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year 5, quarter 3
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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,bulk] Mikoto thought for a moment. Then she read the summaries and thought even longer. Kuja waited, his anticipation rising. He had his own thoughts, of course. His own preferences. But they were all plays, and really he wouldn’t mind seeing them all given the time. Perhaps the troupe would stay in town, and he could purchase some kind of season’s pass, studying this planet’s literary style for as long as his heart led him? The decision was difficult, he couldn’t disparage her uncertainty, and yet as she risked a glance towards him, it was she who discovered the simplest solution.
"They are at different times,” she said. ”We could see more than one.”
He blinked.
Oh.
”We could,” he agreed slowly. He’d expected that she would want to see something else in the course of the night. She was one for analyzing new experiences -- whether she truly understood them or not. Part of him hadn’t wanted to deprive her of that, he realized, and yet if she was the one making the suggestion…
”We’ll see the next one then. It seems there are two stages so we’ll only have time for half. Between the two…” The Sealskin or Romeo and Julliet. His eyes scanned the synopses again. ”Why not Romeo and Juliet? You had wondered as to the nature of love.”
The chaotic nature from the sound of it. Two noble houses at war? A lover’s bond between them? That couldn’t end well.
”Come on then. We won’t want to miss the opening act.” He started forward with a new sense of urgency and drive. For the first time in months, he felt, well, something. Passion, he supposed. Excitement. How would this new style compare to Gaian texts?
He hoped it wouldn’t disappoint. If so, he might have to burn down the whole festival.
”You said you monitored the vessels?” Kuja pressed onward through the crowds, occasionally waving his hand to magic troublesome human obstacles out his way. ”You must know the theory then. In practice, it’s far more complicated. As you said, this planet is primitive, and it was more so on Gaia. I had to reverse engineer the principles of artificial life using tools no more complex than the steam engine. Needless to say, it took time.”
The theater stages were past the food stalls, to the right of the live music, and then down the path to the docks. Or at least the map on the itinerary had said so. What time was it now? He didn’t see a clock.
”If you want to help, you could start by studying my old notes. The essence is in the adaptation. Perhaps you’d learn something about this planet’s technology in the process.”
[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
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,bulk] As usual, the younger genome held on to his every word. It was strange being worshipped so. Usually he had to work for a position whispering temptations into a noblewoman’s ear or, for that matter, to be feared enough that listening was a matter of survival. This was neither, and he wasn’t certain how he felt about the matter. On the one hand, it gave him a precious living shield from any would-be crusaders for justice. On the other, he wasn’t used to being followed around. His space had always been very much that -- his space. Now it was something more like…
Well not their space. There was nothing communal about it. But it was different to say the least. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how.
It allowed for unprompted offers of assistance for one. He looked thoughtfully to the sky. ”There’s the black mages obviously. I’d made decent progress on their updated models before other matters stole my attention. With this elemental crystal, I might make an amulet of Return Water. It could prove useful in case another hurricane ravages the coast.” It also would have been of incredible use against the Kraken (again, what were the guardians of Terra doing here?) but he couldn’t really have been bothered to confront it.
What was a city’s safety to him?
”They’re idle projects, really,” he said. ”Though if I could find a potent source of time magic…”
It wasn’t best to think about. Those thoughts led to panic which led to despair which led him to impulses of destruction. Such actions weren’t strategically in his favor. Perhaps when he was alone. Then he could only take it out on the girl.
”Do you have any experience in engineering?” It wasn’t really a question. She had the stored knowledge of Terra’s archives, but that was only theoretical in nature. She hadn’t been sentient long enough to have put them into practice. ”Or any particular interest in such?”
It was a natural draw for beings such as themselves. They were neurologically wired for it or at the very least programmed in that particular direction. Zidane was an anomaly. How different they were all because of his initially underdeveloped brain.
Still underdeveloped most likely. And hideously prone to empathy.
”I don’t see what practical use there possibly could be for love. I suppose if someone returns the feeling, they’d fall victim to the same self-sacrificing recklessness for your sake. I’ve heard it’s of benefit to the soul. I wouldn’t know.” Kuja shrugged. ”I don’t feel as though I’m particularly missing anything.”
As poetic as it was, sentiments such as ’being half of one whole’ were terribly unappealing. It implied dependence and, more than that, a sense of being incomplete. Kuja refused to be anything less than his whole self. He was not half-formed.
Mikoto looked around then took the initiative to accept some kind of flyer without looking to him for permission. Kuja waited, arms crossed, until she returned and handed it to him. It was an itinerary of plays. Interesting.
”I’ve never heard of any of them.” He scanned the page, trying to look indifferent but failing. He felt his heart rise at the prospect of the theater. New theater at that. Doubtlessly it would be of a different style, a different theme, a different cadence. How long had it been since he’d read a new play? It must have been Lord Avon’s last release.
His soul ached at the thought that he’d likely missed the poet’s latest work. Then again, he was supposed to be dead. So he supposed he would have missed it either way.
”This appears to be a tragedy.” He touched the first title with the tip of his nail then drew a line down the paper, considering each summary in turn. ”And this one. There’s another. Then a comedy, an adaptation, and I’m not sure what this is.” He turned the pamphlet over, but it only listed the names and careers of the acting troupe. They sounded rather seasoned.
”I’m a fan of tragedies myself,” Kuja said. ”A cast of flawed characters are driven to their own self-destruction by their passions and the faults in their nature. They’re wonderfully depressing. The others would do better if you’d rather stay in a light mood.”
Kuja finally tore his eyes away from the itinerary. For a moment. ”Do any catch your interest?”
Please, please, please do not take lessons for Kuja on love of all things
Why should the world exist without me?
His successor had, in fact, not had fun. She made her feelings on the matter abundantly clear, and it gave him some twinge of amusement at the thought of her being pecked at by a flock of chocobo women. It seemed she’d found some understanding of similes. That was something.
”Keep it if you want,” he said, waving his hand. ”Who’s going to bother to collect?” The dress would sell for no insubstantial amount of gil if she didn’t want it. If the chocobo women were charmed by her appearance then that was their weakness. Kuja made it a point to abuse any systems of honor on principle alone.
Unless society convention suited his needs. But that was a different story altogether.
”There were a few things of note,” Kuja said. ”An elemental crystal for one, and then a few potion ingredients I was missing. Nothing spectacular.” His eyes wandered to the crowds, and he scanned them with mild interest. These kinds of peasant festivals were always unpleasant. Vulgar. Even when he’d lived among the lower classes, he’d held no love for them. Perhaps it was his Terran upbringing. As much as he appreciated the motion of a living planet, he still had his limits.
He wondered if Mikoto had reached hers already. He supposed it was best to throw her into deep water. She’d learn to swim or she wouldn’t.
It was a matter of survival.
Kuja started walking without looking back. There were things to do, he supposed, or at least things to see. He wondered briefly to the other attractions. The botanical garden had sounded pleasant enough. But that would hardly have shielded him from prying eyes, and he was, at least among certain troublesome parts of the population, something of a wanted man. No, this would do better to mask his presence, and if it came to it, the crowds would make for a decent human shield.
”You want to see a play?” Kuja glanced at Mikoto in surprise. She was, as expected, following, and it hadn’t taken her long to decide on an answer. Between himself, her, and Zidane, he was starting to wonder if something was simply hardwired within the genome neurology to appreciate theater. Not something intentional, of course, but a side effect of some other instinctual function. He’d have to consider it later.
”Love is an irrational emotion which drives the feeble-minded to madness.” His eyes drifted to the moon, shining and full and bright with its silver hue. He had always taken some kinship with the moons of Gaia, hanging there above the world and apart from it. This was not his moon -- not Terra -- but it seemed to fit him even more. It was more ethereal, and somehow colder.
”It overrides natural instincts for self-preservation, and its pursuit can lead to utter ruin. Its victim craves it even as it brings them pain. Which is why it’s such a strong theme in plays, I suppose.” He quite enjoyed the passion of it and the unpredictability. In theater, it was the ultimate motivation, pulling at the audience’s heart in a kind of ultimate catharsis. Kuja had never experienced love, of course, and he had no delusions of its desirability, but he found the secondhand experience captivating.
It kept him breathless.
”I wouldn’t recommend it. Look what it did to Zidane. Willing to throw his life away for the sake of strangers. It’s absurd.” And infuriating. And confusing. And-
”I learned Gaian customs through plays,” he said. ”There might be something around here.”
We're not even going to address why he brought her. Why wouldn't he?
Why should the world exist without me?
”How much for the sapphire?”
”What was that, sir?”
”The sapphire, third to the right.” Kuja touched his chin, head tilted slightly as he kept his eyes locked on the precious stone. It had magical properties. He’d sensed it as he’d passed, and though he wasn’t exactly swimming in gil, he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to advance his own means. It was composed of a high-level catalyst for water elemental magic, he thought. A potentially useful component.
The shopkeeper looked down the counter of his stall, spotted the gem in question, then looked back to him with an air of utmost professionalism. ”Oh that? Five hundred gil.”
Five hundred? Kuja could have laughed. It was clear he had no idea what he had in his possession.
”Fine.” Kuja magicked up his coin purse as though pulling it from his sleeve, searched inside, and handed over the gil. The shopkeeper nodded at the transaction and then he was in possession of a water crystal. He magicked it away and straightened, turning to consider the festivities.
Kuja hadn’t been in the city during the flood. He’d had no reason to be, and disaster relief required empathy which was something he’d been created entirely without. Instead, he’d flown in the night before so that he could appreciate the life of the city, perhaps its beauty, and scan the temporary marketplace for anything which caught his eye. So far, he’d found the marketplace underwhelming and the art crude. Still, it wasn’t all bad.
He wasn’t bored at least.
Kuja started through the crowds, waving a hand to shift aside anyone who didn’t naturally stay out of his way. He drew as many eyes as ever in his usual purple, white, and gold fabrics which most considered to be cut too high and too low simultaneously. He’d heard there was a formal element to this event, but he didn’t usually bother with such things. His aesthetic was already meticulously designed to highlight his specific brand of mysterious beauty. Such things hardly applied to everyone, however.
He found Mikoto looking dazed at the center of a mob of women cooing over her looks. She looked to be in a kind of mild form of distress, but Kuja simply drifted to a stop, eyebrow raised as he made no attempts to save her from her predicament. As a genome, Mikoto was devoid of physical imperfection -- everything perfectly symmetrical, every feature strictly aligned. Her lesser model was diminutive with rounded eyes and a slight stature. While his form invoked a kind of instinctive desire, hers prompted a more motherly instinct. Dressed with all of her bows and ribbons and other frills, even he had to admit she looked cute. Objectively, of course.
But where in all of Gaia had she found that dress? He’d only been gone for maybe half an hour.
”Having fun?” Kuja smirked, locking eyes with her through the adoring crowd. He didn’t bother raising his voice. She’d instinctively understand.
He waited for her to join him before turning to consider what looked like a seamstress’ corner with all manner of dresses and blouses and assorted accessories hung up for display. On the far side, a pair of young girls twirled around in front of a mirror declaring that they looked like princesses. As someone who had no insubstantial experience with nobility, he had to disagree.
”I browsed their magical components. I wasn’t particularly impressed.” His eyes drifted down the road to an avenue laden with food stands that were apparently exotic. After that there were dancers, and past that, a stage that emitted a kind of primal beat that he could feel even from his distance. ”I suppose there’s nothing left but to enjoy the festival.” He raised a hand, smirking. ”Anything in particular you have in mind?”
Kuja could say that he honestly hadn’t expected the woman to be good for anything but running away. He’d expected that she’d serve as a passable distraction for the now thrashing worm, and then Kuja could finish it with a few spells (more than one, most likely) and maybe she’d survive long enough to express her gratitude and then leave. But no. As the worm lunged at her, she raised her three-pronged spear, piercing it through the maw before it could snap its jaws around her. Kuja raised an eyebrow.
Interesting.
She followed the attack with a holy spell that burst through her spear like a conduit and the worm burst with a brilliant, deadly light. Kuja raised a hand, shielding his head as he eyed the meaty debris with distaste. Bits of flesh, teeth, and fetid slobber rained down on them as the headless thing gave a final spasm and collapsed into the sand with a solid thunk. The gaping wound was seared and smoking. Kuja lowered his hand and looked down on the results in disgust.
Well. That was one way to deal with it, he supposed.
”Are you well, traveler?”
Kuja’s eyes flicked to the woman who had scrambled to his side. Her eyes were wide with concern. She had a sense of innocence about her not helped by her sandy, windswept hair or the worm’s blood and saliva which coated her dress. She smelled sour.
”I’m well enough.” Kuja folded his arms in front of him. ”It seems you could have handled yourself fine.” From a couerl on the prowl. It had likely been stalking her for some time. She must have been taken by surprise.
”I’m looking for weak monsters,” he went on. ”Obviously, I haven’t found any. The desert has a way of forging strength.” Alone. Forsaken to the wastes and the wilds. Kuja could empathize. ”You haven’t seen anything, have you?”
Kuja didn’t pay attention to the fight. He heard it behind his back. The fangs were yipping and snarling and dancing about in their aggressive duet. He heard Mikoto struggle against them. Kuja didn’t much care for the outcome. Either Mikoto would dispatch them or she’d bleed herself into unconsciousness, and that was the moment that Kuja would rid himself of them easily, casting a careless Life spell to revive Mikoto before he made his way home.
It didn’t much matter to him. He wasn’t the one at risk of ’hurting himself.’
What had possessed her to offer him such advice? No, not advice. She had pleaded it of him. Kuja had only ever looked out for himself. He was the only person who really mattered, after all, and if he didn’t put himself at the highest regard then who would? Kuja had never once hurt himself -- or at the very least he’d not done so in a way that wouldn’t overall benefit him.
Working himself too hard perhaps. Putting himself in danger, certainly. But he would never have actively brought himself to harm. He couldn’t think of a single-
(Memoria)
-instance she could possibly be referring to.
The fangs died. She stood victorious. Or impassively victorious. Now that he’d cut off their connection, he couldn’t so easily guess her emotions without looking at her. How inconvenient.
”Well. You did it.” Kuja couldn’t summon much in the way of congratulations. He hadn’t prepared for this part at all, in fact, and he certainly hadn’t expected himself to deliver it after she had offended him so. He’d been quite certain that she would have fallen at the mercy of rabid beasts. Oh well.
Kuja tilted his head to consider the blazing sunlight. ”We can return here another time. I’ll find something stronger. Clearly you need more of a challenge.”
It would only have worth as an experience if it reached her limits and well and truly hurt her. After her abysmal first attempts at spellcasting, he’d gone too soft on her. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
”My dragon should be nearby. There’s no point in wandering across the desert on foot.” With that, Kuja walked away, heading towards the arena’s bounds before he easily vaulted it, kicking up sand in his wake.
He wanted the quiet of his underground lair. The darkness, the solitude, the echo of his thoughts. It was cool beneath the sands, and the very air was woven with his familiar magic.
Kuja felt quite pleased with himself. He’d managed to unlock some secret motivation inside her and had used it to toy with her to his own advantage. His plans had come along quite well, and all of the effort he’d put in had finally seemed to pay off. She’d called herself an idiot, dejected with her head lowered and looking like a cat dropped into a dumpster with, well. A dead flan. It was all quite amusing, and he would have been entirely content spending the rest of the day mocking her for her weakness and loyalty in turn.
Then she spoke. Out loud. The six words which he never wanted to hear again.
”That day at the Iifa tree.”
Kuja froze. He felt his smile falter. In an instant, his throat had tightened, and he felt that terrible dread rising up within him again. It was a dread that he didn’t want to recognize -- that he didn’t even want to acknowledge. Yet here it was, seizing him again with the morose echoes of green and red and the life which had left him.
’I’m useless to this world.’
”Shut up.” Kuja felt his nails dig into his palm. He and Zidane were hurt? She was weak? What did it matter how she’d felt about any of it? She hadn’t been there, and she hadn’t died.”I don’t care what you want. I’m fine!”
She tried to push her feelings onto him through their shared connection. Something calming and sad and sentimental. He shut her off immediately. Sharply. With no small amount of recoil.
He turned from her, waving a dismissive hand. ”I’m doing this for you, not because I need your help. You’ll practice by protecting me. Because apparently you can’t get enough of living at the heels of your master’s leash.” Just as Garland had trained them. Oh he’d wanted a good little dog to follow his every command. He’d almost forgotten that they could bite of their own volition.
With that, he thrust the last stone slab roughly aside. It flew across the arena, skidding into the sand and kicking up a wave of dust. Out came the fangs again. Two of them or so he assumed. He still had his back turned and his arms crossed. He gave a sharp wave of his finger and cast another cure spell on Mikoto without looking at her.
