[Kuja finds this city distasteful, the architecture too ugly and utilitarian for his tastes, stark and unadorned. What adornments there are are in poor taste. Not to mention the clothing of the people. Designs and tailoring devoid of imagination. No, nothing holds his interest here.

Not until he catches sight of the bleeding woman on the corner. In the past, such a sight wouldn't have moved him. In fact, it likely would have inspired his scorn. But now--he feels compassion, a warm and slightly troublesome emotion. So he pauses, looking down at her. He's clearly out of place in this modern setting, baroque and aesthetic as he is. He stands out sharply, but he doesn't seem to mind. He approaches and smiles down at her.]

Ah, look at you, my dear. What a state you're in. So cold and lonely, your hair ragged and your clothing torn. [He reaches out a hand, though it doesn't seem to be with the intention of helping to pull her to her feet. He's standing slightly too far away for that.] Will you allow me to help you?