#thebetterhalfofwind

An annoyed sigh left the blond, one eye closing as sand hued ear fins flicked slightly. While he didn't want to outright call the land dweller an idiot...it was hard not to think of him as such. "I suppose of necessary, seaweed can do.

Then Roxas was rolling his eyes, only bothering to push a sigh out as his ear fins flicked once more and his tail swished through the water. Plenty of things ate seaweed yes and he couldn't believe he had to explain his diet. A point was made of flashing his sharper teeth as he adjusted, closing both eyes.

@thebetterhalfofwind

He knew that masked boy went this way, to this world. But it was new to him. Strangely, there was something about it that felt familiar. Like, he had been here before. But that couldn’t be right. He had spent his entire life at the Land of Departure, hadn’t he?

His feet touch the ground and observes his surroundings. No one in sight. All he could see was cliffs, and canyons, and sand for miles. ‘What a barren world...’ He thought to himself as he felt eyes on him. He turns around and sure enough, the mask boy was there.

If Vanitas is a weapon, Xehanort considers, then he is most certainly not a knife. Knives are kept clean of blood and rust, polished and cared for until it is time to use them in battle. He is treated more like a keyblade, he thinks, expected to come when he is summoned and vanish afterwards, no matter how hard the battle has been. 

Still, the youth doesn’t look like he can vanish, not at the moment. Had they been sparring or merely testing Vanitas’ resistance to pain? Xehanort has seen people break with lesser injuries. He can only wonder who’s been the culprit. His old self, perhaps, or one of the vessels? Does it matter? No, he decides, it matters not, especially because there is nobody there to watch the younger of the Xehanorts make his way towards Vanitas, shadow-walking the last of the steps before looming over him. 

Xehanort is not inclined to compassion, nor to pity, so his voice as he speaks doesn’t carry much dismay. 

“Are you still conscious?” Is what he asks Vanitas, trying to meet his eyes. 

The sun was merciless and for the first time in weeks Terra wasn’t wearing the Organization cloak. There was no way he’d wear it under this light, he was still human. Instead he’d gone for a clear traveler’s coat and the kind of attire he’d once worn before becoming Xehanort’s apprentice, including the Keyblade armor. There was always the chance they’d need to leave through the darkness between worlds, yes, and no matter how the shadows in his heart sung to him he wouldn’t traverse the darkness unprotected. 

Before him stood Agrabah, and as he stood over a dune he could see the sea of people crossing its gates. In its center, farther than his eyes could see, there was the palace. Around it, thousands of people. Thousands of hearts, darker or lighter, and maybe the one they’d been sent to locate. 

Terra gestured towards the corridor of darkness that had brought him to this world and it closed with a shiver. It would probably attract heartless to this position, but that was always a given. 

“Have you been here before?” He asked Vanitas, starting the descent from the dune with a confidence he didn’t feel. He’d been to very few worlds that had sand, and rarely this many. But he’d visited Agrabah once, and he’d learnt his lesson about wearing black. 

Anger was all the boy ever stoked in her. He was always an enemy, always threatening Ventus. So why now, after so many years, did that anger find itself in the company of another feeling? Was it pity? Pity for the darkness that was used by Xehanort? Pity for someone who, much as she hated to admit it, was a part of the boy she cared for like a son? Pity for someone who looked so much like the boy who bound them all together -- the one who saved her and Ventus both? 

Xehanort listened, calm and quiet, and considered Vanitas’ words. The honesty was appreciated.

“I can respect that drive.” He said at last, shrugging lightly as the smallest of frowns played through his expression.

He wasn’t sure he disagreed with Vanitas’ last remark, but he wasn’t sure he agreed either. He felt conflicted.

He really hadn’t meant to.

The other had snuck up on him. And for so long now, he’d been so skittish and quick to jump into battle at the smallest of things. So when he’d suddenly felt the touch to his shoulder, a burning feeling of ‘danger’ washed through him and commanded him to act.

He grabbed hold of the other’s arms, bracing himself and using all his strength to flip the other up over his head and slam him into the ground in front of the brunet. He held nothing back, and acted as though his life was on the line.