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Videogame miserablism isn’t soley the preserve of gruff, grizzled, grimy men who go “Grr!” though. RPGs have their own brand of far more effete moping, and boy, do they wallow in it like an emo kid wallows in hair gel.
Final Fantasy VII arguably set the archetype. Skinny androgynous males who look like they might break in a strong wind (presumably a physical externalisation of a broken emotional state as beautiful and fragile as angel wings made of frozen unicorn tears), and who quietly hold onto their dark, personal emotional traumas just long enough for things to build to a dramatic poop/fan interface when a cup of tea and a chat would have probably sorted things out years ago.
“What’s that Vincent? The girl your like has turned you down for the wrong guy? Bugger. Fancy getting drunk this weekend to take your mind off it?”
“No. Thanks, but I thought I’d lie in a coffin instead”
See also: Cloud and 90% of RPG heroes ever since. Cheer up guys! You can do magic!
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