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year 5, quarter 3
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Cloud didn't answer immediately, but tensed as though ready for a fight. Kuja's eyes cooled as he watched the man. Was he stupid enough to try anything in his condition? Had he forgotten the power that Kuja wielded, or had Kuja merely never shown it off in whatever impossible timeline they'd once inhabited? Perhaps he had because Cloud's hand never reached the hilt of his sword. Instead it merely hung there, cautious, uncertain, and defeated.
They both knew who had the true power in this conversation.
Silence spread between them, tense and hostile. After a second's thought, Cloud let out a breath and muttered his rebuttal. "Buy me dinner. I'll tell you everything I know."
For a moment, Kuja could only blink at him. Dinner? The proposal was absurd. Cloud wasn't in the position to be making demands, and of everything he could have asked, the request was completely insignificant -- almost friendly. Kuja's lips pursed at the thought. He didn't have the patience for his usual act today. Not for niceties or for well-practiced manners or even his usual brand of silent disdain. This man had broken that the moment he'd touched his shoulder, dying and having the audacity to remind him of Zidane. Kuja let out a short breath through his nose.
If this was what the man wanted, there were certainly worse alternatives. If the man's words had been anything more than lies, then this was a step towards the answers he'd been seeking since the beginning. Not one useless wanderer in this world had been able to give him even a hint towards the strange familiarity Kuja had felt since he'd met the Warrior of Light. Not one stranger had recognized him since. Not one striking face in the crowd had greeted him with anything other than confused innocence -- even when he knew they'd met before. But Cloud would give him answers if only Kuja played his part. And why else had he perfected his charming facade if not to use it for this?
So Kuja touched at his forehead, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled. "Is that all?" He laughed under his breath. "My, it sounds as though you merely want my company." It didn't feel right, not now with his dark thoughts and his soul on edge, but he'd acted through worse before. If this was what it took for information, he'd gladly give it.
"Well then, shall we go?" He gestured towards the door before opening it. "I'm afraid to say that the options are limited at best, what with the storm, but we'll have to make do." Kuja hated the wild, boisterous voices from downstairs. He hated the casual disregard for formalities or even human decency, and he hated the claustrophobic feel of it all. Far too crowded. Far too familiar with each other. Still, he had no other choice but to venture into the fray. The atmosphere quieted at his approach. Eyes turned to him as they so often did -- disapproving, judgmental, perhaps even a few in desire. He refused to look at any of them, but walked past with a haughty flip of his hair and the usual sway of his hips. He projected an aura of equal parts mystery and power, and he made it clear that he wasn't one to be trifled with.
His negotiations with the owner didn't last long. It took only a little persuasion, a dash of intimidation, and an insignificant bribe to secure them a space that was a little more private -- just a little quieter and removed from curious eyes. The food was far less to his liking, but he supposed he ought to offer the swordsman something, and so handed the owner a sizable sum of gold and told him to send them a sampling of whatever that would buy. Once alone, Kuja perched on the edge of his chair and tilted his head towards Cloud in interest. "I do believe I've fulfilled my end of the bargain," he said, eyes glancing towards the wall between their little room and the kitchen. From the sounds inside, whoever was unlucky enough to be on staff had thrown himself into a frenzy. "Now then. Would you mind?" He touched his cheek and smiled, but the warmth of it never met his eyes. "I'm afraid I've grown terribly impatient."
The stranger kept his eyes forward, never wavering. Never looking at him. His hands were clasped, contemplative. But he responded almost immediately to his questions, not with an answer, but with an objection. ”No, that’s not right,” the man said, shaking his head. ”You didn’t hate everyone.”
”Pardon?” Kuja’s eyes sharpened on the man. Alert. Dangerous. The stranger’s gaze unfocused, oblivious to Kuja’s rapid heartbeat or the darkness that churned beneath it. It hadn’t been a question. You didn’t hate everyone. That was a statement as definite as fact. Something so self-confident that it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. You didn’t hate everyone.
Lies. Kuja had felt nothing but hatred every time he’d had the slightest thought of that place. It burned hot at the sight of the stranger’s ludicrous sword or every time he’d met the eye of that self-righteous, story-book paladin. It had tinged within him upon greeting that gaudy, gold-clad emperor and it raged at the very sound of the word Chaos. Whatever had happened, Kuja had hated every second of it. Whatever had happened-
Kuja paused. His eyes darted to the man thoughtfully. Whatever had happened, this man remembered it.
”Kuja.” The word came like thunder. Two syllables that hit him in unbalanced waves. The stranger finally looked up and their eyes met – both sides nearly as alarmed as the other. Kuja stared at him without comprehension, half a step recoiled back and with a hand thrown in front of him as though to sling a protective spell.
This man knew him. How did he know him?
The stranger finally stood, stumbling a little as he fled to the washroom. The man’s footsteps stopped as the water turned on. Kuja stared after him. Whatever this man remembered, it wasn’t just vague feelings and a sense of familiarity. This man knew his name. He remembered events. Details. It was increasingly possible that this man – this stranger – knew more about Kuja’s actions than he did himself.
Kuja felt his nails dig deep into the flesh of his palm. If knowledge was power, then this man carried power over him. For the first time in a long time, Kuja was at a disadvantage.
Kuja cleared his expression as the water stopped and the man shuffled his way back into the room. He watched the stranger with his eyes cool and his lips pursed.
”Did you find him?” the man asked without explanation.
”Him?” Kuja echoed, but the man wasn’t looking at him. He made his way towards the sword and lifted the thing in one hand. It was like watching an ant carry a stone four times its own weight – unnatural. His eyes flicked between the sword and the man skeptically.
”I’m Cloud.” The man turned to look at him, and for the first time something more than exhaustion lit his eyes before he quickly diverted his gaze. ”In case you didn’t manage to keep them.”
”Cloud,” Kuja repeated. On any other day, he might have mocked that name (it was so easy, after all), but it felt too familiar now, almost sluggish on his tongue. But that odd feeling of nostalgia quickly melted away to frustration. ”Manage to keep what?” Kuja felt his eyebrows furrow as he took a step forward. Was this what ignorance felt like? He’d almost forgotten.
”You know something.” It wasn’t a question. Kuja shifted in front of the door and eyed the stranger – Cloud – almost accusingly. ”You remember something that I-…” The words trailed from his tongue. No, it wasn’t something that he’d forgotten, but something that blurred around the edges. Something impossible that defied explanation or logic. Kuja knew his own story, and this had little part in it. His lips pursed into a bitter smirk.
”Tell me.” It was an order, maybe even a threat. ”You should know as well as I that it’s all ludicrous, but such is the world we’re living in. If I’m to make any sense of it then I’ll need to know where it started. So what is it?” His eyes narrowed into serpentine slits. ”What exactly do you know?
Kuja could hardly look at him as he paced, trapped in their prison chamber as the storm raged on outside. Beyond the door, there was base conversation and rumors he didn't care to deal with. Beyond the window, gale winds heavy with smothering sediment. Kuja wondered as to his chances in the storm. They were likely high with his magic, but his dragon would have taken shelter long ago, and he doubted he could call her until the skies had cleared. For now, he was trapped and alone with an unconscious stranger. Not a new predicament and one he'd certainly emerge from unscathed.
But why did he have to be blonde?
It caught in his peripheral vision every time he turned. Messy blonde dull in the yellow light. With every sweep of his hair or swivel on his heel, he was berated with another flash of the familiar. A feminine jawline pressed against the sheets. A slight frame with shoulders toned from use. This man was taller, at least. Broader. But it did little in the sickly light. He hated the consistency of that light -- so clouded and weak. As though the dust clouds had removed it from the sun. As though the planet itself were dying.
Kuja's heels clicked on the hardwood. A rhythmic tapping like the second hand of a clock. It wasn't until the light had faded that Kuja stopped. The room seemed empty without his footsteps. On one side, the howl of the wind. On the other, short and labored breaths. Downstairs, someone gave a shout followed by a clink of glasses. Kuja ran a hand through his hair, scowling. The room had faded to silhouettes and shadows. He grabbed a candle from the dresser and lit it with the tip of his finger. The fire danced in ominous shudderings like a child about to die.
Kuja glanced at the stranger.
Asleep. Still asleep, and nothing like Zidane. Not when the shadows caught at his slight eyes and the angle of his nose. A different face, a human face. His shoulders were too broad. His stature too masculine. This wasn't Zidane -- not anywhere close -- so why couldn't he get that idiot out of his mind?
Kuja swiped the cloth from the stranger's forehead and took it to the washroom again. The water ran cool over his fingers. Jarring. His nails curled into the cloth as he wetted it again. He'd done this before -- just once when Zidane had caught a fever. He'd had to bear with his whining all night, a test of his patience. Kuja wrung the cloth tightly before flinging it back on the stranger's forehead and wandering towards the window. It was stupid to think of that now. Pointless. Why did it even matter? When had it ever mattered?
The wind rattled irritably at the window. Kuja touched at the glass and scowled.
All of this was a waste of his time.
When the man finally woke, it was with a violence gasp and a flail like a seizure. Shock, he supposed, though Kuja was no less annoyed by it. After the flailing came a terrible thwack like bone on wood. Kuja raised an eyebrow and turned to face the man, but only found him splayed out on the bed sheet. Had he passed out again?
Apparently not because the man swung his way upright before long. Their eyes met briefly (those terrible blue eyes) before the stranger found the glass of water by his bed and took to it desperately. Kuja waited with his arms crossed, silent but for a soft click of his tongue. If they'd met before then he wasn't about to play his cards just yet. Not like with the Warrior. So he tilted his head and watched the familiar man impatiently -- waiting for something to work with and some lead to play off of.
Several minutes passed before it was given to him. "Why didn't you let me die?"
Kuja's lips pursed. How pointed of him. The man kept his eyes on the wall, breaths steadied and hands clasped. When he spoke, it was with the quiet reluctance of one unused to his own voice. "I don't think we were such great friends before."
Kuja's eyes narrowed. So he knew. But the question was what exactly did he know? The answers were foggy, even to him, and there were far too many unexplained variables. "Strange, isn't it?" His eyes glinted with a serpentine focus. "Do you have any inkling why that might be? A relic from the past, perhaps?" Kuja turned away from him at an angle, tossing his head to the side as he considered the ceiling. "Maybe I thought you'd prove yourself useful. Or could it be that I've finally formed a conscience?" Kuja laughed softly at that, a hand at the edge of his lips. The thought was ludicrous. Garland himself had declared him incapable of it.
Kuja lowered his hand and looked away, scowling. What was it he was missing? What crucial piece hadn't fallen into place? "Before? It's unlikely. Whatever came before was both impossible and undeniable. An anomaly shrouded in paradox like Mist beneath the twin moons." He tossed his hair over his shoulder, glancing coolly at the man before him. "I've heard ridiculous tales of that time. Fables of strife and warfare -- of gods and rebirth. Yet I know one thing for certain. I believe I hated everyone involved."
Kuja turned to face him fully, head tilted at an inquisitive angle. "Curious then, isn't it? That I'd feel the need to save you?" For once, there was no mockery behind his voice. No laughter. No plots. "Do you have any idea why that might be when by all accounts I should want you dead?"
Hope you don't mind the mild god-modding. I figured he was half-conscious so I'd skip ahead
Why should the world exist without me?
Something touched him.
Kuja tensed. His fingers sparked with magic. It pulsed from his heart to palms -- ready to burn, to fry. He didn't feel anything more than a jostle of his armor, but something was there standing behind him while he was vulnerable. Kuja cast it a sharp look and caught a flash of messy blonde and vibrant blue eyes.
Blue like still water. Unnatural. Gleaming.
Kuja flinched and slapped the hand away. His nails raked across skin as he stumbled back, eyes wide. What was one of them doing here? Was it HIM? His eyes darted to the man's lower half, but saw nothing flicking there uncertainly, mingling with the sand. Kuja's shoulders loosened. The man had no tail. Of course he didn't.
The man crumpled to the ground, first on one knee and then the other. He was a wheezing mess of wasted flesh -- a wretch that wouldn't last much longer in the heat. He opened his mouth and gasped out a single, dying request. "Water."
Kuja's lips pursed. The scene before him would have been pitiable if Kuja had been capable of pity. Instead, he saw it for what it was -- a pathetic waste of his time. The man's breaths came low and shuddering. His head hung before him, too heavy to carry. Kuja eyed his heavily spiked hair. Familiar. His gaze trailed past his asymmetrical pauldron and to the sword hilt in his hand. There was a hunk of metal attached to it in the rough facsimile of a sword. His eyes cooled at the sight of it. Familiar. His stomach lurched the same way it had with that nameless paladin. He'd seen that sword before, or rather, he'd been on the receiving end of that sword before. His nails dug into the palm of his hand.
He knew this wretch the same way he'd known the story-book knight and that gaudy emperor. His memories belonged to the same infuriating fog. Whoever this man was, Kuja knew that they'd met before in that impossible land of gods and rebirth, and he knew that they'd been enemies.
His hand twitched with magic. Kill him. The man was defenseless. Weak. There were no witnesses. Nothing to stop him. Kill him. He raised his hand and brought it before him, crackling purple in the shadows. It would be quick. Easy. There was nothing stopping him. Not unless...
His eyes flicked again to that oversized and ridiculous sword. If the Warrior had spoken the truth, then anyone he remembered like this had to wield significant power. The Warrior himself had proven far more valuable alive than dead -- even if the choice had almost killed him. This man could barely stand. Kuja wouldn't have even needed to strike -- just to walk away and let the problem take care of itself. And yet...
And yet his feet wouldn't move. His hand had stilled. Looking over that ludicrous sword made his skin crawl and he wanted nothing more than to strike those placid blue eyes from his sight, but there was something more to the man before him. Something unknowable but not entirely unpleasant. Kuja lowered his hand. He could use him. Yes, that was why he'd let the man live. Nothing more and nothing less.
With a sigh, Kuja knelt before the stranger he'd once known and brought a hand before him. A few muttered words later, and magic slipped gently from his fingers into a cool sphere of water. He held it suspended above his palm before touching it to the man's lips. A mastery of the elements came with perks far removed from combat.
"Drink it, won't you?" He glanced to the shadows on the horizon. The wind whipped hot against his face and hands. "Or I fear you'll die." They needed to move if he wanted to save either of them. Kuja let the man finish before standing and glancing carelessly down the street. No one was watching, and he supposed it didn't matter if they were. Kuja snapped his fingers and entangled the man in magical bonds that lifted him almost like telekinesis. When he walked, the man's form followed -- bobbing up and down in the air like a cork but never touching the ground. Kuja kept his eyes ahead, sauntering through the town with an almost careless indifference. Let them talk. He glanced at unsheathed windows and unlocked doors. Let them make their wild accusations.
Why should I bother with a town as common as this?
The inn's door shuddered as he opened it. Conversation died. Kuja slipped inside with his macabre offering and endured the expected outcries. What was the meaning of this? What had he done to him? Why would he do something so sick and twisted? Kuja took it all with a cool eye and a placid smile. Then he flipped his hair over his shoulder and explained that he'd found the wretch at the desert's edge and could he please have a private room to help him recover? The air went silent then -- uneasy. They weren't taking private reservations with the coming storm, but they supposed they could make an exception if it was life or death. Kuja thanked them and tossed a thousand of his newly acquired gil their way. They wondered a little too loudly if he'd stolen it.
The room was bare but for a bed, an end table, and a single dresser. Kuja propped the sword against the wall and lowered the man carefully into the bed. He let out a breath as soon as the door had shut. The wind battered against glass window panes. The walls whirred with some distant machinery. Kuja ran a hand through his hair before striding to the washroom and wetting a hand towel with magic. He chilled it with a touch before laying it across the man's forehead. Still too hot. Still incoherent. Kuja filled a glass with further water and set it on the table beside him before approaching the window and gazing out it thoughtfully.
Why had he bothered with any of this? The answer was still as murky as the dust-ridden winds outside. Perhaps the man would awaken and offer him something valuable in return. Perhaps he'd die. The outcome hardly mattered to him when his thoughts were so muddled and his memory so clouded. Kuja crossed his arms and considered the storm.
Just a thread opening. You can have someone approach him in the storm or establish someone else taking shelter and I'll send Kuja to you.
Why should the world exist without me?
“Hm. For twenty pendants at four thousand gil each, I’ll need eighty thousand gil up front, I think.”
“Four thousand gil each? Last time they were half that!”
“And we both know they’re worth far more. I could always find another buyer, and with a few more demonstrations they’d swarm at the chance. But that sounds like quite the hassle, wouldn’t you say?”
The weathered merchant muttered something unintelligible, but vaguely displeased. Kuja touched at his bottom lip and smiled.
Idiots were so easy to persuade.
He’d come to this small desert town for the same reason he always did – to stock up on supplies for his oasis lair and to sell the various magical trinkets he’d charmed in return. As always, he’d been greeted with astonished gasps as his dragon had landed at the desert’s end and he had carefully slid off her shoulders and into the sand. They knew now that his dragon was tame. They’d come to accept that Kuja wasn’t likely to bring them harm, but whether it was due to his clothes, his mannerisms, or his magic, their eyes still followed him cautiously as he passed. He was unknowable. Dangerous. An enigmatic sorcerer clad in suede, silks, and the lingering touch of dragon’s feathers.
“Well?” Kuja cast the merchant a side-long, almost apathetic look. Behind him, the streets had nearly emptied from the abrupt winds that caught at his hair. He pushed it back irritably and cast the sky a distasteful look. The man before him was quiet for a moment before taking in a breath and sighing.
“Three thousand.”
“Are you so uncertain of yourself?” Kuja turned back to him, crossing his arms. “The magic in those pendants deflects both spells and weaponry alike. I’ve demonstrated them for you, and there’s no better time to sell protection.” His eyes drifted to the sky, a ghost of a smirk at his lips. “Dragon attacks? Mysterious strangers with odd swords and magic? I’d say most common people have good reason to be terrified.”
The merchant gave him a wary look. “Not like you,” he said, and Kuja glanced at him in question.
“Hm?”
“You said ‘common people.’ You mean anyone who was born here. Not like you.”
The accusation was so blatant that Kuja couldn’t contain his silent laughter and managed only to hide it behind the back of his hand. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.” It was so strange to hear it upfront – a claim he would have killed to silence before. You weren’t born here. Not in this country. Not on this planet. It had become so commonplace as of late that he had no need to hide it yet still the words made his nails dig sharp into the flesh of his palms.
“Four thousand,” he said again. “If that’s unfair, I’ll find someone else.”
It must have been fair enough because the merchant relented. Kuja left the negotiation twenty amulets lighter and with a full eighty thousand gil to spare. Even so, Kuja’s smile soured the moment he’d turned away. It had been a long time since he’d been reduced to selling magical trinkets to sustain himself.
Not long enough.
He’d once been proud of the charms he’d created – simple amulets he’d buy as cheap jewelry then lace with Protects and Shells. Back then, he would have felt victorious at the purse of gil in his hands. Now it only reminded him of rented rooms with oglop-ridden floors. He’d already reverse-engineered the secrets of life using nothing but Mist engines. He’d already worked his way into nobility and ruled from the shadows with a silver tongue. He’d devastated the mightiest of kingdoms and wielded genocide like the spells at his fingertips.
And yet here he was. Back at square two, only one step above stealing. Back to the business that had kept a roof over his head at the age of fourteen. He scowled as he eyed the nearly empty streets, shielding his eyes form the harsh bite of wind. The traders had all fled indoors. He’d wasted his time.
Despite his plotting and his power, he still needed supplies – both for himself and the strange entourage he’d recently acquired. His dragon needed a reserve of meat for when her hunts failed. Nero needed – well, he wasn’t entirely certain what Nero needed, but at the very least that meant food for the both of them. Then there was the mysterious girl he kept unconscious in his desert lair. He hadn’t quite finished examining her, but it seemed she needed some manner of magical infusion, and for that he’d need various samples of catalysts and binding reagants if he hoped to find the proper dilution.
Yet now that he’d acquired the money for it, he was met only with wind whipping hot and dry against his cheeks. On the horizon, the sky had darkened with the approach of a black wall of sand. Kuja’s lips pursed at the sight of it. Another sandstorm. The last hadn’t ended for a week, and he couldn’t fly again until the weather had calmed. Could Nero survive for days on his own? Did it matter? Somehow, Kuja didn’t think he’d care either way.
The girl spoke like a soulless automaton. Expressionless. Nearly monotone. There was only the vaguest flicker of consciousness behind those eyes -- vibrant and blue like still water. They glowed with a light all their own, ethereal as the ebbing life of a wasted planet. Kuja crossed his arms to hide his nails, digging deep into the folds of his sleeves.
He'd never had any patience for soulless puppets.
"I see," the girl said with hardly a change in tone. "It was all merely a misunderstanding then. Clearly I am not dead."
Clearly. Kuja's lip curled at the thought. If only that winged swordsman hadn't interrupted him. This all could have ended in minutes, and he would have been air-born by now. Instead, he was required to waste his time on a girl who could hardly emote and whom he doubted was human. What a pity.
The girl didn't accept his offer immediately. Instead, she looked to her bracelet -- a kind of odd, electrical device with pulsing colors and numbers that could have meant anything -- and frowned. Her hand trembled as she touched the thing. Her eyes dulled faintly, and he could have sworn she looked paler. Clearly the bracelet meant something to her, though she wasn't about to say why. Instead, she shook her head and stuttered her reply. "I...I am fine. My wounds are merely superficial, nothing more."
So she didn't trust him. Perhaps she had some semblance of intelligence after all, or perhaps she had some other ulterior motive to keep her wounds unseen. Regardless, it was a suicidal move when she was so clearly weakened and miles from aid. Kuja blinked his surprise before leaning forward, a slight frown at his lips as he looked to her in concern. "You are certain?" he asked. "But you look so shaken. Unless you are capable of magic, then I must insist." He gave an airy wave of her hand, muttered a spell beneath his breath, and cast with hardly a thought. His magic sprang like ivy beneath her feet in long tendrils of blue-green light. It was only a minor cure spell, but with his mastered hand behind it, its touch would meld broken skin and numb her aches for hours. Kuja glanced at the girl's red-leathered savior, lips pursed as he scanned the man for approval. 'There,' he thought sharply, 'She'll live. Now won't you finally leave?'
He returned his attention to the girl. He wasn't quite finished with damage control yet. "Do you have any means to return home?" Kuja tilted his head, glancing from her rapidly dulling eyes to her pale lips. "It seems the desert has taken its toll on you. I could escort you from this place if you'd like." He gave an elegant arc of his hand, gesturing to where his dragon circled above them. "You don't seem in any condition to make the trip on your own."
I realize it's not much to go off of, but Nero was just sitting there so... xD
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja's research had stalled.
It wasn't anyone's fault, really. Any theories -- even his -- had the possibility of failing, and even a mind as sharp as his own would occasionally run into mental blocks. It was all part of the inventive process, he knew, and yet as he stalked the musty halls lit by his own ethereal lights, he couldn't help but cast his mind on anything else to blame. Perhaps if this cave had been a tad more suited to his needs. Perhaps if he had free reign over this planet to search for supplies and inspiration. Perhaps if he didn't treat every outside step with caution, glancing over his shoulder for a righteous flash of white...
He wasn't afraid of the Warrior. Not in the slightest. But meeting him again would quickly become...inconvenient.
And so he thought it best to sequester himself until he'd built up enough power to meet any kind of resistance the Warrior could rally. He'd thought it would give him time to work on his inventions and his theories and his plots. Yet no matter how he tried, none of his efforts had paid off in the slightest.
How could he focus with that feral rat skulking around in the shadows?
Every day there was Nero. Every day, a new crisis to avert. A new lesson to teach. A new waste of his time. It wasn't as though Nero was begging for it of course, but his existence demanded it regardless. How many times had his accursed darkness tripped his traps and sent Kuja into a flurry of defensive magic? How many times had his eyes wandered or his rage overtaken him and Kuja had been given no choice but to reprimand him and instruct him on the basics of humanity? It was insulting. It was childish. It was...
Kuja stopped. The hallway of his lair was lit in the ethereal blue and violet flames he'd set along the upper precipices. Cold. Ephemeral. Had he chosen the colors subconsciously? With the hard stone beneath him and that blue light flickering in the shadows, it almost felt like...
Kuja scowled. Not home. Never home. Perhaps the desert palace one day once he had the resources and time. It was all a coincidence. Just an unfortunate slip of his hand. He ran a hand through his hair and started walking again.
He needed his dragon.
A flight would clear his head. Yes, that's what he needed. Just a flight to cleanse his thoughts and regain focus. He'd been underground too long. Too long in this musty air. Too long beneath that blue flame...
Kuja was so lost in his thoughts and so drawn to thoughts of wind beneath the dragon's wings that he almost didn't notice the man curled and sulking in the shadows. He'd almost passed him when he caught the familiar figure out of the corner of his eye and froze, magic ready in his hand. His fingers curled at the sight of him. Nero. Only Nero. Kuja swallowed back his quickened breath.
"My apologies," he said out of reflex. "I didn't notice you."
Perhaps he would have if Nero moved like a normal person. Or did anything normal, for that matter. The man was wasted and feral and wouldn't last forty-eight hours on his own without resorting to violence. Kuja touched his forehead and took several seconds to breathe before clearing his expression and straightening again.
"I'm going for a flight," he said without looking at him. "The dragon. I'd like to take to the sky." Why was he explaining anything to this man? Nero would have accepted a slap across the face as answer and thanked him for it. "Well then. If you'd excuse me."
The girl knew magic. In another time and another place, Kuja would have deemed this nearly impossible, but in this world, it didn't take much to suspend his disbelief. He'd thought himself a good judge of character on sight, but it seemed he hadn't taken this planet's odd rules into consideration. The girl raised her glowering blade a moment before his thunder hit, and his neck prickled with the deflected power of his own magic. Still, the girl fell just as he'd expected, dropping to her knees like a child. His heart raced with adrenaline. Perhaps in another time, he would have thought of some use for her beyond sating his bloodlust, but he couldn't think for the pain of his dragon echoing morbidly in the back of his mind.
This girl -- this useless, dying girl -- had the audacity to touch his dragon. His eyes flashed as he raised his hand again.
And then his target was lost in a flurry of black.
Kuja didn't initially understand what had happened. Had the girl cast a blinding spell? But there was no trace of further magic, and he could see strips of sunlight just fine. It was only when one of the motes of darkness tickled the back of his hand that he recognized it for what it was: a feather. And standing dramatically in the center of it all was the red-haired man, wing stretched like a barrier between them.
"Yield." The word was a command that seemed to halt time itself. "There is no call for this senselessness. We are more evolved than that, are we not?" His eyes darted from the girl and then to Kuja. "Not all embattled meetings must end in combat."
Kuja's fingers paused. His magic dimmed. Of course this strange man was right -- though only partially. Violence was almost always the least efficient answer to any given problem, and it should have been beneath him for something as trivial as this. But there was nothing evolutionary about it in the slightest. After all, Terra had been far more evolved than any civilization this planet had ever known, and they had destroyed themselves in fire. But that was a menial objection.
The man's point had come through nonetheless. Kuja lowered his hand.
"Pardon my actions," he said as amiably as he was able. "Such bloodlust is beneath me." For once he told the truth. He was not usually so incensed by violence. Still, his fingers twitched for the girl's blood.
Said girl did not make it easy to leave her alive. "Correct," she said with an infuriating lack of expression. "Though in this instance I was not the one who attacked first..." She glanced towards Kuja. "Which now makes me feel obliged to ask why I was attacked in the first place. Could you not tame your beast?"
Kuja's eyes narrowed. 'Idiot.' He shifted his arm behind him so that she wouldn't see the magic sparking in his hand. 'You tactless, unobservant, rash little-'
"My apologies," he said with a regretful smile. "I didn't mean you harm and of course my dragon is well-tamed. It was an honest mistake, and I do hope you can forgive me." Kuja gave a long, dreadful sigh before glancing at them from the corner of his eye.
"You see, my dragon is an apex predator, and there is very little for her here in these desolate sands. I'd thought you already dead or so close to it that there was nothing that could be done for you. And then -- well -- I defended her from attack. Again, you have my sincerest apologies."
Kuja swallowed back the insults on his tongue and extended a hand towards her. "Are you wounded? As you've seen, I'm a talented mage in both the destructive and curative arts. A few spells are the least I can offer you after the crime I nearly committed."
Ugh. Terrible, short post is short and terrible. Hopefully they can start talking soon.
Why should the world exist without me?
Kuja had made a serious mistake.
What should have been routine quickly turned dangerous. He saw it in blur of black feathers. A gust of wind rustled his hair, there was a wave of displaced sand, and then a clash of metal on bone. The dragon gave a displeased cry as something sharp slashed against her teeth. Something red. A sword.
Yes, Kuja had made a dreadful mistake, indeed.
The man behind the sword stood with his stance braced and his eyes flaring. He wore a dark turtleneck covered in leather harnesses, plates, and belts. His hair was a windswept red and his eyes an unsettling blue, but his most startling aspect reached out behind him in a seven foot wing-span of black feathers and stretching muscle. Kuja eyed it carefully, glancing from the tip to the base and then back again wondering as to its purpose and why there was only one. The man was clearly not human, though Kuja doubted that he could fly regardless without a more streamlined shape and hollowed bones. This man was worth his attention with his wing and sword and unsettling eyes. Kuja opened his mouth to speak. Perhaps to apologize. Anything to set right his terrible mistake.
There was a flash of orange.
Kuja raised a hand instinctively, muttering words of magic as quickly as they'd come. There was a burst of light as something scraped against his barrier, barely constructed. The blades pierced his magic before it could form. His dragon cried out in pain. There was blood, dark and vibrant, and then another flash. Kuja's magic blared hot against his fingers and he his spells whipped against hot desert air. Protect. Shell. Cure. He threw them all forward with each renewed flick of his wrist. His dragon gave another cry -- weaker now -- and thrashed at the orange light with her claws. As soon as the attacker slowed, Kuja's hand had already come down with a spell.
"Thundaga!"
The air crackled with power before light burst from the cloudless sky. Electricity framed the attacker in vibrant purple. It was the girl. Clothed as any powerless native, but holding two glowing sabers and with eyes to match. As his magic erupted, Kuja glanced to his dragon -- bleeding and wounded, and hissed his native language. "Go. Fly now and leave me. Come back once I've dealt with them." The dragon gave a weak cry before stretching her wings and gaining altitude. Kuja took a step back, hand ready and magic flaring.
He had made a terrible mistake, but there was nothing that couldn't be fixed with enough talent and power.
It had been less than a month, and already, Kuja could hardly stand the sight of Nero.
It wasn't that Nero was particularly idiotic nor that he was particularly useless. He wasn't greedy or gluttonous or even particularly feral once he'd been properly trained in manners. Still, Kuja loathed his voice. Kuja's lips twitched whenever he met that eager gleam in his eyes. So motivated. So willing to please. And always, always waiting for him.
Kuja reflected on his sad state of affairs from the back of his silver dragon. He found it easier to plot while a hundred feet in the air.
The sun was relentless, but felt almost calming again his bared skin. The dry heat of the desert was soothing as always in its deadly way. It promised silence. It promised solitude. It was uncompromising to those stupid enough to stumble into its grasp. Idiots like Nero. Kuja sighed and tangled his fingers in his dragon's long feather down. The desert would have killed that feral, idiot man. But Kuja had not.
Why? Was there a reason he hesitated even now?
Of course, the question was hypothetical. He had wrestled with the very same question when it came to Zorn and Thorn or that hideous elephant woman. This was simply the price to pay for a worthwhile pawn. An indefinite eternity of testing his patience.
His dragon was circling. Kuja shot her a look of mild curiosity, but her eyes were not on him. They angled down towards the center of her spiral. Her soul touched his with a glimmer of a question. 'May I?' Kuja peered down at the object of her interest -- a distant human form, immobile. He gave a short sigh and dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
"If you must," he relented in his native Terran. The dragon snorted in thanks and started her graceful descent.
His last dragon, Cornelia, would have never thought to hunt while he was present. It was a distasteful business that he'd rather have avoided. But silver dragons were apex predators, and this dragon was not Cornelia. She did not share Cornelia's tact, grace, or sense for all social situations. Kuja's heart longed for Cornelia, but sadly, they would not meet again while he was trapped on this meaningless world. For now, he was grateful for any dragon at all, which meant dealing with more human viscera than was generally his liking.
The dragon landed heavily on a sand dune then stopped to allow him to slide off her back as he'd trained her. Kuja gave the sand a withering look as it dusted the heels of his boots.
From this distance, he could tell that the victim was a girl. A teenager, likely, and small enough that he was surprised she'd caught his dragon's attention. She was clad in the odd clothing of this world's cities -- all formless bundles of cloth and pockets. He wondered vaguely what had brought her to the desert of all places, but it hardly mattered. His dragon's shoulders tensed in anticipation. Her eyes were bright. Kuja crossed his arms and glanced aside. He had never been able to resist that look.
"Do as you will." The smooth Terran was tainted with irritation, but he doubted his dragon noticed. She had already dashed forward, claws ready and teeth bared.
