"Impolite" and the general concept of "Impolite" is completely copyright Orin Drake 2006. All characters contained within and terms like "Organization XIII" are owned by Square-Enix and Disney.

Background: I don't know. It just made me laugh. Poor Luxord.

Impolite
by Orin Drake

Axel and Xigbar, not normally two individuals to ever agree upon something, did in fact find one common truth: Luxord was fun to mess with. The guy was just meticulous about being suave, presentable at all times... and clean. That was just too easy.

Back early from a more meticulous mission, Luxord was feeling quite ready for a long rest. Perhaps some sleep followed by some alcohol... followed by more sleep, and then back to routine. The mere thought of winning more munny from Xigbar brought a smile to his lips.

But then, so did sleep. Rest. Soft bed. Fine silk between himself and the very high thread count sheets. A little piece of paradise.

--Or it should have been. Pulling open his small but immaculate wardrobe revealed... that he was going to have to kill someone.

They were aware it was far, far too casual--suspicious, really--that they were both in the library, at the same time, "reading". Axel and Xigbar were also both very well aware that it was surprisingly hard to keep perfectly boring faces, staring at text that made no sense.

The door opened with a growl and clapped against the wall hard enough to sound like thunder. Luxord wore what could only be described as a calm snarl on his face as he stalked toward where the others sat. He wasn't angry, of course... just... irritated. Remarkably, undeniably... irritated. Regardless, he attempted to keep his tone neutral, producing a small plastic bag of "evidence" to the soon-to-be-accused. "What... what is this?"

"Dragon shit." Xigbar offered without looking up. It was hard--so very, unbelievably hard--not to point and laugh, or give Axel a high-five to celebrate their combined effort. It had taken a pretty creative series of dark tunnels to get all of that into Luxord's fancy closet-thing.

A beat. Luxord blinked as he absorbed the information. "What?!"

"D-R-A-G-O-N." Axel spelled slowly, grin growing wider with every vein that stuck out on Luxord's neck. "S-H-I-T. Got it memor--"

Numbers II and VIII found themselves enormously grateful for learned physical responses. A storm of oversized cards sliced the air above their ducked heads, Luxord's rage-filled cry behind them. Maybe Demyx had a point with all that "we can feel" crap. They could try to figure it out once they stopped running.