I remembered once

[Black Waltz No. 3]

The heavens had cleaved open, rain spilling from her gut. Clouds rushed and gathered overhead, swirling menancingly as their black shapes flashed white as lightning rumbled.

He hopped through the rain, slipping and sliding across the rocks and the long stalks of grass. Beasts seemed perturbed, fleeing and hiding in their little hovels, he could see their eyes though, watching him mercilessly. He dared not flash talon nor fire at them, choosing instead to keep on running.

He couldn't fly, not in this, the wind would surely tear his wings to shreads. He was not even sure they would be strong enough to carry him any more, though patched up with a few purple Griffon feathers, bits of metal still stuck out and seethed in the air. His clothes where moldy, torn and crawling with insects from the rot. He stunk. He had not bathed in years. The pig creature that had saved him become nothing more than sloughed flesh, not useful for patching clothes. The purged skin had been useful for knotting together his wings and criss crossing over the exposed bone on his hands. It would not be long until that too became infested with maggots, flesh borne and struggling to burst free from his fleshy chambers.

He was broken.

Yet though his body slowly fell apart, quicker so with in intake of oxygen and the consumption of food causing fire to burn in his belly and waste away the Mist, his mind felt so fresh. Sleep had been so benevolent to him, letting his corpse rot but his mind to renew, resetting the cogs in place and spinning out new thoughts. The sickness madness had departed, for now.

His thoughts ran wild as he fled from the wooden cabin house, out into the fields, just running, running. Corn stalks now reached up to grab him, but he pushed them aside, moving faster still, unaware of where he was going, seeking shelter away from the horrific sight that lay within. He could not stand the stench of death, that turgid, putrid scent of fear and sweat and blood and shit. He could not stand to see the glossy eye staring accusingly at him, stare at those gnarled fingers tighten on the floor. He could not stand to see his drool leak out of his mouth and watch and wait as his skin crumpled in on itself like paper, flies proclaiming themselves as kings and mating and laying their festering eggs on his stomach. It made him far too aroused.

But he had however, taken a small momento from the house. Clutched in his left hand he held a green bottle of wine.

Finally he spied shelter, an yawning passage way to a cave. He scrambled out of the fields and clambered up the rocky cliff face with its winding path. Rain kept gathering on his hat, weighing down on his head and making it impossible for him to see less he bow his head and let the water gush. Yet still he strived on, rushing inside the lofty cavern. Bowing his head for the last time, he swore he saw the water turn to ice on the floor.

It was so cold here.

He wanted to turn back. He knew so well that he should have turned back, that if he stayed here his feathers would feld together into blocks of ice upon his back and he would Stop again. Yet his body was tired, it wanted to sleep again. He folded his wings in tightly to his body, puffing up his ruff, and made his way down inside the cavern. Wind howled and echoed, making strange, monsterous noises. He found them intresting, relaxing almost. He found himself a seat by the frozen waterfall, shelting himself from the ice biting wind. Popping open the bottle, he turned it to his lips, closing his eyes as the substance gurgled down his throat. The bitter after taste caused a wry smile to pass over his features.

After a while, he noticed something on the snow pooled ground. A tuft of brown material poked out from the ground. He cocked his head, placing the wine bottle down. He touched the woolen material, clearing away the layers and layers of snow that had gathered here. He lurched backwards when he realized what it was.

"One"

His eyes silvered, shaking slightly, he could not say he felt sad, but he remembered. he knelt back down, grasping the other by the shoulders and dragging him to the opposite wall, propping him up. He was asack of cloth and a staw hat. Nothing more.

"Would you like some wine?" Three asked, holding the bottle to One's "lips", pushing into the sack. Three paused, eyes narrowing dangerously, "No? Oh come now, it will warm you. You've been watching too much snow." His corpse had lain there for ten years, watching as fresh snow piled on top of him and melted in the summer. He saw the light filter in and out of the tunnel. He saw it all from his lifeless eyes which would never tell of what they saw again.

Three shrugged, sitting himself beside what constituited as One. Three talked for a long time, speaking of memories. "Remember when we stayed up all night, just playing cards and talking? Do you remember? Do you remember when we dressed as women and stalked the streets? That was your fantasy, wasn't it, One?"[/b] He'd laugh sometimes, make jokes to himself and laugh.

Then his words decended, became more and more malicious. "Do you remember when I took that whore? When I forced her little cunt to bleed and get those little hoarse moans out of her throat? Do you remember One? Do you remember when I choked her, had her writhing on the floor, begging for me while spitting in my face?" And he'd laugh. He'd laugh with such malice and spite and revrence.

Then he'd stop, he'd stop and turn to One, accusing him. "Why did you die? Because you didn't listen to me, you aging fool. You where so full of weakness, so pathetic, so lonely and begging and in need of 'friends'. I knew you loved her, I knew that look in your dull, putrid little pig eyes, I know you wanted to do things to her. You where so full of hate and spite and jealousy because I raped her, I fucked her so many times, One. So many times. She was mine and not yours, and she enjoyed it One. Oh, no, not at first. At first it was fun. But then she liked it, the little whore. And all you could do was hunch over and ignore it, pretend not to see the lust in our eyes, pretend not to feel your heart split open and spill out your guts all over me."[/b] And he'd laugh.

He'd laugh.

[Vivi Orunitia]

Like dragon breath on the cold Vivi's ghostly form materialized. The shadows had carried him here like a broken twig in a river, for he had no desire to be anywhere but beside her. Yet that caused her pain, made her mind break under the claustrophobic pressure of his presence. He could not bring more harm to her. And thus, he had been swiftly taken to another memory, one not so painful.

His faded yellow eyes wandered around the cavern, the blue ice glittering like a jewel that mocked with irony. He could hear the clash of thunder and the roar of the wind outside, it echoed all around him. The lightning outside that flashed and flared, reflected in the ice, like a natural house of mirrors.

Vivi made his way through the cavern, seeing memories in every reflective surface. In this place, this god-forsaken cavern, he had first found himself useful. He remembered the fire, so warm, it had been deep in his gut and rushed through his blood to flare at his hands. Yes he remembered well.

And then he heard it. Deep and twisted and echoing all around him, was the laughter. It send a chill down his metaphysical spine. He knew that laughter, but he also knew that the cackle was from that of something long dead. Something of mist and magic and darkness and dust.

Vivi thought against the urge to flee into the shadows once more, the memories filling him with a long forgotten courage. It filled him with heart and soul and magic, magic he could almost feel flowing in his veins, flaring in long evaporated blood. But memories are not enough, when eyes lay upon the tragedy of the present.

Black Waltz no.3. The most disturbed of the Waltzes that Vivi fought and watched fall. His body now as decrepit as his dark mind. Vivi watched him from behind a corner of glittering ice, barely registering the rotting corpse of the first that Three had propped up against the wall. Waiting, for an explanation, for the disgusting malevolent perversion of nature to simply keel over and die. Not that he was a vengeful ghost.

[Black Waltz No. 3]

(Please don't worry about taking a while to reply, I understand the sudden loss of muse and all that. It was worth the wait anyway, that was an absolutely gorgeous post ~)

His laughter had stopped, drowned out by the slooshing of the bottle. He glanced over towards his 'brother', shaking his head and putting the bottle down. He was quickly on his feet, grabbing the other by the 'wrist'. He pulled the clothing up, the hat falling uselessly to the ground.

"Do you remember when we used to dance? You where suprisingly graceful, unlike that lame-legged cow."[/b]

He pulled the clothing in close too his chest, his ungainly legs taking wary steps. His dance was awkward, juttery and twitchy, with once magnificent wings cut tattered. Perhaps beauty is not the right word, how can you attribute beauty to a beast whose skin practically wriggles with flesh-eating insects, dancing with his long-dead brother? But what other word could be given to this stricken, wonderful ballet?

His mind seemed lost, eyes vanishing inside the black, his body still moving to the unheard rythmn. He was falling, a myraid of blues and golds spinning over and under head. The sea glistened, red rock crushed beneath sparkled waves. Birds circled in aqua skies, fish melded into clouds. Wings expanded but skies limitless, seas depthless.

She was there, she was always there. Her hair the sky, her skin the wind, her marrow the fabric of the universe. Stars glittered in her sweat. In her womb slept quite galaxies. Her feet whished past him, and down or up she flew, the blue expanse gleaming. Fish swam in her eyes, birds sung from her mouth.

Her hands touched his, squeezed tightly, and she looked up to him, words singing, "My dear Number Three, what years expand between us, my fantasies have missed you. Spread your wings again, tell me..."[/b]

Her forehead pressed against his, the cosmos turned.

"My Princess...[/b] his words an uttered blessing, his hands clasped so tightly against the warmth of hers. Leaves whirrled past them. Mountains shattered beneath them. Gaia crumbeled, and the blue shell beneath bloomed crystal.

"Tell me, please, tell me. You know I love it when you tell me. Say it, say your purpose, my ashseed, my bloodseed, my wombseed, my Prince [/b]


They travelled down into the roots, green glowing as the breath of death swirlled round them. "I exist only to kill"[/b] he trilled, so predicably, and yet those words made him feel so safe, so warm, so whole. Her tongue met with his, lips parting as dear sweet warmth shattered him. Her kiss was nectar, it was blomsom, it was honeysuckle. His wings collpased and her words whispered through him, swallowed him, that kiss never breaking but that one word echoing in his mind, "Kill"[/b]

"I exist only to"[/b]

And he tore her. He ripped out her tongue, spat it down her throat. He tore out her hair, scratched out her eyes, ate her heart. He tore out her womb, heard those galaxies blink out to a million rip roaring screams. He broke open her bones, sucked up the last string of the universe. He was all consumer, he was death, and yet she still saw straight through him. "Kill."[/b] she droned, as she always did.


"I exist only"[/b].

The snow was wet beneath his fingers, stained with his own blood. He had torn it from his hands. Feathers lay wasted from the fingers that so brutally tore at his back. Fibre coiled around his broken talons, and hate boiled in his lips. He kept whispering the single axiom, darting eyes engrossed in the crystal cavern. It was then he was ripped from his fantasy, then that his heart rose to his throat as he realized his dance was not a dance alone. No, he knew One's eyes could not see, but those he saw, those could. Round, yellow-glowing..

He started to where the shadow had fallen, staring directly into the eyes of the child. His lips coiled, his head cocking and his eyes widening. "YOU!,[/b] he crawed, fingers pointing in disbelief.

Then he paused, bleeding hands dropping to his sides, laughter filling his belly and twittering out his throat. "Have you come to eliminate me? Discovered your purpose, you blinded defect? Come alone, now, this time? Your fire won't save you now, your trance won't shine your skin now..."[/b] His body was weak, he could not fight him, not if he displayed the same power as he had before.

Yet arrogance ruled his mind.

"Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!"[/b] he shrieked, great wings dripping with excitement. "Or do you not know what that is? Make me stop, make me still against the ground!"[/b]

(Oh my, I'm sorry, I got rather carried away by the silly little 'dream sequence'. Purple prose to the max, I suppose, joy. Well, try to enjoy what little relevence this post held ~ <3)

[Vivi Orunitia]

Vivi's glowing eyes widened as they took in the scene before him. Three had begun to dance with thin air, talking to himself as he went, a grotesque waltz, much like he himself was.

If Vivi had a stomach, he would have been sick to it. The Black Waltz had always been unhinged, twisted, sadistic even, but the sight before him was almost pitiful. The words though, made him cold with worry. "Princess" he had said. Ten years below the surface, festering and decomposing, he would not know that "Princess" had become "Queen". There was, after all, only one person the waltz could be talking about. Someone that Vivi would need to warn, as soon as he knew how, and as soon as he knew what the warning would be.

The dark ballet turned into a violent fit, as the Waltz clawed and ripped at his imaginary partner, flailing like an angered child.

It was then that the creature, driven mad no doubt by his own existance, turned on Vivi, begging for death.

Filled with anger and viciousness that was not his own. "If my purpose was to kill you, you would have died a long time ago.". He said darkly, anger burning in his gut "I'd rather watch you rot in your own mind."

It was uncharacteristic, but not a lie. Years of knowing death, of being a part of it and yet unable to truly lose himself to it, of knowing the flow of Gaia souls so intimately as the left their bodies young and old, had made him sharper, more vicious. He no longer held onto the naivity that life and death could be fair, he knew it wasn't. The thing before him was proof of that.

"Why you?" He spat "Out of all of us, why something so barbaric...No, sadistic as you? Why did you live?"

[Black Waltz No. 3]

He laughed at little at what Vivi had to say, waving his hands, "What am I, one of your friends!?"[/b] He waved his hands, "Look at the puppet rejecting his strings. Do you not know your purpose? Your mind is as rancid as mine."[/b]

He stepped giddly through the snow, twitching. He was unable to keep still, the thrill of the fight rising in his belly. Hatred biled in his mouth, but he swallowed it, keeping his hands at bay. Now was not the time for war. Now was not the time for eternal sleep.

"But perhaps I am more honest than you,"[/b] he mocked. Black mages always did have an enhanced sense of honesty, to lie would lead to no true gain.

He paused, considering the last statement. He spat out an answer quickly, though his mind found worry in his statement, "I live because I am loyal to my purpose. I walk among the gods of Death. I am the swallower of children, spreader of that fatal disease misery. I live because I am made above you worthless mages. Your sense of awareness is false, mine was grafted into me since birth, what you experience is merely mask upon mask of faux emotion. I live because my Master breathed true life into me so I might exact his purpose. The rest are all to be sloughed, I am to stand timeless."[/b]

He dreamed of Kuja. He was infused with such deep love for that man, and yet he would love nothing more than to tear off his grinning face and feed it to the Bandersnatches. Did he dream for his lost pet? He doubted it. They had laughed together when the First had fallen, spat together when the Second faced the maw of the unkown. He was nothing but a toy to him. It was an easy fate to accept.

His eyes glittered with curosity, "What do you mean by this anyway? Many more mages are being produced at Dali, you speak as though all have fallen into the slaughter, yet here you stand with bitter words on your lips."[/b]

[Vivi Orunitia]

Words are things of power. Vivi knew this, he had done for a very long time. A word could make the air around him chill with frost, or become heavy with damp. Words could create and they could break. They could destroy and they could heal... No, not for him would they heal. His hand would only deal magic of death and destruction. But his purpose was to make the choice. He knew that, he had felt it deep in his bones, in his very soul.

All of this is why Vivi's next words, chosen so carefully, would do so much harm. His lambent eyes darkened with the taint of death and his voice came out strong and mightier than he truly was. "Kuja fell."

Words, so simple yet delicious on his tongue. He relished in the destruction of his so-called creator. The memory of battle sweeping over him; the fear, the adrenaline and the power, oh the power. He could feel it now, boiling in his gut. Mana deep in him even after his body turned to dust. It heated him, filled him and rejuvenated him.

Strange how you hate an enemy, when they are the ones that truly make you as strong as you are.

"What is it you want Number Three?" Vivi asked, his voice heavy, almost irritated. He felt the warmth spread to ghostly fingertips and wondered. He was not indestructible, even as no more than a spectre, but could he manifest? It was worth a try to be rid of this foul being.

He did not realise how little of himself he was in that moment. Driven mad by grief and longing and the touch of deaths hand that recoiled before the job was done. He was magic and mist and all his friends had by way of warning. He was madness and fire and the burning ice.

Flame flickered into being on his fingertips.

He was Vivi. He had lived. He had died. And now, he was gonna kick some waltz butt.

[Black Waltz No. 3]

Kuja. Kuja was... No, Kuja ... He, he was infallable! A god! How could that animated, snide face drifting so clearly in his mind no longer exist?

He took a step back, "Lies!"[/b] his arms swung, his breath caught hot on his tongue. His mind whirred, unable to process the possibility that indeed, Kuja's corpse was being consumed by the Bandersnatches, that indeed, gods could be buried by men. A burst of childhood escaped his lips, a call to innocence that burned love long ago, "And what of the Princess?"[/b]

If gods could fall so too could the goddess.

His wings flailed, confliction overrided his senses. Should be joyous? Perhaps, the chains that bound him now snapped and punishment no longer held it's ghastly hand over him. Fear of dissapointment vanished, only for that gaping cavity to be filled with much more brutal emotion. Though Kuja's words no longer slithered between his legs he feared now the world contained more deadly poisons.

His face hardened, his eyes bursting full of flame. "And if he has only the earth to confide in, then so shall I rise as the last Angel of Death. I am timeless, a concept you cannot understand, you mere child!"[/b]

Words so masked the fear, a convoluted threat that bore no true weight or meaning. If weighed upon his brittle bones they would not even bend.

His heart stopped and he recoiled to the question now implanted in his head. His mouth raced, "Tell me, have you ever been in love? Oh, of course you have not, lesser beings do not feel such things. You feel only a diluted version of lust, a need to drive your cock into every pretty little girl you see.[/b]

He smirked, "What do I want? I wish the world to shudder to a hault, for every child to choke on the thickness of mist hanging on the air. It is easier if a child dies, for so too does the mother to her own sinful hands, the father too, if his heart dares break. I wish kingdoms to fall and bath her feet in ash, I wish the skies to come undone so that she can see the black fabric beneath and to grasp the stars imbedded in the rotten bowels, I wish to trim the heads of beasts and birds so my turtle-dove might marvel at their creation.

I wish to crack Gaia apart and suck out its innards, to fill my body with its sweet pulp and to end that wretched cycle of birth. Then I will fill her black womb with my perfect seed yet she will bare no child for that would be disgrace. She will whisper softly in my ear, fill my belly with the strains of love and so I will cut her throat apart and set her wings to fly. And she will flutter, such a daintly little soul, past the vault of heaven and so beyond the reach of mortal man. She will be crowned above death and sleep drowsy, high on poppy seeds. She will dream beyond the universe and so birth with her sweet nectar all the things she could ever desire, where insects crawl darkly across her porcelin body.

And when my task is done and we are all but mist uttered by the desert sands, she and I will dream together, to explore together, to love together. And then all shall be black and white beneath kingdom death, and escape shall we with one last breath to the frozen stars."[/b]

He held his hands high, rejoicing in his little fantasy. "But what could I desire now? To see your body crawl, to shread out your intestines and choke you until your eyes bleed for mercy. Your brain will leak out from your nostrils. And you'll think, regret, oh I love when they regret. But shush, shush, soon you won't have to regret, soon I will deliver you. We wait, we wait, we dance the dance of love. Forget your mortal sins, we are sin we are virtue."[/b]

He laughed a little, madness lifting, "And now you raise your hand to me, you ignorant scum. Do you not deny your destiny? And yet here you stand, all desire to waste me. You exist only to kill, you deny it, but look at you! "[/b]

[Vivi Orunitia]

((I love Three's rants about killing, they're so amusing . Oh, and it should be noted I consider their journey to have lasted at least two years ))

"There has not been a princess in Alexandria for near enough eleven years." Vivi sneered at the waltz. His mind turned to long dark hair, so neatly kept even after the bloodiest of battles. His friend, his Dagger-mother. All dazzling smile and searing white magic. No, he would let no harm come to her.

The small mage-ghost resisted the urge to roll his yellow eyes as Three continued on his ranting. What could something so vile know of love? Desire perhaps, but not love. Love was what filled Vivi, it was what gave him strength and kept him going.

For Dagger, Garnet, he felt a mother-love; For Zidane, the love of a brother in arms, a friend more dear than any other; For Freya, there was the love a student has for a teacher; For Amarant, it was a clueless kind of love, understanding that the man would never change and a lack of wanting for change; For Steiner there was the love that comes from trust, they had relied on each other in battle and come out the better for it; For Quina, love was found in comfort, in food and a bright outlook.

And then there was Eiko, love for her burned and cut, but would not be traded for anything. She was a child-love, friend love, magic love and hope love. She was an angel with a devils tongue, where he was a devil with an angels intent. She was his opposite, the other half of his soul. She was his strength and his weakness, she was glittering sweat in the rage of battle, she was blood and holy and honey-sweet butterfly kisses all at once. To Vivi, she was the world.

He reached down, deep into the depths of himself, pulling on raw mana, heating it, shaping it. It flooded him, sweet warmth like honey on his throat, and danced on his fingertips. He gave it form, letting it roll over his palm in a ball of pure flame.

And then he faltered. Hesitated. "I'm nothing like you" He said, his voice wavering.

He existed to live. To love. To protect. To die. Yet that had never said he did not exist to kill. It was not his only reason for existance, but it held as more than a concept.It was plausible. And that scared Vivi more than the creature that said it ever had.

He had killed before, out of neccessity, out of survival, but lives had ended by his fire before. There was no denial of that. But equally had they been felled by sword and summon and holy. Perhaps it was his humanity that made the deaths he had caused somewhat more reasonable. He dare not wonder for the humanity of a Black Waltz.

[Black Waltz No. 3]

Eleven... Eleven years?

Rust and rot had been his kingdom for eleven years!?

Yet somehow that was so irrelevent, so completely and utterly unimportant. Regret tore him to shreads. Sickness wrenched his stomach, making it moan and heave. Knees gave way, wings flopped lifelessly on the ground. Eyes where almost torn from sockets as hands twisted and tore at his face.

"Farewell, Number Three..."[/b][/i]

Troubled shrieks filed the cavern, inhuman, animal, but still laced with piercing, pulsing pain. Words bubbled to the surface over an undercurrent of violently choked breaths and damp tears, "It's not FAIR![/b]

She was clasped in chains, dark eyes flittering to him, and yet though he reached out to her it was not he who broke her chains. It was not he who got to indulge in her precious flesh, not he whose lips would be jaded sapphire by topez kisses, not he who would crack open those bounds and grind her body to mist. He would never see innocence fade from her doe eyes, no, no, instead some selfish fiend would have given witness to it. A beast with fangs or claws or magic or crueler things no doubt hollowed her out, left her organs strewn as some barabric ritual.

His eyes turned against the little mage, burning brilliantly with steam hissed tears. "You where supposed to protect her! What, where you too busy crying over those poor little mindless DOLLS? Or was it you?! Her neck was mine! It was mine! Mine mine mine...."[/b]

Failure

His hands reached deep inside of him, ripping through the whispy cobwebs and travelling down down to the centre of his soul. Heated mana pools licked greedily at his touch, offering him enchanted bloodsource. He parted the pools, reaching for something deeper, something gleaming so brilliantly...

Your soul is rot, mage, it is pleasing, we offer you a gift. Use it slow, use it wise. Blizzard

We have a gift for you, black-mage, vengence beckons! Strike soon! Fire

We give you this gift, dear failed-black-mage, snatch it quick! snatch it now! Thunder

Guided by Regret and Rage and Wrath, and he snatched it, snatched it from those insipid waters!

His body trembled and shifted, bright light spilling out from him. Azure broke to white, red to subtle purple. His straw hat became of magnificent silk and crowned dear prince of the dance. The feathers upon his back glew red and orange and yellow, a tangled mess of fire unjustified by crooked wings.

He laughed, cawed, mind surging with emotion and madness, unable to control his own system. "We are of the same blood! I am mist and magic and disgust and blight, our hearts can feel but our souls reject! You are monster without feather nor talon, but I know the pleasure you took from snapping her neck, did you touch her? Did you fill her to the brim?!"[/b]

He waved a hand, conjuring to him the thudereous heart of magic only to feel his wings CRACK. He shrieked, falling to his knees again, his left wrist breaking in two, the metal bone beneath slicing the air. Part of his "spine " tore and he lurched forewards. The flow was too strong, his body far too weak. Anguish writhed from him, the brilliant glow further breaking him down. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!