It had taken time but the current lord of all the lycanthropes of this castle had come out of his sex-induced coma... yes, sex. He had sex. He could accept that...
He just had trouble accepting that he’d sexed up a female demon werecheetah. It wasn’t that he’d actually gone through with such a thing that was odd, it was rather that he hadn’t expected to do it with her...
Or enjoy it so damned much.
And he especially hadn’t expected her to enjoy it even more than him! Right now, said woman dressed in refined religious garb was on her hands and knees before him pulling a garment up his legs.
Standing up from the bed, Ranma allowed the feline woman more ease to pull a pair of purple slacks up his legs, closing the top portion around his waist and sealing it with a bright gold sash. It was amazing how light all this material was but, “Um... you know that this stuff isn’t my color, right?”
“But I think you look dashing with a touch of violet,” the High Priestess of Saotome assured her God-King. “Such a regal color suits one as perpetually, indescribably, and mightily phallused as you are.”
Ranma blushed a bit but hey... who was he to deny a beauty such as her to stroke his ego? Still, considering what she’d said...
“Um, listen... Tswana, was it?” the male werecheetah started slowly, wanting to make sure he had the right name.
Nodding her head, the werecheetah looked up. “Yes, my God-King who is perpetually, indescribably, and might—”
“About that,” the pigtailed werecheetah interrupted her. “Can’t you just call me, ‘Ranma’ or at least abbreviate that horrendously long title?"
Considering that for a moment, the High Priestess smiled. “I can do that, oh PIMP Ranma!”
“...On second thought, ‘God-King’ will do...” the male werecheetah muttered, lowering his head in defeat.
“Yes, oh God-King PIMP Ranma,” she teased with a smile, running her hands up his furry chest, before turning to decide on the proper shirt to wear—and show off that yummy toned chest that was further proof he was from better stock than the former Lord—may the worms use his decaying corpse for a urinal.
Ranma slumped, wondering what it was about women that made him so powerless to stop them from teasing him.
Humming a happy little ditty, the werecheetah looked through her lord’s closet, pleased that the males had gone and restocked the furniture with newer, more appropriate clothing after using all of the old lord’s vestments to make improved emergency rope-ladders for when a half dozen or so of the females came looking for loving.
“Ah! This one will do...” she said as she held up a white button-up shirt with a very low collar that would show off his pectorals and had delightful ruffled material around said opening and sleeves.
As she had been looking, Ranma’s self-pity was cut off by staring at the barely-covered furry bottom of his—likely self-declared—High Priestess, reminding him why he wasn’t more forceful in ‘laying down the law’. He watched as her tail swayed hypnotically, distracting his hormone-abused mind, making him wet his lips.
Before she turned around to see how the shirt would look on him, he shook his head, trying to remove such thoughts. It had to be the fact he had been changed, as far as he was concerned. Yeah, that’s right! I was never like this in Nerima! I mean, hell, I had all those girls after me, and I never once stared at their... pert, tight little rears, wanting to just go over and—GAH!!
“Are you okay, my Lord?” the priestess asked, seeing her God-King slap himself ... hard.
Lowering his hand, Ranma stared at Tswana. “I just realize that I’ve always been this way and never was back home because I was afraid I’d be married immediately if I acted upon it...” the pigtailed werecheetah politely answered, the moment of clarity so shocking to him that it actually cleared his mind of the hormones... for a moment.
Tswana raised an eyebrow. “Married? Now why would you want to do a fool thing like that and settle for only a single wife when you may be the lord of a harem of a hundred and still have hundreds others at your beck and call?”
Ranma just stared ahead, even as Tswana shrugged and began to try and place the puffy-shirt on him. He recalled one time where his friends... whose names currently escaped him, commented how his mother seemed to bounce between samurai-style honor and wanting him to have a harem.
He did recall the beating he gave them for putting that thought into the universe and thus ensuring he’d somehow pay for it but... here he was: furry, in charge of a harem, and thinking thoughts that while his mother might call them manly, he couldn’t help but feel the Old Perv would complain how they didn’t go far enough.
He also couldn’t help but feel that any moment now, the fiancées would show up via some mystical Amazon item the soon-to-be-interred Grandmaster had stolen, find out he had had sex with multiple women, and return to Nerima with his furry skin as a new rug to fight over.
Well, that was until the hormones led a revolt and quickly slaughtered paranoia and that little fear, replacing them with furry-ized images of his fiancées.
...I’m gonna pay for that thought, I just know it, was the fear’s last words before its head was chopped off and put on a pike that resembled a certain piece of male anatomy.
“There we go...” the werecheetah said as she finished fastening the gold buttons of the shirt. “But still seems rather plain... I believe my Lord and Savior needs... AH YES! The regal vestments!” she said as she clapped a fist down into an open palm. She left the bed-chambers to an adjacent room... in mere moments, she came rushing back in with a violet cape with white mink fur-trim. “Here you are my lord,” the High Priestess said as she started to fasten the cape. “Your crown is out being resized and polished, but the cape is ready for you...” she said firmly. “If you want, I do believe I have a hat that will suit you fairly well.”
Blinking his eyes as dreams of what a furry-Ukyo would look like, bent over her grill, flashed away into his mind, he turned towards the mirror... and froze. I look like that guy near the downtown areas, always asking me about stables and dogs on the bottom of something... Don’t know why he keeps asking about that though, I ain’t ever had a dog, let alone a bottom-dog. Ranma frowned. And why do I have the sudden urge to see if I have a strong backhand?
Taking his silence as approval, the High Priestess quickly grabbed the hat and placed it on his head. Sighing, she wished she still had the cane with the fist-sized ruby on the top. It would set off the entire outfit... had she not used it to crack open the head of a certain chambermaid who had interrupted their cuddle time after such a lovely ‘jam’ session. Sadly, she only found out after the fact that it wasn’t a magic item. Lyra survived the encounter, but not the staff...
WAIT!!!
“Oh, what have we here...” Tswana said as she looked through the former lord’s closet, where he kept his odds, ends and other magical baubles and toys. She smiled as she pulled out a walking cane of solid gold with a fist-sized diamond on the top. “Here, my lord! You may not have your crown but I have this wonderfully magical royal scepter for you!”
Accepting the staff, Ranma questioned, “Magical?”
Nodding her head firmly, the High Priestess of Saotome explained, “They’ll make the three-inch-soles of your shoes light up with each step.”
“...Does it do anything else I should be aware of?” Ranma asked carefully, having had magical items bite him in the ass far too many times to be trusting of them outright.
The werecheetah smiled. “Walk around a bit,” Tswana replied.
Shrugging, Ranma took a few steps about the room, eyes widening as he heard some odd music seem to come from everywhere and nowhere, stopping a few seconds after he stopped moving, but picking up immediately as he lifted a leg to take a step. Looking down, he noticed his shoes changed colors with the beat, as if to assign each sound a color.
The urge to test his backhand grew stronger with the beat. Taking a practice swing, a new urge came upon him, an urge to ask someone about his money. Great, I’m channeling Nabs.
The religious werecat smiled as she saw her God-King take to his regal garb like a fish to water. “You look magnificent, my God-King!”
Smiling, the male werecheetah meant to tell her ‘thank you’. Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “Bitch, where’s my money!?”
Tswana blinked her eyes once, twice. “...Money, sire?” As he blushed, she realized, “OH! You mean the taxes? Well, once I take you down to the throne room and introduce you to your staff, I can take you on a tour of your new castle, including the royal treasury.”
Still blushing—and now trying to suppress the image of smacking a furry Nabiki with his hand—Ranma nodded, wondering if the outfit itself was magical as well.
“As I see it, that outfit should do for now,” the werecheetah responded, arms folded with her right hand tapping her chin. “I’ll speak to the staff about varying the color scheme and cut. But for now, we should begin your training as well as the tour, if you have no objections.”
Ranma shook his head, not trusting his mouth at the moment, as he had to beat down an urge to find something called a ‘Caddie’ and drive around. I don’t even play golf! he internally whined, as the priestess grabbed his arm lightly and led him towards the exit of his walk-in closet that was larger than most dojos he had visited as a kid.
As they left the closet and then the bed-chambers to get to the hallway, Ranma had to admit, the place was nicely furnished and good to look at when one wasn’t running for their life from hundreds of furry female demons. “So...” he said slowly.
“Hmmm?” Tswana looked over her shoulder. “Yes, my lord and savior?”
Ranma blushed. “Do you... do you have to hold my hand like that?”
Looking down to see her hand was entwined with his, she smiled. “You’re absolutely right!” She then pulled him a little closer, moving his hand down so that he was firmly gripping her left butt-cheek. “Does this suit your preference better, oh Furry Sex God?”
“............Yes?” the pigtailed werecheetah finally replied with a squeak, feeling very confused.
Taking his question as a firm response, Tswana continued to smile, her arm wrapped around him now—waist height, as she didn’t trust herself to stop if it went lower—as she escorted him down the hallway. They were greeted by any of the staff as they passed, though only she noticed that they were wearing the shorter chambermaid outfits the former Lord had instituted last week.
Only now, they were smiling as they wore them, though she made a mental note to speak to those who had seemed t have forgotten to wear any garments under the short skirts.
Although she was first going to need to talk to them about their choices of greetings...
“Greetings, oh wonderful Lord!”
“Hello, succulent Savior!”
“Hail the God-King!”
“Praise the Blood God!”
“We love you, Sex God!”
“For a Good Time, Call Amelia!”
“Call how?” Ranma paused to ask. He hadn’t seen a phone anywhere! And how did one have a good time here? Maybe she knew where the dojo was...
His answers would not come, as the woman was silenced by Tswana’s glare and he was forced to continue forward. Oh yes, she was going to have a nice chat with that jagwere when she wasn’t so... occupied.
Deciding that sulking at a lost chance to finally practice the Art was not his best option, Ranma looked up, noticing that several of the barely-dressed maids were taking down paintings and even breaking some statues as they passed. “Who’s the guy?” he asked.
Turning her head to where her master was looking, Tswana smiled as she saw two of the maid’s kick out the crotch of one of the paintings. “Oh, that was the former Lord.”
“...Guy was a bit obsessed with himself,” Ranma noted, before wincing at the sight of the guy, bare-bottomed, laying on some fur rug, looking back at the viewer in one picture.
But much like the image of Cologne nude—he nearly had given up on the Phoenix Pill after that little ‘attempted’ attack of his—he knew that would haunt him forever.
“Don’t worry my God-King, the former lord will not have a chance to bother you...” Tswana said in all seriousness as she continued to lead/caress her new lord. “You killed him... then we burned his remains... and had it divided into four portions which we have scattered to the corners of the earth, with bunch more we’re keeping here thrown into the latrine... it had been a favored sport of the male soldiers for awhile to drink lots of water just to head back again and again.”
Ranma nodded, absently groping her rear as he took comfort in those words. Heaven only knew how many times naked-Cologne had haunted his nightmares... but this new horror would not; killed by Ranma, thus saving the world from such a horrible pose ever again!
A bit of ki erupted from the werecheetah’s hand as the portrait was set aflame before the maids had even begun to try and remove it.
“Excellent choice, my God-King,” his guide responded. “But please hold from releasing your rightful vengeance upon those eldritch horrors, as we do not have the fire-suppression spells up at the moment, to further ensure the chambermaids do not just burn down the entire wing.”
Blinking his eyes once, twice, the male werecheetah stared at Tswana with a confused gaze. “...You turned off the fire-prevention stuff... to keep people from setting fires?”
The High priestess nodded her head firmly. “We thought it would be a healthy reminder to think before you act, unless you want your furry butt burned alive and your charred corpse mocked for days at how stupidly you perished.”
Again, Ranma blinked his eyes once, twice. “No, I do not think so...” although what he did think about, was wonderment at why the background music that played with each step he took was currently a tune he recognized as ‘Goodness, Gracious’ (Great Balls of Fire)...
Shaking his head, the pigtailed werecheetah said, “Ah well. Enough of that for now I guess.” He turned to look at Tswana, gazing into the other werecheetah’s eyes. “Where is this throne room again? I want to meet everyone so I can continue on with cursing my life and luck in peace.”
“This way, my Lord,” she replied with a smile, glad he didn’t notice they were taking the long way, so she could further show him off to the entire staff who had not witnessed the first Cumming of their Lord.
The fact he was kneading her ass was just a side benefit, really!
But finally, they arrived. The throne room was packed, multitudes of female furry flesh arranged in rows, kneeling on the ground, chanting a tune he could barely make out.
“...Why are they using the phrase ‘Sex God’ in every other chant?” Ranma slowly questioned as the female werecheetah lead him up to a throne towards the back of the room. He paused as he looked up at the very ornate chair... a chair designed as though it were a very detailed piece of male anatomy. “...And are those bean bag seats?”
“Yes, my Liege,” the female werecheetah replied, leading him forward to his seat. “As for now, the fellowship merely wishes for a moment of your time, perhaps a small speech. Afterwards, we shall leave and I shall continue the tour, as well as begin your training.”
“Uh-huh,” the pigtailed martial artist muttered, looking about, and wondering why this kind of stuff only seemed to happen to him. Seeing that no answer was likely to come—let alone one he would probably like—he slowly turned around and took a seat... and immediately started leaning towards his right.
The High Priestess leaned over towards her lord and God-King. “You need to sit in the middle, my Lord,” Tswana quietly offered.
Sighing, Ranma moved his body, feeling his but sink in and his hips pressured by the firm sacks of beans. He shook his head for a moment before looking up at the throngs of gathered. “Hello there. I’m Ranma Saotome. I’m your God-King...”
He was about to apologize when the High Priestess added, “One that is as perpetually, indescribably, and mightily phallused!” as Ranma glared at her, she smiled innocently and told him, “Continue.”
Ranma let off a heavy sigh. “Anyway, I’m going to be in charge here but if I’m to be an effective leader, I’m going to need to know who here is on the up and up on the chain of command or at least of importance so I know how to use you people effectively. “ He looked around. “Would anyone like to go first?”
A weretigress in brown leather armor stood, smiling at the male werecheetah. “Greetings, my lord and Sex God! I am Scyde, the Captain of your guard.” She batted her eyelashes at him, smiling mischievously. “I got to know you very well that first day, and believe I need to give you the full benefit of my duty. How would you feel about a personal guard while you’re on your tour?”
In a split second, Tswana crushed the need for her own rendition of Bitch-Smack 101 to consider the Captain’s words. After all, even a half-dead werehound could smell the scents in the room. She was half-surprised they hadn’t entered the throne room to a full-on sapphic orgy. So perhaps having the Captain along would be for the best—if for nothing else than to ensure that most of the planned tour and teaching occurred before the God-King was forced to ‘satisfy’ his kingdom so soon.
Looking over to the High Priestess and seeing that she wasn’t disagreeing with this, the pigtailed werecheetah replied, “Okay then. You can come along with Tswana and I...” he looked her up and down for a moment. “But I must ask a question.”
The weretigress smiled. “Ask anything you want, my God-King.”
“Do you practice martial arts at all?” he asked, a hopeful tone to his voice. “An d if so, what kind? I could REALLY use a spar after all I’ve been through.”
Her tail swaying back and forth, the female werecat’s smile just grew. Their new leader... knew how to fight?
Truly, he was a gift from the Gods! To Scyde, here was nothing like getting sweaty before getting sweatier. “Oh yes, my God-King, we know several styles of combat, even some that the humans have tried to imitate... and then stopped when it pulled their groins.”
Hearing an affirmative answer, Ranma became very interested. He tilted his head, the feather of the fedora hat tilting in the direction his head moved. “Pulled groins? Lots of leg movement, huh?”
“And high kicks!” the Captain of the Guard helpfully pointed out. She was purring now as she told her lord and master in a heated, suggestive tone, “Very high kicks...”
Ranma just smiled, no clue that such a reaction not only ‘dampened’ the leader of his guards—at least the female squads—but every female under her command. He had no clue, after all, of how the guards sometimes passed the time.
You couldn’t count on finding a male member of the armed forces alone, unarmed, and somewhere that his screams wouldn’t attract other females looking for some furry cock to ride.
Acting quickly before an orgy sprang up, at least, one where she’d not be the lead bitch in control and thus have the—pardon the phrase—lion’s share of ‘happy time’, Tswana acted quickly. “I’m afraid we must continue on with the introductions, lest we run out of time before the day’s schedule has been filled.”
“Oh, I see...” Ranma said motioning for Scyde to come up and stand by the other side of his... throne... opposite the werecheetah. “I guess we need to continue then. No problem. Keep ‘em rolling!”
“Quite,” the werecheetah said as she then motioned to a very tall, muscular, and busty werepanthress in a thickly padded apron and hair cut so short, it was more like fur with how it blended in so well with her pelt. “This is Amora—Head of the Forge and Armory. She makes and repairs many of the armaments, both defensive and offense, that your soldiers use in battle when defending your good name, borders of your empire and hopefully NOT in some useless conflict in some little shit-hole village in some even more useless third-world country.” And that was saying something, considering most of the world still didn’t have indoor plumbing—even less who weren’t stupid enough to line it with lead and then wonder why they got sick.
Ranma simply nodded, not sure why he was meeting Amora. But Tswana hadn’t led him wrong before. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Amora,” he said with a smile, bowing lightly.
The black-furred werecat smiled widely in return. “And it is a pleasure and a most highly esteemed honor to have you speak to me, my lord.” She bowed her head. “I promise you, if you come down for measurements, I will make you a personalized set of armor and weaponry most suiting for your frame... your wonderful gold pelt... the musculature of your lithe yet athletic body...”
The pigtailed martial artist opened his mouth to respond, before it snapped shut. True, he didn’t know why he needed armor, but would it still fit—given his lifestyle and his curse. Hmm, he’d have to ask Tswana about that later. He was kind of surprised to have taken a shower and not been hit with cold water at some point.
Then again, what he and his priestess had done in the shower that may have been for the best. “I shall make time soon to do such.”
The High Priestess closed her eyes in frustration. Why couldn’t the woman have been like the rest of the forgers were like—at least according to palace gossip: hardcore lesbians that had no desire for males of any type! Just my luck, probably promoted the one straight girl they had... And she had been so hoping to not have the God-King servicing the entire population.
If Tswana knew the secret her God-King had yet to reveal, she would have given that hope up, and tried to ensure the male guards stayed away instead.
Lowering her hand from her face, the High Priestess took a deep breath. “And this one...” she motioned to the rather tall werelioness with hair pulled back in a ponytail, surprising in that she had a reddish tone to her hair. “Is Rose: named such as the previous lord had intended her to be his Head Gardener.”
“Actually, the proper term is ‘Deputy of Agriculture’,” the muscular woman—with a surprisingly sweet soprano voice—corrected. “Yes, I am in charge of the God-King’s palace gardens, but I am also in charge of the fields and crops. I make sure that everyone here is fed when we can’t get enough from the loyal serfs and conquered villages.”
Ranma sat forward in his seat. “You’re in charge of what we eat? Can I make requests?”
Rose grinned. “You’d have to talk to your Head Chef for meal specifics but of course you can talk to me about growing certain crops...” she licked her lips. “I’ll even let you play in the garden if you wish... especially the bush.”
This of course went over Ranma's head—just because he had finally gotten some did not mean he understood the ‘double entardé’. If he did, Kasumi would have been smiling a lot more and Nabiki would have been walking funny a lot more often.
So, as it was, Ranma just nodded with a smile, thinking how much he loved practicing outside the Dojo, smelling the flowers and whatnot, instead of panda sweat and blood from when someone came to him with a claim and he needed to ‘obtain’ that information from his father.
Though why Kasumi had a car battery, tub, jumper cables, and a bolt in the rafters tall enough to suspend someone from, he had no clue.
Squealing in delight at having her suspicions affirmed, the werelioness mewled in delight. “Thank you, my God-King. You are a most wonderful man!”
“Aww, ain’t nothing to it,” Ranma assured her, smiling like an idiot and not realizing the hell he was setting up for himself. “Now on the thought of food, who is my Head Chef?” he asked, interested in who he’d have to talk to about getting some cake made!
“I am, my wonderful lord and God-King!” a somewhat chubby, but still more along the lines of full-figured jagwere spoke up, raising her right hand to further differentiate herself from the throngs of loyal subjects. “I am Chef Martina and I love nothing more than to fill your belly, especially with cream if you’ll let me...” she licked her lips. “And you can fill me with cream too.”
Ranma rubbed his hands together, licking his lips. “Really? Oh boy, I sure love eating sweets!” After all, what else was cream used for in cooking?
She purred happily. “And fruits?”
“YEP!” the pigtailed martial artist proclaimed. “Especially peaches!” Man, if she could make a Peach Cobbler like no one else, he might give her some sort of promotion!
Only Ranma was unaware of the sudden surge in hormones and the scent of excited females in the room, making Tswana decide to cut the meet-and-greet short. She had no idea what her God-King would say to the Royal Treasurer or Head Librarian... but she was certain it would probably end in a royal orgy before two more people were introduced. “Forgive me, my sire, but we must begin the tour now!”
Ranma nodded his head in acceptance, trying to standing up from the odd chair. “When we’re done, can I get some peaches? I ain’t had any in a while.”
Licking her lips, the full-sized werejaguar of culinary skill nodded her head. “Of course, my Lord! I shall have them prepared when word reaches me that your tour is nearing completion.”
The High Priestess twitched. Now her abused hips would have to deal with walking the ‘really long way’, lest they be put to the test once more before the sun even reached high in the sky...
Gripping Ranma’s shoulder, Tswana firmly stated, “Well, my Furry Lord and God-King, we really must be off.” She looked towards Scyde. “Captain, be a dear and help the lord off his throne...”
Grinning as she gripped Ranma’s other shoulder, the weretigress helped lift him up and off the phallic throne. “With pleasure, oh High Priestess!” The Captain of the Guard said with a purr.
As the two literally carried their Lord out by his shoulders, one could almost swear they could hear the Beatles singing in the background about a ‘Hard Day’s Night’, as those in attendance in the room literally turned as one, a perverted leer forming on their faces.
“Status report,” the armored werelion asked
The werejaguar guard saluted. “The females have started chasing our Lord.”
“Right,” Commander Feroul turned about. “And proper procedure?”
“Double the barricade on the doors, light the candles, and pray?” Jordal offered.
Nodding his head firmly, the middle-aged werelion replied, “Good man.”
“Sooo...” Ranma said as he walked the long hallway, with the High Priestess to his right and the Captain of the Guard to his left—their bosoms seeming a bit larger, as if restraints upon them were now missing—“Where are you two taking me first?”
Tswana smiled happily as she told him, “Oh, we’re going to take you to meet your ‘pets’. The former lord had captured them for various uses... you seem to have met them before but we believe it time for a proper greeting.”
The pigtailed werecheetah just nodded. He had always wanted a pet, preferably something big, mean and had a habit of eating furry little demons for snacks. True, it had been a bit of a bad idea, what with Shampoo’s curse, but surely her evil form knew how to fight. Look how much trouble P-Chan caused!
Of course, now that he was a furry demon-man, he wondered what sort of pets he wanted now...
He chuckled darkly at the image of Nabiki, with a collar and chain around her neck, next to a dog house.
Frowning disapprovingly, Tswana firmly told him, “My Lord, it is too soon in your reign to be laughing like that.”
“Sorry, thoughts of vengeance and karma coming full-circle...” Ranma apologized... and blinked his eyes as a thought hit him. “Hey! Maybe I could get a dog! Those things are always loyal...”
The High Priestess considered that for a moment. “As long as it’s not a werehound,” Tswana grumbled. And God-King forbid he ever gets a taste for wolf! “Anyway, allow us to show you your undead army...”
“GOOOOOOOOOOO, PIGEONS!”
Ranma just twitched. He slowly turned to glare at the female werecheetah.
“...We never said they were a well-trained army of the undead, our new God-King,” the High Priestess offered.
“He’s in charge?” asked the undead Ranma had met earlier. Seeing their nods, his shoulders sagged. “Ah, man; we were having so much fun messing with that ass.”
“HEY!” came from the darkness, behind him.
“Not you, Donkey,” the zombie muttered.
The pigtailed werecheetah twitched a lot more. “Messing with me? Why would you mess with me?”
Numerous zombies looked to one another. Nodding their heads, they turned back to Ranma and shouted as one voice, “GO NIGHTSHADE ACADEMY!”
Ranma just blinked, recalling the name from a week his father and he spent in southern Japan when he was a small kid. “They had a sports team?”
“GOOOOOOOOOO, EARTHWORMS!”
“...Right,” Ranma muttered. “Is there any guy with a few still-functioning brain cells I can speak with?”
The undead just laughed at him. As if the undead had a use for a brain, let alone brain cells, outside of a nice dish sautéed in a light butter and garlic sauce.
Just because you were a rotting corpse didn’t mean you lost the appreciation for the finer things in life...
Ranma looked back and forth between the undead and the two werecat guides a number of times. Finally ending with his attention on the female werecheetah, he asked, “Tswana?”
“Yes, God-King?” the High Priestess replied, wondering what her new lord was up to.
“If it's okay, see to it I can talk with the Treasurer...” he took a deep breath and then spoke up with a purposely louder tone. “I think the zombies need a moral boost... maybe professional sports jerseys for the Earthworms and the Pigeons!”
“YAAAAY!” came the cry of the undead. Well, it was actually a cheerful moan, but they got the point across.
Scyde raised a curious eyebrow. “Sire?” asked the Captain of the Guards.
“Well, it may shut them up,” Ranma whispered quietly, as the group exited the room.
“Can we have monkey brains?” asked one zombie. Seeing the looks his cohorts gave him, he shrugged... before one arm fell off. “Hey, I’m on Atkins.”
As they made their way away from the quarters from the undead, the pigtailed werecheetah gave the High Priestess an accusatory glare. “They count as ‘pets’?”
Nodding her head, Tswana offered, “You did listen to them, right?”
“Yeah,” Ranma admitted. “About as smart as most of the people I know.”
“...That is a truly sad and frightening on so many levels, sire,” the High Priestess said sadly for her savior and king.
Taking a deep breath, Ranma inquired, “Any other ‘pets’ I should know about?”
The werecheetah cleric nodded her head and walked up to another door. “Just this one. Meet—”
“ROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAARRRR!!”
Ranma blinked his eyes once, twice. He raised a hand, ruffling his hair to get rid of the slickness the powerful blast of breath had caused. “Hey! Minty-fresh this time!”
“Thank you for noticing,” the dragon replied.
Ranma nodded his head. “Anything else you need?”
“Well, how about a cell away from... them," it huffed, looking towards the direction of the undead barracks. “Something with a sky would be nice.”
Blinking his eyes once, twice, the werecheetah in purple Pimp clothes replied, “I don’t see why that couldn’t be arranged. At the very least, I’d want to get away from them too.”
“Thank you,” the Dragon said in honest gratitude. “By the way, nice musical shoes.”
“Oh?” Ranma muttered, looking down at them. He hadn’t even noticed the back beat for a while. “Man, forgot about them.”
“The beat does tend to calm one down,” offered the High Priestess.
The Captain of the Guard nodded, fighting the urge to hand her Lord her bag of gold.
“All right, so you want an open living space...” Ranma considered. “How about we do something with a partial roof? I mean, I can understand you wanting sky access but sometimes you may want shade from rain or something...” the heir of the Saotome School of Anything Goes Martial Arts knew how much he hated being caught without shelter.
The dragon nodded in agreement. “And a good bathing facility would be nice too. I can’t tell you the last time I got such a good tooth brushing before your arrival.”
Ranma nodded, making several mental notes, forgetting that said dragon could also be terrorizing the countryside or be related to Herb.
Then again, why would he? Said dragon was not humanoid or gender-changing.
“Okay, I see nothing wrong...” Ranma said in all seriousness. He looked at Tswana curiously. “We can pay for all this, right?”
The werecheetah woman twitched. “Er... my God-King, I think out next stop will be the treasury... just to be sure.”
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(Posted Sun, 01 Aug 2010 19:49)
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