Persona 4

Apr. 11th, 2011 04:02 pm
jaebility: (random // persona 3)
As much as I loved Persona 3, Persona 4 is holy crap the best game of all time what. This game. So hard and yet so good. So, so awesome.

I love how the characters interact with each other, how they're affected by the events and the choices they've made.The plot is thought provoking and complex, taking daringly dark turns. Voice acting? Amazing. Character design? Awesome. Fighting system? Fun. Music? Excellent. The characters are probably the best part, though. They're each so funny and weird, interesting people with varied motivations and reasons. Yosuke's may be on the top of the list, since the relationship he has with the main character (I named him Souji, which I believe is the name given to him in the manga) is a delicious bromance. But Kanji's great too. Hell, the whole gang is great. And the plot. Darker than Persona 3, I think, since to me it feels more personal. It's not just about an outside force dooming us all, it's about the hell we create for ourselves. Eeeee.

Can't wait to beat it! I'm at the final boss, and in typical Persona fashion, it's impossibly hard. It makes you really work for your conclusion. Oh hai boss that just wiped my entire party out in one blow. Good times! But I keep crawling back. I've been crazy busy with school, but I vow to set aside some time to beat this thing. I suspect a lot of swearing and throwing the remote will occur.
jaebility: (nature // grass)
She fell backward (for a moment she forgot about the floor and expected to keep falling down down down into the abyss), scraping her spine through her sweater on the cabinets that marched in a row along the wall. The gun in her hand shook like it was alive and trying to escape, the muzzle pointing at her face, her heart, her forehead, her throat, her stomach. She had to pull the trigger (had to had to had to) or the slithering black darkness would get her, too.

Her shoes squealed (like a lamb at slaughter) when she pushed herself backward, and the cabinets still there behind her dug into her ribs. The dark hole of the gun's (not a gun, she tried to convince herself, not a gun, not a gun) barrel stared back, a single unblinking eye.

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