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year 5, quarter 3
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Lindblum was, in a lot of ways, a far larger city, but only if you counted elevation. Sonora sat low to the ground, with few tall buildings, but stretched nearly as far as the eye could see in all directions. It was a city built along the slow incline towards the nearby mountains, much like a honeycomb in it's structure and roads. What was once a nice, peaceful trade center was now a place hardened by the waning attacks of what was left of a great army.
But, local lore wasn't something Zidane dabbled in too awful much. He was more interested in the how, rather than the what, and it frustrated him to no end that he wasn't getting any answers. He sighed, walking down one of the main streets, one hand on the handle of his weapon, the other swinging lazily as he sauntered down the dirt/stone road. His tail swung behind him lazily, his eyes scanning the town, hopelessly looking for something, anything familiar. However, the search was to no avail, and Zidane found himself seated in one of the many 'town squares' that dotted the city. There were a lot of people, but it wasn't cramped, like how Lindblum or Alezandria would get during festivals and celebrations. It was nice, and allowed Zidane room to breath, and a low enough level of noise to let him think.
Though, his thoughts kept wandering back to his last day with Garnet. He had planned to return from his trade route, the maiden voyage of an airship he helped repair, kidnap her, and bring her back to Lindblum for a week (or more) of time they could spend together. He closed his eyes, keeping the memory of her face fresh in his mind's eye, and smiled a bit when he remembered how happy she was to see him again after the year. How happy she was at his request to steal her away again, like he did at the beginning of their journey. The look of doubt and uncertainty in her eyes when she questioned him about the safety and necessity of his journey to Lindblum. He frowned, knowing that he was probably believed to be dead... for good, this time. He opened his eyes and looked to the sky, the dark blue that hung over the clouds like an ocean, the waves too far to see.
He sighed, knowing that they weren't even looking at the same sky anymore. This wasn't home, nor would it ever be. He set up, then stood up, giving himself all the motivation he needed to keep moving. He'd find a way home. He'd see her again. He'd see all of his friends again. Even if it's just one time, he'd be there.
He moved across the square, looking ahead, ready for anything.
Well, almost anything.
MADE BY VEL OF GS
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
HAVE A NOVEL IN WHICH KUJA DOESN'T ACTUALLY SAY ANYTHING TO ZIDANE AT ALL
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja hated the cold. Of all the world's natural wonders, Kuja hated this the most: ice, snow, and biting winds. His body had been constructed as resilient to all manner of elements -- be they natural, physical, or magical -- but that didn't mean that Kuja had to enjoy the various assaults on his senses. Even if he was at a relatively low risk for dying of exposure, Kuja still cast a reproachful eye across the snowscape that greeted him.
Sonora. By all accounts, it shouldn't have interested him. With its frozen tundras, paranoid military presence, and general lack of culture, the town couldn't have offended him more. As Kuja approached the settlement, he eyed frozen railroad tracks and the looming shadows of what looked to be two over-large cannons. Kuja couldn't imagine what they could have possibly been used for in the middle of this wasteland, but from their size and make, Kuja thought they might even rival the power of the battleship Invincible.
It was just another connotation to add to the wonders this fortress had to offer. By the time that he'd reached the entrance, Kuja could have spit fire. "You, intruder! State your purpose!"
The city had been blocked by a fence and two high-rising guard towers. A guard approached him armed with a sleek black uniform, a stern expression, and a gun. Kuja's eyes flicked to it carefully.
"I beg your pardon. I hardly meant to intrude, I only-." "Sonora is off-limits for citizens without a military pass."
Kuja felt the fur at the base of his tail bristle. His fingertips burned with latent magic.
"Please, I am a scholar. I traveled from Torensten in order to learn of the conflict here and of the city's people. I promise you, I mean no ill will."
"Do you have a military pass?"
"Well no, but I-."
"Then I can't let you inside."
"You'd turn me away? But where am I supposed to go?"
The guard fingered his gun, and suddenly Kuja felt twelve years old again, standing outside some barred gate, teeth grinding in frustration at some meager-minded guard who refused to see reason. Before Kuja obtained his ill-gotten fortune, there was hardly an official on the planet who would listen to him. After all, why spare the time for a strange foreigner of no money or standing -- rationality be damned? How many times had he suffered through this exact conversation? Dozens? Over a hundred times? Those times had made Kuja no stranger to oglop-ridden inns and the chill of the wilderness.
But that time had long passed. As he stared down the moron before him, Kuja felt a familiar fury rise into his throat. His eyes flicked from guard to tower to wooden walls. A few well-cast firaga spells would take care of them all. But no, there was no reason to cast himself as the villain of this story. Not while he still had no definitive plan, and not while the world was watching. So Kuja swallowed his rage, cleared his expression, and smiled into the face of idiocy. "How unfortunate. I thank you very much for your hospitality." Kuja let the word slip from his tongue like poison. Then he gave a respectful nod of his head and began back down the path, away from the city, and out of view.
Only then did Kuja allow himself a furious scowl. They were hard-headed idiots. Every single one of them.
In truth, Kuja had wandered this far on a lead he'd gathered from the worshipers of the Crystalus Divider. After securing an admittedly unreliable pawn in Genesis, Kuja had continued his research on the gate to little avail. He had been able to identify a source of power. He had speculated its source and cause as something of a dimensional disturbance. Beyond that, however, Kuja discovered almost nothing of practical use. Unwilling to waste his time, Kuja had taken to speaking with the various followers of the mysterious gate. Their conversation had mostly been drivel, but a few words had caught his attention.
They had spoken first of some kind of calamity in Torensten. Apparently a great beast had fallen from the sky and torched the place. Kuja's offerings of sympathy had almost been genuine. The city had reminded him a little of Treno, and he would miss the culture it brought to this barren world.
Secondly, they spoke of a massacre some months ago at the summit of the World Sight. Apparently the place held rumors of some supernatural power hidden within the tomb of an ancient warrior. The description had immediately piqued Kuja's interest, but as the holy site had been closed after the incident, Kuja postponed his inevitable journey for sometime in the distant future.
Lastly, they told him of a battle taking place only a week prior in the Northern outpost of Sonora. They told him of the city's defensive canons, of its great walls, and of its constant state of vigilance. The place was in an unending state of war, it seemed. Though it certainly offered him nothing in his research, its chaos spoke of another opportunity.
Where there was war, there was fear. Where there was fear, there were people ready to be manipulated. If anywhere had a need for sorcery and invention, it was a city at the constant brink of battle. Kuja could offer great services in the arts of mass murder, yet those idiot guards hadn't even allowed him the chance. One day, perhaps, he would return with fire in his eyes, and he would laugh as he watched them all burn. Someday, when he'd gained the power and position to do away with pretense, then he would let his impulses see the light of day. Until then, there was nothing he could do but smile, wait, and ignore the rules they had so arbitrarily given him.
Kuja set his eyes on the wall again. With towers posted regularly along its length, Kuja had no hopes of sneaking in side without raising alarm. Kuja generally tried to conserve his magic where possible, but without the aid of his charisma or the advantages of his dragon, his magic remained as his only advantage. Closing his eyes, he brought his magic to strict focus. For a moment, he could no longer feel the snow or the wind or the creeping pain running up his bare fingers. There was only his magic, welling hot inside of him. Kuja muttered the beginnings of a spell which normally took him hours to complete, but which Garland could cast instantaneously. He felt its heat rise within him, his stomach turned, and then he was falling.
The sensation lasted only a few seconds. His feet hit solid ground. When he opened his eyes, he saw a dirt road, metal houses, and people milling about in the snow. Kuja staggered a little as gravity caught up to him, and his knees threatened to give under the weight. Instantaneous teleportation was no simple task, and Kuja tried to avoid it when possible. Snowflakes caught in his hair and across his sleeves. It brushed across exposed skin like the creeping tendrils of the dead. Kuja straightened and tried not to shiver.
There was no time for rest. He had work to do.
Kuja spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of the war-stricken city. He conversed with the locals, learned of the local goings-on, and generally gathered as much information as he could from weak-minded idiots who blanched at the sight of individuality and would rather glance away than meet his eye. He spoke with shopkeepers, housewives, craftsmen, and merchants. He avoided only the soldiers, who eyed him suspiciously and kept their distance. He let their disdain slide off him like ice water.
It was only as he finished his interrogation of a young barmaid (useless -- the girl seemed to have the intelligence of a fruit fly), that something caught his eye. It was only for a second, but as he tossed his head to the side, he noticed the slightest flash of blonde.
A familiar blonde. The kind that made his stomach crawl and his bones freeze. Kuja paused in his coy farewell, and glanced to the source. Walking down the street was blonde hair, a blue vest, and-
A tail. Kuja's breath stopped as he eyed the thing, twisting and swaying like a snake behind its owner. 'A Genome,' his mind supplied, but then his eyes trailed to a wistful mouth and bright eyes, idly admiring the sky. 'It has a soul,' his mind continued, and then suddenly it all clicked into place.
Zidane. The boy he had nearly killed, abandoned, used, and abused so often. But how had he gotten here? Had he been pulled into the same rift that Kuja had fallen through, or was it merely fate playing some terrible trick on him? It seemed that no matter where Kuja went --whether it was other continents, planets, or dimensions entirely -- he could not be rid of his feeble-minded replacement. Anger stirred in his soul like a flame, but there was something else there too as he watched the boy wandering closer. It was a strange emotion -- one he was not used to. It came like so many others as of late -- confused and as though through some vague and impenetrable fog. Kuja brushed it aside. There was no use humoring it just as there was no use causing trouble when he held no position of power.
Kuja eyed the boy sourly and then turned and started down the street. He moved casually, as though he had noticed nothing, then he slipped aside at the first available alleyway.
Whatever Zidane's presence meant, Kuja could ponder the implications later. For now, he knew only that such an altercation was not in his interest, that he had other work to accomplish, and that he wanted nothing to do with the odd hesitance that lurked deep within his subconscious. The sight of Zidane had made him uneasy, and Kuja didn't want to think as to why.
Somewhere deep inside, a monster lurked clad in bright fur and red feathers. It lingered at the edge of his mind's eye and radiated with passion and pain. He saw it now as he slipped into the shadows of the city. His eyes throbbed in crimson red, and he touched at the beginnings of a headache.
Whatever it meant, it had something to do with Zidane, and Kuja wanted no part of it.
Zidane was, for the most part,, completely occupied within his own mind, the memories of home giving him strength, yet also sapping his resolve. With no leads, and no apparent way home, Zidane had, for the most part, lost hope in ever seeing anyone ag-
A flash of silver hair out of the corner of his eye.
"... Nawww..." Zidane let out a scoff and turned to look, his eyes widening as he saw the silver hair, the eccentric outfit, the pale skin nowaythiscan't...
Zidane couldn't hear anything, from the buzz of the people's conversation around him, to the gravel the crunched below their feet as they walked. The sounds of industry surrounded him, but did not meet his ears. A man that Zidane watched die, a man that Zidane had come to sympathize and care for as a brother, was walking away from him, the flair in his step obvious. Zidane choked. It was Kuja!
He was rooted to the spot, his knees weak as he realized that if Kuja was here, and alive, then that meant the others could be here! He suppressed a shout of joy and instead found his legs again, crouching low and bursting forward in a dead sprint through the wide open path between the people walking. His boots kicked up dust and gravel as he saw Kuja, in the distance, round a corner. Not enough time, he would lose him! Zidane's eyes scanned the buildings now between him and Kuja, and he moved low to the ground before leaping onto several boxes, jumping and kicking off of the wall to gain more height, grabbing the edge of the roof and flipping up and over.
Once his feet hit the stone that made up the roof of the building, he moved diagonally across the roof, breathing heavy as he leaped across the gap between two of the buildings, keeping the image of Kuja in his mind, wondering, pondering, freaking out that he was alive! Did this mean... He blinked as his lack of focus caused him to trip over an uneven section of the roof, crashing and tumbling to a stop.
Did this mean Vivi could...?
He laid on the roof, on his stomach, and started to push himself up, staring at the roof below him before picking himself up. He shook his head, looking ahead, gritting his teeth. He swore loudly as he got back to his feet, looking over the next few buildings and growling. Which building did he go around? He punched his hand, grinning.
"Not this time, Kuja! I'm catchin' ya!" He leaped over another building and looked in the alleyway below, seeing the silver hair and skidding to a halt, turning around, and vaulting off the building and landing behind... not Kuja. Just an old man with long hair?! Zidane let out a frustrated groan as he spun in place, looking for him, he knew he saw him!
He turned his back to a wall and leaned against it, looking up into the sky, his heart absolutely pounding. He sighed, and took off in a jog, rounding another corner, memories of everything they had gone through because of Kuja... but how Zidane had forgiven him, despite multiple attempts on the lives of him and his friends. No, Kuja deserved a chance, and Zidane was heartbroken when Kuja had passed away before getting that chance.
He rounded the corner, turning left, looking up and staring Kuja directly in the eyes. He blinked, realizing instantly that he had gone one building too far, and had, with luck, found him!
"... Kuja?" he said, his arms staying slack at his sides. He took a couple of steps closer, memories, both bad and good, moving through his mind. The very sight of Kuja had given him hope like he couldn't believe, given Zidane a bright outlook on this otherwise bleak situation. After a year of coming to terms with everything, regretting not saying everything to Kuja he wanted to, he finally had his chance. Just maybe, maybe, they could figure this out together. Maybe hec ould take Kuja back home with him, and let him live the life he deserved.
But, there was something wrong. Something was off in Kuja's eyes. Zidane noticed the expression Kuja held as very similar to the one he sported when Zidane meddled in his plans. Zidane automatically took half a step back, swallowing as he took a breath. "Hey, you... you alright?" he asked quietly, his heart pounding in his chest as his spine seemed to freeze solid. He couldn't move. Maybe Kuja would change the way he was looking if he looked at Zidane? He was confused, but stood his ground, despite his mind screaming, positively screeching at him to turn tail and run.
But, he didn't. And he figured he might regret this, one way or another, but he stayed.
MADE BY VEL OF GS
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
Kuja's head pounded from magical fatigue. His boots trailed in the snow-lined streets. For not the first time, he longed to find some dark, quiet place to let his mind rest. He only needed a moment of silence, a second to close his eyes, and then perhaps he would have the strength to continue. Kuja rubbed at his temples and let his fingers trail through the feathers of his hair. He needed a moment -- just one moment -- or he'd-.
The flickerings of a deep blue light cast shadows through his doorway. Kuja listened to the rustle of pages -- almost deafening against the silence. His eyes fell to minute writing cast in mechanical letters. It listed the modern civilizations of Gaia: Alexandria, Lindblum, Burmecia, Cleyra, and Madain Sari. The last would fall soon (Kuja had been subjected to Garland's plotting far more often than he would have liked), but the others...
Was there nowhere with enough human activity to mask a Terran soul? Alexandria, perhaps. Or Lindblum.
"Hey Kuja! What're you doing?"
That voice pierced through the silence like a monster's shriek. Kuja jumped despite himself and then eyed the disturbance over the top of his book. He saw messy blonde hair, wide eyes, and a wiry tail sweeping back and forth in anticipation. Kuja gave the boy his coldest look (the kind he'd learned from Garland), but the boy didn't even flinch. Instead he just smiled that idiot smile and then scrambled closer. Grasping hands pulled the tiny form up higher until the boy sat perched on his bed, in his room, during his free time. Kuja's nails dug into the pages of his book. Words could not express how much he hated-
"...Kuja?"
That voice. Kuja's footsteps stilled. Slowly, he lowered his hand and looked towards the end of his path. Beyond the slicks of ice and the flurry of fallen snowflakes, he stood there. Zidane. Taller now than in his memories, but not by much. Somehow -- impossibly -- the boy waited before him, blocking his escape. Kuja met his eyes -- that familiar Terran blue -- and felt the deep stirrings of some familiar emotion.
Pain, regret, and hatred.
Zidane took a step back, startled in the way that Kuja had never been able to inflict on him before. "Hey you...You alright?" Fear flickered through those hated blue eyes. Kuja's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Why was Zidane acting as though they knew each other? And had it been Kuja's imagination, or had the boy looked at him almost eagerly, just like-
Just like before. Kuja's nails marked crescent-moons into his palms.
"What are you doing?" Kuja's mouth soured around the words, sneering. "Shouldn't you hate me -- the man who single-handedly brought ruin to the Mist Continent? My, but we are stupid, aren't we?" The words cleared Kuja's mind, and suddenly he could think again. If Zidane was here, then that meant that others from Gaia could have slipped through the same rift. If they remembered anything at all, then that could bode poorly for Kuja's chances to establish himself here.
If they remembered anything. Kuja's eyes flicked from Zidane's sheathed blades to his wary eyes. Could it be possible that he didn't remember? Perhaps he had slipped into a child-like state and still thought of Kuja as some kind of make-shift guardian? Or was it Kuja who did not remember? Had something happened in that vague, unknowable time between his conquest and now?
But no. Nothing could change that drastically.
"And what brought you to this forsaken place? Fate? The hands of gods? Or did you simply fall from the sky?" Kuja touched at his mouth, laughing a little though it was mostly for show. "My, but what luck, running into you. There is absolutely no one I would rather see in the desolate wastes of a strange world. Truly, I wish you nothing but the best."
TAG.Kuja WORDS. 647 MUSE. Now, Yellowcard NOTES. He said something completely different this time.
Seeing Kuja again had given Zidane a ray of hope in the dark storm he had been in for the past week. However, this expression on Kuja's face, the look in his eyes, reminded Zidane of the times when they were pursuing him across the Continents, the glare of disdain and hatred washed over him and set his nerves on fire. Zidane's fingers itched to grab the handle of his dagger for defense, but he willed his hand to remain at his side, his eyes looking into Kuja's with worry and, to some degree, fear. What had happened to him? Did Zidane do something wrong?
Then, he spoke.
The tone of his voice was ever narcissistic, his words biting, sharp like knives as they pierced Zidane with a soured hatred that matched his gaze. Zidane fought the urge to take another step back, and willed himself to stay still. He needed to see this through, to find out what was wrong with Kuja! But, at Kuja's words, he realized that the Genome was confused as to why Zidane addressed him like that. Did he not remember Memoria? Necron? When Zidane went back fot him in the Iifa Tree? Zidane counted his lucky stars that Kuja didn't outright attack, and relaxed (on the outside, anyways), standing straight up as Kuja spoke again.
His words, though still cold as ice, were now questioning Zidane how he got here, and how he was glad to run into him. What did he mean by that? Something for sure didn't feel right, and Kuja's posture, his demeanor... It was Burmecia, all over again. He took a deep breath, and spoke for the first time since Kuja had set the alarms off in hid mind.
"Well... I don't know how I ended up here. I was flying an airship to Lindblum from Alexandria. Next thing I know, me and half of the airship is falling from the sky!" he said, giving a shrug. He put his hands on his waist and tilted his head.
"How did you get here? I mean, the last time I saw you was..." he remembered the Mage Village, the morning was cool, and quiet. Zidane had spent the last several days with Kuja as he laid dying on a bed, and, though they didn't say much, Zidane made sure to know that he forgave him, and that he understood.
"I had forgiven you for that... a long time ago. After everything that happened, Kuja, you came back to us. You saved us all. Don't you remember? The Iifa Tree?" he said, frowning, gaining his confidence back. How would he ask someone that was supposed to be dead why they weren't dead? He was too happy to see Kuja alive and well, and didn't want to be the debbie downer about it. If he could just get him to remember something, anything, then Zidane would have a strong ally... and he wouldn't be alone.
"Listen, whatever you remember, we're on the same side here, okay? We both ended up here, somehow, and if we work together, we might be able to find a way back." he took a step closer, now just outside of arm's reach of Kuja. "Work with me now, and then we can hash out any problems between us later. Okay?"
Zidane remembered their fight with Kuja, the fight with the being Necron, and his decision to stay behind. This was like that time. Kuja was in this place, probably lost like Zidane, and they needed each other, now. Even if Kuja was the only one here, Zidane still needed to try and keep his head up. Everything that had happened did indeed happen for whatever reason, but that wouldn't stop him from trying to figure it out, even if that meant to try and make amends with Kuja all over again.
He had to try
MADE BY VEL OF GS
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
Kuja had often prided himself in his power of perception. Reading people was an art -- one which he had mastered long ago. Emotions, thoughts, morality, all of it could be perceived with only a moment's observation if one knew the signs. As Kuja watched Zidane with eyes like a snake's, he had no trouble at all reading him. From his shifting gaze to his clenched fingers to the cautious swish of his tail, Zidane might as well have been screaming his emotions from across the snowy expanse.
Zidane was afraid. Truly afraid, and yet trying miserably to hide it. He did not arm himself. He did not step away. There was only that wary hesitance and a barely concealed fear. Zidane nearly flinched at Kuja's words, but where Kuja had expected anger or some pitiful retort, Zidane gave neither.
Instead, he answered honestly.
"Well... I don't know how I ended up here. I was flying an airship to Lindblum from Alexandria. Next thing I know, me and half of the airship is falling from the sky!" The boy gave a casual shrug as though he was speaking to one of those idiot friends of his -- the wanderers that he seemed to attract no matter what the time, danger, or situation. The ones Kuja had suspended over lava and then strung along to follow his will.
How had that ended? Kuja could recall leading them to Mount Gulug, traversing through a settlement infested with dragons (and killing them gladly -- he'd needed a distraction from Zorn and Thorn), but something had gone wrong. Something...
Something...to do with moogles? But that couldn't be right...
"How did you get here?"
Kuja's eyes flitted back to Zidane. The boy had placed his hands on his hips -- still unarmed. His head was tilted in a curious expression. It unnerved him. "I mean, the last time I saw you was..."
Kuja's eyes narrowed. The last time? The last time that Kuja had seen him, he'd called the boy an idiot, sent him off to retrieve an ancient artifact, and then stolen away with a kidnapped child. But no, that wasn't right, was it? Zidane had surely chased him to Mount Gulug (as Kuja had planned -- why else would he have brought along a knowledgeable hostage for the boy to save?), and for the briefest of moments, Kuja recalled an image. Zidane looked almost feral when he was mad, with his tail swishing irritably behind him and his daggers held out like claws. That's how he'd looked at the bottom of Mount Gulug. Angry. Agitated. Hateful. That was the last thing Kuja remembered.
...Or was it? Something irrational told Kuja that it wasn't. Something deep inside that gave a horrific lurch at the look Zidane gave him now. Sad. Pitying. Mournful, even. Kuja had seen that look before. He'd seen...
"I had forgiven you for that... a long time ago." Zidane spoke, and that voice -- that hated voice -- was laden with something that made Kuja's breath catch. "After everything that happened, Kuja, you came back to us. You saved us all." But that wasn't...Why would he have...?
Zidane looked him directly in the eye, and then Kuja remembered. Those eyes -- startling blue. They were the last thing he saw. The last thing before...
"Don't you remember? The Iifa Tree?"
Those words crashed around him with the resonance of a bass drum. In that moment, there was no city, no snow, no mystery awaiting them on a strange planet. In that moment, there existed only Zidane and that word. "Iifa..."
The leaves rustled when he closed his eyes. Rustling. Creaking. Groaning. Kuja listened to the death throes of his planet. His no matter what he'd said or done. It all ended here, in this alcove of wood and rotting leaves. Soon everything would be over, and he would be...
His body hurt in ways it never had before. Not burning, not aching, not shooting heat that he could bear if he only grit his teeth and fought through it. No, this pain came like a cloud. Removed. He felt it and knew what it was -- back fractured in the impact, deep scratches caught on branches, slashes from a dagger's blade, magical burns deep along his left side -- but it was like the signals had gotten lost somewhere between nerves and brain. His body wasn't fighting anymore. There were no more warnings to send.
Dying. The word had once set inside him like a knife. Cold. Paralyzing. He had been afraid, but not now. The adrenaline had faded. His mind had cleared. Suddenly, he saw it all as though analyzing a diagram or the themes of a play. He saw the planet (still so startlingly blue) with its heated sands and towering castles and wind that blew in long grasses, and he knew that there was no places for him on it. There never had been really, yet he had forced himself upon it like a parasite. Always taking, never returning. From the moment of his creation, that was all he ever had been.
A parasite. An enemy. While Zidane...
"Listen, whatever you remember, we're on the same side here, okay?"
Zidane. Kuja saw him through the storm and the ice and the swirling snow. He saw him but he didn't understand. Why was he coming closer, and why was he smiling?
"We both ended up here, somehow, and if we work together, we might be able to find a way back."
Zidane was close now. Close enough that Kuja could have touched him if he'd only extended his hand. Those eyes were watching him. Sympathetic. Blue.
"Work with me now, and then we can hash out any problems between us later. Okay?"
So familiar. So very, very familiar. "You should hate me." The words came weaker than he'd intended. Not biting, sarcastic, or mocking like before, but quiet. Almost pleading. Kuja didn't know why, but in that moment he looked away. What did it matter what this boy thought? What did it matter what anyone thought, so long as...
His throat constricted. His ears murmured with the rustling of leaves.
"Why are you doing this?" The words came almost as a whisper. He forced it past the ice in his chest. It had nothing to do with the cold. "Why are you...?" The words trailed off. The wind whistled through their forgotten alley-way. Here there was only the wind, the snow, and Zidane.
Zidane, who was far too close. Zidane, who had refused to draw his blade. Zidane, who had once...
TAG.Kuja WORDS. 537 MUSE. Now, Yellowcard NOTES. Not as long as I thought it would be, but it gets the point across.
Kuja had always struck Zidane as the kind of person who could never change 1oo% when they were chasing and fighting him during their campaign to save their home. But, as time had passed, Zidane had learned much more of his 'brother', and had an opportunity to try to get to know him during their time together. Kuja, in one fell swoop, had redeemed himself for everything, and, in the eyes of the others, saving them from death was enough for that. Zidane had made sure to tell everyone how Kuja had been in his last days, and how Zidane believed that, if Kuja hadn't swept him away and left him on Gaia, Zidane himself could have been the same. A weapon. Like the Black Mages.
Zidane did his best to make Kuja feel like a person, and much less a tool. much less a weapon that Garland intended to use on Gaia. Zidane understood the need to survive, that there was disregard for the lives on Gaia when it came to the lives of the Terrans. Zidane's blue eyes looked into Kuja's, and he saw it. Confusion, yes, but he saw the familiar glint in Kuja's eyes, the feeling of being lost, uncertain of himself, but, instead of reacting in anger and murder, Kuja reacted in a way that Zidane couldn't have ever predicted.
Kuja's resolve weakened. His voice, quieter, no longer ice cold and cutting into Zidane's heart, but now hurt and, maybe, just a little afraid. Maybe he had forgotten about their last days, and Zidane knew that the only thing he could do was continue his honesty.
"... Kuja, let's get out of this alley. Sit somewhere warm. I'll tell you anything you want to know."
He sighed, crossing his arms to try and escape the chill. The entire situation was confusing to both of them, he was sure, but to see Kuja like this made Zidane uncomfortable and concerned. Very concerned. If Kuja didn't in fact remember the times after Memoria, or even their trip to Terra where Zidane learned what they were... then did he view Zidane as an enemy? As much as Zidane didn't want to believe it, he remembered when he had first shown up. He picked up his Mage Masher and remembered Garnet, which then made him remember everything else. He held up his hand in front of his face, staring at the glove, and remembered that, before Kuja breathed his last, he took Zidane's hand, which made his heart nearly stop. He remembered that Kuja sought support...
Zidane stretched the same hand out, not in the same way Kuja had taken it, but in a way that he hoped... that he prayed would help jump Kuja's mind. He looked into Kuja's eyes again, determined, the breath clouding in front of his nose as he took deep, calming breaths. This was it. This had to work.
"Come on. I know we were enemies before, but I'm giving you every reason to trust me. Please." he quietly pleaded in the back of his mind for this to work, for this to do anything, anything to bring Kuja back. He needed his friends, and, at this point, Kuja was one of them.
He just needed Kuja to remember that.
MADE BY VEL OF GS
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
Kuja was not used to vulnerability. For the last several years, Kuja had moved with an aura of untouchable confidence. He had practiced his expressions, recited lines as though from a scripted page, and played his part to dole out nothing but lies. Never once had he slipped. He had played the role even when alone -- it had so ingrained itself in his subconscious that there was a time in which Kuja honestly couldn't have told the difference. Honesty. Deceit. Kuja had woven his new persona so tightly around himself that even he had forgotten the truth beneath.
Kuja had never been a nobleman, a weapon's dealer, or a harbinger of war. Beneath it all, he was just...
The snow prickled at his exposed skin, and Kuja repressed a shiver. His tail swished loudly in the pocket of his skirt -- hidden, but beating to a wary rhythm. Zidane stood far too close. Blue eyes bore into him with a focus that was almost unnatural.
Kuja knew that expression. Understanding. Sadness. Pity. Kuja's nails dug sharp into the palm of his hand.
"Kuja, let's get out of this alley. Sit somewhere warm. I'll tell you anything you want to know." Zidane said his name without hatred, suspicion, or derision. He said it softly, as though calling to a lost child. Kuja felt the sudden urge to strike Zidane. He wished to draw blood. He wished to force Zidane away and claw that softness from his eyes. He saw it in that moment -- Kuja's eyes livid, mouth sneering as he raked his nails across Zidane's cheek like a feral mu. He saw it, but he did not act. The fur at the base of his tail bristled.
Zidane crossed his arms and shivered against the cold. Kuja was certain he couldn't have felt it terribly. Their bodies were resistant to hypothermia, after all, and could survive internal temperatures exactly 16.3 degrees lower than the average human's. Yet still the boy shivered in the cold. Kuja watched coolly as the boy examined the tip of his glove.
Part of him relished seeing Zidane like this. Trembling. Uncomfortable. It distracted from the memories bubbling beneath his throat.
Then Zidane stretched that hand towards him. He held it wavering between them like an offering. Kuja glanced skeptically from gloved fingers to Zidane's earnest eyes. As though by clairvoyance, Kuja knew that the boy's next words boded poorly.
"Come on." Zidane's voice was insistent, yet pleading. "I know we were enemies before, but I'm giving you every reason to trust me. Please."
'Trust me.' Kuja felt his lips sour. No matter what he was feeling, no matter what he might or might not remember, no matter how Zidane approached with his pleas and his misguided compassion, trust was not something he could give.
It was not something he would ever give. He didn't think himself capable of it.
"No, Zidane." Kuja felt himself straighten, his composure returning. The walls around himself had strengthened, and Kuja was able to think critically again. He blocked the memories clawing and screaming through his subconscious. He thrust down the feelings of panic and guilt which he still could not identify. In its place came thoughts -- cool and logical. Sneering sarcasm. Sardonic criticism. Part of him realized that this would be an easy opportunity to use Zidane. He had only to lead him along and let him believe whatever he wished, after all, and the boy would be under his thumb in a heartbeat.
But the other part -- the part that he had not entirely buried -- imagined sitting beside Zidane in some smoky inn, talking by the flickerings of firelight and meeting those too-blue eyes. Zidane would ask him questions to which Kuja didn't know the answer. Even now, painful emotions churned at the sight of the boy's outstretched hand. If Kuja took that hand, then Zidane might break his defenses again. Kuja might speak truthfully and then they would start a conversation which Kuja could never take back.
The conversation he had sworn he would never have.
Kuja pushed the hand away. "I'm afraid you have not given me reason to trust you. And in fact, there is nothing at all which I wish to ask of you." A lie, but Kuja was a master of those. It was far more comfortable than the truth. "I have absolutely no desire for your company and would do best left alone." Kuja let the last word drip with extra emphasis. His eyes spoke the words which he had left unsaid.
"Don't worry. I have no plans of enacting any evil schemes upon this innocent world. In fact, I haven't been plotting at all." Kuja crossed his arms and let his eyes wander to the adjacent wall. "So you needn't watch over me, Zidane. I promise I'll play nicely." Back to his usual mocking. Sarcasm came to him like a second language.
TAG.Kuja WORDS. 312 MUSE. SPACE HAMSTER. Don't ask. NOTES. I finally got him to wake up.
No, Zidane could see it in his eyes when he decided against it. His biting words sank into Zidane once again like the teeth of some predator, and this time he took a step back, unable to hide the fact that it did hurt. Though Kuja wasn't trying to kill him here, he was just like he was before, and Zidane knew that he was wasting his, as well as Kuja's time trying to get him to remember. It pained him, but he had to back down.
"... That's okay." Zidane said, his arms at his sides. "Maybe someday you'll remember... and, when you do, come find me." He turned around, a determined look on his face, hiding the defeated feeling he had in his heart. "And to answer your question, yes, I do trust you. Even though you don't trust me." he turned to look at Kuja again, anger, sadness and disbelief swelling in his chest. He considered returning his own biting words, to tell Kuja what he thought of everything he did to himself and his friends, to his home, and to their own world. But, he bit back the words, instead taking a deep sigh, turning back around and walking away.
It came down to two things, now. If Kuja was here, then it was likely the others could show up. But, that also meant that old foes could surface, and Zidane had to be ready for that.
But, if memory problems like this were common, what if his friends didn't remember him? He could hardly keep the thought out of his head as he left Kuja in the alley, his gait slow while his mind wandered. This event had filled the Genome's heart with hope, but also with a form of foreboding he hadn't felt in a while.
But, he needed to stay strong. He didn't have a choice.
MADE BY VEL OF GS
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
How dare you imply that Kuja could be a decent person. He takes personal offense to this.
Why should the world exist without me?
Zidane backed away from Kuja's biting words. His shoulder had hunched defensively and his tail had picked up an uneasy rhythm. Zidane did not take his bait. His eyes did not flash with anger nor did he finally reach for his blades. Instead, he merely withered beneath Kuja's gaze, wincing as though every syllable burned.
There was once a time when Kuja would have relished in the look Zidane gave him now. It seemed that time was no longer. Now Kuja could barely bring himself to meet the boy's eye.
"That's okay. Maybe someday you'll remember. And when you do, come find me."
Something surged in Kuja's chest, and he fought the urge to strike him. The boy's eyes welled with sympathy. His voice wavered with sadness. Perhaps if Kuja lit the space between them in flames, perhaps then Zidane's pity would falter. Perhaps then he would finally reach for his blades, hold them again him, and shout his usual heroic lines. Perhaps fear would overtake whatever pitiful scenes played in the boy's mind, and then perhaps that fear would lead to anger...
Kuja raised his hand, but the boy had already turned away. Kuja's fingers sparked with magic. Just one spell...
"And to answer your question, yes, I do trust you. Even though you don't trust me."
'Prove him wrong.' The impulse came like a siren's call. 'Take him now.' The boy did not look back. He stood there without protection, without weapons, with his back turned and his tail swaying warily. Kuja's breaths came sharper. He imagined the thrill of murder. Just one spell and the air would super-heat around him. It would be quick -- bloodless -- the boy would only have time for one look of betrayal and fear. 'Prove him wrong.'
But his hand did not move. No spells left his lips. For several seconds, there was nothing but the rush of snow around them and the biting of chilled wind. Zidane trotted away.
Kuja slowly lowered his hand.
Why couldn't he do it? The question lingered even as the boy's tail still whipped around the corner. 'Why couldn't I kill him?' Never before had Kuja hesitated in the act of murder. He had struck down solitary merchants, had sent assassins after political adversaries, and had slipped arsenic into the wine of wealthy businessmen who had trusted him far too much. His earliest years had been marked with tragic "accidents" for the hated genomes forced upon his presence. Some were discovered battered and still at the bottom of cliffs. Some in mangled strips after seemingly provoking a silver dragon. And Kuja could always be found nearby, innocent of everything, but far too unsettlingly present.
Looking back, Kuja wished he could have warned his younger self to greater discretion. Garland had undoubtedly suspected the truth of Kuja's hobbies long before that terrible day of exile. Perhaps that was why Zidane had been given life.
'A failure.'
Strange that a weapon made for death should be condemned for relishing in it. And Kuja had always relished in it. Every time but once...
The snow had fallen then too. Fresh, powdered snow outside the cliffs of Lindblum. Kuja had crept through the tangled brush of the plains, breath quick with excitement and fear. He had abandoned his forbidden cargo unconscious beneath a thorny bush. He'd reassured himself that the cold would do it or the monsters perhaps -- and it all came to the same thing, didn't it? Dead, gone, out of the way -- so long as Kuja's life was free of it once and for all?
Yet he'd left with that same, persisting question, 'Why couldn't I kill him? Why couldn't I kill Zidane?'
His fingers found their way to the ridge of his forehead. Their sharp touch scraped above his brow and he raked his nails up through the roots of his hair. His mind swam with crimson feathers, the rustling of leaves, and those eyes -- far too large, far too benevolent, and far too blue. The cautious sway of his blonde tail. A gloved hand, not unlike the one just offered to him. 'Yes, I do trust you.'
'Why?' Kuja could have hissed in frustration. 'What did I do to earn your trust? Who do you think I am?'
Someone who would not attack him from behind. Someone he would leave to wander at will. Someone who would not kill him.
'That's okay. Maybe someday you'll remember. And when you do, come find me.'
"Oh brother." Kuja opened his eyes to a gray and clouded sky. The snowflakes caught in his hair and eyelashes. "Do you really think there is good in me?" The wind offered no answer. Only the hollow prickle of cold.
Kuja left without speaking to anyone. Sonora's civilians would later report to hearing an explosion at the front gates of the city just before sunset. The charred remains of over a dozen guards would be uncovered from the wreckage, but the incident had left no living witnesses.
A thorough inspection would discover only a set of pointed footprints and a few strands of long silver hair.
