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kh_drabble2008-07-05 08:58 pm
rhaella.livejournal.com) wrote in kh_drabble2008-07-05 08:58 pm
Entry tags:
[153] Summer - Rêve d’Été
Challenge: [153] Summer
Title: Rêve d’Été
Word Count: 490
Spoilers: CoM, probably a bit of KH2
Summary: Marluxia in all his megalomaniacal glory.
Rating/Warnings: PG, character death
He runs his fingers across the lifeless walls of their never city, disgusted by its empty uniformity. The blankness and absence of vision is unsightly, offensive, but hardly surprising.
Old Xemnas always lacked far more than just sanity.
A smile crawls across his lips at the thought. The fool had been the very essence of deficiency, revelling in the many faults that should have automatically disqualified him as a leader. He only displayed true usefulness in death: the pleasure Marluxia derived from tearing his scythe through his Superior’s body had been genuine.
His fingers are lying against cool, dead walls for the last time.
He reaches out with his mind and power to the countless seeds scattered across the floor (he had sent Demyx to a dozen different forest worlds to collect them, knowing that this was the one task the Melodious Nocturne could perform adequately), and silently commands them to grow. In silence he watches as a tangle of vines snake up the wall, putting forth blossoms of a thousand different shades. He almost wishes that Xemnas were here to see this.
He had first considered abandoning the World That Never Was entirely, rebuilding the Organization in a more reasonable location. However, the prospect of fleeing the seat of Xemnas’s former power feels too much like defeat.
“Mar—” the sudden noise shatters his concentration.
He turns to see Xigbar approaching. The Freeshooter is glancing at the new furnishings, his expression a bizarre mix of amusement and wariness. “Uh, Superior,” he corrects himself quickly, though a note of irreverence—mockery—remains in his voice.
Marluxia wonders if he will have to eliminate the former Number II as well. He enjoys being able to hold power over original members, but realizes that allowing even some of them to survive may not be practical.
“Very… floral,” Xigbar finally says.
“I’m glad you approve,” Marluxia replies curtly, and ignores the Freeshooter’s unsubtle cough. “See to it that the throne room is made ready.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Xigbar responds with a casual flourish before disappearing.
This time, Marluxia does not even notice the discourtesy. He is too busy relishing the thought of covering Xemnas’s—finally his own—throne with sakura blossoms. He is not yet sure to what purpose he will put his Organization, but knows that all possibilities are now open to him. Shutting his eyes, he can still feel the life and power of the plants growing all around him, choking off any resistance, asserting their existence and strength.
His season has finally arrived, and events will now transpire in a manner more to his liking. His dream…
His dream shatters, and the more he clings to it, the more it spills out in front of him, stealing away his power, his glory, his essence. His puppet stands in front of him, a pawn no longer, and the winter white floor of Oblivion devours the last of his memories.
I am apparently incapable of writing anything that ends happily. Though I suppose Marluxia succeeding in taking over the Organization doesn’t qualify as happy for anyone. Except Marluxia. Hah.
Title: Rêve d’Été
Word Count: 490
Spoilers: CoM, probably a bit of KH2
Summary: Marluxia in all his megalomaniacal glory.
Rating/Warnings: PG, character death
He runs his fingers across the lifeless walls of their never city, disgusted by its empty uniformity. The blankness and absence of vision is unsightly, offensive, but hardly surprising.
Old Xemnas always lacked far more than just sanity.
A smile crawls across his lips at the thought. The fool had been the very essence of deficiency, revelling in the many faults that should have automatically disqualified him as a leader. He only displayed true usefulness in death: the pleasure Marluxia derived from tearing his scythe through his Superior’s body had been genuine.
His fingers are lying against cool, dead walls for the last time.
He reaches out with his mind and power to the countless seeds scattered across the floor (he had sent Demyx to a dozen different forest worlds to collect them, knowing that this was the one task the Melodious Nocturne could perform adequately), and silently commands them to grow. In silence he watches as a tangle of vines snake up the wall, putting forth blossoms of a thousand different shades. He almost wishes that Xemnas were here to see this.
He had first considered abandoning the World That Never Was entirely, rebuilding the Organization in a more reasonable location. However, the prospect of fleeing the seat of Xemnas’s former power feels too much like defeat.
“Mar—” the sudden noise shatters his concentration.
He turns to see Xigbar approaching. The Freeshooter is glancing at the new furnishings, his expression a bizarre mix of amusement and wariness. “Uh, Superior,” he corrects himself quickly, though a note of irreverence—mockery—remains in his voice.
Marluxia wonders if he will have to eliminate the former Number II as well. He enjoys being able to hold power over original members, but realizes that allowing even some of them to survive may not be practical.
“Very… floral,” Xigbar finally says.
“I’m glad you approve,” Marluxia replies curtly, and ignores the Freeshooter’s unsubtle cough. “See to it that the throne room is made ready.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Xigbar responds with a casual flourish before disappearing.
This time, Marluxia does not even notice the discourtesy. He is too busy relishing the thought of covering Xemnas’s—finally his own—throne with sakura blossoms. He is not yet sure to what purpose he will put his Organization, but knows that all possibilities are now open to him. Shutting his eyes, he can still feel the life and power of the plants growing all around him, choking off any resistance, asserting their existence and strength.
His season has finally arrived, and events will now transpire in a manner more to his liking. His dream…
~ ~ ~
His dream shatters, and the more he clings to it, the more it spills out in front of him, stealing away his power, his glory, his essence. His puppet stands in front of him, a pawn no longer, and the winter white floor of Oblivion devours the last of his memories.
Finis
I am apparently incapable of writing anything that ends happily. Though I suppose Marluxia succeeding in taking over the Organization doesn’t qualify as happy for anyone. Except Marluxia. Hah.
doode
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