Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't…

*****

Living Space, Chefs, and the Obligatory Guy Named Bob



"Chichi, we need more pancakes!"

"Where the hell is the order for Table 3?"

"Stop harassing the waiters!"

Sighing and shaking her head, a rueful sort of smile on her face, the raven-haired woman, her thick violet-luster locks tied up in twin buns, one on each side of her head, scooped up two breakfast trays laden with food, one balanced on each palm-up hand as she set her roller-blades into motion, slipping into the main dining area, where noisy morning customers demanded service. "Ya owe me, Henry," Chichi called back to the slight young man that ran the small diner. "Now, who ordered the pancakes?" Several hands shot into the air and she hit herself mentally; she'd have to be more specific. "Who ordered the blueberry pancakes with the chocolate chips and the strawberry syrup, butter and jelly on the side?" All hands except for one went down. That had to be Bob. Only Bob would eat something so absurdly out-of-the-ordinary. "You wanted the cherry margarita with the little fluorescent green umbrella, too, right?" The hand bobbed up and down in an affirmative action. Rolling her dark eyes and smiling with great humor, she skated over to his one-man booth, placing the other tray down at Table 12, where the elderly couple within smiled happily at each other, carefully cutting the waffles up evenly. Bob, a young teenager who took classes at the Internet college recently established, had soft, downy white hair and endlessly deep violet eyes, along with a small, thin frame. He was perhaps the truest friend in Chichi's life and the only person who didn't live to ridicule her beliefs. He didn't really care whether or not she liked mysticism; she was the first person who understood his precarious position in life. Bob had been born prematurely and quickly displayed signs of genius intellect, which only led to further ridicule from his peers. Chichi was aware that he had tried attending an actual college, but the pressure and a few rumors led him to sign up almost immediately for a brand, spanking new Internet college.

Either way, he was still her friend.

"Boy, Bob," she raised an eyebrow elegantly, "you sure have great taste in food."

He eagerly yanked the plate from her, quickly shoving a bite of solid jelly into his mouth.

Chichi shuddered, gagging.

Bob opened his mouth and flashed the chewed, flopping jelly on his tongue. She made a swift exit.

*

Juunanagou and Minako pushed open the registration door to the apartment building: former grinning in self-satisfaction, latter glaring at the former's back with the kind of look preceding homicidal attacks. Angel or no angel, Minako was seriously contemplating the treacherous act of murder. After all, she reasoned, God would forgive her, right? Juunanagou was such a pain in the ass.

The man behind the counter looked up briefly, beady eyes flickering disinterestedly from the soaked form of Juunanagou to the far more intriguing - to him - form of a soaked Minako. Leaning forward, a leering smirk on his distorted face, the man said, "And how can I help you, gorgeous?"

"Shut-up," Juunanagou snapped and the man blinked, recoiling slightly, as Minako, though relieved, opened her mouth a little into an 'o' of surprise. "I'm with her. We'd like to rent the vacant room, 13."

The man shiftily narrowed his eyes, folding his thin hands together and settling into his rolling chair. "I'm sorry," he answered smoothly, eyes glittering dangerously, "but that room is no longer available."

Juunanagou made a move to lunge forward and kill the man, but Minako bumped his hip with hers, moving the dark angel out of her way.

"Are you sure?" she sang softly, trying to make her blue eyes as wide and innocently pleading as they could be. "Absolutely…?"

The man stared at her and, dazedly, fumbled for a ring of keys, handing two copies of the room's keys to her.

"Thank-you," Minako spoke sweetly, twirling around on her heel and flouncing over to the hallway, where she found and entered the elevator, forcing herself to patiently cry: "Juunanagou!"

Juunanagou took the time to sneer evilly at the man, flipping his middle finger up respectfully and stalking into the hallway, then the elevator.

The man sighed regretfully, "Why can't life be easy?"

*

"Oooo, pancakes! Can we go there, Juurokougou?" Gokuu pleaded, ignoring the softly fading rain that was dripping shyly onto his black t-shirt. "Pretty please?"

"No, Gokuu. We have a mission to fulfill," answered, patiently, Juurokougou. "We must locate Juunanagou and/or Chichi before something bad happens to Minako."

Sighing with great longing, Gokuu slowly shuffled along behind Juurokougou, who was briskly moving between people jogging through the early morning rain. He did see, however, a pretty young woman with dark hair and eyes, serving food…

*

"NOW! PUT THE SOUL _DOWN_, GOTEN!!"

"But, Mr. Piccoro…"

"NOW!!!!!"

"Siryessir."

*

"Why are you in such a bad mood?" Minako asked, massaging the shampoo out of her thick blonde hair. His reply was muffled by the shower door and, after flipping the shower off and grasping a towel that she wrapped around her body, she slid the door aside, stepping onto the tiled floor of her own, personal bathroom. Juunanagou had his own as well.

"I repeat," she said after a moment, making sure that the towel was tucked firmly about her, "why are you in such a bad mood? It's not like I couldn't have handled myself, you know." The least she could do was pretend she could stand his company, right?

"Don't tell me you've forgotten," was his sarcastic, enigmatic response.

"Forgotten what?" she questioned, toweling her hair clumsily - it had been decades since she had last used Earth facilities. "Oh, wait, this is one of your 'I-am-better-than-you' games, isn't it? Well, I'm not playing!"

She could imagine his careless shrug and his toss of the shoulder-long, dead-straight ebony hair he had always sported.

"Fine, then," Minako barely heard his murmur. "But the game has only begun…and the rules are constantly changing…"

She frowned, forcing herself to ignore the hidden meanings that could be placed in those mysteriously aggravating words.




More to come soon…

The mongoose is getting violent. I must flee!

{Tell me, Chibi Mars! I _beg_ you!}

"WRITE!!!" said the mongoose. So I wrote.
Purple Mongoose/PallaPlease.

[PS~ Lavish compliments! Give. Me. LAVISH COMPLIMENTS!!! Or scorching flames. Either one, as long as you review.]

[PSS~ My Muses wish Larry-the-Rabid-Psychotic-Monkey and the mongoose would leave them be. I miss my bowling ball.]

DISCLAIMER:
The Sailor Senshi are © to Takeuchi Naoko-san, Kodansha, DiC, Cloverway, Toei Animation, Mixx Entertainment, etc.
The Dragonball characters are © to Toriyama Akira-san, Shogakun (?), FUNimation, Toei Animation, Viz Entertainment, etc.
"Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't" in its entirety, all situations and plot devices thus far, is © to myself, referred to on-line as PallaPlease or Purple Mongoose/PallaPlease.