[Author's Drivel to follow]
"Great Minds"
Brain felt positively giddy as he strolled by himself on the porch of
the Masaki residence. The sun shone in the manner it did on truly
beautiful spring mornings. Beside his normal 6:00 AM thoughts(for he
firmly believed that rising early made a man healthy, wealthy and the
supreme dictator of an entire world) of global domination were flashes
of a grinning red head, connecting the antimatter feed to a
world-cracker bomb or calibrating the proper resonance for a mind
control ray.
Buoyed by the thoughts of Washuu, Brain pranced around the front porch
humming a happy (if rather baroque) tune. He was so wrapped up in his
fanciful candy/hearts/contemplate global domination mentality that he
missed the skittish advance of the Postmaster.
As the elderly civil servant advanced, Brain's happy dance reached a
crescendo. The Postmaster was left staring at the image of a prancing
mouse, humming loudly to himself.
Brain realized he was being watched and turned to look at the stunned
postal worker. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asked in an
irritated tone.
"I don't care if my retirement is coming up, I can't deal with this
house any more," the Postmaster said, lifting his mail bag above his
head. "I quit." He threw the bag at the feet of startled Brain and
walked off. Shaking his head at the public servant, Brain returned to
his thoughts.
After he and Washuu had finished the Sake and returned to the lab, the
two had talked late into the night. They exchanged plans and recounted
past plans. Brain felt awed when he heard of her scheme to steal the
galaxy's supply of rock candy or control the Galaxy Police by
influencing half the universe's pop idols. His responses seemed week.
Sure, Washuu had laughed and sympathized when Brain told her of his
paper mache planet and winced when she heard how the earth had taken the
world back from him. But compared to her genius, Brain was uncertain if
even his massive intellect would count.
Brain looked to the sky, raising a fist above his head and cried to the
heavens: "I will come up with the greatest scheme this galaxy will ever
see! I must have my red haired goddess!" He stopped, confused at the
incredible urge he felt to spout Shakespearean dialog at the top of his
lungs. "Where did that come from?" he asked the porch at large.
It could've been any bar in the Wild West, complete with swaggering
bandits, cross-dressing federal agents and wild eyed prospectors.
However, it was not a real bar anymore than the area surrounding it was
the real Wild West. This was a place where the relics of past westerns
could gather and feel comfortable.
Snowball was perched on the fop's shoulder, dressed in full costume as
his companion was. The gerbil was irritated at the continual fashion
update he was receiving from his erstwhile companion, considering the
incessant stream of commentary unnecessary to say the least.
"This hat is most certainly not ten gallons," the prince told him as
they slid up to the bar, ignoring the looks most of the patrons gave
him. "And these boots do nothing to show off my poise and carriage, I
mean how could they. Snakeskin is such a barbaric material to use."
"Look son," a man told the prince, "I'd take it as a personal favor to
the Duke if you'd keep your Yankee talk to yourself."
"A Duke you say? Finally, some one of close to equal standing as my
self. I must say..." the Prince began, signaling Snowball to tune out.
The gerbil detached himself from the fop and hopped to the bar, raising
his hand to order a beer.
"You wouldn't happen to have some food pellets, would you?" he asked
the bartender.
"Yup," came the terse response. Happily surprised, Snowball carried the
small tray and the bottle of beer with him to the far end of the bar.
The man he came to see was there, nursing a bottle of what appeared to
be turpentine from the expression on his face after each sip.
"You Yosemite Sam?" he asked in his best 'bad Western' accent.
"Who wants to know," came the gruff reply.
"Snow 'The Kid' Ball. Got a job you might be interested in, providin'
you got what it takes," Snowball told him. The gerbil had spent the
previous night simulating this very conversation on the Jurian Treeship.
"Ain't a job I can't handle," Yosemite Sam told him, taking a good look
at his diminutive counterpart. "All I want to know is," he looked around
for a moment, a hint of fear on his face.
"What?" Snowball asked after the pause extended uncomfortably.
"Ain't no bunnies involved, is there?"
Snowball facefaulted off the bar with a groan.
Tenchi was just sitting down to read some manga when he heard his name
called from downstairs. His sense of duty prevented him from groaning
loudly as he hauled himself to his feet, dropping the Future Imperfect
graphic novel on the floor next to his bed. He shuffled down the stairs,
identifying the voice as he reached the ground floor.
"What can I do for you, Washuu?" he asked, "-chan," he added as she
stared daggers at him.
"Oh, I was just hoping you'd do me a little favor," she asked sweetly,
using a cute facial expression calibrated to damage tooth enamel from
three hundred meters.
"Washuu, we've already talked about this, I just don't feel right-"
"Not that one," Washuu broke in, blushing slightly. "That can wait,"
she told him with a sly wink.
"What can I do for you?" Tenchi said, starting to get a little annoyed.
Right on schedule, Washuu thought as her personality simulator machine
proved its accuracy for the tenth time that day.
"Well, Brain disappeared right after he borrowed some stuff from my
lab. I was just wondering if you knew what he was up to?"
"I'm not sure," Tenchi told her.
"Oh. Thanks," she said, heading into the kitchen.
"Why'd you want to know?"
"No real reason," Washuu replied as she poured herself a cup of
Sassami's latest craze. She sipped at her ice tea as she watched Tenchi
sit down on the couch. She waited three minutes before Tenchi stood up
and walked out the front door, figuring he might as well see what Brain
was doing if he'd come all the way downstairs already.
"Right on schedule," Washuu said with a grin. She didn't even have to
ask him to go check on Brain. Her fingers wriggled in glee as the
personality simulator got its 11th victory.
End Part 4
The preceding work was contained other people's characters. They are the
copyright of AIC/Pioneer and WB/whoever. Used without permission.
[Author's Drivel]
Well, it took a little while, but here's part four. Writer's block is a
bitch. I'd say something about meaning to have the next part out
shortly, but then, that's what I thought before the last drought. Thanks
for reading,
Jerico