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A Sakabatou for Baka Saitou: Chapter 2 - Recipe for Disaster

by Angrybee ::: 11.Dec.2003

Saitou Tokio looked out from the window of the house on Taito street and narrowed her eyes. With her hand at her throat, she suppressed a sigh. 'I should not sigh. Sighing is folly, and for the foolish at heart,' Tokio's whispered voice mused. Tossing the end of her scarf over her shoulder, the amber-eyed woman turned on her heel and headed back inside, seeking out the company of her overly rotund cat, Snowflake.

"Goddamnit, Tokio, bring me my damn cigarettes!"

STOP!

This is ridiculous. Authors should never make meta-jokes referencing their other stories. This isn't even a joke. It isn't even funny. Why would you put something like that here? I am giving you exactly one second to apologize and get this story re-started and back on track.

I apologize. Let us begin again.

'Chapter 2' of "A Sakabatou for Baka Saitou" opens in a small house which, for argument's sake, has a roof and four walls. I mean, give me that, at least. I'm not stretching it far with this one. Unless you'd like me to set this chapter inside of a Tokyo High School, which, while possible, would be pleasant for neither reader nor author.

And inside these hastily defined parameters, this small house, a woman is pacing. Or rather, she is contemplating pacing, but does not actually pace, because that would ruin the newly-smoothed tatami mats. This poor woman, you see, has a definite problem. She's acutely agoraphobic, and has not been off the premises of the Fujita family home more than a half-dozen times in as many years.

Because of this, Fujita Tokio is a woman with a great deal of time on her hands. And she uses that time, quite effectively, to make a very nice home for her loving husband, their ten year old son, Tsutomu, and their eight year old son, Tsuyoshi. She's a kind woman, who likes children and animals. Well, except for cats, dogs, frogs, worms, bats, birds. raccoons, snakes, Godzilla, panda bears, wombats, spiders, squirrels, Misao Makimachi, pigs, rats, and the Canadian Moose. In -theory- Fujita Tokio likes animals. She likes the thought of them, anyway, but any temporal proximity to Nature's finest beasts tends to make Tokio-san squeak, hide her face behind her hands, and begin to hyperventilate.

As I was saying, Fujita Tokio is a woman with -many- disturbing problems.

She's also a woman with a -quite- disturbing husband. A husband who is currently missing, and along with him, the tofu he promised to bring home.

"Oh my. Oh doodle. Oh, poo, poo, poodle."

"Hahaue, is everything quite alright?" Tsutomu asked from the next room, opening the shoji a smidgen and looking over his western-style glasses at his mother. He was, indeed, very much like his father. Not in that he kept rolodexes of adjectives in his desk drawer, nor had he participated in the bloodthirsty Ikedaya affair. The ten year old didn't even smoke. He just merely -looked- like his father, tall and angular, with a keenness to his amber eyes that belied the cleverness beneath.

When your mother is in possession of acute psychological problems, and your father is a legendary ex-Captain of the Shinsengumi, you grow up extremely quickly and with surpassing wit.

"Your father, Tsu-chan, shouldn't he be home by now?"

"Yes, Mother, but he is often late." Tsutomu smiled warmly as his fidgeting mother. She may have been quite certifiable, but she was affectionate, warm, and a wonderful woman, and, well, his only mother. "Perhaps you should go start dinner?"

"I would, but, your father was to bring home the tofu."

"Ah. I see." Tsutomu put down his brush and checked his work. Studying for entrance into the West Tokyo Normal School proved more exhausting than riding a pig bareback through Siberia, more harrying than attempting to have a picnic in a tornado, more tiring than trying to convince Hiko to go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. But, it would indeed be worth it, just to see the pride in his parents' eyes. Or rather, the pride in his mother's eyes and a rousing, 'Hn. Not terrible, son,' from his father. He did so adore it when his father called him "son". Usually, this epithet was reserved for Tsuyoshi who, at even the tender age of eight was already showing signs of being Tokyo's newest kendo prodigy. Not that Tsutomu held any grudge against his younger brother. He just...

Wished...

His father...

Would...

"Hahaue, please don't chew on your fingers. Father will be fine, really. Why don't you go out into your garden "

Tokio nodded and removed her fingers from her mouth. Nervous habit. "So sorry for bothering you during your studies, Tsu-chan. I just...I just..."

Tsutomu pushed his glasses up on his nose and waited for his mother to continue.

"Oh my. I just...you know...have -that- feeling."

Tsutomu's eyes grew wide.

Oh Kami-sama, no.

Not 'that feeling'.

Anything, anything but that!

Last time, half of Tokyo was almost destroyed.

And the time before that, seventeen people were hospitalized.

And Tsutomu didn't even want to -think- about the time before -that-.

"No, no, Hahaue, surely it is just something you ate."

"Gomen nasai, Tsu-chan," Tokio said quietly, leaning over to smooth out an almost imperceptible wrinkle in the tatami. "But, I think it may truly not be so."

Tsutomu rubbed his forehead. Disaster. He must, at all costs, avert disaster. What to do? What to do? Aha. The Instructions. Thank Kami-sama for Father, and his overly-prepared ways.

But where would they be?

In the file cabinet, under "I", of course.

(Somewhere, across Japan, Okon and Omasu each equally leaned their backs against a tree, panting gently. Why the man had to live at the -top- of a mountain, no one ever knew. Except, of course, for Hiko. He had a deep rooted fear of low laying places. He'd developed a sort of reverse-vertigo which gently sets in to most exceptionally tall men, over many years, many many years, eons even, perhaps centuries. Which is to say that Hiko was old. Very old. His contemporaries were Jiya, Buddha, and Yoda. He was so ancient that he'd actually -invented- the whole concept of -being- a samurai. At least, that is what Hiko would tell you. Because, as it stood, Hiko's age was matched only in expanse by his ego.

"I do not know if this is the right thing to do, Okon," Omasu murmured.

"But, we must, we must! Think of the deteriorated state of Hiko-sama's liver!" Okon replied.

"But, Okon, he might Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu us, and then where would we be?"

"Flat on our backs in Hiko-sama's hut, that is where we would be!"

"Oh. Jolly good plan, then. Let us continue."

From inside their uniforms, Okon and Omasu produced ten yards of rope, chloroform, several pamphlets, a motivational speaker named 'Fred-san', coffee, matching love letters to Hiko-sama (which were promptly re-hidden), and glue.

"Shall we?"

"We shall!"

The two female Oniwabanshuu ninjas both leapt forward with a mighty yell, entering Hiko's mountain hut in impressive style.

"Nani?!?!" The master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu yelled, almost, not quite, but -almost-, spilling his sake. Sake was precious, like life. Perhaps if he had made his baka deshi drink more as a pre-teen, Kenshin wouldn't have ended up so tightly strung. Perhaps he wouldn't have run off to kill all those people during the Bakumatsu. Yes. That was it. All problems could be boiled down to this one small fact. His baka deshi's mental deficiencies and continued angst could be attributed to a severe lack of sake.

And, perhaps, the fact that he was built like a twelve year old girl.

Flames appeared in the eyes of both Okon and Omasu, who moved their bodies in front of the doorway to prevent escape. This was it. They would accept -no- denial, they would stop at nothing to accomplish their mission. This -had- to be done.

"Hiko-sama! We have come! Come to take you to Alcoholics Anonymous!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

"Oh, kawaii!" Okon sighed, "He's so sexy when he howls like an injured animal."

"Strength, Okon, strength!"

"Right!"

Hiko was then promptly seized, trussed, and instructed in the twelve steps to recovery.)

Back in Tokyo, someone was brewing a recipe for disaster. And the recipe went something like this:

Take one ex-Shinsengumi Captain. Mash (Or, if you wish, squash) violently on the head with a tofu hut until gooey. Stir in one confused rurouni, and seventy-six partially hydrogenated "Oros". Oreos may be substituted for Oros if necessary. But, lets not have the double-stuffed ones, because this isn't some sort of bizarre hentai analogy, and giant tentacles, while quite easy to come by on the isle of Japan, are not easy to bake unless you have an industrial oven. Glaze gently with one horrible creepy smile and set out to cool in the Meiji Era.

Kenshin scratched his head. Well, this was a pickle. A rather large pickle. A very -bad- pickle. This was, say, a pickle-flavored cake cooked by Kaoru-dono. "You don't remember anything, Saitou?"

The confused cop took off his policeman's cap and ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging it from its usual slicked back neatness, and causing it to fall around his face. "No. Can't say that I can." Saitou suddenly realized what he was holding and pulled the hat up to his eyes to scrutinize it. "Say. I've got some policeman's hat."

"But, that's -your- hat, Saitou."

"Is it, now?" Saitou sniffed at the hat casually and shrugged. "But, I thought we were soldiers. You did say we were in a war, did you not?"

"We -were- in a war, that we were." Kenshin sighed. "But, we aren't anymore."

"I've got a katana, and so have you, and you don't appear to be a policeman, so we must be soldiers."

This was going to take a long time to explain. Actually, it would take about fifteen hours, thirty-six minutes, seven diagrams, a detailed map of Shishio Makoto's hideout, twelve pantomimes, a lame impression of the Hitokiri Battousai as performed by Himura Kenshin who (as you know) actually -is- the Hitokiri Battousai, five hundred and twenty one 'de gorazu yos', a detailed anime physics seminar given by Stephen Hawking, a recitation of the Shinsengumi code, and strangely, a detailed description of what Kaoru-dono looks like in the bath.

But, as I said before, this is not some sort of bizarre hentai story, and it turns out that Kenshin would -not- have the time it took to properly explain the situation to Saitou. For, at that very moment, a man dressed completely in lizard, snake, and alligator skins came screaming down the street, wielding a heavy mace.

"Ahahahaha! I've got you now, Fujita-san! After five years, I've finally been released from that horrible prison. And now I've come, come to seek my revenge on the man who put me there!"

The man stopped in the middle of the market square, laughing evilly, as most villains tend to do.

(Halfway across Japan, Seta Soujiro giggled mirthfully, stripped nude, and jumped into the hot springs. "Ahh! The rurouni life is definitely for me!")

As I was saying, -most- villains laugh evilly, since it is quite the villain thing to do.

(Halfway across the world, Kamatari giggled girlishly and pressed his shoulder up against a rather handsome British law student. "You think I'm pretty, do you, Daniel-san? Well, I -suppose- I could allow you to take me out this Friday, but I must warn you," Kamatari said with a dreamy sigh, "I do have four other dates that evening.")

Damnit. He was laughing evilly. AS VILLAINS DO. And marketgoers were running and screaming, as civilians tend to do. Basically, the whole scene was a chaotic mess.

"Who is that?" Kenshin murmured to Saitou.

Saitou backed up a bit, noticing that the man with the penchant for wearing reptile pelts was glaring at him. "I haven't the slightest clue. Who do you think this 'Fujita-san' is?"

"You."

"Me?" Saitou squeaked, "What do you mean? I thought you said my name was 'Saitou Hajime'. I may have lost my memory, but I do remember -that- much."

"Well, yes, you see...well...sessha..." Kenshin was properly stumped. And, as mentioned before, he was lacking the essential element of time, especially since reptile guy was currently making a beeline for Saitou's head with the mace.

"Saitou?"

Wasn't he going to draw his katana?

"Saitou?!"

No. He wasn't, apparently, going to draw his katana.

"SAITOU!!!!"

I could, stop here and give you a complete run-down of every nano-second of the battle which followed, but that would be completely pointless. We both know that Kenshin jumped -in front- of the mace, and then used the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu to:

A) Save Saitou.

B) Have a brief ten second scene where he is gracefully flying through the air while re-iterating his vow to never kill.

C) Save a random citizen.

D) Destroy the mace.

E) Briefly appear in photographic negative for no apparent reason.

F) Drive off the bad guy without drawing blood or breaking a sweat.

That being said, the man in the reptile suit hightailed it back up the street, screaming just as loudly as he had when he entered.

Kenshin, panting only slightly, walked back over to where Saitou was standing.

"Are you alright, Saitou?" Kenshin asked, peering at his supposed nemesis. Never. No -never- EVER, in his entire acquaintance with the man, had he -ever- seen Saitou hesitate to draw his katana. It felt wrong. Very wrong. More wrong than Sanosuke paying his Akabeko tab, more wrong than giving Shishio a puppy, more wrong than Shinmori Aoshi dressed as the Easter Bunny, more wrong than stabbing Tomoe directly through her left lung. Alright, maybe not quite -that- wrong.

"That was brilliant, sempai!" Saitou said, clapping his white gloves together softly. "Stunning. Amazing, really."

Kenshin was certain this was just about the worst punishment the Universe had -ever- heaped upon him. Yes. He had done -bad- things during the Bakumatsu, but certainly, nothing requiring -this-.

"Sessha is not your sempai!" Really, how creepy could you get? First of all, Saitou was expressing -awe- at Kenshin's technique. Secondly, he'd called him -sempai-. Sempai! Kami-sama.

"But, you must be. I mean, after what I just saw, you must be the best swordsman in all of Japan, I'm fairly certain. So, if we are both soldiers, and we fought together in a war, and you're the best, then you must certainly be my sempai, correct?"

-You must be the best swordsman in all of Japan.-

YOU....must be....the best swordsman in all of Japan.

Kenshin punched himself in the face.

Surely, he'd fallen asleep while doing laundry again.

But, when he finally stopped going "Orororororo", he found that he was, indeed, still in the marketplace with Saitou.

Still, bizarreness of the entire situation aside, one fact remained. Saitou Hajime, as he was, could not protect himself. And, with the strength of the people that Saitou had likely pissed off over the years, it seemed unlikely that his employers, the police, could protect him either.

So, most unfortunately, that task would fall to Kenshin.

And then there was the small matter of finding Saitou's wife and letting her know what had occurred. Possibly that could be done through the police department, but it would have to be handled delicately. It wouldn't be a good idea to leave a trail for enemies such as 'lizard suit guy' to be able to find Saitou while he was defenseless.

This needed planning.

It needed additional minds.

Really, it needed mind -doctors-, but, unfortunately, Sigmund Freud was only twenty-two years old and currently living on the other side of the globe. So, indeed, Kenshin would have to settle for the residents of the dojo.

"Saitou."

"Eh?" The policeman, who had been examining a scrap of the lizard man's suit left behind after the battle, stood and bowed slightly to Kenshin, "My apologies, sempai, what were you saying?"

"Let's go. Sessha would like you to come with him, to see a doctor, if you would."

"An excellent suggestion, sempai. But, what about all this wreckage?"

"Wreckage?"

Saitou motioned around the marketplace. It was, indeed, a bit beaten up. It made Kenshin briefly wonder. He did, in truth, have a habit of leaving things around for the cops to clean up later. Usually, the property damage was minimal, but how many times had he Ryu Tsui Sen'ed a dozen or more men and then just left them around for the police to care for at a later time? It probably gave them headaches, just by the mere paperwork. No wonder Saitou was in a bad mood so often.

"Ano...um...well...uh...Sessha thinks that will be alright for now, that it will."

"Oh. Very well." Saitou flashed another smile, which was becoming, frankly, less creepy by the moment.

The two headed out of the marketplace, walking swiftly enough to be gone by the time most of the citizenry re-appeared.

"Say, sempai," Saitou said, grinning down at the rurouni.

"Aa?"

"Since we have time now, would you explain this 'Fujita' thing to me?"

"Orororororooooo."