SKIT: Things Lloyd Is No Longer Allowed to Do
"Take this!" Lloyd shouts, swinging the Angel's Tear. "Psi Tempest!"
SW-SWOOSH!
Kratos manages to block with his sword before rolling into a forward somersault to deflect the rest of the energy. He quickly turns around and unleashes a magic attack. "Grave Blade!"
RRRMBL!
SLASH!
SLASH!
Lloyd gets caught in right in the middle of the spell. He keels over, groaning. "Argh...that smarts..." he groans, holding his stomach.
"Oh, no!" Colette gasps from the side. "Lloyd!"
Sheena clenches her eyes shut and turns away. "No...he's totally getting pummeled..."
"You're too pessimistic, Sheena!" Zelos says, grinning and placing his hands behind his head. "Wait and see. The ol' bud's got an ace up his sleeve!"
Sheena raises a hand to smack him. "How can you be so damn cheerful about all this?"
"Whoah, hey!" Zelos inches away. "I'm just trying to keep my cool here. Besides, don't you have any faith in him? Just watch."
Sheena purses her lips and lowers her arm.
Meanwhile...
Kratos steps up to Lloyd and brandishes his blade. "What's the matter, boy?" he says coldly. "I thought you weren't holding back this time!"
"Nngh..." Lloyd staggers to his feet, using the Angel's Tear as a crutch to help himself up. "I'm...n-not...holding back!" he insists, gritting his teeth.
Kratos arches an amused eyebrow. "You don't say? Then show me what you've got!"
Lloyd growls. "All right, then." He gets into a battle stance. "You asked for it!"
Kratos readies himself.
FLASH! Lloyd's form shimmers white. "Watch this!" he yells. "Acquired Technique—DEMONIC WEDGIE BLADE! HYAH!"
FLIP!
SWSSH!
FWWIPP!
YANK!
"Daaah!" Kratos drops—swirly-eyed—to the ground.
FWUMP!
Birdies prance around his head. There's also a fairly small hole in the back of his pantsuit where Lloyd's sword snagged him, revealing a pair of tighty-whities.
"Hah!" Lloyd tumbles through the air and lands stylishly behind the reeling Kratos. He strikes a pose. "Boo-ya!"
Sheena stares, sweatdropping. "N-no way..."
"See?" Zelos cheers. "What'd I tell you?"
"Dude," Genis mutters, looking disturbed. "That can't have been a real Technique..."
ToS-ToS-ToS
OUTTAKE: And A-Lloyding We Will Go
"Lloyd, would you like some more cake?"
"Oh, certainly, Lloyd! You know, this cake has a most fascinating history behind it. I do believe it was first conceived not long after the reign of King Laksar in what are now the Triet Ruins...oh, Lloyd, would you like some more cake?"
"Mmm...thank you very much, Lloyd! I love the doggie design on the icing! Hehehe..."
"...Lloyds, I believe th-that...these swords make me feel...c-cute."
"Aww! You're so cuuuute, Lloyd!"
"I am...truly being cute?"
"You've always been cute, Lloyd, but now you simply radiate with cuteness! It's almost akin to a battle aura!"
"I wish I could be as cute as you."
"...I am...being cute..."
Colette, Raine, Presea, and Sheena are all sitting around backstage of a Tales of Symphonia set piece wearing identical Lloyd outfits. There's a dish heaped with slices of cake on the floor along with a few other edible goodies that the girls are pigging out on after a hard day's work.
"Hehe..." Sheena leans back and takes a swig of some apple cider. "I could get used to this!"
"Now I understand why Lloyd wears these all the time," Colette says. "They're so comfy!"
"Loose-fitting...made of a comfortable material...and covers up well," Raine muses, thoughtfully licking some icing off her fork. "All in all, extremely practical, except for these white adornments on the collar. But, perhaps, they are meant as a distraction to the enemy...?"
Presea studies the blades at her sides. "Dual-sword style," she intones. "Effective in defense and warding off multiple opponents. Requires mostly upper-body strength, good spatial awareness, and an ability to keep one's center of balance."
Lloyd suddenly wanders into the conversation wearing nothing but a BIG BLACK CENSORED BAR. "Hey...have any of you guys seen my clothes?"
ToS-ToS-ToS
SKIT: It Goes Great With Rice! It Goes Great On Bread!
It's morning in Sylvarant. Lloyd, Raine, Kratos, Genis, and Colette are camped out right outside the Triet Ruins.
"Hey," Raine calls as she's brushing her hair. "Does anyone know whose turn it is to cook breakfast?"
"Anyone but Raine's," Lloyd mutters to Colette.
WHHSH!
BONK!
A frying pan makes its home in Lloyd's hair. He falls over, temporarily stunned.
Kratos snorts a laugh.
"Umm...I think it's Genis' turn," Colette says, giving Lloyd an odd look. "Are you okay, Lloyd? Do you need help?"
"Nah. I can eat sand just fine by myself."
Colette pouts, but she daintily plucks off the frying pan and puts it on her own head as a makeshift bonnet.
"Yes! I love cooking duty!" Genis cheers, jumping up. He happily grabs the food sack and some cooking utensils. "So, what'll it be, guys?"
Lloyd sits up and rubs the back of his head. He brushes a few sand grains off his tongue. "What do we have?"
Genis peeks into the food bag. "Looks like we've got...bacon and eggs, bacon, sausage, and eggs, bacon, sausage, and Spam, Spam, eggs, and sausage, and Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, baked beans, and Spam."
"Hmm," Lloyd muses, rubbing his chin. "I don't really like Spam."
"How about Spam, eggs, sausage, and Spam?" Genis says. "That doesn't have much Spam in it."
"Nah, that's okay. Why don't we just go with bacon, eggs, sausage, and Spam without the Spam?"
"Ugh!" Genis crosses his arms. "Lloyd, you idiot! You can't have bacon, eggs, sausage, and Spam without the Spam!"
"Why not?"
"'Cause then it wouldn't be bacon, eggs, sausage, and Spam!"
Lloyd looks sad. "Aww...but I don't want any Spam!"
"Don't worry," Kratos speaks up from where he's sitting under a tree. "I'll have your Spam. I'm having Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, baked beans, and Spam."
Suddenly...
WHSSH!
Kratos flings off his cloak to reveal an outlandish Viking costume, complete with spiked helmet.
"Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam," he chants, dancing around. "Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam! Lovely Spam! Wonderful Spam! Lovely Sp—"
ZZZZOOOM!
SWISH!
Zelos Wilder swoops in via jet pack and slices Kratos' head off.
THWACK!
It tumbles into the entrance of Triet Ruins.
Zelos wipes some sweat away from his brow and sheathes his sword. "Gawds," he mutters. "That was really annoying." And he flies off again in a burst of blue rocket fire.
Raine faces the camera. "Spam skit raped and mutilated from Monty Python," she drones in a nasal schoolmarm voice.
ToS-ToS-ToS
SKIT: The Mask of Zelos
"Ahahaha! ¡Sí, señoritas, yo soy solo!"
"Mmm...I love a man who can do more with tongues than just—hehe—make out..."
"¡Te amo tambien!"
"Ooh..."
"J-je t'aime aussi, monsieur!"
"He's Spanish, you dolt, not French!"
"Pfft! Close enough! Both are...the languages of love..."
"Hehehehe!"
"¿Vosotros querais a ver mi 'espada'?"
"I have no idea what he just said, but I bet it was hot!"
"Say more, por favor!"
"Hey, that rhymes! I bet he's a poet. Are you a poet, Señor?"
"¡Sí, claro que si! Yo soy algo para ti...hehe..."
Genis makes a face at the sight of three familiar young women fawning all over Zelos—the Three Stoogettes as the group had taken to calling them. "Wasn't the point of the mask to make sure that something like this wouldn't happen whenever we visited Meltokio?"
Sheena rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "It was working just fine until the idiot Chosen decided to turn this into some overtly sexual Zorro act."
"I didn't know he could speak another language!" Colette says, amazed.
"He can't," Raine replies dryly. "Everything he learned, he learned from Altavista."
"¡Venais conmigo, señoritas¡Yo te voy a mostrar un tiempo muy bien!" Zelos starts to walk off to his mansion. He throws a smile at the group. "¡Hasta la vista, amigos!"
"He really pisses me off sometimes," Sheena growls, clenching a fist.
"Calm down," Regal says, placing a hand on Sheena's shoulder. "Perhaps...there is a more esoteric reason for his behavior...and the mask."
"Eso-what?" Lloyd asks. "Isn't that, like, the outer covering of a crab or something?"
"That's 'exoskeleton', Lloyd," Raine gently corrects him. "But I'm amazed! You actually remembered something like that!"
"Aw, gee, Professor..."
"That's not what I was referring to," Regal says, amused, "but in light of what I was thinking, it fits in quite nicely."
"How so?" Raine says.
"My theory is that the mask is a tangible representation of the Chosen's desire to simply hide away from the world."
Sheena snickers. "It's one butt-ugly mask. I'd hide, too, if I were wearing that thing."
"Consider this..." A dramatic guitar solo in the key of A-minor starts playing softly in the background as Regal speaks. A spotlight shines on him, and the rest of the group watches him, transfixed. "A young man born out of an arranged marriage in the aristocracy. Much is expected of him, but he is not particularly talented or gifted. In fact, he is rather ordinary. Now this would be nothing to shake a shackle at in normal circumstances. But when this rather ordinary young man is named as the Chosen of Mana, it stirs up much difficulty and distress both for himself and those around him. He is too keenly aware of the disappointment his seemingly worthless presence brings upon the hopeful. It is not truly his fault, but he still blames himself for the unhappiness of these individuals, because...well...he exists. He is also painfully cognizant that there is one person who is much better suited to be the Chosen than he is, both in ability and mindset...and that is his own flesh and blood. Or half of it, at least. He is a prime example of the cruelty and illogic of Fate. When worst came to absolutely insane and Fate fell into drunken hysterics, the cosmos ended up with...Zelos Wilder."
Presea appears from behind Regal, wearing a lacy black dress reminiscent of a gothic Lolita crossed with a fandango dancer. She has a bright red rose blossom in each of her pigtails, and a black veil covers her delicate features. She clicks some castanets together and twirls in the background.
"The hideous nature of the aforementioned mask symbolizes the loathing Zelos feels for himself because he believes he cannot live up to the expectations of the role of Chosen. Even more...he does not wish to be the Chosen and finds it a most restricting position. But he cannot let these sentiments be known; they are not 'Chosen-like.' No, these emotions are too strong, too personal, and too painful for him to reveal to the world. Furthermore, their expression does him no good in a heartless society like this. So he locks them away in the dungeon of his soul, leaving them for the astral maggots to feed and breed on. As they rot and decompose, so does his spirit. Unwillingly he's carried with the currents of the status quo, and yet to survive, he must go with the flow. Fighting it only wears him down."
Presea casts a few sultry looks over her shoulder as she clacks out a few sharp notes on the castanets. She marches to and fro in a solo tango.
"While he wrestles with intrinsic worth and personal desires, he puts on the mask, to continue the analogy, of extreme self-assurance and self-esteem. Here, the interplay of internal emotions with outward expression is like an inverse proportion—the further his self-esteem drops, the more his external conceit increases. Or, if you are more literary-minded, it is almost an antithetical chiasmus. The intensity of his self-hatred is mirrored in the level of his superficial self-love."
Presea continues her interpretive dance, kicking up her feet every so often and dramatically throwing back her head. Her ruffled skirt swishes soulfully. Her stiletto heels click in time with her castanets.
"This ties into what I believe is the main function of the metaphorical mask. It is a brilliantly simple defense mechanism for his frail, wounded heart. It differentiates those who have only a passing interest in him from those who truly wish to know him. Most, who are probably the last kinds of people he needs in his life, will be satisfied with the facade and will likely believe that that is all there is. However, there will be a few who will wonder what lies behind that mask, and maybe one will be lucky enough to be allowed to peek under it. Or even...to have Zelos himself remove the mask and show his true face by his own volition. What that would take, even I could not imagine. But surely it will be someone who recognizes the soul instead of the mask...someone who could help him pick up the bloodied pieces of his existence and put them together in a beautiful jigsaw puzzle as the answer to the ultimate question of life."
Presea pulls a fan out from her bustier and flutters it coyly.
"Whatever your intellectual pleasure, it cannot be denied that Zelos Wilder is a multi-faceted, complex character. He is a paradox on par with Prince Hamlet and even resorts to the same manipulation of language to hide and deceive, though Mr. Wilder takes a different approach than the Prince of Denmark. In conclusion, to assign to him the spirit and dimension of a paper doll is a sin akin to that...of m-murder..."
With this sentence, Presea slowly falls to her knees, clutching her fan to her chest. She flings her arms to the sky in one final swan song, sending the fan flying into the air, and then leans back onto the ground as if dead.
The music fades away.
The fan falls from the sky and clatters on the ground next to her limp, pale hand.
The spotlight disappears.
Presea silently gets up, picks up the fan, and goes to change.
A hush falls over the group as they consider Regal's words.
"...well, gee," Genis mutters, scratching his head. "I never really thought of it like that before."
"Yeah," Lloyd agrees. "Who knew that smart people talked about him?"
"I have never heard anyone's character so vividly dissected," Raine says, impressed.
Sheena looks down, her hands folded. "M-maybe...maybe he's not so animalistic after all. Maybe all he truly wants..."
"Is just to be loved..." continues Raine.
"For who he is..." says Genis.
"And not..." Colette murmurs.
"For wh-what he was chosen..." Lloyd finishes thoughtfully.
Contemplative silence.
An eastern wind blows.
Everyday chatter litters the streets of wealthy Meltokio.
Local dogs bark out their usual cacophonies of canine doom.
Estrogen-laden giggling floats in from one of the open windows of the Wilder mansion, along with a few words of badly pronounced Spanish.
And Time screeches to a halt.
SKRRRRRRRRRRRCH!
"Nah," everyone says in unison, shaking their heads.
Time resumes its daily ambulation.
Suddenly, there's a crash from inside the mansion. The front doors fly open, and out stomp the Three Stoogettes, chattering angrily.
Raine blinks. "Well...that's a first," she remarks. "I wonder what happened?"
"Ehehe..." Sheena simpers. "Well, I did prepare something for those three the last time we were here...call it the seeds of rumor..."
Zelos' badly-accented 'Spanish' voice booms out over a megaphone. "Sheeeeena! You got some 'splaining to do!"
ToS-ToS-ToS
MINI-SERIES: PRESEA IS A ROBOT, Episode Three
Secret Agent Raine Sage is half-kneeling before Martel Yggdrasill with a space-age rifle aimed at the middle of her forehead.
Martel smiles evilly.
"Too slow."
She pulls the trigger.
Raine gasps—
PHWAM!
—and leans back Matrix-style to avoid the photon shot. She catches herself in a backbreaking backbend and swiftly brings up a stiletto-booted foot right into Martel's crotch.
WHAM!
"AAAH!" Martel screams.
Raine uses the momentum of her attack to backflip herself into a fighting stance. "Too sexy, you mean," she says, grinning.
"Rrrrghh..." Martel staggers around dazedly, clutching her nether regions. "You'll pay for that, Raine Ginevra Carmelita Rosemary Sage of Heimdall City!"
"As if!" Raine whips out her laser pistols, two in each hand. "You corporate leeches already took all of my Gald!"
"Then I'll just make sure you get some Gald—as Satan's anal whore!" Martel unleashes her weapons in a feminine rage.
PHWAM! PHWAM! PHWAM! PH-PH-PHWAM!
Raine utilizes all her training as a gymnast and deftly flips, somersaults, and vaults off various places in the hallway to avoid Martel's deranged gunfire. As she evades the next assault from her eternal adversary, she fires off a few rounds on her laser pistols.
SPANG! SPANG! SPANG! SPANG! SPANG!
The first few shots miss Martel by a mile, but one manages to burn itself through her side. She screams again and doubles over.
Raine flips her hair back and points a pistol at Martel. "Give it up, Marty. We're going to bring down this evil organization once and for all, and there's nothing you can do to stop us."
Martel giggles. "Oh, Raine, you're so cutely naïve sometimes. I used to like that about you, you know. Now, it's just like an STD: annoying, bad for your health, and with no cure!" She straightens up and throws a right hook to Raine's cheek.
WHAP!
Then a left hook.
WHAP!
And finally, she drives a foot straight into Raine's chest.
BAM!
Raine flies backward into the core control room of Mana Enterprises. She crashes into the round control panel in the center of the room.
Martel saunters through the door, rifles in hand. "Don't think I don't know what you're here for, sweetie," she drones. "The Derris Files, right?"
Raine glares, rubbing her bruised cheeks. "What's it to you?" she mutters, picking out another wedgie.
"Oh, I don't know...perhaps that they contain all of my sweet younger brother's maliciously delicious plans for taking over the world? And, perhaps, the records of Mana Enterprises' double-dealings that would tarnish our untarnished reputation in the business world and completely shut us down, thereby cutting off the funding we so desperately need to continue our dastardly deeds? And...gasp! Maybe even the rough draft of my very...first...fanfiction! It still needs to be beta-read, you know."
"I'd have done it if you hadn't been such a bitch about British spelling versus American spelling!"
"Ah, shut up!" Martel says, brandishing one rifle. "It won't matter if you can get the Derris Files from here or not, anyway! You can't open them without the Kharlan Code!"
Raine crosses her arms. "And what if I already have the Kharlan Code?"
Martel stops in her tracks. "You're bluffing," she says in disbelief.
"Call it, then," Raine replies, her blue eyes sparkling. "I found it while rummaging through your lingerie drawer that one time in your condo."
Martel's eyes widen. "You...you..." Her body shakes. "I can't believe you! Even when we were...you were—?"
Raine shrugs nonchalantly. "C'est la vie, ma cherie."
"Grrrrr!" Martel tenses her arms. "That's it! It's die time for you, you double-dipping spawn of Sappho!" She releases a second wave of fire from her metallic rifles.
PHWAAAAAAAAAAAAM!
Raine dives to the ground. The white-hot plasma swings in an arc just above the ends of her hair.
Oh, no! she thinks frantically. If I stay here any longer, she's going to destroy the computers here! Then I can't get the Derris Files!
"Mwahahahahahaha!" Martel cackles. "Eat righteous photon fire, oh treacherous weasel!"
Raine swiftly gets up and makes a run for the door.
"Uh, uh! Not so fast!" Martel aims high and fires.
PHWAM! PHWAM!
Two large metal pods crash down in front of Raine, effectively blocking her escape route.
Raine turns around and scowls. "Damn you, Martel."
"It's just you and me, sweetheart..." Martel whispers, baring her canines. "Just like it should be..."
(to be continued in the next exciting episode of PRESEA IS A ROBOT)
ToS-ToS-ToS
RAINE CHECK PLZ