(Short drabblefic written for CapriciousXXIISerenader and originally posted on DeviantArt for Organization-Rings. Please give me feedback; it's appreciated~
Pixeseth belongs to CapriciousXXIISerenader. Demyx belongs to Square Enix and Disney.)
Pixeseth's braid fell lightly in a coil on her lap as she sat on the terra-cotta roof of an abandoned temple in the Land of Dragons. The area was in the middle of a thick forest, and much of the small shrine was overgrown with moss and surrounded by weeds, wildflowers, and pockets of bamboo shoots. The Serenader sighed contently and drummed her fingers against the roof, the tile clinking beneath her leather gloves. She enjoyed locations such as this, locations that displayed nature in its finest form and in the midst of conquering the advancements of mankind.
She sat for a moment longer before an idea crossed her mind. She quickly surveyed the area to be sure she was alone. Then, softly laughing and grinning to herself mischievously, Pixeseth summoned her flute and lifted it to her lips. The pitches warbled over the air as Twenty-Two played her melody, its owner completely secluded and relaxed—or at least as much as a person without a heart could be.
After a time, a strange note rang out unexpectedly, its dissonance grating upon Pixeseth's ears and making her visibly cringe.
"You're a little sharp, I think," quipped a voice from behind the girl, "'Cause I know I'm not flat; I tuned this morning."
Her head whipped around to find the intruder, only to see a familiar head of dirty blond, mulleted hair and a massive, blue sitar. "Gah! Hey, Dem," she explained with a small, nervous laugh, "It's just you…you have no idea how close I was to falling off this roof." She leaned back and kicked her legs back and forth while the colorful, wooden flute was held firmly in her lap.
Demyx walked over and lightly sat beside his apprentice. "I feel like I should be saying something about keeping your guard up," he said, "Y'know responsibility and all that? But that's boring and I don't want to say it. So," The blond flopped onto his back and gazed up at the sky, "You picked a nice spot here. I'm totally coming here the next time I need to chill!"
"Yeah, I really don't like the castle," Pixeseth admitted, her voice tinted with something akin to guilt. She looked down at her mentor, who was still looking up with clear, turquoise eyes. "It's kinda weird, I know, but I hate cities and no grass…it's just—eh—I feel trapped by it."
"I don't know anyone who wouldn't." Slowly, lazily, the Nocturne hoisted his sitar into his arms and began to pluck at it. He hummed idly, the effects of the scenery working upon him. Pixeseth resumed playing, and their harmony carried.
As the music rose uninterrupted, the rain fell. And as the rain fell, light and comforting, a rare tranquility settled between them—there were no walls, no deceptions, no crap about hearts—just water, wilderness, and music.