14-Oct-2000
Title: "Gundanium Chef " Part 1/1
Author: Enigma
Written: October, 2000
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: ? Surprise ?
Category: (SDDI Oct. # 1Challenge) Parody (Crossover/Fusion)
Archive: GW Addiction
Warnings: AU w/obligatory OOC, shonen ai, fluff, limey innuendoes, and general silliness. Um, possible nose cola alert, too.
Disclaimers: I don't own any of the Gundam Wing Universe or Iron Chef, but I do wonder which would make more money… Plus, I don't own any of the songs or other trademarked stuff I've pulled in here, no da! Obviously, I'm not making any money off this story; heck, who'd *pay* for this nonsense? I have chibis to feed, so please don't sue me.
NOTES: This is rather complicated, but to keep it simple, assume OZ is actually an entertainment venture (they brought us MTV in *this* AU!) and our Fabulous Five are actually Chefs instead of Pilots! Well, um, sorta. Misspellings of names, ingredients, and cooking methods are deliberate and are for humor. Other than that, you're on your own! Allez cuisine!
<NOISE> = sound effects, miscellaneous nonsense, whatever
(noise) = Enigma's comments on the fly <snicker> <-----That's a sound effect!
The hottest TV show running in the known solar cluster was the exciting new show "Gundanium Chef"! Sponsored by Operation Zephyr, their motto being, "Yeah, We're full of hot air! Wanna' make something of it?", it came on late in the evening on Fridays. Ordinarily this would have been a bad timeslot, but the sexy bishonen chefs they had made up for the timing!
Tonight, we take you to one of their shows during taping so you, too, can come to appreciate the quality of "Gundanium Chef"!
(Geez, a cheesy intro for a cheesy story. Go figure!)
"Okay, people," Treize Khushrenada clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "As sole owner of OZ, I'm here to take over the MC position on 'GC' from that Kaga guy. His wardrobe costs were *killing* the show and *my* outfit," he brushed a wayward crumb off his Napoleonic uniform style clothing, "Will do just fine as is! Right, Lady Une?"
"Certainly, Your Excellency!" She clicked her heels together and stiff-arm saluted making several stage hands gag at the overt display of her wildly out of control sexual desires for the ginger-haired man in front of her. Nearby a man with long platinum hair sniffed back giggles knowing full well she didn't have a prayer; wrong gender preference!
"Well, Zechs? What's so funny?" Une demanded.
"Nothing, Fuiki-san." Trying to keep a straight face went out the window as he doubled over laughing.
"Fine!" The woman looked like she'd rather kill him than let him off the hook. "I'll remember that, 'Ohta'!"
"People, people, puh-leaze!" The newly announced MC rubbed the bridge of his nose in false pain. "Let's get started, shall we? Who has the biographical material on the challenger tonight?"
"I do, Treize-sama," Ohta-Zechs responded in a seductive voice. "Would you like me to give it to you here or in your dressing room?" He purred suggestively. Across the room Fuiki-san-Une glared daggers at him.
"Here will be fine, Zechs. And stop aggravating Une, we have to get this show done without another cat-fight between you two, understand?" He attempted to glare menacingly, but looked rather seductive and both support staff members assumed it was for themselves and nearly melted where they stood.
After quickly perusing the documents, the MC, "Special K" as he preferred to be called, announced it was time to roll cameras.
<Dramatic music, probably from an action movie (preferably one with Nicholas Cage!) began playing as the top of one highly polished boot came into view.>
"If memory serves me," Special K looked straight into the camera and winked, "And it always does, you know! We discovered this evening's challenger on the beach boardwalk in Hollywood USA. There he is renowned for his extravagant presentations of fast food and pre-cooked meals for those who wish to dine near the sea."
<A photomontage begins to roll as we see images of a handsome young man, long brown hair braided behind him handing out pretzels and ice cream cones on simple paper napkins next to a rolling cart marked "Shinigami Chillers---Cold As Death". There is no sign whatsoever of anything even remotely resembling "extravagant presentations" while this sun-bronzed hunk is making change for a customer.>"So, welcome Duo Maxwell, American Chef Supreme to Our Kitchen Stadium!"
<Thunderous applause is played from a tape as a kid who looks more like a beach bum than a chef wanders into the room. Blinking a few times, he obviously realizes it seems too dark because he forgot to take off his Ray-Bans when he was coming in from off-stage.>
"Welcome, Mr. Maxwell," the MC began the usual lengthy and boring greeting before the laid-back American cut him off.
"Whoa, cool, dude!" The surfer-boy looked around at the huge room wondering why there was steam rising from some very large pots and amazed that there was so much shiny metal stuff around. "Man, what a way cool joint!"
Khushrenada was rather annoyed at being interrupted, but knew the cameras were still rolling and decided to make do as best he could. "As I was saying, welcome to Kitchen Stadium where you will face off against our four Gundanium Chefs to see who can make the best dish with tonight's secret ingredient!"
"Hey, man! Hold up! I watched this show before and don't I pick *one* of your dudes to battle and we each have to make *four* dishes, not the other way around? And didn't you used to have nicer clothes, too, man?" Duo was not trying to stir up trouble, it came naturally for him to do so, but no one warned Treize about it.
"Just what *exactly* is wrong with my clothes?" He demanded angrily. "You just flounced in here barefoot and wearing cut-offs! I dare say my outfit is far more cultured and refined than yours!"
Several camera personnel rolled their eyes and the director was making slashing motions with his hand hoping to stop a war before it started.
Special K, however, regained his composure and proceeded with the script knowing they could edit the whole clothes nonsense out later. "Now, let me summon our finest culinary gladiators, the Gundanium Chefs!"
<Again rolling thunderous music and applause are played on tape as four figures rise into sight.>
A handsome Chinese youth stood wearing a cheesy yellow outfit with a ridiculous hat with a black pom-pom on it that seemed terribly inappropriate for the anger in his eyes. "Gundanium Chef Chinese, Chang Wufei, born a nobleman, he developed a love for fine cuisine at an early age and became a chef instead of a warrior prince. He has his own restaurant, 'The Nataku' in Tokyo's trendy theater district!"
Next, another strikingly handsome young man, blond and swathed in bright red satin stood holding a fresh pair for no good reason. "Gundanium Chef French, Quatre Raberba Winner, heir to an incredible fortune, knows good food when he finds it and has wonderful French cuisine prepared for him nightly at the Sandrock Resort!"
Obviously the line about having food "prepared for him" indicated he wasn't much of a chef himself, but, hey, he was cute and that was all that counted for ratings!
Beside him was another uncomfortable looking but gorgeous young hunk dressed mostly in red but some green and white was thrown in for contrast; he apparently was *not* happy to be there, but his green eyes betrayed little emotion beyond that. "Gundanium Chef Italian, Trowa Barton, ladies and gentlemen. While he is neither Italian nor a Chef, he certainly looks good when he's working out at his gym, 'The Heavyarms', where they do serve Italian ices to customers after a strenuous work out!"
Clearly there was an interesting story here, but our attention was turned to the final chef and what a stud *he* was!
Last, in shining silver silk with profusions of red, white, and blue for no reason immediately apparent, a drop-dead gorgeous bishonen stood with a massive knife in his hands looking like he had a place he'd like to throw it right between the MC's, um, uh, eyes. Yeah, *eyes*, that's right! But he was successfully controlling his rage. "Finally, Gundanium Chef Japanese, Heero Yuy, finest preparer of raw meats in Tokyo, he is doing spectacularly well in his new Wing Zero Café!"
(Did you notice the pattern? All gorgeous, all young, all irresistible? Why ask why?)
"Oh, wow, man!" The surfer-boy was drooling on himself looking over the guys he was supposed to compete against. "If I win do I get to take them all home with me?" He asked not terribly innocently at all.
"NO!" Shouted the young man in yellow, clearly unhappy with *that* suggestion.
"Easy, Dragon," the MC said to the Chinese chef, "We'll edit this massively, so let me assure you that you are *not* going anywhere, but home with *me* tonight!"
Zechs and Une were both suddenly choking, but no one paid any attention to them.
Sighing, the MC just mumbled something about unveiling a secret ingredient and getting the whole damned fiasco over with as quickly as possible. A tray of dry ice was raised from the floor with a pointless piece of fabric covering it. With utterly no flourishes, Special K yanked off the covering and pronounced. "The stinking, I mean 'secret' ingredient tonight is---hot dogs!"
Again someone cued a tape of ominous music and each of the five chefs looked dismayed briefly then the beach-boy's eyes lit up.
"Righteous!" He proclaimed striking a pose, again for no apparent reason.
Yawning and looking pained, the MC waved a hand and pronounced, "Allez cuisine or whatever the Hell you want. You bakas have an hour; do something besides just look pretty for the cameras for a change, okay?"
Growling, the Japanese and Chinese chefs attacked the ingredient stand each snagging a single package of the all beef Kosher hot dogs and running competitively to their work stations.
"Whoa, dudes! What's up with all the negative vibes?" the American commented as he lazed his way to get the wieners.
"Oh, don't mind them," The chipper blond smiled at the young man wondering if he could sneak off for awhile with the braided beauty before him and do something other than pretend to cook, but then felt the weight of emerald eyes on his back. "Oh, Trowa! Sorry, did I get in the way?" he smiled sweetly at the boy behind him whose response was silence. The strange pair each took a package of hot dogs to separate stations and while Quatre puzzled over just what exactly they were, animal, mineral, or vegetable, Trowa immediately got to work.
<Commercial break comes right as the Japanese and Chinese chefs nearly come to blows over an ice cream maker that neither wants but it's in their contracts to use regardless. Luckily for them, it falls to the floor broken beyond repair and both smile knowingly. Almost immediately, a quick brush of bronzed fingers "accidentally" ruins the entire evening's allotment of crab brains, too. Pity.>
"15 minutes have elapsed." A saccharine voice announces as we return to the program. The camera shows us the Chinese chef has pulled out a saber and is attacking the links in front of him with a vengeance.
"Ohta-Zechs, what is the Chinese chef putting in the pressure cooker?" The woman speaking clearly doesn't *care* what is going on since there isn't a pressure cooker anywhere to be seen.
"Fuiki-san-Une, nothing whatsoever." The snide voice was heard to reply. "Chef Chang has chosen a *wok* for his dish, 'Szchezuan Hot Dogs', which contains: hot dogs, red peppers, spicy bean paste, Deadly Dragon Hot Sauce (TM), and numerous other ingredients."
"Any fois gras?" The woman asked disinterestedly.
"Of course not," the man responded angrily, "I would have mentioned it if there was just to impress everyone with how expensive it is and how totally gross it is when you find out it is just goose liver---RAW!"
Off-stage, several stage hands barfed their previously consumed fois gras snacks onto the floor. Guess too much knowledge is indeed a dangerous thing!
Clearing her throat, the woman moved on, "What, pray tell, is the Japanese chef preparing? As if I don't know since it's the only thing he *ever* prepares regardless of the ingredient!"
"It is your favorite, Une, 'Hot Dog Sushi'!" He responded with more enthusiasm than necessary earning him a patented death glare from the Japanese chef and a muttered threat, "Omae o korosu!"
Without warning, said Japanese Chef began to slowly untie the shining silver belt around his waist, easing his apparently overly-hot or overly-restricting or overly-something shirt off. One shoulder appeared, well-muscled and barely concealed by the strap of a green tank-top and then a handsome chest was revealed. Eventually, using up several otherwise misspent moments of camera time, he had disrobed completely from his original outfit in a languorous strip tease. Now he stood, young, glistening and sexy as all get-out in excruciatingly tight black spandex shorts and that loose and oh-so-revealing green tank-top.
Across the stadium, the American challenger dumped ice-water down the front of his own black cut-offs for no obvious reason, but no one noticed except the Japanese youth who smirked evilly at the other boy. Violet eyes wide and generously inviting lower-lip quivering, the young surfer-dude finally grabbed his as yet unopened package of wieners and hurried out a side door heading for parts unknown but wishing a certain Japanese chef might come looking for him later.
The throaty chuckle he heard while leaving, however, was from a different person entirely! Zechs smiled to himself, avidly watching the two boys practically make-out with their eyes alone before the American had vanished. Now *this* would boost ratings!
"Where is our Italian chef?" Une asked. The woman was actually concerned since the green-eyed mystery man had disappeared.
"I know!" Piped up the "French" chef. "He made 'Hot Dog Lasagna' and went to his dressing room. He said this was, and I quote, 'the stupidest battle' he had ever been involved in and refused to stay. Do you want me to go get him for you?" He offered quite eagerly.
"No, Quatre, then we'd be missing *two* of you for the rest of the show!" Shaking his head in disbelief, the MC intervened. "Just tell us---what on Earth do you think you are making?!?"
Eyes wide, everyone looked closely and realized he had smashed several hot dogs flat and was trying to roll out the resulting mashed meat into a relatively thin layer. Happily, the blond held up a heart-shaped cookie-cutter and pronounced, "I'm making special 'Heart O' Love Hot Dog Cookies'!"
The remaining stage crew that had survived the fois gras attack barfed whatever they had eaten earlier, leaving the floor a unique combination of colors. Even the Chinese chef looked a bit green which clashed terribly with his yellow suit.
"Um, Treize, I mean, Special K," Zechs cleared his throat to get the slightly older man's attention. "Don't we have some guests on the tasters' panel today?"
"Ah, yes, we do! Thank you, Ohta-Zechs." The MC once more looked more composed than before the commercial break. "May I introduce our guests today, Dr. Sally Po, resistance fighter and renowned food expert, as well as Korn VIII, eighth generation performance artist who has no talent, but we've got a contract with their family to include them if any are alive."
The individual identified as "Korn" appeared neither male nor female and possibly not even human, but no one dared speak a word. Dr. Po simply nodded her head and said, "So nice to be here."
Ah, finally *one* part of the show went off without a hitch! But---where was the challenger?
"Ohta-Zechs, could you please locate our challenger for us? We haven't seen what magnificent dish his American ingenuity will offer us!" Special K was feeling magnanimous about sharing the fun and sent his own lover after the missing beach-boy.
<Another commercial break is quickly inserted when the "French" chef starts cursing in Arabic about the fact that the cookies he's baking keep crumbling. The Chinese youth next to him is snickering openly, but refuses to make any useful suggestions, leaving the poor blond with a big gooey mess on his hands, quite literally!>
"We have located our challenger!" Zechs happily beams into the camera some poor unfortunate operator was forced to drag to the roof. The camera pans onto the figure of the young sea-side entrepreneur lounging on a folding chair and drinking a soda. "Mr. Maxwell, sir, may we have a word?"
"Sure, dude, hold on a second, the song's almost done." It just now becomes obvious he'd been listening to some ancient American music as the final chords of "Surf City USA" spun out. "Yo, whazzzzzzzzzzzzzup?" He drawled out grinning.
"Um, aren't you going to prepare a dish for the tasters?" Zechs blinked in confusion.
"Hell yeah!" Was the enthusiastic response. "But it's too soon. How much time is left?"
Right on cue a voice broke in, "30 minutes have elapsed."
"Awesome! You don't even need a freaking watch around here, do ya'?" He grinned and scooped up another soda and offered it to Zechs. "Here, man, want a cold one?"
"No, thank you, but what exactly are you waiting for? Aren't you concerned about being done in time?" Zechs had never seen such a relaxed attitude in the face of the challenge before.
"Oh-ho! No problem-o, man! Starting too soon means ending too soon and we both know where *that* gets you, eh?" He winked suggestively into the camera leaving a certain MC speechless and a Japanese chef intrigued.
Then the American realized it was time for a little payback after seeing the chef from the Wing Zero Café's response to his comment on a small monitor he had liberated during his escape. "Man, is it ever hot today, or what?" He asked, peeling off his black T-shirt to reveal an almost lacy black cut-leather undergarment that did more to accentuate his bronzed skin than conceal it.
Squeaking, Zechs made a rapid retreat but failed to escape before the American took a pitcher of water and poured it slowly over his head letting the water glisten and shimmer on his upturned face and chest. His skin shone brightly before he wantonly tossed his hefty braid over his shoulder sending rainbow droplets spinning in all directions.
Downstairs, watching on his own monitor, the Japanese chef growled low in his throat and slammed his cleaver down on the cutting board, splitting the two-inch thick wood down the center.
"Sushi's done." Was all the stripped-down chef would say and then he, too, left the arena.
The MC looked utterly hopeless again, sighed and waved a hand to insert a commercial break to sell more Volvos or whatever and he went off in search of some of that wonderful miracle drug he'd discovered recently, Pseudodreine, manufactured by Enigma Labs.
For as long as he thought he could put it off, the MC hid in his dressing room and as he had just decided to go back, the drugs kicked-in. Uh-oh.
(Be afraid. Be very afraid! *Treize Khushrenada* on Pseudodreine? Ohmigawd!!!)
"Hidey-Ho, Gundanium Chef Fans!" He jauntily greeted the cameras as he returned wearing only a silk dressing gown over his uniform slacks, leaving him looking like a very confused Hugh Hefner. "We are happily almost out of time! Let's see where our chefs are and what they're <snicker> 'cooking up' for us!" He dissolved into giggles with no apparent reason for doing so, leaving Une and Zechs to stare at each other in bafflement.
"Ohhhhh, Quatrrr~rre!" He sing-songed, "What's cookin', babe?"
The blond giggled at the outrageous behavior then tried to look serious. "Well, um, 'Special K', <snicker> I think I finally figured out what was wrong with the approach on my recipe, so there'll be plenty of 'Heart O' Love Hot Dog Cookies' for everyone!"
"Oh be still, my beating heart!" Came the enthusiastic response from the MC who was clearly having *way* too much fun thanks to the Pseudodreine!
"Someone get me Dr. Starwind!" Une whispered urgently into a phone; she'd seen Special K coming down from a Pseudodreine high once before and it wasn't pretty!
"Oh, Drrrrr~rragonnnnnn, <growl> what have *you* prepared for us, luscious?" The man practically fell over himself trying to "casually peek" over the Chinese youth's shoulder into the wok.
"Back. Off. Khushrenada!" Wufei was totally annoyed by the entire debacle and wasn't in the mood for games. He drew his saber and held it dangerously poised for *real* battle and thereby held the older man at arm's length.
"Ohkie-dokey!" The MC, spaced out though he was, knew when to back away from a razor sharp blade even if it did still smell like Kosher wieners!
He wandered over to the Italian chef's station and opened the oven door to see how the lasagna was coming. Strangely, there was virtually no aroma coming from the oven. Then he noticed the unit had not been plugged in before Trowa had made his dramatic but unrecorded retreat from the stadium. "Oh my! I'd best plug this in, don't you think?" Special K winked at a camera. "Nah, me neither! I'm sure our fine Italian chef knows what he's doing by not adding heat to his creation!" The blond chef suddenly looked panicked and rushed off-stage looking for the mystery man before the MC could embarrass him further.
"La, la, la, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!" The totally stoned MC sang to himself as he went over to check the "Hot Dog Sushi". He took one look and simply stated in a southern twang, "Hm-mm, Good!" Then he realized the Japanese chef himself was not present; elegantly shrugging his shoulders, he headed for the stairs to the roof.
As the door to the roof opens, we hear the man singing, "Up on the roof! That's where I want to bee~ee," then he stops singing as the camera turns to find the American challenger finally actually *doing* something with his wieners.
(No, ya' bunch a hentais! Not *that* kind of wiener, the *hot dogs* damnit!)
The camera angle gives everyone a good shot of one tightly-clad well-muscled behind as the American beach-boy bends over a small grill. Without anyone noticing, he had apparently contrived to obtain everything he needed to cook patio-style on the roof and had the Japanese chef's rapt attention.
(No, not for the cooking, ya' bunch a clean thinking non-hentais! He's looking at the well-muscled hunk of beefcake previously described! Geesh! Do I have to explain *everything* here?!? <sigh>)
Suddenly *way* too hot, the MC slips off his silk robe revealing his own impressive physique to the camera as he steps forward to ask, "Hey, good lookin'! Whatcha' got cookin'?" Then he bumps hips with the challenger almost knocking the unsuspecting young man into the coals. Luckily, for two out of three at least, Heero grabbed Duo's waist before he took a dive into the burning embers.
Shocked at his near miss with catastrophe, the young American responded as most young Americans would and simply yelled, "HEY!!!" at Special K in annoyance.
Then he noticed that Heero's hands had stayed put even after he had regained his balance. A quick glance from his own waist into some burning blues eyes and he "Eeeped" happily, turning his back on the over-cooked dogs on the grill to pay more attention to the handsome "dog" in front of him! <Growl! Woof! Pant!>
<Yet another commercial break is inserted randomly because the two chefs on the roof start finding each other far more fascinating than the anything else and poor Special K is left out of the picture. He turns to go back downstairs before the commercials end and he actually has to do something again, totally forgetting his current state of undress.>
"So, Fuiki-san-Une, is it time for tasting and judgement?" Zechs asked teasingly not realizing the cameras were on again. Lady Une was drooling at the sight of the half-naked MC stalking back in; his muscular physique perfectly dramatically back-lit by the stage door.
"Ohhhhhhhhh," she shuddered, "Yessssssssssssss………….!"
Zechs snorted in laughter, then flushed red seeing the "ON" light for the cameras.
Seething, he turned looking for someone to yell at realizing belatedly they had gone "live", again for no good reason, and suddenly wished very much he had somewhere to hide.
Sobbing, Special K went over and sat down at the tasting table, the drugs were wearing off much more quickly than expected. "We will <sob> now have tasting and <sniffle> judgement," he moaned as if he had just announced a death in his family. No, that's not very funny at all, but that's how melodramatic he felt considering he'd been dissed by one or possibly both of his lovers and the potential new playmate on the roof had already chosen someone else.
Suddenly, a flurry of activity hit as the missing chefs were retrieved, in various states of disarray however.
Nature had been happily taking its course on the roof and now both young men from there were in comparable states of undress as the MC, better known as half-naked and gorgeous!
The Chinese chef, the only one not to abandon his dish throughout the time period, had been meditating and his silks were drastically wrinkled, something the meticulous young man was displeased with.
The blond had succeeded in coaxing the not-Italian, "Italian" chef back out, but he'd changed out of the garish silk pajamas and into a turtleneck, for no good reason, and dress slacks. The "French" chef remained a mess of gooey red half-dried hot dog meat mash, but he had a 150W smile to go with it as he still held hands with the not-Italian… um… guy. Don't ask. Just don't ask.
Now that the chefs were assembled, the various dishes were offered to the two special guest tasters and two additional people. One was a fortune teller and the other was a low-level government official. Again, please! Don't ask, just don't ask!
T&J, a.k.a. Tasting and Judgement, went quickly. The lasagna was clearly uncooked and disqualified, however its chef didn't care he just stood there dispassionately. The "Heart O' Love Hot Dog Cookies" were utterly inedible, but they looked pretty, so the young blond got a pat on the head from the now melancholy MC. Before the young man could clarify that he was *not* a dog to be patted on the head, the "Italian" chef pulled him off-stage and they went to find something *else* to do!
(Yes, hentais! Feel free to add whatever citrus you like! Their dishes wont be up to win anyway, so *something* tastey should come out of this part!)
Next up, the wonderful wok of "Szchezuan Hot Dogs" which was so hot from too much spice that the tablecloth caught fire when a drop of juice hit it, that the judges refused to touch the stuff. The Chinese chef, ranting about injustice and feeling alienated, stormed off the set to the MC's great dismay and the platinum blonde's delight! "Sexy Zechsy" was looking forward to a nice night after all! Sugoi for him!
This left only two chefs in contention for final glory, the American and the Japanese!
(Oh my, who would have ever predicted it! <snicker>)
First, the "Hot Dog Sushi". The two guests were polite; well, we think the Korn entity was polite, it didn't kill anyone and that's close enough. And the good doctor did force a swallow down followed by a quick shot of "medicinal" whiskey. The other two were terribly predictable, the fortune teller finding fault with the presentation but not taste and the government man just the opposite.
Last, "American Hot Dogs Supreme", as Duo Maxwell, Renowned Street Chef (Nani?!?) named his creation of simple hot dogs, grilled and put on a plain bun with a choice of ketchup, mustard, relish, and onions for topping. Shockingly, even the usually bitchy fortune teller liked this dish and it would have won except for one thing.
It was too complicated.
Yep, you read right, it was "too complicated"! The judges felt there was too much "mental burden" deciding on the order in which to apply the condiments, so the "Hot Dog Battle" was over!
Whose cuisine reigned supreme?!?
The Japanese "Hot Dog Sushi" reigned supreme! <ta-da!!>
(Now are you *really* surprised by that? If so, why? It's a Japanese show, for crying out loud!)
<Tape recorded applause played as the doctor took a deep swallow of the "medicine" to get the onions off her breath. A long fingered hand darted out and back as the American chef claimed the remaining whiskey as his consolation prize, along with the winning chef, of course, and the pair left to go back to the roof---ALONE!>
(Now, if you *fail* to insert a big juicy lemon, you only have yourself to blame! I only warned about limey innuendoes, and it's too late to start re-reading this fic just so I can go change the rating, now isn't it? Hmph.)
Eventually, the end theme music was cued up and all of the cameras shut off. As the staff started cleaning up, no one noticed that the chefs were long gone leaving behind the baffled tasting panel, the two studio "helpers" and one very strung-out MC.
"What a show!" The producer came from the back all grins and happiness.
Special K looked up from where he was snuggling with a box of tissues and wailed.
"What the *Hell* did you think you were doing going "live" without telling us?!?" demanded Une who did *not* appreciate being made a fool of on interstellar TV.
"Well, now, lassy," the strange man with a gleaming metal claw for a hand smiled behind his Bionic Glasses-Thingees (TM) "There was more heat then usual working for us today and I felt we should go with what was shakin', now doncha' know?"
"Gah!" She exclaimed as he pinched her ass none too gently with that bizarre claw of his.
"No, lovely," the man smirked, "That's 'J', my dear! Just like in F-U-"J"-I TV!" He then laughed like a loon and sped away in search of Emeril Lagassi VII (ten guesses why).
~OWARI~
Author's Notes:
1. The Greek Muse of comedy, Thalia, takes full credit for this one, folks! She thinks it was terribly twisted to put the "J" joke in at the end, but that's Thalia for you! Erato is mad she didn't get to come add more direct limes, but she has to wait her turn.
2. I have now exceeded my recommended monthly allowance for hyphenated words. I shall have to make cut-backs, oops! there went another one, later to compensate. Gomen nasai, ya'll!
3. Meanwhile, C&C's craved like chocolate covered Gundam Pilots!
4. I've been asked by several folks to set up an alert system when something of mine is available, (only God Himself knows why, though!) so please feel free to sign up at EnigmaFanficUpdates-subscribe@egroups.com! Periodically totally weird stuff escapes and ends up there. Don't ask. Just don't ask! (I *love* that line! Wonder if it'll fit in the "Secrets" arc? Oh, yeah and the "for no apparent reason" bit, too, ne?)
Enigma
Please send comments to: EclecticAnimeFan@aol.com