Soldiers of Light Omake Thread
 

Yes, I'm bringing back the Omake Threads.

Those that don't know about these threads, Omake Threads are places for random jokes, snippets, and parodies that won't really go in the main RP, but are just plain fun.

LIKE THIS FOR EXAMPLE:

"What would happen if Little Kuriboh made Soldiers of Light?"

Akira: Leaving so soon? *slices with his sword*

Suzume: Holy **** on a **** sandwich!

Kurama: Ahhh! Did you just slice your katana at me?

Akira: Um, I didn't want you to leave, and I didn't know how else to get your attention.

Kurama: Just ask. Just say "Hey Kurama, do you think you could stay a bit longer?" Don't pull a freaking sword on me.

Akira: Hey Kurama, do you think you can stay a bi-

Kurama: Well it's not going to work now, not after you almost skewered me.

Akira: I'm not entirely sure what to say.

Kurama: Maybe we should just leave.

Akira: No hard feelings right?

Tayuumi: Get lost you freaky samurai guy.

Akira: I am not a freaky samurai guy!

Suzume and Tayuumi(in unison): Mako's a freaky samurai guy!

Akira: At least my sword will never leave me, right sword? ................. Why don't you ever answer me, sword?

Now Tayuumi has to have a Brooklyn accent!

And Suzume sounds like... Barney?

Well, at least his voice gives him super strength.

Because I just couldn't resist...

*Team Crybaby Zell are walking down the cliched route through a forest and are stopped by the call of eight female voices without a source.*

"Listen! Is that a voice I hear?"
"It's speaking to me, loud and clear."
"Floating on the wind,"
"Past the stars,"
"In your ear!"
"Bringing chaos at a breakneck pace."
"Dashing hope, putting fear in its place."
"A rose by any other name's just as sweet."
"When everything's worse, our work is complete!"
*The Kimonos jump down from the trees and in the way.*
"Tsubasa!"
"Shizuka!"
"Kirie!"
"Rio!"
"Kiyomi!"
"Chizuru!"
"Mika!"
"Fubuki!"
"And Nyoka! Now that's a name!"
*The Kimonos minus Tsubasa and Kirie all make dramatic (and obviously sexy) poses while T&K take center stage.*
Tsubasa: "Putting dogooders in their place!"
Kirie: "Team Kimono, we're in your face!"
Kurama: "Relax, I got this."
*Kurama steps forward.*
Kurama: "Tsubasa, we talked about this. Additional characters have to be approved through Koyuki and I before you can use them, and you said in your profile that you could only create an additional two characters at best, and then Tsubasa wouldn't be able to fight from being too drained. And I don't even know why Fubuki the Grey Kimono is with you. She wasn't allied with Team Kimono! For the Kami's sake, if you're going to make a funny omake, at least think before you start typing random stuff!"
*Switch to a viewpoint showing Team Crybaby Zell and Team Kimono facing each other. A gust blows between them and kicks a tumbleweed across the route.*
Tsubasa: "...You win this round, Genkai Kurama. Let's go, girls. There's gotta be a good buffet somewhere."
*The Kimonos Plus Yuna begrudgingly leave Team Crybaby Zell as the only people in the forest. Kurama rests his katana against his shoulder.*
Kurama: "And that's why I'm the master of Raigaki, bitches."

Team Kimono shall henceforth be referred to as "Team PMS Power Rangers."

What will eventually happen should Raze use the Kimono to spectral shift:

Raze: I LIIIIIVEEEE! ....AGAIN!

Tsubasa: Welcome to the world of the living, my fledgeling kimono! I greet you with open arms! (huggle).

Raze: Umm..okay...

Tsubasa: Now, let's decide upon a lovely name for you! I'm thinking something that starts with a K.

Raze: I already have a name. Raze. Raze Hel. It's not the best name, but it works.

Tsubasa: Raise Hell? Nonono sweetie, I don't know what you were in your past life, but we've got to get one that complements that pretty face of yours! I know! Kururuu! Kururuu the Light Green Kimono!

Raze/Kururuu: I don't think-

Tsubasa: Now, what sort of weapon will we pick for you?

Raze: I prefer a long blade that glows and preferably attached to my arm.

Tsubasa: No, I'm thinking of something needing incredible skill and years of practice to even use without harming yourself. Like this! Tiny razor sharp daggers being slung about on sharp, piano-wire like string! Your enemies won't know what hit them until they've lost a limb or two!

Raze: But I don't have incredible skills and I don't think we have time for years of practice!

Tsubasa: Don't worry! Just wear your hair in a wild style and show some cleavage, and it'll all come together. I know it doesn't sound like it would work, but it does!

Raze: Well, I suppose this isn't too bad...

(nearby extra kimono pops into life, the color of purple)

Rio: Hey there fine sister!

Raze: Darvit!

Tsubasa: Isn't this great? Our little family just keeps on growing!

Toji: It's not the only thing that's growing right now, Ah-cha!

Kings: Baby got back!

Raze: Who the hell are you?

Kings: Who am I indeed...HONK!

Raze: That's it. Seppiku!

Tsubasa: No! Don't do it! You've got your whole life ahead of you!

Raze: I've an eternity I don't want to spend with you! (dies and fades into spectral plane.) Whoo! glad that's over with. I'll just find some poor joe's corpse and do it the old fashioned way...

Suzume: Shit out of ammo! I need a new soul! Ha! There's one!

Raze: Nuuuuuu!!!

As Akira struck at Kurama, the warrior's entire body went loose. He bent backwards at the waist, the opponent's blade flashing over his face and missing his head.

Akira took a step forwards, kicking Kurama in the leg as part of the motion and knocking him to the ground.

"Akira... we've talked about this before. " Kurama began. "Stop straying from the script!"

* * *

After the group had set out on the road, Kurama was somewhat put out to find Akira attacking him again in the middle of dinner.

"I thought you were already sure I was Kurama." he said flatly.

"I am sorry." Akira replied ashamedly, "I had a moment of doubt."

Later that night it happened again.

"The thought occured to me that you could be a very skilled imposter." Akira said by way of apology.

Akira stood before his opponent, brandishing his sword. "Stand still and fight me, so that I may know you are the TRUE Genkai, and not an impostor!"

"But I'm not Genkai! I'm Genki! Hentai Genki!" The portly man cowering in the midst of a group of robed women shouted.

"I bet you are! Now fight!"

***

Akira waltzed up to Kurama and gave him a punch in the face.

Kurama was furious. "Akira! I told you to stop attacking me! I am the real Kurama Genkai!"

"Or so you would have me BELIEVE! But today, I have crossed blades with a man so skilled, so divinely gifted with the sword, that no one else could possibly be Kurama Genkai, not even you, YOU SKILLED IMPOSTER!" Akira pointed at Kurama as if his point should cut a hole right through his chest.

Kurama was dumbfounded. "What the hell are you talking about, you sword-swinging loon?"

"I speak of HIM! The TRUE Kurama Genkai!" Akira pointed down the road, to a swordsman walking with two companions.

The swordsman saw that Akira was pointing and shouting at him, and looked around to be sure he wasn't pointing at someone behind him or something.

"Umm...I've told you before, Mister. I am called Pyros. I do not even know of this Genkai you speak off."

"AND I AM SANJURO YAMADA!"

"And I am Mor- wait, never mind. Not like it's a roll call or something."

Akira was clearly vexed by this information. "Hmm...it seems that which of you is the real Kurama Genkai is a mystery..."

"NO IT"S NOT!" Everyone pointed out in unison.

"Clearly, what must be done...is a duel! To the death! With swords! 2 Kurama Genkais go in, only one walks out!"

Everyone walks away, leaving Akira pondering on the roadside.

"Yes, and perhaps, instead of in some dojo, it should be done in a pit of mud! And both fighters should be in their underwear! And I could sell tickets, and the winner has to cut off the head of the loser and absorb his powers, because THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE."

Tayuumi: You know, I haven't seen Koyuki in a while.
Jade: Yeah. Where the heck is she, anyway?
Kurama: Oh, she's busy making Talkaz and Pals, the Movie.

IT'S TALKAZ AND PALS: THE MOVIE!
Talkaz: I've finally destroyed the world!
*canned laugher*
Koyuki: Well done, Talkaz. What are you going to do now?
Talkaz: I'm going to Disneyworld.
*canned laughter*
Talkaz: And then... I'm going to destroy it!
*canned laughter*
Koyuki: That's my Talkaz!
*laughter, applause*

Tayuumi: Who would want to watch THAT movie??

Janken.
 

T'was to be a game, a play of sport. The two were standing like conflicting gods, the sun facing the moon. The first, a great hero but moreso, The great hero of the decade. This hero was forged into a hard and unyielding man of mettle by a time bound neither by rhyme or reason, and fit with the requisite trappings of great skill, supportive fates, and a sword of most potent magic. Even now the sword lies within it's sheathe, it's greatest task fulfilled, shining with sharp evanescence, sharp enough to rend all things like the lord's anger.
The hero still wore the garb of an unforgettable age, a ragged frankensteinian kimono that had been shredded and re-patched countless times during the undertakings that had made the man the hero he was today. It was dyed a mere red at first, then repaired time and time again with varying shades of failed red, and recolored frequently with the hero's own life. The shoulders and frayed arms were a deep grime of a gray, sullied from a white pristine consecration with the brown sweat of toil, the darkness of the blackest nights, and the entrenched mud of sin.

The hero's eyes carried a calm blue sky's nonchalance as they met the look of his opponent, whose faded brown eyes returned his look without betraying emotion. The hero ran a hand through his gold lustered hair, his own growing treasure to show his opponent the shared unshaded perspective.

His opponent: a companion, an ally, and a close friend, stood stoically a heartbeat away, his appearance disjunct with even the unkempt appearance of the hero. For while the hero's garb was glossed and picturesque with reverence, the opponent's dirty blue robes had not the accouterments of fame and recognition. They were just as mauled, in every sense of the word, held together by hair-thin fibers and little more than a prayer. It is hard to discern their origin and meaning, with a few faded veins of silver running through the garment here and there, dignifying the opponent a monk or a priest, yet the sword and oddly worn armor stitched over old wounds marked the man as a warrior. Perhaps he wore appropriated clothes. Perhaps he was a holy warrior? But the way he he stood and rested one wary hand upon his sword's sheathe held up one fact: He was a swordsman. Or Swordswoman, as hard to distinguish the clothes were, the opponent's own features were hard to read. To begin with, he had a both thin and frail built figure not dissimilar to any woman, particularly those of good health and pleasing description, especially compared to the hero's brusque barbarian physique. A great big brown mess, not unlike a muddied waterfall, poured from the top of the swordsman's head, obscuring much of all it covered as it dripped all the way to his lower back, and of the swordsman's face only an eye (which was matching the hero's, as previously noted) peered out in a gap in the falls, from which a tightly pursed corner of a small mouth's lips could be seen.

They stood there for what seemed to be an age, staring each other down, sizing the other up, and making judgments. In time, the call to draw would be made, and when it came they had to be ready. To know one's opponent one must do as the scholars do: meticulously search him from beginning to end, leaving no unturned pages, committing what was essential to memory and slowly digesting snips and bare sentences, till his movements and methods were as well read as any great book.

The problem was, neither knew exactly sure how far the other dared go, nor the extent of their abilities. They each had heard hearsay, from tales told about the toxic draughts of the evening to rampant rumors and spurious speculation. The hero, it was told, could summon a great cloud borne angel, a goddess of the sky when neccesary to leave the earth for places unknown, places far far away. The rough swordsman, it was said, could bestill and cut the breath from another man's lungs, armor as useless as fertility rite in war. In such a manner, he could even rend death in twain.

The hero had guessed long ago that his soft spoken rival's hidden eye could stare deep within his own soul, and his rival had a sneaking suspicion his opponent was a Gaijin (yellow hair was indeed a rarity in this country). Ignoring obvious falsities such as one was actually Raijin, the god of thunder, or that the other's silence was to avoid summoning wrathful spirits with each honeyed syllable uttered.

Alas! Time was at an end. The common friend, neutral and agreeable to both parties to mediate, raised his hand for the contest to begin. Nerves flared and the frigidity of calm was melted into blistering anticipation. Fate had handed them their cards, and who knew now what they would reveal. The devil? The King? The fool? Death? The answer, though so desperately desired, would soon be ready far too quickly for either's liking. A mere heartbeat. A single 1. A second 2. A thrice uttered 3- AND STRIKE!
Each moved at the wind's pace, no less, and boldly struck out with their choice of weapon.
In the end, all it came down to was the compacted earth, the keen edge of steel, and the all consuming paper.....

The hero came up short.

“Rot it all! Why did you have to choose paper? No one chooses paper!” The hero seethed.

“And what should I have chose then, like everyone else?” came the demure reply.

“It's the only logical answer! Paper is useless, and you never want to be the one stuck with scissors, So it's Rock, of course!”

“Which is why I chose paper.”

The hero grumbled and considered countless retries, but with his technique made plain, and the caliber of his opponent, there could be no positive outcome. With a giant's frame sized reservation, he untied his money pouch and tossed it at the victor, who caught it easily, albeit it puzzled.

“Just at least hand the the barkeep the money yourself, okay? I can't be seen paying bills myself, y'know.” The hero asked, keeping up appearances.

“Very well.” The opponent sauntered off in a triumphant newly forged victory, tempered with the first few drops of rain.