Disclaimer – I don't own anything in this fanfic except for Amathera and Gay Pride Kuriboh. Everything else is owned by someone or other.
Author's Note – Yes, the final chapter has finally arrived. Honestly, I had planned on continuing this for several more chapters, but my reason for writing this in the first place is gone, and I see no reason not to just end it here. I hope everyone's pleased with the ending.
My thanks goes out to everyone who has supported me during the writing of this parody, and to Silvie for putting me on this road initially. Without each and every one of my reviewers and friends backing me up, this would never have reached eight chapters, let alone been finished. Enjoy!
Thera groaned as she regained consciousness, raising a hand to rub the back of her head. She was lying on something soft, something familiar and comfortable. She felt naked, though she could tell her clothing was intact. Something was wrong…
Opening her eyes, she was surprised to find herself sprawled on her bed in her own room back home. Hadn't she been in the park when she was hit? What had happened? Oh no, had she been robbed and raped and pillaged and otherwise taken advantage of! She knew how pretty and sexy and sparkly she was, and really, anyone willing to smack her on the back of the head would be willing to do awful things to her!
But at least that nagging voice in her head was silent, so really, she was willing to overlook just about everything else.
Maybe I'm going insane, she thought pleasantly as her eyes gradually focused. It was the in thing to do now, after all, and she was nothing if not fashionable.
She pushed herself to a sitting position and her brilliant sapphire eyes fell on a sheet of paper resting on one of her frilly blood red pillows. Picking it up, she held it in her perfectly manicured hands and read it aloud.
Eye haev tooken ur Sen Nen eitem. Ha ha ha. Eye pwnez u gud.
Putting the paper down, she felt an ache start to form between her eyes. She really wished that person had learned how to write before putting pen to paper, but not everyone could be as perfect as her. But really, how hard was it to write "I", or "have"? And how dare they address her so familiarly! She almost thought it was Tidus at first – his illiteracy level was world renowned – but it didn't have the typical Tidus flair to it. Was it maybe that sexy white-haired boy who was so much like her ex boyfriend only not?
Wait…Sen Nen Item? Did they mean…?
Gasping with fear, she searched through her pockets.
Gone. Her Millennium Pocket Watch was GONE! That was the empty feeling she had felt, that horrible sensation of nakedness that made her feel bared to the world. She knew without looking that it wasn't amongst the covers or thrown into her state-of-the-art closet or anywhere else in the room at all!
"OH NO!" she wailed loud enough to hear clear across the city. "HOW WILL I WIN THE TALENT SHOW NOW!"
"Keep it down, dear!" her mother screamed from downstairs. "We're playing Scrabble!"
"Sorry mom!" Sighing, she flopped back against the pillows, feeling empty. Her Item was gone; the wonderful little trinket that had enabled her to work at Kaiba Corp. at the age of six; the gorgeous hunk of gold that won her that rocket launcher, defeating the King of Games in the process and doubtlessly making Seto fall off his Blue Eyes White Dragon executive chair with pride; the time-keeping device that had kept her lovely and sparkly and completely irresistible to both sexes. It was true; all of her Mary Sue powers had emanated from that Item given to her at such a young age, guaranteeing her the perfect life.
And now it was gone.
"I have no reason to live," she whispered softly, holding up a smooth, almost impossibly pale arm to examine the unblemished flesh. According to the snow piling up outside out of absolutely nowhere, Christmas was coming up, which meant not only would she be getting tons of extravagant gifts, but the Talent Show was rearing its ugly head. She absolutely positively completely could not bear to enter and lose, and without her Item…
"She'll win him. She'll win the contest and she'll win his heart and no one will like me anymore…" She felt a tight vise of despair close around her, squeezing tighter and tighter. The only time she had felt this unhappy had been when she left Seto's side. "I'll never get good grades again, or wear the hippest clothes, or have 98.723654 of the student body trying to get in my pants, and I'll never ever see Seto again."
She turned her head to the side, peering into one of the many large mirrors that were scattered throughout her bedroom. Her eyes were no longer the beautiful, fiery color-changing red that she had loved so much; they were simply a drab, lifeless blue. Her hair was still silver, but lacked the shine and sheen it once had, the curls loose and erratic and in complete disarray. Her once-flawless porcelain skin held dark blemishes here and there, and was that a pimple on the tip of her nose!
She couldn't stand it. She looked…normal. Her hands were worn, her nails chipped, her skin rather rough, and were her fingers actually stubby! Where had her pianist's hands gone, her artist's fingers, her perfect manicure? This was absolutely horrible!
She flung herself off the bed and opened a drawer in her nightstand, drawing out one of the many knives she collected. Pulling it from its sheath, she admired its dull edge in the scant light coming through the window and couldn't stop an odd-sounding laugh from erupting.
"It's all over," she whispered as she placed the edge against her wrist. She was about to do it, really she was, the courage was all her own, but the sudden ringing of the doorbell shook her out of her blind stupor. Dropping the knife as if it were a live snake, she darted to the window in time to see a blue-haired boy tearing down the street at an almost impossible speed, not slowed down in the least by the ice covering the road or the snow falling heavily.
Her father burst through her door, his height seeming more imposing now that she was – gasp – plain and boringly short. He carried a small wrapped package in his hands. "Present for you, dear one!" he cried happily as he flung it at her. Quick reflexes were all that saved her from being smacked in the face.
At least I retain those…
Without another word, her father retreated, returning to his hardcore game of Scrabble with his loving, adoring, special wife who hadn't been stupid enough to allow HER Item to be taken away.
All suicidal thoughts fleeing, Amathera sat back down on her bed, package in hand. It had been lovingly wrapped in a gory paper the color of dried blood, small black figures nearly incomprehensible across the center. She could barely make out her name, and a drawing of a heart pumping out blood. Slowly, fingers trembling, she unwrapped it, careful not to rip the paper.
Within was Seymour's OMG DEATH notebook.
She let out a delicate sound of surprise, almost reverently turning the pages. He had guarded this notebook as if his life was contained therein, and indeed, the drawings and writings that covered nearly every page were exquisite. Near the middle, a giant WTF marred a page, and it was dated the day she had come to high school here.
She continued leafing through, eyes growing progressively wider as the pictures grew more and more detailed. She was soon able to pick out fellow classmates and teachers, all within the grips of violent deaths, and always, in every single picture, the school was either in flames or Tidus was hanging lifelessly from a tree, carrion birds feeding on his corpse.
Strangely, she didn't feel disgusted. She felt touched that he had chosen to share his innermost thoughts with her in such an intimate way. He had no way of knowing she had lost her specialness, and yet he knew just how to cheer her up. He trusted her.
She turned the page and gasped, the sound no longer as musically delicious as it had been. That page and the next several contained extremely detailed drawings of her in different poses, some with clothes, some lacking, and in every single one of them she was beautiful. It brought tears to her eyes, especially considering her current situation.
"He'll never want to see me again, either," she mourned as she came to the end of the notebook. There was one blank page at the end, with her name at the top. Brow furrowing, she wondered exactly what he expected. Reaching over to her magical nightstand, she grabbed a pen and began sketching, praying she had enough artistic talent left over for one final project.
The sun was almost fully set by the time she finished, her hand cramped and ink-stained. She began truly missing her days of being perfect, and she had only been a normal girl for a few hours now! She truly did not know how she would handle the rest of her life, but she stubbornly pushed that thought aside as she regarded her work of art.
Seymour would be pleased.
She stretched and yawned, closing the notebook and putting her pen back on her nightstand. Deciding that this had been an extremely stressful day, she decided to take a much-deserved bubble bath and attempt to put herself back into order before going to bed early. Rolling off the bed, she gathered some towels and essential bath materials and padded out of the room.
She awoke the next day to a veritable blizzard. Snow was piled up practically to her windowsill, and the room was positively frigid from leaving the window open all night. Shivering violently, she flung herself out of bed and closed the window with as much force as she could muster. Once, that would have broken the window right off its hinges; now, it just made an ugly grating noise as it cut off the cold wind.
Rubbing her arms briskly, she opened her closet and sifted through, looking for something warm. All of her clothing seemed so drab now, and nothing really appealed to her. She settled for a plain sweater.
She glanced over at the OMG DEATH notebook and sighed. He had been kind enough to leave it for her yesterday but she had no way of getting through this snow to hand it back, and she felt terrible about it. Feeling morose and sad and depressed and dejectedly miserable, she trudged from her bedroom and down into the kitchen…
…to be faced with sunshine and chirping birds.
She blinked in confusion, mouth open like a fish as she stared stupidly out the window. "But…snow…"
"Yes, dear, it's snowing on one side and not the other," her mother said calmly, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
"Your little friend called earlier," her father piped up, talking around a mouthful of pancakes without sounding gross in the least. She sullenly wondered if he had an Item, too. "He's going to stop by later this afternoon to exchange presents."
"Presents?" she asked intelligently, blinking her dull blue eyes. "Who?"
"Seymour," he replied merrily. "And because it's Christmas."
She was suddenly engulfed in the warmth of her parents' arms, and she barely stopped herself short of crying. Why were they being so kind? Couldn't they see that the daughter they had raised to be perfect and lovely and well-bred was no better than a common high school student now? Then their words sunk in. Christmas had snuck up while she slept and she hadn't even realized! It didn't matter that most people in Japan didn't even celebrate most American holidays; this was a special town.
She followed her parents a little numbly into the beautifully decorated living room, the tree and wreaths and bows apparently having appeared overnight – or had she slept the sleep of a princess, lasting countless months awaiting the kiss of her prince to awaken her? The notion was so romantic she could almost see Tidus ascending the steps in princely garb, not tripping even once, a sword at his hip and his mouth eager for a kiss…
Wait, that couldn't be right. No one had kissed her awake, and besides, she wasn't a princess; she wasn't even sparkly anymore. Thoughts dark, she was barely able to focus as gift after gift were passed around between them, smiles and laughter and squeals filling the massive house. Even her cat was there, tail twitching happily as she perched on a catnip mouse bigger than she was, and she didn't try to scratch Thera once. The day seemed almost perfect.
Then the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" her mother screeched, practically flying towards the door and clumsily hiding her favorite butcher's knife behind her back. She quickly dropped it and kicked it under a table, entire demeanor relaxing; she had obviously been expecting Tidus and was pleased with whoever had actually showed up.
Her mother stepped aside and Seymour appeared in the doorway, his blue hair loose around his shoulders. He was actually wearing a normal blue shirt, though there was a rather odd stain on one of the sleeves that looked suspiciously like ketchup. He was wearing his usual baggy black pants with all the belts and chains and odd things dangling off of them, and he had never looked as handsome as he did right then, with snow swirling around his maniacally grinning face.
"Merry Christmas," he said dourly as he stepped in, clutching a bleeding package in his hands. Amathera nearly swooned.
"Merry Christmas," she replied, feeling lightheaded. She had always found him darkly attractive, her feelings only growing with every dead or dying flower he gave her, but she had never been affected nearly this much. Absently, she wondered why it had been Seymour who showed up bearing a present rather than that tanned hunk of manflesh Tidus with his squeaky voice and inability to read anything over a third grade level. When she followed that train of thought, she found she didn't care.
She realized she was staring, and the room had gone silent. Clearing her throat, a blush crept across her cheeks. "Your present is up in my bedroom," she said lamely, gesturing to the package in his hand. A few droplets of blood dripped onto the carpet but were repelled, since the carpeting in the house was blood-proof.
His grin twisted a little, and she felt her heart flutter. She barely noticed as her parents pushed the both of them towards the stairs, her mother giggling and fanning herself and her father whispering half-hearted threats. Before she knew it, they were alone in her bedroom.
Seymour stepped close, offering her the package. Amathera shook her head.
"I want to give you yours first," she explained, stepping over to a massive lump of paper and ribbon resting on her desk. She picked it up, feeling the familiar weight and sighing softly; she would desperately miss her morning ritual of waking up and petting the object, running her fingers along its smooth surface and enjoying how it felt. She turned around, offering it to him, and suddenly froze.
Seymour tilted his head, a few locks falling over his intensely homicidal eyes. "What's wrong?"
"How old are you?" she asked suspiciously. "Are you sure you're not too old for high school?" Now that she had the leisure to study him, really study him, she realized he looked far too old to be a student; he looked almost old enough to be a teacher!
"Seventeen," he said glibly, looking a little uncomfortable. He obviously did not wish to pursue the matter. "Presents?"
Silently, she handed him the sloppily wrapped object, wishing she had done a prettier job of it – after all, certainly Seymour of all people would never dream of lying to her. Shifting his bleeding burden to the floor, he lovingly unwrapped it, his eyes lighting up with an unholy glee.
"Rocket launcher," he breathed, laughing in delight. He hefted it in his hands and playfully took aim, unable to stop giggling like a lunatic. "I know what we're doing tonight…"
Thera felt pleased beyond belief that he liked his present; the moment she had laid eyes on it, she had known who it was meant to belong to. She had enjoyed being its caretaker for those few short months, but it was well worth it to put in his hands the fulfillment of his dreams.
Placing it down reverently on her bed, he knelt and retrieved the bloody box, thrusting it into her hands almost shyly. Smiling, Amathera opened it, peering down into the wet depths.
Yuna's severed head grinned up at her, face twisted in a grimace of pain. Her perky lips seemed almost to mouth the words, "OMG WTF LIKE!" even in death. Otogi would no longer have to worry about Death By Exclamation Point.
"It's beautiful!" she squealed as she placed it on a spike on the end of her bed. She just knew those posts were good for something!
"The Talent Show is tomorrow," he said gruffly, slipping his arms around her.
She lowered her boring, plain ol' blue eyes – no longer sapphire or azure or ocean blue, or shifting to an intense red or brooding violet, but so dull and lifeless! – and sighed. "I don't want to enter," she said softly. "I lost my Item, you see, and now I'm not special and sparkly and talented anymore and I simply could not bear to lose and have the entire school laugh and…"
"Sssh," he said, placing a finger over her lips. She looked up at him uncertainly. "Don't speak like that. I can tell you are different – I will not lie – but you are still just as beautiful as the day I spotted you in the classroom. Nothing has changed between us…but it will."
"What do you mean?" She felt strangely light and fluttery, almost as if she could spread wings and fly if she tried really hard. And, you know, had wings surgically implanted in her shoulder blades.
He pulled her closer and pointed to the rocket launcher. "The Talent Show is tomorrow," he repeated, grinning.
Realization lit up her eyes, making them far more beautiful than they ever were before. Delighted, she threw back her head and laughed. "Everything will be fine then?" she asked, her grin matching his.
"Everything will be absolutely perfect," he promised as his lips found hers. Her thoughts did not stray to Seto, or to her lost Item or prettiness or popularity, nor did she wish it were Tidus or perhaps Lulu who was kissing her. Seymour saw her for who she was, and accepted her.
And Thera found happiness despite being a normal girl once again.
The news reporter looked distinctively unhappy, either because of the wreckage behind him or because his tie was monumentally ugly. It was a disgusting yellow color with odd purple and orange lumps trying to overtake one another, likely fighting to get off the monstrous fabric and make a break for the hills. If not for the horrible tie he would have been rather handsome, the tattoos covering one side of his face only accentuating his golden tan and dark hair.
This is the last time I allow my sister to choose my wardrobe, he thought sourly.
He cleared his throat, sounding like a rhino during mating season. "This is Rishid Ishtar reporting from in front one of the high schools. Tragedy has struck our fair town on the night of the 9872349027399283483rd annual Talent Show, when the school was packed to the rafters with contestants and eager watchers. Sources say a series of odd explosions were followed by a massive fire and the structure collapsing. The doors and windows had been barred from outside, and not a single person escaped alive.
"Luckily, neither my brother nor the Pharaoh were within those walls, so honestly I couldn't care less about the enormous casualties. My pretty little butterfly was asleep in my bed at the time, so everyone important was safe. However, police suspect foul play; perhaps it was the barred doors that tipped them to that."
He paused to clear his throat again, glancing with some interest at the rubble behind him. His amused greenish gold eyes flickered back to the camera, tanned hand tightening on the microphone as if he wanted to throw it. "A number of teachers and co-teachers are among the dead, as well as the principal and his concubine. Police insist they will discover the cause of this catastrophe and bring the perpetrators to justice."
As he went on to ramble about other, unrelated topics, Seymour laughed and pulled Amathera closer to him, knocking a cushion off of his dusty couch. He pressed a fierce kiss to her lips, hand trailing up and down her bare back and eliciting a soft gasp from the beautifully normal girl.
"Merry Christmas, dear," he said wickedly, hand dipping lower.
"And Happy New Year!" she replied, eyes watching the news station show videos of the immense fire once more.