Shines One Year After: Act 1

[bizness86]

Jiminy's Journal
PG-15

Shines One Year After
Kingdom Hearts, Disney, Final Fantasy

ACT 1, Writing a New Chapter

Nearly one year ago, selected bands of individuals from respective worlds received a notice with King Mickey’s insignia asking the recipients to participate in the collective breaching of the invisible barriers which closed off each world. The central focus of the letter acknowledged the still-looming threat of darkness and the victims that this entity claims. The letter elaborately included the studies of the darkness of the heart and the heart of the worlds written by the philosopher Ansem the Wise and his apprentices. The letter sharply rounded the issues of the darkness that still threatens many unfortunate people and elaborates the existence of the barriers which surround each world; the residents, who are shut off by these barriers, become easy prey for the Darkness, which is unrestrained by law and whose instinct to spread knows no limitation. The borders create a captive globe that is cornered and unable to call for help.

With the breaching of the barriers, neighboring worlds may become beacons of light that purify the ill circumstance of their fellow kindred. This request was made in hopes of encouraging world trade and strengthening ties between neighboring worlds. Since the outside threat of the darkness was unavoidable in the worlds, it was decided that the breaches would not bring havoc upon the world order, but rather, the connection of each existence would promote universal balance. One sky will brighten with the new hope fueled by the fraternity of hearts, thus the Inter-Worldly Travel System was born.

The world leaders breached the invisible walls and the light of anxious hearts wove together the paths that bridged the neighboring worlds and, with this process, strings of systems became connected. The patched 'bridges' allowed safe travel via capable vessels, and job opportunities such as public universal transportation, navigation and law enforcement surfaced for those who found themselves poor, homeless, or unemployed. Many worlds have also nominated a selected few of their residence as candidates to act as ambassadors and patrollers with the consent of their neighboring worlds.

Though, for the most, the breach-and-bridge process prospered, there were also miscalculated reactions to the breach system. Worlds began to breach and bridge with one another without the knowledge, aid, or consent of their leaders and supervisors. The worlds connected on their own accord, unintentionally revealing paths to remote and uncharted areas, thereby arousing further discovery. This was reason for vexation; reason for investigation and reckoning. As of now, however, the operation and moderation of the system must be held in high priority. Panic is not welcomed. The fewest of individuals from a handful of united worlds have been conjured by the Executive Head of the Inter-Worldly Travel System to look into these mysterious mishaps…

Prologue, Shallow Whispers
Chapter 1, Descent and the Dark
Chapter 2, Fend Against the Dark Assailant
Chapter 3, To Traverse Dreams
Chapter 4, Embarking with Wings of Silver
Chapter 5, "What's Your Hurry Young Lady?" Lost in Digression
Chapter 6, "What's Your Hurry Young Lady?" The Geeky Rebel
Chapter 7, Seek Refuge or End the Seek
Chapter 8, Welcome to O'aka's
Chapter 9, 'Following Your Heart' Type Deal
Chapter 10, The Waning Twinkle in the Sky
Chapter 11, The Merriment of Reunions
Chapter 12, Pioneers of a Brave New World
Chapter 13, Tendency to Ruffle Feathers
Chapter 14, "One Good Deed Deserves Another!"
Chapter 15, Girl Bound by Rare Orichalcum Shackles
Chapter 16, Devoted Arms
Chapter 17, Small World
Chapter 18, "I Enjoy It Pitch-Black—Like My Soul…”
Chapter 19, Clashing Repenting Sinners
Chapter 20, Somber Moths Compelled by the Righteous Fire

ACT 1.1, Beforehands
ACT 1.2, Afterwards
ACT 1.3, Zany, Hardy, Mad Tea Party

Shallow Whispers



Dive Into the Heart -Destati-, KH

Whispers silently tagged one another within the density of the blank atmosphere.

... –then you shall go of your own accord. Ask yourself if this is truly necessary to obtain what you seek, Av-----.

The source, as well as the identity and purpose, of the voices were unclear and could only treble deaf ears for the moment…

... Enough of that rabble woman…

This voice released a chuckle from his girth.

... Did I not prove my resolve against you and yours? Knowledge is almighty—and true knowledge is only obtained though longevity and by the bold. This...is what I’m seeking; of this, I am sure.

... You are correct sir. Your resolve has proven itself against mine, but keep in mind that, as a society, we should only wish to aid one another in accomplishing our goals. We are your support; we are not each other’s tool.

... Ha! Don’t fret little woman. I have not forgotten the purpose of this fine establishment. On the contrary, I encourage it out right! Like the men of scholar, one pouring life and limb to aid her or his fellow, in the name of the greater resolve–This world shall became a part of something great; its sacrifice is not in vain—in the name of science!

The voices faded into the still of the atmosphere. To what was conspiring within the concealment, there was no telling.

[bizness86]

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Chapter 1, Descent and the Dark



Strange Whispers, KH

Boundless degrees above ground, a coiling torrent of black sundered the recurrent night sky. The swirling bowel spewed forth a spiraling, human shape jetsam whose body sought concrete. The spewed body impacted the earth with a solemn thud, and lay still in its crater as moments passed.

A quiet and sparsely occupied town district served as the setting of the descent. The muddled plaza sustained one note-worthy site—two puppies, a scruffy male, and his presentable mate nesting dotingly [1], as displayed on the face of a neon fountain. The jetsam figure stirred slightly, and steadily eased upward.

The allotted loiterers and contrary passersby of the district cautiously shot blank glares toward the fallen man; he attained a stern and upright posture, fondling the hilt of a weapon sheathed on his right side. The man’s velvet, pyre hair swayed coolly with each to-and-fro head turn. He examined his surroundings and acquired audience with a rigid and condescending air. The eminent proofs of fatigue were present; his clothing was adorned with the blood of scrapes, and his skin, flushing bruises. His expression, however, relinquished no sign of weakness.

He stood at a fine height, above average, and bore the appearance of a young man, thoroughly aged into maturity. His olive-tone physique proved lanky, but was complemented by his impeccable stance. The man’s plain long face lacked all definition; his eyes, absent of pupils, seemed hollowed with white. The man’s long indigo coat possessed short and excessively wide sleeves, and the worn iron scabbard he flaunted on his side contained, by length, what seemed to be an o-katana. The rest of him bore common black slacks and black, hard-soled, shoes.

Several new tears, similar in nature to the one that birthed in the sky, circled and ensnared the tattered stiff of the man in indigo. From the vile maw of these dark corridors emerged peculiar entities—harbors of an ink, sheen complexion, bearers of the splintered red heart, brandishing tin helmets and gauntlets adorned with blood red nails; they all comprised intense, hollow-yellow eyes. These black-borne beings of the corridors housed malignant means, looming about the beaten swordsman as a predator skulked about an easy meal. Their snare upon jostled swordsman resembled a slowly shrinking circle.

“Heartless!!” screamed a punk straggler. Whether respected or miscreant, all in the district knew the danger of this herald, and took heed. The outward alarm of the young hoodlum triggered a chain of premeditated reactions among the collective.

Geezus! You’d think the officials and police would do their job…!

Someone! Notify District Six!

Heh heh, nah Sweetcakes. You think those donut-munchers’ll waste their lives coming here. Call the hotel; they’ll bring some real officials…

Shamelessly leaving or reluctant to leave the sky-borne man, the entire few fled the area nonetheless, as they were addressed to do, leaving the plain-faced jack to his own with the starving Heartless. One of the assailants grew weary of the stalk and bounded the trounced sword carrier, brandishing its fuming ebon claws.

Nuh uh, the warrior denied in thought; the swift motion of his sword unsheathing—the mouth of the scabbard kissing an o-katana with no edge; the blunted surface of a wooden sword except steel—his edgeless brand beat pitilessly through the assailing fiend, who disintegrated to its impressive vigor.

He sheathed, and once again took a nonchalant stance, showing no wear, harboring no expression as his malefactors twitched and jerked in an obscure fashion; no expression, nor clemency. They all pounced this time, with no plot, just with the intent of striking.

The swordsman’s unsheathed once again; his left leg lunged forth, and with a strong grunt he tore through their frontal droves like human hands through cobwebs. His scabbard complemented his calm retort with a subtle swipe to his right side. The left flank rushed in with a flurry of cyclone kicks while the backstabber dove in with his heartless claw for a telegraphed kill. The swordsman’s pivoting step was more than enough to counter ably, as sword and scabbard pounded and swiped his aggressor from their pounce and into oblivion. His attackers clearly vanquished, he cased his brand once again with a stale face.

He’s not done yet, the crimson-haired man stood in wait collectedly, his thumb caressing the guard of his hilt.

Undoubtedly, yet another dark maw emerged to excrete another Heartless. This beast towered over the edgeless wielder by at least threefold. Rotund and gyrating, in the form of a grotesque mauve leech—it harbored the barbed heart emblem among several vibrating corpuscles. It retained the same hollow eyes as the other Heartless, which adorned themselves, all eleven of them, around its mouth. The leech’s maw milled vigorously into the district concrete.

‘Flip!’ went the swordsman’s cross guard which triggered a violent reaction. The Heartless Leech combusted with an overwhelming, red aura, and the black lumps inked from its slimy carcass and birthed larvae—twelve leech larvae, to the swordsman’s waist in height, retaining the same violent aura as their parent. They ensued as their parent’s maw ground further into the earth. The sky-borne swordsman waited with his rigid and condescending face.

The leading assailer leapt and the man snapped forth with an unsheathing brand. The snap contacted mightily, but to no avail. The leech pushed on and sawed with his teeth upon the swordsman’s arm.

“Ugh!” He countered tersely with both his sheath in sword, hammering down upon his striker while swiping at the on-comers with his heavy sheath, but neither strike daunted the burning minions. They sawed and stripped with every leap, sucking away at their prey’s vitality and fueling their own vigor—their auras escalated as a result. The disadvantaged warrior acknowledge the bleak, and noted the vigor of the parent leech, grinding and searching underneath the floor rock, but there was still no daunt in his face, and his eyes retained the white hollow.

“Hold on sonny!!!” A bellowing voice called out from behind him. The ground was struck by a massive tremor and the entire twelve assailants of the swordsman were eliminated. The man noted the aura of the parent leech dissipate before his vision blurred. He turned to acknowledge with blurred vision, a figure rushing to his side wielding a silver sledgehammer.

Drawing near, the figure consoled, “Everything’s gonna be fine, boy.”

“Hmph,” the man erected upright and sheathed. He collapsed, to his knees, then face flat.

[1] Allusion to Disney's Lady and the Tramp.

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Chapter 2, Fend Against the Dark Assailant




Destati-Dive Into the Heart, KH

His subconscious mind revisited the black corridors.

The viscera walls were enveloped by the spiraling darkness; the unrelenting roaring of these vaporous torrents echoed within its cloak, and the intimidator approached boastfully down its shadowed hall. Still, I looked upon him because he was nothing and it was him all the same. The sin of the world, and I would obscure his step and annihilate him. Both of us cloaked in the black of the realm—until he halted in front of me and made a pompous site of himself.

His prestigious girth was draped loosely in an open cleric robe; his pungent face shrouded by the shadows of his hood, thank Our Mother [1]. Underneath his robe was a scientist’s laboratory coat—which reeked of vanity and ignorance, as they all do.

His hands fondled in the innards of his pockets, so I expected a weapon. His pig head addressed me with a massive tone and a matching hubris, “Ah. Observant;” he progressed in a quick and demeaning tone, chuckling even, “what do you intend to do, really? Gallantly fend off the man in the darkness? Are you not in that same darkness with me?”

I humored, “I intend to collect the sins of your worlds, and condemn yours to eternal damnation.”

He goaded in contest; he loved to hear himself blather, “Bluff! Don’t act saint. I smell your ranks as you smell mine.”

I reiterated because he was obviously hard of hearing, “I going to kill you, but not quickly. You’re body will feel a beat of my brand eight hundred times, and then your obliteration will cleanse your existence. May Our Mother have mercy, and grant you death as beat down and not after.”

He laughed, though I did not wield the title of jester, “Come now! What do you intend to do…with that;” he referred to the darkness which I wielded, not my blade; “And what’s worse is you brazenly furnish such a weapon which you don’t intend to brandish. Don’t play with me boy.”

This darkness was not for me to brandish; how foolish. It was for me to carry—my purification. I educated this fool, “I carry these sins to belittle the efforts of cowardly men. I cumber the worst of your vile sins and stand undaunted where you quiver from paranoia. If you are composed of cowardice and sin, then I’ll attain your filthy pathetic sin, and erase your cowardice remains from the world; I am your imperfect judgment, your fallen Angelo, your Heaven’s Mercenary—Hyuda Kyaedu. Are you ready?”

And like a scientist, he talked once more; he thought he was ‘enlightened’, and his mouth writhed that of blasphemy, “This is actually an awkward find; you know, I was once an avid analyst of the Good Book and its contradictions; if I weren’t seeking something higher, then I’d be flattered that ‘God’ sent a disgrace seeking redemption—”

I had no choice but to retort; he spoke blasphemies, “How dare you compare Our Mother with the limitations of your obscure mind. Though I no longer reside in Paraside with Our Mother, I never resided in Heaven with your God. Even now, in my whore of a state, your likes are still of filth and self-abolishment which is unfit for my presence—”

He interjected me, commonly vexed, but he had already spoken blasphemies, this would see him eight hundred more beats of my brand. He wined, “What of it? Despite your ‘whore of a state’ you still speak without logic. You see the difference in my power and yours! I’ve tried it congenial!” I wanted to snicker, but I was too disgusted; he continued, “ Look, Hyuda Kyaedu, a bit of knowledge to you—you have fallen, and therefore you are no longer obligated to justice and redemption. So, if I have no right to pass, then you have no right to judge. But if you insist on playing Arbitrator, then meeting adjourned; you’ve wasted my time enough.”

He made an utter fool of himself, it was time I ended him, “I have fallen--my jurisdiction upon malefactors! My sense of redemption discarded! I seek self-redemption! My only agenda is to brandish the sins of your Hell, and bestow a force upon you ten times its cumber! All you will know is at the mercy of this blunt edge! And there is none! May your god bless you.”

I flipped the guard of my edgeless brand and it was time. He refused to stop prattling however, “Your id precedes you; very well,” as he sighed his last sigh, and the sinful remnants of hearts garnered about him like fiends to a drug, their yellow eyes devoid of pride, “I’ll let you know though Angelo, there’s no justice here with me. Traverse Town’s fate is to serve my hand—in the name of science!”

Even in death, some can be so loud.

I shook my head, and ended his mouth, “Enough.”

I assailed, and was struck down swiftly…just as I knew I would be. But I am a harvester of sin, and it was him, just the same. It was a deep dive to the ground…

Hyuda awoke to conversation.

… Ye did well lass—no need in saying your ‘what-ifs’.

… But the bastard made is way here! If I woulda lay hands on that worm—

… Heh heh heh…best be counting your blessings that you only had to deal with the leech.

… Eh, all the same, I would have rather killed the thing for spite; then I’d at least have the comfort of knowing that bastard was writhing in pain from the effect of the Red Heart.

Hyuda Kyaedu opened his eyes, reclined within a meager bed, residing within a cozy room. His coat left him, as he noticed his long burgundy shirt which was usually veiled. He soon noted his coat folded neatly beside the bed with his scabbard. The shadowed room was a plain clutter; dim light made intercourse with its reluctant umbra, books and tools littered one corner while candles and stained dining wares adorned another. A tall profile occupied the clutter-less corner. The ceiling fan produced a healing wind.

“Hm—you’re awake;” a tall burly woman sat Indian-style beside the bed. She greeted zealously, “Howdy! You were worse for wears.”

The profile in the corner surfaced from the corner’s shade, revealing a mature face shrouded by carrot-top bangs, a scruffy beard, pork pie hat, and shades. His daunting trench coat stole his entire body. He spoke with a prominent accent, “Word to the wise boy: Don’t get up just yet.”

Out of spite, Hyuda sat up and stared blankly at the mature figure. The enigmatic man briefed, “We are in the smallest house in District Three of Traverse Town. I’d imagine that you’d know that however, as you scoped out your surroundings after impact.”

Hyuda proceeded to humor the black-clad man as he prattled, “Speaking of impact lad, The police have come and gone. Every trace of you an’ the Heartless were cleaned up, mind that mealy mouthed leech, but also that huge dent you made when you were smacked down. Now that was unfixable. You ought to be more considerate, or next time, my long-ago pupil may not feel like rescuing you.”

Chagrinned slightly, the stocky woman chuckled, “Ehe…No matter how hard I try to make a name for m’self, you’ll never let me forget that I was a student of yours.”

Hyuda sighed. She took note and rose from the floor to give a more formal introduction, “Call me Blacksmith, trainer of many smiths and forgers ‘round these parts of space;” Hyuda ascended from the confines of the bed; examining his condition by stretching his limbs. He found himself well off, but still lacking.

Blacksmith added, “I’m retired for the most, but I’m a rock for when my students seek resolve. I don’t stay here regularly, but I do own this place. I’ve placed a spare key with your clothing. I think I’ll be heading out in a day or two, but you may use this place as you please for your recovery.”

Hyuda replaced his coat and gathered his sword along with the key to the small house.

“Aye—” the enigma man addressed, “and I will be using this house for a day after at least. I am known as the Munny Collector, or the Debt Collector, alias the Gil Master. [2]. I would declare this a pleasure of acquaintance, but I feel that this meeting is something other than pleasurable. Hyuda Kyaedu.”

Hyuda gave a blatant glare to each of his hosts, and shamelessly proceeded towards the door.

In response, the Munny Collector smirked and elucidated, “Heaven’s Mercenary, you cannot defeat the brawly, brown-robed man which threatened Traverse Town from the Black Depths [3]—”

Hyuda halted, and the Munny Collector achieved the Angelo’s direct and intentive leer.

“—but…I doubt anyone,” the collector’s sermon pressed smugly as he dauntlessly approached Heaven’s Mercenary, “within ten stars’ radii could smite said assailant. He is indeed intent on feeding;” the collector laughed aloud, “yep, it’s around that time.”

He was in Hyuda’s face by now; he bowed his head to remove his hat, revealing strings of tattered red curls. He boasted that Hyuda would never truly have the ability to purge the darkness, and that neither his previous prestige as an Angelo, nor his current “whore of a state” as he recalled bore the means to wholly defeat sin, let alone deal a critical blow upon the Dark Assailants.

Hyuda mocked, “Pfft.”

To which the solemn collector replied, “Listen to me boy! I know you’re older than most, but you’re still a lad to me, whether you’re one thousand or one million in age--or 1,237, let's be honest...You look good for your age, by the by,” digressing a bit, but refraining, “the Heartless, the Darkness, it will seek to spread until the universe reverts to Kingdom Come. The salvation of the realm is the Keyblade.”

The grim gil master extravagantly extended his arm forward, across Hyuda’s shoulder. Hyuda quickly flipped the guard of his hilt, his face expressing a small wince.

Blacksmith exclaimed, “No open weapons in this house!”

To which, the Munny Collector laughed, and assured, “It’s okay lass. No worrying.”

‘Shhhi!’ Hyuda’s head twitched in reverence; he noted the manifestation behind his neck, held by the red bearded man.

“The Keyblade—” the brazen enigma peered through his abysmal lens into Hyuda’s hollow whites, which in contrast to his face, burned with anticipation in response, “purges the hearts of those overwhelmed by malevolence and temptation; the Keyblade which chooses its bearer;” the Munny Collector chuckled jeeringly and watched the manifestation behind Hyuda’s head shatter into bits of light and disperse.

He pressed, “I can assure you that you will not be the one who purges the world’s pestilence; you waste your efforts.”

Hyuda plainly queried, “Can any fiend be slain and redeemed by the Keyblade?”

“Aye. Many things are possible through the Blade.”

“Then I shall wield the Keyblader.”

The Munny Collector paused, and then chuckled in a demeaning tone, “Heh heh, you do that lad,” though his wording seemed suggestive; he addressed, “By fiend, you must mean the shrouded man you crossed in the Corridor of Night. He is known as Avonej Hart, a brilliant man, albeit quiet mad at times—he exploits darkness to reveal entry to the hearts of worlds. In accessing the cores of worlds, and absorbing their life energies, Hart attains longevity. Note me when I remark, Avonej Hart is a parasite to existence. His methods have permitted his survival for multiple epochs. He wields both force and knowledge from time elapsed. All of your acquired ‘sin’ is a baby to the ranks of Hart. And even as I speak these truths, you still intend to go after the great fiends of the world.”

“I do.”

“Well then…I’d say that Hart may be one of the world’s greatest fiends. So, I’d challenge you, Hyuda Kyaedu, 203th Family. Find your Keyblader and eradicate fiends.”

The brash collector smirked in the face of the stoical swordsman, and in return, Hyuda gave no expression.

“Tell me this lad,” the Munny Collector swanked, “how is it I know every detail of your short, one-thousand year-old life?”

To which Hyuda contested, “Does it even matter?”

“Aye—I guess not,” the collector sighed, and chided, “the only thing that really matters is ‘self-redemption’, and ‘abolishing sin’ before the world is full with it.”

“The world is already full with sin.”

“Then you better get a move on, my indifferent acquaintance; find your Keyblade and endure its wielders privations because your time has long since been up.”

“Are you not a Keyblader?”

The Munny Collector bluntly replied, “Do you see a key?”

“Fair enough,” accepted Heaven’s Mercenary, “Then I’ll take my leave and seek my Keyblader.”

The wily collector allowed a final chuckle, “Oh, you won’t have to travel far. I assure it. I sense a change in the winds.”

[fade Destati-Dive into the Heart]

[1] The phrase ‘thank Our Mother’ is Hyuda’s equivalent to ‘thank God’ implying that Hyuda’s God figure is in fact female.
[2] Munny and Gil are currencies used in the Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy universes respectively, and are both used primarily in this universe.
[3] The Black Depths, the black tears in the sky, the dark swirling torrents which Hyuda and the clerical robed man resided, as well as other similar terms all refer to the Corridors of Darkness. These Corridors are passages made from dark, used as a means to traverse to different worlds, and are accessed only by beings that can manipulate the darkness; otherwise, use of these Corridors can gradually corrode the hearts. Upon entry and exit from the corridor, a black opening rips through the atmosphere.

[Wynn]

Could you explain Chapter one? My intellect fails to grasp its complexity.

As for the prologue, the settings pretty good but what are the bridges made of if I may ask? I may have missed it or it may have not been explained. Its structure may be important because as I've read, they seem to be fully automated? Correct?

I've only read Chapter 1 and the Prologue mind you.

EDIT: Tsk, tsk, tsk... you seem to have a habit of skipping commas... that's all the CC I have now. Still in Chapter 2.

New EDIT: I thought Keyblades were technically the only way to kill Heartless? And what do you mean by o-katana?

Newer EDIT: I see your making original Heartless. Would it be a problem if you were to add pictures or even rough drafts?

Newest EDIT:

And even now, in my whore of a state, your likes are still of the filth and self-abolishment which is unfit to disgrace my presence.

I was like "WTF?!" Is this a typo? Or should you indicate that this fic is PG-15?

[bizness86]

Could you explain Chapter one? My intellect fails to grasp its complexity.

Chapter One is a conversation. That's all that can be revealed, but if you've read Chapter 2, then you should have an idea of who one of the conversees (conversation participants) is.
Specifically, it sounds as if they are talking about the fate of a world...

As for the prologue, the settings pretty good but what are the bridges made of if I may ask? I may have missed it or it may have not been explained. Its structure may be important because as I've read, they seem to be fully automated? Correct?

I've only read Chapter 1 and the Prologue mind you.

Response:

The world leaders breached the invisible walls and the light of anxious hearts wove together the paths that bridged the neighboring worlds and, with this process, strings of systems became connected.

In a nutshell, the world leaders received the letter from the King to breach the barriers; the leaders inform the people of the breaching, and after which, the leaders would ask everyone to think someone very dear to them that is far away. The lights of these anxious hearts would eventually weave a path to the other worlds. This is a play on the KH1 concept that everyone's hearts are connected. The paths themselves are basically similar to the Light Paths from KH2. Stuff about the travel system is littered throughout the fic.

I'd actually have to inform you of the fact that I have hundreds of loose Word files on my computer explaining exactly how every process is done. I couldn't put everything in the fic word-for-word because that would bore the reader even more, so I only included the jist of things.

EDIT: Tsk, tsk, tsk... you seem to have a habit of skipping commas... that's all the CC I have now. Still in Chapter 2.

New EDIT: I thought Keyblades were technically the only way to kill Heartless? And what do you mean by o-katana?

@commas: quote examples and then I can respond (I mind you that "and" does not always need a comma before it; only when used in a list or when used to conjoin two concepts.)

@destroying Heartless: I take it you are speaking of the instance where Hyuda is fighting Heartless. Well, let just say that he's destroying Heartless in the same sense that Donald (with magic), Goofy (shield), Riku (who had Soul Eater for a while before it became Way to Dawn), Leon (gunblade), Hercules (raw strength, all of which aren't Keyblades), Dusks (scene which Saix explains that the Heartless align with whoevers heart is the strongest in Darkness), etc. destroy Heartless in the games. A concept to consider when getting into this fic is that the Keyblade is the only way to free the overwhelmed hearts from Darkness. Apparently, the Heartless can be defeated by anyone capable; it's just that the hearts remain in darkness rather than going free.

An o-katana: ÅŒkatana - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
A longer-than-usual katana, not to be confused with a nodachi. These were usually made for someone of a higher social stature. For any terms not known, Wiki helps :). Use it.

Newer EDIT: I see your making original Heartless. Would it be a problem if you were to add pictures or even rough drafts?

Newest EDIT: I was like "WTF?!" Is this a typo? Or should you indicate that this fic is PG-15?

I suppose I could...I actually do have rough pics done in Flash. They suck, need I remind you.

http://i47.photobucket.com/albums/f185/bizoitz86/RP%20enemy/BondLeechandSpawnLeecher.png

The link is the in fic also (the word "leech"). Yes; I'm glad you pointed out that I need to tag this. I didn't see anything about tagging fics in the rule thread, and I'd actually want to let it be know that this does contain language...and 'whore' isn't that bad of a word at all.

Note that the term whore of a state is simply referring to the fact that he considers himself a mere shell of his former state; the details of that state are still to be revealed.

[Xuan]

This is so long... I'm not used to long stories in this forum. You'll have to wait till I adjust my brain for another 500k words.

Quiksilver's awesome.

[bizness86]

Added Chapter 15

This is so long... I'm not used to long stories in this forum. You'll have to wait till I adjust my brain for another 500k words.

Quiksilver's awesome.

Yeah...very true. It's my own person incomplete fan-novel inspired by an RP. My suggestion to reading this is to take it ONE chapter at a time, posting after each chapter. That way, you'd essentially have 15 posts in this thread by the time you catch up to where the story is now.

Please consider reading it though, I enjoyed writing it. Who's Quicksilver?

[bizness86]

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Chapter 3, To Traverse Dreams



Hand in Hand, KH

Neck-and-neck, the two Kingdom [1] pilots raced across the outstretching lot of transports and Gummi Ships; their goal, the empty parking space. The Inter-Worldly Travel System—at its peak!—hailed by many as the salvation of the age, the high-speed system allowed unrestricted travel from world to world.

This system was made for the people by the people. The freedom to ride the horizons and unite under one sky!—to infinity, and beyond…

- donate to Project Star Command [2]

The cheesy slogan posted at every entry, exit, and corner of the Gummi Galaxy said it all, although, some dwelled on the system’s burdens; steady travel across the galaxy had the potential to empty pockets, and the piloting skills of certain people were, more or less, atrocious—regards to the Department of Gummi Vehicles. Wrecks rarely occurred, but it the event of such, the imminent traffic congestion would become a less-than-enjoyable experience to bear.

Adored or detested, the travel system was the most convenient and revolutionary notion since sliced bread. The freedom to leave all of your troubles behind you and travel to brand new worlds to start anew; these were the things that dreams were made of. So why was it so hard to find a parking space?

The series of drawn rectangular spaces that traversed the outstretching patterns of tiled concrete was everything to the two combatants of the parking lot. That parking space was the land that marked one’s arrival into a world of revival and adventure—and, as of now, one of these racers would have his hopes of exploration taken away. The loser of dreams would have to submit to the victor. As the empty space grew nearer, the fast-paced race for wonders proceeded to closure.

A com rang, “Eh?! Jackpot!”

Plummeting from above, an ivory-colored Gummi Ship smugly planted itself into the wanted space. The chagrinned racers swore vigorously into their intercoms towards the bubble-shaped ship; however, their indecent words were obscured from the pilot of the custom model, with the hissing of his Engine Gummi, and the smooth sounds of jazz inhabiting his mp3 player. Even so and as the engine hiss gradually dissipated, the ivory driver reckoned the facial expressions of the two parking-space-less pilots. The bickering of grown men—a common site of the travel system era.

“Sorry?” The bubble pilot’s unsure voice rang through his intercom, but barely protruded the whining.

“Hey,” a Kingdom com rang; “You! That was my spot, you jerk!!”

“Jesus Christ…” rang the ivory ship’s com. The latches of the bubble-framed ship’s hatch cracked open. The hatch slowly lowered to reveal its driver.

The bickering continued, “—you little rat bastard!! What’s the big idea?!”

The ivory pilot stepped forth. He was taller than most, above average height. From head to toe, a sleek ivory robe draped him, and from under the hood of his cloak and shaggy white bangs, which were highlighted with black and sprouted from his hood like vines, he wore a drab and worn expression. From what was visible of his face, revealed a young man; however, the curvature of his mouth, and unusually pale skin brought a crazed and restless expression to his face. Drowsy, bloodshot brown eyes pierced through the pilot’s bangs and towards the two stagnant Kingdom models.

The young pilot shrugged, “Look, you’ve gotta be aggressive to win here—” and added a smirk while progressing with a hint of sarcasm, “and I guess you two just don’t cut the proverbial mustard…I’m sure there are plenty other spaces to park.” The young man pulled his ‘Gummi Key’.

Erk-erk! The bubble-shaped ship sounded, indicating the activation of the alarm.

“By the by,” the ivory-clad man indicated his ship, “if any of you touch Cuppa Joe, you’ll regret having fingers...Amen?” The words danced cryptically from the young man draped in ivory, to which he nonchalantly departed the company of the Kingdom pilots, and made his way towards the horizon of the lot.

… “Why you little punk!—Who the hell do you think you are anyway!?”

The drowsy young man turned back to hear the still-running engines of those destined to wait for someone to leave the lot before parking.

He sighed, and turned to readdress his acquaintances one last time, “Right ...Since I crushed your dreams of—” he ‘quoted’ with his fingers, “--surveying the lands flowing with milk and honey...” he raked his fingers through his bangs, spiking them upward to unleash his unruly eyes of bloodshot and bags upon the pilots, “Java Black. I prefer ‘J’ because of recurring coffee references, and if I hear so much as a chuckle, I will hunt you down and ‘make bacon out of pigs’ if you know what I mean;” Java released the locks, allowing them to cover his weary eyes once again. He softly added before continuing off into the horizon, “—and don’t test me, bastards. I don’t sleep...”

Silence whelmed the two hovering ships; the pilots witnessed as J walked onward, coolly stepping over their dreams of a bright, new world. One of the Kingdom coms protruded the silence which Java’s enlightenment promoted:

… There goes my dream of starting a new business...

… It’s not over yet! I’m not gonna let some snot-nose punk crush my hopes! Just you wait, sir! In a couple hours or more, there will be a parking space!

… And I’ll be here with ya buddy!

… Hand in hand!

… Side by side!

… Onward!—To Traverse Town!!

[1] The term ‘Gummi’ is associated with the malleable and convenient substance that comes from space, as well as everything composed from it. Gummi Ships are ships that allow inter-world travel, and are constructed from Gummi Blocks, an adhesive substance that had also composed the world barriers. For the remainder of this story, the names of Gummi Ship models will be italicized for indication.
[2] Allusion to Disney’s and Pixar’s Toy Story.

[bizness86]

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Chapter 4, Embarking with Wings of Silver



Traverse Town, KH

The world door to Traverse Town, splintering planks of fashioned hardwood hinged with stained iron latches, was quite a door indeed. Aside from the constant chatter and commotion of an abundance of busy-body tourists, and the eternal slam and creek of wood, the Traverse Town door also found the attention of droves of ‘entrepreneurial’ merchants equipped with rinky-dink sales stands which featured everything from household appliances to cold, fresh lemonade.

Nearly ten meters in front of the Traverse Town Entry, a smoothly paved outstretching strip of asphalt awaited the arrival of the infamous Charter, one of now many, the choice transportation for those who do not own or can not afford their own run-of-the-mill Gummi Ship. The Charter route, the scheduled arrivals and departures of a series of specialized Gummi models that collected and dispatched passengers from one charted world to the next, was specifically developed as a cheap source of transportation for people of misfortune and low income. As the Grand Ambassador of this fine travel system stated, televised world-wide and quoted by Kupo Daily newsletter:

“Everyone needs a helping hand. And we can all pitch in and work the bugs out together. Let’s truly make leaving are hardships and reachin’ out to the stars something real, and not something costly.”

Additional information can be found on posters and pamphlets at any Charter stop.

The Charter! Reaching out to the stars

The first and most reliable model of Public Gummi Transportation. Gain wings of silver and experience what it is really like to ride the winds.
Provided by Wishing Star©
Sponsored by Mognet, Moogle Synthesis, and Cait Stop

All Donations will support Project Star Command and Moogle Synthesis


Hours: 600-2200


Traverse Town
To Rock Point
700, 900, 1100, 1500, 1700, 1900, 2100

To Stardust Sweep
800, 1000, 1200, 1400, 1800, 2000

60 passengers’ seats total, two to each seat
Maximum Capacity: 120 passengers

As usual, the Charter arrived at its stop in front of Traverse Town in a timely fashion, raring to dump off yet another blasé load of other-world visitors of the various lot: the sight-seeing passengers, the miscreant bus urchins, the hopeless romantic dreamers, the etceteras.

“Alright people! We’re here...get off,” barked the abrasive dog-faced bus driver. Amongst the diverting passengers slouched a young female bus leech. The young woman exited the bus jading a loose cerulean jacket, in which she snugly huddled herself, her hands deeply buried in the coat pockets. Semi-baggy, khaki-colored slacks loosely hugged her waist, and grungy black sneakers sheltered her feet. She was a ‘shorty’, maybe juggling just around five feet (over one and one half meters) in height, and though she exhibited a modest choice of attire, when she chose to stop scowling, she could have been considered quite the cute young lady for a “bus urchin,” or an “alley cat of the Charter,” a term used universally and made renowned by one infamous bus urchin. The young woman’s hair was a shaggy mid-length, and produced short untidy front bangs that had the potential to be somewhat frustrating if she had plans to style her hair. Her coarse woolen locks were tied by a cute red elastic band into a ponytail. Her hair and eyes were both a lighter wintry shade of blue. All of that, in a small-and-neat package, quickly jutted from the crowd exiting the famed gummi bus.

“Hey--” a passenger screamed. He was a rather pale and portly gent with cheeks that nearly hid his eyes. He donned comfortably in a black short-tailed tuxedo and robed in a fine furred overcoat–a real aristocrat this one. He proceeded to yell out, “My wallet! Somebody’s taken my wallet!!” Our tiny package could not help but give a slight wince in secret. Inching closer towards Traverse Town’s gate entry, the girl instinctively slowed her pace to that of a casual passerby to avoid suspicion.

“This travel system is just another breeding ground for little reprobate juveniles!!! I’ll get to the bottom of this–I’ll sue this compan--” The large man continued his relentless rant. The short Ms. was almost home free; not only did Traverse Town harbor mindless tourist junkies, it also harbored unsuspecting mindless tourist junkies that were routinely preyed upon by a considerable amount of poor and wretched pillagers and looters of the alleyways–she would fit right into the lot. Neither the tourists nor the looters were ready for the rebel with the snow-blue hair...

“HEY GABS!” The dingy blonde hair and head of a young urchin boy popped out of the bus window, conspicuously pointing to the seemingly slick pilferer lady urchin. “THEY KNOW YOU DID IT!! RUN! RUN GABS!!”

That little four foot bastard! Sold me out!! The nearly home-free lady swiftly turned back in pure disbelief at the kid urchin. The dupe passenger turned his heavy head towards ‘Gabs’ and erupted in a swearing rage.

“Someone–someone catch that little whoremonger!! That rapscallious wench has pilfered my billfold!!” The lumpy fig of a man danced and wailed, indicating Gabs.

Gabs cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted out at the smirking lad who hung from the Charter window, “HEY KID!! YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR LITTLE *SS!! Cuz, I’m gonna own it if I ever see it again!! You hear me?!!” and bolted into a crew of people embarking upon Traverse Town’s humble-but-adequate shelter.

“Is anybody going to stop her?!!” No one lifted a finger to aid the plump gentleman. Everyone else was too busy going in their own directions; the tourists were toured; the vendors vended; the officers at the door lazily observed the masses of people that went and came. All the poor fat sap could do was walk ill-heartedly into town, hoping for the chance to lay hands on the young wench that stole his wallet.

“I guess he could always look for a job now,” chuckled a young male urchin on the back seats of the Charter. Some young ‘alley cats’ harmoniously chortled at the misfortunes of the lewd and obese man. The blonde boy slumped back into to bus.

“That’ll fix her good...” the young blonde smirked, raising his window completely with satisfaction smeared across his face.

“That was a pretty low move you pulled on Gabrianna though Scoots–” said an adolescent female red-head, “–as a matter a fact–why did you do that to her anyways?”

A younger squirt seconded, “Yeah!!! The Gabs was total coolness. Why Scoots?”

Scoots slouched into the corner of his seat and shamelessly crossed his arms. “I wanted ta pilfer that ol’ porker...” The leery and disappointed glares from his peers unnerved Scoots’ usually-shrewd boldness, “Gol-lee...geez ya wet blankets!! I knew she was gonna get away anywhos...” Still silence, “I was just giving her a go...oh, whadda you binjies know anywhos!” The next wave of passengers boarded, and the Charter departed for its next destination.

Java saw the departing Charter from a little less than one kilometer off into the distance. He continued to make the trek towards the world passage into Traverse Town from the faraway land of the parking lot.

“That was by far, the longest walk to a God-forsaken town of Trans-verse–“ Java mocked and mumbled to himself; a calamity of noise and bodies drew nearer with each step. Java stopped briefly, stretching a few yawns out from deep within his lungs before proceeding forth. “Perhaps, I should have parked a little closer...Bah! I need a drink.” One more yawn escaped between words. “That “Geppetto’s Java” better have some damn good coffee.” Java pressed onward.

[bizness86]

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Chapter 5, “What’s Your Hurry Young Lady?” Lost in Digression



Traverse Town, KH

Behold Traverse Town’s First District in its abundant glory; a modest slew of finely polished shiftlessness; flashy neon signs and street lamps that slumber dreamlessly underneath the perennial starlit night. The town has recently gained recognition as a place of historical importance. Built and annexed from various remains of worlds claimed by the darkness, Traverse Town homed and sheltered many lost-world refugees. Still, the citizens and immigrants have somehow managed to sluggishly maintain a fair governing amongst themselves, and house many unfortunates. So obviously, many native and adoptive people of this town rejoiced with the development of the travel system, and welcomed the arrival of other world visitors and the opportunity to travel and start elsewhere.

The architecture of Traverse Town ascertained nothing less than the authentic dexterity of a carpenter from an erstwhile century. The first district lodged various places of adequacy, as well as the attention of the many visitors and refugees. Thus, the first district was considered Traverse Town’s place of daily activity. Adjacently left upon entering the town gates, there stood a small café that hid a series of dimly candle-lit, round tables-for-two underneath a cozy veranda area, convenient for those who enjoy casual and romantic lounges and conversations. The small square lightly included a pair of modest trees and benches, several entries into the outer districts and alleyways of Traverse Town, and an awkward, slanting mailbox. A goods shop, a two-story accessory and item workshop, and a short and wide staircase ascending towards the elevated back portion of the area centered off the crowded district. Rounding off the district leaned a rather homely home of pale green and yellow, and an old sheltered wooden display case that has been claimed by various merchants and dealers.

The first district site that attracted the most attention as of recent was the goods shop; a sale was being held on travel equipment and Tupperware so the shop had been fairly busy up until now. Amongst the floating crowd, the Grand Ambassador of the Inter-Worldly Travel System himself approached the goods shop. Most could recognize him from television and other media sources, and many people seemed to know him personally, but most were just admirers or people that would ultimately make attempts to bum munny off of him. The ambassador was also considered one of the richest men alive, practically heading Traverse Town.

The Grand Ambassador was an older fellow, but he would say that he is “as spry as any spring duckling.” He wore a blue formal over-jacket with red hems and stitches, and a black top hat over his white slick feathers. A small pair of round reading glasses snugly lay on his bill, and a graying beard and whiskers lay around it. Cufflinks of diamond shone lustrously from each wrist as he flaunted a fine ebony walking cane.

The ambassador reached the goods shop entry and proceeded to turn the doorknob. Instantaneously, the door flung open, nearly taking the arm of the startled ambassador with it. A lovely young woman toting a mid-size forest green accessory bag brimming with grooming products, and several magazines and reading material dashed out from the shop, almost clashing into the Grand Ambassador. The young woman mirrored the ambassador’s shock with her own expression of startle.

“Whoa dere lass!” The ambassador addressed, chuckling. She struggled to an abrupt stop, exhibiting a humiliated expression on her face. His voice mustered friendliness as he spoke, “What’s your hurry young lady? You nearly put this old duck down for tha count.”

“So sorry Grand Ambassador McDuck–” the young lady apologized with a gentle voice and a short bow, barely clinging onto her travel bag with both hands. “I’m just ready to get away from this place–sooo busy today!”

The girl stood fairly tall and with good posture. Her figure was healthy, not extremely slim, but not at all too thick, and was complemented by her light, flushing skin tone. Her olive and brunette blend of hair glistened vibrantly, flowing nearly down to the small of her back. Folded near her right ear was a red flower. Her face still wore a slight grin of abashment, but her large, milky, blue eyes were more than enough to calm the disquieted ambassador. A pink choker and silver chain and heart charm decorated her neck. On her left hand gripped a tight forest green leather glove, and a gold bracelet with a diamond shape emblazoned her left arm. Her white dress cozily fit her and lengthened down just above mid-thigh. A mahogany bow and an arrow-filled quiver hung behind her, slung from across her shoulders. She sported a pair of smoothly tan “Enchanted Boots” which she had recently purchased from the goods shop for seventy-five percent off plus worker’s discount, to replace some older, worn footwear.

“Oh, you’re fine Sebrea, and please–call me Scrooge,” Scrooge smiled and beckoned to her. Sebrea crouched down to ear-level and Scrooge whispered comically, “If I were in your shoes lass, I’d high-tail it as far away from this mad house as possible, and never return.”

Sebrea and Scrooge released light laughter in unison. Scrooge sighed and cheerfully shrugged, “Unfortunately, I can’t...I hafta make sure business is runnin’ well in town,” Sebrea rose to standing position and Scrooge gained a few steps towards the shop entry, “I enjoy lookin’ at people makin’ munny for me too much. Imagine that...but I hope you enjoy the rest of tha day Ms. Sebrea–oh–and is everything in town doing well for ya,” Scrooge asked with a soft smile whilst adding, “I hope you’re enjoyin’ tha goods shop crew’s company as much as everyone else is enjoyin’ yours.”

“Hai! [1] I’m very grateful. This job is much better than any other job I’ve had, and everyone’s been so nice.” Sebrea cheerfully nodded, “but I’m sure you’re busy Mr. Scrooge. I won’t hold you any longer sir.”

Scrooge gave an airy chuckle, “Heh–you’re sweet–you’re not holdin’ me from anything child. As lazy as this town is, it’s good for an old crow like me ta just simmer down some.”

“And besides,” a voice escaped from the collar of Scrooge’s jacket. A small figure leaped out and onto Scrooge’s shoulder. The figure continued with a slightly disgruntled tone, “we’re kinda on the lookout for Scrooge’s absent-minded nephew. I’d like to know what’s gotten into that duck! If we keep this up, we’ll be late for sure!”

Sebrea giggled and replied, “I think Donald has wandered off into the Second District as usual, Mr. Cricket–”

“Now what did Scrooge tell you about being so formal–” the cricket shook his finger and playfully scolded Sebrea. “Call me ‘Jiminy’ please.” Jiminy dusted off a miniature tuxedo coat, which he wore conventionally, and then removed his tiny top hat from his tiny head, and gave it a thorough dusting.

“Ok then, Jiminy; Mr. Scrooge; good luck finding little Donald.” Sebrea bowed, quickly bobbing her head down and back up.

“Enjoy yourself lass–off wit ya!” Scrooge playfully dismissed.

“–and remember–don’t work too hard! All work ‘n no play makes for long faces and dreary eyes!” Jiminy added.

Sebrea nodded and parted ways with the two gents, departing from the shop and stepping into the blithe of wandering hoi polloi.

“There’s a good lass; so polite and well-mannered...” Scrooge commented to Jiminy while trailing off into the goods shop.

“Not too mention her good posture--” Jiminy indicated before the goods shop door shut behind the two.

An exhausted Sebrea, struggling with her weighty bag, made her way towards the renowned Geppetto’s Java after another day’s work. Well, thank goodness the coffee shop is closed today. I don’t think I could last another minute’s work...I may have had to fake sick! Sebrea thought to herself, pacing towards one of the small wooden tables underneath the café veranda.

Sebrea usually considered the time she took to walk from the goods shop to the café as a break from working two jobs, so she didn’t mind taking her time while walking. After all, clerking at the shop was tiresome enough, but bartending in Geppetto’s Java while keeping an eye on that mischievous slacker, Pinnochio was more than a handful of work. Sebrea figured that working two jobs would keep her busy while she was out on her quest. Also, she enjoyed the kindness of her co-workers and the munny was looking good. Aside from the rare and enjoyable benefit of employee discounts, and free coffee and soda floats from Mr. Geppetto’s café, Ambassador Scrooge was generous indeed to those on the payroll and she had worked in far worse places for far less pay...she had to pay for travel somehow. Traverse Town was a good place to chill, perfect for Sebrea at the moment; she preferred to be in a place where she could marinate while recollecting her thoughts and emotions, and this controversial town was practically made for restarting and beginning anew; but then again, so much chilling and restarting could eventually wear Sebrea out and put her to sleep.

As Sebrea drowsily observed folks sitting at the clusters of tables, she dreamily waltzed underneath the chipping veranda of Geppetto’s Java. She became instantly alert, however, when she realized that she was falling fast on her behind.

‘Oof!’ An explosion of color fled from Sebrea’s bag and onto the tiled earth: books and magazines of reds, yellows, and blues, a pink toothbrush, a conspicuous shard of grey metal, various pieces of shimmering rocks and shells...green and golden munny. Everything met the ground; and the ground was indeed hard. Sebrea’s sudden plop added more pain to her caboose and already-aching back and bones. Sebrea sat up with a cringe. Her eyes searched around the cozy veranda for the exact person, place or thing that could have caused the fall, and instantly met the source: another young woman on the ground.

The other young woman sat up angrily with both hands securing her forehead, which was flushed from impact, no less from the heavy bag of Sebrea’s. She was a lot shorter than Sebrea, and probably younger; Sebrea had recently celebrated a nineteenth birthday. The shorter female wore comfortably loose khaki-colored pants, and a blue jacket. Snow blue bangs strung over her still-rubbing hands and forehead. Sebrea thought about reaching out and apologizing for her inattentiveness, but was abruptly interrupted.

“Sh*t–” Gabrianna hissed, rubbing her forehead. Both women pulled themselves up from the ground and dusted themselves off.

“Dang it!” Gabrianna writhed, and, still cringing and stroking her blushing forehead, barked spitefully, “watch where you’re goin’ floozy...” Gabrianna’s abrasive words struck Sebrea, who flushed with embarrassment. With no response, a flustered Sebrea proceeded to kneel down and recover her belongings. While picking up her surplus of trinkets and items, Sebrea noticed the young girl aiding her, and smiled lightly. Quietly and wearily, she addressed the blue-haired lady while placing an Archery Monthly magazine into her sack, “Thank you–hard day’s work...I should have been paying more attention to–”

“Whatever lady–” Gabrianna disregarded, retrieving a number of bath towels and tubes of toothpaste. Gabrianna hesitated, and then addressed, “–look, it’s no biggy. I wasn’t paying too much attention either.” Gabrianna figured that the incident seemed inadvertent enough. Within a couple of minutes, Sebrea’s possessions were returned to her carrying bag.

Sebrea bobbed gratefully, “Sorry again–and thank you.” Sebrea apologized with slight disorientation. She had still been shaken up from her work, startling Mr. Scrooge, falling, and everything else about the day. Gabrianna gave Sebrea a glance from head-to-toe and gave a slight mocking chortle.

“Aren’t you chilly wearing that skimpy dress? Well, it’s not that cold here, but still–” Gabrianna smirked, looking down at Sebrea’s exposed legs, “I mean, wow...showing off those knobby knees, aren’t we?”

Gabrianna laughed jeeringly and walked off towards the goods shop. Sebrea blushed again, looking down at her knees, “Knobby?” Sebrea shrugged to herself and victoriously approached a vacant table that rested near the café door. She sighed as she plopped down into the wooden chair, and admired the melting candle that dimly lit the tabletop. Sebrea rested on the table, tucking her head in the warmth of her folded arms.

Okay, it should be around 4:30 PM. So–around eight, I’ll head to the hotel and call it a day, and then...day off!! Sebrea thought to herself as she drifted away from the surrounding bustle, and into tranquil thought. It had only been five days since she made it to Traverse Town, and just look at her. Traverse Town was running her ragged. The only reason she saw to stay was the diversity of the crowd. Finding the answers to her questions was Sebrea’s top priority at the moment, and she had no real Plan B. Traverse Town is full of different–no...Sebrea’s thoughts began to contradict themselves, everyone that comes to this town is the same–peacock tourists looking to buy souvenirs, snap pictures, and heckle Mr. Scrooge for money whenever he visits. It felt hopeless to linger in Traverse Town, but Sebrea had dug a hole for herself. Good job, nice co-workers, great shopping. She sighed and slowly shut her eyes. I miss home…I miss Gii-san. [2] Sebrea drifted into a dreamless slumber.

[1] SOTA’s focal characters were influenced by the characters of some paper-pen role-players which I had the pleasure of role-playing with. The character which influenced Sebrea spoke in ‘Japenglish’, using sparse Japanese dialect with English. This trait is recreated with Sebrea. In this case, ‘hai’ is similar to ‘yes’.
[2] In this case, ‘Gii-san’ means ‘Grandpa’.

[bizness86]

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Chapter 6, “What’s Your Hurry Young Lady?” The Geeky Rebel



Traverse Town, KH

Gabrianna smirked as she drifted from the café veranda and towards the goods shop. Gabrianna pulled her hand from her jacket pocket and unveiled a full wad of green bills which she admired smugly. She had already convinced herself that she was genius from the ‘porker heist,’ and now she had successfully executed a casually planned bump-and-pilfer.

“Honey was definitely loaded. Just as much as that fat bastard...” Gabrianna said with a confident simper, fondling each paper bill in her hand, “Wonder why she doesn’t go and buy any decent clothes with all her moola…instead of dressin’ like a fairy child…” Gabrianna entered the goods shop, stolen munny in hand.

The shop interior was spacious; a slowly circulating fan at the ceiling, a counter in the far corner, and not much more. The merchandise was all held in polished oak shelves and open cupboards. Conveniently, Gabrianna entered during a stall in service. Very few customers waited for assistance. Three people ran the counter overall. The first cashier was a rather intimidating sight; the stocky fellow brandished grayish straight hair, a grumpy expression, and a variety of burns and bruises on his face and arms stood. In contrast, a tiny pig-tailed blonde lady heavily draped in full dress and apron ran the second register. Lastly, a tall and rather scrawny gentleman with an excellent posture and fine attire tended to the shelf and cabinet merchandise. Any others in the store were either loitering or inspecting the merchandise. Scrooge and Jiminy sat in conversation with several customer familiars.

Gabrianna playfully skipped towards the counter, and delivered a sappy eye-closing grin to the stocky grouch at the register. The face of the grey-haired brawn showed no definition in response to Gabrianna’s heavy grin. Eventually, the rough cashier replied to the giddy-faced Gabs with a scoff, “I hope yer not ‘ere fer troublin’ again…”

“Only as much trouble as everyone blames me for–” Gabrianna stated, allowing her hard grin and eyebrows to morph into a smart-aleck’s face of mockery and sarcasm. She plopped both elbows onto the counter and leaned in wait, head resting on both supporting hands. Gabrianna frivolously addressed, “How’s it going my rugged chum?” A small silence commenced before she refrained from her digression, “Um–I placed an order for a sweet-assed pole weapon–and now I have the dough for it, so...yeah baby!”

“I know, I remember, cuz I’m the one who built the order!” The cashier grumbled; he remained motionless, and bore a searing hole into Gabrianna’s face with his callous eyes.

Gab’s face reverted to her irritated scowl, and she scoffed whilst leaning over the counter and into the cashier’s face, “So–you gonna sit here, and eye-f*ck me all day?! Well then?! Where is it, *ss?! I’ve been busting my butt scroungin’ up munnies to pay for this baby!” By now, Gabs had attracted the lot of the remaining customer’s attention. The cashier proceeded to burn a hole with his eyes in the face of the fiery Gabs, but only momentarily.

“Hmm…” Scrooge, along with the other eyes, pondered to themselves over the commotion.

“Hmph…I wonder what’s eating her.” The words slipped too hastily from Jiminy’s mouth and dripped downward.

From her peripheral, Gabrianna shot a horrific glance towards the absent-worded cricket. Words cryptically jutted from Gabrianna’s tongue that caused the room to freeze with awkwardness, “I thought crickets only chirped…but I guess this cricket has a big effin--”

The gruff cashier intruded Gab’s speech with a submissive sigh. He yelled back at the scrawny young man who laid against the wall sleepily beside the shelved merchandise, “Scotty!!”

The scrawny man violently fidgeted in response to the dream-shattering yell. Scotty yawned, as the cashier continued, “Order Three Hund’d Thirdy-Six!! Now!!” Scotty silently gained his composure, and reached into one of the open cupboards. He retrieved and delivered a lengthy halberd to the straight-haired cashier; the weapon was taller than Gabrianna. The pole was of a fine tan wooden polish, and the spear head was a fine-length, jagged crystalline blade of an aquamarine color that bore a pronging blade birthing from the base of the blade side of the head.

The cashier forcefully dismissed Scotty from the counter and, with his eyes, bore a deeper hole into the center of Gabrianna’s forehead. “Happy?” the cashier reluctantly smirked presenting the spear.

“Hells yeah,” Gabs grinned, snatching the spear from the cashier’s hard hands. “The Mythril Spear–I can definitely whoop *ss with this,” she held the halberd upright and gazed at the long pole with admiration. “Thanks Bantuk. Smell ya around, ‘kay!” Gab waved and proceeded out with a skip.

“Ahem!” Gabrianna halted in her tracks as the gruff Bantuk strongly cleared his throat. “What’s your hurry young lady?” Bantuk sternly addressed, left hand outstretched, and cash register chiming. “That’ll be two thousan’ sixy munny wit’ the sale discount.”

Gabrianna taunted with a ‘boo’, and handed him the correct munny. “Thankies!” Gabs grinned while hugging her newly purchased Mythril Spear. She slowly back stepped toward the door.

Bantuk scornfully replied while recounting her sum, “Prob’ly stole the munnies ta buy it in the first!”

“Hey! Be happy I paid for it!” Gabrianna scoffed, and exited ecstatically with her Mythril Spear.

From there, Gabs cautiously blended in with the district masses, pick-pocketing and pilfering the occasional trinket or wallet until her pocketing led her into the Second District. Beware the Geeky Rebel; the words echoed in her mind, and influenced her actions. She figured that she could pilfer a couple more pockets before the next Charter arrived–or she could wait for the Charter that came after the next if she wanted. With the Mythril Spear as her ‘backup man,’ the Gabs was ready to take on the cold and uncaring worlds. Things were looking up–who could stop the self-proclaimed “Geeky Rebel?”

[bizness86]

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Chapter 7, Seek Refuge or End the Seek



It Began with a Letter, KH

“Finally! Thank God!” Java triumphantly sighed, standing just a few meters from the Traverse Town entry, “–back in this forsaken spit o’ land, huh? Welp…Coffee, I have arrived!!”

Java stood amongst the hoopla of entering and exiting masses, the constant annoyance of repetitive sales pitches, and of course, the common bickering amongst grown men.

Ah...smells like a home– the young man inhaled deeply, soaking up every bit of the site. This was perfect preparation for the venture into the busy boredom within the town gates. Alas, a welcoming voice swiftly pierced the common fuss that seeped into Java’s flesh, and marinated within his innards.

“Hey! Zombie Fiend! Long time huh,” the voice protruded Java’s trance, sourcing from the right side of the giant door. A good number of meters away from the doorway, another young man leaned collectedly upon the wall, casually waving two fingers to gain J’s attention.

“Ah, a familiar face,” Java addressed, and with equal coolness, nodded in response, nearing the neutral figure, “and one of the only faces that can call me a ‘Zombie Fiend–’ or something of that manner.”

Java neared the sleekly clad young man, rolling up his right coat sleeve, and revealing a long black shirt sleeve. Slowly leaving the solace of the wall, the young man made his way towards the approaching Java. He too began to roll up the right raincoat sleeve, revealing a long black shirt sleeve also. Our calm figure wore near-opposite attire from Java: long jet-black raincoat with bright white slacks and ankle boots. His complexion was coffee-brown, and he jaded stringy maroon locks of hair that had been blackening at the ends. He wore a decent build, and was nearly as tall, and seemingly as old as Java. Large round-lens shades ably rested on the young man’s smirking face, as he and Java met, forearms crossed, sleeve-to-sleeve.

“J Black...the man that just does not sleep,” the young black-clad man lightly smiled, forearm crossed with his friend.

“Ah, Mercuito, my good man...the accomplice of my many vile deeds.” Java replied with the usual satire. Both released their gesture, joyously shook hands, looked around at the presenting rabble, and chuckled at the convenience of their chance meeting and location.

“So,” Java continued, “What brings you to the fronts of Transverse Town once again?”

“Memories–” Mercuito responded with a smirk of satire, “–just had a feeling that I needed to check up on the town, you know...the zoo that it has become, and all.”

Java looked off into the adjacent outstretching lines of booths and sales counters that adorned and enclosed the town walls. He sighed and replied, “I guess–well I’m glad that you, at least, haven’t joined the madness and reduced yourself to being one of the most annoying beings on the face of the earth...”

“What, salesmen?” Mercuito chuckled slightly and opened up his long coat, revealing the long black shirt and an array of potions and first aid items strapped within the insides of his coat, “Well–I still do services of healing–I just don’t “advertise the talent” anymore, as you would assume...but I do still make quite the number of sales every now and then...let’s just say that I’m always prepared to serve familiar customers. But I don’t charge people that absolutely need Cura [1]–”

“Yeah...” Java smirked unconvinced. Mercuito gave a light laugh aloud in response, placing his hands within the security of his coat pockets. He slowly looked up and gave the eternal night sky an empty gaze, “Well, at least I’m not running around town with you lying to people about being a traveling healer with the secrets of everlasting youth like we used to.”

“Oh yeah, of course–one of your genius schemes that always get me near-arrested in the process–”

“Oh no,” Mercuito averted his night-sky gaze, and jeeringly leered towards Java, “aside from you coming up with all the scams, the reason why you were put under house arrest for that scheme, and not “send to jail,” as you like to dramatize, is because someone decided to bum a drink from some wino in the third district, right in front of the constable I might add.”

“Mercuito–” Java called. Mercuito’s leer turned into an attentive gaze. Java stared vacantly at Mercuito, who was now containing his temptation to chuckle at Java’s morbid expression; J questioned with a stoic tone, “–you don’t forget a damn thing, do you?”

Mercuito unleashed a luminous smile, “That’s because there never was a dull moment with us.” Both young men released a final light harmonic chuckle that trailed off into an ensuing silent moment which consisted of shiftless gazes towards the Traverse Town entry, into the come-and-go crowd of people.

After a slight hesitance, Java addressed, still staring towards the leaving crowd of folks, “So...how’s the sales and funding going? It’s been a good two years since I’ve seen you; when I left with that fuel carrier guy on his Invincible.”

Mercuito averted his gaze from the calamity of people, and fixated his sight downward upon the concrete ground, “Well, sales have become a lot better than I first expected they would...my uncle and I have parted ways for the time being–traveling solo now since I bought and customized my own Gummi Ship. The Sable Sleek; had it for a year now…didn’t bring it here though; getting some repairs to it.”

Java replied in response of the Sable Sleek, “Ah–I bought a ship recently, after saving up enough from a few odd-jobs: Cuppa Joe, ivory-colored of course–” Java briefly flaunted his cloak, “–kinda slow, but reliable at the least.”

A harmless laugh escaped underneath Mercuito’s breath as he wittingly responded, “Wait, are you describing the ship, or yourself?”

A stoic response from Java as he inattentively looked up towards the empty sky: “So–I see your sense of humor has diminished–but hey, I’m glad your cure-and-item sales business is doing well.”

“Well, you know, I guess putting Traverse Town behind us was good for us. Yeah–leaving this small rock, and trying to support oneself in a respectable manner does its justice–” a slight silence ensued, then Mercuito addressed, “you know, a lot of people are generally concerned with the well-being of people that have lost their worlds and seek refuge–”

Java inadvertently interrupted, “–and I’m glad that you’re out doing something about it besides trying to sell your merchandise in front of this sleaze meeting ground like everyone else.”

“Well–I really wouldn’t put it that way,” Mercuito glanced, and corrected attentively, “I’m guessing a lot of people mean to make a living, and they figure Traverse Town is as best a place as any. I mean, this is where many people end up when people’s homes are taken [2]—” Mercuito broke off swiftly, and then added a soft yeah as the attentiveness of his gaze began to wander off.

The last part of Mercuito’s speech lingered on, and Java gave a slight scowl of disgust, “Right—I’m glad you don’t sugarcoat things Mercuito...end of the line for worlds—people make it here...but what I’m saying is: I’d rely on you to at least care about people like us before I’d rely on any of them–”

“–no one cared too much for us because everyone has their own problems, however petty they may seem, and seriously, even being one of the unfortunates, I can only help but so much with time and munny. As much as the next person may mourn over their own losses, I’m going to wear myself out trying to help everyone else, J. I want to go home myself...anyways, people will learn to help themselves. I guess the question is, how do you overcome your own personal “darkness” and the “darkness” of others as well.”

Java couldn’t help but to nod, “I agree…but at the very least, you are trying to support those that are less fortunate...I myself, rather tell them what you just told me whilst waltzing around Gummi Space blindly, and instigating fights with quote-unquote grown men...and encounter the occasional Heartless for the hell of it…and now that I mention it, nowadays, the sight of a Heartless is rare...”

“Yeah...very true. I haven’t got into too much of that myself. One slip up with heartless, and you’re one of them. Pssh…I’ll definitely let the proper authorities handle that one, Mr. Freelancer. The officials do almost too good of a job on securing the Light Paths, and protecting neighboring worlds–” Mercuito surrendered a small sigh, “–and still–people rather read about commercial events, or tragedies in the newspaper than help someone in need; they either don’t see the Darkness as a threat, or they blissfully don’t know anything about it–”

Java let out a mocking scoff, “Ha—and it’s kinda sad considering that this whole “travel system phenomena” is supposed to be about working together, and preventing worlds from falling, and only a handful of people at most, see this as a chance to end the threat of despair, you know? Rather than finding a place to dump refugees, I would expect people to want to prevent the making of them. Wishful thinking–of course.”

Mercuito shot an astonished glance at the ranting, fidgety Java, and mockingly replied, “man…you really need some coffee…It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this strung out…” Java and Mercuito fell into another small silence to discard the unease. Mercuito slipped his hands from his coat pockets, and slowly folded his arms across his chest while portraying a posture of light insecurity. He shrugged as he responded to Java’s noticeable rave, “Well, that’s why–we act on the behalf of ignorance, and maybe, just maybe our actions can educate some fools, eh– so–let’s see, I think that we gotten so tied up in conversation that I have forgotten to ask of your activity as of late.”

Java gave a light nod and shrug as he replied, “Oh, nothing; just recently emerging from a small rot-hole of a hotel in Rock Point…not as ‘homey’ as Traverse Town, but cheap nonetheless. Anyways, I heard from a former boss that a place in good ol’ Traverse Town was starting to make a good cup of coffee, so I came running. How ironic is that? I’m just heading to the place that would always put me down for a little pick-me-up.”

Mercuito unleashed another shrug, “Ah. That explains it, but lines for coffee, or anything, are probably long today; the entrance has been busy all day–but hey, the highlight of the day: some cute little bus chick tried to sneak a wallet from some rude aristocrat slob–she was caught red-handed, and still left without anyone lifting a finger. It was great. Everyone went on like nothing happened–”

Java released a grin that appeared somewhat maniacal, perhaps from his naturally weary expression. He comically replied, “Ah–good stuff. A cute woman that’s after the munny of fat rich guys, people that are too lazy to stop crime even if the crime was against them–glad to see that Traverse Town hasn’t changed much.” Mercuito fought a smile, and shook his head in regretful agreement. Java and Mercuito’s attention converted toward the arriving Charter, emerging from Gummi Space, and preparing to make port at the stop.

“That you?” Java asked, watching people flood the stop as the Charter slowed to a stop, “I figured that since you’re just waiting here, and the ‘Sable Sleek’s’ in shop–”

“Yep, right on the money, J–” Mercuito extended his hand towards Java, “Be easy, ok man?” He loosely added, “—and get some sleep!”

“Sleep?! Never–but being easy?” Java strongly grabbed and shook the hand of his friend, “of course; always. You–don’t stress too much, and say ‘hey’ to Wervin for me.”

Mercuito nodded and embraced the handshake, “Stress? Wow; do I ever?” He grinned as he replied, “I guess being level-headed is one thing that we’ll always have in common.”

“We have more than that in common.” Java’s face curved a sincere heart-felt smile.

Mercuito’s face grew sincere as well, “You’re right, and that is why we do what we’re doing, huh.” Mercuito let go of Java’s hand, and waved with two fingers as he began to back away. He briskly jogged towards the waiting Charter. Java watched morbidly as Mercuito barely stumbled aboard the departing ship.

Java mumbled, “I needed that...take care of yourself, man.” Java scratched underneath his hood, and lazily made his way toward the busy entrance of Traverse Town.

[1] Cura is a level-two magic spell that restores the vitality and ably heals the conditions of victims. Cura alludes to various Square- games, particularly games from the Final Fantasy franchise.
[2] Noteworthy, matter from worlds that happen to stray into the Dark Corridors drifts in a flushing manner until reaching the final terminus known as the End of the World. Much of this stray matter often makes terminus in certain other worlds, escaping a fate in the End of the World. Traverse Town is key as one of the certain ‘other worlds’, also as being one of the final worlds which matter is able to escape the Dark Corridors before reaching the final terminus.

[bizness86]

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Chapter 8, Welcome to O’aka’s



Traverse Town, KH

“Oh, PLEASE?!! Whaddaya want from me? Anything–I see-I see ya gotcha a little tike–look, look how ‘bout I dance for the little sprout! Ya-da-dada-dada-da!”

Even as the lowly merchant un-rhythmically jigged, and purveyed a cheesy sequence of silly jingles, neither the passing female tourist nor her passing young boy was amused. It seems that someone has made a spectacle of the Traverse Town entry. For two days and recent, many tourists that passed through Traverse Town’s bustling door between five and nine of the clock, post meridiem, have been greeted by a trying and unruly merchant fellow.

Rather than ‘being attractive’ from the outer walls with a rickety lemonade stand, or a brimming wheel barrel of spoiling produce, this middle-aged chum would slouch, and stalk near the entry, inside town premises, relentlessly hassling the in-comers and out-goers with claims of “mediocre prices for mediocre product,” remarks that have tendency to offend, and threats of “dancing one-man samba” for hesitant potential buyers. Though he has been warned excessively by various marshals and officers, no judiciary action has been enforced, on count of “lack of motivation” in the police department.

The jigging peddler modestly donned meager attire; an off-blue jacket barely fit over his stout exterior, marigold-colored pants reached the mid of his calf and drooped like a hollow sack from his legs, and his feet brandished tightly strapped sandals. He wore a fez atop his red hair, which was worn in a bowl cut, and carried a large, green, nigh vacant sack upon his back along with various pouches about his waist. As a precaution, various flyers and bulletin boards around town encouraged civilians to ignore the peddler outright.

The merchant watched the woman and boy pass him by without as much as a scoff or distasteful look. He nervously chortled, “Uh–you didn’t like the dance huh? It’s fine, next time ya come ‘round I’ll just dance harder for ye ma’am!” The deniable merchant slowed eased himself down to a slouching position beside the Traverse Town doorway. He silently sulked to himself, “oh, darn it all! Who am I foolin’? I’m no salesman. I wouldn’t even buy anything from me...all I’m good for is disgracing the family name–”

The door opened once again, and the merchant proceeded to witness the motion of in-comers; amongst them dragged a tall young man clad in an ivory cloak.

Okay–I’ll try me hardest this time... the merchant thought as he sprung from his sitting area, and dove into the oncoming bunch. Unknowingly, Java had walked into the merchant’s grandest performance.

The merchant pounced instantaneously upon the spot in front of the unsuspecting Java. Java leered with a tired disbelief as the fool merchant halted him suddenly, and smiled with a smug satisfaction. Spontaneously, our desperate merchant broke into hearty chuckle, catching Java somewhat off guard. The merchant spoke with grandeur, “You, my friend are in luck–because today–”

“I really don’t want any...” Java scoffed, and continued to deviate from the entrance, adding as he departed, “...and trust me, I don’t want any.”

The merchant’s jaw dropped in awe. To him, the whole set-up was perfect: his selection of consumer, his welcoming chortle, his grand salutation. Yet, his customer walked away, like all the others. He didn’t get it. The hopeless peddler had to ask. The disheartened merchant marched after the ‘elusive’ Java, and swiftly grasped his left shoulder.

The merchant cried with furious anxiety, “Well, what in the blazes did I do wrong this time?! I gotta know!”

Java turned back with a leering evil within his piercing red eyes. The merchant’s face morphed into a solid fear as he realized that this man was not one to tolerate foolery from any unpractical salesman, but our merchant needed an answer; it was too late to let go; he needed to know what he had been doing to steer business from his reaches, and he knew that this man would give him something, and our merchant was raring to receive.

An icy staccato knapped from the depths of Java’s articulation, “‘what in the blazes did you do wrong this time?’ Well, this time–you annoyed me, now…take-hand-off-shoulder before fingers-disappear-one-by-one.”

“But–” the merchant shrilled with his usual whine; the sound of threats calmed O’aka, as he was quite used to receiving harsh warnings, “–aren’t ye at least gonna let me throw my sales pitch?!”

Java leered with a slight disbelief in the merchant. To Java, this man was full of ‘interesting surprises.’ Java painfully sighed, and sedately readdressed, “Look, I’m sure you’re excellent at what you do, but frankly my dear merchant, I find the lot of you repulsive,” Java continued with a slightly sadistic smirk, “merchants…make me sick, so to speak. I think I’m allergic. So–if you’ll excuse me–” Java attempted departure once more.

The merchant childishly brushed Java aside, taunted him as he tried to make his leave. “Oh–fine! Fine! What’s the use! You’re not gonna really buy anything, now are you?! Ha! You don’t look like you have a shred o’ gil on ye anyways.”

Java turned fully, and faced the wacky merchant with a long, belittling stare. After witnessing the merchant’s foolish facial expression, and indicating that the merchant had endured enough self-loathing, Java placidly replied, “Gil, no; but munny; I have actually saved up a modest amount of dough with the sole purpose of spending, but–but–after that little bitch-whiny performance you just conceived, I’d have to say that you, sir, are sh*t out of luck. You, Mr. S. O. L. are the worst salesman I have ever seen.”

The worst salesman he’s ever seen. A customer had told him so. The merchant had heard it straight from the horse’s mouth; he had been telling himself those words ever since he attempted the family business in order to make a living, and maybe that is why these words were not as settling as he had hoped; he had heard them too often. He wanted to know why he was the worst; he wanted to know...but could he ask, and bare the truth in return?

The poor sap fell into complete hysteria. “That’s not good enough!!!” The fool merchant threw himself down on the ground, and threw the greatest of temper tantrums. He banged, and pounded the ground, he cried series of rivers, he wailed with all the might of his lungs, and even then, it seems that he was just beginning to display the full of his vent.

By now, the center of attention for the townsfolk and the many tourists waltzing every which way consisted of the two individuals a few meters from Traverse Town’s door. The scene depicted one scary, and threatening individual, who stood upright, and loomed over another individual, an older individual, who teemed with embarrassing and disheartening emotion, and who just happened to display most of his hurting while on the ground.

Undoubtedly, acute whispers were made amongst the humdrum painting called town.

Golly, I just wish these young people would leave these older folk alone!

]My goodness, I can’t stand the crazies and the noise they bring through the front gates with them.

Mommy, what did that man do to his grandpa?

Java discreetly accounted the factors of the situation, “Not good. You are on the ground. You are crying, and a crowd of people are giving us, me in particular, inconspicuous leers. I can handle this, of course. I’ve seen worse. Okay; here we go…”

Java outstretched his hand to the outraging merchant man, which quickly seized and ceased most of the inadequate stares. Upon notice of Java’s outstretched hand, the merchant instantaneously performed a ceasing of his own, as the production of the convincing rant and waterworks stopped outright and was replaced by a goofy grin and an accepting outreach that was secured by the support of a vexed Java. Java aided the merchant from the ground and casually brushed off any dust collected from the previous presentation.

Java scoffed from a taste of impending submission, “You, my acquaintance, and I use that loosely are a desperate and gutsy man. Methinks you’ve either earned yourself a chance at making a sell, or a good ol’ fashion *ss-whooping, but since, with the latter, I’d risk being arrested–again–by the fine marshals here at Traverse Town, I suggest you start selling; make it good fool merchant...or else.”

Skeptical about so-called ‘paying customers,’ O’aka peered and questioned, “Really? Ya mean it? You’re not just pullin me leg, cuz if ye are– ”

“Good bye.” Java quickly intercepted, taking a small departing step from O’aka.

O’aka immediately halted him, “Ok, ok! Sheesh! Forgive me for being the reasonable pessimist, ahem–”, and, clearing his throat, O’aka proceeded to make his sales pitch, “I am your humble merchant, O’aka the Twenty-third. I thank ye for ye business, and Welcome–To–O’aka’s!!” O’aka eagerly awaited a response. Java stoically awaited a sale attempt. A brief silent moment occurred. Breaking the proverbial awkward silence, O’aka repeated nudged Java, “Huh, huh? Pretty good, eh?”

Java’s face displayed an awing leer towards the merchant; Java was convinced that the chances of O’aka actually selling merchandise in Traverse Town were slim-to-nothing, and worth pitying. Java half-heartedly gave O’aka the best response that came to mind, “Okay...O’aka XXIII, exactly what type o’ cookies are you sellin’?”

O’aka laughed heartily, “Cookies?! Ye want cookies?! Me pops and me grandpa before him sold their share a load in their day, but I can’t ponder them ever sellin’ as girl scouts, eh mate?!” O’aka yielded a few stabbing chuckles. It would seem that, with each exhale, O’aka managed to further minimize any respect Java had for him as an intelligent and sensible purveyor of goods.

Java’s belittling leer lived on, “I meant ‘stock’...”

[bizness86]

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Chapter 9, ‘Following Your Heart’ Type Deal



Just Wondering, KH Re: CoM

“Oh yeah, stock...hehe um...uh...” O’aka fumbled within a near-empty sack; “Aha!” O’aka resurfaced from the sack with two small spray vials, “‘Ere we go chum…one potion for ye well-being, and one ether for those of the magical variety.”

Java slightly pondered over each vile, “Nice…okay…aw what the hell, I’ll take them both. You win O’wocker; and I may as well see what else you have; I really don’t want to have to confront another one of your kind…” Java referred to the salesman. Java broke mid-sentence with a short yawn and then grinned smugly, “You’ll be my scapegoat…all the other salespeople will ask, ‘who sold this to you’ and then I’ll point the vindictive blood-suckers in your direc—”

“Sack’s empty! Welp, I’m done for t’day! I’m off then. Thank ye for your kindness—”

“What? Wait, hold on...you mean just for today, right?”

“Nope; I’m through for good as it would seem...welp, time for me ta find a can.”

Java pressed, “A can? For what?”

O’aka chortled as he gathered his nigh-empty sack, “What a question…a can is for bummin’ munnies mate!” Java gave O’aka an astonished stare. O’aka clarified, “Well, I can’t be a bum on the streets of Traverse Town without me own finely worn, second-hand, aluminum can now can I? Ooh, I’ll need a shopping cart too. A bum can’t bum without one a those.”

Java finally mustered the resolve to address O’aka’s recent comments, “O’aka, that’s sad. As much of a pest as you were, you finally convinced me to buy something; then you just give up like that–”

O’aka pondered over Java’s words for pressing seconds, “Well...you’ve got tha general idea—” O’aka noticed the irritable leer that had morphed on Java’s face and quickly restated, “Ye see, ta have stock, ye need gil, and to have gil, ye need a job; and since pillaging is me job, and I’m not making much of a profit, it just seems kinda superfluous to invest what little profit I do make into more stock.

"I prefer using it for bare necessities in life, y’know chum? Food; water; debt…the latter is the most important, but who’s prioritizing at the moment? All I know is that squeezing loose change from pitying strangers is the only way ta run my line a business. Me pappy and his before him were quite familiar with that tactic, and hey, you pitied me.”

Java scoffed slightly, “Or maybe–I know this may be a little on the wild side–you could get a real job, part-time perhaps.”

O’aka quickly mocked, “Ha! Shows how much you know!” He rubbed the fingernails of his right hand around on his vest. He then smugly blew on his nails, while addressing, “Tried that…numerous times. It seems that I’m just not good at anything.” O’aka smiled with satisfaction.

Java scoffed louder, “Oh, come on. I don’t wanna hear that sh*t. Everyone’s at least mediocre at something. Janitors can just stand around and talk all day without cleaning a d*mn thing…look, if you can’t even find one job that you can stick with then you must be trying to be a complete f*ck-up.”

O’aka hesitated to address, but eventually replied, “Hogwash…as me pops use te say, ‘O’aka, me boy, if ye hearts not in it, and it not something that ye love, then it’s not for you!’ So frankly, the janitor’s job was not problem, it was me trying a little too hard te ‘put me heart into it’ and I kinda got carried away...”

Ironically, Java’s nerves calmed after listening to O’aka’s brazen claim. He pondered to himself aloud, “Hmm...well O’aka XXIII, after trying to get you, I think I actually understand your plight a little–in that, I mean, you’re starting to make a little more sense–the proverbial wheel is turning in your head–or I’m starting to not think that you’re a few sandwiches shy of a picni–”

O’aka cleared his throat to prevent any further offense from Java’s careless reflections, “I get it mate–welp, then...you’ve given me a good enough answer to all me queries; and I’m sure you’ve heard enough of the story of O’aka XXIII…thank ye for shopping at O’aka’s, and I believe I’ve kept you a bit too long, so I’ll be on me way to a job fair or somethin’ like that–”

Suddenly, Java succumbed to the conclusion that he was now actually concerned about the foolish merchant. With a sigh of resentment, Java called, “Hold on, O’aka…I can’t believe I’m doing this…I mean, I think we were on to something with that ‘following your heart’ type deal. The question is: what exactly does O’aka want to put his heart behind the most.”

O’aka chanted, as if his words were a creed, “The family business is me one true love!”

Java jumped slightly, as if he was expecting O’aka to hit him afterwards. Java shook off his shock and addressed, “Besides that! We see how that’s worked ou–”

O’aka chanted once again, “There is nothing more important than the O’aka Family Business.”

Java again succumbed, “Okay! Okay, but is there a second…and less degrading love.”

O’aka’s tension melted as he stroked his chin to consider, “Well. Um–about the only two things I’m overly passionate about is pillaging and...racing.”

Java’s eyes rose lightly to O’aka’s choice words, “Racing?”

O’aka became ecstatic as he rambled on, “All types a racing; horse racing, car racing–”

Java’s expression turned to one of doubt, “Racing...”

“–but what really rakes in the dough is–”

Java heard the word ‘dough’ from O’aka’s mouth; his facial expression became one of disgust, “Racing, eh…”

O’aka seemingly leaped into the air as he pronounced, “Gummi Ship Races!”

Java placed his hand upon O’aka’s shoulder to harness the merchant’s content. O’aka noticed the displeased expression that Java harbored and became attentive and slight abashed. Java coughed slightly as he addressed, “Ahem. Let’s summarize: you’re betting on Gummi races, right?”

O’aka pouted slightly and nodded. Java’s malicious grin sent chills through O’aka’s skin and the words that followed abashed O’aka further, “I found it hard to believe that a con-merchant claimed to have so little munny with so little stock.” Java’s stress reached a peak; he repeatedly tapped on O’aka’s shoulder, “You can buy potions for practically nothing! You could even learn to make your own, if you really wanted to!” Java sighed and proceeded to inhale short breaths. He whispered to himself, “damn, I really need coffee—” before returning to his problem—the merchant—whilst rebounding his satire, “—so then, how often do you make you’re little rounds to these races?”

Defying the remaining respect that Java held, O’aka clumsily replied, “Um–do you mean weekly or monthly?”

Java contemplated, forcefully ignoring O’aka’s last comment, “So, in going to every one of these races, you are racing to waste your earnings and losing your profit in the process, ay? I’ve said it countless times before: salesmen are the scum of the earth.”

O’aka defended, “Hold on just one minute! That’s not fair at all! I’ll have ye know that I’ve donated a fraction of me funding and me winnings to a very charitable cause once.”

Java mocked, flailing his hands in the air, “Whoa! Big effin’ surprise, O’aka–not like I believe you or anything, but what’s the name of this charity? Inquiring minds wanna know.”

O’aka nervously chortled whilst thinking of a reply. Finally he stuttered, “Um–uh–hehe Project: Star Command?”

Java’s brows narrowed, “O-kay...what is Project: Star Command by the way?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Oh, you heard me O’wocker. What is Project: Star Command?” Not caring about any attention that he grabbed, Java screamed, “I’ll give anyone ONE HUNDRED EFFIN’ MUNNY if they can tell me what the hell Project Star Command is!!” There were slight leers, but many ignored the comment.

O’aka lit up in response, “Ye will?!” O’aka lifted his sack and saluted Java, “Oh, I’m on it, sir! The Internet is what’s gonna win this one–”

“O’aka stand perfectly still or I’ll gouge your eyes out!” The words continued to leaked eerily from Java’s lips, “Project: Star Command is the inter-world banking and trusting company that invests in services that solely aid the progression of the Inter-Worldly Travel System, services such as Inter-Worldly Law Enforcement, Cait Stop Maintenance and Convenience Stores, and the Charter Stop, all services, in which your sorry *ss have probably taken advantage of at least once!”

Java shook his head in despair, and lack of caffeine further emphasized Java’s weariness and frustration. He pined for the sweet taste of satisfaction and cared for nothing else at the moment. A few delightful words quivered within his head:

The best part of waking up…is coffee in your cup…sheer bliss.

He intended for his next spoken words to be his last to O’aka, “I think I have one more question before I leave you to rot, Mr. O’aka. Is there any reason why I should even care about your well-being; is there any sparkle or glimmer that is hidden underneath the pile of sh*t and brittle that is you?”

O’aka was caught off-guard for the first time since he started his unlikely conversation with Java, “Well…wow...of all the death threats and angry rants I have heard, that may have left me speechless...and demeaned...I’m sorry I had te bring the worst outta ye like that, but I think I can make it up to ye. See, there’s this one customized Kingdom, the Kingdom Final Mix, that’s a high favorite in the annual Gummi Cup–”

Java’s glance averted from the trying merchant, “Tch, sad...”

“–oh no, hear me out! It’s customization is award-winning, but with the proper tweaks and a coupla well-placed bets, well heh heh lets just say, Kingdom FM would be winning the cup for sure, and the lucky betters would be neck-deep in gil. If only I could actually get some esteem for me blueprints…”

Java stood, inattentive to O’aka XXIII and fidgeting with a slight unease, “I need coffee–”

O’aka replied spontaneously, “Hey! Wanna see my sketches of the Kingdom Model? I could use the criticism anyways, even though I’ll never get te realize the potential of me drawings and what not–me being ill-fated and unlucky and all.”

Satire seeped from Java’s lips, “I love your optimism though…” Java sighed and replied honestly, “No O’aka. I don’t think I do, and I really should be going now,” but O’aka had already plunged into his sack. Java submitted yet again to O’aka’s will. At least this time O’aka may have something to show for his antics; perhaps a little stick drawing of a man in a spaceship would make Java giddy. Java needed coffee.

O’aka instantly emerged with an ecstatic expression and a ruffled and rolled-up blueprint of sorts. He gleefully exhibited, “I call it Kingdom Flight!”

“Wow…I mean actually…wow.” Java was dumbfounded; O’aka’s sketches were actually decent. Better than decent. The gridlines of the paper allowed O’aka to scale most of the Gummi Ship aspects nigh-perfectly. Though Java admitted to himself that he had no clue what he was looking at exactly, as Java was a novice as to the mechanics of Gummi Ships and their accessories; however, by O’aka’s schematics, Java accepted that O’aka may be more than a pest and ingrate. In a universe of sloth and apathy which Java oh so loved, at the very least, O’aka was trying.

“Well, O’aka XXIII, I can honestly say that you’ve lost ninety-seven percent of the casual respect I give to human beings…but with this,” Java indicated the blueprints, “you’ve managed to retain the remaining three percent in a way that I’ve never seen anyone hold on to something so minuscule—I’m intrigued by the story of O’aka XXIII…”

O’aka held his prints in front of him with one hand and scratched his head in confusion with the other, and finally queried, “As in?”

Java peered with one more expression of resent and vexation, then, with every ounce of falseness he had in him, mustered a reassuring smirk towards the rekindled merchant. Java’s smirk led to his response, “as in, we may be on to something.”

[bizness86]

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Chapter 10, The Waning Twinkle in the Sky



Castle Oblivion, KH Re:CoM

His eyes opened. Soon after his awakening, he frantically searched his surroundings in vain; the area was void of all light but those of blinking yellow eyes that curiously peered from the bowels of the abyss.

Only faint whispers from his memory could reach him within this realm of eternal black.

Arekhan…

…settle down you two…

…my speaking—it is better, no?

…sometimes…I wish he would let me help him carry his burdens…

…Put down the sword fool, you’re outmatched by six people who know ya very well…

…There’s no time to ‘settle things’…

…Now that you have been defeated…can we now focus on the true enemy? Your master…Ceidr…

You are always, and will forever be, my friend and brother Harv…

…CEIDRIC! You—how could you—no…

However, these last words were not whispers; the words pierced his presence with bitter icicle shards.

Hmph. Well…in the end, taking you in wasn’t so bad an investment after all…

Another soft voice protruded the darkness, and called out to him.

Nighthood.

As strange a calling as it seemed, he was subconsciously familiar with the name, and he took note.

Open a path. Take your time; I’ll follow you, Nighthood.

Nighthood felt for the passage mentioned. He concentrated. Ah, a thread. Nighthood clairvoyantly unraveled the strands of darkness; in turn, a gaping maw was revealed to him; ebony vapors enveloped a corridor-like opening. Nighthood stood leeringly in front of the corridor of darkness, and then replied aloud, “No thanks. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.” He heard the unexpected stolidity in his voice and nearly shuddered. This voice was not the one he had harbored in the past, nor did he have any recollection of this voice at all; at least he innately recalled the name Nighthood. There was only one way to receive any answers to any present, or future, queries pertaining to his condition and location.

Nighthood became conscious of his surroundings. He realized that the same vaporous presence which enveloped the corridor engrossed his own being. He felt it; a sixth sense. His body was saturated with the darkness of the realm, and he could control it with a simple whim. Clairvoyantly still, he enveloped himself deeper within his blackness of the realm; his body flared and flicked, the darkness that was his body incinerated until his whole being melted into the atmosphere, and he vanished without a trace.

Within another distance, a black ink-like puddle emerged from a dormant ground. Tendrils of vapors escaped from the lake of black. A lightless silhouette gradually ascended from the inky blot. A head-shape rose from the darkness first, followed by a curtain-like body. The head-shape revealed sheen black locks that resembled jostled strands of hair and piercing yellow eyes that forcefully blinked; the harsh eyes were outlined with the slightest tinge of gray. The dark figure stood tall at six feet, seven inches (just over two meters); he waited droningly.

Very good, Nighthood. A miniature version of Nighthood’s arrival commenced beside him. From this puddle emerged a shorter ink-black creature with large yellow eyes. The being’s head was proportionately large and upon it yielded two pointy antennae. The small critter sank and flattened itself into the ground once more. The grounded shadow darted across and scaled atop Nighthood’s dark-caped body, reemerging on the left shoulder of the adamant sentinel.

Nighthood admired his environment; the area was vacant, extremely so. The sky, maroon and mauve, experienced a seemingly permanent dusk. The milky surface which Nighthood stood was identical to the complementary mysterious sky, and stretched eternally towards the nonexistent horizon. Pale white stalagmites jugged spontaneously within the translucent setting. The horizon yielded a dense vacuous mass that proceeded to pull various energies and debris aloft into its center.

The meek whispers of the smaller acquaintance broke the serene admiration of the mystifying imagery which Nighthood held, “A joyous occasion this is. I’ve heard about your birth long ago, Nighthood. I shall follow wherever you lead me. I can only be humbled by your awakening into the world of the present.”

Nighthood attempted to comprehend the creature’s herald, only to succumb to a cerebral haze, World of the Present, birth long ago. It seemed more as if Nighthood comprehended his acquaintance with an innate sense; the small figure was not communicating verbally, but his purveyed message was being acknowledged clairvoyantly.

Nighthood addressed, “Perhaps, you should tell me everything you know.” This time, Nighthood was unusually comfortable with the staccato-esque throb that escaped from him as vocals. The harshness within his stern and sleek voice seemed to calm a great deal, much to his approval.

Nighthood’s acquaintance’s first response was an introduction; it nearly relinquished a name, but refrained. Stating that formal names were not important, the creature presented itself as a ‘Shadow’. [1] The Shadow sensed the bewilderment that oozed from Nighthood’s nonchalant stature and proceeded to further clarify:

Shadows are Heartless. It should all come to you eventually. In the midst of calamity, your heart acknowledged and succumbed to the depths of its dark core…

There are many who fear their own darkness, and then there are many who lust of the terrors which hearts are capable of committing. The darkness looms within the hearts of all, this is a truth. Those who fear and lust are overwhelmed by the darkness, and their hearts become darkness itself; they seek out other hearts in order to extinguish the blinding light and expose others to darkness of the heart…

There are a few…who, because of circumstance or fits of emotion, discard their physical beings willingly, fully exposing an open heart. They firmly grasp their own darkness and drape their heart within it before submitting the body to the dark world. The heart itself is now free to release these overwhelming passions without bodily interference. The density of their darkness which securely cloaks the heart smothers it, and those who succumbed to emotion, tamed their inner demons, and threw their frail bodies to the wayside become fearless and unflinching to all.

The haze that hailed within Nighthood’s mind dispersed swiftly. He remembered the conditions of his past and the emotions that led to his birth. He remembered the aimless rage towards his comrades and mentor, the remorse of his strayed actions, and the betrayal…and the events after his birth, which led to his epochal slumber.

The Shadow pressed, “Heartless are the children of the darkness. So are you, now but you’ve been asleep for a very long time…” The conveyance of the Heartless was still as meek as its stature; however, as with Nighthood’s stoical pitch, a more pied tone progressively occurred, replacing its monotonous whisper, “when I was born, I was brought here, in the dark world, by the others, and I felt your darkness and saw you sleeping. The elder heartless told us younger ones that Nighthoods [2] are the dark angels that will shield us from the searing light for good, and they also--”

Nighthood continued to stare into the horizon. He carried the conversation in mild interest, “—others brought you here…you mean other Heartless, right?”

The perched Shadow nodded vigorously, ‘Yes—others who became children of the darkness. The older ones, Heartless born long before us, told us about everything. They told us about Heartless, that on rare occasions, a Nighthood is born to shield us from the blinding light. They told us about the stars in the sky that shine a searing light. Stronger Heartless that are born from those stars seek to aid us by extinguishing the light of the stars. You needn’t worry about the light of the stars though. There aren’t many stars near here...and I’m sure that even the strongest of light won’t faze you like it does us. The elders told us that Nighthoods are most capable of traversing the Light.’

Nighthood mentally decreed that Heartless were nothing more than darkness, and the heart which birthed this darkness was imprisoned within. He felt as if his slow kinship with the Shadow allowed him to gradually converse with the actual heart that was imprisoned in the will of the Darkness. Previously, the Shadow seemed formal and submissive.

With this thesis, he proceeded to wonder if all Heartless have a dual nature: an exterior, droning, monotonous nature, and a hidden, free-spirited personality. How was he able to puncture through the biddable personality of the Shadow? Were the immersed hearts capable of connecting with one another, or did Nighthood have an innate ability to reach the heart of a Heartless? There were already too many questions, and there was undoubtedly more impending. He was collectedly decisive about not stressing for the answers.

Nighthood listened partially to the Shadow’s tales of his kind, and he did not wholly enjoy being portrayed as an idol by the Heartless, or whatever he had become within their echelon. Nighthood abandoned his gaze for the briefest of moments and averted towards his shoulder to his esteeming subject. Somewhat curious as to the eerie setting which his reformed existence lingered, Nighthood solicited, “Where are we, by the way?”

The Shadow anxiously replied, “We are just outside of the dark realm. Stars that have been put out by us travel here in pieces. This is a border between realms, but I’ve heard the elders call it, the End of the World.” The Shadow then proceeded to explain the reasoning and the mechanics in which the stars travel to the End of the World. Apparently, the hearts, or the cores, of the stars, also referred to as worlds by the Shadow, originated from the realm beyond the End of the World. The extinguished stars traversed in the same manner as the children of the dark; piece by piece, the worlds funneled through Dark Corridors that sundered the skies of the worlds, and ultimately made terminus in the End of the World while the cores of the worlds returned to the darkness whence they were born.

Nighthood listened without any particular concern. Dually, he mutely contemplated on what he diagnosed as an identity crisis. As intriguing as the End of the World, and the stars in the sky were to him, he preferred spending the ample time to sort out the difference between what he used to be, and what he had become present-day. He had been reborn into a being of, in accordance to his accomplice, unprecedented capabilities and wonders, and still, he could not distinguish his present being from his existence from before his transformation some odd years ago. He was mildly unsure which role to play in this world…

Nighthood, Pure-Blood Heartless Lord…Arekhander, Number IV of the Rising Falls Seven

He apparently knew each one of these identities well, whether innately or through prior experience, and he acknowledged neither as a Messiah. Nighthood wondered if all Heartless endured a struggle of present existence and elapsed memoria. He deliberately interrupted his company in mid-sentence, “Can you recall anything that happened before you became a Heartless?”

The Shadow replied as if intrigued by Nighthood’s inquiry, “Not really, we weren’t told much about before we were born. I bet you can remember everything about before you were born though. The elders told us about that too. They told us once that we are born again, and become children in darkness with new lives.” A personality within the Shadow’s speech had now become prominent.

Nighthood acknowledged, “Your speech sounds a lot like a child’s…not to be offensive, of course. I meant—you may have been a child before you were born…the way you speak reminds me of how a child speaks of someone they admire.”

“I was born one month and thirteen days ago as a Shadow, Nighthood. I don’t remember whether I was a child. None of the younger Heartless that helped me become born will tell me. They all giggle when I ask them.” The Shadow drifted into a digression, “We don’t go out into the Light much, but every now and then, we travel to Traverse Town, some of the Shadows and I—the Soldiers guard us...when we get there, the younger ones always says things like, ‘do you remember this place?’ and ‘I met you here.’ I like it there. It feels familiar, and the light doesn’t burn me.”

None of the younger Heartless that helped me become born will tell me…they all giggle…the light doesn’t burn me…the elder heartless told us younger ones…

Nighthood pondered as to how he could have triggered such a change in his cohort’s personality; motions of what seemed to be free-will nullified the previous monotone and diligence, but from what he learned of Heartless in his short speech with the Shadow, these creature were emotionless and unwitting. Neither his acquaintance nor he was acting in this accordance.

He had now found it apparent that the hearts of Heartless could communicate with one another, and on different levels. They lectured and learned, as did they explore and giggle. Nighthood regarded that lecturing and being attentive were actions which did not require properties of a heart; the desire to explore and the intent to giggle would seem to be otherwise, but Nighthood regarded that all of the according actions, to be attentive, to giggle while avoiding truths, to explore, as acts of children.

The Shadow stated that the End of the World was near the Darkness, and that the Light does not burn in Traverse Town. Perhaps light and darkness are important factors in distinguishing the qualities of a Heartless. Nighthood dissected his condition impeccably; he could help but to. His inquisitiveness engrossed him; this was definitely a trait from his past life. Acknowledging this was comforting, causing any remaining anxieties to dissipate.

Nighthood’s gaze returned to the stoic view of a paling sky. He gave a slow nod in response and replied, “I see…then Traverse Town is the only place you can recall; and I take it that it resides within the Realm of Light?” At his own pace, Nighthood became up to speed with some concepts. Allegedly, the different ‘stars’ in the sky resided within different realms, and he figured that the realms of Light and Darkness were two extremes at the ends of a spectrum in which worlds exist in. Nighthood’s general curiosity led him to wonder if there were an infinite amount of worlds in existence. Until recently, Nighthood had never known of existing worlds and the realms which they reside in. In a slight fit of nostalgia, Nighthood silently questioned whether his home world rested neatly with the light-dark spectrum as well.

The Shadow corrected Nighthood’s last comment, “No. Traverse Town is a star in between realms, amidst the twilight. [3] I don’t think I could make it in the Realm of Light. It is too bright for me.”

“In between realms…” Nighthood’s theses have proven to show promise. Nighthood continued, averting his gaze to the Shadow, “could you show me the way? I believe that I’d learn a lot more if we travel.”

Bluntly, the Shadow implied, “People of the Light don’t take well to Heartless. Their hearts shine brightly—and they wish to kill us. That is when we have no choice but to follow the will of the Darkness.’

“Then I’ll have to cautiously introduce myself to someone reasonable…hopefully I won’t give the wrong impression. Besides, I’m curious as to the types of worlds that exist, and what the present day holds…How long have I been asleep exactly? A few generations perhaps?”

“Eons, my liege…”

Almost surprising in itself, Nighthood was not taken aback by the response. He continued, “—and Shadow—”

The Shadow answered inquisitively, “Yes?”

“When you first introduced yourself, you were about to say one thing and then stopped. Would you mind telling me who you were going to introduce yourself as? Do you remember your past name?”

The Shadow’s head gave a few quick bobs before replying, “As you wish. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if I can recall the name I answered to before birth. Asemneth is my formal name given to me by my elders, but, one day in Traverse Town, I became strangely familiar with the name Sam. You may call me Sam, Asemneth, or Shadow, whichever you’d prefer.”

Nighthood diverted his eyes to the gaping matter within the horizon one more time. He watched as the debris from extinguished worlds was pulled into its dense mass. He recollected.

It seemed that most Heartless react ill to the light. Even in the more suitable realm of darkness, Heartless seemed engrossed by the completion of some higher common will. Nighthood reckoned it to be the Darkness which assembled and commanded these dark bodies, the Heartless; in manipulating these bodies as if they were parts of its being, the Darkness could execute its will on multiple echelons. Darkness educated the saturated hearts to be weary of light; it made Heartless prone to ceasing the light of worlds. The Darkness was not required to have any relationship with the hearts which it harvested. Still, there was a certain presence which could connect with these hearts on occasion.

The black sentinel replied to Sam in the usual cryptic manner, “Sam is fine. My name was once Arekhander…Nighthood is proper now though. I ended up here from a place known in my time as—Radiant Garden—a wicked man banished me here and took everything away from me.”

The Shadow sympathized, “That sounds awful…but I’ve never been to a ‘Radiant Garden.’ And it must have been so long ago. I’m sure that place has had its light extinguished by Heartless. There’s no need to worry about that man anymore, Nighthood.”

Nighthood considered, and for the first time in a long while, a flimsy chuckle escaped him. A stoic response followed, “You’re probably right, Sam. So, I take it you will escort me to Traverse Town?” Staring into the melancholy world necropolis, Nighthood surrendered most of his hopes of returning to the niche of his past existence. He was a Heartless; a Nighthood.

Sam relinquished a slight nod of loyalty and approval, “I would be honored Nighthood…and…if you don’t mind…please call me Samantha…I ask everyone else to call me Sam, but I’d feel more at ease if you’d call me Samantha—or Sam is fine too every now and then.”

With an equally respectable nod, Nighthood answered, “Will do…”

“We could travel the corridors, but this would be the perfect opportunity to familiarize you to the World Terminus which we have connected to various stars that have unlocked paths—” a dark arm protruded from the right side of the sleek, elongated cape which was Nighthood’s body, snappily extending across his chest and in front of Samantha’s face. A black outstretched hand, emblazoned with bony yellowed fingers, steadily halted Samantha’s speech.

Nighthood corrected, “The corridors will be fine, I have a feeling that I will have to familiarize myself with them, and even if I’m not too quick to get used to them, I’m sure I could find my way back to this place easily enough. That is, if you don’t mind of course.”

Samantha vigorously shook her head, as Nighthood allowed his arm to slip back into the darkness of his curtain-like body, “Not at all…you open the path and I’ll guide you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Both gradually melted into the atmosphere, and vanished like an impended mirage.

[1] A Shadow is a common species of Heartless, and more so, from the Pure-Blood Heartless type. (Currently, Heartless have been genetically engineered. These Heartless have been prior branded by insignias and have been dubbed Emblems. Heartless which spawn purely are Pure-Blood.) Generally, Heartless are the animated darkness of the heart; regarding its low stature, Shadows may birth from hearts which contain only the smallest tinge of darkness.
[2] The Shadow uses the term Nighthoods to refer to a species of Heartless, a species of which the character, Nighthood, belongs.
[3] The concept of worlds in between realms was aforementioned in a footnote. These worlds do not show extreme properties of neither philosophical term, Light or Darkness. These worlds occasionally receive matter which drifts within the Dark Corridors; entries into the Corridors tend to appear randomly and erratically allowing for matter to stumble inward and out of the darkness.

[bizness86]

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Chapter 11, The Merriment of Reunions



Laughter and Merriment, KH2

“Bu-sy day, huh Bantuk!” The cashier sighed, allowing herself to fall flat on the counter. Another drove of customers had made their to-and-fro of the goods shop. The spurt has ended for now! Yet, the hard working employees of the Goods and Items Shop remain vigilante…

Inside, the crew simmered in the aftermath of the clearance sale storm, knowing that this was only a brief silence in the torrent of storms to come. There were approximately four more hours until closing. All hell would break lose at least four more times, as the traffic of customers seemed to flood the store on the hour.

The ceiling fan’s slothful rotations did very little to cool the lukewarm shelter; the heat of many embarking and departing bodies, and the constant slamming of the entry made it all the more difficult to keep a comfortable interior. As of now, however, the goods shop crew were left in solace to refresh their employee prowess, save a few loitering gossipers. The two heaving cashiers lingered compellingly about their registers as a third member of staff nestled himself in the corner of the wall and the cabinet, enjoyably counting the remaining z’s until he reached his slumber of destination.

“Hmmmm…maybe we shouldn’t have let that Sebrea girl go after all. She’s definitely a lot more useful than ol’ lazy bones in the back,” the female cashier remarked with a slight exhausted grin. She was dressed in lady’s attire: full blue cotton dress and blouse, and a white apron and bonnet. She bore tiny blonde pigtails, and a fair face with modest blue eyes; a “fine lassie” as her co-cashier often called her.

“Nonsense Rose! She be doing her fair share o’ work like tha res’ of us…she deserves her time off. An’ ain’t nothin’ ‘er nobody here’s gonna take it from ‘er! I assure it.” The stout and gruff assistance management, Bantuk barked aggressively.

“Oops…” The cashier Rose mockingly corrected, “Sorry o’ Assistant Manager sir...‘ain’t nothin’ ‘er nobody gon take it’ sir…”

The young lady proceeded to mock only because she knew that she was one of few who could get away with pestering the brash Bantuk. Despite the standard sternness and severity teeming from his throat, Bantuk could never quite intimidate her enough to cease her endless book of ‘tender loving’ jeers which was written especially for the simple artisan; the crew has long since grown accustom to his jackknife, jagged-edge personality.

The veteran goods crew, Bantuk, Scotty, and Rose, had been acquainted with each other for quite sometime, prior to their previous two years of honest labor. Formerly, Scrooge allowed his youngster great-nephews to maintain the shabby shack until they produced enough profit to purchase their own Gummi Ship. Scrooge’s nephews embarked on their own journey, and Bantuk, an adequate smith and boastful native of the stagnant town was asked by Scrooge to assume the shop’s business permanently. Toiling together under Scrooge’s management has long felt natural since Bantuk hired Scotty, his sister-in-law’s son, and Rose, a then-boisterous adolescent whom he had known some months prior, as his passable help.

As all families endured, the three have definitely suffered their fair share of agreements and differences, but as of recent, they have all managed to agree on one obvious truth: the Inter-Worldly Travel system was more trouble that it was worth. Grand Ambassador McDuck’s usual rounds often ended in disaster; most of Scrooge’s visits resulted in complaints from employees and supervisors alike concerning rude tourists, and shifty salesmen who scared away loyal customers. These complaints resulted in most of the vendors and salesmen advertising from beyond town premises. Either way, the businesses managed to adjust well enough to the superfluity and volatility of the Inter-Worldly Travel System.

The mood of the store sank for the umpteenth time as the door was once again flung agape. The mood boiled when the embarking figure revealed himself.

“Ge’ out! Or I’ll break yer face!!” The ferocity in Bantuk’s voice was unprecedented. The now-sleeping Scotty released a snore of disapproval.

Rose exuded an unsettling sigh, “…please leave O’aka or I’ll have to call the authorities again.”

O’aka sighed distastefully as he stood in the doorway of the humble market. He looked behind him, sight fixated on an accompanying figure, and referenced frankly, “See, I told ye this was a bad idea…”

The figure’s voice echoed from outside, “Pssh, please…these guys are pushovers; a couple of pink pansies! Lemme handle them…”

Rose’s face flushed with recognition of the voice. Bantuk expelled the lightest of girth-birthed chuckles as the young man entered the goods shop.

“J…snnn….Black,” the young sleeper grumbled from behind the counter. Indeed, his snide remarks and ivory-cloaked features were most distinguishable.

“I hope yer not ‘ere fer trouble again!” The rugged shopkeeper addressed with a welcoming expression and a tinge of gruffness.

“Ah, my fans…” Java entered the building with O’aka straggling behind. He continued towards the register which Rose engaged, “I have returned from the land of milk and honey!! I bear gifts of gold and coff--” he reached the counter and received an immediate smack from the lady’s tempered hand across his pasty cheek. His cheek flushed with a vibrant red, although he cautiously rubbed it with a tiny smirk as if he were expecting, or should have expected, the hostility.

The cashier addressed Java with scorn, “J. Black, you bastard!! You just up and left without telling a soul! You pig! It’s been over two years you jerk!! AND you never wrote nor did you visited…” She expectantly awaited his response.

Java’s disposition slumped slightly with tinges of abashment. He removed his hood and revealed his apologetic expression which clashed with his normally restless facial features. He released a bashful chuckle as he replied, “geez Rose, I didn’t know you cared that much…sorry,” his chuckle turned into a full-fledged grin.

Rose’s upset appearance morphed into features of equal abashment. She replied whilst rolling her eyes, “Well…welcome back…*sshole. F-Y-I, Mercuito had told me about you leaving…two days after you actually left. Just like old times eh…the jerk and the natural dimwit. You two are easily forgiven as usual…you two can’t help it. We all have are faults. And you two were so the perfect couple.” Rose’s composure relaxed tremendously, allowing herself to lean on the counter, “Don’t worry, I gave Mercuito the same hell earlier, but at least he calls every so often. He asked about you, you know…”

“I actually caught him before he left. We caught up some. The usual banter…but I still kinda miss you, him, Wervin though.”

“Then maybe you should come by more often. You know Wervin drops by on occasion. He looks real manly, unlike the two of you.”

“Oh Rose…how I missed your award-winning charm…” Java released a sleepy smile and persisted, “hey how ‘bout you come with…I mean, I’m pretty sure you’ve been dying to get out of Traverse Town and see what little is out there…” Java noted the distress on Rose’s faces and paused slightly. He gave one last attempt to redeem his last comments, “—or I guess you could take…the Charter…” soon, only the heavy heaves and sighs of Scotty’s slumber pierced the thick air of the shop. Rose’s distress shrouded the vacant room.

In fact, Java has witnessed Rose’s distress on more than one occasion, and relating this time to previous ones, he quickly realized the fault in his comments. Java recalled his time with Mercuito, and his uncle Wervin whilst making Traverse Town home, and Java was wholly aware that Traverse Town and home were two different concepts. He believed this to be the same for those who took him in for two years, Wervin and Mercuito; he believed this to be the same for Rose as well. Like Java, and Mercuito, Rose was a refugee [1]. The three would always have that in common.

Rose arrived in Traverse Town two years and some month ago, after her home world was seized by the heart-snatching creatures, which many refugees referred to them as. As all lost-world refugees, she awoke to the Traverse Town’s humdrum. Java and Mercuito were among the first to greet her. When Rose became forlornly familiar with the reality of the Darkness and losing home, Java and Mercuito vowed to help her feel at home in Traverse Town, a feat which they were still coping with at the time. Thus immediately, the three became a solid trio.

It was a night some months after Rose arrived that Java left Traverse Town. Wervin, Mercuito, and Java had witnessed a strange ship breach the sky from space and disembark. The group approached and became acquainted with a young pilot, and his peculiar green and yellow ship. The pilot referred to the craft as a Gummi Ship, and carried fossil fuels and other material to other worlds. He asked if there was a place where he could rest before hauling through the “Heartless-infested galaxy” to deliver a material called “Gummi Block” to a desert land.

Java, still dejected from losing his home, and not satisfied with his niche of town amid the disappearance of nearby stars, decided to leave with the pilot’s Invincible, seeking to feel less helpless. Wervin set up his departure while Mercuito said his goodbyes. Java left before the next day. Mercuito told Rose about the night’s incident only after he was sure that he and his uncle thoroughly discussed the matter. Mercuito emphasized that he and his family traveled his world to perform services of healing, and added that after meeting the pilot and letting Java go, he and his uncle were inspired to customize a Gummi Ship of their own in order to venture out to new worlds and gain patronage by selling recovery items and performing healing magic. Some weeks later, Wervin and Mercuito asked Rose to leave with them, but she hesitantly declined. Perhaps Rose was not willing to abandon a place which she had forcibly learned to call home, and adjusting to her losses would be all the more difficult with Java and Mercuito absent.

“Lassie…” Bantuk intervened, protruding the dense silence, and reluctantly supported Java’s hasty proposal, “Aye! I vote for it. ‘Twould be a good chance ta go see somethin’ aside from this ol’ sleeping town. ”

Rose followed up before the slight pause became an uncomfortable silence, “No—I’m fine. You can’t run this madhouse by yourself.”

“By me self! Bah, Scotty’s…” Scotty gave a slight cough before re-syncing with slumber.

“Well…lassie--” Bantuk shrugged and looked wearily towards the distraught Java.

Rose firmly concluded, “I think I prefer staying close to the people who chose to care about me.” She spoke her mind, but her words did not ease the still-rising tension. Rose forcefully continued, digressing from her anxiety with a scold, “...so—” Rose cleared her throat, “I imagine you have stories for me. You care to tell me every single detai…” She paused to O’aka inching beside Java, “wait…why are you still…Java, he’s not with you for some reason, is he?”

Java diverted his attention, and shot a glance to the squirmy O’aka through his peripheral sight. Java replied regrettably, “Alas, he is my stray pup…and…he sold me something…”

Rose shot her conspicuous glance at O’aka, then doubled back to Java, “Um…in case you don’t read flyers, this man is posted on every bulletin board; he’s labeled as a nuisance—it fits him. He’s been here numerous times, scaring off our costumers—so—if he doesn’t have any business with you, or us, I’d prefer that he leaves the premises.”

“I’d prefer snappin’ ‘im in two…” Bantuk seconded.

O’aka responded with a chagrined grin, and jeered from the corner of his lips, “Quite the feisty lass, isn’t she…”

Java corrected, “Everything’s cool. He’s with me,” Rose gazed at the meager merchant with a slight disbelief; Java further clarified, “don’t ask me why, okay? I know how painfully annoying he can be…it’s a mercy deal, isn’t that right O’wocker?! Ironically, I just figured that someone here would know anyone who could look at these for me—you know, to see if they are any good.”

Java yanked the Gummi Ship blueprint from the merchant’s sack, and unraveled the print on the counter. The two cashiers examined the prints. Bantuk commented, “Hmmm…this be pretty detail work…” these words relieved Java somewhat; this was a compliment coming from Bantuk, who is a fair smith in his own right, and was more likely to be familiar with such things as Gummi Ship mechanics, as Java presumed. Bantuk continued, “The Gran’ Ambassador came in t’day. He may know sum’one suited in the craft…”

Java recalled with slight pause, “Ah, yeah, that guy. I’ve read his One Sky speech in the Kupo. Pretty good fiction…his name slips my mind, however…”

“Scrooge—” Rose elucidated, “Scrooge McDuck—Java, you didn’t draw these did you?”

O’aka’s eyes bulged in complete content, “Scrooge McDuck?! Oh baby!!” The entire crew was taken aback by O’aka’s eruption.

Gaining composure, Java replied to Rose, “No—actually, O’aka claims the work; he’s allegedly worth something; and since I can’t imagine him to be a successful thief, or a successful anything…I figure that he actually is the artist. I figure that if I can find someone who fancies O’aka’s doodles; then perhaps O’aka will have an excuse to apply himself, th...”

Rose completed his sentence with enlightenment, “thus, O’aka XXIII will be out of everyone’s hair. And that everyone is the trademark Zombie Fiend Genius.”

“Well, y’know how I enjoy killing two birds with my proverbial stone…”

“Well, if you’re going to catch Scrooge and company,” Rose addressed Java, “you’d better hurry. They left for that meeting around twenty minutes ago.”

Java nodded agreeably, “Ok…will do—and by the way, where would one find such a company; the hotel perhaps?”

“Oh, nah. It’s in the rented house just upstairs and to the right. The puke-green and chunk-yellow one that’s about to fall over.”

“Right. Are you sure they won’t be too busy to--” the goods shop door slammed as O’aka marched out without a second thought.

Rose hissed, “There he goes…ready to f*ck up again…please keep the hand of God on that one for me, pastor’s son.”

Java elucidated, “Amen…but I’ll let it be known that I may not be able to stop that hand from gracing his face.” Java bid to Rose, “Thanks for everything Rose,” and to Bantuk, and simply nodded in the direction of the sleeping Scotty. Scotty relayed a sigh of approval whilst mumbling ‘get some sleep’. Java continued, “I have to go catch a fool now;”

Rose halted, “Wait Java, do you have a cell phone or anything?”

“Well…long story short, it’s broken, but I was kinda thinking that I could find some info about a Cellular Gummi for my ship.”

“Wow…talking on the phone while driving…you’re asking for an accident to happen.” She shrugged and retrieved two cards from her pocket. She passed them to Java, “This is me, and this is Mercuito’s—I had to wheedle this one out of him.”

“Ah nice! These will be on ‘speed dial’ no doubt.”

She chastised, “Hurry and get that Gummi J, then you’ll have no excuse not to call every once and a while.”

Bantuk exhausted a settling sigh, “Off wit’ ya, boy!”

Java nodded towards him, and then addressed Rose, “Does Traverse Town feel like home to you?”

Rose’s expression grew silent, but then flourished into a confident simper, “Someone’s gotta hold down this fort while you two boys play hero…I’m fine Java Black. Bantuk, Scotty, and I…you and Mercuito did keep your vows.”

Java responded with a light smile, “I’ll come and say bye before I leave this time—I promise you.”

“We believe you.”

Java rushed after the trail of the steadfast O’aka.

[1] This alludes to the term ‘refugee’ as a person who has lost their world to the Heartless, and has escaped the Corridors of Darkness.