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22 March 2007 @ 03:40 pm
I Wish You to the Cornfield, ch. 4 (DBZ)  
Title: I Wish You to the Cornfield
Fandom: Dragonball Z
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor (read that as CRACK)
Publish Date: 10/29/2002 to 1/5/2003
Disclaimer: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, I do not own DBZ.



"There doesn’t seem to be anybody out," Eighteen observed coolly.

It was quite chilly outside, perhaps because the sun wasn’t fully up yet. There had been dozens of cars on the roads outside the city, but inside the place itself there were few cars out and about. Gohan wished he knew what time it was. That might offer an explanation.

"I’m started to think this might be a tiny bit hopeless," ChiChi commented from her perch in Goku’s arms, turning her head to look down at the ground below.

"Wait a sec! Look!" Piccolo stopped and pointed downwards. There was a large group of people outside on a flat field by a hillside. Some of the people had what appeared to be large pieces of fabric or something in their hands, and of the rest, each was holding something shiny. The sound of music drifted up towards their ears. Piccolo winced at quite a few out-of-tune notes.

"Should we go check it out?" Videl asked, but Goten and Trunks, who had managed to stay out of trouble since the trip through the portal (that’s what they’d figured the color-filled void was), were already zipping down towards the group at top speed.

"Hey! You two get back here!" Vegeta roared, giving chase. Not to be left behind, the rest of the group followed. And Goku and Vegeta somehow managed to collide in the air, which snowballed into the entire Z crew rather unceremoniously crashing into the middle of the group.

The members of the crowd took off screaming; some of them weren’t too lucky, and were hit by the falling fighters. When the dust settled (after an abnormally long time), a rather substantial number of what appeared to be teenagers were sprawled on the ground, unconscious. The rest were huddled over by a rectangular metal shed, staring wide-eyed at the strange assembly that made up our heroes.

Wasting no time, Bulma and ChiChi pulled out their ultimate weapons—the frying pans started flying. Barely-discernable screams were heard for miles, accented by the loud clangs of frying pans hitting Saiyan skulls. "You stupid…" "How could you do that!" "Are you trying to kill these poor people?" "Are you trying to kill me?"

The tirade was cut short by a man’s voice over an intercom system at the top of the hill. "Have you two ever considered playing the cymbals?" The women froze and looked at a medium-height balding man running out towards them. "You two should really look into it. Actually, since you knocked out our cymbal players, would you mind just filling in? We need the practice." The man then turned to take a quick count of the unconscious on the ground. "Let’s see…two flags, a trombone, one drum major, a trumpet, a flute, the clarinet section leader, one tuba, a snare, and the cymbals. Well, the rest of you will just have to fill in. We have a competition on Saturday, and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, so we’re going to practice. Now grab the instruments and get going!"

Gohan was the first to step forward and picked up a long, thin brass instrument from where it was clutched in a short boy’s fingers. "What’s this?"

"A trombone," the balding guy (AN: his name is Mr. Nagel) beamed.

Two sets of cymbals found their way into Bulma and ChiChi’s hands, and they found a large amount of delight in imagining how the metal plates could be used in place of frying pans for punishing temperamental Saiyans. Videl, in the meantime, pulled a large drum off of a blonde boy. It was very strange-looking, with a harness that went over the shoulders so that the black and white drum hung at about the waistline. There were also two thin white sticks, which she correctly assumed were for hitting the drum.

Eighteen didn’t waste much time either, and selected a huge white instrument, pulling it over a large boy’s shoulders. The tuba was actually quite light for her. Trunks, meanwhile, had claimed a trumpet from a blonde girl, who groaned and rolled over onto her back as the chibi took the instrument from her.

Krillen plucked a long, thin black instrument from a boy with glasses. As he pulled the clarinet out of the kid’s hands, the kid also rolled over and said very softly, "Elmo…hurt…" Then he fell silent. Krillen did not comment, but just walked away, confused.

Goku and Vegeta each grabbed a silver pole, which proved to have a flag attached to the end. As they regarded these contraption with a certain degree of awe, Piccolo waited, then stepped forward and took the last instrument—something that looked like a miniature flute. He studied it carefully, then asked the balding guy what it was.

"That’s a piccolo," Nagel answered.

Piccolo looked irritated. "I know what my name is, but what is this puny thing?"

"A piccolo," Mr. Nagel replied.

The Namekian’s jaw dropped, and he stared at the tiny thing, ignoring Goten, who was whining about not having an instrument. The balding man promptly announced that Goten was going to have to fill in for the unconscious drum major.

Once things were getting straightened out, they tried out their newfound instruments. It was interesting, to say the least. Goku and Vegeta kept themselves occupied by happily trying to beat each other senseless with their flagpoles.

Piccolo winced repeatedly as everyone else tried. Most failed miserably. Exasperated, the Namekian raised the tiny flute and began playing a rapid trill of clear sixteenth notes, up and down the scale. From there he went into something that soundly an awful lot like the melody of Mozart’s 40th Symphony. When he was finished, he turned to look at his poleaxed friends, all of whom were staring at him in total shock, and smirked. "And you thought it was just a name."

-o-


Unbeknownst to the Z fighters, inside the large metal shed nearby, two teenagers were having a hushed, yet frantic conversation.

"What are they doing here?"

"I don’t know! Oh wait…the fic I started last night…"

"What?!?"

"Don’t ask. Gimme a piece of paper. I have an idea to at least get through this rehearsal."

-o-


Suddenly, the terrible noise of the Z senshi attempting to produce music became a gorgeous C major arpeggio (AN: I’m in all that is musical, so this makes sense to me. Sorry to all the musically-challenged peeps who might read and go "huh?"). The huddled teenagers breathed a loud sigh of quite obvious—and quite understandable—relief, especially as Gohan began playing the trombone melody from "Grenada Smoothie". Then everyone began dancing.

The unconscious were dragged off the field in the true spirit of "the show must go on" (and the fact that Mr. Nagel is a total fanatic!), and the rehearsal continued, and it was strange that the Z fighters seemed to suddenly know exactly where they needed to go and what they needed to play. It was quite odd. The only real mishap they had was on that Vegeta did NOT want to twirl the flag. Twirling a flag involved some dancing. And the Prince of the Saiyans did NOT dance. After a large number of threats and a pair of cymbals crashing right beside his ear (courtesy of Bulma), he grudgingly went along with it. All went well until the first flag toss; the two Saiyans put just a tiny bit too much push behind their poles, and the flag poles went flying very very high.

Okay, okay, the flags shot out of the Earth’s atmosphere and went straight into orbit.

Goku chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "Oops!"

After the run-through was over, the Z senshi breathed an audible sigh of relief, which was cut short by a slightly familiar voice.

"Hey guys!" a voice called out of the group, and a brown-haired teenage girl came running towards them, flag pole in hand. Right behind her was another teenager, this one blonde and holding what looked like xylophone mallets.

"Oh no…not you!" Piccolo groaned.

"It can’t be!" Vegeta stumbled back a few paces, looking panicked.

"And the other one! Not you too!" Krillen yelped.

It went downhill from there, and it wasn’t long before the entire cast of Dragonball Z was running around in a panic, like chickens with their heads cut off, screaming at the top of their lungs. Things like, "she’s a lunatic" and "that one made Chaot-zu save the day" and "CRAZY!" were heard quite clearly.

"Um, Candyland, what’s with them?" Fred the Mutant Pickle asked in confusion.

"Beats me, Freddie. But I don’t know what we’re going to do with them!" the author sighed unhappily, then waved her arms in the air. "Hey, guys! Cool it!"

Goten approached the author timidly and tugged on the sleeve of her black sweatshirt. "Uh, excuse me Mrs. Author Lady, but where are we?"

The author smiled fondly. "Just call me Candyland, okay?"

The chibi looked suspicious. "Is that your real name?"

"Nope, it’s my all-purpose handle," she answered with a grin. "See?" She pivoted so that the child could see where the word ‘Candyland’ was printed in white letters across the hood of her flag corp sweatshirt. "My real name is—"

"Hey brat!" Vegeta broke away from the group panic suddenly and snarled at the author. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. We call this place…"