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Demyx woke up feeling like someone had poured battery acid down his throat while he slept. His nose was pretty well clogged - not to mention sore - after he'd fallen on it yesterday, forcing him to breathe with his mouth open all night, and his throat had gone from hurting when he talked to merely hurting more when he talked. Or coughed. He'd had an annoying cough yesterday; now, as soon as he breathed too deeply, the cough kicked in almost immediately and just wouldn't /stop/. And it sounded awful - people were backing away from him in alarm. Even after he got his breathing under control, they were still reluctant to go near him.

Well, at least he got a little space for himself this way. There was precious little of that.

Thanks, New Orleans. I tried to save the music for you, and you stick me and twenty thousand other people in a filthy arena with no way out, and make me sick besides. Demyx removed his cloak - was he running a fever, or was it really that hot and sticky so early? - and sort of folded it into a cushion; if all there was to do was sit around hoping for rescue or recovery, he didn't want to sit on the bare concrete anymore.

Eventually, sheer, desperate boredom sent him out to the concourse, which was crowded, filthy, covered in trash, and/outside./ Outside, the air was breathable. Inside, it was hot, stifling, and starting to smell like a septic tank.

He clutched his eternally damp and now pretty filthy cloak to his chest and looked out at the world around him. /Water./Everything was full of water. From here, it looked beautiful to him, in astrange, terrible way. Emphasis on looked - he could still sense just how polluted that water was. Of course - his injured nose wrinkled at the thought -it was better than the bathrooms in there. No one dared use them.

His stomach growled unpleasantly. Sighing, he turned to go face the crowds and heat in the hopes of getting alittle food.

He almost doubled over coughing the instant the smoke hit his lungs. Somebody had started a fire inside.


Zexion was perfectly willing to admit he was exhausted. After all, exhaustion was apurely physical sensation, as much as hunger and thirst. Of course, after having been shanghaied into working in patient transfers for a night, he didn't think it was the right time to debate the emotional psychology of Nobodies with himself. He thought it was the right time to hide in a corner and sleep.

When he'd arrived at the battered hospital, he'd thought that lending a hand for a little while, distasteful as it seemed, would hurt nothing but his nonexistent dignity and would be his best chance of finding Nine, if he had ever been there. If he didn't find him among the patients being evacuated, he could show the picture and ask if anyone had seen his "older brother". Now, after the "little while" had lasted the entire night, his aching body regretted every minute of it, his stomach insisted that a few little cups of cold tomato soup just weren't enough, and he had yet to find Nine or anyone who may have seen him. He'd decided that either Nine had been evacuated long before or he'd never been at the hospital at all, but the work of moving patients out to where those...those... -/ ...helicopters?/ - were waiting to take them away had only intensified since daybreak, and every willing pair of hands, including his own not-so-willing-anymore hands, was needed to get them all downstairs and outside.

Reminding himself that Nobodies couldn't possibly have dignity to worry about, he slid into a dark corner - well, all the corners were dark since the power went out - cast the illusion of an upside-down trash can around himself, and settled down for what little rest he could find.

Which wasn't much. "This is another one from the Superdome," someone said as a gurney rattled by."Apparently it just keeps getting worse in there."

"Yeah, I got a message from my sister in Nashville," another voice added. "She said it's supposed to be just awful there - people beating each other up, killing each other, just keeling over dead from heatstroke...there must be thirty thousand people in there, and they're all living like animals..." The voices faded as the speakers turned a corner.

Nashville? Where or what is Nashville?Another world? Or is this one larger than we thought? He could worry about that later; for now, he knew that he ought to search the Superdome next...after a quick nap...he'd been searching all night, he could afford alit.../zzz./




Roxas sighed. "If you're not going to eat any more ice cream, what will you eat?"

"What, you expect me to b-believe you can pull an entire damn restaurant out of y-your sleeves?" Axel snarled in a manner that made Roxas glance around nervously for a fire extinguisher."I told you, I am /not hungry/. Got it f-fucking memorized yet?"

Roxas sat back on his cot and buried his head in his hands. "Yes...Axel...I think I do. I'll leave you alone now." Axel rolled over to face the wall, still shivering slightly, seemingly oblivious to the intense heat that had caused Roxas to shed his cloak and resort to wearing a T-shirt and shorts in an ice world. Intense heat that he himself was generating.

I thought he was getting better, for alittle while...When Axel had started showing some of his old, well, "fire", Roxas had hoped they were about to see the end of his mysterious illness and their enforced isolation. But Axel was still feverish and delirious, just with atemper. Worse yet, he was refusing to eat, even the special medicated ice cream Vexen had prepared.

"Dude doesn't look too good, does h-/ow!/" Roxas had jumped in surprise at hearing Xigbar's voice, and the back of his head had connected solidly with the Freeshooter's good eye."I gotta remember - the tent ceiling is too short to walk on."

Roxas rubbed his head. "When did you get here?"

"About five seconds before you backed into my eye, little dude." Suddenly, Xigbar was standing on the floor. "So how's he been?"

Roxas shook his head. "He started acting more like himself earlier, and I thought that meant he was getting better...but he's not. He's just out of it with a bad temper now." The redhead hadn't so much as twitched since rolling over; he must have simply passed out. "And he won't even eat the ice cream now. He hasn't eaten anything so far today."

Xigbar cringed visibly as he pulled anotepad out of his pocket and wrote this down, presumably for Vexen's benefit."Chills, fever, delirium, loss of appetite - anything else? Like a rash or something?"

"I'm not sure I'd notice a rash; right now, I'm afraid to get too close. But I just noticed this morning his eyes are pretty red, and h/aaaaaagh!/" Something intensely bright and/hot/ flared just above Roxas's line of vision before something heavy and dark was thrown over his head and held down for a few very long seconds.

"Son of a bitch - you okay, dude?" The dark fabric was removed to reveal Xigbar holding Roxas's discarded cloak and looking stunned. "He fuckin' set your hair on fire!"

Roxas blinked in disbelief and reached up gingerly to touch his still-smoking blond hair. Axel was still lying senseless as a brick. "If and when he comes around...I am going to kill him. And here I was, about to say he hadn't started any fires for awhile."

Xigbar looked oddly worried. "You okay, though? Didn't burn your skin or anything? If you need to portal back to get bandaged or something, I can keep an eye on him for a bit."

"No, really, I think I'll be fine...except for my hair..."

Xigbar shook his head. "Kid, the entire reason you're out here with him is because we all figured that you wouldn't hurt him, no matter how weird he was acting, and he wasn't gonna hurt you. That hypothesis just got rejected in pretty spectacular fashion. And if something happens to you, the Superior is gonna skin us all. If you're absolutely sure you're all right and can handle it -"

"I'm fine. Seriously. He's dead to the world right now - he doesn't know what's going on. It's not his fault."

The Freeshooter still looked skeptical."If you're sure."

Roxas was still running his fingers through his hair - he didn't want to think about how bad it looked right now."I'm sure...but I think I'd be even more sure if I had a fire extinguisher."

"Fire...extinguisher. Sure thing, dude." Xigbar wrote that down before pocketing his notepad. "See ya tomorrow. Try to get him to eat something, all right?"




Shit.

Zexion rarely cursed, even to himself; cursing implied being angry or frustrated, which were simply impossible for him. But when he woke up eight hours later than he'd intended to, neck and back bent and stiffened out of joint from sitting in a corner all that time, one cheek almost numb from being pressed against the wall, a little smear of drool on his chin...it wasn't too hard to forget that minor detail.

He'd meant to strike out for the Superdome after waking up, but that was when he intended to take a short nap. According to the barely-visible wall clock, he'd been there for most of daylight - more than long enough for Nine to have arrived at the hospital and been sent off in one of those helicopters. If he had, chances were good that Zexion would never find him.

If he has, there is nothing I can do at the moment except learn or deduce where he was sent, and as I cannot be certain he was sent anywhere, it would be better to continue as planned. He stood up slowly and painfully, casting an illusion of invisibility around himself in case anyone saw him and wanted to ask uncomfortable questions, such as"What are you doing here?" or "Where were you all day?" or"Hey, can you give us a hand here?"

But as he looked out a shattered window, he could see the floodwaters had only risen since his arrival. He doubted they were too deep for him to wade; then again, he wasn't certain.

Options: Escape on foot, wading through hip-deep water that smells like a thousand sorts of death, and may be deeper than I am tall in spots. Stay here and escape via helicopter, knowing there's little food or drinkable water, working to the bone, and eventually being shipped off to parts unknown. Portal back to the World that Never Was and return immediately to a different location, which may be the Superdome itself or may be under ten feet of water, as I would have no clear destination in mind.

This is going to be a long wade. But at least I'll know where I'm going. If the water becomes too deep, I can always portal back and return to someplace shallower.




Demyx sat huddled against a pillar, scrunching up as small as possible so nobody fell over him, and trying not to breathe too deeply, turn his head too quickly, talk, laugh, or do anything else that might make him start coughing. Well, talking and laughing were easy to avoid. He was miserable. Everyone else in the stadium was miserable. Everyone else was wishing with all their hearts for arescue from this dark, filthy, hot, crowded mess. And if he had a heart, he'd have wished for rescue with all of it, right along with the rest of them. There were rumors that someone called "Fema" was going to come and take them all somewhere else soon, but so far there had been only these strange flying machines called "helicopters" that came for the sickest and weakest or dropped more people off instead of taking anybody away. This"Fema" was supposed to bring food and other supplies too, but apparently that hadn't panned out either. He'd only had one meal today, another MRE, and didn't think he'd get more than that tomorrow.

He looked up at the sky, clearly visible through the damaged roof. When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are...that means it doesn't matter if I don't have a heart, right? I can't see any stars right now, but...I wish I could get out of here...

There was an exultant yell behind him."Hey, I just got a call says FEMA's gonna be sendin' buses for us tomorrow! They're supposed to be here at 6:00 in the morning!"

Demyx gasped, triggering another coughing fit. Is...is my wish coming true already? he thought to himself, clutching his folded robe and a half-empty water bottle to his aching chest. Does it work that fast? He glanced up once more, in between coughs. In that case...I wish I had my powers back.

Someone else was cheering close by."Woo-hoo! Hear that? We all gettin' out of here! Dance, people, dance!"

Demyx took a careful, calming breath as he finally got his coughing under control. Suddenly seeing his water bottle in a new light, he held it out in front of him, keeping its contents as still as possible. "Dance, water, dance," he whispered.

It may have been his imagination, but the water in the bottle splashed a little of its own accord.

He grinned.