the killing blade

this stranger knows his name  ,  &  yet ventus is  sure  they’ve never met.  he’d remember someone with pink hair.  &  yet…..&  yet the man before him  does  seem familiar to him  ,  ven thinks.  it’s all quite  strange  ,  so much of his own existence is a  mystery  to him  ,  it’s like ventus barely knows himself.  he doesn’t like that  ,  &  his face contorts in thought before he shakes his head  &  a dull throb forms in his head.  memories that are hidden too far below the surface for him to reach  ,  a distant dream  ,  people he once knew.  maybe chirithy would know.  he should ask it later. 

‘ i’m sorry, have we…met ??  you seem….sort of familiar. ’ 

he can’t place a name  ,  no  ,  but that’s not what makes him uneasy now.  the throbbing in his head grows slightly  &  he shuts his eyes for a moment  ,  lips pursed before he sighs  ,  shaking his head  &  crossing his arms.  right now  ,  it was too much to think about for something he wasn’t certain of.

   As the time passes, and the conversation draws on, reality sinks deeper into his soul. The childish dream that everything would return to normal, that he would lay in dandelions with the dead, and continue in the dream of a happy tomorrow was never fit to last. Only to be that of a fleeting dream. There is a sickness in him that grows, unable to be quelled as he is made to sit with this reality dug for him. Staring at the boy he once knew. 

   Lauriam opens his mouth to speak. To spill everything and anything that he could out to Ventus. To tell him the story of the war, of the Union Leaders, of what the two of them were fit to do. It rests on his tongue. The opening to his story-- to their story. Once upon a time....

   But was it his right to tell the other? To grapple with a normal existence was hard enough, but to remember everything before than would almost be unbearable. It felt unfair, to everyone. “... we met a long time ago. Before you came here.” Perhaps it was best to rebuild. “I was apart of the Organization before Sora saved me.” He stands alone in his grief. “I was called Marluxia. but now I am Lauriam.” 

@killingblade​.     /     liked for ventus.

it’s not often they get visitors  ,  let alone ones without  keyblades  .  not that ven can say he minds very much  ,  that  is  what…..what  used  to go on here.  he blinks up at the man  ,  as if  studying  him  ,  &  the vague uneasiness in his chest grows  ,  he doesn’t like it. 

‘ …are you here to see aqua ?? ’

   Passing visits and sight seeing should have set his soul at ease upon his return of the flesh. Jagged rocks, lush green before him, and the new palace of keyblade wielders. Or... what would have been. Sometimes he forgets he is perceivable. More than nothing. Human now. 

   “Ven..!” It takes him off guard once that he is noticed. It takes him off guard again at the vacant stare. Expecting something to have nothing. The emotion is familiar, and not, all at once. An awkward silence waiting only to gain nothing but the slow cruel reality.  

    “....”

off - tune,  the  plucked  chord  sounds  that  much  louder.   hollowed  by  shared  company,  it’d  lost  its  pace  long  before  his  fingers  had  fumbled  in  their  glided  march.   before  demyx  had  stooped  to  choking  the  music  into  a  silence  that  lended  itself  better  towards  a  temper  that  flared.   brief.   stowed  away  behind  furrowed  brows  and  the  quiet  marluxia  had  initially  asked  for.   his  hostage  for  as  long  as  it  took  to  explore  an  impromptu  conversation  and  decide  just  how  much  of  it  he  was  willing  to  tolerate,  if  any.   seek  an  endgame  that  would  or  wouldn’t  salvage  the  tatters  of  a  good  mood  gone  shooed.

“  you’re   not   my  guest.  ”    like  the  thorns  he  played  with,  ripe  for  the  pruning  and  caught  up  in  a  side  that  hardly  managed  its  bite.   harder  to  listen  to  than  he  was  to  look  at.   maybe  that’s  why  it  was  easier  to  stare  at  the  gaps  where  stars  used  to  hang.   flickered  out  and  leaving  an  impression  that  overturned  his  chill  further.   that  relaxed  slouch  that’d  last  the  night.   the  one  that  met  a  shiver  and  slipped  legs  out  from  their  fold  to  stretch  long  in  front  of  him.    “  and  i  don’t  need  you  ruining  the  atmosphere,  man.  ”    the  ambiance.  what  already  wobbled,  off - kilter  and  wrong  for  the  humidity  swollen  in  wait  in  the  air.   a  rolling  thunder  in  the  nearing  distance.   a  storm  suited  for  his  pulled  frown.   or  because  of  it.

“  speak  for  yourself.  ”    and  only  himself.

existence..  feelings.   where  belonging  ended  and  the  unnatural  thrum  that  countered  the  sentiment  quivered  the  area  around  them.   shook  with  his  lean  forward.   the  heft  that  seated  his  sitar  back  where  he  wanted  it.   a  familiar  weight  that  stole  away  at  a  foreign  burden  the  other’s  words  seemed  determined  to  lay  upon  unwilling  shoulders.   like  the  point  to  prove  wasn’t  well  enough  known  already.   drilled  in  when  his  breaths  caught  or  the  feeling  of  old  hunger  asserted  itself  against  a  rationale  that  argued  none  of  them   really   needed  to  eat.   none  of  them  needed  to  sleep..  to  talk.   and  he,  straightened  against  expectations,  didn’t  need  to  pluck  those  first,  somber  notes.    “  i   exist  plenty.  ”

   It was not hard for Marluxia to take from his surroundings. Joyful moods gone dead. A heartened laugh drawn to silence. It was easy for him to ruin what brought others joy, simply by being. A noose slung over a tree, a bundle of flowers brought to a funeral-- it was his way of being, simple in his existence. But what could one expect from a pretend reaper playing in his doll-like garden of plastic fruit. He hated to think how similar he and Xemnas were, one who played with human hearts, the other who played with poisoned fruit. 

   “I’m sure your rain will bring it back.” He shifts slightly. Tucking pink strands behind his ear as he turns away from the city. Away from the imaginary people and the fake lights. The imagination of a world filled with living breathing people that had things to do every day in and out. Would Marluxia laughed at himself for admitting that unnerved him? Not that he ever would deign to acknowledge it. Blue eyes take to Demyx again, sluggish movements that follow a gaze heavenward, then back to earth.

   “I know you do.” There isn’t a bit of a joke hidden in his words. For once there is no second meaning, no second story to tell. For once, he speaks without riddles. He believes in Demyx as much as Demyx believes in those words himself. Even if Demyx’s existence was as empty as the stars that vanished, or Marluxia’s existence as fleeting as death that took them. “Do you think I would believe those patronizing speeches?” There is a scoff, a shrug. He looks away from Demyx. “Though, I hardly believe anyone does.” 

Her feet were staying back and forth as she was, honestly, enjoying that sunny day. Sure, maybe it was a bit warm but staying by the fountain was enough to make the air cool enough to be at least bearable. Or at least not have the urge to throw herself into the water even tho she was close to start considering that possibility. In all honesty, the redhead couldn’t even imagine how Lauriam was standing it.

Her face brighed up at the idea of ice cream, Certaintly that would be a great way to fight the summer heat and who knew, maybe they would have new flavors too! She knew she would love to try something new! Strelitzia got up, following her brother’s cue. “Let’s go then! There should be a line alread!” 

Green eyes widened at the mention of her…. friend and she was quickly to shake her head in exasperatio. Oh she knew that smile very well! The girl puffed her cheeks.

“You know it’s not like this!” Strelitzia replied, playing with one of her pigtails. “We.. are not friends yet.”

   A gentle laughter came from Lauriam seeing his sister puff up. A gentle tease, a careful prod, never too much, but never too little. In all honesty, he was quite happy to see Strelitzia go out making friends-- or attempting to. Which was what really mattered in the end, that she was trying to leave her comfort zone and be more assertive and out going. He held his hands behind his back, a smile turning into a smirk as he bent at the waist, his hands against his back. “Well maybe today might be the day.” Though his appearance might have been mischievous, it was his genuine wish that Strelitzia would formally introduce herself to her not-yet friend.

I interpret Nobodies differently than game canon. I maintain that they do not exist, however I go a step further and claim that many people do not notice them at all unless they make their presence known and often times they will forget them entirely. They are not normally perceivable, nor memorable. They are an affront to nature, and disrupt the natural order of things.

Further, Marluxia’s element is not only nature, but death, and to an extent time (similar to Luxord). NATURE: He has an incomplete control over the natural world. Plants abide to his command, but they can refuse to if they so desire. The plants that Marluxia creates from his will are under his complete control and are literal pieces of him. He can use these parts of himself to track, control, or grow by his command. When he dies, those plants fade away. DEATH: Can communicate with the dead and hinder their ability to enter the afterlife. He can give spirits a body and form, however when he dies, so too will they. TIME: Can essentially shorten the time someone has left to live via doom. Literally like Luxord in another way.

this is your story // always accepting

  Fate. Destiny. The word synonymous with pain.

  He understood what the other meant well. A hazy reflection of himself-- in body, though not in soul. Those that were not meant to exist, managing to crawl on their hands and feet to avoid a fate that was suppose to take them so many years ago. A room to be sunk beneath the water, kept only at bay by tireless work to keep themselves from drowning. Marluxia would have laughed given how similar they were.  

  To fight against destiny was a tireless battle. A battle never won, and a battle that would end always in tears. The souls he reaped, the souls he touched, it seemed this was his truth of fate-- a truth sung by the dead. A truth that Marluxia so woefully lived in his own non-existence. They could never be complacent with fate, knowing well they would fade away into nothing, and be forgotten forever.  He wondered if he would meet this other on the far shores of hell.

  The topic better suited for his fellow ‘co-worker’ Luxord. That one’s life, that one’s love, the whims of fate, and the gamble and payoff of it. His game the tireless dance between death and life. Ironic given how similar he and Marluxia were-- though he supposed Luxord was the soft continuation of that circle of fate, and Marluxia was the bitter final curtain of red: death.

  “How commendable.” He smiles that same smile. And wonders if it is similar to the other’s smile. Their bodies featured the same wavering will. The voice a similar cryptic tune. At least the other could feel. Marluxia, on the other hand, left with nothing. “It is a privileged to be able to say you will go against fate without regrets,” Marluxia muses. “I have met many corpses that tell me they would have been content withering their lives away on the sea of fate. Rarely a soul that tells me they are happy with their end against it. Those I find have the better stories to tell.”

   In the breeze carries small droplets of water from the fountain where most come and go. A welcome breeze in Summer, and even more welcome is the cold water that barely drifts and kisses Lauriam’s skin. There is a part of him that wants to lean back far enough to dip his head in the water, and another part of him that wants to rush out into the nearby ocean and dance in the glittering basin of the sea. 

   Both are tempting, but there is a certain amount of ‘public upkeep’ that he needed to maintain. Or maybe he was just that full of himself to think people cared when most people felt as if they were physically melting into the streets. What he would give to control water. Or rain. Or even ice. But of course he had to be blessed with a useless power (for this specific moment). There is a long, drawn out exhale from his lips as he turns his head towards his sister who looked almost equal in the suffering department.