Feather Flight: What makes you act the way you do? (part 15)

An AU Kuja fic, shonen-ai, language

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The army broke clear of the high pass to crawl into the plains below. A dry and grit filled wind welcomed them to the front. Laro nodded to his driver, signaling the man to pull the sturdy vehicle out of the line and skirt ahead. It would take the better part of a day for the men to settle into the camp. In the mean time he could go ahead with the official wrangling that always went along with getting several thousand people all equipped and ready for the next stage of their march. Taking the random salutes in stride, he pushed into the command tent and bent to his work. In less than two days he meant to start his campaign. There was no time to waste if he wanted his movements to go undetected by their enemy’s scouts. Putting nervous energy to good use, he began issuing orders and reviewing the updated reports, keeping the junior officers moving at an urgent pace to fulfill his demands.

“Sir, messages from the capital.” An unobtrusive officer slipped into the tent and was away again before the general managed to pull away from the maps. The organized chaos that was his makeshift command post bustled around him, showing no sign of stopping even though they had worked for hours.

Rubbing his eyes to bring himself back to reality, he gathered up the stack of envelopes and deftly sorted out the official items. The majority of the missives were intelligence reports or confirmations of other army necessities but tucked in the midst of the larger parcels was a rather forlorn stack of letters, tied into a careful bundle to keep them from being separated. Laro couldn’t help but smile at the sight, tilting the stack to make out the familiar curling script on the address. Looking at the tired group of officers still milling around the large map, he decided he had made all the progress he could in one day. Tucking the bundle of paper into his pocket, he quietly made his excuses.

The camp was still active, men moving to make sure that dinner and tents were ready for the new arrivals. He was surprised at how low the sun had sunk. Lunch had been forgotten and he would be lucky if he could find any dinner worth mentioning. His assistants had expected his needs however, and arriving at his tent he was thankful for the tray of bread and cheese. Over two weeks on the roads just to get out to where he needed be, he was more than happy to sit down in a tent with the knowledge that it wouldn’t just be packed up and thrown back in a truck in the morning. It gave him enough time to take a bath, for one. It also afforded him enough privacy to sit down and read his letters from home for a while.

Laro had asked his lover in a fit of loneliness if the man would write. The pale man had only raised an eyebrow at the time, asking him if ‘such things were customary’ in reply. He honestly couldn’t remember if he had ever gotten a straight answer to his question with the argument that followed, but the proof was in his hands. The first of the envelopes was dated the day after he left, and the next only two days later, and two days again for the third and fourth, counting through the days. Precise, even penmanship filled the pages of the short notes. His only disappointment was that the content was rather impersonal. Masa spoke of politics and court gossip, of the weather and the college, but said almost nothing of himself. He wondered as he tried to read between the lines, what the man was feeling. It was impossible to say whether or not his presence was missed at all. Laro frowned at the ego driven thought.

// Masa just doesn’t seem the sort to complain about things he can’t change… He’s more active about his dislikes really… look at how he ‘convinced’ me to bring him as far as the city… the only thing saving me this time was the fact that he was recovering from being half blown-up! //

It took a moment’s fumbling in the small travel-desk to find ink and paper, but with supplies in hand he applied himself to forming a reply. Trying to describe how things were on the road and how they would soon be in combat was a task beyond his ability. Even as he started the letter he worried that it would be too dry and ‘official’, another report to be sent home. The general found himself writing in almost a sort of code about things, worried that someone aside from its recipient would attempt to read the note. Instead of mentioning his nightmares he hinted of his dreams at the hospital, almost able to hear Masa’s snort of amusement at reading the bland statement and knowing what he really meant. Not for the first time he found himself wishing the man were there. He dearly missed his partner’s antics and sharp wit. It only reminded him that after reading all the scholar’s letters he still had no idea how his lover felt. Deciding to be plain about it, he added the question to the bottom of his note, knowing that if an answer ever came it would probably be as encoded as his own comments had been. It was worth a try.

Sealing up the letter with a sigh, he left it on the desk for one of his assistants to pack with the rest of the out-going mail and went to inspect the camp. He needed to stretch his legs, anything to keep his mind off of his plans for a few hours before trying to sleep. His dreams were bad enough already.

*****

True to his role as sycophant, general Clay Gerrik smiled in absolute happiness at the latest menial task he had been assigned. His mouth was already parroting some amiable response to military attaché standing beside his desk, completely disengaged from the scathing quality of his thoughts. It was unreasonable to expect a /general/ a ranking officer of the army to be remotely interested in simply delivering someone’s mail when a simple page would suffice. At first he had been tempted to tell the young nobleman to take his letter and insert it somewhere that was bound to be painful, but that was the ‘old’ Clay. The unhappy, angry, and over-looked Clay whom he had made vanish in a slight of hand even he had been surprised at. Efficient, friendly and loyal general Gerrik was more than pleased to take a letter from his Kai and carry it with all due ceremony to the man’s courtesan. After all, there were ample places to secure a quiet office with letter opener, and wax for resealing the envelope between here and the silver-haired man’s suite.

The fact that he was -- slightly – indebted to the courtesan for his current good standing did nothing to change his goals. Rescuer or not, pretender or not, he would find his way back to the front where he belonged. Being above a little blackmail never got anyone anywhere.

// It’s only politics… //

His conscience twitched a little at the thought of using the delicate man as a tool for his own elevation, but it lasted only a moment. The more time he spent in the shadow of the Kai’s lover the more he realized that the man was just as sharp as the Duke in his way. It was a matter of using him before he himself was used; discarded as a toy that no longer held any amusement. Slipping out of his office and ‘on his way’ he took the earliest opportunity, and slipped into an empty salon down the hall.

Carefully cracking the seal he scanned the note, looking for any secret confidences, or better yet breach of military conduct, but found nothing. The note was pathetically tame for a man who was rumored to be in the throws of passion at just a look from the blue-eyed beauty. Clay shook his head and laughed. Given that he was the one reading it, he was grateful that his commanding officer seemed to be a prude. There were /some/ things about his superior that he really didn’t need to learn more about.

// Not unless he gets caught shagging half the army… then we could court martial him properly... but so long as he’s discrete /that/ isn’t likely to happen. There has to be some other way to secure a field command… I’ll just have to wait for my opportunity. //

A few drops of candle wax carefully repaired the damage he had made. Only satisfied when the break faded as to be invisible, he tucked the envelope back into his jacket and went in search of his quarry. Would the courtier be pleased with the bland little note, he wondered. After several weeks of hearing nothing as the army moved west, Kuja had to be feeling a little lonely. He almost pitied the man his upcoming disappointment. A love letter his note certainly wasn’t.

// It’s early yet… war may loosen the man’s tongue… and I certainly seem to be in a position to intercept the notes as they come in… pity I can’t do the same with the letters that Kuja sends out… //

He knocked on the door of the war room, predicting that there would be no one studying the massive maps at this time of day except for the duke and his too clever protégé. Having studied the courtesan’s habits almost obsessively had paid off in giving him an almost sixth-sense as to the man’s whereabouts. This late in the afternoon, he was rarely anywhere but at the elderly statesman’s beck and call, playing attentive audience to the old skeleton’s tactical games and probably adding a few insights of his own to the mix. He had been invited along only once and had kept his mouth shut the entire time they had pondered the map for fear of betraying his surprise. It was another hidden talent to be added to the courtesan’s repertoire.

Clay never failed to be impressed at how utterly the Kai’s lover played the court, all delicacy and light on the outside while altogether something else underneath. The reminder that this too they had in common only grated on him, making him fidget as he waited at the door. He managed not to sound to upset when the cadet finally arrived only to say the two men had already gone. There was nothing for it but to go looking for them.

*****

Her carefully structured grid had developed a weakness. The Queen tilted her head in considering the latest problem. A three-dimensional projection of the world beneath her ship -- a roughly circular shape made of pieced-together geometries -- was spun on its access to reveal a fairly sizable zone of nothingness. It had happened before and been corrected, and looked like it would have to be fixed again. The natives were troublesome in that sense.

One of her advisors hissed softly at her side, plaintively wondering if the northern continent was really worth the bother when they could settle their ships elsewhere and ignore it for another time. Supplies were running low for a prolonged delay in space to continue the battle. Checking her numbers, she refused. If they were to start their colony she wanted to know that they would be safe. The warm-blooded animals would have to be removed or they would remain a threat to her and her eggs. Running her first pair of feet over the projection above the table she spun the hologram again, zooming in on a region several panels away from the empty zone. Pinpointing a location, she activated the communication turret and found the mind of her Monitor.

Her proxy in battle, the highly developed drone was both intelligent enough and clever enough to have a distinct personality, making him easy to hear above the background chatter of her army. The Monitor spoke the required greetings and received his orders without comment, something in the flavor of his thoughts implying that he had been only awaiting her command before interfering in the matter of the missing Towers. She took the opportunity to re-tally his forces, calculating that another shipment of eggs would be in order to bolster his attack before releasing the connection to allow him to return to work. He was an able Monitor – had been since shortly after his hatching – she had every confidence that he would report back on the situation with good results while she continued her efforts from above.

Something had changed. She decided as she spun the diagram again, studying the dead spot in her map. First the meteorite which had refused to burn to ash in the atmosphere, but instead struck the ocean, and now the unusual successes of the natives against her colonial forces. There was something about the situation that made her antenna tingle with uncertainty, but she wasn’t sure why. All she knew was that something had changed; an unexpected input to her perfectly orderly calculations. It was only a matter of finding what it was and neutralizing it before the warm-bloods pressed their advantage further.

She had technology, the Net, her army at her disposal. All the advantages were hers and she intended to use them.

*****

If there was one person at court who showed a refreshing lack of trust in him, it was the Riquoi. The general bowed respectfully to the old duke before turning to do his duty with a smile. He could feel the nobleman’s sharp eyes on him, studying his movements and reactions as he presented his delivery to its startled audience. Kuja was either oblivious to the skeletal man’s displeasure, or was flaunting it deliberately as he returned the polite smile with one of his own. The expression practically smoldered with lazy sensuality. Even knowing exactly where his preferences lay, Clay had to concede that the courtesan was a man who knew his trade. If not for the simple distinction of gender Kuja could have had any man at court eating out of his hand. But if the rumors were to be believed gender was certainly no barrier when it came to the silvery-haired man’s admirers anyway. Playing along, he wished aloud that the letter contained good tidings from the front, and made small talk with the reclining courtier until finally even the duke seemed to surrender to the inevitable.

Watching the older man make his excuses and depart, the general wondered if that hadn’t been Kuja’s intention all along. Studying the lithe figure on the bench, he felt suddenly nervous as to the courtesan’s intentions. Listing to gossip was one thing, being the object of it was quite something else.

// I mean there’s flirting… and then there’s… but he wouldn’t… if anything he’s disgustingly loyal… //

“Sit down, sir. Your looming makes me anxious.”

A sunny smile made the command seem like a game, but he knew the beauty was in earnest. “… Wouldn’t you rather prefer some privacy to read your letter?”

“… I wonder that privacy still exists…” The bland comment was guilt inspiring despite not being aimed at him in particular. “I doubt I’m the first person to scan the contents of this. The only real question is how many, and who are they.”

“You’ve become cynical, Mister Kuja.”

“… to say ‘become’ implies I was ever otherwise.”

Clay shrugged, conceding the point and settled on the bench beside his companion. Determined to make the most of his enforced interview he looked on with interest. “What says the general then, ‘unofficially’…?”

“Hmmm” Kuja broke the wax seal neatly in half, dusting the shattered remains off his lap as he folded the note open to scan the contents. Apparently the boring letter meant more to him than it had to Clay or any of the others trying to read into the Kai’s love life because he frowned slightly as he read it over from the top.

“Bad news?” He dearly wanted to know what the courtesan was thinking, but it was impossible to ask outright, not without confessing that he too had already seen the note.

“No… just ordinary things… he is well and preparing to proceed as planned…” Folding the paper and tucking it into a pocket, the slender man smiled. “He says I should be grateful that he didn’t bring me along… apparently the mountains aren’t very enjoyable this time of year.”

“The roads are in rather poor condition, yes…” The young general allowed himself a nostalgic sigh. “… they always are… all that foot traffic back and forth… dusty and scorching hot when the weather is good, muddy and dangerous when the weather is bad… in winter they’re damn near impossible.”

“And yet you miss it.”

“I miss being useful, yes.”

“… hmmm… being useful is indeed a worthy aspiration.”

Clay studied the pale courtier out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he was being toyed with after all. Kuja was studying the carefully manicured lawn and paid him no attention. Measuring the delicate profile against the one he remembered from merely a week before, the soldier was surprised to note that the courtesan was getting thinner. There were hollows along his cheekbone that had not been as pronounced before, and without the animation of any particular expression, his skin had a rather translucent quality to it. He frowned wondering if his own obsession over the man was starting to make him imagine things that weren’t there.

// Nobody else seems to notice that he looks any different… It could just be the light… //

Thinking about the way the silver-haired man had frowned when reading his letter, he couldn’t help but turn it over in his mind. Something had displeased him about the Kai’s words, but what?

// … Then again, if he had been hoping for something more… effusive, maybe he was just upset at the lack of love poetry… //

The supreme general had written about his travels, and offered comments about the capital that had probably been in response to something Kuja had sent him. Clay wracked his brain for any deeper meaning but gave up on most of the message as being a lost cause. The only clues worth remembering were the strange comment about the dream, the general’s mention of his unwavering adoration, and the –

// … The general asked him how he was feeling… An odd thing to ask, isn’t it? Surely his lover writes to tell him of sleepless nights and unfulfilled longings… or whatever is popular these days… so why ask unless it wasn’t his emotions he was trying to inquire after… //

That put a new light on the question he hadn’t considered before. Nazer-kai was asking after his lover’s health. The Kai knew something was the matter with his courtesan? Some secret illness perhaps? It was definitely worthy of a little investigation.

“You’re very thoughtful today, general Gerrik.”

“Perhaps I’m just appreciating the scenery.” He added a little lilt to his voice, a teasing implication that it wasn’t just the plants he was admiring.

“You sir, are a chameleon.” Kuja stood only to playfully glare down at him. They were adversaries, there was no doubt, but there was a certain entertainment to it that they could both enjoy. “Far too easily do you change your colors to match the surround.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a servant of fortune. Who am I to go against the currents when caught in a river?”

“A sheep then, blindly following the flock.”

“Have you never heard the tale of the wolf who adorned himself in sheepskin to move among them unsuspected?”

The courtesan laughed lightly. “Ah, there we have it. A wolf you are, and ‘wolf’ I dub thee. Wolves can be tamed after all… a pat on the head and a meaty bone will soon bring them to bay.”

Clay accepted his new title with a smirk. “Not as simple as that I think… but if I’m a wolf, then what should you be…? Something with teeth I think… there is a certain elegance about snakes…”

“Snake? Nay, good sir. I despise them. Hissing crawling creatures are not for me.” Toying with the end of his braid, the man gave the idea a moment’s playful thought. “I had always fancied myself a bird… perhaps it has to do with my love of heights, I know not. Swooping down on unsuspecting prey could be fun.”

“A parrot perhaps. Something brightly colored and best loved from a distance because of its chatty disposition.”

“Hardly complementary.” Kuja scolded.

“A song bird then,” he remembered the decorative music box in the courtesan’s sitting room in a burst of clarity. “Something pretty and precious, and so much loved by all they it had best kept safely in a cage… Very apt, don’t you think?”

“Songbird’s have beaks and talons like any other bird sir, they can defend themselves if necessary.”

“This is true.” Clay knew his victory when he saw it. “But they are still merely songbirds in the end, and fundamentally useless no matter how cleverly they sing. A rich man’s toy and nothing more.”

His words caught the slender man by surprise. There was nothing pretended about the glare now. It was as cool and cutting as a spear’s point. He had struck a nerve, but true to form Kuja needed only a moment to collect himself.

“/Cur/.”

The murmured insult seemed almost like an afterthought as he stalked away. Clay was too taken with the idea of the man as a bright little bird with ruffled feathers to come up with a suitable response and conceded that the last word, and the battle, had been won. Smiling, he waited a moment before following him back into the castle. Small sacrifices were nothing compared to the greater war. Kuja might be clever, but he had no real power. When all was said and done, they would see who would play the other first to achieve their goals.

It only remained to be seen what the courtesan’s goals actually were.

*****

The next bundle of mail found him between skirmishes. The packet of papers was awaiting him in his small field tent when he returned with his battalion from flushing the route ahead. Laro scrubbed soot and grime from his face and hands as his aides assisted him out of his armor and whisked it away for cleaning. Thumbing through the reports he really should have read first, and skipping over the notes from his field officers, he found the bundle of letters he had been hoping for, amazed at the punctual nature of the messages. Every two days, without fail, an almost mechanical exercise in communication. He flipped the envelopes over and checked the dates against the count in his head. His letter wouldn’t have reached the castle before the last of Masa’s notes was sent out. It couldn’t be helped. It would be another week at least before he had a reply.

Reading his mail wasn’t a completely unemotional process. Even if his lover didn’t speak of himself, his voice still came through when expressing his opinion on life in the castle. It wasn’t the same as talking to him in person, but given his options he was far happier to have the letters than to do without. The cat-man’s comments about the newly-promoted Gerrik made Laro blink in surprise. It was one thing to have a theoretical rival, but despite Masa’s calm description of soldier’s obvious interest, he was worried just how far the man’s curiosity would go. Jealousy or not, he had a hunch the man was up to something. He just seemed the type.

Too tired to fumble around to see if there was any paper left in his desk, he collapsed on his bedroll with a groan. Morbidly he wondered which was worse, dreaming of the Selwe, or dreaming of a lover whom he could neither help nor warn in time to do him any good. Masa would just have to take care of himself. Hopefully he would have the sense to go to either the Duke or the Dean if he got into anything over his head.

// You didn’t want him /here/ because of the danger… now all you can do is hope that the defense you left him will be enough to keep him from harm… //

It didn’t help the worries stop. He had played a risky game bringing the man to the capital. His secrets could be discovered at any time, the simplest error and things could crumble apart. Laro wondered if he should have confessed the full situation to Finlay after all. She had agreed to use the influence of the college to protect Masa without fully understanding what she was getting into.

// He’s not human. Not really… not like we are, anyway… and if he’s not human… then they’ll have to ask… what /is/ he… and I have nothing to tell them, nothing to say… “I don’t know” just won’t be good enough… //

Forcing himself to put it aside for another time, he closed his eyes and willed himself to go to sleep. He would think of a reply by morning, but when it would get the chance to be delivered was anyone’s guess.

*****

The hallway lamps were all set to their lowest level. Their meager glow provided enough illumination for the few servants still about but barely enough for much else. Clay couldn’t have asked for a better time to go prowling about unmolested, and he moved with confidence through the shadows. As far as his friends and associates knew, he had retired to bed, leaving him free to slip out the window and about the halls like a ghost as he searched for his prey.

// He did name me ‘wolf’… //

Predator-like, he crept to the door to the Duke’s private apartments and pressed his ear to the wood. The conversation within was child’s play to eavesdrop but still he was thwarted. The men within were talking of art and leisure and nothing of substance. His hopes for a secret political meeting were foiled, but still he remained. Any chance to study his opponent was not to be missed. The fact that he was a lover of dramas was something he had observed, but the details were the telling thing. What was it in the plays he liked most?

The duke was partial to stories of intrigue and revolution, but Kuja seemed to disagree, complaining that they were overblown and seldom anything but glorified excuses for play-acted slaughter. Silently laughing at the cool criticism, Clay gave the Kai’s lover yet another point for boldness. Most people wouldn’t have dared to imply Riquoi was uncivilized. Befitting a courtesan, the pale man confessed he preferred tales of romance. They argued the merits sharply for a time, the easy banter lulling the young general into a false security and almost making him miss his cue to move. He caught the thread of the conversation just in time to make himself scarce as the handle turned, the statesman noted nothing amiss as he asked if Kuja would need a servant to light his way back to his room. Surprisingly, the slim man turned him down with a laugh waving off concern with light-hearted confidence.

Intrigued, the general kept himself hidden until the door had shut again. The courtesan already well down the hall by the time the duke had ceased his cajoling. Moving quickly to keep up, he wondered if the silver-haired man was simply flaunting his bravery, or if he honestly believed himself untouchable even in the unobserved shadows of the sleepy castle. It was not exactly the safest decision he could have made. His popularity had already proved a little more than he could handle.

// Then again, he was ‘handling’ it just fine until the guards showed up… what would he have done if I hadn’t been there to provide excuse? Confessed to throwing a full-grown man into a wall? I wonder if Nazer has ever seen a demonstration of what his little bird can do… or maybe he knows already and that is why he chose him? A secret bodyguard? Assassin even… I just don’t understand. //

His foot caught a drape as he slunk down the corridor, the rustling motion catching the courtesan’s attention and causing him to turn. There was no laughter about him now, only a tired sort of impatience.

“Who’s there?”

Trying hard to make even his breathing silent Clay clung to the shadows and remained frozen, willing the blue eyes to look over him and see nothing. It seemed to do the trick, as Kuja soon gave up with a sigh and resumed walking. He couldn’t help but notice the man’s pace was a little faster now, as if determined to get to the safety of his room with as much speed as was elegant.

// Pride… and fear? Is it possible to scare him I wonder…? What should he be afraid of? His trick that night might have been a fluke, perhaps. Certainly he tossed the man, but he is not beyond injury… //

Childishly malicious, he deliberately clattered against a pillar as he slipped by. The noise didn’t fail to go unnoticed. The courtesan stopped again, searching the hall more suspiciously than before. Making sure there was nothing for the man to see, the general crouched by a decorative bench. Kuja did not ask a second time, chewing his lip in anxiety as he quickly made his way to the staircase and began to climb. For a moment Clay forgot his original goal of the night, intrigued by the new game of spooking his usually unflappable opponent. Deciding one last trick was in order, he raced to an alternate stair, mapping the castle in his head to recapture the courtesan just as he came to the top of the long flight of stairs.

He arrived in time to douse the lights along one entire stretch of the hallway, idly remembering the pranks he used to play on his sisters as a boy. Having grown up in a rambling manor with far too many things that went bump-in-the-night, causing the susceptible girls to shriek in terror had been an occupation that kept him awake nights at a time. It seemed the courtesan was no exception when it came to feeling uneasy when prowling dark hallways. If anything his stubborn refusal to be afraid was a challenge. Clay smiled wickedly where he hid and calmly waited for the man to draw close enough.

Kuja’s nerve held up remarkably as he paced down the final hall between the stairs and his room. Even in the almost absolute darkness he moved as if he was confident about his surroundings. The general was faintly glad he had chosen to conceal himself in a drapery as the courtesan moved closer, there was not enough light to do more than see his outline through the shear material, but he wondered if maybe the multitalented man didn’t have extraordinary night vision as well. Waiting until the last possible second, he lunged out at the courtier as he walked by, raising his arms to make shimmering sleeves out of the long white curtain for the full effect.

“Kuuuuuuja!”

Seeing the man’s expression was impossible, but he didn’t need to. The strangled ‘eeep’ was more than evidence enough to demonstrate that the surprise was complete. It wasn’t the scream he had been hoping for, but watching the man back pedal and bolt down the corridor was more than satisfying enough. Smothering his laughter with his hand, he untangled himself from the curtains and staggered after him, vaguely worried that he had gone too far. Intuition was made reality as the dashing figure reached the first of the still-lit wall scones only to stagger and collapse against a convenient column.

// Oh great, if he’s gone and sprained an ankle or something I’m going to get my head handed to me on a plate… If they ever find out it was me… //

It would have been perfectly appropriate and logical to turn around and retreat while he could. Only now that he had succeeded did he realize just how stupid the trick had been. If Kuja /had/ screamed, he would have been on the run for real, getting caught by the palace guards not being on his agenda for the night. It had been lucky chance that the courtesan was proud enough not to turn immediately and go back to the shelter of the duke’s apartment.

Self-interest warred with worry as he waited for the man to pick himself up and retreat to his room. It was only two doors away and yet the silver-haired courtier seemed unable to stir. Kneeling on the carpet he simply panted painfully, utterly discomposed.

// That’s what a lifestyle of pampered elegance gets you… can’t even dash 100 feet without falling over? A child could take him down right now… //

Usually someone out of breath would immediately improve on sitting down. Something in the strained sound making him move before realizing what he was doing. Kuja wasn’t catching his breath. He was struggling to breathe at all. Clinging to the column as he hyperventilated, the courtesan didn’t even sense his arrival until he knelt beside him.

“…Keep… away… from me…”

“Don’t be stupid, let me help.” There was no thought of spooking the man further, Clay batted the resisting hand away and pulled the smaller man further into the light to get a better look at him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the panic attack he had taken it for.

// My god, he really can’t breathe…? //

Desperation and not blind terror was what he read from the wide-eyed stare. After a moment of recognition even the resistance stopped. Kuja made to speak, but the words were garbled with his breath. Unnaturally pale and down right clammy to the touch, the usually eloquent hands grasped his jacket with tenacious strength, using him as a prop against collapsing a second time. Clay cursed in a quiet litany as he lowered his unintended victim carefully to the floor and hold him steady as he tried to find the air he needed.

“I need to get you a doctor, yes?” He unbuttoned the high collar enough to try and see if there was anything obstructing the delicate throat, but there was nothing. It wasn’t that the man couldn’t breathe. He was very obviously doing so. The problem seemed to lie in that breath alone wasn’t helping. For all he gasped for air, he could find no relief for what was wrong. “Will you let me carry you?”

// Oh /this/ will be wonderful to explain… I just conveniently happened by his room and found him ill? No, I found him in the hall… out side his room? What would I be doing there? Outside the duke’s room then, that’s more central… Oh stop wasting time… //

“No…” The wheezing reply caught him just as he was about to scoop the man aloft.

“What? Now is no time to be stuck-up, sir. I’m no kai but the fastest way to get you to the college is to carry you!”

“…No doctors…”

The general sat back on his heels in disbelief at the refusal. Fingers curled into the carpet, Kuja seemed to be recovering himself, if only enough to speak single words. “You need help.”

“So… help me…”

“How?”

“My room…?”

“This is ludicrous.” His thoughts from the previous day were coming back to hound him again. Even as he half-carried the courtesan to his door, he wondered what was going on. The fit, if that was what it was, persisted for several minutes, leaving him standing uncertainly in the main room while his ill looking host rested on the couch. Clay was angry at himself for starting it, angry at Kuja for inexplicably collapsing, angry at himself again for allowing the man to talk him out of depositing him at the college. If something were to happen now it would be entirely his fault and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all.

// Accidentally killing the Kai’s consort is not going to get /anyone/ a promotion… //

He wanted to yell at the man and make him come to his senses. When he opened his mouth to speak however, it ended up being something completely different. “What now, a glass of water?”

“… It was you all along?” Exhausted but able to sustain sentences again, the pale man looked steadily at him.

“… I… yes. Sorry.”

“…why?”

The question, revealing the slender man’s utter bafflement only made him feel worse. “It was just a prank… didn’t think you’d fall over on me…”

“…prank?!” Shouting was apparently too much too soon. Kuja went back to wheezing on the couch. He still found energy enough to glare however.

“… At least let me fetch a doctor… you don’t look well at all…”

“Get out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go.”

Staggering up right, suddenly it looked as though the small man was going to find the strength to throw him out if he didn’t agree. Torn, Clay glanced between the door and his companion wondering what he should do. “…If you insist…”

“… and general…” The tone was almost conversational despite the strain. “… Mention any of this, or any other pranks… and… I will tell the others how you spend your evenings… and you will be begging for your scraps in the street…”

There was no response he could give that wouldn’t have start a fight, or sound like surrender. Not wanting to do either, he bit his tongue and bowed slightly before backing out of the door, and retreating for the night. Thrown off his stride by the unexpected turn of events it wasn’t until he was back in the safe confines of his own rooms that he realized that Kuja had yet again gotten the last word. Suddenly it didn’t seem that important anymore. There were other ways to distinguish himself enough to please the powers of the court, he didn’t need to try and compete with the army’s latest and loveliest mascot. He had found the man’s weakness, but in finding wasn’t sure if it could or should be exploited.

Kuja’s quiet threat hung in his ears, refusing to be dismissed. What was he trying to hide, and from who? The general resolved to watch the man a little while longer, out of morbid interest or genuine concern he couldn’t say. One way or another, the charade couldn’t last. Even if the courtesan was able to pull off an illusion of health come morning, it would only be a matter of time before something or someone else caused another collapse.

*****

*****

--Lunar