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