What will follow are imagined conversations between the heroes and villains of Final Fantasy within Dissidia. They don't really take place in any particular cycle or plotline, and will primarily focus on dialogue rather than fighting. I hope you enjoy.
~
1: Comedy
“Act one, scene one. The setting: a far off world, as motley as those who traverse through it.” The silver haired man gestured elaborately with his arms, as if the stars in the night sky above him were awaiting the exposition (As well they might, thought the man, for surely he shone brighter than anything the heavens had to offer). “A grand castle stands as the backdrop: grand, yet silent and still. A fortress built for defence, and yet with no one to defend it.” This scene-setting was merely announcing his own surroundings aloud: the old castle atop which he stood (on the highest tower, naturally) was a sturdy structure made of dense stone, and though plainly old, it looked no less formidable, even if it was torn asunder from whatever world it might have originated in.
“From stage left enter the fools and buffoons, their clothing unseemly and daft, their expressions devoid of intelligence. Unaware of their simple existence, they yet try to use language they cannot speak, explain ideas they barely understand, and all the while nodding sagely and congratulating themselves on their insightfulness. Convinced of their own importance, they fail to realize what the audience observing them knows: this play is naught but a comedy, and that they are at best trite jokes.” Far below on the green valley grass, the silver haired man could see the shapes of three individuals, walking together in close company. Knowing that there were no three people on the side of Chaos that could stand being that close to one another, it stood to reason that any disgusting displays of camaraderie would have to be found in the camp of Cosmos.
“The fools finally see the castle before them, too unwitting to have noticed the monolith prior. They listen carefully, and, hearing nary a sound and seeing no one at the window, they congratulate themselves and declare themselves lords. Basking in their imagined power, they open the doors asunder…”
“And then the three pigs turn back into bears, and dashing back to grannies house, seize the poisoned apple and live happily ever after.” There was a pause long enough to emphasize the cringe of the previous speaker. “Or do I have the wrong play?”
Kuja gritted his teeth. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away…
“No good clamming up now, Master of Ceremonies. Why, what would people think if they find out we had someone who talked to himself?” The clenching of Kuja’s fists did nothing to stop the clown from approaching nearer. How could such a loudmouthed maniac manage to sneak up on him like that? “We can’t have people thinking that Team Chaos has anyone, you know, crazy on board.”
With dramatic flourish, Kefka pointed angrily at Kefka. “Never dare to allude to me having the same mental weakness as a cretin such as you!”
Innocent shock on his face, Kefka held his palms out and shrugged. “What, me? I’m not crazy, I’m eccentric.”
“What’s the difference?”
“If I were crazy, than killing a man’s children right in front of him and then force feeding him the remains would be a bad thing. If I’m eccentric, then it’s charming.”
The smile that Kefka slapped on only made Kuja wrinkle his nose further. “Why do you insist on pestering me?”
“I’m here because I’m bored,” the clown announced, inspecting his fingernails. “Everyone’s sitting around and plotting, getting ready for the big bad Emperor’s big bad plan. Mental preparation, weapon sharpening, speech rehearsal, deciding which buttons to push, you know how it is.”
Kuja turned his back to the clown, giving his attention once more to the night sky. “And why are you not doing the same, instead of making a nuisance of yourself?”
“First, I’m already well beyond prepared for my little number with my dear sweet runaway. Second, and don’t take this too personally, you’re really the only one left to talk to. Golbez is no fun, Sephiroth, well, he’s Sephiroth, and while I love talking shop with Exdeath, his take on mass destruction is too amateurish for my tastes. He wants to destroy everything in one fell swoop, I’m more of a chain-of-explosions type of guy.”
Looking down at the valley, Kuja pointed out the still-moving shapes, heading, as he thought they would, closer to the castle. “Why not discuss your violent tendencies with a more willing audience? I’m certain the three of Cosmos’s stooges below would be more than willing to entertain you.”
Kefka sighed dramatically, clasping his forearm over his eyes. “Would that I could! A massacre would be just the thing I need to cure the doldrums. But noooooo, Malteus and his haircut have made it clear.” The clown straightened his posture, held his head up high, and, putting on a holier-than-thou expression on his face, announced in a posh and calculated voice, “No one is to touch Cosmos’s warriors until I say so. We don’t want any… accidents.”
In spite of himself, Kuja was forced to grin at the performance. “And are you always one to take orders?”
Relaxing, Kefka leaned with his back against the tower’s battlements. “Frankly, no, and should the mood take me, I might just lop a few heads off for laughs. But with the Emperor being so close to the big man himself… heh. Heh, heh, heh. Hee hee hee!”
Kuja raised an inquisitive eyebrow (curses! How dare one of the very fools from his play actually trick him into conversation?). “What’s so funny?”
Rubbing his temples, Kefka shook with mirth. “Oh, that must eat him up, you know? The Emperor, that is? The top of the heap, only to still to be a number two at the most.”
First smirking, then giving a haughty laugh of his own, Kuja agreed. “That megalomaniacal monarch. A King on any other chessboard, forced into the role of a pawn.”
“Oh, he’s not the only one, you know,” giggled Kefka. “What a company we find ourselves in! Masters of time, embodiments of destruction, a man who once had a past life as a big whopping fish. I used to be a God of Magic, you used to be an Angel of Death, and yet here we all are playing nice and acting like we’re teammates.” He pantomimed something of a circle in the air. “So many big fish, but such a small pond! I wonder…” A shark’s grin appeared on his face. “Who will eat who first?”
It was only the frank openness of this allusion to inevitable betrayal that gave Kuja pause, not the idea itself. “Do you mean to kill me?”
Kefka kept his voice oddly level. “I mean to kill everyone, eventually. But you knew that.”
He did know that. Kuja surrounded himself with people who fully intended to stab him in the back. Worse, he and the rest fought for a cause that they all fully intended to overthrow at a moment’s convenience. The more he thought about it, the more laughably absurd it all became.
Thus, it was no strange thing that Kuja did, indeed, begin to laugh aloud. This time, it was Kefka to ask, “What’s so funny?”
“Ha, ha! I would have thought you’d see the joke, Kefka! It’s as plain as the nose on your face! Ah, ha, ha, ha!” As the absurdity of the situation continued to flood over him, the harder it was to keep back the laughter. “You won’t kill me. And what’s more, I won’t kill you. And we’ll both keep on not killing one another for the purpose of a cause we don’t believe in, a leader we do not respect, and an aim that we intend to overturn in the end. Ha, ha!”
“Hee.” The clown had to think about it at first, before conceding with first a chuckle, and then a few giggles (“Hee, hee!”), and then began to laugh as hard as Kuja. “Ah, hahahahaha!”
“Oh, how wrong I was!” Kuja had to wipe a tear from his eye. “My comedy is a misguided one, focused on the wrong fools. Theirs is not the folly most pathetic in its construction. No, surely the people who truly live inside the castle are the ones at fault.” Composing himself, the Angel of Death returned to his original position and began to announce exposition once more. “Scene two: Setting, inside the castle’s dining hall. All around the grand table, our would-be lords sit in their regal finery, feasting as they might have only dreamed of. On every face a smile, in every mouth a hint of laughter and friendship, and the idle bird viewing from the window might assume this estate bears nothing but goodwill. However, at one point, one of our fools walks to the front of the stage and addresses the audience directly, in hushed tones so that his comrades might not hear. He explains, with no small sense of pleasure, his master plan: to dispose of all others at the table, so that he and he alone might be the king of the castle! Winking, he returns to his chair, and resumes conversation as if he never left, still smiles and sweetness. But unbeknownst to him, as the scene progresses, each and every other member at the table confesses the exact same plot to the audience, each time with assured confidence that their intended betrayal is the best kept secret. And they feast, with every overture of friendship, each believing that the audience is laughing with them, instead of in mocking condemnation of their ridiculous play, fooling no one but other fools.”
“Hee, hee, hee!”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha!”
“Nee, heeheeehahahaaaha….”
“Hahahahahaha!”
“HaahAHAhaAhahaHAAhaahaA!”
“AH, HA, HA, HA, HA!”
Kefka had to practically drag himself upright, so hard was he laughing. “Hoo, boy, that’s…. nee, hee, hee! Oh, boy.” He staggered back to the stairwell, leading down and out of the tower. “I’m, heh, heh! I’m gonna go see if there’s a deer or something I can kill. There’s got to be some kind of life that can be crushed here. See you later, playwright. Ha, ha!”
Controlling his own mirth, Kuja let the clown leave without a word. He couldn’t see the three shadows on the valley any more: had they entered the castle, or just gone by? No matter. Returned once again to his solitude, Kuja extended his arms before his audience of stars. “Scene three…”
And then he stopped, as he realized there was really only one way this comedy could end.
“Hm,” he smirked, lowering his arms and leaning on the battlement, staring out to the horizon.
What will follow are imagined conversations between the heroes and villains of Final Fantasy within Dissidia. They don't really take place in any particular cycle or plotline, and will primarily focus on dialogue rather than fighting. I hope you enjoy.
~
1: Comedy
“Act one, scene one. The setting: a far off world, as motley as those who traverse through it.” The silver haired man gestured elaborately with his arms, as if the stars in the night sky above him were awaiting the exposition (As well they might, thought the man, for surely he shone brighter than anything the heavens had to offer). “A grand castle stands as the backdrop: grand, yet silent and still. A fortress built for defence, and yet with no one to defend it.” This scene-setting was merely announcing his own surroundings aloud: the old castle atop which he stood (on the highest tower, naturally) was a sturdy structure made of dense stone, and though plainly old, it looked no less formidable, even if it was torn asunder from whatever world it might have originated in.
“From stage left enter the fools and buffoons, their clothing unseemly and daft, their expressions devoid of intelligence. Unaware of their simple existence, they yet try to use language they cannot speak, explain ideas they barely understand, and all the while nodding sagely and congratulating themselves on their insightfulness. Convinced of their own importance, they fail to realize what the audience observing them knows: this play is naught but a comedy, and that they are at best trite jokes.” Far below on the green valley grass, the silver haired man could see the shapes of three individuals, walking together in close company. Knowing that there were no three people on the side of Chaos that could stand being that close to one another, it stood to reason that any disgusting displays of camaraderie would have to be found in the camp of Cosmos.
“The fools finally see the castle before them, too unwitting to have noticed the monolith prior. They listen carefully, and, hearing nary a sound and seeing no one at the window, they congratulate themselves and declare themselves lords. Basking in their imagined power, they open the doors asunder…”
“And then the three pigs turn back into bears, and dashing back to grannies house, seize the poisoned apple and live happily ever after.” There was a pause long enough to emphasize the cringe of the previous speaker. “Or do I have the wrong play?”
Kuja gritted his teeth. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away…
“No good clamming up now, Master of Ceremonies. Why, what would people think if they find out we had someone who talked to himself?” The clenching of Kuja’s fists did nothing to stop the clown from approaching nearer. How could such a loudmouthed maniac manage to sneak up on him like that? “We can’t have people thinking that Team Chaos has anyone, you know, crazy on board.”
With dramatic flourish, Kefka pointed angrily at Kefka. “Never dare to allude to me having the same mental weakness as a cretin such as you!”
Innocent shock on his face, Kefka held his palms out and shrugged. “What, me? I’m not crazy, I’m eccentric.”
“What’s the difference?”
“If I were crazy, than killing a man’s children right in front of him and then force feeding him the remains would be a bad thing. If I’m eccentric, then it’s charming.”
The smile that Kefka slapped on only made Kuja wrinkle his nose further. “Why do you insist on pestering me?”
“I’m here because I’m bored,” the clown announced, inspecting his fingernails. “Everyone’s sitting around and plotting, getting ready for the big bad Emperor’s big bad plan. Mental preparation, weapon sharpening, speech rehearsal, deciding which buttons to push, you know how it is.”
Kuja turned his back to the clown, giving his attention once more to the night sky. “And why are you not doing the same, instead of making a nuisance of yourself?”
“First, I’m already well beyond prepared for my little number with my dear sweet runaway. Second, and don’t take this too personally, you’re really the only one left to talk to. Golbez is no fun, Sephiroth, well, he’s Sephiroth, and while I love talking shop with Exdeath, his take on mass destruction is too amateurish for my tastes. He wants to destroy everything in one fell swoop, I’m more of a chain-of-explosions type of guy.”
Looking down at the valley, Kuja pointed out the still-moving shapes, heading, as he thought they would, closer to the castle. “Why not discuss your violent tendencies with a more willing audience? I’m certain the three of Cosmos’s stooges below would be more than willing to entertain you.”
Kefka sighed dramatically, clasping his forearm over his eyes. “Would that I could! A massacre would be just the thing I need to cure the doldrums. But noooooo, Malteus and his haircut have made it clear.” The clown straightened his posture, held his head up high, and, putting on a holier-than-thou expression on his face, announced in a posh and calculated voice, “No one is to touch Cosmos’s warriors until I say so. We don’t want any… accidents.”
In spite of himself, Kuja was forced to grin at the performance. “And are you always one to take orders?”
Relaxing, Kefka leaned with his back against the tower’s battlements. “Frankly, no, and should the mood take me, I might just lop a few heads off for laughs. But with the Emperor being so close to the big man himself… heh. Heh, heh, heh. Hee hee hee!”
Kuja raised an inquisitive eyebrow (curses! How dare one of the very fools from his play actually trick him into conversation?). “What’s so funny?”
Rubbing his temples, Kefka shook with mirth. “Oh, that must eat him up, you know? The Emperor, that is? The top of the heap, only to still to be a number two at the most.”
First smirking, then giving a haughty laugh of his own, Kuja agreed. “That megalomaniacal monarch. A King on any other chessboard, forced into the role of a pawn.”
“Oh, he’s not the only one, you know,” giggled Kefka. “What a company we find ourselves in! Masters of time, embodiments of destruction, a man who once had a past life as a big whopping fish. I used to be a God of Magic, you used to be an Angel of Death, and yet here we all are playing nice and acting like we’re teammates.” He pantomimed something of a circle in the air. “So many big fish, but such a small pond! I wonder…” A shark’s grin appeared on his face. “Who will eat who first?”
It was only the frank openness of this allusion to inevitable betrayal that gave Kuja pause, not the idea itself. “Do you mean to kill me?”
Kefka kept his voice oddly level. “I mean to kill everyone, eventually. But you knew that.”
He did know that. Kuja surrounded himself with people who fully intended to stab him in the back. Worse, he and the rest fought for a cause that they all fully intended to overthrow at a moment’s convenience. The more he thought about it, the more laughably absurd it all became.
Thus, it was no strange thing that Kuja did, indeed, begin to laugh aloud. This time, it was Kefka to ask, “What’s so funny?”
“Ha, ha! I would have thought you’d see the joke, Kefka! It’s as plain as the nose on your face! Ah, ha, ha, ha!” As the absurdity of the situation continued to flood over him, the harder it was to keep back the laughter. “You won’t kill me. And what’s more, I won’t kill you. And we’ll both keep on not killing one another for the purpose of a cause we don’t believe in, a leader we do not respect, and an aim that we intend to overturn in the end. Ha, ha!”
“Hee.” The clown had to think about it at first, before conceding with first a chuckle, and then a few giggles (“Hee, hee!”), and then began to laugh as hard as Kuja. “Ah, hahahahaha!”
“Oh, how wrong I was!” Kuja had to wipe a tear from his eye. “My comedy is a misguided one, focused on the wrong fools. Theirs is not the folly most pathetic in its construction. No, surely the people who truly live inside the castle are the ones at fault.” Composing himself, the Angel of Death returned to his original position and began to announce exposition once more. “Scene two: Setting, inside the castle’s dining hall. All around the grand table, our would-be lords sit in their regal finery, feasting as they might have only dreamed of. On every face a smile, in every mouth a hint of laughter and friendship, and the idle bird viewing from the window might assume this estate bears nothing but goodwill. However, at one point, one of our fools walks to the front of the stage and addresses the audience directly, in hushed tones so that his comrades might not hear. He explains, with no small sense of pleasure, his master plan: to dispose of all others at the table, so that he and he alone might be the king of the castle! Winking, he returns to his chair, and resumes conversation as if he never left, still smiles and sweetness. But unbeknownst to him, as the scene progresses, each and every other member at the table confesses the exact same plot to the audience, each time with assured confidence that their intended betrayal is the best kept secret. And they feast, with every overture of friendship, each believing that the audience is laughing with them, instead of in mocking condemnation of their ridiculous play, fooling no one but other fools.”
“Hee, hee, hee!”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha!”
“Nee, heeheeehahahaaaha….”
“Hahahahahaha!”
“HaahAHAhaAhahaHAAhaahaA!”
“AH, HA, HA, HA, HA!”
Kefka had to practically drag himself upright, so hard was he laughing. “Hoo, boy, that’s…. nee, hee, hee! Oh, boy.” He staggered back to the stairwell, leading down and out of the tower. “I’m, heh, heh! I’m gonna go see if there’s a deer or something I can kill. There’s got to be some kind of life that can be crushed here. See you later, playwright. Ha, ha!”
Controlling his own mirth, Kuja let the clown leave without a word. He couldn’t see the three shadows on the valley any more: had they entered the castle, or just gone by? No matter. Returned once again to his solitude, Kuja extended his arms before his audience of stars. “Scene three…”
And then he stopped, as he realized there was really only one way this comedy could end.
“Hm,” he smirked, lowering his arms and leaning on the battlement, staring out to the horizon.