A/N: Oh, damn, I forgot to mention last chapter, but Amarant's shirt that Kuja bought him was inspired by this dude on DeviantArt – io9. Go take a gander, it's in his scraps and it's the most beautiful thing EVER.
The plot, the plot! It rears it's ugly head!
Amarant usually wakes up within seconds and can have his hands around somebody's neck within an even smaller time span, but tonight when he wakes, it's slow and easy – he's still drunk, but not as much, and someone has their hands resting in his hair. There's soft laughter and a few hoarser chuckles, and there's the smell of smoke in the air. He opens his eyes and grunts as he sits up, stretching.
"You fell asleep," Kuja explains, as if Amarant didn't already know. The bounty hunter looks over his shoulder at the Genome, and is surprised to see Gilgamesh and another stupid cutthroat with a bit of a better personality sitting on either side of Kuja. "You know Gilgamesh and Arok?"
"Never had the pleasure," Amarant rolls the word and makes sure it's obvious he doesn't give a shit. Because he doesn't. He does know Gilgamesh but only in passing.
"You should lay back down and sleep some more," Gilgamesh crows, grinning lecherously, "We weren't doin' nothin' to put you on your best."
"I don't trust cutthroats," he responds, but he does lay back down. The two lowlifes smell like drugs and he has a feeling he should just relax for now. He can level them in moments if he needs to. Kuja immediately goes back to messing with his hair – not altogether an unpleasant thing but still awkward with other people around.
"Like I was sayin'," Arok starts up again, words loose, easy, and slurred, "I didn' esspect y't' be so highclass. Yer dancin' witthin the Flam'n' Am'rant 'n all – imagine y' bein' a right near noble!"
"It was all Lani's idea," Kuja confesses, voice also loose but still retaining most of its elegance – no amount of liquor could take that away from the Genome. "I didn't expect to be out tonight."
"Lani's a crazy bitch," Gilgamesh drawls, "Chases after me all the time."
"Y' wish," Arok cackles. "S'prized y'd say it 'round th' Flam'n' Am'rant, though – props."
"Oh, he's still awake?" Kuja asks. Amarant doesn't feel awake.
"Well, 'oly shit, lookit the time. 'S best we start headin' towards home."
"Smart idea," Giglamesh agrees, and Amarant hears them stand up. Kuja's hands stop momentarily, but continue their ministrations again moments later.
"Have a good... oh, what would it be?" Kuja shrugs – Amarant feels it – and finishes, "See you again, perhaps."
"Y'should come back t' th' warehouses next ev'nin'!" Arok exclaims, "Y'k'n meet the gang."
"Sounds entertaining. Maybe," Kuja throws the answer into the air, letting it spin. Arok laughs and the two head away, heading west by the sounds of their feet. "Are you really awake?"
"Mn."
"I suppose we should start going back? It's been a while." Amarant opens his eyes and Kuja's leaning over him, smiling easily and drunkenly. "The party just got done. They invited us for tomorrow night – or would it be tonight, I wonder? Either way, they invited us back."
"You don't need an invitation," Amarant grumbles. Kuja laughs a little, a repeat of a few hours prior.
"Still, it's nice to have one. I like feeling invited, instead of intervening. I'm surprised you didn't attack Gilgamesh for calling Lani crazy."
"She is. And a bitch."
"She is not." Kuja doesn't take offense, but he tugs lightly on Amarant's hair. "Remember who you're talking to."
"A crazy monkey with a love for world destruction?"
"Low blow."
"I fight dirty."
It seems easy enough to fight like this, even with Kuja. The bounty hunter wonders if Kuja was like this before he died – before he was assured of his mortality. He knew the guy was nuts, (killing someone slowly to show his love?) but was he always...?
"-dance again with you." Kuja has been talking, and the bounty hunter blinks, catching only the end but knowing the beginning.
"I don't dance." Kuja waves his free hand.
"You're magnificent. Then again, I am – was? No, am – probably too drunk to tell the difference between horrible and magnificent anymore."
"Makes me feel better." Kuja's pants are soft and his hands are too – not calloused like his own and twice as dexterous.
"I'd... hm." Kuja is mulling over words and Amarant doesn't really mind, so long as he keeps – oh wow.
"Nngh," the bounty hunter suddenly groans, rolling his shoulders. Kuja is grinning again, dilemma forgotten for the moment, and again presses against a tense spot at the top of his neck. Amarant bends his head to the side and Kuja kneads the muscles on his neck, again thinking.
"I'd like, mm, to thank you," Kuja finally says, hands moving along Amarant's huge shoulders, "For getting me out of that desert."
"Not my intention," Amarant grumbles, "But y'welcome." Kuja smiles and takes it flawlessly. They spend a long while sitting there – Kuja massaging Amarant's shoulders and Amarant enjoying the attention he's realized he's been needing for a while.
"I think I can make it up those stairs now," he hears the Genome murmur, and nods, suddenly pulling out of Kuja's grasp and getting up.
"C'mon. You're going to have the worst headache in the morning."
"But it is the morning."
"You know what I mean." Kuja is still sitting and with a sigh, Amarant holds out a hand, helping him up.
The two stumble up the stairs – Amarant's stumbling because Kuja's stumbling because he's drunk. Maybe an hour or so has passed since he fell asleep, but it feels like longer. The alcohol has been stewing so he's a little less drunk than before, but Kuja's still drunk so he still feels it himself.
They make their unsteady way to the inn, and climb the stairs, receiving vaguely distressed looks from the tiny little barmaid, to whom Amarant flashes a grin. He leans against his door and watches Kuja fumble through pockets and hair, frowning.
"Well..." Kuja laughs, "This is strange. I don't seem to have my key."
Amarant makes a questioning noise, then leans over the banister, looking down at the barmaid who's cleaning up. "Hey, girly, got 'n extra key for my friend's room?"
She looks up, perplexed. "We only keep one of each."
"Well, damn," the bounty hunter grumbles, digging into his pocket and pulling out his own key. "Mmn, c'mn."
Kuja follows Amarant in and blinks as the bounty hunter clicks the door shut and heads to the dresser, pulling the small shirt over his head and tossing it onto the dresser.
"Um?"
Amarant turns, and nearly smirks – Kuja's blushing pink around the edges, looking obviously confused.
"You can sleep on the floor, can't you?"
"What!" Kuja's flushing now, eyes wide in surprise. "Are you kidding!"
"No," Amarant responds gruffly, "You lost your key – I'm not going to suffer on the floor because you can't keep a hold of a little metal."
"Do you have any idea who you're telling to sleep on the floor?"
Amarant sits on the bed and pulls off his shoes, grinning slightly. "A little bitch, apparently."
"I could kill you with a snap of my fingers!" Kuja exclaims, eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"I could snap your neck in half the time. And you're drunk. Do you honestly think you could cast anything proper with your mind addled with booze?"
Kuja can see this won't work, so he switches tactics. "It's cold, and hard."
"I'm weeping for you," Amarant responds dryly before throwing one of the two blankets on the bed at Kuja. Then, with the precision Amarant usually uses in battle, the bounty hunter slings a pillow at the Genome, hitting him smack in the face.
The monkey throws the pillow back – himself firmly attached. Amarant grabs for him, but the monkey's deceptively fast; he dodges the other's huge hands and ducks under the thicker cover Amarant's saved for himself.
"Hey, get out!" the bounty hunter exclaims, getting up to draw the blankets off of Kuja.
This has always been a fatal mistake when trying to get someone out of your bed. Amarant doesn't know this because he rarely tries to do such a thing.
Kuja almost immediately spread himself out as much as possible across the top, changing from a stupid fucking monkey into a goddamned cat.
"Oh, for the love of... Get off, you damned monkey."
"'msleepin'."
Kuja looks the part – he's stretched out, sure, but it's a casual, rag-doll kind of spread that makes him look as if he hasn't a bone in his body. His braid is coming undone slowly and his tail is swishing lazily, and hell, he looks like a woman.
He can't bring himself to shove the smaller male out of bed and so he sighs, grabbing a pillow in annoyance and going to the blanket he had thrown moments before.
Stupid, double personality, fuckin' cat monkey. Swears run along his mind while he sits down in a huff, alcohol adding a few stupid insults. Girly little bastard, crazy rutting fool – all curves no brains, just like damned Lani, absolutely stupid-
"...Amarant?" Kuja's looking at the bounty hunter curiously.
"What?" he asks roughly, refusing to act like he just lost a battle – which he has.
"...I'm sorry for taking the bed."
"You gonna give it back?"
"No."
"Then don't apologize." Amarant means it – he doesn't really care – he's slept on worse before, after all. Kuja looks sleepy anyways, and he's going to be up for a while yet, thinking when he shouldn't be. Kuja nods in understanding and yawns, curling up under the blanket and falling to sleep completely clothed.
Amarant is awake and has thoughts, a dangerous and annoying combination for him.
Kuja is a killer.
Kuja died.
Kuja's alive again.
Kuja's strong again.
Kuja's got girl hips and boy eyes and he can laugh, but it doesn't sound frightened, tired, or insane – it sounds almost like Zidane's laugh but more refined, more... more important.
Kuja can even dance – he can dance to music that only lowlifes dance to and he sounds like only the nobles sound. He'd have a huge bounty on his head if he had survived before. Something seems inherently off, though – something doesn't fit, doesn't work.
He wonders if maybe Kuja came back wrong. But that would be impossible. Then again, it would be impossible for someone to come back at all. And then there's the fact that Kuja's trying so hard to be different from how he used to be that it doesn't seem like he's even trying.
Maybe he's not.
He is Zidane's brother, even if it's not because of parents or blood – maybe he spent so long watching Zidane that he understands how to act. Maybe he really is faking, waiting until Amarant takes him to Alexandria, where he can destroy everything in one last showdown.
He's thinking too hard. It makes his head hurt.
He closes his eyes and closes his mind, refusing to hear any more thoughts on the matter for tonight
He slips into sleep and doesn't think of Kuja until he dreams.
Amarant doesn't do much when he has a hangover. It's not that he never gets them or that they're not so bad – they can usually be related to a man punching him in the face with his own weapons. He's just used to pain.
But he knows how it feels for your first time, especially with a lot to drink. When he wakes up and hears Kuja groaning sleepily under sheets, he gets up and heads to the bathroom. He fills one of the wooden mugs they leave with water, and goes to the bed. "Get up."
"No," Kuja replies plaintively, "Not until my head stops hurting."
"It won't stop hurting if you don't get up," Amarant growls, and when Kuja looks at him in annoyance, he pushes the water in his face. "Drink that. I'll go get some coffee."
Kuja takes the mug and drinks it down quickly, and Amarant heads downstairs.
It seems like Kuja isn't the only one suffering; at least five or six people are hunched over water, fruit, or coffee, all in pain. He sees the barmaid and she waves to him, a blot of happy in a big picture of hangover. "Good morning, Mr. Amarant," she says, and he comes to the bar, leaning against it and watching her serve another hapless soul some coffee, "Did you need something?"
"I need to take a pitcher of coffee upstairs," he responds, looking around, and then adds, "And probably something to eat."
"Oh, is Mr. Kuja not feeling well?" she asks, going to get one of the empty pitchers, "He didn't look very happy this morning, but I figured he was getting over it himself."
"He was down this morning?" Amarant asks, curious, and the girl nods, handing him a full pitcher.
"Let me get some fruit – he was talking to Moko. He's the moogle who stays here all the time," she explains and Amarant frowns thoughtfully. She brings back the fruit and blinks at his curious expression. "Didn't you know?"
"...No. Hm, thanks. How much?" The girl blushes prettily and giggles in a completely foolish way. She is pretty cute.
"It's on the house, Mr. Amarant," she blushes, and he grins.
"Thanks," he chuckles, taking the tray with one hand and the pitcher with the other, heading back upstairs. Why would Kuja talk with a moogle? Especially when he looks like shit?
He enters the room again and Kuja hasn't moved. "Here," he drawls, tossing some strange fruit from Burmecia to the Genome, who doesn't quite catch it and ends up leaning over the bed to get it. "That'll help."
They eat the fruit in relative silence, and Kuja drinks a lot of coffee. Amarant decides that he won't ask Kuja about the moogle – why does he care? He probably sent a letter to Zidane, worried that the other letter got through. Strange people did strange things.
"I want to go back again," Kuja finally says, looking a lot better. The coal around his eyes was smeared, and his hair was fussed and knotted, but he looked better.
"You're a fool."
"I want to dance with you again," Kuja clarifies, flushing pink, "It was the most fun I've had in my life."
"Being drunk usually makes you think something you're doing is fun," Amarant grumbles, "And I won't dance again."
"I'll have to get you more drunk, then?" Kuja almost sounds hopeful, damn it.
"I'm not dancing."
"Well, you'll have to come with me anyways – I'm going, and you're my escort, aren't you?"
"I'm your babysitter," the bounty hunter growls, "I don't see why you like those stupid lowlifes so much."
"They're a lot better than the nobles here," Kuja responds airily, attempting to unknot his hair with his fingers. "They're all so... I don't like being like them."
"You used to."
"I used to do a lot of things I don't want to do anymore," Kuja mutters, getting out of bed. He goes to the bathroom and closes the door, and moments later he can hear the bath running.
"Damned stupid monkey," Amarant mutters, and gets dressed. He has a feeling the day is going to be a long one.
Amarant reminds himself he needs to listen to his instincts more often. It's only two in the afternoon and it already feels like it's been a year. Kuja's been making meaningless stops to stupid nobles, introducing him as "My Escort To Alexandria" Amarant. The nobles don't know him well, so he's alright with this, but the idea of being someone's escort is demeaning.
The Genome is also stopping constantly to get new things – clothes, soaps, and other useless stuff that Amarant can't believe he'd waste money on. He doesn't acknowledge the fact that Kuja knows what he's doing, and how Kuja looks good in each and every thing he buys; he just knows it's stupid to look so good.
"Would Lani like these?" Kuja asks, holding up some gaudy earrings with expensive looking red stones dangling from the hoops.
"She'd never wear them. They serve no purpose."
"Nonsense," Kuja laughs, "I'd get them enchanted so they'd be just as useful as the shirt you're wearing. What's something she might need? Magic, obviously, but I wonder how well they'd be able to absorb elements?"
"Why would you buy her something like that?" Amarant asks, half annoyed, half curious. "You could easily buy her some simple little ring or some sort. It'd save you money."
"They'd look good on her," the Genome responds, "And besides... what use do I have for money? Eventually I'll die – for good – and then it'll rot away in my secret vaults. Why keep it?"
It's the first bit of Kuja Amarant doesn't need to analyze because it's already open to him. He realizes why his shirt cost so much, why he's buying stupid soaps and clothes and hair things...
"She'd like them," he mutters, and Kuja nods, smiling as he pays for them with huge pouches of gil. He knows somewhere along the line, Lani will sell them for money for food and potions, but he won't tell Kuja that. Besides, Kuja would probably be okay with it – so long as it helped her.
"I'll take some of this to my compatriot later," he confides in Amarant, grinning, "I bought something else for you, I might add."
"Stop it," Amarant growls, and he's sure he's not blushing.
"Why? You don't like it?" Kuja asks, looking mildly hurt.
Amarant doesn't admit to it consciously, but he does. He likes Kuja buying him expensive crap, he likes Kuja saying thank you and apologizing for stealing the bed, he likes Kuja messing around with his hair, and – hell's bells – he likes Kuja dancing with him.
He doesn't admit to it to himself, much less to Kuja, so he simply shrugs. "I don't think it's useful."
"It doesn't need to be useful," Kuja exclaims, shaking his head, "It just needs to be nice. If you really rather not have things from me, I'll take them back. I don't care if it's useless to you now – you'll thank me later."
"I doubt it. This shirt feels like I'm wearing bindings." Kuja laughs and flips his hair.
"You'll see," he says in a way that puts Amarant on edge, and then stops, frowning.
"What?" the bounty hunter asks. Kuja points discreetly in front of them, and they see Gilgamesh and Arok enjoying a rather nice meal at a rather expensive café, laughing and ogling girls who can't tell them to shove off for once. "They couldn't possibly have enough money for that crap."
"Hm," Kuja agrees, smirking, and suddenly he's gone.
Amarant looks around for a moment before realizing that Kuja is already approaching the oblivious pickpockets, and he chuckles. They're in for a rather nasty surprise.
"Hello, gentlemen." Amarant can hear the cool, calculating tone in Kuja's voice as he approaches. Gilgamesh chokes on his food and Arok makes the strangest noise in his throat. "Enjoying your lunch?"
"...O-Oh, 'lo, Kuja," Arok begins shakily, grinning in a way that points arrows towards him, "Mm, 'ow'd y' get 'ome last night?"
"Oh, I got back fine," Kuja mused, sitting down at one of the empty seats, "But the funniest little thing happened."
"...R-Really?" Gilgamesh asks, and Amarant leans against a pole directly in his view. God, the little cutthroat looks as if he's about to shit himself. They've obviously never gotten caught before.
"Yes, it was just so strange. My key was misplaced, you see... I had to bed in Amarant's room." Arok flushes and Gilgamesh tries to make a coy comment that dies in his throat when Kuja suddenly slams his hands down and glares at the four-armed man. "Do you know how hard it is to get to sleep with that man snoring and refusing to give you the bed?"
"I don't snore!" Amarant exclaims suddenly, and Arok yelps because the bounty hunter was right behind him.
"Oh yes you do and these two will be giving me back my key, my purse, and any other things they might've taken." Kuja's eyes burn and trace a line between Gilgamesh and Arok, who exchange their own looks. Will they run, or will they give up?
Arok leaps to his feet but Amarant catches him by the scruff of his neck, lifting him up and holding him there. Gilgamesh makes a mad dash for the street but is suddenly found hovering above the floor, floating backwards towards Kuja, who's hand is outstretched.
"I see," the Genome states, and rolls his hand idly; Gilgamesh is thrown upside down, and with a snap of manicured fingers, he's shaken roughly – several silk purses, a few stolen trinkets, three keys and a comb fall out of his amazingly well-stocked clothing. "Hm, what do you know. Arok, do you have anything to contribute?"
"N-N-Naw, sirrah, ain't got nothin'!" the smaller of the two squeaks, "'e's got ever-ry thin'!"
"You damned cheat!" Gilgamesh cries from upside-down, "We're a team, you ass!"
"Ya, but yer th' one who wan'ed t' chip it offa Kuja!"
"You're a horrible accomplice!"
Kuja grins, and lets Gilgamesh fall to the ground as he picks up his key and purse. Amarant lets Arok go when he sees that Kuja's not going to attack anyone, and looks at the purses still on the ground in annoyance.
"You can keep those," Kuja laughs at Arok's face, "I just wanted to have my own bed tonight, instead of fighting for it. I don't mind... actually..." He tosses his purse back down, and Gilgamesh stares at it in shock, "See you tonight, you two."
The Genome saunters merrily off and Amarant follows, confused. "Why'd you let them have that? It only shows them you're a pushover."
"If I were a pushover," Kuja drawls, "I wouldn't have been able to lift him in the air like that. And besides," he adds, grinning coyly, "I have you, don't I?"
"You don't have anything but the skin on your back," Amarant grumbles, but it's true – if Gilgamesh were to try taking more from Kuja, he'd be met with severe consequences. If only because Amarant was easily annoyed by the guy.
"You know, now that we've issued a challenge, they're going to expect us to be at the warehouses," Kuja grins, looking at Amarant coyly.
"Damned monkey," Amarant growls, because he can't just back off of a challenge like that. Gilgamesh would be telling everyone he chickened out and he'd have to beat the crap out of him.
"So we're going! I have to go try these things on," Kuja immediately starts up again, looking like a hyper kid, "And you'll need to try on the clothes I bought you."
"I'm not your damned doll."
Kuja laughs, "Oh, you're nobody's doll." He smiles, ruefully, "No one's anybody's doll."
Amarant reminds himself to watch his mouth.
Kuja is doing his hair. Amarant is staring at the clothes in his hands, eyes narrowed in annoyance. That damned monkey is pushing his damned luck, with this crap.
He looks at it again and takes it all back. It's not clothing, it's just a pair of pants. And he's not pushing his luck, he's tearing it at the seams.
"I'm not wearing this."
"Yes you are," Kuja instantly reacts, doing some complicated things to his hair, "Put it on, or I'll do it for you."
He should let that challenge stand, he really should. He'd love to see Kuja try to get him into these things that look more like a second skin than actual clothing. However, it would raise a lot of questions if that cute little barmaid heard them tumbling around up here and he would rather not have that happen.
So he takes off his pants and takes one long, loathing look at the pants in hand before managing to struggle himself into them.
He has to catch his breath – Good goddamn, the kid bought him pants that must've been two sizes too small! He stands – they're just plain, black pants that cling to him – that's not going to be something he's going to keep around...
Kuja stares at him and he flushes.
His hair is half up in some weird type of braid, loose and strung with black ribbons, setting off the coal around his eyes and the first outfit he had bought in Treno looks weird.
"'s too small," Amarant grunts, and feels absolutely absurd.
Kuja blinks, and looks back into the mirror of the bathroom quickly, pink tingeing his cheeks. "They are not. They fit you absolutely perfectly."
"I'm not wearing them," Amarant stands firm, crossing his arms.
"You want to bed that bargirl?" Amarant blinks, eyebrows raising. "Wear those out there and you'll have her in a moment's notice."
"Are you calling me attractive, now?" Amarant asks, suddenly smirking.
"I'm calling you attractive, yes. Now, if you want that girl I suggest you wear those, but if you don't care, you can change out of them. I won't make you wear something you don't want to."
"You're a saint," Amarant snorts, and spends about five minutes worming out of the infernal clothing.
"Pity. They really..." Kuja's blushing again, and Amarant looks away, searching for his regular clothes, "Accent your muscles."
The compliment (of sorts) hangs, and Amarant pulls his pants back on, feeling relieved that they're so baggy against the shirt Kuja had bought for him.
"What are you doing to your hair?" Amarant asks, raising an eyebrow. Kuja looks at him, finally tying a loose ribbon around the tail of his braid.
"Just making it different. I was going to cut it, but Lani told me not to."
"She likes long hair."
Kuja makes a noise and nods, but it's obvious that's not the only reason Lani gave him. The bounty hunter swears to himself, hoping she didn't go and tell him that he likes long hair too – that stupid woman.
"Well, I'll bet some people are there already drunk, so we should probably attempt to head in that general direction as well," Kuja finally speaks up, smiling. His hair is back and his outfit looks like something a devil would wear, all straps and nets and skin.
"I guess."
Kuja laughs, "I'm sorry. Are you used to going around and avoiding contact with cutthroats?"
"Yeah," Amarant mutters, "But whatever."
"Excellent," Kuja replies, and immediately grabs his thick wrist, heading out the door. "Oh, don't forget your key."
He doesn't.
They walk downstairs – the barmaid giggles and waves, and Kuja waves back, Amarant giving her a slight smirk before disappearing through the door with the Genome. They head north, heading for the warehouses, and it's freezing.
"Why are you so interested in going to the warehouses, anyway?" Amarant asks, curious. He wants to get a bit more out of Kuja before they get so drunk they can't tell up from down.
"I don't know," Kuja shrugs, "It's... fun. I haven't been to anything like that, haven't you already known? And I like drinking."
"You'll be an alcoholic before anyone realizes."
"Not a bad way to live. Drinking, dancing? I would enjoy making a life out of that. I've already made my life worthless, why not go with it?"
Another little piece of Kuja floats to Amarant without extended prying or thinking, so he scoops it up and holds tight, hoping more will come.
"You're a fool."
"You've yet to be proven..."
What is that?
"Amarant?"
The bounty hunter looks around, eyes half narrowed and searching every crevice. Kuja asks him his name again, but he doesn't pay any attention. There's a song floating on the air and it's completely entrancing. He's never heard something like it before.
They're still walking and it's getting louder. Kuja looks worried – no, probably just annoyed – but they turn the corner and Amarant relaxes. It's just some kid playing his violin for money.
The boy is probably about twelve, a tiny, mousy little guy with matted brown hair and bright, alert blue eyes. He's wearing street clothes – baggy pants popular with little kids, a vest, and a brown bandana wrapped around his forehead.
He's playing a black violin, and it's carved with intricate little pictures of different little stories. Kuja is staring at him, and Amarant realizes he's staring too.
"Nothing big," Amarant mutters, realizing that it is just a kid, "Just some kid playing for money."
Kuja stares a little more, and suddenly the boy hits a high note in a looping song, and stares Kuja down like a snake.
"He's not a kid," the Genome whispers, "Let's go."
"Hn?" But Kuja's already continuing down the path towards the warehouse. Amarant shrugs and throws the kid a few gil; he gets a short glance and then it's back to the violin. All for the violin.
Review in the disco.
Review in the Taco Bell.