The tall, lean figure attracted more than a few puzzled glances as he made his way through the crowded streets of Tokyo, partly due to his slightly foreign good looks but mostly because of the odd parcel strapped to his back. He'd made an effort, but the yak-hair tarpaulin just couldn't hide the shape of the object underneath. Looking around at the brightly-lit shops around him, he frowned slightly in disapproval. The Japanese were far too materialistic, valuing their worldly goods above all else. Everywhere he looked, there were havens of excess and depravity - a karaoke bar, a pachinko parlor, an all-you-can-eat poached lemur restaurant, a lingerie store... Yes. The lingerie store. A perfect example of the gross decadence that plagued what was known as modern civilization. A place where nubile, innocent young ladies could purchase filmy, lacy items - such as that black and gauzy number over there, or that red bra and panties set with strategically placed holes - to entice and seduce eager young men. They would even try on the garments within the store, slipping into a back room and sliding the soft, translucent material over their firm, supple- The store owner threw a bucket of water over him. "Get lost, ya pervert! You're getting drool all over the window!" As he continued his journey through Tokyo (now somewhat moistened), his thoughts turned to the home he left so far behind. It hadn't been his idea to travel all the way to Japan. Admittedly, nobody had *forced* him to come here, either, but when the proposition was put before him there had been a definite undertone of 'You don't have to go to Tokyo, but you can't stay here'. So be it, then. And he had to admit that, at the very least, this city wasn't boring. It was just a bit disconcerting to be surrounded by so many people, most of whom probably had no concept of the honor and nobility of- "Fighting people with furniture?" The scornful voice rose from a nearby alley. "What a stupid idea!" He stopped, and allowed himself a slight smile. Oh, good. A diversion. *** *** *** FURNITURE WARRIORS X PLUS SIGMA TURBO THALLIUM BATTLE 2002 A limited-term starter written by Brian Stricklin, a man with a catgirl fixation and no less than *two* Plush Cthulhus. (The Furniture Warriors concept is the copyright of Nihana-san, obviously. If I even thought about claiming it was mine, I'd be chained up in a cell and rabid tree slugs would chew on my ankles.) *** *** *** CHAPTER I Chair and Back Again -OR- What? MORE Furniture? Five minutes before, Yashiko had been in a very happy place, mentally speaking. The manga she'd been waiting on for months had finally arrived, and she'd been absorbed in the thrilling new adventures of her personal idol, the coolest and most powerful magical girl in the world. Forget stupid tiaras or hearts - there was only one way to really beat up the bad guys. In many ways she was quite the attractive young high school student, wearing a beige sweater vest over a white long-sleeved blouse, with a navy blue miniskirt and black stockings. Her black hair was long and braided, tied at the end with a white ribbon, and a light dusting of freckles graced her cheeks. She was clearly well on her way to womanhood; her blouse was filled to capacity and then some, a fact exaggerated by the way she held her arms before her, holding the small book up as she wandered down the sidewalk. The story was everything she'd hoped for, and as she read it on the way home, she bumped into various pedestrians, lamp posts, and parked vehicles without really noticing. The only thing that caught her attention, in fact, was when someone pulled the manga from her grasp. "Look at this, guys! Otaku-girl brought us a present!" "Hey!" Yashiko advanced into the alley, trying to retrieve her stolen book. "Kazue, you creep! Give that back!" The large, burly young man sneered at her, holding the comic well above her head. "Make me, bookworm." The three other thugs that served as his 'gang' snickered in response. Unimpressed, she scowled at them defiantly. "Aren't you in enough trouble for skipping school again?" Kazue shrugged. "Hey, why break a two month streak?" He peered at the manga. "Shoulda known... another stupid Desk Girl comic." "It's not stupid!" she declared hotly. "And it's not just another comic! It's the very first issue of Desk Girl Plus, and I want it *back*!" "Yeah, yeah, when I'm done." He flipped through the pages roughly, cruelly crinkling the edges. "Desk Girl... pfeh! How do they come up with these things?" "She's not made up," Yashiko insisted, and her eyes began to glimmer and glisten in admiration. "She's a real life maho-shoujo, a warrior for justice and proper child support, who uses her Desk of Retribution to battle the unholy DDA!" The thugs were forced to shade their eyes from the Shiny Sparkles of Hero Worship that coalesced around her. Kazue snorted in derision. "Dumbest thing I ever heard. I mean, fighting people with furniture? What a stupid idea!" "It is NOT! Now give me back my manga!" He grinned at her, then prepared to pitch the book over a nearby wall. "Go get it!" "I'd do what the young lady says, if I were you." "Huh?" As a nearby street guitarist coincidentally began to play a heroic tune, Kazue and the thugs turned around to see a tall young man leaning casually against the alley wall. His shoulder-length sandy brown hair was held in check by a thin black headband, framing an angular yet handsome face. His clothing was basically black all over, with silver buttons on his long jacket and a maroon shirt beneath to break the monotony. He also had a weird package tucked under one arm. Kazue crossed his arms with a frown. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you just better stay outta this." Without bothering to even look at the gang leader, the young man smiled calmly. "How ignorant." "What was that?!" "He said 'How ignorant', boss," one of the thugs informed him, and was rewarded with an elbow to the head. The young man continued. "You are cowardly and honorless, and have no knowledge of true fighting spirit. For tormenting the girl, I might have forgiven you," he said, straightening up from the wall, "but a challenge to the noble ways of combat by furniture cannot be ignored!" With a flourish, he unfurled the tarpaulin around his package, revealing it to be a rather nice Victorian-style chair, made of sturdy aged oak and polished to a soft glow. He held it by adjacent legs, glaring at the thugs with an air of extreme confidence. Kazue produced a sweatdrop the size of a steamroller. "Is this guy for real? Hey, Thug Number One." "Yeah, boss?" "Go kick his butt." "Right." The next sequence of events is rather predictable, so we'll just gloss it over a little in the name of maintaining interest. Keeping it simple, then: Thug One stepped forward, and received a solid swipe to the ribs, followed by a stunning uppercut, the chair back connecting with his chin and sending him flying back several yards. Outraged, Kazue and Thugs Two and Three advanced on the young man, but the chair moved in a blur, delivering all sorts of joinery-based punishment to the hoodlums. Thug Two was quickly dispatched with a precision chop to the neck, while Three doubled over as the chair was thrust into his stomach, at which point the young man tucked backwards, sending Three flying over his head to land in a dumpster. Kazue was a bit tougher to handle, but with a quick spin of the chair his opponent delivered a rapid series of leg-smashes to the face, followed by a strike to the knees that sent the gang leader to the ground. The entire time elapsed was about twenty seconds. Battered and bleeding, Kazue glared up at the young man. "Who *are* you?!" With a smirk, his opponent spun and flourished his weapon. "Student of the Big Tibetan Furniture Dojo, with a Mahogany Belt in isujitsu, you may call me... Seki!" He turned to leave, propping his chair against his shoulder. "Remember what I've shown you, and be enlightened." It would have been a perfect dramatic exit, if not for the sudden impact of a high school girl against his shoulderblades. Fortunately, he managed to avoid smashing his chair by the simple expident of holding it up and landing on his face. Meanwhile, Yashiko was nuzzling his back, warm and bulgy things pressing against him in ways he could get used to. "Uh... you're welcome, but I need to get-" She beamed at him with huge glistening eyes. "Big brother! You've finally come home!" He boggled. "Naniii?!" *** *** *** The setting sun illuminated the ivy-wreathed walls of Hiroto High School, casting long shadows down the empty corridors. Not a soul roamed the hallways this late in the day, except for janitors and overworked teachers and the weirdos in the Computer Programming Club and other people that didn't really count. There was an ancient wrought-iron elevator situated in the center of the school, a legacy of more prosperous times. Now, however, it was almost entirely unused. Almost. "If a rug is not nailed down, it will curl before it is broken in." The shadowy figure rode the elevator as it ascended toward the school's top floor, creaking and rattling. "We are the nail; the rug is the world." Slowly the elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors began to open. "Nail the world down! For the sake of the-" "HEY!" A grizzled janitor just outside the door glared at the passenger. "Get out of that thing! It's so old, it could go at any minute!" The figure peered at him. "What?" With a certain amount of inevitability, the elevator's support cable chose that moment to snap, sending the rickety box plunging down three stories. *** *** *** Meanwhile, back at the dojo... Lumi-chan was excited. This was generally a given in any case - her all-sugar diet and total lack of any kind of self-restraint made the young Furniture Warrior a constant bundle of energy looking for release. This time, however, she had a reason. And she *had to tell someone!* *NOW!* She barreled through the hallways of the Big Tibetan Furniture Dojo, heading toward the room of her most favoritest person in the whole WORLD to tell things to. The door to said room is not fated to be a part of this story much longer, so it's worth a bit of description before it's too late. It had locks. It had bolts. It had a triple-reinforced frame. It had a series of carefully-worded signs ("Do Not Disturb", "Especially You, Lumi-Chan", "There Is No Ice Cream In Here", "Really, There Isn't", "Or Frozen Yogurt") hanging from the doorknob. And there were noises barely audible from the room beyond that cannot be fully described without giving this starter a Mature rating. All this was completely lost on Lumi-chan, who burst through the door via the application of an energy-saving halogen lightbulb grenade and screeched to a halt next to the room's sole bed. "Oniichan! Oniichan! Lookie, lookie! Lumi-chan got WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Radiance-oneechan, put some clothes on, quick! Girls aren't supposed to let boys see them without their tops!" Suppressing a growl of frustration, Queen Radiance (the reincarnated ruler of the Dimension of Light recently reborn from the green gooey ashes of a Flaming Avocado of Doom) covered herself with a bedsheet at the sudden intrusion. Beside her, Lumi-chan's brother Ikea simply sat up straighter on the mattress as the young girl slapped her hands over his eyes. It was getting damn annoying, Radiance reflected. Ikea, though attentive and surprisingly affectionate between the sheets, was difficult enough as it was to lure away from the training hall and into the bedroom. This would have been tolerable, except that whenever they *did* arrange a little snuggle-time, her fiancee's little sister almost always managed to burst in before they'd gotten very far. The constant squelched anticipation was really getting to her - she'd been stuck in an avocado for a thousand years, after all, and had a lot of catching up to do. Radiance was briefly tempted to explain to her young counterpart what she and Ikea had been doing and why they needed privacy. She held back, though, realizing that Lumi-chan was just too child-like and innocent. Taking that away from her would be basically like gunning down Barney the Dinosaur at a kid's convention - satisfying, sure, but ultimately heartless. Still, the girl *was* all of fifteen years old now, and was beginning to fill out her maroon novice's robe in accordance with nature's design. Despite her six-year-old personality, she was becoming a young woman, with all the hormonal confusion that comes with it... a fact that, judging from reports of certain incidents lately, made the other monks justifiably terrified. Surely Lumi-chan would have picked up *something* by this point... right? Casting her musings aside and returning to the situation at hand, Radiance reluctantly laced up the front of her filmy, diaphanous nightgown. "You're right, Lumi-chan. How silly of me." Once the Queen was properly covered once more, Lumi-chan removed her hands from her brother's face, revealing that his usual expression of Cool Righteousness had been infinitesimally changed into one of Cool Yet Tempered By Rising Annoyance That His Nookie Session Has Been Interrupted Once Again By His Little Sister Righteousness (expression #492 - a new one for Ikea, but one that was getting a lot of use lately). "You said you had something to show me, Lumi-chan?" "Hai!" Totally oblivious to the tension in the room, Lumi-chan plopped down on the bed and held up a crisp piece of paper for her brother's inspection. "Lumi-chan got a fax from Brother Seki!" Ikea frowned oh-so-slightly. "I was not even aware we had a... faxing engine." "Well, this guy came to dojo selling them, and he was tired and cold and he'd been beaten up by yetis so Lumi-chan felt sorry for him and bought one. Ano... did I do a bad thing?" "I do not think so. Indeed, one who sells door-to-door in the Tibetan mountains should be rewarded for having a true warrior spirit." "Wai!" Her flailing arms threatened to knock the still-pouting Queen Radiance senseless. "Lumi-chan did good!" The young master of isujitsu (lit: The Way of the Chair) peered at the paper. "What does he say?" Lumi-chan took a deeeeeeeep breath. "Well, he found the house of the people he's going to be staying with, and they have really nice furniture, and he beat up some guys, and they had sukiyaki for dinner, and he's going to start school tomorrow, and the most exciting and bestest part of all is that there's SEVENTEEN whole ice cream stores within twenty miles of him! Isn't that sugoooooooooi?" "Yes, very sugoi," Radiance muttered. Immune to sarcasm, the young Furniture Warrior had stars in her eyes. "Tokyo sounds like so much fun! Lumi-chan wishes she could go there." There was a pause, then the Queen raised her head slowly. "You do, do you?" "Hai!" Ikea, who was quite a bit more intelligent and observant than his sister (but then, so were eggplants), allowed himself a slight frown of consternation. "Queen Radiance, I do not think-" "Excuse us a minute, Lumi-chan," the Queen said quickly, and pulled her fiancee close for a whispered conversation. Lumi-chan could only make out a few words - something about a 'doghouse' and 'sleeping on the couch' - before they straightened up again. Ikea looked uncertain yet resigned; Radiance merely looked pleased with herself. "Do you want to go to Tokyo, Lumi-chan?" "Hai!" "You wanna go to Tokyo?" "Hai hai hai!" "Do ya? Huh? Huh?" Lumi the Eager Puppy began bouncing up and down in frenzied anticipation. "Do ya, girl? You wanna go to Tokyo? Do ya? Huh? Huh? *Huh?*" When it seemed Lumi-chan was about to explode with excitement, Queen Radiance whipped up her hand and pointed a finger toward the door. "GO GET PACKED!" "WAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIiiiiiiii!" Lumi-chan bolted out the door as if shot from a catapult, her cheer of delight producing a Doppler effect as she raced down the halls toward her room. Ikea watched her leave, full of misgivings. "This may not be wise," he mused. "She'll be fine - Seki will keep her out of trouble." He glanced at his fiancee. "I thought you did not like Seki." Radiance put on her best innocent face. "Who, me? On the contrary - I can't think of anyone I'd rather have in charge of Lumi-chan." When he remained dubious, she wrapped her arms around him tenderly. "Don't worry, my love. She'll be all right, and we'll get some time to ourselves at last." "You are probably right, Queen Radiance... I mean, Ray-chan," he said - the use of terms of endearment was still a difficult concept for him. "But she is still my sister, and is a danger to herself and others. It is natural for me to be concerned." "They do have seventeen whole ice cream stores," she reminded him with a smile. "That is true," he admitted. He considered the matter for a moment, then shrugged almost imperceptibly. "I suppose we shall just have to hope that she does not drive them *all* out of business." *** *** *** "You do realize I'm not really your brother, don't you?" Yashiko skipped ahead of Seki and turned around, walking backwards in front of him. "Don't be silly. Of course you are!" The young isujitsu artist shifted the wrapped chair on his shoulder to a more favorable angle. "Yashiko-san, your real brother is in Tibet now, studying the honorable ways of combat by furniture. I am an exchange student. Don't you remember?" "Oh, stop fooling around. Are you living at my house?" "Well, yes." "Are you eating the food my mother cooks?" "Yes, but-" "And when I was taking a shower," she added, blushing happily and clasping her palms to her cheeks, "and you opened the bathroom door and saw me in the-" "You called me in!" he protested. "You said you needed conditioner!" She waved dismissively. "Anyway, either you're my brother..." And suddenly she loomed, ever-so-slightly. "...or you're a trespassing, freeloading voyeur. Which is it, BIG BROTHER?!" Seki sighed. "How much farther is it to the school, little sister?" "Not far." Suddenly Yashiko glomped onto his arm, squeezing it tightly. "This is going to be so much fun! Everyone will be *so* jealous when I show them my beloved long-lost brother!" As a small sweatdrop rolled down his temple (and as he tried, with little success, to ignore the two objects Yashiko had wedged his arm between), Seki reflected on the family he'd been sent to live with. Like their daughter, Yashiko's parents had seemed oddly reluctant to admit the fact that someone other than Seki could be their son. They had treated him to a lavish sukiyaki dinner, a far cry from the half-cup of rice lightly seasoned with yak butter served at the dojo, and had shown him to his room ("Just the way you left it!") which, he had to admit, contained several interesting pieces of furniture. He suddenly realized that his arm was cold. "You can't have him!" Seki looked up as Yashiko flailed angrily at a pair of schoolgirls; unbeknownst to the handsome young Furniture Warrior, they had been eyeing him with speculative interest. "He's mine!" Yashiko shouted. "Mine mine mine mine mine!" The other girls fled, and Seki's self-declared sister returned to his side without seeming to pass through the intervening space. She worked her way under his arm, sighing happily as she leaned against him. "Big brother..." Yes, there was definitely some psychology going on there. They approached the entrance to Hiroto High School, the finely-wrought iron gate wide open, and Seki glanced up at the ivory-walled school with a certain amount of trepidation. He had lived in the Big Tibetan Dojo all his life, training in the Art; he had never been exposed to much in the way of formal education that wasn't related to furniture, though 'Playing School With Lumi-chan' was a punishment most initiates had to suffer at one point or another. Would he be shamed by his lack of knowledge? Would he fit in? An approaching scream caught his attention, and a young man dressed in the Hiroto school uniform sailed through the gates, traveling more or less horizontally until he slammed into the opposite wall. Seki brightened. He felt more at home already. *** *** *** At least fifty students had gathered in the school courtyard, their circle parting only to allow the forcibly-ejected fighter back inside. Slightly taller than most of them, Seki was able to peer over their heads and watch the events within unfold... Facing the returning student was a tall and slender young man, with bright blue eyes and almost - *almost* - feminine features. His hair was long and yellow-orange, except for a single lock of black over his forehead. The uniform he wore was different than that of his opponent; instead of the navy blue blazer and pants, his uniform was an immaculate affair of white and red, and was not so much as wrinkled by his exertions. The only thing that marred his perfect image was the bandage that was wrapped around his temple, a few flecks of red showing through hinting at a recent head wound, but even that was monogrammed with the initials 'NK'. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, calmly regarding his battered foe. "It's useless," he said quietly. "You cannot defeat me." "Shut up!" his opponent shouted, panting from his exertions. "I'll pay you back for what you did to Mazumi-chan!" The taller one laughed lightly. "Odd. I don't recall hearing her protest... perhaps a bit at first, but she quickly got over that." "Why you...!" The student lunged forward, seeing red. His opponent easily sidestepped... and then his arms blurred, and *something* moving too fast to see struck the boy under his chin. His head snapped up, and his body began to rise from the impact... then the taller student moved again, and his foe was suddenly propelled to the ground, lying in a moaning heap. Seki raised an eyebrow. The long-haired student stood over his fallen opponent, his hands back in his pockets as though they had never left. "Perhaps next time," he suggested in that same smooth voice, "you will not act so rashly." Then he lifted his head and gazed coolly around at the circle of spectators. "Don't you have classes to go to?" The students grumbled and muttered, but they gradually dispersed, heading into the main building with occasional looks over their shoulders. The young man nodded to himself and turned to follow... then stopped. Seki stared back at him appraisingly, his demeanor almost too casual, too relaxed. The young man frowned oh-so-slightly, then turned away, as though the newcomer was beneath his attention, and entered the school. Well, Seki thought. Perhaps this will be more interesting than I thought. "Yashiko-san," he began, "who... what's wrong?" She was staring up at him, tears filling her eyes and her body trembling with horror. "Big brother," she sobbed, "don't fall in love with him! Please!" Seki recoiled in shock. "Nani?!" "I saw the way you were looking at him! I know he's sexy, but I couldn't bear to lose you to him!" She threw her arms around his chest, her warmth penetrating his thin shirt; Shiny Love Bubbles appeared around them. "You'll see, big brother! It's so much better to be with a woman! A woman who understands your needs!" "I wasn't-" She squeezed him tighter. "I'm not wearing a bra today, you know," she whispered. "-going to fall in... whah? What was that?" Then the school bell rang, dispelling the Bubbles, and she pulled away. "Oh, rats. We'd better hurry or we'll be late for class. C'mon!" *** *** *** As has been stated, Seki was no expert on the workings of the Japanese educational system, but even with his limited knowledge it seemed odd that both he and his 'younger sister' would be in the same class together. He dimly suspected Yashiko of arranging matters in this situation, but later inquiry would reveal that her real brother had been held back a grade because the teacher had forgotten that he was in the class at all. As he entered the classroom, he surveyed its contents with professional disdain. Surely they didn't expect the students to practice with such flimsy chairs and desks! Why, they wouldn't last more than a week or two of use before... but then he saw his new classmates taking their seats and setting their books before them, and was reminded that he was no longer in the dojo. Seki bowed stiffly before the class and introduced himself; the response was largely friendly, particularly from the female students, who looked over the isujitsu artist's athletic form and handsome features with approval... a fact that did not escape Yashiko's notice. At the moment, the girls were pinned in the back corner of the classroom. Seki hadn't seen where Yashiko had gotten the naginata; perhaps she had access to a variant of FurnitureSpace, the mysterious sub-dimension that was connected to all the furniture in the world. Experienced Furniture Warriors could store their weapons of choice within FurnitureSpace, to be recalled at will, though Seki himself had never gotten the hang of that particular trick. Regardless, the U.S. World War II Army helmet and cigar stub were a complete mystery to him. "You got it?" Yashiko snarled. "You come near my darling big brother, and you'll get what's yours!" They glared back at her, several casting thoughtful looks at Seki despite the blade being waved in their faces. The teacher, Kumayama-sensei, had been trying without success to regain order, and finally resorted to chucking a box of chalk at the back of Yashiko's head. "If you're *quite* finished, Shizuhara-kun," he growled, "I'd like to start the class now." Remembering herself, Yashiko blushed and bowed, the naginata forgotten. "S-sorry, sensei." "Sit down, Shizuhara-kun." She hastened to comply, but this only caused a muscle in Kumayama's eyelid to twitch. "In your *own* seat!" Yashiko pouted, but hopped off Seki's lap and slid into the chair next to him. The teacher glared briefly at the Furniture Warrior, as if blaming him for this disruption to his class, before continuing. "Now, everyone put your books away; I've decided to give you a surprise history test." He smirked at the groans and other comments that greeted this announcement. "I hope you all studied like I told you to." "This is lame," the student in front of Seki muttered. "He gives us ten pounds of homework *and* expects us to study six chapters..." Suddenly he trailed off as he realized that the teacher was standing over him, and Seki noticed that Kumayama was very powerfully built, his thick muscles and broad shoulders tensed for action. "Did you say something, Tatsuya-kun?" The student immediately shrank back in his chair. "...nosir." "Some comment about my teaching methods, perhaps?!" "...nosir. sorrysir. won'thappenagainsir." "Hmph." He placed a test in front of Tatsuya, then did the same for the student behind Seki. As the teacher continued around the room, the young Furniture Warrior hesitated uncertainly. It was, of course, not his place to correct his sensei, but... He stood up. "Honorable Kumayama-sensei, I respectfully request that I be allowed to take this test as well." The teacher turned, eyebrow raised. "Have you already read the textbook, Shizuhara-kun?" Seki blinked, puzzled. Why did he call him... "No, honorable sensei, but I feel it is dishonorable to sit idly by while my classmates undergo this ordeal you have set before them." He paused. "I also feel that I should point out that I am not, in fact, Yashiko-san's brother. My name is-" "Ordeal, is it?" Kumayama crossed his arms, a vein beginning to throb on his forehead. "You realize, of course, that receiving a low grade on your first day here will reflect very poorly upon you?" The young isujitsu artist shrugged. "If I do not try, how will I know what I am capable of? A chair is not a chair until it has borne the full weight of a man." He noticed the perplexed stares of his fellow students, and looked away. "...or something." Meaningful philosophical statements weren't his strong point, either. "Have it your way, then." Kumayama tossed an exam toward him; it landed with pinpoint accuracy on Seki's desk. "The test is fifty questions," he told the class, "and your time limit is thirty minutes. Begin!" The room was suddenly filled with the sound of furious scribbling, interjected with hesitant murmurs, and Kumayama sat down at his desk, a warm glow filling him. It was a particularly nasty test, he knew, covering obscure dates and even some subjects that hadn't been assigned for study yet. He could see that even Yashiko was struggling, chewing uncertainly on the end of her pencil - she usually had the best grades in the class, but this time she wouldn't- "I am finished, honorable Kumayama-sensei." The teacher blinked, looking up at the tall young man standing next to his desk. But... it had only been seven minutes so far... He smiled and took the paper. "Too hard for you, hmm? Let's see how many you skipped..." Then he stopped, his eyes bulging slightly. Every question was complete... and though he'd have to check them to be sure, it seemed that most, if not all, were correct. "How...?" "I hope I have completed the test in the correct fashion," Seki continued. "I am more accustomed to oral examinations." For no apparent reason, Yashiko fell out of her chair, swooning. His vein throbbing again, Kumayama looked over the test, trying desperately to find a wrong answer. "I see you had a problem with #37," he growled. "Yes, honorable sensei. I knew the reign of Napoleon officially ended with the Battle of Waterloo on June 18, 1815..." The other students very quickly filled in their test at the question in, well, question, but Kumayama was too preoccupied to notice. "...but I thought that perhaps it was a trick question." "...a trick..." "Because, though the Battle itself ended on the 18th, skirmishes between Napoleon's Chateau de Armoire and Wellington's Black Ladders continued for a further two days in the streets of Charleroi. Had the Chateau been successful, they could have restored Napoleon to power, but on the evening of the 20th the Ladders used what is now known as the Shoehorn-Wainscoting Maneuver to claim a decisive victory." The room had grown dead quiet, and Kumayama was staring at Seki with a blank expression. "But I read the question again, and decided that Napoleon's capture would be a more accurate point to base the end of his reign on." Silence. Deep, deep silence. Seki hesitated under all the attention. "Also, I saw that question at the bottom marked 'extra credit', and though I'm not certain what that means I-" "Sit down, Shizuhara-kun." The teacher's voice came through teeth that were audibly grinding together. "Sensei, my name is not..." Then he caught Kumayama's glare, and decided not to push his luck. "Yes, honorable sensei." *** *** *** Eventually the lunch bell rang, and Yashiko dragged Seki outside to enjoy the huge box lunch she had made for him. Though the girls in the class kept their distance (for the time being), Yashiko's wrath didn't extend to the young men, and two in particular followed them as they worked their way through the crowded school hall. "Man," one of them said, "I've never seen anyone get under Kuma's skin so quickly! It was cool!" "You'd better be careful, though," his companion added. "Kuma's got a way of handling troublemakers." Seki raised an eyebrow. "He becomes violent?" "Well, not in public. Not in class. But they'll vanish for a couple of days, and when they come back they're wrapped in bandages and oddly quiet." "I see." "Just a word to the wise, pal." The first one cocked a thumb at himself. "I'm Ichiro; that's Nizo. If you have any questions about this school or the various zany characters around, just ask." "We're expositional," Nizo added. The two largely interchangeable students wandered off to the cafeteria, and Yashiko led Seki into the school courtyard. Choosing a large, shady tree, the girl sat her 'brother' down and hand-fed him morsels from the box lunch. "Yashiko-san," he said finally with a certain amount of embarrassment, "I *can* feed myself, you know." "That's nice." She proffered a small pickle, holding it before his mouth. Giving up for the time being, Seki ate the pickle before moving on to other concerns. "Who was that fighter this morning?" Noticing the sudden tears in her eyes, he quickly added, "I'm just curious." "Oh. That was Nakajima Kouto," she explained. "He's the head of the Student Council, mainly because his family owns the school and his father's the Principal. He's a jerk; nobody really likes him." "He is a skilled warrior, however." "Yeah, that's true. He gets away with a lot because of it; otherwise, he would've been beaten up and dropped in a gutter long ago." She frowned. "We almost managed it one time, too." "How so?" "Well, a couple of years ago he was trashing the swim team like usual, beating them up for splashing water on his shoes, when all of a sudden he just... couldn't fight anymore." "Why not?" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "That's the thing - nobody knows. I don't think *he* knew, either. One minute he was smacking them around... and the next minute he was just kinda standing there, staring at his hands and looking confused. Kouto barely managed to get away before the swim team played water polo with his skull, and he stayed home sick for the next two weeks. When he came back, he never had another problem fighting... but that doesn't keep people from trying every so often, just in case." Seki considered this thoughtfully. Two years ago... Aloud, he said: "This morning's battle was a personal matter, however." Yashiko shrugged. "Like I said, he's a jerk... but there's always some girl who's gullible enough to fall for his lines." The Tibetan monk was puzzled. "Lines?" "You know... he puts the moves on them. He does his little song and dance, he sweeps them off their feet, then they do the horizontal rhumba..." "...Is this a bad thing? Dancing is very good exercise." She treated him to a long stare. "He seduces them." "Oh. OH! You mean... they... and he... and *she*...?" The stare continued. "You don't have a lot of experience with women, do you, big brother?" Seki blushed furiously. The only 'experience' he'd had with women had sent him to Tokyo in the first place. Ikea, at least, had been understanding, and knew that the roof over the bathing chamber *had* needed repairs. Seki couldn't *possibly* have known that it would have broken under him during Rooftop Combat Terrain Training, or that Queen Radiance was using the chamber at the time. And of course it was pure random chance that caused him to fall on top of the Queen with his... while she was... shampoo bottle... and the loofah... well, suffice to say that she had a lot of influence at the dojo, and jumped on the idea of an exchange program as a quick and easy way to rid herself of some embarrassment. Rather than answer, he tried to change the subject. "Yashiko-san... *you* haven't... with him?" She blinked, then smiled. "You're so cute! Don't worry, you don't need to be jealous. I'm not dumb enough to do that; I'm saving my virtue for someone *special*." "...ah." "I mean," she continued blithely, "sure, I've let him touch me a few times, but that hardly counts, does it?" "T-touch...?" "And, okay, he buys the girls sexy lingerie if we model it for him, but have you *seen* the prices on high-quality lacewear these days? It's simple economics." There was a heavy thud, and she turned to find Seki laid flat out on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head. "Big brother? Big brother! Are you okay?! You're all red... the heat must have gotten to you! Don't worry - I'll be back in a flash with some water!" She stood up quickly, her skirt flaring around her thighs, then rushed off toward the school. *** *** *** A beautiful almond-skinned girl stood at the edge of the school roof, smiling gently as the breeze cooled her and tugged at her clothes. Her short black hair had been teased into soft ringlets, giving her an almost cherubic appearance that sat in counterpoint to her slightly slanted eyes. The sleeveless dress she wore bore no resemblance to the school uniform, being a long, intricate garment of sapphire blue, slit on either side to reveal curvaceous legs when she moved. She clasped her gloved hands together, holding them against her small but well-formed chest as she breathed in deeply. It felt so good to be up here. She knew she might be... punished for it, if *he* found out, but she couldn't help herself. Just a moment's freedom... She took another breath, and the sudden rush of oxygen to her bloodstream combined with a sense of vertigo and a mild case of anemia to make her dizzy and light-headed, with a tendency to fall forward. ...oh, dear. *** *** *** Kouto gestured dramatically with the letter he held in his hand. "I have news from End of the Rug. They have instructions for us." "Big deal." There were four people in the Student Council room, including Kouto; one of them was busy with a GameLackey Advance by the window, getting as much light as possible. "What did they say last time? 'Order a pizza to be sent to this address. Pepperoni, double cheese, no mushrooms.'" "Indeed," a second form rumbled, dimly lit due to the aforementioned GameLackey sucking photons directly from the air itself. The Council member rolled a pair of dice, then with extreme care moved a small pewter dog seven spaces. "Chance." The third figure drew a card and glanced at it briefly before handing it over. "Get Out Of Jail Free. Fortune smiles upon you." There was a shrug. "Temporarily." "It's important this time," Kouto insisted. "A threat to End of the Rug has come to Hiroto." The third Council member lifted a hand before their mouth and laughed piercingly... yet delicately. "Ohohoho. There is no threat we can't handle. Even when that wretched brute tried to bully us into joining him, we rebuffed him magnificently. Ohohohoho." A large, muscular hand fell on the speaker's shoulder. "Wait." The second Council member looked to Kouto. "Explain." "There is a new student at Hiroto, an exchange student from Tibet. He knows..." He paused for maximum effect. "...the Way." It was the others' turn to pause. "This bodes ill," the third Council member declared. "We cannot allow an untested outsider to do as he wishes. Who knows what he might take it into his head to do?" Kouto nodded. "Precisely." "Why, he might go so far as to demand access to the Student Council's private buffet." "That's not such a big loss, though," the first Council member replied as Kouto covered his eyes with his palm. "I mean, mac and cheese half the time, lukewarm lasagna the other half? It's not exactly elite, is it?" "You're forgetting the Salisbury steak on Thursdays," Number Three pointed out. "Ooo, good point." "We are looking at something a little more important than our dining facilities," Kouto growled. "We must keep the Rosewood Bride safe in our possession until the time is right. She is the cure to all of society's ills, and must be made ready, for the sake of the world's-!" "Hey, Kouto," the first Council member said absently as a flash of brown and blue streaked past the window in a decidedly vertical manner, "don't look now, but your 'cure' just fell off the roof." "Plummeted," the second figure agreed. Clenching his hands into fists, Kouto pounded the table in frustration. "*Again?!*" *** *** *** In an attempt to stave off a major nosebleed, Seki summoned all his training in the meditative technique to distance himself from his current situation. So. He had been lying under the tree, recovering from Yashiko's admission, when the rustling of the branches above had snapped him out of his reverie. Long years of Tibetan wilderness training had left him wary of the deadly Himalayan Drop-Yeti, and he had started to reach for his chair. Then a figure had dropped through the branches directly above him, their clothing becoming snagged and temporarily stopping their fall. This had been largely lost on Seki, however, who had lay there stunned as he stared up at the view thus provided. Lavender, he had thought. Lavender, with little purple hearts. Then cloth ripped, and the woman had continued her plunge. Seki had instinctively lifted his hands palms upward to protect his face; she landed directly atop him, the impact causing her back to arch and the breath to be expelled from her lungs in a sound that, if transcribed, would be spelled something like "Aaahhhnn!", possibly with a small heart-shaped symbol added for emphasis. Seki's hands were warm. So, for that matter, was most of his face. He suddenly wished that he'd taken that extracurricular course in meditation as he felt his blood rising... Then the woman collapsed, falling to one side, and after a pause Seki untangled himself as quickly as he could without embarrassing himself further. After making sure nobody was watching, he knelt to get a better look at his surprise visitor. Taking in her dark skin and features, Seki was tempted to describe her as 'sultry', though he didn't fully understand what the word meant. She was petite of form, the tight dress enhancing her trim and slender physique. There was an odd sort of clasp over her left breast (not, of course, that he was *looking* there. On purpose.), and he leaned forward to get a closer look... "Vanity!" The young woman's eyes suddenly popped open, and Seki leapt back, his heart racing, as she sat up and turned toward the sound of her name. Kouto was there, staring at her grimly. "Vanity," he said again. "Come here." She hesitated, and his eyes narrowed. "At once!" She winced at his sharp tone, then stood up and approached him slowly, timidly. The woman stopped a few feet before him, her head bowed and her hands held low before her. His gaze was stern and unforgiving. "You disobeyed me, didn't you?" When she didn't answer, he scowled. "*Didn't* you?" In a tiny voice, she finally replied, "Yes, Kouto-sama." "You went *outside*." "Yes, Kouto-sama." His glare darkened further as he reached out and fingered the jagged, irreparable tear in the material covering her shoulder. "You ruined the present I gave you. You know what this means, don't you?" A blush rose in her cheeks, visible against her dark skin, and her hands twined together in helpless misery. "No..." "Are you defying me, Vanity?" "Please, Kouto-sama... don't make me-" "Do it!" he commanded. She shut her eyes tightly, then unclasped the top three buttons of her dress. Seki swallowed noisily as she carefully slid a gloved hand under the fabric, reaching, searching... Then she stopped and retracted her hand, and Seki stared at the object she held. Could that be...? He'd never seen one before, the monastery was rather cut off from such things, but he'd heard about them... and now it looked like he might see one in use. Vanity gave Kouto another pleading look, glancing at Seki as though hoping his presence would at least delay her punishment, but the Council President was unmoved. Crimson with shame, she took a deep breath... ...and placed the plastic half-circle on her head, the fluffy mouse ears poking up cheerfully. "Squeak," she said, her voice weak with embarrassment. "Now say the words." "I'm... a naughty mousie," she whispered. "Naughty naughty naughty." "Louder." She trembled, but increased her volume. "I'm a bad mousie. I'm the worst mousie who ever lived." "Like you mean it!" "I'm a wicked, wicked mousie!" she cried, unshed tears filling her eyes. "No cheese for me..." Seki scowled, jumping to his feet. "Enough!" Kouto frowned faintly, as if just now remembering the Furniture Warrior's presence. The exchange student was standing next to his wrapped chair, his fingers lightly grazing its back; in another time and place, this would be akin to getting ready to draw a six-shooter, or holding a finger over the Big Red Button (That Actually Does Something). "There's no need to punish her," Seki continued. "She's just fallen off the roof, but you're more worried about her dress." The Council President raised an eyebrow. "It's taken you this long to notice this?" "Well... I..." There was a grunt of effort as Yashiko rounded the corner, carrying with some difficulty a large orange cooler. "Here you go! Ten gallons of nice, refreshing LizardAde! This should pick you right up, big..." The cooler suddenly dropped to the ground, and Yashiko stared at the tense tableau before here. "Big brother, what's going on?" She was largely ignored. "In any case," Kouto continued, "what happens to Vanity is none of your concern." "I'm making it my concern," Seki said. He removed his jacket, revealing the well-muscled chest and abdomen beneath, barely covered by his tight shirt. He tossed the jacket to the side, and Yashiko managed to stop drooling long enough to make a lunge for the discarded garment, snatching it out of the air and nuzzling it with an expression of pure bliss. "My dojo has trained for a thousand years to defeat a cruel and evil tyrant, and though this is no longer actually necessary since he has retired and now lives in a time-share condominium in Pasadena, we are still sworn to defeat the forces of oppression where we find them." Swooning at the sheer selflessness of this heroic speech - or perhaps just overwhelmed by the fanservice - Vanity pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and slumped to the ground. Kouto made no move to catch her; in fact, he didn't even register her sudden collapse. He regarded Seki with a calculating gaze. "You're challenging me?" At those words, a crowd of students appeared out of nowhere, swarming around the two young men as they glared at one another. Bets were placed, banners were waved, bleachers were constructed in record time. Judging by the wager board, Seki was getting 5 to 1 odds against - he was clearly in good shape, and he had the whole 'mysterious new kid' factor going for him, but Kouto was undefeated. His attention focused on his opponent, Seki's hand lay on the chair back, tensing. "The way of isujitsu is the way of peace," he said, "but I cannot allow you to treat this girl as if she were your own personal property." The bookies nodded and marked him up to 4 to 1; dramatic statements were a good sign of eventual victory. Kouto smiled faintly, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets. "But that is precisely what Vanity is. She is mine, to do with as I please, by the rules of Hiroto High School itself." Vanity looked down shamefully, mouse ears still perched festively on her head. Seki's teeth ground together. "You monster... I can't allow you to live!" With that, he flicked his hand upwards, and his chair rose into the air in a complicated tumble, the tarpaulin dropping to the ground. He snatched out with both hands, grabbing the Victorian antique by its back legs, then settled into what was clearly a ready position, poised to strike. "You-" His words were drowned out by the disapproving roar of the crowd. "What the hell *is* this?" "He's gonna fight Kouto with *furniture*?!" "Oh, man, he is SO dead." Shaking their heads, the bookies marked him down to 30 to 1, a fact that did not go unnoticed. Seki was momentarily unnerved by the jeers and catcalls, but closed his eyes. Focus, he told himself. Concentrate. You are a Furniture Warrior. The opinions of the unenlightened do not matter to you. You are above such insults. You are... WHO JUST CALLED YOU A CHAIR-HUGGING WIMP? HUH? YOU'RE GONNA no, no, calm, calm... Discipline is your friend. You have to remember your training... Remember your training... *** *** *** 'You seem disconsolate, my child.' Young Seki, clad in saffron robes and his head shaved as was the fashion of the time, flinched at Master Kotatsu's comment. Though blind, the ancient Furniture Warrior was incredibly perceptive. 'It's... it's nothing, Master.' Kotatsu just waited, smiling in that vague, compelling way he had. Seki shifted uncomfortably. 'It's the novices from the other monasteries,' he admitted. 'They're already training with swords and nunchaku and rice paper, and all I can do is swing a chair around. They said that a chair isn't even a proper weapon.' 'Ah, Footstool,' his Master replied, amused, 'you have encountered the first stumbling block along the path of enlightenment.' '...I have?' 'It is the nature of our way that it invites the mockery of the ignorant. They would much rather trust in lifeless steel or unvarnished wood than believe that things so comfortable and essential could be used to strike them down. It is a kindness to allow them this illusion, so we accept their jibes, knowing that their own arrogance will prove their downfall.' Young Seki scowled. Some of the other novices had been *really smug*. 'How long does this downfall usually take?' The wizened old man chuckled. 'Some downfalls take longer than others, Footstool... and some need a bit of help now and then. It is also a kindness to shatter illusions, if they stand in the way of enlightenment. For it is written: Sometimes you have to play to the crowd.' *** *** *** He opened his eyes, and the students' jeers died down as a faint blue aura gathered around hm. Seki channeled his ki as he suddenly swung his chair three times - diagonally twice, creating an energy-charged 'X' in the air, then once in an overhead sweeping motion. "CROSS CHAIR SLASH!" The intersecting lines of energy were thrown forward by the force of the blow, screaming through the air. Caught by surprise, Kouto reflexively raised his hands to ward off the attack... ...which, somehow, he did. There was a burst of light and a brief cloud of dust; when it faded, Kouto was standing unharmed, his hands describing a diagonal line before him. He glared back at Seki, who wore a confident smile. "I thought so," the newcomer said. "I know your secret." Kouto's face twitched angrily. There was a short, dramatic pause... then Seki rushed toward his opponent, holding his chair in a textbook Dovetail Grip as it whirled through the air. Kouto quickly moved his hands, and with a clacking noise the blow was deflected; he essayed a counterstrike, but Seki lifted his chair defensively, and even though it was nowhere near Kouto's hands, somehow the attack was blocked. They battled back and forth for at least a minute, neither gaining the upper hand; Yashiko cheered her big brother on, and Vanity snored gently on the ground. As for the spectators, they found the sight of Kouto being fought on equal terms to be exhilarating... yet puzzling. "I dunno how he's doing it, but he's *doing* it!" "Yeah, but... why does it sound like wood hitting wood whenever they block?" "And who placed this five thousand yen bet on the new kid?" Yashiko just cheered harder. For his part, Seki was impressed. He'd never seen such complete control of the technique; he doubted even Venerable Master Oakcraft had thought of using it in this matter. Still, it was time to make his move. Leaping back, he ran forward toward Kouto, the top of the chair near his feet as he charged it with ki energy. When he reached his foe, he launched himself upward and ignited the ki, swinging the chair upwards in a vertical slash. "RISING CHAIR FIRE!" Quickly Kouto blocked the attack... But then Seki brought the chair back down as he descended, smashing it from overhead at the Council President. Kouto defended again, but this time Seki had his full weight behind the attack, and his opponent had to maintain his defense to avoid injury. And for the first time, the students of Hiroto High School saw exactly what Kouto had been battering them with for the last four years. A deep, deep silence fell across the courtyard, then a single outraged voice said what everyone had been thinking. "...a COATRACK?! He's been beating us up with a COATRACK?!" "I. Don't. BELIEVE IT!" "Why that miserable-!" His eyes burning with rage and humiliation, his weapon locked helplessly into place, Kouto glared at Seki, who returned his gaze calmly. "So," he said quietly through gritted teeth, "you figured it out." Seki nodded. "Your control of FurnitureSpace is incredible, being able to call and banish your weapon so quickly. I didn't realize it at the time, but this morning your hands moved in the classic 'Raging Dowel' stance; once I recognized it, the rest was easy." They stood in tableau a moment longer, then Kouto gave a small laugh and pushed Seki away, his demeanor composed once more. "Well done. But here, a battle between those who know the Way is treated with more respect than a brawl in the schoolyard." The coatrack vanished once again into FurnitureSpace. "Thus, I propose a duel. If you win, then Vanity will no longer be under my control." Seki raised an eyebrow. "And if I lose?" The Council President's expression turned ice cold. "Then you leave this school, and never return." He considered this, perhaps for not long enough. "I accept." "I thought you might." He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a small silver brooch, then tossed it to Seki. Its surface appeared to be of ancient design, displaying a chair, a table, a bed, and an oil lamp. The essential quartet of furniture, Seki realized; a place to sit, a place to put things, a place to sleep, and a source of light and heat. Everything else was either a refinement of these four concepts or an unnecessary luxury. "Meet me at the building behind the school at sunset," Kouto told him, nudging Vanity awake with his foot; the girl stood up and moved into place behind him. "You will not find me so unprepared next time." He walked off... or tried to, as the crowd of students who had lived in fear their entire High School life moved in to exact some revenge for their humiliation. They were quickly forced back, however; despite the *nature* of his weapon, Kouto still had six and a half feet of heavy pine joinery at his immediate disposal, and that's enough to command respect. Walking away over the battered bodies, he sauntered back toward the school entrance, Vanity following in his wake. *** *** *** "Bum bum bum bum BUM! Bum bum bum bum BUM!" Far to the west and several thousand feet over China, Flight 42 of Transcendence Airlines - Tibet's most popular, and in fact only, air service provider - soared toward its distant destination, Tokyo International Airport. It wasn't a crowded flight, which was probably a good thing; the passenger in seat 14C had claimed 14A and 14B, 13C, 8D, 19Q (on the tip of the wing), and the copilot's chair as alternate seating arrangements, for when she got bored. In other words, she moved around every thirty seven seconds. "It's cold outside! There's no kind of atmosphere! Lumi-chan is all alone, more or less! Let me fly, really really far away! Fun, fun, fun! In the sun, sun, sun!" The other passengers assumed this was a test of their patience and courage, and did their best to ignore the hyperactive girl riding with them. They were largely unsuccessful in this, as evidenced by the way they tightly gripped their armrests, prayer beads, and ceremonial sledgehammers. Possibly Brother Hokipoki in seat 7A had it the worst; Lumi-chan had interpreted his vow of silence to mean that he was a mime, and kept pestering him to walk against the wind and give her balloon animals. "I want to lie, shipwrecked and comma toast! Drinking fresh mango juice! Cute little goldfishies OH, swimming between Lumi-chan's toesies and, um, nibbling at them! Fun, FUN, fun! In the sun, SUN, sun! Hai, HAI, hai! Wai, WAI, wai!" There was an informal meeting of various ascetic traditions in the bathroom, feverishly trying to determine whether acts of gratuitous violence carried out a mile or two over the Earth *really* counted against one's karma. "Bum bum bum bum BUM! Bum bum bum bum BUM! Bum bum bum bum BUM BUM, POW!" If only she would stop singing, too... "Ninety-second verse, same as the first! Bum bum bum bum BUM! Bum bum bum bum BUM...!" *** *** *** In the next exciting chapter of... FURNITURE WARRIORS X PLUS... TURBO... AND STUFF: WILL Seki go to the Venerable Ancient Duelist's Arena and Squash Court? WILL Lumi-chan get terminally bludgeoned before she reaches Tokyo? WILL Yashiko provide more fanservice? (Probably.) WILL Vanity collapse again? (Also probably.) WILL this starter get voted in? (Hopefully!) Find out next time in Chapter Two: Climbing a Stepladder to Heaven! = = = = = = = = = = AUTHOR'S NOTES So, you take the original Furniture Warriors Improfic, first penned by the esteemed Twoflower himself. Dip it in a faint coating of Rival Schools, absolutely *slather* it with Revolutionary Girl Utena in-jokes, sprinkle with Love Hina ecchiness (manga-style, not anime), add maybe a touch of Kung Fu... and you end up with this. Or possibly Baked Alaska, I'm not sure. Reading the original FW (available in the Improfanfic Hall of Fame) is highly recommended if you want to write for this... heck, it's even recommended if you don't. It's fairly short, and highly nifty. I wouldn't say it's required, as continuity in the FW world is a trifle dubious to begin with, but it couldn't hurt. And at least it'll help you understand some of the in-jokes. At bare minimum, look over the character designs; though none of the others except Ikea appear in this fic, the picture of Lumi-chan at http://www.improfanfic.com/fw/omake/mal-lumi-2.gif will give you a good idea what you're up against, so to speak. Just a side-note... the title proposed at the end of this chapter, in true FW style, can be pretty much ignored and is just there for flavor. And for simplicity's sake, we can probably refer to this starter as 'Furniture Warriors X', which abbreviates easily to FWX, rather than FWX+(sigma)TThB2k2. Please vote this starter in! I mean, it's not like it can be used anywhere *except* Impro...