We Don't Do Okonomiyaki
A piece of FanFiction by Michael Loader



DISCLAIMER:

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

   This piece, set against the background of my own "Tales From The 
Blau Teufel" series of fiction, attempts to show what the Nerima gang 
would look like from the viewpoint of a rather shellshocked 
nonmartial artist at ground zero. Reading the previous TFBT stories 
with give you better insight into the characters, but aren't absolutely 
necessary. Any feedback, comments, or constructive criticism would 
be appreciated, so send 'em in to the address above. Note that I said 
constructive; flames will be printed and used to wrap fish in.

   On with the show...





   One of the ups and downs of my job is the people. Not that I'm 
complaining about my fellow band members. Seamus and the rest of 
the Institut Rats are like family to me, albeit drunken, noisy family. 
And while the Blau Teufel Rathskellar has it's share of disagreeable 
drunks and malcontents, it's a rare and unique experience to have 
young people of over twenty nationalities gathered together and only 
doing severe damage once or twice a week. Otto and I had no bond of 
affection, but disliking the massive barkeeper was like disliking a 
mountain: You might not care for it, but what are you supposed to do? 
No, with very few exceptions, I enjoy playing for and interacting with 
the Teufel's regulars.

   It's the visitors that can be a bitch.

   Tourists, for example, lord do I hate 'em. Some couple on vacation, 
eager to see a "real German beerhall", will ignore the frantic 
warnings and pleas of the townsfolk and come in to gawk. And, with 
unfailing accuracy, that's when the weekly fight starts.

   Despite my annoyance with them, I always send a get-out-of-
traction-soon card, and have the rest of the bar sign it. 

   We get all kinds of other people, and it usually means trouble. The 
Great April Chess Riot was started by the alleged Grandmaster who 
stopped in, and the street mime who decided to rob the Teufel was 
definitely out of place. When I see someone who isn't a student at the 
nearby Goethe-Institut, like the rest of us are, I start looking for 
cover.

   Every once and a while though, we get someone who actually makes 
a positive contribution. And then, with uncharacteristic optimism, I 
fail to view the next visitor who comes in as a potential terrorist 
lunatic intent on destroying Life As We Know It. Which is a big 
mistake.

   And that, of course, was my frame of mind when the whole mess 
started.


                                   * * * * *

 

   Night was beginning to fall, and the streetlights on the Kelgasse 
were already on. Fog, as usual, blanketed the town of Baringgen. Inside 
the Teufel, the Rats and I were belting out "Boys from the County 
Hell" with a light heart. Otto stood behind the oaken bar wearing 
scowl #32 (Gut business tonight, if der ist no problem, und der will 
be). The taproom contained the normal group of merrymakers, shouting 
and laughing and drinking. A good night. And then the door swung open.

   A panting, gasping figure staggered inside. He looked to be either 
Japanese or Korean, probably the former. His clothing was tan and 
black, and he wore a orange and black bandanna around a mop of black 
hair. I guessed his age at either seventeen or eighteen. As we 
watched, he stumbled forwards, burdened by the large backpack he 
carried. An umbrella was strapped to the top of the pack. Surveying 
the now silent room, he gasped, "Can.....does anybody....know....the 
way...to...," and with a loud thud, he fell flat on his face.

   Now, while people often fall like this in the Teufel, they normally 
do so after they've been drinking for a while. Seamus turned to me 
with a bemused look on his face. "What d'ya think is wrong with 'im?"

   "Dunno," I replied. "Let's have a look."

   The other two Rats, Giles and Mahon, followed as we made our way 
across to the guy in tan. Seeing that the excitement was over, the rest 
of the taproom went back to the serious business of getting 
completely drunk.

   He was still lying facedown on the floor, muttering in unintelligible 
Japanese. Thanks to my weekly chess games with my friend Hosoi, I 
was able to speak the language, if crudely. And months of watching 
Giles, Seamus, Mahon, and the rest of the Teufel drink their way into a 
stupor had given me the ability to understand Drunken Slur. But the 
both of them together, in unholy alliance, was beyond me.

   "Oi think maybe we should, you know, help him up," Giles said.

   "Why, when he's so obviously enjoyin' himself down there?" 
returned Seamus.

   As the two of them started one of their famous insult matches, 
Mahon and I tried to haul the prone figure to his feet. He was light 
enough, but the weight of the backpack kept him pinned to the floor. I 
shook my head in disbelief. "What on earth has he got in there, 
bricks?"

   I got a grunt in response. Mahon hadn't said a word since he stopped 
singing; I still find it hard to understand how a man so tightlipped can 
then be the vocalist for a pub band. I've asked him about it once or 
twice, for an answer he just looked at me and shrugged.

   We undid the straps of the pack, and pushed it off him with 
difficulty. Each of us took one arm, and together we hauled him into 
one of the side booths and sat him down.

   "Oirish sheepfancying pond scum!"

   "English incarnation 'o venereal poxes!"

   I gave the two duelists a glare. "Hold it down!" 

   The guy in tan gave a small moan, and his eyes flicked open. He sat 
up in his chair, looking around wildly. "What...," he said unsteadily.

   "Relax," I said in a soothing tone. "You seem pretty out of it. What's 
wrong?"

   "Food. I...I haven't eaten in four days."

   I turned to Mahon. "Go and tell Otto to make three Doner Kebabs." He 
took the handful of marks I gave him and walked towards the bar.

   "Dinner's on its way. I'm Mike, by the way, and the guy who is even 
now ordering our meal is Mahon. Who are you?"

   He sat up a bit straighter. "My name is Ryoga Hibiki. Thanks for your 
hospitality, but I really have to be going." He started to rise, but I 
put 
a restraining hand on his shoulder. "You should at least have 
something to eat before you leave. Four days without food would kill 
some people. Surely you can wait a half hour."

  He bristled, and I hastily removed my hand. Then he sagged a bit, and 
sat back down. "You're right. I've been wandering for so long that 
another half hour won't make any difference. Besides," his eyes lit up 
with an intense gleam, "I must be in good condition when I reach my 
goal!"

   "That's the spirit! And if you're looking for a place to recover, this 
is the place!" I gestured at the taproom in general. "Good food, good 
music, good company....I think you should wait a day or two before you 
try any serious drinking, but there's that too, if you like."

   Ryoga gave me a weak smile. "I really do have to be going soon. 
Dinner, and then I'm off. But I will stay an hour or so."

   Mahon returned, bearing a platter piled with four of the savory meat 
and onion sandwiches known as doner kebabs. I've eaten in a couple of 
high-tone places in my time, but I've never had anything to match 
them. I still don't know how Otto does it. Ryoga's eyes lit up at the 
sight of them, and he made a grab for the plate.

   About three minutes later, he was done. One lonesome, solitary 
crumb lay in a corner of the platter. Ryoga leaned back in his chair 
with a sigh. Mahon and I just stared.

  "He was hungry," Mahon said. For him, that was the equivalent of 
Hamlet's soliloquy.

   "Yeah," I said. "Want more?" A feeble joke, I admit.

   "As a matter of fact, yes," Ryoga said.

   I shrugged. "Mahon, here's some more cash..."



                                                * * * * *



   He was still eating a half hour later.

   Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Otto staring at me, with scowl 
#88 (Time ist money, und du are wasting it) on his broad face. The 
thought occurred to me that pub bands had to play if they wanted to be 
paid. I stood up. "Well, Ryoga, I'm gonna have to get back to playing. 
Enjoy the show."

   He frantically grabbed my arm. "Wait, before you go, you have to tell 
me....how do you get to Furinkan High School?"

   I shook my head. "Never heard of it."

   He looked disappointed. "Well, it's a big city....I can see how you 
might not know it. Just tell me how to get to Nerima Ward."

   Again, I gave my best awfully-sorry-mister expression. "Sorry. 
Don't know where that is either."

   Ryoga shot me an exasperated glare. "How long have you lived 
here?"

   "Oh, about five months or so."

   "Then how can you not know where one of the major wards of Tokyo 
is?"

   Huh?

   "Why," I said, "should I know anything about Tokyo? I've never been 
to Japan."

   His face settled into a resigned expression. "You mean this isn't 
Tokyo?"

   I gave him a strange look. "Uh, as a matter of fact, no it isn't. I've 
always considered that one of the place's major failings, myself, but 
we try..."

   "Then where are we?"

   "The Blau Teufel Rathskellar. Baringgen. Germany. Europe. Earth."

   Ryoga gave a howl of frustration. "Damn! I knew I should have turned 
left at Benin! But I will make it yet! I shall persevere! I shall! And 
then......beware, Ranma Saotome, for that day SHALL SEE YOU DIE!!!!! 
NYAHAHA!" He slammed his fist on the table to punctuate his words.

   The table broke.

   Now, it wasn't like it was a flimsy, wallboard and spit type of 
table. It was made of thick oak, like the rest of the furniture, and it 
was a couple of inches thick. I have seen a 400-pound man land on one 
of these tables from the ceiling (don't ask, it had to do with a wager 
involving Samoa, seventeen rhubarbs, and flightless waterfowl), and 
that table is still there. Which was the one way it differed from the 
one Ryoga had just hit; it lay in two halves, with a heap of sawdust to 
show the exact point of impact.

   My voice came out as a squeak. "That's ah,.....I mean....noble goal, 
I'm sure....uh....I'm gonna get back to work.....okay?"

   He just nodded, and sat with his head in his hands. I would have felt 
sorry for the poor guy if I weren't so scared of him at the moment. I 
hustled over to the stage, where the rest of the Rats were waiting. 
Seamus gave me a worried look. "Are ya alright, Mike? What's with 'is 
royal bar demolisher over there? What was he shoutin' about?"

   "He was upset that this wasn't Tokyo."

   Giles nodded sagely. "Homesick, then. Oi sympathize with the poor 
bugger."

   I shook my head. "No, you don't understand. He thought this WAS 
Tokyo."

   "You're right. Oi don't understand."

   I scratched my head. "I'm not sure I do either."

   "Well," Seamus said brightly, "do we know anything Japanese? 
'smight cheer 'im up."

   Giles gave him a dubious look. "Well, there's the Pachinko song. Oi 
know it oin't Japanese, but..."

   "No," I said firmly. "We aren't playing anything that relates to 
Japan, or to Tokyo. In case you hadn't noticed, our guest is a little, 
ah, 
emotional. Let's try not to have more of the Teufel destroyed than we 
can help."

  "Right," Seamus said, "we'll play 'London yer a Lady' then. On the 
count 'o three..."

   We played traditional favorites for about half an hour. Ryoga began 
to perk up, and soon he was tapping his foot in time to the music. 
Despite my fears, the floor seemed to be holding.

   After about ten songs, I excused myself and went over to Ryoga. 
"How do you like the music?"

   "It's very good," he admitted. "Different from the stuff we get back 
home, you didn't mention carp or shrews once. What is it, exactly?"

   "Most of it is from a Irish group called The Pogues, others are stuff 
we learned from customers, or wrote ourselves. We like it."

   "It does have a distinctive sound. Uh, look, you know those 
sandwiches..."

   "You'd like some more of them?"

   He had the grace to look sheepish. "Well, yes. I've never tasted 
anything so heavenly in my life. Can I have five more?"

   "Jeez, Ryoga, by the time you leave there won't be a pig left in 
Baringgen."

   Ryoga turned a interesting shade of green. "Pig? What do you 
mean?"

   "Well, where did you think the meat came from? Say, are you 
alright? You look kinda ill."

   He stood up unsteadily. "Thanks for everything, got to go, bye!" 
Trying to keep from gagging, he dashed out the door, grabbing his pack 
and umbrella as he went. Something fell from a loose strap, and 
rattled under a table. He didn't notice.

   I ran after him. "Wait," I yelled, "You dropped something!" Ryoga 
didn't seem to hear me; he was only a silhouette in the distance. I 
heard him yell something about revenge and love, and then the fog 
swallowed him up. I shrugged, and went to see what he had dropped. 

   After fishing around under a table for a few minutes, I pulled out a 
ornate, silver-traced scroll case. The case was covered with carvings 
portraying people punching other people while a rodent of some sort 
looked on in approval. Should I open it, I wondered? Curiosity warred 
with respect for privacy, and pretty soon curiosity disemboweled his 
opponent. It took me a while to open it, and when I finally did, it was 
a disappointment. The rice paper scroll was written in what looked 
like either Chinese or an early form of kana. I can't read either of 
those languages, nor did I know anyone who could.

   The rest of the band approached. "Whatcha got there, Mike?" asked 
Seamus. "Some sorta baton?"

   "No, " said, "Its some sort of scroll of ancient wisdom. I'm gonna 
put it in with the sheet music for now. If Ryoga..."

   "That's the bloke wot broke the table, right?" interjected Giles.

   "...That's right, if he ever comes back, make sure he gets it. Okay?" 
There was a chorus of agreement. I slid the scroll back into the case, 
and resealed it.

   "By the way, why'd he go runnin' off like that?" asked Seamus.

   "Dunno," I replied. "He got upset when he realized the meat in his 
dinner was from a pig. Maybe he's orthodox Jewish or something." I 
tucked the scroll case in the bag of lyrics and sheet music hooked on 
the side of Giles's drum set. After a day or two, I forgot about it.



                                                 * * * * *



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

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

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

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

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

   "Have you ever heard of Nerima Ward?"

   "I used to live there."

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

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

   I never got a chance to answer.

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



   "As the vole lands upon the peacock, so does

       the flower raise in safety the blossom

             of the hedgehog's wandering."



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

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

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

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

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

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

   Ouch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "I assume you have some cash?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Seamus, I noticed, was beginning to drool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Shampoo? She's named after a hair product?

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

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

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

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

   Akane looked nettled, but kept quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "No! Ranma sit with Shampoo!"

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

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

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

   "Hentai!"

   "Kawaikune!"

   "Please!" I snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "You've seen him!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

   They shook their heads.

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

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

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

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

   "Mousse stay out!" snapped Shampoo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Only through vile sorcery and underhanded methods!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Looking for what?" I interjected.

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

   Oh dear.

   Should I tell them? I mean, it wasn't mine, and apparently it wasn't 
Ryoga's either. But was it their's? And would they leave peacefully 
with it? A vision of these self-proclaimed martial artists wrecking 
the place with bokken, mallets, and Iron Hamster-Fisted Death 
attacks in a fight over the scroll ran through the VCR of my mind.

   "And of course," I said, slyly, "you might do a little reading before 
you return it..."

   Everyone's face turned bright red. I pressed on. "Why isn't this 
Hoppoguy person going after Ryoga himself? I mean, it is his."

   Ranma smirked. "He's all tied up at the moment."

   I sighed. "I should have known. Will he cease to be, uh, tied up when 
you return?"

   "NO!", said Akane, Ranma, Shampoo, and Kodachi, with surprising 
force. 

   "Any reason why?"

   "He's a perverted little troll," Akane explained. "He steals 
underwear, tries to feel up women...."

   "He's even tried doing it to Akane," supplied Ranma. "And you have 
to be perverted to want to do that."

   Akane turned purple.

   "I mean, I could think of about a thousand girls I'd rather [WHACK] 
ughgsdfre....." The mallet caught him right in the middle of the 
forehead.

   "RANMA NO BAKA!"

    "You strike Shampoo's beloved! AIYHAAAA!" With that, Shampoo 
launched herself through the air at Akane. Kuno interposed himself. 
"Seek not to damage the lovely Akane Tenmghjkfdfmm!" The Chinese 
girl's kick knocked him across the taproom. He landed in the middle of 
the Italians, who began to pummel him with gay abandon. With a sigh 
of contentment, the Teufel's regulars reached for chairs and bottles. 
The fight was on!

   I'd been through dozens of these little altercations, and I knew the 
four secrets to Surviving a Bar Fight Without Receiving Serious 
Wounds. One: always keep your back to the wall. Two: Keep a bottle in 
your hand at all times. Three: Keep close to your friends. Four: Jump 
Quick, boy.

   And so, wanting to live through the night, I ran for the stage, where 
the Institut Rats, their discarded whiskey bottles, and the back wall 
of the Teufel waited.  Behind me, all hell was breaking loose.

   Akane was flailing wildly at Ranma with her mallet, screaming in 
Japanese. Ranma was backpedaling, shouting protests, and somehow 
managing to dodge every swing. The mallet was connecting, however; 
two Russians and the med student crumpled to the floor.

   Shampoo and Kodachi, in the meantime, were squaring off in the 
middle of the room. Kodachi was using her ribbon like a bullwhip, 
sending black rose petals flying with every lash. She was connecting, 
too; Shampoo couldn't get close enought to attack. One lash opened a 
long cut on one side of her chest, making her gasp in pain. Kodachi 
opened up with one of her maniacal giggles, and pressed the attack.

   "Shampoo!" Mousse kicked a charging, chair-wielding Frenchman in 
the stomach, and jumped high into the air. His arm flung out, and a 
pair of hedge clippers attached to a chain flew out of his sleeves. 
They neatly cut the ribbon/whip in half. Seeing her chance, Shampoo 
charged, swinging a pair of maces. Kodachi shrank back, her eyes 
widening in fear. Just as Shampoo lunged, an arm snaked out from 
beneath a table, and grabbed Kodachi by the waist. With a startled 
squawk, she vanished beneath the table an instant before the maces 
could touch her.

    'Nice going, Seamus,' I thought.

   Shampoo, overextended by the swing, stumbled forward. Right into 
the frantically dodging Ranma. They collapsed together in a heap. Both 
Mousse and Akane's eyes widened in outrage.

   Kuno, meanwhile, had regained his feet. Shouting furious cries, he 
laid about him with his bokken. Italians flew in all directions, landing 
in moaning heaps. My eyes bulged as I saw that the air pressure from 
the practice sword was gouging out holes in the wall. A stone wall! 
This was definitely going to be worse than normal.

   Ranma disentangled himself from a clutching Shampoo, just in time 
for Mousse to let loose a barrage at him. Knives, chains, hooks, 
weights, a potted geranium, a goldfish bowl, and a cherry-red 
coonskin cap flew towards Ranma in a deadly arc. I winced, and 
silently made myself promise to attend the funeral.

    Ranma's arms became a blur. The assorted projectiles were 
deflected or thrown off in different directions; the bar yelped en 
masse, and ducked to avoid the missiles. Several thunks were heard as 
the knives embedded themselves in wood or clattered off stone. Mahon 
frantically dove to catch the geranium, he had a soft spot for plants. 
The coonskin cap bounced off the ceiling, and landed square on my 
head. I brushed the dangling tail out off my face and kept moving 
towards the stage.

   Suddenly, Otto emerged from behind the bar armed with Scowl #123 
(A bunch of crazy martial artists sind tearing up mein bar), and 
lumbered towards Kuno. Broken furniture was one thing, but actual 
structural damage was something else. Kuno saw him coming, and 
casually sent his last opponent flying. "So, kitchen-ogre, you dare to 
brave mine blade? Come, and feel the might of Kuno! Haiiiyyyyyaaaa!!!!" 
He charged, swinging the bokken with a speed too quick for the eye to 
follow. He spun and pirouetted in a amazing display of swordsmanship. 
Every one of the savage yet graceful slashes found its mark.

   Otto didn't seem to notice.

   Picking up Kuno, who was still raining blows on him,  Otto threw 
him across the room with one hand. I ducked as he sailed over me and 
slammed into the wall I was heading for. Otto grunted, and went back 
to polishing the bar and guarding the liquor.

   I reached the wall, where Kuno was sitting up and groaning. He 
seemed more that a little stunned. "Hey, man, you okay?" I asked.

   He looked up with a vacant stare; his eyes seemed to be having 
trouble focusing. Which wasn't very surprising considering the size of 
the dent his head had made in the wall. For some reason my face, with 
the red coonskin cap, made quite an impression. "My pig-tailed 
goddess!" he shrieked. "You have come to find me!" Still half-
conscious, he grabbed my shirt and started trying to hug me!

   "GAH!" I screamed. "Someone get this Hentai OFF ME!!!" Ranma shot 
me a sympathetic look, but was busy trying to keep Mousse from 
filleting him. I finally grabbed a beer bottle and broke it over the 
love-smitten pervert's head, sending him to dreamland.

   I decided to get some cover, and ducked under a table. There were 
two screams of protest. "Whoops, " I told Seamus and Kodachi, "don't 
mind me, just leaving, go back to what you where doing..." I hurriedly 
left, blushing a bit.

   Surveying the scene, I noticed Akane and Shampoo sitting in one of 
the side booths, deep in conversation. Ranma and Mousse were still 
going at it hammer and tongs. I decided to take a seat and enjoy the 
show.



                                                 * * * * *



   Ranma had just finished pounding Mousse's head through the floor 
when the panda arrived.

   It just opened the door and walked inside, bold as brass. I got up, 
and walked on unsteady legs to meet it. "Hello! And just what can we 
do for you?" I said, in a voice that was quickly edging from calm to 
maniacal. The panda held up a sign saying, "Tea, please."

   Giggling in a way that would have made Kodachi edge away, I went 
to fix a cup of green tea in the kitchen. Otto, perhaps wisely, didn't 
say anything.

   I emerged with the tea to find a red-haired girl, sopping wet, 
yelling at a bucket-holding panda. "This is all your fault, old man! If 
you..." The panda cut her off with a swipe. Balancing the teacup on a 
saucer, I headed over. "Your tea, Mister Panda."

   The panda bowed politely, took the cup, and held up a sign saying 
"Thanks a lot".

   A thought struck me. "Excuse me, miss," I asked the redhead. "Do 
you know these nut cases?" 

   "Yeah," she said with reluctance. "We'll pay for the damages."

   "NO!NoNoNoNo!!! You misunderstand!" I ran over to the drum set, 
yanked out the scroll case, and gave it to her. "Here! Ryoga ran off 
without it! Take the damn thing, just get them out of here!"

   "Gee, thanks!" She and the panda sorted through the heaps of bodies 
in the room, removing theirs. Kodachi and Seamus emerged from 
beneath the table wearing big silly grins and rearranging their 
clothing. Akane finished telling a story to Shampoo, who broke out 
into peals of laughter, and got up to join the panda and redhead. Let's 
see, I thought, is that all of them?

   "Wait," I said. "Where's Ranma?"

   "He's....outside," replied Akane. "It was nice meeting you, Mike."

   I managed a weak smile.

   The whole group of them trooped out, and I gave a sigh of relief. 
Picking my way over the bodies, I walked over to Seamus, who still 
was wearing that grin. "Well, at least someone had a good time."

   "Sure, an ya got that right! Ah, she was a grand lass. An I'll 
probably 
never see her again in life." A single tear made its way down his 
cheek. I laughed merrily.

   "You got that right. I gave them what they were looking for, that 
scroll. They'll be back in Japan before...what's so funny?" Seamus had 
burst out laughing.

   There was a sudden thump from behind me, and I turned around. 
Hosoi was picking himself up off the floor. "Ah, hello!" he said. "As 
soon as I saw Kuno, I headed for the rafters. I had him in one of my 
classes a few years back, and I knew something like this would 
happen." He spat on the ground. "Furinkan. The place is a nut house."

   "You could have warned me," I said, plaintively. "I could have 
jumped for the ceiling myself."

   "Sorry, but I didn't have the time."

   "Yeah, I don't suppose I blame you. Sheesh, I always thought the 
Japanese had a reputation as being quiet and polite." I turned to 
Seamus, who was still laughing his ass off. "What's so funny, man?"

   "Well, it's like this, Mike...I'm gonna be seein' Kodachi again."

   "Huh? What? W-why would you say that?"

   "Cause I was usin' the fancy case ta keep me favorite music in." He 
pulled out a sheet of rice paper. "I got the scroll thinger right 'ere."

   Hosoi and I looked at each other for a second, and then ran 
screaming out into the night.


THE END




   While you won't find Baringgen on a map, it actually exists. So do 
Mike, Seamus, Otto, and most of the others. However, names have 
wisely been changed to protect the guilty, and the above incident 
obviously never happened.

   The piece came about due to two reasons; the Penspinner was 
demanding another TFBT [Tales from the Blau Teufel] story, and I had 
recently been introduced to the wonderful world of anime. I wanted 
to do a fanfiction bit, but the Penspinner editor was fondling an uzi, 
looking pointedly at the calender, and calling at 3 AM asking if the 
next story was done yet, and casually mentioning he knew where I lived.

    So I took the cheesy way out, and proposed combined the two. No 
way, said the editor.

   The 12th TFBT story, Rats in the Walls, was kicked out into the 
cold, hard world after an all-night writing spree. After taking a small 
coma to recover, I wrote the above monstrosity, thus assuring my 
place in the Carpal Tunnel Hall of Fame.

   My original idea was to show the Ranma characters from a different 
perspective than normal. Ranma and Co, being not only martial artists 
but ANIME martial artists, obviously think little of curses, spells, 
wall-crushing air pressure, etc. You, the viewer, are sitting at home 
with some friends and a bag of chips, laughing your heads off at 
Saotome. The reasons for this are self evident; 1) It's damn funny, 2) 
You can manage suspention of disbelief, 'cause it's only a cartoon, and 
3) You aren't in the line of fire.


   But what abou the extras? You know, the nameless Furinkan 
students, innocent bystanders, and straight men that we see in every 
episode? How would the everyday guy react to meeting these people?

   Mike, I reasoned, probably doesn't find Ranma amusing. Neither 
would you, if the characters had their latest adventure, or even 
argument, in your very breakable house.

   Sadly enough, I messed up.

   See, this sort of thing happens all the time in the Teufel. And, Mike, 
despite his mildly neurotic and paranoid outlook, keeps coming in, 
every night.

   On a subconsious level, Mike is enjoying this.

   Hope you do too.