A/N: This is a fanfic that does not attempt to be serious, or even about the series. It unabashedly stars real humans—namely, my dearly beloved sister WOWZAcoolBEANS, for whose birthday this humble fic is a gift. As for the Pandora Hearts timeline in this chapter (and, obviously, from here on out), it begins around the time of the Unbirthday tea party, right before Isla Yura appears; this chapter's quick blurb is set during Chapter 45.
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Elliot sat in the window-seat of the library, staring blank-faced at the neatly trimmed garden of the Nightray manor. He had abandoned all pretense of reading about twenty minutes previously, and the volume of Holy Knight in which he had failed to immerse himself was draped across his leg. He kept replaying that old nursery rhyme about the Queen of Hearts in his head—which, vaguely disturbing though it was, was better than the distinctly more vivid images that usually flashed through his mind when he allowed it to wander.
There were the usual nightmares, of course, whose frequency did not diminish the bleak terror their images induced—his father's sword in his hand, bodies slashed and draining through the holes in their finely tailored clothes, a splatter of blood across his chin and lips wafting the horrid scent of gore up into his nose. But there were new nightmares now as well. They were similar, in a way, with the bodies lying lifeless at his feet, but in these dreams there was no blood. The corpses were immaculate, pristine but unquestionably dead, drained of something far more vital than blood. Friends, enemies, strangers—his twisted black claws (claws?) slashed through hordes of them, one after another, as though they were nothing more substantial than the specters of a dream. His flatly glowing golden eyes darted restlessly back and forth, seeking something within the fleeing crowds he knew he needed to obtain.
He wondered if this was how it felt to be a Chain.
"Elliot?" His hand shot out reflexively for the book and he lifted it to his face. Leo's black hair bobbed out from the doorway; he could hear the light click of jostled teacups against a metal tray.
"Your book is upside-down. How cliché," Leo chuckled as he set the tray down beside his master. Elliot scowled but dropped the book. "What's wrong? More nightmares?" Leo's glasses reflected the spotless gardens beyond the window pane as he poured a thin stream of bergamot-scented tea into the china cup.
Elliot said nothing, only pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
"Elliot?" Leo paused, silver tongs poised over the sugar cubes.
"Two sugars."
"That wasn't what I was asking," Leo said, but dropped the requested cubes into the steaming cup and held it out for his master. The Nightray's arms didn't move; his head tilted away, staring out into the garden again. Leo sighed and set the cup down on the tray.
"Talk to me, Elliot," he asked. "Why are you upset?"
"Who the hell said I was upset?" Elliot spat.
"No one." The irony hung thickly off his servant's words, but Elliot would sooner throw himself in front of a rampaging Chain than admit to something once he'd denied it. He grabbed up the teacup and gulped down its contents like the Earl Charles Grey himself had done him a personal wrong. "Come to the salon when you've finished reading; we can work on your new piece together."
"Who's the Master here? I'll go where I like," Elliot snapped, picking the book back up (right-side up this time, he made sure). Leo took the empty teacup from his Master, picked up the tray, and left the library. He knew by the time he had reached the kitchen, emptied the kettle, rinsed the cup, and walked to the salon, Elliot would be sitting on the piano bench scowling, and ask him why he'd taken so long.
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Riku stumbled off the greenly glowing gummi port and towards the nearest non-floor horizontal surface in New Town, which happened to be a large couch. Without so much as a glance at his surroundings he faceplanted himself in between two cushions, drew his knees up into the fetal position, and rode out the last of his nausea clinging to the faded purple upholstery. A part of him—the part constantly reliving that year spent alone in the darkness, endlessly pursuing and being pursued—was appalled. 'Get up!' he told himself. 'Heartless! Nobodies! Witches and big, fat, stupid dogs! They're everywhere, in every world, all of them looking for Sora. Every one of them wants to use him or change him or kill him. Get up! Get up, and protect Sora!'
Several minutes passed before Riku felt well enough to obey that frantic urging. He tried to push himself up on his forearms, ignoring the feeling that his brain was sloshing around anchorless in his skull, but a hand on his back halted his upward motion. He swung around, bringing his hand up to summon Way to the Dawn, wondering how much force he could afford to spend on throwing his attacker backward with his elbow if he wanted to save enough momentum to bring his blade down in the same motion…
"Riku! It's just me!" Sora was kneeling next to the couch with a glass of water in one hand; the other, which had reached out for Riku, was now withdrawn, hanging in the air like it didn't know what to do with itself. "Note to self: no touching without warning." He chuckled, but Riku could see a touch of unhappiness in the corners of those blue eyes. He let his blade vanish.
"I'll search the area," Riku said, moving to get up again; he made it as far as standing upright, but this time it was Sora's scowling face that stopped him. "What? Sora, we don't know where we are, there could be Heartless all over the place, I can't afford to lie here—"
"Nuh-uh," Sora interrupted. "You're not feeling well. Sit." He pointed his finger down at the couch. "Drink." He handed Riku the glass of water. "Slowly," he said when Riku looked ready to down the glass in one gulp and get it over with. With an exasperated sigh, Riku flopped down onto the couch and took a small sip of water. "Good!"
That goofy smile—Riku knew it would be the death of him someday.
"Have you at least looked around? Made sure there aren't any homicidal Nobodies lurking around the corner?"
"I'm not that dumb," Sora said with a pout. "I saw the place when I went to get you water. We're in somebody's house. Heartless don't tend to hang around inside buildings unless someone's called them there or they have a special incentive. I don't think there's anything here they'd be interested in."
'There's you,' Riku thought, but kept silent. For the first time, he gave a good look to his surroundings. They were in some family's living room, decorated in muted purple, green, and grey; the sharp white angles of the high, sloping ceiling and cutaway walls reminded him uncomfortably of Castle Oblivion. The gummi ship's transporter pad had materialized in the middle of the grey-carpeted floor, glimmering gently in front of a large television. Riku could see a piano and bookshelves in the next room, a black-and-white tiled foyer next to that, and a snow-buried garden in a sloping back yard beyond the windows.
It really didn't seem like the type of place Heartless were likely to hang out. It seemed normal, peaceful…
"Hideously boring!" A feminine voice accompanied the sound of the front door opening. "I hate exams."
"Good thing they're over. Now you don't have to do anything but enjoy yourself all weekend. Hey, did you get the mail?" A second voice asked. "Hang on, I'll grab it, you go inside."
Riku shot a look at Sora, who seemed totally unperturbed. He gave Riku the universal canine-owner's gesture for 'stay,' ran a hand through his spiky hair, then walked confidently toward the door.
"Hi there!" he said, giving a cheery wave to the girl who had just entered the foyer, her arms filled with half-wrapped gift boxes. She stopped dead, mouth hanging open, eyes wide behind her glasses. "My name is Sora, and that grumpy guy over there is Riku. We need to rest in your house for a little while, but we'll try to get out of your hair as quick as we can. Is that okay?"
The girl said nothing, only set her presents down on a long table that ran along the foyer wall, keeping her unblinking eyes fixed on the spiky brunette before her. Riku took a deep breath and slowly sipped his water. 'Be nice to them, Sora says. Okay, I can be nice to the crazy staring girl.' He slapped on his most winning smile (the one Tidus and Wakka had called his 'ladykiller' ever since it once sent Selphie into near-apoplectic spasms) and went to stand next to his friend. "Sorry to intrude. Like he said, I'm Riku. What's your name?" He held out his hand to shake hers.
"N-Norah?" the girl blurted out. "Wait, I mean, no, my name's not Norah, I'm Cybele, and I—Norah, get in here!" She spun around, opened the door and stuck her head out. "LENORE MINERVA SHERMAN, the mail is not important!" she shouted, then turned back to the two boys, smiled hugely, and began to violently strangle-hug them both. "I can't believe you got me cosplayers! You're the best sister ever!"
"Cosplayers? What in the blazes? I didn't hire anyone…" the second voice returned. Behind the hugging, squirming mass of strawberry blond hair that currently had a chokehold around his neck, Riku could see the new arrival standing in the doorway, a sheaf of magazines and junk mail in her hand, and emblazoned in red on her chest…
"Sora, get back!" Riku shouted, throwing Cybele and Sora off him and summoning his Keyblade. "She's a Heartless!" He bull rushed the unsuspecting girl, throwing her backward through the doorway and sending her sprawling inelegantly on the house's doorstep in a pile of glossy fashion magazines and neon yellow offers to refinance the house's mortgage for a low, low fee. He swung his red-black Keyblade up over his head, but the girl managed to roll away before the downswing; the key's winglike teeth ricocheted off the cement porch with a clang. She had rolled on to her feet now, but Riku was already swinging his blade around faster than she could dodge. She threw her hands up in a reflexive bid to protect herself as the blade cut toward her with deadly accuracy.
"Riku, no!"
"Norah!"
CLASH—
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lenore shouted, brandishing the long metallic object that had just materialized in her hand at Riku, who had staggered backward, Way to the Dawn flying from his hand.
"But you're a Heartless! How can you—"
"A Heartless? This is a sweater, you psychopath! It's mer-chan-dise," she said, drawing out the syllables and gesturing to the red thorn-crossed heart emblem on her black zippered hoodie. "You need a serious reality check. This isn't a video game, you could have killed me! You could have… hey…" she trailed off abruptly, confusion and a small amount of fear replacing the flush of rage on her face. Very slowly, her eyes slid down from where they were trained angrily on the disarmed silverette to her own arm… and the long copper vaguely-key-shaped weapon it was holding.
"What the hell?" Lenore and Riku muttered in perfect unison.
Cybele looked from Sora to Lenore to Riku, then back to Lenore.
The copper Keyblade looked sturdy yet elegant, antique yet timeless, as though the very concept of an antique key had been enlarged, elongated, and given a hilt and accents of blue-green. From its guard dangled the keychain Lenore had bought as a pair to Cybele's birthday gift. Cybele knew that this particular keychain had been attached to Lenore's keys, which were currently sitting in Cybele's coat pocket after she had used them to unlock the front door. She therefore knew that everything she'd seen was patently impossible, and resolved to sleep more, eat better, and watch Lenore play Kingdom Hearts less in the coming days, and in so doing to hopefully avoid further bouts of insane hallucination.
But just to be sure... she drew the keyring from her pocket.
The keychain was not attached to them.
She glanced to where her own keychain was sitting on the table next to her, concealed within its box and a tangle of torn wrapping paper. Then, drawing a deep breath and wishing with an intensity no Disney princess could ever hope to match with her paltry evening stars, she held out her hand and mimed gripping a weapon's handle. The box on the table rattled slightly. The weight of an elaborate, keenly glimmering brass key settled in her hand.
Cybele spun the Keyblade ("Tomorrow's Clarity," a small voice whispered to her brain) around in her hand like a sharpshooter in a Spaghetti Western spins his pistol. "Well, this is officially the best birthday ever," she said matter-of-factly. "Sora, Riku, it's great to meet you. I'm Cybele, that's Lenore, and welcome to our world."
