Hand ruffled through flaxen tresses as she spoke (he’s not quite AWAKE, dear; a fluttering enigma between life & death, dreams and reality, light and dark; TELL HIM————when does one begin and one end?), albeit as it fell back to the table side genteelly, he almost laughed in broken breaths. He leaned forward and swayed back to rest against the seat of the chair, as restless fingers reached for his glasses to push them back atop the bridge of his nose. Silence was comfortable with her, but he has far too many questions bubbling to remain quiet for very long, even with lanquid tone.
“Excellent choice—trust me. … You seem well.”
He proffered a tilt of the head for rebuttals, brows raised just so, “It’s been a while.”
Book was closed gently and set upon the table. Fingers lingered upon the cover for a beat, and then another, and the violent waves crashing along hollow bone quieted, for a time. ( What a shame it is; she would never be able to tell him, for she had naught an idea either. Perhaps there were no beginnings and no endings, and the universe was more of a muddled mess, darling. ) The tilt of his head was mirrored minutely, a vague gesture that could have been conscious, could have been accidental, and her placid expression softened. Gentility melted upon her features and it settled, quiet and not belonging.
“It has been a while.” ( Sorry, she could have said. )
“You seem well, too. I’m glad.”
He WOKE noiselessly yet clumsily with heavy head that swayed to and fro in attempt to shake off forgotten memories’ dreams and return to reality’s daylight; eyelids drooped a few times in drowsy consternation ‘fore the boy forced them open—he’s not alone, he can tell by the digits that moved from the corner of his eye. Deep grunt of acknowledgement gave way to a yawn, with delight pulling his lips upward (How long has it been, he wonders?),
“I hope you’re not here to read that book. It’s pretty boring.”
Gaze did not lift nor waver from the lines upon the page, even as he awoke and yawned, audible noises signifying that he had awoken, as she had been waiting upon him to do. Only when he spoke did her head lift, shoulders rolling as neck ached ( a distant feeling, one which she did not wholly acknowledge ) and attention was given to him, completely, and contentment filled her. How important he was to her, indeed -- unexpected, truly. Never had she imagined such attachment would be formed to another; it wasn’t necessary and would perhaps be more of a hindrance than anything else. But she indulged herself, nonetheless.
“I don’t think it’s so bad. But I’m not here to read it, no.”
Mist was accumulating outside, the darkness of encroaching light throwing an ominous aura over everything in sight. To say that it was not safe was perhaps an understatement. Or maybe it was an overstatement. Arcane girl could not know everything, but darkness pooled in her hollow chest, in her curved palms, and it was WRITHING. Steady gaze was latched into what laid beyond, watching as if it were a train wreck; morbidity demanded attention.
Always the curious fella that he is - seein’ someone focused on something is fascinating - people could get away from the world and get lost in somethin’ totally different than reality. Right now, he’ll see her draw - forming the widest o’s with his mouth and cooing his captivation with oo’s. He’s no artist himself but he’ll send in two cents to what he thinks looks cool [ hopefully not interruptin’ or pryin’ too much ].
“ Wow, you draw pretty good ! “
And he was hovering ( there was no other word for it ) but still she continued onwards, gentle drag of colored pencil across the page. A cityscape was captured, buildings rising tall and stretching wide, colors blending and intermingling as they wont to do. Chest rose and fell, steady pacing before frail hand paused and shoulders turned ever so slightly, neck twisting, gaze tilting backwards and sideways, catching upon the young man. There was something in his captivation which almost AMUSED HER, but only the faintest of smiles crossed her placid expression.
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR REBLOG THIS HEADCANON, THANK YOU.
Something that I’ve noticed through my extensive re-watching of cutscenes and varying analyzations of them is this: Naminé’s personality is extremely inconsistent throughout the games she’s in, post-Chain of Memories wise. Especially in the little things that she does—her expressions, her reactions, and even the things that she says. It’s all inconsistent, across an arguably large timeframe, but not with the same people. Remember that, in the span of the game, she existed for a little over a year, and while she definitely underwent characterization from CoM to the end of II, it’s the stuff in between that gets muddled.
Let’s start during Days. Throughout all of the times we see Naminé with DiZ, no matter how far into the game it is, she has a tendency to be complacent, something of a wilting flower, frightened and unable to look at him when she speaks. At the beginning, this may have been accurate, as it wasn’t truly very long after what happened at Castle Oblivion, and he was something of an intimidating being. However, the later it gets into the game, the less likely this reaction becomes. It’s especially evident during the scene where DiZ says, “Nobodies were never supposed to exist. [ You know this, Naminé, ]” ( brackets because I don’t wholly remember the last part of what he says ) and she whirls towards him, and looks almost exactly like the Naminé we see later, when she’s talking to Xion. Her expression becomes clearer and there is something on her face that isn’t fear nor hesitancy, and she expresses no surprise over his words. But then, after he says that she, especially, knows that Nobodies were never supposed to exist her expression shutters again, and she looks away, as if she had forgotten something, for a moment. ( Keep this scene in mind for later, it’s important. )
Yet when she is seen alone, speaking to Riku, her voice is much clearer, though still feeble, and less submissive ( in the English dub, her voice actress sounds like she has a cold in all of her this scene and I had always wondered why, but— ) and she isn’t nearly as vague with what she says. She explains Xion fully and to the best of her abilities, and only sounds apologetic in reference to not looking after Sora particularly well ( allowing him to blame her, if he wanted ). In this scene, near the end of her explanation, she is quite straightforward with saying that the only way for Sora to wake up, is for both Roxas and Xion to disappear. A frank difference from when DiZ noted that it was time to “take the gloves off,” when she looked at him in shock, as if she hadn’t known to begin with that there was no way for all three of them to exist, at once.
With Xion she never says that she’s sorry. In actuality, she is very level headed with her explanation, and does not hesitate in explaining that there is no way to save a memory of Xion. Her words are very finite, and the only time it sounds like she’s giving a choice is when she says, “What do you want to do?” upon Xion asking what she should do. It’s measured and calculated, though definitely not harsh. This could be seen as softening the large load she’s throwing at the poor girl. This entire scene is very similar to the scene with Riku, both even staring similarly ( “So we meet again,” verses “It’s nice to finally meet you, Xion,” ) and having similar content. The difference is that she sounds more apologetic, weaker ( not as weak as with DiZ, still ), and all together wavering more, with Riku. But with Xion her voice is calmer, and her tone is gentler, and I really don’t think that was too much of an accident.
And in II, with Roxas, her behavior is completely different from what we’ve seen as of yet. A stark contrast to her conversations with DiZ, with Riku, even with Xion. The first time she properly meets Roxas, she smiles, and almost sounds happy, and holds an air of mystery around her. Throughout their meetings, she presents herself as almost a benevolent gatekeeper of information, a person who can tell Roxas everything about himself that he begins to doubt when her presence appears. And she does. She tells him everything that he needs to know, and grows to want to know, explains everything the way she usually does, and does not withhold information when he desires it. And she is completely unapologetic. After she says “You were never supposed to exist,” and follows up with a simple “I’m sorry. I guess some things really are better left unsaid,” she certainly doesn’t sound apologetic, not the way that she did with Riku when she apologized for not looking after Sora, she says it plainly, with no regrets, because she knows that the truth needs to be spoken aloud. There is no extra gentility to her words, because it’s Roxas she’s talking to.
The biggest thing, I think, is when all is said and done, and Sora has woken up again, and she’s standing atop the hill with Riku and Axel. Once again she has become vague with what she wants, and what her endgame is. Neither of them get straight answers from her, and she merely says “There are places I want to go, and someone I want to see,” and never reveals who it is she wants to see ( it’s implied it’s either Roxas or Sora, and I agree with that to an extent. ) And especially when Axel points out that DiZ wanted Riku to kill both of them—Naminé sounds surprised by this idea. As if she didn’t expect DiZ to want to end her existence. As if it was a year ago and she was still a lonely girl trapped in a castle. Please refer to four paragraphs ago, when I noted that Naminé’s expression seems to clear when DiZ points out that Nobodies were never supposed to exist. When he says this she isn’t surprised, she’s just looking at him, with an expression other than fear—almost combative, in some ways. Naminé isn’t stupid. She’s really rather smart. The scene in Days proves that she had always known that DiZ would want her gone, the moment that she finished putting Sora’s memories back together. I highly doubt that he was particularly subtle with this idea, particularly around her, given his deeply condescending and generally rude nature because she’s a Nobody. And because of this, I genuinely believe that the only reason she reacted like that was because of who she was in front of.
Later on, near the end of the game, she comes to Kairi’s rescue—extends a hand to the girl who is, technically her demise and does it with absolution. The only other time during her existence she shows such rebellious behavior is in front of Roxas, keep in mind, and despite never touching anyone else willingly she holds Kairi’s hand. She runs with her, and shows confrontational behavior beside her ( though not before looking at Kairi’s reaction; it’s highly unlikely Naminé would have fought, especially against Saix, if she had been alone ), and this is absolutely nothing like anything else we’ve see her act like. In some ways, she paints herself as a hero, even though she shows that she believes in anything but, particularly when she continued to describe herself as a witch to Roxas.
This ridiculously long analyzation of the scenes which Naminé is in culminates into this: Naminé consciously alters her personality according to whom it is she’s speaking to. With DiZ she’s a wilting flower, with Riku a regretful girl, with Xion a gentle harbinger, with Roxas a benevolent Encyclopedia, with Axel a caged dove ( though at the time this was combined with how she is with Riku ), with Kairi a heroic maiden, more like her. To some degree, she presents herself in the way that they wish to see her ( a mirror for their desires, a blank white canvas to mar with color ) but it’s also due to how much she can divulge, the extent to which she believes she can trust them. The more vulnerable she appears to be, the less people think of her, and the more that they look over her and expect far less from her, as if they would forget how powerful she is. With DiZ and Axel, she trusts them about as far as she can throw them, because DiZ clearly thinks extremely little of her and Axel—well. With Roxas and Kairi, she trusts them far more ( you could argue that she trusts them the most ), because Roxas is someone familiar and Kairi is the girl who she will, essentially, give up her existence for, so she does not paint herself in such a vulnerable light. What’s her true personality then, you may ask? Not quite any of the ones that she expresses in the games. The way I see it, her true personality is something akin to how she is around Roxas: straightforward and honest, determined, and largely unmoved by most things she says, just more solemn than what Roxas gets to see. Not softer, but more quiet, and with far less smiles.
❝ Isn’t it, though? If only you’d had someone to leave with, you’d go. ❞
Both had most certainly longed for a life not their own, but since both of their absolute purposes had either failed to be completed, or had been, they were free to do with the remainder of their existence whatever they chose to do. Since he’d never once had a friend, or even once showed a scrap of kindness, he would confide in her to show him the meaning of these words ( MERCY not being the same as kindness ). They could travel together; look at the world and truly see its wonder, even if they’d fade away some time after. If he could glimpse it with someone else, Vanitas would be happy– would even be ready to disappear. So TIRED of being alone with his own thoughts and the thoughts of someone much happier than himself. Now that that person was asleep, he could finally think without his own feelings being conflicted. Now is a better time than any to live, while life was still fragile and even BEING wavered on a hair-thin borderline.
…so why is it that her questions knock him down from his self-asserted high? Perhaps it’s because she can see through him just as he can see through her; it’s TERRIFYING. For all of her dainty-looking appearance, she’s not nearly as clueless as he’d first thought. Naminé knew exactly why she waited here, and yet, he’d heard the conflict in her voice. If she’d wanted to leave, Vanitas surely wouldn’t have been drawn here to her.
❝ Both. Are you coming with me, or not? ❞
He has no idea where he intends to take her, but anywhere is better than staying in this room. The sheer WHITE of it is too much to stand for too long. If she agrees, will they ever even come back?
Would she go? Question of the hour -- question of eternity. Perhaps she was her own warden, trapped within a SELF GIVEN PRISON, within that painfully white room which she was no longer bound to. Oh, she knew that she could leave at any time; could leave and never look back, go onwards and forth. ( Stupid girl. ) This man was a mystery, abrupt appearance inexplicable, yet she felt no wariness towards him. If he had desired the end of her existence there would on longer be any air to breathe; her story would be over. Yet there she sat, expression never shifting nor changing. An ever constant canvas which had not yet been touched with color.
The door had been ripped open and the chains had been long broken. Wings were not clipped and it would be easy to fly away, to accept and continue onwards. Perhaps no longer would long days have to feel lonely, to pass without a single soul near her, beside her, acknowledging her. ( What a dream! What an ideal! But she had learned to stop dreaming a long time ago. ) He had been drawn to her for a reason and the part of her which thirsted for adventure, to see the entirety of the universe, perhaps, was drawn to him in return.
To where? she wanted to ask, but imagined there would be no answer.
( no use wasting breath. )
So instead she stood, chair scraping against the ground, noise low pitched, humming against her ear drums. Gaze was taken from him for the first time in what felt like hours ( though she knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes ) and footsteps carried her away. Dexterous fingers plucked at her art supplies -- brushes, pencils, crayons, paints, sketchbooks -- and a hidden bag was retrieved. No words slipped through pale lips yet, the need for them null, and wide eyes dragged over the wall that she was facing. Would she go?
Flaxen hair rustled as she turned, bag settling upon her shoulder and distance between the two closing, narrowing to a foot and a half lying between them. Let me see your face, she thought, but it was quickly banished, the information unnecessary. In time, perhaps, in time.
She wants to crawl inside of her; wriggling around her ribcage, settling into the cavernous emptiness of her chest, resting beside lungs and kissing whatever it is that Naminé hates. She wants to be her HEART { xion’s fatal flaw; she loves too much, she sacrifices too much. it will kill her, someday, for a boy with spiked hair, a boy who she will die comforting } and she wants to give her peace. She would do anything to offer her peace of mind, peace of heart, safety and warmth and a world where they are both not WAITING to be useful no longer, to cease to exist. { she won’t have it; she won’t! if they try to undo naminé she will kill them. she will die trying. }
like things that were never living can die.
puppets don’t live; but, oh, she doesn’t
know just yet. keep it secret, keep it safe.
“I – don’t think so.”
She has done NOTHING. The collection of memories cannot save her, cannot free her, cannot do anything for the girl besides offering shells and ice cream and smiles { and that means NOTHING. less than nothing. less than her } and she wishes it were different more than anything else. She hates herself for her usefulness.
{ if they could be reborn – she doesn’t want you to be a part of her. she wants you to be beside her. }
It was hard. It was hard to look at her when raven hair was bleeding red yet her face remained the SAME. ( Serves you right. Ah, yes, a t o n e m e n t. ) Yet gentle gaze did not waver and head tilted; it would hurt Xion, if she were to look away. If she were to fall to her knees and confess, as if she believed in some benevolent being who would purge her of all her wrongs.
Forgive me lord for I have sinned.
Despite the hollowness of her chest, there was no room for REGRET. But she regretted so much. ( Cruel girl -- she regretted Xion. ) So much that it felt as if her skin was stretched tight, and there was no room for anything else. Certainly no room for kisses, no room for reassurances; oh she was a WITCH. Tie her to a stake and set fire to the kindling, for that was the only way she would allow herself to depart. ( After all, lambent princess would never wish to become whole with HER. )
“I think so.”
Did she LOVE HER? Maybe if she understood what such a feeling ( hilarious ) was, she would have said yes. A million times yes. Fragile fingers had never willingly touched another soul; there was no one else in the entirety of the COSMOS whom she fervently desired to beg for forgiveness. And perhaps it was selfishness, as well -- Xion was all that was hers.
N o t h i n g – pay naught a slice of attention to the red which stained previously pristine white dress, nor to the dragging JAGGED lacerations which dragged down once-smooth thigh, their abrupt stop just above bony knee. Blood still poured ( maybe it would NEVER CEASE – would she pass out? ) and weight could not be placed upon it. At least they weren’t deep enough to see the bone. Well, fabricated body would heal eventually; if only she could get to the first aid kit.
a blink, a pause in movement. amethyst hadn’t recalled seeing a human on the beach mere moments ago. as if they hadn’t given many reminders to the residents of beach city already. if the fence had remained in tact, this problem would have ceased long ago. however the human beings seemed thoroughly prone to curiosity. then again —- amethyst was equally so, hence her lack of annoyance in approach.
“ hey, kid. hate t’ harsh your mellow, but you’re not really
‘sposed to be on this side of the beach. y’should probably
get going before garnet or pearl see you. “
An unfamiliar world, one which she had no prior knowledge of -- adventures of this caliber oft made her almost excited. The thirst for knowledge was always present ( it quieted the m e m o r i e s, sometimes ) and to step upon a beach ( unwillingly ) calmed something within her. Something which was as riotous as the sea during a storm, and pressed outwards against fragile ribs. Yet the sight also stirred something unpleasant within her breast, fluttering against her sternum, not yet painful but mounting, perhaps. And all she could do then and there was to breathe, and to divert her attention.
“Sorry, I hadn’t known. Which way should I go, to get to the right side?”
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