"Just do it!"
Kuja's fingers were trembling as he wrapped them around the handle of the revolver.
"What're the odds?" he murmured.
"One to six." Kefka cocked an eyebrow. "You look scared, Kujie-coo!"
Kuja glared at the clown, still grasping the gun tightly. It was the most reckless, the stupidest thing he had ever done, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to regret agreeing to play.
Kefka sighed, his usual theatrical self. "Look, Kuja..." he closed his gloved, painted hand over Kuja's and the revolver, and the thespian resisted the urge to pull away. "You put it up to your head like this..." the clown guided the barrel of the revolver to Kuja's temple, "you load it, like so..." he loaded the gun, "and you pull the trigger!"
Kuja swallowed nervously. The barrel felt cold against his hairline.
Is this something Zidane would do? He wouldn't risk his life, would he?
But you're not Zidane. You ruined a world to prove that.
His finger curled around the trigger.
No one would miss you.
He pulled.
Click.
Kuja swore under his breath. Kefka giggled.
"Let's go again!"
A/N:
so this is short as hell, and it's probably not very good either. But I was listening to Rihanna and I couldn't help myself.
and i 3 Kuja & Kefka.