Sol's Notes: Please be warned that this is a crack ficlet in the purest sense of the word—take none of it seriously. It was also part of a writing challenge: "A character of the writer's choice is forced to wear something that they would never wear in public/be embarrassed to be seen in, but have secretly always wanted? And other characters see this, all expressing their own views, and so forth."
As well, for all intents and purposes in this story, Axel and Demyx are alive and aided in the downfall of the Organization, and people from different worlds can effectively co-mingle.
.X.
"Why?" Axel demanded, and there was a very distinct undercurrent of threat in his tone that promised imminent pain for somebody. "Why me?"
"It's not just you." This came from Sora, leaning against a cherry-wood wardrobe in the far corner of the room. His eyes met Axel's in the mirror, and Axel could tell how very hard Sora was working on suppressing a grin. The bearer of the Keyblade went on in a tone that would have been placating had it not been for the quiver of mirth lying beneath, "We all have to dress up for this, you know."
The redheaded former member of the now defunct Organization didn't deign to reply, instead giving his reflection a particularly venomous glare. The entirety of his lean, rangy body was swathed in what the court tailor—who apparently even fitted the King upon occasion—deemed finery. To Axel it seemed nothing more than an abundance of cloth that was far too loose in some places and far too tight in others. A shirt of emerald silk with a neckline that would have looked more appropriate on a woman of considerable bust spilled ruffles all down his chest; the sleeves were huge, drooping and also ruffled. And as if the affront of ruffles wasn't enough, he'd been coerced into wearing tan breeches of some kind of fine kidskin that hugged his legs like a second skin. A heavy silk cloak with a tall wide collar was draped over both his shoulders and fell to mid-thigh, clasping about his neck with a thick silver chain. The only part of the ensemble he didn't mind were the boots—knee length with a riding heel, polished to a fine black shine.
He said unhappily, "I look like a pansy."
There was a muffled snort from the other corner of the room; Demyx, similarly attired in hues of grey and blue but for some reason looking more dashing than foppish, was smirking openly. "You look fine," he told his comrade, striding forth to stand beside Axel in front of the mirror. "The green stands out nice with your hair—by the way, are you going to be doing something with it …?" He lifted his hands to touch the mass of very red layered spikes rising from Axel's head, but when Axel growled low in his throat he hastily withdrew his touch. He went on, "You look … kind of royal, actually."
Axel eyed himself in the mirror. True, the clothes did lend him a regal air … he propped one hand on his hip and angled himself only the slightest bit, noting the way the silk of the shirt caught the light as he did so.
At his side, Demyx said with a giggle, "And besides, certain parts of your anatomy are, ummm …?"
"Shut up!" Axel snarled, and his dour mood returned full force. Making a concentrated effort not to shield his groin from view, he whirled around and jerked the cloak from his shoulders, letting it fall into a crumpled heap on the ground. "I," he almost shouted, growing even angrier when he noted that Sora was curled into a small ball on the floor, convulsing with suppressed mirth, "Am. Not. Wearing. This!"
"Axel, you have to!" Demyx said, and managed to duck just in time to avoid the wadded up ball of the green silk shirt.
The redheaded man wasn't listening, having wrenched open the doors to the wardrobe and begun rifling violently through it. After several minutes of ripping other offensive articles of clothing from their hangers and throwing them over his shoulder, he made a final, triumphant noise and held up his prize. "This," he said, leaning close to Demyx and prodding him in the chest with one finger, "is what I'm going to wear. It's all I'm ever going to wear, from this point on."
Demyx shook his head as Axel turned away and began donning the old familiar black robe both of them had worn in darker days of their lives. "But the King—"
"Will have to accept the fact that while we may now be allies, it does not mean I will wear ruffles to every Kingdom event. Or silk. Or any of this other crap."
"You looked good," Sora offered in a voice made weak by laughter from his position on the floor.
"Shut up."
"Axel—" Demyx started, running a hand through his sandy brown hair arranged as it always was in a sort of semi-mohawk.
"You shut up, too. This discussion is over. I'd rather wear a dress than wear those."
This suggestion gave Sora cause to start laughing again, though a glare from Axel in his direction made him stifle the sniggering with one hand. A bell tolled from somewhere in the castle, signalling the reunification banquet—a dinner the King had arranged so that representatives from all worlds could come together in discussion and learning in these new times of peace—was about to begin. Garbed once more in the dark ankle length robe he'd come to regard as "comfy", Axel turned and with narrowed eyes looked from Sora to Demyx.
"Well?" He snapped. Sora got to his feet and didn't bother to staunch his quiet laughter as he left the room. Demyx followed, his own grin almost impossibly wide. Axel left the room after them, taking care as he did so to deliberately tread on every piece of the previous outfit he had been wearing. He may have helped to defeat his fellow Nobodies, and he may have helped to bring about the fall of Organization XIII, but hell would freeze over before he ever wore something like that out in public.
Although, he mused as he sauntered down the hall, he didn't look that bad in green.
.X.