Mirror, Mirror chapter 6

Nov 12, 2009 00:35

This chapter's fairly long compared to the previous two chapters. Very good thing, considering so much is going on now =D

On another note, the titles are inspired by Diana Wynne Jones' books. You can also use them to tell whose POV's in the chapter...


Mirror, Mirror
Chapter 06 - In Which Zexion Learns of the Rules of Chess
original author: israel_project
Evening fell quickly over the city of Wonderland, sweeping across the buildings like a pack of horses had been chained to darkness’ hem and were dragging it at a gallop through the streets. Zexion stood at the broad window of his eyrie, hands folded loosely behind his back, and watched the metropolis lights twinkle to life. The illumination within the apartment was bright, reflecting against the glass, making him tilt his head and narrow his eyes to pierce through the glare. There was an element of comfort in darkness, he found, that couldn’t quite be taken from any other source. Habits had been formed, and were hard to break. How tiresome that he couldn’t just form a portal here and now and rid himself of this illogical twist in reality.

He was sick of it, thoroughly sick of being in charge. Demyx insisted he keep up appearances, had become in a short space of time his true second-in-command, and though he continued to act like a beaten dog at its master’s feet in front of others, in private he was becoming bolder with Zexion, more confident. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d been beaten black and blue by the man wearing Zexion’s face, and the lack of such activity was beginning to show in the slight brightening in the blonde’s demeanor when they were alone in the false Superior’s quarters

Which was, of course, how he viewed himself. He might have been growing wearily accustomed to being the one deferred to, but that didn’t mean he considered himself Number I now any more than he had at the beginning. That, he suspected, would take years of ingraining, and, quite frankly, he wasn’t prepared to waste that long whiling away the hours as the head of a group of petty, spiteful, greedy death-merchants. At least his Organization had purpose. They had formed out of a mutual desire to recapture that which had been lost, and was craved - these thugs were little more than large children with disgusting tempers and the wealth to get away with it.

He was feeling distinctly unimpressed on this particular night, standing in his apartment with Demyx rushing back and forth in the background. On the one night that he had a headache, and wanted to do little more than settle down with a book, he was required to once more step into the shoes of his predecessor, perform the role he was growing increasingly impatient with as the days progressed. Then again, all he ever really wanted to do was settle down with a book, and in this world, where the intoxicating tea leaves were simply everywhere one turned, a headache always seemed to be hovering behind the bridge of his nose, ready to take hold and send him into an existence of tormented migraine. It was times like this that he loathed his extraordinary olfaction - there was no escape.

It was when Demyx attempted to comb his hair for him that Zexion snapped. His head swiveled sharply, a cold bite to his tone as he said, “I am not a child, Demyx. There is no need for this.” The blond sighed shortly, with exasperation, stepping back.

“If you would do it yourself, I wouldn’t be reduced to this, Zexy!” As the lavender-haired man raised an eyebrow, the man stuttered and quickly amended, “I mean, Superior.”

Zexion rolled his eyes, turned away from the window, took the silver brush from Demyx. “My hair is fine,” he said, walking over to place it on the vanity counter, the large heart-shaped mirror reminding him of what was to come, irritation surging anew. “I’m not good at parties, you know,” he commented, for the sixth time since discovering the night’s activities. His cool gaze met with Demyx’s in the reflection, the blond shrugging helplessly.

“You might not be, but the Superior is. If you want to keep this up believably, you just have to put up with it.”

“Yes. If,” Zexion echoed dryly. “And what if I’d rather not? Why continue this charade at all?”

Panic flashed through Demyx’s gaze. “You’re not thinking of telling anyone, are you?” he demanded fearfully. Zexion lifted one shoulder carelessly, twisting from the mirror, moving over to the bed.

“Who would believe me if I did?” he murmured. Demyx’s expression hardened as he followed.

“Xemnas,” he said firmly, with certainty. “He’s already giving you funny looks. You want to give him an excuse to bump you off?” When Zexion didn’t respond, he grabbed his elbow, frustrated, spun him around and demanded angrily, “You really think he’ll hesitate to kill you? The only reason he didn’t years ago is because our Superior is a ruthless bastard with spies spying on spies! Xemnas would be dead before he had a chance to dance on your grave.” He pinned Zexion’s gaze, tried to make the softly-spoken man understand. “But if he figures out there’s something weird going on, really weird - he’ll find a way to get around all that. He’ll get proof, he’ll manufacture proof, and you’re not the same person that would put a bullet through his brain for even taking a wrong step!” He shook his head slowly. “He’d kill us, Zex. Both of us.”

At this, the man’s gaze sharpened, he focused on the blond. For a long, silent moment, they stared at each other, before Zexion dropped his eyes, frowning, tugged gently out of Demyx’s grasp. “Fine,” he said quietly. “I won’t mess things up. Not until we have some sort of escape planned, at least.” He met the blonde’s gaze briefly. “Just keep informing me, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

There was relief on Demyx’s face as he nodded, a small smile in place as he picked up the long, black coat from the bed, fully unzipped, ready for the Superior’s lithe body to enter. He helped Zexion into it, the man quickly zipping it without assistance. “So, tell me what I need to know about tonight.”

Demyx sucked on his bottom lip, brow furrowing in worried thought, struggling to remember absolutely everything, afraid to leave anything out. “Well, like I told you earlier, we’re going to the Queen’s personal club tonight - I think it’s called the Heart Palace. It’s kind of like her own version of Oblivion, well and truly in her territory. We’ll have to watch out for the Princesses of Heart.”

Zexion snorted. “Those little girls?” he muttered. Demyx blinked at him blankly.

“Little - do you even know what they are?”

Zexion sighed. “I know what my version of them is, but I’m sure you’ll do your best to shatter all that knowledge and replace it.” He waved a hand impatiently. “Who are they, then?”

The blond shrugged. “Well, that’s the thing - no one knows. Their identities are kept completely secret. Nobody in the Queen’s court knows anything about them. The only ones that have a clue are the Queen herself, and her King and White Rabbit.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, almost frightened, whisper: “I don’t even think the Cat knows,” he confided with wide eyes, obviously expecting Zexion to be impressed.

“So, I’m to fear a group of women about whom nothing is known?” he inquired sardonically. Demyx’s brows dropped.

“They’re assassins, Zexion,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “They are the Queen’s personal elite militia. They’re the ones that perform her dirty deeds, make sure she’s always the only one at the top of the pile. They are her blades that slip through the ribs of the city.”

“How poetic,” the lavender-haired man sniffed, adjusting his long sleeves. “Am I to assume that my spy-ridden spies are also in place to take care of things if I were to turn up dead at their hands?” Demyx smiled a little.

“Everyone’s kept in check, one way or another,” he confirmed. Zexion snorted.

“Wonderful. Politics.” He shook his head faintly. “The Princesses of Heart, deadly assassins?” He sighed, smoothing down his coat. “Fine, then. I’ll watch for them. I believe I’ll be able to recognize them. After all, everyone else looks like their counterparts.” He mumbled off for a while on the subject of alternate universes and mirror images, while Demyx just stared.

“You mean that?” he interrupted, after a few beats. Zexion blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You could … actually point the Princesses out?”

The man shrugged. “I see no reason why not.” Demyx lowered his head.

“What the Superior wouldn’t have given… to be able to hold that above her head…” He sucked in a breath, eyes widening. “He could obliterate the Queen. Take over the city. The Cat would be … child’s play without the Queen to set against you. It would only be a matter of time before he ended up dead in a ditch somewhere…” The blood drained from his face, slowly, eyes looking darker as he lifted them to a curiously frowning Zexion. Demyx’s lips felt suddenly dry, his throat itching. He swallowed thickly. “Zexion? Don’t … don’t ever tell. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t … even tell me.”

He covered his eyes with one hand, shook his head quickly and stepped back as Zexion tried to touch his shoulder. “Especially me. Never tell me who they are. I don’t-” He shivered hard, just once. “I don’t want things to turn out that way. It would be … hell.” He gave a shaky, high laugh, regressing sharply to a shade of the man he had been when Zexion had first arrived, that fear tightly wound in his eyes. “He’d find a way to make me tell. And then…”

“Demyx,” cut in Zexion softly, solemnly, “I wouldn’t interfere like that. It isn’t my place to act - or to speak.”

The blond hesitated, nodded. “One more thing, and ... this is important… I don’t know how we’re going to get around it-”

There was a knock, as usual, Xemnas’ voice muffled as he called through, “Superior, are you prepared for the outing?” He opened it a moment later, a smile in place. Demyx looked briefly panicked, eyes pleading with Zexion, but the time for talking seemed to have passed. He would have to play it by ear from here.

Zexion scowled. He really, really didn’t like parties.

-:- -:- -:-

Heart Palace. It was, to be succinct, a strip-club, filled with women and men alike, born dancers with perfect bodies. It was actually an interesting sort of place, to Zexion’s mind - none of the filth he would have presumed of such a setting, none of the sleaze. It seemed that the Queen took pride in her home base. It was a high-class establishment, just as Oblivion was - when Larxene reigned in her servants, that is - with its own undercurrent of cold cruelty throbbing beneath the bass and the exposed skin of its performers and patrons alike.

They were met by Naminé. The shock sent a frisson through Zexion’s body, muscles stiffening momentarily as his visible eye widened imperceptibly. She was older than he remembered, but not by too many years. She would be the same as the Queen, no doubt. He itched for his Lexicon, wishing he could take it to an unoccupied corner table and feverishly account the presence of yet another Nobody existing independent of its Somebody - seeing Roxas and Sora in the same room, even with one of them robed and the other obscured in the Organization garb, had been its own mild surprise, quickly documented. To add Naminé to the picture was just as intriguing.

She gathered the sides of her long dress, similar to the Queen’s except for being all white, and curtsied neatly to the Organization. “Superior, the White Rose welcomes you on behalf of the Queen of Hearts.” She straightened, smiled sweetly. “Please, follow me to the chess-room. You are the last to arrive.” She turned, made her way elegantly across the room, all parting way for her and the Organization in her wake. They entered a door at the back of the club, ascended a set of stairs, Naminé’s every step sure and calm. The second floor of the establishment was, it seemed, utterly dedicated to the chessboard. The door at the top of the flight was opened, and Zexion found himself entering an indoor garden, the likes of which even Marluxia would have trouble mimicking. Before them lay a beautifully manicured lawn, broad, with its only mar being the checkerboard of white squares disturbing the green. When Zexion had heard of the chess game the Queen was holding, which the Organization had been so graciously invited to witness, he hadn’t had this sort of thing in mind, but he was undoubtedly viewing the board. It was empty for the moment, but would soon enough be filled, he suspected. He wondered, warily, what to expect from this venture.

Naminé led them along a narrow walkway, up a set of obsidian steps to a lifted stage upon which the ‘party’ was taking place, a long table covered in a messy assortment of piping-hot teapots and dainty cups, pots of jam and mustard, sugar strewn all over the place in-between the chaos. If he had been a more brazen man, Zexion would have wrinkled his nose at the squalor of it all. But, sensible as ever, he kept his opinions to himself, made his stately way to the large chair Naminé was offering - left of the Queen, who lounged lazily in a red throne which dwarfed all other seats at the table. Her legs were daintily crossed, and the King was perched on her arm, feeding her strawberries. The White Rabbit stood to her right, silent as ever, aqua eyes watchful.

As her eyes fell upon him, the Queen smirked, hard face so unlike Naminé’s in that moment that he wondered if they were related in any way on this world despite the way the White Rose promptly folded herself delicately at the woman’s feet like some form of handmaiden. The Rabbit shuffled back slightly to give her extra space. “Well, Superior,” the red-headed queen said imperiously, lips stained by strawberry juice, “it is a grand thing that you finally honor us with your company.”

Zexion inclined his head. “Forgive our lateness, your Highness, but, for all that our name suggests, there are times when the Organization takes time to gather.” It had been, Xemnas had informed him, entirely Larxene’s fault, the wild woman having smashed up a portion of Oblivion’s bar upon discovering that her tea of choice had run out. Zexion’s headache had compounded from that moment onward.

The Queen waved a hand dismissively. “I am in no mood for excuses this evening, Zexion. Do take a seat, all of you. It is unseemly to have you all hovering like so many Grim Reapers, especially at a tea party.” Sora smirked. Zexion repressed his irritation at her superiority, Demyx having warned him to be on his best behavior on this outing, and sat upon the chair Naminé had indicated.

“And am I to be ignored?” a deep voice interjected, causing the man to glance up beneath the cowl of his hood. He froze momentarily, startled by the white-haired figure immediately across the table, surprised at himself for not having taken notice sooner. Despite the cat half-mask that adorned his face, it was hard mistaking the identity of the person, considering that no one else had silver hair that long, although it was in a braid instead of being let loose. “Sephiroth,” he murmured. The man’s green eyes widened momentarily, a wry smile twisting his lips.

“Why, Superior, it has been some time since I was addressed so familiarly … especially by one of your high standing…” He mockingly touched long fingers to his chest, the bare skin in the deep neck of his bizarrely pink-and-purple striped silk shirt. “I’m touched.”
“Cat,” Zexion corrected himself, a chill entering his tone. Sephiroth rolled his eyes, sighed.

“Ah, you give with one hand and take with the other, don’t you … Zexion?”

The Queen listened with amusement. “Now, now, children, no fighting at the table. I do believe the game is about to begin.”

“I have informed this evening’s Pieces of the Organization’s arrival,” Naminé confirmed by her knees. “They will be out shortly, your Highness.”

A deeply tanned arm reached in front of Zexion, placing a cup and saucer within reach. He glanced up at the server and paused, suddenly aware of the fact that he was looking at one of the infamous Princesses of Heart. Jasmine smiled at him, bowed her head with a sweetly uttered, “Superior.” She withdrew, and he was glad for the warning Demyx had given. It wouldn’t do for him to look like he recognized her. He ignored her, while keeping track of her scent as she was swallowed by the crowd, though it was difficult. He realized, with a sinking sensation, that he would not be able to get away with not drinking tonight. Demyx was far down the table. He was surrounded by enemy faces. If he’d had a heart, it would have pounded slightly more energetically.

“Ah, here they come,” the Cat announced, the three of them with the clearest view of the chess-board. The Pieces, as Zexion had suspected, were human. “Who do have we tonight?” Sephiroth wondered, eyes skipping over the black-clad Pieces as they emerged onto the lawn. “I see you have some servants playing tonight, Highness. And … is that my Hare, I see, as Knight?” He chuckled. “Perhaps she is trying to improve her game.” He smirked, as the white Pieces began their stately march from a hidden door within the garden. “I do adore the symbolism of this, Highness, black versus white…” He tapped his lips, pretending to think. “Now, where have I seen that before?”

“My dear Cheshire Cat,” the Queen drawled, “your wit is too much.”

Zexion remained quiet, gauging their observations, all the while studying the human chess pieces striding into position on the board. The Queen, apparently in top form tonight, noticed his scrutiny of the board and smiled with a dangerous glint.

“Are you wondering which will be the one to fall by your hand tonight, Superior?”

Caught off guard, Zexion asked, “I beg your pardon?” She merely smiled.

A moment later, the Cat stiffened. His knuckles turned white on the arm of his chair, his entire body jerking forward just slightly. There was a brief silence, in which Zexion wondered what the matter was, and the Queen grinned toothily, before Sephiroth leapt up with a roar. His voice echoed throughout the garden. “What is the meaning of this?” He was glaring down at the chessboard, as a blond with spiky hair emerged, dressed in the white livery of a Chess King, holding a scepter. “Cloud! Get off the board!” Sephiroth bellowed, furiously.

The Queen sat forward sharply, eyes glittering. “You know the penalty for forfeit, Cat,” she said quickly.

He whirled on her, eyes like slits. “What is the meaning of this?” he repeated, a hiss this time.

She shrugged innocently. “Was I to know you were familiar with one of my Kings? He has been training so very hard, so I thought you, of all people, would want to see his game. He is so talented, after all.”

“But … if he loses…” Both of them turned to Zexion, the Cat’s features blank, the Queen triumphant. Zexion wasn’t sure what she was up to, but whatever it was, it was working out just as she’d wanted, it would seem. He didn’t know how to respond to their twin gazes, until Xemnas so very helpfully, probably enjoying this all despite his solemn expression, placed a pistol on the table in front of Zexion.

“One bullet, Superior,” he said, almost as if reminding the lavender-haired man. “One bullet for the losing King, just as you have always commanded.”

fanart, mirrormirror, kh

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