Azide

He wondered what the others were doing at this moment, but quickly decided that the answer was probably simple. Considering he himself had just woken up, and that it was likely the dead of night, he could only imagine that most of Aincrad was currently asleep. There was, after all, but a single time zone across all one hundred floors. But as he lay there helpless, restless and guilt-laden, he wished that Oikawa had still been around. Perhaps he would've messaged the light-haired boy and asked to spend the night, so that they might catch up on old times, and maybe even figure out a solution for his sleeping woes.

And then there was the color green. It seemed to be an unpopular color, both in this world and the other- the only two people he'd really seen sporting it had to be himself and Jomei, a member of The Velvet Room. But he had not begun to ponder the question simply because of his own preference for it; green was the color of the tea in the cup across from him, for starters. And that observation had drawn his thoughts into yet another memory, one which had been rife with the lively color.

So while they two had never truly been destined to be anything more than acquaintances, guildmates and effectively co-workers, it had nevertheless been a sort of friendship-by-fire sort of deal. Out of the final three, he had to admit that they had spent the most time together, whether it was in guild-related shenanigans or in their many meetings in non guild-related business. X had definitely made of habit of getting out often, and he always seemed to run into the guy when he did the same. Perhaps he might even claim that his attitude towards X had softened just the slightest bit as the months had gone by.

That would just about explain how the man managed to even lift the earth-shattering sword, let alone wield it and swing it all about. That McGonagall was strong was something he had taken for granted- he had never considered just how strong this man really was. Once again, McGonagall made reference to a comment that was just a bit beyond him, though the fact did not seem to bother him. He felt even a pang of remorse as he realized that McGonagall had lived in a world where he had not understood various things that had been said about him- and here he was, doing just the same with the occasional sly remarks.

The fact that Azide had not answered his question seemed beside the point, as McGonagall had continued without missing a beat. He pointed to his forehead, then tapped on it repeatedly while making some remark about brains, making Azide expect some sort of resulting hollow sound. However, nothing of the sort came, eliciting a sigh from the dagger-user. Apparently, there had to at least be something cooking in there, although it was still up in the air if whether or not that something was palatable or even edible.

He stepped over to where the man had been sitting, and stooped down to find that the sniper had actually been perched atop a wooden chest. However, this chest did not bare the mark which was to signal the ultimate objective of his mission. But that was no reason not to open it anyway, all things considered. Interestingly enough, the chest contained not one, but two key holes placed perpendicular to each other. Taking the most obvious route, Azide inserted the keys of both guards in various configurations, until at last he was able to secure two exact fits. With the head of each key grasped between his two hands, he turned them in parallel, causing the heavy lid to unlock.

From around an unseen corner, a faint hiss drew his sights to the entrance leading into the backroom- both where he stowed away the various materials required for his trade, as well as his more typical place of rest; as little sleep as he often got, even Azide could appreciate the benefits of an actual bed of sorts. Another hiss preceded the entrance of Lucifer the snake, who poked its head out from behind the entryway into the main room of the shop. "Up already as well?" asked Azide, raising a brow. "Well, I can't complain about that." He chuckled softly to himself and hunched over in his chair as his companion slithered on over.

With a groan, Azide rose out of his seat and took a step forward, but quickly found himself tumbling to the ground. As he opened his eyes, he realized that the numbness in his legs had not left him just yet, and cursed himself under his breath. Luckily, Lucifer had managed to escape any harm as a result of his stumble. With little to do but way, Azide rolled over onto his back, thankful that he had at least made a habit of keeping his floors hygienic and spotless. For a while, he stared at the ceiling while Lucifer slithered its way onto his chest, where it coiled up quite peacefully.

But Oikawa had ordered tea. Yes, Seijuro had indeed ordered himself a tea. As hard and thoroughly as he wracked his brain, however, he could remember the specific variety that his friend had enjoyed on that day. But he supposed that it had probably been very similar to this one. His eyes drifted over to the discarded up once more, and he sighed deeply. What a waste of tea- to have gone cold and undrunken like that, all because a certain someone had not yet showed up. And so Azide did not drink it, not just because it was cold, but because the person it had been intended for was simply running late. It would be rude to have invited Oikawa for a chat, and not have a drink to offer him.

In fact, he reminded him in some ways of McGonagall... not that that was a good thing. He'd felt before as if McGonagall had reminded him of a certain someone, but the particular comparison had not dawned on him until that very moment. And yet in hindsight, it seemed so obvious. They were careless people, McGonagall and X- they smashed up things and retreated back into their vast careless, and let other people clean up their mess. And they even smiled while doing it- although this could be attributed to ignorance in one case and nerves of steel in the other.

"For years, McGonagall honed his gifts of immense strength and stamina as he chopped down a countless number of trees. One by one, he watched each and every trunk as it was severed to its critical point- the point where it would no longer remain stable enough to stay standing- and he would keep watching as the toppled over and fell. Hundreds, or even thousands of trees of all sorts- McGonagall was there for them all as they fell. He was like a machine, they said. They never said what sort of machine, but McGonagall could only assume that they were talking about a tree-cutting machine."

Looking smug, McGonagall laughed in the way that smug people tended to laugh. That was to say, smugly. The mammoth man shrugged his mammoth shoulders and turned to look up at the sky, where Jamie the eagle was now little more than an airborne speck. "It's simple, really. You and McGonagall have only two feet, right?" he asked, speaking as if he were addressing a wide-eyed kindergartner. It was actually quite condescending, and his 'pupil' did not bother to entertain this with a response.

After inspecting each of the different keys on the metal loop, he singled out the most likely fit and inserted it into the keyhole. With a slow turn, he was pleased to hear the familiar click as the door popped open. Immediately, Azide darted through the doorway and struck the room's sole occupant with a rapid combination of jabs and slashes. Four confirmed hits later, the final remaining hurdle dropped to the ground before bursting with the familiar animation. Before the last man had faded, Azide chuckled as he caught sight of the bow and arrow which had been entrenched firmly within the man's meaty hands. A medieval sniper, but a sniper nonetheless. It was too predictable.

Palms pressed flat against the table, Azide pushed off of the wooden surface and raised himself to full height as he eyed the many pages of documentation sprawled out across his workspace. It had been a constructive night of note taking and research, but even the most promising of results did not excuse a messy desk. He shook his head and sorted through the papers one by one, skimming through the contents in order to properly categorize them as he filed them away into a variety of marked folders. When that too had been taken care of, he slipped the whole binder onto the single empty slot on his shelf, and took a seat where his day had first begun.

Still, he had to wonder... just how many of these dreams would he have to endure before he had repented enough? That was not to say that he had not earned all of this- Azide had never quite been able to fully shake off the guilt he'd taken on as a result of the Yamato situation. It was quite clear what his subconscious was hinting at, if one were to subscribe to that particular psychological theory. But at some point, he could only hope to again enjoy those peaceful, dreamless sleeps at a rate beyond intermittent.

For some reason, he could not help but recall a certain day in which he'd arrived at the Starlight Cafe just in the nick of time. Once he'd entered the lovely little shop, he'd taken a seat beside three others; Lucifer, X, and Oikawa. He could still remember how quickly his heart had been pounding, as well as how he'd attempted to play it off nothing, and the thought made him smile. Unlike the others, he had been the only founder that day to have ordered something other than tea: he'd chosen to go instead with a glass of water, not because he was some sort of contrarian, but due to a combination of frugality and taste.

And once again, the last of Square One's founding council members had been none other than the mischievous X. Although he had regretted this historic moment several times throughout their guild's history, he had not exactly been able to screen any of the trio before their initial meeting- if he had met X before that day, he would be hard pressed to believe that their paths might have ever intentionally crossed. They were just that different, ultimately. But that wasn't to say that X was a bad guy at all.

And though he would not comment on McGonagall's supposed rugged good looks, he did have to admit that the man retained plenty of youthfulness in his appearance. If anything, age did not seemed to have scarred him at all. It was as if he were a lone sandcastle which had remained upright amidst a line of indistinct sandy mounds that had been washed away by a sea of change. But that more or less summed his thoughts on this part of the story- what else was there to really say about McGonagall praising his own appearance?

But this was neither the time nor the place to commission a watch. Having had just about enough of the stupid smile on his partner's face, he finally decided to break the silence. "So are you planning on telling me what you just whispered to that bird?" he asked, crossing his arms. Things had quickly returned to normal, though he wouldn't have preferred it any other way. He and McGonagall were too different, too incompatible to ever truly get along on a day-to-day basis, even if he could begrudgingly respect the man's lionheart.

The knife flashed red for a brief moment, before being driven into the side of the man's neck. With the alchemical craft having paralyzed his lungs, the man had not even been capable of screaming as he'd met his end. As the NPC shattered, Azide swept his hand through the air to catch the metallic keys before they could hit the ground- not just because it had looked quite smooth, but also because the jingle might have alerted the man he expected to see on the other side of the door.

Golden dawn filtered in through the trees and then the windows, lighting the young man's features with a gentle radiance. His scrunched eyes quivered, and the digits of a dangling arm twitched until finally he had learned to embrace wakefulness. Azide's eyelids fluttered open, exposing the white and brown orbs to the morning light. As his wits came about him, he lifted his cheek from off of his desk, and shook his left methodically until he was satisfied that the blood flow had returned to the numb appendage.

"You're going to be the death of me..." he mumbled, lowering his hand so that the creature could slither on up at its leisure. Before long, Lucifer had draped itself across his shoulders before deciding to settle down, perfect content to rest upon warming bedding. He recalled the cold bloodedness of reptiles, as well as stories of waking up to find snakes coiled up at the bottom of their boots, and decided that this was probably a likely explanation. He had to admit, he truly did appreciate the creature's company- then, and in every moment they had shared since its taming.

Azide reached for the cup of tea he'd poured himself when he'd first arrived, and peered into the green-ish liquid, catching sight of his own reflection. He looked greener than usual, for obvious reasons, but also for reasons that were not quite as obvious. In any case, both the cup and its contents were now ice cold, and he set the tea back against the table. Groggily, Lucifer snaked its head over the rim of the cup and gave the liquid a quick lick before turning its head in apparent disinterest.

True to his own humble beginnings, Square One had not possessed the luxury of being picky and choosy with its founding members. To form a guild, a total of four members were required- with himself as an obvious plus-one, he had relied on X in addition to Oikawa and Lucifer in order to establish the fledgling organization. While the last of these names belonged to a girl who had gone missing after about a month of activity (and had since been immortalized as the name of his very own familiar), Oikawa had disappeared much more recently.

But before any more analysis could be done, McGonagall that there was no stopping this train of his, and continued on with his story. In fact, the man had never actually stopped in the first place- Azide had to remind himself that those conclusions had been stitched together between every word that came rushing out of the man's yap. "Anyway, so there McGonagall was: a strapping young man in a big, unfamiliar world. He was very handsome, of course. Basically just imagine me now, because age has been too afraid to touch the chiseled face and rugged good looks of McGonagall."