a/n: Hullo, this is chapter three of The cool guy. Kingdom Hearts is copyright Disney and Square, and of these I am neither.
I hope you enjoy the chapter, and as always, please leave a review!
"Hello! How may I help you?"
Roxas almost blanched in the face of half an inch of makeup and walked right back out the book store door. But the part of him that still remembered and feared Xigbar's merciless pursuit of rent reminded him that money was a priority, a job led to money, and if this young lady led to a job, it was worth talking to her.
The convictions that some people hold are simply amazing, and it is conviction that Roxas has most of, more than anything else.
So he looked at her glossy name tag.
"Hello. I was wondering if you were hiring right now and if so could I fill out an application."
Roxas phrased the question as a statement, mostly out of the bad habits that arise from not speaking to people besides his mother on a regular basis.
The first dozen places he'd inquired at had let him know, quickly but politely, that no they were not looking for work but may they help him with something else? Not that he was particularly good with pets, children, waiting tables, or a combination of the three, but it had all been worth a try and he found himself disappointed.
But any idiot could shelve books, right?
"I'm sorry, we're not looking for help right now, can I help you with anything else?"
Apparently not, he thought.
"No. But thanks. Oh---maybe you can, actually. Do you know of anywhere that might be hiring? Like, anywhere?"
The girl blinked and leaned forward over the counter, brow furrowed in concentration.
"I think the salon needs a new stylist."
"Uh..."
"And the nail place needs another manicurist."
"...can you think of a position that doesn't require the skills of a beautician?" Roxas asked, barely keeping his tone civil.
"Well, there's plenty of other places. But some of them are shady, and others...you'll just want to avoid."
Roxas raised an eyebrow at the girl's hushed tone. "What, like postal services?"
"Much worse," she snorted.
"In what way?" Was everybody in the city deliberately vague? Roxas wondered sourly. He wasn't used to a cloak and dagger attitude---if a person had something to say, they should say it---and it rubbed him the wrong way.
"There's jobs that will throw you into the middle of places an innocent boy like you doesn't need to be."
Now Roxas rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. "Places? Look, lady. I can take care of myself."
"Can you?" The girl's eyes narrowed, and Roxas sensed more than recognized the dislike in them. Coming from a stranger, the emotion was a little too intense. "You're obviously new here, so I'll ignore that attitude. Consider it your lucky day. So. You want a job...and you don't care what it is? Fine."
The change in her disposition from the beginning of their conversation was disconcerting. It was obvious----more than obvious, it was plain as day---that she put on a very different front to customers. And even though it was slipping, Roxas got the fact that she was still displaying it.
Which he personally found creepy.
He looked again at her nametag---and focused his eyes this time. Larxene.
She scribbled something with a firm hand on a pad of paper with a glitter gel pen, and the look she shot him sent a veritable shiver down his spine. That was no front.
By the time she handed it to him the frosty friendliness was back in her eyes.
"Just follow that address. And say Larxene sent you."
Roxas blinked. "The job is exclusive, yet you're handing it to a complete stranger?"
"Don't be dumb. The job is torture and I'm 'handing' it to you because you piss me off. Hopefully you'll have a few hours of pure hell before giving up---and going back to wherever the hell you came from."
Roxas read the slip of paper as he walked. He was suspecting illegal activity, certainly. Drug dealing, maybe? With her talk of innocence, prostitution was also likely---but neither of those explained why her name would have anything to do with why he got hired, or why he would give up after a few hours.
He made sure to scan the buildings on either side of him, but he knew he was kidding himself---he'd walked up and down the main streets of the city three times already, and a fourth since leaving the bookstore. Which had been a last ditch attempt anyway.
Vaguely he realized that his legs were beginning to ache. Roxas had begun his search directly after having coffee and the sun was just starting to sink beyond the horizon: if he didn't check out the address, then he should probably head back. He didn't want to be in a city he didn't quite know yet at night. It already seemed that he stuck out as being new, too, which he knew was never a good thing. (It hadn't proved good so far, after all.)
Knowing his mum, she would ignore his request and call just as soon as he got in the apartment.
He cringed when he imagined the conversation that would undoubtedly ensue: Was he sure he didn't want to come back and run the family business? Oh. Well, in that case, Roxas, have you found a job yet? No? But you must have. After all that talk back home, about how you were going to get away and live your life on your own terms, never caring about trivial things like popularity, wealth, and society in general? Oh, well that's lovely, dear. Did you atleast meet a nice girl? No, I didn't think you had. Have a good night, dear. I love you. You're always welcome back home.
God no, hell no, Roxas was damn sure he did not want to have that conversation. The worst part was that the only sarcastic speaker would be himself.
A breeze ruffled Roxas's hair as he stood on the corner of Third and Main. If anybody was watching, they would say he cut a striking figure against the soft shadows. No one was, but he struck out and made a decision anyway, turning swiftly down a side street, following the glittery numbers.
At the time he thought it a matter of desperation, but now he's not so sure, because even he will recognize this as another turning point. When strung out, the circumstances are simply amazing.
The transition between breathless seconds and breathless moments was lost to him when, after a mazelike journey through twisting alleys he normally would have been loathe to venture across, he found himself on another big street standing before a plain white building.
He looked at the address, looked at the building number. They were exact, and yet...there was absolutely nothing to distinguish this place from the rented workspaces on either side beyond the strange pink sheen on the paneling.
The door was directly in front of him and made entirely of glass----closer inspection revealed remarkable craftmanship in the form of delicately carved budding vines on the corners of the door. It was pitch black inside and there was no sign, no clue as to what it was or why it was there. It wasn't exactly the ideal place for criminal activity.
Roxas hesitated. It was probably locked. Even if it wasn't, he didn't know Larxene. What if she was just screwing with him? They'd think he was crazy and never hire him. If they were even hiring.
And what if I don't try the door, he thought, disgusted with himself. Just as his fingertips brushed against the handle he heard a creaking noise behind him and whirled around, perfectly aware that this was a city and there were dangerous people.
Possibly dangerous people who creaked.
"Well what's this then?"
Roxas blinked. He was met with the strangest thing he had seen today with the exception of Xigbar. A tall man wearing a sleek black apron over a crisp white work shirt stood behind a huge wooden cart brimming with more flowers Roxas had ever seen at once. His hair was a fairly incriminating cotton candy pink.
"Are you looking to buy an arrangement, love? I'm afraid we don't currently deliver, you understand, but you can pick up an order here any day of the week between eight and five."
Roxas was too stunned to reply. The silence stretched on until a suspicious look flicked across the man's face.
"Here now...you aren't a robber, are you?" He wagged a finger and Roxas thought he might faint from the absurdity.
"N-no, of course not." His tongue returned easily enough in the face of the accusing words.
"Oh, that's good. Huh. You don't look the type, anyway. I'll be seeing you, then." The man began to walk away, pushing the heavy cart with incredible ease.
It was now or never, Roxas thought, hating himself for the dramatics. Time to see just how much he pissed Larxene off.
"Sir? Wait a moment, please...you see, I was sent here."
The man paused, turned around to survey the person standing in front of his shop. He heard this sentence falsely claimed at least three times a week, yes, but normally people found a better time and place to say it. There was an air to the young man, in the way he stood, perhaps, that made Marluxia stop and listen to him.
"...that's what they all say, you know," He mused, plucking a flower from the cart. "At this point, I am supposed to ask who sent you. And you are supposed to either lie...or walk away."
"Right...well, her name is Larxene." The man almost dropped his flower, unnoticed by Roxas. "I'll be straight with you---I have no idea who she is. I met her today, spoke with her briefly, and she told me to come here."
If Marluxia had been surprised by the first sentence, the second utterly shocked him.
"Larxene? Lark sent you?"
"Yeah...her. But...uh...I guess I'll get going, then?" Roxas said after the man didn't say anything, and turned away---his arm was instantly captured.
"You said...you're looking for a job?"
"That was the idea," Roxas glared at the man's hand.
"Then you've got a job. Come in, come on."
Roxas found himself ushered into the building, where the flick of a lightswitch revealed an elegant space that managed to be airy and packed with floral arrangements at the same time. The walls were a pristine white, but the flowers were so colorful and so varied that the room was beautifully interesting.
The man stepped past him neatly to the back of the room where he retrieved a black clipboard while Roxas looked around.
"My name is Marluxia. And you, young fellow, are the anwer to my current problem. I have been having to drag that godawful cart around every day ever since the last errand boy threw himself out a window." He said, the last muttered darkly.
Roxas instantly stopped his inspection of the upscale store. "What did you just say?"
"I meant since he quit. Yes. I said quit. You're going to have to learn to pay more attention, Jack. Specially in this line of business."
" My name is Roxas. And what do you mean by that?"
"Right. Moving on." Marluxia spoke half to himself, filling out several important looking forms. "You can start working---" He glanced at the antique clock on the wall. Roxas noted that though it read three o' clock, he seemed satisfied---"Right now. Sign this."
Roxas looked down at the form he'd been shoved and paled.
"This is a waiver," he said. Somehow, he sensed that he should have been more disturbed than he was.
"Actually, it's not a waiver until you sign it. What's your size?"
"I'm sorry?" Roxas frowned, looking up. Marluxia was holding up two black aprons.
"These are the only two extra I have right now; of course we'll order you an exact one later.Try this on. Haven't you signed that yet?"
"Ah...no. I haven't."
"Look. Jack."
"Roxas."
"Right. I am beginning to think that perhaps my dear Larxene has had a lapse in judgement. I'm not sure you'll be able to handle this line of work."
"You don't think I'll be able to handle...running errands."
"I think you're under the assumption that these will be ordinary errands. And I'm telling you---the business I run is no ordinary business."
"It's...no ordinary...flowershop?"
"That's right. With every flower, there comes a message. It's a special service that only we offer. And who do you think delivers these messages?"
"The errand boy?"
"That's right. Listen, Jack, you were straight with me. So I'll be straight with you---there is one thing that makes this job the most difficult, the most sought after, and the most looked-down upon job this city has to offer. This thing is the recipient of 90 percent of our orders, and his name is--"
"Axel," Roxas said.
"Huh? Oh. I thought you were new, for some reason."
"I am. I've...heard of the guy."
"Right. So here's the deal, then." Marluxia handed him the clipboard. "If you can find Axel and deliver these messages by eight o' clock tomorrow morning, then I'll hire you. But don't think it's easy. As soon as Axel finds out there's someone after him, you've got one sadistic game of hide and seek on your hands. So far, no one's won.You've basically got no chance, Jack! But if Larxene recommended you...I'm willing to let you have a go. Got it? Make sure you're here with it done...or don't come at all."
Roxas nodded. It occurred to him as he was leaving that he didn't sign the waiver, and didn't quite trust this Marluxia.
But if it was enough to let him hang on to his convictions, enough so that he didn't make a liar of himself, then he'd do it.
Roxas returned to walking the city streets. The sky was periwinkle now, with no sun in sight, but he wasn't worried at this point.
In his head, the logic was perfectly clear---Axel was the "coolest" guy in town. He must be the easiest to find. All he had to do was ask around, and he'd find him in no time flat. Even if he couldn't, then it would be a simple matter to outsmart him, he was sure.
And that was mistake number one.
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