Mystic: More fun with dialogue and character development. Yay!

The Convert and his Mistress

"You converted him," said Joan to Lady Hilda. The women stood outside in the fresh, cool air of night, stars overhead to light their path, while their men stayed inside to take care of the tab and David's run-in with the fountain from earlier.

Hilda smiled softly, lifted the sleeve of her gown, showing David's mistress the faded and raised scar. "All it takes is a small amount," she said. "It was much more noticeable until I lay with him. Once we came together, the actual healing began."

"So, from what you're saying," Joan realised, "is sex heals the scars of blood magic."

"Correct." Citizens and tourists strolled about the dark streets. Couples paired off for late-night drinks or other forms of satisfaction in one of Treno's many inns or brothels. Two females in revealing attire conversing with each other was nothing unusual. "The moment he drank my blood, we became bound together."

"Through sex?"

"It's the strongest bond a man and woman can have, is it not?"

Joan was silent, thinking, a knowing grin on her face. "The most fun, at least. How does conversion work?"

"You have to die." Lady Hilda gazed out over the city, breathing in the air of alcohol and perfume. "The blood lies dormant in the body until the heart stops. Once that final breath ceases, new blood regenerates the organs and rebalances the humours. With one slight physical change, of course."

"The black eyes."

"For Kuja, I'm fairly certain he turned in the Iifa Tree." Resting her shoulders against the building, she continued, "If I had known better, I'd have been there to assist his conversion. It's not necessarily pretty or painless."

Joan said, "I've heard the legends." Not only the organs and humours, but the very soul of an individual changed. "Are you for certain that you can keep him under control?"

Hilda grinned, mischievous. "Well, I know one way." And that one certain act kept men in line since the dawn of time itself. Patriarchs and kings ruled society, but their women controlled their very lives. "Tell me, Joan, if you don't mind me asking. Joshua's mother, you never spoke her name."

"Because David never told me," the white mage answered with a brief shrug. "From my understanding, the girl was young and didn't survive the birth. I'm the only mother that boy has ever known."

"Oh," said Hilda, softly. "My apologies."

"I do care for David, and his children are absolutely wonderful." Her tone was nostalgic and warm, friendly. "Despite my years as a courtesan, I've never quickened with a man's seed. I fear this is my only chance to be a mother."

"I can give you a fertility tonic." A simple combination of red raspberry leaf, wild yam, and yarrow regulated the feminine form and improved the reproductive area.

Joan shook her head. "I've tried them all, Hilda."

"We blood mages have a stronger recipe. I'll send you the spell." It involved several cups of tea, massage, and clay moulded in the shape of a man's special part. "Guaranteed to bring on a birth if the problem is within the woman."

"Do you plan on bearing children?"

"I've always wanted too, and Kuja's not opposed."

Every woman discussed childbirth and children at some point in their lives. For a valid wife in a happy marriage, the subject brought giddiness and surprise parties by equally giddy friends and relatives. For unhappy wives or destitute street-walkers, the situation turned more grim and required avoidence like the plague itself. Preventative measures often failed, and did more harm than any good at all. But then there were the courtesans or mistresses, 'wives of night' by local terms. Pregnancy was indeed a natural occurence, but the child was welcomed and given care. Often times, a birth meant the woman was healthy and skilled at her profession.

The ladies, deep in conversation, missed the sound of their men stepping outside to join them. "Oh, now; that's not right." Sir David rested an elbow on Kuja's shoulder; the sorcerer quickly pushed it off. "They're just standing there talking. They're supposed to be pawing at each other and telling us we can't join."

Kuja stepped a few inches away from the blue mage. "My word, I forgot how strange you were."

"I'm strange? Have you looked at yourself in a mirror, Lord Kuja?"

"Quirky, then."

"There's a pot and kettle laughing at you right now."

Joan sighed. "David's been howling at that tree for years. I'm not that type of courtesan."

"Really?" queried Hilda, eyebrow raised. "Years before I ran away with the regent, I snuck into my tutor's stash of brandy with a fellow female student." Both Kuja and David hushed their argument, listened intently. "Things happened and we woke up in the next morning unaware, hung over, but strangely happy in Miss Rosemary's bed."

Of all the stories Lady Hilda spoke, this seemed the most promising. Kuja waltzed over, pulled her very close. "Dear lady, why don't we return to my home where you can tell me all about it."

"Please, it's hardly anything interesting."

"On the contrary," said Kuja. "This intrigues me greatly. So kindly be very specific and use as much detail as possible."

Sir David slumped against his mistress. "Oh, that's not fair."

"Alright, time to get you home and check on your son." Joan smacked his rear. "Write to me, Mistress Hilda?"

"Absolutely." Hilda gave a wave before her noble sorcerer ushered her to his place of residence.

It was a very strange phenomenon, Hilda concluded. She knew that Kuja enjoyed making up for time lost, taking his fill of her body whenever he gained the chance, but as she lay on his bed, out of breath and sore in various places, she realized he enjoyed the thought of her with another woman, even if under the influence. Most men harbored the same fascination, didn't they? For whatever odd reason?

Equally breathless and dripping in sweat, Kuja rolled over to face her. "Any chance you'd see this student again?" His tail quivered along her thigh.

"You are such a bastard." It was meant as an insult, but she could not prevent a chuckle from breaking through. "She's married now."

"To a gentleman?"

"Yes, to a gentleman."

Another moment of thought. "Do they live in the realm?"

"Yes." His expression at her response almost warranted her rolling over and faking sleep - and she never faked anything in Kuja's bed. "Please, Kuja, get whatever perverse thought out of your head. Technically, what she and I did was illegal."

"Well, well; I wasn't aware your kind still kept that law in place." Which highly surprised him considering the blood mage viewpoint of sexuality and virginity. More liberal than most cultures, double standards between men and women were non-existant, but even they made certain laws of what can and cannot be done.

"Of course we do," she said, rather incredulous. "We were the first people to make that law."

"Mm," he mused. "Is there any other rule I should be aware of? Something I might have missed during my conversion?"

Normally, Lady Hilda would bring forth colorful language and dance around with euphemisms, twirl with them even. Since she and Kuja crossed that line and never looked back due to horizontal activity, she decided it best to be blunt. "The man is not permitted to spill his seed outside of the woman."

Kuja raised up, propped himself on his elbows. "Honestly?"

"Old-fashioned, but we hold to it."

"Hmph, Miss Rosemary failed to mention that."

"She's been a widow for years," Hilda said with a yawn. "Are we quite through with the pillow talk now?"

"Quite." Kuja owned very soft and luxurious pillows. When sleep eluded him, he hired a maid to sew hops or lavender in the cushions. "But don't be foolish into thinking I'm ready for sleep." With Hilda in his home, no other woman would ever sew anything for him again. His hand smoothed down her stomach, slick with sweat, began to graze another very slick area.

His touch still stung despite his gentleness. "If I were a flagrin of wine, sorcerer," said Hilda, her hand tangled in his hair, "you'd be constantly stumbling around and dizzy because of your wanton needs." Her kiss tasted sweet and salty as it traveled along the skin of his jaw and throat.

He entered her swiftly, smoothly, deliciously moist. "You started this little dance of ours, lady." One ancient and full of potential. He fought through his fatigue and achy muscles to keep rhythm, tasting her flesh, nipping her skin. "You offered," he whispered. "And I'd be stupid not to take it."

"I'd be stupid not to offer."

Their night in Treno had yet to cease. Kuja's blonde courtesan laughed coyly when in public, charmed all with her wit, and played sultry vixen when in private. He'd be stupid to protest when she flipped him and pushed him on his back, mounting him like a soldier on a chocobo. Lucky for him, Lady Hilda chose not to ride side-saddle.

The Alexandrian Queen slumped forward in her throne, dropped her head in her hands. Healthy and cured of plague, the news brought forth from her king-consort did not refrain from causing a dull headache. "I thought I saw his black eyes," she mumbled. "Never in a million years did I think my aunt would convert him."

Zidane shrugged, propped himself against the stone and marble. "You pardoned him, Dag'."

"And at what price? If she does not return to Lindblum, the regency will collapse." A kingdom was only as strong as its citizens. When the population dropped, so did the power of their rightful ruler. "What ever possessed my aunt to run off with Kuja? Her reputation is ruined now; the councilmen see her as whore."

"That's kinda harsh, don't ya think?"

"I'm repeating only what has been said."

Snort. "What hasn't been said already?" Zidane picked at the dirt in his nails.

"The black death is rampant. How could she just leave them all?" A thought struck her then, making her gasp. "Kuja can compel! Mind control! A hex!"

"You're not giving your aunt much credit as a mage, babe." Very few wise women mastered the art of bodily manipulation. The history books and fairy tales counted them among the magical elite. "She can fight off whatever hex he tried to place on her."

"Then I think you're underestimating your brother!" Her feet found the ground, her voice found its volume. "We've seen what he can do and destroy!"

"So has Lady Hilda and she's probably warming his bed as we speak."

Flabbergasted, insulted, Garnet shook her head. "Zidane, how dare you."

"I'm repeating only the truth." He winked, but the conversation didn't get any lighter. "Kuja healed you and saved countless lives here."

Garnet remembered all too vividly the raging fever of plague, the massive headache that pounded her temples. Her cure spells barely eased her suffering, did nothing for the infectious boils erupting on her skin. She hadn't been strong enough to chant anyway. Attendants and chambermaids feared the worse for their young monarch - and she had yet to birth an heir.

When Kuja first arrived in her kingdom, she feared her mind tricked her, a hallucination that wore a black robe and white bird's mask. A plague doctor, the ancient physicians of yore. That same hallucination was not supposed to have silver hair and gentle features. Hallucinations usually disappeared when you blinked or rubbed your eyes, not admire things of beauty or strong craftmanship. Kuja remained, and the queen recoiled when his eyes flashed black.

"Poor little canary," she heard him say. "You'd think a summoner would have a heartier disposition."

Even now, months after the recovery of her kingdom, she on occasion took a dose or two of the astragalus extract. The foreign plant made her body more resistant to disease. "Could he still not save lives in Lindblum with my aunt? Despite the annulment?"

"Okay, Dag'." Zidane pushed himself to stand upright. "What do think you can do about it? Hilda doesn't want to return and I don't think either of us can convince her."

"She's been corrupted."

More harsh words. "No, I think she's embracing a new side of herself that she normally hides away." Specifically, a darker and more selfish part of her personality. "We all have it, to a certain degree."

The scale between good and evil usually hovered in a comfortable balance. Close enough to the light for prudence and acts of charity, but not so far away from the dark side that one is a pushover. The former first lady of Lindblum tilted her scale to the realm of sexual magic and good wine. The line between love and lust didn't fade into a blur, it tied wrists to a bedpost for extra fun.

Zidane suspected the downward sliding scale when he witnessed his brother's regeneration.