Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
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year 5, quarter 3
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Snow-laden winds brushed at his bare stomach, prickling the skin as his boots tapped on browning asphalt. The lanterns above hummed with something like magic and the air reeked of oil and exhaust. This city was like something out of one of Terra’s old historical records in Pandemonium or Oeilvert, a grim flash to a civilization on the brink of self-destruction. The same towers loomed over head, the same technology flashed by on thundering wheels, and the same sense of artificial life pulsed through the city’s veins.
In short, Kuja hated it.
Yet still, he had heard tell of this city and its culture beyond the fundamentals of war. He would taste its artistic merit while he scoped the city as a potential buyer for his weapons and enchantments. Still, as the snow iced on his skin and his boots trudged through gray sleet, he couldn’t help the wave of black vitriol that welled inside of him.
Places like this, he thought, were the epitome of what he hated most about technology.
The opera house rose from the ashen snow like a beacon, and Kuja hurried towards it, taking a moment to appreciate the classical architecture before slipping inside. The indoor heating, at least, was appreciated. He took the time to brush the snow and ice from his hair, primping it around his ears as his attention swept across the entrance hall.
He had been underground too long, far too long beneath the scorching sands with nothing to occupy him but his thoughts, his research, his plots, and that mage. His stomach curled at the thought. Vivi. He’d only just started using the mage’s name (for convenience only, of course) but something about the boy still made the fur of his tail bristle. Perhaps it was those wavering, hopeful eyes or the way he apologized far too often, trembling in fear. Maybe it came from the odd friendship the mage had formed with his dragon or those flowers the boy had offered him picked from the desert. No, Kuja needed time alone -- not to think, but to clear his head. He needed culture. He needed space.
He needed theater, and this was the best he could find on short notice. He pushed his hair over his shoulder and looked across the ticket board. The night’s showing appeared to be some silly love story, but it would do for now, he supposed. He’d gathered enough money from his business selling charmed weapons to scrounge up enough for this, and he intended to take advantage of that. He felt eyes fall upon him as they so often did, slipping down his hips and scrutinizing his armor, and gazing upon his softened features accentuated in makeup with either admiration or disgust. He cared little for the attention and bought his ticket without incident. Whether the eyes of the masses could appreciate his beauty or not meant nothing to him.
He swept into the lobby and breathed a sigh of relief. The embossed edgings, the marble floors, the red velvet accents. It all breathed of nobility, of wealth, and of a classical time that he had grown far more accustomed to than the metallic wasteland outside. Yes, this was what he needed regardless of the harsh or lustful gazes. He felt his shoulders loosen as he flitted to the nearest bar and acquired a glass of golden champagne. He swirled it thoughtfully and savored the bitter taste on his tongue.
For the first time in a long time, Kuja thought of nothing but decadence.
Genesis had finally started to adjust to life in Sonora, but that didn’t mean that he liked the city anymore than when he’d first set foot in it. The sprawling buildings and grim atmosphere reminded him far too much of Midgar for his taste. Unfortunately the feeling that he’d arrived back in Shinra’s capital was both what made him hate the city and what made him stick around.
“What kind of backwoods city doesn’t even have a proper theater?” he bemoaned from his place across the street as he looked up at the large auditorium that made up the opera house. Genesis had been there several times already over the past few weeks, and it had become one of his favorite haunts in the city even though he really wasn’t a fan of opera. It wasn’t bad per se, but it just didn’t have the same impact on him that a good play or a good piece of poetry did.
Still, it was better than nothing, and after a few minutes of grumbling and pulling his leather coat tighter around him to block out the cold and wind, he finally trudged through the snow towards the front doors. A pair of ushers in black coats opened the double-doors for him as he approached, and he didn’t bother to thank them as he strolled inside to the warmer air of the box office. They were only doing their job, after all.
Pulling out the pouch where he kept his money, Genesis sighed at the low amount, deciding that he’d need to pick off another guard soon. It wasn’t as if he could find a real job here yet. And anyway, he was doing the world a favor. Everyone was better off with less soldiers around. He could have told Sonora’s government just what kind of deserved ruin that investing too heavily in their military would bring them.
After buying his ticket, Genesis strolled into the lobby of the opera house, eyeing the red velvet staircases on either side of the hall and the closed double doors to the house. Various ushers in white and black were scattered around the crowd and a few stood in front of the doors with their hands clasped behind their backs. It appeared that the auditorium hadn’t quite opened to the public yet. Wonderful. Now he needed something to occupy his time for a few minutes.
Scanning the crowd, a scowl formed on his face as he glanced around at all the monotonous men and women in predictable suits and various colored dresses. No one stuck out to him as looking particularly interesting in the slightest, and it was with a huge amount of relief that he spotted the bar on the other side of the hall.
“Oh praise the goddess. Alcohol,” he said a little too loudly, ignoring the questioning stares he got as he pushed through the crowd. He cut more than a few people already in line in his hurry to get a glass of red wine, but it still felt like an eternity before he was able to support the wall and sip the bitter liquid as he scanned the room again. A painted mural covered most of one wall, and Genesis had just taken to scanning it and wondering what the artist’s intentions were in using such dark colors when a man with long silver hair walked past.
Genesis froze, fumbled his glass, and quickly gripped it tighter before taking a second look at the man. It wasn’t Sephiroth. Of course it wasn’t. Even if Sephiroth wasn’t dead, he’d never willingly come to a place like this. Letting out a shaky breath, Genesis watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he approached the bar and purchased a glass of champagne. He was a tall, feminine man with beautiful features and eccentric clothing. He must have been freezing with his exposed stomach, but he gave no sign if it bothered him as he flitted close to Genesis before stopping and taking a sip of his drink. Well. Genesis had been looking for someone interesting to pass the time with before the house doors opened. Perhaps he’d found his muse.
He approached the man and lifted his wine glass slightly in greeting. “When the war of the beasts brings about the world’s end, the goddess descends from the sky,” he quoted in introduction before remembering that Angeal used to scold him for introducing himself with Loveless instead of ‘actual words.’ As if there were any words outside of Loveless that truly mattered.
“You don’t look like you’re from this depressing hole of a city,” he settled on instead as he took a lingering sip of wine. “What brings you here? A fan of the arts, I take it?”
Kuja had only just considered mingling with the masses (perhaps the woman in the sapphire evening gown or the man to his right who practically screamed of wealth?) when his dilemma was solved for him. A rather practical looking man approached him, raising his glass in greeting. ”When the war of the beasts brings about the world’s end, the goddess descends from the sky.” Kuja raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Whatever he had expected from a stranger, it hadn’t been poetry.
The was clad almost entirely in leather from his boots to his coat to the collection of belts and engraved plates that decorated them. His hair fell in his eyes in stylized layers, framing earrings that glinted through their auburn veils. Though he dressed almost casually, he had a certain elegance to him and a certain beauty that lurked beneath the hardened surface. He hadn't bothered to match the formal atmosphere it seemed, but rather expected his environment to fit with him.
Kuja could respect that in its own way, though he found the look a tad too militaristic for his tastes. Still, it couldn't be denied that there was something appealing in that clinging tight-knit sweater and those high-heeled boots and the leather that dipped within them.
Kuja had never found beauty in anything so lacking in excess or adornments, yet he couldn't help a certain intrigue at the stark contrast between words and presentation. Those were not the recitations of a man only skilled in the use of a sword.
”You don’t look like you’re from this depressing hole of a city,” he continued, sipping his wine thoughtfully. ”What brings you here? A fan of the arts, I take it?”
Kuja laughed under his breath -- a light, chiming laugh muffled by two fingers at his lips. ”I’d far prefer the theater in truth, but this will have to do. The city's misery is suffocating.”
His eyes swept over him again, landing on the stranger’s own before he touched the champagne to his lips, a mysterious smile veiled behind the glass. ”The world’s end comes on crimson skies, the beasts truly men at heart.” He lowered the glass, head tilted in interest. ”I’ve never read that poem. Is it a favorite of yours?”
Genesis brightened when the silver-haired stranger insulted Sonora and praised the theater in the same sentence. It was the only sentence that had left his mouth so far, but Genesis already thought that this was someone he could get along with. Pausing to take a sip of wine, he considered the man a little closer now that he was standing directly in front of him. He had a startling choice of clothes, and he must have been freezing in the cold streets of Sonora, but he had a certain presence that demanded that you look at him. He had beautiful features, and between the high-heeled boots, carefully applied makeup, and silver feather loosely placed behind one ear, he clearly took a lot of care in his appearance. He looked like he belonged somewhere far away from this grim city. Genesis could respect anyone who looked like they had stepped straight from the pages of a book.
“I entirely agree. I miss going to the theater,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. He’d had season tickets back in Midgar before he’d abandoned Shinra entirely. “Tell me there’s a decent one hiding somewhere in this world.”
He started to take another sip of wine but paused when the man started to recite a line of poetry. By the time the final words had left the man’s lips, Genesis had already decided that he was in love. What was that poem? Had he come up with it himself on the spot? If so, then the man had talent, and Genesis was impressed.
“A fascinating interpretation,” he said, looking straight into his pale blue eyes. “But are we to feel sympathy for the beasts? Or is it that humanity itself was never made of anything but monsters?”
After the man had taken another drink of champagne, he inquired after the nature of the line that Genesis had recited to him, and Genesis felt as if he had been waiting for this question all his life. If there had been a table or flat surface handy, he might have even set down his drink for this. He felt he needed the full range of his hand motions, but one hand free would have to do.
“It’s from Loveless. It’s a classic, and also my absolute favorite, but it doesn’t appear to exist in whatever you’d call this world. Which is a pity. I’ve been contemplating writing it down just so people here can experience it. I had a book published back home on the various interpretations of its lines and my theories on the missing final act of the related play.” He considered the dregs of wine at the bottom of his glass before reciting the line that had resonated with him the most lately. “My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey in my own salvation and your eternal slumber.”
Tilting back the glass, he finished the last of the wine before smiling at the silver-haired stranger. “And you? I take it you must be a fan of poetry yourself. Did you come up with that, or was that from something?”
The man’s eyes lit up in an instant. Kuja blinked his surprise, recoiling faintly in alarm. He had never seen anyone so passionate in his life, and the sudden nature of it made it almost frightening.
”A fascinating interpretation.” The man looked directly into his eyes, and Kuja resisted the urge to step back. He seemed suddenly far too close. ”But are we to feel sympathy for the beasts? Or is it that humanity itself was never made of anything but monsters?”
”Ah…” Kuja could hardly collect his thoughts before the man started again, his free hand flailing in time with his suddenly quickened tongue. His quote had come from a play called “Loveless.” Apparently this man was quite the expert and perhaps his world’s leading expert if his reaction was anything to go by. He spoke of the play with a religious fervor though even the most fanatical of religions paled in comparison. Finally, he finished with another quotation -- this time almost mournful.
”My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey in my own salvation and your eternal slumber.” He finished the last of his wine and smiled at Kuja as though nothing at all had passed between them. ”And you? I take it you must be a fan of poetry yourself. Did you come up with that, or was that from something?”
Kuja blinked at him. It took him a moment to realize that the man had even finished. Kuja had always adored poetry, of course, and lived for the theater but this man…
Well, this man was on another level entirely.
”I…” Kuja sipped his champagne until his thoughts caught up to him. Did this man have no subtlety at all?”I am. I’ve read all the classics of my world several times over. I could likely recite the works of Lord Avon from heart though it would take same effort to organize all the players.” Kuja gave a melancholy sigh as he considered the glass in his hand. ”That aside, I’ve always enjoyed composing poetry myself. Sometimes the mood simply strikes. Your words were…inspiring.”
He sipped from his glass, eyes flicking to Genesis’ over the rim.
”That line you recited just now. ’My soul, corrupted by vengeance.’” A dry smirk touched at his lips. ”I’ve never heard truer words spoken in my life. This play of yours must be truly insightful.”
Kuja lifted the glass, draining the rest in an instant. ”My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey in my own salvation and your eternal slumber.” He tasted the words on his tongue, relishing them slowly. It was as though his life had been distilled into a single essence and written in verse. ”It speaks of tragedy, doesn’t it? But also of endless perseverance. And I can think of no worthier a cause than vengeance.”
He ran a hand through his hair, thrusting it back over his pauldron. Well, he’d gained an inspiring line of poetry from this if nothing else. ”Your play, you said you’d considered transcribing it. I think I’d like to read it myself once you have the time.” His eyes flitted to the man’s own, a mysterious smile at his lips again. ”I suppose you could consider me your first admirer.”
The man seemed startled by Genesis’ enthusiasm, but most people were, in his experience. Loveless was certainly a popular play in Midgar, but very few people were able to appreciate its genius as much as he did. That was certainly their loss. Loveless contained all the knowledge of the world that anyone needed, and he had always been at a loss for why no one else could understand that.
“Lord Avon?” He repeated the playwright’s name once the man seemed to collect his thoughts. “Pity. I haven’t heard of him. But I suppose that’s to be expected.” Genesis perked up slightly when the man continued and mentioned that Lord Avon’s work was from ‘his world.’ It appeared that he too had woken up here from somewhere else, but that was entirely obvious with his eccentric appearance at least. Genesis would have honestly been more surprised to find that he had come from these dark, depressing streets instead of having been blown in from somewhere exotic.
Considering his empty wine glass, Genesis paused when the man repeated his Loveless quote back to him perfectly. He had an excellent memory, it seemed, and he liked the way the words sounded as they flowed off the stranger’s lips. By the time the man had finished analyzing the line and started gushing over the merits of vengeance, Genesis decided that he liked this man even more. He was intriguing in a way no one else wandering the opera house lobby was.
“I entirely agree.” he said, as he finally set his empty wine glass to the side. The conversation was riveting enough that he probably didn't need to hold onto it. “There are few things that taste sweeter when revenge is deserved.”
The man swept his hair over one shoulder, and Genesis’ eyes were drawn to the way the silver waves fell into place before he was distracted by the man’s smile as he professed a desire to read Loveless.
“Oh?” He asked, looking him over closely again. There was something in his expression that might have been a little mocking, but Genesis hoped that wasn’t the case. He was enjoying himself too much, and he adored any opportunity to spread his knowledge of Loveless. “An admirer already? How lucky of me.” He considered the double doors to the auditorium before looking back to the poetic stranger.
“My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess,” he said with a bit of a flourish. “I suppose I should ask the name of my admirer then. I’m Genesis.” Pity they wouldn’t have as much time to get acquainted before the opera started. Maybe he should invite him for a drink afterward.
”Genesis.” The name pricked at the corners of his lips. It was a name that sang of drama and tragedy by a playwright that was trying too hard. He tested it on his tongue. It would do, he supposed. After all, the night would have been dreadfully dull without him.
”I’m much obliged. I’ve hardly met a soul who appreciates the finer arts in my world or this one. Though I suppose it does require a more eloquent taste.” His eyes shifted over the vibrant form before him. On closer inspection, the man had not dressed merely for practicality. No, there was a purposeful allure to his look from the glint of his earrings to the clinging stretch of his sweater. Kuja’s eyes lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. Yes, this would certainly do.
”You may call me Kuja.” He offered Genesis a practiced bow complete with a sweep of his arm. A smirk tugged at his lips as he straightened again. ”Sorcerer, scholar, poet. I’m a man of many talents though to which I owe my loyalty I couldn’t say.”
He tilted his head. ”And you? I assume you have an affinity for the blade. Not an uncommon skill in this place, but there can be a certain grace to it, I suppose. I’ve always considered a brutish art, but then, I’ve never known one to wield both his tongue and a sword in equal measure.” His eyes flicked to the curve of his sweater again. ”You intrigue me.”
Kuja let the hum of the crowd overtake him. His focus narrowed. His eyes simmered with a slow interest. Kuja hummed, eyes tilted, smile flickering before the moment left them. The doors to the opera’s stage had opened. The hall echoed its vacancy around them.
”I suppose we mustn’t linger any longer. Not if we’re to catch the opening act that is.” Kuja tossed his hair over his shoulder and let his gaze drift to the side. Someone had left behind a hardly touched glass of champagne. It sparkled in the artificial light. ”Perhaps we could continue this at another time? You’re certainly hard to miss, and I…” Kuja laughed under his breath. ”Well, I suppose you could say I make a habit of standing out in a crowd.”
Kuja drifted past him, letting his hand brush at the back of Genesis’ own as he went. His lips twitched into a smile. ”Until then, Genesis.”
Genesis tilted his head to the side as the mysterious man repeated his name and then complained that it was hard to find people who shared his love for the arts. “Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess. We seek it thus and take to the sky,” he agreed with a flourish before the man finally introduced himself with a low bow.
“Kuja?” He echoed with a short laugh as his eyes trailed to where the man’s silver hair had spilled over one shoulder. His billowed sleeve had fallen down his arm slightly when he had bowed and Genesis’ eyes were drawn to the purple nail polish that covered his rounded nails. “A pleasure then, Kuja,” Genesis continued, brightening when the man straightened and self-identified himself as a poet, among other things that mattered much less.
“You must be a man of many talents,” he said coyly as Kuja turned the conversation towards his skill with a sword. Genesis grimaced slightly in distaste but decided he didn’t mind the topic too much as long as they didn’t dwell on Shinra. They certainly weren’t worth the thought anymore.
“Whatever gave it away?” He asked with a slightly sarcastic smile as he gestured at his own uniform. At least he’d taken severe liberties with the typical First-Class Soldier attire. He didn’t look like just one of several dozen nameless sheep anymore.
“You’re right though,” Genesis relented. “I used to be a Soldier back in my world. Until the higher-ups and I had a bit of a falling out.” An explosive falling out as it were, but he wasn’t sure how much Kuja would like to hear that. Most people tended to react badly when they heard that he’d spent the past four years plotting murder, rebellion, and the ultimate culmination of Loveless.
“I actually enjoy using magic and my sword in equal measure though. I assume you appreciate magic yourself? You did describe yourself as a sorcerer.” He cast Kuja a curious glance, his smile widening into a slight smirk when the man boldly expressed his interest. He dearly hoped that meant that Kuja would want to get a drink afterward. His interest was piqued as well. The man had a flare for poetry and his conversation practically sparked with eloquence. He spoke like he was perpetually reciting a line of poetry or putting on an act. It was mesmerizing.
Unfortunately the moment came to an end when the doors to the house opened and the crowd started to disperse. “Alas, I suppose you’re right,” he sighed, though he couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath when Kuja stroked the back of his hand as he walked past. Well then. If that’s where the night was going then Genesis certainly wouldn’t mind.
“I’ll look for you afterwards,” he said, as he watched Kuja stroll towards the doors. “Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.” He admired the way Kuja’s hair and half-skirt swayed behind him as he walked, and then the moment was over as he turned to head inside the house himself.
The red velvet seats of the theater along with the dim lighting and the parting of the curtain usually did a lot to captivate his imagination. But this time as the first soprano took to the stage and raised her voice to begin an aria, Genesis’ thoughts were filled only with silver-haired men--both past and present.
This is how all healthy relationships start, right?
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja leaned an elbow on his armrest, legs crossed as he considered the stage. His finger trailed on red velvet. He let the music drift over him like a warm breeze. The production had none of the wit and wordplay of Avon, but it didn’t bore him exactly. No, it lulled him into a quiet sense of distraction that only let his subconscious run all the more rampant.
What was he doing here? Decompressing, of course. He needn’t confine himself to his studies forever, but that answer felt unsatisfying somehow. No. Why had he really come here to wallow in his own hedonism? It was an escape, nothing more. A distraction.
His thoughts had run uncontrolled for too long. His mind swam with an impenetrable mist. And at the center of it all was that puppet -- that mage. Vivi. He could still feel its piercing yellow eyes boring into him. Wavering with that insufferable sense of empathy. What had it been playing at, gifting him a wreath of flowers? They were pointless. Sentimental. And yet…
Kuja was supposed to be its jailor. What on all of Gaia had led it to even simple acts of compassion?
He rubbed at his temple. It pulsed with pressure, and he felt the first aches of a migraine coming on. Kuja scowled and stood, careful to avoid any stray feet as he shifted towards the aisle. This was useless. He’d need something stronger than an opera to numb himself.
The lobby came empty and bright. The chandeliers still scattered their crystalline light. The marble gleamed back its glaring reflection. Kuja took a direct path to the bar and ordered another glass of champagne. He sipped it far deeper than before, leaning against a polished column.
The floor tilted uneasily. The walls darkened into infinite space. Kuja clutched at his forehead, eyes closed. What was it about this light that left him feeling...unbalanced? It pulsed with something glassy and fragile. Like the reflection of a sun floating through endless nothing. Or was that him? He felt a sudden sense of weightlessness, tinges of red, and then…
The door opened. Intermission. Kuja gasped for air and touched at his temple again. He’d need something stronger than champagne. Stronger than theater. He needed…
His eyes drifted to the doors, scanning for that signature red. The poet, Genesis, had certainly served to distract him. Perhaps if they left together. Perhaps if he could lose himself to hedonism…
He caught a flash of crimson. Yes, the man would see him. He’d succumb to Kuja’s charms, and they’d meet again. Kuja only had to regain his composure. He straightened, shoulders back, expression cleared, and sipped at the edge of his glass. All the while, he kept that red at the corner of his eye.
Intermission. Genesis let out a slow breath as the curtain slowly dragged its way across the stage and the lights in the house blinked on. Truth be told, he hadn’t taken in much about the opera’s first act at all. His thoughts had been far too torn up on the encounter he’d had in the lobby. The man’s silver hair had just reminded him so much of Sephiroth. And as angry as he was at Sephiroth for dismissing him in his time of need, it was harder to remember that now that he was dead. As for Angeal...Well, he didn’t even want to think about that.
Suddenly feeling like he needed a drink, Genesis scurried back to the theatre lobby and made a beeline for the bar. Spotting a hint of purple out of the corner of his eye, he realized that Kuja was already there and was supporting the wall with a glass of champagne. Well, someone was certainly eager. That was honestly impressive timing if he was already here with a fresh glass. He must have rushed from his seat as soon as the curtain was drawn.
Raising a hand to Kuja, Genesis shot him a wink as he moved further up in the line until he was able to purchase a glass of red wine. Taking a long sip of the bitter liquid, he drifted over near Kuja until he was leaning against the wall next to him.
“That was certainly fast,” Genesis commented with a smile as he glanced at Kuja’s mostly empty glass. “Though I can’t say I blame you. The opera has been fairly uninspired so far.”
He took a long drink before considering the man over the rim of his glass. “My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess," he quoted softly. "Or did you have another view of it so far?”
