Final Fantasy 9 : Kuja ; Theme Set D, In the Rain
Title : Dark, Miserable, and Cold
Character : Kuja
Author : wolfchildblazer
Rating : G
Warnings : None
Summary : To cleanse one soul, he never sought, but how terrible was it, that he could still find himself in the rain.
Kuja hated the rain, at least it might have seemed to him he did, it was dark, muted, and cold, it reminded him too much of Terra his home, or at least his birthplace. He had nothing against the Burmecian People, vermin though they were, in fact if not for the fact that they were on the mist continent as a big power, he wouldn’t have even bothered with such a dreary depressing place. After all he had left Treno well enough alone except for being the fabled King of the auction house, well, that was a slight manipulation on his part, but he did not attack Treno at all or even suggest it. Even though Treno had enough funds floating about the place to make Queen Brahne quiver and shake with excitement and greed. However, when Kuja arrived in that rainy city, he might have thought of mercy, if not for the fact that it was too much a reminder, because even if it never rained on Terra the feel was the same.
Most speak of rain reverently, speaking about how it washes the world clean, symbolizing the cleansing of sins and souls, and being reborn anew. It is with awe as it sprinkles clean water on the tender skin of the mage that water has such power, power he cannot grasp, and as soon as his booted heels touched the flooded cobblestones, it is met with disgust. Kuja does appreciate the poetic commentary of the influence of rain, but hates the meaning of the symbolism, being that he is such a symbol, but only one that is of death and destruction. Easily it slides down his silver crown-covered head and anoints his brow, as though it dares to christen him one of Gaia’s own. Lifting up an elegant hand he catches the small droplets in his palm and squeezes the water through his clenched knuckles as it’s merely something to crush, something that distracts him from his goal and not something fathomless. Kuja does not lie to himself, he finds lying actually distasteful and instead tends to stretch and color the truth a little, but never lies. However, to himself he will not lie, and tossing his closed hand to the side with a flourish, the water whips off of him and he is pristine, untouched, and the rain bothers him no more.
However, the rain, it is too much of a reflection, the cold touch of the water, it is his own, the whispery hush it creates is an effect he too easily inspires, and the dreary, dark heresy atmosphere it leaves is the destroyed footsteps he leaves as the world powers fall to his whims. This he will not accept, Kuja, he is too proud, too wanting of individuality to allow anything to resemble him to survive, if not to his whims, so Burmercia will receive no cry of mercy. His common distaste of the lowly vermin mean very little to him, but Gaia’s mourning tears, be it for the soul he has and cannot live freely from, must be erased, for he will not conceded to a gentle, but massive power. After all, his ‘brother,’ genome, he ripped from Terra and tossed him into the soul cycle that is Gaia to be destroyed in the recycling of Gaia. However, he has heard next to nothing about his ‘twin,’ as it was so; he pays no thought to such existence. The rain pulls him from his thoughts, it is never-ending, and it soaks him blood to bone, this is far too much power for Gaia to have, and lifting his hand to a silver-wing descending he gazes at a jeweled stone in his hand. “Bahamut,” He whispers, and the Garnet flashes in his hand, “you’ll soon belong to me.” He states, and then tosses the jewel away because it is only a trinket with no power. Kuja has little use for jewels other than to grease the fat greedy hands of the Gaia people, but for a second he watches the rain beat out a tempo on the stone. Watching as the flawless jewel is worn away a little under the steady downpour and he smirks, because like the never-ending rain so is his determination to be free, of his destiny, of Terra, of Garland, and like the rain he wears away even the toughest of opponents.
“I think today, is a beautiful day for death, as the world all ready mourns its fallen brethren, so I shall herald the call, the call for war.” He recites to the only audience to listen, the rain, and raises his hands to the sky. “Come, little vermin, come little canary, come elephant lady, come to the choir of pain and death, and watch as your precious rain washes away your sins, bequeathed to my honor and my sins.” He continues, and tosses his head back so the water flees from his hair, Gaia does not accept him as one of her own. “Today, it is a beautiful day, and the scene is set for act two of our play, let us not despair in this weather but embrace it, for it welcomes you into the dark.” He serenades, and then leaps onto his silver dragon. Hours later Burmecia falls, and he stands triumphant, cold, dark, and merciless in the palace of the fallen Burmecian king with its greatest knight, his ‘twin,’ a reject of his mages, and a creature beneath his notice bowing to a mighty puppet of his, and he is content here in the rain.
Character : Kuja
Author : wolfchildblazer
Rating : G
Warnings : None
Summary : To cleanse one soul, he never sought, but how terrible was it, that he could still find himself in the rain.
Kuja hated the rain, at least it might have seemed to him he did, it was dark, muted, and cold, it reminded him too much of Terra his home, or at least his birthplace. He had nothing against the Burmecian People, vermin though they were, in fact if not for the fact that they were on the mist continent as a big power, he wouldn’t have even bothered with such a dreary depressing place. After all he had left Treno well enough alone except for being the fabled King of the auction house, well, that was a slight manipulation on his part, but he did not attack Treno at all or even suggest it. Even though Treno had enough funds floating about the place to make Queen Brahne quiver and shake with excitement and greed. However, when Kuja arrived in that rainy city, he might have thought of mercy, if not for the fact that it was too much a reminder, because even if it never rained on Terra the feel was the same.
Most speak of rain reverently, speaking about how it washes the world clean, symbolizing the cleansing of sins and souls, and being reborn anew. It is with awe as it sprinkles clean water on the tender skin of the mage that water has such power, power he cannot grasp, and as soon as his booted heels touched the flooded cobblestones, it is met with disgust. Kuja does appreciate the poetic commentary of the influence of rain, but hates the meaning of the symbolism, being that he is such a symbol, but only one that is of death and destruction. Easily it slides down his silver crown-covered head and anoints his brow, as though it dares to christen him one of Gaia’s own. Lifting up an elegant hand he catches the small droplets in his palm and squeezes the water through his clenched knuckles as it’s merely something to crush, something that distracts him from his goal and not something fathomless. Kuja does not lie to himself, he finds lying actually distasteful and instead tends to stretch and color the truth a little, but never lies. However, to himself he will not lie, and tossing his closed hand to the side with a flourish, the water whips off of him and he is pristine, untouched, and the rain bothers him no more.
However, the rain, it is too much of a reflection, the cold touch of the water, it is his own, the whispery hush it creates is an effect he too easily inspires, and the dreary, dark heresy atmosphere it leaves is the destroyed footsteps he leaves as the world powers fall to his whims. This he will not accept, Kuja, he is too proud, too wanting of individuality to allow anything to resemble him to survive, if not to his whims, so Burmercia will receive no cry of mercy. His common distaste of the lowly vermin mean very little to him, but Gaia’s mourning tears, be it for the soul he has and cannot live freely from, must be erased, for he will not conceded to a gentle, but massive power. After all, his ‘brother,’ genome, he ripped from Terra and tossed him into the soul cycle that is Gaia to be destroyed in the recycling of Gaia. However, he has heard next to nothing about his ‘twin,’ as it was so; he pays no thought to such existence. The rain pulls him from his thoughts, it is never-ending, and it soaks him blood to bone, this is far too much power for Gaia to have, and lifting his hand to a silver-wing descending he gazes at a jeweled stone in his hand. “Bahamut,” He whispers, and the Garnet flashes in his hand, “you’ll soon belong to me.” He states, and then tosses the jewel away because it is only a trinket with no power. Kuja has little use for jewels other than to grease the fat greedy hands of the Gaia people, but for a second he watches the rain beat out a tempo on the stone. Watching as the flawless jewel is worn away a little under the steady downpour and he smirks, because like the never-ending rain so is his determination to be free, of his destiny, of Terra, of Garland, and like the rain he wears away even the toughest of opponents.
“I think today, is a beautiful day for death, as the world all ready mourns its fallen brethren, so I shall herald the call, the call for war.” He recites to the only audience to listen, the rain, and raises his hands to the sky. “Come, little vermin, come little canary, come elephant lady, come to the choir of pain and death, and watch as your precious rain washes away your sins, bequeathed to my honor and my sins.” He continues, and tosses his head back so the water flees from his hair, Gaia does not accept him as one of her own. “Today, it is a beautiful day, and the scene is set for act two of our play, let us not despair in this weather but embrace it, for it welcomes you into the dark.” He serenades, and then leaps onto his silver dragon. Hours later Burmecia falls, and he stands triumphant, cold, dark, and merciless in the palace of the fallen Burmecian king with its greatest knight, his ‘twin,’ a reject of his mages, and a creature beneath his notice bowing to a mighty puppet of his, and he is content here in the rain.