Warning - Contains Spoilers
Created | Updated Jul 22, 2004
'Y'know what this place needs, yah? Well-turned self-delusion. Certifiable fantasy with a bit of pan-ache, OK?'
I hitch up the natty yellow trousers and run my hand through the trademark orange mohican, in a gesture characteristic of a hundred cutframes.
In six days time, the new model will be with us. Sure, you could have picked it up in Luca months ago, but here among the sticks and the other flotsam we have to wait a bit longer for these things.
Verminette picks her teeth with that frightening-looking executive knuckleduster she favours.
I hear you're expecting', she trills.
I heard that too. Fathering the lovechild of the witch with the peep-hole leather underwear and the plunging decolletage. Things are looking up, perhaps, but it's a shame about the purple lipstick.
'I guess we ought to finally finish off that last boss', she continues, idly.
So we wander out onto the sundeck of the airship, where the morning sunlight has an unpleasant greenish tinge. I check my Ribbon. Petrification I can do without.
First up is the pretty-boy Beckham look-alike. He reels off about twenty Quick Hits with no discernible effect whatsoever. The bad-tempered bl**dy-great-totem-thingy doesn't even shed an arm. It just hangs there, brooding, with its silly headgear revolving away. Personally, I found the blond ponce got a bit wearing. Kind of satisfying when he found out he didn't actually exist. The old guy in the smelly red greatcoat too. I was secretly quite pleased when it turned out he'd been dead all along.
I execute a perfect Attack Reels and permit myself the self-indulgence of one of those cock-crow war-dances. An arm disintegrates in a satisfying sheet of flame, but the overdrive gauge is creeping a bit high.
'Your mate Yunie's going to have to sacrifice one of her pets soon', I suggest. 'Bet she whines about it.'
Pretty-boy ventures a Blitz Ace. The other arm remains resolute. I notice with annoyance that it's my bitch who throws him the ball. Suddenly, more than the lipstick is irksome. She looks like she got her hair done in a Chinese restaurant.
It's going to be a long slog, of course. The last time I tried this, I held out for forty minutes before finally running out of aeons.
'I'm bored', declares Verminette. 'This thing doesn't even look like a boss. It looks like a wardrobe. Can't we just summon...?'
'No!' I interrupt. 'He's just a whore. He'll do anything if you give him all your cash, but where's the fun in that?'
But it's too late. Verminette has the controller. In a moment, the ridiculous guy with the dinky sword is wandering through the cherry blossom. His absurd dog comes yapping behind, looking like something in limited-edition exquisite porcelain out of the Sunday supplement.
Swish. With his garish blouse and monstrous shoulder pads, the Joan Collins of Spira has sliced another fiend in two. Well, duh.
'How much did you pay him?', I screech.
'About nine million', replies Verminette carelessly. 'I kept one Gil. Never fails.'
She saves to spite me, and flicks the switch on the sleek, black box. The striking green shorts are magically replaced by camoflague trousers, the provocative bodice by a Busted T-shirt.
'I'm going out on my skateboard, Dad', declares the now-brunette no-longer-Rikku.
But hey, it's been a cool two-hundred playing hours.
Bring on X-2...
