The Let's Play Archive

Drakengard 3

by The Dark Id

Part 11: Dito's Story: This Ugly World

Dito's Story: This Ugly World

I hear the roar of the waves. I breathe in the pungent, salty air. They follow you everywhere you go in the Land of Seas. Except for, thankfully, in your sleep.

My mind is still in a haze as I realize that morning has come again. I wish it hadn't. If only mornings never came, I would never have to deal with the dreadful days, or the even more dreadful nights. Though, if mornings never came, then it would be night all the time. That would be absolutely devastating. I hate the nights. Because it's at night when...

Brr. Just thinking about it makes me shiver like a dog. Oh, shit. I hope she didn't see me--


Damn it. That voice. I wish I could have pretended to sleep a little longer. The ditzy swine is clueless about everything else, but she just has to notice when I'm at a disadvantage.

Mmff... Five? You up already?
You can go back to sleep, Dito.
Not with the fuss you're making.

How I wish I could. Sometimes I wish I never had to wake up again. Like every night when I'm being crushed by this giant, greasy meatball. Seriously, how much quality sleep could I get when there's no telling what she might do to me in my sleep? But then again, there's no telling what she might do to me even when I'm awake.

Oh. So sorry.
No worries.

I know that you're never really sorry. You're all talk and no walk. All you do is line up pretty words. All you are is superficial and cosmetic. Like those gaudy dresses.

You're playing with your dresses again? So early in the morning? You're such a dork, Five.
I have to get up as early as I can. A day goes by so fast.
Well, of course you'd run out of time when you're changing your clothes four times a day. Why can't you just wear the same clothes until nighttime?

All the glitter in the world isn't going to change what you are inside. And what you are inside is blubber. A pig decorated with ribbons and lace is still a pig.

Perish the thought! With so many dresses, how could I wear but one a day?

But she is unfazed. The thing is, she has all these dresses, and not one looks good on her. It's almost comedic. Or is it tragic?

Tell me, Dito: which dress do you think I should wear?
I don't care. They're your damned clothes.

And none of them flatter you. Don't you know they make you look even fatter than you already are? All those layers of garments only add to your girth. As for your favorite lacy dress... nothing else looks worse on you. You look like a parboiled pork butt strong up in twine. It's not just gross-looking. It's ridiculous!

You just don't like dresses because they're a hassle to take off of me.
Wrong! You just gross me out! Don't touch me!

...Is what I think. Of course, I could never say that to my Intoner. She would not be pleased. Whether I like it or not, I am her disciple, and I must adhere to my lady's wishes. See, I know what you like. You like the confused, awkward guy that hems and haws. So I say:

No, that's not exactly--
You've been trying to tell me you'd rather I wore nothing at all!
I would never!
Not really, I just--
But I don't mind doing it fully clothed, you know.
Now, wait a minute!
Hey, I don't care if you're clothed or not. I don't want to do a pig!
I'll just get on top. Or should I stand while you take me from behind?
Will you stop, please!?
I don't want to take you! Where you are hardly matters!
There's no need to be shy, you know.
I'm not being shy! I'm honestly refusing you!

...Well, a disciple would definitely not say that to his Intoner. I need to redirect this conversation.

This one! You wanted me to pick out a dress for you, right? Right!?

My face feels flushed. I gesticulate wildly as though I am flummoxed before dramatically pointing to the dress. I produce a falsetto on purpose. Just the way you like it, you pathetic sow.

I like this one! The shiny number!
Forget the dress, Dito. Let's--
Oh, wait, wait! There's one you haven't tried yet. Remember, with the embroidery? The blue, flowery one?

I manage to slip myself away from her. I thought her tentacles would pull me back and pin me down, but I succeeded in getting away. Huh. So you also like it when a guy slips through your arms like a cat? I guess it's the so-called thrill of the chase, letting them go on purpose just to enjoy cornering them later. Sheesh.

I run into the wardrobe and let out a huge sigh. I don't know how the other disciples do it. Do they have it easier with Intoners who are more decent? Is it just my Intoner that is intolerably gross, greedy, and grating on the nerves?

At least the pair living out in the desert seems happy, even absurdly blissful. They're like a walking basket of flowers. And they make out everywhere. As far as I know, the role of the disciple has always been to satisfy the sexual urges of his Intoner. At least I'm sure it's not to pretend being lovebirds with her. That moron's got some nerve, openly displaying affection with an Intoner of all people. Just watching him makes me gag from embarrassment.

Then again, he is a moron. Maybe it can't be helped. Still, it seems like such a waste - to be halfway good looking, but just not all there in the noggin. I suppose it's better than being sharp-witted but butt-ugly. Or is it? How did that old proverb go? "Heaven blesses not one man twice"? Whoever came up with that was a clever dude. But maybe he was ugly.

Never mind all that. I should at least pretend to be busy looking for that dress. Lest Blubber Bags comes checking in on me. I'm not even looking as I throw around any old dress my hands happen to grab. I make lots o f rustling noise so that she can hear that I'm being a busy bee. But I'm careful so as not to rip any garments by accident. I pull out another one. Rinse. Repeat. She might get suspicious if I keep making the same noise over and over, so I flip one dress inside out. A really shiny, garish one with a ton of glittering stuff. I am about to let out another sigh from the stupidity of it all, when my eyes catch the inside of this dress. The garment is dull, with the designs all backwards, and covered in stitches.

This is refreshing. No, this is downright beautiful!

I guess I've always liked turning things inside out. I wish I could do that with people, too. If I could just stick my hand into their mouths and floop! Pull their insides out! Imagine that! All the membranes and organs exposed in one flick of the wrist! It would really be neat if I could do this right after they ate, so I could see all the half-digested food come oozing out. Ohhh, now, that would be fun. I think I could like Blubber Bags just a tiny bit more if I could turn her inside out. Instead of that snooty little mug of hers, how about we see ribbons of flesh in red, white, and pink streaks? Yeah. And all the shiny intestines just flapping about. Wouldn't that be a sight to see? I would what her moans would sound like with her throat turned inside out.

...Heh. I'm getting aroused just thinking about it.

But enough daydreaming, I'd better head back. I can only waste so much time pretending to look for a frigging dress. I grab the dress I had recently bought from a merchant from the East, and I exit the wardrobe. My Intoner loves drama. I hold the folded dress up high above my head. Like a good servant should. What kind of a sick mind draws pleasure from seeing this? Sure enough, my lady seems enormously pleased. It's too bad that her cackles are so unrefined.

This is pretty. But that doesn't mean the other ones aren't. What's a girl to do?

How the hell should I know? I don't even know what to do with myself as I watch a self-absorbed sow wonder aloud about which dress to wear when none of them look good on her.

I wish I had three or four bodies. Then I could wear them all at once!
Three or four bodies? Of YOU?! Are you serious?
Of course I am.
...That would be a nightmare.

Not acting there. I was being my honest self. Three or four of this woman would be like the end of the world. I'd rather hang myself by my tongue than face that horror.

I think it's a fabulous idea. Let's ask One if she knows any spells that can create three bodies of me.

Ask One? You mean she of the inhumanly fast and perceptive mind? I don't like her. I haven't met her many times, but I feel in my gut that she and I could never get along. Besides, wasn't she the one who told Blubber Bags to "rule" the Land of Seas? Thanks to that brilliant idea, my life's gone downhill ever since.

If I had three bodies, I wouldn't have to ponder over which dress to wear. Why, I could even eat three times more.
You already eat three times what you should.
What? That's not true.

Okay, maybe more like five or six times what you should. The cooks have to work their tails off every day to feed you, almost like they would an army.

Whenever the cooks ask you if you want meat or fish, you always answer both.
But, Dito, that would only be two times as much, not three.
How about if they offered you broiled meat, stewed meat, or steamed meat? You would say all of them.
Well, yes, if that's the way they phrased the question.
What if they asked you if you wanted broiled fish, steamed fish, or fried fish?
All of them, I guess. And now you're making me hungry. I wonder if breakfast is ready yet.
See? Your appetite is more than triple the norm, Five.

A spell to make three bodies? No thanks. I'd rather have the brainy sister come up with something that would completely eliminate this woman's bottomless stomach.

I can't wait for springtime. Then we can go on one of our gourmet trips again.
You mean the nasty beasty feasts?
But in Two's hands, any beast can turn into a scrumptious meal.
Aha! Then you don't deny them being beasts?
You can't. Trolls, orcs, goblins, sand-worms... That's not looking for food--that's hunting for monsters.
Oh, there's no doubt they're beasts. But only Two can turn goblin brains into a silky pâté. Sting lizard in aspic, pickled six-eyed catfish... You can't eat these things just anywhere.

Of course not. Who in their right mind would even think about coming up with so many outlandish concoctions, much less consider eating them? That's another thing about Intoners. It's not just their logic and sex drive. Their taste buds are messed up, too.

They are rare, um, delicacies, I suppose.
It's not every day you have to risk your life for a meal. I certainly wish i never have to.

I also wish I didn't have to be so roundabout in my expressions. I wish I could just tell off all these Intoners once and for all: "Enough with the bad eats! You witches might be able to keep a whole patch of poisonous mushrooms down in your ungodly stomachs, but I'm not like you!"

My eyes accidentally lock with hers... and suddenly, my though process comes to a complete halt. Oh no. My eyes give Blubber Bags the up-from-under look like a small animal. I know what's on your filthy mind. Yep. I know exactly what you want. It's time for that again. How tragic it is to have to play out this farce. Every. Single. Time.

Um... Five? You're not having any... wicked thoughts, are you, now?
Wicked? Heavens, no.
D-Didn't you say you were hungry? H-How about some b-breakfast?
Yes. I'll have some right now.
Wait. Please wait, Five--
No, I can't wait. Don't you know me by now?"

You can bet your fun bags I know you. In fact, I know that you and your sister Intoner are all nymphomaniacs. I know that you are cursed to live with insatiable lust in exchange for the power of song. Do I feel sorry for you? Not one bit. Regardless of the circumstances that brought this upon you, there is no way i can sympathize with a sex maniac who's in constant heat night and day.

Why does this have to happen so early in the morning?

Why I even bother saying this, I have no idea. Sometimes I just want to punch myself in the mouth.

It's because of those sleepy eyes of yours, Dito.
What you're saying doesn't match up with what you're doing.
But don't you enjoy snoozing on my bosom?
Zzz. Whatever.

...Oh, God. Do you have to lick me everywhere? You're not even that good at it. It just makes me feel gross. The smell of your saliva and bodily fluids makes me nauseous. I swear it would make me feel so much better if I could just puke it all out on the spot. But that would upset my lady something really fierce. And your annoying voice. You should like a hen getting her wings ripped out. Cease with the squawks! Could there be a method of torture crueler than this? My body is sticky everywhere, my ears are about to fall off from the noise, and still, the mighty bags of blubber keeping pounding away on my lap.

I wish that wild-looking old man would trade places with me. I hear he's hung like a horse and that he'd hump anything with a hole. I bet he wouldn't mind banging the brains out of Blubber Bags at all. Humph, in that respect, maybe he's the perfect disciple. How about we ask the brainy sister for some magic to make three or four of him? That would be really useful.

...Dammit, are you still riding me? Are you trying to pulverize my pelvis or something? Get it over with! God, I just wanna kill you!

...Not that I ever could. I actually tried once. With sword in hand, I attempted to strike her from behind. But the moment she said...

What are you doing, Dito? Naughty boy. sword was on the ground with a clang. Just that one utterance from her, and I couldn't even maintain a grip. It was the moment I learned the hard way that a disciple could NEVER cross his Intoner. EVER. Every time I remember that moment, I just want to kill myself. Why did I have to be her disciple? Why did she have to be my Intoner? I wish I could have served another Intoner. Not that I know any of them very well. But none of them can be worse than blubber Bags. Just look at the moron in the Land of Sands, or the wild old man. Why do they get to be so happy? It's not fair that I had to get the short end of the stick.

Wait, wasn't there one more? The moron, the old man, and.... I can't remember. Oh well.

...Is it over yet? I've gotten tired of counting the spots on the ceiling a long time ago. I don't want to have to move on to counting the spots on the walls.

No, wait... Not yet...!

Not yet?! What difference does it make when you're frigid? You could keep humping for hours and it still wouldn't feel good for you. Ha! How ironic it is to be a frigid nymphomaniac? I almost feel sorry for you. Almost.

Sweet Dito. There's no need to make such a face.
Five, you have the appetite of three people, but the libido of thirty.
Why, thank you for the wonderful compliment.
...It wasn't a compliment.
Such a good little man. You deserve a reward. Where do you want it?
Sounds more like Im about to be punished than rewarded.
Oh! So is that what you're into?
No, it's not, but it doesn't matter. If it's coming from you, it's torture.
Why do you have to be so greedy?
Greedy? Me?

You weren't aware of it until now? Of course, "greedy" doesn't even begin to tell half of the story. And it's not even just that the Intoners are sexually insatiable. The reason you try every smattering you read and hear, and would try and try for hours on end, is because you want to believe that it would feel good if you could just get it right one of these days. The reason you take one guy after another to bed is because you hope that it's going to feel good if you could just find the right partner. The reason you continue to brainwash every person around you and enslave them is because you know that nobody likes you.

You know all this, don't you? Well, tough shit! None of that is going to cure your frigidity. None of that is going to make you look better in any dress. And you're never going to find a schmuck who loves you, no matter how far and wide you search the face of the earth. Oh, my poor lady Intoner... NOT! Serves you right, you sorry sack of swine shit.

...Hey. Was I scowling just now? I feel it in my eyebrows. Yeah, they're furrowed. I feel my cheeks and mouth. Yeah, I'm grimacing. Hey! You don't like it when I scowl. Why aren't you saying anything?

Five? Are you all right?
This is new. I've never seen you so lost in thought while in bed.

You surprised me there for a second. But you're back. The greedy, domineering, haughty mug is back. And just like that, I lose control of the muscles in my own face. As always.

Well, isn't that rude? I'll have you know I am perfectly capable of having deep thoughts.
Did I make you mad?
Not at all.

You're lying. If you're really not mad, why has my voice become so faint, as if I'm trying to guess your mood? Why has my expression become frightened like a hunted animal? You've got to be angry with me for interrupting your train of thought. And you must be enjoying watching my scared reactions. A disciple cannot cross his Intoner. Not one finger is within my realm of control when she is in front of me. Everything I do and say is exactly to her liking. I am the perfect servant.

I remember you telling one of your nicer sisters:

I find him absolutely irresistible. Even the way he mouths off. Even if he can be mean sometimes.

Yeah, I bet I'm irresistible. How could any woman resist a younger male that can be controlled according to your every little whim? But you can actually tolerate only so much insolence. So any lip you get beyond the threshold of your tolerance, you act as though it never happened. The way you take control to the point that tell you my true feelings is impossible? Some might call it extreme opportunism.

Not that you'd care.

Now, where were we?
What? Again?!
I'm only kidding.

I'm not even really surprised. In fact, I'm not doing anything out of my own volition. The surprised voice and face just happen. Just the way you like it. I know. I know all about your lies, your delusions, your vanities, your fixations. I know about your uncontrollable desire to dominate. I know the viscous blackness inside your heart. And if the truth be told, your filthy rotten core is the one thing I don't hate about you.

I am your disciple, after all.