Hello again folks, I know this one took a while... I hope 17 and 18 arent too outofcharacter, I'm trying to portray them right... so here's hoping. And as usual I am open to any constructive criticism.
And if it makes anyone happy, here's the link to a picture I've done of 18, Krillin and Majon. Just in case anyone wanted to see how she looks in my head...
(www.) goffietwerb. deviantart .com/art/Fools-fall-in-180152874 ...so yeah. (I'm actually better artist than a writer...) cant figure out how to link... so it's that without the spaces...
Fools Fall In - Chapter 4
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah-Yeah-Yeah
And the man in the back said everyone attack
And it turned into a ballroom blitz
And the girl in the corner said boy I want to warn you
It'll turn into a ballroom blitz
Ballroom blitz - The Sweet
When 18 had woken up that morning, and rolled out the sleeping bag on the floor of the van she was calling home – there was nothing that forewarned her that this was going to be a one of those days. One of those annoying, hectic and somewhat pivotal days that tripped you up and knocked you on your arse. She did not like them.
She had not particularly wanted to be living in an old camper-van. This of course, was her brother's idea. Stay on the road. Travel wherever the wind may take us. Drive at ridiculous speeds in a wreck that had obviously seen better days when you can just as easily fly around. Idiot. Damn persuasive git. He'd come up with these stupid ideas, but with reasons and explanations she couldn't find fault with. Only his twin could put up with this rubbish and not try and kill him. Well. That often anyway.
She could hear traffic outside and her brother rattling about in the teeny kitchen area, probably making toast. His speciality. She was still in yesterday's clothes. Eurgh. She needed a shower. Badly. The one inside the bathroom forwardslash cupboard in their stolen campervan was never in the mood work properly, attacking her systematically with freezing water, but she'd happily brave it instead of going for her brother's approach; which consisted of sitting in a child's paddling pool full of hot water outside the van, happily reading a magazine, cowboy boots and orange scarf still on.
"What time is it?"
"11am."
"What time are we at work?"
"9pm. If we show up."
"We are going to show up, 17."
"Hmph."
Ah the straight and narrow. Her twin was obviously having more trouble adjusting to it than herself, but she didn't care. She'd never truly enjoyed the mayhem – that was his department. She just wanted a place to sleep, the odd new pair of shoes and (for the love of god) a working shower without attracting too much unwanted attention. And if holding down a job would get her that, then so be it. She simply couldn't be bothered with it. Yes a job was boring and so pathetically human – but it was, to be totally honest, a welcomed piece of... stability in an otherwise chaotic existence.
They had found the job advertised in a rather odd magazine ("that woman on the cover has an awful lot of tattoo's...") left in their dilapidated campervan. It was a pretty decent job. Just bar work, and the Rakshasa paid alright, the only thing that she wasn't to keen on was the owner, some fluffy-haired demon woman who was far too loud for her own good, usually found hanging on the arm of that huge lug of a boyfriend of hers.
Anyway. It kept her occupied. Kept her hands away from blowing things up. Her thoughts away from all the trouble they had endured only a few months ago. And since it kept her brother busy and not attracting the attention of the Golden-Boy-Wonder with his little Scooby gang –it was allll good.
"We're not parking here."
"Why not?"
"You're seriously going to park a van with all out belongings in and questionable locks directly outside the front entrance of a Demon-and-other-shady-characters nightclub?"
"Should I park it round the back?"
"Park it round the back."
"That's what she-"
"Finish that sentence and I'll set fire to your face."
And so their shift began. Nothing out of the ordinary. The punters still leered at her. Her brother still found new and interesting ways to frustrate her. She'd always been the one of the two more likely to keep their cool, but lately she found she'd been losing her temper more and more often. And that unsettled her a little.
Nights like these were usually not too busy, so 18 mostly busied herself in the washing up area behind the bar, occasionally bringing barrels through from outside for most of her shift. Hours passed, and by the end of the night she noticed 17 had been amusing himself with something, that evil glint lighting up in his eyes, usually so devoid of life.
He looks almost... she shook the idea away. No. I'm not going down that road of thought again.
She looked at her watch. Midnight. Already almost everyone had left, apart from a group of regulars (her boss's friends and minions she reckoned), some drunkards and a couple of stragglers in the corner being obnoxiously loud. She wasn't really paying attention. She still had a few hours left until her shift ended; most of the other bar staff had gone home.
Ugh, they were being loud in the corner. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten a job in a nightclub if she hated drunkards so much.
Glancing up from a tray of glasses, she saw Majon leave. She also saw the large group of demon-folk start to get up from their table, their attention focused on where all the noise was coming from. She was dimly aware of some knuckle cracking and dark chuckles; claws were being unsheathed and hackles were rising. 18 felt her brother's cool hand on her arm.
"Didn't you hear what I said? There's going to be trouble. If we put the bottles away now we can watch the fight and we won't have to clean up too much mess."
"Huh, what? A fight?"
He brother was preoccupied with rushing round the room at super-human speed collecting in bottles. Clearing up smashed glass in the early hours of the morning was not something he relished doing. Besides. This way he was free to enjoy the show. His sister simply rolled her eyes and moved the tip-jar off the bar-counter; if there was going to be one of those ridiculously clichéd brawls then she knew that was the first thing that was going to be smashed off someone's head.
Then she heard a man's voice cut through the music and the sound of chairs being pushed aside.
An all too familiar man's voice.
Bugger.
"Tell me what? Tell me what Yamcha?"
Yamcha did not answer, but instead was looking up at Piccolo, who was staring intently at something behind them both. Spinning round, both humans turned and saw what could only truly be described as a 'posse' of demons moving slowly and threateningly towards them. The demons were varied in size and shape, varied in ki too from what our heroes could sense, but all bore the same countenance of menace. All three tensed up.
"Oh great. What do they want."
"You really can't tell Yamcha?"
"They want to kick our asses don't they?"
"Yup... You think we should just ... you know...scarper?"
The monk saw a smirk form on Piccolo's face. "Not a chance in hell. We can take care of them first. They're hardly a match for even you Krillin. Besides, you two need the practice."
"Thanks for that."
"Okay that is the second time someb-"
"Shush."
They turned to face their soon to be opponents. Sleeves were rolled up and knuckles cracked. At last, thought the ex-demon king, I might have a decent night after all.
Krillin could see in his friend's face that he was going to fight, and nothing either of the humans said was going to stop him. Made sense, he doubted the namek had been in fight since the Cell juniors – and even though Kami's influence had certainly mellowed him a bit – he was still first and foremost a warrior. Oh well. At least they'd end the night in style.
Unless the demons were hiding their power levels, it would be a scrap as opposed to a battle. But the men were wary; nothing could be taken for granted when fighting demons. Nothing.
One of the largest demons, apparently the self-appointed spokesperson bellowed towards the smaller group.
"You think you can mess with one of us and get away with all your limbs? Think again ladies. Majon asked us to take out the rubbish – (he cracked his jaw in a quite disturbing manner, rows of razor-sharp teeth glinting in the low light) – who's first?"
He looked somewhat taken aback when the three z-senshi started sniggering.
"That's some fabulous trash-talk you've got there. We're not at all embarrassed for you."
One of his more lean companions snarled and stepped forward, "Katya man, I think ee's takin' thuh piss lyke. Twat 'im."
After this individual had gotten an odd look from him, mostly due to the fact he had no idea what he'd just said, Krillin held up his hands and in a calm and reasonable tone, asked the demons if they'd just let them leave quietly.
He was promptly told to fuck off.
"Well at least he tried."
"What is he doing here?"
"I have no idea. Honestly I don't care. As long as they put on a good show."
18 swore under her breath. 17 sat himself on the bar-top. They both watched.
There was a Mexican standoff, for want of a better analogy.
Suddenly, the writer switches to present tense. It's all very dramatic. Something is about to go down.
Fighting stances are taken, fists are clenched. The lights seem to dim and spotlight the opponents. Oddly appropriate music suddenly starts playing as everyone takes their places, ready, poised and wound up like springs. One of the largest demons makes a move towards Yamcha and the fight begins.
And now the writer switches back to past tense because she realises she can't write very well like this.
A huge right-hook aimed at the bandit's face was dodged and countered with an elbow to the gut. Krillin and Piccolo both sailed past their comrade to join the fray and were met with a volley of kicks, punches and a few weak energy balls which were easily blocked. Quickly and predictably, Piccolo took charge.
"You take those four, Yamcha – those 3 are yours. I'll take the rest."
"Gosh, you're so kind." replied his tiny comrade, deftly fending off an enemy lunging at him with a broken bottle. One quick manoeuvre involving the dislocating of shoulders was employed, and thus the threat swiftly ended. Though the demons were relatively powerful, they were neither well-trained nor seemed to have the ability to work as a team. Sure there were energy-based attacks, but they were weak and showy if anything.
("Why don't they just blow them all up?"
"No idea. Maybe they don't want a body count? You know, since they're supposed to be the good guys and all – OOOOO! KICK HIM! KICK HIM IN HIS FACE!"
"Just stupid if you ask me."
"Nobody was - OW!")
Right punch. Left kick. Dodge claws. Knee to the stomach, spinning hammerfist, shuuto, rising block. He held back the attacks of three demons all twice his size; over and over, as if he were repeating the same moves again and again in some strange eternal loop - the universe reusing frames to save money.
Or something.
He did not see one bulky demon's crocodile-like tail coming, however, and next thing he knew he was on his back with a foot about to stamp down on his face.
"Oh crap."
SMACK!
The foot hit the hard floor as Krillin swiftly rolled out of the way, only to find he'd rolled into the back of Yamcha's legs, knocking his friend completely off his feet.
"Argh!"
"Ow!"
"What the hell are you two doing?"
("They're not doing very well are they?")
Within a moment, both men were up on they're feet – back to back; kicking proverbial ass. In fact, just as Krillin was about to make some sort of humorous comment about how well they were doing, and how easy this all was, a fist connected with his face and he was sent flying backwards through the air.
Piccolo barely noticed his friend fly past him as he kneed an orange, rather spiky foe in the gut. Snap kick. Thrust kick. Roundhouse kick. Even a headbutt thrown in for good measure; he had to admit, he was rather enjoying himself... and of course causing far more wanton destruction than he really should.
After knocking one of the demons completely out cold with a roundhouse kick and knocking another back, he proceeded to do something which was very unlike him, which he would later blame on Gohan and Dende coercing him into watching films with them. He picked up a chair and smashed his opponent in the head with it.
This earned him a cheer from across the room. 17 awarded him 10 points. 18 scowled at him, 17 was obviously enjoying himself. The bastardy-bastard-face.
The blonde android dodged as a bottle flew past her face and smashed into the wall behind her. This, she thought to herself, is getting slightly out of hand.
She quietly watched the scene unfold; the demons were seconds away from defeat, each one being felled quite easily by the three men. As per what was expected. She'd seen them fight, she had the files. This was an easy victory by the looks of things – so why were they taking so long? Piccolo himself could've finished them all in under a minute with a well placed ki beam. As she watched Krillin collide with a wall on the far side of the room, she could've sworn she'd seen a small grin on his (stupid, stupid) face as he catapulted back into the fray, taking out the lean oddly-accented demon with a kick to the back of the head.
The idiots were enjoying themsel- oh hell. What was he doing now?
Krillin gave a small yelp as one of the demons picked him up by the collar and pushed him backwards onto the bar top, broken glass cutting into his back. His opponent snarled and leant in, razor sharp teeth stained with blood from a busted nose. He pulled his fist back, gathering ki in a small ball, preparing to slam it into the monk's face.
"Uh oh."
As Krillin was about to try and block, he felt himself being yanked backwards (face still intact); the rather surprised–looking demon being blasted across the room by a powerful ki beam from behind his head. He fell backwards and landed on the on top of his rescuer, who let out a low but distinctly feminine yelp.
Krillin, trying to get out of the markedly undignified position, turned around to face the woman on whom he'd landed and found himself looking into the icy-blue eyes of Android 18.
"Bugger."
"Get. Off. Me."
He readily complied.
18 simply gave him one steel-hard glare and then launched herself over the bar top, a somewhat dazed and confused Krillin staring blankly after her – his reverie ending when she grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him over too.
"Now we're even."
What is she doing here? Here of all places? Was she out for the night? That shirt has quite a low neckline. Why the hell would she come to a demon bar? Unless she was here with a demon. Or unless she heard I was coming. No, probably the first idea. Aw man, I bet she's here with a demon –
"Wait...what?"
"I said now we're even. You save me, I save you: debt repaid."
"Huh?"
She let out an exasperated sigh, and then turned to punch a man through a table. "What the hell are you doing here anyway?" Her eyes narrowed, "Did you come looking for me? Because I'm telling you now that that isn't going to happ-"
"What? No! No I didn't come looking for you! I didn't even know you were here! You know I can't sense you! I was here with-"
Yamcha's voice could be heard over the din of music and fighting, "DUCK!"
They both ducked as a cigarette machine hurtled through the air.
"There you are 18. I need you to hold this for me." 17 had appeared as if by magic by Krillin's side, he handed his sister half a broken bottle and disappeared again, presumably back into the last remnants of the brawl.
"Was he covered in someone else's blood?"
"Yes he was."
"Lovely."
Then there was a silence. One of those silences that seem to form a bubble around the participants, everything else around them slowed down as they quietly pondered the absurdity of the situation.
Then there was an explosion.
"DODGE!"
And they did. Not a minute too soon as the last demon standing was blasted, courtesy a Masenko attack from Piccolo, straight through the air where they had been standing the moment before.
Then straight through the wall behind the bar, straight through the next outer wall and straight into a dishevelled-looking campervan outside. Which then burst into flames.
As the dust and debris settled, those left standing stood quietly; nursing wounds, they ignored the moans and groans of the defeated demons around them and watched the mini fireworks display that was previously the twin's home.
"So who was it who said we should park round the back?"
"Bugger."
That one was rather short, but I did try. As you could probably tell, I'm not used to writing action scenes. I hope you liked it though.
And the oddly-accented Demon? A Geordie.