“Boy, you’re feeding her too much!” Genma complained as he continued to work on his noodle bowl, enjoying the pork broth. Man he was glad he decided to try out this ‘Ichiraku’ place. Damn good ramen!
The young pigtailed martial artist rolled his eyes. “Pops,” the raven-haired youth spoke up to his old man. “All she’s had for the past couple of months is food from that ‘kennel’ we left her at.” He was pretty sure that Lily Hills Servant Farms probably didn’t do much for the girls that were in the more hospital-like wing, so what was wrong with letting her enjoy a few bowls of ramen? “Plus,” he continued, hoping to appeal to his father’s lazy nature. “If she doesn’t eat enough, she’ll run out of energy and be unable to do what we need!” Ranma added, driving the point deeper.
Although she couldn’t say anything due to having to keep up a certain image of being a good ‘brain-washed/tumble dried’ lycanthrope slave, Britanny smiled as her master stood up for her. So even as the two men argued, Britanny kept on eating enjoying some more of her ‘real’ food. After month of that nutrient rich but flavorless crap she’d been forced to eat, even simple ramen bowls were heaven!
Looking away from his glaring father and back over to the werecheetah, Ranma smiled as he saw her quickly downing the food with all the manners of a starved beggar. “So... I take it you’re enjoying your meal?” He asked, hoping to get his father’s mind off of costs. His father was such a stingy person financially ever since they got to this world.
Slurping her noodles quickly, the werecheetah nodded her head very quickly. “Mmmhmm! Thank you, Master!” She replied before going back to quickly bringing more of the carbohydrates to her mouth.
Genma snorted in annoyance at the behavior going on between master and slave. “She need not eat that much, boy...” he grumbled in annoyance as he continued to eat.
Although difficult, the raven-haired martial artist resisted the urge to whap his father upside the head. Instead, he countered with, “Pops, you gotta understand something about Britanny. As a werecheetah she’s got a different meta... meta...”
“Metabolism,” Britanny helpfully interjected.
Snapping his fingers, Ranma shouted, “Yeah that! She has to eat a little more because her body burns through it faster.”
Rolling his little piggy eyes, the portly master of the Saotome School of Anything Martial Arts told him, “Bah! That’s just an excuse and you know it!” He gave his empty bowl to the chef behind the counter, whom took it and replaced it with another of fresh soup and noodles. He held it to his face and inhaled the delicious aroma.
Frowning as he watched his old man practically have an orgasm over his meal, the younger Saotome male grumbled, “Well, she’s not your slave so SHADDUP!” Huffing in annoyance at all the crud his father was giving him over how he treated Britanny, Ranma buried his face into his own bowl and continued eating.
Blinking his eyes once, twice, Genma nodded his head in acceptance. “That is true enough...” the Saotome Patriarch said seriously. “But I expect you to be more responsible with the one you own. She’s your slave and will be loyal to you but that doesn’t mean she won’t respect you if you don’t take action.”
“No kidding...” Ranma retorted, eating his food. “I already know that!” He told his father as he gave his empty bowl to the chef behind the serving counter. As he received a fresh bowl, the pigtailed youth held his chopsticks and pointed them at the portly man. “I’m just ticked you’re trying to act like she’s your slave too!”
Lowering his bowl onto the counter, the older martial artist turned his head to look at his son. “Is there a problem with us sharing the spoils, boy?”
“Hell yeah there is!” The raven-haired heir of the Saotome School of Martial Arts shouted. “Because you never shared any with me! So NYAH!” He rose his right hand to his face, pulling down his lower eyelid and sticking his tongue out at his old man.
Humphing in annoyance and aggravation as his son stuck his tongue out at him, Genma turned away and gave the lofty reply, “Boy it is good that you take charge of your slave. However you are inexperienced in such things and need a guiding hand to teach you and show you along the way.”
Giving his father a look of disbelief, the younger of the two Saotomes males finally said, “You just wanna use her yourself.” It’s not like his old man would have any experience. They hadn’t owned any slaves up until they got Britanny.
His face turning red, the pudgy martial artist roared, “I am helping you!”
Deciding to try and break up the fight between father and son before it could escalate, the werecheetah held up her bowl and politely asked, “Can I have thirds?” Britanny smiled at them as she saw both turn their heads to look at her.
“Yes!”
“NO!”
At their dual reply both men turned their attention back to each other. His eyes narrowed, Ranma told his old man, “Hey, this ain’t your business. I can pay for thirds for her!”
That last bit of information taking a lot of wind out of his sails, Genma reluctantly nodded his head in consent. “If it’s coming out of your pocket...” he said slowly. “But you really should budget your money better. They do make a cheap ‘Slave Chow’ as it were...” although as he understood it, it wasn’t much different from dog food.
Hearing that comment, Britanny made a face. Oh yes, she’d had the stuff before. It really, REALLY tasted god awful. How or why they kept producing crud of that low a level of quality, she had no idea.
Now it was the pigtailed martial artist that snorted in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. “That crap won’t give her anything but the runs!” Ranma retorted.
After a moment or two in silence, Genma finally asked his disrespectful son, “So?”
Meeting his father’s gaze, Ranma told his old man, “You want a useful slave or one constantly on the crapper?”
To that response, Britanny raised an eyebrow. She wished he wasn’t so blunt about such a subject, but that didn’t mean she disagreed. While her toxic immunity would help with a lot of things, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t flush such crud out of her system much different from anyone else. It was just that bad!
“Fine then,” Genma replied to his son. “Get her one of the average brands. Those shouldn’t be too bad.”
Lowering his head, Ranma muttered under his breath about cheapskates. He held out a couple of Yen Notes to the chef, paying for another bowel.
Smiling, Britanny held her hands out, accepting the refilled bowl and began to eat anew. “So, Master,” she started after swallowing a bit more food. “Where are we going next?”
To that question, Ranma turned his gaze towards Genma.
Looking at his suddenly inquisitive son, the older man smirked. “Oh? So NOW you value my opinion?”
At the attitude his old man took, Ranma continued to frown. “Hey, you’re the one supposedly leading this training trip. Surely you of all people have got something in mind!” He said seriously.
To that, Genma smirked. “I see wisdom does take hold of your senses occasionally. Indeed you are right my boy.” He picked up a newspaper at the end of the counter and motioned towards the open page. “What do you see here?”
Reaching over past his father and taking the newspaper, Ranma quickly skimmed over the article. “...Ancient training ground finally re-opened to public...” he read aloud before looking up to his old man. “You want us to head there?”
Nodding his head firmly, the Saotome Patriarch replied, “Yep! We’re heading there as soon as we can to try out the facilities for ourselves.”
Leaning over to look at it herself, the werecheetah slave raised an eyebrow. “...Why did they close the place down before?” Britanny wondered aloud.
“Details, details!” Genma stated, trying to ease her worries. “But if we’re to make it to China...” the older man said seriously. “Then we’re going to need to raise some funds! And that is where...” he took the newspaper from his son and flipped a few pages to the Sports section. “THIS comes in!” He then handed it to his boy once more.
Taking the newspaper from Genma, Ranma looked over the article, taking in a bit more than he did the training ground. Raising his gaze to look at his father, the pigtailed martial artist asked, “A tournament?”
To that question, Britanny’s ear perked. A tournament?
“YOU BET'CHA!” Genma said seriously. “Open to anyone, slave or free person. There are going to be four brackets and four top prizes.” He grinned. “If we train your slave well enough and we each enter a bracket, we might be lucky enough to win three of the big prizes!”
With the old man’s exuberance and confidence obvious, Britanny allowed herself a grin. She too, had reason to be confident. “Oh, no worries there. I already know how to fight.” As the two looked at her, she allowed, “But some refinement wouldn’t be bad.” She mused to herself, finishing her bowl.
Continuing to stare at his son’s slave, the portly martial artist blinked his eyes in surprise. “You can fight?” It wasn’t that Genma doubted her strength or prowess thanks to her being a Lycan but he didn’t think she had any proper training.
Nodding her head, the young woman replied, “Of course. Why else would they spend so much time ‘conditioning me’? To make sure I can't fight my master,” Britanny said sourly. At the look she got, she told them, “I was my sister’s bodyguard before I got sold and have a lot of experience kicking ass. So that makes me more of a ‘threat’ than Lycanthropes whom simply depend on their god-given talents and powers.” Her eyes flashed. “They wanted to make sure I would firmly be under master’s control.”
Nodding his head in acceptance of that, Genma admitted, “That does make a lot of sense.” He smirked. “So I take it you’ll be taking to the competition fiercely?”
Nodding her head firmly, the werecheetah told him, “Yeah. They didn’t erase my talents or skills but they limited my ability to fight outside of orders unless Master allows me to ‘go nuts’.” She smirked and mentally added. “Of course there’s no reason to tell him that a lot of the conditioning failed. Eh heh heh heh...”
To that bit of information, Genma grinned widely. “Wonderful! Then we’ll easily take the top prizes in three of the brackets and with the money get to that Jusenkyo place!”
Bringing a hand to his chin, the youth considered the prospect of going to a new training ground. “What else does the article say about Jusenkyo?” Ranma asked curiously.
“Just the re-opening part,” the older Saotome male replied as he pointed that the article... was rather brief.
Looking past her owner, Britanny sweat-dropped as she took notice that the article of the training ground in the newspaper was in a rather tiny bracket... that usually meant it was a very very obscure location. “..Uh shouldn’t we...research it? Sir?” She added quickly to keep her ‘slave’ appearance.
Genma smiled. “No need! It’s in China; the birthplace of martial arts! Such an amazing training ground being reopened will obviously be of great use to us.” He motioned to the picture. “Look at all those springs and bamboo poles! Excellent balance exercises!”
“China also is home to a lot of baaaad mythologies...” Britanny pointed out to her master’s father. “One time sis and I were on this dig in...” she paused for a moment. “Well, I forgot the name but a bunch of stone ding-dong dynasty guys came after us! And there was another time we opened a portal to something better left unsaid...”
The older man scoffed. “That’s only if you aren’t... careful...” Genma said with a frown as she did make a point. He remembered how it wasn’t checking with something first that got him sent to this world in the first place. “Hmm... perhaps looking into some research wouldn’t be too much...”
Both Britanny and Ranma sighed with relief... until the old fart continued speaking.
“But, I do believe that entering this tournament would be a good idea,” Genma said seriously. “If Ranma is to ever build a Dojo and start training, we’ll need the funds for the materials as well as purchasing land to start construction on.”
Hearing what his father had to say, the young Saotome male was a little more understanding of his old man’s views. “Guess ya got a point there, Pops,” Ranma admitted as he idly scratched the back of his head. “But what if I don’t get any students? I mean, there’s lots of places already that are preparing all kinds of Malmuks and even placed that offer classes for regular people too.”
Leaning over, the werecheetah had her mouth to Ranma’s ear. “Mom always says that despite the changing times fighters, will never go away so you might catch a break when it comes to getting started,” Britanny told him encouragingly.
Despite her trying to keep it low so only her owner would hear, the youth’s father caught it. Genma smiled at hearing that. “Sounds like your mother is a wise-woman,” he said, surprising the woman. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look like a stoic sort; an attempt at impressiveness that was broken by how he grinned in knowing. “Obviously your mother must quiet, albeit buxom, red-tressed beauty that does whatever her martial artist husband tells her to do.”
Raising an eyebrow, the werecheetah was more than happy to correct him on his false assumptions. “Actually, Dad’s a scholar and Mom is the martial artist. In a physical fight, she could kick Daddy’s butt but any fighting they do is mostly for play before nookie.” At the look on the old fart’s face she smirked and decided to rub in, “And yes, she is a buxom redhead.” She giggled as Genma fell over off of his stool.
Watching as his old man lay on the floor, Ranma couldn’t help but chuckle. Oh yes, that had been a much needed laugh. It really helped ease some of the tension that had been weighing on his mind. “So, Pops,” the youth spoke down to his father. “Getting back to this tournament... what’re the prizes?”
Groaning as he pulled himself off the floor Genma answered, “Why, large sums of money of for the top three winners of each division course, with a special random prize chosen for the top winners of each bracket.”
Raising an eyebrow, Britanny asked, “Is it an either one or the other choice? If it’s the latter, I suggest avoiding the random prize!” The werecheetah proclaimed seriously. “Trust me when I say it can’t end well! IT CAN’T!” She started twitching as she remembered when she and Gina had been put into such a spot. All that lost gold...
The Saotome started as his son’s slave was breathing heavily. “....Ooookaaaay...” Genma said slowly. He held up the newspaper for her to get a better view. “But as you can see here, it says random prize, so we’ll just have to win to find out,” he told her seriously. He frowned as a realization came to him. “By the way, I hate to admit it but we’ll have to spend money on getting you an outfit for this tournament...”
Nodding to her head agreement, Britanny replied, “Thanks. This one isn’t battle ready.” To emphasis her point, the werecheetah tugged on the skin-tight material of her outfit, letting it shift a little. “My goodies pop out or could be exposed at any slight tearing...”
Watching the movements of her body, it took a bit for the Saotome patriarch to gather his wits. “Er... that’s not it...” Genma said as he turned the page to point out a section of the article about the martial arts tournament to her. It seemed while half of the four brackets was for free people, the other two were for slaves. Specifically for female slaves who were...
“DRESSED IN BIKINIS!?” Britanny squawked.
“...And mud wrestling...” Genma squeaked out.
Having the newspaper in front of him as he sat between both his father and his slave, Ranma just gawked as he stared at the picture. Two women in what was best described as cloth triangles and dental floss in a bit of brown; covered in muddy filth.
Finally getting over her shock, Britanny could only begin to describe what was wrong with that scenario. “Those... those are just string and cloth! My stuff will pop out something like that for sure!”
“I think that’s the intention...” Genma replied, a sweat-drop rolling down the side of his head.
Twitching even more, Britanny tried to make sense of this. “But... but....” she sputtered in shock. Oh, how she hated how people with over-active hormones being in positions of power. This had to be some perverted fan-boy’s idea.
His slave’s reaction made Genma sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said sympathetically, sounding rather genuine. “But at least it’s not as bad as the men’s slave bracket.” He motioned to the picture and section of the article. “Gladiatorial combat for them; fights are possibly to the death.” He then tried to make her feel better by explaining, “But because the slaves go through either more humiliating or... dangerous fights, they can win over three times as much as either Ranma or I in the ‘traditional’ martial arts brackets. You’ll make more than my son and I combined if you win first place.”
Leaning forward with her upper body onto the serving counter, Britanny buried her head under her arms. “Oh God... I hope I can get a bikini that won’t show off my goods. I don’t wanna have my girls or kitty on Youtube!”
Genma and Ranma blinked their eyes in unison. “Youtube?”
Sighing into her arms, the werecheetah lifted her head. Looking between the two Saotome males, she explained, “It’s a website on the internet where people can freely post videos from TV shows to homemade movies.”
Considering her explanation, the older Saotome nodded his head. “Such as if someone were to bring a camcorder with them to the tournament; a werecheetah in a thick-material swimsuit.” Genma shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps that is an idea with merit...”
“I don’t wanna have some perv on the net ogling me!” Britanny whined, despite the need to stay in character. She wasn’t the sort that went around just flashing herself for the hell of it. She had more pride than that!
Coming to his senses, Ranma found himself in a losing battle against the blush erupting across his face. “Well... uh...” he was trying to find some way to console his slave and was finding it rather difficult to find the right words. Words were never his strong point, after all. Um... maybe that bikini with strong material idea Pops mentioned has merit,” the youth said, trying to console her.
Genma nodded his head, glad his son was trying to agree with him... for once. “True enough. We’ll find something with a thicker material than normal so it holds and if not, we’ll just have to try and find something that will stick.” He brought his right hand up and scratched his chin as he thought about what could be done. “Maybe pasties...” he mumbled more to himself.
But as before, Genma speaking to himself was loud enough to be heard by the other two. Blinking his eyes once, twice, Ranma had to admit, “Actually... Pops does have a point there. We can get you pasties to wear under the swimsuit. If it’s sticky on both sides then they should keep the top on you easier... right?”
Shaking her head, the werecheetah was very much against the idea. “No way! They’d get stuck to my fur!” Britanny argued. “That means that when I would go to take them off...” she shuddered. “OUCH! It would be worse than that time I tried a hot wax in my human form!”
The Saotome Patriarch sighed. “So much for that thought.” His eyes widened. “Wait! You change forms?” The old man asked, suddenly shifting mental gears. Curiously, Genma inquired, “What are your forms?”
Britanny was surprised, taken off-guard by the old man taking interest in something besides the fact his son had a slave that could kick ass and take names. “Uh... well, there’s my hybrid form, which you now, a human and full cheetah mode,” the young Lycanthrope explained. “I’d show off human but... this uniform does NOT shrink,” she admitted with a blush.
Genma frowned. He was hoping to get a look as soon as possible but it looked like such would have to wait. “Do you think you could take on other female opponents in your human form?” He asked, curious as he was already making plans of how he could train her; keep her hybrid form as an ‘ace in the hole’ as it were, like his Umiseiken and Yamaseiken techniques.
“Uh... no,” the tall, buxom catwoman replied. “I’m more petite and my muscle, speed and healing advantage are GONE.” She affirmed, explaining how much being in human form sucked. “I can still relay on my fighting skills but I mainly focused and built on them around my hybrid form...” she trailed off and blushed. “Mom did say it was kind of dumb to not develop a style for my human form...” she chuckled nervously, a sweat-drop rolling down the side of her head. Damn you, accursed hindsight!
Accepting that explanation, Genma nodded his head. “We’ll have to work on it when we can but for now,” he took a deep breath and braced himself to let loose his wallet. “I believe Ranma and I will have to look into getting you a swimsuit.”
The werecheetah looked to him, her eyes widen and full of hope. “...Shopping?”
At the expression on the woman’s face, Genma could help but chuckle nervously. Leaning past the woman and over to his son, he whispered, “If she’s this excited about shopping, I think we just might need to win that tournament to pay this of...”
Slowly, Ranma nodded his head. He hated to agree with the old man but he had a point here. Hopefully, they’d be ready and get the money they’d need to pay off any incoming bills that were sure to rear their ugly heads on the horizon.
“Then it’s settled,” Genma proclaimed, settling back into his seat at the counter. He looked over the two. “Ranma, you take your slave to get her a bikini. I’ll go to the stadium and get us signed up. We’ll meet back here at six for dinner.”
At his father’s suggested game-plan, the pigtailed youth nodded his head. “Right Pops,” Ranma said in agreement getting up with Britanny. “Ready to go?”
The werecheetah gave him a firm nod of her head. “Hell yes!” She shouted, smiling gleefully. She may have been a slave but shopping was still shopping!
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(Posted Wed, 01 Apr 2009 04:49)
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