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Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2018 1:41:49 GMT -5
The sound of cards escaping the friction of the thumbs that guided them, was perhaps among the only thing at the table that brought music to the dealer’s ears. A euphoric symphony of drunken stool perched patrons, revelers, salty wenches, and a rather awful bard manning the churn of a hurdy durdy in the farthest corner, would fill the run down tavern. It was sufficient to say, this popular watering hole provided a collage of the local colors of life. Any man or woman whom was down on their troubles, could find solace the bottom of a tankard hither. As among the guarantees that anyone could return here for a reprieve from their parched throats, so it was there also stood the chance one could happen upon some coin.
This chance of course, would not stand relevant tonight.
The tavern offered a variety of distractions for the players at the table. Of the remaining five from the starting eight, one by one each of these local gamblers had proven the worth of their merit, and the fortitude of their hearts. For the dealer that would meet each of their eyes, with possibly the brightest blue orbs any of the buccaneers had witnessed, the prominent noise that dominated the room did little to sway his focus. As he so often reminded himself, windows to the soul were found in the eyes, when the door to a man’s ambitions stood shut. The man in black had gauged and weighed his competition, measuring each of the surrounding players against his own fortitude.
These players were sharp; testaments to the single thought that had been weighing down the cloaked man’s thoughts for the last several hands. Luck, it would seem, did not accompany in this endeavor— Or at least, this is how he wished it to appear to the other players. For what did it matter? Were he so certain of defeat, an avoidance of this game would have been a certainty would it not? What fun was there in betting, if one already knew the outcome? A few folds of the cards had been enough, to convince the man to his left there existed a chance of victory. Another decorative shuffle of the cards was made, passing from one hand through the air to the other. The dealer recognized the lack of munny in his pockets upon his arrival merely hours ago, and how frivolous a group of pirates could be with their coin.
A smirk would play on the man’s face, then the cards were dealt. Two cards to each player, as were the rules of Blackjack, nothing more, no less. With the deck returned to the table’s surface, eyes of the owners would set upon their respective cards. They went around the table, every player putting in bets, whether blinds or a raise, in no time at all the pot had grown to hold all the remaining chips. Electric blue orbs would read each poker face present, finally resting upon the scruffy man to his right. An air of confidence radiated from this one with a chuckle, perhaps in possession of a high pair, of that Luxord had little doubts. The Gambler could only muster an approving smile in return.
”Let’s see em’ cards brit. Bottle o’ rum says n’ I be takin’ th’ last o’ yer coin t’night!”
”A challenge is it?”
Very well, if that’s the way they wished to go about it, he would have no qualms about letting them down hard. After an hour of listening to tasteless sonnets, and excessive brutish taunting, it would be nothing short of a pleasure to close this game out on this particular hand. With a confident shrug, Luxord would flip his cards, revealing an Ace and a King of Hearts. The air of hope in each of the buccaneers was dashed almost instantly, each tossing their cards down on the table out of disgust. Reaching out to pull the winnings to his side of the table, the Gambler’s gloved hands would stop just short, as a knife pierced the table inches from the gold. ”Th’ bloody hell y’think yer doin’ brit!? I’ll not lose t’no tea suckin’ pond hoppa’ in me own port!” Luxord would shoot the disgruntled player a rather indignant look, before raising his hands in a seemingly genuine apology.
”Surely we’re both men of fair sport, even if you lack proper mannerisms?” The disgruntled loser wouldn’t take kindly to the blond’s words, finding the refined accent and vocabulary more annoying than the losing to him in cards. Luxord watched on as the other man’s eyes would flash with temper, moments before he pulled the knife from the table. By this point each of the other players all stood around the table, silently observing the developing confrontation. Onward continued the churn of the hurdy durdy, as though serenading the tense situation at the card table. As the buccaneer raised his blade high to the air, another patron would seize him by the wrist. A struggle would break out between the pair, each finding the others actions unwarranted and beyond offensive to contain their emotions any longer. Inevitably a fight of fisticuffs would erupt in the tavern, as each of the pirates and revelers began to throw hooks left and right. This in turn prompted a more upbeat tune in the bard, as Luxord used the opportunity to slip the winnings of the game into a black pouch. As tables began to flip as bodies began to fly, the Gambler of Fate took this as cue to make his leave for the door, taking care to avoid what glass bottles had also become airborne. Upon slipping out the front door into the salty air, the blond would pull the shroud of his hood over his head, before starting on a casual stroll through the British port. The onyx coin pouch bouncing up and down within the palm of a gloved hand.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 23, 2018 1:18:38 GMT -5
Sleek frigates and white winged clippers bobbed and creaked at the docks like sleeping leviathans, each fitfully dreaming of the next tides’ challenge to fate and nature. While the great hulks slept, sailors climbed and stumbled across and down their sides, reduced to dark ant-like silhouettes by perspective and the long shadows of evening. Masts of myriad heights formed a veritable forest against the livid sunset, gentle lapping waves creating a synchronized sway among them much as the wind’s invisible hand would've set woodland canopies stirring farther inland. Sails were their boughs, extending and slackening in the manner of living lungs as the night’s temperate mistrals brought the kiss of salt and scent of brine into the harbor. The flags of several dozen assembled nations were this forest’s leaves, the colorful regalia subtlety muted by the sky’s more vivid pigments.
Sunset burned through frayed stratus clouds, setting them ablaze with pale azure rimmed in violet and roseate haze. This horizon spilled onto the water’s surface, as if a celestial artist’s oils had slipped down the page to stain a darkened world below. Roxas watched anemones splay their blossom-like tendrils from their perchs down the pier’s poles and jellyfish flex in clusters of stinging streamers below him. Eventide’s dying violaceous fires played tricks with their mindless translucence, the lengthening shade bringing out hints of bioluminescence. Oysters clung to pitted wooden dock pillars in crowded plum colonies amidst petrified layers of barnacle protrusions. Starfish were slow bright predators among the mollusks, squat and bidding their time in this lower tide.
Roxas lifted his gaze to the costal bluffs, where Fort Charles’ stony bulk dominated the skyline. Jamaican palms pendulated with soft rustling fronds as the sea sleepily exhaled. Topical verdure made incremental conquest of the haphazard harbor buildings, lush vines scaling walls and claiming roofs, nature’s quiet anarchy spreading through a settlement caught in an almost perpetual mercantile bustle. Crates, barrels, and cranes were still and unattended right now however, as business gained a more literal liquidity in these later hours.
Carousing bustle passed around Roxas as he sat on pier, legs dangling over the placid waters. Preferring not to attract attention on his quest through the multiverse, the former thirteen had taken pains to purchase local garb. Wearing a well-worn vest over a thin shirt, simple brown baggy breeches, and battered boots, no one bothered just another cabin boy taking in the sights while his older crewmates drank their fill. The rough peace of Port Royal and balmy breeze had caused Roxas’ mind to drift, and he didn’t notice the nearby tavern expel another vomit of sodden patrons and raucous noise.
Nor did the corner of his eye catch the familiarly cloaked figure headed down his way until it was far too late. Jolted from his late-daydreaming too quickly to retain composure, martial reflex execrated the break in cover with an adroit leap to his feet. Caught in that awkward place where instinct has squandered whatever advantage discretion might’ve gained, Roxas took a slow step back from the hooded agent, mind racing through his options.
@lux
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Post by Deleted on Apr 23, 2018 21:35:35 GMT -5
A finalizing clink of coin caught the hooded enigma’s ear upon the last toss. That was when fate intervened. Not far from where he had come to a pause near the harbormaster’s post, sat a young lad upon the docks, no doubt enjoying reprieve from his daily routines. Gloved fingers would curl around the onyx coin purse, as brilliantly blue eyes would narrow upon the sight of this boy. Even as some of the youth’s apparent shipmates came to pass by, the looks they gave him were far too inquisitive to suspect he was familiar to them. As it were his presence felt as off-putting as his own among all these Somebodies, with their precious hearts beating so profoundly inside their chests. The man in black simply watched as the subject of his observation sprang to his feet. Oddly enough, no words were given in response, even as those familiar blue eyes set upon Luxord’s hidden features.
The blond felt another mimicry coming on, one that resembled what he recalled as contempt. Were a heart beating so proud in his own chest, Luxord was most certain that is what he would have felt. Yet- there was something else…something more. A coalescence; a hurricane of emotions that would all batter the coast of this island that was his collected composure. Confusion stood prominent, as he contemplated this traitor’s return. Had something befallen Sora? How big was the bet to coax Lady Luck into playing this hand? It was rather puzzling indeed. A desire to hurt, to kill swelled inside the pit within him. Were he not a gentleman with a sense of dignity, a lesser being of nothing would surely have given in by now. Flaring a temper would only cause more problems than it could solve. He was no Larxene after all. The Gambler’s vision would skim the port, as he took in a quick mental note of how many red coats stood out.
As the boy took a step away, the gaze of blue would once more set upon him. There were more practical means of dealing with this stroke of luck, as he so favorably began to see it. A step forward to match the one already made, followed by a fashionable wave of the hand, and the coin purse would have vanished from sight. ”Surely you don’t mean to skip out on our reunion so soon, Roxas?” inquired the man in black, gesturing to the busy port behind the boy. There was an emphasis placed on his name, as sure enough as there were no need for introductions between them. Those hands had been played long ago.
As much as the idea was hard to stomach for Luxord, he realized he would have to keep the raise small with this one. Any chance he could suspect something was afoul, then there was a greater chance this kid could fold. Though as fortune would have it, his mysterious rescuer had indeed delivered with their guarantee. Here was the Key of Destiny, once more sitting at his table by fate’s whimsical, yet very much mysterious ways. Business in the port would have to conclude later, that much had become certain now. Deciding upon an impromptu alternative, the hooded man would turn from the boy, and wave casually over his shoulder.
”You look hungry. Come. Let us find you that chicken dinner, winner.” @tapir
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Post by Deleted on Apr 26, 2018 3:25:11 GMT -5
“C’mon Luxord, why would I do that?” Roxas took to deception with all the grace of a sky-diving goldish, and wasn’t about try it with the Gambler of Fate. Affable ambiguity was accompanied by a nod and halt in backward motion. Uncertainty had cost the Roxas the initiative here. Giving more ground wasn’t gonna help that any.
Oh this was bad…
The smart thing to do would be to just run like hell and jump into whatever Corrider’d opened up fastest, the only problem here being Luxord could make cards explode with his freakin brain!
How? Roxas really had no idea. Luxord was some kinna telekinetic, strong enough that Roxas’d watch’d him shove those cards clean through people from fifty feet away. Strange as it may seem though, that wasn’t really the part Roxas was worried about. See, number ten could make time itself into a game. People became cards. Arbitrary choices became lethal. Luxord made up random rules and they replaced reality. It was chronomantic magic so utterly beyond the junior sorcerer that he didn’t bother trying to fathom how that all could be possible. Guess that’s just who Luxord was.
Which, Roxas supposed, made the real question what he felt better betting against: Luxord’s intentions or his aim?
Besides Axel and Xion, Luxord had always been guy whom Roxas could expect an actual conversation from back at the Castle That Never Was. He’d always been unfailing polite to the resident zombie. From caring for weapons to the only advice about fate that’d ever made any sense, Luxord had given helpful (or at least interesting) guidance without ever talking down to him. Always happy to have more people whose name next to his on the assignment roster didn’t bring on cold dread, Roxas had appreciated the gentlemanly geniality, despite not knowing really anything about Luxord personally.
He wasn’t stupid enough think that made them ‘friends,’ not by a long shot. Yet, it could be worse right? Hell could’ve been Saix.
Roxas’s Heart stirred uncomfortably in his chest, grasping at a recollection just beyond reach, something from his sleep within Sora that he was forgetting here…
The boy shoved the cresting qualm away; he was living this life right now, not Sora.
Besides, chicken did actually sound really good right now.
“Thanks man,” he said with cautious amiability, his brief jog to Luxord’s side sending a dull clamor through sodden pier boards. “Been bout a year now,” Roxas noted absently after a time of steady strides sounding off-kilter to the gentle organic constancy of the sea. A habitual anxiety made the youth disappointed at not having a more precise reckoning. The days didn’t seem real if they weren’t counted.
@lux
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Post by Deleted on Apr 26, 2018 13:07:34 GMT -5
An entire year?
Not a word had been uttered from his rescuer that day, no night, in regards to time whatsoever. To think that he had been sitting out on an entire year’s worth of entertainment before they bought him back in. The very thought was almost so repulsive, it would make him pause in his stride toward a tavern; one with a less rowdier crowd than where he had played earlier that evening. ”Yes. Time is a fickle mistress, is she not?” he would jest, eyes narrowing upon their destination. Onyx soles would once more pick their way through the damp, muddied road as the taller man led the other to the establishment’s entrance. Holding open the door for his former comrade of the coat, a warm bath of lantern light would wash over their forms in the coming night. The aromas of salted meats on a fire, and freshly tapped ales would dance upon the air. Luxord would swear to himself he caught the faintest scent of honey in there somewhere.
This new eatery had several prized trophy kills mounted among the walls, doubtlessly found in the jungles beyond the bustling port town. Several long tables dominated the center of the hall, with many more smaller ones that lined the outer walls. A bar at the far corner was tended by an older woman, who looked as though she had seen her fair share of unruly customers in her day. A pyramid of shot glasses sat upon the bar before her, as she cleaned the inside of a dirty mug. The kitchen behind her, would continue. to flash with the occasional flare from its oven, causing a nervous cook to swear under his breath as he extinguished it. The otherwise quiet state of this place told Luxord enough that the lingering patrons here could care less what they saw. Long days and equally taxing work had set in, which would be enough to let them rest in whatever sty they chose this evening.
”Accommodating enough I suppose,” Luxord added with a beckoning wave to Roxas. The man in black would trek across the room, taking seat at a table in the corner opposite of the bartender’s curious eye. The enigmatic customer paid the gaze little mind as he kicked the other chair out for his company. While he waited for the former Number Thirteen to take his seat, electric blue orbs would survey the dining hall, remaining ever watchful for a possible tail. There was no telling just whom his rescuer worked for, though the card dealer was quite certain his guess would be correct.
It would almost be disappointing for Xemnas to not wish to recollect the pieces. Though the Nobody was a proven loser, and all the chips put down on his plan had been lost by all involved. Luxord saw no point in sitting down at that table any longer, certainly not when the silver maned preacher had no hand to play. The Gambler’s thoughts upon the present pair’s former boss found themselves interrupted, as the bartender then approached with a look of disinterest. ”What’ll it be?” she would grunt, looking to the hooded man. Luxord would casually wave open an upturned palm, upon which sat the onyx coin purse once more. After retrieving a few coins from its depths, he would offer them to their waitress as they clinked together on his gloved hand. As she took the coins, Luxord would give a gesturing wave of the hand to the other blond at the table.
”Whatever the young lad here desires, and—” He would pause, raising an index finger to the air. A brief sniff was made to reaffirm his detection from earlier. Sure enough that sweet scent still lingered within the dining hall. ”Do I smell, honey?” inquired the Gambler, lowering a hand to his shrouded chin inquisitively.
”Aye. New batch o’ Kenny’s mead. S’made with honey.”
An amused chuckle emitted from the featureless mask provided by the onyx hood. ”Your finest mug of Kenny’s mead then.” The waitress would take Roxas’ order, then roll her eyes after looking on the hooded man, before turning to head into the kitchen. Luxord would watch on until she was out of earshot, then regard the Key of Destiny again with a subtle nod. ”You’ll forgive my desire for anonymity, Roxas. I’m quite certain you understand. You see, it is my belief our former employer seeks to repopulate the board.” The waitress returned to ungraciously set a mug of golden, bubble topped mead on Luxord’s side of the table. As it sloshed about, trickling down one side of the glass, the Gambler wouldn’t raise a hand to touch it. ”Taking this information into account- I am certain you can imagine how I find the likelihood of this meeting being coincidental rather…difficult to believe? In fact, I am rather curious what entices you so, that you’d risk such a gambit…and come to this world alone.” @tapir
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Post by Deleted on Apr 26, 2018 21:52:50 GMT -5
After ordering the promised chicken roast with the water hopefully unstained by the pervasive spritz of brine, (Roxas may’ve been born twice by the sea, but that didn’t mean he liked tasting it) the keyblader listened to his former confederate’s concern. Roxas’d resolved to betray as little as possible, the integrity of his quest hinging on lives more important then his own. Yet, after acquiescing with a slight nod to their mutual innominate desire, the explanation that followed froze the soft features of the boy’s face where it lay upon his table-propped forearm. An ice-water chill pierced the sweaty tropical balminess to trickle in frigid furrows down Roxas’s spine.
He swallowed, blue eyes flicking up anxiously to the displays of triumphant taxidermy and intricately engraved scrimshaw, fulgurating lantern light dancing upon their contours like the damned dreamscape Sora’d plunged into. Maritime heirlooms dotting the walls, initialed sail strips and weathered ship’s wheels, proved too the evocative of the Castle’s protruding steeples to keep its newly reigning monarch from Roxas’ mind. In the posted portrayals of dread buccaneers on a board by the door, grimacing with convincing feloniousness above their respective admiralty bounties, Roxas saw only the garrulous grin of the man who’d torn him from Sora like an amber-eyed eagle gutting Prometheus in bondage.
The abrupt oaken thonk of the waitress setting drinks on the table snapped the boy to the present with a small start. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Cept Xemnas isn’ in charge anymore,” came the clarifier after a long exhalation that slumped small shoulders. “Never was I guess.” Sea-spray blue eyes finally rose to meet a gaze like the sky made endless and clean in the wake of a storm. “We all got played.”
Not touching his honeyed mead, Luxord spoke Roxas’s own percolating suspicions aloud. The arrival of their food gave the boy a few precious moments to weigh the benefits of collaboration versus prudence. A genuine eagerness to shove something more delectable then his own foot in his mouth was a few seconds more. Eventually however, Roxas reasoned that honesty could pay more dividends then a bluff Luxord might violently call.
“A god,” if the absurdity of his presumptuous pilgrimage had occurred to the boy, his ever-earnest face didn’t betray it, “Wonderin' the same though,” a gesture of a ravenously defleshed chicken bone indicated the cloaked chronomancer. “Isn’t this place kinna low stakes for you?”
@lux
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Post by Deleted on Apr 27, 2018 1:56:49 GMT -5
While the Key of Destiny would take the time to enjoy the meal paid for him, Luxord used it as an opportunity to study the hungrier blond at the table. Despite how unresponsive he chose to play verbally, the eyes that watched him told their owner more than Roxas would let on. What side he stood upon, simply by the way he seemed to freeze at the mention of Xemnas, and perhaps whatever hidden agenda was kept close behind the relaxed facade. The separation from Sora wasn’t nearly as taxing as prior theories suggested. How overwhelming the burden of his task at hand must appear, given the sigh and softening of the shoulders. Luxord could only speculate as he did one of the things he did best: observe.
The Superior no longer called the shots, or never really did from the sound of it. The game had been rigged from the start, that much was plainly crystal at this point. Sure enough even an expert of deduction could even see the former leader of Organization XIII was owed some measure of payback. Though all would be settled in its own due time, that much was certain. There was something about a god, though Luxord wasn’t certain what the kid meant by that- or rather who. His own thoughts once more wandered back to his rescuer. A spy on Xemnas’ new team perhaps? As a chicken bone was hailed his direction, the one question he had been expecting since they first rested eyes on one another, would grace the air at last. However when Roxas would refer to their present location as low stakes, the Gambler would simply scoff; a dismissive wave given as he leaned into the back of his chair.
”Now you’re thinking like Sora.”
A gaze about the room was made as his arms were crossed. ”Judge a book by its cover if you must, yet where you may gaze daydream-like upon black flags, swashbuckling, and gold-toothed grins- I see opportunity. Wayfaring upon the seas leads one to many places, many secrets. The nautical Lanes of Between offer a sailor any variety of destinations, and with them information travels. Port Royal-“ A hand was raised to regard the name of the town, and world, in which they currently sat. ”Hosts one of the largest, busiest nautical harbors, possibly in all the worlds. As it is so close to the Realm of Darkness, and possibly our former, oh so cozy home- It makes it a prime hub of information and secrets no longer frequented by the Organization.” Luxord would finally pause, then raise the mug before him to his parched lips. A moderate drink, followed by repulsed sigh. A solemn rasp of glass on wood as it was returned to the table.
”If my suspicions of your ambition to down Xemnas are indeed correct, some advice. A war is only successful wherever it is funded, whether by coin, or the secrets bought by it. A safe location to hide your allies in such an endeavor wouldn’t be hard to come by either. Hm-“ Luxord would pause, cocking his head to the side. He gazed upon the bartender inquisitively, as she fiddled with the wine rack behind the bar. After a tug upon a certain bottle near the middle left, a secret door in the wall behind it would open, and she would vanish as it closed. ”Most…curious” he mustered as a more graceful word failed his tongue. A frown would form underneath the darkness of his hood, though it was quickly shaken off.
”Now…” he began once more, the volume of his voice lowering and softening. His hands were brought up onto the table as he leaned forward. Digits would come to touch as his fingers rested against each other, his eyes resting firmly upon the company seated across from him. ”As you so graciously accepted my charitable meal, allow me to name my price: a simple favor, to redeem upon a time of my choosing whenever I should need it from you. In exchange…should you need a particular place…” He would nod toward the secret entrance in pause. ”To hide those friends of yours when the need arises, perhaps we can reach an accord. A deal that seems fair enough, no?”
With his peace spoken the Gambler of Fate would lean away from the table, awaiting whatever effect his words might have upon the wayward Keybearer. @tapir
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Post by Deleted on Apr 28, 2018 20:17:22 GMT -5
A lightning slant of blond brows above eyes whose turbulence had broken out into a full maelstrom, evinced no other chastisement could’ve cut as deep. Wrath that came even easier to Roxas then dreaming reverie briefly burned away any caution about being fatally brained by cardboard. He began to rise as Luxord reclined, fists balled to whitened knuckles on the cotton tree wood table. Yet, before bared gritted teeth could part to hurl heated indiscretion at his host, Roxas suddenly became aware of eyes on him, a neck-prickling intensity that cut even through hot blood.
Shifting corybantic cobalt from Luxord, Roxas glanced around the tavern to perceive unsubtle narrowed looks of curiosity. The instinctive disquiet Nobodies caused in surrounding heart-bearing life had risen to a fever pitch with Roxas’s hair-trigger movement. Anger paused under that collective scrutiny just long enough for the miles long list of why this was a stupid idea to sink in. Roxas found his chair again, hands unclenching in his lap until Luxord’s following clarification became more then just noise drowned out by the thudding in his temples.
Luxord called Roxas on equating prospective fortune with the violently fantastical, eliciting an almost petulant frown from the daydreamer, but not denial. The tactician proceeded to describe their locale though entirely different eyes. Where Roxas saw only a brief smelly stop before the glorious freedom of the open sea, Luxord found his treasure to be in the harbor itself, not uncharted isles. It all seemed a bit intangible at first. Yet, being constantly kept in the dark about what should’ve mattered most to him had given Roxas some pretty damn painful lessons on how game-changing the right info at the right time could be. The point well made evoked a pensive furrow of the eyebrows followed by a conceding nod from the boy. Luxord’s perspective on Port Royal proved extraplanar as well as geographic. Like the World that Never Was, this world hovered above the Darkness in the manner of celestial spheres caught in a Black Hole’s event horizon. Luxord intended to reign where the black-coated wolves once prowled.
Thinking about it, this place had a vibe that really fit Luxord. It was a horizon of civilization and untamed wilds, the confluence of water, wind, and relentless trade. “The game you play,” wondered Roxas aloud as ire ebbed into contemplation. “Not actually cards is it?” The warrior playing at cabin boy looked over a shoulder through the stone and netting rimmed window to where the massive ebon hulks of ships brooded with lowered sails in the harbor. A reddened sun sank over the tropics, the rising tide seeming like water displaced by its weary descent into the sea. “It’s Change?”
As Luxord balked at the local take on sweetened hops, Roxas retrieved a roll of yellowed parchment from his boot, the hand not currently occupied with filling his inner hollows full of poultry running absent circles over the weathered vellum in his lap. Despite stating this particular desperate step in his quest with parsimonious confidence, Roxas was actually more lost after having a lead then before. It was clear Luxord knew this place better them him, and ‘hub of information’ sounded better then ‘So like a ghost told me thing was important.’ “Could use some information,” he admitted. “Caught the wind, but don’t have any bearings.” A decidedly boyish sheepishness curved the dips of his lips. “Don’t know how’d I pay you though…”
Then Roxas received two lessons on the way of the world in quick succession. Luxord proffered a purpose that Roxas hadn’t yet the courage to even inwardly voice to himself. Take down Xemnas? ‘That’s Sora’s war,’ Roxas dearly wanted to reply. He was so very done with fighting for and against the sun that cast the shadow of his selfhood. He just wanted to find some far-flung corner of the multiverse and just live, escape this strangling Gordian knot with Sora at its center.
Yet, even as Roxas opened his mouth to deny destiny, the memory of Xion’s fading weight in his arms came on like a gnawing gut-wound. There was a chill, the bitter frigidity of her crystalline decay, and emptiness in Roxas’ made his hands seem weightless.
He’d promised.
The magnitude seemed suffocating, even as he confirmed Luxord’s suspicion with a nod. It was hard enough just getting back on his feet and trying to sort out his shattered china-shop of a memory. Besides, Luxord pointed out, that kind of thing required buckets of cash and info, the two areas Roxas was perpetually lacking in. He didn’t have to linger on it long however, as following his benefactor’s gaze revealed this tavern to have surprising secrets. Luxord’s point about this place being more then it seemed sank further home.
Roxas’ attention flicked back to up Luxord when the latters’ conspiratorial tone indicated it was time to put cards on the table. For the second time in a month, Roxas was offered exactly what he needed in exchange for a blank check on his future.
“Does seem fair,” concluded the Key of Destiny firmly, determined to ride this wave all the way to the jagged rocks. “One favor, whenever you need it,” a lift of sandy eyebrows indicated comprehension and consent, “and you hide my friends if we need to lay low.” The young man rose up and offering a hand across the table.
Instinct said he’d probably regret this. But Roxas knew he’d rather regret his choices then mourn his friends.
“Deal.”
@lux
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Post by Deleted on Apr 29, 2018 12:41:31 GMT -5
The enigmatic customer dabbled within the practice of patience, while allowing his company the time necessary to consider the weight of the proposal. True enough it was an offer that was too good to pass up, even for one in such shoes as Roxas. The price was rather steep, yet as far as the young adventurer seemed concerned, it was a free ticket for a meal and assistance. Though any neophyte could deduce the features of a mask, and still never determine those of the wearer beneath it. The Gambler was an existence which relished a challenge in this, easily deducing that beneath the affable shell this boy now portrayed, belied that same fury witnessed only moments ago. A smirk couldn’t help but continue to tug at his lips, even minutes after the Key would resume his seat. As predictable as a lit match over a gas soaked burn pile, ignition was inevitable for any notion, any mentioning to the wayfarer’s Somebody.
Though it was fortunate Roxas had the ability to listen, and comprehended the importance of the Gambler’s informative spiel with all the dependency of the sponge Luxord knew him to be. With the significance of of this place now put to rest, the offer made, and the seeds of an alliance sewn, all Luxord patiently waited on was the initiative needed to bind these words in agreement. He felt his hidden gaze wander up the expanse of the table, watching the Keybearer rise once more, followed by the extension of that very same gesture he had been longing to see. An affirmative handshake would linger, waiting for the gambling man’s touch to make the deal. For but a moment of silence, the former Number Ten considered the real winner behind this bargain. There was also no ignoring the parchment Roxas had removed from his person either, which doubtlessly contained something valuable written upon it.
A glint in his blue eyes, seconds before a devilish smile flashed under the hood. ”A wise decision, indeed.” A gloved hand then reached out, and with the faintest creak of its leather, firmly shook the hand of the traveler. ”After all, what good is a heart without longevity to enjoy it?” Upon releasing his grip, Luxord’s eyes diverted to the dirtied window, as a faintly heard alarm bell was chimed out in the harbor. A few red coated soldiers would run passed the tavern, each carrying their designated muskets out into the darkening evening. Whatever the reason for the unexpected urgency among the king’s men, the man in black concluded that whatever business left to conduct had just been put on a clock. The rousing of the navy was sure to put a few people at unease, and it certainly did little good if they were to begin active patrols. Though once more Luxord felt his eyes drawn to the mysterious scroll in the boy’s possession.
Were it of little importance, there was a fair chance Roxas would have never revealed it in the first place. Another card to play, though it was quite curious why it had yet to grace the table. A wildcard bet perhaps? The arms in the black coat tightened their cross of one another, as the man shifted in his seat. ”A parting gift of this god, as it were?” He referenced the item with a subtle nod, before giving a dismissive shrug. Whatever it was it belonged in the pot, but knowing whom was playing it, there was a fair chance it would be used in a late hand. Luxord was confident his eyes would grace its purpose before this game was done.
For now, there were other variables that needed to be brought into account. There were far too many strays still wandering the worlds, too many wildcards for his own liking. The Key of Destiny had it correct in suspecting Luxord was playing this game with change, though how fate would choose to deal those cards, remained yet to be seen. As the tavern had worn out its obligation for entertaining the Gambler, the enigma in black would rise from his seat. Beckoning his guest to accompany him further, Luxord would lead the way outside once more, the salty air being taken in with a deep, yet silent breath. He examined the bustle about the port, taking into account where the red coats had stationed themselves, and what routes were preferred. From where they stood just beyond the tavern’s threshold, it provided a fair, yet inadequate vantage point for suitable recon. Determining this almost immediately, Luxord concluded the hour of tonight's opportunity had expired.
”It may take some time, though I will see what news I can unravel,” began Luxord, referring to the new Organization, if only vaguely. As true as it was, establishing an underground network within this world would take some effort, but more so if the shadowy group still held lingering ties here. Several options came to mind as to where to begin digging for information, but they were chores for another evening. As Luxord came to believe that there was little left to discuss between them, at least as far as this meeting was concerned, he began to walk away from Roxas. ”Should you chance across our musical friend, do send him our direction. The local bard is positively atrocious.” With a dismissive, finalizing wave over the shoulder, tendrils of shadow would snake upward to consume his form mid-step. Within a matter of seconds, the Gambler of Fate had vanished, leaving Roxas alone in the bustling port.
Luxord has left the thread.
@tapir
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Post by Deleted on May 2, 2018 2:52:18 GMT -5
Shadowed hollows closed, and Roxas was alone, perched placidly on the pier again. The gently gyrating jellyfish were closer now with the rising tide, aglow with azure anima in dying light. He’d come out of this alive, with a full stomach and not immediately poorer, which a pretty great evening all considered.
The boy spread weathered parchment across his lap, trying to make sense of the secret he'd guarded maybe a bit too tightly. Should’ve he been open about his purpose here, Roxas wondered as he looked upon the cryptic mythography juxtaposed above cartography, maybe told Luxord about why he was looking for this World’s Heart? Luxord could’ve given him a lead, confirmed this Calypso wasn't was just a…
Roxas suddenly grimaced at realizing his mind’s track of infantile dependence.
Back in the Castle days, Roxas had rarely done any truly critical missions alone, always had a more knowledge Zombie-sitter. He was used to someone else having all the answers, just following the trail other blazed. Roxas’d never had to think much serving in the Organization, even when he’d eventually become capable of it. His ex-coworkers, Axel, Naminé, it was always someone else telling him what the hell was going on. Did he want Luxord’s help for its actual benefit, or because his former superior exuded a confidence Roxas inwardly lacked? After everything that’d happened, everyone Roxas’d lost because he didn’t open his eyes till too late… was he still just waiting on orders, still a glass-eyed Zombie?
The young man’s wobbling on the tightrope between independence and discernment was interrupted by a cracking musket discharge that shattered the harbor’s balmy lethargy. Unsure if this was something set in motion by Luxord, or Fort Charles’ garrison searching for culprits after discovering how little use their locks were against a keyblade, Roxas shoved the ‘liberated’ map back into it a boot regardless.
The irenic became ire. More gunshots were fired into the night. Confusion convulsed through the harbor.
Yet the boy had eyes only for the horizon, gaze following the sun to its final resting place far beyond the sea.
FIN @lux
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