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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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.

[ Primrose ends up with a half-tiara of bubbles, a crown she accepts with dignity, in favor of cupping soapy water in her palms and leaning forward to unceremoniously dump it over Kuja's head. ]

Almost, but not quite? You've struck me as a man who doesn't tend to form attachments easily, if hardly ever.

[ She takes a deeper breath of the herbal scent, sinking further down as space will allow. ]

You might find a fascination with Sunshade. Arid environment, but the rich and the envious would also flock there for the entertainment and indulgence. One could truly seize what they desired in such a place, were they to dream darkly of it.

Only the best dancers performed there.

I do form attachments on occasion. I may be a man of whimsy, but I am also a very emotional one — perhaps you’ve noticed! [No, he hardly gives anything away.] As such, it is only expected that when attachments form, they may as well be made of steel, even if I keep them close to the chest.

[And then water sluices down his hair thanks to Primrose, flattening his feathers into the silver. He wrinkles his nose, rubbing at his eyes.]

I should like to visit Sunshade someday. I suspect that means you performed there once, as well?

If you were to describe yourself as very emotional, I've yet to be granted the honor of witnessing it for myself. Perhaps my skills of observation have failed me.

[ or he's just as much of a closed book as she is. For now, she splashes a little closer, putting her back to him so at least they won't end up accidentally kicking each other. She at least has the decency not to just hijack his lap. ]

But you suspect truly. Of the ten years I spent biding my time and honing my edge, much of that time was spent in Sunshade. The man who found me in the streets saw fit to bring me there and train me himself... into a proper pet.

[It’s likely for the best, or so he thinks. His last few bouts of extreme, sincere emotion were impossibly… destructive, and it’s unlikely she—or he traveling companions—would appreciate it very much.

As far as he’s concerned, her back turned to him is just an invitation for Kuja to lean forward to rest his chin on her shoulder. Personal space? It hardly exists.]

A pet? You don’t strike me as the type to be anyone’s pet. Surely this man came to know only disappointment.

[ Well. If he's using her as a chin rest, she will lean back against his chest. Might as well get comfortable, nude or not. ]

Eventually, yes. I had to play the part for a while, but he was quite the dancer himself, in the end... his death throes were almost exquisite.

[He doesn't mind at all. His arms loop around her middle, and he clasps his hands together to keep them both rooted to the spot, careful to avoid her wound. Comfy, indeed.

And oh dear, her past is just absolutely smattered with spilt blood, isn't it?]

His death throes! A swift exit, stage right. Well, I am more than certain that he deserved it, but why did he deserve it? Other than the gall at thinking you'd be anyone's proper pet, of course.

That was indeed the last restraints of my patience snapping when pulled at their tightest, but...

[ It's easier to speak without looking at him. Primrose briefly closes her eyes, resting her hands over his. ]

One person, during this time, showed me sincere and warm kindness. She sought to distract him while I pursued my true target, but he caught on and had her brutally killed before me.

I may not form attachments often, but as you said, when they happen, they are as iron. He sealed his fate with his actions.

[He considers her tale, one that seems filled with more violence as he learns of her past. The sensation of her hand rests on his own, hidden beneath the excess of bubbles that float about the water’s surface like clouds. He runs a nail over her touch in affirmation.]

It is exactly what I would have done.

[Killed someone over it. Even now, given perspective of his existence, he would likely still do the same.]

It is as though you never had the opportunity to know peace. Not in your past, and the concept is a neglected one for your future, as well.

[ It's affirmation enough and she sighs softly, under her breath. ]

I was happier in my younger years. But since that night, I no longer remember what peace feels like. Instead, I cannot stop. I must continue forward. I must take, in the way I was taken from.

... In the future, I don't know how to seek such a thing.

[ Contentment. Happiness. Being at peace without a bloody goal spurring her on. ]

[He hums gently, the sound of his voice likely felt as a faint vibration. He had told her, when he had spread out on her bed like a cat, that he was in a similar state right now: the inability to know what one wants, because all purpose had long been ripped away. Her circumstances are different from what his were, but they were equally violent, and equally, all they had.

His tone is light, carving the weight away from the burden of an unknown future, full of unknown aspirations.]

Well, you do have me! That should be enough to put a smile on anyone's face, rain or shine. Happiness or hollowness.

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