010: On a Ledge

Title: Secrets in the Clock
Prompt: Chaos
Word Count: 3,878
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom hearts or any of the Final Fantasy/Disney characters/movies therein, though a girl can dream *sigh*
Chapter Summary: There's another target, and this time Demyx goes up to bat. Now, if only he could stop his messes from multiplying...
Warnings this chapter: Minor mentions of blood, implied disorders, and stealing... yeah.

The tunnel was dank, drafty and oh so dark, a combination of traits he would rather live without experiencing all at once. Alas, his wishes were not meant to be considered, for Demyx very clearly found himself traversing the lengths of his greatest scorn.

They were simply called Portals by those in the know, though mainly for Demyx's sake- since he couldn't make heads or tails of the original name for the damned things, and he knew he wasn't alone on that front, too. The long passageways were the usual way of getting to necessary locations. He never quite understood how they worked; he wasn't a techno-geek like Zexion or Vexen, so all the science babble they laid on him sometimes (always) left him more clueless than before they started. From what managed to be understood, Demyx gathered that the Portals were some type of teleportation device, though one that employed the use of a "tunnel" ages shorter than the thousands of miles the main ends actually connected. The particulars didn't really make sense to him; he supposed, though, that in the end it really wouldn't matter. Probably.

Demyx's footsteps echoed down the expanse of the channel, a steady reverberation meeting his ears as he emmersed himself in thought. Usually, he would talk himself up before starting a mission, giving himself encouraging words with emphasis on not messing up while, of course, strumming Arpeggio idly. Words like "focus," "breathe," and "don't you dare fudge this up!" were often uttered to himself on the walk to the other end of the tunnel (and were often enough forgotten by the time he reached his destination)- though this day his mind was so muddled that he could not yet summon even the barest attempts of the sentiments.

In the privacy of the Portal, his face was still smarting. A dull ache had spread over the contours of his skin, crawled over the stinging flesh to lay claim down his neck. The heat had pooled there, raised to a slightly feverish pitch while he recalled in perfect clarity just why he was hurting. His cheeks were tinged a grayish red and inflated in the peak of his embararssed ire, but Demyx forced himself to think of kinder thoughts. After all, it wasn't everyday he was slapped around by someone younger than him, let alone a girl. He instinctively knew that the guys would never let him live it down if they found out. This was why he planned on never telling a soul.

Focus, man! he thought, shaking his head roughly. The hood atop his head shifted with his jerking motions, threatening to fall, but he caught it in time and fastened it back into place. Can't fudge this up. He needed to focus and, to save his dignity- what was left of it, anyway- he needed to get this done right. He knew that Saix would have his hide if he botched up another mission, or if he found out Demyx was late again. Unbidden, his thoughts abruptly started playing back the last fifteen minutes of his life.

A petite spitfire, thoroughly incensed by his thoughtless running and the loss he'd caused in the process; an equally small brunette in bright clothes and a much taller boy with silver locks, both looking on but keeping a healthy distance from their quarrel. A hasty compensation, and even quicker retreat; making it to the back tent just in time to pull the switch- and catching Zexion's eyes right before the process had begun. Shame filled him then, thinking back to the look of stern disappointment and, much to his chagrin, resigned expectation on Zexion's face.

A sudden chill brought his mind away from thoughts of small forms topped with jewel-colored hair, and riddled in boys' clothes. The air did well for his heated skin, cooling him down as the embarrassed flush slowly, but surely faded to nothing. No longer quite as distracted, Demyx took the time to straighten his cloak once again before moving forward.

Amidst his muttered ranting, his meeting with Saix started to restore its place at the forefront of Demyx's mind.

He was standing in a small tent, presenting himself for his briefing. Saix was to his front, seated behind a great wooden desk and exuding an air about him that was somehow both casual and stern. Vexen and Lexaeus were there in accompaniment, with the former off to the side, also seated and radiating impatience, while the latter held quiet sentry by the doorway.

The ground was mostly leveled where Demyx stood, but the occasional pebble or mound of uneven earth pressed against the soles of his feet as he fought (and lost to) his ingrained need to shuffle about. It was a surprisingly hot afternoon, and sweat beaded at his brow and dripped from the base of his neck down his back. The tent space was relatively small, only big enough for the girth of the desk, attendee's chair (which Vexen had claimed for himself), and the five or so feet from the, now closed, tent flap. The air was quickly becoming humid, and those present knew much of the wetness was a result of Demyx's own restless fidgeting. Wistfully, he welcomed thoughts of the balmy, autumn chill that would no doubt grace the island later in the day. For the moment, though, the room was increasingly stifling and musty with dirt and dust, and Demyx tried to stop himself from sneezing. He failed.

"HAAA-chooo!"

Vexen's ire spiked almost tangibly; his teeth were grinding and his glare was positively glacial. As he sniffled piteously, Demyx spied Lexaeus sending him sympathetic looks, but otherwise staying put. At last, Saix got around to the crux of the matter.

"Several months ago, rumors of a certain device were brought to our attention. A reconaissance team was sent to gather intel on the situation, and came back with these." Here, Saix pushed a few blown up images of sequential schematics across the desktop, as well as one or two photographs of obvious attempts to bring the aforementioned diagrams into fruition. "Regardless of the original intentions, the prototype of the apparatus was the only attempt that worked remotely as anticipated. I'm sure you remember."

And Demyx did remember; he was there with Luxord at the time, and got to see everything firsthand. The device was supposed be some type of enhancer that would affect the environment, intended to be used as an agricultural boon, among other things. It was one of those 'if we make this, we'd surely end world hunger, achieve world peace, etc, etc.' Typically, in the wrong hands (namely them) the thing was a double-edged sword. He remembered having to stifle himself several times while seeing the so-called genii (he did so know what that word meant- take that Axel!) falling over themselves trying to make the damned thing work.

"Officially, it was deemed overly ambitious and its creation suspended. Unofficially, the project continued until its eventual completion. Your assignment," continued Saix, while sliding a decidedly large floorplan of a building onto the table, "is to retrieve the blueprints from its location here," he pointed to a small rectangle on the map, "as well as the device." Here, Saix slid his finger over to a polygonal area in what was probably some thirty or forty stories above the previous spot, tapping his finger twice for emphasis.

After a moments' pause, Saix motioned to Vexen, who stood and passed over a small, carefully wrapped package. It was unceremoniously given to Demyx, but no instructions were offered, so he assumed they were inside.

"Questions?" Saix inquired- and here Demyx looked thoughtful, actually mulling it over, before deciding that no, he did not have any questions. To that, he was promptly expelled from the tent (into the sweet, sweet air!) and sent on his way.

At present, Demyx's eyes roved the dark channel, searching for the tiny markers that would relay how far from his exit point he currently was. Two pale, quarter-sized dots were adhered to the tunnel wall, just coming up on his right. Not too far, he thought.

And as if hearing his silent words, a tinny voice drawled into his ear, "Just two meters left; do try to contain yourself."

Demyx jumped, briefly spooked, before recognizing it as Vexen coming through his communicator. Oh yeah.

Apparently his de facto partner (since, for some reason, the others were pretty adamant about having other things to do- cue the notable increase in occupied tents and side acts around the big top that day), the older man had staved off working with Demyx in person, and opted instead to offer his technological expertise.

From that point, the journey ended quickly. One moment his mind was beginning to wander off again- despite his best attempts to stop exactly that from happening. The next instant saw him gazing at the surly, forboding end-gate of the Portal. He had reached his destination.

Taking a breath to steel himself (and ignoring Vexen's snide remarks filtering through his communicator), Demyx gazed at the outlet, gaping wide and churning with a shrouding gloom as it was, before exiting.

Passing through the swirling darkness always made Demyx shiver with cold, and his previously chilled disposition- not to mention the thoroughly air-conditioned alcove he found himself in- did not do much to help matters. Nevertheless, he set upon getting into place, his quick steps feather-light and just as silent. He traversed the compound's lower deck with ease, only having to hide from the occasional wanderer and keep out of sight of security cameras- easy as pie. The next step was important, so said his partner.

"That," Vexen intoned, as Demyx pulled out the package inside his cloak for a quick study, "is for my piece of mind. Attach the mechanism to a surveillance device and it, upon contact, will allow me to override the surveillance system and supply you a sufficient cover. Only move after the central core is green, and not a moment before!" Here, the man was almost spitting his words, and with good reason.

Demyx winced as he recalled his last mission, his first (and possibly only) solo. He managed to avoid others' attention through nearly sixty floors of increasingly tight security. He got a swelled head when it came time to leave, and was quickly spotted by some backwater apprentice, who Demyx initially dismissed as unimportant. It was a rookie-level mistake. An alarm was raised shortly thereafter, and his escape made extremely unpleasant; Demyx hated going through sewers more than the Portals themselves.

Now, perfectly ensconced in one of the rafters, Demyx retrieved the small device to follow through on the instructions. He nearly dropped the thing twice ("Careful, you dimwit!") before righting it with a grateful sigh and pressing it against the security camera he was hiding behind. Coincidentally, that camera was one of the few in the lower compound area that provided a sufficient blind spot. It was with a small amount of interest that Demyx watched as the thing wound itself up before bearing down, miniscule screw-like constructs drilling into a hard shell and allowing Vexen to begin his work. The center button blared bright red for several long moments, during which Vexen admitted he was recording the last half-hour of visual information, which he would program to continue playing until it reached real-time. Soon, the light transferred to green, and Demyx was free to move.

Getting the blueprints was almost suspiciously easy; without the cameras to worry about, all he really needed was good timing to get into the labeled Filing Room and find the appropriate tube. Retrieving the apparatus itself was more difficult; the traffic of employees and guards all but multiplied the higher he went. It was an eternity later (or so it seemed, what with all his dodging and general avoidance of being seen- it was really only about fiften minutes or so) that he finally obtained his target. That finished, and with Vexen's reluctantly complacent say so, Demyx left the immediate area.

He was already congratulating himself on a job well done when an alarm started. Vexen swore viciously in his ear, "You idiot! Absolute nimrod- how could you mess this up-? I practically laid it out for you—!"

As his eardrums throbbed from the grating din and his heart began to sink deep into his stomach, Demyx wondered absently what had given him away this time.

Marlin Percula was a careful sort of man.

He lived in a neighborhood that had a good reputation, in a nice little house complete with a white picket fence. Granted, that fence was getting a little worn down, and probably should've been replaced a few weeks ago- but it was still a good fence, a safe fence, so that was beside the point.

His mornings started at six o'clock sharp, regardless of whether it was a workday or the weekend. After waking his son, the two would begin their morning ritual to start off their days. Seven in the morning usually found them locking up the house, after which Marlin would take Nemo to their neighbor's house, to be watched for the hour or so wait for the schoolbus to show up or else babysitting on weekends. No longer included in the routine was the diligent staking out of his neighbor's home to ensure the safety and wellbeing of his son.

Well, all right, maybe he did stay for ten (twenty) minutes or so, just to be sure. To this end, Marlin would adamantly deny that he was over-protective, just smart.

Marlin was the type of man who valued order and, above all, safe things. Schedules were deemed safe- there was nothing quite like following a planned out day- perfect to the T. He knew that if he ever deviated from his planned out, orderly agenda, it had a good chance of happening.

The feeling of lightness usually came first. He would begin to feel it wherever he was, no matter what he had been doing in the moments before. He would usually shake his head in an attempt to clear it which, much of the time and to his dismay did not work. A fresh bout of anxiety would normally wound its way into his heart next, causing him to get jumpy and a tad faint. These feelings usually preceded something deemed Very Bad, and Marlin dreaded them with a passion. To counter these moments, he surrounded himself in order and a high dose of safety precautions, just to be, well, safe.

At work, he usually pulled into the parking lot at the Highwind Corporation of Greater Achievement by seven forty-five, and clocked in at eight on-the-dot. He never deviated from that order. Except today.

There was a power outage during the night, and without his trusty alarm clock to wake him, Marlin slept until seven-thirty. After dressing and rescuing his son from the evils of weekend idleness (also known as sitting on the carpet, eating cereal from the box and watching trashy weekend cartoons), Marlin rushed over to his neighbor's home, passed over his son and a day bag, and sped off to work. Or at least tried to. There was thicker-than-normal traffic all the way there, and a twenty minute drive quickly turned into a whopping forty-three (unknown to him, caused by a certain grouchy blond running interference "-can never be too safe with that idiot!"). He clocked in over an hour late.

By the time he sat down at his desk, Marlin was feeling drained and off-kilter. And, after seeing a post-it note on his monitor, apparently left by the receptionist downstairs (who had made repeated assurances that no, she did not see him coming in late, if anyone asked), that the meeting at one o'clock was actually going on now, he started feeling that something was desparately going wrong with his day.

Marlin practically ran to the conference room, files important to the meeting in hand. Once outside the door he paused, trying to school his rumpled features before knocking and letting himself in.

At the gobsmacked expression worn by his boss (who he realized belatedly had probably been speaking, oops), Marlin started apologizing left, right and, center, looking contrite and sheepish. Papers sufficiently handed over, Marlin apologized profusely once again before heading back to his office. That was oddly flooded with water.

He could not have known that his boss had called the main receptionist, Dory, just moments before his entrance to inquire as to his whereabouts, only to be told that she hadn't seen the man, and that she would check the security camera in the parking lot ("I'm just borrowing it, sir, to make sure his car is here, and hey, it isn't. Would you look at that, he's really not here at all- oh wait! There he is, just pulling in! Weird…"). He also could not have realized that his brief appearance would cause his colleagues to bring their meeting to a stuttering halt, become terribly confused and ponder the implications. That a hunch and a sharp order to check on their greatest accomplishment tout de suite would send the compound into a full blown panic was something he would not be privy to until the commotion ensued.

There was shouting now, coming from the direction he had just left. There was a steady stream of cursing coming from Vexen's end and, what's more, there was panic rising to the forefront of his mind. Demyx fought hard to stay focused and curb his inner terror, images of Zexion, frown heavy with disappointment, and even sweet, tired (broken) Namine looking on as Saix tore into him. Under his skin, his pulse was jumping madly, on par with the bob of his adam's apple as he swallowed, filled with worry. Overhead, the sprinklers turned on, responding to the height of his nerve.

Vexen's snarls picked up before stopping abruptly. Over the din, Demyx heard, "Radio silence; I need to think!" before the man was gone, taking even the light whir of static with him. Demyx nearly started to protest, but that would give away where he was, and he had no clue if the cameras were still under Vexen's control. He tried to beat down his increasing panic, but only partially succeeded. As he passed a (blessedly empty) breakroom, a legion of water-coolers groaned as the liquid therein swished and churned before bursting free. Water leapt out of the room, following in his direction.

Just where was his departure Portal supposed to be again? He couldn't ask Vexen (though he was tempted to press the shiny button on his earpiece just to spite the man- radio silence his arse!). He wracked his brain, still frazzled and slightly frantic as he noticed the water trailing after him and realizing that his messups were practically multiplying themselves. Voices sounded on his right, and he turned, changing his route.

Suddenly, his communicator sprung back to life. "Your escape has been compromised," Vexen was saying now. As Demyx's hope began to plummet, the man went on to say, "I took the liberty of finding an alternate path. I'm sure you're quite acquainted with the sewage system." Demyx's face darkened quickly at the man's smug tone, and he growled.

Screw that! He was so not going through a sewer, not again! No, he decided firmly, he would just have to make an exit for himself. He still had his Emergency Return Home token, given to him and reprogrammed continuously, courtesy of Zexion. Unfortunately, unlike regular Portals, which could be attached to an object (a piece of paper, a wall, a doorframe, etc.), E.R.H.s needed open space, and lots of it.

As the skeleton of a hasty plan came together in his mind, Demyx's fingers quickly worked on securing the apparatus on his back, replacing the stolen device with his beloved sitar. A few notes calmed his mind before reaching the conflicted waters, urging them forward and drowning out Vexen's barking orders. The presence of the water served as an inspiration, and the plan cemented itself in his mind. It was a simple plan, Vexen would later admit. An extremely simple and foolhardy plan; it was abhorringly effective.

All the doors in the hall he was in were shut tight—but Demyx didn't have the time to force one open, so he continued to move. Then, suddenly there it was: an open door! He rushed forward and, seeing the room empty, opened the large windows on the far wall. It was when he took a few skidding steps back that he realized he had company.

A stout man (presumably the Marlin C. Percula proclaimed on the name plate he passed on the way in) who possessed far too many worry lines was staring at him incredulously, eyes wide and mouth open. And when Demyx took the last steps and turned, ready to jump out the window and risking going splat come the some thirty stories below, the man (Marlin?) seemingly said the only thing to come to mind:

"Are you insane?!"

Vexen apparently agreed wholehearted, and was content to rant in Demyx's ear. Said water enthusiast only shot Marlin a curled, lopsided smile.

The timing had to be right, Demyx knew, but he didn't have any of that left. So he did what he was known to do: he took a chance. Gathering himself and relying on his dumb luck (and, appropriately, Luxord's stolen sock, stuffed in his back pocket), he strummed long and low, his power practically humming with the beginnings a promising étude, before he was swept up, out of the window, and into the abyss below. About twenty feet from the window ledge, Demyx would activate his E.R.H., taking him and a bird that was, unfortunately, flying too closely (but was probably going to crash into the building later anyway and die a horrible, pain-filled death, he would later insist- before declaring it his new pet) back to the circus.

Before that, though, Marlin found himself slammed against the opposite wall via a violent, watery hand. Blood dripped down the side of his head as the world grew darker with every moment. His eyes searched for the intruder, though, and when they found him, a sloppy grin and flashed peace sign was the last thing he saw.

The next morning, in a modest room on a faraway island, two girls were watching the news. A blurry clip was playing, shot from someone's cell phone (later claimed by some kid on a field trip to the esteemed Highwind Corps). The anchorman was throwing that phrase around again ("Techno-envy!" he was insisting). Kairi started turning away, already dispassioned, when she saw something. After pausing the news and rewinding to the beginning of the clip ("Thank you DVR!"), she hit play before squinting harshly at the screen. Wait, what was that-?

"Selph," Kairi breathed. "Did you see-"

But Selphie was already at her desk, typing furiously away, even as her fingers shook on the keys. Whether that was from fear or excitement wasn't clear but, all at once, Kairi knew for certain that they could be on to something horribly, inexplicably great.

End Drabble

A/N: Woah, it's been such a long time :[. So.. My original plan was to update this before going away to school.. Unfortunately, that just didn't happen, so this post is grossly late. First things first; thanks for the amazing reviews! As soon as I read them I just couldn't make this huge, ridiculous-looking smile leave my face :). In answer to Mirae-no-sekai, I live in a lovely part of the US of A where two major circuses play a large part in the culture. The school I'm currently going to was actually started by one of the founders of one such circus (I'm not actually part of a circus, though that was a scholarship option.. and cookies to anyone who guessed where I go to school just from those facts alone). It didn't strike me as odd before, since access to these two organizations is made available during most seasons here.

Now, on the prompt: This one was Demyx-centered with a side-serving of Vexen, highlighting a heist where they're the major players. Marlin from Finding Nemo was also featured. For all those who didn't make the connection.. you should watch more movies ^^; The last name Percula is derived from one of the many names for the Clownfish. As to whether Marlin justdied… I haven't decided yet.

On my profile, there's now a section called On Story Updates, so anyone curious about when the next one will be (probably in a few months from now, sadly), checking that out might be a good idea. Also, I went back and tried to fix any typos in previous chapters, but if I missed any let me know :).