FINAL FANTASY VI: THE ABRIDGED SERIES

CHAPTER 5:

SABIN FIGARO'S SPRINGTIME OF YOUTH!

In a bar at South Figaro, a solitary (well, as solitary as you can get with a rather vicious-looking dog nearby) figure drank at a bar. Dressed all in black, with his hood covering almost his entire face, save for his eyes. A large Doberman by his side deterred anyone from approaching. He was the infamous ninja assassin known as Shadow. And he was emo.

Nobody knows the trouble I go through, Shadow thought, his mental voice (as well as his normal voice) being little more than a dull, lifeless monotone Rei Ayanami would envy, and with Moonlight Sonata playing in the background. Being a parody of a beloved video game character as well as a reference to an Abridged Series of an Abridged Series. Curse you Quatermass. I will get you back, somehow.

In Konoha, a pale-skinned boy with dark hair that looked like a duck's arse sneezed, and thought, Curse you, person who is talking smack about me behind my back. I will get you back, somehow.

It took a moment for Shadow to realise that he could hear his dog Interceptor panting in enjoyment. Not the sort of enjoyment where the panting is as much of carnal exertion as it was of enjoyment. No, this was pure enjoyment.

He turned in his seat to see a green-haired girl patting Interceptor. "Aw, who's a good doggy, eh?" she asked.

"Normally, he eats strangers," Shadow remarked. "It's why I keep him around. So I don't get into awkward social interaction."

"Umm, not to put too fine a point on it," said the girl, "but isn't wearing ninja outfits a major cause of awkward social interaction? You know, with the espionage, the thieving, the assassination?"

"You have a point. I can break someone's neck like a twig, but I cannot break the ice at parties. Unless it's an ice sculpture, and I use my sword. Why are you talking to me?"

"Well, my fourth wall-breaking senses went off near you. I think you cussed out the author."

"He is taking too long with his chapters, and making the characters into shallow parodies of themselves, one dimensional characters, usually ripping off video games, anime series, and Abridged Series."

"Hey, it's an Abridged Series. It's basically the fast-food version of postmodernism," the green-haired girl said. "By the way, is what Ted Woolsey claimed true? That you'd slit your mother's throat for a nickel?"

"No. I would do it for a considerably larger sum of money. I know the value of a human life, down to the nearest Gil. Besides, we don't use nickels here, just Gil."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry to offend you."

"None taken. I would do it for twenty dollars."

Outside of South Figaro, there was a house on the edge of the woods. It was a nice enough house, scars from martial arts training notwithstanding. Scorch marks and craters from ki blasts, wood splinters from destroyed wooden training posts, and the scratches on crockery from rapid use of chopsticks. There was also a rather large bloodstain on the floor of the house.

Locke looked at the bloodstain, before he dipped his fingers into it and licked it. Edgar, who was watching on, winced. "Oh, do you have to?"

Locke, who channelled Snake again, said, "I used a trick like this once. Ketchup, a rather dumb guard, and the ability to break the ankles of said guard with my bare hands. Unfortunately, he shat all over me when I did so. He had bowel troubles. Got married to my ex. Long story." Locke shook his head, dispelling the possession of Solid Snake, and said, "Yeah, it's tomato sauce. Not actually ketchup, but it's red and looks like blood. I think either someone had an accident, or someone faked their death. Given what we heard in town when we dropped off Terra to sell all those sculptures, it's probably Duncan Harcourt."

"I know, I heard. I also heard what all that training did to Sabin. Duncan was a pretty hardcore trainer, and Sabin was pretty weird even before I let him go play martial artist. But…I have to wonder if what they're saying is true."

"What, that he can do something more traumatising to people than if they see Kefka's dick at full erection? Seriously, I was surprised I didn't go mad when I saw that in Chaps in Chainmail."

"Oh, that's because they put an anti-madness filter on the camera lens. They couldn't very well have the cameraman go mad during the photoshoot, could they?"

"Actually," Terra said, as she walked through the front door, "it's because Quatermass didn't think up the whole 'seeing a naked Kefka would drive you insane like seeing Cthulhu' gag until the previous chapter."

"Oh Warring Triad, she's at it again," Locke groaned.

Edgar looked at her. "Hey, we saw you go up to Shadow. How was he?"

"Emo. And cheap. He said he'd kill his mother for twenty dollars. I'm not sure whether to be disturbed at how low a price he'd kill her for, or confused that he used a different currency system to us. He's rather like Sasuke, only cooler. Well, as cool as you can be without a Sharingan. Those are pretty cool. They're like a Blue Mage, only with cool red eyes with spinning commas."

Edgar decided not to enquire any further for his sanity's sake. Instead, he asked, "How did you fare getting our supplies?"

Terra grinned, holding up a bag, which, despite having a lot of space on the inside, was bulging from armour and weapons. "Can anyone say…twinking?"

As they watched the bag fall down from the rope bridge, Locke said, appalled, "Can anyone say…fuck all kinds of duck?"

Terra scowled at Edgar. "You know how much Gil I spent on that high-end equipment? Gil I earned through glass sculptures? You're lucky I kept the Potions and Gil and crap in another bag, one I am keeping on my person at all times now."

"It was an accident, okay?! My arm gets a nervous spasm whenever I'm being stalked by a douchebag."

"No, I reckon you were just clumsy." Terra then looked around. "You have a point, though. My douchebag senses are tingling. Why did we have to take this arduous mountain path, anyway?"

"My brother and his fellow student, Vargas, were last seen heading this way. Plus, it's the only way to the Returners' hideout," Edgar said.

"Yeah, I have to ask," Terra said. "What kind of stupid name is 'the Returners' for a resistance group? I mean, it's almost as bad as NORA or the Timber Owls. At least AVALANCHE sounds badarse."

"Don't you mean badass?"

"You spell it as 'arse'. We're in a pseudo-medieval story, we use British spelling."

"Then why are we speaking with American accents?" Locke blinked. "Wait, what's an American accent?"

"Crap, she's contagious," Edgar said. "Come on, let's get going. Hopefully, we can find my brother before anything worse happens."

Edgar was cursing his words when they were intercepted by a blue-haired man wearing nothing but trousers, and with more muscles than Heracles from Fate/Stay Night. And with about as many anger management issues, judging by the glint of barely-suppressed fury in his eyes.

"So, we have Sabin's pansy king brother, a petty thief, and a green-haired girl who looks like a stiff breeze could knock her over," the man said with a sneer.

Suddenly, his trousers burst into flames, with Terra glaring at him as he beat them out. He accidentally hit himself in a very sensitive spot, went cross-eyed, and only barely stopped himself from collapsing. "I can set people on fire with my mind. I could roast you so that we could have you for dinner, but I don't think any of us are either cannibals, or wanting to die of a steroid overdose."

Vargas, who was overcoming the pain in his groin through sheer force of will, glared at her. "How DARE you! This isn't the work of steroids! It's the result of my father's insane training schedule! Going on about pushups, situps, plenty of juice…I never wanted to be a martial artist. I wanted to be a…"

"Lumberjack?" Locke asked.

"No!"

"A cicisbeo?" Edgar asked.

"What the fuck is a cicisbeo?" Vargas demanded.

"Male mistress," Edgar said.

"Tempting, but no."

"A fanfic writer?" Terra asked.

"Close. I wanted to be a writer…though what the hell is a fanfic?"

"We're in one."

Vargas blinked, before he looked over at Edgar and Locke. "Is she quite sane?" he asked after a moment.

"Define sane," Locke said. "The definition gets pretty soft around here dealing with people like Terra or Kefka."

"I'm right here, you know," Terra said, tapping her foot irritably.

"Believe me, you haven't endured insanity until you've dealt with one of my father's 'Flames of Youth' rants," Vargas said.

Terra, after a moment, put her head in her hands. "Oh dear sweet Quatermass no."

"Don't you mean 'God', or 'Warring Triad'?" Locke asked.

"I know what I said. Vargas…was green spandex involved?"

"No."

"Bowl cuts and eyebrows like some sort of parasitic hairy caterpillar?"

"No. That sounds like I dodged a serious bullet there."

"…Pseudo-manly hugs accompanied by eye-gouging illusions of sunsets?"

"Yes!" Vargas cried out, tears running down his face. "ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIIIIME!" He began bawling. "You don't know what it's like," he whimpered quietly. "That's why I smashed my father over the head with a tomato sauce bottle."

"That was indeed most unyouthful!" bellowed a voice from nearby.

"Oh, fuck all kinds of duck," Vargas and Edgar muttered simultaneously as a burly, muscled figure leapt down to where they were.

He looked like Edgar if he had 100 sit-ups, 100 squat thrusts, and a 10 kilometre run every day, albeit without the hair loss that plagued some people who did that. He also had a disturbingly zealous look on his face, of the sort that religious evangelists would have if, instead of selling religion door-to-door, they sold exercise routines. Oh, and he had the name of a vaccine, but he acted more like a disease.

"…Is that your brother, Edgar?" Terra asked, dreading the answer.

Before Edgar could confirm or deny it, the newcomer said, giving a thumbs-up, "Yes, indeed, I am the Sublime Blonde Beast of Figaro, Sabin Rene Potential Heir Beta Figaro! Please date me! I will defend you with my life!"

After a moment, Terra said, "Flattering, but no. Seriously, how did Yoshitaka Amano create someone like you? He usually does these willowy androgynous types, not bodybuilders."

"…What," Sabin uttered in puzzlement.

"She's like that," Edgar said. "Anyway, what have I told you about asking people on dates when you first meet them?"

"But brother, you do that all the time!" Sabin protested.

"Yes, but I know what I'm doing!"

"That's most unyouthful," Sabin said, pouting miserably.

"Fuck you, and fuck youth!" Vargas snarled, jabbing a finger at Sabin. "You got infected by my father's madness…"

"Actually, your father only made him worse," Edgar said.

"Silence!"

"Isn't it ironic to yell the word silence?"

"Shut up, or I will beat the shit out of you AND your brother. At the moment, I'm willing to just beat up your brother."

"You can try!" Sabin declared enthusiastically, "but the power of youth will always win out! You are no match for youth, for…" He suddenly ceased his little speech, not because he felt the necessity of doing, but because Vargas' fist hit him in the groin at relativistic speed. His eyes crossed, he sagged to the ground, and the noise he uttered was so high-pitched, only the local wildlife could hear it.

Edgar, after a moment, looked at Vargas, a cold fury dancing in his eyes. "Do you know what you just did?"

"Saved us all from another rant about the power of youth," Vargas said, patiently, as if explaining to a retarded child.

"No, you just committed treason. Under Figaro law, any act against a member of the royal family that endangers their procreative ability is a crime punishable by death," Edgar said. "Sabin's still in line to the throne, technically, and you just pulped his testicles. Now, my brother breeding is a bad idea, I will admit, but I thought martial arts would keep him away from women. But you, sir, have assaulted a member of the royal family." Edgar pulled out a massive chainsaw. "And as King of Figaro, I get to choose the punishment." He then pulled the cord a few times with the practised motion of a man who was used to yanking things, and the chainsaw was now a roaring, hungry animal of death. "I love this saw. It's a part of me, and now, it's going to be a part of you. Suck my spinning steel, shithead."

Terra turns to the readers. "It's worth pointing out that using a chainsaw as a weapon is impractical. It's not like the movies or video games. If you try to use it in the wrong way, it can easily kickback, as they put it, and you end up being the one chainsawed. For Quatermass' sake, please, do NOT even consider trying this at home. You aren't Ash Williams. You aren't Leatherface. And you aren't King Edgar. So please don't think about it. Just enjoy fictional works that involve chainsaws being used as weapons, don't actually try to emulate them."

"Umm, Terra?" Locke asked. "You talking to non-existent people aside, you might want to look."

She turned, and found, not the messy chainsaw carnage she expected (and, in a small, crazy, violent part of her mind, desired), but rather, Sabin standing between Vargas and Edgar. "…most unyouthful, I will admit," Sabin said, his voice somewhat higher-pitched than usual, "but you forget, the Harcourt School of Youthful Martial Arts includes the Balls of Steel defence! My ability to procreate is unhampered."

Bugger, everyone else thought quietly to themselves.

"In any case, before I left, Master Duncan told me that I could join the Returners, and Duncan was to be his heir. Admittedly, I think he was concussed at the time, thanks to the tomato sauce bottle, but even so, I will use my youthful skills to help save the world from the most unyouthful Gestahl Empire!"

"Wait, what? Duncan made me his heir?" Vargas asked.

"Indeed, despite your lack of youthfulness, he recognises your power!" Sabin then sagged, the enthusiasm leaching out of his voice. "Dammit, I can't keep it up any longer. I mean, it's fun, but it's exhausting."

"For you or the author?" Terra asked.

"What?"

"Never mind. So, Vargas, can we pass by?"

After a moment, the hulking martial artist nodded. "As long as you take Sabin far away from here, I don't give a shit what you do."

As they descended the mountain path, Locke remarked, "That was anticlimactic. I was expecting an epic martial arts battle or something."

"One, Quatermass is crap at battle scenes. Two, sometimes, anticlimaxes are funnier," Terra said. "Anyway, we got out of it with no deaths, well, save for the monsters, and less mental scarring than we anticipated. And as this is a fanfic rather than the actual videogame, we don't need the experience from the battle."

Sabin, Locke, and Edgar all looked at each other, before deciding not to make an issue of it, lest she draw them further into her mad little world with no fourth wall. Still, they reflected, things were looking up. It looked like soon, they were going to get something done.

Unfortunately, there were tentacles in their future. Massive, heliotrope tentacles…

CHAPTER 5 ANNOTATIONS:

Ah, at last, the latest chapter. Kept you waiting, huh? Blame Angel Arcano92 for the idea of Sabin acting like Rock Lee and Might Guy. He'll do that less in the future, it's pretty exhausting to write like that. More fourth wall breaking in this chapter than any other, I think, too, with Terra talking back to me.

Anyway, when the next chapter comes along…ULTROS! You have been warned. The next chapter is tentatively titled Tentacles Do NOT Go There.

No numbered annotations this time.