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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]He wasn’t bitter? Sounded pretty bitter to her. Ah. It seemed his true thoughts on the matter finally came out. He thought her a liar, a temptress, and a degrader. She simply waited for him to say his piece as she patiently listened to him. His beauty still seemed to be besmirched, but it was no longer with the hate she remembered so long ago.
Every topic until now had been him trying to ruin his self image. That HE was the one ruining HER view of the garden. That he could not escape his own misdeeds and bared his teeth even now. He was trying to dispel his own beauty as if it had all been an illusion. He was eating himself up with negativity, much like black spots eating at a rose.
Strange for a narcissist, wasn’t it?
Her brows scrunched at his concerns, she closed her parasol and set it down. She turned to him, arms open. Her smile was gone now. What did she feel? Disappointment? Upset? She hardly had the time to lead him on. “I’m not leading you on. I’ve not lied to you.” He could skin her alive and she wouldn’t change her answer. “What do I have to gain from doing so?” They weren’t on Gaia. She held no power here. She could not make him believe her.
She shook her head, “I admit I may have over simplified our situation with symbolism and imagery, but I had not meant to insult you.” How ironic he was insulted by the same things he did to others. Comparing them to birds and elephants, though he probably had meant it as an insult. “I am sorry that I have. I know very well that you make your own decisions and you did so back then. I also know that you do not mindlessly commit villainy.” He was not some feral animal that lashed out without reason. He had motivations and desires that were to be fulfilled. Sometimes he just went out of his way to achieve them. ...Very far out of the way sometimes.
The next part was hard for her. He gave her such an irritable look that it made her feel ashamed. “I don’t want to talk about the past because it's painful and it doesn’t help me to dwell on it.” The memories went too far back now. Her words were a little too loud and she felt herself flush red. She turned her back on him. She breathed in: 1...2...3...4… All the way to ten. And breathed out again.
“Do you think you are the only one I was held captive by? All my life...” She felt the tears, but she did her best to keep them at bay by breathing through it. She clasped her hands in front of her, but she seemed to pick at her skin. “My family bore no love for me. I was but a primed tool from birth to raise their status. I was given to the Regent for such a purpose at fourteen.” One cage to another.
“I worked hard to be enough for Lindblum, for her people, and for my husband.” She shook her head, her heartache. Such a mess of a noble woman - back then and even now. “Then, as thirteen years creeped by I found I would never be enough. No matter how many bitter droughts I drank, how many ritual circles I drew, nor how much knowledge I stowed away - it would never make up for my physical deficiencies. Then, my husband proved that by leaving my bed.” The thought of a peasant waitress taking her spot because she could produce an heir… And how many others had he seen? “I overreacted and ran. Now I will always be known as the vengeful court witch. ”
She shook her head. “I escaped one cage to fly into another. You frightened me and some of your practices were outlandish.” She admitted softly. “But at least in your cage, you never made me feel less than what I was. You think you are the worst that I endured, but I have been treated worse by my own noble court and family.” He did not treat her like them. She had not seen them again once she became Lady Regent and they went off to live comfortably. Not like the nobles who wanted things from her or even her position. Not like the peasant waitress. And not like her husband.
“I know not why you kept me. You could have asked for quite a sum to fund your projects. Could have made Lindblum bow to your feet without all that effort. You could have forced my knowledge on magic or politics. You could have simply ended my life, if it pleased you. Your black mages could have told the party what you wanted them to know. None of these you did.” All tactics available to nobles to force her husband's hand and gain dominion over Lindblum.
He didn’t need her around. And yet, she had been kept. "This is why I don't like to think about the past." She huffed. "In the present here, I have nothing to prove and I am free- to do as she pleased. Why did it matter to him? She had nothing to prove to him. Why should she prove her words?
“And you? Why are YOU so eager to talk about the past?” She felt a little upset now. Her hands felt raw from her wringing. Why did she bother to tell him anything deep about her? He surely didn’t care, and yet she had given into his goading.
Though when she went to point, she found that one of the bards had come out of the bushes. “Ma’am? Are you okay? Is this person bothering you?”
She turned to the man, then looked over her shoulder at Kuja, her eyes a little red. She looked back to the man. “No.” She told him. “I’m bothering him. I will stay my words.” She made a gesture for him to move along after reassuring she was fine.
There was silence again, and then “If my being here is against your wishes, well, just like I am not confined by walls, you are not either. You agreed to join me, but you can as soon leave.”
Kuja kept his arms crossed, watching her. At first, he felt himself bristle at her continued grace -- it was as though she’d never so much as heard of taking the bait! -- but that wall of composure cracked soon enough with a swell of emotion adjacent to pain. He watched as her voice finally rose and she clamped it down, taking a moment to dial herself back in. She watched as tears gathered in her eyes.
It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting.
Hers was a truly tragic tale -- unfortunate if not unique. It was strange that she’d consider herself equally imprisoned by society as she had him considering he’d been her literal captor. Kuja was the type to hold a grudge and plot his oh so satisfying vengeance. He was the type to seize power where he could and bide his time until that opportunity presented itself. Hilda, by contrast, simply accepted her servile role amongst the nobility. She was submissive towards her patriarchal masters, and felt a kind of gratitude when one treated her better than another.
He’d never made her feel less than what she was? What did she consider herself then? A bird to be kept locked away? She was weak of will if not in sheer magical power, and it was will, he’d found, that truly mattered.
Why had he kept her? Because she couldn’t have her running off and telling the world of his plans, theft, and secret lair amongst the sands of the Outer Continent. He’d been integrated into the courts of Alexandria at the time, and such accusations would have proven troublesome. As for why he hadn’t killed her…
It hadn’t seemed right, he supposed, for a woman of such dignity as herself. Such a shame it would have been to waste such beauty and grace!
As for why he was so eager to speak of the past? ”It seemed the zaghnal in the room is all,” he said lightly. He raised an eyebrow as a concerned onlooker approached them, asking the distraught woman if he was bothering her. How nice of the man. Truly there was chivalry left in the world.
It wasn’t like Kuja to be so indiscrete. Not in public, at least, and not when he wasn’t abusing that public.
Hilda dismissed the witness, taking responsibility for the situation, before addressing him again. ”If my being here is against your wishes, well, just like I am not confined by walls, you are not either. You agreed to join me, but you can as soon leave.”
”Hmph.” Kuja tilted his head, looking to the sky. ”I agreed to join you if you so wish. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
He flipped his hair over one shoulder, shaking it out behind him. ”Though perhaps I would rather speak of the past or at least the present situation. I’m not in much of a mood for idle conversation, and the garden no longer holds its frivolous appeal.” He recrossed his arms and gave a careless sigh.
”There’s a time and place for facetious pleasantries, but I don’t see anything to be gained from it now. My patience is thin.” His eyes drifted back to hers. ”So Lady Hilda. Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here?”
[attr=class,ooc-notes]
[attr=class,tagline]@ladyhilda
Tension diffused. She sure knows how to navigate his moods
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]Did that satisfy him? It seemed he must verbally pinch someone in order to have a normal conversation, knowing their pain was present to content him. He seemed unconcerned by her questions or her display. His gaze drifted back to her and she turned away again. She was trying to be done being upset now, or hadn’t he noticed? She briefly wondered what he thought of her display. Then, decided that it mattered not to her. She could care less what he thought of her.
He was losing patience? She already felt her own wearing thin. He had a way to get under one’s skin, but she promised herself not to let him do so. She took another breath to clear the knot in her throat, and leaned again to regain her parasol. Acting like he didn’t want to be here with her, then staying anyway. Honestly, could he make up his mind?
“The past can wait until after we imbibe some wine.” She decided if he wanted to reopen old wounds, then she would need something to numb it. There was some being served at the entrance of the art exhibit at the center of the park. And she would be stubborn about holding her tongue too. “'Tis not lost its frivolous appeal to I. I meant my wish to enjoy the day artistically.” She would not let him spoil her fun. Unlike him, she didn’t need to gain anything from an activity to enjoy herself.
She gave him a side glance, and opened her fan to hide her grin at his question. “I’m up to nothing nefarious, I assure you.” She repeated his previous words, light heartedly. Her eyes were still a little red, though it seemed the only indicator of her previous mood now. Though, on her fan, it seemed she had written names on the spines. “I came here to enjoy the atmosphere and ponder the order of my dance card for tonight’s gala. Perhaps, pick up a conversation topic. Shall I save a dance for you?” She hummed thoughtfully as she pulled her fan back to look over it. “Which song do you prefer?”
They approached the art exhibit now. It could be overheard that the art exhibit would be later converted into an art auction. Everyone was welcomed to take tags and place them on art interesting enough to be auctioned on. In light of the situation they were generously giving away champagne. Of course, the more one drank, the more likely they would spend their gil.
She looked up at him, “Did the Treno auction house take bids on art?” She smiled as she moved toward the entrance, “I can think of no better place to reminisce.” A soft entry into their conversation of the past.
[attr="class","character-spring-1e"] Kuja • I'm just waiting for heavy, angry tail thudding against the grass.
[attr=class,bulk] Kuja was not the type for self-reflection. He’d never had time for it, he thought, when life was a game of chess and only the strong survived. He’d never had much use for questions such as “why.” Why did he look down upon the Gaians so very much? Why did the sight of a black mage, his own creations, fill him with such disdain and disgust? Why did he want so desperately for the world to fit comfortably under his thumb?
These were questions that prompted hesitation, and so they were the kind that he avoided on instinct. And so, it was with some mild surprise that he found himself asking a question which he could neither trivialize nor ignore.
’Why do I want to burn this whole beautiful place to the ground?’
The colors were as bright as ever. Soft music drifted like petals on the wind. The flowers emitted a sweet and subtle perfume, and yet, he felt his fingers twitch with the destructive magic which came to him so easily. This was a perfect day -- the kind beyond even his wildest imagination in those early days trapped in his timeless cage. And yet, given his heart’s fullest desire, he would see it all turned to ash.
Why?
”Shall I save a dance for you?”
”I don’t dance.” Kuja’s eyes drifted from the regentess, half-hidden behind the veil of her fan, towards the flowering cherry blossom trees. Their petals were a soft and powdery pink like a noblewoman’s blush. ”It seems degrading. Of all the arts, it has the least to do with intellect and the most to do with sheer physicality.”
That wasn’t to say that he couldn’t dance if his hand was forced. It had been before at a few high stakes galas where he’d been forced to play nice and smile for the sake of his standing at the auction house. The owners had been appalled by their new protege’s lack of social etiquette. ’But that’s what you get, taking a chance on new talent, isn’t it?’
They approached the courtyard, and Kuja slowed to appreciate it. There were more flowering topiaries here. A fountain was carved from polished stone. At the far end was a platform for the violin quartette, and beside it someone had set up space for an auction. Canvas paintings lined the yard’s perimeter, and Kuja felt his mood brighten at the sight of them. If only a little.
Hilda had eyes for them as well. ”Did the Treno auction house take bids on art?” she asked. ”I can think of no better place to reminisce.”
The lady was tactful as always. That was a rather safe point in his history, wasn’t it?
”It did,” Kuja answered. He drifted towards them, starting counter-clockwise. There were others milling about the space now, appreciating the art with soft, chiming laughs and flutes of sparkling champagne. He felt eyes on him the way they always were whenever he entered such a space. Lively enough for an audience, sparse enough to not find himself lost in the crowd. It felt like walking on stage.
”Treno had its share of artists as it did most everything else, and the auction house hardly discriminated. It was one of the only fronts to showcase the works of both noble and common blood. You could always tell the difference between the works crafted from meticulous training and those forged by passion alone. I took a particular interest in the latter. I’ve found that an artist works best on the brink of ruin.”
Kuja stopped to appreciate a still-life painted in a peculiar style with short, stiff edges of a brush. It was supposed to depict a quiet, sunlit dawn, yet it somehow felt stifling.
”I sold all manner of magical items there,” Kuja went on. ”Charms, amulets, and other accessories. The proprietors took such a liking to my work that they negotiated a more permanent trade deal.” Kuja crossed his arms, head slightly tilted to the side. ”And that’s how I came into my fortune. Treno is truly a peculiar place, isn’t it?”
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]“Degrading?” She wasn’t sure that was the term she would use to describe a dance. “I heard others are not comfortable with the social aspect. However, degrading...?” She hummed thoughtfully. “The true intellect comes from the effect one has on their dance partner. It must be memorable and the exchange engaging.” She closed her eyes and handed her parasol to someone keeping watch on them.
The ballroom was a battlefield for a noblewoman. It was one of the few tactful edges they had over men in a world that worked against them. “One must make note of the guest list and know whom you want to affect. Then, decide what impact you want the effect to have. It is much more than a physical dance. It is a ritual to forge connection with another.” Lindblum hosted galas for special dignitary meetings. Making a good impression when peace treaties or trade deals were of the utmost importance. It usually started with dinner and a dance. It was also how she enticed the Regent's heart.
“Regardless of dance, you may find the showcased talent of interest.” The performers would be there to help raise funds for the arts and assist in its education.
Though, it seemed he had already moved on to the paintings. She saw the light spark in his blue eyes and she was glad to view them with him. “An artists’ passion cannot be instilled by money.” Though what Kuja called passion sounded more like despair. “It can only be felt and breathed. It brings me joy the auction house noted that.” Hilda donated much money to the arts. She found its expression well worth the investment. “I cannot deny that the best work is when someone is suffering from their darkest moments.” Would that surprise him, she wondered? It was what one did with those dark moments that intrigued her.
She closed her eyes, “My favorite artist only became known after he passed. He suffered depression, psychotic episodes, and eventually suicide.” She opened her eyes to look over the same still-life as Kuja, though her mind was not on it. She looked a little sad and pressed a hand to her heart. “Despite all his suffering, he did not paint despair. His post-impressionist brush strokes each embodied hope and joy. The cold blue backgrounds were brightened by warm yellows of sunflowers. During his deepest despair, he painted the stars, and their reflection, over the canals of Treno. He told others, 'I don't know anything with certainty, but seeing the stars makes me dream.’ and ‘Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.’” She let out a soft dreamy sigh.
He inspired others to seek what his suffering blinded him too. “Artists truly can perceive on a whole other level.” It was magic in itself. If only Hilda had visited Treno more often, perhaps she could have aided him - in healing, stability, and his passion for art. “I hope that his art continues to live on and move others as it moved me.”
She realized she had rambled and she looked away abashed. It was not often she got to speak on her preferences. Kuja sold items at the auction house? “I wonder if I own a few of your works. I would visit when Cid was in town to play in the card tournament. The quality of the accessories were unlike any other I could find anywhere else.” She took a sip of her champagne. Ah. They touched it with a bit of elderflower liqueur, it seemed.
She suddenly was unsure what she should feel if she did own and wear some of his work. Had she already worn some of her captor’s items? Somehow the thought made her feel even more like she was held captive by him before they even met. She took a deeper drink and looked away. Her eyes drifted to a more baroque painting. A Venus with her nude back to the onlooker as she lay along a blue silk bed. Her eyes gazed into a mirror held by her cherubim son, Cupid. The background was dark with red and black cloths, which made the porcelain skin even more alluring to look at.
This felt a little unnerving to her too. Would she be defined by the children she may or may not have?
Though it was one of her favorite styles. The dark and lights always drew her eye to the proper place. It always felt sensual to behold.
“Treno is a unique place. I wonder what made the nights so long, unlike any other place in Alexandria.” She said thoughtfully, her eyes drifting back to him. “The divide between the social stratum there is certainly hard to swallow.” The poor had to resort to thievery and whatever other methods they needed to survive. While the rich seemed to live on glamour on top of them in their beautiful waterfronts.
And there was little Hilda could do to remedy that situation. It was not her kingdom. Even if the rulers of Alexandria did decide to do something, she had a feeling the nobles there were rebels and bare their teeth. They had enough money and resources to do so. It would be a mess.
Her eyes drifted to Kuja. He spoke as if he was fond of it. “Unfortunately, my visits were few.” With Brahne mentally unstable, it became harder to travel there. “But I always loved the story behind Queen Stella’s rare Stellazzio coins. Perhaps, if we return, you could escort me a proper tour of Treno. I would like to see it through your eyes.”
She felt her stomach drop. Why would she request that? Her assailant showed her around a dark city of thieves. Even she realized that sounded ridiculous. Cid would not allow it anyway. She turned from the painting and started for another. “There is something you said that makes me curious.” She usually would politely wait for permission before being intrusive or even find a better time to ask... But she thought back to what Garnet told her earlier about this Mikoto. And Kuja could decide at any moment that he was suddenly bored and nothing was worth his time anymore. She was so very used to those moments.
“When I first heard it, I thought it meant it was against your wish for me to be here.” She had been upset by him, so her head had not been clear. “You said you tried to dispel any illusion, and I have blatantly disregarded that wish…” She hesitated to look at him. But she turned fully to him and studied his face again. “Why is it against your wishes for me to see you other than what I see? Why must I see you as only a villain?” She creased her brow, but she stood her ground. “You are aware that somebody can know you and still love you...?” She paused again and knew she was treading on thin territory. She would have waited if another person wasn’t at stake. “...You don’t have to first destroy something just because you don’t trust that it’s real.”
[attr=class,bulk] Lady Hilda had quite a lot to say on the nature of the arts. Kuja couldn’t call himself surprised, exactly. They’d had several discussions over such things in his palace, but Hilda was a woman who survived on the value of her words, and he assumed she could speak on almost any topic required of her if it meant securing her safety for a time longer. These were her own thoughts, freely chosen.
Kuja listened.
She expressed a fondness for an artist’s darkest moments, and told the tale of a talented and troubled painter lost to suicide. She hoped that his art would live on to influence others even as he himself was gone, but Kuja found the whole romanticized wish pointless. The artist had left behind work to be used and exploited by the living, but it wasn’t as though it would make any personal difference. The artist had never known fame, fortune, or popularity. Whatever his posthumous impact, it was worthless to him now.
”You mean Louis Fournier.” Kuja glanced at Hilda though she didn’t meet his eye. ”We came into possession of a small collection of his works. They sold for nearly four times the price of the same work when he lived. He was long dead by the time that I found employment, but each item’s price is kept on record if it had been sold more than once. I read the ledgers.”
With the way she spoke, Kuja wondered if Hilda had been a patron of the arts herself. Had she funded any bright-eyed artists to fulfill their passions? Or had her industrious husband dismissed such pursuits as childish?
”You participated in the auctions?” Kuja’s eyebrows raised. More than that, Hilda had an eye for magical amulets and accessories. His lip twitched. ”It’s nearly certain then. I exclusively supplied their highest selling magical works after we signed our trade deal in 1795. They were sold under a number of pseudonyms for the sake of anonymity.”
And to make the entire operation seem less like a monopoly. The auction house had a reputation to protect as well as profits to be made. Kuja hadn’t minded the arrangement. It had meant that he could remain on the sidelines, largely unknown until it was time to take the spotlight.
They moved on.
Hilda accepted a tall flute of sparkling champagne. Kuja declined. They drifted towards the next painting in the row and stopped to consider it. It depicted a naked woman lazily reflecting upon herself in a mirror held by a winged child. It had a dark aura. The background was painted like a cage of dark red satin, closing in upon the woman who cared only for herself. Such paintings were usually titled something like ’Vanity.’ He found them dull.
”Treno is a unique place. I wonder what made the nights so long unlike any other place in Alexandria.”
Kuja smirked faintly. ”Do you really want to know?” He knew more about the planet’s functions than any of its native inhabitants. It came from having the technological advancements of a millennia old alien race at his disposal, he supposed. ”It’s a combination of geological phenomena and the effects of an ancient magic if you’d like the simplified version. A more complicated explanation would require several lessons in basic scientific theory.”
The Gaians were so primitive that he wouldn’t have known where to start.
”As familiar as I am with the city, I don’t think I’d make for the best escort.” Kuja watched the painting -- the woman lounging within the dark, her reflection the only sight worth her attention. ”Should I ever return, I do believe I’d be arrested for war crimes.”
If not more than that. He doubted there were laws on the books of any singular nation to describe what he had done. It didn’t particularly matter, he supposed, as his previous actions alone would be enough to warrant execution.
Once one had already reached the highest of crimes, why not keep going and really make a statement? It all came to the same sentence in the end.
Hilda had a question for him. Wonderful.
She turned to face him. He chose to continue his idle examination of the painting. She was preaching trust to him. Something he had said had caught her attention. It was a gloriously revealing moment, saying more in what was left in silence than what was given voice. She truly had an ear for the subtleties of conversation, didn’t she?
He was aware that someone could love him? He wanted to laugh.
”Because I’m damaged, is that it?” He pushed back his hair in a careless sweeping motion. ”I was never cared for as a child before being thrust into a strange world, isolated by my very purpose of destruction. My entire existence has been defined by a deceptive game of give and take with my own life on the line as collateral.”
Kuja shook his head, recrossing his arms. ”It makes for a fascinating character, doesn’t it? A villain revealed. I’m certain I would have all manner of apologists among literary scholars. They’d catalogue all of my contradictions and complexities and claim that while my actions were unjustifiable that they were the tragic end of some unalterable course.
”But reality isn’t quite that simple, and for someone with your social tact, I’m surprised that you would think it appropriate to ask if someone knows they can be loved. When it comes to matters of my character, I’d quite appreciate that you keep your curiosities to yourself.”
Kuja felt the words sour on his tongue. ”Is this your idea of light conversation?”
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]It was truly a tragedy for Louis Fournier. His success had only come too late. It happened far too often to many good artists and inventors. Though she could not help but wonder where the proceeds went when the artist was deceased. Perhaps to the family? Or did the auction house keep it.
She listened to his talk about the auction house, her brows raised in surprise. She had no idea Kuja was so involved in the auction house. Treno seemed so far away from the Desert Palace. It seemed quite a trek to make, and she could not help but wonder how he wound up there in the first place.
It also appeared she was already fascinated with Kuja’s work before she even met him. She had not the talent for imbuing items with magic, so she kept an eye out for items to help enhance her own. She did well with potions and remedies in her spare time, which was few and far between. She could give Doctor Tot a good run. “How did you get into making such beautiful pieces?” She asked softly, honestly curious.
Then, it seemed he quite knew the phenomena surrounding Treno’s long nights. “You know very well I would not like the simplified version.” He was calling her simple and she did not appreciate it. “I think it would surprise you how much I can understand.” She gave a coy smile and looked up at the school in the distance. “When shall lessons begin then?”
She looked away again as he mentioned he would be arrested for war crimes. He was not wrong. And after seeing Garnet’s reaction to the mere name of him...And the response of the people to the Black Mages he created...There would be a demand for justice. It would not just be for the things he did, but the things he did not do as well. There was nothing she could say on the matter. She was not exactly pleased with his choices, but she hoped he would at least get a fair trial.
Worse, it seemed the topic soured further after her question. She expected it to go sour, but not in this direction. He didn’t even bother to answer any of her questions. Instead, he hyper focused on the one that irritated him the most. Though his response revealed more about him, even if it wasn’t what she asked for.
Damaged? Her eyes widened in surprise at his words. She hadn’t asked if he knew he could be loved. She asked if he understood that someone can KNOW him - the good and the bad - and still love him. It was such a small nuance that was misconstrued. “I did not ask because I believed you were damaged. Additionally, I do not ask to sympathize like literary scholars or to psychoanalyze you.”
She started upset that he kept turning everything against her, like she was out to get him. “I ask because of the way you have been treating me. As if my every question is meant to be poison for you. ” She drew her brows together and let out a soft huff. “It makes it a little hard for light conversation.” Especially when earlier he said he was uninterested in such talk. “I inquired because I do not understand the world you come from. The technology and its language has locked me out from understanding...” Garnet had said Mikoto had not grown under the influence of Gaia, like Zidane had. It must mean that she did not have the same Gaia standards or logic. Was this the same as Kuja? She did not understand the ways of this other world. “I don’t even know if Terrans are above such concepts or not.”
She suddenly felt very small again, like she had in his palace. The lack of understanding of advanced technology and the alien magic that shrouded it. The language barrier.
“I came not as an enemy, blushing noble woman chained to your side, nor even as the regentess. I only wanted to enjoy the day and perhaps get to know you.” And it seemed she blundered that as well. She turned from him.
She shook her head and moved to observe another painting further away. “You stated you were uninterested in airy conversation anyway. Since, I picked poorly…” She made a gesture to show she passed the choice to him. The elderflower was already muddling her mind and loosening her tongue. She wanted to smash her glass into the ground and just shout. She held such actions.
[attr="class","character-spring-1e"] Kuja • I love your Kuja history so much. T_T
[attr=class,bulk] Lady Hilda explained herself as anyone would. She sounded distressed. Legitimately surprised, perhaps. Then that surprise faded into frustration, and he was being chided again. Still, something she said struck him.
’I inquired because I do not understand the world you come from. The technology and its language has locked me out from understanding.’
Kuja glanced at her, and felt something stir within him. He wasn’t sure what. It felt dangerous.
”Get to know me?” he repeated, and once again it circled him back to the same contentious question. Why would she bother to get to know him unless it was to use that knowledge against him? What could this possibly be but subterfuge? Yet she insisted again and again that her intentions were pure -- or if not pure then at least benign. Part of him wanted to simply turn around and march right back out of this accursed garden, but the other part…
Well, that would be like admitting defeat, wouldn’t it?
”A topic of conversation…” He tilted his head thoughtfully. There was something about her rising frustration that urged him to speak. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t furious. She was merely frustrated like she was losing in a game of chess.
It was strangely casual.
”We already spoke on my time in Treno,” he said. ”To answer your question, I would commission the metalwork done by another professional then simply infuse the work with magic. I’m a well-accomplished mage. As I’m sure you’re aware.” His lips twitched. ”I was desperate, Lady Hilda, and had a craft I could monetize. I had to earn my fortune on Gaia. I’ve seen both sides of Treno extensively, I’m afraid.
”It comes from being stranded on an alien planet.”
Kuja moved on, drifting towards the water feature in the center of the courtyard. The fountain was a beautiful, three-tiered structure carved with the relief of fish along a riverside. He snatched a flute of champagne as he went and sipped it as he came to a stop.
It was a fine vintage, naturally. Expensive. He’d always had difficulties telling wine apart.
”A topic of conversation…” he echoed slowly. ”Well, you’ve always had a fascination with my life on Terra. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now.” He watched the water bubble and dance within its fountain, swelling and overflowing in an endless cascade. It always felt strange to speak of Terra. Even now, in this new world where such things had no consequence, it felt as though he were breaking some great taboo. Not that he hadn’t broken it with Hilda before, but…
This was different. Somehow.
”On Terra, the water never flows.” He sipped his wine. It fizzed, thick and sweet on his tongue. ”The very mechanisms of time have slowed there. Every planet is like a living creature in itself. It must feed and process and grow. There isn’t enough life on Terra to sustain a planet’s natural processes so it was put into a kind of semi-stasis. Think of it as a slowed metabolism.”
If that meant anything to her. He decided that he didn’t care.
”Terra is forever bathed in the blue light of Gaia. As such, it receives no light from the sun, and plantlife can’t photosynthesize. Fungi feeds on the detritus of a dead civilization. There are a few species which feed off the fungi, and there are monsters which live off of those. The ecosystem, if you can call it that, is limited and could never survive outside of Terra’s stasis.”
The sky was cloudless. Blue. It was a pleasant enough day which smelled of flowers and wine and the stale mist of fountain water.
”It’s a dead planet,” he said. ”Kept barely alive by unnatural means. Or it was. I’ve heard I destroyed it.” Kuja tapped at the side of his champagne glass with his finger. ”It’s hardly a loss.”
[attr="class","character-spring-1c"]“A Garden of Thorns”
[attr="class","character-spring-1d"]He still seemed uncertain about her motives. She mentally sighed, knowing she could keep repeating herself and it would not do any good. Not that she could blame him. He had caused damage to her world, that many would probably be after him. The calls of justice would be too great for even her to shield him and rightly so. However, the idea of a death penalty unnerved her as well as the idea of leaving someone in the dungeon to rot, even more so. Not just for him, but for others. Though she could not see him doing community service…
Still…here she was at the park and enjoying a walk with him...
She watched him curiously as he contemplated a topic. She hummed agreement that he was quite an accomplished mage. How could she forget after being forced to stay in his palace and listen to his experiments or even seeing how destructive such magic could truly be.
She unconsciously touched the tips of her fingers to her lips as she thought about the pearl rouge she bought at the auction house and wore regularly... Or the fairy earrings...
She turned from the thought and instead said, “If you told me of desperation two years ago, I would have not understood.” She had been well provided for since birth and married well into wealth. The fact he could adapt echoed some respect from her. “Now…?” She revealed her own doubts, “Unexpectedly waking up on Zephon, as if I fell through a looking glass in my sleep…” She never felt more frightened, despite the brave face she put on. Her title meant nothing here. She had to find a way for her talents to keep her afloat. What was she when she had no role as a regentess? Her identity felt lost. “Seems we are both on a new alien planet together. Despite how odd it may be, ‘tis good to see a familiar face.” Even one who had done so much wrong in her world. It gave a sense of normalcy in a world where nothing was.
As they came near the fountain she watched the water. An illusionist had made seem schools of ethereal fish swam about the fountain, chasing emperor dragonflies in delight. She appreciated it while Kuja got another drink for himself. A soft clink ensued as she placed her empty glass on a tray before taking a new one for herself.
Kuja moved on, drifting towards the water feature in the center of the courtyard. The fountain was a beautiful, three-tiered structure carved with the relief of fish along a riverside. He snatched a flute of champagne as he went and sipped it as he came to a stop.
As she turned, she saw him observing his glass. The blue of the sky behind him brought out his eyes and the gold of his glass accented his clothing well. Still, it felt as if the moon had left the starry night to enjoy the heavens.
Then, there it was. A guilty glint in his eye. Perhaps the elder flower in the wine had touched her too much already, when she let out a similar chuckle as when they first met. “Shall I look so guilty when I talk of Gaia now too. You know you’ve previously revealed me how to get to Terra.” While very impassioned in his schemes all the while, making it sound all the more frightful.
She explained, though he left little to the imagination on what Terra was like. But there was something to his words. When he spoke of his past it felt like the shadow caused by the gray clouds obscuring the sun. Even now, his talk of Terra was still so nightmarish and grotesque to her. She looked to the fountain and tried to imagine it stagnant and unmoving. It was quite difficult.
“A sleeping world…” She took another sip and tried to imagine. Perhaps, that is how Kuja sounded when he talked about himself. Not quite awake.
“How is this Terra juxtaposed to Gaia so that it is bathed in the blue light of Gaia and yet there is no sun?” Even now it was difficult to understand. He told her how to get there, but she did not quite understand how it was connected. “Could the living really not survive outside Terra’s stasis? After all, you exist outside it...” Perhaps she was overthinking it. “Is that what you needed all that destructive power for - to destroy Terra?” The words left her lips before she could stop herself. “There were other’s living there, weren't there? It is a loss for them.” She said sadly, her eyes now looked at the dirty white stone beneath their feet. She may not be able to imagine Terra well or its inhabitants, but she thought of the Burmecians and the families that lost their home. How lives were lost on the attacks on Alexandria and Lindblum and the time spent rebuilding. She had more to say, but it was too much for her tongue to handle. She was one of those unhappy seeing her home in tatters. It left her speechless. "You speak as if Gaia and Terra are nothing. Then, pray tell, what place is grand enough for you?"
[attr="class","character-spring-1e"] Kuja Getting deep here.
She had no idea what she was talking about. She had no idea what she was asking. Her thoughts, though laced with judgment and accusation, were entirely void of basis. Kuja listened and then he laughed, bitter and dry, as he ran a hand through his bangs and flicked them back behind his ear. Why did such talk make him feel so sardonic?
”You wouldn’t understand,” he said, and then before she could object, ”Or rather, you couldn’t. Let’s say for the sake of argument that you were tasked with the job of explaining the complex workings of your husband’s engineering to the dwarves of Condie Petie. These dwarves, by the way, have never seen technology more complex than their own spears. They live on the Outer Continent and don’t know what a city is either. Or your tools, equipment, culture…” Kuja waved a hand. ”You could take days explaining what they could never grasp without witnessing it firsthand, but you’d probably lose patience and tell them your husband’s machines were alive instead.”
Kuja took a long drink of his wine. That was a mistake. Champagne was meant to be sipped and savored, and he felt the carbonation fizz unpleasantly in his throat. It didn’t matter.
”Terra exists within Gaia.” Using simple language like that made him sound crazy. It wasn’t the first time, and he had no doubts that she would try to conceptualize the idea using physical space rather than dimensional approximates.
Still, she’d asked, hadn’t she? Why not humor her?
”The planet itself is a kind of interstellar parasite. In order to prolong its own life, it seeks out the core of developing planets and fuses with them, merging the two into one and eradicating all life from the host. Five thousand years ago, it stood once again on the brink of ruin, but there were no optimal hosts to be found. Gaia was too developed for the process, but out of desperation, they attempted Fusion anyway. The failure laid waste to what was left of the Terran population and trapped the planet within Gaia’s sphere.
”A planet’s core is its crystal, and it works to siphon and cycle the souls of the dead into new life. Within Gaia’s sphere, Terra is blocked from sunlight and is instead assaulted by the blue light of Gaia’s crystal.” Kuja tilted his head to the side, sighing. ”Does that make sense?”
Of course it wouldn’t. But after he’d so condescended to her, would Hilda dare say as much?
”When I spoke of the living, I meant natural life. The fungi. The monsters. All life stemming from a weakened crystal, born through natural means. If Terra’s stasis were to end, they would require more energy than the planet could provide and so would die.
”But I am not natural. My body does not metabolize the same way as yours. I am ageless.”
Not immortal. No, he was very capable of death, and was in fact destined for it the same as any Gaian. But he wouldn’t wither the same way. He would never grow old.
”Gaia was a doomed planet. Terra had been parasitizing it for five thousand years, and the time of a successful assimilation was close at hand. Neither was exactly ’grand.’ I only wished to survive the cataclysm.” Kuja shrugged. ”That involved killing my creator, and that was why I sought power. You speak of life and loss, but at the time of its destruction, the only sentient beings on that planet were myself, my creator, and Zidane’s merry band of idiots. Also Mikoto, I suppose, though I had no idea she existed.”
Something he had made clear time and time again whenever Mikoto claimed he’d freed her of her purpose. She didn’t seem to care if he’d lacked any kind of selfless intent. It was maddening.
”You’re familiar with my black mages.” It wasn’t a question. She’d lived with him, after all. ”They are artificially created. They are capable of action and autonomous decision making, but barring a rare malfunction, they lack true sentience. Their internal processes are more like-” He almost said ’computers’ before remembering his current audience. ”Like machines. To an inexperienced dwarf, your husband’s airships might seem alive, but you know that its movement is due to nothing more than a complex series of mechanical interactions. The same can be said of most mages.
”I am a genome,” he said. ”I was created as I am. My body is artificial. I was granted a soul so that I might act as my creator’s agent on Gaia and hasten the planets’ assimilation, but I was the only one. Then Zidane. Then Mikoto.” He drank again. He wished for something stronger.
”You ask if the other life there felt loss. When Lindblum was razed, did your airship feel loss for its home? It’s impossible to say, I suppose, but one can make an educated guess.”
No matter how others might try to moralize with him over their lives, no matter how Mikoto tried to assign the hollow genomes personhood, they were nothing more than objects in the end to be disposed of without pity.
He smirked. ”Quite the topic for light conversation, isn’t it?”
[attr=class,ooc-notes]
[attr=class,tagline]@ladyhilda
The danger of getting Kuja started on something he cares about
