An Audience Unpleased (Braig)

The crowd slowly dissipated away from the arena, yet one figure still remained. He watched silently, his hood drawn tight over his head as he sat perched on a nearby building like an old, weathered gargoyle. Tracking down his target had proven difficult, but a few coins pressed into the right palms had ways of finding things that even his everwatchful Snipers couldn't glimpse.

It was in this way that Xigbar had convinced a particularly worn denizen of this world to slip him a copy of the tournament's registration roster. Many of the names were unfamiliar, but it didn't take him long to find the new alias of his target:

Lea

There it was written: the troublesome Flurry paired alongside some unknown patron named 'Alma'. Xigbar frowned, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. 

So the Flurry had made friends? Great.

It was with this in mind that the Freeshooter watched the day's events through his Sharpshooter's scope, his observations punctuated with little more than the occasional grin or dry, humorless laugh. The sparring matches below had almost entertained the scarred sniper, though it wasn't the lackluster combat prowess of the contestants that had brought a crooked grin to his visage.

There was something almost humorous to the whole ordeal: All these powerful souls,- keybladers even- clustered in one place as they tried to best each other in mock combat. Squandered potential. And for what? 

Cash prizes?

Bragging rights?

... He had to say, he had expected more from the pyro.

Yet, this mockery of true, lethal combat disgusted the sniper. How naive- how complacent- these fools have gotten in the darkness' absence. True combat lurked on the horizon, a struggle unlike anything these pawns could comprehend. Have they truly forgotten?

So that young echo of Xehanort was right.

But it wasn't just the Flurry that needed a reminder of the Seeker's power...

Xigbar would teach them all a lesson, in time. For now, he let his crosshairs come to rest on the redhead as the remaining crowd cleared, the lines converging on a single spot on the other's skull. How easy it would be to simply pull the trigger and eliminate this little, weak pest once and for all...

Yet the Freeshooter wasn't a fool. A single killing shot would be too quick, too ethical. There would be nothing to gain, nothing to learn from a painless death. A frown crossed the sniper's face as he let the crosshairs trail off of their intended target, the rifle fading away into nothingness in his hands. 

Wordlessly, Xigbar willed himself to the arena below. He warped soundlessly behind the Flurry, giving the flighty redhead ample space should he decide to give the sniper a particularly warm welcome. 

"Heh... Looks like the keyblade picked another dud." Xigbar called out, a single golden eye shining from his hooded visage as he broke the silence. "Armed with a keyblade and you can't even carry your own weight..." 

Xigbar chuckled, shaking his head in a mockingly disapproving gesture as if he was disappointed in the Flurry's performance. "Ya know, Red. I expected more from ya."


@lea

"Heh... So I see that you still haven't learned to shut that mouth of yours." Xigbar scoffed, though it wouldn't be a lie to say that the redhead's comment had managed to get under his skin. "No respect..."

After all, the sniper had spent over a decade getting hollowed out by that sliver of darkness in his heart, all for a keyblade he never received. More than once the realization that the old coot had played him for a fool crossed the Freeshooter's mind, but then it was far too late.

That same accursed shard forced his hand...

... and kept him loyal. 

"Ya know, Red, this is why your buddy made the final cut instead of you." Xigbar taunted, eye narrowing like a venomous serpent as he spoke. There was a distinct casualness to his voice, as if the sniper was simply discussing the weather, yet an insidious note could be heard just under the surface. 

"Shame we had to mar that pretty face of his..." The Freeshooter purred, using his thumb to trace a jagged 'X' in the air before his own face. In truth, he didn't know what had happened to the Diviner's face, not for sure, but the implications would work in his favor regardless.

It wasn't about accuracy, or truth, but sending a message, right?

"Maybe I just wanted to watch the show... Heh. Gotta have something to do on my day off, right?" Xigbar stated sarcastically, gesturing dramatically in the air. In truth, this world did feel too close to the light. It brought back memories of a time before the Unversed, a time that was simply referred to as 'before' in the sniper's mind. It was an understatement to say he didn't like it. 

"Turns out, kid, the old coot wasn't too pleased with you meddling in the Organization's business... He wanted me to send you a message." Xigbar mused, corners of his mouth pulling into a wide grin. The sniper then ran his hand into his pocket, rummaging around for several seconds before pulling forth a simple object:

A book of matches.

"Ya know, there hasn't been any rain in a while. In fact, I think that one or two o' these little guys would be all it would take to light this town up." The Freeshooter held them up, displaying them like a prize. He flipped the book open with his thumb, pulling one out with his other hand to look at it more closely. "... I wonder who would do a thing like that?" 

"But can you imagine the headlines, kid? 'Disgruntled pyro sets town ablaze'? 'Redheaded loser brings the heat'? 'Local tourney gets nice and toasty'? Oh, oh I know: 'Record number of locals feeling burnt out, study shows'..." The Freeshooter rattled off the theoretical headlines, punctuating each with a little wave of the unlit match. He breaks out into a streak of laughter, a rough sound much akin to breaking glass, as if that last one was a true gem. 

"Go ahead, Red. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't warm this world's heart."