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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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.

[ Primrose releases a very soft huff, as though touched or amused. Possibly both. ]

Am I to consider you a part of my future? Or perhaps just my present, until this vengeance of mine is sated?

[ This man really has so much confidence in himself, but he doesn't force her to grovel. He's vastly different from Helgenish-- or Simeon, despite her initial thought, that they bore several similarities. ]

[His confidence is unparalleled on the surface. Though one must dole out heaps of the stuff to cover the cracks in the armor, smoothing them over into a mirror-sheen, almost invisible.]

Mm, possibly. If you keep my interest, and if I--heavens willing--keep yours. I see no reason to separate oneself from a talented dance partner for middling reasons such as the curtain call of a play. Instead, perhaps we should think of it as the closing of one act, and the beginning of another.

I see.

[ And she does, at least as much as Kuja will allow-- which appears to be more than what she had expected when they had first began a rather... detached but lascivious partnership.

This isn't a promise, merely a possibility. They both were far too wary and pragmatic to commit to anything beyond that, especially now, when Simeon was still alive and awaiting her.

She knows he's waiting and it rankles her even more to think about it. ]

Not all dances conclude with just one set of movements, after all. I believe I might like to see what motions you'll show me next.

[He hums, satisfied. Though nothing is set in stone, and the future forever unclear for the both of them, it’s a promising answer — even if it proves untrue, Kuja is always the sort to appreciate the fantasy. A stage play, after all, is just an idealized, exaggerated form of reality, given a more flattering—and poetic—coat of paint.]

I should show you a few now, if it wasn’t for that very inconvenient wound of yours.

[ To that, Primrose snorts, as delicately as one can manage such a sound. ]

How very unlike you, to be so uncertain of a performance. Or is it your doubt that your partner might not be up to par? I can assure you, I would not use such a small thing as an excuse.

[ Please, it's not going to reopen without some truly creative... activity. ]

Are you certain? [He coos, and it's obvious that he's teasing -- since when does Kuja ever double-guess either of their capabilities for such strenuous activity?

One hand glides up her torso from beneath the water, and he leans in a little more, his chest pressed against her back.]

It was such a nasty wound, and this space is so small; how shall you move about in it, other than twisting and turning so uncouthly?

[ ... Well, he wouldn't be Kuja if he didn't tease her so lightly.

Primrose hums faintly, lowering one hand-- if just to reach behind her and trace her nails beneath his chin. He's close enough that it's not much of a stretch, and most certainly close enough that she can rather purposefully squirm against him to encourage his interest. ]

Oh, I think I can manage just adequately without much twisting. And if I must do so, you can be reassured it won't be uncouth.

[Well, it hardly takes much to encourage Kuja’s interest, and her quick dismissal of his faux-concern of the tub’s limited space only heightens it. Not to mention her squirming against him just so, which has him humming a lilted, pleasurable noise — teasing, almost.]

Maybe the real challenge is whether or not we can perform our dance without sloshing scented water all over the floor. I’m not one for cleaning up an easily avoided mess.

[And his hand, that had hovered over where her muscles smoothly define themselves beneath the contours of her abdomen, slips down even farther, to almost tease between her legs.]

Don’t you agree?

[ Almost. This is Kuja, prepped, nearly prissily perfect and playful, teasing as ever and Primrose is accustomed enough to this that she speaks smoothly and holds herself still so as not to encourage him. For now. ]

I do, indeed. I believe we're up to the task of avoiding excess movement, performers though we may be.

Let's not waste this indulgence, shall we?

Good.

[It’s an interesting challenge, indeed, to be so subtle in their dancing that they’d not spill excess water — nearly ridiculous to think that either of them would care about the state of the bathroom floors near their inevitable climax, but the thought’s a fun one for now. Playful, as she’d describe him, and she’d not be wrong.

And so Kuja shifts, just a little, with one arm curling around her front, as though to keep her pulled in close. The hand slipping between her legs ceases to tease any longer, properly moving to low enough to touch her, slowly at first. Even though the warmth of the water encasing them, he can feel her heat.]

No squirming, now.

I can't say you've heightened that temptation for me yet. [ Airily. She's far too used to playing the part of a very sensitive young maiden who only wants to please the man who lays with her, but she's just as capable of seeming unaffected for the sake of the show.

For now. She can't deny that Kuja has clever fingers, and while he's being slow now, she doubts that will last. It just means the pleasure starts off low, a gentle simmer that has her sighing in approval. ]

‘Yet.’

[He says, practically cooing. Kuja rests his chin on her shoulder as his hand remains dipped between her legs. His movements stay slow, almost self-indulgent, and he tilts his head just enough so she can feel the curve of his smile against her skin.]

I’m sure the water will be spilling all over sooner rather than later. ...As a result of your movements, not mine.

[He teases her. Because of course he does.]

Oh?

[ And there's a hint of a playful spark in her voice; she remains still, almost lazily soaking in the indulgent feeling of being touched for no reason other than just to touch. To tease.

And then she moves, but just to reach one hand down, to just as slowly glide her fingers along his shaft. ]

You think you won't be contributing to a display of passion whatsoever? How surprisingly passive of you.

[What other reason is there, than to indulge? Even framed as a little challenge between them, surely they both know the truth: in the end, it's just for fun. To lose themselves in each other, as they often do.

And, oh- Her touch shouldn't startle him in that pleasant way, but it does, and he arches his back, pressing his chest a little closer to her.]

Passive? Never. You conflate passivity with elegance enough not to make a terrible mess, hm?

I suppose we'll see just how well you can control your movements. But you are speaking with a dancer.

[ She knows how to wield her body like a weapon, after all. ]

And you're already responding rather beautifully.

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PSL; [ we could fight a war for peace ]

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