Oh geez, it's the Jecht chapter...This chapter is rated T for Jecht being Jecht. Enough said. You have been warned!

Disclaimer: Again, if I owned Final Fantasy, then there'd be a sequel to FFVII starring Red XIII.

A few months ago, I went through the exact same thing as Jecht in this, so...this is inspired by personal experience. The only difference was that I'm not an alcoholic jerk.


Jecht: Christmas Shopping (December 11th)

It was just Jecht's luck that his son's name was the one he drew from the hat. It would've been equally difficult buying for any of the other Warriors of Cosmos, but with Tidus, well, it was twice as awkward. He'd never bought the kid a Christmas present before, and especially not with only fifteen gil on hand!

Hissing irritably, he continued window shopping at the mall Cosmos had been so kind to teleport him to. There had to be something for the kid here; he would just-

"Excuse me, sir!" Jecht twisted around. Before him was a petite, dark-skinned woman holding a clipboard and simpering like it was nobody's business. "Would you please take our annual holiday survey?"

Jecht knew this drill. He had encountered these types of scams on the streets of Zanarkand. They suckered you in with their sad, pitiful, pathetic facial expressions, and then they totally mind raped you with their overly long, nightmarish "surveys." "Not interested." Good Yevon, he sounded like Chocobo Head!

The girl swiftly snatched his forearm to cease his attempts at leaving. Unsurprisingly, she only ended up being dragged away as Jecht walked toward a vitamin store. He could always just say the kid needed one cup of protein powder. Yeah! The runt needed some build-up!

"We'll pay you thirty gil to take this survey!"

Oh, screw it. He really needed that gil. "All right!"

Two hours later, he regretted his agreement.

"Sir...what is your name?" queried a slightly overweight man with a handlebar mustache and spit-shined shoes.

"I already told you, buddy, I'm Jecht!" Jecht spun impatiently in his swivel chair, silently cursing this man to the terrible fate of marrying Seymour Guado.

"What...is your quest?"

"To get my -bleep-ing Christmas shopping done!

Undaunted, the man asked, "What...is your favorite color?"

Jecht was on the verge of ripping apart his swivel chair and shoving the pieces down the man's esophagus. "The color of your vomit when I kick you in the balls for being such a pain in my..."

The man was entirely unfazed by Jecht's shallow, aggravated breathing and beet red face. "Sir, you will now watch this trailer for a B-list movie that will only be released in exactly seven theaters on Gaia for three point forty-seven days."

Jecht's ire overloaded and he smashed his meaty fist against the man's desk. Blood boiling, he howled, "Mister, I can't take this anymore!"

Finally, the man seemed offended. "'Mister'? Sir, I am a lady!"

Jecht really didn't give a rat's hat anymore. Who would after two hours of surveys? "I would rather be punched in the testicles by Tifa Lockhart than endure another second of your -bleep-!" The lady shuddered; even she knew that Tifa's punches could cause violent explosions and even death. "You should know that I have the ability to kick all your ugly white -bleep- in!"

The man...err, woman, hastily yanked out her walkie-talkie. "Security!" she hollered, her tone oozing with indignation and desperation.

"I AM THE MIGHTY WHALE SIN, JUST TRY ME!"


Twenty minutes later, Jecht was slumped at a food court booth, a white chocolate peppermint mocha in his hands. Now he was out of money (mochas aren't cheap, don't cha know) and ideas!

But then he saw it. The perfect gift. Almost...too perfect.

But hey, beggars can't be choosers, even if the beggar is a whale.


A better title for this chapter: "Why Jecht Would Rather Be Punched In the Testicles Than Take a Survey."

Whatever words you subbed in for my censored bleeps, trust me, what Jecht is saying is much, much worse.