A bit of humor interceded amongst the basic pessimism of suicidal
pork. I'm in a bit of a mood and rather afraid what would happen to
Ryouga and friends were I to finish the last 3K of SB3. Note, this is
more Parrot King and less Keener, though no lemon situation are
included.
Disclaimer: Ranma 1/2 belongs to Rumiko Takahashi for creating it,
Shogunakate for publishing it, Viz. for bringing it here, and finally,
though by no means, the least... the fans, your love makes it grow.
OtakuNXS presents...
A Mad Bad Bishonen Lad Production...
Of Hashbrowns and Nightgowns
Prologue
Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight, eight plus the square
root of the hyperbolas units of pi by 3x3 in a free ranged system of
undulating numerical... @%#$! Two plus two is four.... The young girl
yawned drowsily as she looked up from the small mountain of homework.
Her mind fumbled around desperately for some sort of relief from the
cranial assault. Finally, the hysteric beeping of a pet left to wallow
in its own filth came to her rescue. Pressing a couple of buttons, she
cleaned her key chained animal's cage and smiled lovingly at her savior.
Stifling another yawn, she pressed a few more buttons and focused on
the numbers displayed. One in the morning, way past the bed time of any
self-respecting future teen idol. Sleepily, she struggled into her night
shirt and snuggled into bed. With a last disdainful look at mount K(9)
squared, she turned off the light. Visions of kawaii outfits and bad
coverings of anime songs danced about her head, the next mid term not
withstanding.
The sudden dark ended the peep show for the mysterious figure,
watching from the window's narrow ledge. Still, he smiled sinisterly.
After all, the pre-show... warm-up... was over, now for the main event.
"Poor, poor girl!" humorlessly chuckled the dark figure. He raised a
hand to the window and smiled sinisterly.
The young girl screamed in surprise as the glass shattered into
hundreds of shimmering fragments. The shadowy figure calmly walked into
the room, ducking under the few remaining pieces of glass. With another
sinister grin he turned to examine his helpless victim. Satisfied that
she was sufficiently paralyzed with fear, the enigmatic figure smiled
sinisterly as his sinister plans came to fruition.
Slowly holding up his hand, his body began to absorb the light.
About him a faint black aura encircled him with its sinist... evil
power. A sinist... unholy fervor
alighted his eyes as the energy began to reach a frantic pace. Standing
there, energy arching and crackling in an unending wave of "something
REAL bad is about to happen" the empowered fig... male
waited.
Somewhere, deep in the heart of New Zealand, an ominous storm
rumbled angrily, frightening the hell out of the cows. It was sure this
was where it was supposed to be, hadn't that nice boy in the bandanna
been thorough with the directions? Disgusted, the storm set off to beat
the hell out of a certain pneumonia-infected butterfly.
Meanwhile, the young man and young woman stared at one another,
sweating. Shaking his head at the lack of cooperation with the weather,
he cleared his throat. "Ummmm, Founding School of Anything... can't
get ANY cooperation... Goes Martial Arts Hentai... even that bokken kid
gets a lightning bolt every now and... Attack! Panty Vortex!" he
screamed/grumbled as the black and blue aura began moving from his body
to his outstretched hands.
The chi energy swirled into a tight sphere above his palms,
alighting his face in a panorama of boogedy boo's and feel my powers.
His outstretched hand crackling with energy, he turned to the center of
the room. With a roar and something about never working with a temp
cloud again he slammed the fragment of power into the ground. The
nightmare super fun ball hit the floor, exploding into hundreds of black
tendrils. There was enough phallic imagery to bring a tear to the most
staunch of anti-hentai hysterics' hearts, whilst simultaneously flash
frying their secretly hidden Bondage Fairies collection.
The tendrils scattered about the room. Moving with an eerie life all
their own, they ransacked the young girl's room with a fervor no Geiger
inspired cricket could ever hope to match. The bundles of black energy
began converging, gravitating towards the girl's chest... of drawers,
and even made their way between the covers, encroaching upon the young
woman herself. She trembled as the strange energy seeped through her
blankets, working their way up her huddled form, ever closer to that
special place where PG-13s become Rs, and Rs slide their way ever
closer to X, give or take the bishonen slaughter. Then, the energy
seemed to surge yet again and then the explosion began to work itself
backwards, imploding.
When the attack was over, neither sphere nor tendrils remained. In
their place was a pile of soft, silken darlings, the touch and feel of
cotton and a thousand pent-up fanboys dreams. There were panties in that
there pile; in fact, that was all it consisted of.
Shocked, the girl just stared vacantly. Then something, or the lack
thereof, tugged at the back of her mind, like a rather insistent
canine, trying to get his dollar's worth on a bottle of sun screen.
Trembling, she looked under her covers, and gasped. There were no
dumpling headed, fuku wearing warriors of justice and merchandising to
comfort her, only the free floating feeling of bed, sheets and buff. The
young girl's special study Sailor Moon panties had been... pilfered.
The assailant chuckled evilly, as he rubbed the pink underwear
against his face. Even the picture of Usagi, seemed revolted.
"Arigato!" the young man said, stepping into the glow of the Totorro
Night Light. His cold eyes of crystal and long black hair made him seem
cast from some strange bishonen mold. It was as though someone's Shojo
character had escaped their world of cherry blossoms and men who looked
like women. Then, with a smile on his lips and a small puddle of drool
on his face, he picked up his ill gotten booty and leaped through the
window... almost.
His foot having caught on the window sill, he plummeted to the
ground. He looked like some suicidal stock broker who had put too much
capital into the UnderRoos company. Flailing desperately, the CLAMP
refugee managed to force one pair of panties ahead of him to lighten his
fall. With a silky crunch, he landed.
The girl took this moment to scream, "HEEENNNTTTAAAAIII!"
Elsewhere, a diminutive figure was sleeping soundlessly on a pile of
lingerie. Soundlessly, give or take a few "Hotcha Momma's!" He awoke
suddenly and looked around, fiercely protecting his hoard like some
miniature western dragon. Of course, this particular dragon had a very
peculiar idea of treasure. A young girl's scream echoed softly from
somewhere far to the south, drawing the old letch’s attention..
Lighting his pipe, Happosai settled in to his master posture.
"Hmmmmm, sounds like someone's coming," he foreshadowed darkly, "I must
prepare."
The preperations consisted of hidding his collection and finding
what quality time could be had with a seemingly impossible dojinshi
dealing with Kekko Kamen, a rather limp, stuffed parrot and two hundred
pounds of haggis puddin'. Satisfied... that the everything was in
order... he fell back to slumber land, dreaming of large women. All
things being relative, he didn't have much of a choice.
End Prologue
______________________________
Part One
Soun contemplated his tea cup, his mind wandering to the far edges
of existence. Somewhere in that deep porcelain, there was a world just
for him. It was some far off mythical world where he could be happy.
This of course allowed him to forgo contemplation on the rather livid
balding man in front of him.
"You've got to do something, Tendo-san! Last night was the worst it
has ever been. Forty separate houses, all completely devoid of panties."
The man was red faced as he wiped his brow with a silken handkerchief.
"My goddess, man, the girls are having to go to school in long pants.
LONG pants! This is the end of civilization as we know it." He hated
losing his cool in front of Tendo-san. The martial artist was always so
calm and collected.
Perhaps in the next life I'll be a farmer, yes, that's it. I'll be
a simple farmer with no dojo, no freeloaders, no master, just some
potatoes and me. You could trust a spud, hot water or cold water, though
tastes changed, gender and species remained tractable. Sure, their eyes
were everywhere, but they keep them respectfully below ground, nothing
like the prying ears of corn.
"Please, Tendo-san, I know you don't have the best track record but
you're the only patsy... errrrr panty... errrrr person, we can count
on!"
Calmly, Soun set his tea cup down. "I shall see what I can do. It
is, after all, a martial artist's duty." Maybe when this was over he
could turn his dojo into a restaurant. Yes, a nice little restaurant
where people actually paid to eat him out of house and sanity. He could
serve potatoes.
"Arigato Tendo-sama!" With that, the man left, feeling reassured.
Soun's confident way always had the effect of making everything seem all
right. Whistling, he opened the door, letting in the midget carrying the
huge sack and screaming something about his "haul". Ignoring the
obvious, a natural defense mechanism for Nerima, he happily walked home.
Ranma walked downstairs to find his father trying to reassure a
sobbing Soun. He was also partaking of the leftovers that were
traditionally served to help calm your average visitor's nerves should
anything... unexpe... well, quite frankly, fully expected, partially
insured and stoically ignored, happen.
The uncommon occurrence of an afternoon thus far devoid of instance
had left Genma sitting pretty. Mister Tendo seemed too upset to eat and
it was part of the Saotome code that no good food go to waste, just as
no son go unattached. Had he the time or the inclination to look, the
young martial artist would have probably not been all that surprised
that the term dowry appeared in the family code no less then four
hundred and seventy five times.
"What's his problem?" Ranma asked. "Nabiki threaten to foreclose
again?"
Kasumi walked in carrying a plate of cookies for her upset father.
They never made it past the bespectacled martial artist. "I don't know,
he's been like this for an hour now. He keeps mumbling something about
potatoes."
Upstairs, Happosai counted out his latest haul. "Hmmmmm, seems to
have been an awful lot of trouble just to get a full bag today."
Considering the possible repercussions of this, he turned to place his
hoard with the rest of his stash, careful to separate colors from
whites, cottons from satins, edibles from... sigh... his fingers.
"Stupid, sticky, of all the miserable fetishes... humph." A few
moments of tussle, a bit of grease, finally he resolved to his fate and
ate them.
"Hmmmm, not bad, though how one keeps hair off them I'll never
know." Musing softly to himself, he lit his pipe. Someone was definitely
up to something. He had spent hours of searching, just to make his
daily quota. Who could possibly be beating HIM to the pinch...errrr
punch?
The sound of a wooden door joining a fine tradition of stuck
sesame seed extractors startled him from his musings. The explosion
could have heralded anything from planet devourers, to tax collectors,
to your far more common though no less dangerous as your basic irate
fiancees. Vaguely, he wondered what was going on downstairs.
"What the?" Ranma turned to see his childhood friend. "Oh, hiya,
Ukyo, is somethin' wrong?" Her eyes, blazing with rage and the door she
tossed aside told him all he needed to know.
Somewhere deep within him, buried beneath nucleic acids with such
odd commands as "Belch after a meal", "Pro Wrestling is too a sport",
and "No woman of mine is going to work" was another, ingrained male
instinct. This one, a survival trait that had been around since time
began. "PMS", "Do I look fat?", and "Eyes blazing with rage whilst
tossing the front door aside"... all signs that he should simply smile,
tell her she was pretty and run for his life.
"Oh, Ukyo, will you be staying for dinner?" asked Kasumi. Ukyo tore
down a wall leading to the living room, making little actual comment.
Genma leapt for cover underneath the table, his own adrenaline suddenly
hyper-warped from fight or flight, to cower or whimper.
His ordinarily tearful companion was oblivious to the destruction
going on, standing in the kitchen, potato peeler in one hand, meat
grinder in the other. Though his ancestral home might very well be in
for the fight of its life, something more pressing was on his rather
unhinged mind. It was the sort of epiphany that lead to such momentous
decisions as marching on the government lawn when there was perfectly
good picnic ground at Yellowstone, starving oneself in front of a
perfectly edible cow, and sitting in the front of the bus where most
wrecks end in perfectly final deaths.
Meanwhile an airborne grandfather clock did in fact prove time was
at the very least, somewhat aerodynamic, if not Hindenberg material, it
did however fail the swimming portion of it's remarkably short and
violent journey. With little comment beyond the odd breast stroke of
twelve, it sank slowly into the koi pond. "Where ARE you, you little
freak!"
"I'm trying to study! What's with all the noise?" Akane yelled to
the room in general and toward Ranma in specific. Shrugging, the young
man gestured toward the seeming antithesis of everything Martha Stewart
stood for. "Hey Ukyo, what did Ranma do this time?"
"Don't just stand there, help me find the little hentai!" Speaking
rather loudly, yet still equipped with the obligatory big stick...
well... spatula, she tore another wall aside, overturning the fridge,
and began searching the kitchen. Kasumi turned toward the sudden draft,
smiled and offered her some juice. Soun didn't seem to notice, having
busied himself with smashing the potato peeler to its base components
with his meat tenderizer.
"As God is my witness thou shalt never go au gratin again!" Both
Ukyo and Kasumi paused and turned to the rather excitable martial artist
turned spud activist. He stopped his assault on the sour cream and
chives and looked huntedly at the two. "I see you, I see you with your
boilers and your mashers, your ranch dressing and your butter! Can't
just cook them can you? Oh no, you gotta strip them of their skin, poke
them with your forks, slap them in foil bondage, THEN comes the oven.
You're not cooks! You're sadists!"
Ukyo smiled at Soun, snagged the juice from Kasumi, downed it and
walked out. A moment of silence later, the carnage began again as
furniture became acquaited with walls and wall with ceiling fans.
Turning back to her father, she noticed he had pulled some sort of
culinary tool from the kitchen cabinet and was scrutinizing it with such
intent as to put one in thought of fava beans and a fine ciante. "Would
you like some juice, father?"
Meanwhile, in the front room...
One could note that the basic structural integrity of the Tendo
household was the marvel of the current age. Earthquakes, tidal waves,
fires, tsunamis, the odd rampaging gecko with delusions of grandeur,
all had been weathered stoically. Termites have been noted as saying...
"That there's a well built dojo, man." There are, however, limits.
Plucking a bit of plaster from her hair, Akane turned to the
pigtailed martial artist. "Ranma, would you mind terribly talking to
your friend? Before she levels the place." There was a smile on her
face and her voice spoke of pretty please, whipped cream and cherries on
top. The youth complied graciously, in difference to her newfound
politeness and having nothing at all to do with the barbell she was
holding or the five digits that had curled their way around his throat.
Besides, he was genuinely worried about what might have caused such
an impromptu open house. What was with her, Ranma thought. He'd never
seen his friend so pissed, give or take a stolen okonomiyaki cart. This
wanton destruction was more the amazon's forte, not Ukyo's, who only
beat on inanimate objects when they glomped her. Sighing, he looked
toward the second floor, where sounds of something very priceless, and
very rare being turned into something rather worthless and a good deal
rarer.
In the kitchen, Soun held out an appliance toward Kasumi, like some
sort of Agatha-esque sleuth, confronting Mrs. Peacock with a lead pipe
in the library. "And this? Just what does this do?"
Kasumi smiled, "That? Oh it's just something I picked up on the
Shinto Home Shopping Shrine. It can do one million and one wonderful
household chopping chores and can ward away most evil spirits found in
today's homes. And it even makes Julianne..."
"FRIES! I thought so!" Soun placed the hideous device with the other
peelers, mashers, pokers, and such foul tuber tormentors. Rummaging
again through the cupboards brought forth another item of vegetable
violation.
"Great, I'll never get any studying done at this rate. What am I
supposed to... Kasumi, what's this?" Akane asked her sibling.
"Hmmm? Oh, Father's not feeling well right now. Want some juice?"
Kasumi didn't dare let them notice the small drops of perspiration as
they formed on her forehead. The juice wasn't working, the cookies would
still be baking for another hour or so and in her haste she had tossed
the batter. Lesse, a group hug? Sing-a-long? Smores? She was quickly
running out of options, if this kept up, she'd just have to kill them
all and start ove... where had that thought come from? Perplexed, she
took a swig from the juice jug.
"Dad?" Akane asked, nervously.
"Oh NO you don't, Mrs. Scarlet. I know all about you and the peeler
in the study." Her father's accusing stare would have held more weight
if the target of his accusation had had any clue what he was talking
about. Holding his the new found weapon of potato punishment
defensively, he warded his children off. "I know what your up to, both
of you. Don't make me use this! Don't you come one step closer I'm
warnin' ya!"
Akane looked at the potato gun, chanced a glance at her sister who
rather hurriedly hid something behind her back, face crimson with shame,
lips orange with vitamin C and pulpy bits of concentrate... and sighed.
"Whatever. I'm going to see how Ranma's doing."
Ukyo sat in the middle of a trashed bedroom, suddenly very small and
looking out of place amidst the rubble she had caused. She had tossed
her spatula to the side and was sitting on Kasumi's bed, legs held
tightly to her chest. Something about her manner made Ranma very angry,
authentic anger that was not very comfortable for him. It'd be even less
so for the instigator. Someone had upset her and they were not going to
like the consequences.
"What happened, U-chan?"
He stiffened slightly as she slammed into him in a tight embrace.
After a quick check to see if Akane was watching, he turned to comfort
the sniffly girl between his arms.
"Ran-chan, he- he took my underwear."
"Is that all? He takes people's underwear all the time, that's
nothing to get this upset over. I'll make him give them back." He
brushed Ukyo's hair out of her face and smiled confidently to her.
"You don't understand, he took ALL of it. Do you have any idea how
hard Yan Can Cook panties are to find?" Ranma smiled as best he was able
and shook his head. "But that's not why I'm so upset. Ummmm, have you
gone?"
"What?" Ranma asked, confusion doing a bit of choreography on his
face that no Irishmen could have ever hoped to keep up with..
"You know, go... because I don't want to have to stop the flashback
for... well, you know."
"Oh, yeah, go ahead, no worries." He laughed slightly confused.
"All right then, close your eyes and think of something watery, a
wavy pond of time twinkling upon the edge of cosmic thought, slowly
dripping dribble after dribble into the pool of nothingness, becoming a
waterfall of metaphorical... what are you doing?"
"I gotta go." Ranma panicked, feeling flushed.
"Look, just focus, 'kay?"
"Alright, let 'er dri... rip." Bladder aside, he listened intently,
interrupting as infrequently as possible to ask those important things
like... Really? You don't say. How big is God? What is your quest?
And... can I go to the bathroom now?
Ukyo sighed, and began... "I was very young for my age..."
To be continued... stop looking at me like that, I promise... no...
REALLY! (
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