Categories > Games > Kingdom Hearts
Author's Note: I haven't actually played any of the KH games, so I might be off on a few details. I really make no promises as to the Superior's characterization (such as it is). Hopefully, given that this is a comedy, this will be not get in the way of the story. Thank you for reading. - The Management
The Dusks gather in the shadows, waiting. They don't know why they wait or for what, but they wait until they're called, little white shapes in the gloom.
As they wait, they chatter, their non-existent voices making the pause in the wind and the silence after leaves fall.
We're waiting. What for? We will know. Why? Because we are. What are we? We are nothing. We are nobody. Nothing nobody, nothing nobody, us. We have no selves. We have no identity but waiting.
I have an identity.
The Dusks spin in a slow swirl of moon mist. Who said that? Who?
I did. One Dusk breaks from the group, spinning and jerking by itself, independent.
You have no self. You are nobody, like us.
You're wrong. I have a self.
Then who are you? What are you? The others skitter and laugh. You are nobody, nobody, nobody.
I am the fourteenth member.
Fourteenth? Dusks can't think very deeply, but there are certain things even Dusks know. There are only thirteen members. Only thirteen. You are nobody.
I am the fourteenth. I am. I am.
The Dusks fill the room, bobbing and bowing and scraping before the Superior, their silences agitated.
He raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"
They can tell he's displeased by the disturbance. They are nothing to him, nothing and nobody and who can tell what he'll do? Still, they are loyal to him, they wait for him. Somehow they know they must tell him. How many members are there?
"There are thirteen. Can't you things even count?" He turns back to his paper, ignoring them. The pen scratches over the silence of the Dusks.
We can! We can! We knew the other lied.
The pen stops. He looks up. "The other? Which other?"
The Dusks dance and bob. The one who claims to be the fourteenth! The one who claims a self! We knew! We knew!
"The fourteenth?" He pauses, gold eyes turned toward the shadows, then stands, setting the pen down. "Show me."
This, then, is what they were waiting for.
"This one?" He looks down on the solitary Dusk, still spinning in the shadows.
Yes! Yes! This one! This one who is nobody and claims to have a self!
"And you," his lips turn up at the corners, whether in laughter or mockery it's impossible to tell, "claim to be the fourteenth member?"
The Dusk bobs and spins. Yes! Yes, that is my self! I have a self!
His lips curl further and he leans a little toward the Dusk. "And do you have a name?"
What is a self without a name? I have a name!
You lie!
I have a name! I am Ramyx!
"Ramyx. Indeed. It seems you've been paying attention." He straightens. "Well then, Ramyx, pay close attention. I have a lesson for you and all the others."
Oh? The Dusk pauses.
Oh? The rest of the Dusks pause.
The shadows are split by streaks of red and the Dusk who would be Ramyx is gone.
He looks around him, still smiling. "You are nobodies. You are pathetic, little nobodies with no will. You have no hearts. You have no minds. You therefore should not be having delusions of grandeur. Do you understand?"
Yes! Yes! We understand! The Dusks swirl and dance around him, skirting the edge of his cloak.
"Good. Now wait until one of us actually calls you." He turns and leaves, going back to his report.
The Dusks gather in the shadows, waiting.
The Dusks gather in the shadows, waiting. They don't know why they wait or for what, but they wait until they're called, little white shapes in the gloom.
As they wait, they chatter, their non-existent voices making the pause in the wind and the silence after leaves fall.
We're waiting. What for? We will know. Why? Because we are. What are we? We are nothing. We are nobody. Nothing nobody, nothing nobody, us. We have no selves. We have no identity but waiting.
I have an identity.
The Dusks spin in a slow swirl of moon mist. Who said that? Who?
I did. One Dusk breaks from the group, spinning and jerking by itself, independent.
You have no self. You are nobody, like us.
You're wrong. I have a self.
Then who are you? What are you? The others skitter and laugh. You are nobody, nobody, nobody.
I am the fourteenth member.
Fourteenth? Dusks can't think very deeply, but there are certain things even Dusks know. There are only thirteen members. Only thirteen. You are nobody.
I am the fourteenth. I am. I am.
The Dusks fill the room, bobbing and bowing and scraping before the Superior, their silences agitated.
He raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"
They can tell he's displeased by the disturbance. They are nothing to him, nothing and nobody and who can tell what he'll do? Still, they are loyal to him, they wait for him. Somehow they know they must tell him. How many members are there?
"There are thirteen. Can't you things even count?" He turns back to his paper, ignoring them. The pen scratches over the silence of the Dusks.
We can! We can! We knew the other lied.
The pen stops. He looks up. "The other? Which other?"
The Dusks dance and bob. The one who claims to be the fourteenth! The one who claims a self! We knew! We knew!
"The fourteenth?" He pauses, gold eyes turned toward the shadows, then stands, setting the pen down. "Show me."
This, then, is what they were waiting for.
"This one?" He looks down on the solitary Dusk, still spinning in the shadows.
Yes! Yes! This one! This one who is nobody and claims to have a self!
"And you," his lips turn up at the corners, whether in laughter or mockery it's impossible to tell, "claim to be the fourteenth member?"
The Dusk bobs and spins. Yes! Yes, that is my self! I have a self!
His lips curl further and he leans a little toward the Dusk. "And do you have a name?"
What is a self without a name? I have a name!
You lie!
I have a name! I am Ramyx!
"Ramyx. Indeed. It seems you've been paying attention." He straightens. "Well then, Ramyx, pay close attention. I have a lesson for you and all the others."
Oh? The Dusk pauses.
Oh? The rest of the Dusks pause.
The shadows are split by streaks of red and the Dusk who would be Ramyx is gone.
He looks around him, still smiling. "You are nobodies. You are pathetic, little nobodies with no will. You have no hearts. You have no minds. You therefore should not be having delusions of grandeur. Do you understand?"
Yes! Yes! We understand! The Dusks swirl and dance around him, skirting the edge of his cloak.
"Good. Now wait until one of us actually calls you." He turns and leaves, going back to his report.
The Dusks gather in the shadows, waiting.
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