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gotosleep_idiot2010-03-25 08:33 pm
poisonousflame) wrote in gotosleep_idiot2010-03-25 08:33 pm
Entry tags:
In which Kasarin writes a drabble
So Bookie's idea over here got me thinking about what Axel would be like as a Deva. Mid-way through writing it up, however, I realized that it was entirely dependent on whether or not Roxas would still be around in that future. And, with me being the terrible person that I am, I wound up coming up with a Bad End, in which Roxas was somehow Unmade.
THEN THIS CAME ABOUT.
Title: Perfect Worlds
Rating: PG?
Characters: Deva!Axel,Roxas, and a cameo by Deva!Saïx
Summary: "Such perfect imitations, but none are the real thing."
Warnings: Crazy. More crazy. Also, Axel's kind of very creepy in this, especially toward the end.
He doesn't use the Corridors anymore, though he can walk them and slip from world to world, universe to universe, with ease. He simply wills himself to be there, and he is. A clock tower, high above a cheery little town where the sky is a perpetual shade of sunset red. The perfect shade. His shade.
He walks to the edge and looks down, down, down at the people below. A group of blond and black haired children mingle on the bricks, interspersed with the occasional brunette. He twists his vision, and he can see their faces. Each with bright blue eyes and happy smiles, laughing and talking and full of life.
Such perfect imitations, but none are the real thing.
He turns his head, twists his body around from the waist so far it would break any human spine. But he's all energy now. Not even Darkness. Just energy and flame.
"Hey, Roxas," he says to theTHING boy. "Come over here."
Smiling. AlwaysEMPTY smiling, that face. Perfectly smiling and happy and GONE alive.
He reaches out, a gloved hand closing gently around the boy's arm, and guides him forward. "Sit here," he says, and the boy does. Sits right where he always sat, and smiles toward the sunset.
A rustle of leather -- nostalgic, his choice of clothing and form -- and he sits down as well. Where he always did, looking out at the sun.
"Bet you don't know why the sun sets red."
He waits for the reply that doesn't come. It never does. But if he keeps doing this, maybe it will. Maybe some day, Roxas will remember.
He'll make him remember.
"You see, light is made up of lots of colors. And out of all those colors, red is the one that travels the farthest."
Like I asked! Know-it-all.
His eyes widen, and he turns to look at his friend. "Did you--?"
No. No, it's still staring out at the sunset, that perfect smile bright on its face.
And Axel stares at that smile, until the children below leave to go to bed. He watches, and he waits, and he's sure that this time, Roxas will say something. This time, it'll be different.
He watches, and he doesn't blink once.
Seven days pass before he stands and guides the boy to his feet.
"You'll get it eventually, man. I promise."
~*~
For him, there are only two types of worlds. There are those filled with bright smiles and blue eyes, blond and black and brown haired children overflowing with hope and life, each one determined to follow their dreams. Those are the worlds he takesTHE FAKE Roxas to, and is sure to keep free of conflict. Those worlds are his favorite.
And then there are the worlds he creates simply because he must. Because there has to be some variety in this universe, and it's his job to bring them forth. He has no attachment to them. They're nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Those are the worlds he has fun with.
~*~
Every thirteen years, he gives them a year of respite. He twists each conflict that threatens to arise, forcing the people into peaceful negotiations. The citizens consider those years to be sacred, and live their lives to the fullest while they last. He whispers the name 'Roxas', and they give thanks to the god that gives them that time, however brief it may be.
When the year ends, he twists again. Anger, hatred, envy; all of it heightened, until people can't help but start their conflicts anew. The fires of war burn again, and he does nothing but fan the flames. Those few who can keep their emotions from tumbling into bitterness and rage fall to their knees and pray for Roxas to intervene once more.
It's only fitting, that they should know what they could have. How else would they appreciate the loss?
He whispers traitorous schemes in the ears of royalty, sets madness upon those with the most power, and smiles as he watches them rip each other apart.
~*~
"Axel."
That voice. Of course, that voice. The only one who would disturb him, while he's busy planting the seeds of another bloody revolution.
He turns away from his work and smiles -- a wide, toothy thing that stretches his face and makes his cheeks ache.
"Never did learn to knock, did you?"
The Deva of Moon practically radiates disapproval. Nothing new. Nothing new at all. Same old thing, and isn't that boring.
"What do you want."
Lips press together in a thin, flat line before they begin to move. They form words, words, so many words, and none of them mean a thing. Just shapes and noises and--
"Why are you here?" he snaps, and lips pause mid-word. "You could've sent someone. Why bother coming all this way?"
Silence. He lets it stretch, lets it build, and makes no attempt to break it before the other.
"You're still living in the past. You've stagnated. This--"
A sharp bark of laughter. He doesn't realize it came from him.
"Stagnated? Oh, I'm so sorry. Do I need to change?" His mouth pulls again, twisting into a sneer. "I'm doing my job. The hell do you want from me."
Another silence. That aura of disappointment ... changes somehow, and he's struggling to figure out what he's sensing when the word comes.
"Lea."
He flinches. Draws back. Flames curl up inside him, and he grits his teeth.
It should've been you.
It's not until his former friend turns and leaves that he realizes he said it aloud.
~*~
Sometimes, while he watches worlds literally be consumed in flames, he thinks he hears theTHING boy speak. He thinks he hears it say, 'It always ends in flames.' But when he turns to look at him, to take his face in his hands and beg him to speak again, all he receives are perfect HOLLOW smiles and bright eyes.
He tries not to let the boy see any worlds but the perfect ones.
THEN THIS CAME ABOUT.
Title: Perfect Worlds
Rating: PG?
Characters: Deva!Axel,
Summary: "Such perfect imitations, but none are the real thing."
Warnings: Crazy. More crazy. Also, Axel's kind of very creepy in this, especially toward the end.
He doesn't use the Corridors anymore, though he can walk them and slip from world to world, universe to universe, with ease. He simply wills himself to be there, and he is. A clock tower, high above a cheery little town where the sky is a perpetual shade of sunset red. The perfect shade. His shade.
He walks to the edge and looks down, down, down at the people below. A group of blond and black haired children mingle on the bricks, interspersed with the occasional brunette. He twists his vision, and he can see their faces. Each with bright blue eyes and happy smiles, laughing and talking and full of life.
Such perfect imitations, but none are the real thing.
He turns his head, twists his body around from the waist so far it would break any human spine. But he's all energy now. Not even Darkness. Just energy and flame.
"Hey, Roxas," he says to the
Smiling. Always
He reaches out, a gloved hand closing gently around the boy's arm, and guides him forward. "Sit here," he says, and the boy does. Sits right where he always sat, and smiles toward the sunset.
A rustle of leather -- nostalgic, his choice of clothing and form -- and he sits down as well. Where he always did, looking out at the sun.
"Bet you don't know why the sun sets red."
He waits for the reply that doesn't come. It never does. But if he keeps doing this, maybe it will. Maybe some day, Roxas will remember.
He'll make him remember.
"You see, light is made up of lots of colors. And out of all those colors, red is the one that travels the farthest."
Like I asked! Know-it-all.
His eyes widen, and he turns to look at his friend. "Did you--?"
No. No, it's still staring out at the sunset, that perfect smile bright on its face.
And Axel stares at that smile, until the children below leave to go to bed. He watches, and he waits, and he's sure that this time, Roxas will say something. This time, it'll be different.
He watches, and he doesn't blink once.
Seven days pass before he stands and guides the boy to his feet.
"You'll get it eventually, man. I promise."
For him, there are only two types of worlds. There are those filled with bright smiles and blue eyes, blond and black and brown haired children overflowing with hope and life, each one determined to follow their dreams. Those are the worlds he takes
And then there are the worlds he creates simply because he must. Because there has to be some variety in this universe, and it's his job to bring them forth. He has no attachment to them. They're nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Those are the worlds he has fun with.
Every thirteen years, he gives them a year of respite. He twists each conflict that threatens to arise, forcing the people into peaceful negotiations. The citizens consider those years to be sacred, and live their lives to the fullest while they last. He whispers the name 'Roxas', and they give thanks to the god that gives them that time, however brief it may be.
When the year ends, he twists again. Anger, hatred, envy; all of it heightened, until people can't help but start their conflicts anew. The fires of war burn again, and he does nothing but fan the flames. Those few who can keep their emotions from tumbling into bitterness and rage fall to their knees and pray for Roxas to intervene once more.
It's only fitting, that they should know what they could have. How else would they appreciate the loss?
He whispers traitorous schemes in the ears of royalty, sets madness upon those with the most power, and smiles as he watches them rip each other apart.
"Axel."
That voice. Of course, that voice. The only one who would disturb him, while he's busy planting the seeds of another bloody revolution.
He turns away from his work and smiles -- a wide, toothy thing that stretches his face and makes his cheeks ache.
"Never did learn to knock, did you?"
The Deva of Moon practically radiates disapproval. Nothing new. Nothing new at all. Same old thing, and isn't that boring.
"What do you want."
Lips press together in a thin, flat line before they begin to move. They form words, words, so many words, and none of them mean a thing. Just shapes and noises and--
"Why are you here?" he snaps, and lips pause mid-word. "You could've sent someone. Why bother coming all this way?"
Silence. He lets it stretch, lets it build, and makes no attempt to break it before the other.
"You're still living in the past. You've stagnated. This--"
A sharp bark of laughter. He doesn't realize it came from him.
"Stagnated? Oh, I'm so sorry. Do I need to change?" His mouth pulls again, twisting into a sneer. "I'm doing my job. The hell do you want from me."
Another silence. That aura of disappointment ... changes somehow, and he's struggling to figure out what he's sensing when the word comes.
"Lea."
He flinches. Draws back. Flames curl up inside him, and he grits his teeth.
It should've been you.
It's not until his former friend turns and leaves that he realizes he said it aloud.
Sometimes, while he watches worlds literally be consumed in flames, he thinks he hears the
He tries not to let the boy see any worlds but the perfect ones.