A/N: This started out as a random, nonsensical Van-bashing fic, but then it…evolved. So read it, 'cause it gets really fun! Thank you!
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Two chummy chums were sitting at a Torushina bar, drinking up great towering mugs of vino and having a long, loud talk. One was Ayame Fox Jingle, a notoriously poopy-headed hillbilly storekeeper from the rural area a ways from the city proper. The other was the prim Philippe Rolph-Gandalfus, a slightly less renowned storekeeper from the prosperous inner city.
The subject of their lively discussion this evening was--like all other evenings--their shops.
"That Van Slanzar de Fanel, he's a twice-darned pig-eatin', goat-kissin' brute," declared Jingle in a righteous drunken slur. "Yuppers! Six days an' twenny four hours ago, I hired that dratfingled boy in th' red bag with th' holes t' be me shopsweeper, an' wot …wot wuzit? a week it wuz. He swept that floor like me granpawpaw! No I tells ya, me granpawpaw woulda done betterer! I mean, e'en me gran'nanny'd've made me shop look like a piece o' cornstarch kimpared t' th' job that boy made o' it, I tells ya--!"
Gandalfus leaned slightly back in his seat as Ayame leaned precariously forward in the enthusiasm of his speech. The inner-city shopkeeper poked his friend lightly on the nose, perhaps to push the peasant type back a bit, but the slight pressure caused the man to keel backwards, rocking violently in his chair.
"'Ey!" roared Ayame Fox Jingle, trying to focus his large green eyes as the room swayed and reeled merrily before him. "Wot'd youse do that for, eh?!"
Gandalfus removed his tiny spectacles and cleaned them on a silk kerchief, painstakingly removing the small specks of spittle that Ayame had so enthusiastically applied to the thick, round lenses. "I do say, old chap, I didn't so much as find that young Fanel a faulty fellow. Why, just this afternoon he dropped in to buy some laundry detergent. Quite a well-read boy, that Fanel. He knew so very much about the pollination of cloudberries and such like. We talked on for hours, I suppose, of archeology and the serving of tea--"
"Now, jus' a triple-darned minute thare, pardner. Not only wuz that Van (Vaan) stupid, he wuz ugly too!" Ayame Fox Jingle hiccupped earnestly. He took an ample swig out of his tankard, then brought the heels of his palms down on the tabletop with a vicious bang that sent tremors racing through the sturdy wood. "Cloudberries, ya says? Well, I dun know wot them berries are, never did, an' I'm a-livin' meself a good life not knowin' it, y'hear! Clownberries me auntie's whiskers!! An' wot's this arky-lolly-gee? Dun know nuttin' 'bout it neither, hic! HIC! An' lawn-dree 'tergent?? Wot's dat fer, eh? Eh?" By now he had leaned forward again and was fogging up Philippe Rolph-Gandalfus' glasses.
"I say!" Philippe exclaimed, fluttering his hands about in a rather aggravated manner, "People are watching!" he hissed. "Don't you care--it shall most effectively ruin my venerated reputation if you carry on like this!"
"Thare's udder people here?" Ayame Fox Jingle looked around with a shocked expression. "When did they get 'eres? Oh's well." Ayame turned around on his stool and slammed his tankard onto the bar table. "Hit me. Once. Or twice. Or HIC! three times. And gimme a pretzel--extra large wi' bananers on it an' jalapeno pepper flakes. I want chocolate sprinkles on it, too, an' mashed taters on the side."
"Sure thing, hon." said the buxom waitress. She disappeared and quickly came back with a tray heaped high with miscellaneous food. She set the wobbling platter before the swaying Ayame Jingle, a small, good-humored frown playing about her freckled face. "You could've just said you wanted the usual, 'cause accordin' to the cook, you get this ev'ry day!"
"HIC!" Ayame replied, digging in graciously.
The waitress frowned.
Philippe cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Er, thank you, miss. I must apologize for my friend here; he's a little…under the influence…if you know what I mean."
The waitress grinned. "Naw, that's fine. I think it's cute."
Philippe looked extremely disapproving. "Well then!" he said after a long, drawn-out pause. Then, to change the subject from Ayame--who was half-smothered in the concoction of mashed potatoes, pretzel bits, bananas, and jalapeno peppers, and quite enjoying it, too--he began to speak of the Abaharaki, which, in Philippe's opinion, was even more unseemly than the spectacle Ayame was making.
"A crooked rabble, 'tis what they are," Philippe said importantly, "They call themselves a professional fighters' guild, but in truth they are hardly fit to be--"
"Oh, but they're perfect gentlemen, if you ask me." the waitress said, "And that Allen… -sigh- He's a hunksicle…" Her eyes glazed over and she clasped her hands before her in an oh-so-ditsy way. "His eyes are like the summer sky, fringed with feathery lashes…I can tell just from lookin' at them that they'd be oh-so-soft…and his hair in the wind, so beautiful and bright…" Here she sighed explosively and pressed her hands to her heart. "What he needs is a good woma--"
"Wot he needs izza haircut, yuppers!" garbled Ayame sagely.
The waitress looked indignantly at the shopkeeper's short fuzz of red hair. "Yore just jealous," she decided finally. "So, like I was sayin', what Master Allen needs…" Here, she once more heaved a vociferous sigh, "is a goo--"
"That young man needs to zip his shirt up!" Philippe interjected crossly. "'Tis indecent, if I do say so myself!"
"Win did we h'invent zippers on Gaea?" asked a baffled Ayame.
The waitress shook her dark curls at them in disapproval. "You men are plain stupid," she sniffed. "I've got other customers to see to. Ta!" She headed off, sighing.
"Win'd we invent zippers, eh? EH?? Are ya list'nin', Philly?!" Ayame asked, waving a floppy piece of banana-smeared pretzel in front of Philippe's face.
"Oh do stop that, I say! And for heaven's sake don't call me Philly!!" Philippe cried, thoroughly distressed as the unsavory article applied a layer of yellowish goop over his nose and glasses.
Ayame withdrew and dropped the pretzel back onto his plate. He then took a drink from his tankard. "Cornstarch," he burped.
"I beg your pardon?"
"CORNSTARCH! That Van (Vaan) stole me whole shipment o' cornstarch las' week, that thieving' scoundrel did! I wuz out front shinin' up me windows when th' deliv'ry waggin drew up buh-hind me shop wid me weekly supply o' cornstarch. Then that evil-smellin' pigboy--"
"Now, if I remember correctly, my dear Ayame Fox, Van Fanel is of the Dragon Clan--"
"THEN THAT EVIL-SMELLIN' PIGBOY hijacked th' waggin an' rode it up the HIC! hill quick as y'like!! Why, thare wuzzn't no way I cudd catch up wivvit, tho I tells yaw I wuz runnin' like the dickens an' waving' an' shoutin' an'--!"
Philippe finally removed the layer of banana from his spectacle lenses. "Ayame," he said in a quiet disapproving tone, "I think you've had too much to drink. Listen to yourself making up these ludicrous yarns. The young ruler of the White Dragons stealing your cornstarch? What use would he have for a whole wagonful of it?"
"But he DID!"
"You must stop shouting, Ayame, people are starting to stare!"
"He STOLE IT, that Van (Vaan)!! A whole WAGGIN of it!"
"Ayame Fox Jingle!"
"Me whole week's worth o' CORNSTARCH!!!"
"Put that mug down! Stop drinking!"
"'E came ter steal me CORNSTARC, unner the HIC!HIC!HIC! pretense o' sweepin' me shop!!"
"Will you listen to me, you uncouth--"
"I tells yer who's unCOUTH! That triple-darned, pig-smellin', goat-scratchin', dratfingled, bogwhumpin', hijackin' piece o' tripe VAN!!!"
"Now you watch your language, Jingle, you're raising such a din! Do stop!"
"VAAN!! I'll hunt yer downs, I will! Then I'll ski-in you and hang your skin up wif me udder furs an' such!" The distraught shopkeeper lifted his tankard high--
"I say, put that down, I say! I say!"
--and heaved it clear across the tavern-- "This is fer me CORNSTARCH!!"
And as usual, this evening ended with some unappreciative, vino-drenched man heaving Ayame out of the window, lengthwise, with a protesting Philippe following, all a-dither.
-
Van topped a hill, lugging a hefty container of laundry detergent. He descended, barely keeping from falling and rolling the rest of the way down. Then he topped another hill, panting and gasping, and struggled down its other side. After five hills he simply had to sit down and rest. Who were the stupid fan writers who designed the landscape around the city of Torushina? Why did they hold such a grudge against him and make him climb all these horrid hills?!
He lifted his sweat-drenched face towards the night sky, full of unsympathetic stars. "Please!" he cried hoarsely. "Have mercy!"
And the fan writer currently tap-tapping at her keyboard responded by placing another four-score hills in his path.
"Fewmets!" Van cursed helplessly. Of course he was helpless! Out in the middle of nowhere with a bottle of laundry detergent, and not even allowed to cuss properly! How many people actually know that 'fewmets' means dragon droppings? Van doubted anyone reading this fic did. He buried his face in his arms and sobbed.
After a while, he became aware of a sound other than his raucous sobs. This sound brought with it a highly unpleasant smell. Something coarse and furry bumped against the young king's knobby knees.
"Well, well…Look who we've found, boys. If it isn't Lord Van! Hahahahaha!" A young man's voice rose up into a high-pitched, keening laugh.
Van looked up, scrubbing at his tear-streaked face, and found himself looking into the dumb eyes of one of those furry, spotted, horse-ish animals they rode on Gaea.
Let's call them fooflies.
The fooflie snorted at him, exuding more of the smell that most people found so objectionable. Van drew back with distaste.
"Up here!" Dilandau cried indignantly. "You're confusing the reader!"
Van immediately swung his head up to meet the crimson eyes of the young mercenary. Dilandau's lips peeled back in a satisfied sneer.
"Haha, I've got you now! Thought you could get away from me, eh?"
"B-but the hills--!" Van sputtered, turning to point behind him. How could Dilandau have…? But the hills were gone. Van once again cursed the fan writer, this time for favoring the psychopathic albino.
"Are you scared yet, Lord Van?" Dilandau asked, leering. "Oh but you must have been so terribly frightened all along! You ran into that little backwater general store to hide from me, but I found you then, didn't I? You tried to get away in that delivery wagon, but I BURNED that cornstarch and I would've BURNED you, too, if you hadn't sprouted wings and flown away." Dilandau flapped his hands in a sad parody of Van's wings and turned about to glare accusingly at the fan writer as though to say, How could you have let that happen?!
"I'm not afraid of you this time, Dilandau!" Van shouted up at him. "Because this time…I have LAUNDRY DETERGENT! HA!" With an almighty heave, the young Dragon lord hefted the big blue, green, red, and white bottle high above his head. "And I'm not afraid to use it!"
"What's that he's got there?" Dilandau hissed anxiously, drawing his fooflie back a bit and conferring with Chesta, Ryoun, and Gatti.
"Laundry detergent," Ryoun said dutifully. "My lord."
"Yes, but what's that?!"
"It's that new stuff they've got imported from the Mystic Moon. I hear that it's a miraculous substance used to clean clothes, my lord," Gatti informed him.
"Yeah, what he said," Chesta added, bobbing his blond head sagely. Dilandau slapped him and the poor boy flew out of his saddle.
Dilandau rounded upon Van once more. "I know what laundry detergent is and it doesn't scare me!"
Van sweat-dropped. Perhaps he had underestimated Dilandau--he'd been hoping that the guy would fall for the laundry detergent ruse. Van started slowly lowered the heavy bottle of detergent, saying with a regretful look on his face, "Oh no. You saw right through me!"
"Yes I did, didn't I?" Dilandau preened himself.
Van discreetly began unscrewing the cap on the bottle of detergent.
"Ah, yes," Dilandau continued. "I'm so smart AND pretty! Hahahaha!" He hugged himself, throwing back his head and laughing maniacally. The Dragon Slayers clapped politely.
Van smiled an evil smile. Then he flung the uncapped bottle of detergent at Dilandau with all his strength, and took off running in the opposite direction.
Dilandau howled in anguish as the liquid sloshed over him, soaking his hair and making it even shinier than usual. "My eyes! My eyes!" He scrubbed at them ineffectually. "I'll get you, Van!" he barked. "After him, boys!"
The Dragon Slayers rode after the running figure. Chesta drew his horse up next to Van, trying to keep pace as he talked.
"Um, excuse me? Lord Dilandau's sort of upset, and he wants you back there. I would really, really appreciate it if you came back with us. Please?"
Van looked up incredulously. "NO WAY!" he yelled, and ran harder.
"But I said 'please'!" Chesta called after him.
"I can't see!" Dilandau was kicking his fooflie around in circles, scrabbling at his face, and yelling. "I can't see a thing! Oh my god I can't SEE!"
Terribly concerned by their leader's agonized cries, the Dragon Slayers hurried back to his side. "Are you ok?" Chesta asked, leaning over; he was simply asking to be slapped.
Dilandau swung his arm blindly, and purely by chance caught the blond sweetie a glancing blow. Chesta yelped and went careening from his saddle.
By the time Dilandau could open his eyes again, it was only to see Van finally come to his senses, throw off his red shirt, and go flying off into the dark blue of the night.
"NOOO!" Dilandau howled, one hand grabbing for a spear. "Gimme a projectile!! I'll take him out!"
Chesta quickly handed him the empty bottle of detergent. How clever! J
Dilandau snatched it up without looking at it and heaved it at Van's quickly disappearing form. "WHAT?!" he screeched as the plastic bottle returned to earth a few feet away with a hollow clunk. "I missed?!?!"
The Dragon Slayers clapped politely.
"Yes you certainly did, sir!" Chesta said with a big, chibi-style smile, nodding enthusiastically as he climbed back onto his horse.
You could hardly be surprised as he went flying out of his saddle again.
-
It was morning when Van landed unsteadily in the Abaharaki camp. His breath came short from running over all those hills and flying the whole night on top of that. Gasping, Van took two laborious steps forward…
…and fell onto his face.
Millerna had strutted forward to meet him. Now she stood over his limp form, hands on her hips. "Well, like, did you bring, like, my laundry detergent, sugar?"
Van looked up, his face coated with dirt. "I ain't never goin' back there agin!" he yelled unsteadily with something resembling a hillbilly accent.
Millerna bent down and helpfully delivered a slap to his cheek.
Van uttered a small squeak of shock, one hand clamped over the smarting red mark on his face. Then his eyes darkened. "I'LL KILL YOU, WOMAN!!!"
"There y'are, sweetie. That's, like, much better! You're, like, all back to, like, your old self!" Millerna said with a sweet smile.
Gaddes slunk up to them and peered around Millerna's shoulder at Van. "Well! Don't you look chipper this morning," he grinned.
"VAN-SAMA! VAN-SAMA! VAN-SAMAAA!" came an earsplitting cry. Merle appeared, leaping down from the battle wagon. She jumped onto Van and started licking the dirt off his face.
"Hey Merle. Where's Allen?" Van asked (I wonder why he cares).
"Still doing his hair. Y'know, he has to put lotsa mousse on it so it won't get messed up when he's killing people," Merle mewed knowingly.
Allen emerged from the battle wagon and sauntered up to them with his usual suaveness.
Everyone stared, slack-jawed.
"So what'd you think?" he asked, putting a hand to his hair. "Y'all like my new hairdo?"
"Ehh…ah…erk…ack… I mean, Ooh! Aah!" cried Gaddes loyally.
"It's, like…terribly becoming on you, sweetheart," Millerna choked.
"It puts me in mind of an anthill." Van stated frankly.
Merle clapped her paws together. "Yes! That's what I was thinking it looked like!"
Kio shambled forward, staring. "Gee, Boss," he marveled. "I didn't know that your hair could even look bad!"
"Oohh," chorused Van, Merle, Millerna, and Gaddes.
Allen's large blue eyes narrowed threateningly. "It can't."
Kio didn't get it. "Oh but it can, Boss! It looks real bad right now!" he said emphatically--
--and found himself flat on the ground with several cantaloupe-sized lumps on his head.
Allen was striding back to the wagon, muttering angrily about idiots who didn't know how to appreciate proper style.
"So, like, I'm assuming that you, like, totally didn't bring the laundry detergent?" Millerna asked, turning back to Van.
"Ah, I got in a dodgy situation and…well, desperate times call for desperate measures, you know?" Van sketched a grin.
Millerna pouted. "Well, that's alright, honey." She turned to Gaddes, grinning enticingly. "Will you do it, sugar? Go to Torushina and, like, totally get me some laundry detergent?"
"Lemme think…"
"I promise to, like, make you totally happy if you do, Gaddes-baby," Millerna said, squeezing his arm.
Gaddes sweat-dropped.
"What do you mean, Millerna?" Merle asked innocently.
"Let's get away from the scary woman," Van suggested, tugging Merle's paw.
Millerna ignored them and turned back to Gaddes, looking at him from beneath her long, thick lashes. "What's the world, like, come to…when a girl, like, can't even get some laundry detergent? Oh please, like, help, Gaddes!"
"It's no problem, princess," Gaddes gulped, sweating profusely and nearly melting under the pressure. "I'll be off right now."
Millerna smiled and pecked him on the cheek. "Thanks, hon', I appreciate it."
"Yup, same here!" Gaddes squeaked, hurrying off in the direction of the city.
Millerna turned, fiddling with her pink hair ribbon. She headed back for the battle wagon, planning to play with Allen until lunchtime. Then she remembered the horrendous job he had made of his pretty blond locks. That would be no fun! Millerna pivoted and began sprinting off after Gaddes.
"Gaddes! Like, wait for me, darlin'! I'm, like, coming with you!"
Gaddes stopped in his tracks and turned, slowly. "Y-you are?"
Millerna stopped in stood with her hands clasped. "I'd, like, really, like, like to, sweetie, if you don't mind, because I would get, like, so totally lonely here without you."
Gaddes' blinked.
"So…let's, like, go get that detergent, ok? Then we can, like, hang out at the city and, like, totally have some fun!" Millerna put her arm through Gaddes'.
"Sounds like a good idea, princess," Gaddes grinned, relaxing as he finally realized what an opportunity he'd gotten himself. Finally Millerna wasn't hanging off the Boss; Gaddes knew he ought to make the most of it.
Together they headed off down the road to Torushina.
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NEXT: Millerna and Gaddes arrive at Philippe's shop, only to find that Van bought the last container of laundry detergent! That evening, the nutty Ayame and Philippe meet up at the bar again, except this time, Millerna & Gaddes, Dilandau & co are there, too! What happens when the vengeful Ayame starts ranting about Van again, and our screwy cast strings the story together? STAY TUNED! AND REVIEW!!!!
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A/N: Hi there! This is Phyllis Nodrey, the main writer of this…uh…parody. I'm the narrator, mostly, and Philipe Rolph-Gandalfus. How'd you like this so far? I must say I enjoyed writing the parts of the Ryuugekitai & the Abaharaki the most, although the rest of the characters were great, too. jingle is the inspiration for this fic & I never would've done this without her!
Co-writer jinglefoxvcr: HHHHHIIIIII!!!!!! I WROTE THE PARTS OF AYAME FOX JINGLE!! DID YOU KNOW THAT? PROBABLY… THIS PARODY IS AWESOMELY COOL, SO 'PLEASE' (like Chesta says) KEEP READING! YEAH! YUPPERS YA'LL! Don't forger to drop a review on your way out! YYYEEEESSSS! Hey, have any of you read the book, Fire Bringer? It's my favorite book in the whole entire world, even though I read it two years ago... Am I off subject, Philly? Wah. READ THE REST OF THIS THING! 8-)
Phyllis: Call me Philly again and you shall die a horrible death…(tho' you get to choose, ice or fire, teehee.)