PSL; [ we could fight a war for peace ]

[genomage]

[He remembers when he had been on the verge of death, staring up at the gnarled canopy of the Iifa tree as it swayed, crumbling on all sides. Weighed with regret, his body battered with pain and wrung dry with exertion, the sense of clarity he possessed was strange and freeing. He will never forget it, even before his preemptive acceptance of his passing was proven false via his arrival to another world.

A part of him wonders if Primrose experiences that same feeling, if revelations has been imparted to her as she bleeds out and into the rug. There is the corpse of an unknown man elsewhere in the room—and maybe he’s long passed death’s threshold—but Kuja does little more than give him a passing glance as he moves to Primrose’s side instead. Though there is little alarm in his expression, very little rush to his step, his brows crimp in a way that is rare beyond more extreme bouts of emotion.]

What trouble have you gotten yourself into today? Dear flower, you’ve made a mess.

[He crouches down, silver hair framing his face as a fingertip presses gently against her skin that’s wetted itself with blood. Still warm — and she’s still breathing. Is she conscious? Kuja manages a proper frown.]

Can you hear me? At least breathe into my ear who’s done this to you — the audience can only be left hanging for so long.

Comments

[femmefinale]

[ Her lips quirk faintly before pressing into each other even further and forming an impressively flat line. No one really likes to reminisce on a betrayal, but Kuja is the type of individual who thrives on the drama. She half-wonders if he and Simeon would get along, considering their theatrical love. ]

There is not much to tell. He considered me a puppet, a pretty doll whose life and emotions he could orchestrate to suit his amusement. A tragic play of his own making, one crafted for years. Perhaps you would like him.

[ But the bitterness remains in her gaze, for how dismissively she speaks. ]

[genomage]

[Oh, they all have their stories to share, their pasts rooted in drama, betrayal, and pain. Kuja does, too. And his curiosity is ever wheedling, especially where Primrose is concerned. So often, she paints herself as detached and unwilling to share the finer details, and so he has to dig—impetuously, stubbornly—to unearth what he’s sure must be a sordid tale.

It’s true, he thrives off of drama. Certain unflattering habits are hard to erase for him.Yet despite his metaphoric love for the stage, he is plainly invested in this tale for more reasons than merely being an observer in the audience.]

“Not much to tell”? I don’t believe that for a single second. No one chooses their leading role on a whim. They must know without a doubt that they will give the performance of a lifetime.

[Hm, would he get along with this Simeon? A novel thought to consider, if he hadn’t already written the man off as an annoyance. But he seems integral to her story, nonetheless.]

Surely you knew him before today.

[femmefinale]

[ The sigh she heaves is very quiet. If he was enthralled by the promise of a sordid tale, she absolutely does not want to confess to being the heir of a fallen noble house. It had already taken considerable effort to get Revello to cease calling her "Lady Primrose" within earshot of anyone else. ]

He posed as a gardener, years ago. I was rather taken by his poetic nature and gentle demeanor. You might call him my first love.

[ She'll give Kuja what he wants for once, if just so she doesn't have to revisit this ever again. ]

[genomage]

[That’s more than enough for Kuja to find scintillating. His eyebrows actually raise in a moment of surprise, and the noise that escapes him is not unlike a teenager being told of their best friend’s crush at a sleepover.]

Oooh. [Oh, that must have been such a shock. Fuel for her bitterness, now.] Young childhood love? So often pure, if not misguided. Or so I’m told.

[He wouldn’t know, never having a childhood.]

Did you have a fight? Was your relationship torn asunder? Why else would he slide a blade in-between your ribs after meeting you again, years later?

[She said this was orchestrated for years, but was there a reason beyond watching pain play out in others?]

[femmefinale]

He is the leader of the group that murdered my father. I imagine he must have found it the height of amusement, to string along a young girl and then set her down a bloody path, just to be present for the moment she came to realize that the one who took her father from her was someone who had been dear to her. She learned that truth right as he left her to bleed out. How very tragic.

[ Her voice is hollow, though there's a bright fury in her gaze as she grips at the blanket covering her legs. ]

He wanted my despair. I can tell that much.

[genomage]

[Ah, clever. Credit where it’s due — that is the kind of farce that might break a weaker person, and allow them to succumb to such despair.]

So he had been connected to your father’s death all along. [He’s resting his head in a hand, and a finger taps idly at his cheekbone.] He really does have a taste for the dramatic.

[He’s quiet a moment, his eyes searching hers.]

Still, if that was his aim, I think he’s failed. You do not have the look of a heartbroken woman. Simeon may not be as guiling as he believes.

[Yes, he’ll take that credit right back.]

[femmefinale]

[ Primrose meets his gaze steadily, her lips pressing into an expression that's far from gentle. ]

I have learned that trust is not a thing so easily earned by honeyed words and a soft touch-- I am far from the child who would have once fallen prey to those things.

[ It had hurt, yes. But-- ]

That man is no longer fit to dance with. For his arrogance, my dagger will have its fill of his blood.

[genomage]

[Kuja is pleased by that response. He doesn’t try to hide it.]

Time changes us all. For better or worse, naivety drains from us like blood from a wound. I’m glad that he has earned your wrath now, rather than your affection.

[That said, he must know-]

What is he like? When you were younger, what about him made you fall for the man?

[Is this a subject she wants to entertain? He doesn’t seem to care.]

[femmefinale]

That will remain known only to me. You can make your guesses when you encounter him for yourself.

[ She's got to keep some secrets of her own, after all. Kuja can only get so much gossip out of her. ]

[genomage]

[He frowns, dissatisfied with that answer. Primrose can’t cut off the spigot of gossip just like that. (Yes, she can.)]

Come on. Tell me. What is there to be ashamed of?

[femmefinale]

What use would it be of to you?

What happened back then in no way reflects my preferences now, were I to have any.

[ No more gossip for Kuja! ]

[genomage]

[He huffs indignantly, tossing a tress of hair that had started to spill over his shoulder.]

What makes you think it would be information I would use? Honestly, you flatter yourself.

[More! Gossip!]

Do not act as though you’d be any more forthcoming if I asked about your current preferences. You are a closed book, Primrose, and I am merely trying to pry open your pages.

[femmefinale]

An open book is quickly read, finished and discarded. Perhaps I don't wish for you to tire of me just yet.

[ Deep words for someone with bedhead, she's well aware. ]

[genomage]

Oh? Are you afraid I would learn what I could, then discard you utterly and completely?

[His frown twists back into a smile, the same way he’s twisting her words.]

I’m touched, but I’m not going anywhere. No matter how many deep and dark secrets you spill. Not yet, at least.

[Where would he go? He has nowhere, in this world or his own.]

[femmefinale]

[ With a half-smile now ]

You've caught me, I'm afraid. However, words may be empty, so some secrets I must keep locked away until I deem them ready to be shared.

[ Which might be "never". ]

[genomage]

My words are never hollow, dear flower. There is meaning behind each and every syllable.

[Citation needed. He, at least, believes so.

Kuja takes a moment to stretch, obviously making himself comfortable.]

You say I’m to make up my own mind on the matter — meeting Simeon? Do you believe that will come to pass? Or will you fly off on your own, as soon as you catch word of where to find him?

[femmefinale]

[ Is he planning on napping on this bed, she can move--

But she merely huffs quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She's already told him what she avoids. ]

I intend to leave as soon as I know where he's hidden himself. Whether you accompany me or not is your own path to choose.

[genomage]

[wow]

I daresay you’d be very disappointed if I decided to carve out my own path before your tale was brought to completion.

[Dully-]

Besides, where would I go? I know nothing of this planet beyond the scope of our travels, pulled in the direction of everyone’s desires, but none my own.

[femmefinale]

Nothing has captivated your attention during our travels? No place has beckoned you to explore? No newly awakened desire of your own has stirred you?

[ Honestly, she seems a little surprised. ]

You may know little of this world, but you can choose to change that.

[genomage]

[He replies without hesitation, in a manner that might be somewhat telling.]

No.

[Kuja had been defined by a purpose upon his creation; and even after he had rebelled against his father, taking his destiny into his own hands, he was soon to learn that even that would not matter. Death would come, eventually, for an Angel of Death — how fittingly ironic. A true tragedy fit for the finest of stage plays.

And now that he is here, freed from all of that except for promise of death hanging over him, existence is strangely wheeling — freedom spirals out in too many directions, and he begins to wonder if the chains of so-called purpose were less a burden and more of a blissful ignorance. He would never go back to such a state, of course, but the double dose of irony is even more bitter than the last.


But how does one even begin to put that in words?]

Tell me, what are your plans after you’ve dealt your long-awaited vengeance?

[femmefinale]

... Revenge is all I've known for ten years.

[ she'd chosen this path, willingly endured abuse, humiliation, much more, and played her role to perfection, all for one purpose. That purpose will die with Simeon, and Primrose has never thought of what will come after.

She glances down at the blanket. ]

As to what will follow... I could not say. I suppose I will ponder it when I have nothing left to pursue.

... I may only hope, Kuja, that you will have something you want by then.

[genomage]

[His grin graces him again, just a ghost of a thing. Thin, this time.]

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

[Kuja does not know which day may be his last. Years from now, or tomorrow. He is caught between the baffling need to seek fulfillment, and the nihilistic knowledge that it barely matters if he does.]

Not knowing what you will do when you’ve finally achieved your goal… That is where I am now. There is little that anchors me to anything any longer. Just you, and your little group, and their personal goals. Which are amusing, true, but hardly any real concern of mine.

I am but an observer, watching life pass by. And when you share that fate with me, too, it’s then I’ll ask you: “Nothing has captivated your attention during our travels? No place has beckoned you to explore? No newly awakened desire of your own has stirred you?”

[femmefinale]

[ Primrose shifts, to push the blanket off. Kuja has taken up part of the bed with his lounging but she figures she can just scoot past him if he's in the way. ]

To my immense dismay, the only thing that has captivated me beyond my goal has been you.

[ But she has a bed to get out of and a man to kill. ]

[genomage]

[The blanket folds over and lands on an arm, and Kuja pushes it away. He lifts up that same arm and presses a hand on Primrose’s shoulder, gently pushing back to annoyingly forestall her attempts to get out of bed.]

Dismay? You should be delighted.

[He laughs, though. It’s strangely good to hear, despite all else.]

That the spotlight should draw your eye to a specimen like myself. Perhaps you should remain seated and indulge yourself for a bit longer. After all, you cannot move around very well with a wound still healing.

[femmefinale]

[ Yes, she sure is being annoyingly forestalled, and Primrose arches an eyebrow at him before she leans forward, testing his willingness to keep her where she is.

Well, she figured he'd preen about this. Her thanks for saving her life, perhaps. ]

I think you'll find that such a thing won't really prevent me from moving forward. I can admire your exquisite form another time.

[ It's almost deadpan, really. ]