One night as I was lying in bed, thinking about some writing projects I’m working on, a voice in my head said: "Themis--you’ve done tons of comedy about FFVI, but you’ve never done a FFIV comedy!"

It was the voice of Satan.

I must warn you: I’ve only done one ‘serious’ work on FFIV, and I’ve done a humorous crossover; my repertoire isn’t extensive. I’m not quite as used to the FFIV characters, love them as much as I may, but I’m still going to do my best to abuse them, anyway. It’s tough love.

So bear in mind that this is merely a lark, a passing fancy brought on by the voice of the Devil, and mostly written for myself--as are most of my works--but I think that you might enjoy it.

Cheerio!

--Themis56

SCENE: Your commonplace radio station broadcasting room, with the typical equipment. There’s a small window at the back.

(The door opens, and in steps a very pretty, petite young woman dressed in a shimmering green dress and robes. Her equally green hair is light and feathery. She daintily sits down at a chair and clicks on several switches, activating the broadcasting equipment; she places headphones over her ears and then begins to speak.)

BEGIN BROADCAST

RYDIA: Good afternoon, fellow citizens of the Blue Planet! This is Rydia Drake signing on for FFPR--Final Fantasy Public Radio: Our Acronym Isn’t Catchy, but Our Shows Rock Your Mind. Welcome to Rydia’s Revelations--the show that listens to your woes and does not mock them. (Glances down at the switchboard) And it looks like we’ve gotten our first caller of the day! Hello, you’re on the air.

YANG: Friend Rydia, this is Yang. I have a problem of pressing urgency for my country...

RYDIA: Fire away, Yang.

YANG: Well, it concerns the Fabulian military. You know that we are proud of our Karate Master ancestry, Rydia, and I myself am a faithful adherent to the old ways. But after Golbez attacked Fabul, I realized something: Karate just doesn’t cut it. We got overrun by Imp Captains and giant turtles, for Shiva’s sake! Even Edward killed some of them--the other Karate fighters didn’t kill any! What would our ancestors think when they find out that my countrymen were upstaged by a Bard? It’s disgraceful! Why, several of my men died from the shame!

RYDIA: Well, Yang, they were new recruits--don’t be too hard on yourself. The men you had only had received the bare bones of training.

YANG: Hmm. Well, be that as it may, I decided to do something about it, but it’s not working. That’s why I called you.

RYDIA: You’ve come to the right place, my friend. Now, what did you do that’s not working out?

YANG (slowly): We-ell, I decided that our men needed to be armed. Fists and feet can only do so much, you know.

RYDIA: That’s wise, Yang. What did you give them? Claws? Swords?

YANG: Actually, I gave them all frying pans.

RYDIA: You what???

YANG (indignantly): Well, they are really nice frying pans. The best cast-iron money can buy! Listen, it seemed like a good idea at the time. My wife personally clobbered three soldiers when we were attacked--that’s better than any of my other men did. So I decided that since she did so well with it, then my men would...

RYDIA: Let me get this straight: You’re sending your men out into battle armed with only frying pans. Correct?

YANG: Correct. And it’s not working--we only managed to win the last battle because our enemies were laughing so hard they couldn’t see straight. What should I do?

RYDIA: First of all, Yang, I would suggest you nix the frying pans and use those metal claws instead--those work really well. And don’t fight half-naked--use some kind of armor, for Bahamut’s sake. And last of all, I say you should change your stupid battle cry. ‘Achooo?’ How does the sound of voiding your nasal fluids strike fear into the hearts of men, Yang?

YANG: Simple! You’ve got to think about what it represents: when a Karate fighter yells ‘ACHOOOO!’, he is stating that his enemy will soon be of no more concern to him than a loogie which has been hawked in the street!

RYDIA: That’s got to be the stupidest rationalization I’ve ever heard, if you don’t mind my saying so. Get rid of it, Yang--it doesn’t do any good.

YANG: Okay, okay. Get rid of frying pans, get proper arms, destroy culture, that sort of thing. Thank you, Rydia.

RYDIA: Don’t mention it, Yang. And it looks like we’ve got another caller! Hello, you’re on the air.

EDWARD: Hello, Rydia? It’s Edward.

RYDIA: Edward! Why, hello there! I haven’t heard from you in ages! What’s up?

EDWARD: Well, I’m calling because I need some help--I’m suffering from insomnia.

RYDIA (warmly): Aw, poor guy. Do you know what’s causing it?

EDWARD: It’s funny. I’m tired, I want to go to sleep, but when I get into bed...Oh, it’s terrible! It’s all dark and scary, and I hear noises, and I think the clothes in my closet are trying to kill me! They rustle on their hangers and their sleeves look like they’re reaching towards me, and if I close my eyes I know they’ll drop off the rack and strangle me...You don’t know what it’s like!! I’M SCAA-AARED! NO! They’re coming for me! Get away, fiendish garments! Get back! BAAACK!

Rydia (soothingly): Now, Edward, calm down...

EDWARD: *long session of sobs*

RYDIA: Now, Edward, listen to me. Go to the castle kitchen and find the biggest stash of scotch you can find. Whenever you want to sleep, drink one bottle before going to bed.

EDWARD: And the clothes won’t get me?

RYDIA: No, Edward, the clothes won’t get you.

EDWARD: Thank you so much! You’re beautiful, Rydia!!

(Edward, in his haste, does not put the phone back on the hook properly. In the background, the sound of a series of gulps can be heard. Sighing, Rydia breaks the connection.)

RYDIA: You know, folks, Edward is a really sweet guy and I love him to death, but ever since his kingdom got bombed and Anna got killed, he’s never been quite right. More skittish than an okapi on amphetamines. But I see we have another caller. Hello, you’re on the air.

MYSTERY VOICE: Is your refrigerator running?

RYDIA (disgusted): Oh, not you again! Stop calling me! There isn’t even a refrigerator here! Get a life!

(She cuts of the caller, but not before she hears a high-pitched giggle. Rydia rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath.)

RYDIA: Some day, I’m going to track that person down and whip so much skin off his puerile backside that he’ll need skin grafts. (throws her hands up in disgust) Gods, let’s cut to a commercial!

BEGIN COMMERCIAL

KOKOL (speaking like a used-care salesman): Hi, this is Kokol the Smith, speaking for Kokol’s House o’ Destruction, the biggest arms distributor for all of the Blue Planet. We’ve got the finest swords, spears, airship cannons and ammunition, knives, the whole shebang: if it’s lethal, we’ve got it. Do teenage pranksters make your life a living hell? Set up some of our premium-grade spear-launchers in the trees, and when they come they won’t find any clothes to pull off the line or wells to graffiti: they’ll find nasty, pointy DEATH raining from above! And how about that tax-man, a real nuisance... Just plant some land mines in the front lawn, and you won’t be paying a GP for the rest of your life! You aiming for world domination? Kokol’s has got every weapon of mass destruction you can think of, and they’re all 100% guaranteed to kill. Who built the Super-Canon? Us, that’s who! So come on down and make your choice...everything’s got to die sooner or later, so why not make it sooner? And remember, we stand by our motto: If Kokol’s Doesn’t Kill It, Then You Didn’t Pay Enough. Thank you, and happy hunting!

END COMMERICAL

RYDIA: You know, dear listeners, ever since the war ended, Kokol has been in the deepest depression you could think of--his business is going through the basement. Despite his sociopathic tendencies, he’s a sweet guy and a loyal sponsor of this show, so please, give him some support. But I see we have another caller. Hello, what’s on your mind?

KAIN: Umm...hi. Listen, I’ve got something of a problem. You see, I really like the wife of my best friend. I mean, really, really like her. And I was wondering--

RYDIA: Wait a minute...Kain, this is you, isn’t it?! Normally I would have sympathy for other people in your situation, but not for you, you scum-bucket! You burned down my village, suggested killing me, and you betrayed me and my friends...twice!

KAIN: Hush!! Not so loud! If Cecil heard...

RYDIA: I don’t care if Cecil is hearing this, and, actually, I hope to God he is. (Shouts into her speakerphone) CEEE--CILL!!! Can you hear me? Kain is calling, and he’s just admitted that he still has the hots for your wife!

(A fluttering of wings is heard, and a black shadow passes by the window. Rydia leaps up and looks out; she returns with a wide smile on her face.

RYDIA: You know what, Kain? I just saw Cecil flying past on a black chocobo, and he’s got his sword with him! So if I were you, I’d get my sorry rear in gear, or else you’ll need drugs to kill the pain. Buh-bye!

KAIN: Eeep! (slams down the phone)

RYDIA: Hmph. He deserves it, the two-timing louse. Ah, a new caller. Hello?

ROSA (very softly, sounding on the verge of tears): Rydia?

RYDIA: Rosa! Hey there! What’s up?

ROSA: Well, I just heard the last call, and it brought back...quite a few memories, and I couldn’t help but call. Do you have a moment?

RYDIA: Of course! What’s on your mind?

ROSA: Rydia, sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve the life I lead. My father got killed in a bar-room brawl over a bowl of salted peanuts. And then, when I was only nineteen, I nearly died of a fever and then got kidnapped by my husband’s psycho brother from the moon. And then there was this hell with the business between me, Cecil, and Kain--which, from what I just heard, is still going on. But what Cecil’s doing right now just takes the cake--the whole cake, Rydia.

RYDIA: What’s he doing, Rosa?

ROSA (almost sobbing): Well, being a King is really very stressful, and so I wouldn’t blame him if Cecil...started getting bad habits. But...about a week ago, I came into our bedroom...and...(she breaks down into tears) He was trying on a white sailor-dress and red go-go boots, and his hair was all up in a ponytail, and he was shouting, "Sailor Scouts, away!" at the mirror! Ever since he learned about his heritage, that man’s been obsessed with the moon, and I’ve tried to be supportive. But this time he’s gone too far!

RYDIA (trying to stifle a laugh): Well, Rosa, that sounds just awful, real awful...hee hee...

ROSA: It’s not funny!

RYDIA (composing herself): I know it’s not, Rosa. Here’s my suggestion: pack your bags and take a little vacation until his little "Sailor Cecil" phase has blown over. I suspect it’s some sort of mid-life crisis come years too early--he’s only like twenty, isn’t he? Take a break, have some fun for once.

ROSA (miserably): But Rydia, you know I can’t leave the man alone for more than twenty minutes, let alone several weeks. I can’t do it! I’ll die! But thanks for your help.

RYDIA: What are you going to do, then?

ROSA: Oh, just about what every depressed wife does: there’s a big bottle of Chianti in the kitchen with my name on it. Thank you, Rydia.

RYDIA: Don’t mention it. (cuts the connection) Poor Rosa: she followed that man like he was catnip for years, and now she can’t be two days away from him without experiencing withdrawal. It’s a shame. We’ve got time for one more call before the commercial. Hello, you’re on.

MYSTERIOUS VOICE: Excuse me, but do you have any Prince Albert in a can?

RYDIA: You again!!!? Who in the...wait just a sec, I know who this is!! PALOM!! I should have known it was you from the very start!

PALOM: Boy, you’re earning your two grand a year, Rydia. Heh...Remember that time I made you say "Seymour Butz" on the air?

RYDIA: Some day, Palom, I’ll--

PALOM: And hey, you know what? I heard Rosa’s call. Heck, if there was a tax on wine consumption, then she would be in the top bracket!

RYDIA: Palom, Rosa is a nice but emotionally stunted young woman and she’s a sweet person--unlike some people I know.

PALOM: Yeah, well you can tell her to kiss my Cognac! See ya! (hangs up)

RYDIA: Hey hey HEY!! You can’t say that on the air! You know, I hate to say anything bad about Porom’s brother, but: we all would have thought that all those canings the Elder gave him would have helped him. (shakes her head) Nope. He turned meaner than a Behemoth. Let’s go to a commercial.

BEGIN COMMERCIAL

CHOCY-BO EARL: Hi, this is Chocy-bo Earl for the Toroian Chocobo Humane Society. Listen, people, here at the Humane Society we are up to our armpits in homeless black chocobos. Whenever people get a black chocobo from us, they always return it because it doesn’t fly--people seem to think that the only things that these chocs are good for is flying. Listen: Our. Chocobos. Can’t. Fly. I’m sorry, but you’ve gotta get a wild black choc for that! But even though they’re flightless and their stench can knock out an ogre at thirty yards, they make great pets and guards. No house ever guarded by a black chocobo ever was robbed--mostly because the robbers were lying outside in a dead faint from the smell. But hey! It works. So come on, have a little heart, huh? Think of the chocobos! They need love, too! And now I’d like to introduce the T.C.H.S. Pet of the Week, a little black baby choc named Killer.

KILLER (viciously): Warkwarkwarkwarkwarkwarkwark!! (This continues throughout Earl’s speech.)

C.E.: Now, Killer is a great guard chcobo and he’s not as smelly as most, and he’s a good bargain because he doesn’t eat much. (HEY!! STOP THAT!!) His only downside as a pet is his tendency to try and scratch your eyes out--(STOP IT!! BE STILL!). But please, someone take him!! I gotta get rid of this...thing! I’m sure that there must be some blind person out there born without eyes that’d love to have Killer in his home...(Owie owie owie! KILLER, if you do that AGAIN, I’ll--) So please, contact us! Thank ya.

END COMMERCIAL

RYDIA: Welcome back to the final segment of Rydia’s Revelations. I’ve got time for a few more calls...and here’s one already! Hello, you’re on the air.

CID: Rydia, this is Cid. Rydia, cain’t we do nothin’ about those durn dancing gals in the streets?

RYDIA: Now, Cid, I don’t like the idea of anybody flaunting their body either, but you gotta admit, the dancing girls are harmless.

CID: Rydia, Rydia...ya wouldn’t say that if ya knew what consarned troubles I’ve gone through. Now, Rydia, it’s all well and fine that the young ‘uns should have some fun in their lives, but I draw the line at extreme mental anguish and disrupting the work force.

RYDIA: Would you care to expand on that, Cid?

CID: Well, as fer the extreme mental anguish: Those gals’re just full of trickery an’ mischief. I’ve seen that Fabulian dancer--how’d you like to see a pretty girl dancin’, only to find out she’s a Karate fighter in drag?! That just boggles the mind! Or what about that gal in Mysidia who turned my friend Cecil into a pig? But I guess he deserved it...cheatin’ on poor little Rosa like that. And that’s another thing...Rosa’s been drove nearly crazy by those gals. Cecil’s danced with every one of ‘em, I’d reckon, and it drives her nuts. She can’t look at a leotard without foaming at the mouth and lookin’ for her crossbow.

RYDIA: Well, Cid, it does sound like there’s been a few problems. But--

CID: Hold it, I ain’t finished! And now those gals are corrupting the world’s workers. It took me two months to build a dinky little airship because those dancers kept on distracting my workers! I’ve had to fetch those two bums from the cafe ten times this month! They just set there with those tramps, giggling and kissing and buying drinks and getting so snockered they cain’t work. It ain’t right!

RYDIA: Cid, that sounds like quite a problem...but I still don’t...

CID: I just wanna say one thing, and then I’ll go: Gals, if I ever catch you teasin’ my men again, ya had better hope you’ve got a high threshold to pain, ‘cause I’m gonna go after ya with the biggest hammer I can get my hands on. And that’s all I’ve gotta say! (hangs up)

RYDIA: It’s getting so that a girl can’t have any fun any more. *sigh* Well, it looks like we’ve got another call. Hello?

FUSOYA (his voice is trembling and a bit wild): Rydia, this is FuSoYa. You would think that once you helped save the world that you’d get a little respect. Do you remember how much I helped you on the moon? Didn’t I do my part?

RYDIA: You certainly did--and more, Sir.

FUSOYA: You’re the Uncle of the King of the most powerful nation, you’ve got all the magical arts at your fingertips, and do people give you respect? Nooo! Rydia, I’ll cut to the chase: I have broken my aged back for your worthless planet, and you people still call me "Mop-Boy."

RYDIA: I’m sorry to hear that, FuSoYa...

FUSOYA: Don’t you think I’m entitled to a little respect? But no! Do you know what my worthless nephew Golbez did the other day? The little ingrate dunked my head in a bucket of suds and used me to polish the floors of the Lunarian chambers. I had a cold like you wouldn’t believe...

RYDIA (nearly choking with pent-up laughter): Sir, that’s really mean...

FUSOYA: I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I swear, the next time I hear the word ‘mop’, someone’s going to be veeery sorry...

RYDIA: Here’s my advice, Sir: get a haircut. That’s all you have to do.

FUSOYA: But...but...my beard and hair are the signs of my seniority and wiseness! It’s a mark of nobility.

RYDIA: It’s a mark of stupidity on you, Sir, if you want me to be frank. People may actually respect you if you lose the hair. It’ll work better for you, I promise.

FUSOYA: Are you suggesting I throw away my Lunarian heritage?

RYDIA: Um...yes.

FUSOYA: I’ll do it. Just so people stop laughing at me. Thank you, Rydia.

RYDIA: No problem. Now, time for one last caller. Hello?

PALOM: Is there a man named--

POROM (in the background): Palom!!! What are you doing?!!! (The sounds of scuffling and magic spells being cast are heard in the background. After a few minutes, someone picks up the phone.)

POROM: Miss Rydia, I’m so sorry! How long has he been pestering you?

RYDIA (dryly) : Just for about only two months, Porom.

POROM: I apologize--he won’t bother you any more. I cast a super-duper Mute spell on him--he can’t even open his mouth, let alone talk!

RYDIA: That’s great! But how will he eat?

POROM (flatly): Osmosis. Who cares, anyway? You’re not saying you’ll miss him...?

RYDIA: No, I suppose not. You’ve done the world a great favor, Porom; if Square hadn’t made me sign a form that I wouldn’t, I’d kiss you.

POROM: Don’t worry about it. I’m really sorry he bothered you, Miss Rydia. But he’ll be pushing up daisies before he ever tries to heckle you again. Good-bye.

RYDIA: See you around, Porom. (ends the call) She’s a good kid. Well, dear listeners, this has been yet another broadcast of Rydia’s Revelations. Good afternoon, and Bahamut bless.

(Rydia reaches over and presses the power button, but she doesn’t press hard enough, and thus the equipment stays on, unbeknownst to her. As she straightens out some of the equipment, the switchboard lights up.)

RYDIA: Hello--? I’m sorry, but...

EDGE: Heeyy there, pretty lady. Guess who? I’ll give you a hint: I’m skilled, I’m handsome, and you drive me wild, babe.

RYDIA (blushing): Edge! How many times do I have to tell you to never call me at work? You’re so thick sometimes!!

EDGE: I couldn’t help myself, Rydia! I had to call you up to hear your ultra-sexy voice! Is that a crime?

RYDIA: Hmph. It should be, Hotshot. What do you want, Edge?
EDGE: Just calling to see if maybe I could come over to your place for supper tonight, that’s all. I’ll lock the Chamberlain up in the closet or something--nobody’ll know where I’ve gone. King’s privilege, y’know. You won’t have to do a thing, ‘cause I’ll bring the food. And some wine. And maybe... some yogurt and jello for afterwards?

RYDIA (giggling): You filthy brute! All right, come over in about an hour, and I’ll--

(She sees that’s she’s still on the air.)

RYDIA: Oh, for the love of GOD!!

(She punches the button.)

END BROADCAST

ENDING NOTES

First of all, I did not come up with the concept of "Sailor Cecil"--a gal named A-Chan did that. He’s her brain-child, not mine.

I don’t know why I spelled Chocy-bo Earl’s name so strangely. It’s just the way I like to pronounce the word chocobo. Chocy-bo! Like that! :)

And listen, I am a Texan, and Kokol’s commercial is NO JOKE, and it’s a sort of satire. We Texans love blowing stuff up--it’s fun! We hate everyone and everything. :)

This was actually really hard to write, and I’ll say it now: it’s not my best work. I’m getting tired, and major burnout’s setting in--it’s getting harder to be funny. :P So this will probably be the last FF piece I write for a little while--it’s sabbatical time! But I’ll be back to haunt you all...just you wait. :)

--Themis

ANNND:

Rosa, Cecil, Rydia, and all other characters are property of the almighty Square (bow down before the great Square! They wouldn’t mind at all, trust me ). I don’t own them, and I ain’t making any money off them.