What We Do: Chapter 8

Ienzo had a headache that morning. Dilan had acquired a rare bout of food poisoning from bad celery. Elaeus was tending to both of them. Xehanort had been going through a three-week-long 'only talking about sailboats' phase.

Braig, as luck would have it, was the sole member on the 'Get Master Ansem A Date For The Grand Opera' committee that year. This had been very unfortunate.

As was his character, he procrastinated until the very last minute: the day of the opera. And when he found out that none of the women in the castle (or outside of it, for that matter) had any desire to fall into Braig's hands that evening for preparations, he turned to the only person left who wasn't busy.

"Dude, it'll only be for the night. He won't even know it's you."

"No." Even clung to the bedpost, as if it would somehow save his dignity. "Of all the inane things you have made me do over the yearsthisthis had got to be the worst."

"Chill, alright?" He stood in the center of the room, a lavender garment on a hanger clenched in his fist. He looked genuinely concerned at the moment, though it was probably all a put-on. "It's for the greater good."

"Just because you dropped the ball, Braig. Just because you couldn't get your act together, as usual-"

"Hey! There's no ball being dropped here-I've got the ball. You are the ball."

"I am a male-"

"And you'll look damn good in this dress. Come on, just try it on."

"No."

"For Master Ansem, Even"

"No!"

Once reasoning with him didn't work, Braig resorted to other measures. And that's how Even found himself in a headlock that somehow involved a clotheshanger and a pillowcase from his own bed. They might have been men, but they still had their spats just as they did years ago as boys.

Forced into hair curlers and stiff women's shoes, Even stood in front of the full-body mirror. His mouth formed a semi-circle frown. "I don't like this. I really, really don't like this."

"Dude," Braig surveyed him up and down, more serious than anyone had seen him in a long time. "You look fantastic. I'd totally do you if you weren't already taken this evening."

"You're not helping."

Braig held up the dress. It was a light purple, silky to show off every nook of the wearer's body. There was lace somewhere around the collar to hide the fact that he had no breasts, but other than that, it was very plain.

Holding his arms above his head, he let Braig slide it onto him. He felt the heel of the other man's hand come down across the rigid mound of his shoulder blade and shifted slightly away. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"Sorry," one of them murmured.

Even tried not to notice as he felt Braig's hot breath panting against his shoulder. He had bent to adjust one of the straps that clung to the thin frame, but was taking too long because his fingers just couldn't find the latch. It was an awkward few moments.

Finally he stepped back. "There. No one will even be able to tell the difference."

"Except Master Ansem." Even blatantly noted the fact that he looked no different. His hair had a slight wave to it and he was in a dress, but his face looked entirely plain as usual. With the bare minimum it needed to pass as a woman, his body was not a very graceful one. His hips were bony and became two bumps underneath the lavender silk. The fabric only came down just above his knees, which were a little knobby.

"We'll fix it," Braig looked over Even's shoulder, just as concerned now that he realized that the addition of a dress did not make a person look all that much different. "Maybe if we slap some makeup on you. Make your eyes bigger, make your nose smaller?"

"You can't do that with makeup."

"You'd be surprised, dude. How else do you think ugly girls get pretty?"

"Touch."

And so, though it took several tries and washes in the sink, Braig and Even explored the science of makeup. They didn't bother recording their findings, for some odd reason.

Miraculously, Ienzo's headache cleared up with a bit of ice. Dilan's severe food poisoning seemed to only have lasted ten hours, leaving Elaeus completely free that evening. Xehanort still wouldn't talk about anything but sailboats, but that was per usual. He was still aloud to crowd the entrance hall with the others. One may have suspected that their previous illnesses had something to do with not wanting to be the one Braig picked on that evening, but that was purely speculative.

Even glared straight ahead to try to avoid acknowledging the other smirking young men. From behind an ornate, white fan (Braig had dug it up from one of the exhibits in the historical wing of the castle, convinced no one would notice or miss it. He realized that makeup, while it did make Even look like a girl, it was still quite obvious that it was, indeed, Even), he waved at Ansem, curling his fingers in a gesture that was a little too half-hearted to be worth merit.

"C'mon," Braig nudged him, escorting him closer. "Just be pleasant. Don't be your usual snarky self or he'll know right away."

"Shut up." Was all he could manage in return, for very soon they were within earshot. And that was when Braig begun his introduction.

"Your Masterdom," he improvised casually, certainly not making an effort to be formal, "may I introduce your Ladydom."

"Pleased to meet you," Even muttered, no more than a whisper so that he had to bother less with trying to sound like a girl.

As if there were some higher being looking out for Even's dignity, Master Ansem simply bowed and took his hand into his own and brought it up to place a peck upon his knuckles. "Likewise."

It was the morning of the 23rd day that Marluxia and Zexion looked at each other and almost smiled. For, after they had portaled away from their last world, the opened their eyes and were right back where they had been standing before.

The resonance was pulling them back. Finally. This was it.

The world had been cluttered with trees, everything was trees with fairy rings around the trunks, dewdrops scattering everything. All things considering, it was not a bad place. Marluxia rather felt at home.

"Who do you think is here?" Marluxia asked, looking out into a nearby grove, intrigued with a series of paths that seemed to lead to and fro. There was obviously life here. Perhaps semi-civilized life.

"As in, a group of people, or someone from the Organization?"

"Both."

"I don't know who lives herea jungle tribe of some sort? And I have no idea who would be sent to a world like this."

They were both thinking it, but neither wanted to say it: Vexen or Lexaeus could very well be here. After all, Zexion's death happened right after Lexaeus'. Perhaps their arrangement in the world had to do with how they died.

The first sign of life came from a nearby lagoon. At first, they just stopped to sit on the rocks and share a lunch of bread and cheese from Zexion's (by this time) well-used pack. But no sooner had they begun to talk then something stirred below the black waters. Ripple became bubbles, and bubbles became fins. And suddenly they were not ten feet away from what could only have been classified as 'mermaids.' Women with the lower bodies of fish and pointed, gleaming teeth and gills, sidling right up alongside the water's edge. Marluxia admired them from a distance, while Zexion was simply grateful that they were far enough from the lagoon that they couldn't reach out and touch them. The mermaids were watching them.

"This is an odd world," Zexion muttered as he packed up, a silent gesture that he wanted Marluxia to begin moving on. As much as he was ogling at the women, it was not helping him find Lexaeus.

Stepping through more fairy rings as they tiptoed through paths, they discussed the topography of the land and the variation of fauna and flora they came across. Mostly because there was nothing else to discuss and they were both alright with that.

They must have been talking too loud, because it was not much longer until they heard a wild scream, albeit muffled from the brush, and then something collided with Marluxia's forehead, sending him reeling back.

"Ow, damnit!" He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, right above his left eye. "What was that?"

Zexion, observant, crouched down to where the foreign object had bounced. He picked it up. "It's a walnut." As if about to show Marluxia, he twisted around, but was then caught on the back of his head by another crack of a walnut. He nearly fell flat on his face.

It was then that the rain of walnuts, empty thread spools, and wooden beads commenced, as if from all directions and all angles. Being pelted, it was all Marluxia and Zexion could do to cover their heads with the arms, duck, and run as fast as they could in any direction. Any direction at all. Marluxia hooked one strap of Zexion's bag in his arm, while the schemer took the other strap, determined to stay together.

There were shouts from what seemed like dozens of bodies, high-pitched. Girl-like, almost. They followed them as they ran, obviously efficient in a forest setting, still spackling them with various projectiles from between the branches.

Then: "Stop!"

All of a sudden, everything went silent.

Marluxia ground to a halt, consequently catching Zexion and forcing him to rebound back into the taller man's body. Leaves churned under their feet.

"We should keep running," he murmured, a little frantic as pulled at the bag, trying to force the assassin to relinquish it. "We could be killed."

"They said stop," he replied simply, his eyes turned up to the canopy. Nothing moved for the longest time. The birds even had begun singing again.

A blond-haired boy then stepped out into the clearing, wrapped in animal skins and painted in brilliant shades of blue and orange across his flawless, fiercely flushed face. He wore a headdress of feathers, but slowly pulled it off as he approached them, cautiously, a wild beast of thin limbs and curved fingers. Between them, he held pointed, carved wooden reeds. But they clattered suddenly to the ground.

"Marluxia," the boy said. It was clear, then, from the voice's cadence that this was not a male. It was a woman.

"Larxene." Marluxia nearly smiled.

The carriage ride was awkward. Even sat with his ankles crossed and his arm aching from holding the fan up over his face. Ansem didn't seem too bothered, and they took the first half of the trip in silence.

About fifteen minutes in, though, Ansem turned to him. "Where did you say you were from, again?"

"Far away," Even answered in that same whisper, trying to hide his male tone. "Very far away. Perhaps you've never even heard of it."

"I assure you I have. You underestimate my geographical abilities, my lady," he chuckled, trying to peer around the fan curiously.

"The ocean." As soon as he said it, Even nearly cursed. The ocean. Of all the things he could have come up with, of all the regions and worlds, he was from the goddamn ocean.

"I see."

Even tried to look out the window and feign disinterest. It lasted a good five minutes before Ansem spoke again.

"No one has eyes like you, Even."

Automatically, he began to reply. "Thank you, Master-" He cut himself off with a shocked frown, turning to stare at the older man, fumbling to try salvaging the situation. Like grappling with an umbrella in hurricane winds. Perhaps he had heard wrong, perhaps, perhaps "I-I don't know what you're talking about. I'm notI'm not"

Ansem just smiled serenely over at him. "Next time Braig tries to disguise you, Even, make sure he gives you a veil to cover your eyes instead of a fan to cover your mouth. Your eyes are much too distinctive."

Even felt himself sinking. All dignity he had to speak of had hit rock bottom-his mentor, his teacher had caught him like this. Like this, with his hair in curls and his eyes lined in black. The strap of his dress was falling down one shoulder. "Please," he couldn't bring himself to look at his master. "Please don't say anything toto anyone. I didn't have a choice. Braig isis incorrigible." In a sudden flare of rage, he clenched his fists, the delicate frame of the fan snapping in multiple places. He hardly cared, antique or not.

Ansem didn't say anything for a while, eyes flickering once to the broken, tangled fan. There was a lull between them where all they heard were the sounds of traffic outside and the horse's hooves on the cobblestone. Finally, he let a sigh through his nose, leaning just an inch closer to catch Even's attention. "You shouldn't let them bully you."

"I don't. I don't let them do anything."

"But you do." Ansem shook his head. "Look at me."

Even did.

"Even, you are a proud, clever young man. And that's why it surprises me to see how the others seem toget the better of you."

Not one to engage in talk about emotions and such childish things as 'fairness,' the young scientist kept himself quiet, chin jutting in defiance.

The carriage hit a bump and both of them had to hang onto the seat to keep from being jostled too much.

"You need to not let the others hold such notions over your head. It just seems like they scare you into situations where you're backed against a wall. Is there something you're afraid of? Something they're using against you?"

"No," he answered quickly. "I'm not a coward."

Ansem sat in thought for a few moments, reading the way Even had cast his eyes back out the window again. "You're not a coward," he said. "You're not, Even. But it's still something you have to prove. Or one day someone is going to find your fears and control you with them. Do you hear me, Even?"

Green eyes stared out from under mascara-blackened lashes. "I hear you, Master Ansem." He fiddled with the strap of his dress, pulling it up his shoulder again. "I won't let it happen. I am stronger than that."

"Good." Ansem leaned back, and then glanced out the window once to see they were nearing their arrival. "And Even? Can you do one last thing for me?"

"Yes, Master Ansem?"

"Enjoy yourself tonight."