Zexion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
throwingthebook) wrote2015-09-01 09:29 am
throwingthebook) wrote2015-09-01 09:29 am
Me and Myself (illicitresearch)
Ienzo still didn't know much about the consequences of being recombined as a whole person. Aeleus seemed to be adapting to having a heart again well, if he was ever very much different as Lexaeus. Dilan had horrible nightmares for the first few weeks. Even was quiet, more reserved than how Ienzo remembered him. Not to mention nervous around Axel. Though that was to be expected, considering what happened...
As for Ienzo himself? He didn't know. He felt all right, for the most part. There were things he didn't want to dwell on...couldn't bring himself to think about for very long, if at all. He'd spent half his life in the Organization, led to believe that he was nobody. He'd spent so much time studying the mind that he knew something must be wrong with him. Ten years... That was a long time for anyone. But he was the youngest.
So when strange things begin happening, at first he considers it a side effect. Like Dilan's nightmares. Even's withdrawn behavior. A book out of place. Waking up to the computer on, when he was absolutely certain he'd turned it off. Then it became worse. He would wake up in the middle of the night in the rooftop pavilion, or the gardens, or standing in the middle of the library with no memory of actually going there. It happened during the day, once. That frightened him. One minute he was walking to the kitchen for something to eat, the next he was in the library, at a table, with a half-eaten watercress sandwich nearby and a book in his hand.
But speaking to Aeleus got him thinking. "Are you all right? The other night in the hall... You were speaking like him. Zexion. Are you sure we shouldn't contact Yen Sid?"
He didn't need Yen Sid to tell him what he already suspected. Ienzo made the preparations. A lucid dream was difficult to trigger. The realm of dreams was too unknowable, too risky to go in unprepared in anything other than normal sleep. But he learned more of spells and magic than he ever would had he never become a Nobody. A sachet of herbs under his pillow, a sheet of paper with the proper sigils under his bed, a few other arrangements. It was a very old method, and more the work of a hedge witch, but perhaps the most tried and true, if the older generations had thought to write it down. And it worked. When he had finally drifted off to sleep, he "woke" to his room again. But the signs were there--a few things out of place, but most importantly, the objects he had placed on and under his bed were no longer there. Now the hunt for whoever had been controlling his body without him knowing it.
...Where better to search for another part of himself than the library?
The logic of dreams dictated that his bedroom now opened directly there. It wasn't so much a library of books, here, but of memories. His earliest shelved in a section seemingly meant for small children, the technical manuals and books on psychology that Even had given him to read (and he'd read them ferociously), the newest section mostly vacant and bare.
It was disturbing to see most of his memories were seated on stark white shelves, bound in black leather.
Ienzo took a deep breath, hand pressed against his jaw, hair covering his eye as he slipped in amongst the black-bound books. "Zexion. I know you're here. We need to talk. ....I know what you've been doing."
As for Ienzo himself? He didn't know. He felt all right, for the most part. There were things he didn't want to dwell on...couldn't bring himself to think about for very long, if at all. He'd spent half his life in the Organization, led to believe that he was nobody. He'd spent so much time studying the mind that he knew something must be wrong with him. Ten years... That was a long time for anyone. But he was the youngest.
So when strange things begin happening, at first he considers it a side effect. Like Dilan's nightmares. Even's withdrawn behavior. A book out of place. Waking up to the computer on, when he was absolutely certain he'd turned it off. Then it became worse. He would wake up in the middle of the night in the rooftop pavilion, or the gardens, or standing in the middle of the library with no memory of actually going there. It happened during the day, once. That frightened him. One minute he was walking to the kitchen for something to eat, the next he was in the library, at a table, with a half-eaten watercress sandwich nearby and a book in his hand.
But speaking to Aeleus got him thinking. "Are you all right? The other night in the hall... You were speaking like him. Zexion. Are you sure we shouldn't contact Yen Sid?"
He didn't need Yen Sid to tell him what he already suspected. Ienzo made the preparations. A lucid dream was difficult to trigger. The realm of dreams was too unknowable, too risky to go in unprepared in anything other than normal sleep. But he learned more of spells and magic than he ever would had he never become a Nobody. A sachet of herbs under his pillow, a sheet of paper with the proper sigils under his bed, a few other arrangements. It was a very old method, and more the work of a hedge witch, but perhaps the most tried and true, if the older generations had thought to write it down. And it worked. When he had finally drifted off to sleep, he "woke" to his room again. But the signs were there--a few things out of place, but most importantly, the objects he had placed on and under his bed were no longer there. Now the hunt for whoever had been controlling his body without him knowing it.
...Where better to search for another part of himself than the library?
The logic of dreams dictated that his bedroom now opened directly there. It wasn't so much a library of books, here, but of memories. His earliest shelved in a section seemingly meant for small children, the technical manuals and books on psychology that Even had given him to read (and he'd read them ferociously), the newest section mostly vacant and bare.
It was disturbing to see most of his memories were seated on stark white shelves, bound in black leather.
Ienzo took a deep breath, hand pressed against his jaw, hair covering his eye as he slipped in amongst the black-bound books. "Zexion. I know you're here. We need to talk. ....I know what you've been doing."
no subject
Or maybe it meant the very most of all.
Perhaps that had been Riku's preservering strength. Or perhaps Riku merely had faith that a true friend would... and where Zexion had none he could depend on for that, he would have no other choice to turn to his own Somebody.
"I am yours." Zexion promised, equally softened, fingers moving to mirror Ienzo's, stroking a slow curl behind his ear, against his hair. He pressed into Ienzo's hand in turn, leaning into the touch as a housecat might. "For as long as you need to call upon me, I am here."