ʳᵉˡᵒᵃᵈ!

The redhead digs through his inventory for a moment, searching for that magical drink that did wonders for all sorts of ailments, and for injuries as well.

       ---- HIS THANK YOU came in the form of a low grunt, an obscure form of gratitude indeed; but he accepted the offering nonetheless, downing the bottle’s contents in the span of two large gulps. 

       FULL RECOVERY HAD not been an immediate blessing, but his mood had definitely improved upon swallowing. He knew these things took time, and he was capable of ignoring his impatience as he stood up straight, for once today.

       ---- HE WAS SILENT for a moment, almost as if he was contemplating the inquiry. Cynical as always, he'd been about to deny, perhaps make another ‘witty’ comment or two, and walk away -- but the rise of substance from the back of his throat was enough to earn a simple acceptance, instead.

“Get off your high horse, Grandpa. I’ve seen rats that’ve looked better off than you do at the moment. What’d you do? Fall off the goddamned clock?”

       ---- “Hah. Always a pleasure t'meet a guy who watches rats in his free time,” he joked, paired with the quirk of an eyebrow. Okay, so, maybe one of the Heartless had gotten him too -- being sick had lowered his natural guard and instincts formidably; and now he was stuck gripping his stomach like he’d just eaten too much dessert, or something.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

“You took that hit pretty hard…”

“Don’t stand up yet.”

“That definitely looks broken…”

“Walk it off.”

“How are you feeling?”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“You look like shit.”

“Have you been eating enough?”

“Here, let me help you.”

“Why are you limping?”

“You’re really pale…”

“Did you just go throw up?”

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“______? You’re bleeding…really bad.”

“That looks infected.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“I told you you’d get sick.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Wake up–you were hyperventilating, are you okay?”

“It was just a dream, you’re alright.”

“Look at me–you’re safe.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“Are you bleeding?!”

“How’d you get a bruise like that?”

“What happened?”

“Let me help you!”

“Can you hear me?”

“You hit your head pretty hard.”

“Don’t move.”

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

Their eyes drifted lower and lower as he spoke, until they were fixed on his shoes. They weren’t supposed to–Chin up, this isn’t therapy–but submission meant safety so often it was hard to remember that they weren’t supposed to submit this way too.

They would have given anything to be back at the Superior’s feet just then, anything to not be under Xigbar’s gaze. They’d hunched in on themself so far their shoulders met their ears, and still they felt too large of a target.

       ---- “Let’s hope not,” he grumbled, finally deciding to move, shoving his way past them. Despite his amusement that he always so gleefully earned from deprecating Isa, missions -- per usual -- had to be completed. Nothing would be achieved by simply fucking around (even though that was what he mostly did for the majority of the time regardless; but that was besides the point).

“Yeah I read it–” A little. More like skimmed it if he had to be honest, but it wasn’t that hard of a mission that he really needed to read every single word of it, right? Plus he wasn’t sure if the rest of them really trusted his abilities all that much just yet. Who would give a hard mission to a newbie unless they wanted him dead…

Maybe that wasn’t a good thought to be entertaining, now that he thought about it. He wanted to be optimistic after all, and where would he go if the group decided they didn’t want him anymore? Ven didn’t want to really think about that either, this was all he knew for now… and he didn’t want to lose it so quickly…

       ---- TRACES OF A smile lift the corners of his lips, a short reply exiting him. “Good. Then we’re set.” Whether or not Ventus was lying didn’t even grace his thoughts, really; he truly just didn’t care enough to bother questioning the boy on the matter. The Freeshooter trusted the other to that extent -- even if it was only the bare simplicity of reading a few lines on paper.

       “Well, what do you think? It’s not like we’re fighting-- I ‘unno, fuckin’ dragons or somethin’.” Ah, sarcasm evident as ever, Xigbar; left hanging off the tip of his tongue, bitter and malicious with intentions hardly ever cruel, simply for entertainment. Clearing up his throat, a harsh cough reverberating from his throat, he continued, as if for the sake of clearing any bafflement -- for Roxas had been fool enough to trust his jokes when he’d first joined their numbers, and who was to insist Ventus was any variant -- ?

A very loud groan escaped Demyx’s lips at that. “Come on man! And, don’t say it, I cannot go to another world without permission either… Ugh. No wonder the Organization is so boring. It should have been named the ‘Come join us so you can be bored all day’ club, instead. Because they do not tolerate anything you do if it’s anything else than doing missions!”

He pouted, before putting his Sitar away and crossing his arms. “They really want me to get killed huh? If I do not practice the Sitar, I cannot practice my spells. This means I’ll get all out of shape, play my spells the wrong away and bam, bam, bam, die.”

       ---- “Doing missions is kind of, y’know, the intention,” he retorted -- and though he was not fond of missions himself, what had to be done, well, had to be fuckin’ done. “Maybe actually doing ‘em for once would make you less bored. Jus’ an idea.”

       (WHICH WAS PRETTY hypocritical of him to say, really, considering his own complaints on the daily. But that was besides the point.)