Act 2: Scene 5
"I can't believe you can just clear out an entire shop like that!"
Faowri grinned, watching several employees scurry out of the tailor's store. She caught one particularly lanky employee by the shoulder as he prepared to leave.
"Not you, Windler," she ordered coolly. Somewhat huffily, the strange little man stood to one side and watched his colleagues make their exit. Referring to my original comment, she asked: "Why not? Kuja, the King family own this shop, you know."
"Oh?" I can't say that I was really that surprised - King seemed to own almost everything in Treno, or at least the parts of it I had seen so far.
When the shop was empty of everyone except Faowri, the little man named Windler, and myself, the red mage scooped something off the counter and tossed it to her employee. "Right, Windler, time to work. Be a darling and measure Master Kuja."
Windler gave me a long-suffering sigh before flexing the tape measure expertly and motioning for me to cooperate.
"So, did you have anything in mind?" Faowri asked, a little slyly. "When I was younger, I wanted to become a dressmaker, so my father indulged me. Technically, this shop is mine, so whatever it is that you want, I can get it for you."
I raised my arms for Windler. "Well . . ."
The red mage pursed her lips, tilting her hat to gift me a rare glimpse of her sky-blue eyes. "When we were at Daguerreo, you made all sorts of little drawings in the corners of your notes. I know you want something a little theatrical, so . . ." She paced around to my front, leaning so close to my face that I jerked back instinctively. "Hmmm . . . blue-eyed, silver-haired. Pastel colours!"
She was gone around the corner before I could blink.
"Is she always like this?" I whispered to Windler.
"When it comes to clothes: always," he replied with a groan. "Ever since she was a child."
We both hushed up when Faowri teetered back into view, her arms laden with fabrics, materials and already-tailored clothes. "Hey, did you bring that jacket you always wear?"
"It's armour," I corrected, holding it up. "And, yes, I brought it, because you asked me to, remember?"
She deposited her burden on the counter and snatched the carabini armour from my outstretched hand, holding it up to the light. "Can you remember those drawings you made?"
"Of course I can. My memory is impregnable. Pass me a piece of paper or something and I'll show you."
"Master Kuja, please hold still," begged Windler from somewhere below me.
"Sorry!"
"Here!" Faowri thrust a notepad and quill at me, holding the inkpot close so I could use it. With a few quick strokes, I outlined the prominent features of the costume I had designed back at the Library. When I had finished, she took the pad back and blew on the curling paper to dry it. The way she studied it made her expertise in this field blatantly obvious.
Delicately, she raised her head and an eyebrow and simultaneously gave me an unimpeded view of her pleasantly rounded face. "A thong, Kuja?"
I grinned in response. "I borrowed it from part of a design in a book."
Returning the expression vividly, she shrugged. "Well, whatever floats your boat, my friend! I see you've developed the jacket item from your armour?"
"Yes, it made sense at the time."
"Well, that gives us a colour scheme, at least. Violet: a nice choice, at any rate. And white! White for the fabric parts, because it suits you."
"Yes, ma'am." I held up my forearms in mock-defence at the reprimanding glare she sent in my direction.
"I doubt I'll be able to get those boots - or the thong - for you for a couple of days, but the rest should be pretty simple. Now, let's get started. Windler, the measurements, please!"
We continued well into the afternoon with this activity. Faowri seemed a different person when dealing with tailoring; so bright and cheerful and nigh on unstoppable that her happiness was infectious. Though it was only momentarily, I forgot all about Garland, all about Terra, all about my mission. For that one period of time, there was only Faowri and I, and while I'm sure she didn't interpret the experience in exactly the same way as I did, it felt . . . wonderful, to focus solely on enjoying her company.
And, of course, the development of my new 'uniform'. Faowri's expertise in this field seemed to excel that of magic, because she knew everything, about every fabric in the shop, about colour and texture and pattern, and about tailoring to suit one's needs. So by the end of the session, I had chosen a heavy, white material for the belled sleeves and train of my design, partly rimmed with gold. While I modified my already intricately-constructed armour to accommodate the sleeves, she selected a tough, smooth leather, already dyed violet, for the other parts of my costume, and began writing notes to her employees about what to do with it.
About the train of my costume, Faowri was initially doubtful.
"It will be awkward, with your tail, Kuja," she said disapprovingly. "I mean, one will get in the way of the other, but if you hang the train any lower -"
"That, my dear Faowri, is where you're wrong," I smiled, smoothing out the dense fabric that would eventually hang from my lower half. "Impossible to tell from the design, I know, but my tail will go between two layers of the material."
"That will hide it completely from view."
"Yes. I know."
She widened her eyes a little. "Why do you hate your tail so much, Kuja?"
I sighed. Even if I could have explained it to her, I doubted she would have understood. The tails were unique to my race, and I hated my heritage more than anything in the world . . . well, perhaps not more than Garland, but they were all the one and the same when it came down to it.
"One day, Faowri," I said firmly, "I'll tell you. But not now."
"Well . . . I suppose that will have to do." She didn't seem too pleased about it, though.
She made me return to King's mansion afterwards. Faowri recalled the tailors and had them helping her to make my boots, belts and accessories without delay, so I could hardly complain, but I did feel a slight pang of regret that our short period of leisure time was over. As soon as my clothes were tailored and ready, I would have no excuse to avoid getting back to work. It wasn't just that lingering fear of Garland that made me feel anxious about resuming my mission - it was the fact that, to achieve my aims, I had to play along with my creator's for a little while. And I wanted more than anything to make him pay for wronging me. My hatred for him was like a twisted knot in my soul that would only be loosened through his humiliation.
So no matter how strong my affection grew for Faowri, she would always be my second priority for as long as it took to purge me of this bitter need for vengeance.
It never occurred to me even once that I might live to regret that choice.
***
Three days later, my costume was complete, and Faowri radiated even more excitement than I did.
"I had several suits made up for you," she chattered away, ushering me into her freshly renovated bedroom. "Since you'll be wanting a change of clothes. Except for the jacket, of course. That's one of a kind! But it's armour so it should be pretty hardwearing anyway. And everything's -"
"Faowri!" I grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. "All right! It's supposed to be me who's excited, not you!"
She grinned sheepishly. "I know, but . . . I wanted to give you something for making you baby-sit my father like that, and I really want you to like it!"
How fickle she was! Her personality seemed to flit constantly from one extreme to the other - one moment she was serious and humourless enough to make even the dead seem lively, and the next she'd be glowing with the radiant joy only normally found in children. But her unpredictability merely helped to stir that indefinable something that was what I felt for her.
"If it was made by these hands," I smiled warmly, taking hers in mine, "then I'm sure I will love it."
Faowri smacked the back of my hand playfully. "Flattery won't get you any more than you're already receiving!"
"Your pleasure at my sincere compliments is reward enough . . ."
Sidling back against a wall to wait, she laughed. "Kuja, cut the crap and try the damned thing on, will you?"
Chuckling, I bowed, scooped up the clothing and boots, and entered Faowri's extravagant dressing room, closing the door quietly behind me.
She had certainly put a lot of effort into making this for me. Not one stitch was faulty, every fold of fabric carefully considered and the embroidery nothing short of perfection. Even the stiff leather of the thigh-high boots and had been expertly tanned, stretched, and dyed to the same violet hue as my carabini mail. The boots were silver-tipped and silver-heeled, and the main foot section of each boot was embellished with a buckle of gold. I didn't put those on until last, though.
The thong and its accompanying train came first. As per the design, my dratted silvery tail slipped inside the heavy white material, which hung at exactly the right height to make certain that no one would even be able to guess it was there, once hidden.
Second was my carabini mail, with brand new belled sleeves of white long enough to hide my slender hands almost completely from view. The length of the armour left my midriff bare; I had stolen that part of the popular outfit from one of my favourite character designs in the Theatrical Costume book - the wearer happened to be a powerful sorcerer in the famed play he belonged to, and I had deemed it appropriate at the time.
Finally, I slipped on the boots. They were a comfortable fit, and appeared hard enough to withstand the exertions I would undoubtedly put them through.
As I prepared to exit the changing room, prompted by Faowri's impatient encouragement from behind the door, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror beside her dressing table. There I stopped, staring at the transformed person I saw.
This was me. This was Kuja. Not Kuja the Genome, or Kuja the Angel of Death, or Kuja the Bringer of War, but Kuja. In that reflection I saw not what other people expected of me, but what I wanted to be. The confidence and the drama that shaped my personality shone through.
Elated wasn't the word to describe my feelings as I continued to stare.
Still . . . there was something missing . . .
"Come on, Kuja! It can't take that long to get changed!"
"Hold your chocobos!"
I spotted the many pots and tins on Faowri's dressing table as I shouted that. Most had never been opened - undoubtedly, since the red mage didn't seem the dressing-up type, they were unwanted gifts, or simple ornamentation suitable for a dressing chamber.
I pulled my mouth to one side in hesitation. Surely she wouldn't mind if I . . .
Oh, to hell with it!
Scouring the available supplies with eager eyes, I came upon a small pot of a coppery-red substance.
Its colour reminded me of blood.
As I began to apply it to my eyes and lips, it dawned on me that my longing for such a drastic change of image wasn't entirely due to my love for theatre and drama. The more extravagant my costume, the further I moved from my despicable heritage. This was no mere idiosyncrasy on my part - it was active rebellion against what Garland had forced me to be.
My clothes, my hair (which I had allowed to grow on its own instead of keeping it short as the Second and the other Genomes did), my make-up, the hiding of my tail - they were all just a disguise, plain and simple. They didn't disguise my Genome birth from Garland, or from the others of my kind, or even from the people of Gaia who had no idea that my planet or my race even existed; no, they disguised it from me. They helped me forget that I was simply another in a long line of clones, and they were my expression of independence and individuality, things that Garland had always tried to squash whenever I attempted to assert them.
Once again, I was reminded that, down here, it was me in charge. Garland could do very little except watch the show, and I was going to give him a performance that he would never forget.
Oh yes, I would make sure of that, or die trying.
"They're getting restless!"
Faowri's naturally deep voice interrupted my somewhat obsessive thoughts, and I blinked as I tried to make sense of what she had said.
"What are getting restless?"
"My chocobos! I can't hold them for much longer!" Her laugh was muffled. "If you don't come out, I'm coming in, and I don't care if you're naked!"
"Godsdammit, Faowri, have you no patience?"
But her antics shook the last of my seriousness away, and my grin was a mile wide when I finally stepped out of the dressing room, performing a little flourish in front of her.
Faowri's jaw dropped, and she stood up from the bed. "Wow! Now that is a theatre costume! You like it?"
"No. I love it!"
She clutched at her hat respectfully. "I have to say, my boys and girls at the store did themselves proud. You'll definitely get the attention you're after if you wear that, Kuja. And, if I must say, you know how to accessorise. Do tell what prompted the make-up?"
"A theatre costume's not complete without make-up, Faowri."
Sighing dramatically, the red mage folded her arms, her thin lips curled at the corners with amusement. "Is life just one big play to you?"
" 'All the world's a stage'," I giggled, experimenting with the fact that the slightest movement of my arms sent my sleeves rippling through the air. "And I am merely an actor playing my part, for which I wanted a decent costume!"
She threw a pillow at me in mock-disgust. "You're more eccentric than my old man!"
"I'll take that as a compliment," I sniffed, pretending to be offended, and swanned towards the door, feeling much the part in my new clothes.
"Then, my friend, I believe you require a dictionary!"
Shaking a fist in her direction, making sure she could see me doing it, I continued on towards the guest quarters, where my room was currently designated. It occurred to me that I needed to start packing what little belongings I had with me.
The realisation that I had to leave was similar to walking into a brick wall. I froze with my hand on the door handle, for the first time ever considering the idea of screwing Garland and his plans and just . . . attempting to live ordinarily.
But his hatred for me, and the sins he had already knowingly committed against me, were too heavily burned in my mind. If I stopped fighting . . . I would never be able to forget. And he would haunt me forever.
The handle twisted, and the door opened.
The extra garments of clothing that had been made for me were lying on the bed, neatly folded. I fingered them lightly, closing my eyes in thought.
Did Faowri mean that much to me? She was the first person ever to have been considerate to me - discounting the Second, whom I hated and thus didn't count - but did I really . . . I mean, maybe it was just an elevated sense of gratitude or . . . something . . .
Pain lanced through me so suddenly that I fell against the bed, clawing at the sheets and gasping for breath. Genomes have a high pain threshold, because they are exposed to the Light from the moment of their ejection from the stasis cylinders, and I was no different in that respect. But this wasn't a physical pain.
It felt like something was eating away at the fringes of my very existence, wearing down the metaphorical walls that any person has to separate them from everyone and everything around them.
"What the hell is going on?" I hissed through clenched teeth.
"Ah. It worked then."
I looked up through sweat-blurred eyes, and saw Garland on the edge of my peripheral vision. An uncontrolled spike of fear impaled me through the heart before I managed to get my emotions in check, and faintly remained there throughout the rest of the conversation.
"You never said . . . You never said soul pathing would . . . hurt like this!"
Strangely enough, the slightly fuzzy image of Garland did not seem all that comfortable either. "I didn't know it would," he admitted slowly, pulling habitually at his beard.
"Then . . . why does it?"
"It doesn't hurt with Mikoto."
"Who?"
"Oh, never mind . . . you'll find out later, I suppose. I'm presuming it hurts like this because, subconsciously, you hate me so much that you don't want my soul to touch yours, and I can't say I'm being all that open at my end of things either. That's why this is so unpleasant."
"Then dammit, Garland, hurry up and say what you have to say before I pass out!"
"Then stop asking questions!" he snapped in a commanding tone that bore no alternative. If it were possible, his expression changed from displeased to thoroughly furious. "I am very . . . unhappy . . . about your method of dealing with the Second, Kuja."
Despite the pain, I smiled an angelic smile and straightened up to look him in the eye. "Well, Master Garland," I said, twisting his title into a parody of the word, "I'd say sorry, but . . . I'm not. It's the best thing I've ever done."
Garland narrowed his featureless eyes. "You reap what you sow, so I'll allow fate to punish you for that."
"Does this merry little conversation have a point? I won't be a very good listener if I'm out cold, Garland, a state that I'm rapidly approaching -"
My creator smiled and waved a hand to cut me off. "You've wasted enough time on your own pleasures, Kuja. Costume or no, you're still my Angel of Death, and you will work. I have need of you and the Invincible, in Madain Sari, on the Outer Continent."
"Madain Sari? That remote little village occupied by passive humans?"
Garland wagged a finger at me in reprimand. "It seems you have not been reading as extensively as you might like to think. Nevertheless, they are my first targets. You will go there and reap their souls, because they are beginning to sense that something is wrong. If they are not stopped, they could become a hindrance."
"What, do they possess some supernatural weapon?" I laughed outright.
He raised his white eyebrows. "One word, Kuja: Eidolons."
And then the pain was gone, and so was Garland. Panting, I sat on the bed and waited for my recovery from that little activity in soul pathing.
"A pleasure, as always," I scowled at nothing in particular. Well, now I'd practically had my choice made for me. It was time to leave. Silver dragon; come for me. I will meet you outside the city gates.
A faint, affirmative echo of its voice was the only response I received. I suspected it was some distance away.
"Kuja?"
I glanced at the door to see Faowri peering around it. I asked her what was wrong.
She frowned. "Here's why I came." The tin of coppery make-up flew from her hand and I caught it in mine. "I don't use it, so . . . hey, I thought I heard you talking to someone."
"Just reciting lines from a play," I smiled, nodding my thanks for the gift. "It keeps my mind occupied while I attend to mundane tasks, like packing."
Her eyes rounded, almost imperceptibly. "Then you're going now?"
"I'm afraid I have to. I would like nothing more than to -"
"Stay?"
And the plea in her voice was blatant.
I smiled sadly at her. "Faowri, I have to go. I have business to attend to elsewhere. I'm very grateful for your hospitality, and your generosity, but my time has run out."
I began to throw my clothing into the small bag I had found under the bed, and expected that nobody would mind if I borrowed it.
Faowri entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, consumed in thoughtful silence. Feeling more than a little awkward, I hefted the light satchel onto my shoulder, caught her hand in mine, and planted a small kiss on the back of it.
"Thank you, Faowri. You have no idea how grateful I am."
With that, I turned on my heel and walked towards the open door.
"Kuja."
It would have been so much easier if I had just kept walking.
Instead, I turned to look at the red mage perched on the bed, who was staring at the hand I had tended to only seconds ago.
"I think . . . my father would like it very much . . . if you came back." Tentatively, she reached up and removed her hat from her head, setting it in her lap. Raising her head, she made direct eye contact with me, and I marvelled at the quiet strength in her features and gestures.
"I . . . would like it very much," she added firmly.
A slow smile spread across my face. "Then, if Lady Faowri wishes it, I will come back. I promise."
And that was final. She did not follow me down the stairs, or across the grand hall, or out of the door, and this made it easier.
But the further I moved from her, the more determined I became to keep my promise.
End of Act 2: Scene 5