Forsworn and Forsaken (Complete)

The stars really made the sky look like a swirling sea, enchanting and calm with the gently twinkling lights at the hearts of the worlds. It was hard to believe there were so many other places, each with their own incarnations of light and darkness and things in-between. It was nice for a traveler to just sit back and soak the immensity of the universe all up, or unload the stress of it in this town of perpetual night: Traverse Town, one of those 'halfway' town where lost souls would make home anew.

In the primary shopping area- the 2nd District- a young man clad in a black coat laid on a bench watching those stars. His hands clasped behind his hooded head, his feet crossed dangling off the side, he listened to the splashing of the fountain and imagined the sky a vast ocean. Water always brought him the most calm, especially in times like this when there were just so many sides to choose from.

Demyx was personally caught in a choice that made him want to distract himself. He didn't want to go back to the Organization, but if they found him lazing around he would be toast. He was tired of all the work, all the getting ordered around and spending his days off getting told he ‘doesn't have a heart, so why bother?’ But for all he knew, in the time he was gone, they all found their hearts and went their separate ways, leaving him to find his own. If they did, he wanted to know how! To play his sitar with heart again! It would be a dream come true...

The Nocturne was indecisive. He had been laying on the bench for hours, half trying to convince himself to find the ol’ Organization, half convincing himself to just hide and hope they don't find him. Maybe he could make a new name for himself here? Maybe he could make a little munny if he set up on a corner and started strumming a tune.

The hooded Nobody was probably going to spend a few more hours debating with himself, laying around, staring at the stars.

The Nobody very visibly jumped at the voice that just joined him, nearly falling off his bench, but a half-heartedly smooth save saw him try to stand up. No way he was gonna let some kid get the jump on him! Unfortunately, his leg got caught on the bench. With a heavy sigh of deep inconvenience, Demyx held up a single finger, begging patience.

“Okay, um, wait just a second, please.”

The next few minutes saw the bumbling young man attempting to dislodge his foot from the artful iron bars that held the bench together. When he finally succeeded, he stood straight up and leaned cooly against the wall behind him as if that embarrassing display hadn't happened.

Trying to be serious, dark, and brooding, Demyx kept his hood up and deepened his voice. Maybe the kid would get spooked and leave.

“I’m just enjoying the scenery. It's a nice place, this Traverse Town. A quiet place to think and… stuff. A better question is what are you doing here, huh? Like scaring people that are just trying to kick back and relax, I bet! Totally not cool."

Smooth.

Demyx raised his hands defensively when the demon-wing blade came into play. He jumped back and waved his hands as if to say 'I’m safe! I’m safe!’. He really didn't want some kid with a fancy sword beating the crap out of him again.

“Hey, heeey! No need for threats, I promise I’m the most harmless guy in the Organization.” He brought his hands up to his head and removed his hood, revealing a dirty blond mullet and emerald green eyes, accompanied by a nervous but sincere-appearing smile. “Name’s Demyx, and let me tell you I’m sooo glad you know Larx and the Marlush-mallow, 'cause I am the exact opposite of those bossy try-hards! They had all their schemes and plans, all I want is to play my sitar!”

The Nobody raised a palm in the air, and the water in the 2nd District’s fountain stirred. Bubbles raised from around Demyx’s feet, coalescing within his hand as a zero-g watery mass. Slowly the water took shape, vaguely resembling a guitar, before a final explosive aqua burst gave it solidity, revealing Demyx's Nobody-sigil-shaped signature instrument. Water dripped from its form, dissipating into the air, as he swiftly swung it down and around into proper playing position. Finally, he gave the strings a quick pass to complete his little show, shaking off the last of the loose water.

“This is Arpeggio,” he said with love and pride, cradling it to his face. “My pride and joy! She’s the sweetest sounding instrument I’ve ever had, like crystal blue waves crashing against a red sand shore during a yellow and pink swirling sunset…” His eyes seemed to tear as his gaze was lost in the soft blues of his sitar.

Demyx, remembering he had company, laughed sheepishly and sat back down on the bench, laying his sitar across his lap. “So, uh, you say they 'repurposed’ you, eh? Sounds like them, you’re either a puppet or in their way,” he said with an understanding tone, plucking the strings lightly. “I didn't know much about what happened in Castle Oblivion, but the few things I have heard are just nuts… personally, I'm 90% sure the whole Organization is nuts. But if they're anything like they were before I, erm, bit the dust, you don't stand a chance kid..."

Demyx was so caught off-guard by the Riku clone’s request that he actually jumped up in surprise. Since becoming a Nobody, no one he spent time around ever wanted to hear the music he could play. It was his favorite hobby when he was whole, and it brought him such calm since he lost his heart, but all the others ever told him was to stop making such racket. Though the emotions he presented were really just memories of a heart long-gone, he would never give up his music, and now the memory of sharing his music before filled his head.

“Y-yes! Of course! You don't even have to threaten me for that,” he said with a giddy tone. Demyx grabbed Arpeggio and sat on the ground, crossing his legs with the body resting in the space. “So you see, this part is the sound-box, or kaddu, and this up here is how you make the sound higher or lower, but I kinda stylized it-” He laughed, stopping himself with a dismissive wave. “Sorry, I don't get many chances to talk about this! But I’ll get to the best part first.”

With a wave of his hand, the three thick strings melted into water, reforming into 26 glittering fine threads. He turned the yellow spiked tuning pegs, then began plucking the strings, losing himself to the magically enhanced music. The memories guided his fingers…



(credit to Nelly Slide Guitar of YouTube)


Demyx lowered the sitar and closed his eyes. The music brought a force on him, a wave of something that gave him goosebumps, but the good kind that a person would savor. His hand rested upon his chest, searching for whatever the source of that feeling was. But the feeling was gone as soon as he paid it mind, and the effort to preserve it was fruitless. With a sad smile, he looked back at his one-man audience and gave a peace sign.

“Haha, there you go! Just you wait, when I get my heart back, it’s all going to sound so much better. Emotions- real ones, not just the memories of 'em- are like magic. They make everything better… especially music! Not that anyone agreed with me, especially Mr. Science, Vexen!” Demyx puffed with exasperation, just remembering his old bosses was an effort. He returned to his seat on the bench, dusting the dirt from the ground off his coat before sitting.

“Oh man, don’t get me started about the Ice-Cream Man himself! Dude had it out for me since I joined… threatened to freeze me so many times!” Demyx crossed his arms and squinted wildly, pretending to be Vexen, mimicking his accent with bad accuracy, “‘If you detest doing anything so fervently, number IX, you can sit placid in a block of ice!'” Demyx blew a raspberry and sighed. “And Larxene’s still around…” he shivered. “I really don't envy you bud, she’s terrifying, even on her good days.”

Demyx’s hand brushed the ends of his mullet as he scratched the back of his neck. He stared at the copy’s open hand with obvious reservation, the logic in his mind begging him to turn tail and bolt. But this kid, however much a mimic, asked to hear his music. He even seemed to enjoy it, and gave the Nobody a faint sensation of… pride? Still, this was a tough call, to action or to inclination?

“It depends… Like, yeah I think they're all chock full of crazy in their own little ways, but they're still who took me in when I had nothing, was nothing…” He rested his elbow on his knee and his face in his palm. “I can't really agree to any plans against them, you know? I owe the Organization, even if they did treat me like a hindrance nine times outta ten… they don't have hearts to tell them it's wrong to do some of the things they do."

With a heavy sigh he leaned back into the bench, the cheery demeanor he had been struggling to hold up through this talk of his only family in this life, it had faded in its entirety, leaving an empty look on the young man’s face. He looked up at the stars again, and began moving an open palm in a flowing wave, tracing the shape of infinity. Small droplets began forming in the wake of his hand.

“You don't punch destiny to get what you want. Fate is like a river,” his voice had taken a serious tone. “A person can try to redirect it, stop its waters, make it convenient or get it out of the way, but it always flows into the same place.”

The droplets had expanded into a full shape, a small torrent flowing ever forward into itself against night sky. Stars twinkled like multi-color gems under the thin veil of lightly blue waves.

“You can fight it all you want, your destiny will get what it wants out of you no matter how hard you can hit, no matter how strong the walls you put up to try. With time, water will take back its proper course.” He gently dropped his hand, the free-floating liquid dispersing back to the air he’d retrieved it from.

Demyx blew a puff of air at a strand of hair in his face. It felt so wrong when the emptiness took him over, made him all serious. He was an emotional person, so much so that even as a shell he had to do his very best to feel. And, despite everything he was told, he thought he was very good at it. But these spurts of lifeless harble-glarble, they were a total buzzkill. 

“Okay,” he said, the light returning to his eyes and the light-heartedness returning to his voice. “Bottom line of it all, just don't punch fate too hard, 'kay?” He crossed his arms. “So you obviously got a plan, copy-cat. I’m not promising anything- believe me, I am definitely not the kind of guy you want to ask to work- but I’ll at least tell you if you're gonna get absolutely destroyed trying whatever you wanna try. Which you totally will be, but I can just reassure you of it. Sorry." He smiled, trying to be nice, but obviously not sorry.

With a small smile, Demyx felt some solace that the boy had actually listened. Less blood on his hands if things go wrong, much less if he can actually dissuade a bad situation from the start. Still, this wasn't all for himself. Despite his big plans and all that work this kid was planning on, Demyx was developing a kind of soft spot. He wouldn't give that kind of life-saving advice to anyone, right? Well, actually, he probably would, but who has ever listened to it? Only really this weird kid right here. It's a shame he was making such a difficult to fulfill request...

“I don't really have any ideas. I mean you hit the nail on the head: if I straight up take a coat I’m as good as dead six times over, and obviously I need mine…” He tapped his chin, thinking, but always coming up with an answer that resulted in him getting hurt, killed, or worse: doing a lot of legwork. “The easiest, least Demyx-dies-at-the-end option we have is… I could-” he paused, deliberating heavily. He let out a sigh of inconvenience and covered his mouth with his hand, regretting each word as it left his mouth: “I could talk to one of the guys up top on how these are made.” He brought his palm to his head, already seeing his castle-chore ridden fate sealed.

He glared fiercely at the clone, “No promises, alright? I’ll slip in a word if I can, but I gotta protect myself too.” He almost felt bad he was so adamant about this. “I swear I’m not like Vexen or Larxene, but I don't want to die if I can help. I’ve already technically done it once… twice? Either way, not fun.” He picked up Arpeggio and plucked the strings nervously. “Now that I think about it, I’ve probably risked a lot just talking to you…”

“But I do think you’re pretty cool, so I’ll give you that. Not often someone wants to hear my jams, less often anyone listens to my advice. I’ve got a lot on the line, but if I catch wind of something that might help you out, I’ll try to let you know. When it's safe. For me.” He smiled sheepishly, hoping these words were acceptable. Demyx was unable to offer much more than these weak 'ifs’ and 'maybes’, and he really did feel a little bad for not be able to do more, but big promises like that were better for people a lot braver than himself. He was just a nobody and a Nobody, holding out until he could have a heart again. “I’m… sorry. I’ve never really been a big help before, why start now, right?” He shrugged, still with a stupid smile on his face.

Again, Demyx's eyes lit up like a child, just as they had when he was asked to play. To teach another wouldn't be so bad, and if this kid was possibly a bookish type... “Now that is something both safe, and probably the best idea I’ve ever heard!” He winked a shining green eye and suddenly bounded into a shadowy portal. Before one could finish the phrase “Dark Corridor”, he poked his head back out, eyes shifty and smile sneaky. It was all a big show, but he was committed to it as he carefully tip-toed out of the portal. His hands were crossed behind his back, concealing something that the Nocturne wanted to have unknown, be questioned, and be coveted.

He raised a hand, and waved the portal away. With an obnoxiously loud and dramatic clearing of his throat, Demyx began speaking in a noble tone, eyes closed and nose raised like a royal decree was leaving his lungs:

“Musicians like myself are not born great. We do not just possess the skill from birth, we must hone it like a fine blade! So, as I now fulfill your request to become the great Melodious Nocturne’s apprentice, I give you the stone upon which you shall learn to sharpen, cut from the same rock that I...sharpened myself on? Okay, weird phrasing, but here-” With a mighty flourish, Demyx revealed the great treasure he hid:

A simple, small, wooden setar.



“This is what I practiced on when I learned to play, or more like it's the same type I used. It might seem small and not-so-spectacular, but it can play just as awesomely as Arpeggio. All that matters is what you do with it! See, I may wax poetic about Arpeggio sounding the best, but really it's less about the tool and more about who is behind it. She only sounds good because her music comes from my he-” With stilted breath he stopped himself short of a mighty mistake, though for a moment it felt like the truth. “... memories. From my memories.” He also procured a small book, labeled “Setar for Doofuses” and another for the Sitar. Demyx was a self-titled 'master' of both.

“There's a difference, between a setar and a sitar, like one has three strings and… well, it’s in the books. It's a lot of work trying to explain, and I’m not much of a working guy. In fact, I taught myself- not a book one- just 'cause I hate the effort I have to put in to figure it all out from someone else’s perspective! It's overwhelming and really kills the fun of it for me...” He held the articles up with a cheery smile before setting them between himself and the boy. “Buuuut you seem like a guy who doesn't mind work.” He hoped his assumption was true. Demyx thought the best way to teach was not to actually teach, but let the student discover the love of the subject all by himself. Sure, this was partly because he despised t he idea of actually trying to teach the kid, but it truly seemed like the best method to him. If someone wants to play music, they have to find the music within themselves first.

Demyx sat and crossed his hands behind his head, eyes closed. “You’ve got the right idea with the clothes too, I think. Best way to shove it in ol’ Vexy’s face is to take the stuff you're based on and wear it proudly. Besiiides, your duds are cool! Got a wicked, muscly, intimidating thing going for it. Own it! There's too many people running around in these jackets, anyway…” The Nobody reminisced about when he didn't have to wear the black coat of the Organization. It wasn't uncomfortable by any means, but it just wasn't him. But the clothes on the clone, they seemed uniquely the clone’s. Heck, he wasn't so sure this clone was a clone.

“I don't know who you’re based on, dude, but you seem more like your own person than some kind of copy.” Demyx smiled, raising his fist to the kid kindly, hoping for a fist bump to make up for the neglected hand-shakes.

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(Notes: Demyx gives Repliku some items: [Musical Instrument: Setar], [Book: Setar for Doofuses], [Book: Sitar for Doofuses]. These items are non-combat, just for story purposes.)