Taking Back the Crown

by JCMorrigan

Mozenrath. Archibald Snatcher. Roman Torchwick. Mad Madam Mim. Yzma. The Huntsman. Wuya. Ayam Aghoul. Their mission: take over the multiverse, or look fabulous trying. Rated M for swearing, steamy implications and VERY bloody battles. Contains slash and het shipping.

65. I Would Like to File a Complaint

65. I Would Like to File a Complaint

Roman Torchwick wasn't about to admit it, but he missed cream cheese on bagels. He'd gone for stretches of months at a time eating that exact thing for breakfast every single day. Peanut butter wasn't the same at all, but he was contenting himself with it. At least he'd been able to find dairy-free bagels with less hassle than he'd expected. The things he'd do when he cared about someone, he thought.

He stole a glance at Snatcher, who sat next to him at the counter of one of the communal kitchens, eating his own bagel with an expression of relative contentment. Bagels weren't exactly a traditional breakfast food where he came from, but breakfasts in Cheesebridge generally required more effort to prepare; the entire town was convinced that every meal had to be some sort of work of art. Snatcher much preferred not to put any effort into breakfast at all. Toasting a bagel and slathering it with peanut butter or the Atmosian sort of fish found in the cans in the pantry (NOT jelly or even jam) was much more preferable.

As the pair crunched away on their bagels, Hans wandered into the room. "Well, hello," he greeted.

"Heyyyyy, Sideburns!" Roman greeted. "What's new?"

"You've had a good morning, I hope?" Snatcher added.

"Yeah," Hans confirmed, "it's been pretty good. I've kinda just been wandering around the place, seeing if I remember where everything is. Though I might be a little lost, because I didn't intend to end up in a kitchen." He shook his head. "Are you eating breakfast here?"

"Yes, Captain Obvious," Roman replied.

"Is there some sort of problem with that?" Snatcher asked.

"We just…we have kitchens in our quarters," Hans pointed out. "Why don't you just eat there?"

"The social aspect," Roman answered.

"We wished to see who might come along," Snatcher clarified, "and if it is anyone worth talking to. For example, this morning, yourself."

"Good point!" Hans said with a smile. "So what's on the agenda? Are we just going to dive right back into the plans for multi-world domination?"

"As much as Lord Mozenrath would love to do so until he was completely running on empty," Snatcher debunked, "we are all taking time to recuperate before deciding on our next endeavor."

"Maybe Righty will actually chill for a couple days now that he has a boyfriend," Roman suggested.

"I'll do my best," Hans laughed. "But at the end of the day, I have no say over what he does. He's not the kind who takes bossing around from anyone. But you knew that."

"Unfortunately, we have learned that the hard way," Snatcher confirmed. "He isn't all bad, however. I daresay you'll find him a fulfilling partner. Not one I'd trade Torchwick for, but a fine match for you."

"Hey, there's only one Archie, and he's mine," Roman added. "You'll just have to settle for third best, Sideburns."

Snatcher swallowed the last of his bagel. "It seems Mrs. Overkill sent a message to my scroll regarding some sort of improvisational theatre troupe she wants to organize, and I'm willing to bet any amount she wants my expertise in leadership doing so. I'd best locate her soon."

"And I have a morning workout routine I've put off for about two hours already," Roman added. "I'll give it another fifteen minutes. But if there's really an improv troupe being set up, I want in, okay?"

"I'm certain Mrs. Overkill has already thought of you and simply needs me for the foundational stages," Snatcher assured him. "And if she had thought to exclude you, I'll set her right immediately."

Before parting ways, Snatcher and Roman exchanged one kiss of moderate length. Snatcher strode out of the kitchen while Roman slowed down the process of eating his bagel in order to procrastinate his workout even further. It wasn't as though he didn't enjoy working up adrenaline while beating up and shooting target dummies, pretending they were various foes he'd collected over the years, but it took a while to work up the motivation for.

"So…" Hans' eyes followed Snatcher out the door before snapping back to Roman. "You and him?"
"Yup," Roman confirmed.

"As in…you're involved," Hans prodded.

"We are," Roman stated.

"How much are you involved, exactly?"
"Living together," Roman explained. "Partners in crime on the streets, absolute animals in the sheets."

"What are you getting out of it?" Hans asked, perplexed.

This, in turn, confused Roman. "What am I getting out of it? I mean, I get him. Are you looking for details, or…?"

"Just…" Hans tried to figure out how to phrase it. "You're getting some kind of reward out of the deal, right? Like, he's rich. Or he can get you information."

"Um…no?" Roman replied.

"Come on," Hans urged, dropping all pretense of being diplomatic about the subject. "There has to be a REASON you're doing the ugliest person on the team."

One level below, Mozenrath was casually strolling toward one of the larger libraries – the reading room Irmaplotz had staked out was preferred by many for its small and intimate atmosphere, as well as its selection of trashy fiction, but Mozenrath sought the thick volumes of tactical war history lined up on the taller arched shelves that required ladders to reach. He didn't expect to find anything that would lead him to the next phase of his ongoing quest, but wanted a little heavier reading material than could be found in the small reading room.

His attention was drawn to a thud of considerable volume coming from directly above his head, followed by a cacophony of angry yelling. Mozenrath considered just letting it play out. It wasn't his business. But then came a yell of a more defensive sound, and though he wasn't certain it was Hans, the voice gave him enough pause to wonder. With a resigned sigh, Mozenrath teleported into the kitchen above.

Roman had pinned Hans to the ground and was repeatedly slamming his fist into the auburn-headed prince, sure to leave an array of angry bruises in its wake. "AND YOU DON'T GET OFF UNTIL YOU LEARN TO WATCH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" Roman yelled.

"I WOULDN'T HAVE SAID ANYTHING IF I KNEW YOU WERE THIS SENSITIVE!" Hans moaned.

Both were enveloped in auras of blue and forcibly separated from each other, dragged a good ten feet apart to glower at each other. "Not that I want to interrupt such a heartfelt and engaging conversation," Mozenrath said calmly, "but…" He faced Roman, dropping the façade entirely. "WHY WERE YOU BEATING UP MY BOYFRIEND?"

"BECAUSE HE'S AN ASS!" Roman screamed.

"I made ONE comment without thinking!" Hans protested. "And suddenly I'm getting beaten to a pulp? What is WRONG with your friend, Mozenrath?"

"I was wondering the same thing myself," Mozenrath grumbled.

"He had it coming," Roman insisted through gritted teeth.

"What EXACTLY did he say?" Mozenrath asked.

"Well, he – " Roman attempted.

"Look, does it really matter?" Hans asked. "It was a joke. Apparently Roman Torchwick can't take a joke."

"Roman, I know you've been called worse than whatever he said," Mozenrath sighed.

"Me?" Roman replied incredulously. "It wasn't about – he didn't – I want a conference. You and me. Without him lying about his side. I'll give it to you straight-up."

"Do you seriously not trust me that much?" Hans groaned. "Fine. Go have your conference. Tell my boyfriend why I'm just soooooo horrible." He looked to Mozenrath. "If there's anyone you don't want poisoning the truth, it's him."

Mozenrath scowled, at a temporary loss for words. Then, when he found speech, he agreed, "Fine. I'll hear each of you out separately. If it gets whatever's going on out of your system." He let them both drop.

Roman's hand immediately grabbed for his scroll, sending out a mass text. "This is founder business," he muttered. "I am not letting a single one of them go without knowing that you. Are. An. ASS."

"Roman, did you forget who we are?" Mozenrath sighed. "No one here is a nice person. Don't get worked up over a casual insult."

"Aaaaand sent," Roman stated. "I have just filed an official complaint." He looked up at Mozenrath. "I asked everyone to meet in the rendez-vous spot in the basement."

"Why didn't you just summon them to this kitchen?" Mozenrath asked, growing ever more frustrated.

"Because this is an official founder matter, and we need to talk about it in the official founder place!" Roman growled as he stormed out of the room.

Mozenrath looked to Hans, going from frustrated to baffled. "I…don't know why he's throwing a tantrum."

"Look," Hans sighed, "I get it. I made a joke and he didn't take it well. You should talk it over with your friends."

"Hans – " Mozenrath began.

Hans put up a hand as he departed the kitchen. "We'll talk about it later."

Mozenrath stood flabbergasted in the center of the kitchen. "WHAT JUST HAPPENED?" he cried to no one.

...

By the time Mozenrath made it to the basement chamber that had been unofficially declared the conference room, Roman, Snatcher, Mim, Aghoul, Wuya, and Yzma were already there. "All right," Mozenrath sighed to the assembled group. "Someone please tell me WHAT THIS IS ABOUT."

"This is about the fact that you brought home an ass," Roman began. "I should've seen it coming when he tried to make fun of me in Hyrule and make me out to be the useless one. But now he's gone too – "

The door opened as the Huntsman strode in.

"O…kay," Roman said sheepishly. "Forgot you were in the founder group text. But this is fine. I can work with this."

"I hear there is a matter that requires our immediate attention," the Huntsman stated. "I can only presume it is in regards to the spell's final ingredients."

"Actually, no," Roman admitted.

"Then it had better be worth my attention," the Huntsman warned.

"As I was saying," Roman went on, "Righty, you need to put a fucking leash on your boyfriend."

"He apparently made some kind of joke you didn't find humorous," Mozenrath recapitulated.

"Joke?" Roman repeated. "JOKE? You wanna know what he said to me as soon as Archie left the room?"

"Yes," Mozenrath grunted. "I want to know what he said to you. I HAVE WANTED TO KNOW WHAT HE SAID TO YOU FOR THE PAST HALF HOUR."

"He said – " Roman was suddenly hyper-aware of Snatcher listening raptly, and he found himself wondering if this summons had been such a good idea after all. He hadn't fully taken into account that Snatcher would have to hear what Hans had said about him. But he'd come this far. "He wanted to know why I was, and I quote, 'doing the ugliest person on the team.'"

"He said WHAT?" Mim cried immediately.

The Huntsman gave Roman a glare of disbelief before simply turning and storming out of the room to indicate that this was not a matter worthy of his time.

"The nerve of him!" Mim growled. "I can't BELIEVE him!"

"I know, right?" Roman agreed.

"HOW DARE HE IMPLY THAT I'M NOT THE UGLIEST PERSON ON THE TEAM!" Mim screamed. "THAT TITLE BELONGS TO ME! ME ME ME ME ME!" She stomped her feet for good measure to drive home her point.

"…Priorities, Mimsy," Roman sighed. "Get some."

"That's what this is about?" Mozenrath groaned. He could see why Hans had thought it would be a mere joke. But on the other hand, he hadn't missed the fact that Snatcher had been dealing with repressed insecurities since the day Mozenrath had met him, and there was a part of him that couldn't really argue with Roman for defending his lover's honor. He looked to Snatcher to try and read a reaction from his face.

Snatcher looked taken aback, to be sure. Mozenrath couldn't tell just then and there how offended he truly was. Perhaps Roman was more infuriated about his significant other's appearance being insulted than Snatcher himself was. Or perhaps Snatcher was, even in surprising circumstances, a very good actor. "Well?" Mozenrath asked. "Snatcher? What do you have to say about this?"

"I, er…" Snatcher blinked several times, searching for the correct way to proceed. "It isn't as though I hadn't heard similar before, of course. And far be it from me to bad-mouth Lord Mozenrath's companion – "

"Be honest," Mozenrath sighed. "I don't even care."

"Torchwick saved me the trouble of blemishing his pretty face," Snatcher growled, demeanor suddenly rough.

"Look," Wuya groaned, "Roman, we all know you love your boyfriend – "

Roman and Snatcher immediately made noises of discontent at this.

"I am ATTACHED to him," Roman clarified. "I GIVE A SHIT about him. But this is not the L-word."

"Most certainly not," Snatcher added. "I wouldn't be caught dead in such a degrading state as love."

"Good," Mim huffed. "And here I was afraid we'd lost both of you to that dreaded L-word."

"We're getting off topic," Wuya snapped. "What I'm trying to say is that this didn't require a conference."

"Well, I knew Righty wasn't going to punish his own boyfriend for it," Roman explained, "but one of you would."

"I'LL ROAST HIM OVER A SPIT!" Mim confirmed.

"Allow me to light the fire?" Aghoul asked.

"The fire is the most fun part!" Mim told him. "I get to light the fire and no one else!"

"I thought turning the spit was the best part," Aghoul argued. "I'm letting you do that."

"You can chain him to the spit," Mim resolved. "Make it painful."

"Can I use manacles with spikes on the insides?" Aghoul asked.

"NO ONE IS ROASTING HANS ON A SPIT!" Mozenrath raged.

"HE HAS TO PAY FOR HIS CRIMES!" Mim yelled.

"I KNEW Mimsy would be on my side!" Roman said gleefully. "Granted, about entirely the wrong thing, but I'll take it."

"What if you just make him apologize?" Yzma groaned. "To both Snatcher AND Mim. Because I think we all agree he shouldn't have said it." And may the gods help him if he called her old, she thought. "But was this really worth…all of this hullabaloo?"

"No, it was not," Mozenrath huffed, pressing fingers to his temples. "I'll talk to him. I'm sure I can convince him to give Snatcher a formal – "

"WHAT ABOUT ME?" Mim cried.

"Snatcher AND Mim a formal apology," Mozenrath declared. "Then we can all focus on actual business. And Roman, can you save filing official complaints for things that are officially worth complaining about?"

"I make no promises," Roman said sternly.

"And I know that's the best I'm going to get out of you," Mozenrath concluded. "I think we're done here."

...

Hans was reclined on his bed, reading a book, when Mozenrath appeared in his bedroom. Hans was startled only momentarily before shutting the book and flashing Mozenrath a shining smile. "This is a pleasant surprise," he declared.

"Well, you might not find it so pleasant in a minute," Mozenrath stated. "Walk with me."

"Of course, o overlord." Hans slid out of bed, leaving the book propped open, face-down, for him to find his place later.

He hadn't even asked what this was concerning. Mozenrath liked that. As he held the door for Hans to leave his apartment before following, he asked, "Did you actually call Snatcher the ugliest person on the team?"

"I did," Hans confirmed. "And as I said, it was a joke."

"Well, Roman didn't take it that way."

"I kind of figured that out, and I have the bruises to prove it."

Mozenrath stole a glance at Hans' face; his left eye was outlined in shining red, starting to fade to black. "I'll…get you some healing items for that later," Mozenrath declared. "Anyway, Roman took his complaint to everyone else in authority, and we just need you to go through a formality so we can get everything back on track."

"You want me to apologize," Hans realized.

"For purely diplomatic reasons," Mozenrath told him. "Though I will say Snatcher's shortcomings aren't exactly joke material around here. Just food for thought."

"I didn't think he was that sensitive," Hans replied.

"'Sensitive' isn't quite the word," Mozenrath told him. "It's more of a nuance. You'll catch on after spending more time here. Anyway, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can promise you my friends won't make a habit out of punching you in the face, and the sooner we can start planning our next move."

"They mentioned you would keep going until you were running on empty," Hans recalled. "Don't you want to just take some time to relax first?"

"…I suppose I could be persuaded to relax," Mozenrath replied.

"Maybe spend some time getting to know a special someone better?" Hans asked with a wink.

"That depends," Mozenrath asked. "Do you play chess?"

"Occasionally. I haven't found a partner smart enough to match me in years."

"I think I have some good news for you." Mozenrath paused. "Though I was in the middle of a pretty good book – "

"You're not going to stand me up because of a book, are you?" Hans asked with a dramatic pout.

Right, Mozenrath thought. That hadn't been the right thing to say at all. "The book can wait."

"No, don't let me keep you," Hans told him. "I was reading something myself. If you really want to be alone…"

"We can go back to our literary pursuits later," Mozenrath resolved.

"A good plan," Hans confirmed. "I heard whispers that there may be a group meeting up later for improv, and I was thinking of seeing if I couldn't shove my foot in the door. But I remember how much you hate improvising ANYTHING. So you can read while I check that out."

"That sounds like a fair compromise," Mozenrath agreed.

They paused before the doors to the kitchen where the incident had transpired earlier in the day. "Back to the scene of the crime," Hans remarked.

"I thought it would be thematically appropriate," Mozenrath replied before pushing open the door.

They were greeted by the sight of an immense spit that hadn't been there before, empty of meat but still rotating over a conflagration that sprouted right from the floor. Mim cranked the handle, regarding Hans with a wicked grin as Roman and Snatcher hovered over the spit's other end.

"PUT THE SPIT AWAY," Mozenrath commanded.

Hans felt his heart flutter with fear as Mim huffed an "Oh, fine" and made the entire contraption, flames and all, disappear in a shower of sparkles.

"Now," Mozenrath declared, "if we're all ready to be mature adults…"

"Where's the fun in that?" Mim asked.

"I think we all agree mistakes were made," Mozenrath went on. "Hans is ready to admit he made a misstep. Hear him out first. Then, Roman, if you'd like to offer any sort of apology for beating him half to death, we can move forward."

"No, no," Hans sighed. "Roman shouldn't have to apologize. Around here, we get what we deserve, and I slipped up. I want to formally apologize for saying that Archibald Snatcher was the ugliest person on the team."

Roman still glared daggers at Hans, having a strong suspicion the apology was insincere.

Snatcher stepped forward to look Hans directly in the eye. "Your apology is accepted," he said dryly. "I'll have you know I am well aware of my physical appearance. Your insult is simply another thrown atop a pile accumulated over the course of my life, and the more I hear it, the more it ceases to matter. However, since I joined this organization of like-minded individuals, I have finally been able to receive the respect I deserve. And if I may be blunt, Mr. Westergard, if you are going to work under me, you are GOING to give me that respect."

Hans paused a moment before nodding. "I understand clearly."

"Then our business is concluded," Snatcher declared, "and we may resume our – "

"NOW NOT JUST YET!" Mim broke in. "Don't you have anything to say to ME?"

"I'm…glad you're not going to roast me on a spit?" Hans said confusedly.

"What about how I look, hmmmm?" Mim asked. "You've gone and hurt my feelings!"

"I never said anything about how you look," Hans pointed out. Not wanting another incident, he attempted, "Which is, by the way, very ni – "

Mozenrath, Snatcher, and Roman all made frantic motions of drawing their hands across their throats.

"…I…don't understand?" Hans said, aware he'd almost made a fatal misstep.

"Surely you have something complimentary to say to the actual ugliest person on the team," Mozenrath fed him, "who is VERY PROUD OF THAT FACT."

Hans was glad he could at least be honest about this one. "You look like a goblin that got mangled by a bulldog," he told Mim.

"Now I know you're just trying to butter me up," Mim huffed. "But I'll take it."

"If we're all done here," Mozenrath declared, "I have business to attend to. I have to make my quarters presentable for company." Not that his apartment wasn't already immaculate, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a once-over in case there was a glaring flaw that Hans might notice. "Hans, I trust you remember the way to my wing?"

"I…would love to say I did," Hans said sheepishly.

Mozenrath flicked his right wrist, summoning up something he'd drawn earlier and stored in his nightstand drawer – though he didn't want Hans to know he'd been to any such lengths just for his benefit. "This map should direct you to all major landmarks." He held the folded paper out to Hans, who took it gladly.

"That's convenient," Hans remarked.

"I will see you there," Mozenrath concluded. "By the time it takes you to walk there, I'll be finished." He vanished in a surge of sparkling blue.

"Well," Mim said happily, "time to unplug the refrigeration system in the north wing and let all the food spoil!" She disappeared before anyone could protest.

"I'm out of here," Roman said dryly as he made his way to the door.

"As am I," Snatcher agreed, following him.

"Hang on," Hans said suddenly. "Mr. Snatcher, could I just…talk to you alone about one more thing?"

"I don't like this," Roman growled.

"Go, Torchwick," Snatcher bade him. "I can handle myself this time."

"Yeah, well, call me if it goes to shit," Roman said as he took his leave.

Snatcher put his full attention on Hans, who had moved to one of the refrigerators. "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Westergard?" he asked.

"Well, first of all," Hans said, "if you're going to demand respect out of me, then I'm going to have to ask you to use my actual title. 'Prince' or 'Lord Westergard' will do."

"Need I remind you of your place in this organization?" Snatcher told him.

"People get what they deserve around here," Hans replied. "You weren't too quick to argue that when it was about Roman tenderizing my face. But if you want respect from me, you're going to have to give it TO me. And I may not be one of your founding members, but I AM dating your overlord, which I figure goes a long way."

"You'd better not have seduced him merely to gain power among our ranks," Snatcher growled.

"Trust me," Hans said, "he caught my eye from the start. There are plenty of good reasons to be Mozenrath's partner besides power, and I have them. I just really have to question his taste in friends. Do you know what you are?"

"Next time you insult me," Snatcher warned, "it will take more than a mere apology to restore my good faith." Which was slowly draining anyway.

"It's just that I grew up in the political sphere," Hans said, "and I've met so many people like you. You are what we refer to as a 'stuffed shirt.' You're uptight, you have no sense of humor, and you have no idea how to relate to people."

"Relating to people is my specialty, MISTER Westergard," Snatcher seethed.

"Really?" Hans replied. "Because I'm just not seeing it. I see a guy who will sic his boyfriend on anyone who makes the slightest transgression. I see a guy who demands an apology if anyone puts a toe out of line. I see a guy who talks like he swallowed a thesaurus and is in the public eye 24/7. I'm just saying if you really want to gain RESPECT around here, you could learn to lighten up. A lot." He winked. "Just a little friendly advice from teammate to teammate."

Snatcher knew if he didn't leave the room at that moment, there would be another incident. So he simply said "I will keep it in mind" as he made an about-face and headed for the exit.

Hans dove in and out of the fridge in a blink. Snatcher felt something smash against his back, leaving a damp patch. Casting a gaze over his shoulder, he beheld Hans tossing another one of the offending projectiles up and down.

Hans had thrown an egg at him.

On a good day, Snatcher could make his peace with an egg. It could make for a decent breakfast food. But in certain contexts, it only called back to mind the word that had been printed across the box borne by the Trubshaw baby. There was no way Hans could have known the subtext that lay behind an egg. But even so, under the current circumstances, the throwing of an egg was nothing less than a declaration of war.

"Like I said," Hans reiterated, his smile a mile wide, "you need to lighten up!"

"Watch your step, Mr. Westergard," Snatcher hissed before speeding away.

...

Dilan had made Kazuichi change his clothes, which wasn't the biggest thing wrong about the situation, but Kazuichi certainly wasn't happy. He had, over the past few years, been very consistent in wearing a yellow-green jumpsuit that he had come to regard as comforting. (There was the day he'd tried to switch it out for a blue one. It hadn't felt right at all.) He had also been quite attached to wearing his favorite beanie, whose brim he liked to fiddle with when he was thinking.

The garments Dilan had demanded he wear were not reflective of Kazuichi at all. They were simply a thinner version of Dilan's own clothing: black leather pants, boots (the right of which had to be discarded for not accommodating Kazuichi's brace), and cloak, the last adorned with a hood. Only when Kazuichi looked more "presentable" did Dilan begin leading him through a location that Kazuichi was certain was actually Hell. No, there was no fire, nor was there brimstone, but having seen nothing but winding hallways in no colors but silver or white, Kazuichi determined the sight could only be what you would see in eternal damnation.

Dilan did not talk as he led the way. He only barely walked slowly enough that Kazuichi could keep up. Kazuichi realized he would have to be the one to speak up if he wanted any answers. "What is this place?" he asked hoarsely.

"The World That Never Was," Dilan replied, his tone still dripping with viscous smugness.

Kazuichi couldn't imagine an answer that made less sense than what Dilan had just said. "Yeah, but what – "

They had entered a more spacious chamber with a vaulted ceiling showing a level above, with walkways lining the upper walls. There just so happened to be another person dressed in the same black uniform as Dilan and Kazuichi strolling along the upper walkway. When he took notice of the duo, he leapt right over the edge and performed a flip in midair before landing on his feet in front of the pair, startling Kazuichi a good bit and drawing a high-pitched scream out of him. The stranger straightened up, his hood falling back to reveal a face marked by an eyepatch over the right eye and a scar traveling up the left cheek; black-and-silver hair cascaded back behind it in a ponytail. The one eye he had was yellow as Dilan's.

"Yo, Mutton Chops!" Braig greeted, almost laughing. "Found a new recruit? I gotta say, this doesn't look like your description of that Izuru guy."

"This is not Izuru Kamukura," Dilan explained. "His name is Kazuichi Soda. You will recall the killing games I described to you, and their grisly outcomes? He engineered the machines that dealt each fatal blow."

"Riiiiiiiight," Braig said, looking Kazuichi up and down. "Yellow eyes ain't gonna match that hair."

"Yellow eyes?" Kazuichi repeated. "Wha…what the hell is GOING ON HERE?"

"You didn't tell him?" Braig asked mischievously.

"I explained my purpose," Dilan replied.

"No, no, no," Braig said with a shake of his head. "Ya gotta be more straightforward with these newbies. I'm pretty sure your idea of 'explaining' things just sounded like you were talking gibberish. How much do you know, Bubblegum?"

It took Kazuichi a moment to realize Braig was addressing him. "I, uh…I know there's something about Light…and Darkness…and despair? And this guy figured out a way to teleport – "

"Do you even know where you are?" Braig urged.

"He said this was the World That Never Was," Kazuichi replied, "but that doesn't make any goddamn sense!" He pulled up his hood, partly in indignation that Braig had made a nickname out of his hair and partly to have a headpiece to fiddle with anxiously.

Braig gave a chuckle. "You probably don't even know the first thing about the worlds," he realized. "Y'know, as much as I know the old coot would love to give him the lecture, I just gotta see the look on his face."

"Xehanort knows what you know," Dilan reminded him, "and says what you say. The explanation you give will be his."

"Yeah, but I'm gonna make it sound cooler," Braig asserted. "First of all, Bubblegum, you ain't even on the same world you left."

"The same…world?" Kazuichi repeated in disbelief. "There's no way that's true! There's no such thing as other worlds!"

"That's what everyone thinks at first," Braig told him. "That's what I used to think. But boy, was I wrong, and glad for it. There are endless worlds out there, and your world and this world are just grains of sand on a huge ol' beach. I know, I know. You don't believe me. But you're gonna have to get used to the truth, Bubblegum. Okay, second: you don't know what Kingdom Hearts is."

"Is that some kind of RPG?" Kazuichi asked.

"Well, it's complicated," Braig went on. "Some people say it's the heart of all worlds. Some people say it's where hearts are born. Some people say nobody really knows the truth about Kingdom Hearts. What everyone can agree on is that it's powerful stuff. Back in the day, there was a big deal about summoning it, and there was an entire war fought over it. Nasty stuff. Now, our boss, Master Xehanort, wants to bring it back. He basically wants to study it, though the other Xehanorts have different – "

"OTHER XENAHORTS?" Kazuichi cried.

"First of all, it's Xe-ha-nort," Braig corrected. "Second, hold your horses and let me get there, will ya? So our Master Xehanort, he wants to know what'll happen if you bring Kingdom Hearts out to play. We already know it ain't gonna be pretty, and that's the best part. There's also some kinda rumor that anyone who really gets it all the way here will become some kind of god? Now, I'm all for that, but that part just sounds too good to be true. Anyway, in order to bring it out, the old coot needs seven Lights to fight thirteen Darknesses. Those are people, Bubblegum. Seven heroes with shining goody-two-shoes hearts and thirteen bad-to-the-bone villains. We're letting a couple thorns in the side take care of the Light half of it, but the old coot hasn't finished picking out his thirteen yet. He went through a rough draft version, but after realizing most of them were either idiots or traitors, he threw out everyone but me and X Marks the Spot, picked up a couple versions of himself from different points in time, and started over. Mutton Chops was actually part of the first group, and I thought throwing him out was the right move, but he really came around and surprised us."

"Is that your attempt at flattery?" Dilan asked.

"So anyway," Braig went on, "in order to make sure he got it right, Xehanort either made sure the people he picked were versions of himself directly ripped out of time or put his own heart inside the ones that weren't him in order to MAKE them him. I have a Xehanort heart. Mutton Chops has a Xehanort heart. X Marks the Spot has a Xehanort heart. And that's where you come in, Bubblegum. Seems you went and killed a ton of people. That's pretty Dark to me." He reached forward and tapped Kazuichi's chest. "All the old coot has to do is rip out your heart and install an upgrade to make sure you do what he wants. Then he'll have one more down."

"He's…going to transplant my HEART?" Kazuichi cried in utter terror.

"And put himself inside you," Braig confirmed.

"WHAT?" Kazuichi screeched.

"Hey, get your mind out of the gutter!" Braig laughed. "I mean he's going to take over your body and see through your eyes. The bad news is you won't have a thought that he can't read. The good news is you'll get a lot of smarts off his mind. The guy knows things."

"This can't be real!" Kazuichi whimpered. "This is all some kind of…bad fanfiction plot!"

"See, I knew the look on his face would be worth it," Braig said with a wide grin. "Anyway, have fun meeting the old coot. Looking forward to seeing how you do on our team. Just think of it this way: you'll be free of all those pesky rules and morals meant for Light people. You get to do whatever terrible, horrible, nasty things you want. Anyway, I got places to be. Ciao!"

Braig stalked away, laughing to himself.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Kazuichi cried, now all the more certain that Hell was the best way to describe where he was. What Braig said didn't seem to make any sense at all. But if Braig was lying, what was Kazuichi there to do? It certainly seemed believable that anyone willing to kidnap him was willing to perform some kind of twisted heart surgery on him. And then there was the matter of the black hole Kazuichi had walked through to get here. That wasn't anything science could explain. If that were possible, there might be room to think that any of what Braig had just said – the heart transplants, the time travel, the existence of other worlds – was true too.

"My associate may have been telling you all of this in fun in order to get a reaction out of you," Dilan confirmed as he resumed walking, "but rest assured, it is the truth."

"What kind of sick fuck IS this Nort guy?" Kazuichi moaned, refusing to move.

"A brilliant one," Dilan replied, backtracking. "Have you suddenly had second thoughts?"

"I've had second thoughts from the minute I showed up!" Kazuichi blurted – right before remembering the pretense under which he had come.

"So I suspected," Dilan said with a grin. "Your volunteering came at quite the convenient time to spare Izuru. It was an act of far more Light than Darkness. Your lie was paper-thin."

Kazuichi knew he was in trouble now. He tried to back away, but Dilan swept behind him and wrenched his arm halfway up his back, putting him in a solid hold.

"I indulged you not only because your volunteering was more convenient than trying to restrain Izuru," Dilan went on, "but because your heart was still tainted enough by Darkness to serve Xehanort's purpose. Or, as you better understand it, despair."

So that seemed to be the key, Kazuichi realized. Light was hope and Darkness was despair. Whatever sense that made.

Dilan forced him to march forward, declaring, "I had suspected you might change your mind, drop your act, and fight back. That is why I am taking you to the dungeons to wait in a cell until Xehanort can implant his heart within you. I cannot risk you escaping."

Kazuichi was forced down still more hallways, his heart racing so quickly he worried it might actually explode before anyone could get the chance to do anything with it. At last, the dungeons came into view: cells into which the only view was through bars, lining the pale hallway.

"Your stay will not be comfortable," Dilan affirmed.

Once Kazuichi went into one of those cells, he knew, he was never coming back out. Not as the same person he was going in. Adrenaline filled his body as he became desperate enough to try anything in order to avoid entering the cell. He knew his chances weren't good. But he had to try.

Dilan had only one of Kazuichi's arms pinned. Kazuichi took the free one and rammed its elbow hard into Dilan's solar plexus.

He hadn't really expected Dilan to react, but as soon as he was struck, Dilan let out a pained grunt and doubled over, letting go of Kazuichi completely in the process.

For a brief moment, Kazuichi froze, not sure what to do next. Then his mind urged him: don't stand there. Make a move. It might be your only chance to avoid whatever twisted fate the Nort people have for you.

So he spun around, pivoting on his good leg and lifting his bad leg high enough to ram it into Dilan's groin.

This brought Dilan completely to the floor; he curled up in a ball, groaning in agony.

Kazuichi ran. It wasn't a fast run; it was just the best he could do with the legs he had. Dilan, thankfully, stayed down. Not remembering the way to anywhere in this strange structure at all, Kazuichi forged his own path through the silver-white hallways, knowing it was up to him to figure out a way to escape.

Hopefully there was actually somewhere to escape to. If Braig had been right, which Kazuichi still doubted, he had nowhere to go. This wasn't his world, and it would be impossible to return to Jabberwock Island. But Hajime would have told Kazuichi to have hope. So he fostered within his heart the idea that if he just kept going, he would eventually find a safe place to stop.

...

At some point, Roman had found Neo, which was good, because Neo was more than willing to listen to Roman's rants, and she agreed that Hans had done an incredible wrong. She had offered to kill Hans, to which Roman had sighed, "No…Righty would kill both of US if he turned up dead."

Neo just thought that was a real shame. She suggested Roman do something to take his mind off the auburn-headed annoyance.

"Like what?" Roman asked.

Neo mimed wiping down a counter with a rag.

"Cleaning," Roman clarified. "Did you suddenly forget who I am?"

Neo shrugged, and Roman could read the intent behind that shrug: cleaning wasn't enjoyable, but it was an effective distraction. More gestures followed, reminding Roman that he had technically been the last one to use the Gummi ship (along with Snatcher, the Smisses, the Overkills, and Neo herself), and they had left a few items out of place in the cabin that Mozenrath probably wouldn't be pleased to discover later.

"Fine," Roman groaned. "But only because I really, REALLY need a distraction."

A few minutes later, the pair stepped into the Gummi ship cabin to find that the mess was far worse than they'd thought. To be clear, it wasn't only their mess. Several cartons of ice cream had been opened throughout the space, and melting ice cream had been dripped everywhere. The culprit was easily identifiable; Demyx lay sprawled across the pilot's seat, dipping a spoon into a heaping bowl of ice cream and ferrying it straight to his mouth.

"The FUCK?" Roman cried, which startled Demyx into nearly upending the ice cream bowl.

"Hey there!" Demyx greeted.

"Dishwater," Roman growled, "I seem to recall giving you a very specific rule when you joined our ranks. What was it, again?"

"No ice cream," Demyx sighed, "or milk, or cheese, or anything like that. But you never told me why, and it's a STUPID rule."

"Do you mind explaining to me WHERE you got all this ice cream," Roman barked, "and WHY you're eating it in the Gummi ship cabin?"

"Well, I was eating it in the Gummi ship cabin so no one would catch me," Demyx explained. "I thought that would be obvious."

"And it didn't occur to you that at some point, someone would need to DRIVE IT?" Roman shook his head. "Just…tell me where you got it."

"Okay," Demyx began, "you're not gonna believe this part, but I started out looking for a completely different snack. But my fridge and freezer just stopped working for some reason, and I didn't want food poisoning. So I took a little trip around the base and looked in other people's fridges. And I found – "

"OTHER PEOPLE'S FRIDGES?" Roman repeated.

"Yeah," Demyx said casually. "I picked the locks."

"WE HAVE COMMUNAL KITCHENS! YOU COULDN'T HAVE RAIDED ONE OF THOSE?"

"Oh yeahhhhh," Demyx realized. "I totally could've. Glad I didn't, though, because I'm guessing you cleared all the ice cream out of those. I ended up finding a huge stash in one of the fridges in an apartment. I'm not sure whose it was, but whoever it is, they sure like Neapolitan."

Neo gasped as Roman rounded on her.

"NEO!" Roman cried. "Have you been hoarding ICE CREAM on me?"

Neo shot Demyx a dagger-sharp glare, launching into a series of gestures depicting several grisly ways he could die.

"Answer the question, Neo," Roman urged.

With an eyeroll, Neo relented and nodded.

"Listen, giving it up wasn't easy for me either!" Roman insisted. "But I did it! And you know what would happen if you-know-who found out about this!"

He might not eat it, Neo implied.

"A chance I'm not taking," Roman growled.

"This is awkward," Demyx muttered, getting up from his seat and leaving the bowl in his place. "I'm just gonna leave now – "

"Dishwater," Roman said without taking his eyes off Neo, "it might've been Neo's ice cream, but I still like to abide by the 'snitches get stitches' rule. Now get out of here before you end up needing more stitches than Iceman can give you."

Demyx hustled out of the cabin immediately.

Roman sighed heavily, looking around the now completely ice-cream-stained room. "Let's at least talk about this while we clean," he groaned. "I'm just gonna leave my hat outside." Couldn't risk getting dirt or ice cream on that.

Neo nodded. She knew Roman wouldn't stay mad at her. All the same, it might be time to dispose of her secret ice cream stash.

...

Irmaplotz, Scarlet, and Snatcher were just about ready to unveil the concept of the WHAM ARMY Improv Troupe throughout the base. While the former two argued over whether flyers or a mass text would be more effective marketing, the last was assigned looking over the karaoke room to make sure the stage was suitable for the first meeting of the group.

Snatcher couldn't really imagine why it wouldn't be, unless there was a lot of trash left over from the karaoke party. He made his way casually to the room, not expecting to find much.

And definitely not expecting to step into a flooded room.

Water forms squirmed throughout the dancefloor; geysers of water shot up at intervals. Demyx was playing a fast, mellifluous melody up on the stage. Snatcher marched right up to him, shoes sloshing through the water on the floor, and demaned, "WHAT is the meaning of this?"

Demyx plucked a sour note, and all of the forms and fountains fell flat, sending another wave of water rushing over the floor. "Don't scare me like that!" he cried.

"Explain," Snatcher growled. "NOW."

"Well," Demyx told him, "after Roman decided to be a butthead and chase me out of my new hiding place, I figured I could use some time practicing my combat skills. And this room is perfect! Lots of space AND great acoustics!"

"You realize you've flooded it," Snatcher pointed it out.

"Oh yeahhhhh," Demyx said as his eyes traveled over the soaked floor. "My bad."

"Mrs. Overkill, Miss Irmaplotz, and I require the use of this room later today," Snatcher informed Demyx. "It absolutely can't be in this condition."

"That sucks," Demyx remarked, scratching the back of his head.

"Someone," Snatcher asserted, "has to clean up the mess that was made."

"Ooh, yeah, sorry you have to do that," Demyx replied. "That's a LOT of water. I think there's a mop in a closet right outside – "

"NOT. ME," Snatcher growled. "YOU. YOU were the one who made this mess, and I've no doubt that given your skills, YOU will be most efficient at drying out this room."

It was true that Demyx's water power would give him an advantage in drying the room out. Still, it would require spending some time, as well as expending magical energy. "Hey, look!" he cried, pointing over Snatcher's shoulder. "Is that a giraffe?"

With a sigh, Snatcher made an about-face, groaning, "Mr. Snipe, WHEN will you learn to stay away from Miss Yzma's potions – "

There was no giraffe, Snipe or otherwise. Just the sound of light splashing as a pair of feet hustled out of the karaoke room. Snatcher realized Demyx had made an escape, leaving him to contend with the influx of water.

Muttering an irate tirade to himself, Snatcher made for the broom closet Demyx had referenced earlier. It seemed he would have to expend considerable effort making the hall presentable after all.

Demyx, in the meantime, was on the lookout for something new to do, since he couldn't snack on ice cream or practice his water magic. He realized that with everyone acting like a killjoy around him, he was really in the mood for some pranks, and he had a target in mind. After all, while breaking into apartments and looking for treats, he'd easily been able to tell which one belonged to Roman by the presence of the Cudgel leaning against a counter. That gave Demyx an idea.

And when Demyx got back to the Gummi hangar and found Roman's hat lying on a bench outside the ship, that idea was compounded into something that made Demyx snicker just thinking about it.

...

Roman and Neo exited the Gummi ship, dumping the last of the ice cream cartons into a large waste collection unit. "What have we learned?" Roman asked.

No ice cream, Neo replied through gestures. While she and Roman had scrubbed up the last of the stains Demyx had left on the floor, Roman had given her a lengthy lecture she didn't want to have to go through again.

"I know I can count on you," Roman told Neo with a smile.

They walked together toward the bench where Roman had left his hat; the Cudgel had somehow made its way there as well, leaning up against it. Roman was almost certain he hadn't brought the weapon with him to the hangar, but any other explanation for how it had gotten there was escaping him at the moment. "Anyway," he told Neo, "I'd call that a job well done." In a good mood after having purged his frustations from his system via scrubbing, he took the Cudgel into hand and used it to flip the hat into the air, letting the garment land on his head, falling in such a position that it covered his eyes.

It took him a second to realize something was wrong. After all, the edges of the hat's interior certainly shouldn't have squished when they made contact with his head, as though lined with a viscous substance. A substance that, in a miracle of perfect timing, dried just when it made contact. He tugged at the hat's brim only to find it stuck fast in place. "WHAT THE FUCK?" he screamed. "WHO PUT GLUE IN MY HAT?"

Neo began gesturing a denial that it was her before realizing that in his current condition, Roman couldn't see it.

By then, Roman had realized that he also couldn't let go of the Cudgel. "AND MY WEAPON?" he yelled.

That was when the laugh echoed throughout the hangar. Its high pitch was unmistakable.

"DISHWATER!" Roman bellowed as Demyx spilled out of a supply closet. "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"Not if you can't catch me," Demyx laughed before taking off.

Roman stumbled forward blindly before realizing he was hindered considerably in chasing after his quarry. "NEO!" he cried. "WHICH WAY DID HE GO?"

Neo caught his arm and held him back, and Roman knew what she was concerned about. She found it more important to fix Roman's sticky situation than to chase after revenge immediately.

"Fine," Roman grunted. "I'll get him later."

He took a step forward; Neo followed. "I can handle this, Neo," he insisted.

Neo knew the only way to convince Roman otherwise was to let him learn the hard way. So she let go of his arm.

Roman realized that if he really wanted, he could slip his hand out of his glove and leave that attached to the Cudgel. However, the weapon made an excellent implement for feeling out obstacles in front of him. "We're going back to my place," he declared. "Follow me."

Neo was convinced that Roman wouldn't be able to find his way around with only a cane to stop him from running into walls. But he still wasn't in any place to accept help, so she followed him on what turned out to inevitably be a goose chase.

Roman didn't remember the way to his apartment as well as he thought he did. Instead, he ended up going a different direction entirely, with an unimpressed Neo trailing behind. Pushing a door open, Roman was met with brief confusion when his feet splashed down onto a layer of water. He kept going anyway, which was a horrible decision.

Snatcher had begun the laborious process of mopping up the water Demyx had left behind in the karaoke room, wringing his mop out for about the fortieth time over a large bucket and observing that it hardly looked like any progress had been made at all. He splatted the mop onto the floor for round forty-one, back to the door, and therefore was oblivious to Roman entering the room until the latter had stepped in the bucket, tripped over it, and sent it spilling over the entire room while hitting the floor with an "OW!"

Instinctively, Snatcher began to snap at whoever had ruined all his hard work: "NOW look what you've gone and – " His vision fixed on exactly who had knocked over the bucket, splayed out on the floor. "Torchwick! Are you quite all right?"

"I am NOT all right," Roman growled without moving.

Moving in synchrony, Snatcher picked him up from the left shoulder while Neo hoisted him up from the right, the pair propping Roman in a standing position from either side. As they moved to let go, Roman growled, "Don't. Fine. I cave. I need your help."

"What's happened?" Snatcher asked, moving his free hand to try and shift Roman's hat back into place.

"What happened is my hat is now glued to my face," Roman seethed; Snatcher had just figured that out firsthand. "And my weapon is glued to my glove. Get me back to our place, okay?"

Snatcher and Neo gave each other a nod before stepping forward in unison, slowly so Roman could keep up. "How did this come about?" Snatcher asked, already mentally lining up a list of suspects as to who could have sabotaged Roman.

"Dishwater," Roman growled. "As soon as I get this hat off, he is DEAD."

"Mr. Demyx, was it," Snatcher snarled. "Of course it was. I should've known he'd run off to do something else that would absolutely ruin us!"

"I'm sensing he screwed you over too," Roman realized.

"He flooded the room we've designated for our revelry," Snatcher explained, "and ran off before he could be convinced to take any accountability for the mess."

"One of you," Roman growled, "get my scroll out of my back pocket."

Snatcher left that to Neo; he still wasn't accustomed to the technology, even after all this time.

"Now," Roman went on once Neo had retrieved the device, "open up the group text at the top of my messages. Now send this out: 'PROBLEM. NEED TO DISCUSS. BASEMENT CONFERENCE ROOM.' All caps."

"Filing another complaint, are we?" Snatcher asked as he felt the scroll in his own pocket vibrate from his reception of the text.

"Damn right," Roman huffed.

...

The scroll's jingle went off at the edge of the table where Mozenrath and Hans sat across from each other, engrossed intently by the chess board where they were doing battle.

"You need to get that?" Hans asked.

"I would," Mozenrath sighed, "but I have a strong feeling it's Roman again and it's not as important as he thinks it is. So I'm going to make him wait until we're done here."

"I swear it wasn't me," Hans said defensively but playfully. "I've been right here with you the whole time."

"I'm aware."

They played out the rest of their game. For all Hans' talk of needing a worthy opponent, he was nowhere near as skilled as Mozenrath. "You must be a real strategist," Hans complimented as he deliberated, then set down a knight.

"You could say that," Mozenrath replied, countering. You could also say that moving pieces on a chess board was nothing like manipulating people's actions in real life, when you weren't given time to decide on the best move and the pieces didn't obey your exact orders. But that wasn't the kind of thing you confessed on what was technically your second date.

At last, Mozenrath placed a bishop with a smug smile. "Checkmate," he declared.

"Are you sure about that?" Hans picked up his king, moving it a square to the right –

"I wouldn't," Mozenrath told him. "Look at my queen."

Hans realized Mozenrath had him fenced in after all. "Well," he remarked, "you won after all. I have to say that was the biggest challenge I've had in…actually, I think you were just the biggest challenge I've ever had playing this game. We'll have to do this more often."

"I wouldn't mind that," Mozenrath confessed.

"So," Hans asked, "what do you want as your reward? I'm thinking a kiss would be appropriate. If that's what you want."

Mozenrath hadn't considered it. But now that Hans had brought it up, it sounded appealing. "I'll take that gladly," Mozenrath stated, rising from his chair.

Hans did the same, and the two met on the side of the table. Mozenrath realized this was the first kiss he would share with Hans, but ultimately determined that shouldn't matter. It wasn't as though a first kiss should be in any way intimidating.

All the same, it took them a moment to become situated. Hans wasn't sure how much touch Mozenrath wanted to accompany the gesture, and Mozenrath's instincts didn't tell him to touch Hans, so it was only their lips that met, tentatively and awkwardly. Once they got there, lingering made the position feel more comfortable. Hans was the first to draw away; Mozenrath would have commanded for his lips to remain longer, but he did not want to seem as though he'd fallen victim to what was ultimately a display of affection.

"You better go see what Roman wants," Hans said softly.

Mozenrath swept up the scroll to see that it was, in fact, Roman's scroll that had sent the text. "This better be good," he muttered.

After letting Hans out of his apartment, Mozenrath teleported down to the basement rendez-vous just in time to see the retreating back of the Huntsman storming out of the room, indicating that this situation was not, in fact, deserving of Mozenrath's attention.

"What now?" Mozenrath asked the room at large, already drained.

He then took notice of how the scene was actually unfolding before him. Roman was sitting in a chair that had been conjured, eyes shut as Yzma trimmed black fabric out of his hair with a scissors. A potion she had handy had managed to dissolve the adhesive from his face, but the hair was trickier; in order to completely remove the hat, Yzma had felt it necessary to even out his hair all over and give him a drastically shorter cut. Until Mozenrath had appeared in the room, Wuya, Mim, Aghoul, and Snatcher had been focused on that spectacle.

"We've a nuisance to discuss in the form of Mr. Demyx," Snatcher declared.

At least this time, it was about someone Mozenrath had an actual grievance with. "All right. What did he do?"

"Flooded the room we utilize as a performance space," Snatcher outlined, "refused to do his part in cleaning up the excess water, and decided it would be utterly hilarious to glue Torchwick's hat to his face."

"That explains what's going on here," Mozenrath observed.

"I'm almost done," Yzma announced.

"Why am I not looking forward to this?" Roman asked her.

"I'm just going to start by saying this…was also NOT an issue that required the whole council," Mozenrath declared.

"Next you're going to tell me we can't roast him," Mim groaned.

"I have first dibs on killing him," Roman interrupted.

"NO ONE IS KILLING DEMYX," Mozenrath asserted. "He's certainly more than his fair share of annoying, but he does have his uses, and even I know that would be a diplomatic suicide. I can think of a few ways he can atone without dying, however. Leave his punishment to me."

"You know," Roman relented, "I'll let you have him just because I'm glad you gave a shit this time."

"This begs the question," Aghoul broke in. "When someone DOES do something worthy of capital punishment, can Mim and I be in charge of the execution?"

"We'll see," Mozenrath told him. "Anyway, now that that's settled, I don't want to read another complaint text on my scroll for at least twenty-four hours."

"All right," Yzma declared, "I'm finished." She backed away from Roman.

Roman's eyes tentatively pried open. "I don't suppose anyone has a mirror?"

He noticed that Wuya was poorly hiding a snicker as she conjured a hand mirror and passed it to him. Dreading the sight that awaited him, Roman lifted the mirror, getting a good look at himself.

He immediately let out a cry of anguish. Yzma had removed most of his hair, leaving it cropped close to his head. "What did you DO?" he cried.

"What I had to," Yzma told him, briefly cracking a smile of her own before hiding it.

"It's all GONE!" Roman moaned. "This is…this is…I don't…I hate this so much. I can actually see both of my own eyes! That shouldn't HAPPEN!"

"It's not so bad," Wuya managed with a semi-straight face before losing it and breaking down into laughter.

Roman threw down the mirror so hard, it cracked.

"That's seven years bad luck," Aghoul muttered.

"Great," Roman groaned. "Just great. Laugh it up."

"It's only humorous because it looks so unlike you," Yzma said as she finally set her smile free.

Snatcher cleared his throat; "I actually think it looks rather distinguished on you – "

"NO IT DOESN'T!" Roman cried. "IT LOOKS LIKE SHIT! One of you BETTER have a spell to put it back the way it was."

"Calm down," Yzma told him. "I have plenty of hair-growth potions stored away in my lab. Come with me and – "

Roman had already ditched the chair, shoving it to fall over as he sped out of the room.

"I didn't even get any pictures," Wuya lamented.

Mim held up her scroll proudly; "I did!"

"You're going to send those to me," Wuya commanded.

"All right," Mozenrath announced, "I'm going to go take care of our little Demyx problem."

Without waiting to see what happened next in the unfolding drama of Roman's hair, Mozenrath vanished.

...

He reappeared directly in Demyx's path, causing Demyx to cry out and flinch. "Demyx," Mozenrath began.

"I swear I didn't do it!" Demyx cried.

Mozenrath raised a brow. "You swear you DIDN'T flood our performance room and glue Roman's hat to his head? Because I have a pair of eyewitnesses who say otherwise."

"How could Roman be an eyewitness?" Demyx asked. "He couldn't see anything." He was unable to hide his giggle.

"And that tells me all I need to know," Mozenrath declared.

"All right, all right, so I made a couple messes and I played a few pranks," Demyx admitted. "What about it?"

"Well," Mozenrath informed him, "for disrupting the general peace, you will have to atone. I have a couple options in mind. For one, you could clean up the water in the performance room, scrub out all the bathrooms on that level, fix the refrigeration system in the north wing, and disinfect the kitchens on that level, the one above it, and the one below it."

"I'll take option two," Demyx groaned.

"Fine," Mozenrath told him. "Just remember: you were the one who asked to be suspended upside-down in the laundry room for five hours."

"OPTION ONE!" Demyx backpedaled. "I'LL TAKE OPTION ONE!"

"I hope you have fun with this," Mozenrath told him with a smirk, "because I know I am."

Sulking, Demyx stormed off.

...

Everything had gone dark after the crash.

That was, Stork realized, because he had his eyes squeezed shut in terror. Slowly, he opened them, taking in the sight of the dashboard of the Gummi ship and the front window. The latter had a hairline crack in it.

Stork slowly uncurled from the ball he'd tightened into in the pilot's seat, shakingly standing up and looking back over the rest of the ship to ask, "Is everyone okay?"

There were several groans, some of which were "Yes" or "I'm okay" and some of which were wordless. But as Stork watched Sora, Ruby, Papyrus, Jasmine, Aladdin, Katara, and Riku stand up, he determined that all were not only alive, but surprisingly free of any major injuries. In fact, the interior of the Gummi ship looked more or less intact save a few wrinkles. He owed that to the sturdiness of the ship's hull.

"What happened?" Sora asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"We crashed," Ruby stated.

"Yeah," Riku told her, "I figured that part out."

Stork rustled under the pilot's seat to bring out an emergency toolkit. "Something had to have gone wrong with the engine," he explained. "Hopefully it should just be a quick fix. Though, given the severity of the crash, I highly doubt it will be."

Stork set about removing the panel covering the engine while Sora stepped closer to the front of the ship, getting a better look out the front window. They had landed somewhere dark, though pinpoints of light were visible in the distance. Sora had the faint feeling he had seen something like this somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place where.

Stork wrenched away the panel, getting his first good look at the engine. "Oh," he commented. "This is bad."

"What's wrong?" Katara asked, coming up behind him to look over his shoulder. She had no experience with machines of this caliber, but was still intrigued.

The engine had fallen completely apart. "This…is beyond what I can do," Stork stated. "It looks like the pieces are all here. I think. I hope. Knowing my luck, probably not. Either way, I can't even begin to touch this."

"But you had to have performed maintenance on your old ship," Katara reminded him, "right?"
"That was a standard crystal-powered Atmosian engine," Stork pointed out. "This is something completely different. I still don't know the underlying principles of how Gummi even works, let alone how to combine it to make an engine. Besides, that's torn apart gooooood. It would take some kind of ultimate mechanic to put that thing back together."

"Well, let's try and call for help." Sora pressed a button on the dashboard to try and activate radio communications, only to be met with static. "Uh…hello?" he said into the void.

"There's no one on the other side of that static," Stork told him. "We must be out of range."

"Or something about this world is blocking our communications," Riku suggested.

"Why would you say that?" Jasmine asked.

"Because I can smell Darkness coming from the world itself," Riku revealed. "It's like when Hyrule was covered in Twilight, but stronger. I've smelled this before, but only in a couple places that I never want to set foot on again."

"We should check the outer hull," Stork decided. "That might tell us if the engine is even worth working on. If the wings are broken, we're definitely doomed." He straightened up and moved toward the door, pausing in the last second before his hand could reach it.

"What's wrong?" Ruby asked.

"Besides literally everything?" Stork replied. "I just don't want to know how bad it is."

"I can go first," Sora volunteered.

"I'll check it out, too," Katara added.

Stork stepped back, letting Sora and Katara approach the door. "We got this," Sora told him with a smile before throwing the door open and stepping out, Katara in tow.

Once the pair had drank in the view, Katara, enticed by the uniqueness of her surroundings, let out a "Wow!" However, this was quickly drowned out by:

"Uh, GUYS?" Sora cried. "We have a problem!"

Everyone quickly spilled out of the ship. Stork's eyes were turned to the hull as he asked, "How bad is it? Is it the wings? It's the wings, isn't it?"
The wings of the ship, however, were solidly fastened, not even bent. The hull had taken a bit of a beating from the hard landing, but was still functionally aerodynamic to Stork's eye. "Phew," he sighed. "So the only problem is the engine. Which still leaves us very doomed, but…there was a DIFFERENT reason you said there was a problem, wasn't there?"

Riku was the only other one besides Sora to know immediately what was wrong. The ship had crashed in the open square of a big city with tall skyscrapers lit up by neon. The sky overhead was starless, moonless, and black. One landmark in the distance towered over every other, including the highest skyscraper: a castle with silver turrets.

"It's the World That Never Was," Riku identified. "I knew it smelled familiar."

"You told us about this place once," Aladdin recalled. "Didn't Xemnas live here?"

"Both Organization XIIIs used this world as a home," Sora confirmed.

"We've just landed right in Xehanort's back yard," Riku added.

"Oh boy," Ruby commented.

"FROM WHAT YOU'VE SAID ABOUT XEHANORT," Papyrus added, "WE ARE NOT IN A GOOD PLACE."

Stork sat down in place, rocking back and forth. "We're trapped in an evil lair," he muttered. "We are trapped in a worldwide evil lair with no way out!" His breathing became quicker. "We're doomed. This is it. This is the end for us. We survived, only to meet an even worse fate – "

"Hey!" Katara quickly knelt beside him. "It's going to be okay. We'll get through this." She reached, then withdrew her hand; "Can I touch your hand?"

"Go ahead," Stork told her. "It won't make much difference."

Katara grasped Stork's hand, squeezing it lightly. "I know it looks bad," she said, "but we're all together, and we've made it through a lot already. We can pull through this, but first, we all need to be calm."

"You expect me NOT to be scared right now?" Stork moaned.

"I don't expect you not to be scared," Katara said softly. "You can still be afraid. But you need to be able to get on your feet. I'll talk you through it."

"Okay," Stork relented.

"Start by slowing your breathing," Katara encouraged. "I'll count to five, and that should be how long it takes you to breathe in. Ready? One…two…"

Sora, in the meantime, stared up at the silver towers. "I wonder what Xehanort's even doing," he mused.

"Trying to find the rest of the Thirteen Darknesses," Riku answered.

"Well, yeah," Sora replied, "but what do you think he's doing right now? You think he's somewhere up in that castle?"

"Are you going where I think you're going with this?" Riku asked. "Because strangely, I don't feel the need to stop you."

"We could end it all right now," Sora speculated.

"It would be eight against as many as thirteen," Riku reminded him. "Not counting any of the Heartless or Nobodies he could have summoned to guard the way."

"I think we could do it," Sora stated.

"Sora, no." Katara had just coaxed Stork into a standing position, and she now stepped forward, having heard Sora and Riku's conversation on the edge of her perception. "This enemy has been overpowering you for years. I know we're strong, but this Xehanort sounds way stronger. I don't think we can afford that kind of danger. We can't attack Xehanort without regrouping and getting more help. There's obviously a reason you haven't all just marched on this world already."

"I know you want to do what's best," Jasmine agreed, "but I think Katara's right."

"And I am definitely NOT going into that castle," Stork asserted.

"But what else can we do?" Ruby asked. "We're stranded here and we can't go home or even call for help. There might be a way out of this up in that castle, and if we have to fight off Xehanort to get to it, I'm ready."

"I know he has other ships there," Sora confirmed. "And he has to have some kind of radio that can cut through the barrier that's holding ours down."

"I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THIS," Papyrus said gingerly. "IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU WANT TO JUST…END HIM. THAT DOESN'T GO WITH OUR AGREEMENT."

"He's right," Riku realized. "How should we take care of this?"

"We'll figure out a way," Sora affirmed. "We just have to try something! We can't just stand around the ship and talk about how it's not gonna fly!"

"Stealth operation," Stork panted.

"Huh?" Aladdin replied.

"We make it a stealth operation," Stork said hoarsely. "We get in. We don't engage any of the enemy. We find a ship. And we leave."

Sora and Riku exchanged a look. Both still had a deep desire to put a permanent end to Xehanort and save the worlds from his plot. However, with all the arguments brought up by their team, that was ultimately shaping up to be a flawed plan.

"It might be safer that way," Riku admitted.

"Okay," Sora relented. "We'll sneak in."

"You could wait here," Jasmine told Stork. "If you don't want to go near the castle, we could pick you up on our way out."

"You want me to stay here ALONE?" Stork choked.

"Of course not!" Jasmine told him. "I'll wait with you."

"That's better," Stork sighed. "Okay. You all go. But don't forget to come back for us."

"Couldn't if we tried," Aladdin promised.

"All right, everyone!" Sora cried in a loud tone that did not give Stork much faith that he could lead a stealth mission. "Let's go!"

All but Stork and Jasmine took off at a run out of the square and down a street that led in the castle's general direction.

"I'm starting to have second thoughts about this," Stork admitted.

"About if we'll be safe here alone?" Jasmine asked.

"About if they'll be safe there without us," Stork clarified.

He and Jasmine quickly caught up to the group.

"Okay," Sora announced as he reached the end of the street first, turning onto a thicker main road that ran more directly toward the castle. "We just have to remember – "

Before he could announce what it was that his friends were supposed to remember, someone who had been speeding in the parallel direction collided directly with him, and both Sora and the stranger fell to the ground in opposite directions.

"WHOA!" Sora cried as he toppled back.

The stranger, upon hitting the ground, took one look at Sora and launched into a long, loud and very high-pitched scream. He wore a black leather cloak that identified him as somehow connected to Organization XIII, and the hood had been pulled up to obscure his face, but when he and Sora had crashed, his hood had fallen back, exposing his head. Sora didn't recognize him as any known Xehanort associate. His hair was bright pink, spiky at the top of his head and flowing long down to his shoulders, with a tiny braid tied near his left eye. His eyes were a matching shade – albeit due to colored contacts, just as the hair was the result of liberal dye use, though Sora had no way of knowing that. Finally, through the stranger's screaming mouth, Sora glimpsed a row of pointed-sharp teeth.

As the stranger began to crawl back away from Sora, still screaming and somewhat impaired by the fact that one of his legs, encased in a complex metal brace, didn't seem to be in fully functioning order, Riku drew his sword and pointed it down protectively, suspecting a potential threat. Within minutes, Ruby had Crescent Rose unsheathed; Stork, Aladdin, and Jasmine had struck defensive poses; Papyrus was surrounded in a circle of rotating bones; and Katara had a stream of water circling her hand, awaiting direction. "Who are you?" Riku demanded.

"NO!" the stranger cried. "I DON'T WANT HEART SURGERY!"

As Sora slowly stood, he remarked, "This guy looks way more scared than he does scary."

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" the stranger cried. "I DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU NORT PEOPLE!"

"HE REALLY IS JUST AFRAID," Papyrus realized, dispelling the bones that surrounded him. He approached the stranger gently, bending down to offer his hand. "HERE. I'LL HELP YOU UP – "

"Papyrus, don't!" Riku warned. "He's dressed like one of the Organization!"

"Talking…skeleton…" the stranger panted before screaming, "WHAT THE FUUUUUUUCK! I JUST WANT OUT OF HERE!"

As Papyrus tried to explain to "FEAR NOT, FOR I AM A FRIENDLY TALKING SKELETON!", the stranger had scrambled up to his feet, only to stumble, accidentally putting too much weight on the wrong leg before falling again, this time on his hands and knees, the former of which became quite scraped against the street.

"This one could give Demyx a run for his money for being pathetic," Riku observed.

"What was that you said about 'Nort people'?" Jasmine asked, stepping closer to the stranger.

"You should know!" the stranger whimpered, crawling off on hands and knees. "You're all the Nort people!"

"If you're talking about who I think you're talking about," Sora stated, "we're not the Nort people. We're actually the enemies of the Nort people."

"Technically, they're our enemies," Stork clarified. "Saying we're their enemies implies we actually stand a chance against them."

The stranger paused then, feeling his thudding heart throughout his entire body. He wasn't inclined to trust just anyone. But at the moment, he was incredibly desperate. Rolling back over into a sitting position, he asked meekly, "Who are you people?"

"Well, I'm Sora," Sora introduced.

"HE DOESN'T MEAN OUR NAMES!" Papyrus admonished. "HE WANTS TO KNOW WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE WE ARE! AND THE ANSWER IS…WE ARE HEROES!"

"H…how do I know I can trust you saying that?" the stranger whimpered.

"You don't," Stork said dryly. "You just have to roll with it and hope it pans out. Like I did."

"You didn't come here because you wanted to, did you?" Jasmine asked.

"No!" the stranger spat. "Fuck no! A weird guy with yellow eyes just showed up in our dining room and said he was going to take Hajime away, so I volunteered to go instead so he'd leave Hajime alone! But then this other guy with just ONE yellow eye told me all these weird things about what was gonna happen to me, and I can't stick around! I have to get outta here!"

"Hajime must be one of your friends," Sora realized.

"He's my BEST friend," the stranger clarified. "But what's it to you?"

"So Xehanort took you," Riku reiterated, "and you were trying to get away from him."

"I think we had it all wrong about this guy," Aladdin said as he relaxed. "He just wants to get out of here."

"I do," the stranger affirmed. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but you just might be my only shot. Can you get me away from this hellhole?"

"I wish we could," Katara answered, "but our ship's engine is broken, and it won't fly. So we're stuck here unless we come up with a better plan, and right now, our only plan is infiltrating the castle and stealing another ship from the…'Nort people.'"

"Wait," the stranger said, suddenly much calmer. "Did you say your ship's engine was broken? Because I can do something about that!"

"You say that now," Stork replied, "but you haven't seen the state of our ship's engine. It would take some kind of ultimate mechanic."

The stranger had by that time gotten to his feet: a little wobbly, but slightly less panicked. "Then I'm your guy!" he announced. "I'm the Ultimate Mechanic! I can fix your ship, and you can get me out of here!"

"It's a deal!" Sora agreed.

"Sora!" Stork snapped. "Exactly HOW do you know we aren't playing right into Xehanort's hands? Don't you think it's plausible he would send somebody to pretend he needed our help, then turn around and stab us in the back?"

"ARE YOU SUGGESTING WE JUST LEAVE HIM HERE?" Papyrus asked indignantly.

"That is EXACTLY what I am suggesting!" Stork emphasized.

"HOW COULD YOU?" Papyrus scolded. "IF YOU'RE WRONG, YOU'D JUST BE LEAVING AN INNOCENT PERSON TO WHAT MIGHT BE AN INDESCRIBABLY TERRIBLE FATE!"

"If it's between risking being betrayed and saving someone who needs our help," Jasmine added, "I'm not taking the chance of leaving him behind all alone."

"Riku?" Sora looked to his partner. "What do you think?"

"I can't tell if he's with the Darkness or not," Riku stated. "This world is clouding my senses. And even if he was…so was I, and I still needed to be saved."

"Please!" the stranger moaned. "I'm begging you! Take me with you!"

"I'm going to be completely overruled here, aren't I?" Stork groaned.

"Yyyyyyyup," Ruby confirmed as she packed her scythe away.

"You all better not turn out to be a gang of serial killers," the stranger accused.

"We're definitely not that," Sora stated, putting out his right hand. "Like I said, I'm Sora. What's your name?"

The stranger's right hand clasped his own. "Kazuichi Soda!" he introduced with a toothy grin.

"Let's head back to the ship!" Sora declared, turning to bolt back down the street.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Kazuichi yelled after him. "Slow down! I can't exactly…y'know…run." He did follow Sora at what passed for his top speed, his bad leg holding him back.

"WE'LL WALK MORE SLOWLY," Papyrus declared.

Sora skidded back into the group. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "Slowly it is."

"Man," Kazuichi remarked as the group moved back toward the ship, "I got told all sorts of stuff today that didn't make any sense, but looking at all of you, I'm starting to believe it. The talking skeleton is what sold it. No offense."

"NONE TAKEN!" Papyrus replied pleasantly.

"Then I'm guessing this…" Kazuichi paused, not wanting to hear the truth but knowing he had to. "…isn't really Earth."

"Nope," Sora told him. "It's the World That Never Was."

"And there are more worlds out there than just the two," Kazuichi extrapolated.

"We're all from different worlds ourselves," Sora explained. "Well, Riku and I came from the same world, and Aladdin and Jasmine are from the same world, but otherwise, they're all different!"

"I'M FROM AN EARTH!" Papyrus declared. "BUT AS MY FAME AS WELL AS THAT OF MY FRIENDS HAS RECENTLY BECOME WELL-KNOWN ON MY WORLD, AND YOU HAVE NOT HEARD OF ME, I CAN ONLY CONCLUDE THAT YOUR EARTH IS NOT MY EARTH."

"Now there's more than one EARTH?" Kazuichi groaned. "This just keeps getting more complicated by the minute! Was your Earth blown up to shit by a teenage megalomaniac and her cult?"

"UM…I'M GOING TO HAVE TO SAY NO," Papyrus answered.

"Definitely not my Earth," Kazuichi confirmed, finally starting to settle into the idea that existence had far more surprises in it than he gave it credit for. It still wasn't by any means a comfortable idea. But it was becoming believable.

Then he caught sight of the Gummi ship, and he gasped, bedazzled. "It's like a tiny rocket ship!" he squealed. "I've always WANTED to work on a rocket ship!"

"You've never seen a Gummi ship before, have you?" Stork asked with suspicion.

"No!" Kazuichi replied, still breathtaken. "It's so beautiful! I think I'm in love with it already!"

"You have no idea how it works," Stork reiterated.

"I'll figure it out!" Kazuichi asserted. "I AM the Ultimate Mechanic, after all!"

As he boarded the ship, Stork gestured to the panel where the engine lay disassembled with the toolkit before it. "If you think you can do anything with this," Stork told him, "be my guest."

"I've never seen anything like this before," Kazuichi gasped, eyes sparkling.

Stork rolled his eyes. "I knew it. You don't ACTUALLY know how to fix it."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Kazuichi snapped. "I never said that! I can fix plenty of things I've never seen before!"

"You don't even understand how Gummi works!" Stork accused.

"No," Kazuichi asserted, "but I'm gonna find out!" He took up a screwdriver, diving right into the mess. "ENGINES REVVING!"

"So, uh…" Ruby asked tentatively, "how do you know enough about machines to work on something you've never seen before?"

"I used to take stuff apart all the time as a kid," Kazuichi answered, speaking loudly to compensate for the fact that he was buried in his work on the engine. "It was practically all I ever did. Then my dad got me working in his bike shop when I was real young, and I got more practice. I did have a way easier time taking things apart than putting them back together, though…"

"Because THAT'S what you want to hear from the person who all your lives are staked on!" Stork cried.

"But only with things that weren't vehicles!" Kazuichi insisted. "I've never had trouble with vehicles! In fact, sometimes I would turn things that weren't vehicles into vehicles by accident!"

"How does that even work?" Ruby wondered.

"When you've got Ultimate Mechanic skill!" Kazuichi boasted.

"You'd think actual Ultimate Mechanic skill would be taking apart a toaster without turning it into an X-wing bike," Stork muttered.

"What was that?" Kazuichi asked.

"Just another snarky comment," Stork said more loudly.

"You should be nicer to me, y'know!" Kazuichi insisted. "I'm fixing your ship and everything!" Then, in a lower tone, "So that connects to THAT. Now it makes sense!"

"We never did say thank you," Katara realized. "So I'll say it: thank you for fixing our ship. If this works, we won't have to risk our lives sneaking into Xehanort's castle."

"It's gonna work!" Kazuichi insisted. "What, you think I'm gonna half-ass this?"

"Um…just one request," Katara said meekly. "Could you maybe…tone down the swearing a little bit? Some people here are kind of young and innocent – "

"You mean me, don't you?" Ruby interrupted. "You know I'm older than you, right?"

"Well, yes," Katara admitted, "but…"

"I've heard swear words before!" Ruby insisted. "I've heard plenty of swear words! You don't grow up with my dad, my uncle, and my sister without learning a lot of grown-up concepts."

"Well, I guess the swearing is fine, then," Katara relented.

"And that's not even getting into what I read out of the books I borrowed from Blake – " Ruby attempted to go on.

"I don't think we want to know what you learned from those," Riku broke in.

Kazuichi squirmed out from his workspace behind the panel. "That should work now," he announced.

"Already?" Stork said in disbelief.

Reveling in getting to do the cliché, Kazuichi tapped the dashboard twice with a wrench. Immediately, the Gummi ship purred to life.

Stork's jaw would have hit the floor if it hadn't been attached to his face.

"Heh," Kazuichi chuckled, his sharp teeth exposed in a proud smile. "You didn't think I could do it, did you?"

"KAZUICHI, YOU DID IT!" Ruby, forgetting for a moment the etiquette of how to act around someone you only just met, dropped to her knees and hugged him tightly.

"Hey!" Kazuichi barked. "Get off me!"

Ruby let go with a shrug.

"I KNOW WE HAVEN'T KNOWN YOU FOR VERY LONG," Papyrus told Kazuichi, "BUT YOU SEEM LIKE A VERY COOL GUY!"

"That's me!" Kazuichi said with a smile, thinking about all of the people he had known who would argue the opposite and deciding not to bring them up.

"I still don't buy that he's on the up-and-up," Stork groaned, "buuuuuuut I guess it is better than just leaving an innocent person in Xehanort-land."

"Hey, you still haven't convinced me you're not some kind of organized crime ring with all those fancy weapons!" Kazuichi replied. "But I'd rather take my chances with you than wait around for some guy to…" He realized it probably wasn't even as simple as heart surgery. "…Do whatever it was he was going to do to my heart."

"Now we can take you back to Radiant Garden!" Sora cried as Kazuichi screwed the panel back in place over the engine. "You're gonna love it there!"

"If you like castles and big cities, that is," Katara clarified. "But not like the one we're already in!"

"Just get me as far away from the Nort people as possible," Kazuichi pleaded.

Stork zipped into the pilot's seat, gripping the helm. "I'm not wasting another second here," he insisted.

As the ship began to rise into the air, Kazuichi felt a familiarly disgusting sensation building up in his stomach. "How…long is this flight?" he asked nervously.

"Not that long," Sora promised. "We should be there in…less than half an hour."

"This might be the wrong time to tell you…" Kazuichi said softly.

"What's wrong?" Sora asked.

"I, uh…I kinda…"

The ship built up speed, rocketing away from the World That Never Was. Kazuichi dropped to his knees, clamping both hands over his mouth to keep from retching up half-digested taiyaki all over the Gummi ship floor.

"I'm getting Jaune flashbacks," Ruby said casually.

"Just try not to throw up on anything that would be hard to clean," Stork advised. "Because I'm not slowing down."

Readying himself for half an hour of pure motion-sick agony, Kazuichi lay back on the floor and stared straight up at the ceiling.

...

The turnout for the improv troupe's first meeting wasn't ideal, but by WHAM ARMY standards, it wasn't bad, either. Scarlet had been willing to put off said meeting for a couple hours in order for Demyx to finish drying out the venue and Roman to get his hair grown to exactly the right length. When she could finally get the group together, Herb, Irmaplotz, Roman, Snatcher, and Hans all assembled for her. Demyx slunk in at the last minute, dropping his punishment chores for a brief recess.

"All right, everyone," Scarlet said from atop the stage, "glad you're all here! This marks the first meeting and hopefully not the last one of the WHAM ARMY improv troupe. I'd explain it, but I'm pretty sure you all know how the concept of improv works. You're theatre people. You get it. So, anyway, our first game is going to be a personal favorite of Irmaplotz's." She gestured to where a bowl had been placed upon one of the stereo speakers on the stage. "We'll start with four people. One of you is going to be the host of a party – "

"ME!" Irmaplotz's hand shot into the air. "Me! Pick me!"

"…Irmaplotz is going to be the host of a party," Scarlet continued, "and three of you are going to be guests at that party. But you're not going as yourselves; you each pick labels out of the bowl that tell you who or what you're supposed to be, or how you're supposed to act. I threw some surprises into that bowl for our first round. Irmaplotz's job is to guess what your deal is. You have to get her to guess without saying outright what your deal is. Anyway…"

Demyx's hand shot up into the air.

"You, volunteering to do something that involves actual effort?" Roman snorted.

"This isn't work," Demyx clarified. "It's a PERFORMANCE."

"I'm up," Herb stated, raising his hand as well.

Hans beat everyone else to the punch in throwing up his hand. "I'll give this a shot."

"All right!" Scarlet gestured to the bowl. "Actors, pick your labels! Irmaplotz, the floor is yours!"

Irmaplotz strode up to center stage while Herb, Hans, and Demyx plucked labels out of the bowl. Herb just nodded and said "Nice" once he read his. Hans' eyes widened as he looked his over. Demyx placed a hand over his mouth to hide a giggle upon his revelation.

As per custom of the game, Herb was the first to pretend to knock on the invisible door, and Irmaplotz opened it with a greeting of "Hey! So glad you could come to my party!"

"I almost didn't come," Herb said in a posh voice, "but then I realized it wouldn't be a complete waste of my time and talent. I am, of course, very talented." As he stepped onstage, he mimed playing a quick solo on an air violin.

Irmaplotz had a guess of who he was supposed to be, but she decided to wait it out. Hans was the next to knock on the imaginary door, and Irmaplotz was all too happy to throw it open, greeting, "Hi! Did you – "

"I've no time for pleasantries, MISSSSSSSS Irmaplotz!" Hans bellowed in a thick British accent.

In retrospect, Scarlet pinpointed this as the moment where she should have called off the game.

Hans literally shoved Irmaplotz aside while stomping across the stage, proclaiming, "I won't have my good name sullied by DISRESPECT at this party! You there!" He pointed to Herb. "You were disrespecting my good name!"

"I was just laying down a rad solo on the violin," Herb argued. "I mean, uh, playing a masterpiece composition to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies."

"DISRESPECT!" Hans insisted. "I've already suffered far too many indignities! I declare there shouldn't be a party at all, and I always get my way!"

Demyx, excited to get his piece in, waved his fist excitedly over the imaginary door. Irmaplotz, as usual, played the charming hostess: "Hi there. Glad you could come – "

Demyx tripped himself and fell on the floor. "Darn it!" he muttered. "That wouldn't have happened if I wasn't such a clumsy trigger-happy idiot! Oh, well. I'll just blow something up later and call it even." He got to his feet, dusting himself off. "So. Did anybody order another killjoy?"

Scarlet, looking back, knew this had been her second big opportunity to avoid disaster, and she had blown it.

"I am already killing the joy of this so-called party, MISTERRRRR," Hans declared, "and I am doing so very well on my own."

"Yeah, well, if you're who I think you are, I'm pretty sure incompetence and senseless pyromania should be your turn-ons," Demyx continued. "We could totally kill everyone's buzz together."

Herb was oblivious. "Princess Irmaplotz," he said in a dignified manner, "is there anywhere I might practice my archery?"

"Um – " Irmaplotz began.

"Now I know who you are!" Hans remarked to Demyx. "I didn't recognize you without that awful hat."

"My hat's gone?" Demyx waved his hand over his head. "What the frickeldy-frack? I love that hat more than I could ever love a human being! Could I borrow yours?"

"My hat is FAAAAAR too dignified for the likes of you to wear," Hans declared. "In fact, there isn't a piece of clothing I have on that is fit for another person to wear, though I'm not certain if that's because of the dignity or because of how few times I've actually washed anything I wear."

"You do smell like a garbage truck," Demyx agreed.

"And proud of it," Hans affirmed. "Meanwhile, you smell of alcohol, ash, and bad decisions."

"Oh, I'm MADE of bad decisions," Demyx stated. "It's the only decision I know how to make."

"Um," Irmaplotz broke in, "I think Herb is Ravess – "

"THAT'S IT!" Roman stamped his foot as he and Snatcher rose in unison. "YOU THINK I DON'T SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING?"

"They're onto us," Demyx observed.

"I seriously thought it would take them longer," Hans replied. "You know, since the bulbs aren't exactly shining in their lighthouses."

"ARE YOU CALLING US UNINTELLIGENT?" Snatcher roared.

"Aaaaand point proven," Hans said with a chuckle.

"I WILL NOT TAKE SUCH SLANDER FROM THE LIKES OF YOU!" Snatcher bellowed. "TORCHWICK AND I ARE FOUNDERS HERE! WE ARE THE AUTHORITY! YOU TWO ARE MERE STOOGES WHOSE RANK PLACES THEM LOWER THAN THE TOPSOIL! YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHT TO PORTRAY TORCHWICK OR MYSELF AS UTTER BLOWHARDS AND IMBECILES! WERE IT NOT FOR YOUR RELATIONSHIP TO LORD MOZENRATH, MR. WESTERGARD, I COULD HAVE YOU THROWN OUT WITH A MERE WORD! MR. DEMYX IS NOT SO LUCKY!"

"Oh, so now I'm going to be thrown out?" Demyx countered. "Do it. I dare you."

"No, no," Hans told him, "now we stand our ground on principle. I said it before and I'll say it again: you are a stuffed shirt, Archibald."

"YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS – " Snatcher attempted.

"As whatever I want, ARCHIBALD," Hans interrupted. "And I drew your name out of that bowl, so I was giving the best performance I knew how to give. You really don't have much to work with. Though now I guess I can add a hair-trigger temper, a lack of an indoor voice, and dealing with problems by threatening them away to the list. I thought you were supposed to be the silver-tongued manipulator around here or something. And you're trying to get your way by yelling at me?"

"SHUT. THE FUCK. UP," Roman broke in. "YOU TWO HAVE BEEN OUT FOR OUR BLOOD SINCE DAY ONE!"

"Only because it's fun," Demyx jeered.

"FUN?" Roman repeated. "YOU THINK THIS IS FUN? YOU'RE MAKING ME LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT! AND I DON'T SAY 'FRICKELDY-FRACK'!"

"WHY, I OUGHT TO – " Snatcher began.

"YOUR ASS IS – " Roman said at the same time.

"YOU DON'T KNOW THE FIRST THING – " Hans chimed in.

"I SWEAR TO KINGDOM HEARTS – " Demyx piped up.

Then all four were yelling at each other, two versus two, no one stopping his own rant to hear the others' words.

"This is the last time I put other members' names in the bowl," Scarlet moaned to Herb, who let her lean on him sympathetically.

...

Mozenrath knew when he got the next vaguely worded text that it was going to be another petty complaint. "I don't even want to hear it," he said once he materialized in the basement conference room. "Just tell me if it was Hans or Demyx."

"It was both," Roman and Snatcher seethed at the same time.

"This is beginning to get tiresome," Yzma groaned.

"You made us get out of the bath for this?" Wuya growled.

"Wait a minute," Roman realized. "'Us'? Did you two – "

"Yes," Yzma replied. "And we'd appreciate it if you would let us get back to actually having a relationship."

"I wouldn't mind if Mozenrath would actually let me roast someone on the spit," Mim huffed.

Aghoul patted her shoulder sympathetically. "I don't think it's going to happen, Corpseflower."

"Might we at LEAST have Mr. Demyx expelled from our ranks?" Snatcher asked.

"I already told you no," Mozenrath stated.

"No, what you said was not to KILL him," Roman recalled. "You never said we couldn't kick him out."

"He's the only water healer we have," Mozenrath argued. "Vexen's work is ultimately of better quality, but it's not exactly portable."

"But I…er…" Snatcher found himself unable to meet Mozenrath's gaze head-on. "I rather…threatened Mr. Demyx with expulsion…and implied that Mr. Westergard would get the same treatment if he weren't involved with you…"

Mozenrath closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples. "I am going to figure out a way to solve this problem once and for all," he growled, mostly to himself. "And when I do, this better be the last I hear of any of this." He then vanished.

"He's going to end up kicking Dishwater and Sideburns out," Roman questioned, "right? I mean, that's the ONLY permanent solution here."

"Or," Aghoul suggested, creeping up behind Roman and Snatcher and reaching up to suddenly seize one shoulder of each, "he's planning to terminate both of YOU."

"Don't…" Roman seethed, "do…that."

"But one does wonder what sort of solution he has in mind," Snatcher pondered.

"It's gonna work out in our favor," Roman insisted.

"I'm not so certain," Snatcher muttered.