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* Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction *
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Switch: Odds and Ends: Park Life by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
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Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and
by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce.
Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me
hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good
thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny thanks to whoever saw this.
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Skipping about in the story, and compiling whatever post-mortem and pre-
natal side stories which may come to mind, Odds and Ends has them all.
Side stories from the minds of the people (and non-people) of NFT fics.
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"Girls who are boys who like boys to be girls who
do boys like their girls who do girls like their boys
always should be someone to really love."
- Blur, "Girls and Boys"
from the album "Park Life"
This narration could be completely safe to begin a bird's eye view
of the why's and how's of the life of Tsubasa Kurenai at the Kurenai
household. It would also be very short: it was quiet, most of the time.
The particular "why" this is true is mainly because things do not
happen at this household. That is it.
Actually, things do happen.
For example, take the time when Tsubasa was born.
Mr. Kurenai was an artist. He was an artist by trade, which would
mean that he did artsy stuff, and this was mainly because anyone who was
an artist at the time was in the papers; they expected artists to do
artsy stuff.
"Artsy stuff" very much included whatever the artist was expected
to produce, e. g. a painter a painting, a sculptor a sculpture, et
cetera. What Mr. Kurenai did as an artist was not really important, and
neither was the quality of this work. This narration would, if it wanted
to divulge that information, have to use artsy words, and would have to
assume a high-handed, if not completely wrong, tone of voice on its
position.
Mrs. Kurenai, henceforth assumed, was the breadwinner.
The main source of inspiration for Mr. Kurenai's work was chaos.
This was provided for, for the earlier part of the marriage by the
fact that the missus did all the work, and the mister did nothing but
loaf. Of course, this was not true: after they'd argue about it, Mr.
Kurenai would be able to create his art.
But, as the reader would note, it was no surprise that they had
their first child within the first year of their marriage.
This narration then goes into the first "artsy stuff"ing associated
with Tsubasa Kurenai: the name.
While Mrs. Kurenai was with child for but three months, they had
planned on names. The fact that Mrs. Kurenai herself had been an artsy
type herself would aid in the following excerpt:
"... Ranma? 'Wild Horse'? What kind of name is that?" She.
"It is sort of androgynous, though. Beats having to choose on the
day." He.
"... but if she were a girl, then she'd be Ranko. 'Wild girl'?"
"No, no. You've got the kanji all wrong..." Some scribbling.
"See?"
Some scrubbing sounds. "Sometimes, I wonder what I saw in you."
Laughing. "Okay, okay. How about... Ukyo?"
"Now what's that a reference to? Genjiro? Or are you planning to
force the child into monkhood?"
"... yeah, 'suppose. I mean, what if she's a girl?"
More laughing.
"... wait. Wait. How about... 'Reed'?"
"Nope, no. Sounds so... male. Going for androgynous."
"... oh, right. Wait... got it." More scribbling.
"What's... oh. Hmm... Tsubasa. 'Wing.' 'Crimson Wing.' Neat."
More scribbling. "Now here's a costume that can go well..."
Sounds of violence.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Kurenai had a labored childbirth, and thus
foregone all future arguments. Thence started the period of quiet that
came with the birth of Tsubasa Kurenai.
This period of silence was a fairly good period for the Kurenai
residence in general, and for Tsubasa Kurenai in particular. It actually
gave him time to grow up normally, with no strong interest in the arts,
and without him and his father having to leave to become one with the
art, and without requiring his mother to force his father to promise to
raise the young Kurenai as a man among men, among other things.
He, in fact, was a very normal child. One who had a very pissed
father.
Now, his father had a complete and utter tranquility in his
household. It completely blocked his artistic expression, and made him
need to create chaos. One day, they had just seen him try to fill the
room with chicken feathers, and stopped him in time for the glue.
For years, he moped about the house in some effort to attain the
grateful disorder he sought, but became easily reminded of two things:
his wife, and their son.
That was, until he struck a plan.
Dinner was, as usual, subdued. That was going to change, soon
enough.
Mrs. Kurenai pushed her glasses along the bridge of her nose. Her
straight hair was starting to curl, and it was a sure sign that she
needed to calm down. She had this perpetually wary look that made sure
that she, if she would see anything distasteful, had the expression ready
at all times. It suited her well.
Tsubasa, all of six years, was seated across from his mother. He
was also across from his father, which facilitated family talks very
well. He pushed a light brown bang from his eyes, a sure sign that he
would have to have his haired trimmed to its regular boys' cut.
Dinner was sukiyaki, with some wasabi. Also, it was some tempura.
In any case, dinner did not really care whether it was finished or
not, and neither did Mr. Kurenai.
"Tsubasa," he said, excitement bubbling. He did not call him "son"
because this was a more authoritative name to call one's son. He liked
having to call people by their first names. Besides, his wife took care
of the usage of all the relative terms, and used them extremely well.
"Husband," she demonstrated, "could it wait? We're in the middle
of dinner."
"What is it, father?" was all that Tsubasa said.
"If you would," he said, "come to the studio after this meal. I...
I have a surprise."
"Yes, father."
Thus dinner continued.
The studio was where Mr. Kurenai displayed his skills as an artist.
Actually, this was not entirely true: he finished works in a frenzy,
usually within a night or a day, then hid them immediately before anyone
had the chance to criticize it. In any case, it was where he did his do.
Tsubasa came in to find his father on the couch, sitting upright,
facing the door. He had a playful expression on.
"Tsubasa, I have something that you might want to see."
He pointed to the larger part of the room. Tsubasa turned to face
it.
In the middle of the room, highlighted by several spotlights that
were there, was a set of drums. Not the usual three-or-four-drums-with-
one-or-two-cymbals ensemble that the nineties bands would so often have,
but some thing which consisted of about ten to twelve drums, four cymbal
groups, a triangle, and a tambourine. Behind it was a huge mass of audio
reproduction hardware that caused the back end of the room to look like
it came out of a set of the original Star Trek.
Needless to say, it scared the heck out of Tsubasa.
"Wha-what is it?"
His father clasped a shoulder. "It's yours."
Now, if your father tells you that you now own that junkheap of a
jalopy that you can see across the street, it is only understandable that
you would be the first to send it to the junkyard it so belongs to. But
a drum set is one of the really, really cool monsters you can own. Sort
of like finding Godzilla tied to a tree in your backyard and having him
give you rides on his back, possibly while he's trashing half of Tokyo.
Moral: there are monsters, and then, there are monsters.
"Give me the keys" was all Tsubasa said.
"Uh, it doesn't need keys," said his father.
Thus ended the quiet times.
This narration then starts a deceleration, and a change of scene.
To those truly interested in finding out more about the household, the
next scene (as well as scenes returning there) can summarize:
Some very, very odd crashing noises, in some sort of beat.
Mrs. Kurenai stopped chopping to answer the doorbell.
"Hello?" A pause.
"Yes, yes. I'm so sorry for the bother. He DID install
soundproofing. Oh, the wrong ROOM. Yes. Yes, I read that magazine.
That? Oh, it was a good comedy... oh, of course it's gory... I feel the
same, sometimes. *sigh* Yes, yes. Good night, Mr. Takada."
The sound of a door closing, some steps, then a door opening.
The crashes sounded louder.
To say the least, Mr. Kurenai was now a very prolific artist.
Tsubasa Kurenai, then.
His entire schooling was in all-boy schools.
For any child of before puberty, there are only two stages of life:
work and play. Work, of course, was school. Except for the last
statement, the same could be said for children past the age of majority.
The main difference between an all-boy school and a coed school is,
of course, the scenery. There are lots more pinks in a coed school.
Most children below puberty are boys, including those who have long hair
and wear dresses. And so, the main difference in an all-boy school and
an all-girl school is not actually in the population, but in the
organization.
For example, there are no bands in all-girl schools.
The music club had a big hall for itself. This is because rarely
would any other club in an all-boy school want to get into close quarters
with its music club. The last club that tried to bunk with them was the
art club, but since no one seemed to take chaos as a source of
inspiration among them, it left soon after.
This was good, and there were three band sets built-up in the
building, with lots of room for acoustics.
Band sets actually mostly consist of two things: drum sets, and
audio reproduction equipment. Whatever instruments can be found in a
band were usually portable, and therefore taken home. Besides, all of
the audio equipment there were tied in to the sound system of the club.
The drama club made good use of the tapings of most sessions of the music
club; they make the most authentic sound effects for automobile
accidents, even those in Hokkaido.
A band that was there was in the process of lamentation. It is
quite an established fact that any band purporting to be of the "rock"
genre has four basic instruments: a lead guitar, a bass, a drum set, and
a vocalist. Since the vocalist may play another instrument, that makes
the minimum number of members three. The aforementioned band had quite
recently had its population decreased to two.
The two that were there were named Daisuke and Hiroshi. Hiroshi
had short salt-and-peppery brown hair (that would look its absolute worst
if it went past shoulder-length), to match the salt-and-peppery look his
freckles made his face appear to have, and was contrapuntal to the sleek,
ponytailed black-haired look Daisuke wore. Without trying to, they
looked rather grungy in their deep blue uniforms.
(If anybody asked them, they did not know that they resembled a
pair from another school this narration will not bother to mention. But
that's life, ne?)
"He... he left us, didn't he?" Hiroshi was as close to tears as he
would get.
"Yes," Daisuke affirmed. He crossed his arms in front of him.
"Well, we'll just have to get ourselves a new vocalist."
"You need a new member?" a seemingly feminine voice said.
They looked to the end of the room, where a figure with long hair
stood in shadows that concealed its features well. It took a step, then
another.
Hiroshi stood up, didn't bother to cover his eyes. "Cute..."
Before anyone could stop him, he went to glomp upon the newcomer.
"Aaag!" said the figure. Then, Hiroshi was bodily thrown to the
floor.
Daisuke stepped in to diffuse the situation. "Um... Miss? Can we
help you with anything?" He nudged Hiroshi with the toe of his shoe.
"Uhhhhh... amyfim?" Hiroshi agreed.
Tsubasa took another step forward, which then put his face into a
clearer light. "Jeez, what a dump. Doesn't even have decent lighting."
"'Ey!" From the floor. "Ah wezembl'at wemaw-k."
"Do you have a brother in the music club, Miss?" Daisuke still
couldn't see the point.
Tsubasa turned to face Daisuke with a searing glance. "I! AM! A!
GUY!"
"What?" Daisuke mused.
"Mwat?" Hiroshi grumbled.
"And I study here! And I said DO YOU NEED A NEW MEMBER?"
Tsubasa's voice reverberated in the near-perfect acoustics of the hall.
The Indian scout simply noted: "mwou."
Daisuke nodded. "Ditto." He turned to Tsubasa. "Well, in fact,
we did have that sort of a problem." He extended a hand. "I'm Daisuke,
the lump on the floor is Hiroshi."
"Tsubasa Kurenai." The two longer-haired men shook hands. Tsubasa
then turned to the other. "Sorry 'bout that." He extended a hand.
"Mo mrob." Hiroshi stood up. "Zemzidib 'boud jember. Ngod id."
"So," Daisuke was all business, "we're looking for a vocalist. How
many octaves can you do?"
"Three, with an extra do. What happened to your vocalist?"
Hiroshi finally got the circulation back into his nose. "Head blew
up."
"Pardon?"
Daisuke seemed fitted to the translation. "He got too cocky, blew
his head off at us."
Hiroshi raved. "What am I supposed to do? Wear my hair long, grow
a beard, pick up a guitar, and sing?"
Daisuke chose to ignore his bandmate. Tsubasa goggled.
The ponytailed guy just said, "anyway, can you play an instrument?"
Tsubasa chuckled. "Just watch."
The two music club members watched the newcomer go to a drum set.
Revealing two drumsticks, he checked the pitch of the three drums in
front of him, the cymbals, then the snare. Satisfied with the toning, he
began a percussion riff which was intended for a heavy metal song. To
say the least, it would be very impressive if this narrative could
describe it in terms that could be understood by all. Truthfully, if the
riff could be enough to impress by itself, then it would indeed be
impressive.
Daisuke and Hiroshi were impressed. Tsubasa had achy shins,
because he didn't use a chair.
As soon as the trio was reformed, a subdued Hiroshi said, "that's
it. I'm out of a job."
Tsubasa's face fell. "You... you already have a drummer?"
Daisuke pointed at his partner.
Hiroshi just sullenly looked at the guy with the black ponytail.
"I don't suppose you can just teach me bass?"
Obviously, the three were able to reform the band: true to his
impromptu prediction, Hiroshi took on the reins of lead guitarist and
vocals (but did not grow that much hair, as they all were kind of a year
from puberty), Daisuke was the bass player ("hey, someone cool has to
play bass" was his only explanation), and Tsubasa would do drums ("the
drummer as the singer? That went out with the Eagles," was what Hiroshi
said). In a serendipitous twist of fate, Hiroshi actually had a passably
good singing voice, so it wasn't a complete loss.
Once that was determined, they needed a new name. Originally, with
their vocalist being that bigmouth Konatsu Oguchi, their band had been
appropriately named "The Big Mouth". The change of name would be enough
cause for celebration.
"... 'Nine Degrees Beijing'," offered Hiroshi.
"Enough with that manga influence, bonehead," Daisuke said, bopping
him.
"Yeah," Tsubasa snorted, "I mean, no honestly cool rock outfit
would have its singer openly admit to being a fanboy, right?"
Hiroshi scratched his head. "'Suppose that means 'Heaven and Earth
Not Needed' is out."
The drummer continued. "I was thinking more of... maybe, 'Wild
Stallions'."
Hiroshi exclaimed, "excellent!" Then he did a riff on his air-
guitar.
Daisuke looked unimpressed. "What'd that make us? Wild horses?"
Tsubasa eyeballed Hiroshi. "This joke's gotten nowhere, fast."
Hiroshi affirmed it. "Okay, okay. How's about Sanzenin?"
"'Three thousand palaces'? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Just a name, right?"
Tsubasa said, "wrong. There's got to be some sense, some point to
it."
Hiroshi thought, "what does Hiroshima mean then?"
Daisuke added, "or Shonen Knife?"
Tsubasa pleaded guilty, both palms up, "okay, okay." Then he went
serious, "but it still doesn't give us a name."
Hiroshi put a finger to his temple. "Maybe something in English?
That's the 'in' thing."
Tsubasa stuck his tongue out at him. "I'm not sure I'd remember
what it would mean, after a while. Not my strong suit."
Daisuke said, "what about 'Blue Thunder'?"
They all blinked.
Hiroshi said, "naah. Too easily goofed. Can you say 'True
Blunder'?"
"Okay. Nix the poetic sounding names."
Tsubasa thought, then laughed. "Y'know, I thought of something
about my name. It used to make me think that I was part of... you know."
Daisuke said, "what?"
Hiroshi understood. "Some superhero group or something, right?"
Tsubasa nodded.
Daisuke said it. "Oh, I get it. Seito Sentai, right?"
"'Student Task Force'. I like it."
Tsubasa "gaah"ed. "You... you guys are taking this seriously..."
Hiroshi nod-nodded.
Daisuke shrugged. "Better'n nothing."
He just rolled his eyes.
Tsubasa and his band "Seito Sentai" were not prolific, but they
worked the circuit. They played popular songs; they played underground
songs. They tried to play some of the English songs, but rarely did
that. The rarest of what they did play would be stuff they did by
themselves.
As with all other artsy stuff, this narration declines providing a
description.
What it will provide, in lieu, is some of the details that would be
important to the further skills that Tsubasa has been known to exhibit.
(Namely, those other than his percussion skills.)
But first, we return to the homefront:
Some very, very familiar crashing noises, in some sort of beat.
These now accompanied by several ear-lopping tinny shrieks.
Mrs. Kurenai did not stop chopping to answer the doorbell.
The doorbell rang again. In response to some unknown sixth sense,
she removed the earmuffs. She shuffled to the door.
"Good evening." A pause.
"Yes, yes. My son IS having some of his friends over, again. I
know that the century hasn't passed yet. Yes. No, I really couldn't
believe that seven motorcycles couldn't match that... AND three cars, did
you say? No, no. I'm sure that anyone could mistake a "sa" for a
"da"... no, I don't believe I'd wish I was ordering delivery teriyaki
instead, Mr. Fujishima."
The sound of a door closing, some steps, then a door opening.
The crashes sounded louder. These now accompanied by higher
pitched shrieks.
Mr. Kurenai was so happy that he bought his son some "clothes" from
a garage sale when their last set of neighbors vacated. He said that
they were, last time he checked, proper attire for a "punk band".
Tsubasa was inclined to note that punk rock had died out with hair-dyeing
and fishnet stockings, but had thought that there was at least some merit
in his father's warped thinking.
Anyway, this sparked some argument with the missus.
Mr. Kurenai was one who knew his life's work well.
Daisuke was sifting through some leather unmentionables. "What
again are we sifting through here in yon wardrobe for?"
Tsubasa raised his head to look at Daisuke squarely. He said, "a
GIMMICK."
Daisuke's eyes widened. "We don't NEED a gimmick. We've got HIM."
He chucked a thumb over to Hiroshi's location in the pile.
Hiroshi peeped through some duct tape that stuck some streamers
together. "What? Me?"
Daisuke laughed. "Yes, you. The one with the," he changed to a
baritone, "husky voice."
"For your information," Hiroshi retorted, "this," he matched the
accent, "husky voice," then returned to normal, "drives all the women
wild."
Tsubasa put in, "well, I wouldn't want any," he emphasized the
quotation marks, "'women' chasing me. I'd rather have some chicks hang
around."
Daisuke had evidently found something of interest in his corner of
the pile, under all the whips, chains, and cheesy-looking jewelry. He
motioned towards Hiroshi, who then motioned to Tsubasa. Tsubasa, who was
waxing philosophic, didn't even notice.
"Come to think of it," he started, "I'd probably not be looking for
a group of loving, adorably cute chicks hang around me. Yup, I'd just be
looking for that one girl, one girl who'll show me all the caring I'd
ever need. Then, then... hey, what are you guys -"
Daisuke and Hiroshi started to bear upon Tsubasa, in a decidedly
menacing fashion. "Uh, guys..." Tsubasa was beginning to sweat.
Daisuke began, "there's a girl we know..."
Hiroshi nodded, "and she's as into the band as you are..."
Tsubasa knew something was up. "Yeah...?"
"Oh, yeah," Daisuke visibly agreed. "And, I think she's gonna help
us with that gimmick of yours. Actually, you know her..."
Tsubasa came to the sickening realization that they had backed him
into the corner of his room. He wondered whether he should scream for
help. Remembering that his father was in the studio as soon as that
fight he and his mom had had had ended, and that his mother had been
preparing their dinner with earmuffs again, he just "eep"ed.
Hiroshi pounced on him, and before he turned, Tsubasa saw that he
had unsheathed his ferocious white paws...
White paws?
Then came a flash of pink. "If that's my blood, I must be getting
anemic," said Tsubasa in a weak tone. Then he fainted.
Hiroshi just held his hands as they were. "Hey!" Daisuke had come
down to check up on their drummer. "What an actor."
They just went ahead and gimmicked.
Tsubasa "unnnggghhh"ed, and saw that he had fallen where he was a
while back, in the corner of the room. Daisuke and Hiroshi had
disappeared. He drew an arm over his forehead... must've been a weird...
what?
He looked at the arm some more. Then the other.
Then he felt like he wanted to kill.
"... here, have some more cake," Mrs. Kurenai offered.
"Thank you, ma'am," was what Daisuke and Hiroshi said. The three
of them were enjoying some cake and tea.
At the sound of Tsubasa's guttural scream, the two would-be
musicians, turned to the hostess. "This is really good tea, ma'am,"
Daisuke said evenly.
"Good cake, too," Hiroshi added, between bites.
"Thank you," said the madam, and took a sip of her own.
Tsubasa entered in what could classically be called a barbaric
manner, which clashed completely with the frilly pink dress he was
wearing rather well. At the sight of his bandmates, he did one of his
more bestial looks, combined with some tooth-gnashing.
"Oh, Tsubasa. Have some cake and tea with your friends," Mrs.
Kurenai said.
Tsubasa barely afforded his mother a glance. "Can it wait, mother?
I'm just planning to gut my friends from their shoulder blades to their
throats via their crotches."
"Son," she said. "Eat."
Tsubasa knew better than to start something with his mother.
Besides, she seemed to be taking this better than he had assumed, in
hindsight. Right then, he took a seat across from his friends, and bit
into his cake as violently as he could.
"Your friends were telling me about how you enjoyed your father's
gifts," she said.
Tsubasa took his cup of tea in a gulp. "Yup. 'Tseems that these
guys enjoyed it a lot better." He saw a fly land on his shoulder, and
brushed it off the white lace.
Mrs. Kurenai still had no inflection. "They say that you found the
'gimmick' you were looking for. 'A new look for the band,' you said."
"Definitely," Hiroshi said.
"His idea," Daisuke affirmed.
Tsubasa took a look at his new habit. He thought about it for a
while.
"Son!" Mrs. Kurenai put down her mug on the low table with a
"fragile!" sound.
"Mother!" said Tsubasa, with some dread, facing his elder.
She grabbed her son in a tight embrace. "I'm so happy!"
Tsubasa had an I-almost-swallowed-my-tongue look. "What?"
The housekeeper suddenly pulled out several dozen other dresses.
"I don't have to throw out these really great dresses I have!"
The teen percussionist did a perfect face-fault.
Thus, it began that Tsubasa would "dress up" for band performances.
Just so that there really wasn't any bad feelings, there are times when
Hiroshi and Daisuke would pick out stuff from Mrs. Kurenai's almost
discarded stuff. To say the least, at least they were in fashion with
the rest of the music industry: female-vocals bands were coming into the
limelight, anyway.
What is outside this narration, however, is the discussion of the
merits of this change of image. Since it is not exactly known whether or
not they were a popular or a notorious band to begin with, it could not
be determined whether they were a more popular or a more notorious band
(or a less popular, or a less notorious band). Leave it to say that they
also had the nicknames of "Bishojo Sentai" and "Seito Hentai".
Ukyo stood before the apartment house. She checked the address she
had and, sure enough, it was the place. She unloaded the stuff she had
brought from the trunk of the taxi. The cabbie was actually kind enough
to help her, but wouldn't want to get his hands on the jar of okonomiyaki
sauce that she had made. Not that he had anything against okonomiyaki
(he loved it, in fact, and had politely asked for a small sample of sauce
in lieu of the fare, which Ukyo had politely declined; he had also
hefted some of the other jars of sauce), it was just that the connoisseur
in him said that the stuff just smelled wrong.
She really wanted to tell him off at that, but she stopped herself,
and focussed her anger at... him. Yessss... it felt good. Better'n
counting to ten. She paid the cabbie her fare, plus the ten percent tip
that put a smile on his face. Good business policy, her father always
said, was not to waste any cash.
Her mother told her that money was never wasted on people.
This was the place that her father got for her ahead of time. It
would also be the last place that she would live in that she didn't pay
for with her own money. It was a one story flat, with a single bedroom,
a single toilet, and a modest-sized bathroom ("modern" one, that is;
shower-type thing). The vast majority of the floor space was occupied by
a large room, which had been remodeled with a wall to cut off a storage
area for the ingredients, and a grill cutting off the door to the new
wall. She would still have to make a few phone calls to complete the
shop, and "Kuonji's Okonomiyaki" would open its first branch east of
Kyoto.
She took a look at the mountains of stuff she had brought, and
heaved a sigh that squeezed her chest against her bandages in a bad way.
Hoo boy. She looked down, and saw something that could be big trouble.
Somethings.
"Have to tighten these bandages," she grumbled.
"Well, I guess what they say is true: I could
never the right kind of girl for you. I could never be
your woman."
- White Town, "Your Woman"
from the album
"Women in Technology"
Tsubasa had had the good luck, in the last year of his junior high,
to have both of the other members of "Seito Sentai" in his class. That
way, they could afford to stay together at the back of the room and
collectively sneer at the rest of their classmates. The last time they
did that, Hiroshi had to be bodily ejected from the class he was in
because of the two who weren't supposed to be in it.
Daisuke surprised them by having his hair cut short, and by
delineating a riff he had produced which, while it wasn't for a lead
guitar, was definitely not for a bass. Tsubasa took the fact that he
could barely create more than eight notes on a drum set (much less five
chord patterns) to mean that Daisuke had landed upon a new band concept.
"... same way a bass is a secondary percussion instrument," Tsubasa
was noting, "this rhythm guitar does the secondary... rhythm?"
"All the rage for a while now," Hiroshi commented, with an amazing
deadpan. He turned to Daisuke. "Who've you got in mind?"
"Ack'chally," he said, as he tried to mumble what he was going to
say next by appearing to cough, "Konatsu gave it to me."
Tsubasa was the first to recognize the name. "The guy you dumped?"
Hiroshi and Daisuke gave him a glare that made him do a double
take.
"Okay, okay," Tsubasa amended, "your ex-lead singer."
"Well," Hiroshi returned to their black haired bassist.
"It... it's nothing." Daisuke turned to his bandmates. "What?
We've survived as long as a trio so far..."
The awkward pause in their conversation was bridged elegantly by
the entrance of their teacher, a youngish man who wore glasses, and a
mole near the left tip of his mouth.
"Class," he began, all formality, "welcome to hell." He pulled out
a wooden dark green mask, put it on, and did a pretty good impression of
a maniac. Most of the other students just bigsweated.
"Wonderful," Daisuke said, "our Mythology teacher is a
reincarnation of Loki."
"But," interjected Hiroshi, "I thought this was Asian Mythology."
Tsubasa shrugged. The teacher suddenly stopped spinning and
generally confusing his orientation, and stared at the door.
"Eh?" He held the mask down. "Who might you be?"
Ukyo stood as straight as she could, and said, "Ukyo Kuonji, the
transfer student, sir."
"Oh, yeah..." He hit a palm with his other hand. He turned to the
rest of the class. "We have a new student, Ukyo Kuonji."
"Good morning to you all," she said.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" their teacher asked.
"Well," she said, "I'm working at 'Kuonji's Okonomiyaki', which is
just a few blocks from here."
"Family business?" inquired the teacher, again.
"Sort of." Ukyo didn't seem like she wanted to talk, much less be
here.
"Thank you." The instructor motioned to a vacant seat at the
second row. "You can take that seat between Shun and Haruka."
"Thank you." She took her seat, and the class started again, with
much more of a fiasco than earlier.
It is necessary at this point to indicate that the all-boy junior
high school in which Tsubasa attended probably had the highest female
population among Japanese all-boy schools, with two.
By sheer coincidence, they had both happened to be in Tsubasa's
class.
"Does he have a cute sister?" began Hiroshi.
It was a rare event to have someone transferring schools at the
last year, and even rarer for all-boy schools. Usually, it stood for one
thing: new people to add to the dating pool.
Haruka demurely sipped on the canned coffee that she had. "Didn't
say."
Hiroshi persisted. "Oh, come on! You guys did a lot of talking,
you couldn't have forgotten to ask that... OH!" The guitarist had a
brief flash of insight, akin to the one Archimedes had before he ran down
the street buck naked. "He DOES have one, doesn't he!"
Haruka, along with Daisuke and Tsubasa, did what all self-
respecting Japanese boys of their age (well, actually, most of the
Nintendo generation) did, and chose to ignore the growing agitation in
their midst. They opened their bento boxes, and ate.
It didn't help that Hiroshi was already in a world of his own. "He
told you about her, and you're planning to take her for yourself! Ha! I
caught you! But I'm not going to let you get away with the head start!
No, sir-ee bob! I'll go ask him where he lives, and go there today! Bet
you didn't see that coming! HA!" He stormed off, joints bent at right
angles, and basically imitating the performance they had witnessed in
Asian Myth.
Tsubasa looked up, and said, "took him three classes."
Daisuke looked weary, and just nodded. "Next gig's my treat."
Tsubasa thought. "Wanna go double or nothing?"
Daisuke continued his attentions on his packed lunch. "If he gets
beat up by Ukyo, we're even. If he attends the next class, I'll make it
next two gigs."
Tsubasa smirked. "You're on."
Haruka chose not to comment, wishing Shun was there. Men.
Shun, having forgotten his lunch, had to go and get it from the
schoolwide brawl known as "lunchtime in the cafeteria".
"There has to be some way to get out of this," he said, as he
drowned in a dark blue sea yelling "curry bread!"
"I guess we won't be able to try this riff, after all," Daisuke
said, folding the songsheet.
"That's okay," said the guy he was talking to, talking the paper.
He had very short curly hair, which appeared to be in small clumps on his
head. He indicated a pair of woolen black gloves he was wearing.
"Electric guitars make my hands itch."
"That's the reason why you wear gloves?" Tsubasa asked.
"Nope," said the guy. He went on out of the gates. "But if you do
unplugged, just call me!"
"Great kid," Daisuke remarked.
"Cool fashion sense," Tsubasa nodded.
They were so busy talking about the other music club member, they
almost ran into a sign in the middle of the street.
"Whoa!" Ukyo shouted.
"Hey!" Daisuke and Tsubasa shouted.
With her innate sense of balance, Ukyo was able to keep on her
toes. The others, who did not, stared blankly at her from their lower
vantage point.
"Sorry!" She held her arms down toward them (as she couldn't bend
her knees) to help them up.
Recovering first, Daisuke noted Ukyo's modified school uniform and
said, "isn't that a little embarrassing?" Tsubasa, while brushing off
dust from his pants, glanced again at the "Grand Opening Today! Kuonji's
Okonomiyaki" sign being worn by his classmate, which distracted them in
the first place.
Ukyo said stiffly, "the more striking the advertisement, the more
people talk about it."
Tsubasa rubbed his back. "I thought it was striking enough."
Ukyo winced. "I already said I was sorry, okay?" She chose not to
pursue it, and felt her anger deplete itself.
Daisuke just shook his head. "Actually, we're also kind of sorry."
Ukyo continued passing out flyers to students passing by. "What
for?"
Tsubasa attested, "we didn't stop our friend from pestering you."
The living billboard stopped, then colored somewhat. "Oh... that
guy who asked if I had a cute sister."
Daisuke put his hand on Ukyo's shoulder. "Do not fret; he well-
deserved it. Someone had to stop his evil and lecherous ways before they
could bloom."
Tsubasa and Ukyo shared glances.
The drummer whispered to Ukyo, "I sort of thought that the bit with
the super-spatula was overkill, after tossing him to the floor. I got
him to stop thinking that I was girl after step 1."
Ukyo turned a few shades deeper. She gripped the handle of her
battle spatula (which caused both rockers to take two steps back) and
said, "I... I guess I had my temper get the better of me."
She let go of the handle. The Student Task Force (sans lead
vocals) gave a collective sigh of relief.
Ukyo hit upon an idea. "To pay you guys back, I'll get you guys
some okonomiyaki at the shop. On me."
Tsubasa wondered, "aren't you supposed to be apologizing to Hi-",
cut short by a well-meaning hand on his mouth.
Daisuke waved a hand, "okay, sure thing. We'll be there."
Mr. Kurenai was busy at work.
He glanced slightly at the remodeled half of his studio, which now
held a guitar and a bass. Of course, these were not his; neither were
they his son's. He imagined all the neighbors he had had, and all of
them paying respects to a funeral pyre, with this studio as a coffin, and
with the equipment therein, including the bodies of his son and his
friends, and himself, and all the art he had produced, burning in a
hellish inferno.
He grinned. I'll call this my red period.
He motioned to the control panel set in the other side of the room,
and pressed the playback.
By the time he had positioned himself, the record started to recall
all the sessions his son and his bandmates had for the two and a half
years they had been together.
Ahhh... cattle roadkill.
He went right back into his work.
The Grand Opening of Kuonji's Okonomiyaki was an auspicious event,
and started very much with a bang. Unfortunately, it was a dud.
Daisuke and Tsubasa had actually creaked the door open to reveal a
very empty looking room. At the grill was Ukyo, wearing an okonomiyaki
chef's wraparound, suspiciously fastened with a bandoleer replete with
spatulas. She was also hefting the bigger spatula on her back.
In reality, the other two were pretty surprised. When Ukyo said
that she working here, they had thought that she was a waiter or
something, not the cook. Leave it to say that playing on a rock band was
enough practice for maintaining a look of ennui, even under extreme
circumstances, e. g. your amp blows up into flames during a gig.
She had a very bored look on her face when they entered, and it
only slightly perked up as they entered.
Tsubasa was partly glad that Hiroshi wasn't with them, because he
would most likely say, "cool party!" then grin like a hyena and Ukyo
would have to beat the stuffing out of him again. He was sure that
Daisuke wouldn't say a thing like that, and neither would he.
Instead, what he did say was, "we're here!"
There's nothing like stating the obvious to strike a cynical chord
in anyone's heart. "Which should explain why no one else is," Ukyo
quipped, wearing a lopsided grin.
Daisuke joined in, "well, I remember taking a bath today. How
about you, MISS Kurenai?"
Calling Tsubasa a miss triggered a running gag the trio had.
Immediately, the brown-haired boy took on a catty "lover's look", and
purred, "but, Daisuke, don't you remember?" He went in for the kill.
"We took your bath at the same time," he emphasized the last phrase.
Normally, at this point, Ukyo would have just booted them out for
being such massive perverts, but she needed the laughs. They were, after
all, just boys, anyway. She opened her mouth, and stuck the tip of her
forefinger in. "Gross," she commented.
Daisuke could help but laugh. Tsubasa, all sang-froid and all man,
turned on Ukyo, "what? You don't think I'd make a good girlfriend?"
Ukyo sat up, "well, I wouldn't mind having you as my girlfriend."
She winked at him, "you're cute."
It was Tsubasa's turn to look shocked. He complied. Daisuke just
continued laughing. Ukyo took a look at Tsubasa, and joined in.
Only then did Tsubasa complete the trio.
Ukyo stood to sigh. "Oh, well, you guys have worked hard for your
meal, so I might as well start on it."
Grateful, the two uniformed students sat.
Hiroshi woke up. "Uuuuuuuungh," he drawled.
His mother came in. "Hiroshi?"
"Yeah, mom." Ow. Where'd this bump come from?
She was starting to come into focus. "I talked to your friends
from the band."
"Yeah?" He felt his face, and saw that he had a few bandages.
"They told me that you were pestering the sister of one of your
classmates again." She pushed him down on the bed, and placed a wet
cloth on his forehead.
"Ummmmmmm..." Did he? He wasn't really sure...
"What did I tell you about that?" She chucked a thermometer into
his mouth.
"Uhhhhhh..." What did she say?
She removed the cloth, and dipped it into a basin. "If you're
going to chase a girl, never let her older brother know about it."
They watched her oil the griddle, and put the batter on.
They watched her put the sauce on it.
They watched her put some vegetables on it.
They watched it simmer.
In other words, they were drooling.
"I bet you don't know how to cook," started Tsubasa.
Daisuke turned with deliberation. "I do, too." He mimed opening a
small container and pouring something in it.
Tsubasa nodded. "The concept of instant noodles is the pinnacle of
human achievement."
"'Amen," the two men said. They touched mugs, and sipped their
water.
"Lucky me," muttered the chef. "Instant mommies."
"Uh, guys," Ukyo said, aloud. They turned. "The okonomiyaki are
done," she flourished.
Their noses pointed downward.
They inhaled.
Nothing quite like it.
"Do you guys like inhaling your okonomiyaki," noted the cook, "or
eating it?"
"Don't rush me," Daisuke said, "I'm a gourmet."
"Do tell" was all of Ukyo's comment.
"One can tell a lot about the chef from the cuisine," Daisuke
explained. "The most obvious differences are detectable from cooks of
opposite gender, of course."
Ukyo, who was making her own okonomiyaki, "urk"ed. Good martial
artists always "urk" inconspicuously, thus are usually not noticed.
Tsubasa was about to dig in to his okonomiyaki, but only hit china
with his "fast ones".
Hiroshi placed the dish on his dish, atop his own. "See? The
first thing you can note is the garnish."
Ukyo closed in on the foodstuff being interrogated, wishing that it
wouldn't say anything damning. "Yes?"
Tsubasa, noting that his chopsticks tasted like... well,
chopsticks, said, "Hey!"
"The way that the garnish in on the center," Daisuke continued,
"shows a sign of stability, and focus, typical of females."
Ukyo gulped once more. Gulping is another thing that martial
artists can do inconspicuously.
Tsubasa noticed that the okonomiyaki that Ukyo was cooking was
already starting to get crispy (read: very, very crispy) around the
edges. "Hey!" he said, as he took the concoction with his chopsticks
onto his plate. Drummers must also have the ability to say "Hey!"
inconspicuously, because he wasn't noticed that time, either.
(This doesn't apply, of course, to guitarists forced to play drums.
Infinite bullets, infinite monkees, and all that.)
"Also," Daisuke was warming up, "the way that the sauce is evenly
spread..."
"... yes?" Ukyo was on a nerve's edge.
"... is a sign of a conscientious person," Daisuke remarked.
Tsubasa was busy picking up the odds and ends that were so
conscientiously placed on the okonomiyaki that didn't stay on when he
pulled it hot off the grill.
"So?"
Daisuke was on a roll. "But the way that is spread with concentric
sweeps, instead of lazy, wide sweeps... that means control. Something
someone with discipline would have, like a martial artist."
Ukyo was about to open her mouth to elaborate on the point, but
Daisuke added, "or females, who have more patience than men do."
Tsubasa had finished replacing the entrails of the okonomiyaki, and
showed it to Ukyo. She inclined her head at him, and proceeded to eat it
demurely, never quite missing Daisuke's lecture, but infinitely happier
to have something to focus her nervousness on. Crunch, crunch.
Daisuke was saying, "finally, there's the thickness of the dish
itself." He tilted his head, and lay it along a side parallel to the
table. This prompted Ukyo to do the same, from the other side of the
plate.
Ukyo ventured, "the way that it's so consistent along the width is
significant enough to attest to not only the firmness of the chef, but
possibly his or her sincerity?"
Daisuke nodded. "Exactly what I would have said. Also implies the
consistency of the okonomiyaki itself: no doubt, techniques of the
weaker sex."
Ukyo straightened. Daisuke looked her straight in the eye. "And,
since you were the one who made this fine meal, right before our very
eyes..."
Tsubasa was only starting to be interested in the conversation,
after having retrieved his "pizza pancake", which just sauntered out of
interrogation.
Daisuke stared deep into Ukyo's brown eyes. "Which means..."
Ukyo stared back, body tense. "Which means..."
Tsubasa stared at the two classmates, who were staring each other
down. "Which means...?"
Daisuke stood and pointed his forefinger accusingly at Ukyo.
"Which could only mean that you, Ukyo Kuonji..."
The artificially spliced silence was tense, so tense that a breeze
could not enter.
Daisuke firmly said, "... were taught to cook by your MOTHER!" He
cackled insanely. Ukyo did a facefault, but not into the grill.
Tsubasa clacked his chopsticks on the rim of his mug. "So are we
going to eat or what?" He started regardless.
Hiroshi requested to rest up in the waiting room. This was because
a) the fluffiest futon in the house was there, under the dining table,
and b) the TV was in the same room. He packed up some manga, and an
anime tape or two (to pop into the VCR if no one was there: "Miyuki-chan
in Wonderland", and some "La Blue Girl").
Unfortunately, there were some other fixtures he hadn't considered
to be in the room. For example, c) the pitcher of juice his mother had
prepared for him (which wasn't in the fridge when he checked) and d) his
younger sister (who had taken the said pitcher, when he peeked into the
room).
His sister was watching some sort of made-for-TV movie on cable:
the language was English. There was this very shorthaired African-
American who was talking to someone off-screen.
"I can't be Robert, dad," the TV said, "I can only be Jake."
"Soaps," he muttered, disgusted. He went to get something in the
kitchen, stopping only when he heard some song on TV.
The beat was OK, but as soon as he turned, it ended. "Fickle-
minded women," he muttered, and went on his way.
His sister was laughing. "I love that commercial!" The TV
returned to a show featuring a show of a Caucasian and an African-
American sharing a high-handed finger shake and shouting "Switch!"
"That," Daisuke said, "was good."
"Some gourmet you are," Tsubasa noted. That was right before an
opinion that formed from the pit of his stomach evolved itself.
He belched.
"Ugh," Daisuke and Ukyo demonstrated, waving their hands to shove
the air back to its source.
"Sowwy," Tsubasa said. "But, really, it's good. Why, I wouldn't
mind eating this for the rest of my life."
Ukyo stopped waving her hands, thus getting for herself a whiff of
biochemical by-products. She gave a cough.
"Tsubasa," Daisuke said. "Surely you're not planning to..."
"Ask for the hand of my dear, dear Ukyo?" He switched to his girl-
mode again. "Surely you wouldn't think that I would let such a strong,
handsome, and independent entrepreneur escape my clutches?"
Ukyo was burning by degrees. "You..." She held a fist to her chin
in embarrassment. "You're... you're just saying that."
Tsubasa faced her and put on the cutest face he had. "But it's
TRUE!"
Daisuke clasped Tsubasa's shoulder, unaware of Ukyo's dilemma.
"Okay, down, girl. I'm sure that your plan to get Ukyo to give us free
take home is working, will you please stop?"
Tsubasa blink-blinked. "What plan?"
Daisuke kept his grin, and sweated.
Ukyo saw the door with the exit sign on it, and ran through it.
"Take home? Sure, heck, I've got a whole chockfull of ingredients for
today... I'll cook you guys up a batch to give to your friends and
family..." In a blur, she whipped up all the ingredients she needed.
There were six okonomiyaki on the grill, and Ukyo was busying
herself with them. Daisuke and Tsubasa shared both surprise and glee,
and sat themselves down.
Daisuke eyed the chef. "I hope these aren't being cooked because
you wanted us to leave already."
Darn tootin'. "NO! Uh, no" was what Ukyo replied, instead, as she
prepped the pastries up into delivery boxes. "Here you go, have a nice
day," whence she commenced pushing them outside the door.
As soon as the bandmates were out of the restaurant, Daisuke
sniffed, "was it something I said?"
Good news travels fast. (Bad news travels faster; hence, the
statement: "You broke up with your girlfriend? Never knew you had one."
and the like.) In that case, Ukyo's okonomiyaki was very good news.
Apparently, people were actually willing enough to give okonomiyaki
a shot, along with shops that specialized in serving okonomiyaki. By the
same law, this news went back to Ukyo really fast, in the form of tens to
twenties of customers. She began to wonder how many friends and family
Daisuke and Tsubasa actually had.
The second good thing came when Tsubasa's trio suggested that Ukyo
put up a stage for live band performances. This was mostly because these
friends that were initially introduced to fine cuisine were mostly
members of the music club. (Besides, she had had enough with the table
banging.)
So the music club loaned Kuonji's Okonomiyaki a set of drums, and
an amp, and gave her a schedule for live performances, which Ukyo had
okayed. This good news also traveled fast, after a few such months, Ukyo
started to get into the groove of maintaining a bustling restaurant
business.
Such a set of dialog would therefore be normal for a Tuesday at the
Okonomiyaki Hut:
"As God is my witness, I'll never eat turnip again!"
"That good, eh, Mr. Trump?"
"Erika!"
"... and I ordered a big breakfast..."
"Band's great, huh?"
"When are they going to sing in Japanese?"
"Alexis!"
"I'm a cowboy... (he's a cowboy...)"
"That's two orders of yakisoba, and two cups tea."
"Right up!"
"I hear that 'Seito Hentai' is playing on Saturdays."
"Richard!"
"... that's a trend, foreign dance songs being popular."
"That's 'SENtai'! Not 'Hentai'!"
"Seventh of September... remember when, we met at the shrine..."
"Annie!"
"... hear that the drummer's the son of that artist, Kurenai..."
"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"
"No kiddin'? That's why they like dressing up an' doin' weird
things..."
"Hey, you SURE you don't have a cute sister?"
*WHAP*
"Not again, Hiroshi!"
Of course, this was interspersed with the inanities of academic
life.
Tsubasa was using his girl-voice, with the Dynamic Duo, banging
away at the back.
"Funny," Shun was whispering to Haruka, "I thought they didn't do
dance songs."
"Funny," Haruka whispered back to Shun, "I thought they didn't do
girl bands."
"Funny," Ukyo whispered to no one in particular, "that you guys can
whisper to each other while you're two seats apart."
"... and so, the so-called cult of the Muscle Sword can exist as an
extension of Taoist break-off factions, only if they somehow came across
some warrior-class society, like the Amazons of China or the fabled Musk
Dynasty, during its formative stages. Now," said their teacher, who was
wearing a pair of shades and some khaki pants, "if you," he pointed to an
arbitrarily nameless student to a side, "if you had the power of
shapeshifting, via any means like lycanthropy, vampiric prowess, bodies
of water that can change a person's form, or magic, what would you change
into?"
"A girl," the nameless student said, without batting an eye.
"How predictable," the teacher said. He pointed to another
faceless student. "How about you?"
"A goddess." Obviously, he was trying to be goofy.
"Ugh, same thing," said the instructor. He didn't even bother with
Moe, Larry and Curly at the back. He pointed to Ukyo, "and you, would
you want to turn into a girl?"
"Me? A girl?" Ukyo slammed her hand onto her desk, shocking the
two beside her. "Never!"
"Sorry I asked," said their instructor, fishing inside a pocket for
a small notebook. "Note: Mr. Kuonji would NEVER want to be a girl. Got
it."
Nonetheless, Saturdays were always fun days. Nights. Whatever.
"Please, guys," Tsubasa was trying to work on pity. Last week was
a show of force; the week before was attacks of character. "Can't I
wear the uniform this time?"
"Not this week, Wings." Daisuke gestured for Hiroshi to zip him
up. "We're all going in drag today."
"Not 'in drag', Daisuke," Hiroshi was zipped up already, "that
means including make-up. This is just cross-dressing."
"Cross-dressing, drag, whatever," Shun was ranting, "why do I have
to do this?"
"Because you thought you could bluff with a pair of fives," said
Tsubasa matter-of-factly.
Ukyo came in and said, "OK, guys, you're on!"
Hiroshi brought them into a huddle. "Okay, men," he showed his
right arm, done simultaneously with the other two. "Synchronize
watches."
"Check," said the other two.
"Showtime," said Hiroshi, as he jumped out of the room.
Hiroshi tested his microphone. Shun had to be pulled the way there
by Tsubasa, "I don't want to do this!"
Tsubasa started, "neither do I." He tossed a wink to Ukyo, who
blanched. He nudged Shun to the front of the stage, and whispered,
"start dancing!" He then bounded to his seat behind the drum set.
"Good evening, patrons of Kuonji's Okonomiyaki. We're Seito
Sentai," some applause, "and our first song is a ditty we made just for
you. The title is 'Chicken Joy', and we'd like you to see the dance we
added to it."
Without further ado, he started on the intro riff. Shun was moving
his arms alternately parallel to his chest, with his forefingers
extended.
"Whoo! Go Shun!" some of the people were shouting. On the other
hand, Ukyo felt the need to change her menu. Chicken, eh...
The band played on, long into the early evening.
Later, Ukyo was locking up the shop, after another fruitful and
profitable Saturday evening. She had had a very stressful day, and when
that happened...
"*hic*!" She closed her mouth, and hoped that she had not
attracted anybody's attention. By now, the neighborhood was aware that
the "Kuonji" who was the proprietor was young, pre-pubescent Ukyo, and
they wouldn't really understand if a girl of approximately the same age
as the said Kuonji, appropriately already into puberty, was the one
closing shop.
That was exactly who was closing shop, and the reason was "parental
guidance".
Nothing relaxed Ukyo better than a hot bath. Actually, a hot soak
in a hot tub. Unfortunately, her father knew that all too well. And he
was the one who got the apartment for her.
So here she was, on the way to the public baths, as a woman, so
that she can take a soothing bath, hiccuping every so often.
Now, one might wonder what was so much of a problem of hiccuping
for a martial artist. The fact that she was, in fact, hiccuping must
imply that there is a problem: she has no control over the bodily
functions involved. In fact, she would normally have to wait it out.
Imagine having to surprise a martial artist. So, she opted to relax
herself.
In any case, she was already on the way there when someone tried to
figure why it was so hard to surprise a martial artist.
Ukyo felt someone grab her shoulder.
"WAAAAHHHHH!!!" was all she was able to say, before she took the
sign just outside the door and throttled whoever it was behind her.
"Ex-" was all the significant other was able to say. After which,
he made contact with the ground using his noggin, and did not look that
significant anymore.
Ukyo just realized the mistake when she took the sign off from the
head of the "attacker". "Eh?" said she, shaking her head.
At least, she wasn't hiccuping for about ten seconds. After which
she wheezed a lot.
Mr. Kurenai stuck his head out of the studio for a moment.
"Where's Tsubasa?"
"He went back to get some dresses of mine that he and his friends
forgot at that disco they're always at. He'll be back soon, so don't
'pop a tape in the stereo' and wait for him HERE."
"Sure, luv." He pulled on his earphones.
A while on the floor, between the sheets, Tsubasa woke up groggy.
Where? He didn't know.
The world was really bobbing; an ice pack on his noggin. Why? He
didn't know.
"'Round here," he tried to stand up straight.
"'Round here, something radiates..."
Ukyo came from outside with a suitcase in her hand. She said, "YOU
LEFT THESE HERE A WHILE AGO."
"Ouch," he said, closing his ears and shaking his head, clearing
the song from it. He fell on his butt.
"Whoa, boy." Ukyo left the suitcase, and eased Tsubasa back into
the mattress he was sleeping in.
"Wha-what happenn?"
She had a small rehearsal before a mirror. "I don't know. I saw
you in a heap outside." She licked her lips. "Tell me what you can
remember."
"The capital of Brazil is Brazilia, the cheetah is the fastest land
animal, Splinter named his students after Renaissance artists and Washu
is the greatest mad scientist of all time?"
"Nice to see he didn't steal you're sense of humor," she
deadpanned.
"He... she wasn't a he."
Uh-oh.
"To answer your unspoken question," he sat up, an effort, "yes, I
was beat up by a girl. Womyn. Girl."
It took time to respond. "You... you saw who..."
"I stared into her face..." He zoned slightly. "... into the
deepest brown eyes..."
She put on the most lopsided smirk she had. "Hey, hey... she stole
your HEART, then..."
"Oh, come off it. How sappy do I sound to... oh." He noticed.
"THAT sappy."
Tsubasa looked at Ukyo. She put on a sheepish grin. She began to
tug at her ribbon, holding her hair.
*hic*
"You know..." Tsubasa stared at Ukyo, "... your eyes are dark
brown, too."
*hic*
"And, and she had wonderful, long brown hair... like yours..."
She let go of the ribbon. The ribbon let go of her.
*hic* *hic*
Tsubasa's eyes widened, looking at his companion in a new light.
*hic* *hic* *hic*
"My God... you DO have a sister..."
*BONK*
"... it echoed deep within our hearts..."
"I knew I didn't put that in... what a cheesy line."
*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
*k-clik*
"Hello... yes, this is Tsubasa's mother. No, I don't think we've
met. Nasty sounding hiccups, dear. I hear swallowing a tablespoon of
sugar works. Oh, staying there overnight, eh? Had a bad fall? Oh,
dear... I'll be over in the morning then. Good night."
Mrs. Kurenai returned to watching the TV.
"Oh, good... my favorite part. The dragonfly. No one could ever
get that one."
"I can offer you lies; I can tell you good-bye. I
can tell you I'm sorry, but I can't tell the truth, dear."
- Barenaked Ladies, "Shoebox"
from the OST of the series "Friends"
and the album "Born on a Pirate Ship"
The next Monday, the whole world was shocked by a revelation.
"You... you're wearing glasses."
Daisuke tilted them up the bridge of his nose. "How? How can you
tell that it's me? I made ways to thoroughly confound you all, and
yet..."
Hiroshi suddenly put a hand to shield his eyes. "Where? Where,
Tsubasa?"
Tsubasa put on a pout as Ukyo entered the room. As usual, the trio
had been there early. "Funny, I thought this guy... well, I must be
mistaken."
Haruka, who finally got piqued, was saying, "but, isn't THAT...?"
until Ukyo held her arm and gave her a stilling look.
Daisuke slipped off the glasses, and waved to his bandmates. "Hey,
you guys!"
Tsubasa said, "hey, Daisuke! Where've you been?"
Hiroshi added, "have you been hiding all this time?"
Daisuke slyly said, "maybe."
Haruka let go of a breath. "Oh."
Ukyo just nodded.
Just at that moment, their teacher came in. He looked like he'd
seen better days: he had bloodshot eyes, obvious without his glasses,
and had beard stubble showing.
Hiroshi, who would have done better to keep quiet, saw him and
grinned like a mad hyena. "Look!" He pointed at their instructor.
Since he was the closest, only he was able to notice the state of
dishevelment; the others weren't. "A bird?"
Daisuke actually had his back toward the board. "A plane?" Then
he turned.
The teacher's look stayed on them.
"No. It's 'Standing in the Hall.' Now, git. Bucket's at the
custodian's."
"I know!"
"What?"
"A name for a band."
"We've already got a name."
"'Bad Hair Day'."
*crash!* *BOOM!* *bang!*
"'Roxette'?"
More violent noises.
Understandably, they weren't at Ukyo's that day. Haruka and Shun
were, though.
"Definitely." Haruka sipped on her tea. "Ever since he spent the
summer at his uncle's apartment, he's definitely gotten weirder."
"With Hiroshi already as goofball as he is," Ukyo remarked,
"Tsubasa's tenuous grip on the band's sanity weakens anew."
"Tsubasa? Sane? He was the one who came up with the cross-
dressing, mind you," Shun quipped, in between bites.
Haruka remarked, "you're just jealous because he looks better in a
dress than you do."
"You don't say..." Ukyo said idly. Shun, who finished off his
platter of special okonomiyaki, just harrumphed.
Haruka took a moment to look at Ukyo's thoughtful expression. She
did some calculations and came up with an almost startling result.
"Ukyo," she started, "I have an idea."
"Huh?"
"A little business suggestion... if I may," she said mischievously.
Extra homework was always done at Hiroshi's place. His mother was
a teacher, and he had a cute sister.
"Daisuke!" Hiroshi grated, "if you don't stop ogling my sister, we
will have to study in my room..."
That, of course, was a threat. Hiroshi's room was pretty much like
a dragon's lair: lots of things to catch your eye, and no easy way out.
Litterally.
"Don't fret, bro," said the object of Daisuke's attentions,
standing up, "I'll leave you BIG BOYS alone." She winked at Tsubasa,
whose mind was obviously somewhere else.
"Hmph," muttered Daisuke. Girls like girl-like.
Hiroshi did a sequence of mid-problem exercises: look, listen,
stop. He stood up, then stretched. Then, he quit. "Okay, kiddies.
Time for a study break."
"I'm cool with it," Daisuke assented, pushing the notebook away.
"Uh-huh" was all Tsubasa said.
Hiroshi and Daisuke were smart enough to let enough alone. Of
course, once out of earshot, it was a different matter.
"What's with drummer-boy?" Hiroshi inquired, while opening the
fridge.
"My guess is," Daisuke ventured, opening the junk food cupboard,
"that he's grounded."
"Grounded?" Hiroshi confirmed, retrieving a can of peaches, and a
pitcher of water, and put them on a table in the center of the room.
"Yup." Daisuke nodded, scrounging through some aluminum packs.
"Hey! 'Munchies'!" He held up a pack emblazoned with the said name
depicting somewhat thick, somewhat wide and somewhat wavy (yet crunchy)
orange tidbits. "Last I saw these, I was still in grade school."
"Me, too. Check the expiry date." Hiroshi set out a bowl and
poured in the peaches plus soup.
"These are no good, then." Daisuke discarded the bag of chips and
hefted his own cargo to the table.
"How'd you figure?" A tray, three other bowls.
"It says best consumed before Halley's Comet comes." Packs
opening, segregated by chip type.
"No, about Tsubasa." Three glasses.
"Oh, heard it through the grapevine." Some ice; it wasn't a very
cool day.
"Heard WHAT through the grapevine? And here I thought we were
friends."
"Well," Daisuke started, sitting, "he spent the night at Ukyo's and
tried to hit on Ukyo's sister or something, and... it got rough."
"Well," Hiroshi commented, "I knew that was coming."
"If I had an idea that this was coming," Ukyo predicted, "I would
have worn my rubber shoes."
"You and me both," Haruka bemoaned.
Of course, that was exactly the reason the principal's announcement
came as a surprise. It was just "all seniors must join a varsity"
without preamble. Their Asian Myth teacher just grumbled.
Several lines were already formed near the gym. "Yoo-hoo!" Haruka
waved to a confused looking Shun.
Shun closed the gap. "I thought I'd lost you two. Follow me!"
"Wait a minute." Ukyo pointed to a shortish line to her right.
"The volleyball line is over here."
"Volleyball?" Shun goggled a bit at the temptingly short lines
marking all of Volleyball, Social Dance and Aerobics, but clamped his
will on it and shook his head. He pointed and turned to a rather crowded
portion of the room. "But the others are there." He reoriented his
forefinger approximately near the center of one of the longer lines,
where Hiroshi was.
"Is that the Wrestling team?" Haruka pondered the sizes of the
applicants.
"Soccer. Football, if you're British. See you then." Shun wove
his way back to the line.
"Tell me again," Tsubasa wanted to know, "why we're joining the
soccer team."
"Can't you imagine," Hiroshi was practically bubbling over with
excitement, "a whole soccer team played by members of the music club? We
will conquer them using superior rhythm and tactics!"
"Actually," Daisuke clarified, "the soccer varsity has the lightest
schedule for training."
"That's right," said Shun, who just rejoined them. "The only other
team that poses a threat to the varsity in the prefecture is St. Rino's."
"That co-ed school? Since when?" Daisuke wondered.
"Since they beat the perennial winner of their district..." Shun
was at a loss.
"Oh," Hiroshi interrupted, "but they usually won by default, and
after disabling the other team."
"How unsportsmanly," Tsubasa noted.
"What's that they're posting?"
A poster. In fact, one that said "Soccer Tryouts: 4 PM".
"Bummer," Hiroshi summarized, "no jammin' today."
Mr. Kurenai, lazing about.
*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
*k-clik*
"'llo? Oh, Tsubasa. What's that? Sucker dried out? Not having
dinner here, eh? Okay. Tell your mum? Maybe, maybe not. See later."
*k-clik*
"Gawd, I hated that session."
"You," Haruka emphasized, "have got a mean spike, y'know that?"
"Thank you." Ukyo reaffixed her hair with her ribbon. "You don't
do bad, yourself."
"Natch. Of course, if they just had a decent martial arts varsity,
or a kendo club at least, then I would have insisted on getting in."
"Hmm... maybe I should start an okonomiyaki-do class..."
"You? Teach... what's that? Some sort of fast food cooking?"
Ukyo furrowed her brow. "Martial arts, silly. Actually, I already
demonstrated a few moves." She got her omnipresent kick-ass spatula, and
proceeded to sweep the air some.
Haruka went blank for a while; then, "ah. When you bonked
Hiroshi."
"Well... yeah." She wasn't really satisfied with the put-down.
"So... that thing's... martial arts?" Haruka pointed at the
revealed weaponry.
"Yes! It's a serious martial art!" Ukyo looked unplacable.
"Jeez! Okay!" Haruka put her hands up in supplication. "Gosh,
you're so sensitive," she said teasingly.
"Sorry" was the reply.
"I mean... I admit, I haven't heard of it before. And I'm pretty
much an enthusiast. Who taught you?"
"My father did, partly."
"And he learned it...?"
"From his father."
"And when you marry...?"
"My son will learn it. Or my daughter."
"And you're gonna teach it to somebody else?" She had this
heavens-forbid expression.
Ukyo looked up, sheepish. "Well, maybe not."
"See?" Haruka looked for the time. "Quick! Let's go get to the
field."
"Why are you joining?" asked the bulky soccer coach.
"Because of the free time," Hiroshi said gamely.
Tsubasa and Daisuke just sweated.
"Laudable cause," replied the coach. He pointed to a varsity
member halfway across the field. "The goal is simple: get the ball back
to him. Remember, no hands." He signaled the player. "Go!" He shoved
Hiroshi forward.
The player was running toward the ball. Kicking it so that it
would gain some shin-height, it hit Hiroshi from the front. "Ow!" He
eyed the miscreant ball angrily. "You... stupid...!" He whacked it
strong enough to get it back with some momentum.
"Need to work on that stop. Next!" Daisuke stepped up.
"Okay, what's your excuse?"
"It would be better for me to provide my talents where they could
be appreciated," said Daisuke glibly.
"Appreciated, eh?" His accomplice signaled readiness. "Well,
you've seen the drill." He relayed an okay. "Go!"
Daisuke did reasonably better, stopping and kicking with
competence. Tsubasa was next.
"Okay, girly boy, ready for abuse?" The coach sneered.
Tsubasa had had enough of it a while back. "Well, I better come in
kicking, sir," followed Tsubasa in a girly voice. He jogged forward.
The player, who wasn't ready yet, kicked the ball a little wobbly,
and about waist-high.
Tsubasa, whose years of practice on the drums did wonders to his
strength and build, gave the ball a judgement, and met it with a mid-air
kick.
The player watched the ball sail above him.
Tsubasa turned around to an aghast coach and said, "see you next
practice, big man."
Note that that would be a month from then. Yes, it does matter.
They noticed the eerie lighting.
"Wh-why is it so dark inside? They did invite us SPECIFICALLY."
Hiroshi mock-shivered. "You don't think that Ukyo and Haruka are
actually women in disguise, lying in wait with a marital trap, just like
black widows?"
Daisuke held a hand up, but Tsubasa beat him to the punch and
bopped their lead. "Do you intentionally try to aggravate Ukyo?" He
made a sort of *splat!* gesture with his two hands. "Talk like that
gives us... well, our reputation."
Hiroshi snorted. "First time he goes out in a suit in weeks, and
we get talk like this." He clicked his tongue.
"Not much of a suit, though," Shun noted, indicating the drummer's
jeans-and-shirt ensemble. They all had one.
"Hold," Daisuke indicated.
"What in the- ?"
They, of course, noticed the sign. The somber "Kuonji's
Okonomiyaki" was replaced by a softer-looking (yet equally somber)
"Ukyo's".
"Amazing," Daisuke noted. "A reduction of seven characters makes
for a huge change of mood. Curiouser, and curiouser."
"Well," Shun said, not appreciating the tension, "apres vous."
"Might as well." Hiroshi went in.
This narration needs a break. Right now.
To say that the change was drastic was to underestimate the
situation. Where it used to feel cramped, there was this feeling of
empty space. Whence there used to be freaky light shows, now there was
only candlelight. And at the grill... or at least where the grill was
supposed to be...
Tsubasa gaped. It was her. She was smiling, and waving at him
and...
"Yo, Ukyo! Nice threads."
Hiroshi pushed past him towards the girl, who seemed to look a lot
like Ukyo.
He blinked. He blink-blinked. Bugger the lighting.
"Yeah. Would'a fooled me into thinking you were a professional,"
he self-amended.
She took the barb as lightly as it was given. She snapped her
fingers and Haruka stepped in. They turned, back-to-back, and snapped
their fingers, pointing at the males.
"Whew. 'Men in black'. Definitely in fashion." Hiroshi clapped
lightly.
"Okay," Daisuke said, "which one had the lobotomy, and which one
needed the change of pace?"
She tossed a hand in her co-cross-dresser's direction. "Haruka's
idea."
Shun nudged Haruka. "If you'd have told us this was a black-tie
affair, we could have managed better, y'know."
Haruka nodded. "Hey, Ukyo deserves a break now and then, right?"
Daisuke concluded, "there must be big money in race driving."
"I guess so," Haruka shrugged.
"We saved you seats close to the stage," Ukyo continued.
"Why? What's there?" Shun went first.
"A touch of culture," Ukyo said mysteriously, taking them to the
table. "Now, shoo. Haruka and I have to fix some things up."
They thanked Goodness for having kept the stage where it was. The
lighting was diffused and light, but the stage was empty. Seating
themselves, they tried to keep quiet. Honest. They tried.
"Okay, okay. Here's mine." Shun produced a crane, and flapped its
wings.
"Too passe. Here's mine." Hiroshi produced a horse, making its
feet shuffle.
"That's all? Here's one." Daisuke produced a unicorn. It stood
on its hind legs.
"Hey, Garcon," Tsubasa called for a waiter. "More rubber bands."
"Oh, yeah?" Shun said, rearranging his finger positions. He put
it up. He said in a low sultry voice: "Georgia."
Daisuke muttered, "what a lovely name... for a girl."
Hiroshi took a look at the color and the shape. "The state, or the
country?"
Tsubasa looked at it, and said, "who cares?"
Hiroshi rearranged his brown rubber bands. Then: "cabbit." Once
he was sure that they were watching, he began to pull his hands further
apart. "Spaceship."
Daisuke took a look, then rearranging his white rubber bands, he
went, "cabbit." Similarly pulling his hands apart, he continued,
"spaceship." Then, suddenly orienting it horizontally against its
counterpart, he removed the further hand, sending the rubber bands
hurtling. "Phaser blasts."
Hence started some rather messy rubber band barrages (complete with
shouts of "Photon Torpedoes" and "Slingshot Effect"), which interfered
with the very interesting games of Hangman being played by several other
patrons. Ukyo had to go and discreetly bop each and every one of them.
After which, they promised to be nice and listen to the band that came
in.
"Honey, did Tsubasa tell you what time he'd be home?"
"Nope."
"Remind me to ground him till he graduates college if he dares to
come home past twelve."
"Sure, hon."
"And you're off the stereo until the next year."
There were these four guys who were unloading four stringed
instruments of different sizes. Four microphones set on stands were
being set up on the stage. While the three others were affixing the
microphones to the bodies of their cellos, violins or basses, one of them
took a mike to speak.
"Hello. We're T'ang Quartet, and this is our first performance in
anything like this. Please... sit back, and let the music set in."
Tsubasa, who felt as close to nodding off as he could possibly be,
yawned openly, then looked to his classmates, knowing they'd find this
classic orchestra a huge bore.
Instead, Hiroshi and Daisuke were actually akin to being astounded.
"Haven't seen them in a while," Hiroshi mouthed.
"They were in America for a while, to study, I think," Daisuke
said, not taking his eyes off the stage.
They're obviously enjoying this, Tsubasa thought belatedly, also
noticing that Shun had leaned forward to hear it better. That was when
they started on a staccato violin riff, accompanied with classical cello-
and-violin rhythm, and a rock sounding bass. It sounded... refreshing.
"Mmmm... Mozart is the father of rock." Some appetizers were being
served, and the mood was just perfect. Perfectly surreal.
The meal went quickly enough, and soon the four had time to listen
to the music. (Those who weren't really into rock or classical were
luckily placed as far from the performers as needed; the worst cases of
music and digestion not getting along are well-documented.) Having
recovered long enough from their initial shock, Hiroshi and Daisuke had
gone into their normal mode of discussion.
"She did NOT sleep for 'ten thousand years'," Daisuke insisted.
"If she said that she did, she DID," Hiroshi countered.
"Wait. When did it first come out that she had?"
"When she told...."
"At the start. Then?"
"Hmm... when Makoto told her, I guess."
"Exactly. Any other time?"
"Well... none that I can remember."
Shun piped in. "Just like that watch in that old American movie,
right? The one that the guy had, which came from the girl, which came
from the guy..."
Daisuke nodded. "Paradox."
"B-But..." Hiroshi stuttered, uncomprehending. Luckily, the band
started to play some very, very slow music.
The two women were in Ukyo's room, with Ukyo pouting fiercely.
"I don't want to wear make-up!"
Haruka, who looked quite elegant in a modest blue dress, was
starting to get frantic. "My dear, dear Ukyo: if you don't wear any,
one of these idiots will figure out who you are."
"And all those superheroes just need a new hairdo... or a costume.
I've got both." Ukyo fidgeted in her seat.
"Just think of it... as part of the costume." With that, Haruka
got in, and finished the job.
The would-be artist stepped back and judged her work. "You look
fabulous. Now, stop pouting, and get your man."
Ukyo blushed. Blushing was not something martial artists, even
good ones, did inconspicuously. It actually made a "poof"-like sound.
"He's not 'my man'." She did that circling ankle thing.
"Oh, please. I wouldn't have even found you out if you weren't
so..." She got stopped by a searing gaze.
Ukyo stood. "He's not my man. He's just..." She waved her gloved
hands in small circles. "Misguided."
"Well, you CAN lead." Haruka shoved her through the door. "It IS
the nineties. Too few good dancers out there."
This narration is firm in its stand to be neutral in coloring its
descriptions of any type of art form. Thus, when the T'ang Quartet
played dance songs, they played music of waltz beat, with the tempo set
to the relative speed of a clock when waiting for something.
To wit, they knew it was a slow dance tune, and people began to
slow dance to it.
"Feh," Hiroshi said. "And me without a girl to dance with."
"Don't be too sure," Daisuke chucked a thumb over his shoulder. A
short-haired blond and a long-haired brunette were coming into view.
"What I would do for freckles and red hair," Hiroshi commented, de-
ruffling his hair.
Haruka went on ahead and bodily took Shun from his slump. No
sooner had Shun left the table when Ukyo appeared right next to Tsubasa.
Her voice had a throaty quality. "I... we need to talk."
Hiroshi straightened and said, in his patent-pending husky voice,
"hey, groovy chick."
Tsubasa stood, facing her. "Yeah. We do." Not quite hand in
hand, they left the rest of the band.
"Hey. Hey!" Hiroshi indignantly faced Daisuke. "She left! With
him!" He gestured the departing pair.
"So it would seem" was Daisuke's neutral response.
"Ha... ha... ha-ha..."
"What do you find so funny?" Haruka was getting angry, and trying
to stifle it.
"Ha-Haruka..." Shun finally got over the shock.
Haruka had the sweat bead, the BIG eyes, the promise pose, the
awkward hand, and the set teeth. Yup, she was surprised. "Wha-? How?"
Shun placed a trembling finger on her lips. "You look even more
fabulous with make-up on."
Haruka blanched. "I knew I should have worn a wig," she muttered.
Shun was turning ruddy, himself. He had a somewhat bemused look in
his eyes, and he shook his head. "Don't be silly."
Haruka, by sheer circumstance, was caught off-balance by people
making their way to the floor, and fell forward, catching, in turn,
Shun's arms.
He looked to her, and politely indicated the flow of people.
"Shall we dance?"
Ukyo wasn't really sure where they could have their "talk".
They couldn't just stand where they were: it would be like she was
announcing their predicament to the world. (Besides, there were people
watching the band, which they were in front of.)
She couldn't go to the area behind the grill: it would be better
to tell him "I'm Ukyo, you fool; oh, yeah, Haruka's not here because
she's that girl over there". At least, she'd be sure that he knew. All
of it, or no clues, not even subtle ones.
So they went with the flow.
They weren't able to stay in one place until they were within the
confines of the dance floor. Of course, they couldn't just talk there;
wordlessly, they held each other, swaying to the soulful, mourning
string.
If she was asked, she would have never been able to tell a soul why
she danced like she did with him: slow, effortless, head lain on his
shoulder. Maybe, for that moment in time, she never existed. That it
was a moment skewered, not connected to the past, not possessing a
future.
Whatever enchantment was cast, she shrugged it off at the end of
the wordless song. Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she started,
"I..."
"I love you."
She blinked.
He blinked.
They turned to overhear more from a couple to one side. "I've
loved you since I met you."
"Oh, Mr. Noodle," the shoulder-length haired woman said.
They moved off from that couple soon enough.
Once they were sure that they were out of earshot, she tried again.
"I... I..."
"I'm pregnant."
That one actually made Tsubasa jump a bit, when a male voice
answered the announcement. "Well, Kanrinin-san, more tenants in your
house?"
"Don't call me, that," the woman said, softly. "It makes me
feel... old."
Ukyo had had enough. She took Tsubasa in hand, and got out of that
one.
By the time that Haruka was able to set her sights on Ukyo, she was
on the way out, in a rush. "Way to go, girl!" She grinned in a feral
manner, slightly scaring Shun. Wouldn't want to step on HER toes.
"Hmm..." Daisuke muttered. "Maybe some more drinks."
"Oh, c'mon! Answer the question!" Hiroshi was insistent.
"... Yaobikuni." Daisuke said, as calmly as he could.
"Damn!"
"'Eight-hundred-year nun'? Surely you couldn't have expected me to
forget that?" Daisuke stifled a smirk, and called a waiter. He noticed
Tsubasa sneaking out with that brunette, but kept it from his histrionic-
prone bandmate.
"My turn, right?" He gratefully received a few glasses. "Ok...
from the same manga: by the time they met the immortal Itto-ryu
swordsman, how many 'bad men' had Manji said he killed?"
"Hmm... toughie." Hiroshi started to count on his fingers.
She closed the door.
Nighttime in the district was regularly cold, being as it was a
beach-lined city. But it was edging toward the winter. Ukyo started
shivering.
Tsubasa was shivering as well. It was cold enough that his breath
was fogging. Deep inside, he was straightening.
He knew, beyond a doubt that his mystery girl was going to leave
him, tonight, never to return. He had to stop her...
... and he had this one chance, this last chance. He had to show
her who he was, all of it, and hoped that it was enough to stop her.
He gripped her hand, indicating that she follow, and went into the
foggy night.
"... twenty. I'm sure of it."
"Nope."
"Twenty-one."
"You're forgetting something."
"Hmm... fifty."
*sigh* "You're hopeless."
Ukyo tried to keep track of the path they took, but the twists and
turns sometimes were confusing (and often illogical) and tended to blend
between themselves. She only hoped that Tsubasa wasn't going anywhere
too far. A bit later, she began to wonder whether or not that was a good
idea. After all, he might be a pervert... or worse yet, the man of her
dreams.
At the start he was worried that the turns they were taking were
too much for his companion, but she was taking them as easily (maybe even
more so) that he did. So he upped their pace, and arrived there much
sooner.
They reached a clearing, and slowed. He looked for a tree hanging
over a lamppost. Scampering up the tree, he reached the limb that hung
just above the light.
It was low enough, so he proffered a hand to Ukyo. Doing a martial
artist's leap, she soared through the leaves, and fell gracefully on the
limb.
Tsubasa stared at the top of the post, leaning forward. Ukyo
wasn't quite sure what this all meant, but if this little rendezvous,
romantic as it was, were to end in some very cheap feels, he would end
the day very, very sore.
"Look. I know who you are, and I know why you're trying to hide."
Somehow, she wasn't really sure that it was supposed to surprise
her. Even if he knew who she really was, she had to explain. She...
needed to.
He glanced over to her, and said. "You're Ukyo's sister, right? I
heard it through the grapevine." He turned back to the post. "It's
obvious that Ukyo doesn't trust me with you."
So he didn't. She sighed, a little disappointed.
"Maybe it's because of the me he knows, from school. Or the me on
the band. God, I'd hope not. He probably thinks that I'm some sort of
drug-addled, band-tripping, head-banging, hedonistic, cross-dressing
pervert." He took a breath. "I'm not." He looked sheepish. "At least
not the drug-addled part."
She didn't move, entranced by the evenness of his voice. "My
family is kind of weird. We're all sort of artists, by trade. And we're
all pretty much... along... with each other." He sounded less calm.
"But, there are times when... you know, you just have to be alone. To do
things that only you would want.
"My father would bring me to this park," he reminisced, "when I was
about eight. We'd do nothing but enjoy the quietness of the place. The
aloneness."
"After a while, he'd bring me here, then go home, without bringing
me back. I guess he just wanted to get a rise out of my mom. I wouldn't
go home, though, until it was late, and I had to. Guess my pop knew me
well enough."
"Later, I'd keep going back here, because this park was so deserted
most of the time. And I'd have some quiet time alone."
Ukyo said softly, "you can never be alone, with friends like
Hiroshi, Daisuke, Shun..."
He probably wasn't aware that she had talked; he was aware that
something was being said, though. "But that's the most important part of
a place like this: you can be alone. When you need to."
There was a silence.
"For most part, do you know what I thought about when I was alone?"
Ukyo's part: she knew. Too well.
"I thought about being alone. About how I wouldn't want to be
alone forever."
He turned to her. But she had already set her mind. "I... I want
you..."
"... but..." He couldn't help but feel pessimistic.
She shook her head. "I want you... to be happy... but without
me..."
"Why?"
"I'm not who you know I am." How did it become so hot? (A breeze
lifted the leaves.)
"I don't know who you are, sister of Ukyo."
Why was it so hard to phrase this? "I'm not a woman."
Tsubasa blinked. That wasn't very clear. He breathed her in; she
had the scent of a woman. She had the curves (not that that had set in
before) of one. She was 100% woman.
She tried to rephrase. "I can't be your woman." That was worse.
She had had enough; she braced the limb, then jumped down.
That was the plan. Of course, Tsubasa was more than he seemed. He
held her wrist.
So, they jumped rather roughly to the ground. Ukyo was the first
on her feet, and she turned to run. Unluckily, Tsubasa had a grip of
iron.
"Let! Go! Dammit!" She eyed a plastic trashcan, then, in a
Herculean effort, dragged Tsubasa and unceremoniously dumped him in it.
Slamming the lid, she sat down on her seat, huffing. She didn't
want to do it, but he left no choice. She have to explain a few things
to Haruka, including how her dress was now dirty and torn. She picked
herself up, and went to check on Tsubasa... just to see if he was okay.
An arm shot out through the hard plastic.
Ukyo "aaaaaiiiiieeeeee!"ed, and proceeded to knock the bejeezus out
of him.
This narration is under the impression that plastic used to be
tougher stuff.
"That was a great party, Haruka."
"Thanks."
"Give my thanks to Ukyo as well."
"Will do."
"Uh... yeah. Ditto."
"Thanks, Hiroshi." She whispered to Daisuke. "What's with him?"
"Stumped him."
"Did not."
"Okay, how many?"
"Uh... ninety."
"Nope. Bye."
"Bye."
The two male voices started to fade. "Is it higher or lower,
Daisuke?"
"Um... Haruka. About... our agreement."
Haruka turned to Shun. "Don't worry."
He smiled. "Be happy."
"Your specialty is not eroticism. I guess your
boyfriend's into masochism. Your body temperature is ten
below; when it's over, it's over."
- Michael Franks, "When It's Over"
from the "Indispensable" album
Tsubasa looked sullen. He couldn't afford to start a conversation
with Ukyo, after that night in the park. But, she was the only
connection he had to that girl. Of course, they were siblings. That
answered both questions: having seen the trouble Hiroshi gets in with
some the other guys in general, and with Ukyo in particular, was enough
of a warning. He shot baleful, yet quick glances at her.
Ukyo looked sullen. She wasn't sure of how she could apologize to
Tsubasa. She'd thought of telling him the truth, but it would give her
nothing but false hopes. She... she wasn't a girl. She was going to
live as a guy even if it means... (No! She shook herself.) It wasn't
going to work out. She shot baleful, yet quick glances at him.
Haruka was able to watch the play between the two, and thought,
what the hell happened?
"Hundred... twenty-six."
"Oh... okay. Close enough."
Shun tagged along with Tsubasa, who fell back from Daisuke and
Hiroshi. "Say, Tsubasa. Haven't seen you guys jamming lately."
"Oh," Tsubasa covered his distracted air. "With the exams coming,
and all... But there's a big post-exam party on next Saturday at the
Ukyo's." He wondered where he picked up "the Ukyo's".
"And besides," Hiroshi added, "Ukyo and Haruka are off having their
biweekly."
"And you," Daisuke observed, "are too eager to go home."
"Very observant, Watson," Shun intoned. "Logical deduction would
point to..."
"... him having bought a new game," Tsubasa concluded.
Shun looked surprised. "How'd you guess that?"
"He showed it to me during Asian Myth."
"A new game?" Daisuke seemed mildly interested.
"It's... a fighting game." Hiroshi sounded like he was casting
off.
They bit. "Aren't you sick and tired of those types of games?"
Daisuke was mildly irritated.
"Yeah, they're so hack-and-slash. And once you've seen one, you've
seen'em all."
"Not so," Tsubasa said amiably.
"What's it, then?" Daisuke ticked off names on his fingers.
"Super Mario 5? Sailor Versus Turbo? Sonic Tournament? Dragon Ball
Renaissance?"
"Nope." Hiroshi was ready to reel them in. "New one." He
scrounged for the CD.
"New name?" Shun came up with names pretty quickly. "Clone Clonk?
Martial Mayhem? Sexy Chocolate? (say, that would be a cool band name)
Fantastic Fistfight? Virtua Insanity?"
"Here," Hiroshi shoved the CD into their hands.
The cover was simple: it was black, and in white block letters, it
said "Strip Fighter".
"Well," Shun said, "what're we waiting for?"
They left post-haste.
The soccer varsity held its practices once a month, just one less
than the volleyball varsity. The sheer number of members made sure that
there were more than enough substitutes for the main school team.
In fact, it made for more than enough substitutes for two teams,
when practices did occur. So, the overall time that the regular soccer
player had monthly was just roughly forty-five minutes; half a game.
It is easy to see why there are many members.
But this narration digresses.
"Nothing, eh?"
"Worse than nothing."
"How's that?"
"Not only is he still after me, but he thinks that I'm my brother."
"Rumors have ways of skewing things up. So, does that mean that
you don't want him?"
"I don't want him to get hurt. There's no way of working it out,
anyway."
"When there's a will, there's a... dead guy. You still haven't
answered my question."
A significant pause.
"Uhhh boy." She slapped her forehead.
"This cola is weird," Shun commented, "blue doesn't do so well."
"This is definitely better than that other game," Hiroshi
commented, not necessarily on the same.
"The one with the girl in armor, eh?"
"She could be in a miniskirt..."
"... or in a bikini..." Shun added.
"... or you could change the color of her underwear," Hiroshi
topped. "Seen it, too, eh?"
"Of course," Tsubasa countered, "you showed it to us."
"Not you, foo'." He pointed to the blonde on the left. "That's
her."
"Gee," Tsubasa said innocently. "I couldn't really tell with all
those clothes off."
"I don't have that problem," Daisuke deadpanned.
"And that longhaired one?" He pointed to the other girl.
Daisuke paused the game. He took two fishcakes, and trimmed the
edges off. Dunking them into Shun's cola (prompting the latter to test
whether or not the taste was actually better), he placed them lightly on
the screen.
"Oh. Didn't recognize her without the buns."
"I did," Hiroshi muttered; he HAD seen the movie. Shun discarded
his drink, deeming it hopeless.
"You guys are studying already?"
"Yes, we are," Haruka said as flatly as she could.
"But you can't!" Hiroshi was immediately silenced by the denizens
of the library.
"Yes, we can," said Ukyo, picking up a voluminous tome.
"Apparently, our Mr. Mask likes giving reeeeeally hard tests."
"O, now, does 'ee?" Tsubasa brogued. "Aye, t'would be t'captain.
'Warp speed,' 'ee sez. 'More power,' 'ee sez."
"Fine, then. Go ahead. We're staying here." Haruka didn't give
them any mind.
"Uh..."
Shun, too? "Yeah, Shun?" Hiroshi wondered.
"That reminds me... I've got to run an errand for my mom." He
pulled away. "See ya!"
"God, this is depressing." Daisuke removed his spectacles, and put
them in their sleeve.
"That's okay," Tsubasa was rubbing his hands together in a manner
that said mastermind, megalomania, and scheme all at the same time.
"I've got something for the next gig."
"Is it...?" Daisuke paused.
"... a new...?" Hiroshi paused.
"... gimmick?" they said at the same time.
"Okay, what's the gimmick?"
The three of them stood beneath a tree. Ukyo just frowned. "I
don't know if we should really do this."
"Don't worry," Haruka assured her. Her boyish look, combined with
the school uniform, clashed with the way she possessively took Shun's arm
in hers. "I assure that it will keep him off your tail." She pulled
playfully on the arm. "Isn't that right, Shun-honey?"
"I wish you wouldn't call me that..." Shun muttered, blushing.
"Oh, okay." Haruka rolled her eyes, in mock protest. Then she
stuck a tongue out at him. "Shun-chan."
Ukyo coughed politely. Haruka tossed her winningest smile at her.
"So... we'll do it this Saturday. After the shop closes."
"I... I'm not sure it'll work. He's pretty determined."
"Honey," Haruka said, "I'm the best at what I do. I'm so good,
it's magic."
It was regular practice for players on the field to switch
positions. After all, the fullbacks and the halfbacks almost did the
same things, and the sweepers almost didn't do anything. On a field of
twenty-odd people, there were only really just two that needed to be on
the alert, and they took shifts.
However, in the junior high school that Seito Sentai started in,
there was more of a strategy to the haphazard plays that usually occurred
on a rough-and-tumble sport. There was a detail to precision that edged
on nit-picking.
Roughly, the division of labor followed: the fastest, most
controlled ball-handlers were suited to be fullbacks. The bigger,
stronger force was set to be in the halfback position, to make sure that
the ball was closer to the other end. The sweepers would of course be
the most agile of them.
But anyone who's watched all the Stallone films would know that,
even if Pele were in the movie, he'd never be the star. That privilege
is part and parcel of being the goalie.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?
"Jazz?" Hiroshi sounded incredulous. "I don't think it was meant
to be done on a rock set."
"All we need is a keyboard, and some samples. Come on!" Daisuke
was raving, which was kind of rare for him. "You're the one who said
that we should be 'exploring our music'." There was no patronizing tone.
"A mix, yes! Totally shifting genre is out of the question."
Hiroshi was very adamant.
Tsubasa turned speculative. "Your uncle put you up to this, didn't
he?" He pointed to the CD Daisuke wasn't waving around. "He's gotten
mellow ever since his apartment manager got married."
"I... Now what has my..." Daisuke remembered that his summer was
buffeted first with strings classical interpretations, subtly but surely
replaced by contemporary piano, guitar and mustached artists. God knew
that he was a lover of the "barbaric tunes", but this was out of
proportion. "You know...," he said after calming down, "I think you're
right."
"It's okay." Tsubasa put a hand on the bassist's shoulder. "It's
actually a pretty neat idea." He spoke louder, placing Hiroshi back into
the discussion loop. "Do we know anybody who knows how to play
keyboards?"
"I do..." Daisuke stopped, then shook his head. "Nope, he can't.
He and his brothers are making their own band."
"Wow," Tsubasa mouthed. "That would be cool. Bet they're taking
their schooling by mail."
"Hey," Hiroshi remembered, "isn't that...?"
"Yup," Daisuke nodnodded. "The one you thought was a girl."
"Not news," Tsubasa shrugged. "And the only other people in the
club that don't do rock do DJ work..."
"Well, what's the gimmick?" All this suspence was getting to them.
"Watch," Tsubasa opened the door to the studio, "and learn."
"Why doesn't this stupid thing work?" He held the trinket of doubt
into the fading sunlight.
"When I try it in class, it doesn't work. When I show it to my
girlfriend, it doesn't work. When I try it after a glass of milk before
I go to sleep, I pass out, and have this weird dream."
In the red-tinted, darkening horizon, the figure focussed the
"party ornament" in the air. "I'm going to find out how this thing
works," he started placing the mask to his face, then back into the air,
"even if I have to keep doing this 'til..."
Night fell. He then turned into a colored air-system that wouldn't
have done Bono proud.
The next day, Tsubasa and company noted that their Asian Mythology
teacher came in on time, as usual, but his eyes had acquired a dog-eyed,
reddish cant. They made sure to keep on his good side, at least for that
day.
Saturday, of course, in the Latin languages, is named after Saturn,
and is the only day named after a Roman god(dess). In Japanese, the day
that coincides with Saturday is called doyobi. "-yobi" signifies that
the word means a day of the week. The "do" part the word, which
differentiates the word from the other days of the week, is written in
kanji with the character for earth, or soil. Very humble, comparing it
to the sun, the moon, fire, water, trees, and gold, which represent the
rest of the days.
Nonetheless, despite it being the most down-to-earth of days, it's
the one, at the end of which, the most celebration occurs, especially for
school children. (Mr. Mask would probably take this as a sign that a new
sect of Saturn-worshippers was evolving, but that would be Mr. Mask.
And, again, he would be out of his league.) This is because Japan has
the longest school year: six days a week.
One tries to put in as much as one can get.
"You're on in a few minutes. Where is Tsubasa?"
Hiroshi was filing a nail. "He'll be along."
Shun came in from the outside. "Why are they putting a table on
the stage? And a trash can, too."
Daisuke hummed a bit.
Haruka entered as well. She eyed the two musicians and rolled her
eyes. She mouthed "wait" to Ukyo, who looked no less annoyed.
Hiroshi glanced at the wristwatch, and counted from five. Daisuke
did the same. Two brothers-in-band in the audience did the same.
Go... yon... sen... ni... ichi...
Simultaneously, the four of them got to their feet, and raced onto
the stage.
The table was slightly to the left of the drum set, and there was a
standard hard-plastic trashcan sitting just to the right of the seat
behind the drums. Daisuke picked up his bass, and took a microphone.
Hiroshi, on the other hand, discarded the guitar on the side opposite
Daisuke, and sat behind the drums.
The other two went behind the table and waited.
Daisuke tap-tapped the head. "Uh... we're Seito Sentai, and..."
He scratched his head. "... we're experiencing some difficulties... so,
uh, please... bear with us."
He put the microphone on the front of the stage. Daisuke started a
low beat, and Hiroshi entered into it. Soon after, anyone familiar with
the series would notice that they were actually playing a modified
version of the "Mission: Impossible" theme.
At the time that Hiroshi had finished on a very heavy riff, a small
fireworks display under the onstage table prompted a backlight to
illuminate the two other people.
There were two turntables, and a microphone. They started playing
a peppy tune. Hiroshi and Daisuke changed their riffs appropriately.
At the end of another heavy riff, another pyrotechnic barrage
happened, this time under the trash can; the trashcan jumped into the
air, suddenly sprouting legs.
It landed at the front of the stage, surprising most of the more
attentive patrons. Sprouting arms, the hands flipped the top of the
outfit off, revealing the (now expected) missing third member.
Tsubasa picked up the microphone, still donning the pink dress, and
began to sing in a very female voice: "I just need to go out on a
Sunday..."
Haruka and Shun were trying to revive an asphyxiated Ukyo, who
fainted.
Strutting along the stage like only a garbage can can, Tsubasa
continued: "... sun is high, sky is blue; it's a date day..."
Shun was trying to send her air using a towel, and Haruka looked
back at the band gone bonkers. "This'll be harder than I thought."
"Not gonna say it, can't make me say it; no, not gonna let you
have your way...."
"I never knew you could dance sooooo well, Wings. You're wasted on
the drums, man."
Tsubasa had a black cloud looming over him. "I'll never, ever,
ever do that..." His line of thought was broken by a hand clamping over
his mouth, pulling him into the shadows. A door closed, covering the
loss.
Daisuke turned around, gyrating his pelvis in a provocative manner.
"If you want my boooooooody... and you think I'm seeeeeeeeeeexy..." He
noticed that the last patrons had seen him, and that his companion had
not.
He stopped, then walked out the door, gyrating all the way.
It was dark in that corner. This was mainly because a) it was
already early evening, and b) the light was off in the storeroom. He
knew that he was in the storeroom because the smell of yolk was obvious.
The figure pushed him to the wall where the light switch was; they often
dressed up here. He had the wind slightly knocked out of him. He was,
in more ways than one, walking on eggshells.
"Tsubasa...?"
It was her. Gods, she was strong. Why did her voice sound so...
distant? As if it was a foot off to his left, instead of in front of
him. Must have been slamming the wall.
"Tsubasa, I'm sorry, but I had to find you. To talk to you."
He squirmed, tried to say something, but to no avail.
"No, listen." She sounded calm, yet desperate. "I can't see you
anymore. I can't see anyone anymore."
Tsubasa wondered, why the melodrama? I'm sure I could make sense
of this... if I could talk... or I could look her in the eye... He
reached for the switch just above his head, to the left.
Someone noticed.
As Tsubasa was able to touch the switch, the light went on.
Several things happened at once: the person holding him ran out of
the room, long brown hair billowing, sobbing slightly; Ukyo was standing
just inside the door, which had opened; Tsubasa was able to breathe.
Soon as he could catch that breath, though, he was on the way out.
This was hampered by the fact that Ukyo had closed the door.
Shun ran quickly into Ukyo's room.
"How did it go?" Haruka was helping him with the wig.
"Don'know. It's all up to her now." He gestured towards the
storeroom.
"Stop her, dammit!" Tsubasa wasn't really sure that this was a
good thing, so he stuck to the indignation over the unmitigated gall that
stood before him. "Help her! She's hurting!"
To his utter shock, Ukyo just broke down in front of him, her face
in her hands. Oh, man. "I'm sorry!"
Ukyo couldn't stop herself; she hugged Tsubasa as hard as she
could. Awkwardly, Tsubasa patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said,
again.
The hug lasted for a few minutes. Tsubasa soon gave up patting
her, and tried, softly at first, then forcibly, to extract himself from
the embrace.
"I... I'm sorry." It was Ukyo's turn. "I-it's just..."
"Look..." Tsubasa was now sure that he stumbled on something that
he shouldn't have.
"No... no. I..." She looked undecided for a while, then
straightened. "I've... got something to tell you."
It might be of interest to note that there were no more eggs broken
after that little incident.
"Hey, Haruka!"
"Yeah?"
"You or Shun seen Tsubasa?"
"Said something about an errand, or some else."
"Oh, well. 'Suppose, he'll just pick up his uniform from Ukyo."
"'Suppose," they conceded.
"I... my sister..."
When nothing came, he asked, "yes?"
"... she... she had a... guy..."
He wasn't sure he understood. "A... a guy... friend?"
"... a boyfriend. They were childhood friends." She began to
fidget, pacing slightly.
Oh. "And... he..."
She stopped. "... left her. I... she was heartbroken. So was I."
"How... how old was she?"
"Six. I was six."
"It must've been awful... she still hurts, even now."
She turned dark. "And that's why I promised that she'd never get
hurt, ever again."
He stared at her, noting the grim nature of her posture. "I
understand."
She looked him in the eye, steely-brown. "I hoped you would." She
turned to the door, then looked at him. "Do us all a favor." And with
that, she left the drummer on the broken shells of unborn dreams.
Sunday morning.
"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Shun.
"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Haruka, in his ear.
"'Mornin'," murmured Shun back.
"'Mornin'," Haruka replied.
"What do we have planned for today, eh?" Shun seemed not to know.
"The usual. Breakfast?"
"Don't mind if I do. What're you having?"
A pause. "Eggs. Scrambled."
Shun wrinkled his nose. "I'm allergic to eggs. I'm having some
fish and vegetables."
"A heavy breakfast."
"I'm a growing boy."
She had a smile in her voice. "So you are."
"Oh, well. See you later."
"See you later." They waited for the other to cut the connection
first, and ended up doing it at the same time.
Sunday morning.
"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Ukyo.
"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Ukyo, again, this time rubbing her head.
She opened her bleary eyes, and wondered when she had slept. Probably
right after she had stopped hiccuping.
She tried to turn, but found that she had placed her weight on an
arm which held quite a few hairs in place. "Owwwwww..."
Maybe she wouldn't open shop today. She needed the break, since
there were tests coming up.
She rolled over again, this time not planning to roll over again
until spring passed by: it was going to a cold day.
Sunday midmorning.
Tsubasa rolled over, and opened his eyes. He had so much to do for
the day. He got up, and got some grub.
Sunday.
*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
Hmmm.... Alarm. Is it Monday already...?
*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
Monday? No... no alarm clock. Riiiigghhht.
*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
What's ringing? Ohhhh... hobble, hobble.
*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
*k-clik*
"'llo." Mumble, grumble.
"Hello? Ukyo?" Girl voice.
"'Yubasa? My sissster'z not 'ere. Go'way."
"Ukyo? It's Haruka."
"'A-ruka?"
"Wake up, girlfriend. Sounds like you didn't sleep last night."
"Aa'full. Hiccup."
"All night?"
"All night."
A sympathetic sound. "Looks like you're not gonna open shop
today."
"Ugh."
"Look. Go ahead, rest up. We've got tests tomorrow, y'know."
"I knooow. Then'kewt."
"You're welcome. Good night."
"Why did I call her again?" Haruka seemed at a loss. "I knew it
was important at the time." She shrugged. "I'll just call her later."
"Tsubasa!" Mrs. Kurenai called.
"Yeah, mom?" The teen was on the way down.
"You forgot your uniform at the disco."
"It's not a disco, mom. It's a restaurant. Didn't I go home in a
uniform yesterday?"
"Whatever. It's not in the wash."
"Oh... darn." He went out the door.
"I know," Ukyo informed no one. "I'll go get a bath. A long, hot
soak at the public baths. 500 yen for three or four hours. Not bad.
Maybe I should put up one of my own, someday." She chuckled, fetching
the toiletries.
Had Tsubasa's house been further (or, in fact, closer) than it was
from the apartment, things would have worked out much differently.
Unfortunately, it had unraveled, much like a poorly hashed plot, as
follows:
"Hello?" Tsubasa knocked on the front door. He was decked in a
cool white shirt, and jeans.
He opened the door, which wasn't locked. Which was kind of weird
in any sense. He entered.
Truth to be told, he wanted to see her again. But that was the
extent of what he wanted. So he was going to find out where she slept,
probably catch a glimpse of her beautifully shaped body... the hips he
held to tightly... *slap!*... the swell of her... *slap!*... maybe grab a
souvenir or two... *BONK!*
He had been enjoying that new game that Hiroshi had WAY too much.
I left the door open?! Maybe I should write down my recipes and
leave them out in the open as well.
I can't believe I'd be so scatterbrained.
He went past the storeroom. Through the uncluttered floor, he
ducked into the bathroom. He felt silly enough to check into the closets
to see if there were false walls.
Now wasn't that strange. A bedroom (which he knew to be Ukyo's), a
bathroom, then the restaurant proper. They sleep together? Maybe the
wall moves when you close the closet door...
Ukyo went back into her room. Old habits die hard, she supposed,
removing her ribbon. It would've been okay to go out in her normal boys'
clothes, but she wanted a comfortable change of clothes. She took two
strides toward the closet, and pulled the handle.
The following events should come as no surprise.
She opened the closet door, and gasped.
"Tsubasa's uniform!" She took the offending garment, and threw it
askew on the bed. (One can only wonder as to how she had that leap of
intuition though.) She took a white jogging outfit out, and put it on
the uniform. She closed the door half-heartedly.
A box which said "this side up" upside down sighed. Then it
deposited a rather harried looking classmate of hers.
Meanwhile, Ukyo was already on the way of dressing up. Make that
dressing down. She took off the wraparound she slept in (how could she
have forgotten that?), revealing the bandages she wore.
This was exactly what Tsubasa saw.
For all you anime lovers out there, let's just say that the
interest Tsubasa had for Ukyo's bandages were merely curiosity, like the
interest one would have seeing, as an example, Shinnosuke's bandages.
In fact, had Shinnosuke just removed his jacket with his back
turned (as had Ukyo) toward Tsubasa, he would have been just as
interested. Body markings had a lot to tell about a person.
It is just unfortunate that Ukyo unraveled body markings closely
resembled breasts, even from the back. (For the record, this exposure of
breasts did not, in any way, increase her height.)
What amounted to a situation was when Tsubasa gasped.
Tsubasa gasped.
Ukyo turned, not quite covering her breasts.
Tsubasa stared, started, backed up, hit a wall, and generally made
a bigger noise.
Ukyo then thought to heft that almighty spatula, to dole out
righteous wrath. She opened the closet door.
Nothing.
She turned back.
A box moved.
Faster than you would think, the BIG spatula found itself
compacting several boxes into a corner.
Nothing moved.
Satisfied, she turned and closed the door.
Tsubasa had his first lesson in camouflage.
"Oy, what a harsh mistress," he whispered.
"Although we've come to the end of the road, still I
can't let go. It's unnatural. You belong to me, I belong
to you, girl."
- Boyz II Men, "End of the Road"
from the OST of "Boomerang" and
the album "Cooleyhighharmony"
Now what?
The sun beat lightly upon the grass.
If I tell anyone about it, they'd either:
a) think I've lost it;
b) believe me, and she'd be forced to leave.
It'll be likely that she'd hate me for it.
"Uhm..."
I'll never see her again. Hmm...
A low rumbling noise edged into audible periphery.
"Uhmm... captain..."
Can't risk it.
"Captain..."
Can't do nothing, either.
"Captain Tsubasa..."
What to do?
"CAPTAIN TSUBASA!"
"What?!" He straightened, looking at one of the sweepers.
"Incoming!" He pointed to the mass of players coming toward them.
An idea hit him like a soccer ball to the face.
The world suddenly felt like the inside of a goal box.
"Great save!" The rumbling sounds faded away.
Tsubasa raised an arm, gave a thumbs-up, then fainted.
Hiroshi and Daisuke stood almost a whole court away, standing near
the goalposts of the other team.
"What happened to Wings?" Daisuke concerned himself.
"I don't know. What I do know is that you haven't answered the
question."
"Zardos was Steve's uncle. Dr. Armstrong was Bozanian." He shaded
his eyes, and peered. "He's okay." He pointed the receding figure.
"Darn." Hiroshi ground a foot, searching for another question to
pass the time.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Do antennae count, sir?"
"He's okay. Just overacting." He presented a hand and pulled.
"Okay, girly boy, I suppose you're just not cut out to be the star
of the show."
"I suppose," he commented, jogging into the field.
"Who to pick as goalkeeper?" The coach seemed indecisive.
"Goal... keeper?" Tsubasa jogged back.
"Coach... this goalkeeping business... the goal's to have them not
shoot into the goal, right?"
"Yes. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine, fine. One more swing at it, sir." He jogged back to the
goalie position.
Konatsu was feeling frisky.
He was sort of frisky for a while now, and this was only a day
longer for the mood swing. Mood swings came very rarely to him, and he
was making sure that he was going to make good of it.
He was an artiste.
Of course, in the start of this frisky mood, he left "the Big
Mouth" almost three years ago.
Mood swing, indeed.
Right now, he was running across the soccer field. He was kicking
a ball in front of him.
He was smiling. Not grinning, smiling; he was feeling frisky.
Also, the way there was unhampered by the annoyance of competent
players. They were mostly on his team, so it wasn't going to be a
problem.
The goal was right in front of him. Now it was time to put on a
few fancy foot moves... what?
The goalie was missing. The guy who took his band from him wasn't
there.
It would have been fun to see the look on his face as the ball
zooms past his face... he'll just have to settle on seeing him rush in,
too, too late. He gave a ferocious kick, straight for the center of the
net.
It would only be natural for fate to snub the frisky artists of the
world.
The goal moved. The ball flew through air straight into the
outdoor basketball court.
The whistle sounded, and he sat, pulling at the grass frustratedly.
Slightly after Tsubasa was briefed that he couldn't become the goal
(or, at least, could not dress up as the goal), he quickly turned to
being a halfback.
This is not to say that things got less dramatic.
"Charge!"
He zoomed past the half into the defensive positions of the
opposing team.
Daisuke and Hiroshi saw it, the large billowing mass of limbs and
smoke and ball, and tensed.
Tsubasa was a man possessed, and that was only because he had a
goal, and he was going at it (not necessarily using the shortest means)
but the one which he could take without waiting for opportunity to
present itself.
He barreled through his counterparts, trailing a zigzaggy path
towards his bandmates.
As soon as they could come within range, Daisuke pounced, entering
the fray. Hiroshi said, "Hey...!" without making much of an impression.
Turning to the goalie, he saw the intent pose he had, hoping that the
ball wouldn't come their way. But come their way it did.
Hiroshi wasn't as into this thing as Daisuke did, but he was
suddenly the only thing left of a defensive strategy. He did the only
thing he could.
He ran headlong into the mob. His shoe came undone. He tripped.
He slid headlong into the mob.
Of course, the head of this mob was Tsubasa, who, as far as he was
concerned, was only fighting feet. When his shin came in contact with
Hiroshi's rib, it spun his incredibly adaptive and well-balanced
receptive machine off-kilter.
They fell into a rather large and unceremoniously piled group. The
ball rolled forward, rapidly losing momentum.
The goalie, who stared blankly into hell itself, didn't even notice
the ball continue under his legs, and stop just behind him.
Tsubasa had his a hand each on a shoulder.
"Oof. You're heavy, y'know that?"
He couldn't speak. He was wondering how Hiroshi could; he was the
one who got kicked in the gut.
Then again, he was Hiroshi.
"Now, we have problems, don't we?" Daisuke said softly.
They stared at him; Tsubasa had to heft his shoulder, and look
under it.
Daisuke puckered his lips and used them to point.
The bandaged foot stayed bandaged.
"Oh... yeah." Tsubasa just looked sullen.
"Oh, yeah, what?"
"Can't play drums."
"Well..." Hiroshi didn't at all sound vindictive. "We CAN teach
you bass..."
On Tuesday afternoon, there was a small squall. Ukyo had closed up
shop for the week, so that she could "study", but even the excuse of
getting to the library to eye the innards of some tome wasn't being
bought.
She was worried. Tsubasa hadn't talked to her in since the week
started, and she thought that he might have even been avoiding her. Then
again, if she was REALLY being paranoid, she would have suspected that he
knew.
Ridiculous.
Someone came in through the door, though she hadn't expected
anyone. "Hello...?"
The blonde (who had unusually frizzled hair, which clashed with her
deeper complexion) blue-eyed her, focussing as though recognizing her.
They immediately defocused. "Not her." She shook her head.
"Yes?"
"Uh... I saw that, uh, you were selling, um, okonomiyaki, and I,
uh, was, um, sort of hungry, and...?"
"I'm sorry, but we're closed."
"Yes, I SAW the sign which... I'm not THAT off... but I was KIND of
hoping that..."
"Yes, but we're closed for today."
She grabbed her by the shoulders and before Ukyo could throttle
her, she plead with watery eyes, "PLEASE!!"
The ended up talking about the girl that this other girl was
looking for, over three cooking okonomiyaki.
"Sounds like a pretty sad story," Ukyo nodded.
"But, we're really such good partners!" The girl n.nned.
"I meant the other girl..." she muttered.
Ukyo quickly bagged the servings and gently (yet surely) pushed her
out.
"So sorry to have bothered you!" she left cheerily.
"Whew," sighed Ukyo, completely missing two thieves come away with
her delectables from a totally unprepared and bumbling lady. Maybe my
life's not THAT depressing, after all.
Of course, there was the test in Asian Myth.
"What the hell?!?"
It was twenty pages long.
The top of the first page had this on it:
Name: Section:
Character Name: Gender: Race:
Character Class (Fighter/Cleric/Mage/Thief):
Age: Weight: Height:
Hair Color: Eye Color:
Coins: PP: GP: EP: SP: CP:
Items:
While the rest of the class were scratching their heads, and
generally vowing swift vengeance on the teacher, Hiroshi (who had had his
share of RPGs - and all related adaptations) was writing "Luna (32-22-
32)" and chuckling insanely into his Chinese collar.
When Ukyo came back into the shop, to make the preparations for the
big party that afternoon, she was taken aback when she found that the
whole drum set had disappeared. More than worried, she was curious as to
why anyone who would have hit upon the heaviest thing in the shop. (Just
in case, she checked the cash; it was still there.)
In any case, that was the music club's loss: they were the ones
who had the only other set of keys, and that was because they asked for
them, in order to set up for the aforementioned party.
It might, she later realized, cause problems, though. After all,
the basic rock groups would have your basic dilemmas, and basically, the
party would be called off.
Too bad. She had been looking forward to the party. (Despite her
current predilection against parties.)
She also noticed that nobody was there.
She was in the middle of fixing up when the parade came in.
At first, some of the members of the music club came in, bearing
weird metal rods. These they put on the stage.
Later, several drums and cymbals came in, and began adding
themselves to the ensemble on stage.
Finally, a triangle, a tambourine and a snare drum rounded out the
monstrous looking drum set, which occupied the whole of centerstage.
Having done that, they returned a familiar table and several additional
amplifiers to the sides of the stage. They also started moving back
tables which were closest to the area, which started to resemble an
Ellison dystopia.
Ukyo was getting nervous to a degree. When she had come within
striking distance (with that omnipresent spatula, no less), the usual
suspects came to intercede.
"All those wires... look dangerous..."
"Not to worry," Hiroshi sounded off, "have we done anything to harm
you?"
"I... I mean... wouldn't it be a bit... too loud?"
"Nope." Daisuke looked sincere. "This is Tsubasa's drum set.
Have you heard anything bad from Tsubasa's neighbors? I think not."
Not that they would bother to explain that Tsubasa hasn't had
neighbors for the past year and a half. As an additional side note,
those who had been living in the neighborhood of the "Ukyo's" soon found
themselves in the mood to travel, on a permanent basis. Unluckily, most
of them went to live in the quieter districts of Tokyo, like Nerima.
That is to say, when luck is down, it stays down.
Mrs. and Mr. Kurenai.
"Tsubasa?"
"Party."
"Dinner?"
"Nope."
...
"Did you know that it's been at least a decade since we did
something strange together?"
"Surely, you're not..."
"I am."
A glance passed.
"Let's go."
Loki, god of mischief, had his power in the night! That was the
missing link!
Exams unnoticed, he packed the proof he needed, and rushed over,
too overwhelmed to wear the thing before showing it to anyone. And was
he sure where to show it...? But, of course... where all the kids were
at.
The Ukyo's was packed.
"There's a fruitcake in everybody..."
Most of the people, though, didn't have seats.
"There's a fruitcake in everyone..."
That was okay, though.
"There are B-sides to every story..."
They couldn't take it sitting down anyhow.
"And the story has just begun..."
"When are you guys coming up?" Haruka wanted to know.
"Later..." Hiroshi shooed, trying to concentrate on the women
closest to him that were swaying oh-so-well.
"... hopefully, Tsubasa would be there," Daisuke replied, glancing
at the door.
"... augh!" an anguished drummer commented. He was racing,
thereby excusing himself for his lack of eloquence.
Unfortunately, there wasn't enough distance between him and...
"Kurenai! Halt!"
Damn those schoolboy reflexes. He almost ended up falling on his
face.
"Professor." He looked over his shoulder, and hoped not to find
who he did.
The instructor from Hell pulled up to pace him and said glowingly,
"you going to the big post-exam party, eh?" He wagged the mask he had
meaningfully. "Pace me."
Tsubasa wondered how much worse this day could end up. He kept the
piece of paper he held in a pocket and paced.
"Oh, yeah."
They both stretched.
"Unnnnnnggggghhhhh..."
They started swaying to the beat.
"Faster, faster, baby..."
"Uh! Uh! Uhhhhhh!"
People started moving away from them, slightly disgusted.
"And... yeeeeeeEEAAAAAH!"
They separated.
In the middle of a now vacated circle, Mr. Kurenai stood in a John
Travolta-ish position, with Mrs. Kurenai leaning back on her heels,
hanging only by the man's arm in her hand.
"God, I love disco."
On one of the further tables, Hiroshi and company held their noses.
"Boy, I am glad that Wings wasn't here to see that," Daisuke
muttered.
They nodded.
"It's gonna blow... volcano!"
*BOOM!*
"Whoa... kewl effects. Two strings... three strings... no strings.
The lead guitarist even shaved his head. Very... groovy."
Shun stared at the hole in the ceiling made by the speaker-volcano.
"Hope it doesn't rain."
Daisuke worriedly looked at his watch.
"... supersonic, plate tectonics, stereophonic..."
Haruka leaned back and folded her arms over her (not-so-obvious)
chest. "Not fooling us."
"Excuse me?"
"I said your not fooling us. This has got to be some sort of other
gimmick of yours."
Hiroshi (who had lightly dozed) came in. "Wha-?"
"Where's he going to come from? Behind the grill? Inside that
monster?" She pointed at the prop that the band playing was using.
"Maybe through that hole?" She pointed at the new skylight.
"Nope. No gimmicks. No cross-dressing, even. Maybe the hole;
that would be good." He leaned across the table towards her. "Would you
mind it, if in the middle of a song?" He indicated the ceiling.
"Fine. Don't tell me." She looked unimpressed.
"It's gonna blow..."
The door blew in, showering some of the people closer there with a
fine layer of sawdust. A body could be seen flying through.
Tsubasa picked himself up, brushing wood motes from a sweater and
loose pants, then rushed towards his two bandmates, pushing them to a
side. Insane cackling could be heard if anyone bothered to strain.
"Now that," Haruka admitted, "I didn't see coming."
"VOLCANO!"
"What!?"
Seito Sentai found itself in its first make-or-break dilemma.
"'Let's trash the whole medley'?" Hiroshi mimicked as acidly as he
could. He picked the songs after all.
"Look." He tried to stay rational about this. Then, he remembered
where he stuck the piece of paper. "Here," he said, unfolding it.
Daisuke skimmed over the chord patterns being presented. "Hmm...
interesting..." He skipped to the next. "Hm. Athletic." Then: "Ugh.
Tunnel Carpal Syndrome."
Hiroshi looked at the sketch for the drums. "What's this part
which says 'Whatever you want'?"
Tsubasa looked up from the parts he was revising for lead. "What
it says. Whatever you want."
"Hmm... your bit doesn't seem too hard." Then Daisuke saw what
Tsubasa put near the end. "'Chicken strangling'?"
"On a sprained ankle?" Hiroshi wondered.
"Yes, on a sprained ankle."
"Oy. Let's do it."
"And, finally, that band we all know: Seito Sentai!"
Some applause.
Hobbling gingerly to the centerstage, Tsubasa picked up a
microphone. Adjusting a stand, he tried to chance tuning the guitar.
Daisuke kept an eye on him. Hiroshi meekly hopped behind the drums.
"Uh, hi," Tsubasa waved to the audience, shifting to girl mode
slightly. "I, uh, sprained my ankle, so I can't play drums." He pointed
to Hiroshi, who also waved. "But he's playing, so it should be okay.
Right, H?"
H nodnodded.
"And he's still doing bass, so there's nothing wrong there," he
continued, pointing to Daisuke. He solemnly nodded, starting a low riff.
"And me? Li'l ol' me?" He started strumming the guitar. "Ma-ry
had a lit-tle lamb. Lit-tle lamb, lit-tle lamb. Ma-ry had a lit-tle
lamb, whose fleece was white as snow." He stopped. Hiroshi wasn't doing
anything, and Daisuke was still doing his low riff.
He tried strumming a little faster. "Mary had a little lamb whose
fleece was white as snow. And ev'rywhere that Mary went the lamb was
sure to go."
Daisuke was still doing his low riff, but he was starting to pick
up speed. Hiroshi looked blank.
Tsubasa strummed even faster. "Mary had a little lamb, whose
fleece was white as snow. Ev'rywhere that Mary went, the lamb was
sure..." He switched to a gravelly male voice. "... to... GO!"
An explosion of sound followed. Hiroshi had suddenly found the
sticks. Shun grinned.
What followed was a ten-minute heavy-rock all-English rendition of
"Mary had a Little Lamb". This narration declines to describe it, as it
could not remember the second stanza. Neither will it explain how the
chicken got in.
"Go! Whoo!"
"Honestly, I can't understand how you could get drunk on tea."
"It's good tea. Go son! Whoo!"
"Just ignore him," Tsubasa reminded himself. He coughed, then
tapped the head of the microphone. Hiroshi slipped from of the drums,
and brought his chair to the front. Daisuke did the same, thus putting
them all within a small circle at centerstage.
"This is our last song," he said, prompting some of them to moan,
"and we... I dedicate it to the owner of the restaurant," he gave a
glance to see if she was there. Alas! She wasn't. "... and her
brother."
Hiroshi started the pattern, an acoustic riff. Daisuke joined in
on the second repetition. Tsubasa had the tambourine. After two more
stanzas, he started.
"Back in the olden times,
The Indians had a keen ol' rajah.
He had some dough to burn.
He had some gods to spurn.
Now, him and his missus,
(They call her rani now)
They read that Kama Sutra...
And they did it all the time.
(Read, that is.)"
For some reason, he was sweating. Dammit, acoustic makes him
sweat, and heavy rock doesn't.
"Oh! How he loved her so, though!
He said he'd give the moon and stars.
Oh! How she loved him so, though!
She said she'd ride his flashy cars.
Happy happy snuggle-bunnies.
Happy happy happy snuggle-bunnies."
Maybe we should have stuck to the plan, Tsubasa thought.
"Because he was a wise ol' ruler,
Wizened to the nth degree.
Gave her something, made her say:
'Such a large erection just for me!'
(Taj Mahal, that is.)"
The beat started picking up as the bridge came. He switched beats.
"But those Hindu gods, they don't take likely
when someone moves in on 'great, big' territory,
they done the rajah good, make'im pay real bad,
they turned the rani to the same gender. Male.
D'you know what the wizened, keen ol' rajah did?"
Stop. Hiroshi started strumming, the original beat. Then,
Daisuke, then faster. And faster. Tambourine.
"CUT DOWN ON HIS E-REC-SHUN!"
He tore through his sweater.
"DOWN WITH HIS E-REC-SHUN!"
He got out of his pants. The standard was back.
"Went out saying 'man no more!'
Went out saying 'man no more!'
My girl ain't a girl no more,
Nothing would keep us apart!"
Coda. Starting to slow.
"Cut down on his cholesterol.
Cut down on that figure.
Cut down on those girly mags.
Cut down on his sportscars."
Fade out.
Everything was silent.
Exactly the reason why everyone turned when the door creaked open.
Mr. Mask held his namesake up in the air before his face. "Hey,
kids! Liked my demonstration earlier?"
They didn't quite understand him, but the exam a few days ago was
not easily forgotten. The crowd needed something they understood.
"Fry'im!"
He got promptly beat up, trinket quite forgotten.
This narration apologizes for not being consistent on its stand on
artsy stuff. For clarity's sake, they did not beat up their instructor
as an urge acquired from the song; they felt like it on their own.
Months later, the Kabuki club (founded by Shun and Haruka) held its
first play, "The Demon of Rashomon". Hiroshi and Daisuke lent a hand
writing for it (though Daisuke had to stop Hiroshi from adding space
battles for lack of funds) and, apparently, Tsubasa was more than willing
to play a not-so-little demon.
Celebrating the success (i. e. completion) of their work, they went
to the Ukyo's. This, mostly, was due to novelty.
Ukyo excused herself, "I'll go get you guys some food, then," and
promptly disappeared.
Haruka muttered, "I'd swear that that girl was a ninja," which
wasn't heard by the males.
Shin asked the guitarists of SeSe. "So... you guys haven't split
up yet?"
Hiroshi was nonchalant. "Why would we?"
"Um... aren't you... isn't your..." He dawdled, then bluntly
retorted, "you guys aren't goofed when your drummer chases guys?!"
Daisuke asked Haruka, for everyone to hear, "aren't you 'goofed'
when your friend likes dressing and acting like a girl?"
Haruka turned to Shun. "Why, no. I think it's cute."
Shun hid his blush by bowing his head and moaning, "you guys are
hopeless..."
Tsubasa chose to come in at that time.
Shun whispered to Daisuke. "Ixnay on the 'ombre."
Tsubasa put a hand on Haruka's shoulder. "That was tough make-up.
Where'd you learn prosthetics?"
"I started playing with cement a while back," she said blithely.
"Look at my hair," he ran his fingers, "it used to be beautiful and
smooth. Now it's so rough and spiky."
"It'll come off," Shun assured him.
"The dye?" Tsubasa didn't like the way silver-green clashed with
his red dress.
"Nope," he wryly commented, "the hair."
Ukyo then came out, carrying some goodies.. Bad move.
"Ukyo!" Tsubasa glomped the newcomer. "How do you like my new
dress? I'm wearing it just for you..."
She commented with the bigger end of her spatula.
Haruka sighed, "at least he's consistent." The others nodded.
And, thus, this narration begins.
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(Detach here)
Tsubasa is kind of an ignored character in the manga, as well as
the anime. (Heck, even Azusa gets a return ep, and there were the five
episodes on Sentaro Daimonji...) Actually, not too many fanfics even
include him in their cast (then again, Sentaro Daimonji doesn't have that
many, either... wait...), much less give him enough to go on. Nope, he's
not actually maligned (comparing him to Daimonji twice is enough) in any
manner, just ignored.
As a segment of the fanfic known as Switch, I hoped to only try to
explain (at least in context) the psyche of the man who dons girl's
clothing, without having to leave the context. Tough words... :P
I really, really didn't want this to be anything even remotely
serious (in presentation! the story had merit, I hope), but Ukyo was
hardly any laughing matter. Also, this is more than seven times the
normal length of a chapter for Switch, and most of it was crammed in nine
weeks, and classes just started... I love writing long stories... NOT!
(For anyone who wanted to find out where I got my name, I put in the ref
here...)
Stickler note on the use of Nihonggo: there's a line of dialog
where Daisuke calls Tsubasa MISS Kurenai. Actually, Daisuke called
Tsubasa "Tsubasa-chan", contrasted from "Tsubasa-kun", implying a shift
to the female gender. The honorific "-san", as in "Kurenai-san" couldn't
signify gender, and is translated into Mr./Mrs./Miss, i. e. Mr./Mrs./Miss
Kurenai. (That's in contrast to Haruka's affectionate "Shun-chan"; I'm
sure she didn't mean it in that way.) I, of course, just translated it.
^_^ (Which should explain the Viz-like preference of losing the long-o
and long-u sounds, or so-ons. These are also known as the "u"s in Ryouga
and Souun. Just take note that these are roughly equivalent to accenting
the syllables, and accentuation doesn't exist in the Japanese language.)
There are some things you can't do with the Japanese language, like
implicitly differentiate future tense of a verb from present tense of the
verb, that's all. (Just don't ask about the "True Blunder" bit. "Kawaii
Baduchi?")
I can only imagine how Japanese brogue sounds.
I hope that those of you who didn't understand the in-jokes could
still appreciate the story, because some of the references are really,
really, really personal and often silly... anyone offended by the off-
color jokes can send flames to me.
Again, plenty thanks to my pre-readers: Shadow Dancer, Magic
Knight Kyone, TimeRunner, Scriviner, J. Sutedja, Keener, Andrew Huang,
Mr. Panda, Terence Marks (and the rest of ronin ML; love that
Stargazer!) and the rest of the Nikholas F. Toledo Zu, who I pestered
incessantly; at least I am sure that they have copies (to keep...?).
They are the shining light to my everyday... I hope to faithfully hold my
obligations... whatever they are.
C&C requested, but not completely necessary; only when there's
something that you really, really want to say. ^_^
Good day to all.
(Detach here)
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