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
[Hojo considered the term "magic" a superstitious one used to describe those phenomena science had not yet explained, but he wasn't in the mood for that argument.]
What kind of artificial life? Robotics?
Ah, yes! [He brightens somewhat. Kuja has become more interesting in his eyes.] Very perceptive. The Lifestream, it's called. From whence Mako and Materia come.
[Hojo had wanted to give it all to his son. Though perhaps he could take it for himself... Though he is not on Gaia now, and he's not sure of his results.]
And how were you able to perceive this fact?
I'm giggling over the "MAGIC ISN'T REAL" thing 83
[None of which are present in the Tower. Not that Kuja really feels compelled to make a Black Mage. Aside from being needless effort, he doesn't think others would take kindly to it.]
Lifestream? That makes sense... Ah, it's related to my work. You might call it my legacy.
[Because causing an immense flood of souls requires one to at least be somewhat perceptive of them. One of Kuja's more unique, if subtle, talents.]
Hojo: dares to disbelieve in magic as an FF character!
[Now Kuja is singing Hojo's tune.]
What is it you need to make them, and what is your method? Have you made any attempts here? I'm very interested in new forms of life. And monsters, making monsters. It's quite a subject, quite a study. One meets so few who embark upon it.
[He nods. He would certainly take kindly to any such experiment.]
Your work? Yes, I see. My own legacy is... New life, you could say.
You're in the wrong genre, dude.
Really? I'm also fascinated with monsters, and have made them with a similar, if simpler, method with my sentients. Sadly, I don't have the materials here, the Mist, but I could craft one if I did. A shame, really. What sort of methods do you use?
[Hmm, just how much of the truth to say to make it feasible and simple to remember..?]
I suppose it's like... monitoring the energy of the planet, of the Mist. Not unlike your Lifestream, if my guess is right.
Maybe that's why he's so bitter.
I use genetic manipulation--I am one of my world's genetic engineering pioneers. Introducing foreign or synthetic DNA into my subjects, or exposing them to mutagens.
Ah, so you need certain materials, substances... Perhaps there is a way to obtain them here, if they cannot be manufactured. You did obtain your synthesizer, after all. Other things from your world might appear.
[He nods.]
We do have those who monitor the Lifestream. It has many uses in my own work as well. I'm pleased to meet someone else who's scientifically minded. [Just ignoring the use of the term "magic", still.]
He should go to a scifi story instead
[With Terra gone, Kuja never thought he'd have the change to meddle on the genetic level ever again.]
Of course, of course. This Lifestream, the cycle of souls, is vital to a planet's well-being. Some of it can be scraped off the top, but an indelicate hand... Ah, but that's why specialists like myself are needed.