I do not own Kingdom Hearts, and I never will, nor do I want to. This is the last disclaimer I'll write for this story.
Chapter 1: Of Artists and Lovers
People often told her she was bitchy. Generally, they made it into a nonchalant add-on, "Blah-blah-blah, bitch."
They didn't mean it in an affectionate way.
Other times, they would yell it, "Bitch!" or "Stupid bitch!" Whatever. It amounted to the same thing.
Occasionally, they would make it a Revelation. She wasn't sure why the 'r' was capitalized, but it made sense, somehow. She preferred this way; she could laugh about it later.
They'd stare at her, eyes wide, and say in this breathy, shocked voice "You are such a bitch."
She would just laugh and pat them on the head.
Larxene didn't call it bitchiness, she called it self-sufficiency.
"Oh, c'mon, it'll be fine. We're both girls, aren't we?" the redhead chides and cajoles.
Her blonde companion squirmed uncomfortably, bare shoulders too hot in the summer heat and her friends' scrutiny.
"I mean, like," the redhead continues, "it'd be weird if one of us was a guy, right? You know, looking at us like that. But we're both girls so it's fine. Right?"
"Um, Kairi, I… there's something I should tell you. I-I…" the blonde's sentence falters uncertainly, lies dead on the scorching concrete, abandoned as the girls continue walking. The blonde's mouth works desperately, she wants the words to come out so badly. They are obstinate. "I-I… I used to be a man, so-so-" The blonde stops dead at the sight of Kairi's amused smile.
"Oh, Naminé, I knew it all along," she teases. Smile drooping she adds, "You're delivery was a little off."
Naminé sighs and adjust the strap of her messenger bag, "I was going for the hesitant but uncertain thing."
Kairi shrugs, "I dunno. I always fancied the undercover spy delivery for false confessions."
Naminé bites her lip and smiles, uncertain whether to be relieved or depressed.
Larxene knew of course that her definitions and the OED's didn't really quite match on the matter of self-sufficiency. To the OED, it meant being able to supply one's self. To Larxene it meant not needing other people. It was the same definition taken a step further. She supposed that "independent" was really a more apt word, but she liked the sound of self-sufficiency.
After all, "childish barriers" worked just as well, but you didn't see her using that. Her diverse ex-lovers however, did see fit to put it to use. Whatever.
When she was a child, she'd heard something on one of her mother's television shows (the kind about how to live better, happier lives) about the Intimacy vs. Isolation crisis. She didn't understand all of what was said, or indeed, most of what was said. What she did get, was that at some point, she would have to make a choice. She thought it over for a day or two, and decided that isolationism seemed like the better option. (When she later learned that that was considered to be the wrong choice, she was too set in her ways and "didn't particularly give a fuck," so she continued to exclude people, it just seemed to make more sense.)
This doesn't go to say that she didn't have any friends, in fact, considering her general demeanor and attitude, she had a surprising number, they understood her, or at least tolerated her; particularly when she came on one of her random visits. Houses were on her list of things that she didn't "believe" in, along with taxes, whales (or Wales), humans as the dominant species, and love (which really just meant sex) without pain, and Truly Beautiful People.
She had the IRS convinced that she believed in taxes, it was fun to play pretend sometimes. She paid her dues to the lemurs; everyone knew they were the ones who were really running things. Any lovers who didn't agree, were promptly abandoned, she was never really attached to them or anything. Truly Beautiful People, she knew were a lie. She'd met a few, or at least ones she'd thought had potential. Then she'd found out they were as hideous as the rest of us and hated them for it. With the exception of one, his name was Marluxia, him she could forgive. (The whales (or Wales) thing hadn't come up yet.)
Houses were easily fixed. She lived with her friends, or lovers, in exchange for household upkeep; which is a nice way of saying cooking and cleaning. She hated the work (with the exception of chopping things in the kitchen, she had a thing about knives), but did it anyway. It was that or come up with an alternative arrangement, which took effort. In addition to bitchy, and slightly sadistic (the two did go together) she was lazy when it came to mundane things like ensuring she didn't spend the night under a bridge or on a bench in the park, she'd done it before, yes, but it was unpleasant enough that she would put in the effort to acquire a roof… most of the time.
Naminé watched the redhead run off with something that might have been guilt, but probably wasn't. She did want to tell the other girl, or at least she felt the obligation to tell her, but the words just wouldn't come. There really just wasn't a way to work it into the flow of conversation with out, you know, metaphorically throwing a rock the size of China into the ocean. Yeah, that's what it would be like. Splash. Tsunamis (or Really-Really-Big-Ass-Ripples). And then lots of little dead people.
And Naminé didn't want to kill anyone… in general. She occasionally felt like slapping the condescending clerk at her favorite art store who acted like she couldn't draw because she lacked a penis; but Naminé did not like violence. She'd grown up with a lot of violent people; a lot of those violent people had followed her to University. Some of them had multiplied (like Rabbits) bringing still more violent people into her life. Someone, she reasoned, had to be calm in the middle of all that. Someone, she reasoned further, had to be the one to clean up the metaphorical (or literal) corpses left in the wake of all those violent people.
Axel was what he liked to call a realist, but what most people would call "complete asshole and dickhead" (it is important to here note that there may not be that much of a distinction between the two). Whichever he was, he was also a slacker; particularly in the area of jobs.
Axel's main and favorite job was what he fondly referred to as "placebo magick". What he did was sell spells on line. Axel didn't believe in magic(k) or the power of the occult; but other people did, and so for an almost reasonable fee, he would "cast spells" for people over the internet. Or, for a notably less reasonable fee, he would send you a kit so you could cast the spells yourself. The kits were generally baggies of various kitchen herbs labeled with very supercilious-sounding Latin and a list of very complex and roundabout instructions that wouldn't actually get anything done, but would leave you feeling like you'd accomplished a lot.
Because, as he would say after half a bottle of vodka, what the hell else were you going to do with a minor in Latin and a major in Ancient History? (The History didn't have anything to do with that job; it was just that when he complained of having a useless minor, people would always ask him what his major was. It was easier to just get it out of the way.)
He'd majored in History mostly because his parents had told him to "not even think about it" because he'd never get a decent job with that. So of course, he'd done it. And then spent most of his time griping about how he couldn't get a job, so why the hell had he chosen History, and why hadn't somebody- anybody- said something?
Larxene had a tendency to throw sharp objects at various soft points of his anatomy when he went on like this. He got better at dodging… eventually.
Whiny, stupid, asshole though he may be, Axel was also sort of, kind of, not really, but maybe, just the littlest bit, not-quite-feasibly but maybe just the tiniest bit if you squinted really hard a good friend, kind of. Which explained why when she had to leave Vexen's place a head of the expected time due to an incident with a parakeet, some turpentine, pink glitter and some flour that was IN NO WAY Larxene's fault she found herself pounding on his door at seven in the morning.
He opened the door naked and hung-over. Placebo magicians didn't believe in mornings and had no need for pants; pants were for the plebeians.
She grinned broadly, "Hello, precious! And how are you this morning?" She made sure to speak extra loudly.
He pulled his lips back in a snarl but let her in just the same.
She followed him to the kitchen keeping her eyes pointedly above waist level. A naked Axel was definitely not something she wanted to see, thank you very much. Far too skinny for her taste, "Put some fucking pants on would you? You look awful."
Axel turned and glared to her, his back so slumped it'd put a gorilla to shame, stretching lazily as he scratched himself, "There are many who would disagree with you on that one."
Larxene half-smiled, never a good sign, "Judging from your breath, all they must do is look. Any closer and they'd run screaming for the hills."
He snarled, "Fuck you, sweet cheeks."
"Sounds fab, as long as it's not with you, honeysuckle."
He sloshed a coffee like substance into two chipped white mugs, placebo magician's didn't get paid much either, and passed one to her, "What are you doing here anyway? I'd hoped you were rotting in a ditch somewhere, oh light of my life."
She gulped some and grimaced at the foul taste. "And be parted from your side? Never. There was... an Incident at Vexen's, my sweet."
His ears perked at the word Incident as he perched on the counters edge, legs spread wide for a better view, "An Incident?"
"Put some pants on or I'll chop it off, my sun and stars."
"Parakeets, oh one who glows with beauty and goodness?" He asked as he grabbed a hula skirt hanging from the ceiling fan.
"Might be," she drank more of the bitter liquid, "my lord and personal savior."
He nodded, settling the skirt more comfortably about his hips, "Fucking parakeets," he muttered absently.
The model was a petit Asian girl with short-cropped black hair that gleamed in the merciless fluorescent lights. She was small, boyish even. Barely present hips and breasts all but hidden by the baggy clothes she'd worn when she entered the room. Naminé had taken her for a boy at first, and she could tell from the shocked look on Kairi's face when the girl had shamelessly dropped her clothes that the redhead was surprised as well.
But then the professor gave the instruction to begin and the Asian girl ceased to exist in Naminé's world; she was replaced by a network of lines and shades and blocks of color, and that was all that really mattered. The steady scritch-scratch of pencils over the rough practice paper is the only thing that matters. And from the start to the finish, it's so easy to forget she lies to everyone she knows and she hates her life.
The root of most of Larxene's little idiosyncrasies, like refusal to believe in houses, was based on one fact. She was inconsistent. It was common consensus that the number of things she reliably was from day-to-day could be counted on one hand, perfectly. The list went like this.
Female (Most of them had no proof, and were, in fact, a bit doubtful. Marluxia was sure.)
Alive (For now at least, it would change one day, but they figured they could count on it for a few more decades at least.)
Bitchy (See as proof: When Demyx made the mistake of showing her the list she ripped it up. They spent hours trying to think of things other than 'female' and 'alive')
Sadistic, or at least perverted in a way that again includes a blood fetish (Marluxia suggested it, no one else wanted to interject.)
Stubborn (An odd trait in one so inconsistent, but she was very stubborn, like her refusal to believe in Truly Beautiful People and whales (or Wales)).
Which is why if anyone told any of their friends that Axel and Larxene had a morning routine they would have laughed at them and called them a crack-whore, or asked them where they got their crack as it was obviously "damn good shit", either way, crack was mentioned. Which really is the only important thing when you come right down to it.
They also would have been wrong. So wrong, and so confident, that they would have bet you their whole life savings on how right they were. And because, in their world, if you don't pay your gambling debts, you get beaten up; they would have paid.
"Breakfast" became a habit after the first few days. Axel would wake around noon, if he felt like getting an early start. Either way, whenever he happened to be getting up, Larxene would coincidentally be starting to cook, which gave him time to shower and whatnot.
There were some who said that Larxene had sensors installed in his room, and that was why she always got the timing right. She offered no explanations. Larxene was above explanations like Axel was above pants, most of the time; he occasionally donned them when he went out in the world. To his frame of mind, the rest of the world just didn't deserve such beautiful sights as his naked self. He was not, as life would have it, above hula skirts.
Larxene didn't ask, a man's hula skirt was his own business. Just as a WOman's seemingly endless supply of sugar and caffeine was her own business. (It might be of note that there is no proof that Larxene has ever actually slept in her entire life.)
Whatever the various reasons, Larxene didn't suffer from sleep depravation and the hula skirt stayed. So did its sister, the Catholic School girl skirt, and the leather miniskirt, and all their assorted relatives. Including their cousins the halter tops and the blouses and the lipstick and the mascara.
Axel would never have admitted it, but he liked it when Larxene came to stay. The food improved, the cockroach population decreased and the hula skirt on the kitchen fan happenings were rare; she had a way of putting his things away in a way that still made them findable. Had he commented on this to someone, they would have told him that this probably meant they thought on the same wavelength. And then that someone would have gotten a black-eye or a few broken bones.
But back to the breakfast thing…
One such morning (with Larxene making omelets at the stove in a pair of abandoned-looking cargo shorts she'd found in the back of Axel's closet) something important happened. Someone new came.
He had actually been coming for a while, but we'll get to that later.
"Hello, gorgeous!" Axel sang out, but Lea would be more apt, as he, sorry, she entered the kitchen, buttoning the last few buttons on her blouse. (A blouse which was settled over a distinctly flat chest, Axel didn't like to lie.)
"I dwell in darkness without you my darling," she simpered with a half-curtsey. "You do realize you could probably afford a decent place if you didn't insist on having so many clothes."
"Yes, but then I'd be as grungy as you, who art my fair Erato, inspiring me to works of legend!"
"… whatever. You could just get a job, sweetling," smiled Larxene; such a pretty little bitch.
"Coming from the unemployment Queen, oh Queen of my life."
Larxene snorted in a ladylike fashion (this is fiction, remember?) "I'll get a job if you do."
"Oh, really?" had she been facing her she would have seen the slow smirk spreading across the redhead's face, and then things would have gone very differently. But she wasn't, so they didn't.
She nodded, "I'm willing to sacrifice my abundance of free time to see you squirm over trying to make it in the real world without your chicanery and lies."
"Oh, really?"
"Only for you my redundant love."
"Well," Lea said as she moved to answer the door whose bell had just rung, "Guess you'd best start looking then."
Larxene turned and gave the figure in the door a scathing once over, "And here I'd hoped the Zexmyx had been lying when they said you turned pedo… not like they're ones to talk."
"The Zexmyx, why not the Dexion?"
"Because Zex wears the pants and this way it rhymes with Chex-Mix. I like how you don't even try to deny it. Kind of low, don't you think, abusing school children?"
"Like I need to. Come in, the mean lady'll be gone in a second."
"Right," the figure in the door muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Molestation is not a job, sugar-bunny, it's a hobby." Larxene said solemnly as she moved the omelet to a plate. To the figure still hovering in the doorway she added, "You can take some of his if you want. I didn't know Axel was having guests."
"Axel is not having guests, Lea is doing her job. I" she drew herself up to her full height (which was impressive even without heels), "am a tutor."
Larxene stared, Lea looked totally serious. The blonde's lip twitched, then trembled, and she lost control and started cackling.
"Y-you're joking, right?" she asked, straightening up and wiping tears from her eyes.
Lea smiled evilly, "Not in the least."
Larxene's temper flared, "The fuck could you possibly teach anyone?"
The smile's evil increased exponentially, "Chemistry."
She rolled her eyes, "Repulsive and depraved, it suits you, darling. And you're out of eggs," with this last she sailed proudly between the two of them (the figure had pretty much just been shifting its weight this whole time) and out the door.
Lea turned her smirk to the blond next to her, "So, Roxas, how you been?"
Yeah, I have no idea really, it's pretty much just crack.
Review if you wish, (which you totally should), and there might be more.