Shorties

Demyx knocked back another shot and slammed the glass on the counter. "Lux," he slurred to the bartender, "One day Imma make it big."

"Sure, Dem, sure."

"You don't sound convinced," Demyx grumbled. "Give me another one, will ya?" he waved his empty shot glass vaguely, but Luxord shook his head.

"That's it for you tonight, kid."

"Aw, c'mon Lucky, I'm just starting!" Demyx slumped over the bar, hand stretched out towards the bottles on the other side.

Luxord retrieved Demyx's empty shot glass and swiped a rag over the counter. "Yeah, well, you're not getting anywhere if you keep laying all over my bar."

"'S comfy," Demyx told the counter.

His cheek was still pressed to the sticky surface when he felt someone lay a small hand on his arm. "Hey. You're the guy playing the guitar earlier, right?"

Demyx lifted his head and eyed the petite woman. She didn't look particularly friendly, one of those cut-throat business-types with short, slicked-back blond hair, and piercing green eyes, but in Demyx's drunken state, she certainly looked hot enough. He perked up. "Yeah, that's me." He blinked, trying to clear some of the bleariness from his vision. "Demyx." He offered her a sloppy grin along with his hand.

"Larxene." Instead of taking his hand, she slid her fingertips up his wrist, sending a shiver down his spine, a small smile on her face. "I'm here to grant your wish. What do you say I help you make it big in the music business?"

Demyx sat up straighter. "Yeah? You liked the set?"

Larxene let out a small laugh, and leaned into him. "I'm willing to give you a contract," she purred. She stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. "If you're willing to give up your soul."

"My what?" Demyx laughed, the sound punctuated by a hiccup. "My soul has always belonged to music!"

Larxene's lips curled up. "Then there's no problem." She stroked his arm again. "What do you say, Dem-yx," she drew the syllables of his name out, "is it a deal? We can seal it with a kiss." Her hand was trailing down his chest now. "Maybe more…"

Demyx grinned. "If you wanted a kiss, why didn't you say so?" He leaned down, a little unsteady, and Larxene easily evaded him.

She tutted. "No kiss without the deal. Ten years you get, Demyx, a brilliant, successful musician. After that, I'll come back for your end of the bargain."

Demyx lurched to his feet. "Yeah, alright."

Larxene lifted her chin. "Good." And then, "Now we kiss."

Demyx leaned down with a leer. "Yes, ma'am."

In the morning, Demyx woke alone in a roadside motel, the rumpled sheets and a raging hangover his only company. He wondered if the encounter with Larxene had been a dream, but his pounding head banished the memory before he could examine it too closely. He glanced at his phone for the time, to see he'd missed several calls. He rubbed at his eyes as he pressed the button for his voicemail.

It was a call that would change his life. Because Demyx did make it big.

For ten years, he basked in the spotlight, and it was everything he'd ever dreamed of, and more.

And he'd all but forgotten about the woman from Lucky Luxord's Pub, until she appeared in front of him, looking exactly as she had that night. Not aged a day, her hair the same, slicked-back style, her eyes the same piercing green. "Time to pay your debt, Demyx."

"Come over here and make me," he growled, holding a sitar out between them.

A chilling smile spread across her lips as she approached him and produced a knife. "Gladly."