#zipper asked me to draw shadow and I am so thankful because if nobody asks me to draw other characters

[turbonicflaws]

I watched the Mario movie

[complicatedandstained]

358 Nights: Poker Night Part 2

It’s not that Luxord’s entirely opposed to the idea of sitting around and watching Demyx and Xigbar trade saliva. There is something intriguing about the single-minded intensity with which they go about it. 

The way Demyx’s hands trace the well-defined muscles beneath Xigbar’s coat, and Xigbar’s fingers curl into Demyx’s carefully crafted hair, their nails digging in, careless of whether they meet skin or leather, yanking each other closer until one coat is indistinguishable from the other and the heat radiating off of them is so thick he can almost smell the sweat… 

He’d be all for it really. It’s just that it’s encroaching on his poker night. 

So Luxord shuffles once more and then flips a card across the table like a boomerang. It nicks them both in the neck before curving back and settling neatly between Luxord’s outstretched fingertips once more. 

The two tear apart immediately, hands flying to their fresh, minuscule paper cuts, coming away tipped in red. 

“Hey!” Demyx gripes, quickly overshadowed by Xigbar’s thunderous, “What the fuck?”

“Oh, wherever are my manners?” Luxord deadpans, arching a neat golden brow. “Did I interrupt?” 

Xigbar strategically shifts Demyx to one side of his lap so he can set an arm on the table and glare across it. “You got something to say, Lux?”

Luxord sets the card down. “Round one. Just trying to determine whether you two are in or out.”

“Feels like maybe we should be asking you that,” Xigbar jeers, fingertips toying with Demyx’s coat zipper as if in invitation, though Demyx noticeably balks at the notion. “I mean, c’mon. We really going to play poker with three people? There are better ways to kill time.”

“Yeah, where is everybody?” Demyx glances around, meaning to search for other familiar faces, but becoming distracted by his guitar, abandoned on the tabletop. He slides into the chair beside Xigbar’s and, slipping the strap around his neck, begins to fiddle with it. “Larxene’s usually here beating all our asses by now.”

Luxord and Xigbar exchange confused glances. 

Demyx winces, stretches an arm behind his head. “What?” 

“Uh,” Xigbar’s glove wraps the back of Demyx’s neck, “Larxene’s dead, honey bun. ‘C.O. got K.O.’d,’ remember?” 

“Oh.” Demyx looks puzzled for a moment and then hearing his own words echoed back to him kicks his brain into gear. “Oh, yeah! Duh. Totally forgot about that whole Castle Oblivion clusterfuck.” His attention returns to his guitar, he smirks. “Good riddance.”

Luxord frowns his disapproval, and Xigbar lets out a bark of laughter, squeezing the back of Demyx’s neck and then letting go as a shadow falls across the table. 

“Good riddance to what?” Gibbs inquires with a good-natured smile, nestling a basket of smoking, warm beer bread in the center of their table beside a bundle of exhausted napkins and nicked cutlery. 

Xigbar’s smile is sharper than the bread knife Gibbs stabs into the fresh loaf. “Larxene.”

“Your crew’s little she-devil?” Gibbs smiles a different kind of smile. “Take off with a man, did she?”

Xigbar pulls the bread basket his way. “In a manner of speaking.” 

“Davy Jones,” Luxord replies, more familiar with the local lingo than the other two. 

Gibbs staggers slightly, catching himself on the back of a chair. “Good heavens, no! She’s dead?” 

“Yeah.” Demyx fidgets with one of his guitar’s tuning keys and plucks out a discordant note. “Apparently, like, super dead.” 

Gibbs’ hand settles over his heart, sobering gaze passing between the other two, “’Tis no easy feat to lose a crew member. I am sorry to hear it.” 

“Thank you,” Luxord replies tonelessly, sliding a bread plate out from the stack. Xigbar merely nods, proceeding to slice up the loaf. 

“You’d be the only one,” Demyx mutters, and Xigbar should choke down his snort for Gibbs’ sake, but he doesn’t. 

The silence is distinctly uncomfortable. For Gibbs. Fortunately, working in a bar, he’s accustomed to making hasty retreats from awkward scenarios, and he promptly nods toward their unusually small table.

“Well, you’ll be needin’ a few more chairs, I reckon?”

“Er… no.” Shifting his deck of cards out of the way, Luxord accepts the delicious smelling plate of bread Xigbar passes him. “I’d wager we’ll all fit here for the night.”

“Surely not?” Gibbs bites his lip, trying to remember a night their crowd was any fewer than seven strong. “Those two big, burly fellows never miss a game, do they?” 

Lexaeus, Xaldin.  

Luxord dismisses the notion with a swish of his butter knife. “They won’t be joining us.”

Through his evening buzz, Gibbs gradually recalls the other faces that typically crowd his tables each month. Not difficult to recollect, really, considering their mystically dyed hair, strange manners, deep pockets... “And what of your doctor? And your priest? And your botanist?”

Vexen, Zexion, Marluxia.

Xigbar glances up, really tries to muffle the smile. “Also not coming.”

“They’re not…also…” Gibbs cringes as the men in dark coats continue to cut and butter the beer bread instead of reacting. “...Are they?”

Xigbar offers a theatrical little sigh. “’Fraid so.”

“Damn,” crumbs spill down Demyx’s chin, and Xigbar can’t resist the urge to come at him with a napkin, garbling the rest of his words, “zounds baff when you put it all togeffer like bat.”

Weighed down by the news, Gibbs slides into the seat at Luxord’s side. Luxord pats him on the back because, if he’s recalling correctly, that’s the thing to do, and he figures at least one of them ought to be trying to keep up regular human appearances. 

“There, there, old man. It’s all as the fates designed.” Luxord slides his tankard Gibbs’ way. “Have yourself a drink.” 

Gibbs obediently takes a hefty swig. Being a sailor, he isn’t a stranger to loss, but this particular crew had been at the height of their youth and tough as you please… 

Gibbs taken care of, Luxord nods to Xigbar and Demyx. “Now then, anyone know any three-person card games?”

Gibbs about spits out the swallow he’s just taken. 

Xigbar groans, burying his face in Demyx’s shoulder as Luxord ponders their options. 

Demyx glances between the two expectantly, and when nothing is proposed, shrugs. “I mean, there’s always Go Fish, man.” 

“What the hell is Go Fish? ” Xigbar asks, words hot against Demyx’s neck, though he doesn’t seem particularly invested in the answer, his teeth nudging into sensitive skin, causing Demyx to squeak and swat at the gunman’s broad chest to no avail.

 “Hm.” Luxord slides the deck Demyx’s direction. “I’m not familiar with it, but it sounds thematically appropriate to me.”

“What, seriously?” Demyx’s jaw drops open a little, as he picks up the cards. He squeaks again before elbowing Xigbar’s ribs. “None of you have heard of Go Fish?”  

Gibbs’ mug settles harshly against the table as he rises abruptly to his feet. “You three are mighty cool for a group who’s lost half their crew.” 

“Almost half,” Xigbar corrects, shifting his cheek onto Demyx’s shoulder to stare down his companions.

Luxord exhales through his nose, splays his hand on the table. “Xigbar.”

“Well, technically speaking, only almost half.” Xigbar shuts his eye to better ignore the reprimand. “And not even, like, the interesting half.”

“What the devil is wrong with you lot?” Gibbs seethes, bushy eyebrows furrowing, lifting up a napkin to wring between his palms.

Luxord exhales again, hands raising, “You’ll forgive us, Mr. Gibbs, we had a—What do you call it around these parts?—a mutiny on our hands. We’ve undergone losses on both sides.”

“And been working double time to make up for it,” Xigbar grunts, straightening to draw his beer closer. “At this point, we’d prefer to drink, fuck, and forget.” 

Demyx groans but whether from the reminder of their hefty workload or the sudden lack of warmth is unclear. 

“No.” The napkin flutters back to the tabletop. They watch Gibbs work this over, stern expression going slack as he looks at what’s left of the lively crew in a new light—their shoulders slumped, their faces haggard, their appetites like men half-starved. 

“No, but...” Gibbs slumps back down into his chair. “But yous were all so close!” 

All three Nobodies laugh. This time they can’t help it.  

“Yep.” Xigbar doesn’t open his eye. “Hung the traitors out to dry ourselves. Or, well,” he smirks, “Axel did, anyway.”

Gibbs sets his head in his hand and then abruptly glances up, misunderstanding. “Don’t you be telling me Red Jack’s dead too?”

Gibbs had grown particularly fond of Axel, whose swagger and wild hair reminded him of a local legend he had once been well-acquainted with, an infamous Captain Jack Something or Other. And, Axel, for his part, seemed to almost enjoy regaling Gibbs with colorful, elaborate tales of Captain Xemnas and his mighty, fearsome crew off on adventures to battle against monsters who swallow hearts whole. 

Axel seemed to weave half-spun truths with blatant lies as easily as breathing. He’d lost several Organization members’ trust mid-tale but completely captivated Gibbs’.

“And…” Gibbs glances up at the silence. He takes Luxord’s hesitant, utterly blank expression as confirmation of the worst and buries his eyes in his palm again, “your cabin boy? Oy, gods, please don’t tell me anything befell the sweet, young angel…” 

Luxord pats Gibbs’ shoulder some more. “Rest assured, Mr. Gibbs, both are quite well.”

“Yeah, Axel’s no turncoat.” Bread polished off, Xigbar’s set to lighting up a cigarette to stem his urge to drink more, but he pauses mid-light to smirk. “He and his first mate are quite close.” 

Luxord chuckles. First mate. “Nice pun.” 

The end of the cigarette blazes, bobs around a muffled, “Fank you.” 

“Huh?” Demyx head tilts, but Xigbar hastily shuts up the inquiry, placing his own cigarette between Demyx’s lips and lighting up another. 

Gibbs does not look entirely reassured, so Luxord nods toward the entrance, crowded with sailors embracing or fighting or maybe just staggering drunk. 

“They ought to be arriving any moment now, provided that Roxas hasn’t completely forgotten, and Axel’s not already in bed.” Luxord strokes his goatee thoughtfully. “Ordinarily, I’d send for them, but they have had quite a long week. Perhaps they need their rest.”

Either this set him at ease or the alcohol is kicking in, because Gibbs’ teeth show crooked through his wry grin. “Can’t imagine the pair of them’ll be getting too much rest though, mm?”

Xigbar chuckles and then coughs as he inhales a mouthful of tobacco smoke. Luxord’s brows arch gracefully and Demyx gets a tight crinkle between his.

Gibbs’ smile slips. “Y’know, alone? ...Together?”

The responses do not change, though Xigbar manages to get his breathing under control.

Gibbs coughs a bit. “... In bed. ”

Demyx’s cigarette drops to the table as he bursts into laughter. “Axel and Roxas? No fucking way.” 

Xigbar’s not laughing anymore as he retrieves the thing and replaces it. His fingertips linger too long on Demyx’s lips, as he catches Gibbs’ eye. The corner of his lip quirks up and he nods as if in approval. “You see it too, eh?”

Luxord sets down his drink with a harsh objecting sound. “What utter nonsense...”

Gibbs nods sagely, eyeing the crowded tables, sailors of all flags gathering under his roof day in and day out. “Working here, life I’ve led, I’ve seen just about everything.”

Luxord leans back in his seat, posture impeccable as ever and smiles, resting his wrists on the tabletop. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

Gibbs sighs. Much as he despises arrogance, he can’t expect these men to believe a humble pub keeper’s seen cursed Aztec gold and skeleton crews. He opts to move on. “I’m just grateful nothing’s befallen the dear young lads.” 

Grinning through another puff of smoke, Xigbar taps the rim of Gibbs’ drink, a silent entreaty for him to take it up again and stop killing the mood. “Like you said, the only thing to befall Axel’s cabin boy is Axel.”     

“Don’t be so harsh, Sniper.” Gibbs draws the tankard nearer, cocks his head obligingly. “I do believe Roxas is quite content with that particular position.” 

“If not, I’m sure Axel can think of a few more,” Xigbar retorts and they both laugh outright. 

Luxord tsks, head shaking. “Axel’d boil you alive for suggesting such a thing.”

“Only ‘cause it’s true.” Xigbar winks, turning to wrap an arm around Demyx’s shoulders and see how he’s taking the news. 

Demyx doesn’t pull away, wrapping a hand over Xigbar’s to keep him in place, but he does lean back, skepticism tugging his face at strange angles. “Don’t be ridiculous, Xiggy. Axel’s always complaining about getting stuck on missions with zombie kid.”

Xigbar’s smile turns indulgent. “And I used to complain about training you. Had to teach you everything under the sun and keep you out of the firing range of the others. Was fucking exhausting, mind you, because, first off, you were so damn lazy and, second, you were so damn distracting… ”

His arm flexes, drawing Demyx closer, and receives a sheepish smile and shrug in return. “Well, the distracting part was to make you less of a hardass so I could get back to the lazy part.” His lips draw closer to Xigbar’s ear, tone quieter, “And I’m pretty sure I did awesome.”

“Tch.” Xigbar pats Demyx’s leg with his free hand. “Small price to pay.”

Luxord leans wearily on one fist, propped against the table, but his tone remains proper and confident as ever, “So what I believe you’re saying is you might be projecting.”

Xigbar barely glances at him, grin turning somehow smugger, as Demyx leans back and stretches a leg across his lap. “What I’m saying is I know what I’m talking about.”

“What about Xion?” Luxord proposes. “She seems quite taken with our Roxas.” 

Gibbs’ mouth opens in silent inquiry, further proof that he’s learned entirely too much, milling about the table of this fascinatingly strange set of foreigners while his bartender and waitstaff run his business for him. 

“Xion’s our—er—other cabin boy,” Luxord adds.

Xigbar’s gold eye rolls and his chuckle is cold. “If by ‘taken,’ you mean they’ve said more than three words to each other, then sure. Poppet’s probably hearing wedding bells.” 

As he speaks, Xigbar slides back the coat caught on Demyx’s leg and begins to lazily massage his calf through cool, form-fitting black trousers. 

Demyx’s eyes slip half shut and he looks about ready to start purring. Xigbar removes his other arm from the back of Demyx’s chair to draw a circle in the air with his cigarette. “Meanwhile, her groom-to-be spends every spare second following around a certain tall, flirtatious red-head…” 

“Speak of the red devil,” Gibbs mumbles in near a hush, as if he fears he may actually have summoned them.  

Gibbs nods toward pub’s crowded entrance. The door has just slammed open, banging into the wall, and in darts a scarecrow of a man in a glossy black coat and ostentatious, gold trimmed, captain’s hat that doesn’t quite smother a mane of pure Scottish red hair. The man looks around, nods, adjusting his coat, and glances over his shoulder. The door swings again, crying out on its hinges, and in sprints a short, slim black coat topped by a fine brown tricorn hat. He stands for a second, hands above his knees, catching his breath as the one in the captain’s hat squeezes his shoulder and whispers something that makes the smaller one glance up abruptly, grin, and swat the hand off.    

“They together?” Xigbar asks, leaning to see past other tables until he spots the pair. “Well, well, well. You’re a gambling man, Lucky. Tell me, what are the odds?” 

Luxord watches his coworkers’ entrance with a critical eye, but sees nothing unusual in the nuances of their brief, harried conversation.  “Still slim to nothing, Xiggy. ”  

“Well, reckon, I ought to…” Gibbs starts, rising to go fetch them, only to find both of his arms held fast by Luxord and Xigbar, both of whom are looking not at him, but each other. 

“I bet you five hundred munny their lips will meet by the end of the night.”

“Is that a genuine wager?”

“Gibbs can set the terms.”  

“I’m listening.” 

They release Gibbs’ arms and he crosses them in thought. He’s presided over many a gamble and this one seems straightforward enough and relatively harmless to boot. He could set ground rules, but he can’t imagine these fellows will play by them, so best not to bother. 

Gibbs nods. “Five hundred... munny, was it?” The currency sounds almost made up, but the men nod. “And a free bar tab next time ‘round,” Gibbs adds to sweeten the pot and make the competition all the more entertaining. “If Red Jack and his bonny lad kiss by the end of the night, Sniper wins. If not, the Gambler and the Bard triumph.” He waggles his finger in the air seriously, “There’ll be no telling Red Jack and the cabin boy about the bet, otherwise anything goes.”

Xigbar reaches out a gloved palm and Luxord gives it a neat shake, before patting the thigh splayed across his. “Demyx? You in?”

“… you’re worse than that sea witch in Atlantica.” 

“Damn straight I am.”  

Demyx’s suddenly weary eyes examine the determined set of Xigbar’s jaw, the laughter lines born of a zillion cruel jokes crinkling at the edge of his eye. 

Demyx sighs heavily. “Ugh, fine.” He scoops up the deck of cards Luxord had passed him some time ago, and passes them back with his left hand while clasping Xigbar’s with his right. “But next time we are either playing strip poker or Go Fish.”