Kuja (lividmemoire) wrote in x_nlogs_x,

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{Characters} Kuja, and whomever.
{Setting} The Macalania Forest
{Rating} Worksafe, for now.

The processes and complexities of the mind, the judgments, history, and most memorable of all, the deceptions before death rushed through the Genome’s body like a defectively rapid blood transfusion. The plasmas contained by the living enveloped his body, in order to renew him to this state as well, once again. It was an itching, and burning awareness that alerted him back to his physical senses, and opened his eyes with a fearful, and naïve expression. He was wrenched from the womb of the Farplane, and reborn, cradled fleetingly in flames that dissipated as he stepped out into the cool pebbles of some ethereal forest, which sparkled of unearthliness, and smelled immediately of the ash that followed him.

"Why should the world exist without me? That wouldn't be fair."

Taken from his past, were these words-- and they were spoken with a flowing elegance, and tender mischief. It was most like Kuja to ponder inexplicable theorems and states of life, but at the moment he was just grateful to be alive, to feel confused as new surroundings were taken in by his open amethyst eyes.

He stepped outward, the first graceful footfalls of his new beginning. The crystalline trees around him drooped and appeared to stretch toward him-- his first friends, that welcomed him into the world. So different it was, for this was not a place Kuja had ever acquainted himself with. Little did he know, he had appeared on the other side of the planet.

The smell of sulfur clung to his scant clothing; a tiny wrinkle of disgust formed on his porcelain skin, and to remedy this hindrance, Kuja crouched downward, the train of his ensemble splaying out across the cerulean carpet of the forest floor. Plucking a single flower from it’s bed of earth, the Genome clutched it in his hand for many seconds before standing straight once again, lacing the stem between his hair and ear.

With a light-hearted sigh, Kuja walked onward, very leisurely and slow, as if all the time in the world revolved along his schedule.
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