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Awful. Horrible, awful Marluxia. An absolute nightmare of a man- and Vexen is the only one who seems bothered by him. He hates him. Does he really have nothing better to do? He even tries to avoid him-
“You talk about him a lot.” Zexion interrupts, plainly.
“Your point?”
“I never said I had one.” Zexion shrugs. “I’m merely observing, and I do believe I picked up that particular trait from you.”
“I don’t enjoy what you’re implying.”
“Am I implying something?”
Vexen regrets how similar he and Zexion manage to be. If he could travel back in time and prevent creating such a crafty monster, he would do so in a heartbeat. Or lack thereof. Speaking of such- if he could travel back in time, he’s sure he’d do… other things differently as well. Maybe he could’ve saved-
“Remembering that won’t do you any good, Vexen.” Zexion sighs, quietly.
“I wasn’t-”
“You looked particularly miserable, and not particularly angry. Meaning you were thinking about the past.” Zexion observes.
He’s right, of course. Maybe that’s why he hates Marluxia so much. He has memories and past that cling to him like a plague, forever burdening him with the illusion of feeling. From what he could recall, Marluxia didn’t remember anything from his time alive. He was free, and Vexen couldn’t ever hope for the same.
“Strangely enough, I find myself remembering your assignment for today.” Zexion’s scheming tone has returned. “Someone with pink hair, perhaps? Their name eludes me.”
“I told Saix-”
“If I were to theorize, I’d say Xigbar made some… adjustments to Saix’s list. Not that I would know.”
“You would know.” Vexen glares.
“Possibly. Good luck, regardless.” Zexion vanishes as if he’d never been there at all. Merely a trick of his illusion magic. Nothing more, nothing less.
If Saix wouldn’t have his head for it; he’d skip working today. It was bad enough tolerating Marluxia- but working with him was a whole other hell. Certainly not one Vexen wanted to be in, that’s for sure.
Whatever. He’ll tolerate it. He doesn’t have to be nice to Marluxia. He’s going to be quite the opposite, in fact. Is it petty? Sure. Is he still going to do it? Probably. If Marluxia made more of an effort to be even relatively easy to deal with, maybe Vexen would like him more.
While Vexen was extremely good at categorizing his feelings- he certainly wasn’t good at… feeling them. Or the lack of them, perhaps. He knows there’s something to be said about some other aspect to how he feels about Marluxia, but he would rather die than admit that to himself. Or anyone else, for that matter.
He hopes Saix didn’t send him to the desert again. He despises the weather in Agrabah with a passion, but knowing his luck- that’s exactly where he’s headed. Couldn’t Zexion have mentioned where he needed to go? He certainly knew how to be unhelpful, when he wanted to be. Like Vexen himself. He just wishes Marluxia would take a hint.
“Must you always be so worried?” A dreadful voice. Taunting. “I’ve hardly done anything to warrant your hostility.”
“Hardly done anything?” Vexen snaps, already irritated by Marluxia’s comment. “Whatever you say. What horrible world am I being forced to deal with you in?”
“Hm. You’re no fun.” A tone filled with disappointment. “Certainly not the desert. Since that’s what you were so clearly concerned about.”
“Your concern for my well-being feels horrible.”
“We’re heading to Halloweentown. Is that a good enough place for you?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe I’ve been there with you. It’ll be like a date.”
“I’d rather die a second death than go on a date with you.” An unusually vicious reply. He hates this. He hates that Marluxia’s comment feels like a genuine offer. He hates that he’s almost considering the offer.
“You wound me.” Marluxia sighs, dramatic. “Shall we depart?”
“I don’t really have a choice.”
“Don’t you?” Marluxia mirrors back, quieter.
Vexen doesn’t comment on it. He summons a corridor of darkness before Marluxia can convince him to be honest. He doesn’t need to be disappointed when Marluxia inevitably drops the act he puts up. He doesn’t want to be attached to a friendly face in a world full of masks that break with far too much ease. Who would, really? Nothing they felt was genuine.
…It didn’t mean Vexen fully believed that, though.
Now wasn’t the time to worry.
Marluxia trails behind him through the void of dark, but doesn’t seem to have any remarks. He appreciates the silence for now- because he knows Marluxia is particularly… Talkative during missions. He always made them a competition of sorts. It's kind of-
Fun. And not so awful. And none of the mean things Vexen would normally tell as lies. If he hates Marluxia, why does he enjoy being around him? Why does he find the company of such an insufferable man enjoyable? Why did feeling less emotion after his death make his feelings that much harder to dissect? It didn’t make sense, and that infuriated Vexen far more than Marluxia’s taunting ever could.
Vexen’s thoughts are interrupted when the darkness of the abyss is replaced with more darkness. Thankfully a different, less suffocating kind of darkness. Halloweentown was always chilly, with the briskness of late autumn present in the eternal nighttime. It wasn’t snow, but Vexen would take what he could get. It was better than Agrabah.
He supposed the only downside to Halloweentown was having to relearn walking with hooves every time he visited. Vexen understood why they had to keep the order of not being seen as their normal selves, especially in worlds like this one, he still didn’t enjoy how drastically disorienting being a half-goat monster happened to be. Or rather, having to walk as one.
If Marluxia was irritated with being shorter than Vexen before, he certainly couldn’t have been happy now. Vexen almost makes a sly comment- but stops himself when he realizes that Marluxia’s been staring at him. He could almost mistake the look for…
Admiration.
“You have horns.” Marluxia grins, that smug nature of his returning far too soon. “I suppose even this world thinks you’re too angry.”
“And? At least I’m not-” Vexen’s comment trails off. He hasn’t exactly processed what Marluxia’s new form looked like. He was certainly some sort of nature spirit, but Vexen found himself enamored with how well it suited him. Thorns and flowers decorated diaphanous wings, mixed with glittering fabric and a scattering of petals.
“Not what, Vexen?”
“Whatever you’re supposed to be.” Vexen responds, half-hearted. He can’t find it in himself to insult Marluxia. He would never admit it to his face, but he looks very pretty in an outfit other than their normal coats. He looks pretty in that, too-
Now’s not the time for that debate with himself. Nor is any time, for that matter.
"It's rare to see you at a loss for words." Marluxia laughs, curious.
Was it? Was he?
“What were we sent here for, again?” Vexen ignores Marluxia’s comment.
“You didn’t check our assignment? That’s rather unlike you.”
“I was preoccupied with the dread of working with you.”
“Well, I suppose I certainly won’t be telling you what we’re here for.”
“Don’t be such a little-”
Marluxia is vanishing through a corridor of darkness before Vexen can finish his sentence. He’s well aware that the other man is still within the realm, but he's pissed off nonetheless. Marluxia’s insistence on being difficult is precisely why he hates working with him. He’s so goddamn annoying, and Vexen is half-convinced he does it on purpose.
A metaphor of a cat and a mouse comes to mind- but Vexen doubts he’s the hypothetical cat. Despite being the one hunting another down, he feels far more like a mouse being toyed with. He doubts Marluxia would disagree with the comparison, actually.
Why is he putting up with this? He should just-
No. He can’t go back. That would be far more damaging to his pride than entertaining Marluxia would be. He’s going to win this game he’s made up in his head, regardless of how much he’s only falling further into Marluxia’s trap.
Some part of him almost wants to keep falling.
Vexen feels like a fly who has come across a pitcher plant. It’s a trap, but he’s all too willing to follow it to the ends of the earth. Even if it’s the harbinger of his inevitable end. It’s like a cloyingly sweet poison, easily breaking down the logical protests he may have had.
Whatever. He needed to find Marluxia. He could sort out his feelings later. Or never, preferably. That would be the ideal conclusion.
Find the man who also happens to be a known assassin. Who is very good at staying hidden. An easy task, right? Nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d managed to win these little games before… Sometimes. Almost never, actually. That’s another reason he disliked Marluxia. He hated losing. He couldn’t fathom the idea of failure, especially against someone who actively antagonized him. And Marluxia knew that.
At least it was cold here. Eternal, moonlit autumn. Despite Halloweentown’s macabre appearance, Vexen almost found it to be a calm world. He assumed they’d been sent to investigate an unusual amount of heartless crawling around some corner of the world, but he ideally wanted to find Marluxia before he went scouring for something that wasn’t really there.
Vexen took his bet on the forest of spindly, dead-looking trees. The rest of the world was rather open, and Marluxia was clearly going to find a place that was easier to hide in. Predictably so.
Sure, it wouldn’t be easy to find him- but Vexen knew he had to be somewhere. With how dark the skies of this world were- Vexen almost wondered why he could see at all. A question for another time, perhaps.
Despite his careful lookout- Marluxia still manages to sneak up on him.
“Here to apologize?” Marluxia tilts his head, glaring down from one of the crooked trees. He looks amused, but Vexen is nothing but irritated.
“Very funny. What is our mission here?” Vexen bites back.
“Hm. I can’t say I recall.”
“And I know you’re lying.”
“Do you, now?”
“It’s unlike you to hide out of my reach like a coward.” Vexen taunts.
“Is that what I’m doing?”
And then Marluxia’s gone, his figure flickering out of place in a flourish of flowers. Vexen’s expecting a scythe- his shield summoned to parry the curved blade. He’s ready for a hit that never happens, and is instead hit by the blunt side of the scythe. Hard. He stumbles, but doesn’t lose his balance. He swings the sharpened edge of his shield back towards Marluxia, but he’s already vanished to where Vexen can’t reach.
His eyes find Marluxia in the tangle of trees, and all he sees is red. Marluxia starts to say something, but Vexen is too pissed off to hear him. He makes sure his shield hits this time, every coherent thought shrouded in sheer and utter rage. It’s enough to surprise Marluxia, who is thrown to the ground. His scythe clatters against tree roots, and vanishes into inky shadows and petals. Vexen stalks over, shield raised. He’s pissed.
And Marluxia’s laughing.
Not some fake, mocking laugh he might throw at Vexen to make him mad- no. It’s genuine laughter. Marluxia looks up at him with what Vexen might call adoration.
Vexen’s rage is very quickly replaced with mild irritation. His shield vanishes into ice, and he crosses his arms. He doesn’t make an effort to help the other man get up.
“You are extremely irritating.”
“And you, Vexen, chased me across a forest of death willingly.”
“Then I am a fool, I suppose.” Vexen replies, sarcastic.
“Mhm. That you are.”
“Rhetorical.”
“Regardless-” Marluxia stands once more, messing with a drape of glittery silk. “We were sent to investigate a particularly violent heartless hanging around these woods. I hadn’t seen any sign of it, but I assumed that your anger would’ve brought it our way.”
“I’m merely one of your many pawns, yet again.”
“No. You’re like a rook, if I had to pick.”
“I’m predictable, then?”
“Perhaps.” Marluxia’s cruel smile returns to taunt Vexen yet again. “But you’re also worth far more than a pawn.”
“I’m going to assume that wasn’t a compliment.”
“Oh, you can assume whatever you like. Maybe I meant it as one. Maybe I didn’t.”
“Bastard.”
“You’re fairly bad at accepting compliments.” Marluxia observes.
“You aren’t exactly the first person I’d expect to compliment me.” Vexen laughs- and it almost sounds genuine for once.
“Oh? Well that’s a shame, then. I’ve always found your eyes to be lovely.”
“You… do?” Vexen questions, a genuine tone of confusion. “I mean… Thank you. I guess.” He trails off, letting Marluxia’s words sink in. It’s just a compliment. It didn’t mean anything. Why was he so sickeningly happy about it? What’s wrong with him? Is he finally losing his mind?
“-Isn’t that right, Vexen?” Marluxia’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts.
“What? Sorry. I was… distracted.”
“By what, might I inquire?”
“I can already hear the awful thoughts in your head, XI.” Vexen complains, annoyed.
“Can you, now?” A pause. “Regardless, I suppose whatever heartless we were sent to investigate is no longer here.”
“I sure hope it’s not. I’m not exactly in the mood to hunt down two annoying pests in one day.”
“You wound me.” Marluxia sighs, a fake sense of hurt in his words.
“Not enough to get rid of you.” Vexen pauses. “I suppose I wouldn’t really know what to do without a thorn in my side.” He adds, quieter.
“That might be the most genuine comment you’ve ever made to me.” Marluxia smiles.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, rare compliments are far more enticing. I suppose I’ll simply have to stick around for those, wouldn’t you say?” Marluxia answers, theatrical. His blue eyes are much softer up close, and Vexen finds himself unwilling to break the moment to leave for the castle. There’s something peaceful about Marluxia’s company, in spite of how little he enjoys being around him.
“Hm. You really should do something with your hair.” Marluxia reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of Vexen’s face, and Vexen finds himself doing very little to reject the action.
“Why? It doesn’t get in my way.”
“It would look pretty.”
“Oh.” Vexen’s reply is very quiet.
“I suppose we’ve been out here long enough. It’s unfortunate that our mission was rather uneventful.” Marluxia interrupts the moment.
“Oh. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Vexen tries not to sound so displeased with the thought of leaving.
“If I were a fool, I could almost convince myself that you sound disappointed,” Marluxia laughs. “I suppose that doesn’t really matter, though.”
“You aren’t a fool.” Vexen sighs, an admission. “I’m not… I don’t really-”
“I certainly would enjoy staying here a bit longer, wouldn’t you agree?”
“...I suppose I would.” Vexen laughs- a genuine sound.
He feels… happy. Somehow.