What We Do: Chapter 4
Marluxia swilled the wine in the glass before downing about half of it in one mouthful. Zexion just looked on reprovingly.
"You're lucky I had a bottle. I don't normally drink alcohol."
"This isn't as easy as it used to be," the assassin explained. "Portaling takes a lot of concentration and strength. And I've never done it with two people before."
"So please remind me once again why you're getting yourself drunk?"
"One glass isn't going to get me intoxicated," Marluxia sent a blue glare over the rim of the glass. He took another sip to finish the rest. "And it's just to.help me focus, is all." He wasn't going to tell Zexion how nerve-wracking this was for him. It was like the darkness, already rebellious and careless with their hollow bodies as Nobodies, had grown teeth and layers of chloroform-slick walls. One step in the wrong direction and he could be lost to it forever, this mere mortal all of a sudden. Zexion just didn't understand yet, what it was like to not be in control of that vast expanse of nothing.
Besideshe had been trapped in the darkness for an extended period of time. All of them had, he assumed. As they parted from their bodies, shattered upon the arena at Never Was, they had no place else to go. Marluxia remembered very clearly his consciousness suspended in the black swirling viscera of darkness, protrusions running over where his body should have been, every phantom touch running through him, as if re-building nerves and flesh where they had been reamed from existence. Had darkness saved him, or had it only cushioned his fall? For after an eternity in that chamber (he never really cared to count for himself how long it had actually been-at that point, all he knew was that he was dead. And all he could do was replay his life before him again and again), he suddenly opened his eyes and there had been light.
"If you're quite finished, I'd like to go." Zexion took the glass from Marluxia's hand and immediately went to the sink to wash it, no matter they may have been leaving this world behind for good. If the dishes weren't properly clean, that wouldn't have been acceptable, apparently.
Marluxia watched him, eyeing the bag on the counter that Zexion had packed for himself. Perhaps he had brought some food, a book or two, and a change of clothes. How quaint. "You knowI feel as though I should remind you."
"Hmm?"
"This is going to be dangerousand the worlds we were sent to I imagine were quite random in manner."
"Your point?"
"Zexion," Marluxia bit his lip and glanced out the window to try and compensate for the terrible feeling he was developing inside. "You know, we may not find him. Either of them, really. There is a chance that they are dead already."
The schemer looked up from the sink, as if every fiber of his being had been offended by that statement. "Shut up."
"I've been to worlds without air, you know. Worlds without ground where all there is to do is fall for eternity"
Lexaeus always hated heights "Don't say that," Zexion snapped, almost slamming the washed and dried glass into the cupboard too harshly. "Your rambling doesn't help the situation at all. If you think your speculations change anything, then you've been misled. Let's just go." Three years without hope and he was not about to let Marluxia dash it all to pieces again. It was not his place.
"As you wish," Marluxia sighed, pulling the shard from the chord around his neck and placing it in his palm. "Come here, then. You're going to need to hold onto me and not let go."
Well, this will be awkward, Zexion thought to himself. With his mouth forming a pinched line, he grabbed his bag off the kitchen counter and stood in front of the taller man. How was he supposed to 'hold onto' him? Hug him around the waist? Take his hand?
Marluxia was thinking the same thing. Neither wanted to get close to the other, so there was a slight uncomfortable shuffling that lasted a little too long before Zexion linked one arm through Marluxia's.
"Ready?"
"Do I need to hold my breath or something for this?"
"No," he answered. "Just don't let go of me. You'll be lost in the darkness andpowers, Lexaeus would kill me if I let that happen."
Lost in the darkness? A less than pleasant thought. He wanted to open his mouth with a threat, but all of a sudden, the scythe shard seemed to eviscerate darkness. It bloomed in the atmosphere around them, like ink in still water, before engulfing them, and by then it was too late for anything. There was a rushing in his ears that would have drown out any words should he have tried to speak them.
All at once, Zexion realized why Marluxia had needed a glass of wine. Everything was spinning, drawing its soul-licking snare within a breath of him. Claustrophobic, he didn't notice he was trying to draw closer until he nearly stepped on Marluxia's feet. To try and ground himself, he glanced up at the man (or what he could still see of him in this swirling world) and realized that any moment, he could push him awayand Zexion would be lost forever.
How was it that he was forced to be relying on this man? This cruel, inhumanly narcissistic beast with a pretty face and a flattering smile. Seeping from him were the memories of what had happened three years ago, all the worst things that this man had been at the core of. And soon he wasn't standing in the black abyss of nothingness, but he was surrounded by white walls. When he looked up from the tiled floor, he was suddenly in a dream.
There was something strange happening in Castle Oblivion. A bad taste was left lingering in my mouth, even a few days after the Lord of the Castle had asked me to join him for tea. 'Leader to leader,' he had said, and it showed in the tightness of his mouth how it pained him to say it. It was the wise thing to do, however-acknowledging that I held the loyalty of half the members of the Castle just proved that he wasn't as conceited of an idiot as he appeared to be.
Still, the invitation had irked me. Dots of ink scrambled from my vision across caramel paper and book strings to further prove the point.
Little Jack Horner sat in his corner
If I only could be convinced that this wasn't some sort of trap or ploy, I might have been more settled. It wasn't as if I was being asked to see him in his chambers or in any place private. I was being asked to the drawing room. For tea.
eating his Christmas pie
Nine hours after telling Lexaeus to wait up for me, I felt guilty. But he really should wait up
he put in his thumb
When I entered the drawing room, I could already smell something was amiss. It was scented with velvet, crisp and fearful. Run your hand along it one way, it flattens and smooths; run your hand backwards, however, and it bristles.
and pulled out a plumb
There was one light in the room-a circular frame to a scene that I would never forget. In a simple, clean still-life, Marluxia sat in a chair, waiting, his eyes already regarding me with a luminescent triumph. And there was a strange kind of table before him, too. I couldn't quite figure out what it was, at first, no matter how I tilted my head. Ah, but that was until it started to move.
And said, "Welcome, Number Six. It is such a pleasure to have you with us."
Still framed in the doorway, I was too far away to really determine what it was that had been confusing me so. It was just that element of displacement; something was amiss in the room. Like a volume that had been stacked upside-down on the bookshelf of one thousand books.
Horror was my first reaction when the table-or at least, the topmost part of it-gave a jerk and a pathetic cat's-whine. Oh, but it was then revealed that it wasn't a table at all; it was a man. Naked and bound on his stomach across a granite countertop lay the man I had least expected to see there in a display akin to an erotic sacrifice. His hair veiled his down-turned, shamed face-for this, I was glad. I don't think I could have stood there one more second if I had seen his face-but there was no mistaking the bony angles that pressed unwillingly against the bonds that held him. He was gagged; the strangled noises that failed to form words attested to this.
"Do you like it?" Marluxia noticed my staring. "Number Four usually adores these types of games. But I don't think he was expecting company today, were you, my lovely?"
Vexen moaned and then thrashed, but was silenced as a brutal hand grabbed a golden lock of hair and pulled. Oh, and Marluxia simply chuckled like he had just told an exceptionally clever joke.
"Please, please come in, Number Six," the Lord of Castle Oblivion beckoned, ushering me to sit before him. Compassion had never seemed like such a void emotion until that moment when I followed without a word.
I remember almost being able to ignore the living table of flesh between us-it shivered and flinched and sometimes sobbed quietly, but Marluxia's eyes held mine, daring me to say anything to the effect.
"I believe I promised you tea, didn't I?" He said conversationally, "I will get you your tea. We have a long chat ahead of us."
The way he simpered did not comfort me. Nor did the way he summoned a steaming pot from the dusks with such gaiety. His domain, his presence, seemed to be the only one that could rival my own. Xemnas was easy to manipulate; Sax could be calmed with soothing tones. But Marluxia could see right past the inner workings of my mind, the very thing that gave me my nonexistent identity as the Cloaked Schemer. It was like being stripped down, being bound and-
Vexen positively screamed as the boiling pot of water was set upon his mid-back, arching and curling in waves of agony. Even his ribs, catacombs so stark and humiliating in his nakedness, seemed to compress in an attempt to reel away from the source of burning heat.
Marluxia hit him across the exposed flesh of his thighs, no regard toward my appalled presence at all. "You'll upset the water and it will spill all over you-now shut up."
Vexen whimpered and forced himself to still, cords of muscles still trembling under the pale flesh of his flanks and straining arms. He looked so very easy to bruise. I could have reached my hand out against the curve of his vertebra and pressed down, just an ounce, to see if this was true. Ah, but he belonged to Marluxia now. The bonds made that clear enough.
Apparently the fit was over, as the Assassin was agreeable again. "Now. Sugar?"
"No, thank you." I croaked.
"No? Alright, then. I'll trust you." He said, rambling with an air of leisure as he prepared the tea. Like a simple housewife making conversation, he went on, "A curious thing, trust. Sometimes you trust too little, sometimes you trust too much. Isn't that right, Number Four?"
He didn't answer.
"Regardless, I think it's something we, as two reasonably powerful political entities, should be able to discuss," He cradled his tea in one hand, regarding me with a saccharine smile. "How much we trust each other."
"I will be honest, Number Eleven. I do not trust you."
False smile turned ever more false. "That is a curious point of view you have there, Zexion. I would have thought you'd have more faith in my convictions. After all, not to brag or anything, but I am the Lord of Castle Oblivion." A smirk. "Oh, yes. And I have a recent addition to my faction. As you can see, Number Four here happens to agree with my philosophies more than he agrees with yours." Fingers worked their way lovingly through blonde hair, sticky with heat from the cup that moved from hand to hand. "Don't you, dearest?"
Vexen did not say anything.
The playful fingers turned cruel and pulled his head back significantly. I could only watch, finally looking upon the stained cheeks and vindictive-looking ball gag that I had tried to keep from acknowledging ever since first laying eyes on his unfortunate position.
"Don't you?"
The once-proud Academic simply let out a wail. It seemed to please Marluxia, for he slammed his head back down without regard (it made a sick, dense sound) and turned to me once more, his composure flawless.
"You see? That just leaves you and Number Five to your positions in the basement. Let's keep it that way, shall we?" He lifted the tea pot from Vexen's back to pour himself another cup. My eyes dared not linger on the circular red welt its heat had left behind. "You know as well as I that I have no use for you, that Xemnas simply sent you to keep an 'eye on me.' The truth of the matter is, I don't need watching, Zexion. It would be best you remember that," he smiled, eyes refusing to contribute to the expression. "Okay? You and your marionette stay in your part of the Castle, and we won't have any problems. Should I need anything, Vexen will let you know. Should you meddle in my affairs, I will take great pleasure in soundly destroying you in the most painful, agonizing way I know how." A pleasant sigh, as if we had been discussing weather. "Another cup of tea?"
Zexion opened his eyes, and he was in a cornfield. There were two suns in the sky, forcing him to squint against the light.
"Wellthat went swimmingly." Marluxia let go of him promptly, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.
Zexion didn't answer. He simply stared at the four pairs of crescent marks he had dug into the palms of this hands.
