Wiping her brow, Náessë Melwasúl wondered if this was either the best or the WORST Quest she’d ever been on. She stood tall above the downed corpses of a bunch of Driders... but that was because said child of Bastet saw them first, said, ‘lookit the ugly spider ladies’ and they all died immediately as it turned out his innocent statement was the activation phrase for a suicide spell so they could never be taken captive...
And that’s not counting what they’d come across earlier, such as the Fairy Princess that Ranma happened to find and free or the Red Dra—“Elderly Gentleman”...
That left the Fellowship of the Kitten with another dozen bodies to loot, bringing them up to twelve healing potions, eighteen mana potions, a +3 mace, five +4 broadswords, five chests of gold, two chests of silver, one chest of copper, half a case—formerly full case—of Ye Olde Bud Light, three bottles of Lolth Sacramental wine, twenty arm-braces of +8 defense, ten plate-mail chest-piece armors of +12 defense, a full suit of paladin armor—minus the helmet—of +6 defense, a magical cape with +10 defense... and one slightly rotten Red Dragon Fang Elderly Gentleman’s Tooth...
And they could keep neither jack nor shit. According to the warrior’s code she followed, the spoils of battle belonged to the person who either found them first or slayed who they came from...
The boy had pretty much gotten them everything.
And before one asked, the answer was no. She wasn’t counting that Knight’s horse... as that turned out to be a winged unicorn who then granted Ranma a boon of eternal youth in return for freeing him from the Paladin... which he said would kick in once the boy his the prime of his life.
There was of course, one other matter to worry about.
“Are we there yet?”
...It appeared that the young charge really wanted some food, and had been asking that for the last half hour, every one-point-three-five minutes—not counting when they had to explain that ‘spider-women were not tasty, even if cooked, like regular spiders’.
Bob ended up poked extra hard for that one, with Luthana complaining she needed a sharper sword; her current one wasn’t poking hard enough to draw blood from the fatass.
“We shall be there soon, young Ranma,” Qilué replied... once again, wondering if maybe a whack or two with the stick would silence him for two minutes.
“But I want my meat trio sub!” Ranma whined. No chocolate gold coins, no McD’s, bad toys... they’d probably be out of good soda too, by the time they got there.
High Priestess Qilué sighed as she had to seriously fight the temptation to just crack open a can of Ye Olde Bud Light and stuff it down the boy’s gullet, saying it was ‘liquid bread’... sorely tempted...
The only thing keeping her back was the fact of what she knew Bastet would do when she found out if the Drow woman did such. Sure, the Drow woman was the chosen of TWO goddesses... but this was Bastet we’re talking about. One did NOT pick a fight with her unless they either had a death wish or were a masochist.
Hmm... probably explained why Bob had gotten with her... woman must’ve taken a high-heeled shoe to his scrotum on a daily basis...
“Are we there yet?” little Ranma chirruped; the fact the boy was wrapped up with Drow Swords while still dragging a mace AND had a piece of dragon strapped to his back didn’t seem to slow him down one iota.
“No, child,” Lessien spoke up in a kind tone, hoping to keep her boss from erupting like Mount Krakatowa. “But do take heart. We are almost to the Subway. Once there, we can partake in three meat subs and hopefully have something more than orange soda to wash it down...”
That made the archer of the group raise her head. “Hey!” Idril snapped at the half-Drow/half-Forest Elf. “I happen to LIKE orange soda!”
“You said that three hills ag~OW!” ‘Bob’ cried, as he fought back tears and hoped his eggs were not scrambled.
The little child was about to speak up on his father’s behalf... but stopped as he recognized a familiar scent. “...You all smell that?” Ranma asked.
Pausing in her step, Náessë sighed. She looked over at Luthana and asked, “Did you have to hurt him bad enough to where he lost bowel control?”
“Not that,” the Head Priestess replied, sniffing the air. “I smell it too.”
Soon, everyone—even the crying Bob—were sniffing the air, as the delicious aroma tempted their noses.
“I smell... French fries,” Qilué replied, looking towards a bush—that she noted had someone’s wallet stuck in the branches, and pulled them aside. “By all that is holy,” she replied in awe, as the group was bathed in a golden light.
The Drow women, the child of Bastet, and the abused lard-ass looked up high, the twin sigils of golden light shining down upon them like a holy beacon in the dark and dreary corner of the world that was known the world over the ‘Gray Zone’.
“...I don’t believe it...” the High Priestess of Eilistraee whispered. She was one of the most faithful and even SHE couldn't believe what they were staring at.
“...I...” Sairalindë sniffled. “It...” as hardened an individual as she was—she had worshiped Lolth once, after all—even she had to bring her hand up, wiping a tear from her eye with the sleeve of her priestess robe. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen...”
Unlike the former Lolth Priestess, Lessien clasped her hands together and openly wept. It was glorious.
Unsheathing her holy blade, Náessë stabbed it into the ground. The Warrior Drow then dropped down to one knee before it and clasped her hands together, offering a prayer for the bounty that stood before them. Truly, this was a blessing of Eilistraee for her faithful...
“AAAUUUUUGGGHHH!!!” was Genma’s cry, forcing the others out of their reverie. The five Drow women turned to see Luthana was gripping the man’s scrotum even harder than before.
Noticing her fellowship staring at her, the Rogue Drow asked, “What? Aren’t you supposed to pinch something to make sure you’re not dreaming?”
Sighing, Qilué shook her head. “Luthana, first off, you’re supposed to pinch yourself. Second, that’s more than a pinch you’re inflicting on Bob...”
“HEY!” the short-haired Drow woman in black leathers snapped at the High Priestess. “You’ve seen the good luck we’ve had so far by me abusing this asshole’s junk. If I squeeze hard enough, they might have Shamrock Shakes!!”
Qilué just twitched. “You really believe that?”
The Rogue met the other Drow’s glare. “...Have you just joined us on our journey?” Luthana queried sarcastically.
“Well then,” Qilué continued. “What good luck came from—”
“Hey!” Náessë cried out. “I just found a huge stack of coupons for free super-sizing of our meals!”
Turning her head to the smirking Drow holding Genma by the balls, the Chosen of Eilistraee frowned. “...No one likes a smartass, Luthana,” Qilué muttered.
“And there’s no line!” Sairalindë yelled, nose and pasted to the glass.
“...Squeeze away!” Qilué shouted after a moment of pause.
“HEY—ACK!” Genma cried out... twice.
“Harder, Luthana! Harder!” the tall Mercenary cheered her friend on as she pocketed as many coupons as she could. “If you keep abusing him hard enough, they might even have McRibs!”
“OHKAMISAMAITHURTS!!!” the portly Asian martial artist wailed in one breath as the Rogue Drow squeezed, twisted, and pulled on his genitalia in ways it was never meant to be put through.
“Don’t we need to go inside to find out?” Ranma asked. True, he knew he should be upset that his dad was being hurt... but every time his dad was hurt, good things happened to them!
In his childish mind, it started to make sense. It explained so much as to why his father taunted him during fights! If daddy got hurt, good things happened!
But... it probably only worked for daddy, as Ranma knew he himself had been hurt plenty of times, and never had good stuff happen because of it.
Sighing, Qilué prepared to open the front door, hand on her sword in case it was a trap—what were the odds they’d find a working McDonald’s in the Gray Zone and it not be a trap? “Hurry up and get it out of you, Luthana; they might be upset if you do that inside.”
Nodding her head, the shortest Drow reared of the fellowship reared her foot back.
*THUMP*!!
“...Mommy...” Genma squeaked, before his world disappeared into darkness and pain.
Pulling her foot out from between the man’s legs, the Drow Rogue looked down at the unconscious Demi-God. “Hello? HELLO?” she waved her hands in the weeping man’s face. “Hey, is it possible to cry while unconscious?” the woman asked curiously.
“In his case, quite likely,” the Archer of the group replied as she toed the unconscious lardass in his side. “You better get him in the restaurant; he’s likely to be eaten just leaving him outside.”
“You sure?” Luthana asked. “He stinks enough to make more Orks consider twice.”
“Do you really want to lose the best damned good luck charm we’ve ever had?” Lessien asked.
“...Fine, but who’s dragging him in?” Luthana asked.
“...” was the reply as many sets of eyes settled on the Rogue of their group.
The short Drow twitched in annoyance. “Why me!?”
“Ye who grabbed him, carries him,” Qilué stated.
“Oh, now you quote Amazons,” Luthana grumbled as she grabbed a leg and started to pull.
Entering the restaurant—as it was politically correct to call it—the Fellowship of the Kitten saw that the last kick had brought forth a great series of boons.
It was staffed by living people—if you considered teenagers ‘living’.
It wasn’t a trap.
And the McRibs were Buy One, Get One Free.
Once again, the group dropped to give thanks.
“Lousy frackin’ fatass...”
Except for Luthana, who was busy trying to drag the balling—pun intended—man into the place. Once the man was brought into the center of the restaurant, she let him drop like a sack of potatoes. She tried to stand, hands pressed to her back “Ow! My spine! Good Goddess!! How the hell do humans get so fucking FAT!?!?”
“Maybe he eats here?” a pimply faced teen asked curiously, his finger possibly glued to the inside of his nose as he moved his index finger around inside of left nostril.
Looking said teenager over, Qilué made a face. “Do you do any of the cooking?” she looked over her shoulder at Bob, tempted to run over and give his unconscious body a swift kick in the nuts to make sure he didn’t.
“Naw, ma’am,” the teenager replied. “We just started today. I only put in the orders...” he then remembered, “Oh yeah! The Manager told me I was supposed to bring up the promotional Happy Meal whenever I see kids,” he said, looking down at Ranma. “We’re currently serving ‘Hogwarts Heroes’ toys right now.”
Ranma blinked his eyes once, twice. “Hogwarts Heroes?”
“Damn,” Luthana muttered, cracking her back. “Knew I should have turned my foot inside more when I launched that kick...”
Qilué just stared at the gangly teen, trying to view around him to at least ensure the people in the kitchen weren’t carrying the plague... or diddling each other in the sinks...
Damn ViewTube videos...
“...Oh!” the teen gasped—making them wonder if perhaps that finger up his nose went a bit too far. “I gotta say my line, or, like, the supervisor will yell at me... or something.”
“I think you probably should have used the young lord’s enchanted mace,” Idril muttered. Maybe then, they would have gotten a cashier less fried than the fries!
Shaking her head, the Warrior decided she better get involved. “Listen,” Náessë said as she went up to stand next to Qilué before the cashier. “I don’t care how smart or stupid you are. As long as you can get our order done properly, we won’t have any problems. Can you do that?”
“...Maybe...” the teenager finally answered... after three minutes.
Turning to the High Priestess, the Warrior-MercenaryDrow sighed. “Well, I guess this is as good as it gets...” she turned to the gangly youth and glared at him. “But if I find so much as one onion out of place on my McRib, you are dead, you hear me? DEAD!!!”
Raising an eyebrow, Qilué wisely took a step away from the tall woman. “Right... since I obviously have a group of adult-children here, I think we’ll need at least seven happy meals...”
“Let's see... five for the ladies, one for the kid and... final one for the fat guy crying?” the guy asked, still feeling around inside his nose.
“...Yes... for the fat man...” Qilué said, deciding to hide her own inner-child from the moron—she wouldn’t put it past the idiot to be an inner-child molester—and added, “And we’ll also need at least... oh, eight McRibs—”
“THANK YOU!” Náessë said firmly.
“—At least one Asian Salad—”
“Thank you, High Priestess!” Lessien chirruped.
“—At least eight large sodas—”
Thoughts of her salad were gone with that statement. Lessien raised her head quickly with a statement, “No orange!”
“Ignore her, we want one orange soda!” Idril insisted.
“—And... well, as many Apple Pies as you can make.”
“HEY! What about my fucking Shamrock Shake!?” one guess who that was...
“...Woo~oo~ah!” the cashier smirked. “Like, that’s totally trippy. I was like, you know, totally craving one myself!”
Blinking, the group just stared at the man, before Sairalindë decided to speak. “Don’t forget our change."
“What? Oh, yeah,” the non-French-fried teen muttered, before opening the register and handing them several gold and silver coins.
“Maybe we should put it in the register ourselves,” Ranma replied. The strange guy seemed to be very sick, he just kept staring at his hand that was up his nose.
Sighing, Qilué looked over the counter at the screen. “Probably, it says he just clocked out and our order was one McMuffin to go.”
As one, the adults—Drow only, not the crying male slowly trying to return to consciousness before pain forced him to retreat behind the lines once more—just bowed their heads as one and shared the same thought: damned teenagers.
“Is it so wrong to want a Shamrock Shake?” the Rogue of the group asked no one in particular. “They are so tasty and green and icy and green and cold and green and... um... did I mention green?”
“Aren't they minty too?” Ranma asked curiously.
Looking down at the child, Luthana blinked her eyes. “You mean THAT is what mint tastes like?”
“Artificial mint, maybe...” Qilué replied.
As they debated the matter of real versus artificial flavors, the group was saved from teenagers with boogers on their finger tips, by the manager showing up.
They also now knew it really was a new store, as the manager was semi-fit, and not pushing a third bypass.
“Bob, just... take a break,” he said with exasperation.
“Like, okay, dad,” the teen muttered, as he took one step away, and then started watching his hand pass by his face over and over again with a goofy grin.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the manager looked at the group. “Welcome to McDonald’s, sorry about Bob. His mom thinks he can be a productive member of society.”
Luthana just sighed. Proof positive anyone named Bob was an idiot.
“As our apologies, we will give you fifty-percent off your purchase today atop of a free Happy Meal for each of you, and I can assure you, the people in the back are not related to me and can be fired if I so much as feel a happy thought about it.”
“Fifty-Percent off, you say? And free Happy Meals?” Qilué asked with a smile. “That certainly goes a long way to making up for the horrors of stupid people...”
“No kidding,” Lessien agreed. “He was scarier than the hoard of undead zombies we met in the cemetery three kilometers from here...”
The tallest female of the group scratched her chin. “It’s sad when the living have less brains than the dead... but you could take comfort in knowing they’d never try and eat your son...”
The manager twitched. “Must you ruin all my hopes and dreams?”
“No; but it helps with the dining experience,” Idril replied with a smile, as the group gave their orders, coupons were exchanged, and Bob—the stoner, not Genma—was sent to clean the parking-lot in hopes of being taken by the local wildlife/unholy beings and maybe helping dear old dad with the company life insurance policy.
Luckily—for the Fellowship, not the McD’s—as deliveries were dangerous to perform into the Gray Zone, they had plenty of stock saved for months on end. That included toys for the Happy Meals and every holiday shake flavor for every holiday on the planet.
And thus the people rejoiced.
“BUUUUUUURP!”
...What; you were expecting something different? They were dining at a McDonald’s!
“Okay my Fellowship,” Qilué said as she looked across the table, wrappers and empty fry boxes crowding it. “Now that we have partaken of our meals, you may now...” she took a deep breath, still unbelieving she was going to say this. “Open your bagged toys to see what you got...”
“YAY!” was the cheer from down the line as they tore open their bags, to see what Premium Collectible they’d gotten.
Opening hers first, Lessien pouted. “I got an Albus Dumbledore...”
“I got a Dumbledore as well...” Sairalindë grumbled.
“Seems the Goddess wants for I to have a Dumbledore as well...” Qilué admitted. Crap! She SO wanted a Severus Snape!
Opening her baggie, Idril lowered her head and sighed. “Dumbledore...”
“Dumbledore,” Náessë said, holding up her figurine of the wizard. Darn it; she was hoping to get a Rubeus Hagrid...
“Fuck! Dumbledore...” Luthana hissed as she opened her baggy, revealing another vibrant purple figure.
Tearing open his baggy, Ranma chirruped, “Hey! I got a ‘Tom Riddle’... whoever that is.”
“LADIES!” the High Priestess of Eilistraee snapped as she saw the glares from her followers directed towards the kitten of Bastet. “DO NOT TAKE THE CHILD’S TOY!”
Sighing, Luthana reached over and took Bob’s—Genma, not the stoner currently being surrounded by undead Smurfs in the parking-lot—toy from his box. Meh... Minerva McGonagall; still better than Dumbledore I suppose.
But she did raise an eye, wondering how Genma had managed to eat his food without rising off the floor, let alone seeming to regain consciousness.
“Does anyone want this?” Ranma asked. He really didn’t see a reason to keep the card. After all, it had sneered at him, called him a dunderhead, and seemed to walk off the picture.
For some reason, he wanted to call the guy a greasy git and hex him.
It also made him wonder what a git was, a hex was, and if he could get another order of food.
“Well, ladies... if we’re done here...”
“Bathroom?” Lessien asked curiously, feeling a need to empty her bladder after the five large refills of orange soda.
“It is important to wash one’s hands after a meal,” Náessë was quick to add.
“And if we’re going to go back out in the wilderness, we should make sure we look our best,” was the rather vain comment of Sairalindë.
Considering that for a moment, the High Priestess sighed. “Very well... but remember, we do not all go to the restroom at once; I refuse to knowingly commit a stereotype.”
Ranma blinked his eyes once, twice. “Stereotype?”
“That women go to the bathrooms in groups...” Qilué answered seriously.
The child blinked his eyes once, twice. “...Do they?” the young Ranma asked curiously.
“Of course,” Idril replied. “But more for security; never know who might be in there.”
The kitten of Bastet turned towards the Drow Archer. “...More women?” Ranma asked innocently.
The Drow nodded. Yes; more women, more targets who may think their shiznit is better than yours, and thus need to be shown their proper place in the pecking order and that it REALLY helped if you had more females than them, thus increasing the Snap Factor exponentially.
Instead, the High Priestess decided that discretion was the better part of valor. “There will be many things that as a male, you will not understand about women. Accept those as natural law, that cannot be changed, and unlike many males before you, you shall survive and prosper.”
Looking up at Qilué in awe, Ranma blinked his eyes once, twice. “That sounds like something a Martial Arts Master would say... does this mean you can teach me how to fight?”
“...Perhaps...” the High Priestess of Eilistraee relented a little. “But best ask your mother first.”
That gave the young child pause for a moment. “Do you mean ask her to have you teach me or ask her why ladies go to the bathroom in numbers?” the cherub youth asked curiously.
“...Both,” the High Priestess replied, as she watched the group cycle out their numbers for relief.
Even going in pairs of two, it still took on average ten minutes for them to exit the bathrooms. True, she knew what fast food could do to the digestive system, but DAMN! They had just barely finished their meals. And she’d like to think one of them would mention any battles for survival or the ‘last square’ had occurred.
“Who goes with me?” Ranma asked.
As one, the group looked down at the still crying father-figure... who was somehow slurping a chocolate milkshake they were sure no one had ordered, and decided that they may have to take him into... the Forbidden Zone!
Forbidden... because he was older than most socially-minded moms were allowed to take into the women’s restroom.
Voices went off as one.
“Not it!”
“Not it!”
“Sorry; no!”
“Not it!”
“Never again!”
“Not—OH, COME ON!” Qilué shouted. “I am your High Priestess! Do NOT make me pull rank and make one of you take the boy!” the female Drow commanded of her fellow followers of Eilistraee/minions.
“Actually, Lady Veladorn,” the former mercenary and tallest of the Drow spoke up calmly. “As the leader of this group, the boy’s safety is your primary responsibility; we are merely here to aid you. Ergo, as part of your quest, you must take the child into the women’s bathroom with you.”
Twitching, Qilué HATED how the warrior would make sense at times. Finally accepting her fate, she turned towards the child and asked young Ranma, “You know how to wipe yourself at least, right?”
Ranma just blinked. “Of blood or sweat?” he asked.
Twitching again, Qilué rubbed her brow again. “Goddesses, help me,” she muttered.
One of said Goddesses—the Drow—was currently stripped down to her underwear and tied to a chair, as the other one—Bastet—was dressed in denim overalls... and only that, as banjo music played in the background.
“MMPH!!” Eilistraee cried out the ball-gag.
“You sure do have a purdy mouth,” Bastet spoke in a poor hillbilly accent as she caressed the side of the horrified Eilistraee’s face. “Let’s see ifin you c’n still squeal like a piggy when I fill it...”
That was of course, before the banjo music CD started skipping.
“...DAMN IT!” Bastet cried, breaking character, and walking over to the CD Player. “How can I pwn a virgin without the right mood!?”
...Somehow, Qilué sensed no help would come.
Sighing, Qilué lowered her head in defeat. She reached out with her right hand, offering it to the child. “Come Ranma... let’s go to the bathroom...”
“Okay!” Ranma chirruped happily as he took it. “If there’s only one urinal, can I go first?” he looked up at her and whispered urgently, “I really need to pee!”
Sighing once more, the High Priestess-turned-Babysitter replied, “There are no urinals where we’re going...”
“But... then where’ll I pee?” Ranma asked, eyeing a potted plant nearby.
Qilué twitched. After they left, first thing she was doing was assigning ‘the bitch’ position to someone in their group.
“Do we have to wash our hands?” Ranma asked. “Pops always says, if you have time to wash your hands, then they have time to catch you!”
...Assign the position and give Luthana free reign to hurt the fatass’ balls until she orgasmed!
Read the comments on this episode
See other episodes by Red Priest of the 17th Order
(Posted Sun, 11 Sep 2011 20:20)
Questions? Problems? Suggestions?
Send a mail to addventure@bast-enterprises.de
or use the contact form.
らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
All other series and their characters are © by their respective creators or owners. No claims of ownership of these characters are implied by the authors of this Addventure, or should be inferred.
The Anime Addventure is a non-profit site.