UPDATES: Session 2 Well, this is my attempt at doing something outside of my typical writing comfort zone. Something light in the diction, something NON-EMO/ANGSTASTIC, something written in the present tense, something that is actually very.....typical? I don't know, but it's supposed to be a gift-fic in progress. Unfortunately(?) the person I am supposed to be writing this for requested something.....slashful. I'm currently trying to figure out the best way to keep her happy without writing anything that might offend a general audience. Anyway, there are no chapters, I'm actually going to try 20-30min drabble writing each portion daily (haha....I write so slow). The goal here is 'short and sweet'. The mantra is "A little bit each day can get the task out of the way." Any feedback or reactions would be great. ****I'm going to be posting each Session as individual posts in this thread ALONE. If you are interested in story, just check back every couple of days, the most recent session will be listed in BOLD at the top. Genre: General/?????? Rating: T+/PG-13 Setting: Canon AU (What if they actually accomplished their goal?) Characters: Vexen and RikuReplica (Repliku/Niseno) Pairing(?): One-sided or Confused Niseno/Vexen (not if I can have it my way, NO PAIRINGS, BWAHAHAHA) ---------------------------------------------- Specimens and Snowflakes (Session 1) "I...We...." He could barely say the words. He wasn't supposed to be able to feel it, but he was in awe. A voice to the side of him brimmed with pride, "Yes, isn't it amazing?" "We succeeded..." He wasn't supposed to be able to feel it, but he was relieved. The voice laughed, "I know, we can finally have our hearts back." He placed a gloved hand on his chest; a practically forgotten warmth pulsed beneath his fingertips, "Our hearts...." "Vexen!" He squeezes his already shut eyes together even tighter. The darkness of sleep is pulled away like a curtain and the muted light of the outside takes its place. He sluggishly raises his hand to the slim bridge of his nose and presses the small dips of the corners of his eyes. He takes a deep breath and the scent of summer blooms mixed with healthy fields and the perfume of polished oak wood fills his lungs. "Vexen!" The cool voice calls to him again. He murmurs a yawn to himself. He rubs the back of his bare hand to his heavy eyelids. He can now hear the accompanying footsteps and tired breath of the voice's owner grow louder. He opens his eyes against the bright photograph of the field he can see from his porch. He shifts about in his cushioned chair, one of his legs is numb from being propped awkwardly against one of the porch’s wooden pillars. He doesn't have to turn his sight to know who the person who has been calling his name is. He hears the automatic intake of air from his familiar companion. "Vex-" the childish voice begins to say. Vexen scoffs loudly and the other silences as though he knows he has done something wrong. The other is right in assuming so, Vexen thinks to himself. "I told you not to call me that," he curtly tells his visitor. "But-" the other voice begins in typical beseechment. Vexen points up a ceasing finger. The voice quiets once more. Vexen cranes away his focus from the earthen quilt of grass and sunflowers. He leans against the flat of his knuckles and points his green gaze at the boy of a companion he created. "It's Even, Repliku, and I suggest you address me as such accordingly or I will conveniently forget that you hate mushrooms." The silver-haired boy clearly balks at the remark, but he quips back all too wittily at his threat, "Then you have to call me Niseno. -I don't know any better unless I have a good example to follow." Vexen rolls his eyes to himself at how overzealous his companion can be at times. Specifically when it comes to the boy thinking he is real and constantly pesters Vexen to believe in the paper charade as well. It happens everyday, it's practically clockwork. The accustomed routine begins with the prerequisite of the boy calling him by his fake name, him calling the boy by the name he had given him, and then the boy retorting that he too deserved to be called by his reformed name. And come hell or high water, Vexen finds himself falling into the same sentimental trap each time. No matter what he does, Vexen always winds up looking into those sea-green eyes that always pled with every bargaining sincerity to not be reminded that he is a fake. It is only natural that today will be no different. Vexen once more succumbs to the tugging sensation in his chest that he calls petty sympathy. "Fine." The blond grumbles out. He is already adverting his grouchy gaze from the triumphant expression Niseno wears whenever he wins their rigged game of trivial banter. He can still feel the pride radiating from the boy even though he is trying to focus on the patches of sunflowers by his porch. Vexen and the boy are silent as they revel in the buzzing of insects and whispering leaves. The edge of Vexen's lips twitch from the lack of activity. Irritably he recalls that Niseno was calling him for something. "What is it that you wanted Niseno?" He manages to ask after noticing a particularly plump dragonfly landing on the railing of his porch. The boy flinches out of his temporary state of blithe glory. He rubs the back of his head, his unnatural silver bangs dancing about his face as his fingers pull back. He gives a typical chuckle as he smiles at Vexen, "I was wondering if we could have mango ice-cream today." ---------------------------------------------- TBC....Once more, feedback would be appreciated!
WAAAH! It's TRAVIS! >_> ...I mean Repliku... <_< I'm sorry, Travis is the name by which I refer to him. I didn't see much of a pairing there (phew!), and it was good for a drabble. I always like the little interactions between characters that just seem to flesh them out. Nice work!
(*snickers* TRAVIS!) I'm glad you liked it! And uh yeah, trying to keep any slash out of the damn thing as much as possible..... Anyway, NEXT SESSION! ---------------------------------------------- (Session 2) He feels his face tighten into the rarely absent mold of disapproval. Vexen waves his hand in a dismissive gesture at the request. The boy's posture shrinks down with the weight of impending failure, his mouth drawing out into a thin line of growing disappointment. Vexen mentally brushes off Niseno's meek demand as something that stems from an artificial sense of immature stubbornness. He reclines back into his wood-woven chair, assuming that now that the boy has been given an answer he'll leave him alone. The boy does not move from what he can surmise out of the corner of his vision. He hears the feathery creak of Niseno's joints contracting so that he can step closer to persist in his verbal quest for a treat. Vexen's patience wanes at the realization of the possibility that for once, Niseno isn't taking denial as an acceptable answer. Vexen always expects this response, but has he never prepared for it since he placed vain hope in its impossibility. He associates the hapless negligence he garners with his possession of a heart. But he cannot find the finality in his conviction on the matter. Ever since the battle to find his identity had ended, Vexen finds himself without many reasons to conform to the methodology of his previously emotionless incarnation. He constantly buries the murky memory of that part of himself. But this does not spare him the burden of his personality or the impact of his trials. He is still very much the same as the Even that had originally studied under Ansem the Wise. He still falls prey to his old habits and his cynical tendencies. He still holds onto faint paranoia that he must fit into the category of being the unrelenting advocate for prude order and prim rules or he will perish for good. Vexen gladly adheres to this self-inflicted measure as he brings up a hand to flip back his bangs. He knows that it is a feigned distraction, but it provides him with ample time to concoct a suitable excuse for his decision. It doesn't matter if the boy is the perfect contradiction of a scientifically beautiful abomination. It doesn't matter that he lives up to the definition of being the replica of a boy who was easily led astray. He will not receive any special treatment, not now, not ever. "Niseno, you haven't done anything to warrant a sudden reward," even to Vexen, his voice sounds too spitefully sardonic. He waits with disguised baited breath for the response he wants to evoke from the boy. As if following an invisible script, Niseno expresses the dejected medium between a pout and a grimace. He sees the boy turn and hears how his feet heavily retreat back into the abode. He almost feels guilty for using such a tone towards such a mentally young individual. Almost. Vexen smiles to himself at the achieved solitude. Predictability is his comfort just as logic is his tool. His heart pricks with a tiny pain that says otherwise. Though the boy is something he created and can almost be an entity that could be classified as his son, he has to constantly remind his heart to not feel any shred of guilt for coldness towards his puppet. Niseno is merely a complex plaything, nothing more. His half-hearted smile fades at realizing how the throb in his chest continues to linger. Vexen presses his fingers to his forehead. It is a surviving habit of his whenever he is trying to ingrain an idea or elusive fact into his mind. He digs his fingers ever harder into his forehead. Having a heart is supposed to be the end of his internal battles, not be the instigator of them. His hand recoils from his face at the sound of metallic clanging and a loud yell. Vexen swerves around in his chair and stares wide-eyed at door. A feeling of foreboding oozes in the pit of his stomach. A terrible wisp of something organic being burnt wafts through the cracks of the door and window shutters. Vexen growls at the foolishness of what he assumes is Niseno trying to gain his favor. The blond gets out of his chair and stomps to the door. His hand wraps around the door knob much like he would like to wrap his hands around the troublesome boy’s neck for all his taxing worth. Having a test subject to observe is supposed to enthrall him, not leave him feeling the woeful strife of a floundering parent. ---------------------------------------------- TBC.... I need at least one poster before I can post the next session. @_@
