[feb 11][email log][vexen and saix][complete!]

[cryopathic.livejournal.com]

I forget if Saix-mun wanted to add a last post onto this or not, but since I have too much free time that doesn't exist I'm posting it as is, anyway. XD


Who: cyrophilia, falltheseventh
Where: At the festival.
When: Feb 11, if I recall the dates correctly.
Rating: G. SAFE FOR THE KIDDIES
Summary: Vexen and Saix enjoy their night out.
the Story: One way or another, Vexen and Saix have wound up attending the festival. Walking around in a robe and boots is patently ridiculous, even if they technically do it all the time in their Organization coats anyway-- so Vexen's taken the liberty of changing right down to the odd wooden slippers that came with the yukata, regardless of the way his heel juts just a little bit over the back. For all he knows, it's supposed to be that way.

The light cotton robe he's wearing doesn't look particularly fancy or expensive-- the material is fine enough, but it's certainly nothing grand. Regardless, that seems to help with the comfort he has in wearing it. The sleeves hang a little too long, but he hasn't bothered to push them up or otherwise shorten them, so they continue to fall a little past the standard length, softening the bony angles and sharp lines of his form. From the front, all that's visible of the design is the pale, white whorls of clouds dyed along the hems.

On the back, however, someone's taken the liberty of painting a moon in the sky, round and full and settled just over Vexen's right shoulderblade.

Despite Saix's company, the academic remains a bit tetchy; he keeps quite close, nearly but not quite attached to the berserker's side. The glittery distractions and festival fun don't seem to be lifting his spirits much, but whether or not his mood (or as much of a one as he can have, anyway) will improve remains to be seen.

"Are you hungry, Saix?"


To be honest, the berserker seems to frown at the wooden sandals for whatever reason. Not that he's accompanying Vexen in a pair of boots, but his bare feet are visible, tipped with claws but clearly not long enough to tap against the ground -- but very well seen. At the insistence of his companions, Saix is wearing the yukata, and with Vexen's assistance his hair is much neater than usual, tied back mostly with some strands hanging at the sides of his face in front of his pointed ears.

As a matter of reflection, it seems, his yukata is mostly a light blue with neatly patterened snowflakes across the sleeves and back. Really, it matches well with his tresses.

Ever since he's heard of Axel having appeared again at the mansion, Saix understands silently as to why Vexen keeps so close; in return, his eyes glance around a bit more sharply. It seems he acts less like he's there to enjoy himself and more as a bodyguard.

A trait in being a servant is to be a protector -- but this is... much more willing on his part.

The question almost passes over him, and he blinks a moment before looking to the scientist. "Ah. ...Yes, I suppose so," Saix murmurs.


The academic moves to brush some of his hair out of his face; unlike the berserker, his own locks remain loose (though one might speculate he's had a hand in making sure Saix's hair is neater than usual). Vexen hasn't been spooked enough to the point where he's cringing as he walks along, but there's a bit of stiffness in his stance, the way he turns his head like he's just waiting for trouble.

At the berserker's assent, however, he touches a hand gently to Saix's elbow, calling for his attention as he nods towards one of the brightly-colored stands-- it seems to be selling an assortment of sweets, mostly, and the scientist faintly arches a brow.

"Did you want sweets, or something a little more filling?"


While the idea of something more meal worthy should be ideal, the berserker continues to have an excessive weakness for sweets. His brows raise a little, his eyes brightening faintly. "Well." The edges of his lips twitch a little. "I think having something from the stand would be ideal at the moment."

It'll be a bit more calming, considering how alert he's attempting to be. Caution only causes him to be tense, and that doesn't seem to coincide with Vexen's preferences.

"And what about you?"


There's an assortment of brightly-colored goods on sale, mainly odd, unfamiliar candies-- animals made of brittle, caramelized sugar are spitted on wooden sticks, while small bags of sugared fruits and assorted hard sweets sit in neat, ribbon-tied rows. There are more modern goods, as well, cotton candy and carameled corn cramming the selection. The vendor is a figure as bland as the ones that normally sell things behind the mansion, which is hardly surprising, given that the entire festival is one of the mansion's events.

Vexen appears to have predicted the response well enough, because he snorts and guides Saix easily to the stall-- not quite releasing his arm, perhaps unconsciously.

"I'm thinking on it."


It's faint, very faint -- but it's there. Saix has a small smile, in spite of the snort he's given as his first answer before he's taken to the stall. Whether or not he notices the arm, at least he doesn't brush it off. Really, he  may even prefer it there.

There's a difficult decision to be made here; out of everything in the selection, Saix knows he must narrow down his choices. If it was possible, he'd probably take everything -- but he doesn't want to be that obvious.

So, he simply takes a caramel covered apple, an almost fond expression on his face. "I'll take this. ... If you'd like to share with me, that'd be fine."


"Sharing sounds fine." Vexen's lips may quirk in turn at that; he's not as fond of sweets as Saix is, but he's well aware of the berserker's preferences for them. He hesitates a moment, wondering if the vendor will ask for payment or not; apparently, the cost is waived, because the figure merely tilts its head in a nod before nudging at his stall-- apparently a cart more than anything else-- and trundling on.

Well, at least it's one worry he can keep off his mind. He knows he's not eager to dwell on thoughts of those who've made... reappearances in the mansion.


About as much as he can be pleased, Saix certainly appears as much -- though the expression disappears quickly as soon as it arrives on his face. "Mm. Thank you," he murmurs, taking the candied apple's stick between his fingers. He doesn't bite into it just yet, though.

He pauses to watch Vexen, his brows knitting a little. He knows Luxord is no doubt right; as long as he's near the scientist, Axel will undoubtedly stay away. Saix's instincts yell at him to find number VIII, but he knows better. For now, he won't seek out Axel.

Unless provoked, of course; then all bets are off.

At the moment, the best idea is to keep Vexen busy.

"What would you like to do?"

"You're welcome," Vexen answers politely enough; one hand keeps to the arm that isn't holding the candied apple, fingers curled into the crook of his elbow. He doesn't seem to take notice of the way Saix watches him; for a moment, the lights simply reflect off pale skin, lending it an illusion of rosy color.

In the next moment, it's gone, and Vexen turns to the berserker as he speaks, blinking curiously.

"Ah." He doesn't really know what to say, so his mind latches on the first thing that comes to him. "The girl-- Hanato? She mentioned some kind of game."


The sight must be a trick of the light -- but it's not... unattractive. Saix keeps a careful eye, not allowing his expression to betray him, though the way his eyes are glued to Vexen may hint enough.

He blinks a moment. "Hanato... Kobato? Yes, I remember her." The girl locked in the closet, he recalls her best as. "What sort of game?"

"Something about catching goldfish with... paper? I didn't get too clear an idea of what she meant, to be honest," Vexen admits, hand touching to his chin in thought-- it's a familiar gesture for the academic, and the sleeves don't seem to hamper him from performing it.

"It sounded worth investigating, at the very least. Perhaps if we walk around, we'll find a stall that features such a game." It's a bit of a suggestion; Vexen is already tugging on a sleeve, nudging Saix to keep moving forward.

The description makes Saix raise a brow in confusion; the game doesn't sound familiar at all, but he doesn't doubt it exists. After all, he didn't expect such robes to be used for a festival. And... they are unusually comfortable.

"All right." The tugging is... interesting, and he smiles faintly and quickly before it's gone again; he nods to keep himself moving forward.

Really, it's his senses that find such a game; he smells the goldfish, obviously alive and uncooked in their small pool. He turns his head almost curiously, then hesitantly points, as if to silently ask if that would be it.

Honestly, Vexen's having trouble imagining how such a game might be played himself; as he recalls, paper melts when exposed to water, or at the very least disintegrates. It should be... interesting.

Naturally, when Saix indicates a particular direction, Vexen turns his head towards it, immediately attentive. This booth has a vendor too, though it's but one of many-- this is probably just the one closest to them at the moment.

"I suppose that's the one," Vexen murmurs, fiddling distractedly with the belt of his yukata-- even as tight as it goes, it doesn't fit too snugly-- and beginning to tow Saix over in that direction. The figure manning this stall is a little more festive than the last, in short-sleeved jacket and a bright bandanna tied over its head, but it's still as anonymous.

There are indeed goldfish swimming about the tiny pool-- wordlessly, the figure offers Saix and Vexen a pair of delicate-looking paper 'nets', even without their asking. Nobody else seems to be around at the moment, people being occupied with other aspects of the festival as they are.


As he's handed the net, the berserker gives it a look, almost concerned. "I don't understand the point of this game," he remarks. "To catch fish, but why?"

It shouldn't come as any surprise. It's not as if Saix is particularly active in playing games, so likely he would question the point to any of them.

But then, Ais probably wasn't exactly taken to many games, either.

"The girl said you can keep what you catch," Vexen says, shrugging-- he detaches himself from Saix's side to lean forward enough to peer into the poor, eyes darting between the fish in the water and the fragile net in his hand dubiously. "I suppose the satisfaction's in being able to do it at all."


"Ah," he says in confirmation, the diviner nodding slowly. "I see. Well... that, I can understand." Satisfaction, at any rate. Saix doesn't really see the point in keeping a fish he's not going to ingest.

Though he supposes someone else in the mansion may like one. He can't think of anyone immediately, but no doubt someone like Kobato would want one, or at least appreciate it.

"Well, since you learned about this game -- perhaps you'd like to go first," Saix suggests lightly, not letting his amusement slide into his words.

No, for now, he'll simply nibble on his caramel covered apple.


Despite the lack of amusement in Saix's words, the academic may still sense it-- after all, he'd do the same. One brow lofts at Saix archly as he sighs, slowly hitching his sleeves up to bare most of his arms.

"Don't you dare laugh," he mutters, waving the net at Saix warningly. It's meant in jest, of course; he wonders if Saix is even capable of true amusement the way they are-- and shakes it off, crouching in front of the pool and tentatively holding the net out over the water.

And then, he scoops. Or tries.

It takes him a few attempts to get used to how to tilt and flick the paper net, and by that time,  the paper's well on its way to sagging by then, soaked by the water. On each successive try, Vexen leans out further and further out over the pool, scowling as the fish dart away.


All he'd like to say in return is that he would laugh if he could; at best, he'd smirk. Saix can't remember the last time he's ever laughed, really.

He shrugs. What else is new.

"Very well. Good luck," Saix says simply, attempting to keep any smirks or smiles away from his face. What distracts him well enough is taking a bite out of his caramel apple, watching Vexen's fierce determination to succeed.

Impressive, really, though Vexen is likely to get soaked if he keeps pursuing the fish like that. He doesn't find it in himself to warn the scientist.


Inevitably, of course, one thing or another must give: either the fish gets captured, or Vexen's balance finally tips over.

Unsurprisingly, it's the latter that eventually falls through.

There's a short, startled noise as Vexen tips over too far and finds himself falling forward, into the thankfully shallow water. Both hands dart out to catch his weight-- though it lands straight in the pool, and his palm skids along the bottom for another few inches, making him jerk forward awkwardly.

The motion sends up a spray of water splashing into his face, and he doesn't have time to even think of freezing the spray before his bangs-- and part of his yukata-- get soaked.

To add insult to injury, one of the goldfishes that gets ejected out of the pool along with the spray of water smacks him solidly across the face.


He doesn't laugh. Saix can't laugh.

But he might snort a little behind his apple.

Eventually, he approaches Vexen, placing a hand to his shoulder to help pull him back and out of the water. "A bit too determined, I think," Saix remarks quietly. "Shall I fetch you a towel?" Though he's not entirely sure that Vexen can be cold, he doubts the scientist wants to be wet.


The impact of the fish seems to have stunned Vexen for a moment, enough that he lets himself be pulled away. Rolling his sleeves up so far was a wise decision; they haven't gotten soaked, so there's only the academic's forearms left to dry.

By the time Saix inquires, of course, he's recovered enough of himself to scowl, wiggling out of Saix's grip and snatching the berserker's net out of his hand for good measure.

"I'm going to catch at least one," he determines, expression grim, eyes blazing-- with his hair that wet, he looks a little less the frumpy academic than usual, and it seems he's certainly been distracted from his distress.


If Vexen is properly distracted, then Saix determines that this game must be a good thing, then. His expression relaxes, as close as it's going to get to being properly pleased, then he nods. "All right, then. Catch one," he murmurs.

He lets Vexen have his paper net, keeping himself seemingly busy with his candied apple.


The expression Vexen wears is a determinedly focused one, not at all like one he might wear during an experiment in his own laboratory-- although he doesn't perhaps curse under his breath quite as much when he's distilling chemicals. Saix is treated to another round of the academic's bottom unflatteringly jutting up into the air, twitching furiously as Vexen exerts himself.

In the end, it takes Vexen four mour nets and half an hour to manage to catch anything, but by the end of it, he's red-faced, soaked to the waist, and grimly triumphant: with two slightly stunned-looking fishes twirling aimlessly around a clear plastic bag shut with a rubber band.

"Got it," he tells Saix smugly, still dripping water as he pads back to where the berserker's been standing. The vague pride in his voice might be excusable.

After all, he got them on his own merit. And he didn't have to resort to an ice spell even once.


Honestly, the view isn't that bad. Not that, of course, Saix would speak of such a thing. He'd rather not admit it, and a part of him is a bit ashamed to think that way. He has a half hour to think like that, and he'd well more than finished his apple by then, absently licking the stick leftover.

Eventually, he stares at the plastic bag, the fish swimming inside. Two fish, even.

Really, that's quite the accomplishment.

The berserker slowly holds out his hand to offer to hold the bag. "Very impressive," he notes. "Are you all right?" He nods his head to how Vexen is dripping wet.


It's not without a sense of accomplishment that Vexen hands Saix the fishes, which boggle at the berserker a bit perplexedly before suddenly clustering against the side of the plastic furthest from him as possible.

If he's put out that Saix has finished the apple without him, he doesn't show it. After all, the satisfaction this has brought him will last for quite a while, better than food or drink.

"I'm fine," Vexen murmurs, shaking his head-- drops of water going everywhere. There are towels by the stall, probably provided for the use of similarly dampened enthusiasts; he hasn't registered them yet. "Did you want to see the fireworks? I heard there were going to be some later tonight." Or sooner tonight, given the apparent time.


Saix frowns a little at the fish and their behavior, but he supposes it's expected of them. He lifts his head and he looks at the scientist, dripping wet and speaking of fireworks. Finding an appropriate place to discard the stick, he keeps holding the goldfish for Vexen -- but he reaches for a towel to hand to the academic.

"Here," he offers. "I would not oppose to watching fireworks with you."

In his way, it's a yes -- he most certainly would.


Even Vexen seems to note the fishes' odd behavior; he snorts wryly, poking a finger at the bag (they swim towards him) before he accepts the towel, commenting idly as he commences to dry his hair and arms. "Perhaps they think you'll eat them. I suppose we can't keep them around, then."

Alas, not much can be done for his clothes, try as he might-- and it's in the middle of being half-distracted by the process that he nearly misses Saix's main response, and he blinks, looking up.

"Ah, yes." He clears his throat. "Well, we'd best find an ideal spot. I doubt we'll be the only ones watching." No doubt, to his displeasure, even Axel may be there.


Saix doesn't remark anything else about the fish; after all, they're more like food to him than actual pets, and he knows that Vexen would expect as much from him thinking that way. He supposes it truly is best to simply give them to Kobato or someone else.

"Wherever you want to stand," the berserker tells him lightly. "You'll be all right."

Saix has no intention of leaving Vexen by himself, after all.


"Let's go, then," Vexen offers, briskly drying off the ends of his hair-- the rest will manage on its own. He adds, as an absentminded afterthought, "But I'm not getting you any alcohol."

Whatever protest the berserker might have to that is lost as Vexen deposits the towel back on the rack and snags Saix by the elbow, pulling him back into the crowd so they can elbow their way to an ideal viewing spot.


Saix scowls a little; the only protest he gives is a soft growl, a little annoyed, but he supposes he doesn't entirely blame Vexen. He can't quite account for his own actions depending how much he'd drink.

Really, he'd prefer to be sober anyway, and be sure he can keep an eye on Vexen.

He lets himself be pulled along until the scientist is satisfied. Wherever they stop, he keeps his hand carefully cradling the plastic bag of fish, but his other arm hesitantly places itself around Vexen's shoulders. The grip is light enough that should Vexen want to shrug it off, he can.


Vexen, of course, feels self-satisfied to be obeyed. They wander through the crowd at his direction-- in another life, he might have been a street urchin, given how quickly he sports a convenient, not too open spot for them to sit down and watch the fireworks display.

Perhaps the grip is so light that Vexen himself doesn't really register that it's there, but he doesn't move to shrug it off. When the crackle and pop of gunpowder announces the fireworks starting, he startles at the noise, involuntarily jerking closer to Saix-- only to have his attention distracted by the brilliant lights that illuminate the night sky.

Vexen's silent for the display-- he's shed his geta, and his toes curl on the ground as he watchs the lights with... not exactly childish glee, but certainly fascination.

It hasn't been a bad night.