fallen_stage (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fallen_stage) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-05-12 10:18 pm
fallen_stage) wrote in towerofanimus2012-05-12 10:18 pm
Entry tags:
[002]
Characters: Kuja and whomever wants to pester him.
Setting:Different places! ;A; Various; see cuttext.
Format: Starting with action, I'll match you.
Summary: Kuja's finding it harder to readjust as usual; more discomfort arrives as he explores the full possibilities of the Tower.
Warning: Minor self-harm? Scratching. Also vomiting.
Kuja woke with a start, but the paralysis wouldn't let him leap from bed, wouldn't let him move at all, wouldn't let him breathe. Sheer panic consumes him during that time, robbing his breath further. Once he can move he sits up, sucking air into his lungs, his lungs, his trachea, his mouth, his lips. For a few moments, Kuja huddles over, hands covering his face and nails digging into his scalp. His face, his nails, his scalp, his pain. He is Kuja, he has a soul, he was from Terra, and he is not like those other guys.
From the back of his throat Kuja can feel a choking sensation, his diaphragm twitching. He knows what it is. Stumbling as he gets out of bed (thankfully dressed in his nightshirt), he ignores everyone as he rushes to the nearest bathroom, not bothering to close the stall door behind himself before dropping to his knees and getting sick.
After that awful, wretched dream, tasting his own stomach acid is almost a confirming relief
((ooc: threads for this will be first come, first serve chronologically. I'll assume Kuja remains sick for a while and others hear him from outside))
[Kuja had been coming regularly for meals, oddly unperturbed by the bland fare offered by the Tower. If he finds it unpleasant, he makes no sign; makes no sign of anything much, in fact. His face is a carefully blank face, expressive as a stone. Right now he has about a third of a bar missing on his plate, his posture one of boredom but his face clear as ever. He pokes around a crumb but isn't otherwise eating.]
[For someone so prim, Kuja seems to have no reservation about sprawling on a couch, staring out into the swirling fog. He seems to havestolenscrounged up some pants from somewhere: they're dark and ill-fitting, but there, under his White Robe. Right now Kuja is on his stomach, his face is buried in his crossed arms.]
[In the same outfit as the day before, Kuja is neatly sitting against a wall. Next to him is a thick water column of jellyfish and pufferfish and even a blue-ringed octopus. Should he really be sticking his hand in like that..?]
[Kuja must really like those pants. He's only wearing the white undershirt of his usual outfit this time around. Rather dangerous considering he seems to be fussing with some contraption, a pile of colored bottles and an assortment of dull rocks arranged on the counter around him. He seems a bit less morose this time around.]
Setting:
Format: Starting with action, I'll match you.
Summary: Kuja's finding it harder to readjust as usual; more discomfort arrives as he explores the full possibilities of the Tower.
Warning: Minor self-harm? Scratching. Also vomiting.
Kuja woke with a start, but the paralysis wouldn't let him leap from bed, wouldn't let him move at all, wouldn't let him breathe. Sheer panic consumes him during that time, robbing his breath further. Once he can move he sits up, sucking air into his lungs, his lungs, his trachea, his mouth, his lips. For a few moments, Kuja huddles over, hands covering his face and nails digging into his scalp. His face, his nails, his scalp, his pain. He is Kuja, he has a soul, he was from Terra, and he is not like those other guys.
From the back of his throat Kuja can feel a choking sensation, his diaphragm twitching. He knows what it is. Stumbling as he gets out of bed (thankfully dressed in his nightshirt), he ignores everyone as he rushes to the nearest bathroom, not bothering to close the stall door behind himself before dropping to his knees and getting sick.
After that awful, wretched dream, tasting his own stomach acid is almost a confirming relief
((ooc: threads for this will be first come, first serve chronologically. I'll assume Kuja remains sick for a while and others hear him from outside))
[Kuja had been coming regularly for meals, oddly unperturbed by the bland fare offered by the Tower. If he finds it unpleasant, he makes no sign; makes no sign of anything much, in fact. His face is a carefully blank face, expressive as a stone. Right now he has about a third of a bar missing on his plate, his posture one of boredom but his face clear as ever. He pokes around a crumb but isn't otherwise eating.]
[For someone so prim, Kuja seems to have no reservation about sprawling on a couch, staring out into the swirling fog. He seems to have
[In the same outfit as the day before, Kuja is neatly sitting against a wall. Next to him is a thick water column of jellyfish and pufferfish and even a blue-ringed octopus. Should he really be sticking his hand in like that..?]
[Kuja must really like those pants. He's only wearing the white undershirt of his usual outfit this time around. Rather dangerous considering he seems to be fussing with some contraption, a pile of colored bottles and an assortment of dull rocks arranged on the counter around him. He seems a bit less morose this time around.]
no subject
[ With his sense of fashion and all, Kuja could make it pretty well. ]
no subject
[And now Kuja could slip into both factions and those in between. Of course he'd try to unite them, but if not, Kuja could play them off each other.]