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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[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.

[ Now both eyebrows raise lightly-- before she laughs, very quietly to avoid aggravating a tender wound, and because she is not a loud individual except when in battle. ]

My apologies, I prefer not to presume. Would you like to accompany me, Kuja? I cannot claim it won't be a tight fit, of course.

[That’s all he needs, apparently. Eyes lighting up, Kuja practically floats off the bed, landing gently on the floor. He turns around to face her again with a flourish.]

I expect it to be quite the squeeze, but that’s all right. I take up very little room overall. My only desire is an excess of luxuriously scented soaps and bubbles in our bath.

[He extends a hand towards Primrose.]

Shall we?

[ No one can claim that Kuja does not indulge himself enough. But it means Primrose gets to get out of bed and clean herself and it's not as though she's averse to his company, so her smile is genuine enough as she maneuvers her way off the bed and places her hand in his. ]

We shall. We'll need to decide which scent we best favor, after all.

[He’s happy to guide her to where they may be useless in a tub together, wasting soaps that likely aren’t theirs to waste, anyhow.]

I think I’ll even be kind enough to let you choose.

[It doesn’t take long before they have themselves settled before a tub filled with hot water, steaming and ready to be doused with salts or soaps or whatever suits their fancy. Kuja has yet to disrobe, though he has planted himself on the edge of the tub and holds two bottles — one in each hand.]

Now, then, what are you in the mood for? Lavender honey, or… [He holds up the other bottle, which is clear were it not for the sprigs of what he assumes are some kind of scented plant.] Whatever this might be. A mystery for the ages!

In the interest of your enigmatic nature, let's try the more mysterious bottle. Lavender might just make us drowsy.

[ Primrose is far more modestly dressed than usual-- it looks like Revello's wife had her bundled in one of her nightgowns after she'd been brought to their honestly. Her hair's also down her back, a more than respectable length, and she's already engrossed in undoing the buttons. ]

[He sets the lavender bottle down, uncorking the other with the flick of a nail.]

The mystery one it is!

[It’s poured into the water soon after, and his free hand makes little circular motions, stirring the water with his magic. At most, it should create a few suds, but this mystery bubble bath practically explodes in a fragrant scent of effervescent bubbles, rising up and clinging to the sides of the tub. The smell is herbal, refreshing after a tiresome morning — or if one is recovering from a stab wound.

He makes an amused sound.]

Oh, a fine choice. Look at how very enticing the bath looks now.

Enticing, indeed.

[ Thanks in no small part to a certain someone happily shoving his magic into the water. The fragrance really is invigorating, though, and Primrose sniffs the air appreciatively before she finishes fussing with the nightgown and lets it slip enough to step out of it.

... She folds it, of course, resting it on the closest flat surface and undoes the bandages around her torso next. They're tinged with dried blood, but the revealed wound appears to be closed, if a little tender-looking and still rather fresh. As she'd suspected, the best she can hope for here will still be an immovable scar, cleanly made because Simeon had always been fastidious and elegant. Even with a murder attempt.

This accomplished, she steps closer to the bath and gives Kuja a vaguely bemused stare. ]

For as enticing as it does look, you've yet to dress the part of a bather.

[Kuja isn’t shy about his gaze trailing over her form, but it lingers on the new addition marring her body, that awful wound, so diligently placed. His lips thin.]

Mm, that will leave a scar. What a shame.

[He stands, though, light on his feet, gesturing in a half bow with an arm extended towards the tub.]

Ladies first.

[Straightening with a grin, he’ll begin to disrobe regardless of if she humors him. Not that it takes long, given how very little he wears on a normal day. Kuja is less caring about where his clothes land, letting them spill on the floor before he steps into the water, already enveloped in bubbles up to the knee.]

Oh, that tickles. Do you know what it reminds me of?

[The bath? The bubbles? The scent? The experience? He doesn’t specify.]

I'm afraid I could only hazard blind guesses.

[ Primrose has since slipped into the bath, sinking down enough to be mostly obscured beneath the water and the frenzy of bubbles. Better for them both to not have to see or think of the future scar at all.

This feels blissful, though. ]

Pray, enlighten me.

[Kuja slips in properly, sinking into the warm water and bubbles. It’s a small space to fit two people, knees and limbs knocking into each other, but he hardly seems to care.]

I used to live in a city called Treno. A very two-faced place, with the rich living luxuriously and the poor tucked away in its dark underbelly, forgotten and uncared for.

[Which sounds like he’s gearing up for some sad social commentary on the state of such city, but-]

Anyway! The upper class knew how to have a good time, how to indulge. Soaps and perfumes and the latest fashions…

[Kuja scoops up a handful of bubbles and blows them at Primrose.]

I almost miss it.

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