The Trouble with Colds
Chapter Two: Turnabout is Fair Play
The Kitchen of Empty Dishes was filled with steam and the sizzle of a tomato-based sauce heating on the stove. Zexion, smiling slightly, noticed that the pasta was beginning to boil. He removed the tall, metal pan from the heat, turning the dial back to zero, and sent its contents through a colander, separating the boiling water from the pasta. He then deftly spun on his heel, just in time to save the sauce from burning. Reaching toward a rack on the wall, he removed a small knife, which he then used to chop herbs, possibly basil, into small, manageable bits. He added these to the sauce, stirring with a wooden spoon. All of this took place within seconds.
Zexion was indeed "in his element".
Unfortunately, the culinary ballet was interrupted by a slow creak: the kitchen door. A shadow fell over the stove, indicating that whoever had entered was at least a foot taller than the Cloaked Schemer.
"Hello, Vexen." Zexion's eyes never left his work.
"Good afternoon." The man's voice took on the snide quality of one who had a very large and interesting secret, but preferred to make small talk. "Pasta tonight, I presume."
"You presume correctly." Zexion hated small talk. "Now tell me why you are here, or I will not hesitate to force you to leave."
Vexen nervously eyed the knife in the younger man's hand. "To be perfectly frank, revenge."
"Suddenly, I'm interested. Please continue."
"I was just going to ask if you could add a...seasoning...to certain members' dishes." He held out a vial of white powder.
An eyebrow rose. "This seems rather rash, don't you think?"
Vexen remained silent. Silent and smiling.
Suddenly Zexion understood. He had seen this coming, but he didn't expect Vexen to snap quite so soon. "On one condition."
"And what might that be?"
Both men were grinning now. "That I will be permitted to 'season' Xigbar's meal as well"
"Agreed."
---
"Axel, you are terrible." Larxene snickered, as she reclined further onto the couch (if possible). She was currently upside-down with her head against one arm-rest and her feet against the other. One arm draped over the side of the seat, nearly brushing the ground.
Her companion was perched upon a sturdy desk, his feet dangling. He held a few potato chips in one hand and a Styrofoam cup of lemon-lime soda in the other. (Axel had always preferred cola, but he wasn't going to force Xigbar to risk the kitchen again. Not only would it be dangerous for the Freeshooter, it would take too much effort on his part.) "Am I really?"
"Hah! You know, Vexen's going to lose it eventually."
"So?"
"I wasn't finished. Vexen's going to lose it eventually, and I'm going to tell everyone that it was your fault." Larxene smirked, pulling herself upright to face Axel.
"Excuse me? My fault?" he said, gesturing to himself with a flourish. "You've been here for maybe a quarter of the time I have, and you've nearly broken my prank-record."
"Have I, now?"
"Yes, yes you have. And we all know how I feel about people who mess with my records." Axel set down his cup, and in a burst of flames, summoned one of his chakram.
The narrator feels the need to take a break from the action to explain Axel's motives for this sudden display of aggression. However, for this to happen successfully, the narrator will be forced to employ the tried and true "Flashback Sequence". The narrator warns the readers to refrain from flash photography during the flashback, as, in most cases, taking pictures of a computer screen is not only pointless and idiotic, but also more expensive than it is worth.
The narrator also requests a fog machine. No, not in here, you fools, out there... yes, in the flashback scene. Remind the narrator to lower your paychecks next month.
---
It was the sixth day since Demyx's arrival, and he had already proven himself to be a bit of a heavy eater. What irked many was that both he and Axel had the strange ability to devour large amounts of fattening food, but never gain weight. If anything, they were even more slender than those who did watch their figure, namely Marluxia.
On this day, however, the two were not content just to share a box of donuts. Oh no, they felt the need to compete over it.
"Alright, Dem, here are the rules: You and I both raid the fridge for leftovers. Whoever can finish the most plates is the winner, got it?"
"Sure! What's the prize?"
"The donuts, moron. I thought we already settled this."
"Oh, so did I. I just wanted to make sure you didn't change it like...you know, last time."
To avoid layering flashbacks, the narrative will give a brief overview of what happened "last time". All that truly needs to be said was that the punch line was, "And you win...nothing!" Axel always had been fond of loopholes, no matter how far-fetched.
With Zexion's reluctant permission, the contest began. Axel started out ahead, simply because he had gone for the plates with the least food. Soon after, the tide of battle began to change. The few onlookers (namely Xigbar, Zexion, and Luxord) realized that Axel was starting to lose momentum. Demyx, on the other hand, just kept eating...and eating...and eating
In his defense, Axel stuck it out until the very end. Every creature, though, has a point where it absolutely cannot eat any more, unless it is looking to re-enact a certain infamous Monty Python sketch. The Flurry of Dancing Flames discovered this point when, in the most undignified way possible, he became acquainted with the cold tile of the kitchen floor.
"Wake up, dude."
"Uhn..gh..."
"Du-ude."
Axel wanted to make a crack about sea turtles, but he lacked the energy. "Xigbar...what are you doing?"
"Trying to revive you! That was one impressive faint, man; I almost thought you weren't gonna wake up!"
"I...fai-howmanypeoplesaw?"
---
"Geez," Larxene chuckled. "No need to get all worked up about it."
---
The door to the Library of Unwritten Text swung open, caught by a black-gloved hand just before it slammed into the wall. The owner of the hand followed suit, bringing with him an intolerable air of smugness, or rather, false-smugness. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin as he sauntered into the comfortably spacious chamber, approaching its two other occupants, who were currently engaged in a high-stakes card game.
"I got the snacks." The Freeshooter tossed his load, two bags of potato chips, onto the nearest open reading-table. They landed with a soft crunch.
"Excellent." Marluxia glanced up from his hand, his eyes half open (he believed he looked far more menacing that way). The ever-present cloud of petals circling his head renewed itself with new-found intensity, throwing a number of the garishly pink floral satellites out of orbit.
"Sweet merciful Darkness!" Luxord swore, throwing his cards down roughly. "I believe a pactum was stated at the beginning of the game, Assassin: those horrid petals were not to interfere with the game!"
"I do recall something like that, Luxord, yes…" The Nobody trailed off mysteriously, or at least in a way he believed was such.
"Then get them off the table!"
Marluxia's lip jutted out ever-so-slightly. "Fine, then," he relented, his voice like that of a reluctant child. He then snapped his fingers, and at once all of his loyal servants stood at attention, including some that had floated behind the bookshelf some weeks before. With a flick of the commander's wrist, they marched into formation and fluttered out of the library, though not without making a few spiteful rounds about Luxord's head.
Xigbar fell comfortably into a thickly-padded chair and reclined to the point where only two of its legs touched the ground. He said nothing; it was a library after all. Of course, it was rather uncommon to eat or play card games in most libraries as well, but it just added to the oddity of the situation. For you see, dear readers, the competition that took place between the walls of the Library of Unwritten Text was more than the average friendly game of poker or Go Fish. It was a game where the results were almost as important to the two players as their very non-existence. It was a game of Radiant Garden Swap.
Radiant Garden Swap was one of the most complex, high-stakes, and potentially humiliating games ever known to man and nobody alike, second only to strip poker. Unknown to our two combatants, it was first created by Braig one lazy summer in Ansem's research facility. It had technically been summer vacation, so Ansem had significantly decreased the daily workload he gave his apprentices. In the words of the well-known proverb (and often Even), "Idle hands are the devil's workshop." Braig's hands were no exception; he soon began work on a game that was eventually described with more elaborate curses and swear words than the narrator ever cares to repeat. It was the real reason Xigbar had ended up as Number II in the Organization.
The Freeshooter closed his eyes and smiled again. This was going to be interesting.
That sentiment could not have been closer to the truth. As the literary camera cut to a view over Luxord's shoulder, the readers caught a view of what could be described as the Nobody's worst nightmare, the moment he had dreaded for the entirety of his non-existence. For the very first time since Luxord adopted the title "The Gambler of Fate", luck was against him. He was in possession of the worst possible hand in the game.
Marluxia, peering over the top of his cards, noticed that Luxord's well-trained poker face was beginning to fade. The Gambler's brow furrowed as he scowled down at the unfortunate hand. The pink-haired Nobody's lips curled into a smile. This, this would be the day he finally got the recognition he deserved.
Radiant Garden Swap was named such for a good reason. Before every game, the each player was required to lay down a forfeit for the other to perform if he or she loses. This forfeit was required to be based around a swap or switch of some sort, which was one of the main reasons Axel rarely played. He hated to lose any of his possessions, even if it meant that he would gain something even more valuable.
In the case of Marluxia and Luxord's card game, the forfeits were interesting enough to keep Xigbar amused. If the Assassin lost, Luxord demanded that they would swap bedrooms in the Castle. Not only was Marluxia's room closer to the Organization's one and only television set that had reliable satellite, but it also had a very nice view of the city from the balcony. Luxord didn't even have a balcony.
However, if the Gambler lost the game, the stakes were far more influential. If the Gambler lost the game, Marluxia would be one step closer to his conquest of the Organization. If the Gambler lost the game, the two Nobodies would swap ranks.
Luxord could not let that happen.
Unfortunately, he mused as a drop of sweat ran down his neck, it was going to happen...unless he thought of a way to turn the tables. His eyes darted from left to right, trying desperately to find a way out of the situation, some sort of excuse. Nothing.
Xigbar chose that moment to open the first bag of chips.
Suddenly, as if Fate had decided to have mercy on its namesake, a scream tore its way through the air. It started out a deep, rich baritone, but with a squeak, it shifted abruptly into a range known only to boys' choirs (and occasionally Freddie Mercury). It was a scream of undeniable horror and anguish, a scream the likes of which no self-respecting human or Nobody could hear without being affected on a very deep, primal level.
More importantly, it was coming from the Superior's room.
Without missing a beat, Marluxia and Luxord threw down their cards and began to run towards the doors of the library. Together, they slammed the heavy doors open, forgetting any past squabbles or competition, and sped towards the center of the castle. It was the location of the Tower of Unending Height and, at the tower's summit, the Chamber of Naught. Only one thought filled their heads: The Superior is in danger.
That thought was mirrored throughout the castle, calling the members of the Organization to forget whatever it was they were doing and come to Xemnas's aid. The squeaking of boots echoed through the hallways. Weapons were summoned. Blurs of black leather swung around corners, through doors, under archways...all in a mad dash for the tower.
It was Zexion who reached the staircase first. It was an impressive glass affair, looking much like the spiral staircase from the opening FMV of Kingdom Hearts II, except that it, instead of floating, was supported by thin, white pillars. Very minimalist. Very Xemnas.
The Schemer was not there to marvel at the architecture, however. He and Vexen leapt over the banister, not wanting to waste time finding the real entrance from the seventh floor. The two of them began their climb up the seemingly unending flights of stairs, Vexen finding reserves of energy he never knew he had. Adrenaline kept the Nobodies running, but willpower kept them looking up and thinking, "Hah! You think another three hundred stairs are going to faze me?"
A strained, feminine shout came from below. "Hey! You two got any idea what's going on?"
Glancing down through the glass below them, the two could see that Axel and Larxene weren't far behind them. "None...whatsoever," Vexen gasped, realizing that it was difficult to speak and run at the same time.
Sensing this, Zexion began to talk for both of them. "I've never heard the Superior scream like that." He, like Vexen, had to take a couple breaths before he continued. "In addition, his scent...changed. It's still him, but-"
"What?" Axel interrupted, his voice raised. "I can't hear you! Speak up for once, Zexy!"
Zexion sniffed conceitedly, but did as he was told. "I said that his scent was different!"
"How do you know it's him? It could be one of the Dusks!" Larxene questioned with disbelief.
Vexen, despite respiratory weakness, felt the need to interject, "Impossible! What kind...of Dusk...screams?"
"Oh, he's got you there."
"Shut it, Axel." Larxene delivered a swift blow to his upper arm.
"Ow, dangit..."
A distant, accented exclamation rose up the stairwell. "Oi, the four of you know anything about what happened to the Superior?"
"Nada!" Axel called back, still nursing his arm. He could give pain, but he certainly couldn't take it.
"If we did, then we wouldn't be up here, would we?" Larxene snapped. "Oh, and hey, Marluxia," she addressed the other as an afterthought.
The Assassin said nothing; he was too busy trying to get ahead of Luxord. As soon as the initial shock of Xemnas's shriek wore off, his old competitive habits returned. He wasn't going to let Luxord win this race. Not a chance, he thought as he glanced over his shoulder with a smirk.
At long last, Vexen and Zexion reached the top of the tower. They both took a moment to catch their breaths, panting and wheezing as they held onto the safety railing. Reluctantly, they leaned upright and continued their dash toward the Chamber of Naught.
Soon enough, Axel and Larxene caught up to them. The two younger, more physically fit members of the Organization had to slow their pace to run alongside Zexion and Vexen. With a raised eyebrow and a cocked head, Axel challenged the wearier two to speed up. He got exactly what he wanted. For the final stretch of the race, the four traveled like a pack of wolves on a hunt, every member's step in time with the rest.
The unlikely band slid around the last corner, black coats swirling around their ankles dramatically. At the end of the hallway, they could see the seven-foot-tall, ornately decorated door to Xemnas's chamber...and the Nobody standing in front of it, his hand gripping the doorknob. Xigbar.
Axel hit the door first--literally--the textured soles of his boots not enough to slow him completely. "XIG! Open the door!" he exclaimed, panting. He had the visage of a madman: hair disheveled and eyes wide.
"No can do."
"'No can do?' What do you mean, 'No can do'? The Superior might be dying in there!" Axel looked seconds from raining fiery destruction on not only the offending Nobody, but any others in the immediate vicinity.
"Listen, the door's stuck. Something must be holdin' it closed from the other side," Xigbar replied. Rather nonchalantly, the narrator might add.
"WHAT?" the four shrieked in unison.
Suddenly, Marluxia, shortly followed by Luxord, slid around the corner and ran to join them. Lexaeus, having run all the way from the basement laboratory, brought up the rear.
"What's going o-"
"Thedoor'sstuckandnowwecan'tgetintohelptheSuperiorwhosurelymustbeinjuredordeadbynow," Vexen re-capped shortly.
"Ah."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Will someone just break the door down already?" Larxene complained, folding her arms and jutting out a hip.
Zexion raised his eyebrow(s?). "Lexaeus, will you do the honors?'
"Gladly." He closed his eyes in concentration, backed up a few steps, and flung himself at the locked door like a battering ram.
Nothing.
"Nothing?" They repeated the prose in disbelief.
"What is that racket?" a booming voice echoed through the hallway. Eight heads turned slowly to face the approaching terror. They were met with a sudden, chilling gust of wind and more harsh words. "Honestly, how am I expected to get any sleep when you delinquents keep disturbing me?"
"Y-yeah! What he said!" stammered Demyx, peering out from behind Xaldin's hulking frame. He took a few steps forward, trying to make his stance as imposing as the Lancer's, but failed miserably.
With a dignified sweep of blue and black, Saïx entered the hall. He provided a stark contrast to the quaking Demyx, who was currently trying to put as much distance between himself and the other two Nobodies as possible. His gravity-defying hair looked just as neatly groomed as when he had first woken up that morning; it was nearly impossible to guess that he had just been sleeping just as soundly as the other two. "That scream sounded like our Superior," he stated bluntly.
"And indeed it was," Lexaeus told him.
Vexen decided that it would be the right moment to step forward. "I speak for all of us when I say that we apologize for any disturbances," he snapped, "but I believe that some assistance from the two of you would be greatly appreciated."
"Hey, the two of us?" Demyx inquired indignantly, motioning to Saix and Xaldin. "What am I, chopped liver?"
Zexion spoke quietly, but his voice cut through the uncomfortable silence like one of his treasured steak knives. "No, but you will be if you don't keep your mouth shut."
With a nod, Xaldin slowly approached the larger group. "What exactly do you mean by 'assistance'?"
Axel nudged Vexen out of the way. "He means that he wants you to help us break this door down." With a toss of his head, he indicated the space behind him. "Lexaeus here just couldn't cut it."
Glancing over at the Silent Hero, Xaldin cocked his head as if to say, "You're kidding me, right?"
Lexaeus bowed his head in embarrassment.
"Well I, for one, cannot provide much force without the moon's assistance, and I have observed that this floor has a severe lack of windows," Saïx asserted.
Axel just smirked. "Lex?"
"With pleasure." Seconds later, several hundred pounds of solid stone crashed through the roof of the Castle that Never Was, tearing a hole that led straight to the sky. Moonlight streamed through the new opening.
With a nod of approval in Axel and Lexaeus's direction, Saïx stepped into the moonlight. He threw his arms out in a show of (slightly unneeded) dramatics, and is body began to quiver. His pupils contracted to the point where they were nearly invisible, and the yellow-gold color of his irises spread across the remainder of his eyes, giving them an otherworldly glow.
Everyone took several steps backward.
A manic grin spread across his face, twisting his features into those of utter madness. Lexaeus and Xaldin silently prepared themselves, sliding against the wall to a point approximately as far from the door as Saïx. With a bellow, the Diviner drew his claymore and began his charge toward the entryway to the Chamber of Naught. The other two mirrored his actions, not thinking about failure, not thinking about how much it would hurt to slam head-first into the incredibly thick block of carved wood that Xemnas used for a door, only thinking about going faster. And faster. And faster.
In a moment worthy of the finest action movies of our century, the door broke down. No, not "broke". Disintegrated. Thin splinters of wood flew through the air, one nearly impaling Xigbar's other eye. Numbers III, IV, and VIII tumbled into the Chamber, springing to their feet as soon as they hit the ground. There would be no time to lose. Who or whatever had caused Xemnas to scream like that could still be in the room. Xaldin quickly surveyed his environment, and to his relief, saw nothing. Nothing. Realization hit him like one of Lexaeus's aerial boulders.
He called back frantically to the other nine. In a burst of flames, lightning, water, ice, flowers, and other assorted theatrics, they came to his aid. (By then, the room was a shambles.)
"Where's the monster?" Larxene inquired, taking a quick glance at the surroundings. Her daggers were still at the ready.
"That's just it." Xaldin began to back toward the wall, his head jerking around nervously. "There is no monster. There's absolutely nothing here that could have caused that scream, not even-"
"Not even the Superior," Luxord finished. "It does make a man suspicious."
"Yeah, it does..." Axel trailed off, ruffling his hair with a hand.
A quiet whimper came from the direction of the closet.
"Did you-" Lexaeus began, unsure.
"Yeah, I did. And I'm going to figure out what it was." With a burst of flame, Axel summoned his chakram. He and Larxene approached the closet slowly, each step seeming to echo against the white marble tiles that covered the floor. The rest followed suit, not knowing what horrors surely awaited them.
"Well?"
"'Well' what, Larxene?" Axel snapped.
"Well, is anyone going to open the door, or are we all just going to be cowards and sit around?"
Everyone slowly turned their heads to look at the Savage Nymph, who then directed their glances toward the Nobody next to her, a sadistic grin plastered on her face. There was a deafening silence. Unable to take the pressure any more, the target of their attention began to speak.
"Oh, sure! Make Axel risk his non-existence against the unknown enemy that may or may not have killed the Superior. He won't care. He doesn't have a heart!" With an animalistic glint in his eye, he reached for the doorknob. "But if I get out of this alive, I'm going to murder every last one of you in your sleep."
With a click and a creak, the door was pulled open. Fluorescent light poured forth from the widening crack, and thirteen heads craned for a look at the room's contents. What they saw stayed burned into their memories forever.
It was the Superior, but not as they had known them. For one thing, he was backed against the wall of his expansive walk-in closet, eyes wide in a very skilled imitation of panic.
For another, he looked about fifteen years old. His dark skin was dotted with blotches of acne, and his proportions were oddly long and lanky. He gripped two glowing red beams tightly, his knuckles turning white from the effort. The Organization's uniform, a tailored black leather coat, hung in folds around his once-muscular arms.
It is impossible to say for sure who began the laughter. Many of the narrator's sources have told her Larxene, but certainly not all. A number have said Marluxia or Demyx, and one even gave his guess as Lexaeus. What they all agreed on, however, is that someone started laughing, and despite all science and logic, the others joined in. The odd paradox lasted for nearly three whole minutes. Throughout, many of the more mature members caught each others eyes questioningly, shrugged, and collapsed into hysterics yet again.
"QUIET!" Xemnas was tired of this...this parade of immaturity. He had only been away from his post for one day, and the Organization was already collapsing.
The other eleven sobered immediately. Even in this state, Xemnas was terribly imposing. One question remained in their minds, however, one that was stated by an awe-struck Xaldin.
"What, in Darkness's name, happened?"