Pity, pity boiled at the surface of the chemist’s chest, but why did he pity this boy so, when they were both attached to nothing and succumbing to nothing when they both knew that without any one little thing with even the tiniest grain of purpose or meaning, they would be nothing as well? He knew the boy saw him, saw right into him, without anticipating that he would get lost, stuck, engulfed by a reflection of himself that he couldn’t bare? The raven-haired man with his toxic, sharp, golden optics, breathed in the black smog from his cigarette and took a long drag. He kept his gaze upon the young boy, and was perplexed by how alike they were and yet so miserably different. While the chemist has come to terms with the fact that he is nothing but darkness personified, oblivion made flesh, the boy is still trying to fight his abstracts, the fact that he cannot exist in a reality or a fantasy. If so where then does he belong, in fact? The answer is clear for the both of them; they just exist, there is nowhere to belong.        Acknowledging that it probably is a lot later than the skies seem to reflect Vanitas turned his wrist over, and glanced at his golden wrist watch. Because he traveled from one location to the next, time seemed to allude him as well, but the weight of time rolling over their bodies never seemed to effect him. He could note that time was moving fast or slow by looking at a clock, but otherwise— he was always changing too fast, darkness shrouded him, marinated his body, and it was consist the way his existence made him feel. Thus, he was always building a still. The last city he was in was much different than this, much busier, and much more crowded. Everyone was a busy body, and fooled themselves into thinking they had higher purposes, reasons for which people needed them, excuses as to why their presence was important. Here, in Twilight Town, the sun was a phantom, the clouds were apparitions, and the buildings and cobblestone streets are the palpable lines between what isn’t real and what is manipulatively fabricated to fool one’s mind into believing something can be solid, can be held. Following the young, sun-chaffed blond along their jagged path, Vanitas said little to few words even after hearing that the boy attended the university as well. The chemist wasn’t surprised to know that he was institution worthy, but he was surprised the teen would be the type to let himself be institutionalized. Unless he knew the difference, a piece of knowledge about the beach-bum that Vanitas had yet to decipher.       The enigma continued to tail the boy, his steps extremely out of synch with the blond’s, and yet there was a unison in their steps as they walked. Every step they took carried a weight, a mutual weight that was familiar to them both and as they strolled, Vanitas readjusted the black duffel bag over his shoulders, his gray cotton, crew-neck T-shirt crinkling uncomfortably underneath the weight of his bomber jacket and bag. His shoes, a pair of black leather, Yves Saint Laurent high-tops, scuffed lightly beneath the sole after his every, casual step, and every so often the ashes from the tip of his cigarette would cling to his black, fitted denim jeans before he could dust it off. “I’m a scientific researcher from The I.N.C.S, The International Nuclear Chemistry Society, of Italy, a protégé of an old man who haven’t the strength to travel as I do…” He began in response to the teenager’s inquiry, taking another swig of his cigarette before continuing, “I decided to continue my research in different atmospheres, traveling from one place to another…”

      “The easiest place to conduct my research as I travel is at universities; it is standard that any accredited university has laboratories that are up to date on regulations and technological par. Typically, they have everything I need to test my research before I return to Italy to actually present it.” Dragging his eyes from building to building, cloud to cloud, and then to the soft, shuffling spikes of the back of the blond’s head, he added, “… It was just a lot more quiet here than the last city I was in; I thought it would be a decent change— the sun is out more, here. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about that yet, but I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.” The chemist paused for a short moment, and then finally found the genuine interest in him to inquire.

     “… What’s your name, Spooks?” The identification of ‘Spooks’ followed accidentally after. The boy was, after all, like the sun’s twilight-stained ghost, much like how Vanitas is darkness’ apparition.

As they made their way through the town's many winding hills and slopes, Roxas' attention dragged languidly over the familiar brickwork and shops adorning it's streets. They passed the trinket's shop with the women who fondly regarded the blonde since he was younger, the steep incline of the well traveled mail carrier route he used to run when the mailman needed an extra hand, the youth was even allowed a chance to consider the exterior appearance of his attic room snugly position over his guardian's oddities shop across the way as they swiftly continued towards their destination. Memories of Roxas' life here were littered upon every nook and cranny of this town, the boy scarcely able to turn a corner without some fond remnant to stumble upon, yet this did nothing to dissuade him of his persistent anxieties when his home was fellow refuge to many a ghost besides himself.

As the man speaks of his origins with a casual inclination towards the many skylines the blonde knows he has has the chance to fixate with the same hollow gaze the younger boy had just encountered, Roxas feels a familiar stirring from the soles of his feet to the tips of his fingers. The journey the man's work has taken him on sounds appealing when the blonde considers the many sketches of the same twilight-coated scenery already occupying his personal portfolio, but the lingering thought that he may not encounter cities and skylines he has previously jotted down with such preciseness that Roxas has not quite dared to believe wholeheartedly that they may not exist, he is struck still in such ideas of travel by fear. He considers the many landscapes and drafted views of cities and towns he's never even given himself the chance to hope to see apart from the darkness he confronts behind closed eyelids, the familiar landscapes and mindless sketches that have contorted into places others would claim metaphysical, a plague on the walls of his bedroom. 

The familiar University comes into view just as the blonde begins to understand the man's intent in requesting an escort to the school and Roxas' interest is pique in what sort of tasks lay await for the stranger within the building despite how the boy's line of studies focus on philosophy instead. DiZ had no great desire to encourage the boy to pursue any sort of studies apart from his fencing practice, but the blonde took it upon himself to enroll, not just in spite of his guardian's lack of aspirations for him, but because Roxas was indisputably curious and thirsty for most forms of knowledge despite his unfavorable view on homework. Of course, the educational structure wasn't one the blonde naturally conformed to what with his past affliction of extreme migraines and infrequent blackouts, but it was rather his attendance and grades that suffered for it rather than the expansion of his mind.

The man's association or allusion of linage means little to the blonde, but he looks over his shoulder to fixate the man with a rare look of genuine interest, "Sounds like you've got some work ahead of you then." Roxas' eyes follow the man's as the graze past the cloud above, the younger boy returning his attention forward when he feels the raven haired man's own eyes fall on the blonde. "...It'll be quieter here, that's for sure. Hardly anyone is around the campus, let alone the labs during summer."

Pausing as they arrive at the front of the gate to the main entrance of the school, the perpetually setting sun aligns just so that light spills over the silhouette of the University, rays of light brushing past and alighting the tips of the boy's golden wheat colored spikes of hair. "I'd like to tell you you'll either love or hate the town-- but it's just not that kind of place if you haven't figured it out already. It's... suspended... between, I guess. At least that's how I feel about it. Can't take it or leave it." The blonde's gaze rolls out over the now gold drenched campus, a brief shrugging of shoulders given before he unhinges the gate before them. Interrupted in his motions of propping open the gate to allow the man entrance, he pauses to turn back at the man's inquiry, flashing a cheshire cat grin that bares all his teeth at the other's sudden inclination of a nickname. The stark grin couldn't be a facade of offense when the title is so very befitting, but a contrasting look of melancholy touches the blues of his eyes before he counters with his name. "I'm Roxas. What about you, Stiff?"

sunsetghost said:

abissale said:

/SHOVES ROXAS TO THE SIDE. first in line.

NO. ME.

Summer Event: Mingling Party!

Riku chuckled as the blonde dashed a few feet ahead of him, taking his own time in catching up - he was supposed to be the one leading the way, yet he ended up being the one led, somehow.

He had to say, he was a bit more comfortable with Roxas than he had been the first time he met him - whether that was because this time the boy was a bit less temperamental or because Riku could see the connection between him and Sora bit clearer now, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to question it.

"Off that way,"

He pointed, toward the direction he had come from as he continued to walk, taking the lead,

"Although I guess from the sounds, you already knew that."

The blonde strides ahead with the older boy in tow, Roxas shoes kicking up an abundance of sand as he tried as best as he could to hurry across the shifting mass that was beach. Why did he think wearing sneakers to the beach was a good idea again? Taking a moment to kick of his shoes and socks and sweep them up in hand, the blonde allows the other boy to regain the lead as they make their way in the direction he had previously gestured towards. Roxas is just on the cusp of making a snide comment about not really needing the silver haired boy's help in response to the other boy's remark, but the words fall back from the tip of his tongue as they approach a reasonably busier side of the seaside getaway. Ocean mimicking hues scan over the horizon, the blonde hurriedly glancing over face upon face, but it's clear to him as they get closer that his friends are not among this sea of a crowd.

"...Hey." Defeated, the blond's visage has lost it's glow, gaze now downcast as he drops into a crouch near where the other boy stands. He drags a single digit through the sand in pursuit of a small sand crab, Roxas' whole demeanor distinctly sullen in comparison to the lighthearted festivities occurring nearby. He takes a moment before continuing, the crab he had been pursuing making a deft escape by burrowing far from reach beneath the sand and the blonde's eyes finally drag their attention back to the other boy with furrowed brows in tow.

"What's your name anyhow?"