finalflight | PSL; [ we could fight a war for peace ]

PSL; [ we could fight a war for peace ]

[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.

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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?

[ 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.

[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.

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.

[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?

Edited 2021-11-08 21:25 (UTC)

... 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.

[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?”

[ 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. ]

[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.

[ 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. ]

[This time, he gives a little shove. But it’s barely enough to push her back onto her pillows; again, he’s just being a nuisance.]

You will get nowhere and fight nothing in the state. Not to mention that I have gone several days without your presence, dying from boredom, and now that you’re awake, the first thing you do is deny me your company! How cruel.

[ If he's lightly shoving her, she's looping an arm around his neck to-- eh. Reprimand him? Drag him down? Prove she's fighting fit? Sure. ]

If you will recall, good sir, I did spend quite a bit of time explaining my relationship and the situation. You've had plenty of time to savor my company.

I—

[Whoops, he’s being pulled forward, the crook of her arm caught against the back of his neck, and Kuja just keeps his gaze lifted, amused.]

…I still lay claim to the fact that you explained very little! The personal details of your character still escape me, dearest flower.

[Not that the same couldn’t be said for himself.]

[ Her look is still skeptical, if not faintly amused. Though she's not too thrilled about being gently "encouraged" to stay in bed, so he can just suffer by her holding him there. ]

My "personal details", as you so eloquently put it, will be something you learn in due time. Perhaps. And are you not a rather enigmatic individual yourself? I too know so little.

[Well, then they’re just going to remain like this forever, aren’t they? His brow arches.]

One must always hold a certain amount of mystique, or the audience grows weary. Still, honesty has always been an honorable quality of mine.

[This is, actually, not true.]

So if you have questions, ask.

Do you have family at all? You also don't strike me as human, though there are certainly similarities...

... And what is the story behind that dragon of yours?

[ To start off easy. ]

[To start off easy…]

Oh my. That is a veritable deluge of questions, Who knew you had been so curious, holding them back for so long?

[He’s going to try to straighten, though whether or not she allows him to is up for debate.]

We can start simple. My dragon has no story, beyond that I found it as a reliable source of transportation back on my planet. Its kind is indigenous to my world, and therefore I suppose you could say I consider it a pet.

[The rest, though.]

The rest is not so simple. I have a little brother—annoying and brash, with no appreciation for the arts—and an even littler sister. Though I have to ask what makes you so certain that I am not human. Is it the unfathomable beauty?

[ She allows him, but then she's going to straighten up too so he can fight her if he wants her to lie down. ]

I am one who wishes to dance alone, more often than not. But when a dancer takes a partner, to not be perceptive of their nature and their movements would be dishonoring the class. You are the only partner I have had who I cannot quite fathom. You might call it instinct or an acquired skill from the gods we have done battle with, but you feel as though you may be something different than human.

The beauty does lend some credibility to that theory, of course. And to imagine, you are an elder brother...

[ Fascinating. ]

[Free from her hold, he sits crossed-legged on her bed now.]

Please, do not get any ideas. Though he might like to describe himself as rakish, he is but a thief and a swindler. [Zidane can’t defend himself. He doesn’t care.] And not nearly as eye-catching as myself.

[He dismisses the very idea with a wave of the hand.]

You would be correct, however. Your dancer’s instincts serve you well — I am not human, not in the way that you are. I was not born, but created as something more than mortal. I had even carried the title of Angel [of Death] once.

If you wish to think of me as divine, you are more than welcome to.

[He has left out like 90 percent of the details.]

I've acquired a bit of a fondness for thieves, after plenty of time spent in Therion's company. [ Therion, her second favorite teasing target, who is more of a prickly hedgehog than someone who would ever call himself rakish. ]

But how interesting you are... I believe I must refrain from considering you an angel or divine, however. I would say your own name suits you better than either.

Then it saddens me to inform you that his heart already belongs to another. A Princess, who flew from her gilded cage long ago. A bit of a cliche, but some enjoy trite storytelling.

[He wonders how they’re doing. If Zidane ever reunited with his dear Garnet, if he managed to pull himself from the rubble of the Iifa Tree.]

Very well, though. I will allow you to call me whatever you like, as long as it comes from your lips alone.

As I am but a humble dancer who claims no rank... [ uh-huh ] It is true that I cannot even begin to compare myself to a free-spirited princess.

As such, you grant me quite the honor by allowing you to address you as I will. How I've earned that eludes me.

[ wow it's like you like her or something. ]

Rank means so little; a farce at best. You have a hotter fire than her, and your steel is much sharper. I prefer you much more.

[Garnet cannot defend herself. He also does not care.]

Give yourself credit where it’s due. You make for a fine dance partner, even if your propensity to do so is temporarily halted until your mortal flesh recovers from its wound.

If you'd allow me out of this bed or at least grant me the luxury of bathing myself, I could demonstrate just how able I am after forcibly resting for... a time.

[ His compliments uncomfortably mean something, so she chooses to not comment to them, which is probably indication enough that they do mean anything at all. ]

[And what choice does Kuja have but to assume this is just another instance of her closed-book-demeanor, just a dismissal of his compliments? He speaks them airily, and he does not seem to care that they garner no response, but his vanity—and something else, maybe shaped like investment—takes note.]

Mm, fine. I daresay I’ve noticed the lack of an invitation for me to join you. [Like that’s a normal thing.] These wretched bones need a warm bath to soak in, too.

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