Post by ♥ Xivvy on Dec 26, 2006 14:04:52 GMT -5
MERRY CHRISTMAS. It's a KH2 Christmas fanfic. Love me 
Chapter One - The Stage Is Set
“I’m not happy, Xemnas.” The lady in the behind the big brown desk glared at the Superior through her unbelievably large glasses. Xemnas found himself lost in the huge brown leather seat facing her desk, so he huddled miserably in the middle of it, trying not to sweat, not to look at the head of a tiger hung on the wall with its tongue still hanging out, and trying not to stare at the long black hair growing out from between the lady’s penciled-in eyebrows.
“Oh, really?” Xemnas started, weakly trying a smile. “What for?”
“Your rag-tag group of hooskows, you’re organization, as you call it, has done nothing for this town,” the lady sniffed, her glasses jumping a little. “Year after year, you refuse to join in the Christmas festivities that the World That Never Was offers. You don’t string up lights, you don’t go caroling-”
“Well, about the caroling,” Xemnas started. “We only have one tenor, you see..” Well, actually two. Roxas’s voice hadn’t deepened yet.
“You never do anything! You don’t even send a packet of cookies for the bake sale!” The mayor lamented, blinking away imaginary tears, with a look of ultimate regret on her sallow face. “What can we do to make you cooperate? The World That Never Was has a marvelous Christmas program, and every year, your hooligans refuse to do anything. You’re the only castle that doesn’t string up lights, the only people that never come and pet the reindeer, the only ones who skip out on the candlelight Church Service!” At the thought of Axel sitting in a few, calmly spurting flames from one thumb while singing “Silent Night”, Xemnas grimaced. “I saw that face, young man!” The mayor shouted, her glasses tingling.
“No, I didn’t mean-” Xemnas protested.
“Do you find your refusal to help with the festivities amusing?” She fumed, her normal sickly-grey-yellow face turned a sicklier red-yellow-grey. Her black-painted eyes drew together in a furious knit, and her beady little eyes were red with rage. “I don’t! You and your horrible black-coated mob never do anything! You ruin Christmas spirit, that’s what you do. If you don’t begin to shapen up and cooperate with the Christmas spirit, I will have to take measures.” The long black grow waggled menacingly. Xemnas whimpered.
“You see, it’s rather hard to string up Christmas lights,” he began. “And we don’t have ladders tall enough to reach the top of the castle. And about the bake sale-”
“I don’t want you to do any of that,” the mayor said bluntly.
“You don’t ?” Xemnas’s mouth flopped open in disbelief. He almost wept in relief. Oatmeal was not a bake sale favorite, after all.
“No.” She mopped at her big sticky face with a handkerchief. “I want you to do this.” She pushed a small pamphlet over the desk at him. Xemnas timidly picked it up. His eyes bugged. On the pamphlet, over a picture of two very holy looking being bending over a glowing box on steroids, with random animals of out-of-kingdom-hearts origin were scrawled the words World That Never Was Nativity Scene - A Proud Christmas Tradition.
“Na..na…na…” Xemnas spluttered.
“Nativity Scene,” The mayor prompted, setting her small glasses on her fat nose.
“Pro..pro..pro..”
“Proud Christmas Tradition.” She smiled. “People come from all over to see the Virgin Mary and Joseph in the church’s annual Nativity display.
“Vir..vir..vir..”
“Virgin, you dolt!” The mayor snapped, her face flushing. “Someone who hasn’t gotten laid yet!” Xemnas blinked, surprised that the mayor would use such an unholy word as laid this close to Christmas.
“But but but..”
“I want your organization to put on the Nativity Scene this year,” she told him, that hair still waggling. “You have enough people and all. Besides, it will publicly show your Christmas Spirit.” She beamed encouragingly.
“Pub pub pub..” Xemnas sounded a lot like a broken record by now.
“You will put on this performance,” the mayor gritted, leaning forward over her desk and shoving her face in Xemnas’s. “Or shall I take measure?” The Superior’s face went white.
“Me..me..me..me..mea..”
“Measures, dear Xemnas. Measures.” Why did her voice keep on reminding him of the script in that last torture fanfic he’d starred in? Xemnas scrambled out of the chair, the pamphlet still in his hand.
“We we we we …we’ll do it,” he managed. “G-g-g-g…good d-d-d-day.” Xemnas bolted for the door, tripping over a decorated elk’s head mat, wrenched open the heavy wooden door, and shot out into and hall and away. Once again, the fearsome measures had won the day. The mayor shut the door behind him, smugly humming “Away in a Manger.”
Morning in Castle Oblivion was a slow affair. It was a well known fact that only Xemnas and Lexaeus were actually alive and awake in the morning, seeing as they were the only two that had figured out that if you go to bed at nine, you can be ready to wake up at six. The others all protested that they didn’t need to go to bed early.
“I only need four hours of sleep!” Demyx made the same protest every night. And every morning at six, he always was slumped in the same place over the table, staring forlornly at his cup of cooling tea and wondering if he’d ever get enough strength to actually lift his head off the table to drink it before it cooled or Vexen froze it randomly. Xaldin had a different alibi.
“My clock broke,” he mumbled every single morning as he drooled into his coffee. And Roxas and Marluxia didn’t even bother with excuses. They woke promptly themselves up every morning at exactly 6:00, got dressed, rushed down the stairs, and then promptly fell asleep on the long kitchen table.
“Why even bother getting out of bed if you’re going to sleep here?” Saix snarled with all the morning cheerfulness of a badly-burnt berserk wildcat. His cloak was unzipped, and his hair was still in a ponytail, two obvious signs that he still wasn’t conscious.
“They have to reserve their spots at the table so that they won’t be late for breakfast,” Lexaeus calmly explained as he sipped his heavy sugared coffee and snapped open the newspaper. “You know that.” Saix growled and slumped in his chair, the one with all the shiny, adhesive 3-D moons stuck all over it.
“What is for breakfast?” He asked, eyeing the drooling Xaldin with half-awake amusement.
“There’s Corn Flakes in the cupboard,” Xemnas explained for the millionth time as he stirred his simmering de-caf. Seeing as everyone his morning-amnesia, Lex and he had to explain everything to everyone all over again, from how to turn on the cold water faucet to how to work the ancient coffee machine to how to tear open a tea packet.
“Oh. Cornflakes sound good,” Xigbar mumbled. His long black hair wasn’t in a ponytail, the tell tale sign that he wasn’t awake either. When he was actually awake, he’s realize that Saix had stolen his blue ponytail holder -again - and would promptly try to beat the Lunar Diviner into pulp. The Freeshooter slid his chair - the one with AK-47 LURVE scrawled over the back - away from the table, and shuffled over towards the counter, blinking vigorously. Axel was at the stove, trying to make oatmeal. He’d fallen asleep with one hand half on the burner as his oats bubbled.
“Um, Axel?” Xemnas tapped him on the shoulder, trying not to smell the smoke drifting up from Axel’s hand and the red hot burner.
“Mmmf?” Axel moaned something and leaned more on his burning hand.
“Axel?” Xemnas tapped the hard-as-rock spikes. The hollow noise always seemed to wake up the pyro.
“Fffph,” Axel muttered, blinking his eyes open. “Shpthm?”
“You’re, um, you’re oatmeal is burning,” Xemnas told him. After all, telling him that his breakfast was burning would probably wake up him up faster than telling him that the flesh on his palm was, well, not there anymore.
“Aw, shoot!! Did I forget to turn myself off again?” Axel wailed, hastily removing his hand, and the adjacent flames, from the stovetop. He whipped off the top of his oatmeal, peered into it, then hastily rushed to get a bowl. Zexion, from his position tugging vainly on the refrigerator handle, watched in amazement as Axel fumbled through the bowl, blood drops flying from his bleeding hand.
“You’re getting blood all over the bowls,” he mumbled before turning back to the task at hand. How was he ever going to pull open this fridge door? The orange juice was calling. Axel didn’t hear the comment; he was too busy fumbling for a spoon. He grabbed one, rushed over to his steaming oatmeal, and hastily scooped out the steaming contents. “Where’s the sugar?” He asked desperately.
“Over here,” Lexaeus said. He methodically spooned four big spoonfuls into Demyx’s tea and stirred it. “There you go, Demy.”
“God bless you,” Demyx muttered sleepily.
“I put sugar in there,” Lexaeus told him.
“SUGAR!?!” Demyx gulped at the cold contents greedily, chortling love songs and chugging at the same time. Lexaeus calmed spread out a napkin over the table below Demyx’s mouth, and went back to his newspaper. Axel slumped in his own seat, prodding the sleeping Roxas. He actually looked awake now, not sane, but definitely alive. He tucked into the oatmeal with relish, spooning in the burning hot concoction as fast as he could.
“Xemnas?” Zexion wailed.
“Yes?” Xemnas asked, busy wiping blood off of the stovetop.
“I can’t get the fridge door open,” Zexion sniffled, tears welling up in his one visible eyes. Poor person. In the morning, he was actually deluded enough to drink something with all the calories of orange juice.
“The orange juice isn’t in there,” Xemnas calmly informed him. “Larxene is pouring it on her Cheerios.”
“That’s my orange juice,” Zexion whimpered, shuffling for the table.
“Emos don’t drink orange juice,” Larxene snapped as she dumped it over her mound of Cheerios and dipped in with a spoon, blissfully un-bloody-fied by Axel.
“Yes they dooooo!” Zexion sobbed.
“Can the noise,” Vexen snapped as he dragged himself through the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge, yanked out a can of juice concentrate, then went slinking off to his lab. It was common belief that Vexen went in there and shocked himself two or three times with a big electric needle to wake himself up. Either that, or he watched hilarious sitcoms on a stolen television while eating a whole can of grape juice concentrate. They all watched as he slumped into his lab and slammed the door, waiting for the atmosphere to thaw.
“He gets grumpier every morning he’s alive,” Lexaeus remarked to Xemnas as the Superior took his place at the head of table, next to the drooling Xaldin and the un-pony tailed Xigbar.
“Old age,” Xemnas commented, sipping his decaf.
“AAAEEEEIIII!!!” A horrified, unbelievably girly shriek came from the other end of the table, announcing that Axel had finally discovered that he’d burned all the skin off of his palm and was dribbling blood clots into his precious oatmeal. The pyro dashed around the table, screaming, holding his bleeding hand, and howling for someone to give him CPR before he died.
“You don’t give CPR to burns. Do you?’ Saix pondered, imagining himself with his mouth smushed against Axel’s bloody hand, vigorously blowing oxygen into the burn wound. “No. Guess you don’t.”
“HELP ME!!” Axel sobbed, collapsing on his knees next to the still-drooling Xaldin. “I’M DYING!” He thrust his bloody hand into Xaldin’s face shaking it. That woke the Whirlwind Lancer up.
“THERE’S BLOOD IN MY COFFEE YOU MORON!” He screamed, his voice cracking for pathetic comedic relief. He smacked Axel, sending the pyro rolling across the floor, and huddled over his coffee, glaring at everyone and anyone.
“G’morning to you too, Xaldin,” Lexaeus commented, sipping calmly from his mug.
“There’s blood in my coffee,” Xaldin repeated, tears welling up in his big brown eyes.
“I’m so terribly sorry, but please be understanding. Axel just burned off all the skin on his palm, you see,” Lexaeus informed him, ignoring the howls from the floor. Xaldin blinked a few times, then lifted the coffee mug, and began absent-mindedly pouring it over Roxas’s head.
“I want new coffee,” he repeated, watching as the tainted brown liquid streamed over Roxas’s head.
“You know, that’s not very nice,” Lex observed as Xaldin finished emptying his cup in his creative way.
“I don’t like bloody coffee,” Xaldin pouted.
“Well, now that everyone is here,” Xemnas started, setting down his coffee and digging in his inside-cloak pocket for the pamphlet. He looked around at the others, at Demyx mournfully wiping the last bits of hit sugar slush out of his mug, at Saix stilling pondering hand CPR, at Zexion dolefully holding an empty OJ carton and sniffling. “I have an announcement.”
“Vexen isn’t here,” Larxene informed him between bites of OJ/Cheerios. “And Marlie and Roxas are asleep.” She grimaced. “AND AXEL IS BLEEDING ON MY FOOT.”
“Axel, get off the floor,” Xemnas commanded. “And someone give me a paper clip.” Axel whimpered and climbed back on to his chair, his fist stuffed in his cloak to stop the bleeding. Xaldin fished in all his pockets, and finally handed the Superior a paper clip. Using his insanely-awesome-paperclip-twisting talents, he fashioned the paperclip into a small flower, then reached over and rapped Marluxia sharply on the head. The pink-haired assassin yawned and opened his eyes, sleepily staring up at Xemnas. The Superior showed him the flower, then tightened his fist over it. “Get Vexen or the flower will die!” He yelled in the pinky’s face.
“NOT THE PETUNIA!!” Marluxia shot out his seat, knocking it over in his haste. He dashed out of the kitchen, screaming wildly. He threw himself on Vexen’s door, sobbing hysterically. “The petunia is going to die and it’s all your fault!” He shrieked, sliding to the floor in a shaking pink and black huddle.
“What are you screaming about?” Vexen creaked the door open, holding an empty juice concentrate can in one hand.
“You must save the petunia!” Marluxia howled, seizing the scientist by the collar and dragging him out of the lab. Vexen stumbled after him, close to strangling as Marluxia hauled him into the kitchen, dumped him on the floor, and then rushed over towards Xemnas. “Free the flower,” he begged, tears streaming. “Don’t kill it, Xemmy!” With a sigh, the Superior handed Marluxia the paper clip flower and sat back in his chair. “Now that we’re all here,” he commented, resisting a smirk, “I have a very important announcement.” He fished out his pamphlet and held it up. “For the first time ever, this year, Organization 13 will be putting on the Nativity Scene display!”
There was an audible silence (yes, I did mean to type that) as 12 pairs of eyes stared at their Superior in blank amazement.
“You….what?” Vexen finally managed, hauling himself into his chair and rubbing his throat.
“I didn’t have a choice!” Xemnas protested. “So suck it up. We’re all going to be putting on the Nativity Scene this year!” And the lightning flashed in flashy ways.
Chapter One - The Stage Is Set
“I’m not happy, Xemnas.” The lady in the behind the big brown desk glared at the Superior through her unbelievably large glasses. Xemnas found himself lost in the huge brown leather seat facing her desk, so he huddled miserably in the middle of it, trying not to sweat, not to look at the head of a tiger hung on the wall with its tongue still hanging out, and trying not to stare at the long black hair growing out from between the lady’s penciled-in eyebrows.
“Oh, really?” Xemnas started, weakly trying a smile. “What for?”
“Your rag-tag group of hooskows, you’re organization, as you call it, has done nothing for this town,” the lady sniffed, her glasses jumping a little. “Year after year, you refuse to join in the Christmas festivities that the World That Never Was offers. You don’t string up lights, you don’t go caroling-”
“Well, about the caroling,” Xemnas started. “We only have one tenor, you see..” Well, actually two. Roxas’s voice hadn’t deepened yet.
“You never do anything! You don’t even send a packet of cookies for the bake sale!” The mayor lamented, blinking away imaginary tears, with a look of ultimate regret on her sallow face. “What can we do to make you cooperate? The World That Never Was has a marvelous Christmas program, and every year, your hooligans refuse to do anything. You’re the only castle that doesn’t string up lights, the only people that never come and pet the reindeer, the only ones who skip out on the candlelight Church Service!” At the thought of Axel sitting in a few, calmly spurting flames from one thumb while singing “Silent Night”, Xemnas grimaced. “I saw that face, young man!” The mayor shouted, her glasses tingling.
“No, I didn’t mean-” Xemnas protested.
“Do you find your refusal to help with the festivities amusing?” She fumed, her normal sickly-grey-yellow face turned a sicklier red-yellow-grey. Her black-painted eyes drew together in a furious knit, and her beady little eyes were red with rage. “I don’t! You and your horrible black-coated mob never do anything! You ruin Christmas spirit, that’s what you do. If you don’t begin to shapen up and cooperate with the Christmas spirit, I will have to take measures.” The long black grow waggled menacingly. Xemnas whimpered.
“You see, it’s rather hard to string up Christmas lights,” he began. “And we don’t have ladders tall enough to reach the top of the castle. And about the bake sale-”
“I don’t want you to do any of that,” the mayor said bluntly.
“You don’t ?” Xemnas’s mouth flopped open in disbelief. He almost wept in relief. Oatmeal was not a bake sale favorite, after all.
“No.” She mopped at her big sticky face with a handkerchief. “I want you to do this.” She pushed a small pamphlet over the desk at him. Xemnas timidly picked it up. His eyes bugged. On the pamphlet, over a picture of two very holy looking being bending over a glowing box on steroids, with random animals of out-of-kingdom-hearts origin were scrawled the words World That Never Was Nativity Scene - A Proud Christmas Tradition.
“Na..na…na…” Xemnas spluttered.
“Nativity Scene,” The mayor prompted, setting her small glasses on her fat nose.
“Pro..pro..pro..”
“Proud Christmas Tradition.” She smiled. “People come from all over to see the Virgin Mary and Joseph in the church’s annual Nativity display.
“Vir..vir..vir..”
“Virgin, you dolt!” The mayor snapped, her face flushing. “Someone who hasn’t gotten laid yet!” Xemnas blinked, surprised that the mayor would use such an unholy word as laid this close to Christmas.
“But but but..”
“I want your organization to put on the Nativity Scene this year,” she told him, that hair still waggling. “You have enough people and all. Besides, it will publicly show your Christmas Spirit.” She beamed encouragingly.
“Pub pub pub..” Xemnas sounded a lot like a broken record by now.
“You will put on this performance,” the mayor gritted, leaning forward over her desk and shoving her face in Xemnas’s. “Or shall I take measure?” The Superior’s face went white.
“Me..me..me..me..mea..”
“Measures, dear Xemnas. Measures.” Why did her voice keep on reminding him of the script in that last torture fanfic he’d starred in? Xemnas scrambled out of the chair, the pamphlet still in his hand.
“We we we we …we’ll do it,” he managed. “G-g-g-g…good d-d-d-day.” Xemnas bolted for the door, tripping over a decorated elk’s head mat, wrenched open the heavy wooden door, and shot out into and hall and away. Once again, the fearsome measures had won the day. The mayor shut the door behind him, smugly humming “Away in a Manger.”
Morning in Castle Oblivion was a slow affair. It was a well known fact that only Xemnas and Lexaeus were actually alive and awake in the morning, seeing as they were the only two that had figured out that if you go to bed at nine, you can be ready to wake up at six. The others all protested that they didn’t need to go to bed early.
“I only need four hours of sleep!” Demyx made the same protest every night. And every morning at six, he always was slumped in the same place over the table, staring forlornly at his cup of cooling tea and wondering if he’d ever get enough strength to actually lift his head off the table to drink it before it cooled or Vexen froze it randomly. Xaldin had a different alibi.
“My clock broke,” he mumbled every single morning as he drooled into his coffee. And Roxas and Marluxia didn’t even bother with excuses. They woke promptly themselves up every morning at exactly 6:00, got dressed, rushed down the stairs, and then promptly fell asleep on the long kitchen table.
“Why even bother getting out of bed if you’re going to sleep here?” Saix snarled with all the morning cheerfulness of a badly-burnt berserk wildcat. His cloak was unzipped, and his hair was still in a ponytail, two obvious signs that he still wasn’t conscious.
“They have to reserve their spots at the table so that they won’t be late for breakfast,” Lexaeus calmly explained as he sipped his heavy sugared coffee and snapped open the newspaper. “You know that.” Saix growled and slumped in his chair, the one with all the shiny, adhesive 3-D moons stuck all over it.
“What is for breakfast?” He asked, eyeing the drooling Xaldin with half-awake amusement.
“There’s Corn Flakes in the cupboard,” Xemnas explained for the millionth time as he stirred his simmering de-caf. Seeing as everyone his morning-amnesia, Lex and he had to explain everything to everyone all over again, from how to turn on the cold water faucet to how to work the ancient coffee machine to how to tear open a tea packet.
“Oh. Cornflakes sound good,” Xigbar mumbled. His long black hair wasn’t in a ponytail, the tell tale sign that he wasn’t awake either. When he was actually awake, he’s realize that Saix had stolen his blue ponytail holder -again - and would promptly try to beat the Lunar Diviner into pulp. The Freeshooter slid his chair - the one with AK-47 LURVE scrawled over the back - away from the table, and shuffled over towards the counter, blinking vigorously. Axel was at the stove, trying to make oatmeal. He’d fallen asleep with one hand half on the burner as his oats bubbled.
“Um, Axel?” Xemnas tapped him on the shoulder, trying not to smell the smoke drifting up from Axel’s hand and the red hot burner.
“Mmmf?” Axel moaned something and leaned more on his burning hand.
“Axel?” Xemnas tapped the hard-as-rock spikes. The hollow noise always seemed to wake up the pyro.
“Fffph,” Axel muttered, blinking his eyes open. “Shpthm?”
“You’re, um, you’re oatmeal is burning,” Xemnas told him. After all, telling him that his breakfast was burning would probably wake up him up faster than telling him that the flesh on his palm was, well, not there anymore.
“Aw, shoot!! Did I forget to turn myself off again?” Axel wailed, hastily removing his hand, and the adjacent flames, from the stovetop. He whipped off the top of his oatmeal, peered into it, then hastily rushed to get a bowl. Zexion, from his position tugging vainly on the refrigerator handle, watched in amazement as Axel fumbled through the bowl, blood drops flying from his bleeding hand.
“You’re getting blood all over the bowls,” he mumbled before turning back to the task at hand. How was he ever going to pull open this fridge door? The orange juice was calling. Axel didn’t hear the comment; he was too busy fumbling for a spoon. He grabbed one, rushed over to his steaming oatmeal, and hastily scooped out the steaming contents. “Where’s the sugar?” He asked desperately.
“Over here,” Lexaeus said. He methodically spooned four big spoonfuls into Demyx’s tea and stirred it. “There you go, Demy.”
“God bless you,” Demyx muttered sleepily.
“I put sugar in there,” Lexaeus told him.
“SUGAR!?!” Demyx gulped at the cold contents greedily, chortling love songs and chugging at the same time. Lexaeus calmed spread out a napkin over the table below Demyx’s mouth, and went back to his newspaper. Axel slumped in his own seat, prodding the sleeping Roxas. He actually looked awake now, not sane, but definitely alive. He tucked into the oatmeal with relish, spooning in the burning hot concoction as fast as he could.
“Xemnas?” Zexion wailed.
“Yes?” Xemnas asked, busy wiping blood off of the stovetop.
“I can’t get the fridge door open,” Zexion sniffled, tears welling up in his one visible eyes. Poor person. In the morning, he was actually deluded enough to drink something with all the calories of orange juice.
“The orange juice isn’t in there,” Xemnas calmly informed him. “Larxene is pouring it on her Cheerios.”
“That’s my orange juice,” Zexion whimpered, shuffling for the table.
“Emos don’t drink orange juice,” Larxene snapped as she dumped it over her mound of Cheerios and dipped in with a spoon, blissfully un-bloody-fied by Axel.
“Yes they dooooo!” Zexion sobbed.
“Can the noise,” Vexen snapped as he dragged himself through the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge, yanked out a can of juice concentrate, then went slinking off to his lab. It was common belief that Vexen went in there and shocked himself two or three times with a big electric needle to wake himself up. Either that, or he watched hilarious sitcoms on a stolen television while eating a whole can of grape juice concentrate. They all watched as he slumped into his lab and slammed the door, waiting for the atmosphere to thaw.
“He gets grumpier every morning he’s alive,” Lexaeus remarked to Xemnas as the Superior took his place at the head of table, next to the drooling Xaldin and the un-pony tailed Xigbar.
“Old age,” Xemnas commented, sipping his decaf.
“AAAEEEEIIII!!!” A horrified, unbelievably girly shriek came from the other end of the table, announcing that Axel had finally discovered that he’d burned all the skin off of his palm and was dribbling blood clots into his precious oatmeal. The pyro dashed around the table, screaming, holding his bleeding hand, and howling for someone to give him CPR before he died.
“You don’t give CPR to burns. Do you?’ Saix pondered, imagining himself with his mouth smushed against Axel’s bloody hand, vigorously blowing oxygen into the burn wound. “No. Guess you don’t.”
“HELP ME!!” Axel sobbed, collapsing on his knees next to the still-drooling Xaldin. “I’M DYING!” He thrust his bloody hand into Xaldin’s face shaking it. That woke the Whirlwind Lancer up.
“THERE’S BLOOD IN MY COFFEE YOU MORON!” He screamed, his voice cracking for pathetic comedic relief. He smacked Axel, sending the pyro rolling across the floor, and huddled over his coffee, glaring at everyone and anyone.
“G’morning to you too, Xaldin,” Lexaeus commented, sipping calmly from his mug.
“There’s blood in my coffee,” Xaldin repeated, tears welling up in his big brown eyes.
“I’m so terribly sorry, but please be understanding. Axel just burned off all the skin on his palm, you see,” Lexaeus informed him, ignoring the howls from the floor. Xaldin blinked a few times, then lifted the coffee mug, and began absent-mindedly pouring it over Roxas’s head.
“I want new coffee,” he repeated, watching as the tainted brown liquid streamed over Roxas’s head.
“You know, that’s not very nice,” Lex observed as Xaldin finished emptying his cup in his creative way.
“I don’t like bloody coffee,” Xaldin pouted.
“Well, now that everyone is here,” Xemnas started, setting down his coffee and digging in his inside-cloak pocket for the pamphlet. He looked around at the others, at Demyx mournfully wiping the last bits of hit sugar slush out of his mug, at Saix stilling pondering hand CPR, at Zexion dolefully holding an empty OJ carton and sniffling. “I have an announcement.”
“Vexen isn’t here,” Larxene informed him between bites of OJ/Cheerios. “And Marlie and Roxas are asleep.” She grimaced. “AND AXEL IS BLEEDING ON MY FOOT.”
“Axel, get off the floor,” Xemnas commanded. “And someone give me a paper clip.” Axel whimpered and climbed back on to his chair, his fist stuffed in his cloak to stop the bleeding. Xaldin fished in all his pockets, and finally handed the Superior a paper clip. Using his insanely-awesome-paperclip-twisting talents, he fashioned the paperclip into a small flower, then reached over and rapped Marluxia sharply on the head. The pink-haired assassin yawned and opened his eyes, sleepily staring up at Xemnas. The Superior showed him the flower, then tightened his fist over it. “Get Vexen or the flower will die!” He yelled in the pinky’s face.
“NOT THE PETUNIA!!” Marluxia shot out his seat, knocking it over in his haste. He dashed out of the kitchen, screaming wildly. He threw himself on Vexen’s door, sobbing hysterically. “The petunia is going to die and it’s all your fault!” He shrieked, sliding to the floor in a shaking pink and black huddle.
“What are you screaming about?” Vexen creaked the door open, holding an empty juice concentrate can in one hand.
“You must save the petunia!” Marluxia howled, seizing the scientist by the collar and dragging him out of the lab. Vexen stumbled after him, close to strangling as Marluxia hauled him into the kitchen, dumped him on the floor, and then rushed over towards Xemnas. “Free the flower,” he begged, tears streaming. “Don’t kill it, Xemmy!” With a sigh, the Superior handed Marluxia the paper clip flower and sat back in his chair. “Now that we’re all here,” he commented, resisting a smirk, “I have a very important announcement.” He fished out his pamphlet and held it up. “For the first time ever, this year, Organization 13 will be putting on the Nativity Scene display!”
There was an audible silence (yes, I did mean to type that) as 12 pairs of eyes stared at their Superior in blank amazement.
“You….what?” Vexen finally managed, hauling himself into his chair and rubbing his throat.
“I didn’t have a choice!” Xemnas protested. “So suck it up. We’re all going to be putting on the Nativity Scene this year!” And the lightning flashed in flashy ways.
