nightcenturymountain: (tell me a story)
[personal profile] nightcenturymountain
Demyx POV piece. Rated S for Sadness. (G otherwise)


premonitions.
======

He put his things away more carefully than usual. He had his marching
orders, could still hear the Superior's crushed velvet voice echoing
in his head, and yet... And yet. He had met Roxas -- it was Roxas,
he could see him glowering out of the angry blue eyes of the unknowing
stranger -- once and survived. (Tell yourself the truth, Demyx: had
met him and run away, mission only loosely called complete, too
frightened of the red shining blur that had nearly chopped him to
bits.) He wasn't certain that he could survive a second meeting.

He folded a piece of sheet music, stolen from an unwary Muse in the
Coliseum, making certain that it was properly tucked in its sleeve
before laying it gently into the drawer. He had a strange feeling
about this mission. When he closed his eyes, he could visualize
nothing so clearly as a glinting metal blade readying for a fatal
thrust, a paralyzing premonition that made his hands shake in fear.

Was he being set up for failure this time, after his previous dismal
performance? Did it matter? He held no power within the Organization;
all he could do was choose the manner of his disposal -- either at the
hands of the Superior, bent and twisted into one of his own Dancers or
one of the sad little Dusks, or at the hands of Roxas, beaten and
brutalized by the flashing Keyblade.

Better a bang than a whimper, he thought. Better to look Roxas in the
eye and smile, full of memories of this place, of the white walls and
the thrones and knowing that I was better than something.

"I wasn't just any nobody, I was someone's Nobody." His voice startled
him a little, as much for the strangled note of untenable tears as the
sheer sound of it in the silence.

He put his things away very carefully, knowing without wanting to know
that he would not see them again, and wanting, without knowing what he
wanted, to think that whoever tore apart his room, whether they cared
about him or not, would see how neatly it had been kept and remember
him.
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nightcenturymountain

March 2010

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