Thursday, April 20, 2006

   When Chibis Attack! Part 33
Past chapters are over here.

Part 33: In Which There is Treatment

In comparison, I suppose I'm somewhat used to chibi behavior by now - unlike the receptionist. She's huddled down behind her desk looking like someone having their first Chibi Encounter: that is to say, a little stressed.

"I warned you they were made of teeth," I mumble and hunker down beside her.



Survey the carnage: Goku must have savaged the snack machine and the candy bowl, resulting in the candy-maddened level of Seiten Taisei Sugar Goku. Sanzo is administering the appropriate level of beating for this kind of behavior.

Gojyo is taking advantage of the confusion to move in on the receptionist. He's down beside her on the floor, one arm around her, or at least as much of her as his little arm can handle.

"Just take it easy, doll. You know, a hug would probably make you feel a lot better..."

"They're not real. They're not real. They're not..." Head in her hands, rocking back and forth like that, a hug probably wouldn't quite do the trick.




Sigh.




"I tried that," In my own way, though not the rocking part, admittedly. "It doesn't work. They just get more and more in-your-face until you can't ignore them anymore."

"You!" Her wild eyes turn on me and lock, desperate for something believable to focus on. "You did this!"

Look around at the candy-coated, fan-smacking mess.

"I'm not that creative." Or energetic.

"But! But they're your..."

"Hey!" Gojyo pipes up, climbing on to her knees. "I may have come with her, but I don't have to go home with her, if you know what I mean?"



Gojyo's leer meets her horrified stare, and-

Sanzo's fan hits Goku with remarkable precision and force, sending him flying through the air. He ricochets off a pile of papers, directly into Gojyo. As the papers flutter down around us, the two concussed chibis stagger around, birds and stars (and hearts and flowers for some unknown reason) circling their heads. They finally collapse sideways, conveniently onto my lap.

The receptionist whimpers, and slumps against my shoulder, out cold.



Sanzo stands atop the desk, fan in hand and a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

"What are you looking so proud for?" Initiate Operation: Take Sanzo Down a Notch. "I'd be way more impressed if you'd knocked them out before they tore the place apart. Wait... are those cigarette butts? Have you been smoking in here?"

Operation: Buenas Notches fails, as Sanzo ignores my question entirely, instead parrying with an accusation of his own. "Screw that. The screaming started down your end. What the hell were you doing in there? Having a parade?"



As if he had been waiting for the cue, Hakkai appears, backing slowly down the hall while rattling a box of crayons.

Without Sanzo's mastery of question-avoiding skills, there's no choice but a straight answer: "Kougaiji doesn't like doctors, it seems."

"Why? Did you tell him he was getting a shot?"




Ironically, that does it. Kougaiji zooms down the hallway, past the reception, and out the door, leaving a con-trail of dust and paper behind him. Note the day and time for posterity: this may be Sanzo's first official miracle.

"Ah ha ha ha! Well done, Sanzo." Hakkai returns the crayons to the reception toy box, which is now empty of everything but those crayons. Its former contents are strewn about the room, no doubt having been used for various nefarious chibi purposes.

Sanzo snorts, in expression of his satisfaction with a job well done. His sinuses must be very pleased.



I can still hear Dr. Fraid whimpering from here. Now probably would not be a good time to ask for a prescription renewal. On the plus-side, now the government gun-men are the least of his worries.

And I've been fine so far without those pills. The rest of the planet might not be too happy about it, but I've been okay. Maybe it's all about damage control at this point, anyway.




Gently shift the receptionist onto a flotilla of papers. Gather up the unconscious lap dwellers.

"Come on. Let's go."

Hakkai stops trying to clean up, and his serious eyes gaze up at me in genuine concern. "But don't you need to see a doctor? What about your hallucinations?"

"It's okay, Hakkai." Hold the door open for people with little legs to pass. "As it turns out, you're probably real."

"Hmph." Sanzo marches imperiously past. "I could have told you that."

Thanks again, Dr. McSanzo. Your professional opinion is always appreciated.

Now, where was that liquor store?





It was right where I left it.

"I think you still have some rum in the fridge..." Hakkai mentions helpfully as I park. Kougaiji is hiding under the front seat, and he squeaks, 'No shot!' when anyone attempts to extract him. This gives me a rare opportunity to go out in public with the use of both arms. I intend to use it the best way I know how.

"You can never have too much rum." My most basic creed: my mission statement, if you will.




Enter the store to the ding-a-ling of doorbells.

God, I hate doorbells.

Doesn't matter what store you go into, they always keep the rum near the back. It's like they want you to re-think your options, as if the store is asking you, 'Do you really want rum? Would you perhaps prefer one of these less-efficient drunkinating beverages?'

No way, I say. Why complicate a simple process?




It's been a long day already, and it's still morning: Put a pair of bottles in a convenient basket. Head for the till.

Get the attention of the kid behind the counter, which is harder than one may expect. He would obviously like to quit his dead-end job, to devote more of his time to his true passion of TV-watching.

Unload basket.



Basket has mysteriously sprouted four six-packs of beer during my journey from the back wall to the till. Beer is a very inefficient drunkimifier: you have to pee far too often to build up the necessary alcohol levels. This seems wasteful, in my opinion.

Still, I'm not sure why, but I'm feeling oddly - generous?

After all, I'm no less sane than a guy with a medical degree, or his highly-trained office staff. Maybe a little saner; at least I didn't curl up in a ball and/or pass out when I met my first chibi.

But I don't think I'll put that on my resumé.




"How much are these?" Pass one of the six-packs to the kid, who scans it.

"Let's see..." He points at the screen. "Looks like they're on sale."

"Cheap booze!" My ankle rejoices audibly. Try to kick the flashes of red and yellow hair that bob just out of view. Succeed only in kicking myself.

"Uh... yes. They're very cheap." The Future Professional TV-Watcher is now looking at me more closely, as if to ask, 'Are you one of our regular drunks?' No, young sir, I am an entirely different drunk.

"Then I'll take two. You can put the rest back." My generosity is deflating along with my perceived sanity.

"But!" Gasps my ankle. The click of a cap-gun cocking is faintly heard.

"But what?" Asks the clerk.

"...but on second thought, forget it. I don't need them." Generosity exhausted by the threat of silly violence.

"Yaaargh! No!" My ankle cries out in grief.

"No?" The poor kid is now obviously confused, and a little flustered. Though, being so close to a psychiatrists office, you'd think he'd have more experience with this.

"No, I think two will just hit the spot!" Pipes my ankle in a ridiculous falsetto voice. "Thank you for your help, you man. What lovely eyes you - yrrk!"

Finally, a kick that connects.

Pay. Leave. Quickly.



Next Time: Monster Slaying! And birds...
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