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At the gesture of Xemnas, the man they called superior, it enters the round room, keeping its hood up. Looking upwards, it can just make out on the top of each pillar a figure like itself, watching it expectantly. The superior gives its name to the others, explaining its duties to them.
A few faces are familiar, but none reassuring. It can feel physical sensations, such as the stir in its stomach set off by stoic faces in this moment. It cannot feel mental sensations, emotions, it was taught. It wants to ask what the physical sensation meant, but it was told not to speak during its introduction.
Nervous.
After a second walk around, Roxas deems the area clear of heartless.
Finally.
The daily missions aren’t too long, he thinks. He’s not sure really if there’s a certain amount of time he’s supposed to be out, but when he returns early Saix narrows his eyes and questions him on whether or not he completed his task for the day. This doesn't happen when he shows up later, so he supposes the longer he’s out, the better.
Maybe that's why Axel goes to Twilight Town every day. Roxas is unsure if that counts as being on mission, it’ll be something to ask about.
He sees Axel up ahead, at the same stall he’s always taken him since he began going out. A smile breaks out on his face as Axel waves him over, and he speeds up his pace to greet his friend. It’s the best part of each mission.
Happiness.
Fading? Her? This couldn't seriously be the way things ended. Talk about a short life span. She had what? Two years in the organization? And nothing to recall beyond that.
How unfair.
She glances back up at Ve- Sora. Stones her face, a perfected practice. Not one she remembers using, but it must have happened a lot in her past.
Marluxia said they may be able to recall who they were here. Liar. It was better to believe that then consider that she was simply being denied the only thing that had interested her about the stupid, ever changing, confusing mess of a castle.
She feels herself sour as her body wisped away before her eyes.
What a waste of ti-
Anger.
Something’s wrong. Something’s missing, and he doesn't know what. Marluxia takes a breath to calm himself, deeper than it should be, he’s not winded.
Nor should he need to calm himself.
This castle will do things to our memories, he reminds himself. And wasn't that the reason to volunteer himself here? His desire to know his past?
There are no answers yet. But perhaps this feeling – memory of feeling, he reminds himself, could be a start.
Panic.
Late night visits between the younger members, and unveiled threats from the higher ranking members were enough to start his questioning. He had passed off the disinterested looks from VII to VIII during their meetings with their superior as a side effect of their loss of emotion.
But for as closely as VII worked with their superior, for as blank as the looks between one another were, there was an underlying tension whenever the two broke away. Relaxing shoulders, fists loosening.
Such an obvious difference, yet no one seemed to take notice, nor did they pay mind to Luxord, watching the scene conclude.
He does not announce his attention. VII would not be one to respond to his observation kindly, and he would be quick to mask his future behavior, least others begin to notice. There is an aura of secrecy throughout the Organization, and it won’t do for him to let opportunities close themselves off too quickly.
Curiosity.
There was no sense in visiting a world like Agrabah, as far as Demyx was concerned. If they were indeed going to wear all black, all leather at that, then they should at least pick worlds that were appropriate for the uniform.
They didn't even need a uniform, really. They didn't have any need to mark themselves to others, and it drew more attention than distracted it. And his “comrades” called him an idiot!
He finds a perch with a view of the city center, and just his luck, there’s a cloth shading away the sun for him. Demyx peels off the coat and gloves, glad he decided on a tank top underneath. A cooling breeze hits the sweat on his arms and neck, instant, albeit fleeting, relief.
He summons his sitar, settling in. If nothing else, the atmosphere of bustling crowds below, arid scenery contrasted with colorful palace gardens and market dressings, made great inspiration.
Lost hearts. Nonsense.
Demyx glances in the palace garden, and ah! There’s the royalty now. Easiest recon ever. This world lives for its fleeting luxuries. Fingers begin finding the notes to fit the scene.
If nothing else, the world is inspiring. With no real work to do, and living in a castle with all expenses paid, how could he not enjoy the opportunity to devote himself to music?
And they say we don’t have hearts, he thinks, when even the worst worlds evoke emotion.
Serenity.
He can’t stop thinking about it. Over thinking it. It was nothing but a memory; it was an experience he wanted to say he missed, could he miss it? Was that possible too?
He wants to tell someone. There is no one to go to. Isa had long since stopped humoring him. Xemnas would scoff, though he’d be damned to go to him about this. He certainly couldn’t go to Roxas, his job was to keep the kid docile, content to be in the Organization. He already asked enough questions, if he knew Axel had-
Still.
He enjoyed something.
He enjoyed something.
Excitement.
The two of them smile as if they've ever been able to practice it. For Roxas there is some logic. Even if he cannot recall it, he was at one point, human. Not for the replica.
They do so even when alone, a private show for each other, he supposes. Practice to make their behavior more convincing, should they have to interact with those who still have hearts. And convincing it was, with how Luxord muses on the duo when they’re out of sight. There is indeed, no effort to the way they behave, Roxas’s anger at every authority in his path could pass for genuine. The puppet, however silent, is questioning the motivations of the organization and it’s placement there, trying to find answers it has no right to have ever questioned. If it does continue to pursue its fantasies of escape-
Strange.
They’re foolish if they truly think they can change their fates. Like all adolescences, they believe they can easily overtake any obstacle.
He could be called cruel for separating them. He could be called hateful for his harsh correction of the puppet’s delusions. But he is only keeping them from wasting their time.
And, Saix cannot feel such things.
Jealousy.
Of course, he’s torn in the end, between intrigue and wanting to lean in and pull away from the sensation. His throat tightens, a reaction he cannot recall ever having in his time as a nobody. Muddled questions race through his mind, and not a one he’ll be able to entertain, his last scrap of existence about to be extinguished.
Xemnas was wrong.
Staring down his assassin, his physical heart beats the fastest it’s ever had to. How ironic, that the last thing he feels in this life was the same final sensation running through his mind as a somebody.
Fear.
It’s only natural to push the child to safety. Even as his illusions improve, he’s safer if he’s off to the side, a supporting role.
Merely a reflex.
Concern.
Trial and error is the natural way of experimenting. Studies pile upon each other, tweaked versions of their original done over and over until a result worth publishing is achieved. Than the follow-ups begin.
Everyone places bets on how many replicas Vexen would have to construct to have a functional, teachable one.
“It should be blank. Easier to mold that way.” Zexion provides, interest focused on improving his magic.
“Stock up on back up models. Less time wasted on finding materials from scratch.” Lexaeus didn’t even look up.
Vexen pays no mind to either, nor does he need to. No. I’s eyes open minutes after being removed from its tank. It is responsive to all sensory input, its speech coherent, and it learns quickly.
A smile curls on his lips. Half the organization owed him munny on this one.
Smug.
It’s not just the way the beast gazes into the women’s eyes, not just the way he fawns pathetically over his rose, but that Roxas watches on the spectacle play out with a growing sense of understanding, even without having the words for it.
The kid has always been that way, it seems. Axel had mentioned such on their rare conversations with each other. Roxas and Xion, have an air of self unlike anyone else in the castle they call home. Ridiculous.
Their pantomime is no more useful than the display of affection the monster and the women act out with each other. Sooner or later, one of them will be driven away by the true colors of the other. Xaldin can scarcely recall his own experiences with love, but he remembers just enough that his brow furrows, not as an act, but as a true reaction.
Contempt.
The castle they secure is a dismal place, plain and easy to get lost in. No one complains. No one cares to.
A piece of Xigbar is fine with it. Losing his heart is a new experience, and a few thousand years of life always welcomes a new experience. He’s seen nobodies before, of course, had seen them wander uselessly, slowly coaxed back to the living by friends, but such strong hearts were a rarity these days.
He knows enough to not care to poke and prod at himself the way the others did, curious to see if there wasn't a simpler solution than the heart of all worlds to their predicament.
But they had all opted for isolation amongst themselves, which meant any regrowth would take years to occur, if at all.
For a man nearly immortal, time should have mattered little, but nobodies were so painfully dull.
Well, he wasn't going to wait around letting cabin fever take hold.
Time to push some personality back into them.
Boredom.
Demyx hums to himself happily, finishing tuning his sitar. Roxas’s eyes light up when the puppet enters the room, and Axel does not force, but tries to hold back a smile. Xaldin swears loudly, scowl meeting Luxord’s bemused expression. He’s been bested again. Saix’s frown at the puppet becomes neutral, face blanking as he notices Xemnas’s rare appearance, nodding in acknowledgement. The others, out of respect, he assumes, do not spare more than a quick glance, a bunched eyebrow, a studious glare.
“They act that way when there’s nothing better to do.” Xigbar provides from his side. “Playing out their memories. Nothing more.”
Xemnas nods.
“Just a memory. Nothing more.”
Loneliness.