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Description
((Just a little something I drew and wrote up in response to CleverGuise Luxord's awesomesauce vlog. Since I prefer writing and drawing to vloging, I decided to do this. Enjoy! ))

Vexen had to admit, the inside of his ‘captive members’ cell needed a bit of remodeling and a fair bit of tidying. Typically, he used it to discipline foolish neophytes (namely, Demyx) who snuck into his labs to ‘look at the cool stuff’. Regardless, the rust on the metal cell bars and the dust bunnies collecting on the corners of the steely grey floor were telltale signs of, dare he admit it, unsanitary conditions. Vexen shivered in the dark room, and huffed in delayed frustration, his breath rising in a puff and dissolving into oblivion in the already chilled atmosphere. He was trapped in a dirty holding cell in his own labs and he could do nothing to change this fact. The chilly academic frowned deeply, feeling the deep numbness in place of the heart he lacked telling him that he would be feeling something bad right about now. Something rather terrible, actually.

He would be feeling lonely, guilty, upset, any variety of soul-sucking emotions which full humans tended to try to avoid at all costs. It was clear though, right now he owed Luxord an apology, and a very lengthy one at that.

It all started earlier that day, which was the tenth of April. The day was ‘special’ as proclaimed by the both nobodies. Vexen had to admit, there was a certain amount of relief, being able to speak with and relate to a clever wit like the gambler’s. Since both of their numbers aligned on this seemingly fateful day, they had agreed to dinner plans...which translated roughly to drinking plans, but that was a story for a later date.

When they had first begun to relate to one another, it was decided that they would try to develop an entirely other being with their powers combined: his science and and the Brit’s genes. How they had agreed on the experiment are details lost to a rather drunken game of poker, which was filled with rum (for the gambler), fruity girly drinks (which he swore he would never be able to live down if Marluxia ever found out) and half forgotten stories (who knew the Brit could relate so many bawdy drinking songs?) All that Vexen could knew for sure was that he was keen on the idea of making a child, a test-tube baby if you will, and he would not be deterred.

That day though, the tenth of April which was agreed was ‘special’ had the academic perplexed. How did he even define ‘special’, in this case? Why were the two of them even ‘special’, as he would term it? With a sharp intake of frozen air, Vexen realized that if he were to go on, to create life, than he would be a father, along with Luxord in this case.

In his perplexed confusion he donned his finest garments, (not a lab coat, which even was surprised to admit), distraction etched in the blond’s features. He paused, looping pearl-esque button into place, completely ignoring the mechanical pop and hiss of a malfunctioning machine in the background of his labs as he thought of the implications of this inward admission of truth. He would be a father again, just like when he was raising little Ienzo...

There was something refreshing about this statement, something that told him that he would have been happy about this situation, pleased with the future outcome of this would-be experiment. It only took that fateful moment of distraction to turn a catch a rather familiar grin from the corner of his lab. His eyes narrowed as he tried to clarify his vision in yet another bout of confusion.

“Luxord...?” His voice echoed jarringly off of the frozen walls of the lab, cutting through the whirring of the machines around him. Vexen snapped back in alarm; it couldn’t be him, this hidden and shadowed creature was only partially formed.

In an ‘oh shit’ sort of moment where Vexen was fairly sure his stomach would have dropped through the glimmering steel of the floor if he had the emotions to feel such a way, he realized that all of his experiments had stopped their development around him. A mere moment later, he realized that he was no longer moving either. Indeed, time had frozen him in place.

After that, he had been dragged over to his own holding cell and that brought him rather dutifully to his current disposition: sitting incarcerated, dirty (a gag-worthy truth, indeed), and rather trapped by his own escaped shadow creation. Undoubtedly, Luxord would be feeling rather slighted right now if he could; it would seem as though the chilly academic was standing him up, when the truth was a rather frustratingly embarrassing situation instead. He could be sitting over in Luxord’s quarters right now, discussing how charmingly stupid some of the newer members were (namely, Demyx), drinking more girly fruity drinks (if any asks, he had gin and tonic. That’s nice and manly, right?) and generally not being assaulted by little genetic demons.

And the worst of all was this emptiness within which threatened to consume him in the cold darkness which surrounded him. Vexen supposed that if he were Even right now...he would be feeling very alone. But then again, he couldn’t be sure; he wasn’t Even after all.

Description
((Just a little something I drew and wrote up in response to CleverGuise Luxord's awesomesauce vlog. Since I prefer writing and drawing to vloging, I decided to do this. Enjoy! ))

Vexen had to admit, the inside of his ‘captive members’ cell needed a bit of remodeling and a fair bit of tidying. Typically, he used it to discipline foolish neophytes (namely, Demyx) who snuck into his labs to ‘look at the cool stuff’. Regardless, the rust on the metal cell bars and the dust bunnies collecting on the corners of the steely grey floor were telltale signs of, dare he admit it, unsanitary conditions. Vexen shivered in the dark room, and huffed in delayed frustration, his breath rising in a puff and dissolving into oblivion in the already chilled atmosphere. He was trapped in a dirty holding cell in his own labs and he could do nothing to change this fact. The chilly academic frowned deeply, feeling the deep numbness in place of the heart he lacked telling him that he would be feeling something bad right about now. Something rather terrible, actually.

He would be feeling lonely, guilty, upset, any variety of soul-sucking emotions which full humans tended to try to avoid at all costs. It was clear though, right now he owed Luxord an apology, and a very lengthy one at that.

It all started earlier that day, which was the tenth of April. The day was ‘special’ as proclaimed by the both nobodies. Vexen had to admit, there was a certain amount of relief, being able to speak with and relate to a clever wit like the gambler’s. Since both of their numbers aligned on this seemingly fateful day, they had agreed to dinner plans...which translated roughly to drinking plans, but that was a story for a later date.

When they had first begun to relate to one another, it was decided that they would try to develop an entirely other being with their powers combined: his science and and the Brit’s genes. How they had agreed on the experiment are details lost to a rather drunken game of poker, which was filled with rum (for the gambler), fruity girly drinks (which he swore he would never be able to live down if Marluxia ever found out) and half forgotten stories (who knew the Brit could relate so many bawdy drinking songs?) All that Vexen could knew for sure was that he was keen on the idea of making a child, a test-tube baby if you will, and he would not be deterred.

That day though, the tenth of April which was agreed was ‘special’ had the academic perplexed. How did he even define ‘special’, in this case? Why were the two of them even ‘special’, as he would term it? With a sharp intake of frozen air, Vexen realized that if he were to go on, to create life, than he would be a father, along with Luxord in this case.

In his perplexed confusion he donned his finest garments, (not a lab coat, which even was surprised to admit), distraction etched in the blond’s features. He paused, looping pearl-esque button into place, completely ignoring the mechanical pop and hiss of a malfunctioning machine in the background of his labs as he thought of the implications of this inward admission of truth. He would be a father again, just like when he was raising little Ienzo...

There was something refreshing about this statement, something that told him that he would have been happy about this situation, pleased with the future outcome of this would-be experiment. It only took that fateful moment of distraction to turn a catch a rather familiar grin from the corner of his lab. His eyes narrowed as he tried to clarify his vision in yet another bout of confusion.

“Luxord...?” His voice echoed jarringly off of the frozen walls of the lab, cutting through the whirring of the machines around him. Vexen snapped back in alarm; it couldn’t be him, this hidden and shadowed creature was only partially formed.

In an ‘oh shit’ sort of moment where Vexen was fairly sure his stomach would have dropped through the glimmering steel of the floor if he had the emotions to feel such a way, he realized that all of his experiments had stopped their development around him. A mere moment later, he realized that he was no longer moving either. Indeed, time had frozen him in place.

After that, he had been dragged over to his own holding cell and that brought him rather dutifully to his current disposition: sitting incarcerated, dirty (a gag-worthy truth, indeed), and rather trapped by his own escaped shadow creation. Undoubtedly, Luxord would be feeling rather slighted right now if he could; it would seem as though the chilly academic was standing him up, when the truth was a rather frustratingly embarrassing situation instead. He could be sitting over in Luxord’s quarters right now, discussing how charmingly stupid some of the newer members were (namely, Demyx), drinking more girly fruity drinks (if any asks, he had gin and tonic. That’s nice and manly, right?) and generally not being assaulted by little genetic demons.

And the worst of all was this emptiness within which threatened to consume him in the cold darkness which surrounded him. Vexen supposed that if he were Even right now...he would be feeling very alone. But then again, he couldn’t be sure; he wasn’t Even after all.