"Oh,
My Kamui!"™
Episode 2
"The Diabolical Cameo"
Intermission: 0.1
Darkness. Everything was void. Abyss. Null. Darkness. And then . . . a ripple. White as freshly fallen snow which had just been pissed upon by a mutt, a feather had fallen upon the surface of his swimming pool. He was sitting in his intertube, wearing a loose, white kimono."I have dreams," he spoke into a handheld recorder. "And in these dreams, I see the Future. Two takes on the Apocalypse and the appearance of two Authors . . . I know this as well."Soon, piss-colored feathers began to rain down onto his pool. He nearly leapt out of his intertube in a vexed manner.
"Mokona damn it, CLAMP, where did you get these piss-colored feathers from?! They're so second-rate!"
(CLAMP: ::: high up in the wings ::: . Gomen nasai.)
"What?!" Kakyou shouted. "Only a 'gomen nasai'? No 'sumimasen, Kudzukisama'? I am the narrator of your raison d'être, lest you forget!"
(CLAMP: "raison d'être"? We wouldn't call "X" that . . . I mean, we do have other manga, and "X" isn't our only reason to exist. Besides, you're only the narrator in the OVA.)
"That's it." Kakyou jumped out of his intertube and waded through his swimming pool. As he climbed out, an attendant scurried dutifully to him, wrapping him up in a multilayered bathrobe. After he seemed comfy, the attendant pulled a paper fan from her pocket and began to air her master. Kakyou started at a brisk pace toward the exit.
(CLAMP: Damn it . . . we do need him. . . who else would narrate "X"?. . . Kakyou! Wait a moment!)
Kakyou continued on is merry way. Plucking a frappecino from his attendant's right and ready hands, he closed his eyes and sipped at it as he went.
(CLAMP: . . . umm . . . SUMIMASEN, KUDZUKISAMA!)
Kakyou stopped.
(CLAMP: . . . we'll . . . umm. . . give you a raise, if you promise to finish your work on "X". . .)
Kakyou whistled nonchalantly.
(CLAMP: . . . and . . . and. . . we'll. . . throw in that chinchilla farm you've been coveting.)
Kakyou idly checked his nails. "And?"
(CLAMP: . . . damn it, do we have to?!)
Kakyou sighed. "Do you want your life-work to be narrated?"
(CLAMP: . . . please, Kakyou . . . we'll give you anything . . . riches, power, bishoujo fan girls, bishounen cast members, we'll even resurrect Hokuto! ANYTHING BUT THAT!)
Kakyou raise his eyebrows. "I will settle for nothing less."
(CLAMP: FINE! We'll write a scene of you dressed as Frank N. Furter, singing "Sweet Transvestite" into the manga! Are you happy, now?)
Kakyou turned around, going Super-Deformed Chibi-Kakyou. "HAAAAAAAAAI!"
(CLAMP: Now, get to work!)
Kakyou threw his bathrobe off and flung the frappecino across the sound stage for his attendant to clean up. He skipped back to the pool and dived right back onto his intertube. Once Kakyou's kimono had settled over the water, Ikari Gendou folded his hands, obstructing the view of his mouth, and called action.
"I am Kakyou . . . one of the Seven Dealahz—the Dragons of Crack. A dreamseer who sees the future within dreams. Where did I come from? Why can I foretell the future? Will this accursed fan fict—"
"CUT!" Gendou called. He stood up and stepped from his director's chair to the edge of the pool. "Kakyou. You are a sucky Evangelion pilot. I'm afraid that because you are unable to kill your own best friend, we must render you inconsequential and take direct control of your Eva via the Dummy Plug System."
Somewhere in Central Dogma, Ibukichan eagerly awaits the orders to switch to Dummy Plug.
"Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease! I'll finally DO something that's important to the plot! Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease!"
Kakyou blinked, staring at Gendou a moment. "Who the hell hired this loon?"(Annosan: MWAUGH HAUGH HAUGH! I return! And this time, I get OOC mun-bubbles, just like the Author and CLAMP! MWAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH!)
(CLAMP: ::: points to Annosan ::: He did. And, next time, Kudzukisama, get it right; Gendou is not a loon, but a filicidal, uxoricidal bastard with a mean inferiority complex.)
Ignoring CLAMP's comment, Kakyou shot daggers at Annosan with his eyes. "I'll see to it that you never work in this 'fic again. Now, can we PLEASE just get this shoot over with?"
"Action."
"Where did I come from? Why can I foretell the future? Will this accursèd fan fiction ever end? That no longer matters to me, now; everything has become meaningless to me. It happened when I lost the person I cared so mu—"
(CLAMP: Insert Hokuto's Death Scene/Nostalgia here.)
A few moments later . . .
"That was the moment that my pet, GodChilla died. There's nothing for me, anymore. I can't feel anything . . . all I ca—"
Kakyou was interrupted by the distinct sound of laughter from the OOC plane. Clearing his throat, he tried again, overannunciating the words.
"I CAN'T FEEL ANYTHING . . . ALL I CAN DO I—"
(Annosan: WAUGH HAUGH HAUGH! Oh, god, CLAMP, where did you come up with such a hilarious line?)
(CLAMP: T . T . . . what's so funny about it?)
(Annosan: Imagine this; Nataku with its hand down its pants, proclaiming: "I can't feel anything.")
(CLAMP: You are one sick, twisted man, Hideaki.)
(Annosan: And you are an infantile circle of female manga-ka.)
(CLAMP: ::: sullenly brandishes Fuuma :::)
(Annosan: o . o;;. . .)
(CLAMP: Eh heh heh.)
(Annosan: ::: very freaked out :::)
(Fuuma: ::: monosyllabic expressions of rage :::)
(Annosan: Fuuma, you are big and scary, I leave now.)
(Random
Passerby: HURRAY FOR HAND-PUPPET THEATRE!)
(CLAMP: You may
continue, Kakyou.)
"Ugh, finally."
Kakyou
cleared his throat—AGAIN.
"I can't feel anyth—"
(CLAMP: ::: bursts into laughter :::)
Kakyou glares
sullenly at the four mistresses of CLAMP.
"Do you want me
to narrate? I still have my slave attendant girl and my dignity. I
can still walk out on you."
(CLAMP: We're sorry, but . .
. really . . . he was right . . . Nataku reciting that line . . . we
shall resurrect Nataku in Book Nineteen for the sole purpose of
saying "I can't feel anything" . . .)
Kakyou continues
to glare.
(CLAMP: . . . o . o;; . . . oh. . . uh. . .
SUMIMASEN, KUDZUKISAMA!)
"I can't FEEL ANYTHING . . .
all I can do is sell myself on the street corners for a decent price.
I'll continue to whore myself and see the future in my dreams . . .
and dream of the scores of inane chapters to come . . . I'll just
keep prostituting . . ."
Piss-colored feathers
begin to rain from the wings, again. The camera zooms in upon toy
globe, focusing on the area of Tokyo. Shots of Godzilla combating
King Ghidorah are edited in to represent the meeting of the Dragons
of Heaven and the Dragons of Earth. Cardboard boxes representing
Ikebukuro Sunshine 60, the Nakano Sun Plaza, the Metropolitan
Government Offices, Tokyo Tawa, Ginza, the Rainbow Bridge, and Tokyo
Station are blown to bits.
"Guided by the crooked mind of
an otaku Author, the Dragons of Hummers, the Seven Strawberries, and
the Dragons of Crack, the Seven Dealahz, will gather . . . and, so,
too, will the one who holds to most contempt of all for this fan
fiction's shoddy plot line . . .KAMUI!"
A shot of Kamui
. . . umm . . . defiling the cardboard box representing Tokyo Tawa is
displayed.
"Even
if they meet, even if they hurt one another, even if they love one
another, even if they kill this god-forsaken otaku of an Author . .
."
There is a montage of first, Fuuma raping Kamui, then
of Sorata and Arashi dressed up in drag, then of Satsuki giving
Yuzuriha and Yuuto the tentacle "treatment" . . . on and on, one
after another, scenes of self-gratifying CLAMP orgies are flashed
across the screen.
". . . my prostitution is always . . .
one. One thousand dollars per hour, that is."
(Cthulhu:
::: walks in, nodding to CLAMP in acknowledgement ::: 'ey, Ladies.)
(CLAMP: O . O!!! C-C-C-C-C-C—!)
"OH, WHAT IN
THE GRAND ORGASM'S NAME IS IT, NOW?!" Kakyou wailed, nearly
falling from his intertube into the water again.
(CLAMP:
CTHULHU!)
(Cthulhu: ::: looking down upon Kakyou
disparagingly ::: What's up with this bitch?)
Kakyou's
eyes widened in fury.
"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME, YOU GREEN,
TENTACLED FREAK!? I AM THE FUCKING STAR OF THIS SERIES! I AM CLAMP'S
FUCKING NARRATOR! I RULE 'X', FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES! COWER
BEFORE MY BISHOU YUMEMINESS!" Kakyou's face was
spattered with his own spit. He had turned a resplendent shade of
magenta.
(CLAMP: Umm . . . aren't you being a bit
presumptuous, Kakyou?)
Kakyou's slave attendant girl
coolly handed him a large, red croquet mallet which he proceeded to
wield in a most threatening manner.
(CLAMP: .
SUMIMASEN, KUZUKISAMA!)
(Cthulhu: Whoa, whoa, whoa! HOLD ON
ONE GREEN, TENTACLED, FREAKISH MOMENT! Last I checked, CLAMP had
offered up their souls to ME in order to ensure the success of their
cliché manga concerning my awakening known as "X". :::
produces a contract documenting the selling of CLAMP's souls to
Cthulhu in exchange for a psychotic fan-base from the depths of its
tentacles ::: See, they are my bitches, lowly character, not
yours.)
Kakyou swung the croquet mallet at Cthulhu.
(Cthulhu: ::: glares at the mallet . . . it bursts into a
million slimy, green leeches :::)
Dropping the leeches,
Kakyou glowered, preparing his hands and a light source.
(Cthulhu:
Ah, so you wish to shadow-puppet-battle me! So be it, bishounen
mortal! MWAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH
HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH HAUGH! ::: thunder crashes and
lightning flashes :::)
(Author: ::: sidles on in ::: Yo, yo,
yo, w'az'up, CLAM—::: spots Cthulhu :::)
(Cthulhu: :::
stares ::: T . T)
(Author: O . O!!! C-C-C-C-C-C—)
(Cthulhu: I know, I know! ::: exasperated sigh :::)
(Author: CTHULHU! ::: falls to his knees, worshipping :::)
Kakyou disregarded the author, folding his hands in just such a manner to create the shadow of a giant Tokyo-eating squid creature.
(Squid-Creature-Shadow: RRAAR!)
(Cthulhu: ::: smirking ::: Nice, but I can do better.)
Kakyou shot Cthulhu a glare in challenge to this claim.
(Cthulhu: ::: produces from a small gesture of his hands a shadow in the likeness of Cutie Honey post-transformation :::)
(Cutie-Honey-Shadow: ::: boing-boing! :::)
Kakyou stared in pure fear and disbelief as the Cutie Honey shadow proceeded to trounce his giant Tokyo-eating squid creature shadow.
"N-n-NO!" Kakyou cried out. "I CAN'T LOSE! I AM BISHOUNEN! I CANNOT BE DEFEATED! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
(Cthulhu: Bitch bes' recognize.)
(Author: Now, before this gets any messier, let's start where we left our heroes last!)
end Intermission
Stretching, then yawning, Kamui turned over, not wanting to get up for school, yet. He sat in bed a moment, listening to his alarm clock buzz.
"Well," he murmured groggily, "at least that crazy fan 'fic was all just a drea—"
He was cut off by a piercing pain in his ear. Something had bitten him!
"Mmrrow! YOU HAVE TO GET UP, USAKO! YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE AGAIN!"
Kamui leapt up sharply, pulling at whatever was clamped onto his ear, and shrieking. Whatever it truly was, it felt an awful lot like a cat. Ceasing his panic a moment to get a clear look at what he was holding, Kamui discovered it didn't just feel like a cat—it was a cat. A black cat . . . with large, shoujo red eyes and an odd, crescent-shaped scar on its forehead.
"Why the hell are you biting my ear?" Kamui asked in the most flat voice he could manage.
Releasing her hold on Kamui's ear and landing nimbly upon the bed, the cat turned its head, examining Kamui in a most peculiar fashion.
"You're not . . . Usagi . . . ," she managed.
"Oh, no . . . ," Kamui gasped, his eyes widening in realization. "No! NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!"
Kamui bolted out of a room filled with oversized stuffed animals and pictures of some strange man in a tux, wearing a white masque, running down stairs which seemed vaguely familiar, although he knew in the most terrified depths of his soul that he had never been in this place before.
As Kamui made for the front door with all speed, a voice that was most definitely familiar called out to him.
"Ohayo, Kamuichan! Where are you going in such a hurry?" Kamui would've recognized that terrible kansaijin accent anywhere . . . sure enough, peeking into the kitchen of this homey, little two-level house in Odaiba which he was certain he'd never been inside of prior to his imprisonment within the fan fiction, Kamui descried the seventeen year old monk from Kouyasan, seated at the table, reading the yomiuri.
Arisugawa was not alone, however . . . in fact, the table was quite crowded. A decidedly Caucasian, redheaded girl who looked about Kamui's own age was stirring a bowl of cold oatmeal to Sorata's left. To his right, a feral looking youth with a mass of raven hair and chestnut eyes sat, wearing only a threadbare, crimson tunic and a pair of tanned breeches. On the opposite end of the table, a girl slightly older than Kamui and (for some ineffable reason) reminding him strongly of Subarusan was voraciously gobbling down ice cream. What looked like a creampuff with rabbit ears and a ruby set in its forehead was perched precariously on her left shoulder, puu-puuing tranquilly.
They all had apparently stopped eating their breakfasts to stare at Kamui. The Subaru-ish girl had even neglected to remove the spoon from her mouth.
"Sorakun? You're here? B-but—how? And . . . w-who ar—"
Sorata stood, the sound of his chair grating against the floor interrupting Kamui.
"Kamuichan," Sorakun beamed at Kamui with that goofy grin of his, "meet Souryuu Asuka Langley, Van Slanzar deFanel, Sumeragi Hokuto, and Mokona Modoki."
Kamui promptly fainted.
"What's up with daß klein weibchen?" Asuka intoned in her typical, vulgar manner.
"He's got...emotional baggage," Sorata replied, with an empty-handed gesture. "Lots and lots of it."
Van got up, aiding Sorata in picking Kamui's unconscious body up from off of the floor and laying it down on the living room sofa. Hokuto had also risen, if only to study the collapsed bishounen.
"Hmm . . ." She rubbed her chin, as if in deep thought, before brightly exclaiming, "He reminds me of onichan!"
"You know him, Sorakun?" Asuka said, speaking into her oatmeal.
"You could say that."
Asuka's sea-green eyes narrowed in that contemptuously curious way that only she could pull off. She, too, rose from her chair, and walked to Sorata in a seemingly harmless manner. She smiled coolly at him, lilting her head downward as she closed her eyes almost graciously. However, the smile rapidly shifted to a grim snarl as the heel of her right foot bore down into Sorata's left.
"ITAI-ITAI-ITAI-ITAI!" Sorata wailed. Hokuto watched with a genuine interest as Asuka assaulted the poor kansaijin, but Van merely crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearest wall in the most nonchalant fashion that he could muster.
"HOW DO YOU KNOW DAß KLEIN WEIBCHEN!" she shrieked.
"ITAI—I—ITAI—I—CAN'T SPEAK WHEN YOU'RE—ITAI—BLUDGEONING ME—ITAIIIIIIIIII!"
Asuka stepped back for a moment, an almost-sinister grin passing over her face as she dropped the wooden chair she had moments ago been beating Sorata over the head with.
"Gut, you're ready to tell then?"
Sorata glared at her in sheer shock. "I would've told you straightaway if you hadn't jumped on me!"
"Just answer the question, arschloch."
Sorata inhaled, trying to regain a bit of his comical composure. "Kamui and I are destined to protect the Earth from destruction. We're two of the Seven Seals, the Dragons of Heaven. In whatever world we were from, we were fighting the Angels to save Tokyo and the world—"
"Ten no Ryuu?!"
"Die Engel?!"
Asuka and Hokuto seemed to both have gasped in awe simultaneously before awkwardly exchanging glances and withdrawing. After a pause, Van spoke.
"Wait a moment . . . what do you mean by 'whatever world' you're from?"
Sorata grimaced.
"Something happened, not too long ago. I'm pretty sure no one really knows just what happened, but . . ."
"But, what?" Asuka inquired.
"Something's not right. You all know it just as well as I do. This city may look like Tokyo—which I've grown rather accustomed to—but each and every one of us knows that this isn't where we're supposed to be. Something caused our worlds to change."
"I must say, Arisugawa, I am impressed," Van said. "You initially struck me as an empty-headed idiot—"
"Well, I did read this postcard in the mail that explained the whole world-crisis-thing addressed to Shinpanikke Residence," Sorakun responded, going genki SD for a brief moment. The others face-faulted profusely.
"And you didn't tell us about it, sie bastard?!" Asuka shouted, leaping off of the floor and grabbing Sorata by the collar of his shirt.
"Sure I did," he smiled at her nervously. "Just now!"
Asuka uttered another curse in German, thundering back into the kitchen to read the postcard.
"Oh, and before you attack me with that pretty sword of yours, Vansan, a letter came for you, too." Van nodded, following Asuka. Sorata shuddered, imagining what life without Arashi, in a house with daß hochrot Deutsch was going to be like. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't last too long.
Sorata's reminiscing of Arashi was interrupted by the cracking, pubescent scream of Van. He hurried to the kitchen half-ready to construct his cubical kekkai and bust out with the mikkyou. The King of Fanelia was squirming in a corner of the room, pawing at the walls so that he seemed to be attempting to escape, but finding himself boxed in. Asuka looked up to Sorata, met his gaze, and then looked back down at Van.
"What in Mokona's name is he doing?" Sorata hollered. "I thought Fuuma was raping someone in here—I could've killed either of you!" Asuka simply pointed to a picture which had fallen to the floor near Van. Sorata stepped toward Van, stooping down to snatch up the picture.
"SHIMATTA!"
Bent forward in the picture in just such a manner that only a 100, top-grade piece of meat could was the most sexy, voluptuous, bishoujo-ly fuckable woman Sorata had ever laid eyes upon. Her wavy black hair tumbled over her shoulders, with just a hint of an indigo-violet undertone. She was smiling as though she knew exactly what kind of naughty things were she had running through his head. A red-and-yellow-striped, spaghetti-string tank top was barely managing to hold back her well-proportioned bust (he would've sworn he could make out the edge of . . . umm. . . o . o). The only other scrap of clothing she wore was a pair of cut-offs short enough to pass for a bikini.
The picture was addressed to Van and read something like this:
"To Van
I'm going to pick you up, so please wait for me!
P. S. Note the cleavage!"
An arrow was drawn from the Post Script to the woman's marvelous breasts. Just beneath it, she had left the scarlet imprint of a kiss.
Sorata fell to the floor, his head lolling about in a puddle of his own drool.
"Mommy!" he murmured in a dreamy, . . . distracted . . . voice.
(Author: Oy vey, Sorakun es muy cornéo. - . -;;)
(Hotarusama: This is not funny, Otakusama. T . T)
(Author: Blame it on the rain? yes, we can rip-off on Milli Vanilli, too!)
(Hotarusama: NOT GOOD ENOUGH!)
(Author: . . . umm, okay . . . uhh . . . blame it on fan-servicing?)
"Schwein," Asuka muttered, shaking her head, and continuing to read the ominous post card once more.
Kamui mumbled in his unconscious state something about "kill" and "damn evil author", which Hokuto readily ignored as she dragged him off to her room . . . he had given her some new ideas—she had plans for him.
Intermission: 0.2
(Author: Well that was just grand, now wasn't it?)
(CLAMP: ::: tied to chairs and gagged ::: O x O!)
(Annosan: ::: in similar predicament ::: O x O!)
(Author: And, you know what? We're all just going to sit tight and watch the rest of it.)
(CLAMP: o . o. . . . ::: muffled sound of screaming. . . something like "Help us, Cthulhu!")
(Author: What's that? You want to watch more? Good!)
(Mysterious, Off-Camera Voice: OTAKUSAMA! YOUR REIGN OF FAN 'FIC TERROR ENDS NOW!)
(Author: Whosaidthat?!)
In a puff of brilliant, green smoke and a few emerald tongues of flame, Camuikun appears.
(Camuikun: I DID!)
(Author: . . . oh. It's . . . you . . . T . T)
(Camuikun: Otakusama, you shall pay for you lack of manners and crappy use of awkward dialogue! ::: brandishes a Spheda club :::)
(Author: Now, now, Caddychan, let's be all be rational . . . )
(Camuikun: ::: runs at the Author, wildly flailing her Spheda club about ::: WAAAAAAUUUGH!)
(Author: O . O! NOWBEFOREI'MKILLED, BACKTOWHEREWELASTLEFTOUTHERO—!)
end Intermission
"He, perversling, sein sie aufwachen, schon?"
Asuka nudged Sorata's still-limp body with a foot.
"Schwein?"
She shrugged, walking away from the hormonal monk. Asuka's eyes flickered upward briefly, checking to see as to whether the somewhat prudish and now blatantly inexperienced Van had recovered. Although he was no longer panicking, the otherworldly king had yet to regain his fragilely antisocial composure. Asuka grinned snidely.
"What's the matter, the great Vansama afraid of a smutty little picture?"
Van's eyes narrowed at Asuka. He stood, dusting himself off and looking quite indignant at her ridiculing. He fingered the hilt of his sheathed blade almost eagerly, and then stopped a moment, considering what he was doing.
"Eh, sie scheide. Your synch rate's probably scheiße. Not even worth my time."
Asuka found her way to the couch in the living room and decided to watch reruns of a strange—yet hilarious—show called "FLCL". . . probably pre-Second Impact programming, judging by the quality of the animation. After several hours of vegetating and channel surfing, Asuka was just about to get up . . .
. . . when Hokuto walked into the room tailed by the most peculiar person.
She couldn't be sure, but underneath all the bows, pink chiffon, lace, and ribbons, was Kamui, quite thoroughly disoriented, obviously still too weak from his mental trauma to fend off a Sumeragi on a mission. Hokuto beamed, proudly displaying her latest creation for all to see. Kamui was wearing licentiously scarlet-hued fishnet stockings à la Dior, a puffy, white tutu, a brilliantly rose leotard adorned in a mass of black and violet bows, and a red leather overcoat with long tails which were dragging on the hardwood floor behind Kamui as he went. The overcoat was covered in pins and buttons all proclaiming the importance of penguins with vibrant, orange lettering. A black, silken top hat sat upon Kamui's head as the pièce de la résistance, neon blue and pink embroidery weaving its way over the hat.
"Oompa Loompas!" Asuka screamed compulsively, too much of the word escaping before she was able to clap her hands over her mouth.
"Glad you like it, Asuka," Hokuto said with a satisfied smile before erupting into a fit of head-splitting, high-pitched laughter. There was something very wrong with this girl. Mokona was dancing gleefully around Kamui's feet, which were fitted in mismatched leather boots looking somewhat oversized on Kamui.
"Mokona, Kamuichan will make a wonderful wife for Subarukun, won't he?" Hokuto's twittering laughter rang throughout the room again.
