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22 March 2007 @ 03:54 pm
I Wish You to the Cornfield, ch. 9 (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.



"No, it is NOT lunchtime!" Candyland had to use physical force (and borrow ChiChi’s frying pan) to get the Saiyan members of the party away from the commons, where first lunch was in full swing. "We have another class before we can go eat! Now get moving!"

Grudgingly, the hungry aliens and demi-aliens followed the author into the hallway that they’d started the day out in, but instead of going into the room with all the instrument in it, they entered the room across the hall. It was about the same size, with a tiered floor, a plethora of chairs set up in rows along the curved steps of the floor, and a big cabinet filled with numbered folders and binders. Candyland walked up to said cabinet and grabbed the folder numbered 64 before taking a seat in the front row.

"You guys are just gonna hafta wait and find out where Webdog wants ya," she said casually, opening up her folder and pulling out something thick and gray with large black writing on the front. "He’ll put you in sections and give you somewhere to stand."

The students filed in, and when the bell rang, there were probably close to eighty students occupying the chairs in the room, each with a binder resting in his or her lap. Seconds later, a young man in his late twenties came strolling out of an office in the back of the room and down to the piano on the bottom tier of the floor, where he sat down and played a chord. "Hello, students! Stand up, start warmups!"

"Umm, hey, Weber?" Candyland tiptoed up to the piano while everyone else jumped to their feet. "I’ve got a couple of friends who are gonna be joining us today. It’s just for the day, so can you give them a section and a place to stand?"

"I suppose," he looked at the strange assembly of fighters and seemed to think. "Well, let’s hear you guys sing."

It didn’t take long for the choir director to sort everyone into their appropriate sections: Goten was sent to stand amidst the young women of the first soprano section; Videl joined the ranks of the second sopranos; Trunks and Eighteen were placed in the alto I section, and Bulma and ChiChi ended up in with the second altos. For the guys, Krillen somehow wrangled a tenor I spot; Goku and Gohan were tossed in with the second tenors; finally, Piccolo and Vegeta ended up in the back row amidst the basses.

Candyland looked back, and grinned. Sitting in a row in the bass section were Piccolo, Adam, and Vegeta. All three were sitting low in their chairs, arms folded, heads down, expressions shuttered.

Meanwhile, Weber was eyeing the newcomers with interest. "Well, I need to know your names...huh? Oh, thanks," he said as Candyland jumped up and slipped him a list of the Z senshi. "Okay, let’s see here...Goku?"

"Oh! That’s me!" Son Goku jumped up and waved his hand in the air. "Hey, is it lunchtime yet?"

"No, it’s not lunchtime," the director said without missing a beat, and continued. "Gohan?"

Gohan raised his hand. Weber looked at him and grinned. "Okay, show choir guys, look back there. That is what your hair should look like for show choir." Gohan looked the tiniest bit uncomfortable, and shifted nervously in his seat.

"Goten?"

"Oh! Me! And I have a question!" the chibi stood up on his chair. "What are all these funny little black things on this paper?"

"That would be music, and those would be the music notes," Weber said matter-of-factly, while Goten oohed and aahed. "Let’s see...Vegeta?"

"Stay out of my way, and I will spare your miserable life."

Weber eyed the Saiyan in amusement. "You look like a Troll doll!" he said loudly, making a goofy face. "Cut your hair!"

While Vegeta snarled in anger, Weber moved on. "Trunks?"

"Yeah," the demi-Saiyan looked bored.

Weber moved out from behind the piano and took a good look at him. "What kind of a name is Trunks? And I hate to tell you this, kid, but the Beatles’ look is NOT in." He patted Trunks on the head and returned to the list, unaware of the death glare being shot his way. "Let’s see...Krillen?"

"Yo!" the short guy stuck a hand in the air.

Weber’s eyes widened. "Dude...where’s your nose?"

Krillen looked ticked. The director took the hint and moved on. "Umm...this can’t be right, but...Number Eighteen?"

"Here," the blonde bombshell tilted her head slightly.

The directory chortled. "Well, I guess we know what folder number you get!" He laughed loudly, then went back to the list, still chuckling. "Videl?"

"Me," the teenage girl stuck her hand in the air timidly. Apparently, Weber couldn’t find anything to tease her about, and went on down the list.

"Bulma? ChiChi?" He passed over both of those without comment, and came to the last name on the list. "Umm...someone named Piccolo?"

"Yes," the Namekian did the same as Eighteen, signaling his presence with a nod of the head.

"What kind of a name is Piccolo? God, you people..." Weber’s voice trailed off as he took a good look at the alien in the back row, sitting between Adam and Brandon. "Umm...are you feeling all right? You look a little green. Maybe you should go see the nurse—"

"Weber, he always looks like that," Candyland cut in. She looked very nervous; actually, she’d started sweating as soon as the first comments were made. So much for a normal class period. I knew this would be a disaster! Maybe we’ll be able to get through this without anything getting destroyed...

Satisfied with the attendance, Weber pulled out a thick red binder and removed a thick piece of music. "Okay, everyone. Take out In The Beginning. We’ll start at the beginning. Hey, that’s a joke!"

As everyone laughed at their director’s lame wisecrack, Candyland put her face in her hands. Someone kill me...please...