i want you here (open)

[jemerite]

Characters: jemerite and You (open)
Date: July 17th
Summary: He can't do this to her.
Warnings: Zinc's world is vaguely offensive in its necrophilia? Her narrative can be kind of gory. She thinks about killing things, a lot.

She wakes up cold.

She's often cold, unless sitting in open sunlight, or curled up next to the heating unit that does a poor job of keeping Barbet's large studio warm in the wintertime. She hated the cold, really, it was a constant reminder of the stillness in her chest, but what she hated the most was waking up cold, like she'd been dead the whole night through. Barbet shouldn't have left her, she hates when he does and she usually wakes up as soon as he stirs because it's cold and it's lonely--(perhaps the loneliness is the worst. She... she hates that feeling, she wants to rip it out of her mind and ruin it forever.)

There is a moue of discontent on her lips already as she sits up, but it does not take her long to see things are very changed. And she knows exactly what's happened.

He's abandoned her. He'd drugged her and left her out here in the woods to die. The certainty of it rocks her, and causes a deep twisting sensation in her stomach. Hate. Hurt. Misery.

"Barbet?" She looks around herself, but all she sees is the cat approaching with the scroll in its mouth. Zinc hisses at it furiously, settled forward on her hands and knees like an angry little animal. The cat seems nonplussed, but it sits down, tail swishing. Zinc ignores it as she gets to her feet unsteadily, looking around again, sees only trees and she can't smell him anywhere. How is she meant to track him down and kill him if he's erased his scent?

"You can't!" She shouts, hands curling into fists, her well-kept nails biting into her palms with the fury of it. He would scold her for that. "You did this!"

She sees the path out of the clearing and begins to follow it, but what she sees only deepens her despair and that cat is following her. "I will eat you, if you do not get away from me," she snarls gutturally at the fluffy thing. Its eyes narrow at her, smug and nonreactive. She hisses, but carries on walking.

All she finds is forest and field. And, eventually, she drops down into the grass and simply begins to scream. Wordless, furious, keening. He can't do this to her. She can't even weep in this decaying body, and it's his fault that she has the desire to at all.


[ooc; I always write log openers in prose, but feel free to switch to action.]

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[jemerite]

There's something unfortunately simple about her these days, that seed of instinct that responds to confidence in kind. She remains where she is for a moment longer, but she begins to gather herself up, rearranging her limbs awkwardly so that she can climb back to her feet.

She dusts some grass and leaves off herself, looking down at the plain smock she's in. It's a bit uncomfortable to her. She doesn't usually show this much skin, she was a rather telling ashen color, and it made her too easy to touch. Her feet shouldn't be bare either, she'll damage them... She shifts restlessly in the grass, looking up at the woman.

"Who?" She asks curiously, wonders if there is meant to be some kind of connection to the man she lives with, if there's something she could understand there.

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

Kuja watches. She can sense something different about this woman, but they all come from different worlds, and who can say what is normal in other lands? Kuja will not assume, as she herself was once an outsider on another world--banished there, nothing like any of its inhabitants.

"No one you would know. One might say he is my brother, if only as all persons of the same race are brothers." Is he her brother or not? It's hard to say. She'd said as much herself, poetically, but she'd meant to be cruel at the time. Did she deserve to call him brother? They share the same maker, but little else, it seems. "He is a very foolish person, who risks himself for others' sakes. I know he has not abandoned me, so why should it not be the same for you?" Perhaps the thought of him makes her slightly more inclined to say something kind, something helpful. She's noticed the woman looking herself over with dissatisfaction.

"Your clothing should be nearby, hidden among the greenery. It is usually so, though I cannot say why."

[jemerite]

Zinc's eyes look back towards the way she came from. She really hadn't gotten far, just cleared the trees and seen the stretch of the Garden beyond. She hadn't been this far away from the city in a long time, almost ten years now. It wasn't something she would have relished, dead or alive.

In the back of her mind, Kuja's words continue to ring, however. He is a very foolish person, who risks himself for others' sakes. I know he has not abandoned me, so why should it not be the same for you? Barbet was not a foolish person, but he risked himself by keeping her. He worked on the toys, cleaned and restored and painted them, but it was different to let an untrained Reanimate lie next to him while he slept.

He wouldn't abandon her, but in thinking about all it is that he does, and all her risks, just fills her with loneliness. He isn't here. How is she going to get back to him? Her emotions are incredibly volatile, and the relief she had felt is swept away by hollowness; overwhelmed by the lack.

"My clothes..." she murmurs distractedly. Her steps are very slow, her balance and her muscle control are both imperfect, but she shuffles back in that direction.

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

Part of Kuja realizes that Zidane isn't foolish at all, quite the contrary, but she's not about to admit that. It is a foolish act to risk your life for someone who might as well already be dead, that is certain, so in that, he is undeniably a fool.

She watches the woman shambling. So slow! Kuja has little patience for dawdling, and she leaves the ground for the air and glides along beside the woman--and then ahead of her.

The clothes should be easy enough to find for a magician of her might, and so they are. She rises skyward until she has a fine view of all the ground below, and as she thought, it takes but a moment to spot the garments from above. She is not about to go and fetch them, so she levitates them instead and floats them over to the gradually approaching Zinc.

[jemerite]

Zinc watches this blatant display of witchery with large eyes, suspicious and certainly annoyed by such foolishness. She reaches out to snatch her clothes with a frown, aware that she has been helped, resentful that she needs so much of it. There is no such thing as magic. She examines her clothes, as if they are either tainted or to blame in this matter, but there's nothing changed about them. They're the same simple things she always wore, her flat little slip-ons settled delicately on top of folded jeans, and a clinging black shirt with long sleeves.

She'll have to sit back down in order to kick her way back into her jeans, and she does so with very little care for whether or not Kuja is watching the ridiculous spectacle. She didn't let Barbet help her with it, she could dress herself thank you, even if she was occasionally willing to let him help her pull them off again. The rest is easier, and she feels better to be back in something familiar.

She still watches the with with an distrusting expression.

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

Kuja notes the suspicion but doesn't mind in the least, smiling faintly to herself. She couldn't be more used to suspicion, considering the people she'd lived and worked among. As for herself, why, distrust is her métier! She congratulates herself for being helpful, as she is in a beneficent frame of mind today, and it is something she's been trying to improve upon. You don't need a reason to help people--hadn't someone said that?--but she does have a reason, and it is self-betterment, however lost that cause might be. Even her benevolence is yet quite selfish.

She does not precisely watch Zinc dress, but she does not do anything as definite as look away, as she is indifferent to the matter. She doesn't offer to help or seem to pay attention to how trying the woman finds the task. Instead, she narrates, in a soft, careless tone.

"There are many of us here, all females--of a sort. Of various races, but most are human or humanlike in form." She counts herself among the latter. "You might be here but a day, or remain for a year and a day. There is no way of telling."

[jemerite]

Zinc would understand the greed of selflessness. It was something that she had always believed, that nothing was unconditional, that all acts stemmed from greed of some kind. Even kindness and charity fed something in the giver. Good things, and terrible things alike occurred where the greeds of individuals met. It would, perhaps, make Zinc feel a bit better to know there was something other than simple pity behind Kuja's actions; comforted by the honesty of greed.

On her feet, now protected in her shoes, and with her gray skin covered, she takes the time to look around herself a bit more attentively. There still is very little to see, but she adds in the information as Kuja relates it.

"Why?" She asks, she knows it is a simple, vague question, so she swallows and recenters herself to add, "For what purpose?"

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

Kuja is rarely open about her motivation, and today is no exception. She cannot feel pity. That is, she never could. Perhaps she could develop more emotions, but she was created without remorse or mercy, and had lived without them for decades. Her current benevolence is more like a game, without true feeling behind it. The feelings she has evinced are far less pleasant.

"She wishes to foster romance between us, as absurd as that sounds." As someone who has thus far been incapable of such feeling, she finds this particularly ridiculous.

[jemerite]

Zinc's brows furrow once more. There is already someone that she loves. She hates him, she hates him desperately because he'd destroyed her, ruined her, tainted her beyond all recognition of herself. But she loves him. He is her anchor in a tumultuous void, her provider. She was one of his muses. She did not want to love another. One love was painful and tragic enough.

"I have... none to spare."

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

This response was not one Kuja would have given, so she doubts the woman's reason is the same as hers, yet she agrees.

"Nor do I, but as I mentioned, the Queen is mad. She gathers us up at random in the hopes that among these handfuls of threads, grasped by her flailing hands, perhaps a few can be woven together.

And why does she want this?" Kuja shrugs as she continues to levitate. "As with so many things here, none can say."

[jemerite]

She motions rather disdainfully at the space beneath Kuja's feet.

"How many are like this?"

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

"If by that you mean how many others are capable of such things as I am capable of, I can answer you easily."

Her smile is warm enough, but her eyes are cold. "None."

[jemerite]

Zinc's frown deepens. "And what are you capable of?"

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

"That is a question that would take anyone a great many words to answer. In the end, so few ever guess all that they are capable of, and many are capable of things they will never do. Actions matter far more than potential."

"But what I refer to is my profession." She lands lightly on her feet, with another little bow. "I am a poet, and there are no others here."

[jemerite]

Something seems to down on her, her expression relaxing.

"No wonder." Artists were all ridiculous and talked too much, but they said the most interesting things, once one dug through all their bullshit. "Do they like your poetry, here?"

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

One who accused Kuja of being long-winded or insincere would be within their rights and quite correct.

Kuja considers the question. "I have not written any verses since I've arrived. I may, but I do not currently feel inspired." All quite true, if framed by what some might consider to be a lie. Kuja believes it to be true; she is a poet. Not a conventional one, to be sure, but poetry takes many forms, and there is nothing Kuja likes better than a metaphor. Even a poet herself may be a metaphor. "No matter, as I am frequently given to long periods of contemplation."

[jemerite]

She quirks a smile, bemused. Barbet threw absolute fits when he felt uninspired. She had always enjoyed watching them. He threw things, it was all very entertaining. He was somewhat more careful about controlling himself since she had died, upon noticing he could transfer his moods to her, but he still sometimes found himself hurling sketchbooks across the studio.

"Write them," her tone might have the faintest hint of a challenge in it. Nothing quite like suggesting someone couldn't actually accomplish something to get them moving on it. "I will read them. Or just listen."

She'd like to know what came out of this one's mind, when she actually put it to concerted use.

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

If there is one thing Kuja is trying to avoid, it is fits. The last thing she broke in a fit was a planet. Whenever she begins to experience an emotion that is too strong, it is as if flames begin to flicker at the edges of her mind, rose and lilac--fine, pale colors--yet very hot. They burn away thought.

"Perhaps I will. I have only recently arrived." She doesn't respond to the challenge, precisely, though she notes it. She is quite accustomed to manipulation, but usually from the other side of things. "When my inspiration strikes, it is sudden and overwhelming and cannot be stopped, but it will not be rushed. To wait, to plan, to watch: these, too, are the duties of the artist." Perhaps she has not literally written a poem, but she has her process in place.

"I have other pursuits to occupy me. I wish to build a library. A gallery, perhaps, a theatre. There is not enough interest in the arts here. I shall make it more of a priority."

[jemerite]

Zinc's smile grows. Don't rush, he was always telling her not to rush him, but she had never been a patient woman. She's improved in the endless tedium of her undeath, but she remembers how confident she had once been, persistent and absolutely gluttonous in her desires. It's why she'd enjoyed him so much, the prize at the end of his insufferable planning and watching and waiting had been sweet.

"I would like it." She doesn't think her pleasure would affect Kuja at all, but it never hurts to offer an artist an audience. "To see all these things."

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

Kuja might not care for many things, but she does like an audience. She had to do without one for so long, cut off from her true ambition. She always wanted to be a performer, not some creature forced to keep to the shadows, unseen.

"I will make beautiful things. That is what I wish to do. We may do as we like here, for the most part, and are left to our own devices, unless the Queen throws one of her tantrums. Some find it a pleasant place to live."

[jemerite]

Zinc thinks she can handle a tantrum, but she does not yet know how the Queen's like to manifest. Perhaps she will change her mind, either way, she's not interested in staying here.

"Maybe, but I can't be away," she protests with a frown. "I need... care."

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

Kuja shares Zinc's wish to leave, but she is currently being philosophical about it.

"You'll find no shortage of care here. So many helpful women with so little to do--why, it's more of a challenge to make them neglect you."

[jemerite]

Her lips purse. Barbet didn't like others working on his projects, in the first place, and no one else knew his work like he did besides.

"They can't." She fusses with her hair, tucking a few long strands behind her ear. Her hair was a perfect example, her body was dead and the strands delicate, they would grow dry and brittle and fall out without very exacting care. She couldn't wash it regularly, or she would destroy it.

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

"You need help but do not want it. How very human of you." Kuja smiles. "That is your choice to make, but I warn you, these women can be very persistent in their altruism." She doesn't seem entirely impressed with this trait.

[jemerite]

Her lips purse further, full mouth thinning.

"I'm not human."

Perhaps it is easy to say to Kuja because the woman is so obviously other as well. She had been human, once, but... there was no pretending it. Her mind was different, her body and her heart. She recognized the other undead as her kin, and perhaps Barbet was only so successful in keeping her loyalty because he cared for the zombies that were brought into his studio. Zinc doesn't really know, thinking about it generally leads her into realms of brooding pain and confusion.