EP

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

Days in Castle Oblivion have a tendency toward the featureless. Vexen's view rarely changes; if he emerges from the stark and sterile world of his laboratory, it is to wander the stark and sterile halls of the upper levels, or at other times the darker but similarly repetitive - if convoluted - hallways of the basements. The neophytes rarely visit the realm that the Chilly Academic calls his domain, and he does his best to avoid theirs when at all possible.

Mixing the neophytes with the founding members of Organization XIII has been, in Vexen's experience, not dissimilar to dropping a chunk of pure caesium into a bowl of water with the lights off.

But aside from the occasional explosion, run-ins with the neophytes, and visits from his Superior, Vexen's non-existence is relatively quite and undisturbed. He's left to his own devices and spends his days in blessed quiet and solitude.

It's no wonder that when he steps into the bar, he looks... surprised, to say the least. It's crowded, it's far darker than he's used to, it's loud, and it's warm. All things that are immediate strikes against the place in the Academic's book. But in the past decade, he's seen stranger things and been to far more unusual worlds.

Which means that he's pulled his mantle of unflappability back around him within short order as he presses further into this strange new 'world', or whatever it is.

A scientist must never turn away from an opportunity for the acquisition of new knowledge.


[OOC: Mun has to leave at 12:30AM MST, but feel free to tag and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. X3)

Comments

[of-atlantis.livejournal.com]

Kida...has been around here. Mostly trying to make her room--she's actually switched to her own tab, rather than Damian's, who started it--look more like her home, and less like a strange modern box that she can, theoretically, sleep in.

She has a book, sitting half-sprawled in a chair near the cold fireplace. She likes it lit too, make no mistake, but for the moment she welcomes the faint coolness of the surrounding stone. And the quiet as she tries to read some.

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

Kida won't know Vexen, of course. But she may remember the man, Even, that he once was.

Of course, it HAS been a long time. Not the decade since he became a Nobody, nor the time Even had spent as one of Ansem the Wise's apprentices, but the long years that he had spent wandering the surface of Lost Continent, alone and half-mad, before he finally managed to find a way off.

Even Atlanteans can change quickly when they're plucked from their stagnant backwater world and thrown into new situations.

Vexen's figured out that he's in a bar, by this point, and that it's different from any world he's been to - there are more than one or two kinds of people here, after all. That gets noted in his personal mental log about this place, as he begins to move forward to investigate further. There's no uncertainty to his step, or any real indication that he's confused. He's found you learn more if you can look like you fit in.

That path, though, is taking him toward the fireplace Kida is currently installed by.

[of-atlantis.livejournal.com]

She remembers Even. She misses him, actually; one of the few friends she'd had even as a small girl. Her status had always put her a little apart, though she never knew it then.

Kida looks up, as a matter of making sure there's no one trying to get her attention, and blinks when she sees someone that looks...remarkably like Even. Frighteningly so. But the Even she knew was different, Atlantean, though always a little odd. Albino, for their coloration.

"Even..." she murmurs, more to herself than to him.

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

Even hadn't exactly been laden with friends, either. Not on account of his status - children of Councillors or similar weren't on as high a pedestal as royalty - but simply on account of being, well, different. He thought differently, he certainly looked different, he had different interests. Most Atlanteans, he'd noticed after he'd found his way to Radiant Garden and Ansem's tutelage, seemed to have a very local mindset. Even those aware of other worlds and cultures prior to the Mebelmok and the great Sundering had narrowed their focus to their world alone.

At the moment, he's looking off toward one of the more crowded areas of Milliways. He's never seen anything like this in either existence, and it's not something that he's about to simply write off. He'll find somewhere to sit and just watch, take some notes, and try to figure out just where he might have ended up.

And how to get back to where he came from.

He hasn't seen Kida yet, but that won't last for long, in all probability.

[of-atlantis.livejournal.com]

She can't not notice the resemblance. And just as much as she can't ignore that, Kida really can't not get up to investigate further. She can be curious, when she wants.

"Are you new?"

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

The voice, of course, gets his attention. Because it's directed at him, of course, but more than that, it's familiar. It's one he hasn't heard in decades, centuries, the blink of an eye to most Atlanteans but an eternity to a man severed abruptly from all he had known for nearly ten millennia.

When he turns around, he actually looks astonished. The expression is exaggerated, as all of his are, but it's not displeased. And while his attire and hair may have changed, the green eyes haven't.

Then muscle memory kicks in. Vexen, more than some of the other Nobodies, has clung to the memories of who he was and where he came from. The memories are all he really has; after losing his heart, he'd withdrawn from the others. Or perhaps it was the other way around, but whatever the case, those memories were the closest company he kept.

He kneels, head bowed slightly. The crystal around Kida's neck makes the markings on his face, hidden for so many years, flare back to life, bright blue and vivid. There's a new one above his right eye, but other than that they're unchanged.

'Princess,' he says quietly in Atlantean.

[of-atlantis.livejournal.com]

"Even," she breathes, watching him kneel, the markings light up. "It's been millennia..." Kida of course wonders where he went, where he is now, to have changed so much, but she can hardly give the questions voice.

She crouches down where he's knelt, taking in those depthless green eyes. They had always been so pretty, so different. "What happened?"

[gorgonfondness]

Mia is friends with enough members of Organization XIII to recognize the outfit when she sees it. She's also given the welcome spiel enough times to kind of guess when a person needs it.

She's sitting in a booth not too far from the door, glancing towards it to see if a more familiar blond would walk in. She smiles at the look of surprise.

"New?" she asks kindly.

[OOC: Mia might recognize Vexen, as Xaldin's given her a description and she's in tune with ice magic. She knows of some later events but will keep them quiet.]

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

Mia must therefore be acquainted with the members of Organization XIII fortunate enough to have found their hearts already. Vexen is still lacking his, and he won't be at all pleased when he learns that the others have pushed even further ahead. He and the other apprentices started this together, after all. He's always believed that they would finish it together, too.

The voice makes him turn toward it, one eyebrow quirked. It's been a long time since he's heard a tone that imparts... kindness, his memory supplies for him. The Nobodies he knows can mimic emotions, but there's always something slightly off about them. Xemnas speaks too dramatically, Vexen's own facial expressions are exaggerated. The neophytes are better at it, of course, but they are by no means perfect.

'One might deduce that, yes,' he replies. His voice isn't nasal, but it is haughty. It's not a function of who he's talking to, however. He just sounds like that.

[gorgonfondness]

To be honest, Mia's heart is part of the initial blueprints for the first heart. She offered as much help to them as she could and wouldn't mind doing it again if need be.

Good thing his voice isn't nasal. That would remind her of Ghaleon, and she's been thinking enough of Ghaleon lately.

"Then welcome to Milliways. It's always good to see new patrons here. If you'd like some explanation about this place, you're welcome to take a seat and ask me whatever you like."

She wasn't doing anything in particular when he came in. Just enjoying some cookies and milk. But she was considering asking for an astronomy book.

[OOC: That'd suit Mia just fine. And forget Squisney. Working Designs was where it was at. XD]

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

When the time comes, the help would be most welcome, though Vexen will probably need some convincing before he'll accept it. After all, he takes pride in being able to do things for himself. Even when he had a heart, he wasn't the most trusting or open of people.

'Milliways. I have not seen any records of such a world.'

Of course, Vexen isn't under the impression that all of the worlds have been visited or written about. Only a fool would simply assume a finite universe; Vexen himself hails from a world that most consider no more than a myth.

The Academic gives one of the chairs a critical look, then settles himself gracefully but somewhat rigidly upon it. Half of his attention is on Mia, the rest on the bar surrounding them.

'How does one come by this place?' After all, he did not arrive here in what he would consider a conventional manner for world hopping, such as a portal into the darkness or via a gummi ship.

[gorgonfondness]

Just like another blond Mia knows. Only he's more than willing to accept her help should she offer it now.

As soon as he's close, her eyes widen just a little in surprise and she whispers, "Ice..."

But she'll get to that in a moment. He asked her a question and she's going to answer it.

"It's a random sort of thing. This restaurant ends up behind doors that normally lead elsewhere, usually at times when you least expect it. My theory, if you can call it that since I don't tend to think too much on it, is that it has to do with the fluctuations of the different magics that meet here. Or perhaps even the meeting of science and magic, having to do with..."

She pauses as she looks for the word. She's read it in a science magazine before, she's sure.

"...wormholes, I believe they're called. Forgive me if I'm wrong. Magic is what I'm most familiar with."

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

The whisper makes the blond eyebrow quirk up again. Vexen had adapted quickly to his elemental bond and the physical changes it had caused, but even people he knows still take note of it. But he's not used to strangers being able to identify it as anything beyond 'cold' or, for the more perceptive ones, 'inhuman'.

'Wormholes. A fascinating idea.' He has read theories about such things, of course, but has not seen anything to substantiate their existence. Where he comes from, they're the ravings of madmen, but Vexen can at least relate them to the corridors of darkness that he has access to in this form. A matter of moments, and he can cover tens of thousands of miles.

'In my experience, however, that which is seemingly random usually has some sort of underlying pattern behind it. Perhaps one that is not immediately identifiable, but I have yet to encounter anything truly random or chaotic.'

The idea of magic here is 'comforting', however. He may be a man of science, but he's grown used to magic, too.

[cloakitwithplot.livejournal.com]

He isn't sitting curled up by the fire like a lost puppy.

He's at a booth, papers spread out covering every inch of surface, coat pulled over to cover himself entirely as he makes notes to and fro across the papers, double checking his book from time to time.

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

It does not take long for the Academic to spot his subordinate. The small Nobody shares his fondness for knowledge and things like reading, even if Vexen himself is the only one to have retained his former identity as a scientist proper. That's not to say he's close with the Schemer - he never has been particularly, and while Even had harboured an unvoiced lust for one former apprentice he'd never formed unshakeable bonds like Dilan and Braig or Ienzo and Aeleus seemed to - but he's reasonably at ease with him. At least, he can ask questions and be relatively certain of receiving truthful answers.

Trust him, no. That requires a heart. But he can have some confidence, because Zexion is at least a founding member, and has given him no indication of foul intent.

Long legs eat up the distance quickly as he crosses to Number VI's booth. A penchant for observation makes identifying him a matter of little thought for Vexen; the posturing of the body or particular cut of a member's coat is more than enough information, even if the body beneath is completely shouded in black. The Academic is not unwise enough to have passed up learning such means of recognition, given the inherent facelessness of Organization XIII.

Not to mention the inherent self-serving and backstabbing nature of many Nobodies. Know thyself.

The crisp scent of snow probably clues Zexion in to his presence before Vexen stops at the booth and actually speaks.

'Good... day, Number VI,' he says politely enough. It's hard to judge time here.

[cloakitwithplot.livejournal.com]

Zexion's hand holding the pen froze in place over the long theorem of quantum metaphysics, halfway between writing ℵ, leaving the symbol incomplete.

He doesn't look up. Not even when Vexen greets him. And Zexion is usually suck a stickler for manners.

He resumes his writing a moment later, voice trailing in the same distracted but no less lecturing tone from his youth.

"You were destroyed thus it is an impossibility for you to be standing here speaking to me, IV. I would say good afternoon to you as well except you clearly are another hallucination and I'll not to speak with my hallucinations because it only acknowledges and encourages them."

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

If you're going to find out that your inferiors have plans to kill you, and that they're going to succeed unless something is done about it, Vexen can think of far less abrupt ways to break the news. He pauses, frowns, and then leans forward the slightest bit to rest his hands on the table.

'I assure you, Number VI, that I did not feel the least bit destroyed when I got out of bed this morning. Perturbed, yes, but not destroyed.' He does enjoy his sleep, after all, even if he doesn't necessarily need it these days.

There's nothing imaginary about the sudden, bone-deep chill that seeps through the immediate area.

'Now, would you care to clarify that statement?'

[cloakitwithplot.livejournal.com]

If anything, Zexion works that much faster at his equations.

"It is entirely possible that - assuming you are not a hallucination or an illusion my subconscious has brought forward without my bidding - you are from an earlier place in the time-stream, a predicament I found myself in some time ago as well when I first arrived." he explains as he practically crawls half-onto the table to reach at the far away sheet, make more notations. His pen is smearing but he doesn't seem to care. This is important.

"As such others would claim that giving you information on the future would create a paradox from which our existence may be written out, but I am disinclined to maintain my current existence as I am and beside that point-" he looks up to Vexen only then, but it's entirely possible he's not actually looking, as all that can be seen is a dark shadowed area under the hood.

"Nature does not make such errors, only men do. Paradoxes are by their very nature illogical, nature is not so fragile."

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

Fortunately, Even had grown accustomed to Ienzo's peculiar sort of verbal diarrhoea early on. The man never said in ten words what could be said in ten hundred and that still holds true, it seems; even the Academic himself isn't so verbose.

Right now, he's also in no mood for it. He is in a strange bar, with a babbling child who's suggesting that he may be from an earlier point in time - hadn't Mia mentioned the potential for different points in time existing here? - and that in Zexion's own existence, or non-existence, the Academic is, in fact, dead.

This is not shaping up to be a particularly enjoyable discussion. Especially not when all Vexen wants is some answers and a ticket out of here. Too much has happened; he needs to think.

Kida is here, and she's supposed to be stuck underground many, many thousands of miles away.

'Very well. Leaving aside, then, divulging what may happen in the future, which you have in fact already done, let us consider the basic questions that you may answer. If you must persist in the belief that I am in fact a figment of your over-excited imagination, then it will still do no harm to enlighten me as to where I am, how I came to be here in the general sense, and how I may effect a departure.'

[sliceitwithwind.livejournal.com]

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

The voice is soft, just on the edge of Vexen's hearing in the din of the bar. It's one that he hasn't heard for a while, not since the group split between The Castle That Never Was and Castle Oblivion, but it's one he cannot forget.

Though he would like to, sometimes.

The Academic promptly begins to look around for the voice's owner.

[sliceitwithwind.livejournal.com]

Xaldin is standing - and looking - and the shock he is feeling is naked on his face.

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

The first thing those lacking something usually notice, with regards to the presence of another person, is if they possess the desired object or quality. Vexen has found this to be particularly true for Nobodies, or at least himself; it is one of the few aspects of their nature that he has not made an extensive study on. He had noticed it when he first walked through the doorway here, the sheer oppressiveness of so many Somebodies. He had noticed it when he spoke with Kida.

Seeing Xaldin isn't exactly a surprise, since he's encountered Zexion already. But he did not expect to receive the same sensation that he's been getting from every other person here. The pale, narrow face assumes a look of surprise, and of betrayal.

Left behind.

He realises now the foolishness of his assumption that when they obtained their hearts, they would do so together. A fanciful notion conjured up soon after his delivery into the pathetic non-existence of a Nobody, that those who had gone into the darkness together would find the light again together, too. Xemnas had suggested that, after all, before he began his own descent into madness. That he would lead them out, as he had led them in.


From what Zexion implied, left for dead.

Nobodies are self-serving, after all. He shouldn't be surprised that even his former colleague pushed forward on his own.

If he has a heart, then Xigbar probably does, too. Never one without the other.

He would give anything for a heart of his own right now, if only to feel angry. No matter how hard he tries, he can't hate Xaldin. He can't even feel properly jealous, that the man has everything that he wants to have. Nothing but echoes of emotion, memories ten years old that no longer hold the sway they once did.

Fortunately, his time as an apprentice taught him to internalize things very well, even better than the millennia beforehand. He quickly composes his face into its customary expression of cool detachment, and gives the requisite shallow bow of a subordinate within the Organization to a superior.

'Number III.'

Xaldin. Dilan. Whoever and whatever you are now.

'It would seem that much has happened, since I last saw you.' There's not even a hint of falsified emotion behind the words, nothing but cold emptiness. If nothing else, it's what people tend to expect of him.

[sliceitwithwind.livejournal.com]

"Yes." Xaldin manages after a moment. His eyes are eating Vexen alive - he never expected to see the other again. At all. In any way. "Yes."

Zexion survived - and Xaldin has better grasp on himself than he ever had as Nobody. Thus the far younger man must have been correct on the nature of paradox. This does not surprise Xaldin when he is in full possession of his mind.

"In the time that I came here you had been obliterated for nearly a year. Axel killed you and we - those of us in The World That Never Was - heard about it later.

"Xigbar, Zexion, Demyx, Axel, and I have in this place each found hearts. Xigbar and I acquired ours together, each of the others has found theirs in some other way." the long lashes of the big man sweep shut with pain and then open again "I have mourned you." he says after a long moment "Please. Don't go back. Don't die before we have a chance to find you a way out of that hell we all dwelled in."

Dilan was always protective of Even, more than the other man needed at times. It doesn't matter. This is Vexen and he is not dead.

Xaldin will do anything it takes for him - anything but lose Xigbar.

[freezeitwithice.livejournal.com]

Vexen is not foolish enough, to ask such a thing of the other. Even had remained tight-lipped about the matter, as he had about so many things, and unless eventually pushed to anger by emotion – should he be so lucky as to acquire a heart of his own in this strange place – Vexen will be likewise. After all, it had been impressed upon Even from an early age that no matter how much he might desire companionship, it was not something that he was entitled to. And he doubts that either one of them is completely unaware of the situation, which does nothing to ease things but at least makes the threat of an accidental admission less grave.

It is a belief that he has held to and will continue to hold to unless persuaded otherwise. It may not be something that he has ever liked, but it is not his place to question whatever will the gods might have concerning him. Scientist or not, there are things about himself that he cannot change. He has nothing now but who he was, after all.

Dilan’s protectiveness had always been a bitter pill to swallow, and Xaldin’s is no different. Though Even and Vexen have thousands of years on any of the former apprentices, they have always lagged behind. Not in matters of intelligence, certainly, but always in matters of the heart and how to handle it. Vexen lacks one, of course, but Even had never really been at ease with his. It had influenced his thinking, made social interaction difficult if not painful at times, and was easily hurt.

And yet Vexen never questions his desire to have one again. Not even knowing that he would be as incomplete with one as he is without one. Not even standing in front of a man he might hate, or at least envy if he could, subject to that nakedly emotional gaze. His mind supplies that Xaldin looks happy, and surprised, and grateful, but he cannot feel gratitude for those responses in return.

‘Axel.’ The Academic looks momentarily sickened by that revelation. He’s always viewed Axel as a liability, hotheaded and impulsive and completely devoid of respect for his elders and betters. To be obliterated by that, to be obliterated and bested by that in their ultimate goal…

‘In your good fortune, Number III,’ he says with glacial flatness, ‘you seem to have forgotten that Nobodies cannot die. We can be destroyed, but we are nothing to begin with. Do you propose that I simply abandon my work, what I have spent a decade trying to perfect, and sequester myself in this… place? What is to stop Number VIII from simply killing me here, instead of elsewhere?’

It is not what Vexen would consider an attractive idea, surrounded constantly by humans and former Nobodies, consistent reminders of his inadequacy and failure. A self-imposed exile, to be sure, but that would not make it an easy one.