Fifteenth Act // I'll cast you a spell, a magic where everyone plays dead forever..[In Person]
[Kuja hadn't liked this week one bit. He was reduced to a regular human, a very pretty human, but, ultimately useless. His once lavender silver hair had become platinum blonde, no sign of a tail or the feathers in his hair. It bothered him greatly, this was the second time the Hack writer had messed with his appearance. But worst of all.. now that Eddie had disappeared, really been written out like he said he would be, he lacked his moral compass. He didn't know what to do with himself. If he had his powers he'd set about stirring up trouble, cause more glorious havoc upon the residents just to hear the melody of their screams.]
Hmph.
[Despite being able to do very little.. he can't help but walk past a vase, and as he does so, backhand it. Sending it crashing to the floor. Thankfully he misses a shard going into his foot, but staring at the china vase in pieces he begins to find himself mulling things over. Eddie would have told him to help the others, take a stand against the Author..But... Perhaps this performance would be much more entertaining for himself, if there was more than one role for the 'protagonists' to hate? Death itself, held no fear here. If you died you simply returned. But he'd always been a capricious sort of being. If the means by death and suffering were to become even more sporadic and whimsical... Perhaps things would become much more interesting. Heroes needed a villain to fight, a common goal, something to constantly bring them together - The Author, was no longer enough.]
Hmph.
[Despite being able to do very little.. he can't help but walk past a vase, and as he does so, backhand it. Sending it crashing to the floor. Thankfully he misses a shard going into his foot, but staring at the china vase in pieces he begins to find himself mulling things over. Eddie would have told him to help the others, take a stand against the Author..But... Perhaps this performance would be much more entertaining for himself, if there was more than one role for the 'protagonists' to hate? Death itself, held no fear here. If you died you simply returned. But he'd always been a capricious sort of being. If the means by death and suffering were to become even more sporadic and whimsical... Perhaps things would become much more interesting. Heroes needed a villain to fight, a common goal, something to constantly bring them together - The Author, was no longer enough.]