Oi, just puttin this up to see how it goes, "first-fic" and all. Hopefully
you like/show some interest in/give me tips for this fic. It's just
somethin that sorta poped in my head a while ago... and I nedd to work on
filler. <sigh> Enjoy.


******
Textbook:

Reality: (noun) 1. The quality or state of being actual or true. 2. One,
such as a person, an entity, or an event, that is actual. 3. The totality
of all things possessing actuality, existence, or essence. 4. That which
exists objectively and in fact.  

Layman's:

Reality: (noun) What your senses tell you is there, what you can see,
smell, hear, taste or touch.

	But what is "reality" really? What is real for one may not be real for
others. There is also the parallel reality idea, infinite dimensions with
infinite possibilities. Every one of these possibilities is played out to
its fullest extent in its own plane. And, on rare occasion, these planes
"overlap," causing confusion.

	Stepping through the shades of reality is a relatively simple task, just
ask anyone who's held a dream in their heart and held hope in their eyes.
There aren't many, actually depressingly few, but for those few, life is
never the same.

	Let me tell you a story�


**********************************

     Psychosis & Grill Press

            presents

       <INSERT TITLE HERE>

               by:

          The Arcadian
                   
            Based on:

     A wee bit of everything

**********************************

Side note: I own none of this with the exception of Psychosis & Grill Press
and Arcadian aka Arc. Most everything else is owned by whoever made it, and
most specifically Takahashi Rumiko who created the setting and characters
that this bit is played out in. Please don't sue or anything like that. 

Addendum: This may start out as a shameless self-insertion first-fic, but I
hope to pace it right and hopefully make it a pleasant experience. I hope�
C&C greatly appreciated, MST's� why not, and flames will be� um� considered. 

**********************************

	It was a lazy summer evening at the diner. It was a summer evening like
any other, though maybe a bit cooler and cloudier than most. The sign over
the doorway on the outside proclaimed "Ucchan's Okonomiyaki" to any who
where interested, and apparently very few were at this time. Inside
business was slow. The proprietress' line of thought amended this, it was
moving at a snail's pace, and closing up soon would probably not be a bad
idea.  

	Unnoticed by her, or anyone else for that matter, a door chose that moment
to innocuously appear a couple paces distant behind her, being completely
unsupported by anything. It was off white and bore the words: "Arcadian
Straits" at about the height you usually see those "Authorized Personnel
Only" signs. It opened slowly and somewhat reluctantly, its silver doorknob
glittering faintly, with the sound of a low and plaintive creak. A stale
breeze that originated from within the confines of the door wafted through
and played fitfully with the proprietress' hair for a moment before heading
off for something else to do. All this of course attracted her attention.

	"What the�" she began as she turned to face the portal, and all sense left
her mind at what she saw within, but consciousness decided to stay behind
to see what was up.

	The other side of the opening was not, as any would normally expect, a
view of the rest of the restaurant behind it. Instead it wantonly chose to
boggle the mind by being a vast, empty windswept plain stretching off into
the distant mountains. The grasses of the plain were of a medium height and
covered in a fine layer of dust that, were the broad featureless plain a
building, would make one think of it as old and abandoned. The mountains
barely visible far off on the horizon were bathed in the darkness of an
oncoming storm, and lightning played fitfully among the peaks.

	A well-worn pathway leading right up to the door made itself known at this
time when she noticed the shape of a figure trudging up said path, still
several yards distant. In the darkness of the oncoming storm an occasional
flash of a cigarette could be seen in the figures hand, punctuated on
occasion by a flash of electricity arcing through the clouds. As the
individual approached more could be made out about the person. First off
was the fact that this person was about six and a half feet of height with
long red hair tied back in a pony-tail and appeared to be of an average
girth, and was most definitely a man. When he got closer it could be seen
that he was wearing a hat and two long jackets, the outer a duster, the
inner a trench coat, that were made of an odd material, his clothing too
was of this material. It was solid black, yet seemed to shimmer through the
spectrum like an oil slick on fresh tarmac, never remaining the same as he
moved.

	The small audience that had gathered before the door saw the man stop on
just the other side, shrug off his jackets, give them a sound dusting,
throw them over his shoulder and, almost as an afterthought, extinguish his
cigarette on the doorframe next to a series of marks that suggested this
had been done many times before and step through. He then raised his gaze
and swept it slowly over the small group, and seemed to say, "What? Never
seen a man step through a door before?" with his eyes. 

	Those that were still observant at the time noticed that his eyes vaguely
matched his clothes, and that he had an odd, narrow spike shaped area on
his forehead that began just below his hairline and ended at the point just
between his eyebrows. It too was of the same coloration. He was also rather
blatantly western.

	Moving around the cluster of people he made his way towards the counter,
picking up a menu on the way. As he sat upon the stool at the counter he
gave a weary sigh and, unnoticed to the others, the door swung slowly shut
and, without preamble, faded from view. He then looked at the menu with
tantamount confusion, randomly selected an entr�e, and made a gesture for
two, and then waiting for the meal, he lapsed into a comptemplative
silence. The other customers gave a group shrug and returned to their seats.

	Ukyo finished cooking the meals with her usual grace and slid them down
the counter to come to a stop before the man. He nodded his thanks,
produced a set of silverware from a pocket in his jackets, and started in
on one of the dishes. 

	As the stranger ate, Ukyo watched. He seemed to have all the patience in
the world, savoring each bite as though it might be his last. At one point
he accidentally dropped a bite onto the floor and sighed. The dropped bit
then flipped up and over the counter and into the trash bin as though it
were a tiddly-wink, and the man continued to eat. Ukyo's mind did a few
backflips around the thought of "how did he do that?" and she walked over
to voice exactly that.

	"Um�" she voiced

	"Yes miss?"

	"How did you do that?"

	"Some would call it telekinesis."

	"Ah." Who is this weirdo, "And you would be?"

	"Heh, not a telekinetic," he replied with a slight grin, "call me
Arcadian, or merely Arc."

	Arc it is then. "So Arc, how did you do that, and what was with that weird
door?"

	"I'm not going to tell you."

	This guy is starting to piss me off. "And why not?" she returned with a
bit of force.

	"Are you ready to know how reality works?" he returned looking her
straight in the face with those odd eyes of his. He then stood up and
placed five silver coins on the counter, shrugged on his jackets, and
headed towards the door of the establishment. As he passed through the door
he called over his shoulder, "good evening, Kuonji Ukyo�"

	All sense left and once again forgot to turn out the lights.

******

	The park is generally a peaceful place at midnight, what with most people
home asleep. However at this time we see Arcadian sitting on a bench. He
mutters to himself in english and occasionally looks up to the stars.

	Another figure staggers into the park under load of a backpack and notices
a brief flash of fire from Arcadian lighting a cigarette, and approaches.

	He speaks with a slight tone of despair in his voice, "Which way to the
Tendo Dojo?"

	"I'm not sure friend, I've only been here for a few hours. Sit down and
take a load off." 

	"Hibiki Ryoga," Ryoga says by way of introduction as he sits down.

	"Arcadian, nice to meet you." Arcadian says finishing the age old ritual.
"What brings you here at this hour?"

	"Eh heh� I don't have the worlds greatest sense of direction." Ryoga
replies while nervously scratching the back of his head.

	"Happens to the best of us, friend. Let's go find a bar, the world can wait."

	"But I�"

	"As I said, the world can wait, it has for untold millennia, it can wait a
few more hours."

	And so the lost boy and a wandering soul went in search of a bar, and one
succeeded beyond his wildest dreams�

******

	Ryoga, with the aid of Genma and Soun, who they had found at the bar they
ended up in, were recounting old escapades that they had been involved in.
Admittedly there was an unprecedented amount of exaggeration in the tales,
but alcohol has a tendency of doing that. Arcadian was looking around the
bar with a grin plastered on his face as though someone had just told him
he'd been elected king of the world. The flame of the candle he had pulled
from a pocket earlier would occasionally flicker and assume the shape of a
dragon or a flower or anything in between. He was in love.

	"Boy's," he stated interrupting the flow of the tale, "I have just broken
a fundamental law of the universe."

	"And what's that son?" asked a slightly bleary Soun.

	"Never fall in love with a bar."

	Genma chuckled, "Too true."

	"I'll be right back." And with that Arcadian got up and strode toward the
bar with great purpose.

******
Interlude 1
******

The pencil moved across the sheet of paper in uneven strokes, and the sound
of a poorly played guitar wafts in from elsewhere in the apartment. The
lead of the pencil snapped from irritation, a miniature, yet still
accurate, knell of doom. With intent movements the writer moves over to the
closet and pulls from it a large red wiffle bat with the words "No Gravity"
emblazoned on the side and then leaves the room. From elsewhere several
sharp thwacks, a few flat thumps, the sound of an acoustic guitar being
bent in angles it was never intended to, and a low thud can be heard. The
writer returns, drops the now bloodied wiffle bat, and sits to write:

	"Once he reached the bar�"

******
End Interlude
******

	Once he reached the bar Arcadian asked to see the owner.

	"That would be me sir, is there something the matter?"

	"Not at all, I'd like to buy your bar," Arcadian said with great seriousness.

	The owner was somewhat taken aback by that statement. "I� I don't know
what to say."

	With a slight rustle of cloth and what can only be considered a dull clang
Arcadian placed five large dull silver metal bars on the bar-top. "Do you
think this would be enough?"

	"What are those?"

	"Platinum," Arc said with a slight grin.

	"I think that will do quite nicely sir," the owner said in a small voice.
"We'll do the paperwork tomorrow then?"

	"I'll be here." And with that he lest the owner to deal with the bars and
returned to the martial arts trio.


 
	
	JR
	Crater Corps. Chairman
	Arcadian@plazma.net
	http://www.plazma.net/users/arcadian/
	Psychosis & Grill Press
	http://www.plazma.net/users/arcadian/P&G/