggled violently. "Let me go, Goofy! I saw him—I saw the postman! He's right over there! Didn't you see him?"
"Sora, Sora!" Donald said, clutching at Sora's legs to prevent him from thrashing too much. "There's no one here!"
It took one more forceful movement for Sora to break free. He jumped forward and interrupted the raging fire with a powerful blast of snow. Thick, harsh ice coated everything; it gleamed in the sunlight, revealing the ravaged landscape beneath its gloss. There was no one torched or frozen atop this hill. There was no indication someone had fled down the other side. They were alone.
"I know I saw . . ." Sora said, chipping at ice with the Key. He appeared so lost. "I saw the postman."
"There's no one up here," Donald repeated and approached first. "Goofy, let's get him back to the castle. He obviously hasn't had enough rest."
"I'm not going back to the castle," Sora said. "I'm going to find the postman and prove to everyone that I'm not crazy."
"You said yourself that you made all of it up!" Goofy cried, catching Sora's arm. "For the past week you told us that you were just going through a phase—"
"Angst!" Donald contributed.
"Hormones! Whatever it was—none of what you claimed to see was real, Sora. Please come back with us."
"No!"
Sora smacked Goofy's hand away and spun around, leveling the Key at his two escorts. His breathing quickened and his eyes narrowed against the shine of the glittery, icy ground. They weren't very far from the castle, but his screaming had thus far gone unheard by anyone over there. No reinforcements would arrive in time. Donald and Goofy moved closer together and lifted their weapons defensively, but the thought of actually fighting their friend never came to mind.
"I'm going to go look for the postman. You two can fuck off or something."
"We can't let you do that by yourself," Donald said.
Goofy nodded. "Yeah, we're supposed to keep an eye on you."
"Fine! Just don't get in my way!"
"No—you don't understand. We have to take you back . . . it's for your own good. You'll see."
"Stay away from me, you guys—I'm only gonna warn you once."
"Now! Get 'im, Goofy!"
They tried to detain Sora. They really tried.
Goofy took five steps before Sora simply lifted the Key, wound up, and embedded its length into Goofy's side (with the tines facing outward, away from any unprotected flank, but it still hurt like no hurt ever experienced before). Sora watched Goofy collapse, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he bashed the fallen escort's head with the Key once. Then twice. And then he kept doing it, and he was screaming and the darkness and rage was just pouring out of him like a faucet that wouldn't turn off. Donald tried a magical attack while Sora was distracted—it was an issue of life-and-death, and he was no good at fighting in hand-to-hand combat—but he wasn't quick enough. Sora looked up at the inbound fireball, leapt away from Goofy (who received the brunt of it), and countered with a vortex of flames that totally engulfed Donald, melting the ice where he collapsed.
"Roasted duck, anyone?" Sora said to no one, walking over to this severely burnt escort. As an afterthought, he stopped and planted the heel of his boot into Donald's smoldering, plumy chest. One or two ribs gave way. "I told you to fuck off. This is what you get."
He turned his back on the devastation, adrenaline thrilling him and darkness feeding off him, and slid down the icy hill. When ice met solid ground, he stumbled, fell, and rolled over once, but ended up on his feet.
Light, polite applause started up behind him. The shadow was standing at the base of the hill, contemplating him, its dark hands fluttering back and forth. Sora straightened, his breaths coming furiously again, and the Key was all too ready for another go.
"Bravo," said the low, lazy voice. "Bravo, I must say."
"Postman," Sora growled, "are you real?"
"What a foolish question," the shadow said, unimpressed.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"Doing what?"
"You know what! I'm not supposed to feel—like this—you're not supposed to be real!"
"Someone has been filling your head with lies," the shadow cooed.
What a familiar thing to say. Sora shut his eyes in one extra-long blink. "Go away. Just go away."
"Where are your manners?"
"Please go away."
"No."
"Why?"
"Manners—"
"May I know why?"
"I don't feel like going away."
"You—I—oh, shit . . ."
"Yes?"
"You're real."
"Yes."
"Where have you been?" Sora murmured, defeated.
"I've been around," the shadow said, motioning vaguely to the sky. "But I did get to see that splendid little show you put on just now. 'Roasted duck, anyone?' Indeed. I didn't think you had it in you to fatally wound your own friends."
"They'll live! I didn't—I just—they wouldn't leave me alone and I had to do something—I didn't think—but—"
"Well, if they're lucky, I'm sure they won't hemorrhage too much. You should take them to the hospital ward just to be sure."
"Fuck that—fuck this—and fuck you," Sora spat, unable to make excuses any longer. "All I want, all I really want, is for you to come back to the castle with me. Since you're real, that makes you my evidence."
"Are you going to take me there by force, your Majesty?" the shadow said bemusedly. "Huh, wait a minute . . . the Court is going to revoke your crown, isn't it? You've gone a bit nutty, so no one can really blame that decision."
"It doesn't matter! The Court will believe me if I bring you back."
"I can't go back with you."
"What do you mean?" Sora yelled. "Of course you can! Do your famous disappearing act afterward. I just want my sanity to be proven."
The shadow minded him with a curious tilt of its head. "I'm not going to go back there with you because I don't give a damn what the Court does or does not think."
"But you're here—"
"Why do you think I'm here?"
"I don't know!" Sora exploded, stomping on the ground. "To ruin my life! To make me look crazy! Obviously it isn't to help me out, asshole!"
"But it is to help you," the shadow said. "It really is. I'm here because you're ready to give it all."
"I'm—what?"
"Don't bother denying it. You're at the end of your rope—off the deep end—sunk up to your neck—going up the wall—bending over backwards. You're ready to give it all."
"You want to play your stupid card game?"
"Yes."
"Now? Of all times, you want to play right now?"
"That's why I'm here."
"You're crazier than I allegedly am," Sora muttered. "Forget it."
"This is not an option," the shadow said. "I likewise don't care if this particular time is an inconvenience for you. You're ready to give it all, and I'm here to honor my offer for that game. If you want me to 'forget it,' you forfeit any chance of having your precious letters returned to you; you forfeit any change of gaining the ability to return home before the Heartless rip it apart like before."
Sora battled with the ultimatum. If he walked away, the shadow would never appear before him again: a certain blessing, but the damage to peoples' perceptions of his sanity had already been done. Not to mention that Donald lied in an ashy smear of his own burnt feathers and Goofy was a bloody heap of flesh.
As he thought about it, he realized his assault on his escorts had been very much like a dream—cloudy and impersonal and washed-out. The absolute rage responsible for his actions, rage he had felt only minutes ago, he now could not fathom at all. He felt . . . hollow . . . even the . . . (he swallowed thickly) . . . even the frustration that he had been experiencing for so long was now replaced by emptiness. Every emotion had fled him, and he wondered with his remaining coherency—Am I going to faint?—if becoming hollow—unfeeling—was some sort of defensive technique in stressful situations. Feel nothing and you won't be hurt. There was no sadness, no regret, no fear, no anger, no guilt, no disappointment.
Gloved fingertips touched his brow and startled him from his internal inventory. The shadow leaned down and asked, "What is it going to be?"
"Let's do this," Sora said. "I just want to get this over with as soon as possible."
"Tabula rasa no more," the shadow said seriously, teasing Sora's untidy fringe. "Come along. We shan't play in broad daylight."
They walked further away from the castle, away from the icy hill and the two escorts in dire need of hospitalization, away from the Court sitting over lunch and wondering why their charge hadn't yet returned. Sora closed his eyes; the shadow's heavy presence was enough to guide him. He felt anemic, while the interminable countryside only discouraged his energy more so. Where could he possibly run to? There would be guards dispatched shortly to search for him, and they would find Donald and Goofy first—and what would that say about his sanity then? The tall grass tickled his legs and he wandered onward.
"Sit down."
"—Huh?"
What tall grass? Sora thought suddenly, and because that thought did not make any sense, he opened his eyes. There was no interminable countryside with tall grass and the smell of smoke. A beach lay before him, and its white sand was nearly blinding. Lying next to that was an ocean; the sunlight flashed off its rolling surface and made the occasional white-caps brighter than the sand. Overhead palm tree fronds immingled into an indistinct green blur to create nature's version of a reasonably shady umbrella. The hint of sky Sora could see past the fronds was a perfect summertime blue. They were someplace tropical. Fresh homesickness twisted up his insides, but that feeling soon deadened into the protective nothingness.
This place looks a lot like—
"No, these aren't the real Destiny Islands," the shadow said and seated itself on one of two wicker chairs nearby. "I'm only cruel aesthetically."
"Oh."
"So sit down."
Sora followed the order this time and cast another surreptitious look around. "Where are we?"
"We're inside a memory."
"Whose memory?"
"Yours. That's why everything is so well-known."
Waving its hand up and down, the shadow summoned a small wicker table with a flat glass top. A china tea set also clattered into existence. The shadow chose a saucer and a cup, and then slid the spares to Sora's side. The teapot was already wallowing in steam.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Er—no, thanks . . ."
"Don't mind if I do, then," the shadow said and picked up the teapot.
"How are you able to do this?" Sora said, leaning forward. "I mean, use my memories like this?"
"I can do anything I want to."
Sora scowled. "That's a lot for me to swallow."
"Then you'd better open wide," the shadow murmured as it took the first sip.
Gulls cried in the distance and the ocean splashed quietly. It was very peaceful here. For any number of violent and frightening memories Sora could think of, there would always be memories like these to create equilibrium. Over on the beach there was a sand castle elaborately decorated with sea shells, but it was a few minutes from being consumed by the ocean. Sora smiled at the inevitability of it.
Fate molests everything, he thought sourly.
"It does," the shadow said.
Sora sighed. "Are you reading my mind?"
"I'm doing something like that—while I'm here, you're as easy to read as an open book. Truthfully, our minds are connected on some primitive, unconscious level because that's where I found the blueprint for the world you see around you right now.
"That's—well—really amazing," Sora said.
"It is power," said the sipping shadow. "It is power that you can win, too."
"Hmm, really . . ."
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?
The shadow twitched. "That's enough."
"I was just checking!"
"As you said, let's do this," the shadow muttered. It set down the teacup, clapped its hands together, and then drew them apart to reveal a stack of especially elongated cards that were dimensionally like tarots. "Here are our cards."
A tingling sensation bled through Sora's head and down his spine. He reached over and the shadow allowed him to pick up a few of the topmost cards. The backs were covered in crisscrossing brown-orange lines and red fleurs-de-lis.
"These are . . ." Sora turned them over. The three cards he held had different pictures: Donald looking determined, Maleficent clenching bone-white fingers, and a silver crown attached to a keychain. Each card's surface was slick like virgin cards are and rather cool in comparison to the memory-island's balmy temperature. "What are these?"
"Like this place, these cards are also constructed from your memories. They represent a person, a place, or a thing. The object of this game is to make as many matches as you can with the cards," the shadow said, plucking the three cards from Sora's fingers. It shuffled them back into the deck and then selected two others: one of a windblown, desolate desert and the other of the fearsome Kurt Zisa. "These two cards are related, so they make a match—do you see?"
"Yeah . . . I fought Kurt Zisa in the desert," Sora said, remembering.
"Very good. Most of the cards have matches like this. Since these are representative of your memories, you should be able to play well. But it's your first time playing, so I'll help you out in case you make an improper match."
"How do you win?"
"Finally, a good question," the shadow said, its grin pale and enshrouded. "To win you must not lose. That's all."
Sora stared. "And how don't you lose?"
"There are 49 cards—"
"Why 49? If we're matching up the cards, why's there an odd number of them?"
"Don't interrupt me. There are 49 cards—you figure out the number's significance—so the greatest number of possible matches is 24. Those pairs will be dispersed between us, obviously. It doesn't matter who has the most matches in the end. What matters is whether or not you have the odd card out, the one that doesn't have a match."
"Which card is that?"
"You'll know when you see it. Anyway, cards are dealt to each player until the entire deck is exhausted. Players then match up whatever cards they can and discard those, leaving the cards they currently don't have a match for. They then take turns shuffling their remaining cards and holding them out face-down to the other player, who must select one card at random. If the other player has made a match, they discard it; otherwise it stays in their hand and they have a chance to be rid of it when the selecting process happens again. The player with the odd card is the loser."
"You could have said 'this is like Old Maid—not Go Fish,' you know," Sora said, smirking.
"Oh."
"You're inside my head and you didn't even check?"
The shadow sighed and began shuffling cards. "Also, if you're losing and you decide to fold, that's an automatic forfeiture—the opposing player wins. I'll deal."
Much to his relief, Sora was able to find several matches in his cards without trying too hard. Keychains and Keyblades went together naturally, as did persons like Belle and Beast, Aladdin and Jasmine, and so on. He discarded nine pairs, as did the shadow, to be left with six cards in his hand and seven in the shadow's.
He has an odd number of cards, Sora thought smugly. Though that doesn't guarantee me very much . . .
"Do you wish to pick first?" the shadow asked.
"Sure," Sora said.
The shadow shuffled its cards and then offered them. Sora took a card nearer the edge, because from the experience of playing this with Riku he knew that undesirable cards had a greater chance of ending up toward the middle. The card he chose had a picture of Yuffie holding a glowing shuriken; he grinned as he matched her with the Gunblade-wielding Leon.
"Good! That's a legal match," the shadow said. "Now it's my turn."
The shadow chose a nighttime shot of Neverland's clock tower and matched it with a card of the menacing Phantom that had haunted the property for a short time.
Sora picked Alice next and placed her card alongside the Cheshire's.
Goofy turned up for the shadow and was discarded with Donald.
There were three cards left in the shadow's hand. Sora looked at their indistinguishable backs and then the two cards he had left (smiling Kairi and the Gummi Ship in deep space). His odds of choosing the losing card were one-in-three. He mulled over fate and the shadow waited impassively. When he made his selection, he chose the middle card, and was pleased to discover a snapshot of himself lounging in the royal courtyard with an apple in hand.
He placed his card beside Kairi's and laid the match on the table.
The shadow coughed. Twice. Sharply.
Apparently—there was a problem.
"What?" Sora said incredulously when the cards appeared back in his hand automatically. "It isn't a legal match?"
"Mmm—I'm so sorry—no, it isn't."
No! That must mean Kairi is the "Old Maid" in this desk! Sora thought, nervously shuffling his cards for the shadow's turn to pick. I've got to get rid of her card. There are only a few more rounds left.
He trembled a little when he held out his final three cards.
"Don't worry, Sora," the shadow said, taking a card on its far left. "Everything will work out just fine one way or another."
Sora turned over his cards hurriedly.
Oh, thank God.
The odd card—Kairi—was missing from his hand. There was only his card and the Gummi Ship's left. He had never felt so relieved; even the all-consuming apathy he had been fraught with dissolved into a refreshing imperturbability. Grinning, he fingered the corners of his cards and glanced up, expecting to see the shadow's cramped horror at picking the odd card again—of all the luck! Plans to humiliate the shadow after its loss were already in the making. When his victory was unarguable, he would stand up and laugh until his sides split and the shadow would stew and have to fork over the letters . . .
"Oh," the shadow murmured, "thank God."
Sora's heart skipped a beat or five.
A pair fell onto the table: Kairi and Riku.
"No."
"Yes," the shadow said and held out its final card—still face-down.
"No!" Sora insisted. "That can't be a legal match, Postman!"
"Of course it is."
"It can't—"
"Your turn."
"It just—"
"Do you want to forfeit? I win if you do that. It'll make it easier on me."
"I lost anyway, don't I? No matter which card makes a pair . . ."
"Just take the damn card."
Sora shook his head. His prayers had not reached far enough.
The final card featured grizzly old Cid, and he naturally went with the Gummi Ship.
"You're the Old Maid," the shadow said, pleased. It pushed the paired cards into a pile and straightened them out into the neat stack they were before. "I thought you were going to realize that you'll always be alone—and so your card is the odd one out—but I guess you were more overconfident than I was told."
"I'm not—"
"Glory to the defeated," the shadow intoned, "and glory to the victor."
"But wasn't—" Sora said, fighting to speak around the lump in his throat. "But wasn't this just a warm-up?"
The shadow stopped moving. "No, it wasn't."
"I was just getting used to the rules!"
"So says the one kid mocked me for not checking to see if you knew the rules of Old Maid first," the shadow said, sneering.
"Best two out of three?"
"No."
"Can't we try something else first? Rock, paper, scissors?"
"No."
"Heads, I win; tails, you lose?"
"That might work on Goofy."
"Come on!"
"No," the shadow said and plucked the odd card from Sora's fingers. "And now I may collect my prize."
"My . . ." Sora's mouth was dry. "My memories . . ."
"Memory. Singular. The stakes are no higher than one-to-one."
"Please—"
"No."
"Please, please—"
"No."
"I—"
"Stop your fucking whining!" the shadow snarled. "You agreed to play my game. I forced you into nothing. Don't try to be the victim."
And then Sora's head lolled back and he was gone.
here is the lonely birthday lunchtime i spend reminiscing and eating delicious food and there are presents for me but I'm only allowed to open one so i choose donald and goofy's and goofy hands me my present and claps his hand on my shoulders and leans down and i can just sense his excitement when he says "here is your present" so i take my present and i open my present and inside it is a polished brass crown that looks too severe against all the pretty dark crushed velvet and i look up and i wonder aloud about this present and goofy exclaims "it's your birthday present" loudly in my ear and i am confused because who would want me to be king i remember riku saying i would make a lousy king but the day is all a blur a beautiful blur of color and that night i am treated to fireworks and they are lovely and scary and so loud and i am introduced to the people who orchestrated my becoming king without asking me first and there is one guy his name is senator axel and he has brilliant green eyes like a cat's and his smile is like a knife and he calls me hope personified and i think he's crazy but he doesn't know that nonetheless my inauguration will be next week and he promises to be there because he is one of my biggest fans and wouldn't miss it for all the world i will lead the people because i am their savior as long as mickey isn't around sometimes i get so tired of all the pomp and circumstance and i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home i just want to go home please please PLEASE
"Wake up!"
Sora opened his eyes. He didn't remember closing them. The palm fronds waved down at him. He was slumped over his wicker chair, head tilted way back. "What . . . what happened?"
The shadow shook its head and poured another cup of tea. "You suddenly went comatose. I thought you were having a seizure, but you didn't provide the creative floor entertainment I was hoping for."
i just want to go home
"I feel weird," Sora said and held up at his hands. There was nothing visibly amiss, but his skin felt strangely tight—as though he had outgrown it, and so it needed to be molted. "What are you doing to me?"
please
"I have claimed my prize," the shadow said, nonchalant.
Sora looked over and said slowly, "You took a memory?"
"Yes, so you can rest assured: I did not pilfer any of your internal organs instead."
"But you really took a memory?"
The shadow sighed and sipped its tea.
"Which memory did you take?"
Sip.
"Your last birthday."
Sip.
"I . . . I don't—don't remember it," Sora said quietly.
Sip. The shadow grinned behind the rim of its cup.
". . . Oh. Of course. . . . Shit."
"This tea is rather good for coming from memory. My compliments."
A hysterical note crept into Sora's voice. "I really don't remember any of it!"
"That is the point of having one of your memories taken away. Honestly. We're playing for keeps—didn't you know?"
"Can't we play another round?" he said pleadingly. "Right now! Let's play another round. I want to win back that memory."
"You've already lost it. I thought you wanted the letters and the ability to return home, seeing as that's what you originally agreed to play for."
"I did, but . . . but I want my memories to be intact too."
"How selfish," the shadow mumbled, pondering. "For this next round, I'll cater to your wish—but after that you will not know me by my mercy. However, before we start again, I must remove my cloak. Leather is much too stifling for a climate such as this."
The cloak's bulky silver zipper growled all the way down. Shrugging out of its leather confines, the shadow revealed itself to be undeniably human: its body was lean and strong, a young man's body, and he wore rich, draping clothes of royal purples and blues. The mysterious hood slid down anti-climatically to reveal that the man had disheveled auburn hair, pale skin, and bright green eyes. He plucked off his gloves—his fingers were long and bony—and laid them on the table beside the cards.
"So you're really not a Heartless," Sora said, squinting.
"A Heartless would never exercise the wonderful fashion sense I am blessed with," the shadow cum man said and rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm not a fucking Heartless!"
"I don't want to keep calling you 'Postman' or 'asshole,' so . . ."
"My name is Axel," the man said. "Commit it to memory—or what memory you have left, anyway."
PLEASE
"I—I know you!"
"Excuse me?" Axel said, elegantly arching an eyebrow.
Sora pointed at him with wide eyes. "I know you!"
"Don't be an idiot."
"I do! I know you . . . I don't remember knowing you, but I know you!"
"That's fascinatingly complex," Axel muttered, wiping sweat from neck and forehead with a fancy indigo handkerchief taken from his vest pocket. "I should have chosen a colder memory. The humidity is so high here."
"You took the memory of yourself, didn't you?!" Sora yelled.
"Sit down. You're acting like a nutcase. I already told you which memory I took."
Slowly, Sora settled back onto the wicker chair with a frown. "Yeah . . ."
Axel sipped his tea and grimaced. "Blech! That figures, too. It's getting lukewarm already."