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Demyx didn't slow down until he tripped and fell flat on his face. "Watch where you're goin', shithead!" somebody snarled, and he scrambled back to his feet, clutching a bleeding nose, eyes darting to see who was sounding so threatening.

"Sorry," he rasped to no one in particular, even though his throat hurt so much he could have cried. "I was just -"

"Just bein' an idiot, I could tell." A huge hand reached down and grabbed him by the collar, and he found himself in the grip of a man who might have held his own against Lexaeus, if the Silent Hero had been having an off day. "And let me tell you Idon't take kindly to idiots."

Demyx nervously licked the blood off his face and squirmed in an effort to free himself. "I'm sorry - I was in ahurry -"

"Hurry to what? Run over some of these poor little kids or little old ladies? I think somebody oughta teach you to slow down -"

"Joe, piss off. You think that kid's had an easier time of it than you? We're all of us in here just as screwed as the next guy. Don't pick a fight you don't need to, okay?"

Joe glared uncooperatively at the other man, then shrugged and threw Demyx to the ground. He curled up in a ball, in case the man decided he needed one more quick lesson, say, from a boot.

"Goddamnit, Joe! What the hell did I just tell you?" The other man stood up. "What's the matter with you?"

Joe groaned. "David, get the fuck off my ass. What's it to you?"

"Well, someone's gotta be on your ass about it, I guess, otherwise you're gonna go apeshit on everyone that makes eye contact! Learn a little control, man!" While they argued, Demyx pulled himself into a sitting position and began edging away slowly. "Think Mama'd be proud of you, throwin' that kid around like a fuckin' football, when all he did was fall down in front of you? Think Queena'd be proud watchin' her daddy beat the shit out of a kid who ain't much older than she is?"

Joe roared and grabbed David by the collar. "Don't fucking talk about Queena!"

David kept right on talking, even though Joe was half again his size. "Yeah, she'd be real proud watching Daddy beatin' on little Uncle Dave just for tryin' to keep Daddy's head on straight. Come on, Joe. Don't take it out on the world. You're actin' like she's gotta be dead. You don't know that." His voice softened. "Don't give up on her yet, Joe. Don't give up."

Joe just stared at his brother for amoment. Then he seemed to collapse in on himself. Releasing his grip on David, he sank into a nearby seat and sobbed brokenly. David gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turned to Demyx, who was still trying to edge far enough away for comfort. "Kid, what's your name?"

"Dennis," he mumbled reluctantly.

"What was that? Speak up, I can't hear you."

"Can't," he whispered, putting a hand on his throat to demonstrate.

David's eyes narrowed. "What, he hurt your throat?"

Demyx shook his head. "Already hurt."

"Oh. Well, uh...sorry about my brother goin' after you like that. He lost track of his little girl last night, and...yeah, you can see, it's hittin' him pretty hard. He...he ain't really thinkin' straight." Demyx nodded; some little part of him somewhere understood. David fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to him."For your nose...How about you? What's your sad story?"

Demyx held the handkerchief to his bleeding nose and shrugged, not knowing how to answer. The truth obviously wouldn't work, and he couldn't come up with anything else in five seconds. Fortunately, David misinterpreted his shrug. "Oh, that's right, you can't talk. Sore throat. Well...you like music?" Demyx nodded enthusiastically, and David reached for an instrument case the Nocturne had somehow never seen before, even though David had been sitting on it earlier. "Ever hear what a sitar sounds like? It ain't a popular instrument; there's not a lot of people who play it, but -"

Demyx's eyes bulged for a moment. Then, if he hadn't started coughing after a while, he might have died laughing."What's so funny - wait, don't tell me - you actually play one yourself!" Demyx nodded furiously. "Guess it's our lucky day!"


Roxas just stared. /This...is where we're supposed to stay until Axel gets better?/To put it politely, he was unimpressed. By the world, which seemed to be asolid block of snow with a few trees and a brick platform, not to mention /cold/. And...living conditions left something to be desired, in his opinion.

"We're going to be living in a /tent/," he complained to the still-unconscious Axel. "A tent. Sitting on a pile of bricks. You're going to burn it down before you wake up, I can tell." He sighed. "At least we have some electric lights...Vexen must have provided a generator...microwave...electric stove...fridge and freezer? Why?..." Roxas pried open a large chest next to his cot. "Winter clothes...in my size...and blankets...which is good, because apparently they didn't see fit to leave me aheater." He took out a pile of blankets and set them on the end of the cot. Axel, who'd been sedated again for the move, hadn't stirred throughout the monologue. "Well, I guess it's not like you need one...you're as good as afurnace just by yourself." Roxas paused...thought...and then realized he wasn't actually cold. "Oh...maybe that's why I didn't get a heater."

As if in response, a little flame flickered against the wall of the tent next to Roxas's head. He yelped and jumped away, quickly looking around to see if they'd been left something so useful as a fire extinguisher. By the time he turned back to the fire...there was just a faintly blackened spot on the tent wall.

He looked at Axel. Still senseless as abrick.

"...Oh! It's fireproof!"




Map of New Orleans, reasonably up-to-date...check.

Thirteen's secondhand information, transcribed and annotated...check.

Picture of Nine, recognizable...check.

And they said a lexicon was a ridiculous weapon. Zexion closed his lexicon and smirked faintly. What sort of useful information can be contained on a scythe? He had all the information he was likely to need to locate Nine at his fingertips, and it would be impossible to lose, confuse, or forget. With all the artificial confidence he was capable of, he opened adark portal and stepped through it.

"Bleurgh!"

The incredible stench of the place in his extremely sensitive nose made him sick to his stomach almost immediately. Neither confidence nor breakfast lasted long.

Now...there is something I wish I'd known earlier. The aroma. He waded through a street flooded knee-deep with murky water to find someplace to sit down until his stomach settled and he adjusted to that appalling smell - like crude oil and sewage and animals and corpses and mold and too many people too close together. And Eight nearly drowned in this water - no wonder he's so ill. If I could retrieve my heart right now, I can't be sure I wouldn't trade it right back for a shower and the chance to never smell this place again.

He paid no attention at all to what had been a beautiful park only days before; at the moment, it was only a backdrop to his discomfort. Eventually, he found a bench that wasn't completely submerged and sat down, knees drawn up to his chest to keep his feet out of the water, and wondered how he was going to begin this search if his sense of smell was so blunted. Certainly, Nine's picture and description would allow him to ask around if anyone had seen him, but if he had no hint where to begin his search and started in the wrong area, he would waste all his efforts. If Nine eventually returned without him, Zexion would not only have failed his mission, but he would be the one lost in this nauseating world. If Nine's Proof of Existence went red...he didn't care to spend much thought on that possibility.

And going around talking to random strangers wasn't high on Zexion's "To Do" list.

I cannot feel. I cannot possibly feel this sick.

He was trying to will his nausea away when he caught scent of a stranger. Looking up, he saw that the stranger was standing in front of him, holding a gun.

"That's a pretty snazzy coat you got there, kid. Designer, I bet. Think my son'd like it real well."




Roxas was searching the fridge for his dinner when Axel came to. He'd already found the medicated ice cream in the freezer - however Vexen came up with that one, Axel ought to be grateful - and was trying to decide between the chicken and the ham sandwich when he heard a soft rustling on the other side of the tent. His ears perked, but he'd decided it had only been the wind when he heard Axel's voice calling "Demyx?"

Roxas immediately shut the fridge door and went over to Axel, who was watching him with unnaturally bright green eyes. He'd resigned himself to his friend's current inability to tell him from Demyx."Axel? How are you feeling?"

"I've been better. Am I going to die here?" Axel replied, in the same tone he might have used to ask "Are you going to eat that?"

Sharp claws dug into Roxas's chest, right where his heart used to be. "No," he answered, trying to sound as confident as possible. "You'll be all right. We'll be all right."

Axel smiled. "Good." He closed his eyes and rolled over, once again dead to the world. Even though he was standing within a foot of the sick, feverish Flurry of Dancing Flames, Roxas shivered. He suddenly had a vision of waking up to find Axel's bed empty, and Axel himself faded into the darkness.

He shoved his cot over closer to Axel's./I don't think I'm going to get much sleep tonight./