Unsent Letter #48 -- Traverse Town [COMPLETE]
Dear Kairi,
It's me again. I hope you're doing well. I'm all right, though a lot has happened since my last letter. There was a tough battle on the last world I was at. Everything's fine now, of course, so you don't have to worry--I hear the Keyhole is locked there now, so the people are safe. Of course, you've probably already heard about that.
I'm back in Traverse Town for a little while before moving on. I don't know how anyone can stand this place--but then, when there's nowhere else to go, I guess you get used to a city that's more like a refugee camp these days. I don't know what it was like when you were here, since I only came by once before the second wave started, but it's hard to imagine this place was ever a real town. I mean, you walk down the street and all of the old shops are boarded up, closed and collecting dust. The only things that stay in business here are the weapons and accessory shops--anything that carries stuff you can use in a battle, really.
It's for places like this that we need to fight this war. It's because people used to be safe here, before the Heartless came, before anyone even thought of using people's hearts to hur
"Sir?"
The timid young boy's voice drew Riku out of his reverie. He jerked his head up and scowled, more at the fact that he'd been distracted enough to miss the kid walking up to him than out of annoyance at the interruption, but the boy couldn't tell the difference. His eyes widened, and though he stood his ground, his voice kept at a level of deference that Riku suspected was highly unusual. "Ah... do you need anything else, sir?"
Riku sighed inwardly as he glanced down at his table. He was in one of the out-of-the way corners of the Third District, nursing a single pint of very weak beer while he hunched over his letter. The lighting was dim, which was why he'd picked this place, but it was still a strain to keep his eyes open and working for so long at a stretch. Writing was one thing that he absolutely had to use his sight for--try as he might, he'd never been able to smell the ink accurately enough to make out his own words. That was why he tried to write something at least once a week. Sometimes he didn't manage it, but the cardboard box full of unsent letters that he kept shoved under his bed at Castle Oblivion was testament to his practice. It kept his hand in, at any rate.
The server was still waiting nervously, and Riku dug into his pocket, dredging out a little munny and placing it on the table. "Give me some soup or something. Whatever you've got." The boy nodded and deftly scooped up the currency, nimbly backing out of Riku's presence. Watching him leave, the silver-haired man reflected that the kid probably wasn't more than a year or two younger than he was. Of course, it wasn't like the server knew that. The coat was usually enough to make people nervous, when coupled with the quietly aloof air that Riku normally projected, but he'd made the mistake of leaving his blindfold on when he walked into the establishment, and that always made people uneasy. Then again, Riku reflected with a private, bitter smile, If they knew who I was, they'd be a hell of a lot more upset. He took another swig of the beer and suppressed a grimace with practiced ease. He hated the taste, but what the hell. It was something to do.
Frowning in concentration, Riku bent over his letter. He'd done it again--gotten carried away, going on and on about the war when he really ought to be keeping his mouth shut and fighting it. Carefully, he scratched out the last paragraph and began again.
It's okay, though. I'm sure things will get better once the war's over. How are you doing, anyway? I'm sure you've been getting on just fine, but I wonder a lot. Sometimes I think about that raft we built and wonder if you ever made another one. I mean, for all we know, there are other places on our own world that are as amazing as any others we could come across. I'd love to see the Elders' faces if somebody from another place showed up on the main island. They'd be red as beets. I bet there really are other people on our world, just waiting to pop up. I wish I could be there when it happens, but I still can't come home yet. There's a lot left that I have to do.
Riku frowned harder as he straightened up. Why had he written that...? Even though he never sent his letters, he always wrote them as if somehow, Kairi would know what he was saying, would hear him from so far away. He'd never told her why he couldn't go home to see her. He'd certainly never breathed a word about Ansem. Even thinking the name of the Seeker of Darkness stirred something uncomfortable in his heart, as if the dormant former king could hear his thoughts, as if he grew stronger when Riku thought about him. The young man swallowed. Maybe he did.
As hard as he tried to steer his mind away, once Ansem's name had been invoked--however silently--Riku couldn't stop thinking about the parasite in his heart. He knew there were no Heartless near, but the room seemed to fill with the cloying scent of darkness, slow and sickening, spreading like an oil spill through his senses. He gasped and closed his eyes, surruptitiously gripping the edge of the table with one hand as he tried to get ahold of himself. This isn't real. This isn't happening. This is you, trying to mess with my head again--and I won't let you. You can't control what I do. I am not your--
"Here's your soup, si--"
The poor kid didn't even get the last word out before Riku was on him, knocking over the chair in the process, kneeling wild-eyed with a blade to the neck of his percieved enemy. It took him only a moment to realize his error and back off hastily, but it was enough for the kid to stare at him in terror. As soon as Riku was up, the boy scrambled backwards, slipping a little on the spilled soup, and high-tailed it back to the kitchen. Riku could feel eyes on him and he hated it. Rather than explain himself, he flipped his hood up quickly, letting it act as a makeshift shield for his eyes, and snagged his letter on the way out. Head down, scowling firmly, the black-clad young man retreated to the streets of the Third District, accompanied as always by the darkness in his heart.
It's me again. I hope you're doing well. I'm all right, though a lot has happened since my last letter. There was a tough battle on the last world I was at. Everything's fine now, of course, so you don't have to worry--I hear the Keyhole is locked there now, so the people are safe. Of course, you've probably already heard about that.
I'm back in Traverse Town for a little while before moving on. I don't know how anyone can stand this place--but then, when there's nowhere else to go, I guess you get used to a city that's more like a refugee camp these days. I don't know what it was like when you were here, since I only came by once before the second wave started, but it's hard to imagine this place was ever a real town. I mean, you walk down the street and all of the old shops are boarded up, closed and collecting dust. The only things that stay in business here are the weapons and accessory shops--anything that carries stuff you can use in a battle, really.
It's for places like this that we need to fight this war. It's because people used to be safe here, before the Heartless came, before anyone even thought of using people's hearts to hur
"Sir?"
The timid young boy's voice drew Riku out of his reverie. He jerked his head up and scowled, more at the fact that he'd been distracted enough to miss the kid walking up to him than out of annoyance at the interruption, but the boy couldn't tell the difference. His eyes widened, and though he stood his ground, his voice kept at a level of deference that Riku suspected was highly unusual. "Ah... do you need anything else, sir?"
Riku sighed inwardly as he glanced down at his table. He was in one of the out-of-the way corners of the Third District, nursing a single pint of very weak beer while he hunched over his letter. The lighting was dim, which was why he'd picked this place, but it was still a strain to keep his eyes open and working for so long at a stretch. Writing was one thing that he absolutely had to use his sight for--try as he might, he'd never been able to smell the ink accurately enough to make out his own words. That was why he tried to write something at least once a week. Sometimes he didn't manage it, but the cardboard box full of unsent letters that he kept shoved under his bed at Castle Oblivion was testament to his practice. It kept his hand in, at any rate.
The server was still waiting nervously, and Riku dug into his pocket, dredging out a little munny and placing it on the table. "Give me some soup or something. Whatever you've got." The boy nodded and deftly scooped up the currency, nimbly backing out of Riku's presence. Watching him leave, the silver-haired man reflected that the kid probably wasn't more than a year or two younger than he was. Of course, it wasn't like the server knew that. The coat was usually enough to make people nervous, when coupled with the quietly aloof air that Riku normally projected, but he'd made the mistake of leaving his blindfold on when he walked into the establishment, and that always made people uneasy. Then again, Riku reflected with a private, bitter smile, If they knew who I was, they'd be a hell of a lot more upset. He took another swig of the beer and suppressed a grimace with practiced ease. He hated the taste, but what the hell. It was something to do.
Frowning in concentration, Riku bent over his letter. He'd done it again--gotten carried away, going on and on about the war when he really ought to be keeping his mouth shut and fighting it. Carefully, he scratched out the last paragraph and began again.
It's okay, though. I'm sure things will get better once the war's over. How are you doing, anyway? I'm sure you've been getting on just fine, but I wonder a lot. Sometimes I think about that raft we built and wonder if you ever made another one. I mean, for all we know, there are other places on our own world that are as amazing as any others we could come across. I'd love to see the Elders' faces if somebody from another place showed up on the main island. They'd be red as beets. I bet there really are other people on our world, just waiting to pop up. I wish I could be there when it happens, but I still can't come home yet. There's a lot left that I have to do.
Riku frowned harder as he straightened up. Why had he written that...? Even though he never sent his letters, he always wrote them as if somehow, Kairi would know what he was saying, would hear him from so far away. He'd never told her why he couldn't go home to see her. He'd certainly never breathed a word about Ansem. Even thinking the name of the Seeker of Darkness stirred something uncomfortable in his heart, as if the dormant former king could hear his thoughts, as if he grew stronger when Riku thought about him. The young man swallowed. Maybe he did.
As hard as he tried to steer his mind away, once Ansem's name had been invoked--however silently--Riku couldn't stop thinking about the parasite in his heart. He knew there were no Heartless near, but the room seemed to fill with the cloying scent of darkness, slow and sickening, spreading like an oil spill through his senses. He gasped and closed his eyes, surruptitiously gripping the edge of the table with one hand as he tried to get ahold of himself. This isn't real. This isn't happening. This is you, trying to mess with my head again--and I won't let you. You can't control what I do. I am not your--
"Here's your soup, si--"
The poor kid didn't even get the last word out before Riku was on him, knocking over the chair in the process, kneeling wild-eyed with a blade to the neck of his percieved enemy. It took him only a moment to realize his error and back off hastily, but it was enough for the kid to stare at him in terror. As soon as Riku was up, the boy scrambled backwards, slipping a little on the spilled soup, and high-tailed it back to the kitchen. Riku could feel eyes on him and he hated it. Rather than explain himself, he flipped his hood up quickly, letting it act as a makeshift shield for his eyes, and snagged his letter on the way out. Head down, scowling firmly, the black-clad young man retreated to the streets of the Third District, accompanied as always by the darkness in his heart.