Ranma fought the urge to smack his palm over his face. "What sorta 'new friends' are we talkin' 'bout?"
"Oh, just some guys I've met recently. They were really nice people, and they seem to be the sort who we'll know for a while."
"Really..."
"Yes. Is something wrong?"
"Just how many times have ya actually talked to them?"
"Once or twice. Why?"
"Ugh..." growled the pigtailed boy. His father had a constant habit of making 'friends' who usually were working some sort of scam on them, losers, or had some 'get rich quick' scheme. The problem was that his old man had a habit of getting into such situation, and they'd wind up stuck in some stupid situation where they'd wind up having to get free with great difficulty.
He didn't even want to think about that time that his old man had heard about a 'great dojo' and discovered that they only taught female mamluks. He would do much to further his skill in the Art, but pretending to be a slave girl was not something he'd do.
"Listen boy, it'll be fine," the elder Saotome told him.
"That's what you say every time," the teen grunted.
"You'll see."
"Yeah. But what I'll see'll be up in the air."
"Humph. Don't you have any respect for your father?"
"Nope. Not really," Ranma replied, but followed his father anyway, while:
(Posted Thu, 28 Apr 2005 23:42)
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