queenofheartsrp | second stanza [video]

second stanza [video]

[Kuja is dressed in her usual garb, and the tail which was evident when she first arrived seems to have disappeared. She offers the Vine a bow. It is a bow without a particularly respectful air, more a dramatic gesture than anything else.]

Now that I have been here for some few days, I've decided to make the attempt to discover whether there are others here like me. Not of my kind, as I sincerely doubt that could be the case, but of a similar bent.

I am a poet, and an actress of no small renown, and I wish to know if there other artists here, like myself. Painters, sculptors, writers, or perhaps musicians? Even a patron of the arts. It would be a great pleasure to discuss aesthetics, as well as the passion and wonder of creation, with like-minded individuals. We might collaborate, combine our talents to reach ever more lofty creative heights. I don't doubt that this Garden would benefit from a stage performance, a concert, or a gallery.

[She pauses, and it is a practiced pause.] Relatedly, I have been browsing in the library, and there I found many volumes of verse. Having read them all, I am curious--does anyone possess more such books? This is a rare and most likely unique opportunity for a poet such as myself: to read verses from another world.

[As a side note, some may find that the library's collection of poetry has mysteriously decreased, as Kuja has ~~stolen~~ borrowed a large number of the books.]

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[Mahalia had been thinking of singing something human for her, and even though she knows the comparisons to birds are a common thing, when it came to songs, it still gives her pause. She considers explaining that she can truly sing as the birds do, but decides against it. Maybe she can just show her, instead, when she sees her.]

I'll go and make those books for you now. It shouldn't take me too long.

[She smiles again. Music and poetry: this is turning out better than she'd expected.] I'll remain in the vicinity of the Treehouse. Do not feel the need to hasten your steps. I can lose myself in a book for hours at a time, and I will be quite content waiting here.

Okay. I'll be there soon.

[She dismisses the vine with a smile. She goes to fetch the jar of sand from the wilds she keeps, considering for a moment taking it to Kuja, so she can make her own books. But she'd saved it for a reason, and didn't want to go back into the wild places to get more just yet. She pours out a handful, then sets about creating the books of poetry she can remember.

It takes her about an hour, then she's gathering all of the books into a bag and heading over to the Treehouse.]

[Kuja still hasn't found a suitable seat near the Treehouse. Perhaps she will make one soon, but for now, she floats among the boughs, reading one of her books. There are a few songbirds perched near her. She does not exactly have dominion over these beasts, as with her dragons back home, but she can make her will known to them. She floats down to earth when Mahalia appears, smiling. As she touches the ground, she gives a polite bow.]

A pleasure to meet you in person, Mahalia.

[In some ways, the girl puts her in mind of Garnet: her hair, her coloration, her age, her sweet voice.] You remind me of a princess I once knew. [She continues to smile, as if there were nothing whatsoever unpleasant about her relationship with said princess.]

[Mahalia knows there are people here that have a wide variety of abilities, but this is the first time she's witnessed someone flying, and she is distracted by it for a moment. Her godfather was bird-souled, but tethered to the ground, a necessary sacrifice in order for him to read prophecy in the skies. The closest he came to flying was to travel the winds. She wonder how he would feel, meeting this woman. But he isn't here, and Mahalia must remember that, painful as it is. She dips into a curtsey in greeting.]

You, as well.

[She smiles, a little. It isn't the first time someone's called her a princess, but it's usually a nickname, a play on her mannerisms and reactions.]

That's, ah, very nice of you to say, thank you. I'm sure there are real princesses here.

[She lifts the bag off her shoulder, a woven beach bag, multicoloured. Ten hardback books in it, poems from various languages, but the text seemed to translate itself, here.]

I brought all the books I could remember. I hope you enjoy them.

[Kuja is vain, and she likes to be different. She always puts herself apart. Though she could easily sit in the grass, why should she, if she can sit in the air and be noticed? There are few uses for her powers here, after all--thus far.]

I find that what makes a true princess is not in the blood, but in the heart. A princess is one with a beautiful heart.

[She takes the books, eyes lighting. Most of the poems in the library spoke of love, which is not something she has felt, though the words were beautiful. Perhaps some of these verses will speak of something else. She preferred those that touched on desolation, on violence. Speaking to her. Odd how that had happened, though she had cared nothing for the people of Gaia otherwise; somehow their words had reached her.] How very kind. I will be glad to return the favor in future, once I have recreated my library, if you would like to read some of the books of my world.

There's a book I read when I was younger. It said all girls were princesses. [A slight smile. She knows she can be naive, usually reprimands herself when she realises it.] I don't know how true that is, but it was a nice thing to believe, at the time.

[She's happy to see Kuja pleased. Not many people in the Gardens seemed to care for books, that she knew of, and some others had abandoned any such desire after exhausting the library's limited fare. Mahalia hadn't truly intended to make any books when she'd created her bedroom, but they had been as much of a comfort to her as the room itself, and she was glad to share with others.]

I'd like that a lot. I think that's one of the best things about being here, learning about other worlds. There are so many more of them than I ever imagined.

That may be true, but surely some girls are set apart from others, are they not? If all were princesses, then none would be. Perhaps some prefer to be knights, or magicians, such as myself.

[She strokes the covers of the books with her fingertips.] One thing I love about poetry is that one may read the same poem a thousand times and still find something new in it on the thousandth and first reading. A twist of meaning, a turn of phrase.

Then I will do so. Once I have space enough for them, I will make some of my books. I too have never heard of so many worlds, so varied and strange. I have only known two, before arriving here.

That's true. [She nods. She hadn't really thought of it that all girls would fit a certain stereotype of princess, but that they would be princesses no matter what.] You're a magician? Is that how you were... flying?

[She smiles. It's lovely to see someone speaking about the books they like.] Fables and folk stories are my favourites. But I try to read as widely as possible. [Her expressions dims a little.] Did, anyway. It's more difficult, here.

I knew there were others. My godfather told me about them. He was the one who taught me to sing, too.

I myself am no princess. [What Kuja means by this is unclear, but she seems quite certain about it.] I did spend a great deal of time in the court of a queen, and I have known certain royals quite well. Yes--my magic allows me to do many things, but I glide so well also because of my nature.

There are many such tales in my world. Of fabulous beasts and protector spirits, heroes and their quests, soldiers and their battles. I am sure I can conjure up some stories of that kind. I did notice that the library here was limited. More people should attempt to recreate the literature of their worlds--then we can have our own library.

I was aware that there were other worlds somewhere, but I knew no particulars about them, and I had only visited two myself. [She smiles.] I have been looking forward to your singing. I will see how well your godfather taught you.

There aren't really any royals left in my world. I suppose the idea of it's possibly romanticised because of that. [She looks at her curiously.] Your nature? [But then, maybe she shouldn't press, if Kuja isn't comfortable speaking about it.] I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry.

That sounds wonderful. I don't know why no one's thought of that, a library of our own. Although... things do tend to get distracting. And most people don't like to act like they're going to be here long.

[She lights up a little, earnest, wants to do her godfather proud.] Is there anything in particular you'd like to hear?

That is probably true. People sentimentalize the past, wear away its ugliness and gild it into legend. [Kuja doesn't seem bothered by the question.] I am unique in my world, but what I am is difficult to describe to those not familiar with the concept. [She is no longer an Angel of Death, as she cast off that mantle, but she is still a thing apart.] I am not human, though I am alive. I am a creature of magic.

I see no harm in behaving as if my time here is indefinite, if it means my days will be filled with activity and pleasure. [It is not as if there is a great deal waiting for her at home: her brother, yes, and then the end of everything.]

[At the thought of music, she too brightens a little.] It is unlikely our world has the same songs, so sing me your favorite, if you have one. That is what I wish to hear.

A creature of magic. That's... I've met created beings before, but they were made by someone. [A being born entirely of magic sounds truly extraordinary.]

I think it's just... hmm, guilt. [She knows it, feels it herself, missing her family, finding things to distract herself from missing her family.] Acting like it's alright, being here, when we've been taken from our homes.

Ah, yes, of course. I can do that. [She looks at Kuja and the books, wonders if the other woman would prefer to read, now.] You'd like to hear it now?

[At the words "made by someone", Kuja experiences an emotion--emotions so well-developed are still very new to her, and the surge of hatred strikes her silent for a moment, until she regains her equilibrium. She can't allow herself to feel anything so strong. It's far too dangerous. She quickly smiles, hoping her lapse wasn't too obvious. She decides she likes Mahalia's explanation far better than the truth. Not that there's no truth in it. When she destroyed that wretch, she did remake herself, out of the nothing she was given.] There are few such creatures in my world, and as I said, no others quite like me.

I feel no guilt. I no longer have a home. I am free from all things.

[Kuja has been reading all day, so she finds the prospect of a change of pace quite pleasant.] Yes, no need to delay. I have been waiting to hear your voice lifted in song, and now that time and distance do not separate us, there is nothing further to keep me from the sound.

[Mahalia sees the reaction, though she cannot place it, exactly. She assumes it's pain, sadness, and decides to curb her curiosity. Perhaps this is a wound that shouldn't be prodded.] No, I've not heard of anything like that before. [And she wishes she could talk to her godfather about it.]

[She nods.] There are others like that, people who are happy to be here. I'm glad they've found a safe place.

Alright. [She smiles slightly, and steps back, taking a moment to smooth her skirts, compose herself. She's nervous, a little, Kuja has given such compliment to her voice already, and she hasn't even sung yet.

She picks a simple song, slow, with long, steady notes. A little melancholy, but balanced, calm and content, lyrics telling the story of a summer long passed. It suits her voice well, shows her well-practised breathing, clarity of tone and her ability to convey emotion.

A human song, but her voice still begins to affect the area, the natural ability in her blood using the song as a medium to move, to touch the life all around them, spreading a warm calm.]

[She is not sure if this place is safe, if she is in it, but perhaps. Perhaps she can be safe. She is sure that she is not happy, but how could she be? She smiles nonetheless, because she knows how to smile without feeling behind it.] I have met some who fit that description. I have heard the Queen takes many from battle, or from the brink of death.

[Is she really going to die? Perhaps she deserves it, but some part of her still hopes--she stops herself from pursuing those thoughts, as they are too troubling. She doesn't quite lapse this time, focusing instead on Mahalia's voice as she sings.

The song is beautiful, and there is magic in it as well; it is like nothing she has heard before. All of her goes quiet as she stands listening, rapt. The smile on her face softens, becomes sincere. She could listen to music like this forever.]

Edited 2011-07-02 20:07 (UTC)

[The song comes to an end, slowly, one last note hanging in the air, and Mahalia takes a moment to steady her breathing. The same sense of warmth she had shared through the song sits lightly in her chest, and she smiles a little, to herself, before her slight nerves gather to her again.

She looks at Kuja, waiting quietly for the woman's reaction and opinion.]

[Kuja is not yet used to these more complicated emotions. She has had very little time to learn to deal with them. She cannot always access them, and when she can, she cannot always control them. Once the song ends and the relative silence returns, she does not react, at first. Then her eyes fill up with tears, and for a moment, she seems almost too delirious to talk. She probably does not deserve to hear such music.

At last, she clasps her hands together and speaks softly, tears still bright in her eyes.]

So perfectly lovely.

[She's startled by the tears, really, concerned. Not entirely sure how to react, what to say.]

I, ah, thank you.

[Maybe she should have picked a brighter, happier song.]

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry.

Don't fret, dear, there is no need to apologize. My emotions are not like yours. [Her emotions are not like anyone's: new, yet already twisted and malformed.]

It has been some time since I heard such sweet music, that is all. A heartfelt performance can move me to tears. [She places a hand on her chest.] I could feel the wistfulness in the notes resonate within me. In some ways, I am as hollow as a bell.

Oh, I... hmm, that sounds... painful.

[She's never heard of anything like it before, but Kuja has already explained that she's unlike any other being Mahalia's met before. Perhaps she shouldn't try to apply her own worldview to her. She dips her head politely.]

I'm very glad you liked it.

I feel no pain. [Physically, she does not, or very seldom. In spite of her small size and seeming delicacy, her body is almost invulnerable.]

You must remember, I am a poet. I speak in metaphors. The hollowness I mention is emotional, and so a beautiful song reverberates through my own feeling, through that emptiness. An echo of a lost symphony in a darkened room.

Such a fine voice--do you sing often, child? Do you perform?

[She nods, really quite caught up in the way Kuja talks. The birdsong her godfather has taught her relies on metaphor and imagery, is impossible to translate literally.]

I think I understand. [It still sounds painful, to her, but she is not Kuja.]

I practice everyday. My godfather taught me. I've been learning since I was tiny. But... it's so I can understand him, not for performance.

[Her godfather's attempts to speak English are painfully stunted, filled with stuttering and the same humming Mahalia will use when she's unsure of her wording. It was sad to hear it, when his communication in the birdsong was so fluid and bright.]

I have always been so. I am not precisely a living thing, though I do live. I have a soul, yet I am soulless. [Kuja does not wish to give completely accurate accounts of herself, especially after what she has done, and she loves contradictions.]

It pleases me to hear it. It is good to practice daily, when you have such a gift. For such talent to wither and die would be a loss to all.

He speaks through song? He must be an interesting man indeed. I have met no such humans in all my days.

[She pauses.] It was not quite an ordinary song, was it? There was magic in it.

You seem whole, to me. [A little strange, compared to some of the people Mahalia knew. A little dramatic. But not like an incomplete person.]

He's a warden. [Born human, but taken into service.] A... guardian of the natural world. He's birdsouled, and so he sings as they do. It comes easier than human speech, to him.

I have, ah, abilities... hmm, potential, in my blood. [Even though magic seems the easiest term to use when talking to the people here, she still can't bring herself to refer to it like that. Only the people who fear and hate it call it magic in her world.] Sometimes it gives my singing strength. But I haven't really learnt any of the true spell songs he uses.

second stanza [video]

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