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* FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * FIRST FIC * 
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A Ranma 1/2 Fan Fic
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Switch: Odds and Ends
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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-weeny thanks to whoever else 
even saw this. 
------------------------------
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.
------------------------------



                            Park Life - Part 1
                      by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo



		"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 of Lies" 
					  from the OST of the series "Friends"



	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.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------
	(Detach 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 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 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)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------