[Xehanort in a library. Oh, like this is anything unusual... He's sitting at a table, a notebook in front of him, a rather nice new jacket over the back of his chair.

What he's doing, though, is maybe not something his counterparts generally turn their hands to. Nor is it something he's really done much himself.

Scribble, scribble... doodle.

A rather badly drawn picture of himself and his fellow travellers from Radiant Garden is taking place. Family, friends, and Isa and Lea. Proportions wrong, eyes totally out of place...
But when he doesn't have any other images of them, what else is there to do?

He sighs, looks at it, crumples it up and tries again.]