The Desert Palace had been so empty of late, like a stage during the interval.
Usually so vibrant and full of life, it had been left deserted when many of its usual players had departed on their own little missions. Few of the songs that usually filled the halls were being sung. In one way it was a mercy -- many of those that sang them were loud at best and positively obnoxious at worst -- though in another it felt unnaturally quiet. It had been some time since the number of people in the production had fallen below twenty and yet, here they were, barely managing to number fifteen.
The usually diverse cast of this particular play had been temporarily reduced by more than half.
Oh, but Kuja knew how many were still around. Each player stood out like a splash of colour on the canvas of his mind's eye, bright and flickering like fire of varying hues and intensities. Even those that dampened their presence were seldom lost to him completely. It was a certain talent for detection that he possessed, something that came with a great magical ability of his own.
He did not miss the moment when three of those flames flared up and blazed with a ferocity seldom seen within the Palace. Scuffles happened and yes, sometimes arguments got out of hand, but this ... this was serious. He had expected the impromptu little battle song to die off, for the victor to put the losers in their place and leave them to limp away and lick their wounds. That was how the scene usually played out.
But everything had been turned on its head when a fourth voice, an unknown guest in an oh-so-familiar song, joined the chorus. The script he was used to had not accounted for that. The intensity increased and then, when it reached a crescendo, somebody rudely re-wrote the ending and abruptly silenced one of the voices.
With such a familiar flame extinguished, Kuja shivered as a feeling of cold unease settled over him in its wake.
no subject
Usually so vibrant and full of life, it had been left deserted when many of its usual players had departed on their own little missions. Few of the songs that usually filled the halls were being sung. In one way it was a mercy -- many of those that sang them were loud at best and positively obnoxious at worst -- though in another it felt unnaturally quiet. It had been some time since the number of people in the production had fallen below twenty and yet, here they were, barely managing to number fifteen.
The usually diverse cast of this particular play had been temporarily reduced by more than half.
Oh, but Kuja knew how many were still around. Each player stood out like a splash of colour on the canvas of his mind's eye, bright and flickering like fire of varying hues and intensities. Even those that dampened their presence were seldom lost to him completely. It was a certain talent for detection that he possessed, something that came with a great magical ability of his own.
He did not miss the moment when three of those flames flared up and blazed with a ferocity seldom seen within the Palace. Scuffles happened and yes, sometimes arguments got out of hand, but this ... this was serious. He had expected the impromptu little battle song to die off, for the victor to put the losers in their place and leave them to limp away and lick their wounds. That was how the scene usually played out.
But everything had been turned on its head when a fourth voice, an unknown guest in an oh-so-familiar song, joined the chorus. The script he was used to had not accounted for that. The intensity increased and then, when it reached a crescendo, somebody rudely re-wrote the ending and abruptly silenced one of the voices.
With such a familiar flame extinguished, Kuja shivered as a feeling of cold unease settled over him in its wake.