Next Chapter up, and as before, I've noted the Character names.
Enjoy!

(I don't own this show)

"Sing is a song, you're the Piano Man, sing us a song, tonight.

'Cause we're all in the mood for a melody, and you've got us feelin' all right."

Billy Joel, how ironic.

3rd Person

The bar smelled exactly like life. For them, anyway. A mixture of smoke, alcohol, and badly-bathed people. The lights were low, the music was loud—surely enough the poor bastard that had put Billy Joel on the juke was now picking his teeth up from the bathroom floor—and the people were in a state of total disrepair. All around her, screaming bodies occupied space that could have been used for something much more useful, somethingmore efficient, but sometimes it can be theorized that even God runs out of ideas, and He decided to populate the space around her with earsplitting rednecks, instead.

I thought you didn't even get Rednecks in Japan! Thought Haruko, over the din of the clamorous crowd. Up in front of her, a mere ten or eleven inches away, several girls danced upon the bar, clearly drunk, and were blowing kisses and smoke rings about themselves as their adoring public screamed for more. They always obliged, their choice of moves becoming more and more obscene as the minutes ticked by, until one of the girls decided to make a rather daring—and stupid—move, and threw her top down to the people below, who reverted to less-than-primal instincts at the acceptance of her gift.

Haruko scowled, ducking her head a little lower, and concentrated on her vodka. She stared into the depths of the amber liquid, trying to block out the noise around her, until disgusted, she stood up.

Of all the freaking places to hide out, I just had to choose here. Of all the bars in Japan, I guess I had to pick the one where all Hell was going to break loose.

Haruko knew that humans went insane when in the presence of alcohol—Taku's father had proven this enough times to her—and even more so when there were pretty girls within the vicinity. (In the case of Taku's father, she had been this alleged pretty girl) But she couldn't excuse them for this madness that they were doing, now.

Hell, if she wanted to see this, she might as well go rent one of those uncensored Jerry Springer videos.

But she guessed that this place would be best to lay low at. She guessed this would be the best place to duck her head safely under Medical Mechanica's ever-watchful eyes. Who would guess that an outlaw that was wanted in over twenty different galaxies would be hiding out at this low-level earth bar?

Maybe the Terra police, but certainly not the MM Death Squads. Haruko would be safe here, as long as she didn't bring attention to herself, or cause a large amount of trouble. She had no problem with the first part—the entire idea of being an outlaw was secrecy—but the second part...Well, it would not be far from accurate to say that trouble was draped over her like a shadow.

Maybe so, but at least I refused the name tag. She thought, grinning as the situation around her escalated into higher and higher levels of Chaos. Perhaps, even if she didn't cause any trouble, Medical Mechanica would be here to check the place out simply because of noise factor.

She sighed, took another drink, and glanced at the bracelet on her wrist. I had not jangled for years, it was just another testament of how far she was away from anything that mattered to her. From Mabase, from Medical Mechanica, from Takkun...

She blew air out through her nose, downed the last bit of vodka in the glass, and stared at the couple beside her as they thrashed around in a seat scarcely big enough for one. They looked like a pair of eels performing a rather complex mating ritual.

The man looked up, all bloodshot eyes and yellowed teeth. He leered at her, and she managed a small smile in return. She turned her head away, but he spoke to her.

"Wanna turn, little lady?" He presented her with what he thought was a winning smile, and Haruko couldn't help but notice the week-old food that was jammed there.

She shook her head, "No thanks." And tossed her glass away, in disgust. That was another factor that she hadn't counted on, here. Her looks, she figured that all the guys present would be too wasted to pay her any attention, or busy eating his date's face—as the couple beside her had resumed doing—but she had been wrong. Every guy had made a pass at her, at least once, and none of them seemed ready to give up, either. She tried to seem taken, but she wasn't sure how to play the part, as most men that had loved her were either dead, or somewhere in a prison.

Most of them, anyway.

So there she sat, watching the humans with varying levels of curiosity and disgust, until a large, foul-smelling body landed on top of her, and began running his fingers through her hair. "Hey, pretty lady," Said the drunk--and his speech was miraculously clear--"Didja miss me?"

Haruko was at first too shocked to do anything. When the man tried to stick his tongue in her mouth, she did the first thing that came to her mind.

She bit down. Hard.

He screamed, yanking himself back as his tongue made an ominous RIPPPP sound, and fell backwards, knocking over the couple beside her. She stood up, all five-foot nine-and-something inches of her, guitar in hand, while the rest of the bar looked on in amusement. The drunk rose up like some minor God of foul behavior, and threw a punch that would have snapped her neck.

He flew through the bar doors a moment later.

The couple she had spilled via drunk was advancing on her, and she gave them a questioning look, along with a raise of her guitar, which they ignored. Both the Drunk and his Date were unconscious on the floor a split second later.

"Probably would have ended up that way, anyway." She mumbled, as she stared at the motionless pair. She failed to realize that the other occupants of the bar now also wanted a piece of her, and she was engulfed in bodies like eight kids on a seven-slice pizza less than a minute later.

She gasped for breath, digging her nails into whatever she touched, biting anything within reach. "Damn"

Taku Nandaba
There it was. It was unmistakable. The yellow vespa that was owned by the reason he had left Mabase, and also the reason why it had been destroyed. The reason why his father had left, why he felt like forty instead of twenty-one, why he used to wake up, screaming in crying in the middle of the night, gasping for breath and chanting a name as if it was a spell that could save his sanity.

Haruko...

Yeah, that was it. The vehicle of Haruko Haruhara. The paint was slightly faded, it needed a wash, but the details were still the same. That tail-light with the small paint streak on it, the tire treads that looked like double helixes and—although he couldn't see it—the infamous P! Sticker just below her left headlight.

Taku stopped and stared. Ninamori poked her head over his shoulder, trying to see what he did.
"What's up?"

He started, glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and smiled. "This is it."

Holding hands—Taku out of nervousness, Ninamori out of affection—they went in.

Haruko Haruhara
The smell was overwhelming. Before this moment I did not know that the stench of about fife thousand or so dumpsters could be compared to that of a bunch of sweaty Rednecks.

Again, I was wrong. I stopped punching whomever was beside me just long enough to look at my bracelet. The metal attachment was shifting slightly, as if caught in a slight breeze. My mouth opened, and I inhaled someone's shirt.

If that thing's ringing, that must mean--

Medical Mechanica. Oh, damn.

Taku Nandaba
Ninamori and I stepped through the doors of the bar to find a dogpile of people atop what seemed to be a human being. This wasn't a college bar, so it wasn't anything to do with a football team, and besides, nobody was painted in any colors.

Billy Joel blared through the jukebox, coming to the end of "Piano Man" As I drew my guitar. I said a quiet "Sit down" To Ninamori—she refused at first, but I held her down until she promised—and started toward the people that were stacked up like so many sweaty Jenga pieces.

I knew what was at the bottom of that pile...

CRUNCH! The first body made a rather grotesque sound as I slammed the Rickenbacker into the body until it moved aside. I continued doing this until I had most of the pile on the floor. I worked in a frenzy, absolutely Hell-bent on freeing Haruko from the grasp of a bunch of drunkards. She wouldn't suffocate after I damn near almost died after looking for her the first time.

It was about to be my seek, of her hide and seek.

Haruko sat up, smiling, as I threw off the last moron from her body. She simply kicked the other out from around her until she had sufficient room to stand up, smoothed her vest down—still red, as I remembered—and smiled a razor-toothed grin at me in the middle of an unconscious pile.

She had really sharp canines. She kept smiling, gave me a hug, and laughed as I swung her around a few times, simply because I felt like it. I set her down, even if she was only a few inches under me, and asked her.

"Friends of yours?"

She smiled, about to reply, when we realized we were both surrounded by angry rednecks. I looked at her, she looked at me, and we both nodded.

Fooly Cooly, biatch.

For the next five minutes, the bar was the scene of a war, and a hideously one-sided one. Haruko and Taku practically annihilated whoever got in their way as they swing their guitars in a concerto of battle-yells, drunken groans, and various insults concerning the beaten's mothers. The destructive duo had no opposition in that fight—actually, after a brief time they rednecks were running out the door in fear—and they showed no mercy, either. There was not a body that went unscathed as the guitars calmly cast aside their labels as musical instruments and took on the ones they had forgotten so long ago, as weapons.

Devices for inflicting pain, anguish, and sometimes giant robots from the afflicted's cranium. There were no giant robots as a result of this attack, but if this fic wasn't firmly rated "T" There would have been a few brain splatters.

Let's leave those images to imagination, shall we? We see very little blood in FLCL...

Taku and Haruko eventually wound down to a stop, breathless, grinning madly, and seemingly unaware of the destruction—some $75,000 dollars—as they stopped.

Taku placed his guitar upon his back after Haruko had refused it, saying "It's yours, man. I couldn't even do that with that guitar!" And sighed. He didn't notice the one final man crawling slowly towards Ninamori, who was perched on her seat, staring idly at the ceiling, until--

CLANG!

Taku gave the man a short-time trip into dreamland, as the guitar cleared the room, colliding with his head.

He picked it up off the floor, examined it, smiled, and asked Ninamori. "You okay?"

She grinned at him. "Yeah, I'm fine." She pointed at the drunk lying at her feet, whom she kicked rather forcefully with her left. "I think he was until you decided to bounce an E-minor off the side of his head."

Taku stared at her.

"That's the sound it made when it hit him." she gave him a stern look. "I've heard you play before, remember?"

He didn't, but Ninamori rarely lied. Taku grabbed her hand, grabbed Haruko—who was performing a jig upon the back of one of the fallen—and walked them towards the door of the bar, which was now silent, save for it playing Huey Louis's "Heart of Rock and Roll"as they left.

They left the bar in silence, exactly as they had come.