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Kingdom Hearts: Ceremony of Opposites Ch.2

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Chapter the Second: Nodding Acquaintance

And a nodding acquaintance will be all that's left for us. I'll swear I used to know you, but obviously not well enough?

It's morning, or so Zexion's internal clock assumes, forcing his steel-blue eyes open. He groans and stares at the sky for a second or two. The crystal-clear horizon is the same shade as blue topaz, the same as it was the day before. That's something, anyway, he supposes. Zexion does not like surprises. At all.

Demyx has been up for some time now. Zexion frowns. This isn't like him. Demyx is never up before noon if he can help it. Saix had always despised the younger man's acedia, but there was never anything he could do about it.

“Hey, Zex!”

Zexion groans. There is an unspoken rule that Zexion's name is never to be shortened. It's Zexion, not “Zex,” or “Zexy.” Demyx breaks that rule at every turn, so it seems. “What?”

“If you were in Hogwarts, what House would you be in?”

It's “In which House would you be,” Zexion thinks, blearily. He is trying his best not to be as pedantic as he usually is, but it's all but impossible for him. Proper grammar is as necessary to him as food or drink. He grits his teeth and answers the question anyway. “Ravenclaw, of course. You?”

 “Heh, I'm too cool for labels. I'd be the Divergent of Hogwarts.”

Zexion smirks against his will. “More like the Faction-less. You're not brave enough for Gryffindor, not ambitious enough for Slytherin. You hate hard work, so Huffelpuff's out, and you're not smart enough for Ravenclaw.”  

Demyx laughs. “Houses are too mainstream, anyway.  Besides, who wants to go to dumb ol' Hogwarts in the first place? A place that labels people like that?” He shakes his head. “That's seriously not cool, man. I'm above labels.” He thinks for a second. “Still, if for some reason, we end up in that place, what would your Patronus be?”

Again, the smirk. It rests a little too easily on Zexion's face. “Simple. It would be Tzeentch. That should go without saying. Yours?”

Demyx grins. “Oh, that's easy. A ninja bunny-girl battle maid. And she has to be a ginger. But I'll take pink hair, I guess. Although it wouldn't be my first choice.”

Right. He's been thinking about this for a while. Super. But then again, what else was there to do, in between narrow escapes from certain doom?

“Still, it's not like I have any magic left,” Zexion adds, wistfully. “Frankly at this point, I'd settle for being a conjurer of cheap tricks.”

Demyx frowns at this and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah. I prefer the Clash, myself. But only ironically, you understand. They're a bit too mainstream for my taste.”

Zexion struggles to shove down the urge to roll his eyes. It's always like this with them. Always. Too many worlds, too many references to count. It would be nice to actually be able to stay in one place for any length of time, but they both know that will never happen. Still...

They promised themselves earlier on this venture that they would never go to the wizarding world. It simply would not be fair to Zexion who had lost his powers.

It is still sunny and warm without being hot. The crushed grass where the pair had bedded down the night before still retains some of their body heat as they rise. It gives off a slightly sweet scent. The remains of the fire from last night have long since cooled.  If Zexion still had his power over illusion, he could hide all evidence of their ever being here. Sadly, he does not.

Demyx stretches, and Zexion frowns at the former's wrinkled clothes. He has magic; can he not do something, anything, about that? He tells Demyx this.

Demyx merely smiles. “Oh, Zex, lighten up, will ya?”

No, Zexion will not “lighten up;” that is beneath him. Demyx should know this by now. It is beyond Zexion's comprehension that he seemingly has not.

Demyx dutifully tugs on his shirt and runs his hands over it, in a vain attempt to smooth out some of the more noticeable creases.

***********************

It's a given they'd visit the town. No matter how much Zexion would like to delay the inevitable, they will go there.

It's too...perfect, for lack of a better word. Zero humidity, few clouds marring the crystalline sky above, no wind whipping through the trees, birds calling out one to another in the woods...it's irritating for reasons Zexion cannot articulate. Like a children's storybook, it seems saccharine, artificial. He doubts Demyx has noticed.

On the edges of the meadow, he spots a few flowers dotting the landscape like leftover confetti from a child's birthday party gone past. That was certain to aggravate his allergies. He feels a bit better about this. It all seems a bit unnatural to him still. Places should not have such a happy vibe to them. It makes him irritable.

There is a crude path where the grass has worn away to bare dirt. Zexion assumes that this leads to the town in question, but dares not voice this aloud. Assuming often led to Bad Things Happening. He would not know anything about that, of course. Nope.

It's a good few kilometres to town. Zexion is not one for long walks. His thick tan work-boots scrape the backs of his ankles painfully. He is certain to have at least one nasty blister back there, which comes as no surprise to him. The universe hates him; of that, he is absolutely positive. Besides, he really should be wearing thicker socks with those boots. He blames Demyx for this.

He struggles to keep up with Demyx, disgustingly cheerful as per usual. He never had to deal with people (read: Riku) claiming that the Puberty Fairy never came to his house. The puberty Fairy. Right. No. This isn't...whatever that world was, with the Powdered Toast Man ™ (yes, really) and the demented dog-and-cat duo. Granted, worlds tend to blend in one with another, but this one definitely stood out, to say the least.

Another breeze kicks up, dragging along like a fishing net the tang of salt and death. Zexion is racked with nausea for several seconds, nearly causing him to lose his meagre breakfast. Leftover fish, nuts, and berries are hardly substantial and will be soon burnt off during their trek. Zexion can hardly wait.

Nearly an hour passes before the pair reaches the outskirts of the village. Up close, it is even less impressive than before. The path is less rugged here, a dirt road, rather than a goat track. The row houses look like they will crumble to dust with the lightest of touches, and Zexion warily edges away from them. He swears he can see beaming eyes peering out at him from a broken window, but Demyx assures him it's just his nerves. Still, Zexion refuses to turn his back on the decrepit structure. He sucks in a deep breath, the sickening sea-scent having departed earlier on. He is grateful for this, oh, so grateful.

The winding streets are vacant, as expected at this time of day. Most people are at work or in school. Zexion sees no signs of day labourers or people standing in car-parks with signs looking for employment. He does not know whether this is a good omen or an ill one. Were this the typical tourist attraction masquerading as a quaint fishing hamlet, this would most likely be because sightseers would not like to see such things marring their holiday. Nothing says “ruined forever!” quite like the realities of life intruding on what should be a pleasant day-trip.

The streets are relatively flat and paved with actual tarmac, which comes as both a surprise and a disappointment to Zexion. High embankments, narrow alleyways, and cobblestone paths would add some much-needed local colour to a disordered mess of a town. If it cannot be neat and structured, it should at least have some character, some personality. This village lacks both, and Zexion is disgusted.

Some sections have been recently paved over, and the scent of fresh tar assaults the youth's sensitive nose. He wrinkles it, grimacing. He loses his powers, (in this world, and the rumours are flying...) but not his acute sense of smell. Right. Because he really needs that now, with all the foetid odours surrounding him on all sides, closing in on him like the high brick walls to his right. Dull, greyish concrete is to his left.

He eyes his companion warily, hoping that the Nobody has an explanation as to why they are here in the first place. Mere curiosity won't do; that was how Zexion had lost his heart in the first place. Never again would he do that.

They pass a couple of shops on the way to...nowhere in particular. Zexion is fairly certain that one of them is a general store, but he is also reasonably sure they won't stock potions or elixirs, for some reason. Synthesis is also out, since they have yet to see any signs of Moogles or the like. It's probably just as well, he supposes. Doesn't mean he has to like it, however.

Zexion half-listens to Demyx prattle on about the various sights, whilst various employees stare at them with unabashed wonder. The blue-haired youth resolutely refuses to meet anyone's eye, scowling to himself as per usual. So much for stealth. Xemnas would be so proud of them. Not.

Zexion would really like to be at a library right now. Any library would do. The town library would do better than most, however. It has always been his experience that seaside towns had peculiar histories to tell, hidden away in dusty tomes secreted in back corners of forbidden rooms, untouched by human hands, or murmured about in dark whispers, never to be bandied about lightly. A prominent towns-person might very well have a practitioner of arcane arts lower down in his family tree than he would like. All secrets must come to the light eventually, some sooner rather than later.

He is naturally all too aware of one unfortunate fellow, only a few years older than himself, an antiquarian, who had the grave misfortune to have stumbled upon such a stain on the fabric of his ancestry.  Such a thing they tend to leave out of genealogy websites. A pity, that. Having a necromancer as a great-grandfather would add some lovely flavour to one's family tree, Zexion is certain. He wishes he had one in his. His parents were disgustingly normal middle-class folk right up until their unfortunate demise, so no hideous whispers in the middle of the ebony night, no midnight shipments of livestock, no massive and mysterious orders of slaves from  the Orient, darkest Africa, or Arabia, no large wooden boxes suspiciously shaped like coffins coming in and out of their comfortable home. A right pity, that.

With Vexen, on the other hand...ah, what a mad acolyte of Science he was! Ever willing to prostrate himself and throw himself headfirst into whatever depraved worship of his Lord and Master, (or Lady and Mistress, depending on what day of the week it was) it was he who had exposed the newly-orphaned Ienzo to ever-increasingly esoteric arts. From their first experiments on the Unversed as Even and Ienzo, to their activities as founding members of Organisation XIII, nothing was sacred or off-limits.

Ienzo/Zexion had spent many a pleasurable hour perusing Even/Vexen's shelves full of Forbidden Tomes ™. It housed many a volume of lore and instruction best left forgotten. The well-nigh cliché Necronomicon, ™ the Golden Bough, the Pnakotic Manuscripts, “The King in Yellow...” all exceedingly fascinating to a small child.

Soon, there began to be a mysterious decrease in the number of moogles in existence. Once more numerous than people, human or otherwise, (the worlds tend to have a far less strict definition of person-hood than Earth, for obvious reasons.) the population soon dwindled to near-extinction levels, once Ansem began work on the extra basements at the Castle of Radiant Garden. The remaining creatures soon united and formed an organised crime syndicate, the likes of which had never been seen before. Taking advantage of their status as endangered animals under the protection of King Ansem the Wise, they quickly began setting up item and synthesis shops around the worlds and drove the human shopkeepers away using vile intimidation tactics. A few brave humans persevered despite the pressure to give in and give the moogles a monopoly, most of these hardy souls being residents of Traverse Town. There are rumours to this day that one Cid Highwind had a Chocobo head in his bed, which he had chalked up to drinking rather heavily the night before.  

Stories in which ninety-nine puppies are kidnapped and distributed in boxes across the worlds waiting for an adventurer intrepid enough to rescue them also abound. At night, it is claimed that the sounds of the young canines whining can be heard throughout all the lands. Apparently, this is unfounded, since most people seem to sleep right through it. A pity, that. It would seem likely that the aforementioned pooches would love to see their parents again, and that the parents would reward the hero responsible for the rescue handsomely. But let's not get bogged down in petty details like this. Let us simply be glad that none of them have fallen into the hands of one Cruella De Ville, at least thus far.

Since the moogle supply had run out, it was only natural that Vexen, Zexion, and Ansem's other apprentices, Dilan, Braig, and Aeleus, would turn to each other for test subjects. Far be it for them to shirk their respective adulations to the Lord and Master who served them so willingly. Unversed and Heartless were all very well and good, but the best sacrifices came of oneself, they knew. Extracting one's heart to understand the mysteries it held within was only the obvious step. What greater gift was there to give the One they served for all these years? They had given Science! Their youth, their decency, their morals, their scruples, counting them but loss for the progress that Science promised them. Never looking back on the already-decaying past behind them, only ever casting their eyes on the bright future ahead of them. How else could it be, if they gave their all to Science, as all true men must always strive to do? Yes, even the youngest among them could never refuse to give anything less than all he had. The fact that he was a right sadomasochistic little git had nothing to do with it. Really.

Artificial Heartless, named Emblem Heartless, had poured out of the basements soon after the future founding members of the Organisation had dislodged their hearts. Streets ran black for several days, weeks, after this event. Whilst it had never had much of a garden, despite Aerith's best efforts, what little was actually there was soon torn to shreds by the claws of Soldiers and Shadows, following the leads of the Emblem Heartless before them. Moogles who had laughed to scorn the tiny flower shop that Aerith had run were now fuming over the destruction, cursing that it had only taken seconds for the Heartless what had taken them years to even approach. Aerith had had very good insurance, the moogles had to admit that, at least. Tifa was a good agent. Probably better than most, since no-one ever expected someone like her of selling insurance, which is always a plus in the business. Anna from Arendale soon became famous for singing a song to the tune of State Garden's jingle. It had amused the brunette greatly to hear that “Would You Like to Buy Insurance?” had somehow become “Would You Like to Build a Snowman?” Less pleased was she when she had learnt that said tune had overtaken the jingle in popularity. She knew right then and there that she would have to redouble her efforts. She refused to be defeated by a talking lizard, a woman with helmet hair, a pig, and a State Farm. No-one should have to suffer that kind of humiliation. No-one. Of course, there was also a white duck to worry about, but Tifa did not mind that nearly as much as the others. She had always assumed it was one of Donald's relatives. Perhaps his Nobody? Most likely not, at least at this point in time.

Thanks to the strong-arm tactics of the moogles, nowhere in the worlds was safe from their presence. Not even Cid's shop, as a group of them had taken up residence in the attic of his accessory shop. Under the guise of a “synthesis shop,” and via several shell corporations, they quickly began laundering munny and funnelling it into various and sundry secret bank accounts on the Destiny Islands, or the Archipelago of Predestination, if your name happened to be Xemnas.

The roads seem endless, intersecting one with another at odd points. The town is laid out without any sense of order or structure. It hurts Zexion physically to try to figure out any of this. He swears they have been down the same street a handful of times, but Demyx assures him it is simply his imagination.

Zexion glowers. He loathes being patronised, particularly by someone who is technically an inferior. Granted, officially rank held little enough import in the Organisation, which no longer exists, but it was tacitly assumed that the original six members held authority over the newer members. The fact that the Thirteenth Order, as Xemnas called it, has long been disbanded (thanks to the efforts of Sora, Riku, and Axel) matters little in the mind of the older Nobody.

The gentle warmth of the sun does nothing to improve Zexion's mood. His head hurts, he is thirsty, and he feels as though he will have a “second breakfast” at any moment. His ankles having been rubbed completely raw at this point are not helping him any, either. Again, he needs thicker socks. Why Demyx has not thought about this himself is beyond Zexion's comprehension.

Still, the pair continue to walk down poorly-planned boulevards, passing what appears to be a giant chimney on their left. Demyx remarks that Santa Claus would have quite an easy time climbing down it to the attached house. Zexion does not have the heart (heh) to tell him that that would not be the entrance the jolly old elf would ever use.

In all honesty, this is not the most bizarrely laid out town the pair has ever visited. No, that “honour,” dubious though it may be, belongs squarely to Wonderland, or the Realm of Miraculous Occurrences, if your name happens to be Xemnas. Just as Never Never Land was the Country of Eternal Non-Existence. Yes, really. Agrabah was still Agrabah, but that was because no-one really wished to refer to it as the Land of Ever-Shifting Sands. Even Xemnas thought that one was a bit of a stretch, and this is from a man who thinks that the Country of Eternal Non-Existence is perfectly reasonable.

There is a cemetery behind said chimney, (and thank goodness Zexion has the good sense to stop Demyx before he started singing “The Chimbley (sic) Sweep.” They really cannot afford to get kicked out of any more worlds thanks to the blond's unfortunate choice of songs. They have already been permanently banned from Arendale and Monstro because Demyx thought it would be a good thing to sing Magazine's “Permafrost” and the Decemberists' “The Mariner's Revenge Song” respectively.

“But Zexion,” Demyx had protested, “what else would you sing inside a giant space whale?”

Nothing, Zexion had told him. Singing is not necessary in all the worlds. He seriously doubted that Sora or Riku or any of their comrades ever felt compelled to break into song at random intervals. At Demyx's crestfallen visage, he had relented and told him that he could sing anything off the Decemberists' “The King Is Dead” album. This perked him up considerably.

Said cemetery is far from large or impressive, a few acres, if that. The grey stones are fragile and covered in velvety moss. Scraggly weeds sprout from various and sundry corners, competing with the thin patches of brownish grass for nourishment. Marluxia would be appalled at this blatant disregard for plant life. Most normal people would be aghast at the disrespect for passed loved ones. Zexion and Demyx scarcely bat an eye at this. Still, Zexion is somewhat disappointed at the size, if only because he cannot possibly imagine any fanciful grave robberies at such a pitiful sight. Any necromancer worth his salt would have the place completely excavated within the space of a few nights. Either few people die here,  or cremation is the disposal practice of choice.

This, of course, necessitates a crematory being close by. Zexion hesitates to make such an observation aloud, of course, lest Demyx decides to break out into a song by said band, the way Zexion had a few weeks ago. It was a good song, yes, very good, in fact. However, he could not allow Demyx to catch wind of it.

Instead of a crematory, band or building, however, they encounter a girl standing by said chimney. She fiddles with the plastic buttons on a long rust-coloured button-down coat. The sun glints off the fasteners, causing them to sparkle ever so slightly. Underneath, she's wearing a crisp white turtle-neck and a black knee-length skirt. She seems to be around sixteen years of age, though Zexion cannot be certain. He is no judge of ages.

The wind kicks up, ruffling her shoulder-length straight ginger hair. Absently, she pats it with a slim hand. Her short nails are free of enamel.

In her left hand, the one not playing with the fasteners on her coat, she carries a light pink briefcase.  Her feet are clad in white ankle socks and black patent leather shoes with a sensible heel. Larxene would do well to take note of this. Then again, she's dead by now, so it really doesn't matter. Ah, well. What can you do?

She makes eye contact with them before Demyx can bolt, and smiles winsomely at the pair. Her eyes are a soft grey, the colour of a pigeon's wing. They are fringed with thick dark lashes, the kind one might see in a mascara commercial.  “Oh, hello! I haven't seen you here before.” Before the pair can come up with any excuses, she adds, “You must be new here. My boyfriend, Shuichi, won't be here for another hour or so, so I can show you around town if you'd like.”

They had already been around the town and were decidedly unimpressed. It's a town without identity or purpose in their eyes. Still, a friendly (and cute, curse the whole having a boyfriend thing!) face is admittedly rather pleasant a nice change of pace from what they're accustomed to, so they agree.

She beams and claps her hands. Zexion had taken her for a beamer. “Oh, that's wonderful! We don't get many new people around here!” Her smile dims slightly. “We don't get any new people here, really.”

They go past all the places they've seen prior to this trip. They do not dare tell the girl that they have already viewed what the town has to offer. She prattles on about inconsequential things, and Demyx makes a show of listening intently to all she has to say. Zexion cannot really be bothered, not that the young woman seems to notice. He is too busy mentally lamenting the lack of inbred fish-people, and he'd like to think that Demyx is doing the same. He knows it isn't true, but he would like very much to think it is. He would also like to think that he is over five foot four inches tall, but he is not. Not even close.

They eventually learn that her name is Kirie Goshima, and that her father makes pottery. Her mother stays at home, and her younger brother is in middle school. She says that the school is all abuzz with news of the two new foreign exchange students, (what.) even though neither Demyx nor Zexion had seen anyone else of secondary school age.

Kirie lives in the centre of town and goes to school on a mountain overlooking the town. At their bewildered expressions, she laughs and explains that it's only half-way up the mountain, and the mountain is really more of a hill, anyway.

Her eyes widen. “Oh! I haven't asked you your names yet!”

Before Zexion can warn him against it, Demyx introduces them to her by their real names.

Kirie grins. “Why, those do sound French! I've never met anyone from there before, and now I've met two!”

Built-in cover story: check. Brilliant bit of luck, that.

They find themselves in a part of town they don't recognise. There's a train station there, reminiscent of Twilight Town, where Roxas did most of his beginner missions. It's fairly busy for this time of day, late afternoon, by Zexion's conjecture. A few students file from the train after it pulls into the station. Zexion isn't certain whether he is disappointed or relieved that there is no clock tower here.

It's a long, low, rectangular-shaped building with a sloped red shingled roof. A few vehicles are parked near the entrance, older makes and models, from what Zexion can see, and there's a lone pine tree in a raised bed beside the cars. On the other side is a vending machine. Zexion is thirsty, but lacks the proper currency to operate the thing. Also, the sugary beverages sold inside would aggravate his diabetes. Considering he used to eat sea-salt ice cream all the time as an apprentice under Ansem the Wise before betraying him, he is forced to consider his lactose-intolerance and diabetes as a Nobody to be karma for his past misdeeds.

They pass by the few cars parked in the car-park. Zexion does little more than give them a cursory glance, but Demyx regards them intently. Zexion raises an eyebrow at this. This is not helping them blend in at all. Demyx assures him that it's just because they're French, and that's what French people do. Demyx, you keep using that word. Stop. It doesn't mean what you think it does.

Zexion gazes up at the sky again, wishing for a few more clouds up there. There isn't a single one in sight to break up the vast expanse of blue that reads more green than the Crayola crayon shade named “sky blue” would have you believe.

They enter the building. Kirie lowers herself onto one of the cheaply constructed and painfully generic wooden benches there. There are a few of the low seats scattered about. An older woman with short, curly black hair, glasses, and a loudly patterned jacket is perched on one perpendicular to Kirie's. She pulls a brightly-coloured ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles from her oversized black purse that sits next to her.

There's a No Smoking sign above the ginger's head, but on the grey walls, there is little else in the way of decoration. It is a place that values form over function. Xemnas would appreciate this, Zexion thinks.

Again, Demyx is scribbling on that pad of his. Zexion groans inwardly. It wouldn't matter so much if the blond could be bothered to be discreet about it, but he can't. The sound of the pencil marking paper seems to echo in the silence. The woman in the seat near Kirie's raises her eyes up from her knitting for a few seconds. She regards Demyx warily. He smiles at her, whilst Zexion refuses to meet her eyes. She frowns, then returns to her project. Zexion releases the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding until that moment.

A few minutes later, Kirie makes her way towards the platform, daintily winding her way through the noisy throng on the concrete pad. It's a far cry from the deafening quiet of the station itself.

A young man meets Kirie at the platform. He's relatively tall, about Demyx's height, has messy black hair and glasses. He wears a school uniform, a black suit with a matching tie, a white button-down shirt, and a sullen expression that would give Zexion a run for his money. Kirie explains that they used to go to school together but now he goes to high school in a neighbouring town.

Kirie throws her arms around the young man, who seems taken aback by her behaviour, and steps back a pace before briefly wrapping his arms around her

His face brightens slightly after letting go of the slim female but darkens again when he spots her two male companions. “Who're they?”

She beams and introduces Demyx and Zexion, adding, “They're our new foreign exchange students. They're French.”

Demyx gives a brief wave, and Zexion nods.

Shuichi peers down at them, and Demyx squirms. Zexion merely gazes at him levelly. “That's rather convenient, don't you think? No-one new has come to Kurozu-cho in years, and now all of a sudden we have two new students?”

Kirie smiles. Seriously, does she have any other facial expressions? “Oh, Shuichi, don't be like that. It's nice to have some fresh faces around.” She rocks back and forth on her heels, her arms crossed behind her back.

Shuichi sighs but says nothing. Finally, after a few seconds, he asks where they're staying.
“Oh, in the lighthouse,” Demyx says before Zexion can stop him. The older Nobody pinches the bridge of his nose at this.

Kirie giggles. “Oh, you two can't stay there, silly! You should stay with me! I'm sure my family would just love having you!”

The pair can almost hear Shuichi's jaw drop at this statement. Zexion would like very much to find a way to refuse without coming across as either ungrateful or rude, but Demyx accepts without a moment's hesitation.
The second chapter of "Kingdom Hearts:Ceremony of Opposites." In which Demyx and Zexion have a (not so) meaningful conversation, and make a new friend. Also, convenient cover story is convenient.
© 2014 - 2024 EsotericAngel
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Skye-Rhyder's avatar
Dexy's a Snake, Moonbeams is a Bluejay, Sora is a Pussy, Alex is a Badger.