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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 2
                      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"



	To say that the change was drastic was to underestimate the 
situation.  Where it used to feel cramped, there was this feeling of 
empty space.  Whence there used to be freaky light shows, now there was 
only candlelight.  And at the grill... or at least where the grill was 
supposed to be...
	Tsubasa gaped.  It was her.  She was smiling, and waving at him 
and...
	"Yo, Ukyo!  Nice threads."  
	Hiroshi pushed past him towards the girl, who seemed to look a lot 
like Ukyo.
	He blinked.  He blink-blinked.  Bugger the lighting.
	"Yeah.  Would'a fooled me into thinking you were a professional," 
he self-amended.
	She took the barb as lightly as it was given.  She snapped her 
fingers and Haruka stepped in.  They turned, back-to-back, and snapped 
their fingers, pointing at the males.
	"Whew.  'Men in black'.  Definitely in fashion."  Hiroshi clapped 
lightly.
	"Okay," Daisuke said, "which one had the lobotomy, and which one 
needed the change of pace?"
	She tossed a hand in her co-cross-dresser's direction.  "Haruka's 
idea."
	Shun nudged Haruka.  "If you'd have told us this was a black-tie 
affair, we could have managed better, y'know."
	Haruka nodded.  "Hey, Ukyo deserves a break now and then, right?"
	Daisuke concluded, "there must be big money in race driving."
	"I guess so," Haruka shrugged.
	"We saved you seats close to the stage," Ukyo continued.
	"Why?  What's there?"  Shun went first.
	"A touch of culture," Ukyo said mysteriously, taking them to the 
table.  "Now, shoo.  Haruka and I have to fix some things up."
	They thanked Goodness for having kept the stage where it was.  The 
lighting was diffused and light, but the stage was empty.  Seating 
themselves, they tried to keep quiet.  Honest.  They tried.
	"Okay, okay.  Here's mine."  Shun produced a crane, and flapped its 
wings.
	"Too passe.  Here's mine."  Hiroshi produced a horse, making its 
feet shuffle.
	"That's all?  Here's one."  Daisuke produced a unicorn.  It stood 
on its hind legs.
	"Hey, Garcon," Tsubasa called for a waiter.  "More rubber bands."
	"Oh, yeah?"  Shun said, rearranging his finger positions.  He put 
it up.  He said in a low sultry voice:  "Georgia."
	Daisuke muttered, "what a lovely name... for a girl."
	Hiroshi took a look at the color and the shape.  "The state, or the 
country?"
	Tsubasa looked at it, and said, "who cares?"
	Hiroshi rearranged his brown rubber bands.  Then:  "cabbit."  Once 
he was sure that they were watching, he began to pull his hands further 
apart.  "Spaceship."
	Daisuke took a look, then rearranging his white rubber bands, he 
went, "cabbit."  Similarly pulling his hands apart, he continued, 
"spaceship."  Then, suddenly orienting it horizontally against its 
counterpart, he removed the further hand, sending the rubber bands 
hurtling.  "Phaser blasts."
	Hence started some rather messy rubber band barrages (complete with 
shouts of "Photon Torpedoes" and "Slingshot Effect"), which interfered 
with the very interesting games of Hangman being played by several other 
patrons.  Ukyo had to go and discreetly bop each and every one of them.  
After which, they promised to be nice and listen to the band that came 
in.

	"Honey, did Tsubasa tell you what time he'd be home?"
	"Nope."
	"Remind me to ground him till he graduates college if he dares to 
come home past twelve."
	"Sure, hon."
	"And you're off the stereo until the next year."

	There were these four guys who were unloading four stringed 
instruments of different sizes.  Four microphones set on stands were 
being set up on the stage.  While the three others were affixing the 
microphones to the bodies of their cellos, violins or basses, one of them 
took a mike to speak.
	"Hello.  We're T'ang Quartet, and this is our first performance in 
anything like this.  Please... sit back, and let the music set in."
	Tsubasa, who felt as close to nodding off as he could possibly be, 
yawned openly, then looked to his classmates, knowing they'd find this 
classic orchestra a huge bore.
	Instead, Hiroshi and Daisuke were actually akin to being astounded.  
"Haven't seen them in a while," Hiroshi mouthed.
	"They were in America for a while, to study, I think," Daisuke 
said, not taking his eyes off the stage.
	They're obviously enjoying this, Tsubasa thought belatedly, also 
noticing that Shun had leaned forward to hear it better.  That was when 
they started on a staccato violin riff, accompanied with classical cello-
and-violin rhythm, and a rock sounding bass.  It sounded... refreshing.
	"Mmmm... Mozart is the father of rock."  Some appetizers were being 
served, and the mood was just perfect.  Perfectly surreal.

	The meal went quickly enough, and soon the four had time to listen 
to the music.  (Those who weren't really into rock or classical were 
luckily placed as far from the performers as needed;  the worst cases of 
music and digestion not getting along are well-documented.)  Having 
recovered long enough from their initial shock, Hiroshi and Daisuke had 
gone into their normal mode of discussion.
	"She did NOT sleep for 'ten thousand years'," Daisuke insisted.
	"If she said that she did, she DID," Hiroshi countered.
	"Wait.  When did it first come out that she had?"
	"When she told...."
	"At the start.  Then?"
	"Hmm... when Makoto told her, I guess."
	"Exactly.  Any other time?"
	"Well... none that I can remember."
	Shun piped in.  "Just like that watch in that old American movie, 
right?  The one that the guy had, which came from the girl, which came 
from the guy..."
	Daisuke nodded.  "Paradox."
	"B-But..."  Hiroshi stuttered, uncomprehending.  Luckily, the band 
started to play some very, very slow music.

	The two women were in Ukyo's room, with Ukyo pouting fiercely.
	"I don't want to wear make-up!"
	Haruka, who looked quite elegant in a modest blue dress, was 
starting to get frantic.  "My dear, dear Ukyo:  if you don't wear any, 
one of these idiots will figure out who you are."
	"And all those superheroes just need a new hairdo... or a costume.  
I've got both."  Ukyo fidgeted in her seat.
	"Just think of it... as part of the costume."  With that, Haruka 
got in, and finished the job.
	The would-be artist stepped back and judged her work.  "You look 
fabulous.  Now, stop pouting, and get your man."
	Ukyo blushed.  Blushing was not something martial artists, even 
good ones, did inconspicuously.  It actually made a "poof"-like sound.  
"He's not 'my man'."  She did that circling ankle thing.
	"Oh, please.  I wouldn't have even found you out if you weren't 
so..."  She got stopped by a searing gaze.
	Ukyo stood.  "He's not my man.  He's just..."  She waved her gloved 
hands in small circles.  "Misguided."
	"Well, you CAN lead."  Haruka shoved her through the door.  "It IS 
the nineties.  Too few good dancers out there."

	This narration is firm in its stand to be neutral in coloring its 
descriptions of any type of art form.  Thus, when the T'ang Quartet 
played dance songs, they played music of waltz beat, with the tempo set 
to the relative speed of a clock when waiting for something.
	To wit, they knew it was a slow dance tune, and people began to 
slow dance to it.
	"Feh," Hiroshi said.  "And me without a girl to dance with."
	"Don't be too sure," Daisuke chucked a thumb over his shoulder.  A 
short-haired blond and a long-haired brunette were coming into view.
	"What I would do for freckles and red hair," Hiroshi commented, de-
ruffling his hair.
	Haruka went on ahead and bodily took Shun from his slump.  No 
sooner had Shun left the table when Ukyo appeared right next to Tsubasa.
	Her voice had a throaty quality.  "I... we need to talk."
	Hiroshi straightened and said, in his patent-pending husky voice, 
"hey, groovy chick."
	Tsubasa stood, facing her.  "Yeah.  We do."  Not quite hand in 
hand, they left the rest of the band.
	"Hey.  Hey!"  Hiroshi indignantly faced Daisuke.  "She left!  With 
him!"  He gestured the departing pair.
	"So it would seem" was Daisuke's neutral response.

	"Ha... ha... ha-ha..."
	"What do you find so funny?"  Haruka was getting angry, and trying 
to stifle it.
	"Ha-Haruka..."  Shun finally got over the shock.
	Haruka had the sweat bead, the BIG eyes, the promise pose, the 
awkward hand, and the set teeth.  Yup, she was surprised.  "Wha-?  How?"
	Shun placed a trembling finger on her lips.  "You look even more 
fabulous with make-up on."
	Haruka blanched.  "I knew I should have worn a wig," she muttered.
	Shun was turning ruddy, himself.  He had a somewhat bemused look in 
his eyes, and he shook his head.  "Don't be silly."
	Haruka, by sheer circumstance, was caught off-balance by people 
making their way to the floor, and fell forward, catching, in turn, 
Shun's arms.
	He looked to her, and politely indicated the flow of people.  
"Shall we dance?"

	Ukyo wasn't really sure where they could have their "talk".
	They couldn't just stand where they were:  it would be like she was 
announcing their predicament to the world.  (Besides, there were people 
watching the band, which they were in front of.)
	She couldn't go to the area behind the grill:  it would be better 
to tell him "I'm Ukyo, you fool;  oh, yeah, Haruka's not here because 
she's that girl over there".  At least, she'd be sure that he knew.  All 
of it, or no clues, not even subtle ones.
	So they went with the flow.
	They weren't able to stay in one place until they were within the 
confines of the dance floor.  Of course, they couldn't just talk there;  
wordlessly, they held each other, swaying to the soulful, mourning 
string.
	If she was asked, she would have never been able to tell a soul why 
she danced like she did with him:  slow, effortless, head lain on his 
shoulder.  Maybe, for that moment in time, she never existed.  That it 
was a moment skewered, not connected to the past, not possessing a 
future.
	Whatever enchantment was cast, she shrugged it off at the end of 
the wordless song.  Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she started, 
"I..."
	"I love you."
	She blinked.
	He blinked.
	They turned to overhear more from a couple to one side.  "I've 
loved you since I met you."
	"Oh, Mr. Noodle," the shoulder-length haired woman said.
	They moved off from that couple soon enough.
	Once they were sure that they were out of earshot, she tried again.  
"I... I..."
	"I'm pregnant."
	That one actually made Tsubasa jump a bit, when a male voice 
answered the announcement.  "Well, Kanrinin-san, more tenants in your 
house?"
	"Don't call me, that," the woman said, softly.  "It makes me 
feel... old."
	Ukyo had had enough.  She took Tsubasa in hand, and got out of that 
one.

	By the time that Haruka was able to set her sights on Ukyo, she was 
on the way out, in a rush.  "Way to go, girl!"  She grinned in a feral 
manner, slightly scaring Shun.  Wouldn't want to step on HER toes.

	"Hmm..."  Daisuke muttered.  "Maybe some more drinks."
	"Oh, c'mon!  Answer the question!"  Hiroshi was insistent.
	"... Yaobikuni."  Daisuke said, as calmly as he could.
	"Damn!"
	"'Eight-hundred-year nun'?  Surely you couldn't have expected me to 
forget that?"  Daisuke stifled a smirk, and called a waiter.  He noticed 
Tsubasa sneaking out with that brunette, but kept it from his histrionic-
prone bandmate.
	"My turn, right?"  He gratefully received a few glasses.  "Ok... 
from the same manga:  by the time they met the immortal Itto-ryu 
swordsman, how many 'bad men' had Manji said he killed?"
	"Hmm... toughie."  Hiroshi started to count on his fingers.

	She closed the door.
	Nighttime in the district was regularly cold, being as it was a 
beach-lined city.  But it was edging toward the winter.  Ukyo started 
shivering.
	Tsubasa was shivering as well.  It was cold enough that his breath 
was fogging.  Deep inside, he was straightening.
	He knew, beyond a doubt that his mystery girl was going to leave 
him, tonight, never to return.  He had to stop her...
	... and he had this one chance, this last chance.  He had to show 
her who he was, all of it, and hoped that it was enough to stop her.
	He gripped her hand, indicating that she follow, and went into the 
foggy night.

	"... twenty.  I'm sure of it."
	"Nope."
	"Twenty-one."
	"You're forgetting something."
	"Hmm... fifty."
	*sigh*  "You're hopeless."

	Ukyo tried to keep track of the path they took, but the twists and 
turns sometimes were confusing (and often illogical) and tended to blend 
between themselves.  She only hoped that Tsubasa wasn't going anywhere 
too far.  A bit later, she began to wonder whether or not that was a good 
idea.  After all, he might be a pervert... or worse yet, the man of her 
dreams.
	At the start he was worried that the turns they were taking were 
too much for his companion, but she was taking them as easily (maybe even 
more so) that he did.  So he upped their pace, and arrived there much 
sooner.
	They reached a clearing, and slowed.  He looked for a tree hanging 
over a lamppost.  Scampering up the tree, he reached the limb that hung 
just above the light.
	It was low enough, so he proffered a hand to Ukyo.  Doing a martial 
artist's leap, she soared through the leaves, and fell gracefully on the 
limb.
	Tsubasa stared at the top of the post, leaning forward.  Ukyo 
wasn't quite sure what this all meant, but if this little rendezvous, 
romantic as it was, were to end in some very cheap feels, he would end 
the day very, very sore.
	"Look.  I know who you are, and I know why you're trying to hide."
	Somehow, she wasn't really sure that it was supposed to surprise 
her.  Even if he knew who she really was, she had to explain.  She... 
needed to.
	He glanced over to her, and said.  "You're Ukyo's sister, right?  I 
heard it through the grapevine."  He turned back to the post.  "It's 
obvious that Ukyo doesn't trust me with you."
	So he didn't.  She sighed, a little disappointed.
	"Maybe it's because of the me he knows, from school.  Or the me on 
the band.  God, I'd hope not.  He probably thinks that I'm some sort of 
drug-addled, band-tripping, head-banging, hedonistic, cross-dressing 
pervert."  He took a breath.  "I'm not."  He looked sheepish.  "At least 
not the drug-addled part."
	She didn't move, entranced by the evenness of his voice.  "My 
family is kind of weird.  We're all sort of artists, by trade.  And we're 
all pretty much... along... with each other."  He sounded less calm.  
"But, there are times when... you know, you just have to be alone.  To do 
things that only you would want.
	"My father would bring me to this park," he reminisced, "when I was 
about eight.  We'd do nothing but enjoy the quietness of the place.  The 
aloneness."
	"After a while, he'd bring me here, then go home, without bringing 
me back.  I guess he just wanted to get a rise out of my mom.  I wouldn't 
go home, though, until it was late, and I had to.  Guess my pop knew me 
well enough."
	"Later, I'd keep going back here, because this park was so deserted 
most of the time.  And I'd have some quiet time alone."
	Ukyo said softly, "you can never be alone, with friends like 
Hiroshi, Daisuke, Shun..."
	He probably wasn't aware that she had talked;  he was aware that 
something was being said, though.  "But that's the most important part of 
a place like this:  you can be alone.  When you need to."
	There was a silence.
	"For most part, do you know what I thought about when I was alone?"
	Ukyo's part:  she knew.  Too well.
	"I thought about being alone.  About how I wouldn't want to be 
alone forever."
	He turned to her.  But she had already set her mind.  "I... I want 
you..."
	"... but..."  He couldn't help but feel pessimistic.
	She shook her head.  "I want you... to be happy... but without 
me..."
	"Why?"
	"I'm not who you know I am."  How did it become so hot?  (A breeze 
lifted the leaves.)
	"I don't know who you are, sister of Ukyo."
	Why was it so hard to phrase this?  "I'm not a woman."
	Tsubasa blinked.  That wasn't very clear.  He breathed her in;  she 
had the scent of a woman.  She had the curves (not that that had set in 
before) of one.  She was 100% woman.
	She tried to rephrase.  "I can't be your woman."  That was worse.  
She had had enough;  she braced the limb, then jumped down.
	That was the plan.  Of course, Tsubasa was more than he seemed.  He 
held her wrist.
	So, they jumped rather roughly to the ground.  Ukyo was the first 
on her feet, and she turned to run.  Unluckily, Tsubasa had a grip of 
iron.
	"Let!  Go!  Dammit!"  She eyed a plastic trashcan, then, in a 
Herculean effort, dragged Tsubasa and unceremoniously dumped him in it.
	Slamming the lid, she sat down on her seat, huffing.  She didn't 
want to do it, but he left no choice.  She have to explain a few things 
to Haruka, including how her dress was now dirty and torn.  She picked 
herself up, and went to check on Tsubasa... just to see if he was okay.
	An arm shot out through the hard plastic.
	Ukyo "aaaaaiiiiieeeeee!"ed, and proceeded to knock the bejeezus out 
of him.

	This narration is under the impression that plastic used to be 
tougher stuff.

	"That was a great party, Haruka."
	"Thanks."
	"Give my thanks to Ukyo as well."
	"Will do."
	"Uh... yeah.  Ditto."
	"Thanks, Hiroshi."  She whispered to Daisuke.  "What's with him?"
	"Stumped him."
	"Did not."
	"Okay, how many?"
	"Uh... ninety."
	"Nope.  Bye."
	"Bye."
	The two male voices started to fade.  "Is it higher or lower, 
Daisuke?"
	"Um... Haruka.  About... our agreement."
	Haruka turned to Shun.  "Don't worry."
	He smiled.  "Be happy."



		"Your specialty is not eroticism.  I guess your 
	boyfriend's into masochism.  Your body temperature is ten
	below;  when it's over, it's over."

					- Michael Franks, "When It's Over"
					  from the "Indispensable" album



	Tsubasa looked sullen.  He couldn't afford to start a conversation 
with Ukyo, after that night in the park.  But, she was the only 
connection he had to that girl.  Of course, they were siblings.  That 
answered both questions:  having seen the trouble Hiroshi gets in with 
some the other guys in general, and with Ukyo in particular, was enough 
of a warning.  He shot baleful, yet quick glances at her.
	Ukyo looked sullen.  She wasn't sure of how she could apologize to 
Tsubasa.  She'd thought of telling him the truth, but it would give her 
nothing but false hopes.  She... she wasn't a girl.  She was going to 
live as a guy even if it means...  (No!  She shook herself.)  It wasn't 
going to work out.  She shot baleful, yet quick glances at him.
	Haruka was able to watch the play between the two, and thought, 
what the hell happened?

	"Hundred... twenty-six."
	"Oh... okay.  Close enough."
	Shun tagged along with Tsubasa, who fell back from Daisuke and 
Hiroshi.  "Say, Tsubasa.  Haven't seen you guys jamming lately."
	"Oh," Tsubasa covered his distracted air.  "With the exams coming, 
and all...  But there's a big post-exam party on next Saturday at the 
Ukyo's."  He wondered where he picked up "the Ukyo's".
	"And besides," Hiroshi added, "Ukyo and Haruka are off having their 
biweekly."
	"And you," Daisuke observed, "are too eager to go home."
	"Very observant, Watson," Shun intoned.  "Logical deduction would 
point to..."
	"... him having bought a new game," Tsubasa concluded.
	Shun looked surprised.  "How'd you guess that?"
	"He showed it to me during Asian Myth."
	"A new game?"  Daisuke seemed mildly interested.
	"It's... a fighting game."  Hiroshi sounded like he was casting 
off.
	They bit.  "Aren't you sick and tired of those types of games?"  
Daisuke was mildly irritated.
	"Yeah, they're so hack-and-slash.  And once you've seen one, you've 
seen'em all."
	"Not so," Tsubasa said amiably.
	"What's it, then?"  Daisuke ticked off names on his fingers.  
"Super Mario 5?  Sailor Versus Turbo?  Sonic Tournament?  Dragon Ball 
Renaissance?"
	"Nope."  Hiroshi was ready to reel them in.  "New one."  He 
scrounged for the CD.
	"New name?"  Shun came up with names pretty quickly.  "Clone Clonk?  
Martial Mayhem?  Sexy Chocolate?  (say, that would be a cool band name)  
Fantastic Fistfight?  Virtua Insanity?"
	"Here," Hiroshi shoved the CD into their hands.
	The cover was simple:  it was black, and in white block letters, it 
said "Strip Fighter".
	"Well," Shun said, "what're we waiting for?"
	They left post-haste.

	The soccer varsity held its practices once a month, just one less 
than the volleyball varsity.  The sheer number of members made sure that 
there were more than enough substitutes for the main school team.
	In fact, it made for more than enough substitutes for two teams, 
when practices did occur.  So, the overall time that the regular soccer 
player had monthly was just roughly forty-five minutes;  half a game.
	It is easy to see why there are many members.
	But this narration digresses.

	"Nothing, eh?"
	"Worse than nothing."
	"How's that?"
	"Not only is he still after me, but he thinks that I'm my brother."
	"Rumors have ways of skewing things up.  So, does that mean that 
you don't want him?"
	"I don't want him to get hurt.  There's no way of working it out, 
anyway."
	"When there's a will, there's a... dead guy.  You still haven't 
answered my question."
	A significant pause.
	"Uhhh boy."  She slapped her forehead.

	"This cola is weird," Shun commented, "blue doesn't do so well."
	"This is definitely better than that other game," Hiroshi 
commented, not necessarily on the same.
	"The one with the girl in armor, eh?"
	"She could be in a miniskirt..."
	"... or in a bikini..."  Shun added.
	"... or you could change the color of her underwear," Hiroshi 
topped.  "Seen it, too, eh?"
	"Of course," Tsubasa countered, "you showed it to us."
	"Not you, foo'."  He pointed to the blonde on the left.  "That's 
her."
	"Gee," Tsubasa said innocently.  "I couldn't really tell with all 
those clothes off."
	"I don't have that problem," Daisuke deadpanned.
	"And that longhaired one?"  He pointed to the other girl.
	Daisuke paused the game.  He took two fishcakes, and trimmed the 
edges off.  Dunking them into Shun's cola (prompting the latter to test 
whether or not the taste was actually better), he placed them lightly on 
the screen.
	"Oh.  Didn't recognize her without the buns." 
	"I did," Hiroshi muttered;  he HAD seen the movie.  Shun discarded 
his drink, deeming it hopeless.

	"You guys are studying already?"
	"Yes, we are," Haruka said as flatly as she could.
	"But you can't!"  Hiroshi was immediately silenced by the denizens 
of the library.
	"Yes, we can," said Ukyo, picking up a voluminous tome.  
"Apparently, our Mr. Mask likes giving reeeeeally hard tests."
	"O, now, does 'ee?"  Tsubasa brogued.  "Aye, t'would be t'captain.  
'Warp speed,' 'ee sez.  'More power,' 'ee sez."
	"Fine, then.  Go ahead.  We're staying here."  Haruka didn't give 
them any mind.
	"Uh..."
	Shun, too?  "Yeah, Shun?"  Hiroshi wondered.
	"That reminds me... I've got to run an errand for my mom."  He 
pulled away.  "See ya!"
	"God, this is depressing."  Daisuke removed his spectacles, and put 
them in their sleeve.
	"That's okay," Tsubasa was rubbing his hands together in a manner 
that said mastermind, megalomania, and scheme all at the same time.  
"I've got something for the next gig."
	"Is it...?"  Daisuke paused.
	"... a new...?"  Hiroshi paused.
	"... gimmick?"  they said at the same time.

	"Okay, what's the gimmick?"
	The three of them stood beneath a tree.  Ukyo just frowned.  "I 
don't know if we should really do this."
	"Don't worry," Haruka assured her.  Her boyish look, combined with 
the school uniform, clashed with the way she possessively took Shun's arm 
in hers.  "I assure that it will keep him off your tail."  She pulled 
playfully on the arm.  "Isn't that right, Shun-honey?"
	"I wish you wouldn't call me that..."  Shun muttered, blushing.
	"Oh, okay."  Haruka rolled her eyes, in mock protest.  Then she 
stuck a tongue out at him.  "Shun-chan."
	Ukyo coughed politely.  Haruka tossed her winningest smile at her.  
"So... we'll do it this Saturday.  After the shop closes."
	"I... I'm not sure it'll work.  He's pretty determined."
	"Honey," Haruka said, "I'm the best at what I do.  I'm so good, 
it's magic."

	It was regular practice for players on the field to switch 
positions.  After all, the fullbacks and the halfbacks almost did the 
same things, and the sweepers almost didn't do anything.  On a field of 
twenty-odd people, there were only really just two that needed to be on 
the alert, and they took shifts.
	However, in the junior high school that Seito Sentai started in, 
there was more of a strategy to the haphazard plays that usually occurred 
on a rough-and-tumble sport.  There was a detail to precision that edged 
on nit-picking.
	Roughly, the division of labor followed:  the fastest, most 
controlled ball-handlers were suited to be fullbacks.  The bigger, 
stronger force was set to be in the halfback position, to make sure that 
the ball was closer to the other end.  The sweepers would of course be 
the most agile of them.
	But anyone who's watched all the Stallone films would know that, 
even if Pele were in the movie, he'd never be the star.  That privilege 
is part and parcel of being the goalie.
	But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?

	"Jazz?"  Hiroshi sounded incredulous.  "I don't think it was meant 
to be done on a rock set."
	"All we need is a keyboard, and some samples.  Come on!"  Daisuke 
was raving, which was kind of rare for him.  "You're the one who said 
that we should be 'exploring our music'."  There was no patronizing tone.
	"A mix, yes!  Totally shifting genre is out of the question."  
Hiroshi was very adamant.
	Tsubasa turned speculative.  "Your uncle put you up to this, didn't 
he?"  He pointed to the CD Daisuke wasn't waving around.  "He's gotten 
mellow ever since his apartment manager got married."
	"I... Now what has my..."  Daisuke remembered that his summer was 
buffeted first with strings classical interpretations, subtly but surely 
replaced by contemporary piano, guitar and mustached artists.  God knew 
that he was a lover of the "barbaric tunes", but this was out of 
proportion.  "You know...," he said after calming down, "I think you're 
right."
	"It's okay."  Tsubasa put a hand on the bassist's shoulder.  "It's 
actually a pretty neat idea."  He spoke louder, placing Hiroshi back into 
the discussion loop.  "Do we know anybody who knows how to play 
keyboards?"
	"I do..."  Daisuke stopped, then shook his head.  "Nope, he can't.  
He and his brothers are making their own band."
	"Wow," Tsubasa mouthed.  "That would be cool.  Bet they're taking 
their schooling by mail."
	"Hey," Hiroshi remembered, "isn't that...?"
	"Yup," Daisuke nodnodded.  "The one you thought was a girl."
	"Not news," Tsubasa shrugged.  "And the only other people in the 
club that don't do rock do DJ work..."
	"Well, what's the gimmick?"  All this suspence was getting to them.
	"Watch," Tsubasa opened the door to the studio, "and learn."

	"Why doesn't this stupid thing work?"  He held the trinket of doubt 
into the fading sunlight.
	"When I try it in class, it doesn't work.  When I show it to my 
girlfriend, it doesn't work.  When I try it after a glass of milk before 
I go to sleep, I pass out, and have this weird dream."
	In the red-tinted, darkening horizon, the figure focussed the 
"party ornament" in the air.  "I'm going to find out how this thing 
works," he started placing the mask to his face, then back into the air, 
"even if I have to keep doing this 'til..."
	Night fell.  He then turned into a colored air-system that wouldn't 
have done Bono proud.

	The next day, Tsubasa and company noted that their Asian Mythology 
teacher came in on time, as usual, but his eyes had acquired a dog-eyed, 
reddish cant.  They made sure to keep on his good side, at least for that 
day.

	Saturday, of course, in the Latin languages, is named after Saturn, 
and is the only day named after a Roman god(dess).  In Japanese, the day 
that coincides with Saturday is called doyobi.  "-yobi" signifies that 
the word means a day of the week.  The "do" part the word, which 
differentiates the word from the other days of the week, is written in 
kanji with the character for earth, or soil.  Very humble, comparing it 
to the sun, the moon, fire, water, trees, and gold, which represent the 
rest of the days.
	Nonetheless, despite it being the most down-to-earth of days, it's 
the one, at the end of which, the most celebration occurs, especially for 
school children.  (Mr. Mask would probably take this as a sign that a new 
sect of Saturn-worshippers was evolving, but that would be Mr. Mask.  
And, again, he would be out of his league.)  This is because Japan has 
the longest school year:  six days a week.
	One tries to put in as much as one can get.

	"You're on in a few minutes.  Where is Tsubasa?"
	Hiroshi was filing a nail.  "He'll be along."
	Shun came in from the outside.  "Why are they putting a table on 
the stage?  And a trash can, too."
	Daisuke hummed a bit.
	Haruka entered as well.  She eyed the two musicians and rolled her 
eyes.  She mouthed "wait" to Ukyo, who looked no less annoyed.
	Hiroshi glanced at the wristwatch, and counted from five.  Daisuke 
did the same.  Two brothers-in-band in the audience did the same.
	Go... yon... sen... ni... ichi...
	Simultaneously, the four of them got to their feet, and raced onto 
the stage.
	The table was slightly to the left of the drum set, and there was a 
standard hard-plastic trashcan sitting just to the right of the seat 
behind the drums.  Daisuke picked up his bass, and took a microphone.  
Hiroshi, on the other hand, discarded the guitar on the side opposite 
Daisuke, and sat behind the drums.
	The other two went behind the table and waited.
	Daisuke tap-tapped the head.  "Uh... we're Seito Sentai, and..."  
He scratched his head.  "... we're experiencing some difficulties... so, 
uh, please... bear with us."
	He put the microphone on the front of the stage.  Daisuke started a 
low beat, and Hiroshi entered into it.  Soon after, anyone familiar with 
the series would notice that they were actually playing a modified 
version of the "Mission: Impossible" theme.
	At the time that Hiroshi had finished on a very heavy riff, a small 
fireworks display under the onstage table prompted a backlight to 
illuminate the two other people.
	There were two turntables, and a microphone.  They started playing 
a peppy tune.  Hiroshi and Daisuke changed their riffs appropriately.
	At the end of another heavy riff, another pyrotechnic barrage 
happened, this time under the trash can;  the trashcan jumped into the 
air, suddenly sprouting legs.
	It landed at the front of the stage, surprising most of the more 
attentive patrons.  Sprouting arms, the hands flipped the top of the 
outfit off, revealing the (now expected) missing third member.
	Tsubasa picked up the microphone, still donning the pink dress, and 
began to sing in a very female voice:  "I just need to go out on a 
Sunday..."
	Haruka and Shun were trying to revive an asphyxiated Ukyo, who 
fainted.
	Strutting along the stage like only a garbage can can, Tsubasa 
continued:  "... sun is high, sky is blue;  it's a date day..."
	Shun was trying to send her air using a towel, and Haruka looked 
back at the band gone bonkers.  "This'll be harder than I thought."
	"Not gonna say it, can't make me say it;  no, not gonna let you 
have your way...."

	"I never knew you could dance sooooo well, Wings.  You're wasted on 
the drums, man."
	Tsubasa had a black cloud looming over him.  "I'll never, ever, 
ever do that..."  His line of thought was broken by a hand clamping over 
his mouth, pulling him into the shadows.  A door closed, covering the 
loss.
	Daisuke turned around, gyrating his pelvis in a provocative manner.  
"If you want my boooooooody... and you think I'm seeeeeeeeeeexy..."  He 
noticed that the last patrons had seen him, and that his companion had 
not.
	He stopped, then walked out the door, gyrating all the way.

	It was dark in that corner.  This was mainly because a) it was 
already early evening, and b) the light was off in the storeroom.  He 
knew that he was in the storeroom because the smell of yolk was obvious.  
The figure pushed him to the wall where the light switch was;  they often 
dressed up here.  He had the wind slightly knocked out of him.  He was, 
in more ways than one, walking on eggshells.
	"Tsubasa...?"
	It was her.  Gods, she was strong.  Why did her voice sound so... 
distant?  As if it was a foot off to his left, instead of in front of 
him.  Must have been slamming the wall.
	"Tsubasa, I'm sorry, but I had to find you.  To talk to you."
	He squirmed, tried to say something, but to no avail.
	"No, listen."  She sounded calm, yet desperate.  "I can't see you 
anymore.  I can't see anyone anymore."
	Tsubasa wondered, why the melodrama?  I'm sure I could make sense 
of this... if I could talk... or I could look her in the eye...  He 
reached for the switch just above his head, to the left.
	Someone noticed.
	As Tsubasa was able to touch the switch, the light went on.
	Several things happened at once:  the person holding him ran out of 
the room, long brown hair billowing, sobbing slightly;  Ukyo was standing 
just inside the door, which had opened;  Tsubasa was able to breathe.
	Soon as he could catch that breath, though, he was on the way out.  
This was hampered by the fact that Ukyo had closed the door.

	Shun ran quickly into Ukyo's room.
	"How did it go?"  Haruka was helping him with the wig.
	"Don'know.  It's all up to her now."  He gestured towards the 
storeroom.

	"Stop her, dammit!"  Tsubasa wasn't really sure that this was a 
good thing, so he stuck to the indignation over the unmitigated gall that 
stood before him.  "Help her!  She's hurting!"
	To his utter shock, Ukyo just broke down in front of him, her face 
in her hands.  Oh, man.  "I'm sorry!"
	Ukyo couldn't stop herself;  she hugged Tsubasa as hard as she 
could.  Awkwardly, Tsubasa patted her shoulder.  "I'm sorry," he said, 
again.
	The hug lasted for a few minutes.  Tsubasa soon gave up patting 
her, and tried, softly at first, then forcibly, to extract himself from 
the embrace.
	"I... I'm sorry."  It was Ukyo's turn.  "I-it's just..."
	"Look..."  Tsubasa was now sure that he stumbled on something that 
he shouldn't have.
	"No... no.  I..."  She looked undecided for a while, then 
straightened.  "I've... got something to tell you."

	It might be of interest to note that there were no more eggs broken 
after that little incident.

	"Hey, Haruka!"
	"Yeah?"
	"You or Shun seen Tsubasa?"
	"Said something about an errand, or some else."
	"Oh, well.  'Suppose, he'll just pick up his uniform from Ukyo."
	"'Suppose," they conceded.

	"I... my sister..."
	When nothing came, he asked, "yes?"
	"... she... she had a... guy..."
	He wasn't sure he understood.  "A... a guy... friend?"
	"... a boyfriend.  They were childhood friends."  She began to 
fidget, pacing slightly.
	Oh.  "And... he..."
	She stopped.  "... left her.  I... she was heartbroken.  So was I."
	"How... how old was she?"
	"Six.  I was six."
	"It must've been awful... she still hurts, even now."
	She turned dark.  "And that's why I promised that she'd never get 
hurt, ever again."
	He stared at her, noting the grim nature of her posture.  "I 
understand."
	She looked him in the eye, steely-brown.  "I hoped you would."  She 
turned to the door, then looked at him.  "Do us all a favor."  And with 
that, she left the drummer on the broken shells of unborn dreams.

	Sunday morning.
	"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Shun.
	"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Haruka, in his ear.
	"'Mornin'," murmured Shun back.
	"'Mornin'," Haruka replied.
	"What do we have planned for today, eh?"  Shun seemed not to know.
	"The usual.  Breakfast?"
	"Don't mind if I do.  What're you having?"
	A pause.  "Eggs.  Scrambled."
	Shun wrinkled his nose.  "I'm allergic to eggs.  I'm having some 
fish and vegetables."
	"A heavy breakfast."
	"I'm a growing boy."
	She had a smile in her voice.  "So you are."
	"Oh, well.  See you later."
	"See you later."  They waited for the other to cut the connection 
first, and ended up doing it at the same time.

	Sunday morning.
	"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Ukyo.
	"Unnnnggghhh..." moaned Ukyo, again, this time rubbing her head.  
She opened her bleary eyes, and wondered when she had slept.  Probably 
right after she had stopped hiccuping.
	She tried to turn, but found that she had placed her weight on an 
arm which held quite a few hairs in place.  "Owwwwww..."
	Maybe she wouldn't open shop today.  She needed the break, since 
there were tests coming up.
	She rolled over again, this time not planning to roll over again 
until spring passed by:  it was going to a cold day.

	Sunday midmorning.
	Tsubasa rolled over, and opened his eyes.  He had so much to do for 
the day.  He got up, and got some grub.

	Sunday.
	*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
	Hmmm....  Alarm.  Is it Monday already...?
	*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
	Monday?  No... no alarm clock.  Riiiigghhht.
	*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
	What's ringing?  Ohhhh... hobble, hobble.
	*KRRRIIIINGGG!*
	*k-clik*
	"'llo."  Mumble, grumble.
	"Hello?  Ukyo?"  Girl voice.
	"'Yubasa?  My sissster'z not 'ere.  Go'way."
	"Ukyo?  It's Haruka."
	"'A-ruka?"
	"Wake up, girlfriend.  Sounds like you didn't sleep last night."
	"Aa'full.  Hiccup."
	"All night?"
	"All night."
	A sympathetic sound.  "Looks like you're not gonna open shop 
today."
	"Ugh."
	"Look.  Go ahead, rest up.  We've got tests tomorrow, y'know."
	"I knooow.  Then'kewt."
	"You're welcome.  Good night."

	"Why did I call her again?"  Haruka seemed at a loss.  "I knew it 
was important at the time."  She shrugged.  "I'll just call her later."

	"Tsubasa!"  Mrs. Kurenai called.
	"Yeah, mom?"  The teen was on the way down.
	"You forgot your uniform at the disco."
	"It's not a disco, mom.  It's a restaurant.  Didn't I go home in a 
uniform yesterday?"
	"Whatever.  It's not in the wash."
	"Oh... darn."  He went out the door.

	"I know," Ukyo informed no one.  "I'll go get a bath.  A long, hot 
soak at the public baths.  500 yen for three or four hours.  Not bad.  
Maybe I should put up one of my own, someday."  She chuckled, fetching 
the toiletries.

	Had Tsubasa's house been further (or, in fact, closer) than it was 
from the apartment, things would have worked out much differently.  
Unfortunately, it had unraveled, much like a poorly hashed plot, as 
follows:

	"Hello?"  Tsubasa knocked on the front door.  He was decked in a 
cool white shirt, and jeans.
	He opened the door, which wasn't locked.  Which was kind of weird 
in any sense.  He entered.
	Truth to be told, he wanted to see her again.  But that was the 
extent of what he wanted.  So he was going to find out where she slept, 
probably catch a glimpse of her beautifully shaped body... the hips he 
held to tightly... *slap!*... the swell of her... *slap!*... maybe grab a 
souvenir or two... *BONK!*
	He had been enjoying that new game that Hiroshi had WAY too much.

	I left the door open?!  Maybe I should write down my recipes and 
leave them out in the open as well.
	I can't believe I'd be so scatterbrained.

	He went past the storeroom.  Through the uncluttered floor, he 
ducked into the bathroom.  He felt silly enough to check into the closets 
to see if there were false walls.
	Now wasn't that strange.  A bedroom (which he knew to be Ukyo's), a 
bathroom, then the restaurant proper.  They sleep together?  Maybe the 
wall moves when you close the closet door...

	Ukyo went back into her room.  Old habits die hard, she supposed, 
removing her ribbon.  It would've been okay to go out in her normal boys' 
clothes, but she wanted a comfortable change of clothes.  She took two 
strides toward the closet, and pulled the handle.

	The following events should come as no surprise.

	She opened the closet door, and gasped.
	"Tsubasa's uniform!"  She took the offending garment, and threw it 
askew on the bed.  (One can only wonder as to how she had that leap of 
intuition though.)  She took a white jogging outfit out, and put it on 
the uniform.  She closed the door half-heartedly.
	A box which said "this side up" upside down sighed.  Then it 
deposited a rather harried looking classmate of hers.
	Meanwhile, Ukyo was already on the way of dressing up.  Make that 
dressing down.  She took off the wraparound she slept in (how could she 
have forgotten that?), revealing the bandages she wore.
	This was exactly what Tsubasa saw.
	For all you anime lovers out there, let's just say that the 
interest Tsubasa had for Ukyo's bandages were merely curiosity, like the 
interest one would have seeing, as an example, Shinnosuke's bandages.
	In fact, had Shinnosuke just removed his jacket with his back 
turned (as had Ukyo) toward Tsubasa, he would have been just as 
interested.  Body markings had a lot to tell about a person.
	It is just unfortunate that Ukyo unraveled body markings closely 
resembled breasts, even from the back.  (For the record, this exposure of 
breasts did not, in any way, increase her height.)
	What amounted to a situation was when Tsubasa gasped.

	Tsubasa gasped.
	Ukyo turned, not quite covering her breasts.
	Tsubasa stared, started, backed up, hit a wall, and generally made 
a bigger noise.
	Ukyo then thought to heft that almighty spatula, to dole out 
righteous wrath.  She opened the closet door.
	Nothing.
	She turned back.
	A box moved.
	Faster than you would think, the BIG spatula found itself 
compacting several boxes into a corner.
	Nothing moved.
	Satisfied, she turned and closed the door.
	Tsubasa had his first lesson in camouflage.
	"Oy, what a harsh mistress," he whispered.



		"Although we've come to the end of the road, still I 
	can't let go.  It's unnatural.  You belong to me, I belong 
	to you, girl."

					- Boyz II Men, "End of the Road"
					  from the OST of "Boomerang" 



	Now what?
	The sun beat lightly upon the grass.
	If I tell anyone about it, they'd either:
		a) think I've lost it;
		b) believe me, and she'd be forced to leave.
		   It'll be likely that she'd hate me for it.
	"Uhm..."
	I'll never see her again.  Hmm...
	A low rumbling noise edged into audible periphery.
	"Uhmm... captain..."
	Can't risk it.
	"Captain..."
	Can't do nothing, either.
	"Captain Tsubasa..."
	What to do?
	"CAPTAIN TSUBASA!"
	"What?!"  He straightened, looking at one of the sweepers.
	"Incoming!"  He pointed to the mass of players coming toward them.
	An idea hit him like a soccer ball to the face.
	The world suddenly felt like the inside of a goal box.
	"Great save!"  The rumbling sounds faded away.
	Tsubasa raised an arm, gave a thumbs-up, then fainted.

	Hiroshi and Daisuke stood almost a whole court away, standing near 
the goalposts of the other team.
	"What happened to Wings?"  Daisuke concerned himself.
	"I don't know.  What I do know is that you haven't answered the 
question."
	"Zardos was Steve's uncle.  Dr. Armstrong was Bozanian."  He shaded 
his eyes, and peered.  "He's okay."  He pointed the receding figure.
	"Darn."  Hiroshi ground a foot, searching for another question to 
pass the time.

	"How many fingers am I holding up?"
	"Do antennae count, sir?"
	"He's okay.  Just overacting."  He presented a hand and pulled.
	"Okay, girly boy, I suppose you're just not cut out to be the star 
of the show."
	"I suppose," he commented, jogging into the field.
	"Who to pick as goalkeeper?"  The coach seemed indecisive.
	"Goal... keeper?"  Tsubasa jogged back.
	"Coach... this goalkeeping business... the goal's to have them not 
shoot into the goal, right?"
	"Yes.  Are you sure you're okay?"
	"Fine, fine.  One more swing at it, sir."  He jogged back to the 
goalie position.

	Konatsu was feeling frisky.
	He was sort of frisky for a while now, and this was only a day 
longer for the mood swing.  Mood swings came very rarely to him, and he 
was making sure that he was going to make good of it.
	He was an artiste.
	Of course, in the start of this frisky mood, he left "the Big 
Mouth" almost three years ago.
	Mood swing, indeed.
	Right now, he was running across the soccer field.  He was kicking 
a ball in front of him.
	He was smiling.  Not grinning, smiling;  he was feeling frisky.
	Also, the way there was unhampered by the annoyance of competent 
players.  They were mostly on his team, so it wasn't going to be a 
problem.
	The goal was right in front of him.  Now it was time to put on a 
few fancy foot moves... what?
	The goalie was missing.  The guy who took his band from him wasn't 
there.
	It would have been fun to see the look on his face as the ball 
zooms past his face... he'll just have to settle on seeing him rush in, 
too, too late.  He gave a ferocious kick, straight for the center of the 
net.
	It would only be natural for fate to snub the frisky artists of the 
world.
	The goal moved.  The ball flew through air straight into the 
outdoor basketball court.
	The whistle sounded, and he sat, pulling at the grass frustratedly.

	Slightly after Tsubasa was briefed that he couldn't become the goal 
(or, at least, could not dress up as the goal), he quickly turned to 
being a halfback.
	This is not to say that things got less dramatic.

	"Charge!"
	He zoomed past the half into the defensive positions of the 
opposing team.
	Daisuke and Hiroshi saw it, the large billowing mass of limbs and 
smoke and ball, and tensed.
	Tsubasa was a man possessed, and that was only because he had a 
goal, and he was going at it (not necessarily using the shortest means) 
but the one which he could take without waiting for opportunity to 
present itself.
	He barreled through his counterparts, trailing a zigzaggy path 
towards his bandmates.
	As soon as they could come within range, Daisuke pounced, entering 
the fray.  Hiroshi said, "Hey...!"  without making much of an impression.  
Turning to the goalie, he saw the intent pose he had, hoping that the 
ball wouldn't come their way.  But come their way it did.
	Hiroshi wasn't as into this thing as Daisuke did, but he was 
suddenly the only thing left of a defensive strategy.  He did the only 
thing he could.
	He ran headlong into the mob.  His shoe came undone.  He tripped.
	He slid headlong into the mob.
	Of course, the head of this mob was Tsubasa, who, as far as he was 
concerned, was only fighting feet.  When his shin came in contact with 
Hiroshi's rib, it spun his incredibly adaptive and well-balanced 
receptive machine off-kilter.
	They fell into a rather large and unceremoniously piled group.  The 
ball rolled forward, rapidly losing momentum.
	The goalie, who stared blankly into hell itself, didn't even notice 
the ball continue under his legs, and stop just behind him.

	Tsubasa had his a hand each on a shoulder.
	"Oof.  You're heavy, y'know that?"
	He couldn't speak.  He was wondering how Hiroshi could;  he was the 
one who got kicked in the gut.
	Then again, he was Hiroshi.
	"Now, we have problems, don't we?"  Daisuke said softly.
	They stared at him;  Tsubasa had to heft his shoulder, and look 
under it.
	Daisuke puckered his lips and used them to point.
	The bandaged foot stayed bandaged.
	"Oh... yeah."  Tsubasa just looked sullen.
	"Oh, yeah, what?"
	"Can't play drums."
	"Well..."  Hiroshi didn't at all sound vindictive.  "We CAN teach 
you bass..."

	On Tuesday afternoon, there was a small squall.  Ukyo had closed up 
shop for the week, so that she could "study", but even the excuse of 
getting to the library to eye the innards of some tome.
	She was worried.  Tsubasa hadn't talked to her in since the week 
started, and she thought that he might have even been avoiding her.  Then 
again, if she was REALLY being paranoid, she would have suspected that he 
knew.
	Ridiculous.
	Someone came in through the door, though she hadn't expected 
anyone.  "Hello...?"
	The blonde (who had unusually frizzled hair, which clashed with her 
deeper complexion) blue-eyed her, focussing as though recognizing her.  
They immediately defocused.  "Not her."  She shook her head.
	"Yes?"
	"Uh... I saw that, uh, you were selling, um, okonomiyaki, and I, 
uh, was, um, sort of hungry, and...?"
	"I'm sorry, but we're closed."
	"Yes, I SAW the sign which... I'm not THAT off... but I was KIND of 
hoping that..."
	"Yes, but we're closed for today."
	She grabbed her by the shoulders and before Ukyo could throttle 
her, she plead with watery eyes, "PLEASE!!"
	The ended up talking about the girl that this other girl was 
looking for, over three cooking okonomiyaki.
	"Sounds like a pretty sad story," Ukyo nodded.
	"But, we're really such good partners!"  The girl n.nned.
	"I meant the other girl..." she muttered.
	Ukyo quickly bagged the servings and gently (yet surely) pushed her 
out.
	"So sorry to have bothered you!"  she left cheerily.
	"Whew," sighed Ukyo, completely missing two thieves come away with 
her delectables from a totally unprepared and bumbling lady.  Maybe my 
life's not THAT depressing, after all.

	Of course, there was the test in Asian Myth.
	"What the hell?!?"
	It was twenty pages long.
	The top of the first page had this on it:
		Name:				Section:
		Character Name:		Gender:	Race:
		Character Class (Fighter/Cleric/Mage/Thief):
		Age:		Weight:	Height:
		Hair Color:			Eye Color:
		Coins:  	PP:	GP:	EP:	SP:	CP:
		Items:
	While the rest of the class were scratching their heads, and 
generally vowing swift vengeance on the teacher, Hiroshi (who had had his 
share of RPGs - and all related adaptations) was writing "Luna (32-22-
32)" and chuckling insanely into his Chinese collar.

	When Ukyo came back into the shop, to make the preparations for the 
big party that afternoon, she was taken aback when she found that the 
whole drum set had disappeared.  More than worried, she was curious as to 
why anyone who would have hit upon the heaviest thing in the shop.  (Just 
in case, she checked the cash;  it was still there.)
	In any case, that was the music club's loss:  they were the ones 
who had the only other set of keys, and that was because they asked for 
them, in order to set up for the aforementioned party.
	It might, she later realized, cause problems, though.  After all, 
the basic rock groups would have your basic dilemmas, and basically, the 
party would be called off.
	Too bad.  She had been looking forward to the party.  (Despite her 
current predilection against parties.)
	She also noticed that nobody was there.
	She was in the middle of fixing up when the parade came in.
	At first, some of the members of the music club came in, bearing 
weird metal rods.  These they put on the stage.
	Later, several drums and cymbals came in, and began adding 
themselves to the ensemble on stage.
	Finally, a triangle, a tambourine and a snare drum rounded out the 
monstrous looking drum set, which occupied the whole of centerstage.  
Having done that, they returned a familiar table and several additional 
amplifiers to the sides of the stage.  They also started moving back 
tables which were closest to the area, which started to resemble an 
Ellison dystopia.
	Ukyo was getting nervous to a degree.  When she had come within 
striking distance (with that omnipresent spatula, no less), the usual 
suspects came to intercede.
	"All those wires... look dangerous..."
	"Not to worry," Hiroshi sounded off, "have we done anything to harm 
you?"
	"I... I mean... wouldn't it be a bit... too loud?"
	"Nope."  Daisuke looked sincere.  "This is Tsubasa's drum set.  
Have you heard anything bad from Tsubasa's neighbors?  I think not."

	Not that they would bother to explain that Tsubasa hasn't had 
neighbors for the past year and a half.  As an additional side note, 
those who had been living in the neighborhood of the "Ukyo's" soon found 
themselves in the mood to travel, on a permanent basis.  Unluckily, most 
of them went to live in the quieter districts of Tokyo, like Nerima.
	That is to say, when luck is down, it stays down.

	Mrs. and Mr. Kurenai.
	"Tsubasa?"
	"Party."
	"Dinner?"
	"Nope."
	...
	"Did you know that it's been at least a decade since we did 
something strange together?"
	"Surely, you're not..."
	"I am."
	A glance passed.
	"Let's go."

	Loki, god of mischief, had his power in the night!  That was the 
missing link!
	Exams unnoticed, he packed the proof he needed, and rushed over, 
too overwhelmed to wear the thing before showing it to anyone.  And was 
he sure where to show it...?  But, of course... where all the kids were 
at.

	The Ukyo's was packed.
	"There's a fruitcake in everybody..."
	Most of the people, though, didn't have seats.
	"There's a fruitcake in everyone..."
	That was okay, though.
	"There are B-sides to every story..."
	They couldn't take it sitting down anyhow.
	"And the story has just begun..."

	"When are you guys coming up?"  Haruka wanted to know.
	"Later..." Hiroshi shooed, trying to concentrate on the women 
closest to him that were swaying oh-so-well.
	"... hopefully, Tsubasa would be there," Daisuke replied, glancing 
at the door.

	"... augh!"  an anguished drummer commented.  He was racing, 
thereby excusing himself for his lack of eloquence.
	Unfortunately, there wasn't enough distance between him and...
	"Kurenai!  Halt!"
	Damn those schoolboy reflexes.  He almost ended up falling on his 
face.
	"Professor."  He looked over his shoulder, and hoped not to find 
who he did.
	The instructor from Hell pulled up to pace him and said glowingly, 
"you going to the big post-exam party, eh?"  He wagged the mask he had 
meaningfully.  "Pace me."
	Tsubasa wondered how much worse this day could end up.  He kept the 
piece of paper he held in a pocket and paced.

	"Oh, yeah."
	They both stretched.
	"Unnnnnnggggghhhhh..."
	They started swaying to the beat.
	"Faster, faster, baby..."
	"Uh!  Uh!  Uhhhhhh!"
	People started moving away from them, slightly disgusted.
	"And... yeeeeeeEEAAAAAH!"
	They separated.
	In the middle of a now vacated circle, Mr. Kurenai stood in a John 
Travolta-ish position, with Mrs. Kurenai leaning back on her heels, 
hanging only by the man's arm in her hand.
	"God, I love disco."

	On one of the further tables, Hiroshi and company held their noses.
	"Boy, I am glad that Wings wasn't here to see that," Daisuke 
muttered.
	They nodded.

	"It's gonna blow... volcano!"
	*BOOM!*
	"Whoa... kewl effects.  Two strings... three strings... no strings.  
The lead guitarist even shaved his head.  Very... groovy."
	Shun stared at the hole in the ceiling made by the speaker-volcano.  
"Hope it doesn't rain."
	Daisuke worriedly looked at his watch.
	"... supersonic, plate tectonics, stereophonic..."
	Haruka leaned back and folded her arms over her (not-so-obvious) 
chest.  "Not fooling us."
	"Excuse me?"
	"I said your not fooling us.  This has got to be some sort of other 
gimmick of yours."
	Hiroshi (who had lightly dozed) came in. "Wha-?"
	"Where's he going to come from?  Behind the grill?  Inside that 
monster?"  She pointed at the prop that the band playing was using.  
"Maybe through that hole?"  She pointed at the new skylight.
	"Nope.  No gimmicks.  No cross-dressing, even.  Maybe the hole;  
that would be good."  He leaned across the table towards her.  "Would you 
mind it, if in the middle of a song?"  He indicated the ceiling.
	"Fine.  Don't tell me."  She looked unimpressed.
	"It's gonna blow..."
	The door blew in, showering some of the people closer there with a 
fine layer of sawdust.  A body could be seen flying through.
	Tsubasa picked himself up, brushing wood motes from a sweater and 
loose pants, then rushed towards his two bandmates, pushing them to a 
side.  Insane cackling could be heard if anyone bothered to strain.
	"Now that," Haruka admitted, "I didn't see coming."
	"VOLCANO!"

	"What!?"
	Seito Sentai found itself in its first make-or-break dilemma.
	"'Let's trash the whole medley'?"  Hiroshi mimicked as acidly as he 
could.  He picked the songs after all.
	"Look."  He tried to stay rational about this.  Then, he remembered 
where he stuck the piece of paper.  "Here," he said, unfolding it.
	Daisuke skimmed over the chord patterns being presented.  "Hmm... 
interesting..."  He skipped to the next.  "Hm.  Athletic."  Then:  "Ugh.  
Tunnel Carpal Syndrome."
	Hiroshi looked at the sketch for the drums.  "What's this part 
which says 'Whatever you want'?"
	Tsubasa looked up from the parts he was revising for lead.  "What 
it says.  Whatever you want."
	"Hmm... your bit doesn't seem too hard."  Then Daisuke saw what 
Tsubasa put near the end.  "'Chicken strangling'?"
	"On a sprained ankle?"  Hiroshi wondered.
	"Yes, on a sprained ankle."
	"Oy.  Let's do it."

	"And, finally, that band we all know:  Seito Sentai!"
	Some applause.
	Hobbling gingerly to the centerstage, Tsubasa picked up a 
microphone.  Adjusting a stand, he tried to chance tuning the guitar.  
Daisuke kept an eye on him.  Hiroshi meekly hopped behind the drums.
	"Uh, hi," Tsubasa waved to the audience, shifting to girl mode 
slightly.  "I, uh, sprained my ankle, so I can't play drums."  He pointed 
to Hiroshi, who also waved.  "But he's playing, so it should be okay.  
Right, H?"
	H nodnodded.
	"And he's still doing bass, so there's nothing wrong there," he 
continued, pointing to Daisuke.  He solemnly nodded, starting a low riff.
	"And me?  Li'l ol' me?"  He started strumming the guitar.  "Ma-ry 
had a lit-tle lamb.  Lit-tle lamb, lit-tle lamb.  Ma-ry had a lit-tle 
lamb, whose fleece was white as snow."  He stopped.  Hiroshi wasn't doing 
anything, and Daisuke was still doing his low riff.
	He tried strumming a little faster.  "Mary had a little lamb whose 
fleece was white as snow.  And ev'rywhere that Mary went the lamb was 
sure to go."
	Daisuke was still doing his low riff, but he was starting to pick 
up speed.  Hiroshi looked blank.
	Tsubasa strummed even faster.  "Mary had a little lamb, whose 
fleece was white as snow.  Ev'rywhere that Mary went, the lamb was 
sure..."  He switched to a gravelly male voice.  "... to... GO!"
	An explosion of sound followed.  Hiroshi had suddenly found the 
sticks.  Shun grinned.

	What followed was a ten-minute heavy-rock all-English rendition of 
"Mary had a Little Lamb".  This narration declines to describe it, as it 
could not remember the second stanza.  Neither will it explain how the 
chicken got in.

	"Go!  Whoo!"
	"Honestly, I can't understand how you could get drunk on tea."
	"It's good tea.  Go son!  Whoo!"

	"Just ignore him," Tsubasa reminded himself.  He coughed, then 
tapped the head of the microphone.  Hiroshi slipped from of the drums, 
and brought his chair to the front.  Daisuke did the same, thus putting 
them all within a small circle at centerstage.
	"This is our last song," he said, prompting some of them to moan, 
"and we... I dedicate it to the owner of the restaurant," he gave a 
glance to see if she was there.  Alas!  She wasn't.  "... and her 
brother."
	Hiroshi started the pattern, an acoustic riff.  Daisuke joined in 
on the second repetition.  Tsubasa had the tambourine.  After two more 
stanzas, he started.

			"Back in the olden times,
			The Indians had a keen ol' rajah.
			He had some dough to burn.
			He had some gods to spurn.

			Now, him and his missus,
			(They call her rani now)
			They read that Kama Sutra...
			And they did it all the time.

			(Read, that is.)"

	For some reason, he was sweating.  Dammit, acoustic makes him 
sweat, and heavy rock doesn't.

			"Oh!  How he loved her so, though!
			He said he'd give the moon and stars.
			Oh!  How she loved him so, though!
			She said she'd ride his flashy cars.
			Happy happy snuggle-bunnies.
			Happy happy happy snuggle-bunnies."

	Maybe we should have stuck to the plan, Tsubasa thought.

			"Because he was a wise ol' ruler,
			Wizened to the nth degree.
			Gave her something, made her say:
			'Such a large erection just for me!'

			(Taj Mahal, that is.)"

	The beat started picking up as the bridge came.  He switched beats.

		"But those Hindu gods, they don't take likely
		when someone moves in on 'great, big' territory,
		they done the rajah good, make'im pay real bad,
		they turned the rani to the same gender.  Male.

		D'you know what the wizened, keen ol' rajah did?"

	Stop.  Hiroshi started strumming, the original beat.  Then, 
Daisuke, then faster.  And faster.  Tambourine.

			"CUT DOWN ON HIS E-REC-SHUN!"

	He tore through his sweater.

			"DOWN WITH HIS E-REC-SHUN!"

	He got out of his pants.  The standard was back.

			"Went out saying 'man no more!'
			Went out saying 'man no more!'
			My girl ain't a girl no more,
			Nothing would keep us apart!"

	Coda.  Starting to slow.

			"Cut down on his cholesterol.
			Cut down on that figure.
			Cut down on those girly mags.
			Cut down on his sportscars."

	Fade out.
	Everything was silent.
	Exactly the reason why everyone turned when the door creaked open.
	Mr. Mask held his namesake up in the air before his face.  "Hey, 
kids!  Liked my demonstration earlier?"
	They didn't quite understand him, but the exam a few days ago was 
not easily forgotten.  The crowd needed something they understood.
	"Fry'im!"
	He got promptly beat up, trinket quite forgotten.

	This narration apologizes for not being consistent on its stand on 
artsy stuff.  For clarity's sake, they did not beat up their instructor 
as an urge acquired from the song;  they felt like it on their own.

	Months later, the Kabuki club (founded by Shun and Haruka) held its 
first play, "The Demon of Rashomon".  Hiroshi and Daisuke lent a hand 
writing for it (though Daisuke had to stop Hiroshi from adding space 
battles for lack of funds) and, apparently, Tsubasa was more than willing 
to play a not-so-little demon.
	Celebrating the success (i. e. completion) of their work, they went 
to the Ukyo's.  This, mostly, was due to novelty.
	Ukyo excused herself, "I'll go get you guys some food, then," and 
promptly disappeared.
	Haruka muttered, "I'd swear that that girl was a ninja," which 
wasn't heard by the males.
	Shin asked the guitarists of SeSe.  "So... you guys haven't split 
up yet?"
	Hiroshi was nonchalant.  "Why would we?"
	"Um... aren't you... isn't your..."  He dawdled, then bluntly 
retorted, "you guys aren't goofed when your drummer chases guys?!"
	Daisuke asked Haruka, for everyone to hear, "aren't you 'goofed' 
when your friend likes dressing and acting like a girl?"
	Haruka turned to Shun.  "Why, no.  I think it's cute."
	Shun hid his blush by bowing his head and moaning, "you guys are 
hopeless..."
	Tsubasa chose to come in at that time.
	Shun whispered to Daisuke.  "Ixnay on the 'ombre."
	Tsubasa put a hand on Haruka's shoulder.  "That was tough make-up.  
Where'd you learn prosthetics?"
	"I started playing with cement a while back," she said blithely.
	"Look at my hair," he ran his fingers, "it used to be beautiful and 
smooth.  Now it's so rough and spiky."
	"It'll come off," Shun assured him.
	"The dye?"  Tsubasa didn't like the way silver-green clashed with 
his red dress.
	"Nope," he wryly commented, "the hair."
	Ukyo then came out, carrying some goodies..  Bad move.
	"Ukyo!"  Tsubasa glomped the newcomer.  "How do you like my new 
dress?  I'm wearing it just for you..."
	She commented with the bigger end of her spatula.
	Haruka sighed, "at least he's consistent."  The others nodded.

	And, thus, this narration begins.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------
	(Detach here)
	Tsubasa is kind of an ignored character in the manga, as well as 
the anime.  (Heck, even Azusa gets a return ep, and there were the five 
episodes on Sentaro Daimonji...)  Actually, not too many fanfics even 
include him in their cast (then again, Sentaro Daimonji doesn't have that 
many, either... wait...), much less give him enough to go on.  Nope, he's 
not actually maligned (comparing him to Daimonji twice is enough) in any 
manner, just ignored.
	As a segment of the fanfic known as Switch, I hoped to only try to 
explain (at least in context) the psyche of the man who dons girl's 
clothing, without having to leave the context.  Tough words... :P
	I really, really didn't want this to be anything even remotely 
serious (in presentation!  the story had merit, I hope), but Ukyo was 
hardly any laughing matter.  Also, this is more than seven times the 
normal length of a chapter for Switch, and most of it was crammed in nine 
weeks, and classes just started... I love writing long stories... NOT!  
(For anyone who wanted to find out where I got my name, I put in the ref 
here...)
	I can only imagine how Japanese brogue sounds.
	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.

WAIT!  WAIT!  I wanna say something!  Uh, uhmm...  YEH BAhYBeeey!  (Think 
Austin Powers!)  =P  Uhmm...  Hey groovy chick!  (Think "The Very Brady 
Movie"  !!!)  Urk...  <strangling sounds>  Okay, I'll stop now!  Yeesh, 
yAh're SO SenSITIVE!.  <-------  Don Juan should get back to his own 
writing...

Hey, Switch...  <Whispery voice...  sultry even>...  Georgia...  <gets 
bopped unconscious> <-------  Don Juan being stubborn...

	(Detach here)
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