If Tobi Ran Kitchen Stadium

Mollie here (IbikiTeishi) and I’ve been rackin’ my brain trying to come up with a crack fic for this week, and coming up with nothing.  Just nothin.  Until Jeremiah’s Theory Post: Which “bad guy” is most likely to change sides? got me thinking about Kisame’s purty blue-green skin and how he’s secretly plotting to take down the Mizukage/Madara/Tobi/Obito/Whoever else might be under that mask. 

Don’t ask me why the idea of the Akatsuki duking it out in Kitchen Stadium hit me–or why I found it funny.  But the manga is on hiatus, so now you lot are stuck with it.  This is pretty short, and I may add to it if any of you come up with some funny jokes (feel free to post them and I’ll work them in if I can).

For those of you saying to yourselves, Kitchen Stadium, Iron Chef, WTF is that?  Here’s a little video to bring you up to date (in case you’ve been living in a hole for the last ten years).  At any rate it sets the tone for my fic, you can see what inspired this madness, and the thought of Tobi as the freeky chairman makes me giggle.

>{{{{;>    <;}}}}<      >{{{{;>    <;}}}}<

Iron Chef Shinobi

by:  IbikiTeishi

Tobi rolled over in his sleep and dreamed of a life without his mask.  A life where he could be a master of his own design—master of knives and omelet pans, of sea urchin, rice and edamame.  Where he could wear sequins and ruffles and flowing capes and…still have them all bow low to them.

 

Akatsuki’s kitchen stadium swirled in dimly lit fog and Tobi’s self-satisfied smile eased across his face.  Today’s battle would be epic.

 

The challenger pushed through the curtain and walked down the long corridor to the circular arena of appliances.  A girl.  Tobi chuckled.  This would be too easy.  His team would eat her alive.

 

“Konan,” he said, “are you prepared to do battle with my chefs?  Will you do your best?”

 

She inclined her head, but her eyes bored into him.  Disrespectful bitch!  “Hai, Chairman-san.”

 

“Then I shall call on my iron chefs!”  Music swelled in his ears, thrilling his heart.  And up from the floor rose Kisame, Deidara and Zetsu.  Now, which one against Konan?

 

Zetsu specialized in vegan, and that just didn’t sound good tonight. 

 

Deidara mouthed the food too much as he worked.  That might be a good thing, especially if it grossed Konan out and put her off her game.  Of course, in the end the joke would be on Tobi as he would have to taste the dishes.  That left…

 

“You opponent will be…Kisame!”

 

Kisame’s gills, under his white button-eyes, twitched.

 

“And now…today’s secret ingredient…shark fin!”

 

Kisame reached for the great sword on his back; Tobi laughed and put up his hands.  “Kidding.  It’s BLOWFISH!”

 

Kisame chuckled and something about it felt unhealthy.  Konan finally averted her eyes and blinked, smirking like she wanted to laugh. 

 

Tobi shook off his shivers and grabbed a rutabaga from the produce display, enjoying the crunch as his teeth ripped through the fleshy, bittersweet root.

 

The tank of blowfish rose up from the counter and his dream’s narrator explained the beauty of the ingredient.  A venom a thousand times more poisonous than cyanide.  A single fugu fish had enough toxin to kill 30 people and no antidote.  This, this would be a battle to remember.

 

Fugu came down to trusting the chef, and Tobi smirked to himself to think what a test of Kisame’s loyalty this would be.  And Konan..he would not taste her dishes at all.

 

“Allez cuisine!” he yelled, gesturing wide across the tank; inside it, the fleshy blob-shaped fish swam and stared, their toothy little mouths sewn shut.

 

Soon the scent of rich fish broth bubbled through the arena.  Kisame attempted the traditional eight-course fugu meal; Konan just wrapped everything in paper.  There were parchment envelopes in the oven and gooey dumplings in cups of paper and…

 

There was a marvelous bit of artistry when she sliced and gutted one fish entirely by paper cuts.  It even stunned Kisame’s sous-chef—Hidan—into respectful silence.  It didn’t last long.  Hidan’s mouth had less control than a hockey player wearing bacon skates on a hot grill.

 

“Ha ha ha.  Kisame, you stupid wad of smeg, your knife skills are nothing compared to her wings…”

 

Kisame’s sword pinned Hidan’s black cloak to the rotisserie; Tobi laughed as Hidan truly began to swear–swinging, swaying and screeching like a little girl.

 

Then time shifted, as it does in dreams, and Kisame stared at him as he picked up his hashi and leveled the two ends against a cobalt blue plate.  A moment of truth and silence dropped across his sleep.

 

“Kisame.”

 

Kisame looked a little too smug.  “Hai, Mizukage-sama?”

 

“My life is in your hands.”

 

Kisame chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that reminded Tobi of thunder and earthquakes at once.

 

Tobi’s hashi lifted the slab of raw appetizer to his lips; he woke with a start, the tingling in the back of his throat easing slowly away. 

 

He blinked his one eye beneath the mask and stared at the dark.  The crisp plain feel of his Akatsuki robe disappointed somehow; the appliances and cooking evaporated like Kisame’s ill-prepared fugu.  Yet, something about that stayed hard in his gut; something about that had to be dealt with.

 

“Zetsu,” he called.

 

Zetsu oozed silently out of the wall.  “Madara?”

 

“Remind me to keep my eye on Kisame, ne?”

 

“Hai.” 

 

Zetsu had the good sense to lower his eyes when he dipped his head, unlike that angel bitch.  Still.  He’d rather have had to call Aloe Vera a second time.

 

“And Zetsu?”

 

“Hn?”  Zetsu’s head, a cross between a flytrap and a rack of antlers, rolled back his way.

 

“Stop watchin’ me masturbate, you freakin’ perv.  It was fun at first, but now it’s just..creepy.”  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a tear in Zetsu’s dark cheek as he merged back into the wall–arguing with himself out of the corners of his mouth.

 

“Why would Madara say such things?” the dark corner hissed.

 

The light corner answered, “dumbass.  I told you before.  Tobi is a good boy…”

 

Under the mask, he smiled and drifted back into sweet dreams, warm from his own triumph and power.  Ah, he didn’t need the sequins; he did just fine without them.  They were just so damn much fun to dream about.

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~ by 千手 鼾弟子 Ibiki Teishi on November 11, 2008.

14 Responses to “If Tobi Ran Kitchen Stadium”

  1. Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirst!

  2. wow Bono, dude you are really slipping man, you’ve been shagging a few to many minxes…

  3. The last lines should read…

    “Zetsu,” he called.

    Zetsu oozed silently out of the wall. “Madara?”

    “Remind me to keep my eye on Kisame, ne?”

    “and stop watching me masturbate… at first it was a turn on… now it’s just creepy…”

  4. yeah, I didn’t want to admit why this fic was so short and why Bono has been…slipping…

  5. Jeremiah LMAO!!

  6. happy to oblige…

  7. Why the F would you bite into a raw pepper like it was an apple.

  8. Wasn’t this also the work story line for “Power Rangers: Ninja Force”?

  9. Zetsu could argue with himself, Zetsu black: Why would Tobi say such things. Zetsu white: I told you, Tobi’s a good boy.

  10. has anyone realised that five new posts were added this week?

    keep ’em coming, people!

  11. still, i can’t wait for the next chapter.

  12. ohhh…

    that’s why there’s so many posts.

  13. @lastscorpion: perfect. done. ;P~ Thanks!

  14. haha i love it, its perfectly plausible… this is prolly what happens at night in the akatsuki household

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