His dragon longed for to stretch her wings atop frigid cliff-sides and frozen mountain peaks. She’d spent too long in the desert, she insisted. She’d grown tired of the withering heat, blazing sun, and endless expanses of sand. It seemed a silly thing to leave his research on the whims of a dragon, but Kuja had long ago learned that keeping others in line meant giving them something in return for their services. For his dragon, he’d have tolerated far more than hypothermia and wasted time.

Still, he’d avoided the mountains for a reason. Kuja shivered against the biting wind. His body was made more resilient than those of Gaians so freezing would have been nearly impossible for him, but still, he far preferred the heat of the desert to the icy touch of snow. He wore his usual attire with all its violet leather, bare skin, and gold embellishments, and for once, Kuja couldn’t help but question its practicality. He would survive, of course, but the trip by dragon was less than comfortable. He nestled into her down feathers despite himself and quietly cursed the weather, the mountains, and his dragon alike.

What he wouldn’t give to feel his boots sink within sweltering sands. But progress was not directed by his whims alone. No matter how he wished it was.

”Are you done?” His voice came sharper than usual when addressing his dragon, but she wasn’t listening. Instead, she’d cocked her head, eyes narrowed in an expression Kuja knew too well. It was the look of a cat frozen at the sound of scampering feet. She looked back at him longingly.

Kuja touched at the bridge of his nose. ”If you must,” he said. ”We’re here on your doing.”

The dragon snorted her approval and started a spiral down towards the mountainside. Compared to his last dragon, she was almost boorish with an infamous impatience and hunger for anything that moved. His last dragon would have never interrupted him for a hunting detour, but then, she’d been something truly special. Cordelia, he’d named her, after the graceful heroine of his favorite play. He’d struggled for ages on a name worthy of her replacement, and had only recently decided on “Ava” for said play’s far less delicate author.

Ava drifted down until she found a cliff-side cave. There was likely something inside seeking shelter, and her ears twitched at the sounds of life that Kuja couldn’t decipher. Instead, he took the brief respite from the wind to conjure a small flame to warm his hands. His dragon would do as she would unless instructed otherwise, and he had no reason to pay any attention to her little indulgences.

That was, until he caught a voice -- female -- echoing off of stone walls. ”I wish to live my life under the sky. At times I shall laugh, at other times cry.” There it was. As clear as the waters of Terra. A quote he’d whispered to himself a million times over.

Here, in the middle of a desolate mountain cave on an alien world, someone had recited the works of Lord Avon.

He’d hardly noticed his dragon stalking forward. Hardly realized that her teeth were already bared as her haunches raised and she readied herself to attack. It was only then, as teeth and claws were inches away from rending through flesh that Kuja stiffened, came to himself, and shouted his command, ”Stop!” It came in the Terran tongue for his dragon’s sake, and Ava froze a mere arms-length away from her target. She gave a low whine to which Kuja hushed her and slid gracefully from her back. As his boots clicked against the stone floor, he found a stream of new words slipping from his tongue.

”For no life is more insincere than that lived as a masquerade.” He smirked as he spoke, eyeing the ceiling thoughtfully as he ambled forward. ”Worry not. Cast away thy trappings of royalty, and I shall swaddle thee in a gown of pure love.” His eyes wandered to the mysterious poet. She was an odd girl to say the least. Small. Shivering. She wasn’t human, though what she was, he couldn’t say. Something connected to cats, perhaps, though not enough that she couldn’t have hidden it with a few well-placed accessories. That was two things they had in common.

”Will you accept?” Kuja extended a hand to her, head tilted in a smile as cold as the mountain snow. ”You seem hardly in a position to refuse.”

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