The second half.....comments would be much appriecated. Enjoy. :-)

We Don't Do Okonomiyaki-part 2

A piece of FanFiction by Michael Loader
(mloader@scs.unr.edu)

   With the exception of Hosoi, all characters with Oriental names or 
named after hair-care products are the creation of the illustrious , 
and have her copyright stamped upon their foreheads in mile high 
flaming kanji. The Teufel, the Institut Rats, and the regulars are my 
fault, and my property. So there.

-------------------------------------------------part 2-------------------

   Three weeks passed, and Ryoga didn't return for his scroll. I had 
long since mentally stamped a "case closed" on the whole incident, 
and filed it away under "strange but harmless occurrences". After all, 
he only broke one table. So I was again caught off guard when the 
second group of visitors arrived.

   And again, it looked like the beginning of a good day. A saturday 
afternoon, with a slight drizzle and the perpetual Baringgen fog bank. 
The taproom was occupied by a sizable crowd, but the wall-to-wall 
press we got in the evenings hadn't appeared yet. The Italians were 
doing beagle impressions - or they were singing, I'm not sure which - 
at their customary table in the center of the room. A group of 
Russians were playing poker with Seamus and a med student from 
India. Otto, as usual was holding down the fort at he bar, with scowl 
#12 (I just got table replaced, das means all Hell break loose tonight) 
currently on display.

   And me? I was playing chess with Hosoi in the booth Ryoga had 
rearranged three weeks back. I was actually winning, too.

   "Pawn to Queen's rook 4. Say Hosoi, you lived in Tokyo, right?"

   He  stared at the board. "Hmm....Yes, I was living there for nine 
years. Fun place, how d'ya say, 'happening place'." Each of us 
endeavored to speak the other's language during our games, which we 
found sharpened our skills.

   "Have you ever heard of Nerima Ward?"

   "I used to live there."

   "Really? What about, ah....that's it, Furinkan High School?"

   Hosoi gave me a startled look. "How did you hear of Furinkan?" He 
said the name as if it tasted bad.

   I never got a chance to answer.

   The door flew open, blowing in leaves and some sort of black petals. 
As I stared, a calm, knife edged voice was heard.



   "As the vole lands upon the peacock, so does

       the flower raise in safety the blossom

             of the hedgehog's wandering."



   The owner of the voice stood in the doorway. He was tall, with 
rather finely chiseled features and black hair. Like Ryoga, he was 
Japanese; if the language of the verse hadn't been enough, his dress 
made it clear. I had thought samurai robes passed out of fashion a 
couple of centuries ago, but, as I told Ryoga, I'm no expert on Japan. 

   He surveyed the now quiet taproom with lordly mien. Two complete 
silences in three weeks...things were definitely getting out of hand. He 
turned to a shadowy figure behind him, and gave a arrogant smirk. 
"Look you, my sister, how they stare in wonder and awe at mine 
prowess with the immortal language! Truly they wonder, 'who is this 
son of heaven who so graces us with his coming?'" He turned to 
address the room. "Know you, fortunate ones, that you stand in the 
august presence of Tatewaki Kuno, heir to the immense Kuno dynasty, 
and the 'Blue Thunder' of Furinkan High School!" A bright flash of 
lightning silhouetted him, and thunder pealed.

   It's a good thing nobody but me and Hosoi understood him, or he 
would have been torn limb from limb. As it was I felt tempted, but the 
bokken he was melodramatically flourishing made me decide on the 
better part of valor.

  The self titled Blue Thunder again turned to the unseen figure. "Yes, 
" he said, in a more normal tone of voice.  "This establishment shall 
be adequate for our evening repast."

   The figure stepped forward, and revealed itself to be a her. She was 
wearing a blue leotard, of all things, and had the same general 
features as her brother; only in a more feminine fashion. She carried a 
ribbon of some sort. At the moment, she was looking less than happy.

   "Brother dear," she sneered,  "I think the only reason these yokels 
are staring is the fact that they've never seen anyone from outside 
their pathetic little hamlet. And after seeing you, they're probably 
thankful that that is the case."

   Ouch.

   Kuno seemed oblivious to his sister's insult. "As you say. Now," he 
addressed the taproom, "I require your finest meal, and a servant or 
two. Oh, and what is the house wine?" He waited expectantly.

   The sister gave him a withering glance. "You idiot, they undoubtably 
don't speak a word of Japanese."

   Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seamus staring with open 
admiration and lust at the woman. Oh no, I thought....

   "Be more civil, mine sister, for I do not take kindly to your scorn. 
Still, mayhaps you have a point. Hmm...'tis most perplexing, I admit. 
How to communicate my  urgent needs? Aha, my fertile mind has 
provided a solution! I shall talk to them very loudly and slowly until 
they comprehend!" He turned to face the room once more. "I-REQUIRE-
YOUR...."

  Right. I decided to take action. "Excuse me," I said, in my best 
Japanese, "I speak your language. Can I be of some assistance?"

   A look of rapture spread across his face. "It is indeed comforting to 
know that civilization exists even among the heathen. I shall allow 
you the honor of assisting me. Pray fetch me your finest victuals, and 
a wine list."

   "I assume you have some cash?"

   "Far too much of it," said the sister.

   "The coffers of the Kuno family are vast and unending. You shall 
receive a sufficiency for your efforts."

   "Ah," I said, "but is any of this fortune in marks? We don't really 
have a use for yen here, and we don't take traveler's checks..."

   Kuno pulled a plastic rectangle from his robes. "Surely Visa is 
accepted, even in this hinterland?"

   I assumed an expression of wounded pride. "Of course. What do you 
think we are, barbarians?"

   "Why actually, yeOW!" he turned to glare at his sister, who had just 
trod heavily on his instep. She gave him an innocent look.

   Seamus, I noticed, was beginning to drool.

   I turned around. "Hosoi, do you by any chance know the Haiku Kid 
over there? Er, Hosoi?" My friend had vanished.

   "Sister, go hence and convey our traveling companions to this rustic 
eatery. I shall arrange payment through the interpreter."

   "Anything, dear brother, to remove myself from your company and 
into my beloved's. HaHAhaHAhahaHahA....." She bounced out the door in 
a gymnastic-looking run, trailing black petals and a seriously 
disturbed laugh. I quickly revised my estimate about which of the two 
possessed more sanity. 

   Seamus got up from his chair and walked over. "Sure," he said 
dreamily, "an that was quite a woman. Mike, ya gotta get me her 
name!"

   "Are you mental? Because she definitely is, from that laugh. I've 
heard saner noises in madhouses! And Samurai Bob over there will 
probably turn you to sushi if you so much as talk to her! Forget it!"

   He gave a long sigh. "I can't, Mike. That little bugger Cupid hit me 
square betwixt me eyes...."

   "Its going to be a bokken that hits you there, if you don't give it up!"

   The noise level had gone back up again; the Teufel's patrons had 
concluded that the weirdo in the bathrobe wasn't going to go anything 
interesting. Most of them looked a little disappointed.

   Kuno had seated himself at a table, and was looking with distaste at 
the Italians, who were attempting to combine folkdancing with what I 
assumed was basket weaving. I approached him with mild reluctance. 
"How many people will be coming?"

   "My sister, and four others. I trust your kitchen can accomidate 
us?"

   I smiled. "No problem. Ah...do any of you have anything against 
pork?"

   "Not that I am aware. It is a most excellent meat."

   "Good. Six of the house specials then, and a wine list. Fifty marks." 
I was overcharging him outrageously, but he didn't seem to notice. Out 
came the visa, and I had Otto charge the card and give me my cut.

   Kuno had just finished selecting a Chateau Wolfenstein '43 from the 
wine list when the door opened yet again. The sister had returned, and 
she had brought four others. I scanned the group; an Chinese girl with 
purple hair, some guy wearing Chinese clothing and a ponytail, a guy in 
a white robe and really thick glasses, and a fairly ordinary looking 
girl with rather short hair. Kinda cute, actually.

   Kuno didn't seem inclined to get up, so I headed over to show them 
to the table. I was beginning to feel like a waiter, and I resolved to 
let the next group of strangers fend for themselves.

   When I got there, the ponytailed guy and the short haired girl were 
arguing loudly with each other. "Huh. We're all lucky that last dish of 
yours imploded before we could eat it. Probably saved our lives."

   "Ranma, you insensitive twit!" The girl produced a mallet (why 
hadn't I noticed it before?) and raised it menacingly. Purple-hair 
jumped in front of her. "Akane no hurt Shampoo's future husband!"

   Shampoo? She's named after a hair product?

   People throughout the taproom were reaching for heavy objects in 
expectation of what looked like the beginning of the weekly bar fight. 
I decided to bring a end to this quickly. "Excuse me!" I barked. "This is 
a respectable place! We'll have none of that."

   Akane looked startled, then abashed, and put away the mallet. The 
"respectable place" gave a collective sigh of disappointment and went 
back to drinking.

   "Now, if you'll come with me," I said in a more pleasant tone, "I'll 
show you to your table. The food should be ready in a moment."

   Ranma grinned. "Finally! Some real food! I hope my stomach still 
remembers what to do!"

   Akane looked nettled, but kept quiet.

   "So," he continued, "what do you have to eat, waiter? Got any 
okonomiyaki?"

   "Sorry, we don't do okonomiyaki. We do have the house specialty, a 
meat and onion sandwich called a doner kebab. You'll like it. At least, 
I've never seen anyone not like it." After all, I told myself, it wasn't 
the taste Ryoga had a problem with. "Your friend Kuno over there was 
kind enough to pay for the meal."

   "Wasn't that nice of him, Ranma?" said Akane.

   "Yeah, I guess so," he replied. He certainly didn't seem thrilled. I 
got 
the impression that that was the effect Akane had aimed for.

   "Come, Ranma darling," said the sister. "You shall sit next to me." 
She pulled him towards the table.

   "Uh, thanks, Kodachi, but..."

   "No! Ranma sit with Shampoo!"

   "You can sit by me, Shampoo," this from the white-robed guy.

   "Well, you're not sitting with me!" snapped Akane.

   "Why  would I want to sit with a tomboy like you?"

   "Hentai!"

   "Kawaikune!"

   "Please!" I snapped.

   Akane looked contrite, as did Ranma, to a lesser extent. "I'm sorry, 
Mr..?"

   "Mike," I said, and gave her a polite bow. "I'm part of the Teufel's 
band, not a waiter" (for some reason I felt compelled to get that 
across) "but I'm about the only one here who speaks Japanese. Just 
call me if you want anything." I gave her my best smile.

   "Oh, you're a musician?", she said eagerly. I admitted that I was, 
and began to regale her with an account of my role in the Institut 
Rats. Then I noticed the looks Kuno and Ranma were sending me.

   "As a matter of fact, I've got to consult with a fellow band member. 
Bye for now..." I could practically feel the two's relief.

   Seamus practically ran me over as I left the table. "Well? What's 'er 
name?"

   "Kodachi. But I think you're out of luck, she seems pretty attracted 
to that Ranma fellow."

   "Issat so...," he said, narrowing his eyes.

   "Seamus...no fights. Not tonight. I've got a really bad feeling about 
this group."

  The door opened yet again, but it was only Giles and Mahon.. We set 
up the instruments, and started to play. As the night wore on I tried to 
spot Hosoi, but he was nowhere to be seen.

   As we finished "The Wake of the Medusa", our thirteenth song of the 
night, I decided to check on Akane....oh, and the rest of them too, I 
told 
myself. 

   All six of them were wolfing down the food like there was no 
tomorrow. Whether it was the quality of the food or extreme hunger, I 
couldn't say. Taking a seat at the end of the table, I asked their 
opinions of the meal. Grunts of approval filled the air.

   "So, what are you folks in town for?" I asked.

    Ranma spoke up. "We're looking for a friend of ours. He's gotta 
really hard time with directions, and we've managed to track him 
here."

   Alarm bells started going off in my head. "Say, your name wouldn't 
be Saotome, would it?"

   He looked startled. "Yeah, it is. How'd you know?"

   "And this friend....would his name be Ryoga Hibiki?"

   "You've seen him!"

   "Yep. He staggered in here about three weeks back. Poor guy was 
half dead from hunger and exhaustion."

   "Oh!" Akane gasped. "Poor Ryoga!". Kuno, Ranma, and I rolled our 
eyes.

   "Anyway," I said, looking directly at Ranma, "he spoke a bit about 
you. At some length. In fact, he was so enthusiastic about you that we 
had to replace a table when he was finished. Are you sure he's your 
friend? More to the point, are you really sure you want to find him?"

   Ranma gave a annoyed scowl. "Huh. I don't know what I could have 
done to set him off this time."

   "Well, you must have done something!" Akane snapped. "Remember 
the first time he tried to kill you? You didn't even remember him!"

   "WHOA, back up!" I yelped. "I'm assuming, Akane, that you're using 
'tried to kill' as an exaggeration, right?"

   They shook their heads.

   "Yes, that Hibiki boy was really quite persistent," Kodachi 
simpered. "Wasn't he, Ranma darling?" 

   "Oh, and crazy violet lady never dream of stalking enemy," Shampoo 
said sarcastically.

   "Those are roses, you little Chinese wench, and you're one to talk. 
At least I don't go around kissing people I intend to kill - well, not 
often anyway."

   "Don't you talk to my Shampoo like that!" yelled White-robe.

   "Mousse stay out!" snapped Shampoo.

   'Mousse?' I thought. 'Shampoo? Are these people from a village of 
barbers or something?' All I said though, was, "Enough! We don't go 
for uncultured behavior around here."

   Ranma shot a pointed glance at the Italians, who seemed to be 
performing a cross between skiing and pro bowling. I pretended not to 
notice.  "Just out of curiosity," I asked, "how did you manage to 
survive?"

   He snorted. "Ryoga's not much of a threat. I've beaten him every 
time we've fought."

   I was skeptical. "He's easily the strongest guy I've ever seen, and 
that was while in terrible shape. How can you not consider him much 
of a threat?"

   Kuno cut in. "Saotome hath a vast but undeserved confidence in his 
abilities. "

   Ranma came to his feet angrily. "Hey! How many times have I beaten 
you? Ten? Twenty?"

   "Only through vile sorcery and underhanded methods!"

   "That's nice," I said quickly, "now, why exactly are you looking for 
Ryoga?" Anything to change the subject.

   They all looked uncomfortable. "Well...hold on a sec," Ranma said to 
the rest of them. "Hey, Mike!"

   I turned to face him, and his fist shot forward in a lightning-fast 
punch. It stopped about half a millimeter from the center of my 
forehead. I hadn't even had time to blink.

   "Nope," Ranma said, solemnly. "He's not a martial artist. It's safe to 
tell him."

   "ulp....I'd have told you that, if you had borrowed to ask..."

   Akane was furious. "Ranma, you brute! You probably scared him to 
death!" I didn't know whether to be pleased or upset with that.

   Ranma shrugged. "The last thing we need is someone else looking for 
it. I pretty much had to make sure."

   "Looking for what?" I interjected.

   "Ryoga stole a scroll from a pervert master of the martial arts, 
called Happosai. The scroll detailed the ancient and long lost Two 
Thousand Iron Fists of the Vaguely Annoyed Hamster technique, which 
is supposed to be the one of the deadliest styles known to man. We're 
trying to recover the scroll."

   Oh dear.
---------------------------------------------end of part 2------------------
mloader@scs.unr.edu
Fnord.