Wash Away the Evidence, I Still Have Memories - Castle Oblivion [CLOSED]
Zexion felt dirty. It was not the grit of stray sand somehow laced into his cloak, rubbing against his skin here and there as he moved. Not entirely, anyway. He had been careless enough to show his thoughts plainly, to meet with Number 8 in these rags then partake in something unplanned and instinctual. How barbaric. But, at the same time, how attractive to think an emotion could dictate his actions when whatever he felt was not real.
Somehow, it felt very real, he thought, flexing his fingers as if in response.
It might have something to do with living on a world with a heart for so long - one became acutely aware of the stark contrast. A little too aware of things that hardly mattered; like revenge. Like hatred. But he liked the illusion they provided. His feelings had as much substance after all; they appeared solid, bent to his will, and sometimes even surprised him in their realism and clarity. It made him wonder what it was like to hate someone with all of his being, with his heart, wherever it was.
He chuckled quietly to himself; it was not an illusion he needed anymore, right? For if Zexion had a heart, he might not realize there was little advantage in disposing of Axel, traitor or not. And wouldn't that be a shame..?
Still, when he left the kitchen he was not the lest bit interested in following the other Nobody around the Castle. In a way, he owed Axel a great debt, he thought, bringing one sticky leather-encased finger to his lips. He had only been dreaming of ways to repay it.
The shadows consumed him, leaving a disarrayed kitchen in his wake.
-
Castle Oblivion had several bathrooms, some attached to the rooms themselves and other, larger workings that could almost be called luxurious. Almost because they contained nothing save for the necessary; a tub, a sink, a mirror...
Zexion leaned into the steady stream of hot water, able to feel the nondescript stone beneath his feet and then his palm as he was forced to hold the wall for extra support. Fighting with the Replica had robbed him of much of his power, and even after so many years he was not as strong as he had once been. He needed time and practice to build his strength. He needed support.
Or perhaps the soaking leather was weighing him down.
He took a minute to tug at the zipper, letting his last piece of clothing pool messily at his feet. It was the last part of the Islands he carried with him. He stayed beneath the water until he could no longer detect the scent on himself then, after the briefest consideration, picked up his old, sodden clothing, and threw it into the trash.
He dried himself and then his hair, running his fingers through it a few times. Zexion did not have a classic sort of vanity. He was vain in the way that he treasured what he had, the thing that made him real; his body. When he looked in the mirror, his face no longer seemed so gaunt and empty. His skin was not as pale as it had been, but for the first time it didn't grate on him detail by minute detail. He was no longer a stray mutt, he thought, pulling on a new cloak, inhaling the scent of something pure and untainted. Leather, skin, and the faint smell of decay.
In the privacy of the bathroom, he allowed himself to smirk at his reflection. He would not be a kept pet either. Plans were already in motion.
Somehow, it felt very real, he thought, flexing his fingers as if in response.
It might have something to do with living on a world with a heart for so long - one became acutely aware of the stark contrast. A little too aware of things that hardly mattered; like revenge. Like hatred. But he liked the illusion they provided. His feelings had as much substance after all; they appeared solid, bent to his will, and sometimes even surprised him in their realism and clarity. It made him wonder what it was like to hate someone with all of his being, with his heart, wherever it was.
He chuckled quietly to himself; it was not an illusion he needed anymore, right? For if Zexion had a heart, he might not realize there was little advantage in disposing of Axel, traitor or not. And wouldn't that be a shame..?
Still, when he left the kitchen he was not the lest bit interested in following the other Nobody around the Castle. In a way, he owed Axel a great debt, he thought, bringing one sticky leather-encased finger to his lips. He had only been dreaming of ways to repay it.
The shadows consumed him, leaving a disarrayed kitchen in his wake.
-
Castle Oblivion had several bathrooms, some attached to the rooms themselves and other, larger workings that could almost be called luxurious. Almost because they contained nothing save for the necessary; a tub, a sink, a mirror...
Zexion leaned into the steady stream of hot water, able to feel the nondescript stone beneath his feet and then his palm as he was forced to hold the wall for extra support. Fighting with the Replica had robbed him of much of his power, and even after so many years he was not as strong as he had once been. He needed time and practice to build his strength. He needed support.
Or perhaps the soaking leather was weighing him down.
He took a minute to tug at the zipper, letting his last piece of clothing pool messily at his feet. It was the last part of the Islands he carried with him. He stayed beneath the water until he could no longer detect the scent on himself then, after the briefest consideration, picked up his old, sodden clothing, and threw it into the trash.
He dried himself and then his hair, running his fingers through it a few times. Zexion did not have a classic sort of vanity. He was vain in the way that he treasured what he had, the thing that made him real; his body. When he looked in the mirror, his face no longer seemed so gaunt and empty. His skin was not as pale as it had been, but for the first time it didn't grate on him detail by minute detail. He was no longer a stray mutt, he thought, pulling on a new cloak, inhaling the scent of something pure and untainted. Leather, skin, and the faint smell of decay.
In the privacy of the bathroom, he allowed himself to smirk at his reflection. He would not be a kept pet either. Plans were already in motion.