The Bar at the End of the Universe

Demyx has been busy, okay? Things haven't been good. They've been worse before, of course. He enters without fanfare (for once) with a bundle of black leather under one arm - his old coat, safely folded up. He hasn't worn it in a long time.

Because it's more than 'a coat' for him. It's a uniform.

He's thinking as little as possible, just wanting a place to not be reminded of anything when he sits down at the bar.

Demyx doesn't expect the little fruit tart with a "1" candle in it to appear, and it's only then that he counts the dates and realizes that he's been real for a whole year now. It's the closest thing he's got to a birthday.

On a couch by the fire, Demyx is still a little damp. He's sprawled out just the same in an extended nap, earphones still in with Paganini's caprice in A minor, Op. 1 No. 24 playing.

Demyx is on the couch by the fire.

Demyx is not the only person on the couch by the fire.

He's draped himself half-across Axel's lap at this point while he strums on the sitar and makes notes here and there on music paper.

Someone, rescue poor Axel from this terrible fate?

[Musical Tags: Demyx+Axel]

Trying this again, Demyx is back. He's outside, sitar in hand, and summoning his Dancers to sing and play for them a song that's just theirs.

Not really botherable, but they never mind an audience if you want to wait around.

[Get Tag: Demyx, Larxene]

[Adultstuff Warning for the Axel thread.]

If you asked him, he might try to argue that it isn't Demyx that finds himself in the bar today.

Because Demyx was a Nobody, a member of Organization XIII. Demyx was Number IX, the Melodious Nocturne. Demyx liked his title and used it frequently.

Then again, the young man that sits at the table trying to write with shaking hands isn't Ydem, Myde, or any other combination of letters that might have been his name before the X.

He's just him. No title. No organization. No number. ...He may as well call himself 'Demyx' because that's what his ID card lists.

He's pale and his hair is damp enough that it hangs limply down instead of up in the bastard lovechild of a mullet and a pompadour that he normally was seen wearing it in. He's barely recognizable at first glance as well because his clothing consists of functional if a little tight denim jeans and a sage-colored (probably brighter in its better days) green over shirt that he may as well be swimming in. He's probably wearing shoes, but it's hard to tell with the fleet hound napping at his feet.

He's got his headphones on and looks a bit under the weather as he tries to write with shaking hands. He's doing his best to remember to breathe.

[I Wish I Was A Real Tag: Demyx]

[OOM: Like a bolt out of the blue, fate steps in and sees you through
When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true]

This is not Halloween that's done this.

Someone escorts him in. It's hard to get a good look at her - even staring straight at her as she lets him go inside before departing.

He's an adorable sort of nine years old, with scruffy uneven sun-bleached blonde hair and bright green eyes that look blue sometimes. His Organization coat is many sizes too large - he has to hold it tightly at the front to even keep it on, for lack of anything else to wear. The 'best friends' necklace that he has half of is hanging halfway down his chest.

He looks very very frightened, and his heartbeat is fluttering like a small suddenly caged bird.

Several sleek forms are summoned by his fear. His fear and soon by his pain, because that's about when the screaming starts.

The Dancers move too fast to be properly tracked but rest assured there are many and they scatter in an instant to seek out their other masters for aide. All except a core five that stay by Demyx's side, flanking him as he goes through convulsions, at a complete loss of how they are supposed to make it better.

[Why You Always Properly Word A Wish Tag: Demyx]

[Not Plotlocked, but the Dancers WILL intercede with anyone attempting to approach Demyx who is not one of the Superiors or in company with them. Also, slowtimes like whoa.]