Zexion took a deep breath before stepping through the Dark Corridor into the World he had one time called home. Summoning a minor illusion, he altered his appearance to that of Ienzo; his hair gained a few inches, brushing against his shoulders, and his clothing was no longer the uniform of the Organization, but rather a pair of dark grey trousers and a navy button-up shirt. Looking around the secluded side street he had arrived in, he glanced around quickly while closing the Dark Corridor behind him.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, he wondered if there was anyone left who remembered the youngest of Ansem's apprentices. He noted that while a great deal of the once grand city had been restored, it still held no candle to its former glory. For instance, that house over there had once had flower boxes full of sweet smelling blossoms, now the windows were shuttered, the flowers withered and long-since dead.

Shaking his head to rid it of faded memories, he meandered down the street, wondering just what had possessed him to return here.

A scent that carried hints of Darkness but was most definitely not dark teased Zexion's nose long before he sighted the unusually attired, dark-haired man. Well, he certainly is not a native of Radiant Garden. I would have remembered someone like him. Releasing a soft cough in an attempt to relieve the almost always present lingering twinges of pain in his throat, he wondered if the man had any ties to the Restoration Committee he'd heard rumours of before being sent to Castle Oblivion.

Castle Oblivion, the place where he thought he had died. Where he had sent his closest companion to his death and had seen the destruction of all he believed in. He still found himself wonder why he was still alive, as it were; if this state of non-being could be considered truly living.

Why was I chosen to have a third chance? Why not any of the others? Certainly there are those who would have benefitted from such a chance.

Feeling the other man's eyes lingering on him, he wondered about the other's story. What caused such an unusual mix of scents to linger about him?

The feeling of eyes on him remained, and if Zexion hadn't been as self-disciplined as he was, his skin would likely have been crawling with nerves. As it was, he was hard-pressed not to constantly glance over his shoulder. He found himself wishing he had left his appearance as that of his current incarnation, rather than that of an impetuous young man who had dared to pursue knowledge that no man had any right to know.

When nothing further came of the close scrutiny he knew he was under, he gave a purely internal sigh before speaking. "I know you are watching and following me," he said clearly and calmly. Having been through what he had, Zexion found he had little patience for games with no purpose, especially when his presence was already known.

Turning finally to fully face the other man, Zexion's slender eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "I see," he replied. What kind of game is he playing at? Is he even playing one? The scent floating from the other man was strange; it was intriguing, confusing and a little bit intimidating. He radiated a calm confidence, the sort of man you really want to end up on the bad side of. And Zexion, if nothing else, preferred not to dirty his hands with unneccessary conflict.

"There does seem to be a distinct lack in other inhabitants of this district," he commented, seemingly idly. Perhaps he would be able to draw a few tidbits of information from this stranger. Such as what was the current state of affairs here in Hollow Bastion, as the slate haired youth had not returned here since he had awakened as the Nobody known as Zexion, number VI in Organization XIII. It wasn't just the buildings that were different; the world even smelled different, although Ienzo's nose had not been as sensitive as Zexion's now was. He found it rather disconcerting to find his home world so very different, and yet still containing echoes of what it once was.

"Mmm, that is very true," Zexion reluctantly agreed. "Near-constant heartless attacks do tend to have the side effect of leaving people leery of not only venturing forth from their homes, but of interacting with strangers."

His gaze wandered over the darkened buildings, looking for any sign of former or even current inhabitants before returning to the other man. Releasing a deep sigh, he nodded. "Something like that. And yourself?"

Let it never be said that Zexion was not adaptable and able to make the most of a given situation. If he had to act the innocent and ask questions in order to get the information he wanted, then so be it. He would play that part; it was one that he was not entirely unfamiliar with.

"Ah," Zexion nodded subtly, eyes darting around him, always on the alert for heartless or the possible sign of the presence of another Nobody. After all, what were the chances that he was the only member of Organization XIII to have survived? He still couldn't bring himself to believe that, and it was that very thought that had brought him back to the very place where it had all started. Hallow Bastion, once the beautiful city of Radiant Garden, center of where he and the rest of Ansem the Wise's apprentices had dared to tread where no mortal was meant to go.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when he realized the nearly silent man was still standing near him, likewise watching, observing and lost in thought. It was very difficult to read the dark haired stranger, something Zexion was not at all used to. He was used to being able to readily read and manipulate those around him, to gather the information he wanted and accomplish the mission at hand. But now he found himself not only without a mission, but apparently no longer possessing the upper hand. It seemed his miscalculation of the neophytes was following him still, dogging his steps no matter where he ran to. It was not a welcome feeling at all.

"It's almost too quiet here," he commented eventually, something to fill the empty air and to distract his thoughts.

[Many apologies for taking so long to reply. I was having a hell of a time trying to come up with something, since Vincent doesn't leave me much to work from.]

"Mmm," the younger man nodded in agreement. "How very true. And these predators seem to be especially lacking in bounds." Zexion drew his gaze back to Vincent, well aware of the intense scrutiny he was under. He vaguely wondered if it was possible for the other man to see past the very small illusion that was making him look like his Somebody, that perhaps his powers had been affected by what he knew should have been his death.

He noticed that the daylight was rapidly fading, leaving the streets dark and the buildings even more haunted in appearance. If Hallow Bastion was at all like the other worlds infested with heartless, the creatures would grow more bold with the coming of nightfall. "I should be going," Zexion said, once again looking up at Vincent. "Night is approaching quickly, and I have no desire to tango with heartless."

Zexion couldn't help but lift an eyebrow at the question. "No, not as it were. I would just rather not have to fight any more than necessary. I'm a scholar, not a warrior," he replied. If perhaps his words were not the entire truth, they were were at least not a lie. At one time, he had been nothing more than a scholar; a researcher and apprentice to the greatest mind in Radiant Garden.

"You however, have the look of someone who has seen more than their fair share of battles. I'm sure you have little to fear from a heartless or two," he tilted his head ever so slightly, encouraging the illusion of his youthful appearance. He hoped that such a leading comment might inspire Vincent to say something more, to perhaps disclose something of merit.