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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns: The Butterfly and the Spider”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]The University of the Magi had opened up one of their gardens to the public. The hedges and lawns were all trimmed neat and in beautiful shapes. The outside paths were paved with brick. Some paths were even lined beautifully with cherry blossom trees blooming in delicate pink petals. Upon the cross ways a new musician was set to showcase his or her works. It filled the park with music no matter where one went. Sets of actors and performers were set themselves in the flat, flowery space just beyond. And what a fine spring day for such a visit.
And on the inner edges of these innermost paths, there were sets of stone stairs that led down a slope. The slope had tiered concentric rings as one walked down into the amphitheater. The tiers interchanged between cut green glass and brick. And it is on the grassy tiers that white tents were pitched. Canvasses of art, sculptures, blown glass, jewelry, and beauty brought to life as artists saw fit.
The Lady had yet to enjoy anything but the gentle trill of the music. At the entrance, there was an air train stop on one side of a red bridge that connected to the park. A gentle man-made stream ran beautifully beneath it. It was here, on the park-side of the bridge, she sat comfortably on a stone bench, her gold dress folded neatly beneath her. Heels crossed and parasol leaned against her seating, she gently fanned herself from the humid heat as she looked over a paper fan and a length of paper - both with words scribbled - on her lap. Her other hand held a feathered quill rather still as she scrutinized the two writings.
A soft sigh emitted from her lips. She had forgotten what it was like to not know every single person of importance in the city.
[attr="class","character-spring-1e"]Kuja | Such a beautiful setting for this potential disaster encounter.
Kuja did not use that word lightly. He considered himself a connoisseur of beauty, and while he’d once found it in even the most mundane of experiences, he’d grown jaded since then and dulled to the wonders of a living planet. Still, there were some things that he would never fail to appreciate. The warm smell of rain in summer. The dry desert heat. The earthy tones of a well-maintained garden were high upon his list, and as he reached out to touch the dark, glistening leaves of a rose bush, he couldn’t help a soft sigh.
It was the kind of experience that would stir the heart of any aspiring poet. He was no exception.
”Petals fall on piano strings
A herald of the summer brings
A light amongst the budding dawn
A sea of thorns forever long”
It was something.
Kuja moved inward, taking his time to appreciate the carved topiaries and cloudless sky. His heels crushed stirring petals of fallen cherry blossom flowers. They gave off a sweet, subtle perfume that he wished could be bottled and sold. Far away, he heard the soft trill of a violin.
It was beauty distilled to its purest of essence. Kuja relished every moment, turning it over in his mind. He would commit it to memory, he thought, for those bleak and sleepless nights spent feverishly drafting plans over a candlelit page of parchment. But that would come later. A few days off, he thought, and for now there was only the garden.
He stepped lightly down the floral path, stopping every so often to consider the sights with crossed arms and a tilted head. Then he’d continue, not caring for any other men or women sharing his appreciation. They were nothing but nuisances. Bothersome flies flitting at the edges of his vision. So when he came across a woman fanning herself on a stone bench, his eyes initially slid over her as though she were nothing but an unpleasant distraction. Something about her struck him, however, and he refocused, eyebrow raised in a curious interest.
Then he saw her -- well and truly saw her -- and he froze, staring.
Lady Hilda.
She wore an ornate headdress, hair pulled back, lips freshly lacquered. Her layered dress spoke of refined tastes adorned with lace and ribbons and layers above her petticoat. A delicate string of pearls was set at the base of her neck, and he wondered briefly how she remained so poised. Then the thought was gone, and a terrible dread took its place.
Here was a woman who knew him -- truly knew him in a way that perhaps no one else did. She knew the kind of man he was. She knew of what he was capable. She, of all people, would not take kindly to him.
In that moment, he was struck by the sheer injustice of it all. It seemed as though fate had cursed him to forever cross paths with every soul he’d ever wronged. It was as though he was on the receiving end of some terrible karma though of course he’d never believed in such things. In a world such as this where he had no hold, he needed anonymity more than anything if he sought to catch the ear of some gullible person of power, but it seemed he would never be rid of the burden of consequence.
Any moment, she would notice that distinct glint of purple, white, and gold. There was no use in hiding, he was too distinctive and the garden was too exposed. Still, he had no desire to initiate the confrontation. Instead, he merely watched her from afar, expressionless with a perfect actor’s facade.
He felt no unease, no concern, and certainly no guilt. Of that, he was entirely incapable.
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns: The Butterfly and the Spider”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]It had not bothered her. In fact, she vainly felt a satisfaction knowing she could still draw eyes at her age. Nay. In a garden full of so many beautiful objects, she still turned heads. This meant she would do so at tonight’s gala. She hoped such tactics would allow her a way to ease into conversations.
But this last stare, it felt intense and familiar. Despite the warmth of the day, she suddenly felt cold as if chills touched her very bone. Her eyes fluttered up from her work to catch the sight of him. There was a moment of surprise on her face, eyes wide and brows high. His pale beauty contrasted with the more colorful flora in the garden. A statuesque angel in the garden - seemingly cold and emotionless in his observation of her. The wind blew the pollen and soft pink petals between them. It glimmered beautifully in the light.
She looked down as if removing her sight would ease the shock. She had been warned he lived, but she had not thought to run into him so soon. An attempt was made to swallow the lump in her throat and breathe. She seemed to have stopped breathing.
But seeing him brought back images of his palace. The cool colors of stained glass and baroque statues. And where she thought her husband was an advanced engineer, seeing Kuja’s own work - and the advanced otherworldly technology used to keep her shut in - told her otherwise. His living space was as beautiful as he was. She was strangely taken by the beauty merged with advanced science.
And yet, the hate in his soul besmirched such allure. It was very much like a painter showing retribution by taking a smudging cloth full of black ink and smearing his work unrecognizably. The masterful painting was forever damaged by the artist’s contempt at criticism.
She could go on pretending he was not there. Allow him to walk by and they both go about their day, ignoring the elephant in the room, so they say. But, in that moment, something in her sparked. She would not allow this man to control her any longer. Not physically nor emotionally. She would not run from him, because it would solve nothing and only fuel her fear.
And part of her wanted to resolve this the way Lindblum resolved issues at the end of any war - with power, grace, and open arms. Despite Alexandria and Burmecia always puffing their chest at each other, it was Lindblum that ended the first war and forced peace treaties. Lindblum also did its best to resolve the seemingly final days of Gaia. It aided Burmecia and protected the princess of Alexandria. Then lent aid at the battle of the Iifa tree.
Should she treat Kuja like a representative of his own country? Of this other world of which he spoke?
She was sure Garnet would frown at such an assertion. Lady Hilda had her doubts too. But if she tried, perhaps she could find peace in her heart. At least, have a proper final discussion with him to find closure. Or keep one’s enemies close to monitor them. She hadn’t the money or ties for spies just yet.
She coyly kept her eyes down. He loved poetry did he not? Just as much as he loved to be admired. And being in the garden meant he wanted a bit of artistry today. She kept her voice steady and soft. She spoke only as loud as needed to be heard as she feigned looking over her notes. Then, a bit of poetry about him seemed a pleasant, neutral choice.
“The Butterfly blessed with beauty and grace. The Spider thronged with mystique is withdrawn. She flutters around to find Her perfect place. He captures the heart of His next pawn. Their souls never finding peace. He sets his elaborate trap. Frightened and on a whim, She is caught in His web and a sudden hap! The familiar face captivates Him. His world comes to a cease.”
She put down her quill and finally met his gaze. Her earthy tones meet his more heavenly blue pools. Her surprise had melted into a welcoming smile. She stared back as he stared at her.
“They look into each other's eyes, Both hearts beating, both undone. He sets Her free and to the skies. She is left in a state of stun.”
She hummed thoughtfully to herself, feeling a chuckle she didn’t think could be there in her chest. If she pretended her fright was actually excitement, perhaps she would be pressed into a better mood. “I wish to set aside the cynicism and hate to, instead, live simply and artistically for the day. Would you care to join me?” She would not let him spoil her mood, if she could help it. Or maybe he took up painting and was finding a bit of inspiration staring at her by the water.
[attr="class","character-spring-1e"]Kuja • Butterfly, Butterfly, Where have you been?/Out to the garden and back again.
[attr=class,bulk] It struck him then, waiting for their eyes to meet, that he had never known her.
It was a strange thought, and one that shouldn’t have struck him as it did. He had never considered them particularly close -- how could they be given the circumstances? There was no love to be found between captor and prisoner, and there was certainly no love to be found within him in general. Yet as her eyes flickered towards him and his heart fluttered in turn, he found that he could not predict a likely course of action.
He knew her as a captive dove, beautiful with her carefully preened feathers and yet far too proud to sing. He’d known her to peruse his libraries (both Gaian and Terran -- a funny thing when she couldn’t read the script) and go snooping through his palace under the pretense of admiring the architecture. At times, she would perch by the stained glass window with her hands folded on her lap, looking out as though the whole world would reveal itself before her and perhaps she could gaze upon the skies.
Now those skies were open. Her wings were free to catch the midsummer air. She’d found what her heart had always longed for and that which the soul would shrivel without.
Agency.
As her eyes met his, he saw all manner of thoughts flash through them. There was surprise of course then fear then uncertainty. Kuja wondered briefly if she might merely faint at the sight of him, but it seemed she was stronger than that. She kept her gaze lowered as though behind a veil. Her intentions were likewise obscured.
And then, after a long moment of thought, she spoke. Or rather, recited.
”The Butterfly blessed with beauty and grace / The Spider thronged with mystique is withdrawn / She flutters around to find Her perfect place / He captures the heart of His next pawn.”
Poetry. It seemed she still knew him after all.
Kuja listened as she said her piece. It was a brilliantly chosen stanza. He could see it all then in the parable of the Butterfly and the Spider. How they danced together, captivated! He, with his machinations and She, driven by fear. Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his with an actress’ skill for timing. ’Both hearts beating, both undone.’ Did she mean this meeting or the last? He had no hold over her here.
Perhaps that was why she laughed.
’Would you care to join me?’
Kuja’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ”Join you?” After so many accusations, so many questions and calls for justice, he could never have expected such civility, and she had more reason to hate him than most. Still, she sought to set aside that hatred, and...what?
Make peace? Kuja’s lips twitched with laughter that then escaped him, quietly at first and then louder as he pressed his hand to the side of his forehead. ”Really?” He tilted his head back, fingers twisted in his bangs. ”You want to talk? Just a simple stroll through the park? Shall we have a picnic then? Then perhaps I'll lock you in the mage’s tower. For old times’ sake.”
Kuja slowly lowered his hand. ”You’re many things, Lady Hilda. But you’re not stupid.”
He looked at her, his laughter faded, his eyes cool. ”You want to keep watch on me.” It wasn’t a question. ”Well if that’s the case then you needn’t bother. I’m up to nothing nefarious, I assure you. I find myself severely lacking in motivation.” His words were more bitter than he’d expected. Aimlessness did not suit him well.
”So you can go about your day, and I’ll go about mine. I wouldn’t want to tarnish your view of the gardens.”
[attr=class,ooc-notes]
[attr=class,tagline]@ladyhilda
He's very used to being hated by absolutely everyone
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns: The Butterfly and the Spider”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]Rather dramatic, wasn’t he? All she did was ask him to join her and he laughed very animatedly. A little rude to do that to a lady, was it not? As he fervently spoke, his words mocked her. They held accusations and assumptions against her. More importantly, it felt like they were trying to cover up something about himself. As if a tongue lashing could obscure himself in the withdrawn shadow beneath his web. Why push her away? Did she frighten him?
She did look rather frightening in her dress and well-adorned headdress, didn’t she?
All the while, she looked up to the blue sky with a gentle eye roll. Or perhaps she was asking the higher powers above to grant her patience. Each of his sentences, she collected her things and tucked them upon her person. She wrapped her quill in the length of paper, then tucked it into a sleeve. She hung her fan from her wrist and took her parasol very purposefully.
She stood up, hiking her skirts above her ankles and feigned her anger. She closed the distance between them with an upset march. Her chin tilted up. “You foul FIEND.” She said in overly exaggerated tones of offense. “You nearly killed my daughters and drained them of their magic - both god and adopted.” Even if she did not birth them, they were the closest ones she could have. “You leveled our nations, my home, and nearly my world!” She stopped leaning forward, hands on her hips. “Was it worth burning the world down and tearing apart your relationships? And in the end...did it allow you to obtain what you sought? Are you quite satisfied now?” She let the questions linger as she stared up at him, a slight pout on her lips and her eyes narrowed.
Then abruptly, she reached down. With a quick jerk she opened her ivory and gold parasol, fluffing it in front of him. Then swooping it up her shoulder with a gentle spin. When it rested in its proper place, her usual smile was upon her. All of that was rather droll, wasn't it? “Is that what you wanted to hear?” She raised a brow as she studied him more closely. “Tell me, Lord Sorcerer, why should a spider feel remorse or guilt for capturing and draining its victims?” Spoiler, it shouldn’t feel any remorse or guilt for being itself. “Is it not in His nature? Is it not for survival that He continues to do what He does best.” She hummed thoughtfully. “And all of that was a couple years ago and worlds away, or so I am told. Tis been mended now.” After a moment's pause, she added, “Each of us had a part in that disaster too.” To blame him solely seemed a bit unfair, but that could be her diplomatic negotiations coming to mind.
She looked up at the leaves and flowers of the trees above them thoughtfully. “It was also not you who rubbed the scales from my wings. My oglop of a husband did that. It was your silver web that kept me from frantically beating my wings until I fell from the sky. It gave me a place to rest and recover, even if I was frightened at being placed in a glass jar. Then, unlike others you trapped in your web, you released me.” Very much against the instincts of a spider, which would have meant starvation. She breathed in the floral fragrance. “I did find you crushed all the flowers I rested upon when released.” A soft sigh. “But they have long grown back. And you would be hard pressed to destroy all the flowers here.” She gestured towards the garden. “Though, if you did, you would find some that flourish after passing through fire.”
Her eyes turned back to him, and she cooly studied his expressions. She had seen him in many different faces - In the throes of his discoveries, in the madness of obsessions, in the heated anger of his hate. But this, the one he currently wore, was different. He had changed. “I believe you.” She said in regards to his lacking motivation to be nefarious.
“Still, I would watch you.... And why shan’t I? You are quite pleasing a view in the garden.” She smiled a little more and lowered her eyes, “I can think of no one better to share artistic opinions today. Maybe even find you a bit of motivation.” Much like a dancer, she held her arm out for him to take. “It's just a simple stroll and picnic.” She teased in the ‘what is there to be afraid of?’ tone. “A little sun does wonders on the mood.” And if he were to lock her up in the university’s tower, well, that didn’t seem so bad.
[attr="class","character-spring-1e"] Kuja • Butterfly, Butterfly, What did you see?/ I saw a spider looking right back at me.
Kuja recognized it instantly, and he didn’t like it. He watched as she raised her skirts and marched towards him, shouting. He felt a mask slide over him again, his eyes cool, one eyebrow slightly raised. She put her hands on her hips and asked questions that she had every right to ask, and yet despite her raised tone, it held no sincerity.
Was he satisfied? Well he had been. Once. Then he’d died.
She shot him a challenging look then held out her parasol like a weapon, shooting it open then spinning it back onto her shoulder. She looked once again like any noblewoman at the park. She was smiling.
”Is that what you want to hear?”
Kuja said nothing. She wasn’t finished.
She claimed that destruction was in his nature. He supposed he had to agree, but he wasn’t quite taken with the metaphor of the spider any longer. It made him think of mindless insects, consuming on instinct alone. She claimed that they each had a part to play in ‘the disaster.’
Did they really? He was quite certain it had been mostly the fault of himself and the Queen. The armies of Alexandria and General Beatrix too if he wanted to give fair credit. It was slightly insulting, really. He’d worked so hard to bring the planet to ruin, and here she was not giving him his full due.
Did she really think he had somehow saved her? Between her and Mikoto, he was becoming strangely accustomed to having his actions given incomprehensible benevolence.
She believed him.
Why?
He waited longer until she’d said her piece. It wasn’t that he thought she deserved the chance. It was merely in his nature to give a certain amount of feigned respect. He’d drilled the custom into himself the day he’d decided to join the noble courts.
He glanced from her eyes to her extended arm and then back again. He laughed. ”Really?” A sardonic smile played at his lips. A twitch of something bitter and amused. ”Well if you’re offering your forgiveness, I suppose it would be disadvantageous to refuse. Though I admit. I hadn’t considered you so naive.”
The Hilda he’d known had been many things. Curious. Mischievous. Perhaps a tad too patient though he’d assumed that had been nothing more than an act to keep his moods at bay. He hadn’t known her to be stupid, but then again, he supposed he hadn’t really known her at all. A character was defined by their choices, and she’d been granted none.
Was he trying to tempt him to let down his guard? She’d always had an ear for his nefarious schemes.
”I’ll join you if that’s what you want.” He shrugged, crossing his arms rather than taking hers. ”But I must warn, I’m feeling rather honest today. A turn of the wind, I suppose. Or an alignment of stars?” He smirked. ”Take it as a token of favor.”
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns: The Butterfly and the Spider”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]For a moment, she wondered if she was doomed to have lost him today. The cold mask fell back into place, and he was once again that unfeeling angel that stood apart from the inhabitants of this world. It was a strange feeling that caused a slight tremble in her. Perhaps it was good he did not take her arm. She looked askance as she rested her free hand back on the handle of the parasol. She was trembling that she might have misstepped and lost her chance to walk with him.
If she had met him with accusations and judgement, then she was sure to have lost. She had decided to tease instead. To show she came with no prejudgments and an understanding.
Bahamut knew what she would do if someone came to her with fingers pointing and a foul tongue.
None of her questions were answered; though she said them in jest, they were questions that wore heavy on her heart. That is why they came so easily to her tongue. It would be foolish of her to believe he would answer, when the tone was rhetoric.
She felt the breath heavy in her chest, probably from all the pretty words she spouted and her corset was too tight. Surely those were the reasons.
His face twisted into full bitterness and amusement. It must be so very hard for him. To manipulate so many people, and then feel one would soon fall prey to the same negativity if not on guard. But it felt like there was something deeper, beyond that mask. He was amused at her words, because he did not believe nor trust her. But why so, so, so...bitter? He was in the garden, was he not? Surrounded by some of his favorite things?
And forgiveness?
Did she forgive him? Her memory made her a poor forgiver. Her husband was reminded of that every time she used her sugar-coated ‘froggy-woggy’. No. As Lady Regent, she simply learned not to stir the nobles in court, express an understanding of the situation to parties involved, and kept her true feelings close to her chest. Then, she simply moved on. Did she know him enough to forgive him?
That was why she was here.
She took a few steps forward along the path turning back to him. Her smile didn’t fade and the sunlight felt pleasant. “Oh! I am considered naive now...” She said thoughtfully, the tips of her fingers pressed to her lips. “Then, it seems I have moved up in your favors. I had not thought I was even considered at all.” It was said with mirth. His words could not harm her. “And only naive then. I should be quite grateful that is all. Especially when you’ve seen me at my worst.” He had seen her when she was but a mess of a woman - both before and during her captivity. She curtsied at such an honor. “Do me the honor of allowing me to prove I can be much more when outside my cage.”
She gestured towards the path, “I have your honesty and favor today. I am even more greatly honored, dear angel.” She agreed. “I shall believe every word you tell me in the garden. And, in turn, I shall speak freely to you.” With a rustling of her skirts, she began her way down the path. The mottled lights splotched the flower strewn path. The music flowed freely like a soft touch of the divine in the garden. The musicians were talented today.
“Did you come today for a specific artist?” She decided to open with interests. Or maybe it was looking for herbs today. The curated garden was surprisingly abundant. Or maybe he wanted to rest his eyes after a library visit? She supposed she would find out.
[attr="class","character-spring-1e"]Kuja • Lol. Yes. Let's talk openly and honestly today.
[attr=class,bulk] Despite everything, Hilda hadn’t lost her smile. She was seemingly unfazed, pleasant even, as she started down the path with her parasol in hand and a teasing gleam to her eyes. She was cordial which meant that it must have been an act. He’d been nothing but bitter since the moment they’d started this little conversation. It wasn’t in human nature to take that smiling.
She must have thought she could handle this diplomatically. That wasn’t the worst idea, he supposed, but it was ultimately pointless. At least the ones pointing fingers had an end goal in mind.
She’d believe every word he told her. What a way to tempt him to lies.
”A privilege, I presume.” In truth, he had little interest in the freedom of her speech simply because he couldn’t trust her to honesty. ’Free’ did not mean ’true’, and from the record of this conversation, it seemed she was quite content in smiling above the table while sticking a pin into her hand. Oh well.
Maybe it would provide for some interesting conversation.
”I haven’t spent enough time in the city to familiarize myself with any artists of note,” Kuja answered. They were trailing back into the heart of the garden, and with it, the swelling sound of the violin. Its melody was sweet and cold and somewhat distant. It reminded him of stained glass.
”I haven’t found any of the cities particularly to my liking. Then again, I wasn’t fond of most of Gaia’s nations either. It was a motivated familiarity.” Except for Treno. There was something deeply poetic about its harsh difference in class, and he’d experienced both. It was an opulent city, a dark city of corruption and merciless powerseeking, but it wasn’t technically a nation to itself so it hardly counted towards the point.
”I came on a whim,” he went on. ”I heard of its opening, and it seemed it might be worth my time. Of course, any time spent wandering comes with risks of its own. I can’t seem to escape those who know of my misdeeds.” He sighed dramatically. ”It’s tiring.”
[attr=class,ooc-notes]
[attr=class,tagline]@ladyhilda
She continues to be unusually easy for him to talk to
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]Her heels clicked to a stop as he mentioned his misdeeds again. This was the third time. The first was a taunt of locking her back up. The second an insult of calling her naive for her ‘forgiveness’ of those deeds. The third he simply mentioned how tiresome it was meeting those who knew of them.
Would he not let it go? He must so badly want to talk about it.
“I assure you, Lord Sorcerer, there is no one who is more tired of hearing your misdeeds than I.” She turned her eyes to look up at the clouds. “I’ve endured it four times over.” She heard it from the source himself, his victims upon success, her husband’s needling, and now here on Zephon. It was tiresome and she simply didn’t want to talk about it again. “Every time, I’m told how I should feel about it.”
There was a warm silence between them. She turned around to face him again. “I shall decide how to feel.” She met his eyes and studied him silently. She would speak freely. “I feel I would much rather enjoy the day with a man I know is more than his deeds. Someone who knows beauty when he sees it. Who could list to me every herb and spell in this garden and its uses. And if I wanted an honest opinion on the arts and its methods, he can at least provide more than a half-way decent answer.” He was more than all of that too. How limiting the human vocabulary was.
She paused a moment and looked away again. Her eyes studied some well curated roses. She felt like a foolish woman. One that kept being cut by roses so that she could simply enjoy the beauty up close. “I know not why you are so bitter today, but if you wish to talk about the past, I will listen. However, I would much rather enjoy the present with you and speak on how most nations are dull after a time. Though, if you look hard enough, sometimes there is still a speck of joy somewhere within them.”
[attr=class,bulk] Kuja felt himself bristle as she once again stopped, her words impatient and chiding. She did indeed seem tired of it all. She seemed so tired, in fact, that Kuja almost could have believed her when she dismissed him. It was an act, of course. It had to be an act. It simply wasn’t in human nature to look past such assaults on one’s dignity.
He should know.
She turned towards him decisively. Their eyes met for a moment before Kuja glanced away in disinterest, arms crossed and looking pointedly at the sky. How could she enjoy time with him? It was ridiculous. It was absurd in a particular way that even Zidane wouldn’t have been capable of. That idiot thief might have chosen to help him for reasons that Kuja would never understand, but he certainly wouldn’t have chosen to spend time with him. There was too much history, too much lost, and what on all of Gaia would they even have in common?
His tail swished irritably. Why did she insist on lying?
Hilda watched him for a moment longer before turning to appreciate a few well-trimmed rose bushes at the base of a topiary. It was carved into the shape of several flattened discs, supporting each other like floating islands.
”I’m not bitter,” he said then scowled, tossing his bangs to the side. ”I’m simply curious as to how long you intend to lead me on!”
This was going in circles, wasn’t it? He’d insist she had a motive. She’d insist she had none. Then she’d go on about how really it wasn’t so unbelievable she’d take to the company of someone so refined and intelligent as himself. Flattery was appreciated. Manipulation, however, was a game which he would only play if he held the winning hand.
”Why don’t you then?” Kuja shot her an irritable look. ”Why don’t you want to talk of the past? It can’t just be my winning personality.” He smirked dryly. ”Are you so entranced by my charms? So beguiled by my poetics and ethereal beauty? I’ve tried quite hard to dispel such illusions, yet here you are, blatantly disregarding my wishes!
”This isn’t my palace,” he went on. ”You’re free to say whatever you will though I suppose the noble courts of Lindblum have trained you against it. I’m not a spider, Hilda, as much as I might enjoy the imagery. I acted of my own volition even if my will was hardly my own. I’d quite appreciate if you’d stop pretending otherwise.”
He pursed his lips, waving a hand dismissively. ”It’s insulting.”
[attr=class,ooc-notes]
[attr=class,tagline]@ladyhilda
Quite uncharacteristic of him to go anywhere near the point
