Note from Tenniyo: To our lovely reviewers, thank you. It really does help give inspiration to the otherwise mundane mind (like my own, which goes * POOF * right before Economics). ^^; To be perfectly honest right now, I have a migraine. I imagine Ichiro had something to do with it, no doubt. *Muffles Ichiro’s attempts to protest indignantly*

But I really just can’t seem to lie down without typing something right now.

So if this chapter is not to your liking, blame the migraine. ;D

On with the story~!

~*~

Recap: When we last left off, our heroes, (and the drunken cross dresser) were about to be arrested by the authorities for numerous violations, aside from the obvious destruction of the nightclub Ichiro had only been working in for a total of half an hour.

Isn’t that pathetic? What will happen now? Will Jiro have a nosebleed from Mitsuko’s uniform? Will Ichiro * EVER * get out of that same uniform? Is Den Komyouji able to breathe yet? Will Rei ever catch a break?

Not bloody likely.

Well, that answers one question, but as for the rest, let’s find out!

ONWARD!

~*~

“I can’t believe I’m stuck in a jail cell.” Ichiro growled irritably, as his barely covered rear was seated on the cold, stone bench of the cell. Android or not, cold was cold. Cold butt equals bad mood. Add that to the already volatile Ichiro and you’re lucky something hasn’t been blown up yet. Jiro sighed sympathetically.

“Yeah, who knew the cops would carry a magnet that powerful?” He muttered with a good-natured smile on his face. Ichiro’s eyes began to twitch at the word ‘magnet’. He’d been having so many problems with those little novelty items recently (though entirely by his own fault, the author adds).

“I can’t even get this damned ‘Please Recycle’ sign off my ass!” he spat, trying in vain to remove the magnet. However, he was only able to shift it into different positions, so he gave up with a defeated growl.

Childish snickering was heard on the other side, in the cell directly next to them. Mitsuko poked her brother in a scolding manner.

“Oi, Masaru, don’t give him reason to test the strength of the bars into our cell.” She whispered, already having made note of at least one Komyouji on Ichiro’s hit list. She eyed her father with an admonishing glare made especially for him. He coughed and found an odd red spot on the ceiling to be absolutely fascinating at the moment.

Masaru, not wanting to risk the darker side of his sister’s usual pleasant demeanor, ceased his laughter for Ichiro’s situation. Still, he pouted a bit.

“Why am I in here anyway? I’m just a kid!” He frowned and crossed his arms, doing a surprisingly accurate mimic of Ichiro in this case. Den looked away from the spot and smirked at his young son.

“Masaru, you told them you were a midg—“ He was interrupted as the PC notice from last chapter was handed to him. Skimming through it, he made an incredulous face, but shrugged and continued.

“As I was saying, you convinced the police that you were a ‘vertically challenged’ person, therefore, they are now holding you here with us and charging us with being accessories to Ichiro.” Sighing, he cast a wary glance at his other sulking ‘son’, and whispered to himself.

“I knew I forgot to add something when I was building him. . .-_-;;”, he shook his head. Rei finally opened his eyes from his silent meditation, no doubt to keep himself from imitating his rash, elder brother and going on a rampage in a confined area.

“What I don’t understand is why I’m here. I pulled away the boa and saved the doctor’s life!” He glared straight ahead, not at anything in particular, except perhaps the cruel fates that toyed with him so.

(Heheheheheheheheheh . . .)

“Oro . . .I don’t think it’s anything personal, they threw us all in here just because it was the only way to get Ichiro in here.”

Pausing as he remembered something unpleasant, he momentarily lost his encouraging tone and muttered, “ Mah . . .how embarrassing.” A sweat drop and a faint blush spread over his face.

“Oi, at least you weren’t the one with your face stuck in his cleavage when the magnet was brought out and thrown at him.” Rei snapped, eye twitching at the thought of how their little group must have looked as they were being hauled into the jail cells.

Ichiro jumped up, the high heels jamming into the cracked floor.

“I DON’T HAVE CLEAVAGE!” He roared, causing Rei’s hair to uncover his right eye for a moment. Mitsuko was beginning to lose her patience and sanity by the minute and tears of embarrassment began to well up in her lovely brown eyes.

“I wish they would have at least let me change, I feel as if I’m being brought up on prostitution charges!” She said, her voice wavering a little with frustration. Ichiro pivoted on his heels and faced her.

“Oh, what the hell are you complaining about, they wouldn’t even let me change! I look like I’m everyone’s bitch!” He sputtered.

Everyone was stunned into silence at the statement, not knowing whether to sympathize with the hothead or to just start laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Rei flopped back down resignedly, a hand covering his other eye. Jiro took this opportunity to scoot over as close to the Komyouji’s cell as the bars allowed him to. Reaching a hand through the bars, he gingerly laid one on Mitsuko’s bare shoulder.

“Mitsuko . . .I’m so sorry you had to get dragged into this.” He said, barely audible.

Mitsuko looked at his face to see the familiar remorseful expression. It made her heart ache a little with a mixture of pity and longing. Despite the sad look, he still looked cute—much like a guilty puppy. She moved the picture of puppy-Jiro to the back of her mind and decided to reply before he really believed she blamed him for the incident.

“It’s ok, Jiro.” She smiled, glancing at his comforting hand, her fingers brushing over his briefly. “Honestly, I’m just glad to be out of the awful place . . .not to mention being able to see you again. . .’ she mumbled the last part quietly. Jiro smiled softly, his face warming a little. Oh how she loved that face so much better than his sad one. Sighing contentedly, she looked at their present situation with a more optimistic attitude and found herself giggling slightly.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t have had a reunion under better circumstances though.” She breathed after her chuckling subsided. Jiro was glad; it had been so long since he had heard her laughing.

“I was . . .,’ he paused as he found himself blushing a little harder with embarrassment, ‘ . . .worried that you were enjoying your job.” He mumbled meekly, almost as if hoping she’d not hear it. Her eyes snapped open and she whipped her head towards him instantly.

“Absolutely not! I just wanted to help my father. . . And it *DOES * pay well. Plus I get offered a lot of free drinks afterward.” She said, her defensive tone ceasing a little with each perk she had listed.

Unfortunately for her, Mitsuko’s father decided to add his own commentary.

“Which is usually ok as long as it isn’t Karaoke Night. She really caused a scene with that Nude Karaoke incident—“

”DADDY, HUSH!!!” She gasped, horrified that she had been reminded of that horrible night. It took her nearly forever to get the damned tabloids off her back . . . casting a wary glance at the fellow captives, she noted a raised eyebrow from Rei and a snide smirk from Ichiro, in all his sparkling glory. She also caught her own father and little brother snickering. What worried her more was Masaru. He was snickering in that evil way he has when he realizes that he has blackmail material on someone. Mitsuko began to worry in the back of her mind . . .her camera had been missing lately. . .

Jiro was confused. He had no clue as to what Karaoke was . . .but nude?

‘Wasn’t that another term for when something is completely expo-- . . .O_O’

Jiro’s face began to feel as if it were on fire as he immediately began to try shutting the images of his scantily-clad maiden even more scantily attired, eventually leaving nothi---GAH!

“I won’t ask.” He said a little too quickly, his eyes staring straight-ahead and unfocused. After some awkward silence, Jiro spoke up again.

“Mitsuko . . .”

”Yes, Jiro . . .?” Mitsuko queried gently, placing her hand over Jiro’s through the cell bars. Jiro looked at the delicate hand and inhaled deeply.

“Mitsuko, there is something I have to tell you . . . I . . .I, ah . . .”

There was a collective group sigh around them and they both looked up to find the rest of their group crowded around them with looks of anticipation, or in Rei’s case, mild interest. In Ichiro’s case, his response was:

“WOOHOO! YEAH, BABY!”

-_-;

Oh yes, a regular Prince Charming, that one.

Jiro and Mitsuko each had a sweat drop adorning their heads.

“Perhaps another time would be better. . .” he muttered, disappointed slightly. Mitsuko must have detected it, for she changed the subject.

Fidgeting with the gloves of her suit, she posed the one question that had been plaguing her ever since she had been reunited with Jiro.

“So . . .just why are you stripped down to your skivvies, Jiro?” She smiled, mostly in hopes that it would keep him comforted, but also because it was the only thing she could do aside from laughing herself blue.

Once again, the color returned to his face as he found himself struggling for a decent answer.

“W-well . . .you see. . . I, uh . . .” he stammered. Fortunately for him, Masaru decided to pose his own question.

“You get a new set of clothes every time you change back from battle mode, why can’t you do it now?” He had his head tilted curiously.

“Yeah, don’t you know that all you have to do is say ‘Change clothes’ instead of just ‘change’ and you get a new set of threads?” Ichiro said as he played with the feathers on the headdress of his outfit.

“He’s right! How about that?” Den Komyouji commented brightly, a little bit of faith restored into his first creation.

Jiro had been staring at them with wide eyes and continued to stare in silence for about a moment when they were done.

“What?! And you waited all this time to tell me that!?” He barked, very Un-Jiro like. Dr. Komyouji smiled kindly.

“Mitsuko said she thought you looked cute like that.” he grinned, thinking this was the perfect way to cheer up Jiro. Mitsuko yanked her father’s ear immediately.

“DADDY!” She said, her face turning a million shades of red in a matter of seconds. The scene earned a chuckle from everyone aside from Jiro, who only pinkened a bit.

“Wait a minute . . . Ichiro, if you knew about that all this time, why are you still dressed as a showgirl?” Jiro asked, child-like curiosity taking over again.

Ichiro froze in his laughter and appeared to be giving some thought to the answer. (*gasp*)

Ichiro began to do something funny just then. He wasn’t exploding. In fact, he was looking like he was trying to make himself appear more covered and modest.

“Ah. . .well . . .actually, I was starting to find it kinda comfy.” He admitted, sheepishly.

Five *thump*’s were heard in unison, and Ichiro looked to find himself the only upright person in the cells.

~*~

(Some time later . . .)

Mitsuko stirred before straightening up, rubbing her brow groggily. Slowly standing up, she then winced as a certain part of her costume began to ride up on her with excruciating discomfort. Adjusting it as discreetly as possible, she then remembered what had caused her sudden descent in the first place.

“You . . .you . . .find this humiliating sequined trap . . .’comfy’?! Are you some kind of masochist?” She hissed, for the costume again tried to ride up on her as she made a few steps towards the adjacent cell. Someone else stirred awake nearby.

“Eh? Well, its just so light compared to all the denim I’m used to . . .not to mention, silver isn’t a bad color.” Ichiro explained, pausing at the last part to examine his backside, as the silver flecks on the thong (which had been torturing Mitsuko earlier), glittered in the cell room light. Ichiro wasn’t the only one looking at his backside, although he was the only one admiring it.

“Oi, Mitsuko, he earned more than you usually do. He only wore this thing for about fifteen minutes and he already has about $300 stuck in his underwear. And we weren’t even working in a strip club!” Masaru marveled, wondering how much more Ichiro might have earned had he been dancing.

Unfortunately, that was the last thing Rei wanted to hear when waking up. He quickly shut his eyes and internally debated whether or not he should slam his head into the concrete below him just to earn him a few more moments of peaceful, silent, subconscious bliss. . .

“What? You’re kidding me, son. . .” Dr. Komyouji exclaimed disbelievingly. Surely enough, there were twenty, ten and even a few fifty notes all strapped to Ichiro’s rear.

“Damn, if I had held out with the wisecracks a while longer, we could have made enough for bail.” he mused wryly. Rei sighed heavily, unable to fake unconsciousness any longer.

“Get out of that thing already, you idiot.” Rei demanded calmly, with a bit more frost than usual in his tone.

~‘And to think I had once believed Bijinder’s ‘weapons’ to be preposterous. . .’~ he mused dryly in his head.

“But I don’t wanna . . .” Ichiro whined. He appreciated the freedom of movement for his limbs too much to give it up so quickly. After all, his usual outfit consisted of a one-piece jumpsuit underneath a heavy red denim jacket!

Rei was at his limits now. He had tried his best to be patient today. First it was getting Jiro to this accursed place, then it was getting him out of the casino after he gambled away all his belongings, not to mention the flamboyant fan club he had running around that was gaining members throughout the day (they were currently rioting outside the police station for his release,) and then finding Ichiro in the middle of strangling their creator while in this ridiculous get up. No, no more.

~‘I’ve had more than enough, I’m done with this, I don’t even need to be here. I would sooner tell Bijinder she had a rusted behind than suffer another moment of this humiliation! I’m going to go do something I wanted to do today!’~ His brain ranted. Rei had finally snapped.

“Fine, but I refuse to be seen with you until you do.” And with that, he rammed his fist through the wall and exited.

About a moment later, Rei’s head popped back in through the opening he had made, a little sheepish in expression. The fact that he was showing an expression other than annoyance was a miracle in itself.

“Dr. Komyouji. . .”

“Yes . . .?” The doctor replied, curious as to what his most quiet creation would inquire him about.

“. . .Am I able to taste?” he asked quickly. There was a collective pause before the doctor laughed jovially and answered.

“Of course you can! All of my creations have a sense of taste," and pausing to glance at Ichiro as he strutted in his cell, much like a peacock, he added as an afterthought, "perhaps not in clothing. . . let me go with you, I can direct you to some of the best dining areas in this city! We’ll make a bonding session of it!”

With that, Rei punched another hole into the Komyouji’s cell and together with the doctor, they quietly made their way down the street to avoid attracting attention from the police and the "fan club."

(To be continued?)