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Spell Check
004 . Spilled Milk
(xxxxx)
After mentally wincing at Larxene's piercing screeches which screamed their own sorrowful brand of agony, Axel retreated (fled) to the kitchen. It was relatively warm (sometimes – when Vexen the Ice Princess wasn't there) and spacious (at least the dining area was) – and it had food. That fact alone made it Axel's second-favourite room, only one behind Roxas's. Even the semi-undead craved meat from time to time. For Pete's sake, they weren't vampires (though Xemnas would probably second that).
Having warped to the dining room to try and evade any instant suspicion from his female counterpart (it was doubtless she'd try Roxas's room first to find him – if she even was going to go on such a treacherous search for such a treacherous, treacherous man), he walked past the almost courtly rectangular table and into the cooking area. There was a simpler (and much smaller) table set up rather distastefully in the corner, used for sitting down when waiting on food or just for the sole reason of existing. Sometimes the Organization unconsciously clung to solid possessions and gathered up as much as they could, just to feel their presence (as they had none but the eerie aura of void surrounding them). They were materialistic in that way, and a guilty materialism it was, but you couldn't blame them. If they failed at collecting hearts, then they might as well pile up garage sale junk or expensive merchandise. For example, Demyx and his collection of old Elvis Presley albums. In Axel's opinion, they were crap, crap, crap, but to each their own, he guessed.
At that time the table was occupied by Xigbar, Xaldin, and Lexaeus, all cramped up on one curve of the round table. The Sharpshooter's legs were propped up on the furniture and taking up more room than necessary (though his slight frame was at least condensed). It was an act Demyx would probably scold him for, as who wanted dirty boots on a table you ate on? Nevertheless, rule patrol was not there, and Xigbar went on polishing his gun and cocking it experimentally, occasionally jabbing its butt into Xaldin's back that didn't appear all too unintentional. From time to time he'd pick up a half-eaten pickle and gnaw on it, piss yellow juice dribbling down his mottled jawbone as he did so.
Xaldin was turned away from the spray of dill-flavoured liquid, bent slightly over a piece of paper littered with gridlines and dappled with X's and O's. He was apparently idly playing the game with Lexaeus, the cinnamon hair-coloured man, who seemed vaguely amused by it and stared at the table raptly. Axel had heard that Xaldin also played Go Fish – he wondered if it was some sort of inner-kid in him. Even so, he caught Lexaeus's eyes wandering, two bulbous things that dragged instead of rolled. He knew he didn't have enough brains to pay attention to even the simplest of games, after all.
"Hello, men," The pyro rumbled in a cheerful greet that veiled his derisiveness, turning towards the refrigerator. It opened with a satisfying pulling sensation, its resistance giving into Axel's touch. His hand reached out for the carton of milk, hesitated, and reconsidered. Instead he chose a can of Nozz-A-La™ on the shelf beneath it, cracked it open, and guzzled it down.¤
"OMG, Xigbar is a pickle." Lexaeus half snickered and half giggled, naturally oblivious to the younger Organization member's entrance and too absorbed in the Wonderful World of Lexaeus and Pickled Cucumbers.
"Your mother was a pickle," Xigbar timely retorted.
There was an audible sniff from behind Axel. "You meanie. Don't talk about my mother in that way!"
Xaldin, who had ultimately ignored their argument from the beginning, drawled on without looking up from the tic-tac-toe board. "Hello, Axel. Why don't you have any pants on."
Before anyone else could react, Xigbar (who did have an advantage over the rest of them because of his skill in manipulation of gravity) turned around in his chair which made an ear-trembling squeeeak across the metallic floor. "Holy mother of Christ! Are those my boxers?" Apparently his age hadn't filed his physical vigilance down that much, but it sure had a negative effect on his brain. He's going senile, Axel thought, though knew the truth: Xigbar had been a little off his rocker since he'd come to the Organization as its second member. They all knew that he went commando, honestly. Why would he care for flame, anyway? That was clearly Axel's trademark.
"Oh. Right." Axel simply stood there in all his stripped glory before letting his lips curve into a slight smile. "Excuse me one moment." Luckily he had snatched his clothing in the nick of time on the way out of Luxord's room before Larxene's clawed fingers could scathe any one of his appendages and restrain him. They were casually swung over his shoulder, a drooping mass of black. Technically, running around in your under drawers was not not allowed (since Xemnas committed this sin frequently), but if he had been seen by anyone less apathetic, they'd begin to wonder.
It was like playing Super Smash Bros. Melee too loudly – some ignored you, others told.
Axel quickly stepped into his pants, pulled on his shirt (causing his tomato red hair to flip back as he did so), and zipped up his cloak. The Nobodies at the table half-watched this solitary procession boredly. Xigbar had torn off another hunk off of his tubular pickle with his curiously sharp, curiously vicious, yellowed teeth.
"I see you've been having fun with Luxord." Came Xaldin's dry voice from behind when he was done dressing; though 'fun' was accentuated to be gratingly suggestive.
"I always have fun with Luxord."
"As if!" Xigbar verbally sneered, swinging his torso back around to glare ahead at the adjoining dinning room with his solitary glinting amber iris bright with irrational, pseudo anger.
"A little jealousy, I hear?" Inquired Axel, keeping the upbeat tone of light joking in his voice.
"You're such an ass sometimes, Axel," Xaldin commented, finally lifting his eyes from the table. His hardened gaze focused on the slim redhead, who only shrugged in return. He turned back to the refrigerator, which was still ajar and spilling light (Light, so rare in an in-between world of nothingness, he idly mused) out across the floor in a slab of yellow, and grabbed a small plate with a limp thing that resembled a leftover stuffed potato on it. It, being the mutilated vegetable, was probably Zexion's. He'd rather eat rabbit food as opposed to meat. This concept of vegetarianism would have puzzled Axel if he had been in a more contemplative mood, but for now he was technically just an emotionless blob.
He carried it back to the table, balancing it with only one hand supporting the rim, and sat down on the opposite side of where the three older men were sitting. Dropping the plate with a resounding clatter onto the table, he proceeded on picking out the slimy chunks of cottage cheese from the strange, cool mixture of mashed potato, onion, butter, and cheese. The separating process went on while his elongated jawbone rested in his palm, elbow jutting out on the table, feigning boredom. Just looking at the spiky-haired male made the others slow down in what they were doing, lacking energy. The dismal atmosphere dragged on until Axel lazily flicked a globule of soured cheese at Xigbar and landed on his cheek with a quiet (yet abrupt) splat. This caused Number Two to start, mouth twisted into a growl as the particle slipped off and left a smear of off-white residue in its place. He began to reach for his gun when Xaldin put an interjecting hand on it to lower the machine back down, and Xigbar grumbled something about having to clean that new grease spot up and whipped out his near-soiled cloth and began to work furiously on polishing it.
Now there were enough pieces of cottage cheese scattered around the other side of the table that Lexaeus took notice of them. Instead of simply flinging them across the three foot distance of the table's diameter, he insisted on using his brute strength and slapping them. Axel's pallid face was soon dappled by lighter coloured specks like grotesquely oversized whiteheads that had popped up in the amazing time of less than a minute.
Finally, when they had advanced onto green onion slices that were too thin to launch as catapult artillery, Axel took the advantage and piped up. "From what I gather, you men are bored.
"How about a little spelling bee to pass the time, eh?"
"A spelling bee? What's that?" Lexaeus asked, pulled in with interest.
"It's like a competition, where you try to spell a word correctly. Here, I'll give you one –"
"Yeah, yeah," Xigbar interjected. "What's the catch?"
Axel, who had been leaning across the table with his hand splayed out in a gesture of demonstration, closed it into a fist at Xigbar's abrasive intonation. He switched his violent green eyes to the gunslinger, a weary expression masking his visage. "Well, you see, this week I have dishwashing duty . . ."
The trio, who knew Axel avoided water like the plague, nodded intelligibly.
"So basically, we wash the dirty dishes if we lose." Xaldin summarized.
"Correct."
"What's in it for us?" Xigbar spoke up again.
"Well, I know for a fact that you, Lexaeus, and Xaldin have dishwashing duty the following weeks. I'll do all of the batches if I lose." With his rationality and careful level-headed reasoning, Axel was convincing – even persuasive. He turned back to Lexaeus, lifting his brows. "Ready for the word, Lex?" A master teaching its puppy to beg for a treat.
He made it a show to crack his knuckles, miniature fireworks exploding from the intimidating action. "Sure."
"Okay, then. Spell 'Deoxyribonucleic acid.'"
"D . . ." Lexaeus hesitated momentarily, then picked back up. "E – O – X – Y – R – I – B – O – N – U – C – L – E – I – C – A – C – I – D. That wasn't really one word, Axel."
The table – all except Xaldin – seemed stunned that Lexaeus had gotten a word (or two) right. The small giant of a man insisted that he remembered having to memorize it in the 10th grade. And yet you didn't know what a spelling bee was, Axel thought, and mentally shook his head.
Xigbar didn't seem pleased.
"Screw you and the horse you rode on."
Lexaeus stared at him blankly. "But I didn't ride on any horse, Xigbar."
"Fuck you, then!"
Following soon thereafter, Xigbar was asked how to spell 'floccinaucinihilipilification' by Xaldin and got tongue-tied with all the i's. "It's like spelling Mississippi or something, you know?"
The man with his hair strung back in a ponytail folded his bony arms over his chest and blinked at Axel in finality. "I'll make you spell a word. I tell you, this'll knock your socks off. Man, can I guar-an-tee it."
"All right – shoot."
"'Neuroendocrinology.'"
Axel spelled it; Xigbar cursed.
"Now Xigbar, we don't need any of that." Axel gave him a winning smile that told the opposite of what he thought and said. Xigbar was neither flattered nor amused – he settled back with grumbles issuing from his raspy larynx.
However, he could not hold back complaint. "Really, since when did you study anatomy?"
"In less time than you have, old man."
Of course, the pyro hadn't meant it in an insulting way, but it got the same reaction out of Xigbar as it would have if Axel had called him a 'shithead' or a 'fag.' Riled up, the gunman hiked up his weapon, jabbing it in the air as a gesture familiar to a soundless war cry, and then positioned it so that it was pointing directly at the younger Organization member. His one eye was rolling in its socket, a madman's sheen covering it, and his mouth was twisted into a comical snarl.
"Mister, we deal in lead!"
Lexaeus blinked, unperturbed by the battle-to-commence and only focusing on the small detail of what ammo Xigbar's gun carried. "Xiggy has lead bullets?"
"No, but they'll sure FEEL like lead for a certain dude named Axel!" He yelled hoarsely, perfecting his aim. With a gentle squeeze of the trigger, a slug unique to the firearm (and one that wasn't lead) burst out from the barrel and hit Axel in his right eye. It ricocheted off as foam ammunition would and bounced into his lap. He blinked his slowly reddening eye.
"Ow."
"Oh really Axel, you're such a baby." Feminine vocals graced his ears in a moment of pain. Perhaps he was dead – really dead, this time – wasn't that when the angels sung to you? But when Axel lifted his eyes, there Larxene came, gliding in and heading towards the fridge.
"Oh, right. Angels don't get fat." He muttered aloud, then rubbed his face with the crook of his elbow and ducked his head as another bullet was fired in his direction.
"Excuse me?" She blurted, and then yelled over another gunshot that only imploded within the chamber of the oversized machine as she held up her palms in retreat. "Xigbar, please! Hold fire!"
Another grumble. "Sorry, pumpkin."
She shot him a blue-eyed glare, as brilliant as the sky outside, perhaps (he didn't know – he hadn't been outside in a while), and then returned them to Axel.
"It was brave to run away like that, if I do say so myself." Ah – so apparently she kept grudges? Well, of course she did. She was female, whether they in the Organization could accept that or not. For most it was difficult to: Larxene spent more time killing people than, say, writing in diaries and watching soap operas. Instead of painting her nails with polish, she splattered them with blood. Okay, a little over-exaggerated, but there was still a grain of truth in that legend. She was savage – her title even said so.
Such a quip would surely give him kunai to stick politely out of his nose, but he risked it anyway. "No, I'm saying so, too."
"Hmph."
She had taken out the carton of milk from the refrigerator. The blonde cradled it against her chest, taking dainty strides towards his chair. She seemed to disappear behind it. Axel didn't mind. He only minded the fact that she hadn't taken a glass with her.
"You know, Axel, I had the grandest time trying to convince Luxord that I was too tired to continue playing with him."
Though she couldn't see, Axel smirked a little. The thought of Luxord first being put up and then being let down amused him.
"You're the one who wanted to play with him in the first place."
"So that you –" She breathed in sharply, suddenly, as if there was a stab of pain to her words. Not inflicting, but self-inflicting. "No. Why should I even waste my breath on you."
"'Cause you love me so much."
It was almost as if he could actually feel her frown behind him. If he were to reach back and out, he could trace the slanted line of her pale lips and know that she was displeased with him.
Pointedly, Xigbar said in a parody of a chiding manner: "Wrong answer."
A cataract of dairy milk was slowly poured onto his fiery red hair, seeming to douse the flames. Larxene emptied the rest of the bottle onto the pyro, smiling all the while. And Axel just sat there, taking the torture as if he couldn't believe it. I got him, she was probably thinking. I finally got him.
That was, until a drenched ball of fluff exited the carton's top and tumbled into Axel's flattening hair. Then Larxene screeched.
A mouse. I'll be damned; she's afraid of mice!
Of course, it wasn't a mouse but a hamster. Roxas's, to be exact. Axel didn't have to look at the squeaking, scurrying rodent in his hair to know it was Chigger. Not long after the tan-and-white creature showed itself in a very unlikely fashion, Larxene summoned up a portal and left.
Now who's the coward?
The incessant stifled shrieking of Chigger was joined by Xigbar's snickering. Axel finally worked up enough sense to narrow his flaring emerald eyes at him.
"I think you need to try a different approach, man."
Milk dripped from Number VIII's hair. He remained silent and almost contemplative, though his face gave away no expression. It looked nearly like wax, dribbling under a candle's flame. Literally. His tongue flickered out as a snake's would and licked a smear of cream off the side of his mouth. He grimaced. Sour.
"I'm going to kill this mouse." Was all he could say, and Lexaeus magically returned from whatever daydream he had been lost in during the disastrous confrontation and spoke up, though in monotone.
"I'm bored." He lifted his arm from the elbow and smashed it back down with colossal force onto the table, forming a visible crease in the wood. Plates clattered and papers and pens flew.
Xaldin winced.
Axel raised his hand and reluctantly snatched the rounded hamster within his grasp, inwardly mourning his hair . . . and perhaps his ego. Though he put on a façade of stern calmness, he was obviously peeved. Sometimes the silence before the storm foretold the most danger – it definitely held enough potential for hostility.
Standing up, Axel conjured a portal similar to Larxene's . . . though it obviously led to somewhere else.
Axel had bigger fish to fry.
Well, actually, smaller.
He glanced down at the hamster in his palm and smiled faintly.
(xxx)
After he had gone, the three men looked at each other expectantly.
"So . . . who gets dishwashing duty?"
"Very funny, Xaldin."
Lexaeus blinked. "I like bubbles."
They both looked at him, and then quickly got up.
"Well, that decides things."
"Okay then, we'll leave you to it."
Xaldin slapped Lexaeus on the shoulder good-naturedly. "Bye."
"Have a blast!" Xigbar called over his shoulder, almost cackling.
When the two men were gone, Lexaeus's face fell into a frown.
"But not dirty bubbles."
This was going to be a long night.
A u t h 0 r ' s eND N 0 t e
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¤ You win if you understood that reference.
OMG I'M AN ANIMAL ABUSER LOL. Poor Chigger. ( No, I love animals. I'm just good at misusing them. Purely in fanfics. )
Thanks for your help on the words, guys. :D Feel free to suggest more any time. Gosh, don't you hate the English language? -whips the dictionary.-
I can't seem to decide if this should have more crack or be more serious. Hum. I blame my ever-changing moods. Oh, and I ( think ) I apologize that this was so short compared to the previous chapter. I don't know – if I recall correctly, I had a rare burst of inspiration while writing that one. Unfortunately, it seemed to have escaped me.