It is very much intentional. That Ienzo still manages to resist the urge to move from where he stands is... impressive, certainly. But even despite that Xemnas still notices the effort it takes him, the way he holds himself close and focuses in on something else in lieu of that one, single, command. And if that something should be the slow entry of text into an entry field that neither of them is doing anything with than so be it.
He knows that command, too. Knows that it would take only a handful more keystrokes to open up the hidden paths underneath the laboratory, to rows of cells hidden away in the darkness and a room that held all that he once had to explain his past. The single clue to who he might be, though he has since reclaimed more of past. More, indeed, than Ienzo might imagine, although the full truth of that matter is something he hardly cares to mention. Not if it isn't relevant, and here on the eve of battle he cannot see a need for Ienzo to know just how much he had reclaimed in those final moments before Radiant Garden had fallen to the darkness.
"Nothing 'happened to it'."
There's a faintly disapproving tone in his voice, as if he would have expected Ienzo to have realized that, despite the fact that he has not been, and likely will never be, particularly forthcoming about the true nature of any of his plans. True, there is now little denying that he, like his other selves, seeks nothing more or less than to recreate the Keyblade War of old. But even that secret is one that had only been revealed when it was on the very cusp of being too late to truly stop. That Sora had been wrenched free of their clutches at the last moment had been an unfortunate setback, yes. But little more. Especially when a suitable replacement had hardly been difficult to find. But he says no more on that topic, and when he speaks again, his voice has settled into the familiar tones he adopts when he has something important to impart.
"Hearts and memories are intertwined. After all, can it not be said there are specific memories, specific moments, who define who we are? Those memories, and others, leave their marks on a heart, even long after the memory that created them has faded into nothing. Thus, by traversing the depths of a heart, we gain a path into memory itself. Perhap, even, to a past that has long since been forgotten."
Like his had been, out of reach and forgotten for reasons that he'd only later come to realize; memories of the body he had inhabited overwritten by the heart of another. But that, too, is behind him now. Though he might never have more than decade's worth of memories to call his own he know enough of the plan that is now in motion to be able to see it through. And that is more than enough. After all, what need does he have of memories, when there are so many other versions of him as it is? Versions who can, in their own way, do all the remembering that he might not be able to - and though he isn't likely to mention it now, he remembers more than Ienzo might expect.
Unbidden, without either of them having so much as touched the keys, the blinking cursor on screen pauses for a moment, as if someone has pressed the key to confirm the text that's been entered; it blinks away a moment later, the password apparently accepted as six new entry fields appear, arranged in a loose circle.
"Why else do you believe I would have so willingly offered myself as our first test subject, if not for that?"
True, there had been setbacks. Ones more disastrous than any of them could have truly imagined. But to know that the bonds between heart and memory could be broken without sacrificing both in the process had proved useful even so. As had the later revelation that one could, over time regrow a heart, after having been separated from it.
no subject
He knows that command, too. Knows that it would take only a handful more keystrokes to open up the hidden paths underneath the laboratory, to rows of cells hidden away in the darkness and a room that held all that he once had to explain his past. The single clue to who he might be, though he has since reclaimed more of past. More, indeed, than Ienzo might imagine, although the full truth of that matter is something he hardly cares to mention. Not if it isn't relevant, and here on the eve of battle he cannot see a need for Ienzo to know just how much he had reclaimed in those final moments before Radiant Garden had fallen to the darkness.
"Nothing 'happened to it'."
There's a faintly disapproving tone in his voice, as if he would have expected Ienzo to have realized that, despite the fact that he has not been, and likely will never be, particularly forthcoming about the true nature of any of his plans. True, there is now little denying that he, like his other selves, seeks nothing more or less than to recreate the Keyblade War of old. But even that secret is one that had only been revealed when it was on the very cusp of being too late to truly stop. That Sora had been wrenched free of their clutches at the last moment had been an unfortunate setback, yes. But little more. Especially when a suitable replacement had hardly been difficult to find. But he says no more on that topic, and when he speaks again, his voice has settled into the familiar tones he adopts when he has something important to impart.
"Hearts and memories are intertwined. After all, can it not be said there are specific memories, specific moments, who define who we are? Those memories, and others, leave their marks on a heart, even long after the memory that created them has faded into nothing. Thus, by traversing the depths of a heart, we gain a path into memory itself. Perhap, even, to a past that has long since been forgotten."
Like his had been, out of reach and forgotten for reasons that he'd only later come to realize; memories of the body he had inhabited overwritten by the heart of another. But that, too, is behind him now. Though he might never have more than decade's worth of memories to call his own he know enough of the plan that is now in motion to be able to see it through. And that is more than enough. After all, what need does he have of memories, when there are so many other versions of him as it is? Versions who can, in their own way, do all the remembering that he might not be able to - and though he isn't likely to mention it now, he remembers more than Ienzo might expect.
Unbidden, without either of them having so much as touched the keys, the blinking cursor on screen pauses for a moment, as if someone has pressed the key to confirm the text that's been entered; it blinks away a moment later, the password apparently accepted as six new entry fields appear, arranged in a loose circle.
"Why else do you believe I would have so willingly offered myself as our first test subject, if not for that?"
True, there had been setbacks. Ones more disastrous than any of them could have truly imagined. But to know that the bonds between heart and memory could be broken without sacrificing both in the process had proved useful even so. As had the later revelation that one could, over time regrow a heart, after having been separated from it.