Ah, food. Demyx could often turn to it, especially after a bad day, and especially after a day in a primitive, dismal world fending for himself. He'd just had both.

The popcorn has no flavor. The Superior doesn't allow fatty foods in the kitchen, for which reason Demyx doesn't know. He picks at it lifelessly.

"…E-excuse me?" So soft a tone. Feminine. He turns around.

There is a girl in a white dress. Blonde hair. He never saw her before. She looks afraid, and cold.

"Hi," he says quietly.

She fidgets nervously. "Do you know… where I can find Marluxia?"



Xaldin is, by far, the best cook in the Organization. Everyone's wondered, many times, if he was some kind of chef as a human. No one ever asks, though, for fear of the Lancer's reaction.

Demyx and Roxas sit in the kitchen after a long mission together, watching him cook wearily. Something involving some kind of spice. Neither of the boys seems very interested at all.

Xaldin scowls at them. "I don't appreciate an audience. Help me, or leave."

"Well, what are you making?" Demyx asks.

"Chocolate chip cookies," he says so seriously that the boys can't help but laugh.



It seems like Demyx has been given the job of watching the girl, the blonde one. They need her, for some reason. He doesn't go there much, but he does bring her food when he does. She looks so thin, so starving.

She sits across from him now, in fact, doodling contentedly.

"Who are you?" He asks, because he doesn't know. She wore no coat. She had no chair in the meeting room. "A Nobody?"

She sets her sketch aside. "I am Naminé," she says. "I am… a witch."

"What is your power?"

"Memory," she whispers, and everything goes black.

Sorry for not posting anything last week- I had writer's block and couldn't really finish these themes. They were actually quite difficult.

I didn't originally intend to involve Naminé, but her. Whichever works.

Feedback is appreciated, but not required.