From: Eric Hallstrom Subject: [Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story, Prologue Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 27, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ [BGM : http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/mp3/Farewells.mp3] Begin at the beginning, continue through the end, then stop. [Images shift and flow on a darkened field. Nabiki wears a leather jacket and fedora, there is a small automatic pistol tucked into her waistband as she stares keenly into the distance. A small scar cuts across her lower jaw as she rotates before a field of emerald green, dissolving into mist that fades away ....] Everyone knows _that_. [Kasumi wears archaic full-plate armor of an alien and slightly disturbing mode. It is lacquered black with purple highlights, set off well by the deep purple background. She carries a long, curved sword in her left hand, resting its tip on the ground as she gestures with her right. In the shadows of the open-faced helm, her face is weary, and perhaps a little afraid. She turns to the side as the mist closes in and dissolves ....] That's because the beginning is where things ... begin, and the end is where things, er, end. So to speak. The beginning happens first and the end follows in due time. The past becomes the future, through the medium of the present. [Gally, of Gunmm, turns around before a blue background, dressed in an incongruous chef's outfit ....] Right? [Kodachi, dressed in an expensive business suit, leans forward at a desk, looking down with an alert, focused expression at a large scroll, covered with Chinese characters ....] I mean, it's obvious. The Arrow of Time, cause and effect ... things like that. Causality, is what I mean here. The idea that the past _causes_ the present, and the present _causes_ the future. And if you tell the part of the story where things happen before you tell the part where you explain _why_ they happen that way, people get ...confused. Everybody agrees that's the way it goes. [A short girl dressed in jeans, boots and a long leather duster stands facing directly away from the viewer. Her face cannot be seen, because it is pressed firmly into the neck of a very serious looking Ryouga, who is dressed in his normal outfit and backpack and is hugging her around the shoulders as he looks directly out of the frame ....] Sometimes, it even works out that way. [Against a white background, Akane turns to the left to face the viewer. She is wearing a white silk shirt, a black leather vest and black velvet pants. And mirror-shades. She is carrying an enormous spiked mace horizontally in her hands and her features are split in a grin that can only be described as manic. Her long black hair streams behind her as she continues turning, and the last thing that can be seen as the mist closes in are the silver butterfly hair clips halfway down the long dark mane ....] Sometimes, it doesn't. [Onna-Ranma turns to the right toward the viewer before a background that is totally black. She is wearing armor of leather and metal, without a helmet, and apparently from a number of periods and styles. It's difficult to say precisely, because many of the details are blotted out by the blood which has splashed every part and surface. As she turns she holds a long, straight sword crossways across her body, extending out to her left with both hands on the hilt. As she completes her turn and faces the viewer head on, it can be seen that blood is splashed wetly up her left cheek, but her face is serene and calm. She stands face on to the viewer for a brief moment, and then brings the sword around in a horizontal cut across the field of view, leaving a line of blood red in its path. She then brings the sword over her head into a two-handed posture, and brings it down, leaving another blood red line ....] Because that's only one way to look at it. And so often, in this world, what _is_ depends on ... well ... what you're looking at. [The color spreads out from the two lines to cover the whole field of view, then slowly begins dripping down the screen, leaving an unrelieved black behind it. As the red tide retreats, it leaves behind it one shape that retains it carmine hue: a rearing horse in silhouette ....] For instance, if you look at things in the right manner, it's obvious that the future _must_ have existed first. That is, before there was _anything_ , there had to have been the potential for things. The future, in other words. [The roan stallion shifts from rearing to a trot, chased off the black field by a swirling gust of barely visible white wind from the left. As it leaves the dark background it gains definition, now looking like a real horse as it runs through verdant fields of high grass, startling gold and black butterflies, and chased by the wind ....] Then, the first moment happened, and that was the first time that there ever was a _present_. [As the horse trots on, it passes by an immense mountain in the background. Real and present, yet seeming as though created in the style of Chinese landscape portraiture ....] And then the first moment was over. In, so to speak, the past. And the second moment was in the present ... and so on. [Zooming in on the mountain, it can be seen to be clothed in forest on its foot-hills, but bare from two-thirds up until the very top, which is barren rock ....] So the future _causes_ the present, and drags the past along behind. [Growing from the barren rock at the top of the mountain, its roots winding down the mountain's face, to disappear into forested valleys, is an enormous ash tree ....] Right? [Pulling back from the mountain, the roan horse can be seen running down a hill, towards a small stream. As he leaps across the stream, the wind blows a shroud of fog across the whole scene ....] Don't think about it too hard, it's Zen, and you'll get a headache. [As the horse canters out of the mist he passes a cherry tree, gnarled and twisted by age and winds, but in full bloom. As the horse shifts into a gallop, the view locks on the tree, allowing the horse to gallop off scene, stage right. As the wind chases the horse off stage, it passes the tree, and the view is again blotted out, not by fog, but by floating cherry blossoms ....] Sometimes, the past _pushes_. And sometimes, the future _pulls_. [Traversing away from the flying blossoms, the view pans down to a clear pool of water, dark and still. Looking down into it as the background light dims, reflections of the moon and stars can be dimly seen for a moment. Then they are obscured by falling cherry blossoms, which quickly fill the pool from edge to edge ....] But the place where we _live_ is the present. The _now_ between the past and the future, between the beginning and the end, that is all we ever really get. [Again the white-tinged wind swirls, blowing the sakura away. The viewpoint sinks into the depths, until a single bright point of light, shining from the depths of the pool as the ripples fade, is the only thing to be seen ....] Once, there was a person who wanted to be a Hero. And have Adventures, and find True Love, and Make a Difference, and other nice things like that. [The single light expands, forming a perfect circle, hanging in mid-air. A curving line snakes across the center of the circle, forming a yin- yang symbol. Where the central line intersects the edges of the circle small circular icons form. On the left Akane's face flashes briefly; on the right, Ranma's. Then they vanish and the circle glows brighter for a moment, expanding about thirty percent in size, as the central line mutates into a triangle, point upwards ....] And a Hero's job, of course, is to _act_. To make decisions and take actions in the Now. And to pay the price that the Now demands. [New icons form at the intersections of triangle and circle. From the top and clockwise these are block capital letters: a Tau, a Mu and an Alpha. These mutate into hourglasses: The first with all the sand in the top, the second with the sand half-fallen, and the third with the sand all below. These again vanish, and the circle glows and expands again, as the triangle changes into a pentagon, point again upwards ....] Is it "be careful of getting what you wish for", or "be careful of wishing for what you get"? [New icons form, as before: the Chinese ideographs chun(2), huo(1), chen(2), shui(2), and jin(1); followed by the kanji for kokuuzou, hi, chi, mizu and kaze; followed by the Western astrological symbols for the Moon, Mars, Jupiter, Mercury and Venus. These hold a moment and vanish, as the circle glows and expands again, and the pentagon becomes an octagon, again on its points ....] But when your past pushes, and your future pulls, sometimes your present can become a bit ... complex. [This time the icons are: the Western symbols for the planets except for Pluto, in order, with the Moon taking Earth's place. Followed by the faces of the Senshi, again except for Pluto. Followed by more faces: Ranma, Akane, Ukyou, Shampoo, Kasumi, Nabiki, Kodachi, and Sayuri. Followed by more faces yet: Gally, OVA Ifurita, Iczer 2, Iczer 1, Ryouko, Belldandi, Urd and Skuld ....] And thereby hangs a tale. [The faces halt for a moment in time, as all the previous final symbols and lines glow for a brief moment. Then they change one final time, into Chinese ideographs. The other lines and figures vanish, leaving only the ideographs glowing against the blackness, slowly moving across the scene to fall into place in a single line. From left to right: chi(4), ma(3), bai(2), feng(1), tian(1), shan(1), sheng(4) and shu(4). These are then replaced by a Romanji title, like so: Chima Baifeng Tianshan Chun The viewpoint pulls back, and it can be seen that this is a reflection in the pool previously seen. The whitish wind swirls again, driving more Sakura petals to cover the pool and obscure the glowing writing. The petals drift for a moment and then the wind swirls again, shifting their arrangement and bringing new petals of a deeper, more reddish hue. These land so as to form new Romanji by their shapes. These letters say: Book One The wind swirls again, again rearranging the fallen petals. Now they read: Ranma and Akane: A Love Story The wind swirls one last time, blowing away the petals, and leaving the pool serene and still, and entirely dark.] [Fade to black. End BGM.] ------------------------------------------------------------ *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Rain. Postcard. Kitchen. Bed. Dojo. Bricks. "FIANCE'?!" Girl. Panda. Fight. CLONG! GROWF! Knock. Ranma. Seen it before, yes? In your sleep, behind your back, with your eyes closed, in the rain, right? *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. This story doesn't start like that. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. _This_ story starts in darkness, late on a warm summer night without an artificial light for miles. _This_ story starts in a forest clearing lit by several billion stars and the thin sliver of a gibbous moon. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. _This_ story starts with a male figure stripped to the waist, using a bamboo handled shovel to (*Shnnnck*) loosen and turn earth that will be (*ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*) removed and tossed to the side. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Figure about a half cubic foot of earth loosened and dug up per sequence. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Figure a hole six feet long, by three feet wide, by five feet deep. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Times eight. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. For those who have not been following along on their abaci, that's 1440 *shnnnck*s and 4320 *ssshhpt*s. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. In just less than eight hours. Including wrapping the bodies, and filling in the graves. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. For what were, self-admittedly, bandits and highwaymen. Desperate criminals who, caught by the authorities, would assuredly have been hung, and the bodies left to rot. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. For men who, knowing this, and knowing the digger for a ronin, and hence both dangerous and broke, had nonetheless attempted to rob him. For men without honor or martial skill, who had fallen like weeds before the scythe. For outlaws who, had they somehow triumphed, would have spent not an iota of such effort for the traveler. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Because honor and respect are paid _by_ the digger, and not _to_ the dug for? Because even scum and bandits are human, and are owed some kind of marker? *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Because the duty owed by a slayer to his own soul demands a remembrance of the slain, lest they die twice? Or simply because it was necessary that the service be performed and no one else is around to do it? *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. The digger jumps out of the last grave, places the final body in its final resting place and says a final abbreviated prayer. Filling the grave takes little time, building the cairn of stones to mark the burial takes a little longer, preparing to move again longer still. And then the figure pauses, and looks down the road by the forest clearing, and looks behind at the road already traveled, and looks up to a sky just beginning to lighten in the east, and becomes briefly still. It had been less than three days between incidents. Both faces were becoming targets of local toughs and fast swords. He had been forced to kill more than 45 times in the past month. Or had he? His skill was great after all. He was fast and strong and capable of techniques that your average thug, or even ronin, wouldn't dare dream of attempting. Had it simply become easier to kill than not to? And what did that say of *his* soul, in the end? Perhaps it was time to try somewhere else? After all there _was_ less than a year to go. It really was time to get back where he belonged. Time to go somewhere you could defeat someone _without_ killing them. Time to go back to what was, theoretically, home. And the traveler reached into his shirt, and pulled out an amulet of silver, and clay, and glass, and raised it high. And the rising sun shone down on a clearing in a forest by a road, on which was now to be seen no traveler, nor footprints, nor anything else at all. ------------------------------------------------------------ And this is a bar in China where a man is sitting by himself in a corner, getting stinking drunk. 'Oh Buddha, I'm doomed. How did I let this happen? Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Where _did_ that ungrateful boy get to? Why did I have to try that _stupid_ training technique? Susano-o protect me, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Who knows what silliness he'll have picked up without me? I'll never have enough time to train him out of his bad habits now! Compassionate Amida, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me.' 'Now now, Genma, get a hold of yourself; you trained him for seven years and he's surely a man-among-men, and hardship toughens you up, and he's certainly alive even if you can't find hide nor hair of him, and he promised on his honor, and he never breaks a promise, and you'll get to Jhusenkyou first and get a good look at the ground so you'll have an advantage in the fight, and he won't be as good as you anyway cause he didn't have you to keep an eye on him, and you'll have _weeks_ to fix his bad habits, and... Oh Ameratasu aid me, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me.' ------------------------------------------------------------ And this is Fukuoka, a port city on Kyushu where a person who is apparently a somewhat bishonen lad packing a _huge_ spatula is bargaining for a boat ride to China. She'd tracked Genma to China at last and this time her family's honor _would_ be cleared, one way or another. And this is a small village in Qing-Hai where the local champion is preparing to defend her title. And wondering where a warrior husband strong enough for her to marry was going to come from anyway. ------------------------------------------------------------ And this is a bedroom in a dojo in a suburb of Tokyo, where a certain girl is preparing for bed; after all, there's school in the morning. School. And boys. Yay. She'd tried, she really had. She'd tried to find one she could stand to date. She'd tried to get the usual pack of fools to _stop_ their foolishness, peacefully and otherwise. It just hadn't worked. 'Every school day, _every_ school day. For more than a year. I'm a Junior now, I'm supposed to be past hazing aren't I? They're supposed to be at least a little mature aren't they? Or at least tired of getting beaten up all the time?' Every day, for more than a year. And she hadn't lost, and she hadn't given up... but neither had they. And she was tired, so tired. And Tendo Akane went to bed, hoping for something to break her out of a losing rut. And went to sleep, although she didn't want to. After all, there was school in the morning. ------------------------------------------------------------ And this is a small apartment, likewise in Nerima. And in it a man last seen in a forest clearing is performing a slow kata. A very old kata, were anyone else in Japan today capable of recognizing it. A kata not of attack, or evasion, or defense ... but rather of remembrance. Of a Bargain that was made, and a Prize that could be gained, and a Price that must be paid. A very old bargain, that has something to do with Iron. And he too is hoping, and waiting for the morning. He hadn't had to kill anyone yet, but in every other way the last several months had been a disaster. Oh well, perhaps he simply wasn't _meant_ for romance? After all, father had probably provided for a marriage long ago, and while he didn't like it, he had accepted it for the sake of family honor. Actually falling in love with someone was probably tempting fate. Which brought up an issue, actually; what face was he going to wear? Flip a coin? Tails. Female. So be it. 'Now get to bed Ranma, you've got school in the morning.' ------------------------------------------------------------ Shadow Lurker Productions Is very proud to present An Eric Hallstrom Production Of a Takahashi Rumiko Film Chima Baifeng Tianshan Chun Book I Ranma and Akane, A Love Story ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter 1: The first day Part A: Arrival; Here's Ranma. 'Til next chapter, Eric Hallstrom, 10/27/99 -- www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html www.kawaiikunee.com hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com From: Eric Hallstrom Subject: [Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story, Chapter One Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 27, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Shadow Lurker Productions Is very proud to present An Eric Hallstrom Production Of a Takahashi Rumiko Film Chima Baifeng Tianshan Chun Book I Ranma and Akane, A Love Story ------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter 1: The first day Part A: Arrival; Here's Ranma. ------------------------------------------------------------ This is the story of a boy who was a girl, and a girl, and a boy, and a girl, and a boy, and a girl, and a girl who acts like a boy, and a boy who acts like a girl, and a woman, and a man, and another couple girls, and a cast of thousands. And a Panda, though not until much later. And butterflies, lots and lots of butterflies. It's the story of a school, and another school, and another school; of a city and a village and all the roads in between. It's a story of desperate battle and deadly opponents, and when, later, it attempts to be a story of monsters and villains who attack these schools and so on, it will instead become the story of monsters and villains who turn around and run away -- at least, those of them who get the chance. It will have true love, and desperate peril, and romantic intervals and high adventure and more martial arts action sequences than you can shake a bokken at. And just a touch of citrus, for flavor. But before it will be those stories, it will be the story of a Fight. ------------------------------------------------------------ Some schools are known for academics and some are known for sports. Furinkan High, in the Nerima ward of Tokyo, was known for the Fight. Every school day for more than a year, the boys of the student body had either lain in wait to "win the right to date the fair and beauteous tiger Tendo Akane" (i.e. beat her up) or, if they had done that recently, had attempted to heal up for the Fight tomorrow. The girls all thought the whole thing was a ploy by Akane to keep the attention of the entire male student populace and had no sympathy for either side. The populace of the neighborhood thought it was High Theater (not much else happened in Nerima). Tendo Nabiki thought it had gone much too far, but could think of no viable way to stop something that no longer had a real reason except tradition. And Tendo Akane vanquished her opponents, and ignored the whispers, and grew ever grimmer as the days went by. And today will be no different, after all it never is at Furinkan. All the normal players are in place: here is the assembled might of Furinkan's male student body, prepared to do battle in heroic silliness for a prize they no longer remember; here are the observers waiting for a sight they've seen before, and grown bored of; and here is Akane herself grimly preparing to fight for a point of honor she can no longer care about; all just as it was yesterday and the day before. And now Akane has broken into a run at her tormentors, and now the battle is about to be joined. But now, now something ... different ... has happened. Now a voice has called out, not even very loudly. A smokey contralto with a slight edge of roughness, and power enough to crack the world. A voice that merely by its presence has controlled the situation. A voice that belongs to a shortish, athletic girl standing in the gateway to the school. She wears loose black velvet pants, three-inch black leather moccasins, a loose blue silk shirt and a brown leather airman's jacket. Her flaming scarlet hair flows down her back in a pigtail tied with an ivory ring in which gems gleam brightly in the sun. Her neck is wrapped by a flowing white silk scarf, her hands are in her jacket pockets, her head is slightly tilted to one side and she has just said "Would someone like to tell me what the _Hell_ they think they're doing?" And nothing will ever be the same again. ------------------------------------------------------------ Takuichi Daikun was not a happy kendoist. He had striven and won in honorable combat for the privilege of leading today's charge so that the entire school could see his honorable struggle with the fair Tendo Akane. (He's the first to get beaten up today.) It was a great honor to be first, and he had looked forward to it. But now his moment in the sun had been _ruined_, upstaged by some ... barbarian _girl_ ... and his honor had been shadowed. And so it was that he did a _very_ foolish thing: he got her attention. "This is an affair of Honor _girl_, who are you to..." Somehow she had moved across the dozen yards separating them without his seeing it. Up close he noted that her eyes were an incredible blue as deep as all the worlds' oceans, that several slight lines of old scars crossed the sides of her face, that her gaze was literally _impossible_ to look away from, and that she had just tapped him on the nose. "My _name_ is Ranma. I asked you a question." From far away he heard his voice stammering some sort of explanation for the morning's action. Now that he thought about it, it did seem sort of silly. "Ah. I see. and what was your place in this ... 'honorable combat'." An even, calm voice, nigh unto serenity. "I have won the right to first contact today. It is a very great honor." He hadn't really said that had he? He hadn't meant to. "Ah. Well I certainly wouldn't wish to deprive you of your... 'honor'." The hands that broke his shoulder blades and dislocated his arms were certainly gentle he thought, though unstoppable in their power. The snap kicks that flattened his testicles and broke both of his lower legs skillfully applied and blinding in their speed. The twin open hand push that flung him a dozen yards backwards was so fast and yet so graceful as to be beyond belief. And was that an energy discharge from the point of contact? 'Why, it doesn't even hurt' he thought as he flew backwards through the air. Until five feet before hitting the wall, whereupon it hurt a _lot_. The loss of consciousness that followed after hitting the wall was probably a mercy. Ranma turned to the remaining assembled male students and bestowed upon them the calm, angelic smile of someone who is wondering how far your arm can be pulled from its socket before the flesh and ligaments separate, and whether beating you to death with it will require one subsequent blow or two. Above, Nabiki stared down in shock. Well _that_ was different. "Now I was sitting in a tavern in a country far away a couple months back," she remarked conversationally, "trying to get something to eat. And the door opened and in walked the nastiest trio of villains you ever did lay eyes on. They were dragging along a youngish girl who really didn't seem to want to be there, (what with the torn clothing and the bruises and all) and in ... speaking ... to them it developed that yeah they had kidnapped her, and yeah they had done what you think they'd done, and oh yeah just cause they could, cause no-one could stop em." She shook her head in dismay. "So I ripped the big one's heart out, and broke the second's neck and used a chair to crush the skull of the one who was running away. Because it was the right thing to do." Nabiki registered further shock. Well, that _was_ different. "Now I'm not saying that this case is exactly similar, mind you, but you do know how badly you've been insulting the other girls in the school, right?" Students.Furinkan.male.assembled quivered in terror and huddled together. "And while I _myself_ am the most gentle and reasonable of people, I understand that _other_ people aren't and if _they_," she waved her hand at the watchers above, "should decide to hold a _grudge_, well .... Things could become ... dire." The word "dire" seemed to resonate with especial doom. "Continued for a whole _year_? Why I doubt if _any_ amount of flowers would help. You'd have to escalate straight to chocolate or even jewelry even to get a chance to plead your case." Ranma shook her head sadly at the fate that no doubt awaited them. "And you still standing there." Students.Furinkan.male.assembled blanched further and scrambled en masse for the door to the fire within that seemed nonetheless much to be preferred to the merciless gaze without, only to be recalled to heel. "Oh and by the way gentlemen... if it _should_ happen that intense currying of favor _does_ grant you the no-doubt-undeserved opportunity to plead for your miserable lives... my advice to you would be to grovel, and to grovel quite abjectly." Nabiki wondered if you could overload on shock. That had been _different_. And then looked about her, and heard the all but audible grinding of the gears in the heads of the other female onlookers, and saw the slowly growing grins, and then sprinted for the door. A phone, she had to get to a phone. Ranma crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head sadly at the mass of boyish silliness frantically cramming itself through Furinkan's front doors, and turned to Akane, who was still standing where she had been about to knock Daikun into next week and whose mouth was still open in shock. "Aheh," she sheepishly tugged on her braid, "sorry about that. Sometimes I get carried away." Akane shook herself and closed her mouth. "No, not at all. You were _wonderful_! I'm Tendo Akane, wanna be friends?" "Sure!" Ranma's eyes lit. Akane was staggered again by their power. "If you've been going through that every day for a _year_ you _need_ a friend and it's always nice to make one the first day. I'm Bushiko Ranma." She extended her hand, pinky outstretched and Akane linked hers likewise. Talking quietly they walked in the door and up the stairs. "Tendo Akane, huh? 'Scarlet Road to Heaven', how lovely." Akane felt her cheeks heat. "Um, thanks! Um, Bushiko?" "It's a nom de guerre," Ranma explained sunnily, "long story, I'll tell you later." "The heck with _that_ story; _how_ did you do that _push_? That was _great_!" "You think so? It's not that hard: you just..." And walked happily to class, and smiled merrily upon the cringing boys therein, and did _not_ gloat. At least, not on the outside. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter 1: The First Day Part B: Encampment; Kuno Strikes Out. Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. *Summer Lightning* is copyrighted by Garnet Rogers. The mang- ling it has been subjected to is my fault. If you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings lots better than I write. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 27, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma & Akane: A Love Story Chapter 1: The First Day Part B: Encampment; Kuno Strikes Out. ------------------------------------------------------------ It was odd, Akane reflected; she had never met a person to whom she had so instantly taken. Ranma was almost paralyzing in the sheer force of her presence, and yet that presence seemed to drive everyone around her to exceed themselves. The morning had been ... interesting. She had devoted much of it to the (admittedly somewhat arcane) study of the Japanese Red-headed Martial Artist. Nor was this an unpopular area of scholarly effort that day. Ranma was, on the whole, a mystery wrapped around an enigma, bundled in a wrapping of urbanely refined nastiness. She had cheerfully admitted to having "A Gentleman's education: art, tactics and poetry," and her performance had seemed to bear her out. She was barely adequate in math, for example, and had no concept of Algebra; yet her grasp of Japanese history was excellent, punctuated by many anecdotes and asides. Her English was much better than anyone else in class, including the teacher, and she could quote a wide range of poetry and poesy from memory, yet she seemed to have a very eccentric (to say the least) view of the physical sciences and her approach to the social sciences verged on outright anarchy. Class 2-F was scheduled to take up physical education and music after lunch: Akane was looking forward to seeing Ranma in action in Phys-ed, and, considering her incredible voice, in Music too. But both of these would wait until after lunch and Akane was looking forward to that as well. Lunch would, after all, allow her to question Ranma more closely about several matters: murder, for one, and what she meant by 'nom de guerre', and what her history had been; many such questions were bubbling in her head, looking for answers. Fortunately for Akane's fragile patience, lunch was not long delayed. The temporarily released students scattered over the Furinkan grounds, Ranma and Akane claiming a shaded spot next to the Furinkan wall. No one seemed inclined to join them, which was just as well, Akane felt, as it afforded privacy. "Okay," Akane said brightly, "tell me about Bushiko, and why it's a nom de guerre. And what you're doing under a nom de guerre anyway." "Well... Um. Basically it started when I was five or so. That was when my Dad decided that I wouldn't get adequate training in the Art at home, so he took me on a permanent training trip." "We traveled a lot," Ranma continued, "and didn't settle in one place for more than four months or so for the next six years. Then Dad found this _stupid_ Martial Arts training manual that was supposed to show how to train for an 'invincible technique'." "Feh," Ranma brooded for a minute, then resumed. "Anyway, _after_ the training he discovered that the reason nobody uses that technique is that, _even if it works_, it makes you psychotic." Akane gasped, and Ranma nodded. "After that, Dad tried to keep 'training' me, but I nearly killed him three times in the next week. I knew it wasn't going to get any better either, so I beat him up instead, and then left him behind. I told him that he'd trained me for six years and now I was going to go away and train myself for six years, and at the end of that time I'd fight him for mastery of the school. If he beat me I'd stay in training under him for as long as he wanted, but if I beat him he'd go back to work to raise money until the school got back on its feet, and then retire." "That was more than five years ago," Ranma continued, "and I've got about six months to go." Akane leaned closer concernedly. "How terrible! It must have been very hard on you!" "Less so than you'd think," Ranma replied. "I admit it wasn't easy, but I'd been doing most of the domestic stuff anyway: Dad's hopeless at anything that means he'd have to work. So, the only real problem was fixing the damage he'd done. It took six months, but I found a temple on Honshu and locked the technique away and the craziness with it." "But you're fine now?" Akane said, still concerned. "Mostly, though I'm still afraid of cats." "Cats? Why cats?" "Because ..." Alas for the state of Akane's curiosity, the conversation was to be interrupted. And by none other than the usual suspect for interruptions at Furinkan, that paragon of honor, that champion of sport, that noble traveler in hakama, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High, Kuno Tatewaki. ------------------------------------------------------------ Tatewaki himself was experiencing a state of mind that was highly unusual to him: doubt. He had been angered (once he had taken a moment to consider it) by the fire-haired barbarian's accusation that any action he had ever undertaken was less than perfectly honorable, much less... that word. It couldn't be... that word... could it? After all he had always allowed his Beauteous Tiger to win, had he not? (He knew, of course, that no girl, Beauteous Tiger or no, could resist his masculine might.) So he had allowed her to work through her shyness, trusting in the day when she would see the purity of his affections, cast off her maidenlike reluctance, and allow him to date her. Now, however, the purity of his motives had been called into question. Looked at in a certain light it could almost be said that his honor had been sullied. If he did not redress the situation, and soon, his fair flower might well (horrors) _believe_ the libelous, malicious _lies_ proposed by that... that... Well, of course, it was not fair to expect too much from the flame-haired Amazon. She was obviously some variety of barbarian and new to Furinkan besides: she couldn't be _expected_ to see the true nobility of his motives. But that at least was easily remedied. If he simply displayed the excellence of his martial skills by defeating her, she would quickly come to understand the rightness of his cause. No doubt her savage heart would be won over to its rightful place as well, and then, well, the possibilities were unbounded. He might even end up with _two_ maidens to be beaten up by. ------------------------------------------------------------ At this time the narrator of this story would like to interject an explanation for the lack of thought quotes in the preceding passages. The reason can be stated simply: both the Author and the Narrator posses the greatest of respect for the noble scion of Kuno, and would never dream of accusing him of thought. ------------------------------------------------------------ Unfortunately for Tatewaki, however, more than one worry wrinkled his noble brow as he stood before his locker some five minutes before Ranma and Akane's conversation was interrupted. The other worry was simply stated: should he take along his sword? There were arguments for and against, of course. Against such an action must stand the fact that the red-headed barbarian had not, till now, deserved of him such a drastic response; likewise that bared steel was after all both excessive and inappropriate for instruction or for courting a shy maiden's hand. On the 'for' scale, alternately, lay the undeniable fact that she had boasted of recently killing no fewer than three opponents. Gross and disgusting men, no doubt, lacking in honor and skill, and certainly deserving of their fates, but.... Fortunately, the noble Kuno mind was more than equal to the challenge even of so momentous a decision, quickly supplying an answer both sagacious and honorable: he would take the sword (in case of need), but keep it concealed (to avoid unnecessary maidenly fright). And so it was that the noble and glorious Kuno Tatewaki, fortified with blade and bokken, and prepared for every contingency, stood near his beloved and her companion some five minutes later. Prepared to issue a challenge both martial and kindly, such as to make clear not only the rightness of his cause, but also his essential magnificence. In what should come as no real surprise to anyone who has read this far, he got it wrong. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma looked up at the annoying fool who was attempting to overawe her and then tilted her head at Akane, "And this is who?" "I, fair maiden, am Kuno Tatewaki, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High. You may address me as 'upperclassman Kuno' when you ask my pardon for your deplorable sin. For, by my sword's honor the worth of the Blue Thunder is as great as his wrath, nor ever has he stooped to other than honorable action, nor..." "Lad ... _Lad_," Ranma interrupted, "before you go challenging me to a sword fight, it _might_ be a good idea to find yourself a sword." "A sword I possess," Tatewaki replied frostily, "its name is Asatsuyu ('Morning Dew') and its lineage is ..." "Ah," Ranma deadpanned, rising smoothly to her feet, "mine is named Tenchuu no yasashigena ('The Gentle Kiss of Heaven', 'Heaven's Kiss'). Akane, will you call the dance?" "But of course, Ranma," Akane replied. She, too, rose to her feet and took position just outside of a virtual twenty-foot circle that seemed to have magically appeared around the two sword bearers. "_Assume_!" Tatewaki slowly drew his Katana and assumed chudan, reaching as his training indicated for the dominance, the mental struggle that begins a match. "I am Kuno Tatewaki, of the Spinning Shears School of Kendo, champion of Furinkan High." His voice attempted firmness, yet his thoughts were in turmoil, 'I did not wish a duel with _steel_, something is wrong, her eyes, they are so ... blue ...'. Ranma pulled a sheathed blade of the tachi pattern from beneath her jacket and held it loosely at her side. "I am Bushiko Ranma, who may claim no school," her voice was again pleasant and conversational, "a humble pilgrim on the road." In contrast to the shaken kendoist her thoughts revolved around one theme only: 'Remember, _don't kill him_;' and her calm, passionless regard was a stone on which Tatewaki's concentration splashed like sea wrack before a storm. Some seven seconds a stillness passed between the two, while Akane held her hand on high. And then she let it fall, "Kumite!" And then the storm began. Ranma seemed to blur to most watching eyes, yet to Tatewaki she was clear as day, though he himself seemed mired in mud. She crossed the twenty feet between them in a single gliding step while her sword came to hasso-no-kame just above her shoulder and its sheath spun about fifteen feet up in the air like a black-lacquered frisbee. Then she was past him, and his katana belled as she struck through his defense and he gasped in surprise as his racing perceptions _saw_ the point turn aside from his heart and tear through about two inches of flesh on his upper arm. He turned half about with the force of the blow and felt the beginnings of pain before she spun in a perfect hi-low slash, both of which evaded his fumbling blade to spray blood from two slashes over his cheeks, and to cut through his hakama to score both thighs. She took another step forward and began a pattern of lightning fast light blows, none of which even came close to being blocked, and all of which drew blood. Tatewaki was driven, stumbling, back until he was almost against the outer wall of the schoolyard. Briefly, he rallied enough to return his sword to something approximating a guard position, before Ranma blurred even to his racing perceptions, seeming to appear on both sides of him at once. Pain exploded through his body as more than 50 minor cuts struck all over his torso, arms and legs at once. Then, as he stumbled back, Ranma set herself and snapped forward once more. The first strike cut across the top of both hands, knocking the sword from his grip in a gleaming mid-air circle. The second, reversed, strike snapped the flying blade in half before his eyes, driving him all the way back to the wall. The final, two handed, decapitation strike blazed in unstoppably, flickering blurrily to kiss the skin on his neck ... and then _stop_, motionless. Trembling, Tatewaki looked up into emotionless blue eyes and the passionless, restrained violence of a tornado. And suddenly, in what may have been the only genuinely inspired moment of his life to that point, received a vision. A vision of Ranma, clad in armor, and wielding the sword pressed against his throat, slaughtering her way through what seemed to him to be an entire army. A vision that showed him, in no uncertain terms, the difference between fencing on the Dojo floor, and life and death by the sword. Of the difference between a person who could swing a sword, and one who could kill with it; and, more importantly, in this moment choose _not_ to kill with it. And for the first time in his life, Kuno Tatewaki looked his own Art in the face, and was ashamed. And buried his head in his hands, pushing down the blade at his neck, and wept. And Ranma lowered her blade and said "Aye, now. You've learned that lesson. And you'll have scars to remind you of it, as scars tend to do." And she quirked a smile, highlighting the scars prominent around her own mouth. And Tatewaki, looking up, essayed a tentative smile of his own. She walked over to her scabbard, picked it up, and put Tenchuu away. Then she picked up the two halves of Tatewaki's katana, and returning to stand in front of him, held them out to him to take. "It's said that the soul of a samurai is his sword, Kuno Tatewaki. Yours would appear to be broken. Perhaps, before you call yourself a samurai again, you should spend some time mending it." And then she returned to her seat by the wall, and Akane sat by her. And Kuno Tatewaki turned away, holding the remnants of his blade, and stumbled off to the infirmary, to patch his wounds. ------------------------------------------------------------ "It is my firm conviction," Ranma said, "that it is a gentleman's highest duty to smoke out silliness like that, and step on it." "But, Ranma, you're not a gentleman." "And why not?" "Because, use the masculine forms how you may, it's obvious you're _not_ a boy." "Feh," Ranma waved a dismissing hand, "Details. Mere details." Akane leaned close, "Ranma, you've _got_ to teach me how to do some of that." "Er, but, don't you have a sensei already?" Ranma nervously asked. "Only my Dad, and he hasn't trained me seriously in years." "Er ... *sigh*, OK, we'll go to your place later and see what you need to work on." And they shook hands on the deal as the bell rang to bring lunch to a close. Which was perhaps unfortunate, as it meant that the _other_ important question she had meant to ask slipped her mind completely, until much later. ------------------------------------------------------------ Physical Education, for Ranma, at least, was curtailed due to the sensei's conviction that, before a place in the class structure might be assigned to her, her overall level of accomplishment must be measured. Since the limited resources of the main gym proved incapable even of causing Ranma sufficient exertion to change into gym uniform, much less break a sweat, the sensei excused her of further toil that day. Then the sensei excused _herself_ to sulk, and to plot further, more strenuous tests for the morrow. In the last period of the day, Music for class 2-F brought the usual sounds of tortured musical instruments resounding through the room. Akane, Ranma grumbled, had not had an opportunity to demonstrate her skill. Most of the other students had, but unfortunately 'qualified' was a rare description of ability indeed as far as they were concerned. Then it was Ranma's turn, and she drew her guitar from the same place she stowed her sword and ran through basic scales, and chords, and parts of tunes to the music teacher's instructions. She was, it was noted to few people's surprise, easily better than anyone else in the class, save perhaps for Akane. As the end of the class drew close the teacher asked Ranma if she was any good at song. Ranma hefted her guitar and grinned, "What song would you like." "You pick," came the response. Ranma grinned again, and poised her hand above the strings. "Alright, here's a love song then." And then Akane heard, for the first time, the song she would, in later times, come to regard as the song closest to her understanding of Ranma's true heart. I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains. The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow, And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony, I was riding hard, I had miles to go. And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway, It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees, And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted, And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley, I see the hills shine, in its silvery light. It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me, And'll light my way, till I'm by your side. For where I go, You go with me, Though the miles keep us apart. Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me, And your gentle hands, always on my heart. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. Well who scattered these diamonds, Through the vault of Heaven? Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing? Who shaped your face, and what made you love me? Where is the heart of every living thing? Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either. I know you love me, how could it not be? And I am yours, now and forever, 'Till my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end Dear, only love remains. And as Ranma finished the song and lowered her head, the school day of Furinkan came to its end. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter 1: The First Day Part C: Circumvallation; Shopping for Street-gangs. Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. *Lock Keeper* is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP). The mangling it has been subjected to is my fault. If you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings lots better than I write, and Stan's estate could use the cash. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 27, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma & Akane: A Love Story Chapter 1: The First Day Part C: Circumvallation; Shopping for Street-gangs. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma lowered her head; and the song, and Furinkan's school day, came to an end. Rising to her feet, she bowed to the rest of the class, who bowed back. An unbiased observer would have seen that several of them were suspiciously misty-eyed, but, fortunately, unbiased observers were thin on the ground at Furinkan that day. So this enormous breach of etiquette went unnoticed. Akane rose too, and behind her the rest of the class. Flowing out of their classroom, at the very back end of Furinkan's main building, and down the stairs, they noticed that they were about to resolve a mystery that had been plaguing some of them all day. First there would be a noise as of someone shouting from afar. Then there would be a rumble, as of many feet rumbling one way and then another. Finally a distant murmur as of many voices, one to another, in the manner of a school building when rumor has broken from its pen, or news runs flashing through the halls. Annoyingly, though, the disturbance had never approached class 2-F closely enough for the inhabitants thereof to make out what was happening. Nor had rumor spread, if rumor it had been, to the class' distant door. Nor had any class member obtained an explanation at lunch (unless, perhaps, it might have been in distant, unobserved corners, under strict and bloodthirsty oaths of secrecy). So, to some of the class, the whole matter was still mysterious, and Akane was frankly ignorant. What Ranma might have thought of the matter she did not say, though, perhaps, she may have guessed. Thus, when, as they approached the front of Furinkan building, the noises from outside became clearer, it was Akane who pushed ahead. Ranma, instead, pulled a Samurai's fan from her jacket sleeve, flipped it open, and, gently fanning herself, walked forward to join Akane on the Furinkan front steps, grinning. As she reached the top of the steps, and looked out on the yard, that grin became a full fledged chuckle. Spread out around the Furinkan yard ("Roses, getcher bunch Roses heaahh!") were a number of mobile vendors ("Caannndy, Bon-Bons, onna stick!") selling, or rather, _outrageously gouging_, the various implements of girlfriend pacification ("Joolry, getcher Joolry now-ow, best prices inna city, Guv'na"). On the way down the steps she passed Nabiki, standing slightly apart, grinning in glee and using a walkie-talkie to direct ("Short-term loaanns, only thirty percent interest over one month, just for you Guv'na, and I'm cuttin' me own throat") the efforts of her minions. Reaching over as she passed, she tapped Nabiki on the shoulder and said, "You're welcome," and then followed Akane through the schoolyard to the street, still fanning herself gently, and still chuckling. As they neared the gate, she drew level with Akane, who glanced aside at the fan still waving gently in her hand. "A little old fashioned, isn't that?" Akane asked. "Oh no, It's entirely practical. Personal protection, you know." Another sideways glance. "It's a war fan? Razor edges and such?" "Oh no, not at all. The virtue of the warrior, after all, exists in the warrior's soul. The weapon ..." passing next to the gate-post she swung the fan through it, apparently without effect, "is merely the expression of it." Behind them, as she walked on still gently fanning, the gate-post divided itself at chest height, fell to the ground, and shattered into dust. ------------------------------------------------------------ Some blocks away, while passing through a park on the way to the Akane's house, Ranma finally broke the companionable silence they had fallen into. "Would have been nice if some of that apologizing the guys were doing back there had fallen on the primary offendee." "Mmm. I don't know" Akane replied, "they might have been worried that I'd get mad at them for trying." "Would you have?" "Don't know, depends on how they did it, I suppose. I think I've been given more than enough insincere flowers over the past year, anyway." Ranma, was just then passing by a hedge of wild roses in the park, which filled the air with a slightly bitter perfume. Her fan flashed momentarily in the sun and sliced an eight inch length of vine from the hedge, which she quickly wove into a slightly prickly wreath. "How about sincere flowers?" she mused, turning the roses over in her hands, and offering them to Akane. Akane paused and turned to face her, her eyes huge and dark in her face. "Ranma-san?!?" Ranma shrugged, and grinned lopsidedly, "I just don't think that, when _all_ the girls are getting flowers, that any _particular_ girl should be neglected. People might get to thinking that she wasn't good enough to get flowers or something. It _might_ even hurt her feelings. Avoiding hurt feelings is one of the most important tasks a gentleman can perform, after all. And I _am_ a gentleman." "Of course you are" Akane smiled cutely at Ranma, "but I can't wear flowers unless you wear them too." "Then crowned with flowers we both shall be!" laughing, Ranma bowed flamboyantly. Her fan flashed again, and, crowned with flowers, as she had said, the two friends walked on, towards Akane's home. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma looked at the sign hung on the building's outside wall. "The Tendo Dojo, hmm? You hadn't said that your family owned your own Dojo, Akane-san." "Dad hasn't done much teaching the past several years," Akane replied absently as she entered the house, "Hello, I'm home!" Ranma followed her inside and clapped once as she toed off her slippers. "Excuse me for disturbing you!" she called. "Oh, my!" came a sweet voice from the kitchen, "We have a guest!" Hard on the heels of the voice came the speaker, a tall, sweet-faced, girl, apparently a few years older than Akane. Ranma bowed to her politely, and raised an eyebrow at Akane. "Ranma-san, this is my older sister Kasumi," Akane said, "Kasumi-oneechan, this is my new friend from school, Bushiko Ranma." "Welcome to our home, Bushiko-san," Kasumi chirped, "will you be staying for dinner?" "Oh, I couldn't impose, Tendo-san, I'm only here to see about helping Akane-san to train in the Art." "In that case I insist you have dinner with us," Kasumi said firmly, "I couldn't have you training with Akane without something to eat afterwards. I know how martial artists are." "Well, if you insist... I accept, and with thanks," Ranma bowed again and waved grandly to Akane, "So let's see your Dojo proper, hmm?" ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane happily led the way to the Dojo, pausing only to change into her gi, not noticing Ranma's raised eyebrow. "Here we are!" Ranma bowed to the spirit of the Dojo and leaned against the wall. "Alright, start out with your kata; I'll just watch, for now." Akane centered herself, took a cleansing breath, and began. For five minutes, and then ten, she performed her kata to the best of her ability, not noticing, as she continued, Ranma's increasingly serious and concerned expression. Finishing with the hardest and most complex kata she knew, she returned to the outside world and noticed Ranma's distracted expression. Quickly becoming depressed, she sank into seiza and looked down at her hands, "Not good enough, huh?", she said quietly. Returning to herself with a start, Ranma considered momentarily, then replied. "No, the problem is that you're _too_ good." She looked down at her hands and briefly chewed her lip, "I mean to say, yeah, there's some things you could improve in, like speed, and maybe you're a little clumsy yet, but... the thing is, most of the stuff I know, that you don't is serious power stuff, and that's not what you need right now." "What do you mean, Ranma-san?", Akane frowned. Ranma looked down, briefly, then raised her head and captured Akane's gaze with her own, blue eyes serious and intense under flaming hair. "Look, Akane, there are two types of martial artists, okay? There's warriors, like me, and there's people with sticks like that Kuno lad I thwacked earlier today. "And the difference, the _important_ difference between them is: warriors are in the business of killing people, and people with sticks are not. The Art of a guy with a stick ... well, it might be about art, or philosophy, or it might be a sport, or an exercise, or basically it might be a lot of stuff, but _my_ Art, a warrior's Art, is about killing people, or, sometimes, _not_ killing people." "Ranma, I _know_ what...," Akane began. "NO", Ranma held up a firm hand. "You haven't thought it through! Take a day, take a month, Hell, take the rest of your life if that's what you need; once you start down that road you can't go back. You don't want to go unless you have to." Ranma stepped forward and put her hand on Akane's shoulder. "I'm serious about this Akane-chan, take the time to _be sure_. I wasn't, I didn't have a clue when I started, cause my Dad's an idiot, and it _hurt_. It _always_ hurts, Akane-chan, or else, if it doesn't, it means _you're_ dead too", she moved her other hand to Akane's other shoulder, "and I don't want my friend to be hurt like that unless there's no other, better, choice." Akane collapsed into Ranma's embrace and sobbed. "Y ... y ... d-do you think I should just ... not ... then?", she mumbled into the other girl's shoulder. Ranma stroked the back of her neck and *shhhed*, "No, Akane, I don't know what your honor needs. I _do_ know that when you _have_ the power you _have_ to worry about it, not using power is a use, too." Back to arms length, "Take this morning, that Takuichi kid, he's in the hospital now; and you can say he deserved it, and you can say it could have been worse, and you can say he was stupid. But when it's totaled up, what it comes down to is that I maimed him, maybe permanently, and I didn't have to." "Mind you", she continued, "six months ago I'd have killed them all and laughed, but that was in a different place, under different rules. _Here_, reacting that ... extremely ... was wrong." "Do you think he _will_ be maimed?", Akane said, worriedly. "I don't know Akane-chan, Japanese medicine is lots better than I'm used to, and I've got some tricks of my own to use if it gets bad, but ... I don't know. And it was a mistake, and you know that at some point I'm going to have to pay for it too. It's a weight, Akane-chan, that you can't ever put down. Don't pick it up unless you've got no choice." "Okay, Ranma-chan, I ... I'll think about it first," Akane smiled, weakly. "Thank you." Ranma hugged her briefly, hard, and then let go. "And it's not all _that_ bad anyway, even if you decide to stay sane. There's a lot we can do to help your Art on general principles, and just polishing you up should make a lot of difference. 'Kay?" "Uh-huh," Akane sniffed, she smiled kawaiily, "Thanks. What should we do first?" Ranma shrugged, "Change your wardrobe." "Huh!?" "You're wearing a gi." "Yeah ... so?" "Earlier today, did you feel comfortable fighting in your school uniform?" "No-ooo, I mean I had to, er, _if_ I'd had to I could, but..." "Exactly! When it's your art, it's got to be a part of your whole life. When Basho was wandering around, d'you think he only did poetry under special circumstances? Only when he had an audience, and a mat, and a formal ink stone, and a three foot brush, and a dozen perfect sheets, and so on? When Hokusai made his prints, do you think he was only doing art on the formal, final print, and not the rest of the time? "Hell, no," Ranma continued, "Hokusai was doing art even when he was partying, (and believe me, Hokusai knew how to party, too). Basho did poetry all the time; even if they weren't doing the formal, get-it-down-right part, they were sketching, or taking notes, or just taking what was going on around them and putting it into context in their terms. "They were doing their art all the time. And any art that's _real_ has to be like that. All the time. And you won't do your art all the time if you're not in a situation that you're comfortable doing your art _in_ all the time. Which, for Martial Arts, includes the clothes you're wearing. So let's go see your closet." ------------------------------------------------------------ Somewhat dazedly, Akane led the way to her room, where Ranma was soon standing in front of her closet, sorting through her clothes, and muttering. "Uniform ... uniform ... bleah ... dress ... dress ..." Ranma posed briefly with a sun dress, "mmm, looks good, but _I_ wouldn't want to try to high kick in it..." Akane mega-blushed. "Me neither." "Mmm ..., well, I don't see anything in here really suitable for combat, do you?" Akane shook her head, shyly, no. "Well, there's only one thing to do then," said Ranma, "go shopping!" Akane grabbed her arm urgently, "Ranma, I won't have the money for a shopping trip for..." Ranma patted Akane's hand gently. "Don't worry about it Akane-chan, for a good cause, you can always find _some_ kind of donor." Akane blushed again, "Ranma-chan, I can't ask you to buy me..." Ranma winked at her, "Who said anything about me? Come on!" ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane walked side by side deep into the Nerima Ginza. Deeply engrossed in conversation with Ranma, Akane failed to notice her steering their perambulations towards the less savory part of town. She regained notice of her surroundings with the realization that several Bad Elements were attempting to loom menacingly in the background. Ranma winked at her sudden start, and put a finger shushingly to her lips. "Donors," she whispered, and continued to chatter. "Heyhey, chickies, whatchoo doin out tonite, hah? Yew wanna _real_ man, hah? Haw, haw, looka this Junichi, a _redhead_, think I'll see if she's a _natural_ redhead, haw!" "Take the trailers," Ranma stage whispered. Her mouth smiled at the forerunners of the ten thugs surrounding them, but her eyes were cold. "Now, gentlemen, you wouldn't risk your reputations by harassing a pair of unescorted girls, would you?" "Hawhaw, and what's gonna stop us chickie, huh?" the first thug extended a tattooed hand. "Well, for one thing," Ranma's tone was conversational, "the element of surprise." Her foot snapped up in a repeated high kick that landed fifteen blows to the thug's chin in a fifth of a second, then pivoted around the raised foot in a ki charged arc that smashed the two forward flankers into their respective walls. (Akane spun and launched a straight power kick into the gut of the thug directly behind her. As he folded, her hand rose and fell in a well-timed strike to the back of his neck.) Ranma shifted position in midair, flashing to her left in a jump kick into a fourth thug that carried him into the fifth, her hand blurred briefly as they landed to the blurry *thud* of many blows to exposed heads and torsos, then launched herself backward. (Akane continued her motion to the side, launching herself at the thug there and blasting through his defenses with a flurry of punches that soon sent him into unconsciousness.) Ranma flipped through the air towards the remaining two thugs on her side, altering course at the last instant to pass between them, her hands blurring as she passed. She landed lightly on her feet, preparing to move towards Akane as her last opponents slumped heavily to the ground. Akane however, had already bounced off the wall in a long jump kick that took her fleeing final foe in mid back, smashing him limply into the other wall of the alley. "Well," Ranma beamed, "not bad at all." "What the heck did you get us into that for?" Akane all but shrieked, "What were you think... What are you _DOING_?" "Mmm? Looting the bodies, Akane-chan, what does it look like?" "You _killed_ them!!??!" "No, no, no. If I'd _killed_ them, I'd have said I was looting the _corpses_." "But ... but ..." Akane could only watch in stupefaction as Ranma, in less than a minute, stripped the mindless bodies down to their underwear, stacked their jackets, shoes, shirts, pants, and paraphernalia in the middle of the alley, and rifled their wallets, throwing their cards and photos to the ground and counting their cash. "Nearly half a million cash!" Ranma gloated, "and better than 250 thousand in loot too! As I said, not bad at all!" "Ranma, what...?" Akane stood openmouthed in shock, "How can you just...?" "Well, after all, Akane-chan, they did try to accost us. If we don't apply _some_ kind of penalty, they'll surely slip further and further into Crime and Degradation, ne? And we do deserve some sort of compensation for our efforts, right? Besides: to the victor go the spoils." "Now, here, take this pile of pants and shirts and come on, we've got to go fence this stuff, and then go shopping." "Shopping?" Akane queried weakly. "We need to get you a new wardrobe, remember?" ------------------------------------------------------------ Later, Ranma turned from Akane's closet and pronounced herself satisfied. "Hah! Hah! Still got that haggling touch! Hah!" Akane turned from the mirror, and tried to see how her long hair looked against the back of her new leather vest. "Do you _really_ think this looks good, Ranma-chan?" Ranma looked at Akane's black velvet pants / white silk shirt / black leather vest combo and raised an OK sign. "Trust me, Akane-chan, you look great. And there's nearly thirty thousand yen left for other stuff you might need too!" "Are you _sure_ you won't take any of this money, Ranma-chan? You did do most of the work." "Nah!" Ranma waved her hand, "don't need it at the moment. Besides, we're friends right? One day you'll do something like that for me. Now let's get going, your sister just called us to dinner!" Returning to the dining room, Nabiki frankly stared at Akane's new look. Introductions to Nabiki and Soun were made, and one of Kasumi's typically excellent meals was consumed. Mealtime conversation was mostly superficial, enlivened only by Ranma's presentation of a guesting gift (Wrapped bottles of Sake and a box of exotic spices for Kasumi) at the beginning of the meal. Nabiki had been looking at Ranma with what seemed to be a certain amount of unease throughout the meal, and after Soun excused himself she appeared to come to a decision. "Um, Ranma-san, I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity you provided me this morning. And, um, Ithinkyoushouldtaketenpercentofthemoneyinthanks," Nabiki blushed as though she could not believe what she had just said. Ranma winked at her "Ten percent, Nabiki-san? That's what? fifty thousand? There's no need for that; I'm not hurting for cash." "But I can't just ... _hey_ how'd _you_ know how much it should be? I haven't said how much I made yet!" "You've segregated it in your money belt, Nabiki-san," Ranma replied, "I checked it earlier." "You picked my pocket!?", Nabiki gasped. "Well, only for informational purposes, Nabiki-san. I put everything back, did I not?" Nabiki stood it for eleven seconds before frantically checking her belt. "Nabiki!" Akane glowered. Ranma chuckled, and rose from the table, "It's time I went home, I think; I'll see you tomorrow before school, Akane? And don't worry about it Nabiki-san: I'd have checked too." Akane nodded brightly, but Nabiki hmmphed, "You be careful, Ranma-san, I'll get you back for that." "I'll be looking forward to the contest," Ranma smiled, "I'm sure it will be interesting." "Do you have to go so soon?" Akane wondered. "I'm afraid so. If you look at the time, it's actually quite late. You have school in the morning, after all: you need your rest." So saying, Ranma turned out the door of the Dojo, and, whistling, walked down the street to her apartment, under the moon and the stars. ------------------------------------------------------------ Walking down the street alone, Ranma thought to herself, 'Wow, friendship, I wonder if...' 'NO!' herself replied, 'she's straight, she's a girl, and she thinks _you're_ a girl. This is the best friendship you've had since Kitsune or Usagi, _don't mess it up_! Besides, you've got some kind of arrangement coming from Dad, right? No More Romance, and that's _final_." So thinking, Ranma walked on down the darkened street. It is the privilege of a Martial Artist to ignore the little voice inside that says 'Sure' after all. Presently she began, somewhat unconsciously, to sing. A song she had learned from a Gaijin ship crewman and translated to Japanese: You say 'Well met again, Lock keeper. You see me laden even deeper than the time before. Occidental oils and teas brought down from Singapore.' As we wait for my lock to cycle, I say, 'My wife has just given me a son!' 'A son', you cry, 'is that all that you've done?' 'Then come with me!', you say, 'To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder. 'Oh, come with me', you cry, 'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older, and your blood grows colder.' But that anchor chain's a fetter And with it you are tethered to the foam, And I wouldn't trade your life For one hour of home. She wears Bougainvillea blossoms, You pluck 'em from her hair and toss them in the tide, Sweep her in your arms, and carry her inside. And her arms rest on your shoulder, And her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser through the tears, And I say, 'How could you stand to leave this for the years?' But 'Come with me!', you say, 'To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder. 'Oh, come with me', you cry, 'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older, and your blood grows colder.' But that anchor chain's a fetter And with it you are tethered to the foam, And I wouldn't trade your life For one hour of home. Sure, I'm stuck here on the Seaway, While you compensate for leeway through the Trades; And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made; And you laugh at hearts you've riven, But which of these has given us more love and life? You, your tropic maids, or me, my wife? And 'Come with me!', you say, 'To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder. 'Oh, come with me', you cry, 'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older, and your blood grows colder.' But that anchor chain's a fetter And with it you are tethered to the foam, And I wouldn't trade your whole life For one hour of home. And I wouldn't trade your whole life For one hour of home. ------------------------------------------------------------ Later yet, Akane stood in her bedroom, looking out the window at nothing in particular. She was thinking about a Decision, thinking about honor, and duty, and leather vests. Seeing, in her mind, a kendoist flying backwards to a wall, and a katana, snapped in two, hanging momentarily in mid-air. Weighing her honor against pain, and tumbled thugs, and a crown of roses. And then she smiled, and returned to her bed, and fell deeply asleep. A response which is noted as common, in cases where a great Decision has been made. ------------------------------------------------------------ And across Nerima, silence fell, and quiet reigned. And if, in some darkened corner, people felt themselves abused, and whispered, and plotted revenge, Ranma and Akane, at least, took no notice. And slept the sleep of the just, till morning came. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter 2: The Second Day. Part A: Duel of Engines; A Dream of Blood and Wolves. 'Til next chapter, Eric Hallstrom, 10/27/99 -- www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html www.kawaiikunee.com hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com From: Eric Hallstrom Subject: [Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story. Chapter Two Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 28, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. Chapter 2: The Second Day Part A: Duel of Engines; A dream of blood and wolves. ------------------------------------------------------------ This is Tokyo, Nerima ward in the darkest early morning, the time when old men die. Focus in: to a large maison in the newer, outer part of the ward; where the transients go, and where those who can't afford a _real_ Nerima address find space to live. It's been here for 40 years. It's been dying, slowly, for 35. Focus in: to the eighth floor, on the corner, in the back. There's no elevator to this floor, (the shaft is boarded shut, there's no money in elevators) only rickety stairs. There's no hallway light, but then no one here should be going in or out when it's dark, anyway (there's no _stairway_ light either). Focus in. The apartment has one main room, one bathroom with a small shower but no furo, one room that combines kitchen and breakfast nook, and one closet. Most of it was furnished by the building owner in a style that can be described as 'severely minimal' and the current occupant hasn't added much. Take a look at the main room. Perhaps twelve feet on a side, floored in a dingy parquet linoleum, it holds two pieces of furniture. Against one wall, underneath the only window, sits a footlocker. The door in the wall to the left leads to the kitchen, the door to the right, to the bathroom. In the corner formed by the back wall and the left is the other piece of furniture, a futon. Look a bit longer. To two pieces of furniture, add three other items of interest. The first, placed just in front of the leather bound chest, is a sword stand. On its upper tier, edge upward, as is proper, rests a sword. A blade about three feet long, of the ancient pattern called /tachi/, chisel pointed, strait backed, uncurved. Its hilt is of wood, covered with ray-skin and wound with silken cords; its tsuba is of plain, unmarked brass. Its scabbard, resting beneath it on the stand, is of plain, black- lacquered, common pine. A more commonplace, workaday weapon would be difficult to imagine. No flamboyant artwork on _this_ blade, no feeling of legendary glory waiting to be won. The only feeling an observer receives from this blade is: 'Gee, that looks really sharp'. Look behind it. On the chest, precisely in the center of its top, and precisely in the center of the moonlight streaming through the window, is a small bowl made of silver. In it floats a pool of softly luminescent liquid, reminiscent of quicksilver, but more fluid. Look deeper. See the small assemblage suspended slightly above the surface of the liquid: two pieces of carven ivory flanking a ring of palest jade. See how the ivory pieces, if fitted together, would also form a ring, fitted tightly around the jade core. See the sandalwood cover waiting patiently to the side of the chest lid; if it was placed over the bowl it would fit perfectly around its rim, and cover the whole without disturbing it in any way. Wait! Look. Did you see? Did you see the bead of soft light that fell from just above the bowl? Look above the rings above the bowl, about six inches, do you see? A pale circle of light hangs almost invisibly in midair, a slight thickening of the flowing moonlight. Now watch the two small beads of light at the top of the circle; see them travel slowly around its circumference to the bottom. See them gain in brightness, so slowly, ever so slowly, as they flow. See them gleam as they pass, one by one, the geometric lines that cross and re-cross the design. Watch their color change, ever so faintly, as they pass each of the tracings of ancient Chinese ideograms that form an inner ring of pale, translucent, radiance. Watch them meet at the very bottom of the circle, meet and join. Watch the newly formed bead of luminescent liquid hang breathlessly a moment, then fall *blip* the six inches to the rings above the bowl. Watch it seem to pass through the jade ring, then watch the jade, and then the ivory, glow. Ever so faintly, ever so briefly. Watch the cycle begin again. Now turn to the futon. See the masculine figure sprawled in sleep. So inelegant for one who, awake, is so graceful. Look closer again. See the scars on face and arms. Trace the blow that must have fallen to lay that path across larynx and shoulder. Contemplate the tracery of past violence across his bare chest and the portions of his legs that lie beyond his boxer shorts. Scars like wide, raised, ridges six inches long; scars like nearly invisible threads, white against the tanned skin; scars of all dimensions in between. Marvel, lastly, at the tattoo. A dragon, marked with the symbols of yang power. Sprawled across chest and stomach, winding around his left shoulder and across his back to flirt with his right scapula with its tail. Every scale and claw perfect, detailed in line, marvelous in color, drawn by a master's hand. So perfect that the simple act of the man's normal breathing seems to make it live and breathe alike. Observe. See its fierce whiskers, its masculine lines. See the eye closed in sleep, the coiled body peaceful and still. It is fortunate, no doubt, that it sleeps so peacefully - were it to awaken, its wrath would surely be terrible. No doubt. No doubt at all. Fortunate, then, that the sleep of its bearer is likewise deep, and peaceful. Fortunate that he is locked, deeply and thoroughly, in dreams. Fortunate for the dreamer, and also, perhaps, for the observer. Look deeper, you can see into the dream itself. But be cautious, as you do: it is all too easy to become lost in dreams, all too easy to give them too much credence. In the end, remember this: however exact the remembrance, however complete the illusion seems, you, yourselves, are but also dreaming. Indulging in a metaphor, so to speak, for a somewhat more ... complex ... reality. ------------------------------------------------------------ Impressions of gentle sunlight first, midmorning in the middle of spring: perhaps late April, or early May. Look around to see an open field, uncultivated; spring grass as tall as your horse's knees, spotted with wildflowers, strewn with butterflies. A hundred yard away to left and right the forest rises, dark with many pines, but drifted gold with their pollen. See the horse beneath you: coat black as night, mane and tail twin charcoal sprays. Hear the birdsong like a many-voiced silver cataract, staccato tattoo of several horses cantering, gentle rustle of the wind. Usagi rides his roan ten yards to your left, his straw hat thrown back off his head, his ears streaming back in the breeze of your passage. Noriyuki-sama sits his bay five yards behind and between you, his plump, cheerful, panda face popping up above the head of his warhorse with the enthusiasm of the twelve-year-old boy he is. Tomoe-san rides her dappled gelding five yards behind her lord, her cat-ears pricked forward, face earnest and alert. Always devoted to her lord's safety, no matter her delight in the sunlit day, no matter her discomfort in the storming, bitter night. Odd how her cat's face causes no fear in your dream, odd how a cat grown man-tall and stood upright is, somehow, not the kind of cat your subconscious so reviles. Poetry from Usagi, chuckles from Tomoe and yourself, delighted laughter from Noriyuki-sama, each close enough to speak, close enough to laugh, but far enough away that danger cannot take two at once. Next the fresh dew-smell, overlying the faint bruised grass, delicate scent of wildflowers, honest smell of horse, and leather, sharp tang of steel and lacquer from the light breastplate hidden beneath your outer shirt. Smells of spring, overlaid by smells of travel, sadly intermixed with smells of danger, and of threatening war. Last the sun's gentle warmth, slanting from above. Caressing breeze across your face, gentler than the wind of your passage. Rythmic pounding of hooves, the saddle's steady rise and fall. Thump of braid to your back, followed by the click as the ring at its end slaps home. Creak of saddle-leather, slap of stirrups, *tick* and *clink* of breastplate, thump of sword. Just beside your track a wolf cub starts a mouse, pounces, grips his prey and kills. Pounding hooves disturb his meal, his jaws drip blood, his eyes glow green, but his pounce is intercepted by your sandal, he sprawls before your progress. As the hoof comes down, a viper takes his place. Too late: crunch under hoof, writhing rope behind. Tomoe's naginata snaps downward, rises coiled by serpent, snaps to throw the corpse away. Suddenly pounding down a steep slope towards a lonely road. Dark pines grow close on either side, black clouds, bitter wind, sharp and biting scent of storm. Before you a party of horsemen turns toward you from their place along the road. The war mask of the leader makes their identity unmistakable - Hijiki, and a dozen of his guard. Closed view from helm, O-yori heavy on your limbs. No daikyu, so a charge will have to do - Yari straight before you, parallel with Usagi's charge, behind you, Tomoe's naginata spins in a blurring circle as she gallops past Noriyuki to shield him from his enemies. First contact, and your enemy's throat sprays blood, a brief side-rein as you break your foe's wall, rip open the side of another. Iron tang of blood, sewer reek of sudden death, background flash of lightning as the storm grows, and threatens now in earnest. Tomoe's naginata takes the heads of the two guards in her path; Usagi has collapsed the other corner of their formation, and converges on Hijiki, two bodies left sprawling behind him in pools of sudden scarlet. Rein left and launch your yari at Hijiki, he dodges but the guard behind him does not. Tenchuu flashes from its scabbard in an arc that takes it through two enemies' necks - stronger tang of iron now, sticky crimson mist sprays face and helm, blood-drops *tac* *tac* *tac* off armor as you spin and drive towards the center of the now encarmined battleground. Usagi has downed his foe, throwing him into another: thunder of hooves as he follows up the advantage, crimson rivers as he passes the still struggling tangle. Tomoe overmasters her last opponent, beating down his guard; scarlet clots the blade of her naginata as it punches, once, twice, thrice through his backplate. Three warriors form an arc, centered where Hijiki waits: unbowed, but now alone. Move to meet him, Tenchuu held low beside you. Then the wolf springs, leaping from the trees. It is larger now, and crueler: already its jaws drip poison spittle and its eyes blaze hatred and rage. Tenchuu chops it from the air and it tumbles broken to the ground, but it rises to its feet, healed anew in an instant, and now it is to your off side. Armored in steel, your foot kicks free of its stirrup and meets it in midair. Flailing, it flips over your head, Tenchuu blurs through its diseased form a score of times at least. Scattered in many places, no healing will save it this time. Yet the delay is costly: Hijiki cuts through your defense, a stream of fire across your throat and shoulder, falling from your mount to roll frantically across the ground. Tomoe is down on one knee, injured, defending Lord Noriyuki from half-a-dozen foes. Usagi kills his opponent and you rise to your feet, Tenchuu hissing in the pattern called 'fire wheel', the three enemies about you falling back slain; horizontal fans of glistening crimson spray across the little inn's tables and tatami, coloring bowls of rice and clay mugs of beer now abandoned and overturned. You turn toward Hijiki, as Usagi turns to the window in alarm. A barrage of arrows thunks like hailstones into the thin, plaster wall, piercing it in places to a depth of three or four inches, embedding themselves in the beams and rafters. You turn away from the bodies piled in the center of the floor as you sniff the air in alarm: smoke! They're trying to burn you out! Quickly you string your daikyu, eight arrows in your fist: the most that you can put in the air at once. A burst of archery drives the encircling foes on one side of the inn into cover, cowering. Now, out the window, through their weakened line, run! Around the corner now, galloping over treacherous shale, flakes of rotten stone spraying back from your horses' hooves. Thunder of hooves, rolling back from a wall of living mountain to your right - an unpaved track too narrow for more than single file. Behind, a small army, but they are at least half-a-mile back and if you can get past the towering rock ahead they will never catch you. Rain-slick cobbles *rutch* beneath your flying, sandaled, feet, thunder crashes, loud as many dragons, ozone and sulfur, iron and hate. Around the outbuilding now, Tenchuu naked and rain-flecked in your hand. Straw rain cape flapping as you bring the wolf and Hijiki to bay before the tower looming black and monstrous in the storm. The wolf stands manlike and erect now - robed in black, carrying a spear. Your opponents are spread out too far for any gambit to succeed: dash between them, cutting at Hijiki as you pass, steel belling harshly against steel. Turn to face him and feint to his torso, waiting for the flow of ki from behind. Now, leap reversed over the wolf's head, thirty feet of backwards somersault. Feel the power flow through ground and storm, call it to your hand. Now! They are concentrated, pinned against the tower, their defenses momentarily down. Now hold the power within and weave a web of intent and iron control, now release the leash of will close-held and call the Dragon Wind. Storm erupts: sand caught by the wind and swept up as a thousand miniature knives, lightning riding the fist of wind like a corona of supernal fire. It washes over Hijiki and the wolf, overwhelms them, and blots them from view and debris sprays from the tower's base with the power of the storm. Rising from the wrack, the wolf's lifeless, skeletal jaws howl in futile rage in the moment they are given, before the fire consumes them, before the avalanche of stone from the falling tower buries them, before you turn and jump for distant safety, before the tons of gunpowder stored below Hijiki's fortress destroy themselves, and all around them, and the titanic explosion reaches out, gaining speed behind you... And the mass eruption of butterflies passes you by in a varicolored, softly scintillating cloud of fragrance and you ride up the last hill, amid a carpet of wildflowers. Usagi is beside you, Noriyuki-sama just behind, carrying the sword, and Tomoe-san brings up the rear. And you all laugh with joy, and awe, and delight as you top the rise to see before you the rice fields on the outskirts of the new capitol. This area is firmly under the Shogun's peace, patrols will escort you the rest of the way to his palace, the presentation will be performed without delay, and there remain before you no obstacles. No obstacles at all. ------------------------------------------------------------ Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, awoke suddenly, and turned over muzzily on his futon. Looking across the darkened room, to the pale circle of magic dripping light into a silver bowl, he shook his head and sighed. "Man, I haven't dreamed about _him_ in a _long_ time," he yawned. "I've got to stop making myself those midnight habañero-and-teriyaki beef snacks. That, and hope that wasn't an omen." And then he turned over, and went back to sleep. Warriors learn to prize the commodity because they know that morning will come soon enough. And there will always be something to do in that morning. And you'll always need your sleep. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter 2: The Second Day Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. "The Nancy" is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP), I'm only borrowing it. "Maids, When You're Young" is an Actual Folk Song, and is _Not_, I repeat, _Not_ My Fault. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 28, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. Chapter 2: The Second Day Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning ------------------------------------------------------------ Observe a long established residential district in Nerima, just after dawn that day. Birds twitter and sing in melodic glee at the promises of a new day, matching the mood of anticipation present in one member of the household living at the old-fashioned building with the big sign out front (the big sign that said 'Tendo Dojo', of course). It should not be said that Akane was normally the type of girl to indulge in random destruction as a form of stress relief. She indulged, generally speaking, in _highly specific_ and _exactly targeted_ destruction as a form of stress relief. Even considering this fact, however, the presence of a number of columns of cinder blocks, set at various intervals around the practice hall's floor, must be considered slightly unusual. What was even more unusual, from a theoretical observer's viewpoint, however, was that Akane was not immediately preparing to destroy them. Instead, she was practicing a complex and intricate kata - almost a shadow-dance - around, between, over and beside them. A kata that seemed to involve defeating an imaginary set of enemies while at the same time avoiding attack proximity of the cinder block piles (if the cinder blocks were inclined to be pugnacious, which they had presented no sign, so far, of being). Finally, drawing to a peak, the kata concluded with a flurry of activity that wove and spun through the piles of concrete, destroying each in turn. For a moment after the kata's conclusion, Akane remained poised in the attitude of her finishing blow, her eyes intent and focused on something far away. Then she relaxed and surveyed the destruction, somewhat in the manner of one who, having just endured more than a year of grinding discomfort and frustration, has just been released, metaphorically speaking, from bondage, while - and at the same time - finding a much-desired friend, a much-admired mentor, and much-needed help. Likewise in the manner of one who has, shortly thereafter, undergone an only-partially-favorable appraisal of her main life skill, an agonizing reassessment of her chosen career goals, and the strangest evening of her seventeen years of life. Not even to mention a total reassessment of her most basic morality, and a reexamination of her honor. Followed by a truly momentous decision: the first, depending on how you look at it, of her adult life. Which is, of course, exactly what she was. And which is also why, after having, in a manner of speaking, cleared the air, she nodded firmly, and dusted her hands and went in, whistling, to breakfast. It was a new day, after all, and she was eager, for the first time in a very long time, to begin it. ------------------------------------------------------------ Tendo Nabiki, of that same address, was also eager for the day to begin. Not because she had undergone a great and sweeping change of life, but rather because she too had received something she had not had in a long time: a challenge. She had been scored on. _She_ had been bested. Her actions anticipated, her _pocket_ _picked_, of all the silly things. And yet, and yet ... it had been done with, with ... _style_. And grace. Not in such a way as to damage her reputation or smear her honor (indeed, she had - the household had - profited tremendously). And _then_ this same person, this same barbarian grotesque, had turned around and not only helped her little sister - helped her family - tremendously, but had also turned over a small fortune entirely for Akane's use! And for a new wardrobe, for the purpose of, of all things, 'helping her Art'! How had it happened? She still had no details that she trusted. _Why_ had she done it? And what would she do next? And how would she, Nabiki herself, end up relating to this Bushiko Ranma? For the first time in her life, she realized, the decision might not be in her hands. And what of Ranma, herself? What secrets did she hold? Who was she, really? And how had she gotten that way? Oh, my, yes, a challenge, in all senses of that word. A challenge she was eager to take on. A challenge she was eager to measure herself against, a challenge she was eager to grow with. For her, too, a stretching of her capabilities was a thing that had not happened in a very long time. ------------------------------------------------------------ And this is an apartment last seen by moonlight, now stretching drowsily in the pale illumination of a Tokyo dawn. The furnishings have changed slightly: the sword stand is empty now, the silver bowl is gone. In the place of the silver bowl, centered in the faint light of dawn now invading through the window, is a wide platen of burnished, red gold. Above it, on a stand of braided bronze wire, rests a pair of rings. Carved from dark, emerald jade, with the very faintest tracery of interlocking ideograms, they are made in mirror images, each of the other. Beside and between them, are a pair of interlocking shells of thinly braided copper wire, the inner halves linked by golden chains. Above, the diagram of light has been redrawn. Now shafts of pale dawn light seem to twist and intertwine, forming a disc about two feet wide. Within the pattern of the disc, intertwined with light and shadow in a fashion that would make M. C. Escher delirious with jealousy, stands a single ideogram in a Chinese temple shorthand so ancient that even the memory of the name of the style it is written in has been lost. Had he so desired, Ranma could have informed an interested scholar that the ideogram's meaning was critically interlinked with the style in which it was written, a style to which it had given its own name: Phoenix Dragon. In the corner of the main room behind the now opened bathroom door, in that portion of the room farthest from sunlight, now stands a small bamboo tray-table. On it is an iron stand, bearing a velvet curtain all around that can be closed to keep the contents from any betraying hint of sunlight. Within, shining with a light of its own, is a complex assembly of leaded glass and silver rod. Alembics bubble with a pale, luminescent liquid, from them, coils of glass transport glowing beads of pastel light up to roiling curcurbits, swirling with the colors of a mad, muted rainbow, from which straight tubes emerge to close on a central point, where they empty into a silver funnel. Drops of liquid, palely silver, roll down the funnel to drip onto the top of a peachwood rod, carven with writhing dragons going into and out of caves, down which a silver-lined spiral path leads the glowing liquid, reduced micron by micron, to a glass collecting bowl connected to the alembics in a continuous circular progression. Now from the open bathroom door comes a cloud of steam, followed by a topless, towel-wrapped figure, still engaged in toweling dry her scarlet braid. Striding firmly to the closet, Ranma drapes the towel over the multicolored, iridescent, feminine dragon tattoo that winds around her shoulders and torso: displayed passant regardant, dryly looking over its own sinuous shoulder to regard whatever might lie beyond. Then, dropping the towels from shoulders and hips, Ranma stands briefly nude (_Down_ Hentais! Down I say! You've seen as much many times before in the manga!) before donning boxers and a stretchy chest wrap that serves her as a sports bra. Then she places around her neck a small amulet of silver, one face of which is a cracked mirror and the other an ancient piece of pottery, marked with a pattern reminiscent of many ropes. Following this with her usual loose pants, silk shirt and moccasins, she tops these off with her leather bomber jacket, picking her scabbarded sword from where it rests against the wall and placing it, and a wide variety of other implements inside her jacket, in places that mostly do not seem capable of holding them. Lastly she bounds into the kitchen, a brief swipe across the counter grabs the bento and briefcase thereon. Bounds to the far corner, twitching the curtain closed. Glides to the chest, checking the alignment of the rings held above the brazen bowl. Watch now as a bead of light splits into two at the top of the diagram and runs fluidly around the circumference, left and right. Watch it merge at the bottom. Watch it fairly leap across space to pass through the rings and splash into the bowl. Watch the drop spread into a small pool, fizzling energetically. Watch it bathe the rings from below, evaporating as it does so. Watch the next drop splash before it vanishes completely. Watch the pool spread a little farther, last a little longer. See Ranma examine her handiwork and smile. Watch her look up, and through the diagram hanging in mid-air in the dawn's slowly gathering light. See her eyes go distant, as though lost in dreams, or fears, or memories. But dreams fade in daylight, and fears wither away. And memories don't always bring back that which is looked for. And Ranma turns, and glides out the door, locking it behind her. And bounds down the staircase and out the maison's front door. And, taking to the rooftops, moves quickly in a straight line towards her rendezvous. It's a new day, after all, and it wouldn't do to be late. It wouldn't do at all. ------------------------------------------------------------ Yakubi Ryouken felt, in his heart of hearts, that everything in the world which was wrong with his life was the fault of his name (with some justification, it can be translated as "Bad-luck Day Hound"). In fact, he would not even answer to the hated words unless extremely pressed, preferring, somewhat ironically, the sobriquet of Daken ("Cur" or "Mongrel") instead. Complaining about his names was, in fact, normally one of the two overriding occupations of his life (the other being the worship of his Japanese-Nationalistic divine heredity, and the concomitant despite he felt for anything remotely foreign). Pressed against Furinkan's wall, just inside the gate, however, he was not currently capable of indulging in either one. This was primarily due to the presence of another occupation; he was hating the redheaded bitch. He had woken up, naked amidst the ruins of his gang, very late the previous night. He had spent the hours since seeking out the identity of the bitches who had taken him by surprise, and taken his clothes and cash as well. 'Plus which', he snarled to himself for the thousandth time, 'I loved my Tagamotchi-chan, I'd kept him alive for two weeks, *snff*, and the bitch _sold_ him, sold him like a slave.' But he had her now, oh yes. She couldn't surprise him _now_, and he'd picked up a number of fine Japanese-Nationalistic students the barbarian whore had humiliated the day before, too. Soon, she'd come through the gate and then ... then she'd get a surprise of her own! And then he _would_ see if she was a natural redhead, teach her what a _real_ man was like! 'Bitch's gotta learn her place!' And no-one else would interfere, he'd left the cringing gaijin-otaku pigs too terrified to even move! ------------------------------------------------------------ And this is a normal street (for Nerima), and down it Akane and Nabiki are walking on their way to school. Progressing, it should be noted, in the normal, or common, fashion, which is to say, on the ground. And flanking this common street is a common rooftop, belonging to a common business; and along this rooftop Ranma is progressing, in an _un_common fashion, which is to say, in bouncing leaps, five to ten yards long. It would not be entirely fair to say that the Tendo sisters were _surprised_ by Ranma's sudden appearance; they had been expecting it, and besides, leaping from rooftops was normal compared to what they had already seen her do. But they were, undeniably, startled. And startled again by the fact that she appeared to have been, while blithely leaping from place to place along the skyline, _singing_. When we sat down to Tea, hey do me harity When we sat down to Tea, me being young, When we sat down to Tea, he started teasing me, Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man! Finishing the verse as she settled gracefully to earth, Ranma swept the other girls a great bow, and fell in beside them with a warm greeting to Akane, and a merry one to Nabiki. "And _what_," Akane queried amusedly, "was that?" "Song, Boys, For The Teasing Of, One," Ranma smirked. "You, Bushiko Ranma, are _Evil_!" "Yes, I know. Ain't it _cool_?!" And they walked on toward school, and Ranma taught Akane the words, and Nabiki shook her head in amusement, and sighed. ------------------------------------------------------------ Asano Sayuri shivered in terror, and looked out the window of the second floor. She couldn't, she was too afraid, but if she didn't .... The man called Daken was terrifying, so cruel in appearance, and the threats he had made .... She wasn't a brave person, she felt, but someone had to warn Ranma-san! And she could see, just looking around, that no-one else was going to, they were all afraid of those slime who had _joined_ the, the _mongrel_. But that meant that no-one would help _her_, and they'd know who had called out, and she wasn't a brave person. But ... _but_, she'd heard Ranma-san sing. And she'd seen Ranma-san stand up for Akane-san when no-one else would. Ranma-san, she was sure, would defeat these mongrels if only she was warned. But what if she didn't, couldn't, what then? And then she saw, coming down the street in the distance, three feminine figures; and discovered, suddenly, that she _was_ a brave person, after all. ------------------------------------------------------------ Walking down the street with Akane, Ranma felt, was one of the better ways to begin a school day that she had yet encountered. Akane had proven an apt, if somewhat embarrassed, student of /Maids, When You're Young/, and the verbal sparring with Nabiki had kept honors relatively even in the opening exchanges. Despite the company and the conversation, however, a martial artist of Ranma's skill is never entirely inattentive to her surroundings, and the concentration of hostility, clumsily gathered ki, and focused attention hiding just behind the wall ahead of her would have waked her from the dead in any case. "Don't change your stance Ranma whispered sotto voce, "and keep walking forward. I think, Akane, that our friends from yesterday have grown melancholy in our absence, and have come to renew acquaintances." Nabiki controlled her reaction automatically, but nevertheless stiffened slightly, 'What?' Akane pasted a wooden smile on her face and gripped Ranma's arm urgently "Ranma, don't kill them!" Ranma winked in reply, "Oh, if I had intended to kill them I'd have done it last night. But since they didn't learn the earlier lesson we taught them I think something slightly... stronger ... is in order. Don't you?" Steering them gently toward the center of the gate she continued, "Nabiki, how are you at negotiations from the superior position?" Nabiki frowned, "You're joking, right?" Ranma grinned again, "Just keep walking, and keep your cool." As they approached the gate she gathered ki for a momentary burst of extreme speed, and then... "_Ranma-sama, look out!!!_" a shout broke from the upper windows of Furinkan, and Ranma spared half a second for an exasperated silent curse as Daken turned, furiously, to the school and marked the person he now fully intended to kill. Then she spent another quarter second to center herself as Daken cursed and lunged and the other thugs began to leap forward. And then she _blurred_. And Akane and Nabiki walked into the suddenly quiet and still court-yard of Furinkan; past the statue-like forms of the various thugs, (arrested suddenly in mid-motion and still stunned, and also quite naked, their only covering the brown ribbons neatly tied around their, ah, ... "equipment") to where Ranma waited in the middle of the yard, next to a vendor's stand neatly piled with various items of apparel, smiling merrily and counting through the largish pile of cash next to the credit cards on the counter-top. "Why, Ranma Nabiki drawled archly, "there seems to be a group of naked boys standing about the courtyard." "400,000 yen Ranma said, handing half the money to a furiously blushing Akane, "not bad. Yes, Nabiki, I did notice that, but boys will be boys, you know: anything for attention." Daken snarled furiously, and began a lunge towards the girls. Ranma turned half around, mildly, and across 30 feet of courtyard Daken met her eyes. Blue as the deepest ocean, still and quiet as a moon-reflecting pool, hungry and terrible as the pregnant silence at the eye of a hurricane. Met them, and saw, reflected in them, himself and his relationship to them. And dived, suddenly terrified, for a small clump of bushes abutting the wall and about ten feet away. Someplace he could hide, someplace he could die, anyplace at all, as long as he didn't have to see those eyes, ever, ever again. And Ranma turned back to Nabiki calmly and said, "Considering the penalties for indecent exposure, and the relative status of flashers in the prison population, though, it's extremely fortunate for them that you had this stall of emergency clothing ready, isn't it." "Oh, you know me Nabiki grinned, "I always like to keep little things like this around, for just such an emergency. I wonder, though, how they're going to pay for it, considering their evident lack of ready cash." Ranma patted her on the shoulder as she passed by, "You're a capable person Nabiki, I'm sure you'll think of something." And linking arms with Akane and turning to her, "Ready? One, Two, Three ..." And their voices rose above the onlookers in song... When we went up to bed, hey do me harity When we went up to bed, me being young, When we went up to bed, he lay as if 'twer dead, Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man! And Nabiki shook her head, sadly, and turned to where the bushes quivered in terror, and indicated the sirens rising in the far distance with a wave of her hand. "Well, gentlemen, what's your feeling about extended negotiations at this point?" And Ranma and Akane walked up the stairs to class, singing. For he's got no Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum, For he's got no Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay! He's got no Fallorum, he's lost his Ding-Doorum, Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man! ------------------------------------------------------------ At lunch, Ranma and Akane sat under a small tree, conversing. Finishing her lunch, Ranma pulled out her guitar, and played tunes idly for a while before noticing the shy approach of one of her new classmates. "Sayuri-san, isn't it? You acted honorably this morning, thank you." Sayuri blushed, and stammered; "I couldn't, that is I, er, I...." Ranma smiled, gently, "It took bravery to call out like that. You must have been very frightened." Sayuri blushed harder, and looked down at her feet, "I, I wasn't brave. I _was_ afraid." Ranma grinned, "That's what bravery is about! Being afraid, and doing the right thing anyway. What can I do for you?" "Um, well, I just wondered ... about the song you were playing? It seemed so ... ferocious?" "Oh, well Ranma grinned, "that song is from Canada, originally. I translated it. And yes, it is a tad ferocious. Would you to hear it?" "Um, yes." "I'd like to hear it too, Ranma Akane chimed in. And Ranma raised her voice and sang. The clothes men wear do give them airs, their fellows to compare. A Colonel's regimentals shine, and women call them fair. I am Alexander Macintosh, a nephew to the Laird. And I do disdain men who are vain, the men with powdered hair! I command the Nancy schooner from the May on Lake St. Clair, On the third day of October, boys, I did set sail from there. To the garrison at Amherstburg I quickly would repair, With Captain Maxwell and his wife, and kids and powdered hair. Aboard the Nancy! In regimentals bright. Aboard the Nancy! With all his pomp and bluster there aboard the Nancy-O! Below the St Clair rapids I sent scouts unto the shore To ask a friendly Wyandott to say what lay before "Amherstburg has fallen, with the same for you in store! And militia sent to take you there, fifty horse or more." Up spoke Captain Maxwell then, "Surrender, now, I say! Give them your Nancy schooner, and make off without delay! Set me ashore, I do implore, I will not die this way!" Says I, "You go, or get below, for I'll be on my way!" Aboard the Nancy! "Surrender, Hell!" I say Aboard the Nancy! "It's back to Mackinac I'll fight, aboard the Nancy-O." Well up comes Colonel Beaubien, then, who shouts as he comes near: "Surrender up your schooner and I swear you've naught to fear! We've got your Captain Maxwell, sir, so spare yourself his tears!" Says I, "I'll not, but send you shot to buzz about your ears!" Well, they fired as we hove anchor, boys and we got under way, But scarce a dozen broadsides, boys, the Nancy did them pay Before the business sickened them. They bravely ran away All sail we made, and reached the Lake before the close of day. Aboard the Nancy! We sent them shot and cheers Aboard the Nancy! We watched them running through the trees, aboard the Nancy-O! Oh, military gentlemen they bluster, roar and pray. Nine sailors and the Nancy, boys, made fifty run away. The powder in their hair that day was powder sent their way By poor and ragged sailor men, who swore that they would stay Aboard the Nancy! Six pence and found a day Aboard the Nancy! No uniforms for men to scorn, aboard the Nancy-O! "Heh ... Definitely catchy, Ranma-san Nabiki walked up. "Which reminds me ..." "Yeess?" "Why _brown_ ribbons?" "Well, after all, Nabiki-san Ranma's eyes glinted mischief, "You only get a _white_ ribbon if you get an honorable mention." After which, the students of Furinkan High were treated to an unprecedented sight: Tendo Nabiki, leaning against the wall of the school building, clutching her ribs desperately, laughing her head off. ------------------------------------------------------------ In the Girl's changing rooms, later, a minor confrontation was underway. The sensei of Phys-Ed, having decided that Ranma qualified under the "Advanced" curriculum, had run head-on into a wall of polite intransigence. Finally, she battered down the defenses with an appeal to school honor. If Ranma did not wear the gym uniform, she reasoned, the other students would be disgraced. Finally, Ranma had, reluctantly, agreed. Therefore she was preparing to change into the shorts and t-shirt which Furinkan girls wore on the field. This had been an object of some speculation among the girls (and boys, of course) since it afforded a look at her bodily configuration, and promised another, better one later. It wasn't what they had expected. The thin, white lines of many scars on arms and legs were definitely not what the girls of class 2-F felt should have been hidden under Ranma's jacket and pants; much less the broad, raised scar across her voice-box. The boxers and chest-wrap were likewise odd, but it was the dragon tattoo peeking out from under her wrap that drew the most attention. Finally, as the designated activity for this class was soccer, came the most dreaded activity in sports: choosing sides. Needless to say, everyone wanted to be on Ranma's side, and no-one wanted to be on the other side. Finally, a sotto voce suggestion from one of the more horrified class members caused the sides to be chosen as follows: Side A: Bushiko Ranma; Side B: Everyone Else. "We ought to set an upper limit of goals," Ranma suggested sardonically, "declare an instant win at twelve or so. With one side so outnumbered and all I'm sure that it will be over quickly, and we wouldn't want anyone to be overly embarrassed." The suggestion was passed by acclamation, the teams took the field, and the whistle blew. And, just as Ranma had predicted, it was over quickly. The score was Ranma: twelve, Everyone Else: zero, in just under three minutes. After that, by acclamation, they did something else, instead. ------------------------------------------------------------ In the showers, after the lambasting, a chuckling Ranma congratulated Sayuri on a difficult gymnastics move as she pulled her braid back and looked up into the shower spray. Unfortunately, the heat of the water caused her skin to flush, particularly on her torso, where the Dragon seemed to preen under the heated spray, and beneath the amulet she still wore on her breast. The flush had the effect of throwing her scars into sharp relief, and Ranma paused as she noted Sayuri's horrified gaze, fixed on her right breast, where the pale line of an old scar bisected her aureole. Ranma looked down, blushed, and shook her head, "The problem with my lifestyle over the past several years is that it has thrown me far too often into the company of rude strangers with sharp objects." And she shrugged, and smiled weakly, and went back to her shower. And Akane, behind her, narrowed her eyes speculatively and nodded, as though a decision had been confirmed. And then they all went back to class, looking forward to music, and the end of the school day beyond. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter 2: The Second Day Part C: Crumbling Stone: Duets for Wind and Flame. Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. "Summer Lightning" and "After All" belong to Garnet Rogers. I'm only borrowing them. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 28, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. Chapter 2: The Second Day Part C: Crumbling Stone: Duets for Wind and Flame. ------------------------------------------------------------ I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains. The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow, And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony, I was riding hard, I had miles to go. And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway, It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees, And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted, And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze. Predictably, Akane had made the best match to Ranma's voice. Which is not to say that the other members of class 2-F hadn't tried. Sayuri and her friend Yuka has put up a brave struggle, and, of course, all the boys in 2-F had desperately attempted to hold enough of a baritone to match Ranma's contralto. But, in the end, Akane's clear soprano had been the only one with enough endurance, or range. It was the sensei of music's private despair that neither girl was at all interested in representing Furinkan on the Musical Performance team. He had even attempted to lure Ranma with reports of "Musical Martial Arts" only to run headlong into a will of tempered granite. "I have spent too much of my life, and far too much pain, on my Art to betray it now Ranma had said, firmly, "it is as perfect as I can make it and I will not abandon it simply so someone trained in another, lesser, style can have a 'fair fight'. If someone wishes to challenge me to Aikido, or Ninjutsu, or Martial Arts Croquet or Kung-Fu Break-Dancing or any other such silliness they may do so. And they may use their Art, and I will use mine, and we will see whose is superior." Her grin as she delivered this pronouncement had been truly alarming, and the matter had been dropped. This had led to Ranma and Akane practicing duets on the same song that Ranma had began with yesterday. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. It seemed that they should cooperate on the chorus, which led to the question of how to divide up the verses. So Ranma had taken the first set alone. Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley, I see the hills shine, in its' silvery light. It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me, And'll light my way, till I'm by your side. For where I go, You go with me, Though the miles keep us apart. Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me, And your gentle hands, always on my heart. Akane's soprano had rung out both more softly and more sweetly than Ranma on the second set, leading to the harmonies of their combined voices and Ranma's guitar on the second chorus. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. And then it was time for the final verses and the problem of how to apportion them was solved, mutually, by alternating lines, first the contralto, smoke and ozone on the autumn wind and the presence -far off and brooding- of the storm; then the soprano, crackling now with driving energy, bright and pure, (yet, somehow, not at all sterile) filled with the changeable changelessness of a bonfire's roar. Well who scattered these diamonds, through the vault of Heaven? (The wind questioned, and the flame responded.) Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing? (The bonfire summoned, and the breeze answered.) Who shaped your face, and what made you love me? (The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed.) Where is the heart of every living thing? (The blaze flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed it, and drove it on before.) Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either. (Wind roused flame to life ...) I know you love me, how could it not be? (... flame drew wind's reply ...) And I am yours, now and forever, (... feeding now from each other's power, one to the other, changing and exchanging the lead, to join again in harmony at the last ... ) 'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see. (... and the wind whipped the blaze into a wildfire ...) We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. (... and the fire blew the wind into a storm.) We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end Dear, only love remains. And in the silence that filled the classroom when the song had finished, Ranma's slightly husky voice broke the stillness gently, like a sudden breeze breaks the hush of dawn, "By the way Akane, shouldn't you have been playing your instrument too?" "Um, well ... Akane shook herself and replied, "No. You see I play the saxophone, and if I play I can't sing ...." "You play _sax_??" Ranma blink-blinked, then mumbled, "Jazz. Now where am I gonna get sheet music for Jazz. Mmm, maybe I could .... Well, that's nice, but it does leave us with one problem." "Er, what's that, Ranma? Akane asked warily. "Where in hell are we going to find a drummer?" The bell took the opportunity to ring at that point, ending the class. And also cutting off at least three boys' attempts to volunteer for the offered position (not that any of them could actually _play_ the drums, but that wasn't the point), which was, probably, extremely fortunate for all involved. ------------------------------------------------------------ Nabiki had excused herself for an unspecified appointment. Sayuri and Yuka had departed, giggling, to prepare the former for a date she had contrived with "this dreamy guy" from class 3-C. Various other people had departed to their various ways. Ranma and Akane were, technically speaking, not _alone_, just _by themselves_. They had therefore, by mutual, unspoken, consent, departed from the straight path towards Akane's home and were, instead, strolling idly through one of Nerima's parks, enjoying the warmth of the day and the freshness of the spring breeze. This being one of the Accepted Canonical Locations for Serious Discussions, one of the aforesaid Serious Discussions was underway. "Akane-san Ranma gritted, "I _said_ that you should ..." "I did consider my decision, Ranma-chan Akane replied calmly. "I decided that I wanted to go ahead." "_Damn it, girl_!" Ranma roared, "You've got _no_ idea what you're getting into!" "Ranma-chan Akane reached out and put a gentle hand on the faint scar that traced the side of Ranma's face, next to her mouth, "when you took the blow that dealt that scar, did it hurt? Did it hurt afterwards?" "_OF COURSE IT BLOODY HURT!!!_" "And, the others?" Akane's voice was gentle, "Did they hurt, too?" "What the hell kind of question is that?! Of _course_ they did!" "And after you healed, did they stop hurting?" "What are you ... _No!_ They never stop hurting, not completely! I _ache_ in the winter, sometimes!" "And you said that your honor didn't allow you to let your friend suffer likewise unless she _had_ to?" "_THAT'S WHY I'M TRYING TO TALK YOU OUT OF IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU, YOU ... BAKA!!!_" Akane stepped forward to stand just in front of Ranma, face-to-face and looking closely into her cerulean eyes. "So what makes you think that _my_ honor will allow me to let _my_ friend suffer all that pain ... alone?" And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, looked into the great, dark, eyes of her opponent in this contest of wills, of her would-be student, of her friend; and found there no challenge, but also no surrender. And martialed a hundred arguments, and prepared a thousand objections, and called to mind every precept of logic she had ever heard. And saw, in the theater of memory, -- treacherous memory, that shows what it will, and not what _you_ will -- another face. And the expression in the eyes before her mirrored once, long before, in a mirror. And bowed her head to another's honor, and bent her neck to another's necessity; and buried her face in another's shoulder, and felt another's arms embrace her; and did not cry, nor did she weep, so great was her control, whatever she might wish. Only, instead, she spoke, very low and muffled in another's breast, "Alright. Alright, I'll teach you. I'll teach you all I can." And Tendo Akane also did not cry, nor weep, for the moment was, for her, too great for tears. She only said "And I promise to learn, all that I can. And never to regret what you may teach, whatever it may cost me." And they stood like that for a time, which may have been long or short, and then released each other's embrace. And walked onward, more quickly now, to the hall that one called home. ------------------------------------------------------------ On the mat Ranma bowed to the Dojo's spirit and then turned to face Akane and crossed her arms. "Okay. We now face the First Problem of teaching you how to lead a life dedicated to the fine art of slaughter. Briefly, the problem is one of attitude. A warrior simply has a different basic attitude than a person trained for sport or self-defense, and the necessary attitude is one you don't possess." Akane assumed an attitude of respectful attention. "And the number of ways I know of to induce the necessary attitude reduce to three said Ranma, beginning to pace back and forth. "First, we could send you to a remote temple for two or three decades so you could run up and down snowy mountains, and drink bark tea, and meditate on your navel. "_But_, we can probably say that this approach will take a _trifle_ more time than we actually have." Ranma reached the end of her pacing arc, and raised one finger in the air as she turned around. Akane turned her head to face her, still attentive. "Second, we could send you off to somewhere where life is cheap, gunpowder is in the air, and death lurks behind every corner, in the hope that, if you survived, you would pick something up by osmosis. "_But_, that approach is probably a little too, umm ... _uncertain_." Ranma reached the other end of her arc and held up a second finger. Akane made a face, and nodded vigorously. "So what we are left with is choice three Ranma said with an evil grin, holding up a third finger. "This is the approach where I beat the living snot out of you on a regular basis until you learn something." Akane observed the grin, and gulped. "And the first part of that process Ranma said, turning to face Akane, and crossing her arms again, "is to see precisely what you are capable of _now_. _Assume_." Akane brushed away a sudden bead of sweat, and assumed the Tendo Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu Crane In Waiting stance. Akane waited uneasily. Ranma looked her up and down for about three seconds, and then she moved. It seemed, to Akane, like being in the center of a tornado. Great winds buffeted her from all sides, and her defenses were useless against the hail of punishing blows descending from every angle that she didn't, or couldn't block, but not from the ones she did. A slide kick sent her sprawling to the ground, followed by three fast and bruising punches to the small of her back, but she fought grimly upright and cleared some space with a sweeping hip kick that only cost her two snap-kicks to the knee and a crane strike to the thigh. Setting her back against the Dojo's outside wall, and reminding herself not to move on that leg, she waited as steadily as she could for Ranma's next attack. It came within seconds, a v-step across Akane's range that turned into a feint to her upper right guard. A 'feint' that succeeded in bashing her out of position for another series of feints, each contacting her defenses, each bruising her arms or legs, each moving her farther and farther off her defensive center, until her guard was completely down. In the extremity of her extension, turned half away from the guarding wall, when she could respond to no more threats, she watched, with despair, a rising power kick that she knew she could never stop. Awaiting the end, she noted, as if from her peripheral vision, a slight movement _behind_ her, and then the world went black. She awakened upside down against a wall. She knew that only moments could have passed, but from the condition of her abused muscles it might have been hours. She was gently turned over and set upright, squatting against the wall, and blearily forced her eyes open - to discover Ranma kneeling in front of her, wiping her face clean of sweat and blood with a handkerchief. And grinning merrily, as though she had just been told the best joke in all the world. Akane frowned weakly, "I know I'm not in your class, Ranma-sensei, but I ..." Ranma's grin transmuted into a gentle smile and she shook her head. "Not in my class? Heh. Not in my class. *snrk*. Akane-chan she asked, more gently yet, "do you know why you're lying here on the ground, feeling run over?" "Well I missed that last power kick ... Akane responded uncertainly. "The power kick was a feint, Akane-chan Ranma returned to her grin, "the real attack was the thrust-kick from behind. The thrust-kick that would have stopped before it actually hit you, like the death-blow I did to Kuno-san. The thrust-kick that you couldn't even have _seen_, much less blocked. That thrust-kick." "Oh Akane said weakly, "So, what happened?" "You blocked it, of course Ranma's grin was even larger now. "I thought you said I _couldn't_ have blocked it Akane complained, weakly. Something here wasn't making sense. "You couldn't have Ranma replied cheerfully, "But you did, anyway. And there's only one way that could have happened." Akane shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever particle of inspiration was hiding in it that was keeping the conversation from making sense. "Wh .. What's that Ranma-sensei?" she quavered. Ranma's grin seemed to split her face, "You must have gone zanshin, Akane-chan. It's the only way you could even have come close. With all your defenses down. Completely overextended. And without even _meaning_ to." "Z .. Zanshin, Ranma-sensei? You mean like, like Mushashi-sama? The _Book of Five Rings_?" "Exactly! And, of course, you know what _that_ means?" "N-no, I mean, I don't ... what?" Akane shook her head frantically, desperate to find something that made sense. Zanshin? Her? "It means you made me completely waste all that angst I went through, that's what. You're as surely marked with the Murderer's sign as am I." Ranma traced a circle on her forehead with a gentle hand. "It means you will probably end up being better than _me_. It means that I've found my Perfect Student, the one I can learn from as much as I teach. And what, what, _what_ in the name of all that is holy is a nice girl like you doing in a condition like that?" Akane's battered mind seized on the only thing she recognized in all that barrage of words, and came up with the only appropriate response, smiling weakly, "Umm, Just lucky, I guess?" Ranma's silver laughter filled the empty hall. And then she abandoned any attempt to urge Akane to rise, and cradled her in her arms, rising smoothly to her feet as Akane feebly waved her hands in protest. "And now we'll get you in the furo. You need to soak." "But, but, that is, I don't, you shouldn't ..." "Hush, Akane. The Sensei Is Always Right." "But you, I, it's not ..." "Hush, Akane-chan." "Don't need, why, can walk, ..." "_Hush!_" "Er, umm, that is... Yes, Ranma-chan meekly. "And then I'll give you a massage, to keep you from being too stiff tomorrow." "Erkk... very meekly indeed. "And after that we'll get Kasumi-san to make you a _big_ meal, so you can keep your strength up." "Oh, no a very, very small voice. "And after _that_, we can do some _real_ training!" "Help almost inaudible, in fact. Not that it helped. And Ranma's cheerful laughter blew them into the furo. And then they did exactly what Ranma had said they would. ------------------------------------------------------------ And much later, long after dark, as Ranma wound her way alone to her rented flat, and Akane slept the sleep of the Just -- or, anyway, the Sleep of the Very, Very Tired --, Ranma looked up into the light-glare that blotted out the stars above Tokyo, and snorted. "'Keep your head down, and hope you find a friend', I said. Hah! Oh, well I can't complain about the quality of her art at least. Even if it is bloody inconvenient! 'Here Ranma, have a day, you've found your Perfect Student. Of course, you've only got six months to teach her in, but...'." Musingly, "It's loads better than that last school, at least. Food fights, bleah. Oh, yes, it could _definitely_ be worse." And then she began, without raising her voice, to sing. And continued singing all the way down the road. The brooding ghosts of this dark night Are gone from wood and Town. My spirit revives in the morning breeze, Though it died when Sun went down. The river is wide, the stream is strong, And the grass is green and tall. And I feign would think that this world of ours, Is a good world, after all. The light of passion in dreamy eyes, The page of truth well read, The glorious thrill in a heart grown cold, And a spirit once thought dead. The song that goes to a comrade's heart, The tear of pride let fall, My heart grows brave, and the world, to me, Is a good world, after all. Let our enemies go by their own dull paths, Let theirs be doubt and shame. The man who's bitter against the world Has only himself to blame. Let the darkest side of the past stay dark, And only good recall, For I must believe that the world, to me, Is a good world, after all. It may be that I saw too plain, It may be I was blind, But I'll keep my face to the morning light, Though the Devil stand behind. Though the Devil may stand behind my back Shall I see his shadow fall? And I'll read, in the light of the Morning Star Of a good world, after all. And then, very softly: Rest, for your arms are weary, Love, You drove the worst away. And the ghost of the one that I might have been Is gone from my heart today. We'll live our life for the good it brings, 'Till our twilight shadows fall. Oh, my heart grows brave, and the world, to me, Is a good world, after all. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter 3: The Third Day Part A: Point of Contact; The Hunter and the Bear. 'Til next chapter, Eric Hallstrom, 10/27/99 Yours very respectfully, Eric Hallstrom, CC, PhD, UBIP,etc. -- www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html www.kawaiikunee.com hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com From: Eric Hallstrom Subject: [Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story, Chapter Three Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. /The Hunter and the Bear/ was picked up from Alan Cole and Chris Bunch, and extensively filled out by me. If it originated with them, they own whatever copyright exists. If it didn't, they don't. It was originally told by Wee Alex, Laird Kilgour of Kilgour, who _may_ have Ranma beat in cool, but who is nowhere near as cute. Jei-san, on the other hand (look that's his name, okay?) is the exclusive property of Stan Sakai, who is welcome to him. I am merely borrowing his likeness, and will return it as soon as I am done with it. And not before time too, I don't want it sticking around in my head. "Summer Lightning" and "Stars in Their Crown" are by Garnet Rogers, as before. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.2 (Oct. 27, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ She could barely believe her luck. It had already been a day to cherish forever in memory. First, she had been brave. Ranma-sempai herself had said so. Not that she really believed that she had been brave, as such. She had simply felt that something needed to be done, and then she had done it. Still, it had gotten her praise and admiration, and Ranma-sempai had even thanked her for it, so .... She had, however, discovered that it was far preferable to feel that one had been brave than to feel brave in the current moment. The reason being, being brave _now_ meant that something deeply unpleasant must, by definition, be happening; whereas, on the other hand, _having been_ brave meant that the unpleasant thing must have been faced. And, of course, overcome. (The narrator would like to note at this time that the subject is, after all, only seventeen.) Second, her newfound notoriety had gotten her a date! Which she was just now returning from. And which had been really fun, too. Not as good as it could have been, true, but the cute guy from class 3-C had been able to afford a trip to a _good_ restaurant - a good _expensive_ restaurant - and had spent most of the evening paying attention to her. Even if it had only been so he could ask about Ranma. So, she felt, the gates had been opened, and it was now possible that she might achieve the lofty heights of Going Steady. Just as soon as she found one of the boys at Furinkan who wasn't a jerk. She was sure there must be _one_. But third, ahh _third_, now there was the thing. The great thing. The unalloyedly wonderful thing. For, walking home from her date, she had passed a park. And her attention had been drawn to an area just inside a screen of bush, where she had made A Find. A wonderful find. She, Asano Sayuri, Furinkan High Class 2-F, had found ... a puppy! Stop snickering. Right now. It was weak and half-starved, and very ragged looking, but she knew that it would grow up fine and strong. It had weakly snapped at her hand, but she knew that she would soon win its heart, and that it would be loyal and true. Best of all, it was in the park unhelped by any but herself, which meant it must be free for any who could aid and protect it. And since it was obviously Greatly In Need, her parents would have, could have, no objection to her keeping it. Asano Sayuri, at heart, was a great romantic, who frequently viewed the world through glasses not merely rose-colored, but actively rose-projecting, and so she smiled and skipped slightly as she carried home the wolf cub she had found. It would, she knew, be grand. And, invisible to her view (since it was turned away from her), a tiny fleck of green light flickered in one of the wolf cub's eyes, and then went out. ------------------------------------------------------------ And Kuno Kodachi sat quietly and watched her brother with what passed, for her, as concern. He had been very different since yesterday, and no previous simple beating had ever engendered such a result. Also, she noticed, his sword was now securely locked in its sheath, instead of displayed on its stand, as was proper. Perhaps some spell had been cast on her idiotic older brother. Or perhaps something else odd had occurred. In any case, she supposed, she would have to check herself. Furinkan, bah! She had visited before, and in the whole school there was no person of merit or spirit. No person at all. ------------------------------------------------------------ And across Nerima a number of phone conversations burned late into the night. They had been beaten. They had been disgraced and dishonored. Moreover, some felt, they had deserved it. First, they had failed to adequately take into account the proper considerations of a challenge, and second, they had attempted to attack by surprise. A direct frontal confrontation, it was agreed, would certainly lead to a restoration of honor. In one sense or another. And in a maison apartment on the outskirts of the district liquified moonlight dripped, over a jade ring, into a silver pan. And the night rolled on. And morning came. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. Chapter 3: The Third Day Part A: Point of Contact: The Hunter and the Bear ------------------------------------------------------------ Bushiko Ranma exited her apartment as the sun rose above her windowsill. Behind her she left her apartments just as she had the day before; ahead of her she had a wait of at least 30 minutes before Akane would conceivably leave the Tendo Dojo for school. A half-hour of which she intended to make full use. The basic problem, she reflected, was that she had very little experience in dealing with the emotion of great happiness. The only means of easily dealing with _any_ great emotion she had was to work off the excess energy. Therefore ... She leapt, touched one toe to the nearest roof and leapt again. Spun in mid-air, turned a somersault, bounced off a passing air molecule, tapped a toe on a passing water-tower, back-flipped 30 yards of warehouse, touched down in a cartwheel, leapt again. Flickering from foothold to hand- hold, flashing from tower to wall, dancing across the Neriman skyline, her only accompaniment the musical chiming of her own delighted laughter, filling the air behind her progress like a chorus of golden bells. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma came down on Akane from out of the rising sun. Akane determined that Ranma's attack wasn't really serious by the simple fact that she could defend against it. Instead Ranma neatly bounced off her raised arm, transferring no force but achieving enough velocity to bounce off a nearby fence in another attack. This sequence continued with Akane blocking and Ranma delivering more and more complex and difficult attacks. Each coming increasingly closer to breaking past her guard as Akane's defensive maneuvers drew her farther and farther away from Nabiki, to the point where her back was almost against the fence by the side of the road. Then a sneaky rebound off the fence behind her left her nowhere to go but up. She snap-jumped to the top of the fence and was then forced repeatedly back, unable to spare the attention needed to discover where she was but happy just to have no more than one direction from which to expect attacks. Akane was driven back more than sixty yards along the fence before Ranma took pity and ceased her attack. Akane stayed in a defensive stance for another few seconds as Nabiki came running up with her mouth open. "Akane! That was great! I didn't think anyone could move along the top of a fence like that!" Akane looked down, wavered, and wildly waved her arms in an attempt to keep her balance, but succeeded only in falling off the inside of the fence, onto the sidewalk, instead of the outside, into the stream. Looking up from her position flat on her rump on the ground, Akane observed Ranma covering her eyes and shaking her head, and Nabiki shaking her whole body with barely restrained mirth. "And so gracefully done, too," Ranma observed mildly. "If you'd _told_ me I was on a fence _earlier_...." "You'd have fallen off earlier, ne? It's often the case that the body unconscious of its circumstances can do things it never could by the will of the mind alone, but you don't often see it that clearly," Ranma replied, still calmly. "And now, for your next trick, get back on the fence." "But, but, but ...." "_Up_!" Wobbling frantically, Akane attempted to keep her balance on the fencetop. Then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, steadying her balance. Ranma turned to Nabiki, "Please excuse us, Nabiki-san, and continue on to school. I see that I have some training to accomplish, but we'll be along shortly." Akane gulped, and commended herself to the protection of the Kami. "Now, Akane, first we walk," beginning to do so, "and then we run." Accelerating along the top of the fence, Ranma took a corner and left Nabiki behind, pushing Akane along before her. Akane observed the sharp-looking top of the fence vanishing beneath her and quavered, "Wh-what happens if I lose my balance?" "You get to do a split onto a sharp surface. This will hurt. A lot," Ranma replied calmly. "I don't recommend it." "Oh, fine!" Akane mumbled. "And now we go faster." "Help." ------------------------------------------------------------ Returning to the straight track to Furinkan as they neared the school, Ranma and Akane caught up to Nabiki just before they reached the outer wall of the courtyard. Akane, Nabiki noted, was looking somewhat frazzled but bore no evidence of injury. Returning to the sidewalk, the two walked alongside Nabiki as they entered the schoolyard, only to run into a wall of semi-determined male silliness. Perhaps a dozen Furinkan students were lined up in the center of the yard, each bearing some form of combat implement. The leader bowed to Ranma and began to speak. Ranma raised an eyebrow and interrupted. "Let me guess. You lads have decided to go the formal challenge route." "Err ... yes," the leader said uncertainly. "Ah. Tell me," Ranma said, "have any of you gentlemen heard the story of the Hunter and the Bear?" General negation was expressed. Ahh. So. (said Ranma) It seems that once there was a man who was successful in all his business and in all his life. And he attributed his success to the fact that he treated his life and his business struggles as though they were hunts. And he proved his point by referring to the trophies that he had accumulated down the years he had hunted the valiant tiger, and the noble elephant, and the ferocious cow. Yet, alas, his life was incomplete, and he suffered sorely for the lack. For, despite all the beasts he had hunted and all the trophies he had taken, in all his life he had never hunted _Bear_. And so, one year in the summer of his life, when he had grown weary of the games he played, he summoned his managers and accountants and bade them take over all his enterprises and companies and investments, and to keep them safe and prosperous until it should again please him to exhibit his business acumen, and financial skill. And he gathered to himself, from the reserves of all his possessions, a great store of treasure, and he set himself to hunt _Bear_ and to gain himself a rug. Or, as it might be, a coat. And he bought a new and most excellent rifle, such as he was wont to use to take his prey. And he hired a famous hunting guide to teach him of all the _Bear's_ habits and customs. And he spent gold with a free hand to seek out all the information and rumors that could be found concerning his victim-to-be. And then he took ship for the far-away land where, it was said, _Bear_ was to be found. On arriving in that place he indulged in another week of riotous living, such as he had done on shipboard (and indeed, if the truth were to be told, all his life): drinking fine wines and liquors, romancing pretty, admiring, girls, eating gourmet meals, and boasting to all and sundry of the glory he was soon to win. Then he went into seclusion for a week, to listen to the efforts of the priests he had paid to pray for his success, and to watch the smoke rising from the sacrifices of the costly treasures he had purchased specifically to win the favor of the gods. And to drink only the finest of teas, made only from the purest of water hand carried from the mountain springs of its birth. And to eat only the newest and purest of rice, prepared by the finest of chefs, and topped only by the choicest of salted bream, and fugu, and squid from the deepest part of the ocean. And to spend much time in the hottest saunas, thinking pure thoughts, while pretty, naked, girls attended him, striking him on the back with birch branches to drive all impurities and poisons from his pores. And in various other such manners to strengthen his body, and to focus his mind, and to commend his success to all the relevant kami, and to call on the protection and good luck of all of his personal and family spirits, ghosts, fairies and tutelary dieties. And then, one morning, he picked up his weapon, and had a fine hunting lunch packed, and traveled forth into the wide world beyond the hunting lodge. He traveled to a secluded hide, above a descending slope which overlooked a brushy expanse of valley, where there were bushes of berries, and a swift flowing stream filled with fish. And where there was known to be _Bear_. And after he had waited for an hour or two, drinking the nourishing drink with which he was equipped and nibbling on the many snacks which had been provided in his bento, along the open space in the vale below him came that which he had journeyed so far and through such hardships to match himself against: a _Bear_. It was plodding unconcernedly along, eating berries from the bushes and considering, perhaps, a main course of fish. He observed it through the excellent telescopic sight on his rifle, sniffling a little at the sad fate that awaited such a magnificent specimen. Almost, almost, he abandoned his sniper's rest and descended to meet the great beast, to face it in hand-to-claw combat from a short distance, say 100 yards or so, to be more sporting. But no, he hardened himself to pity and thought that if the beast had desired a sporting chance, it should have worked to make one, as he had. And he settled the sights on the broad shoulder displayed before him, and he nestled the stock gently into his shoulder, and he stroked the trigger, and the rifle barked its song of death. And below him, in the valley, the great _Bear_ shook its head, and stumbled, and fell, very slowly, to its side, and lay still ... dead. And he rose from the blind where he had waited, and observed the trophy below him, and saw in it all that he had worked for. And descended the slope before him, to claim it. Down he went, planning in his mind what he would do with the trophy so dearly won, and how it would be displayed. And he reached the bottom of the ridge, and broke through the brushy screen, and found there bushes full of berries, and a stream full of fish, but no _Bear_, nor corpse of _Bear_, and no sign that ever there had been one. Frantically now he cast about, searching for any clue as to where his trophy had gone, or who had taken it. And he strode forward into the middle of the vale, running to where he had seen the great carcass fall, but no carcass, nor sign of such, nor footprint, nor mark, nor any other trace of the great beast's presence did he find. And then something tapped him on the shoulder. And then he turned around. And there before him, rising up in majesty and wrath, with fur stained by the blood of its victims, with rolling eye and roaring growl, stood _Bear_. And its terrible claws were long and crusted with red. And its awful teeth were sharp and keen. And it towered over him like a cliff above a shaking mouse. And then his courage failed him, and he dropped his rifle, and waited tremblingly to die. And then he heard a voice, a terrible and growling voice, the voice of _Bear_! And it said, "Now lad, if y' wan' tae live, ye'll be droppin yer trousies and turnin aroun', an' I'll be performin' a disgustin' sexual act upon yer trembling bod!" And the man winced, and *yerked* and *yaaghed*, but the _Bear_ was terrible, and its claws were sharp, and so.... And so he dropped his trousers, and turned around ... and that's it, that's all. _But_! Later, dragging back to the lodge, he resolved that he should leave his properties and investments in the hands of his managers and retire to a monastery, to mortify his flesh, and apologize to the gods for his pollution. But first, _first_ he would return to this place and destroy the _Bear_, and use its skin for a rug to sit on in the monastery, and to warm his backside as he begged for alms. And he would spend all his wealth and treasure, if necessary, to attain that end. After all, what use would it now be to him? And so he returned to his homeland by the fastest jet which was to be found in all that country, and he threw all the resources of his great empire into his one overriding goal. And he caused to be designed a rifle; a weapon so advanced that it could have destroyed a squadron of tanks in one burst. A weapon whose merest glancing blow would blow a hole three feet wide through battleship armor. A weapon which was so accurate that the veriest novice could use it to blow in half a fly three miles off, and hit both halves as they fell. And he trained with it, and hired the world's greatest marksman, and its most accomplished tracker, and its foremost animal scientist, all to explain to him, and to design a plan to bring the fearful beast to its end. And he gave them all they required, and built and strove as they said. And then, again in spring, he again traveled to that far-away land, and prayed and sacrificed, and took his weapon, and all his devices and schemes, and went forth to the ridge above the valley, to meet his nemesis again. And he set all his traps and devices in the valley below, disguising all his scent and sign, that the beast might not be disturbed in its progress. And again he took up a position in a hide on the ridge, and again he waited for the _Bear_. And again time passed, and again the _Bear_ came along the stream in the valley below. And again he sighted his weapon, but no pity or moment of grace stayed his hand this time! And again he stroked the trigger, and again the rifle roared. And all the traps, and nets, and devices activated, blew up or fired at once. And when the smoke had cleared the bruin lay, not merely killed, but torn into a thousand pieces, pierced, burned, strewn about the ground. And again he raced down the slope, and took his weapon with him. And he anticipated, as he ran, how he would dance upon the _Bear's_ carcass when he reached it, how he would make a common pillow from the largest scrap of its hide, how he would piss on the barren place where he would burn the rest of its rotten, stinking corpse. And again he reached the bottom of the ridge, and broke the line of the brush before the valley floor. And again he found there bushes full of berries, and a stream full of fish, but again he found no _Bear_. And again he searched the little valley, weapon held low and fierce before him, ready for any movement. And again something tapped him on the shoulder. And again he turned around. And again before him, rising up in terrible, monstrous form, with blood-stained fur, and flashing eye and thunderous growl, stood _Bear_. And its claws were long and sharp, and dripped with clotted gore. And its teeth were keen and clouded with the red tinged saliva that its twisting neck scattered near and far. And it towered above him and its dark shadow blinded him. And again his courage failed him, and again he dropped his weapon, and prayed for the death he once had feared. And again he heard the voice, a terrible voice of his shame, the voice of _Bear_! And it said, "Now lad, if it's tae live y' want, ye'll be bendin' doon, and openin' yer maw, and ye'll be performin' a disgustin' sexual act upon me!" And again he wailed, and prayed that the test might pass, but the _Bear_ was strong, and its terrible fangs dripped blood- tinged drool. And he wished for death, but not like that. And so, finally, he bent down, and ... and that's all, but later, again returning weeping to the lodge, he decided. Corrupt he was, and impure, and damned for a coward. He would endow monasteries and temples, he would give all his wealth to charity and good works, and then he would find some active volcano, and throw himself in, and remove his pollution from the circles of the world. But first, _first_, FIRST! Without fear, without possibility of failure, without reprieve. The. _Bear_. _Must_. _Die!_ And so he again returned to his homeland, and spent gold like water in his quest. He acquired the perfect rifle, the highest product of the world's best gunsmith's art. He went alone into the wilderness with his weapon and the collected wisdom of the world in regard to _Bears_, their habits, and all that related, or had ever related to them. And in the wilderness, in practice with the rifle, and the bear-spear, and in communion with all that the world knew of _Bear_, he planned and plotted and grew in skill, until he was, without question, the very best, most knowledgeable and most skillful hunter of _Bear_ that there had ever been. And then, in fall, when _Bears_ are fat and somnolent, _again_ he traveled to that land, and _again_ he prayed and sacrificed. And _again_ he took his rifle, and added to it his spear. And _again_ he went forth to the ridge above the valley. And _again_ he took up a position in a blind on the ridge. And _again_ he waited. He waited for the _Bear_. And _again_ time passed, and _again_ the _Bear_ came along the stream in the valley below. And _again_ he sighted his weapon, and _again_ he stroked the trigger, and _again_ the rifle sang. And _again_ the missile flew straight, and struck its target directly on. And _again_ the great head shook, and _again_ the great legs stumbled, and _again_ the great beast fell. And _again_ he raced down the slope, and _again_ he took his his rifle, and also he took his spear. And _again_ he reached the bottom of the ridge, and _again_ he broke the line of the brush before the valley floor. And _again_ he found there bushes full of berries, and _again_ he found a stream full of fish. And _again_ he found no _Bear_. And _again_ he scanned the valley, _again_ he searched and stared. And _again_ something tapped him on the shoulder. And _again_ he turned around. And _again_ before him, stood the _Bear_, and _again_ its claws were long and sharp, and _again_ its teeth were keen. And _again_ its mouth dripped bloody drool, and _again_ it towered above him and _again_ its dark shadow blinded him. And _again_ his courage failed him, and _again_ he dropped his weapons, and _again_ he prayed for the death knew he would not find. And _again_ he heard the voice, the terrible voice of _Bear_! And it said, "Now lad, tell th' truth. Ye didnae come here frae the huntin', did ye?" Ranma's voice on the last question had become soft and gentle. And she looked upon the white-faced boys huddling before her, and bestowed on them a smile. A gentle smile. A kind and sweet smile. An angelic smile. And the last remnant of the Fight at Furinkan, pale and shaking, turned away from the terrible figure they had sought to challenge. And stumbled weeping up the steps, and divided themselves among their several classes, where they sat huddled and still all the rest of the day. And where no-one spoke of the story, or of the Fight. Not that day, nor for a long time to come. And Ranma and Akane, arms linked, and voices rising to the clear blue sky, walked up the stairs behind them, singing. When he was fast asleep, hey do me harity When he was fast asleep, me being young, When he was fast asleep, I from his side did creep, Into the arms of a handsome young man! Now he's got Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum, Now he's got Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay! Now he's got Fallorum, he's got a Ding-Doorum, Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man! ------------------------------------------------------------ She had woken with the new day and prepared for school. Then she had gone to the room where the puppy had slept, to see its progress for herself. Now she knew, she had made a mistake, a dreadful mistake, the previous day. Now, she knew, she must be brave, and even bravery would do no good for her. But it still might serve another. And so she clutched the twisted, claw-like hand that held her throat with both her own. And so she looked up into the eyes, burning with a green internal fire, of the seven-foot, near skeletal, black-robed figure that held her fast. And so she saw the twisted, part wolf, part fox, part feline, all terrible face of the being before her, and recognized in it the remnant of the puppy she had found. And so she heard it ask, in a horrible, pain-wracked voice, as twisted as itself, for information about _Ranma_. And so she was brave, and made no sound. And she heard the horrified shriek, and saw, through a sudden twilight, her mother standing in the doorway, aghast. And then the night came down. ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. Chapter 3: The Third Day Part B: Storming the Wall: A Game of Wolf and Dragon ------------------------------------------------------------ Koriko Nagao was having what he could unqualifiedly describe as the worst day of his life. He had been humiliated and dishonored and disgraced, he thought greyly. It had been bad enough before, when that horrible barbarian had terrified all the males of Furinkan on the first day. It had been unendurable when he had been seduced by his own rage into joining the attempted attack that had ended so humiliatingly on the second. Or he had thought it had been unendurable anyway. Now he knew better what 'unendurable' meant. Then they had only laughed at him to his face. Only snickered at him behind his back. Only looked with disgust at a stalwart of the Kendo Club. Only tittered at the distress of a champion of the school. Only sniggered at the nakedness and humiliation of a descendant of samurai. Only that, then. And so he had called together the other stalwarts, the only remaining bastions of Furinkan tradition. Even their leader had deserted them, the noble Kuno Tatewaki injured in spirit and plunged into depression by the beating administered by That Horrible Girl. They were alone now, but they would uphold tradition and honor as they saw it. And so they had analyzed. Dissected available data. Consulted the authorities. And realized, to their horror and shame, that they, _they_ _themselves_ had largely been to blame. Error had crept in to the ways of Furinkan. They had turned from the path of honor, and they had rightly suffered for it. Engaging in mass attacks on a single warrior in a matter of honor. Attempting an ambush. Hiding like cowards. Following a mongrel dog to avenge themselves on one who had merely acted in defense of another. Finally they had turned to look at themselves and seen what they had become. Worse, they realized, they had led others into error, as well. All of the male students of Furinkan had eventually joined in the Fight For Akane's Heart. All were now tarred with the same brush, with the same stain, as they. They must atone, they realized. They must immediately place their straying feet back on the path of honor. But how to do so? There was only one choice, he had argued. They had begun as warriors, as samurai in a sense, albeit, he now realized, badly misguided ones. They must mend their honor the same way. Yet simple seppuku would not do, for the old ways were no longer honored as once they had been. They would not be seen, many said, as cleansing themselves from stain; but rather as overly-emotional children, even as misguided fools. And what else were they, some wag had remarked, bitterly. Some, another said, would even believe that they were running, unwilling to face up to their shame. No, he had argued persuasively, they must seek a confrontation instead. They must challenge Ranma-san directly, one by one; in the broad light of day, and not hiding behind walls; and only after they recovered from the destruction she would surely and deservedly work upon them would their honor be capable of being restored. 'And,' he thought, 'in such a combat, with weapon in hand, it would surely not be difficult to require Ranma-san to use lethal force in her own defense.' Thus ending the life he now felt too dishonored to endure, without drawing down censure on anyone. So he had thought, but he had been wrong. They had challenged, or attempted to challenge, at least, but she had not responded with blows but rather with words. With a story; 'A morality tale,' he winced mentally, and with that story she had not merely defeated them; she had destroyed them. He had returned to his classroom dreading the looks of anger and disgust he knew he would see on the inhabitants thereof. But instead he had seen something worse. Much worse. He had looked sideways at their dutiful faces as the Sensei called the roll, and there he had surprised an emotion more terrible than anything he had ever seen, even in his darkest nightmare: the emotion of pity. Pity and condescension, as though his humiliation was only to be expected. Worse even than this, _un_concern, as though his shame was not even worthy of consideration. As though _he_ was not worthy of consideration. As though he were nothing. He had answered the roll without conscious thought, hearing without observing the information that one of his female class-members was unexpectedly absent. He had not even dared to look at Ranma, where she sat midway back in the class; he did not wish to see what expression she wore. He had excused himself immediately, pleading a call of nature; they would surely snicker, but he could not bring himself to care. He had almost fled the building, and now huddled in dread by the outer wall, just by the gates. Huddled there in dread, for he knew he could not evade classes, and those dreadful, pitying, unconcerned faces forever. And observed the approach to the school gates of what seemed, to his in-looking eyes, to be one of Furinkan's schoolgirls. Perhaps it was Asano-san he mused, dully. He must pull himself together in front of his classmate. She had not heard of his humiliation yet; he must put off that hearing, for a moment at least. Almost restoring his features to normalcy he turned to face her and welcome her to school. And heard her ask him a question, a question which he did not register. That voice! That pain-wracked, twisted, voice never belonged to Asano-san! What? And he observed a fog clear from his sight. And he saw the towering, black-robed, demonic figure replace his classmate as if by magic, still clutching her briefcase in one twisted claw, but bearing a great, cruel bladed Yari in the other. And he saw the bestial wolf-like figure snarl at him. And raise its spear as he seemed to freeze, mired in some clinging substance that weighed down his limbs. And then the twilight fell, and Koriko Nagao saw through dimming vision the spear-shaft extending from his chest retract, its broad head's bright sheen dimmed by scarlet lifeblood. And realized that he had been granted the escape from shame that he had sought, before the night claimed him utterly. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane had been slightly concerned for Sayuri when it was discovered that she was not in school that day. Yuka, however, had volunteered the information that she had gotten home from her date somewhat late last night, and furthermore that she had found a puppy. So it was decided that she must simply have overslept, or possibly caught some type of bug, and would be gently teased about it when she finally dragged in. Then the studious peace of Furinkan was broken by a scream. A piercing, terrible scream. It came from one of the classrooms on the front side of the first floor , and was followed by a muffled shout that brought Ranma out of her startlement, with a shocked oath that split plaster at 30 feet, and out the door in a dead run. Akane followed after her, dreading whatever had disturbed her sensei, and reached the bottom of the stairs in time to see Ranma wave her hand in a complex pattern -- outer fingers vee-ed and inners curling -- at the wall of one classroom, which promptly exploded into dust. Akane gasped and choked on the swirling dust, straining to see into the opened room. Ranma, however, suffered no such difficulty, snap- drawing Tenchuu in a classic Iado cut at the dark-robed bulk that suddenly lunged at her, trailing a scarlet stream of blood drops from its outstretched spear- blade. Ranma pivoted like a matador, sending the lunging demon-wolf past her with a tortured, wordless howl. Tenchuu blurred as it passed, striking deep more than a hundred times with a sound like a deep-tolling bell, and Ranma snarled a name: "Jei!" Akane gasped in shock as the hurtling spear-blade bore down on her, and saved herself from impalement only by a desperate sideways twist propelled by the impetus of a side snap-kick, which slammed into the injured side, spraying blood and fur from the cuts Ranma's attack had left. Akane saw with a strange, singing clarity as she shoulder-rolled off the floor; everything seemed to be outlined, thrown into sharp relief so that her racing mind could clearly distinguish between what was important, and what was not. Important, for example, were the injuries to the wolf- demon's side, healing as she watched, the flesh flowing and squirming back into proper shape. Also important was the howling ki aura building up around Ranma and flowing down her sword, and Akane abandoned reflection and achieved the state of avoidance. Ranma held on to the howling, snarling ki-force with a leash of sheer willpower, quickly enjoining it to build in a circling tubular onion-like structure, each thin inner layer of force spinning in counter- rotation to the next, burning lightning and destructive wind vortices building rapidly to an uncontainable level from the internal dissonance and friction of the whole structure. The task, for her, was strenuous but not especially challenging; she was much stronger then the last time she had called the Dragon Wind in earnest, and farther advanced down the paths of breath and spirit as well. Now, calling on her full power, Ranma held what she knew was the most powerful attack she had ever performed until Jei had stabilized himself enough to be rooted. Until he had placed himself fully in the path of destruction, yet removed his ability to dodge it. Then she released its bonds, and called it to battle by name. "Ryuukaze!" A corona of blue-white lightning struck inward toward Ranma's aura, crackling towards her body and hands like a berserk, inverted Van de Graaff generator. St. Elmo's fire of red and neon blue played all about her, illuminated the swirling storm wind that gathered about her hands where they clenched around Tenchuu's hilt, swept down Tenchuu's blade and launched itself as a horizontal tornado that sped irresistibly across the twenty foot space to Jei's back. A flaming, thundering tide of lightning rode the wind, outlining its passage with crackling, neon light. At its tip a vortex of the storm, wind powerful enough to crumble diamond or shred titanium alloy like wet cardboard, formed a dragon's head; filled with the heart of the lightning and drawing the tornado behind it as the head draws the body, wings and claws following after. As it passed it drew up debris and shredded floor-tiles into itself, their component particles joining its destructive force; and on Ranma's chest, underneath her shirt and wrap, the dragon threw back her head -- and roared. Ranma watched with fleeting satisfaction as an unstoppable tide of pure destruction hit Jei squarely in the back -- and accomplished precisely nothing. 'Oh, _shit_! He learned to shield!' She hurled herself across the separating space between them, shifting her sight to the mode she used to analyze a structure of magic, and slipped fully munen muso, into zanshin mind-no-mind. Jei spun towards his attacker, keeping his attention focused on her ki-force, and beginning a triumphant snarl. Ranma sliced past him in a rush, Tenchuu burning through his stomach and out his back, severing his spine. Ranma spun around Jei, hand, feet and sword flickering, testing his defenses and ki in a whirlwind too fast for even Jei's boosted senses to track, but also too fast to do any lasting damage, the minor wounds healing even as they were made. At last, having discovered as much as she could, Ranma flashed to a position straddling Jei's neck, one foot bracing against his back as the other leg curled around his throat. A convulsive twist of Ranma's body broke even Jei's inhumanly strong neck; and sent her off his shoulders to bounce off the wall behind him, curling her legs against her chest and storing power in them. Then she exploded away from the wall, into his back; her sword flashed around to sever his head entirely as she built a tornado-strength shield of wind behind and around her body and uncurled into Jei's back. The force of her ki-charged shove shattered every bone in his spine and propelled him violently across forty yards of open air, through and out of the classroom he had been destroying originally, and into Furinkan's yard. A lash of green energy erupted from his severed neck as he passed, joining the severed stump of his neck to his bouncing, discarded head; drawing the latter after it with a shriek of rage and pain that would have shattered all the windows on Furinkan's front side, had there been any undestroyed to that point. Which there weren't. Impacting the ground violently and being propelled into a tumbling roll, Jei progressed down the yard with a series of cracking and ripping noises, landing on his feet and healing all his wounds with a sustained wet crackle that ended as his head slammed home atop his neck and knit together again with a squelch that would probably have been exceedingly disgusting had anyone been paying attention to it. Ranma leaped through the destroyed classroom, absently noting the carnage within, and landed just outside what had been Furinkan's outer wall. "Jei-san. I see you have gained in prowess since the last time I killed you." The storm-loud cackle of mad laughter that erupted from Jei seemed to provide any answer that might be necessary, but he continued anyway. "Fool, I cannot be killed! I am the champion of the Gods, and they have given me new power for the holy task of destroying you and all your works, utterly!" A green ball of fire suddenly filled his hand. "Now, prepare to die!" he screamed as he threw it at Ranma. She batted it aside without expression, unmoving as it spattered twenty feet of Furinkan's front wall with a clinging emerald flame that corroded stone, glass and wood alike. Ranma again drew in her power and answered Jei's challenge with a bolt of lightning. "Gekirin no Ryuu!" The thunderclap that followed the lightning's ineffectual explosion off Jei's shield fixed his attention firmly on Ranma herself, and allowed Akane to shoo several panicking students up the stairs to (presumed) safety, while she herself ran to the destroyed classroom to see what help she might give. Upon jumping the low sill left by the destroyed wall, she landed in a warm, sticky pool and went to one knee; looking around in disbelieving horror she found that the answer was: none. At least a dozen bodies littered the floor and desks of the violated room. Most were in pieces no larger than half a torso, but all were clearly dead, and the still, brooding air hung heavy with the iron tang of fresh blood, and the sewer stench of released bowels, overlain by the visceral, sour-sweet smell of human death. The combination went straight to her hindbrain and forced her, gagging, to her hands and knees. Her eyes widened in shock, and she scrambled to her feet, frantically wiping her hands on her pants as she realized what she had landed _in_. She gasped and then determinedly looked away from the carnage around her, out across the field to, and then past, the looming figure of the seven-foot tall wolf demon, to where several panicked students, nearly mindless with fear, huddled against the outside wall of the schoolyard. Akane lunged out of the destroyed wall section, snatching at the central pillar of an overturned desk in passing, and ran across the field, yelling desperately for the students to run behind her, and away from the demonic spear-wolf. As she passed directly in line with Jei, she hurled the desk across the separating distance, smashing him dead on and hurling him into the wall. Unfortunately, however, one of the students, who had heard her call and started to run across to her, was on the wrong side. Thus, when Jei smashed into the wall, said student was less than three feet from the impact and, startled and unable to stop, ran directly into the towering figure as he clawed his way from the rubble of the wall. Jei's hand lashed out and closed on the hapless student's neck even as Ranma and Akane both lunged towards the tableaux, and the terrible, bloodied spear flashed back for a death-stroke. Akane, was close enough to arrive in time and simply shoulder-tackled Jei, breaking his hold on the student, and driving them both apart and into the wall. Jei rebounded with a snarl, driving his spear at Akane's unprotected back as she turned to sent the boy she had protected to safety on her off side. Then Ranma flashed into range, sending Tenchuu smashing into the shaft of the spear. But the shaft rebounded the sword-strike, to her distant shock, and Jei's instant counter flung Ranma back a dozen yards, rotating in mid-air and looking for a landing place. Akane sent her charge toward safety with a massive shove and began to turn at bay. Too late: the spearhead would pierce her before she could evade, she saw distantly. Which was why the black, metallic ribbon that flashed out of nowhere and tugged the spear-shaft far enough aside to miss and plow into the wall, instead of Akane, came as a complete shock to everyone. ------------------------------------------------------------ Kuno Kodachi had hidden in the shadows beside the wall of Furinkan and observed the events of the morning. She was especially concerned with finding out who had so injured her brother, but since he had told her none of the details, she kept a look-out for anything unusual. The shortish redhead with the aura of power almost visible to the naked eye was certainly unusual, she felt. Furthermore, her brother had not mentioned her even in passing, as he surely would have under normal circumstances, and she was in the company of another girl, whom Kodachi recognized as the "Beauteous Tiger" of her brother's fevered ranting, Tendo Akane, albeit much altered from the frumpy girl she had remembered from the last time she had seen her. This was, she thought, suggestive, and she had been engaged in attempting to locate the girl within the building when the screams and explosions had informed her that matters were becoming very odd and dangerous indeed. She had left the building by a convenient window and jumped into the trees, through which she had moved to a position just over the confrontation by the wall, observing the battle in awe. Seeing Akane's peril, she saw also an opportunity to intervene -- and prove her own battle-worth in a theater of the utmost truth -- and had intercepted the demon's spear with her ribbon. Jei's counter pull of the shaft had ripped her from the tree and several yards further into the schoolyard, but she had anticipated this, and landed with all the grace of her gymnastic art, then turned and began to unleash a peroration that would surely stop the monster in its tracks and lead directly to its defeat. "Hold, monster! For now ..." Ranma rebounded in mid-air and turned to the attack as Jei took the opportunity to dispose of at least one opponent and struck directly for Akane's heart. "... you face the wrath ..." Akane declined to be spitted and counterattacked before Jei could drive home his spear, catching the spear-shaft just behind the head with the odd speed she suddenly seemed to have acquired, and putting a circle kick from the hip into Jei's mid-section. "... of the Black Rose ..." Jei was driven back by the kick, and Ranma altered her trajectory to track him as he stumbled into range of Kodachi, and felt that one foe was as good as another. " ...Ugghkk." Kodachi gasped, as her speech was rudely interrupted by the butt of Jei's spear driving past her defense to slam into her midriff, tearing her leotard and breaking several ribs. The but was followed by the spearhead, rotating like a fan blade as Jei drove it in an arc that would have torn through her heart, while gathering a sickly luminescent fox-fire to his off hand. Would have, except for Ranma's fall from the heavens, to cut through Jei's arm, severing it briefly and reducing the wound to a three inch deep cut across and through several ribs and deeply into the muscle of her left arm. The fireball that followed as Jei fell away from Ranma's strike spattered across Kodachi regardless of Ranma's swatting, ki-charged hand, and she fell backwards, crippled, bleeding and aflame. Some distance away, a young man who had been engaged in the occupation of shepherding students away from the fight looked up, and ran to her side with a shriek of rage and pain, "Sister! No!" Jei regained his feet with a snarl, but Ranma had seen enough. She had the measure of his defense now, and it only remained to accomplish the attack that would destroy him. She kept him on the defensive with a barrage of mini- lightning bolts as she closed, followed by a blistering exchange of fists, feet, spear strokes and sword blows that maneuvered Jei into the position she wanted. Tatewaki reached his sister's side just as Ranma put Jei in the position she wanted him in. "_NOW_ Akane," she roared. And Akane, seeing her chance, snatched up the central pillar, now detached, of the desk she had previously used, and charged into Jei's back, using the pillar as an improvised club. An attack that was fully successful in all ways except one: she got the angle to hit him at slightly wrong. Jei did not fly in the direction Ranma had wanted, nor did he go as far, and Ranma altered direction again, on the ground this time, as Tatewaki reacted to the presence of the beast that had wounded his sister with the beginnings of the best attack he could muster, his bokken blurring in the air. "Dadadadadadadadadada" Jei, of course, ignored the attack, bringing the shaft of his spear over his head and down onto Tatewaki, sending the bokken from his hand and dropping him, stunned, across his sister's body. Akane followed up her original attack before he could reverse and use the blade, shoving him forcefully a couple of feet away, and following up to grab the fallen bokken as she sprawled across the pile of Kunos. She turned over desperately, bringing the bokken around to block the descending spear-point away so that it thudded into the dirt beside her, and then continuing with the only attack she could muster from her position flat on her back on the ground. An attack that she knew was inadequate, possessing as she did only the mediocre skill gained by her desultory studies previously and one day of Ranma's instruction. An attack that was, nonetheless, the only thing she had. A kick straight up, with all the force that was in her, past Jei's defense and into his groin. It lifted him up six inches, to a roar of shock and hate; forced his hands up, locked around the spear-shaft for the downward, unstoppable strike that would skewer her, Tatewaki and Kodachi all three; and gave Ranma one single, unobserved, unoccupied second. ------------------------------------------------------------ It was enough. A roaring wind blew Jei away from the sprawled pile, as Ranma smashed into him. A hail of sword blows from all angles taxed his regenerative capabilities and eroded the defense of his ki-shield. A simultaneous flurry of ki-charged one-finger strikes pelted him, whirling him around and around and setting his ki to boiling heat, as Ranma sent herself into a countering circle, matching his spin and dropping her ki to freezing before she called the wind again. "Hiryuu. Shouten. Haaa!" The Rising Dragon Ascension Strike flamed inward from a circle ten yards across and lifted Jei in a roaring cyclone into the sky. Ranma followed after, riding the wind that was Jei's enemy, returning Tenchuu to her jacket with a snap and drawing a phurba of meteoric iron. This she threw straight upward, through Jei's abdomen, and sent the lightning of the storm after it, upward from the ground to the dagger's place at the apex of the cyclone, damaging Jei past the momentary limits of his regeneration and removing half of his remaining shield. Ranma herself rode the lightning-charged storm-wind upward, speeding past Jei to the top of the funnel-cloud; catching the dagger as it peaked above Jei's form, momentarily held in equilibrium between wind and gravity. And then Ranma called the wind up into a vortex just above the previous apex of the storm and let Jei fall. She followed his descent with another throw of the phurba, again striking through Jei's body, to thud into the ground far below, again followed by the fury of the storm, shredding the rest of Jei's shield and wounding him deeply. Jei snarled hatred and snapped his spear around to guard. Ranma could not now put another missile past his guard, and to injure him again she must go down, and thus into his range. And then Ranma played her trump card, pulling from Jacket-space a weapon that Jei could only vaguely place. Some kind of one-hand arquebus, he thought, but surely too small to .... The IMI Desert Eagle .50 caliber AE automatic pistol has been called many things in the world of things that go boom. Too small has rarely been among them. A *CHK-Klack* announced that Ranma's invisibly fast hands had racked the slide. And then the enormous pistol roared, and the recoil hammered at Ranma's solid grip. And once again the World's Biggest Handgun proved itself adequate to the task. Just. Eight times it spoke and eight bullets flew; each jacketed, solid core hollow point missile carrying, locked to the iron spike at the core of its leaden mass, as much of Ranma's ki as she could shove into it while pulling the trigger. Each packet of ki was dedicated to the goal of expanding its bullet explosively just before it entered Jei's body and then holding the lead and iron in a specific shape during its passage, regardless of the impedance of flesh or bone. Each packet achieved its goal exactly, punching eight holes in the spear-wolf's body; each in the shape of an ideograph in a scholar's shorthand of ancient China. Eight ideographs relating a saying about men, and butterflies, and the difficulty of telling the difference. Eight ideographs arranged on Jei's torso in a pattern tracing out another ideograph in that same ancient hand; the ideograph called 'Final Emptiness'. The whole assemblage of ideographs forming a spell of dispersal, scattering Jei's energy, dispersing his shield, and damaging his soul. Ranma allowed Jei to fall almost to the ground before using the iron dagger half-buried in the ground below him to receive the remaining energy of her storm in one titanic bolt of fury, earthing itself through Jei's fatally wounded body and knocking the spear sprawling from his hand at last. She herself landed about ten feet away from, and behind, Jei -- now standing in a wide crater and frantically reaching for enough power to regenerate his broken body -- and snapped Tenchuu from its resting place again, sending power through it and waking it to furious, burning life. Then Ranma jumped backwards, past Jei again, Tenchuu flashing. She carved another ideogram through his entire body with her sword: two inward curving lines, each continuing from its bottom up into a crossing loop, forming a symbol not unlike a "W" with a loop extending above the middle point. Then continuing in a single motion over the top of the outer points, closing the curve and leaving only the central loop above it. Ranma landed in front of Jei at a distance of no more than three feet. Jei, incapable of movement and with all his defenses down, could only watch Ranma's cool emotionless face as she drew back her sword. And then she struck - straight through the center of the ideogram she had cut into his flesh - and also straight through his heart. Jei exploded into a towering pillar of flame, and Ranma withdrew her sword and re-sheathed it, waiting. The flame burned itself out in moments, revealing the various limbs and pieces of his torso falling to earth, smeared with an odd, green, burnt looking ichor; and a wide- winged butterfly of an evil green hue, hanging where the ideogram had been, sending up a high pitched, wailing keen, and burning. Ranma swatted it from the air with a ki-sheathed hand, and ground it underfoot. Then Ranma returned from zanshin, and called a slow, pulsing fire to her hand. "Come back from _that_, you pustule on the backside of divinity," she snarled bitterly, using pulses of the flame to burn the corpse of the butterfly to ash, and set the remaining pieces of Jei's corpse afire. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane was just struggling to her feet again as Ranma turned from the evilly smoking fires. She was aching, burnt, scratched in several places, bore more bruises, scrapes and minor cuts than she could bear to think about, and the only thing she wanted was for Ranma to tell her that it was over. Ranma pulled her into a brief, hard hug and whispered, "You did great, Akane-chan!" Ranma thumped her briefly on the shoulder and let her go, grinning at her widely for a moment. Then Ranma turned to the gate of Furinkan, walking over to check on the body there, and Akane bent down again to help Kodachi and Tatewaki. Ranma came to Nagao's body, and knelt down. She could easily see that he was dead, but she used ki-sight anyway, to make sure. Then she gently closed his staring eyes, and stood up looking over at the gate to see what she had noticed from the corner of her eye. It was a briefcase, which she picked up, examined, and then quickly brought over to Akane, who was standing next to the Kunos and talking to Nabiki, who had summoned medical and police units to the school. "What's wrong, Ranma?" Akane noted her friend's grim expression. Ranma held up the case, so Akane could see what was written there: Asano, S., and an address. Akane's eyes went wide in horror. "Do you know where this is, Akane-chan?" And at her nod, "Then I think, Nabiki, that you should call aid to that address, too. And I think that Akane and I should go there now, as well. And I think that we should run." Akane nodded jerkily and ran toward the gate, waving her hand toward Sayuri's distant house. "She's over that way, Ranma. But the fastest way there is...." She was interrupted by the feeling of arms around her waist, and jerked into the sky. Landing on the roof in the appropriate direction Ranma flowed into a smooth run, leaping gaps in the roof line with focused unconcern. Akane followed, gulping in trepidation at the gaps she would have to jump, but making no protest. Across Nerima they traveled in leaps and bounds, Akane leading Ranma across the roof-tops in as straight a line as she could, bypassing the traffic on the crowded streets below. Shortly, they heard the rising wail of sirens, and Ranma suddenly snarled an oath. "I can feel it now unblocked, Akane-chan, I've gotta hurry," she snapped out, before blurring into a red and black streak. Akane followed as quickly as she could and reached the roof line over Sayuri's house to find Ranma picking herself up from the ground, smoking slightly, and a dozen paramedics charging the door. "Wait," Ranma roared uselessly, "the bloody thing's ...." The paramedics hit the door and were thrown back, injured, by a burst of green fire. "... warded. Damn!" Akane jumped down, as Ranma snapped back to her feet and stalked forward, snarling, "Get _back_ you fools, there's magic here!" Ranma jogged up to the door and raised her hand, ki coalescing around it in an in-drawing vortex. She thrust her hand forward in the same gesture she had used earlier, outer fingers vee-ed and inners curling, and burned a circle of green fire into the air before the doorway. The door collapsed into dust as the circle of fire exploded around the house, blowing everyone in a block's radius except those behind Ranma flat to the ground. The door vanished, and Ranma strode forward, hand at her side, ki still gathered. Akane followed after, as did those paramedics and police still on their feet. The darkness within shifted like a living thing, snarling and drawing down, choking. Ranma pulsed ki to her hand, drawing the dark close about it, and then shifted an internal polarity, and expressed the ki of the vortex she had generated as sunlight. A brilliant flash of light destroyed the darkness, burning down its resistance and banishing it with a fading wail. Ranma glided into the house; glancing at the older woman laying in the doorway with a broad spear mark through her outer chest she left the body to others and went directly to the small body laying nearly hidden in another room. Kneeling down, she checked Sayuri's ki with a sinking heart, but then snapped her head upward to Akane with burning but worried eyes. "She's still alive! But she's not breathing, and she's fading fast! Get help, and I'll try to call her back." Akane spun and ran to the other part of the house, to fetch a medic, and Ranma gathered all the ki she could at short notice, then struck one hand downward toward Sayuri's chest; her aura flaming into new life as it went, ki curling about it ready to call the body beneath her back to life .... ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 3: The Third Day Part C: Pursuit to Destruction; East Wind, Rain. ------------------------------------------------------------ Kodachi had been taken away in an ambulance, only one of many that day. Nabiki and Yuka were assisting the doctors that were dealing with the last of the students injured by flying debris. Both had done yeoman service to triage the wounded and traumatized, and in running errands for the medical effort that had, by now, sucked in every available doctor or medtech in Nerima ward. Nabiki had been especially active in calming and restraining those who had been injured most severely while the medics tended to them; extracting debris from their injuries, or hastily bandaging wounds and setting limbs in preparation for their transportation to local hospitals. Currently, the two girls were aiding Dr. Tofu by handing him his supplies and tools while he aligned and set a number of broken ribs belonging to a sophomore who had been trampled and kicked into a corner in class 1-D's mad scramble to quit the ground floor during the attack. Nabiki looked up from the last patient as that unfortunate was loaded onto a stretcher for transport. A very bedraggled looking Akane was dragging into Furinkan's yard, wobbling along behind Ranma, who herself appeared less than entirely perky. The two martial artists came over to where Nabiki was standing, Ranma greeting her wearily while Akane stopped walking and leaned against Ranma's shoulder, closing her eyes. "Nabiki-san," Ranma opened the conversation in a tired voice, "I see that you're helping with the wounded. Can you give me an estimate of the total casualty list, please?" Nabiki rubbed her eyes with blood-stained hands. "I don't know the full list yet, Ranma-san. The last I'd heard there were seventeen confirmed dead. I think the total of seriously injured is going to stop at 40. Minor injuries and, err, _mental_ trauma ...." Nabiki turned to where a clump of pale, shaking students were huddling against the wall, seeking comfort in numbers, and shrugged. Ranma nodded wearily. "You can add two more to the seriously wounded list then. Asano-bodou was stabbed in the chest by Our Friend, but he seems to have missed the heart, and the medics said she has a fair chance. Sayuri-chan was strangled, and while she's still alive she seems to be in a deep coma, at the moment." Nabiki glanced sideways at Yuka, who was trembling and clenching her hands together. Quietly, she asked, "Will she survive, long term, do you think?" Ranma rubbed her temples briefly. "There's no good reason why she wouldn't, I think. The physical trauma doesn't seem to be too severe. What mental trauma she may be suffering, and when she'll wake up...." Ranma shrugged in her own turn. Yuka wailed and buried her face in Nabiki's shoulder. Nabiki awkwardly attempted to comfort her and Ranma put a hand on Yuka's shoulder, saying, "Don't give up hope Yuka-chan. Sayuri-chan is very brave, and the hospital hasn't even begun to care for her yet. And I'm not out of resources myself, for that matter. But I think, for now, that it's better to let the professionals handle things. "And speaking of _things_, Nabiki, do you know what happened to Jei's corpse and his spear?" "I just saw ..." Nabiki mumbled, "Oh yes! A police van came, gathered it all up and took it away. And I'm just as glad; even dead that thing gave me a creepy feeling!" "I don't blame you at all Nabiki-san. I just wanted a closer look at the spear, but I suppose that I can do that later." She turned her hand under her gaze and considered the ichor crusted under the nails. "I'd like to get clean first, at least. Do you think you're going to need Akane or I around here any more today?" "No, Ranma, I don't think so. Go on back to the Dojo and see if you can get Akane-imouto to go to sleep." Akane snorted, weakly. "Sleep. Feh. _Bath_." Ranma grinned, "Indeed. _Bath_. I may even beg one from Kasumi-san myself." Nabiki grinned over her shoulder as she ushered Yuka to where she could sit down, and shook a fist at them. "Use up all the hot water and you answer to me," she mock-threatened. Ranma's grin turned crooked, and she half-turned from her course to sweep a bow. "We shall faithfully avoid the invocation of your wrath, Nabiki-san." She urged the wobbly Akane out the gate, and then was gone. ------------------------------------------------------------ "Tadaima!" "Oh, my, I hope that's...." Kasumi had been beside herself with worry. Father had managed to tell her that _something_ bad had happened. From context she had assumed that something was wrong with Akane or Nabiki, but his tears had managed to short out both the TV and the radio, and he simply was not coherent enough to tell her what was wrong. She dared not leave him alone to seek out the neighbors, and Tofu-san seemed not to be answering his phone, but if they were capable of calling out then surely it couldn't be _that_ bad. Could it? Hurrying to the front room, she assessed the condition of Akane-chan and that nice young Ranma-san and rapidly revised her opinion: it wasn't that bad, it was worse. Only one comment seemed appropriate. "Oh, my!" Ranma looked up at Kasumi's entrance, steering Akane gently toward the furo. "We're both mostly alright, Kasumi-san, but we badly need a bath. Is the furo hot?" Kasumi nodded helplessly; they didn't _seem_ alright. Akane was a complete mess: dirty, scratched, her new clothes in complete ruination, and was that dark substance half covering her arms, legs and back _blood_? Ranma hardly looked better, mainly a matter of fewer areas messed up, but some of the stains were a loathsome looking green that made her head hurt just to _consider_ trying to get out. Nonetheless she nodded affirmatively to Ranma's question, then, as Ranma moved Akane along toward the bath, burst out, "Ranma-san, what happened?!" Ranma turned around briefly and saw Soun hovering at the entrance to the living room, then sent Akane on toward the bath and answered. "A monster attacked the school, Kasumi-san. We killed it, but there were a number of casualties. The authorities seemed to have the matter in hand, so I felt that Akane needed to get home immediately, and take a bath, and probably a nap. With your permission?" Kasumi nodded and turned back to Father, who had burst out in fresh tears. "Now, now, Father, you heard Ranma-san; both the girls are all right and...." She herded him back into his room to have a lie-down and thought, 'A monster. Oh, my!' ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma ignored the clothes heaped untidily on the floor, and quickly stripped. Picking up the water pail and soap, she spent several minutes firmly scrubbing out the ichor and gore that encrusted several areas of her arms and legs, then filled up the pail again and soaped the rest of her body before dumping the pail of water over her head to rinse off. Then she walked over to Akane, who was sitting on a stool, staring at her blood-stained hands and feebly attempting to scrub the stains off. Ranma took the soap and washcloth from Akane's unresisting hands and used them to quickly rid her of her unwanted decorations, then rinsed her off and put her into the tub to soak, joining her soon thereafter. Ranma settled back into the steaming water and felt her muscles relax, but she noted that Akane was not relaxing, and was, in fact, on the verge of tears. She let Akane have a minute of silence, then gently asked, "Want to talk about it?" Akane sniffed and shook her head, "N-no, Ranchan, I'll be alright, just ... could you sing for me, something ...." Ranma suddenly found her vision obscured, a gust of steam had no doubt chosen to make a wrong turn. "Sure, _Acchan_, I'll sing something. You just relax, now. Maybe try to go to sleep." That pair in the corner, They're here every Tuesday, They come when the market First opens its stalls. And it's got so that lately I'll wait just to see them, Their heads bent together, As they come down the hall. And Akane felt herself, very slowly, begin to relax. Felt the pains of the day roll away. Felt the horror, and the fear, and, what she felt was worst of all -- the strange, singing joy -- begin to fade. Felt the aches and bruises and the tiredness which denied even sleep or rest begin to heal. And her hair has grown whiter, His has grown thinner, And their pace has slowed down As the years have grown long. But they keep step together 'Mongst strangers who hurry, These two old companions, Walking slowly along. Washed away, so to speak, by steaming water. Soothed by safety and kindness, and a place to relax. Eased by an easing of stress and fear. They always take the same table And they open their menus, And I watch as his hand Reaches out to touch hers, And she, with the other, Reaches under her chair, And fumbles her glasses From out of her purse. Healed and lulled to sleep by a glorious, contralto voice. A voice that washed over her and swept through her. A voice that eased her sorrows without trivializing them. A voice that understood terror and the bloodlust she had found herself fighting, but that had triumphed over them. And she reads him the specials, He does the ordering, They joke with the waitress, About watching their weight, But the waitress says nothing, She just snaps her gum And then brings their dessert, That they'll share from one plate. She sat back, finally, and relaxed her muscles one by one. Met her fear and disgust head on, and found them to be less terrible than she had earlier imagined; and, slowly, began to master them. Sometimes I watch them too closely, They notice me staring And they smile at me vaguely, Not really seeing my face. But they know I'm a stranger, Not one of their friends Who have died, or long since Moved away from this place. And settled back into a drifting haze, and let a golden voice sink into her. And gave up her control over her emotions at last, and gently began to weep. They keep to themselves, They're each other's shelter, Two hearts grown together, Two parts of a whole. And I smile at them shyly, I know I intrude, on this Pair of old lovers, And I turn and I go. And, as she drifted further from consciousness and the cares of the day, seemed to see before her a vision. But, you know that I've seen them As they leave the cafe', He pulls out her chair, And he helps her to stand, And he holds out her coat, And he hugs it around her And together they leave, Holding each other's hand. A vision of herself, older, gray haired. Resting in another furo. And placing a hand, scarred but still strong, lovingly on the back of the head resting on her shoulder. A head in whose hair, also mostly gray, could still be seen the occasional strand of flaming, sunset red. And there's a love beyond words In their every small gesture, As the two old companions Make their way through the town There's a love beyond name, beyond years, beyond measure. And the days that they share Are the stars in their crown. And gently slipped into slumber, and dreamed of something unseen. Something which she loved with all her heart, and which brought her great joy. But what it was, when she woke up, she was unable to recall. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane awoke slowly, to a background of humming and soft, mumbled curses. She was lying in her bed and clothed in her nightgown, but it seemed to be daylight. For a moment she could not remember why she might be asleep so late in the day, but then memory returned and she realized that it must be later in the same day; by the angle of the light coming in the window she could see it was sometime just afternoon. Akane sat up and perched on the edge of her mattress, blinking around her with still sleepy eyes. There were, she noticed, two things about the room that were different from the way she had left it this morning. The first was the tray-table by the side of her futon, loaded with a tray carrying lunch. The second was Ranma, sitting at her desk, wearing one of her old overalls and a shirt slightly too small for her -- and, she noticed, no bra -- and bent over a homework assignment in math, which she appeared to be making heavy weather of. Akane absently ate her lunch while she tried to make some sense of the events of the day. She finished just as Ranma hissed in frustration, crumpled the scratch sheet of paper she was working with, and threw it across the room. "Stupid thing," she pouted, "I don't think it even _has_ a solution!" Turning around she grinned at Akane, "Awake at last! Did you enjoy your lunch ... Acchan?" Akane blinkied, 'Acchan? What ... ohmikami ... the furo! What'll she think of me?' Her hands flew to her face in dismay as she blushed a fiery red. Ranma's grin moderated itself into a gentle smile. "No, Akane, I'm not mad. In fact, the only other person who has ever called me that was the very first friend I ever made. I am more honored than I can say that you have chosen to be the second." This did not particularly seem to help Akane's blush, and she looked down at her folded hands bashfully. "Ar-are you sure, Ranma?" She looked up at the redhead where she sat at the desk. "I've never, that is ...." Ranma rose lithely to her feet, and crossed the room to where Akane sat, hugging her fiercely. "I'm sure, Acchan. As long as you promise to stay my friend." Akane told the sudden tears to go away and hugged her friend back, trying to place the sudden thumping in her chest. "I promise, Ranchan. As long as you promise too." Ranma stepped back and extended a pinky, her grin almost splitting her face. "I promise." Akane hooked her pinky through Ranma's and gripped, feeling a grin taking over her face as well. "I promise too." Ranma held the pinky grip a moment, and then stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Which does _not_, however, get you off of getting beaten on during training." Akane's grin turned crooked, "Wouldn't want it to." Then, jerking her head at the desk, "What's got you so happy over there?" "Oh, you would remind me. Feh." Ranma blew her cheeks out and sighed. She walked back to the desk and sat down, Akane following behind her, and picked up her pencil. "It's a 'Problem of Multiple Variables in Multiple Equations' if you please. Bah!" Akane leaned over Ranma's shoulder and looked at the problem. "This one doesn't seem _that_ hard, Ranchan." "Hah! So you say, but look at this! These things don't even have the same terms in them!" Akane chuckled and took the pencil from Ranma's hand. "You're trying too hard, Ranchan. See, you take this equation here -- it reduces to _this_ variable, see? So you replace the instances of that variable in _this_ equation and then you ...." Fainter now, lower in tone "Oh, that's how... Neat, Acchan! But now how...." Fainter yet, "You just...." ------------------------------------------------------------ Nabiki had come home soon after noon, and had eaten a sandwich before even seeking the furo. Now, around two in the afternoon, she had just come from a _long_ soak in the hot water, new clothes, and another large meal, and was beginning to feel human again. She pushed back her plate and turned to Kasumi, questioning, "Oneechan, where is everybody else?" "Father is sleeping in his room, Nabiki-chan, he took the news very hard. Ranma-san and Akane-chan are training, I believe." She turned around and caught Nabiki's eyes, "I didn't get many details, imoutochan, how was it, really?" Nabiki shuddered violently, "If it hadn't been for Ranma-san we'd have all been killed, oneechan. And if Akane-chan hadn't _attacked_ the thing I don't know if even Ranma-san could have killed it. It just wouldn't _die_, not even when she cut its head off!" She shuddered again. Kasumi knelt by her and gathered her into a hug, "Akane-chan fighting monsters. Who would have thought?" Nabiki pushed herself back from the hug, "You said they were training, oneechan? Do you know where they are? I need to talk to Ranma-san." Kasumi frowned slightly, "Be careful, Nabiki-chan." Nabiki shook her head, "I will be, oneechan. I owe her my life, and so does Akane-chan. But we need to know more about her. I think she _knew_ or recognized that thing today. What if there's more of them?" Kasumi nodded seriously. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma flowed out of the way of Akane's kick and thumped her on the head, then called a halt. "Break, Acchan, I've got what I needed, and you're getting sloppy." She put her back to the dojo wall and placed one foot against it, crossed her arms, and considered Akane, waiting for her to regain her breath. "And besides, I think your sister wants something." Nabiki moved out from the entrance where she had been lurking just out of view. "Looking good, Akane-chan, what were you doing just then?" Ranma answered, "Just general assessment work Nabiki-san. I want to make sure that I know where Acchan is _now_, so I can figure where she needs to go. It's the first time I've really had a student, and I want to be sure I get it right." Nabiki raised an eyebrow, and Akane stopped panting long enough to wheeze out, "You talk to Nabiki-oneechan, Ranchan, I'm gonna lie down and pant for a while." She walked to the wall and sat down beside it, then flopped down on her back and lay panting. Nabiki raised the other eyebrow, 'Acchan? Ranchan? Geeze, what went _on_ in that furo, anyway?', but allowed no other sign to cross her face; instead she sweetly inquired, "Should we get out of your way and let you take a nap, Akane-chan?" Akane turned half over and red-eyed her, "Biiiii-da!" Ranma smirked, "Was there something you wanted, Nabiki-san, or is this just one of those sibling rivalry things?" Nabiki turned back to her, and turned serious at the same time. "Yes, Ranma-san, there was. It's about that monster this morning. You acted as though you knew him." "That would be because I did know him, Nabiki-san." She pushed her tongue into her cheek for a moment, "Mind you, the last time I saw him there was nothing left but bones, which had just been buried under the ruins of a stone tower, underneath which were several tons of gunpowder. Which went off immediately thereafter. So I didn't really suspect that I'd ever see him _again_, but...." She considered Nabiki's face for a moment, "But I suspect that what you actually _want_ is the story, ne?" Nabiki buffed her nails for a moment, "Why, yes Ranma-san, I believe it is. Unless," she added calmly, "you would prefer not to tell it?" "No, no, it's not secret. It is kind of long though. It might be a good idea to have Kasumi-san make some snacks and tea. Since I suspect that she might wish to hear it too." "For some odd reason," Nabiki refrained from smirking, "she has, in fact, just finished making some." Ranma arched an eyebrow of her own. "Preplanning. The sure sign of a conspiracy. Come, Acchan, we are summoned to Tea." Akane groaned, "What do you mean, 'We', barbarian?" "I mean _we_, shirker. As in _you_ and _I_. Because _I_ am summoned by your sister, and _you_ are summoned by me." Akane groaned again, and rolled over, coming to her knees. "Ohhhh. My sensei is a bully." "All sensei are bullies, Acchan." Ranma bopped her on the head,"It's the notable trait of the type." And Kasumi came through the door with a tray. ------------------------------------------------------------ The girls were seated in a circle around the tray, sitting in the middle of the dojo floor. Ranma blew softly on a teacup to cool it, and crooked a grin through the steam at the others. So. The story. I should start at the beginning, I guess. And the beginning .... (Her eyes focused on something far away, or perhaps long ago, then refocused on the girls.) The beginning starts with my Dad. Oyaji. And the things you need to know about Oyaji number three. First, he's a Martial Artist.Second, he is of Low Moral Character. And third, he's an Idiot. Nabiki *snrrked* and Akane frowned, glaring at someone non-present. (Ranma grinned crookedly.) Because he's a Martial Artist, he wanted me to be one too. Because he's an Idiot, he just knew that this noble goal could not possibly be attempted around my mother. So he took the opportunity, when I was five, to take me away on a long training trip, and never bring me back. And because he is of Low Moral Character we spent the next six and a half years running from place to place. Generally, I realize now, to escape some debt or other, or get away from the blame for some theft or scam. Now, when I was eleven or so, Oyaji found, or bought, or stole, or _something_, this book. These books, actually -- there were two of them. The first was a Chinese ... guide to training grounds, I guess. It had only been translated a little and most of the text was still in Chinese, which Oyaji didn't know how to read, but he still got all excited about 'the marvelous possibilities to seek out strengthening struggle in the service of our Art'. (Ranma's voice went very pompous for a moment, then returned to normal.) Feh. Anyway, the _other_ book was a manual of 'Rare and Forbidden Training Methods'. One of these was the 'Neko-ken', a supposed way to train a subject in an Invincible Martial Arts Special Technique. (Ranma's mouth twisted momentarily, and she sighed.) What you do, the book said, is you take the trainee, and the younger the better, and you cover him or her with fish sausage. Then you find yourself a pit, and put a bunch of starving ca-ca- ... cats into it. And then you take the trainee, and you throw him, or her, in. In the pit, in case that wasn't clear. (Ranma's face was still and far away, Akane's and Kasumi's were nearly identical masks of horror, and Nabiki's was as set and still as stone. Ranma's eyes refocused suddenly, and she continued.) Then, on the next page of the book, it says that the _reason_ this technique is 'Rare and Forbidden' is that; One - it doesn't work, and Two - only a complete idiot would try it in the first place. The trouble is, Oyaji _is_ a complete idiot, and he didn't _read_ that far. (Ranma's mouth twisted again, and she sighed.) Nabiki's face was terrible in its stillness, but her voice was gentle, "So what _does_ the training do Ranma-san?" Ranma's voice was equally gentle. "It makes you afraid of cats, Nabiki-san." Kasumi buried her face in her hands, and Akane's face began to twist in anger, as Nabiki's control broke at last. "No! I never _would_ have guessed that!" she snarled, "So what did the _genius_ do then?" Ranma smiled sadly, and quirked an eyebrow. Why he devoted the full force of his Martial Intellect to the problem, of course. And quickly determined the source of the error. It was quite clear; the author of the book had _hidden_ the critical detail! Oh, yes! It simply had to be a question of the _bait_ you used, you see. And he set out to resolve the detail in the finest scientific fashion. Oh, yes! He repeated the experiment, only using fish cakes, instead. And then he tried dried bream. And then he tried salmon. And then he tried varied sushi. And then he tried octopus and squid. And then he tried octopus _by itself_. And then.... Akane broke, and hurled herself into Ranma's shoulder, wailing. Kasumi turned her head, sobbing muffledly into her hands. Ranma gently massaged the back of Akane's neck and *hssh*d. Finally, it developed that, if you pursue your course with unrelenting intensity, you will, in fact, teach the trainee an Invincible Technique. The fact that the training will have driven her psychotic by that point is surely a minor detail by comparison, ne? "So, what happened then?" Nabiki asked, soothing Kasumi. Well, I managed to avoid killing him about three times in the next week ("Damn!" Nabiki interjected.) but I knew that I couldn't do it forever. The problem, you see, is that the Invincible Technique works by turning part of your soul into the soul of a cat. And it's the cat that controls the technique. A cat that doesn't have a bunch of stuff it wants to have -- like fur, and a tail -- and does have a bunch of stuff it doesn't want to have -- like hands, and upright posture -- and which is trying to contend with being half-human as well, and which is, therefore, Righteously Pissed Off. "So what did *snnf*, what did you do, Ranchan?" I beat him up, (Ranma shrugged) and told him that I was leaving. He'd had six and a half years to train me and see what I'd gotten from it. Then he wailed and whined until I said I'd come back in another six and a half years and see which of us had done a better job. If I could beat him, he'd acknowledge me as the head of the school, and go back to work to help support it until I got it back on its feet. If I lost I'd go back to training under him at whatever he wanted. He said he'd meet me at this training ground in China he'd just found in the _other_ book he'd got: a place in Qing-hai province up against the Byankala range. Said it was named Jhusenkyou. I promised I'd be there and left. That was five years and eleven months ago. Ranma poured herself another cup of tea and blew on it, gazing at the sisters through the steam until a measure of calm was restored. When I left Oyaji I went hunting something that could help me with controlling the cat. I finally wound up at a Zen monastery in northern Hokkaido, where I spent the next six months. When I left the monastery, I had managed to stuff the cat down under deep control and the Neko-ken with it. Although I _am_ still afraid of cats, I don't go berserk unless I can't get away from them. Then I headed into China, and made my way north, to Jhusenkyou. The idea I had, you see, was that -- if this place _was_ the wonderful training ground Oyaji was so fired up about -- then I could study there. If it wasn't I'd still have gotten an idea about the lay of the land, maybe enough to give me an edge in case Oyaji actually managed to put up a fight. There isn't much to say about the trip ... well, actually that's not true. There's a lot to say about the trip, but that's not the story I'm telling, so I won't digress into it. Ranma paused for a moment, and sipped her tea. The only item of real interest to _this_ story happened when, one day, I was walking along a road in Qing-hai itself. I was trying to find out where the bloody training ground actually _was_, and I came round the corner of a hill, and nearly walked into this girl. She had purple hair, was wielding these silly-looking mace thingies, I later learned that they were a local weapon called bonbori, and was trying to stare down a tiger. Now, it's an interesting thing to say, but the 'training' Oyaji put me through did seem to have _one_ good effect; I'm afraid of cats, yes, but only _house_ cats. Other kinds, like tigers, don't affect me at all. Plus which, the phobia about cats seems to have sucked up all the fear I have in me. On the one hand, that means that when the nekophobia hits it hits _hard_; but on the other hand, I don't have much left for anything _else_, so when I get into situations like that I don't panic. Which was a good thing, at the time. Anyway, I remembered about some animals making themselves look bigger and louder to frighten off an attacker, and figured that I didn't have much to lose. So I jumped up _way_ high and _yelled_ at the top of my lungs. And it must have worked, 'cause the tiger turned and ran off like his tail was on fire. (Ranma gave another grin) Anyway, that was how I met Shan Pu. Shan turned out to be the champion-apparent of the village of Joketsuzoku -- which is part of the ancestral holdings of the Strong-Women-Hero-Tribe, sometimes called the Chinese Amazons -- and by the time we got back to her village, she was the second friend I'd ever made. So I spent some time in the village, and learned a few tricks, and it turned out that they _did_ know where Jhusenkyou was, only they didn't want to tell _me_. It seemed, they said, that the whole valley of Jhusenkyou was cursed, and anyone who went there would probably get cursed too. Well, I reckoned that I was too smart to fall for an obvious dodge like _that_, and one night I snuck out of the village and traveled to the valley where Jhusenkyou was. I've always wished (Ranma's eyes were far away again) I'd listened to Cologne-obaasama; I might have spared myself a lot of grief. She'd been right, you see, the valley of Jhusenkyou _is_ cursed, and if you go there you probably _will_ end up cursed too. I don't know what all the curses of Jhusenkyou do, but the one thing that they _all_ do is the one thing that really makes them curses: after you go there, you live in interesting times. Ranma paused a moment and sipped more tea. And I don't mean 'nice' interesting either. _Not_ nice interesting is the order of the day, here. If you stumble, you fall down a hill. And there's a dung-heap at the bottom, too. And you don't even get to break your fall, oh no, there's a rock waiting under it, you can bet. If anything falls out of the sky, it lands on your head. If you go through a bush, you find the thorns, and if it doesn't _have_ thorns there'll be a bramble growing there, instead. If somebody shoots an arrow at you and ten other people,_you're_ the one standing in the way. Well, I already knew that the Joketsuzoku didn't have any way to cure the curses, and I was too embarrassed to go back after I ignored their warnings anyway, so I wandered back south instead. I never did find a cure for the curse in China, but I did finally end up in a place that led to my eventually finding one elsewhere, and also to my meeting that noble gentleman we entertained earlier today, and to a bunch of other stuff as well. The reason is this, (she opened her shirt slightly, and took an amulet of silver from around her neck, laying it in the center of the circle) and how and why I got it is a story in itself. Nabiki picked up the amulet and examined it, showing it to Akane and Kasumi. It was made of fretted silver, about three inches across, chased with interlocking dragons and spirits around the outside. Mounted so as to entirely take up one face of the amulet was a small, cracked mirror. Mounted on the other side was a triangular piece of pottery, perhaps two inches on a side, covered with patterns that looked like stretched cords or ropes. Nabiki turned it over and about in her hands as Ranma went on. The place I ended up was Hong Kong, and in order to understand the story I'm about to tell you have to know the one cardinal thing about my character at the time: I was a barbarian. Nabiki raised an eyebrow and smirked, "_At the time_, Ranma-san?" "Of course, Nabiki-san. Now, I'm only _uncivilized_." "Ah. I see. Do go on." Ranma smirked, herself, and did so. I hadn't been around people much at all, 'cause Oyaji'd moved around so much, and I was what you might call 'sheltered' about a lot of things as a result. So, when, just after I got to the city, I saw this girl who was wearing about half of nothing -- and that mostly torn -- all _I_ thought was, 'isn't that _cold_?' Nabiki sniggered and both Akane and Kasumi blushed. And when this guy came out of an alley (Ranma's grin turned crooked) and pushed her up against a wall, all I thought was that he shouldn't use that knife to make a girl cry like that. So I took the knife away from him and broke his arms in a couple places and ran him off. Then I went to see if the girl was alright. Her name turned out to be Masuda Kee, and she was half Japanese, a geisha -- well, a hitoyodzuma really - - and as far as _I_ could see, badly in need of someone to tell her to come in out of the rain. Now, at the time, I didn't know the difference between a geisha, a hitoyodzuma and a fish-seller; but I did know something about surviving on the road, and on the streets as well. As it turned out later, Kee-'moutochan did not, being of that temperament that fails to concentrate on business because it gets too caught up in its work. Nabiki was keeping her face straight with an effort, and Akane and Kasumi were reddening alarmingly, but Ranma merely grinned more crookedly yet. She had offended several of the local street trash by being insufficiently grateful for their 'protection' and had attracted far too much attention -- and customers -- for safety. So I appointed myself as her 'older' sibling, and began trying to figure out where to go to hook up with someone who could keep track of business for her, and put a roof over her head. In the process I managed to offend someone myself. This led to my inadvertently eating a plate of mushrooms that had been drenched in LSD and laced with about twenty grams of pure opium. Fortunately I didn't eat the whole thing, but it was enough to addict me badly, and the trip was .... (Ranma shuddered briefly) Kee-chan put me to bed and kept me off my feet when I was raving, long enough to work through the trip. And it turned out to be the solution to her problem, because she rented a room from -- and explained her problems to -- someone on the shady side who knew someone who knew someone who knew someone, who mentioned it to the okaasama of the Dream of the Jade Pagoda of the Golden Door of Infinite Bliss. Nabiki choked briefly, "The Dream of Jade? That's the best pleasure house in Hong Kong!" Ranma raised an eyebrow, "Why, yes it is Nabiki-san. And we're all wondering how it is you came to know that." Nabiki blushed, but held her chin up. "I keep my ear to the ground," she said, attempting to retain what was left of her dignity. "Of course you do," Ranma said, straight-faced, "that's perfectly sound business practice." Nabiki disdained to reply, and Ranma grinned and continued. Liang-okaasama decided that Lee-chan should go to work for her, since the best-- or at least most enthusiastic -- geisha in Hong Kong should obviously be working for the best pleasure house in Hong Kong. Or the other way 'round, depending. So that fixed Lee-imoutochan's problem, and provided me, after I recovered, with an opportunity to expand my education a bit. Ranma's eyes twinkled wickedly and Akane's blush expanded visibly. Kasumi, on the other hand, had achieved the determinedly unaffected countenance of one who Is Not Hearing This. Nabiki coughed, and squeaked "You mean...?" Ranma fixed her with a very speaking look, and asked, "What would _you_ have done? Besides, can you think of a _better_ time or place?" Nabiki muttered something about "twelve", but did not seem otherwise inclined to reply to this question. Akane was bravely fighting off unconsciousness from excessive blood drain to the face, but surprised herself with a giggle. Kasumi was still in the land of the selectively deaf, and therefore Ranma went on unhindered. That aside, however, and continuing with my story, it was at the Golden Door that I met Oniichan Kai. He was a genin for the Black Wave Yakuza, (Nabiki started) and he used to bring his wife and their daughter to the Golden Door's restaurant for dinner. He sort of adopted me at the time, and I always looked on him as the big brother I'd never had, and I was friends with Oneesan Asako too. Imoutochan Kaiko was my little sister along with Kee-chan and for a while there I thought that I'd found a family and wouldn't need to go anywhere else while I waited to beat up on Oyaji. I'd made contacts with the local Temples too, and I'd go to train there, or Kai-oniichan would use his contacts to get me some lessons with one of the wandering masters, or he'd train me himself, or Liang-okaasama would use her contacts or.... Ranma's eyes were fixed in time and space, looking at something far away. She sighed and a suspicious glimmer began to gather at the corner of her eye. I suppose I should have known better. Liang-okaasama had made the Golden Door a neutral ground in the Hong Kong underside and the city's major underworld clans were sort of united around it. Not so much in coalition, as in a mutual understanding that violence and unrest was bad for business. The Black Wave was one of the three most powerful Yakuza clans in the city, along with the Silver Skull and the Golden Sword, and they and the most powerful of the Triads enforced a sort of peace on the more ... 'established' parts of the underworld, as it were. Needless to say, some of the _less_ established parts were not too happy about that, and one day we found out that this guy named Master Po had organized a war. He had been a master in one of the older Triads, and was some kind of sorcerer too, so he had a fairish amount of support just on his own hook; and then he'd organized most of the little gangs and rings and such into an army, too. Alongside that, he'd made an alliance with the powers of Darkness, and he could command or bargain with the undead, so he had about 30 or 40 vampires as shock troops. Ranma put down her teacup and leaned forward, sighing again. The whole thing was very quiet, but it was also extremely ugly and for a while there we were hard pressed. But Kai-oniichan organized the enforcers of the major organizations into a counter-army, and the temple monks and priests made a bunch of peachwood swords and wards and things that the vampires couldn't handle, and I got the street-folk organized to use them and some basic weaponry and we killed all the vamps that didn't run and we drove the upstarts back to the wall. Then we were betrayed. Nabiki spoke up hesitantly, "Ranma-san, I'd heard some rumors about a big shake-up in one of the major Hong Kong clans a while back, but no one ever had any details. Could that have been...?" Ranma nodded, pricking tears. Oyabun Mikoji died very suddenly. It might have been natural, he was about 80, but I've always suspected that Po got to him somehow. I _know_ he got to others, 'cause Mikoji-dono's successor suddenly decided that Master Po had the secret to 'Eternal Life' and the Black Wave and the Fire Harmony Triad switched sides. Maybe Master Po was a vampire himself, and he turned the leaders, I don't know. What I do know is that suddenly the dead started rising up around our feet, vampires started coming out of the walls, and half our soldiers were on the other side all of a sudden and knew our plans to boot. Ranma shivered for a moment, eyes again far off. The only way out that I could see was to take Po down before he could consolidate, and hope that the shock dispelled all the zombies and things, or at least slowed them down. So I organized what I could get my hands on and we went through the front of their defenses. It helped that I'd gotten one of the zombies restrained, 'cause I showed the thing off to the Black Wave troops on that section and three fourths of them changed sides again. Anyway we broke the defense of Po's sanctum and went in to get him, but we discovered that he'd called all his proteges in for a conference, and they'd brought their guards. So we plowed into them, and when it was over the only two left standing were me and Kai-oniichan, who'd been commanding the guards. Akane gasped in sympathy, "Ranchan, why didn't he switch sides too? Didn't you tell him ...?" Ranma looked at her through gathering tears. "Because he was a Samurai, Acchan, and wouldn't leave his Lord's side." Akane nodded, eyes also dimmed by tears, and Ranma continued. So I knew Po and the others were just beyond him, and I knew he wouldn't get out of my way, and I knew I couldn't beat him. So I turned loose the cat, and the last thing I remember before I woke up in the middle of the pile of corpses that had used to be Master Po and his lieutenants and the traitors was batting Kai-oniichan out of the way, and he went through a wall trailing blood. Akane gathered Ranma to her, and the redhead nestled her face into her friend's shoulder for a long minute, silently weeping. When she regained control she sat back and wiped her eyes, and continued. We never did recover Oniichan's body, but the place had been pretty badly damaged in the fight and the whole thing burned down and exploded right after that, so that's not too surprising. Anyway I couldn't stay in the city after that, so I made what arrangements I could for Asako-oneesan and Kaiko-imoutochan, and got ready to leave. Then the Abbot of the Silver Mist Temple took me aside and told me that the they'd been guarding something for a couple centuries now, but he felt I was worthy and he wanted me to have it. (Ranma gestured at the amulet in the center of the circle.) Well, I didn't _feel_ worthy, but the Abbot said that it could help me find what I needed so I took it anyway. What it was, was the mirror set into that amulet there, and the Abbot said it was the, or maybe _a_, Nanban Mirror, and it was a magic mirror of travel. So I put it in my pack, and took some of the money I had, and came back to Tokyo at last. I was deeply depressed, still in shock, and had no idea what I was going to do with my life, or even if I should bother. I was thirteen years old. So, just after I got back, I took a trip to see Fuji-san. I was completely bummed out and seeing the happy people all around didn't help, and I had this stupid mirror in my pack and it wasn't doing anything at all. So I found this little clearing and took it out and yelled at it. It didn't do anything, and finally I started crying, and that was how I found out how it works. Akane frowned, "You mean...?" Yep. Tears. (Ranma nodded firmly) Tears or blood. Drop them onto the mirror and it'll take you away. _But_. You see that the Mirror's cracked? So sometimes it takes you where you ask to go. And _sometimes_ it takes you where you _want_ to go. And sometimes it takes you where you _need_ to go. And sometimes -- if you're unlucky -- it takes you where you _deserve_ to go. Nabiki asked "Can anyone use it?" as Akane overrode her with, "So where did it take you, Ranchan?" Ranma smirked and answered Nabiki first. "Maybe once, Nabiki-san, but not any more. I've spilled too much blood on it, and it'll only work for me until I die." And as to where it took me.... Well. I knew as soon as it happened that it had done _something_, but I didn't know _what_. So I started looking around, and I noticed that Fuji-san was smaller. Now I was standing in the same place and hadn't moved as far as I could tell, but still I could tell it wasn't the same place at all. So I started walking around, and I noticed that whether I'd moved or not some of the landmarks weren't there, and others were changed, and there wasn't any sign of people around at all. Eventually I found an open space in the woods, and followed that to a stream. I followed the stream along for a day or so, and finally broke out into a cleared field. Now I'd been seeing the right trees and plants for the area all around me, and Fuji-san was still there so I knew I must still be in Japan, but I also knew it wasn't _my_ Japan. So when I walked around the outer edge of the field and came in sight of the village the field was a part of and found that it was all primitive houses and stuff, and that the people in it were Ainu, I wasn't as surprised as I might have been otherwise. Nabiki started and Kasumi gasped, "Ainu! Near Fuji-san? Kami, how far back did you go?" From research I did later, Kasumi-san, (Ranma smiled her crooked smile) I figure about 2500 to 3000 years. Akane shook her head in shock and Ranma grinned at her. So I was walking along the edge of the field, not looking at the ground, and I trod on something and it dug into my foot. I picked it up, and took it into the village. Now the village didn't know what to do with me at all, and it didn't help that I was pissed off, but they figured that I must be a spirit or something and sent for the shaman. The shaman was a smart old bugger, and we figured out how to talk to each other a little bit. I asked him what the hell they thought they were doing to leave things like that out where they could bite people, and he said that it wasn't theirs. They just popped up, he said. They'd been made by somebody back at the dawn of time, and then they'd all gotten broke and scattered about when the world came to an end. Or something like that, anyway. So I said that if they gave me a place to sleep and some food I wouldn't be mad at them. So they shared what they had, which wasn't much, and it was good that they did, 'cause that night some bandit types came out of the forest and I had to run them off. I'd had to kill a couple of the bandits, (Ranma poured herself another cup of tea.) and the next morning I tried to talk to the shaman again. It turned out that the village didn't actually have anything to take except a little food, but the bandits would take anything they could get. Later that night I looked at the pottery piece I'd stepped on -- that's it on the back of the amulet -- and I noticed something. The piece had been broken off its pot when somebody hit it with an axe. If you look you can see the signs at the top. So I used the mirror to go back to Tokyo, and went to a museum. The guy I talked to there said it was a Jomon pot, and figured that it must be 5000 years old at least. And I sat down _that_ night and thought about it some more. And I realized that some poor guy had made this pot the best he could, cause he'd needed it for something. And some other bastard had come along and broken it, and probably killed the guy that made it too. And it had waited 2000 years in the ground so it could come up and bite my foot, so I would stay in a little village where little people lived who hardly had enough for their families to eat. And then another group of bastards had come out of the forest to break all _their_ stuff and kill _them_, but I'd stopped them instead. And I'd just come from 3000 years ahead of when those little people lived their lives in that little village; where I'd been living in a city with another group of little people trying to get on with their lives; and yet _another_ set of bastards had come out of the wilderness and tried to kill and mess up _them_, just so they could steal what _they_ had. And it came to me that, if I went wandering around living with groups of little people trying to get on with their lives long enough, probably any set of them that you cared to name was eventually going to have some set of bastards or other come out of the wilderness and try to kill them and break all their stuff so they could steal whatever they had. And if I was there, then I could stop them from doing it. And that was about as good a road to travel as I was ever going to get. So I took the mirror and had it mounted in the amulet, and had the guy put the pot-shard on the other side, to thank it for the lesson. And then I asked the mirror to take me to somewhere I could learn to become a protector, and cut my arm and bled on it, and off I went. Akane's eyes were bright and she leaned forward. "So where did youend up that time, Ranchan?" Well I ended up on top of a hill, and when I tried to get my bearings I tripped and rolled down it and when I reached the bottom of the hill I ended up at the feet of this tall, handsome, noble-looking guy with a samurai's swords and topknot and the clothing of a wandering ronin. Except he was a rabbit. And that was how I met Usagi. "W-wait just a minute, Ranchan. A rabbit?" Akane blinked in confusion. Ranma nodded. Usagi's world is basically Japan in 1620 CE or so, except most of the people are - what's the word? -- anthropomorphs! That's it. You know, human-shaped animals, like in a manga. So there's Bulls and Bears and Cats and Rabbits and Foxes .... Daimyo Noriyuki is a _Panda_ of all things, for instance. So, to continue, Usagi-dono, that's Miyamoto Usagi by the way, had been a samurai in the service of the Daimyo Mifune. Mifune was the enemy of Daimyo Hijiki, and about five or six years before I'd met them, in the last part of the battles for the Shogunate, they'd come to blows. Lord Mifune would probably have won, but Hijiki is a plotter, and he plotted well. Two of Mifune's allies turned traitor, along with one of his generals and the commander of his bodyguard. Usagi was away from his side acting as a courier at the time and he got back too late; Gunichi had run off and Lord Mifune was mortally injured. A samurai's loyalty doesn't end just because his lord is dead, and so Usagi wanders serving his master's cause as best he can as a ronin. Akane sniffed and wiped her eyes and Ranma smiled wistfully. It's all very sweet and touching and honorable, and Usagi-dono is handsome and noble and kind, so I was more than willing to follow him around and train with him. Nabiki grinned twistedly, "Get lucky?" Akane bopped her on the head. No, darn it! (Ranma pouted) There's such a thing as being _too_ noble. Although I see now that he was basically already taken anyway. And I did manage to retain _most_ of my dignity. But I learned a lot about combat, and honor, and the sword; and traveling with Usagi is good for putting polish on young warriors if it's good for nothing else. I met a number of his friends and acquaintances, and managed to spend a month or two with a few of them as well. After that, I left and used the mirror to go a few years later in our own Japan for a while and then jumped back and forth to here and there training in whatever Art was available wherever I went. But I would go back to the wanderer's road to check on my friends from time to time. Nabiki quirked an eyebrow. "Just to check, hmmm?" You get better adventures with Usagi and company around, and they _are_ my friends. Plus, to be honest, it's enormously liberating to be so free that the only thing that you have to worry about is if there's an inn in the direction you woke up facing, and that only because it's the direction you're walking now. At least until the first couple of times you spend a wet, cold, fireless night 'cause there _wasn't_ one, anyway. And that takes a while. Kasumi and Nabiki had acquired far-off looks, and Akane looked slightly wistful. "So what about Jei-san, Ranchan?" Jei's from Usagi's world of course. He used to be a samurai or some such. I ran into him several times and didn't enjoy any of the experiences, but they weren't like today. As for what he is? (Ranma bit her lip lightly.) The first couple of times I met him he seemed completely human, or wolf, or whatever. Mad as a monk in a morass, mind you, but human. He's always claimed to be the champion of the gods and such, but _which_ god he's never said. If he knows. Generally he speaks of a 'sacred mission',which always involves mayhem and slaughter of some type, and says that when he completes it he will be lifted up and granted divinity. He has before been shown to be fast, strong, damn good with a sword, deadly with a yari, tough, possessed of some kind of tracking sense if he's hunting you, and very hard to permanently kill -- he always seems to come back. Ranma rubbed her chin for a moment and considered. The first time I met him, he just started ranting and attacked me. Since I was with Usagi-dono and Tomoe-dono -- Noriyuki- sama's chief retainer -- at the time, that was a particularly stupid thing to do. It wasn't really much of a fight and we left him by the roadside, dead, as we thought at the time. He came back on us and kidnaped the son of the headmaster of Usagi-dono's old village to get Usagi-dono to fight him. Usagi-dono did, and sent him over a cliff with his yari in his side. The third time that I met him was the only time I ever managed to get close to Hijiki-yaro in a fight. Hijiki-yaro's not nearly the fighter that he is a plotter, and I nearly had him, but Jei-san came out of nowhere and saved the bastard. I cut Jei-san's heart in two for it, but I didn't get to see what happened to him after that, because Hijiki-yaro took advantage of my distraction and did this (Ranma indicated her throat, and the scar she bore there). Ranma tapped her chin with her index finger for a moment. The last time that I saw Jei-san before this morning ... Was about a year ago in my time-line. I had run into the little bugger unexpectedly, on the road, and had dueled with him a little. Then he broke off and started moving. I thought it was weird and pursued. It worked out that he'd been sent or moved by his patron or something, because about twenty miles away or so I ran into Usagi- dono. He was with Gennosuke-san and Zato-ino-san and about thirty or so Neko clan Ninja. They were preparing to assault this castle, the fortress of a moderately important lord named Tamakuro, and Jei had gone for the fortress like he'd been pulled by a string. Tamakuro-san, according to Usagi-dono and the leader of the ninja -- a warrior named Shingen -- had gathered together a store of about three hundred arquebuses and a couple tons of ammunition and was preparing to rebel against the Shogun. We found out later that Hijiki-yaro was behind it in some way, but as usual he didn't leave any evidence you could use. Anyway we attacked the place and broke through the wall. Usagi-dono went off hunting for Tomoe-dono, who was imprisoned there, and Gen and Zato-ino-san got pinned down holding off about half the garrison near the main gate. This left it up to Shingen-san and I to lead the ninja against the armory. We did alright for a while, but then Jei-san stuck his nose in. He smashed into the side of our assault and killed Shingen-san and a dozen or so ninja, which threw the rest into confusion, but then I went after him and chased him up into the fortress proper. Usagi-dono had found Tomoe-dono and he and she had rallied the ninja and mounted another assault on the armory; but Tamakuro-san had gained enough time to regroup and bring reinforcements to the central defense and they were driven back. In the meantime I had run into Jei-san and a samurai I knew to be one of Hijiki's chief knives preparing to lead more of the guards to trap the rest of our side inside the castle. I scattered the guards and got involved in a fight with Jei-san and Akkhoto-san that damn near killed me, but I maneuvered them into one spot in front of the central tower and called the dragon wind on them. _That_ time it worked -- it didn't this morning -- and Jei went down with the tower falling on top of him. About that time I got a very strong impulse to beat feet and so I did. Which turned out to be a good thing, 'cause something had struck a spark or something in the ammunition room and the whole damn place blew sky high. Now that was the first time that I knew A) that Jei had not only been mortally injured but had actually _died_, and, B) that the body was destroyed and not lost track of. Ranma paused for a moment and sipped the last of her tea. I don't really know how he got out of that, but his showing up _here_ just confirms what you could get from the fact that he showed up at all; which is that he has some _major_ supernatural backing. That, combined with the abilities, weaknesses and immunity to damage he showed this morning makes me think that he may have been turned into a Chiang Shih. That would mean that someone had done something to his higher 'hun' soul and then corrupted his 'po' soul ... or replaced it altogether, now that I think of it. He was definitely slower and less skilled than he should have been, which would fit, 'cause his 'body soul' would be messed up and wouldn't have all the same skill and 'feel' he'd be used to. He'd also be damn near impossible to permanently damage, which definitely fits. Normally you'd also expect him to be vulnerable to sunlight, but he obviously wasn't. This is probably due to the power he was throwing around - that green fire. It showed all the signs of being a serious yin ch'i manifestation, and from the way it acted I'm betting it was the main thing holding his body together. "Which would mean what?" Nabiki asked softly. Ranma's eyes were focused on the problem, rather than the girls. Which would mean that he was something closer to a demon than a Chiang Shih per se, Nabiki-san. He'd be using the body only as a means to move his power around and not really be connected to it at all .... (her eyes narrowed and her voice went soft). Not connected ... now that I think about it I didn't see any sign of his 'hun' soul at all did I? I cut out the 'po' soul and _it_ was in the heart instead of the lungs, but I didn't see the 'hun' at all. Which could mean that he was using the power to animate the body and the body to contain the power and the 'po' soul to control it all ... and that would explain why the body blew up like that when I took the soul out ... but the 'hun' soul had to be _somewhere_, and if it wasn't _there_ ... then he must have been given a way to run the body 'long-distance', as it were ... which would mean .... that _it_ might _not_ have been affected by the demise of the rest of his body .... which in turn would mean .... "Which would mean that he could come back, wouldn't it, Ranchan?" asked Akane very quietly. Ranma frowned worriedly. "Yeah, it would." Nabiki was also very quiet. "If it does come back, what can we do, Ranma-san?" Ranma's gaze was level. "You can hide, Nabiki-san. And if you can't hide, then you can run." She transferred her gaze to Akane, who met it levelly. "_You_, I'll work with, since I don't suppose I can convince you to be sensible and keep out of it." "No, Ranchan, you can't. As long as you're fighting it, I will be too." A quiet settled over Akane and Ranma, who were sitting with their gazes locked on each other's eyes. Nabiki and Kasumi quietly stood up, gathered up the tray and tea things and left the dojo. Eventually Ranma leaned forward and ran her thumb in a circle around Akane's forehead. "Marked with the sign. Just like me." Standing up, "Come on, Acchan, you haven't done anywhere near enough training yet." Akane moaned theatrically as she rose. "Ohhhh. My sensei's a bully." "All sensei are bullies, Acchan." Ranma bopped her on the head,"It's the notable trait of the type. Assume." "Oh, Kami." "Kumite." "Help." *Hsssh*, *shrk*, *th-thmp* *shrk* *hssh*. *rtch-THUMP*. "Ite!" "Slacker." "Bully." "Shirker. Assume." "Baka. Friends?" "Friends forever, I promise. Kumite." *Hssh*, *rtch-thp*, *th-thmp**shrk*, *thmp-thmp-SPLT* "Ite!" "Which does not, however, get you out of getting beat on." *rtch-thp*, *shrk-hshh-shrk-rtch*. "Wouldn't want it any other way." *th-thmp*, *shrk*, *thmp-thmp-THAP* *whhsh-rtch-THMP!* "HA!" "Good one." *THUMP-WHAP-WHAM* "Ite!" "Just don't get cocky." ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane was seated in seiza in the middle of the dojo floor, eyes closed. Ranma knelt behind her with hands poised above her shoulders. "What am I trying to feel, Ranchan?" "You aren't trying to feel anything, Acchan; you're just trying to _feel_. If you try to anticipate _what_ to feel, you will feel falsely." "Now you sound like a koan," Akane said, crossly. "The master came to a yatai which was selling hot dogs. 'What do you want on your hot dog?' he was asked. 'Nothing,' he replied. Then the hot dog was enlightened." Her hands descended, slowly, to just outside Akane's theoretical peripheral vision, had her eyes been open, and around them a faint glow began to form. Akane snorted a giggle, then gasped. Suddenly, she was aware of senses she had never before known she had. All around her she sensed flows of energy; whirls and spirals and forms of intangible luminescence coexisted in her sight with the simple, everyday visions of floor and walls and dojo, and outside the dojo she could see/sense/hear/smell yet more. A flaming tidal wave of information and impressions seemed to pass over her, and she felt herself burn, as though every limb had been set afire. A wash of energy filled her; she could tell that it was her own, that in some sense it was _her_, yet it rebelled against her, fought her tooth and nail. She frantically searched for control, sought to reduce the tide of data to familiar forms and modes. In front of her she seemed to see a shadow, like a blanket to protect her from the fire, and she grasped at it desperately. It tore in her metaphorical hands and yet she somehow knew that it would heal itself, would cover her eyes and ears, would shelter them, if only she could open herself to it. She yearned for the protection the shadow blanket might offer, but how do you shelter under a blanket that tears if you touch it? Then she realized: you _ask_ it. And the shadow rolled over her, warm and enveloping. For a brief moment she welcomed the respite, and then the shadow resolved itself into visions. Ghosts long gone and barely remembered thronged her sight. Some trailed behind her like beads of light tracing out the necklace of her past; others swarmed throughout the dojo, carrying out the many roles of decades of dojo life. She saw her father's fading doppelgangers going through kata, her own following and growing taller as they did so; saw her mother bringing snacks, Kasumi playing about her feet; saw Nabiki strolling through in many guises, growing from a toddler into a teenager; saw swiftly vanishing traces which seemed to show the future, though how she could tell this she could not say. The milling horde of ghosts was no better than the waves of energy, overrunning her senses with too much input to survive. She tried to cry out, to scream, but she sensed the weak and desperate energies of the call smashed flat, drowned by the raging torrent of conflicting energies that surrounded her and foamed through her; drowned, as she was drowning; overcome, as she was overcome. Then the raging sensations weakened, parted, blew aside; she emerged into the prosaic world of normal sight and sound and touch like a diver from deep water. Slowly and cautiously she extracted herself from the sensations that had overwhelmed her, feeling them held back by a metaphorical wind generated by Ranma's softly glowing hands. Finally, she pulled the last of herself free with a sudden jerk; and wobbled painfully to her feet, staggering to the wall, where she sank down with a groan, putting her face in her hands. A soft footstep announced Ranma, who knelt at her side, putting her hand on Akane's shoulder. Weakly, Akane held up her head, turning her face to meet Ranma's gentle, sad smile. "Second birth, Acchan, and Third. Welcome to the _real_ world." "It hurt, Ranchan." Weakly and somewhat petulant, like a child who has been assured that a trip to the dentist involves candy. "Being born always does, in one sense or another. Rest awhile, you've started on a great journey, but you still have a long way to go." ------------------------------------------------------------ As the light of late afternoon slanted in from the west, and was obscured by gathering clouds, Nabiki was speaking with Kasumi and Ranma left Akane in the furo. Akane had entered into the spirit of the training with alacrity, and had become somewhat overheated as a result, thus returning to the bath. Ranma resumed her original clothing, which she had washed with the assistance of some mild techniques of shih manipulation and some minor magic, and returned to the hallway to speak to Kasumi. "Oh! Ranma-san, is your training with Akane-imoutochan going well?" Kasumi asked calmly. She worried about the questions Ranma's story had raised, of course, but she did so quietly. It would never do to question a guest's truthfulness, but some kind of satisfaction must be gained. Perhaps Nabiki could provide confirmation of some kind. "Very well, Kasumi-san. Exceedingly well, in fact. I retain the hope that Acchan will quickly rise to overtake my own skill level." (Nabiki and Kasumi shared a single thought, 'Nani!?') "But I did want to speak with you and Nabiki on a number of matters. The first of which involves her diet." "Oh, my! Will she be requiring special foods or drinks?" Kasumi was vaguely worried about this; Ranma-san had provided a significant fund towards household expenses, but if exotic foods were going to be joining the menu .... "No. In fact, just the reverse. A balanced and varied diet is best, but she _will_ be eating more than she has been; I would estimate about twice what was normal before." "Thank you for the warning, Ranma-san; I will adjust the amount I make accordingly," Kasumi said gravely. "Secondly," Ranma continued, "I will be involving Acchan in some activities that will be either odd-looking or even somewhat dangerous. I mention this because I am aware that the two of you have no particular reason to trust my judgement, nor any good way to acquire one. This is a problem that I wish to resolve quickly, and I would value any thoughts you might have on the matter." Kasumi winced, and Nabiki straightened. "I know," she said, "that we have to take your word for the conditions of Akane-chan's training, Ranma-san. I doubt if even Daddy has the experience to properly evaluate you in that area. The only thing I am concerned with is that your story is _so_ strange ...." "That you don't have any way to verify it. I understand, Nabiki-san." A pause as Ranma chewed her lip. "Tell me, Kasumi-san, have you begun preparations for dinner yet?" "Err. No, not really, Ranma-san. We don't usually eat until later." "Ah. Well, the problem is solved, then. Acchan will be coming out of the furo in a little while, and I've no doubt that she'll be hungry, so we'll simply go shopping. Yes." Ranma rubbed her chin. "You might want to change into kimonos, though." Nabiki and Kasumi blinked at the non-sequitur, 'Shopping?' but went off and changed anyway. When they returned they found Ranma with the Mirror in her hand, looking into it seriously. "Ahh, good," Ranma muttered, "the way is clear. Nabiki-san, Kasumi-san, I must be careful or you will over-shine me entirely." Kasumi blushed at the compliment, and Nabiki ahhed, "Ahh, Ranma-san, aren't you going to change too?" "Oh, no, they're used to me." "Oh, my," Kasumi said, "where are we going, Ranma-san?" "Well, I know a number of places," Ranma replied, "but I've a mood for Tai at the moment, so I thought we'd go to Okitsu." "Okitsu?" Nabiki queried, "That's a hundred miles away! Are you going to take a train just to get fish?" "Not a train, no," Ranma grinned, "and it's not miles we'll be traveling now." She raised the Mirror to chest height. "The past and future are the same, The present's merely but a game, A stage where players strut and stare, Nanban Mirror, take us _there_!" A breeze blew softly through the suddenly empty hall. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane stretched again, rubbing her hair dry with a towel. She had stayed in the tub for an indulgently long time, soaking off the bruises. Nonetheless, she could not remember a time when she had felt so good, or been so happy. She whistled happily as she dressed in the new clothes Ranma had gotten her, and indulged in a brief fantasy of training with Ranchan forever, getting better and better as the years passed and occasionally saving _her_ from some unspecified menace or other. In fact, she felt _so_ good that ... yes, she felt that she _could_ do it this time. She would go see if Kasumi was in the kitchen, and then ... she'd cook Ranchan a meal! And she'd get Kasumi to help, and _this_ time, damn it, it would _work_! She wandered out of the furo and went toward the kitchen. Then she heard Kasumi calling "Tadaima!" and wondered where Oneechan had gone out to. She went to see and found Kasumi, Nabiki, and Ranma in the dining room, unloading an array of packages wrapped in rice paper or in little boxes from which rose a whole raft of delicious aromas. "Ohh! You went off and got dinner without me! I wanted to help cook. Wait a second; Oneechan, why are you and Nabiki-oneechan in kimonos?" Nabiki and Kasumi only gave her slightly shell-shocked looks as they wobbled upstairs to change and Akane put her hands on her hips and turned to her friend. "Ranchan! What'd you do now?" "Well, after all, Acchan, you can't get good kuri-shioyaki or kuri-kinton except from Seikenji chestnuts _I_ don't think. And you certainly can't get fresh salt-steamed Tai except in Okitsu." Ranma placed the browned, salted chestnuts next to their boiled cousins in their honey- sweetened bath of yams as the centerpiece of a rapidly growing spread of foods in which large plates of filleted Sea Bream, from which a truly mouth-watering smell was rising, figured prominently. Later, around the table, Akane leaned back and patted her stomach. "I must admit, Ranchan, that you were right. I had no idea I could eat a whole plate of that Tai, but ...." She gestured to her empty plate indicatively. Even Soun had been coaxed from his lair, and had praised the foods exhaustively. It was, he said, a clear example of the superiority of the true Japanese spirit; as had been strong in ancient times. Kasumi and Nabiki just shuddered faintly, Ranma merely grinned. And ate a great deal of everything in sight too, of course. But that goes without saying, for Ranma. And Kasumi nibbled at another slice of kamo-no-kuwanamaki, licking the sweet sauce off the broiled duck. And Nabiki munched another half-dozen boiled chestnuts. And Akane eyed a plate of uzura-dango, wondering if the sweet quail patties could actually be made to fit in her stomach. And the clouds closed in above Nerima, as the sun went down. ------------------------------------------------------------ "What are we out here for, anyway, Ranchan? More clothing?" Akane leapt to another rooftop. The sky had darkened completely now, and the moon was hidden behind the ominous clouds, but streetlights provided adequate illumination. "No, no. We need to get some training supplies for the dojo though. And rectify a couple of glaring lapses in the armory, too. Now, if you were a criminal with a lot of money, where would you be? And if you say 'In the government,' Acchan, I'm going to hit you." "Hmm. Well, there's _something_ happening over there." "Let's take a look. Oh yes. Oh my yes, Acchan. That's a nice _big_ one. And in its natural habitat too, you'll notice. Let's sneak up on it, and see how it's doing, shall we?" "Oooh, oooh, can we lurk, instead, Ranchan? I've always wanted to lurk." "If you want, Acchan, we can even skulk." "Oooh, goody." ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane vaulted over a leg sweep and kicked its perpetrator in the face as she went. Ranma's lessons of the day seemed to flow through her as she moved among the eight thugs she had chosen as her share, and bodies flew through the air, describing limp and sad rainbows in their haste to become one with the walls. A final slide sideways and twist, getting out of the way of a clumsy rush and intercepting it in the midriff with a backwards spin kick and it was done. Ranma's thugs, she noted, had been unconscious long enough to be half looted, already. 'Oh, well. Need to get faster, I guess. I wonder if that's a ki technique, or if it's some of her 'magic'? I suppose I should ask, at some point.' As they walked away from the heaps of unconscious bodies, Ranma remarked, "One million, forty thousand yen; that's only fifty thousand each. Pffff. Still, I guess you have to trade quality for quantity sometimes." "I still don't believe that street trash has so much cash on it, or such good stuff to fence, Ranchan." "It's the Ronin's Salvation, Acchan. Jobs may come, and patrons go, but street thugs shall be with us always; and if you ask them right, they're always willing to share." ------------------------------------------------------------ We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. They had fenced the loot, and spent some time finding the supplies Ranma wanted. Then they had moved deeper into the warren of Nerima's Ginza, seeking for weapon sellers. They had laughed and sung snatches of song; whistled and bought candy and snacks; ignored the gathering clouds. Then they had sent the merchandise to the dojo by delivery, and taken to the air. Well who scattered these diamonds, Through the vault of Heaven? Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing? The wind questioned, and the flame responded. The bonfire summoned,and the breeze answered. Who shaped your face, and what made you love me? Where is the heart of every living thing? The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed. The blaze flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed it, and drove it on before. Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either. Wind roused flame to life, dancing from rooftop to walltop, leaping empty air from power line to telephone pole; caroling across the sky, feet dancing on nothing at all but air. I know you love me, how could it not be? Flame drew wind's reply, flickering along a ridged roof, alighting a moment on the tip of the roof of a fake pagoda, before blazing across forty yards of open air to set a warehouse roof alive and singing. And I am yours, now and forever, Feeding now from each other's power. Flinging melody and harmony one to the other. Changing and exchanging the lead, to join again in rising triumph at the last ... 'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see. And the wind blew the flame into a wildfire... We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. And the wildfire whipped the wind into a storm. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end Dear, only love remains. ------------------------------------------------------------ And later, in the hush after midnight, when both Ranma and Akane were long asleep, the clouds over Nerima opened, and the quiet rain began to fall. A still, silver curtain, walling off the near from the far; softening the silhouettes of wall and cornice; filling streams and watering parks and hedges; sending small animals into hiding, and pets into shelter; cleansing the stains in the yard of Furinkan and washing the blood away. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 4: Tapestry of Shadows Part A: Requiem for Solo Voice Also look for the first RAALS Side Arc: Training Sequence, which occurs at about this time. 'Til Next, Eric Hallstrom 10/27/99 -- www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html www.kawaiikunee.com hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com From: Eric Hallstrom Subject: [Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story, Chapter Four Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. "Media Vita" ("In the Midst of Life") and "A Sto'r Mo Chroi'" ("Darling of my Heart" or "The American Wake") are Traditional. I'm using them as such. "The Enfolding" is copyright by Garnet Rogers; "Annie's Song" is John Denver's, and John Denver's alone. (Of course he's dead, but ...). This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 27, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 4: Tapestry of Shadows Part A: Requiem for Solo Voice ------------------------------------------------------------ The memorials had taken six days to organize. Formalities like autopsies and such would have been enough difficulty for any reasonable person; unfortunately, this was Furinkan, and reasonable people were thin on the ground. The details had been worked out, finally, by Nabiki -- the school's 'consensus' had turned to her more or less by default -- who had drawn Ranma, Akane, and Kasumi deeply into the planning. One of the biggest problems had been a simple question of protocols. The Furinkan district of Nerima was 'blest' not only with more than ten times the percentage of practicing or committed Christians than that normal for Japan, but also a substantial minority of persons for whom Shinto must serve in death as it had in life. Under normal circumstances, of course, Shinto is not consulted about the impure and ritually polluted concerns of death and the dead. But this _is_ Nerima, and Nerima is a weird place. The only things that everyone _could_ agree on was that, one, the students who had studied and played together should be remembered together, and, two, that the business should be taken care of as quickly as possible lest the hanging ill-luck should reduce the chances of those still lying injured in the area hospitals. Past that, the factions and sub-factions were locked in a state of very un-Japanese disunity. Nabiki explained to Ranma that Nerima was noted for the degree to which its inhabitants tended to fixate on their pet obsessions. Ranma noted that fanaticism made accord difficult, and speculated on methods of conflict resolution. Eventually, Nabiki simply decreed a compromise. Since Nabiki was well-known at Furinkan, and since Ranma had been spending time frowning ferociously, the decree was assented to with remarkable speed. Due to the widely disparate nature of the religious obligations involved, Nabiki had decided that the actual services for each victim should be held privately. Furthermore, since actual burial would not, of course, be possible, that there would be a mass memorial held instead, during which priests or monks of the various orders would observe certain basic rites. Fortunately, there was a local Shinto shrine priestess, one Sakuranbou Sakura, who was used to weird requests. There would also be music from the Furinkan Choir, and memorial displays for each of the deceased would be proffered for reverence and remembrance. This was to be done during a procession of grief, which would be held in some appropriate public place. At that point Kuno Tatewaki had surprised the whole ward with an unexpectedly generous offer. Nerima (very unusually for a Japanese city, not to mention a ward of Tokyo) has a public cemetery. It is limited in space of course, and normally requires both a significant fee and a significant lead time to reserve a plot there. The Kuno family, as it turned out, possessed a moderate piece of it as an ancestral holding. Tatewaki ordered a medium-ish piece of this holding set aside to hold permanent memorial markers for his fallen schoolmates. Not even a medium piece of the Kuno holdings at the cemetery would be enough for the bodies actually to be _buried_ there, of course, but the prospect of having a permanent, public marker filled the school as a whole with a most unaccustomed warmth for the once-annoying young man. Akane was so pleased that she broke down and kissed him on the cheek on the spot. This reduced him to a gape-mouthed shock, which induced Ranma to kiss him likewise, which sent him into instant unconsciousness. Which caused Ranma to tease Akane for the next several weeks. But you can't have everything. Ranma and Akane, although not part of the choir, had consulted with it to aid in choosing appropriate music. Since it had been necessary to schedule rites by Shinto, Buddhist and Christian priests, it had been decided to use a Christian hymn, but adapt and translate it to a more Japanese mien. This had been done. It had also been decided that Akane and Ranma should escort the bearers of the memorial displays to their resting place, but not carry any themselves. Finally, the weather service had been consulted to select a day free of the sudden constant rain; but Ranma had advised them that no such day was likely until the whole business was over, and so the time had been set. ------------------------------------------------------------ "No, Kasumi-san," Ranma said, "I understand your concern. Indeed, I share it. The only problem is, Jei-san has never been squeamish about involving other people than his 'targets'. In fact, he has taken hostages to force a confrontation before. So I do not feel that simply being elsewhere is sufficient to assure Furinkan or Nerima's escape from his further attentions. More the reverse, actually." "I understand, Ranma-san. Still, I feel that _something_ must be done. It is unharmonious to simply await possible catastrophe." "I agree completely, Kasumi-san. I have already begun to apply myself to the creation of various weapons and wards against such evil. Also, I have created several of these." Ranma offered Kasumi a small origami goose. Kasumi accepted the item and examined it closely, observing the kanji inked in many colors by a neat, precise hand onto the paper of which it was composed. To her untutored eye they appeared to be of a protective or spiritual nature, calling on the Amida Buddha and a selection of beneficent Shinto deities for aid. "Is it a ward, Ranma-san? A protective influence?" "Only in a manner of speaking, Kasumi-san; it is, more precisely, an alarm. If Jei-san or any equivalent evil impinges on Nerima again, this charm and the others like it will give warning; firstly by reacting physically to his approach, and secondly by transmitting a warning to their creator, i.e. me. The pattern of warnings I receive should alert me to the location of the problem, hopefully before it gains its full strength." "I shall pray and sacrifice for your success in this matter, Ranma-san. Please also try to protect my younger sister." "I shall do so to the limits of my capability and her honor, Kasumi-san, I assure you." ------------------------------------------------------------ Now a double column of Furinkan students marched up the hill towards the cemetery , under a steady, moderate rain. The first seventeen pairs held between them a line of seventeen fine wooden chests. Each chest held one of the memorial displays that the school and the victim's families had hurriedly assembled. To the left Akane, in black vest, shirt and pants, and wearing a black trench coat and hat, paralleled the line with a slow, sad, steady pace. To the right, Ranma, identically dressed except for her ever-present white silk scarf and lack of hat, did likewise, her scarlet hair darkened by the rain, which ran off its end in a steady stream down the back of her coat. Behind them all, Furinkan's one decent drummer was beating a slow, mournful *tap tap tap*, barely audible over the patter of the falling rain. ------------------------------------------------------------ "Your sister is worried about you. She seems to feel that you're going to start going out monster hunting and get yourself hurt." "Well, I don't have any real interest in _hunting_ monsters, Ranchan." Akane said mildly. "Just as long as they keep to themselves and don't come around and try to kill my classmates or the like." "But what," Ranma assumed a whimsical tone, "if they come around and only try to _maim_ your classmates instead?" "You know perfectly well what I mean. Now hush, you." "Yes, Acchan. Of course, Acchan. Don't hurt me, Acchan." " Unprincipled bully." "Uncommitted slacker." "One of these days, I'm going to _get_ you." "Promises, promises. On another topic, we need to keep track of the wounded. See how they're doing and if they're healing well. Particularly Sayuri-chan and that girl who kept you from getting spitted." Akane shuddered, "Yeah, I owe her big-time." She chewed her lower lip meditatively for a few moments, "We ought to talk to Dr. Tofu, I bet he can get us the info, or at least get us access." "Dr. Tofu?" "He's our family doctor; both GP and chiropractic. I had a huge crush on him last year." "But you're over him now and not disappointed at all, ne?" "Well ... mostly; but everyone knew he was completely gaga over Kasumi-oneechan anyway, so .... Hey! Wait a minute... why, you...." Her only answer was Ranma's silver laughter as the redhead retreated around the corner faster than Akane could follow. In laughing pursuit, Akane pounded down the street yelling, "Come back here, you!" Rounding another corner she was surprised by a flying sneak tickle attack that quickly rendered her hors de combat, with Ranma lounging beside her and smirking, "And the lesson for today, Acchan, is?" "Make your combat stance your everyday stance and your everyday stance your combat stance." To Ranma's raised eyebrow she sighed, and added, "And my sensei's a bully." Ranma raised a hand in preparation for another attack, "Alright! Alright! 'And don't sass the sensei.'" "Exactly." ------------------------------------------------------------ As the officiating priests (and priestess) finished the rites there came a hush, filling the cemetery with a silence that the ever-present rain merely intensified. The combined student body seemed to hover, as though they wished to put out a hand and pat their fallen comrades on the shoulder, or urge them on to class one last time. Then the hush was broken by the voice of the lead singer of the Choir. Media vita in morte summus, Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine? Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris. Sanctus, Sancte fortis, Sancte misericors Domine, Amarae morti ne tradas nos. In te speraverunt patres nostri: Speraverunt et liberasti eos. Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine, Et lux perpetua luceat eis. ------------------------------------------------------------ "Why hello, Akane-chan. I didn't see you at Furinkan, I'm glad you weren't injured." "Only a few scrapes and bruises, Tofu-sensei. This is my sensei in the Art, Bushiko Ranma." Ranma and Dr. Tofu shook hands. "We had wondered, Tofu-sensei, if you had any information on the status of the injured, especially Asano Sayuri-san, and Kuno Tatewaki's sister." "Yes, Ranma-san, I have been keeping up a bit; particularly on the patients I attended. Most are healing nicely, at the moment, but Kuno- san was very badly hurt; it will take her several weeks just to recover enough to leave the hospital. As for Asano-san, the last I heard, she was healing nicely from the physical trauma, but has shown no signs of coming out of her coma." "Do you think we might obtain permission to visit them, Tofu-sensei?" "I can't see why not, Ranma-san. They're in Nerima General...." ------------------------------------------------------------ Then the second singers came in on descant, leading from basses to sopranos as the second set of verses went by in rounds. Finally, the third singers chimed in , in Japanese, as the seconds combined their rounds into a single, blurred chorus. Media vita in morte summus, {[Media vita in morte summus,]} In the midst of life we are in death, Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine? {[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]} Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord? Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris. {[Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.]} Who because of our sins are justly angry at us. ------------------------------------------------------------ Kuno Kodachi stirred weakly in her hospital bed, and pressed her brother's hand. Real life had turned out to not work like she had thought it did. She wondered how many other things she had been mistaken on. Then the door opened, and two girls came into the room. The first, she saw, was the redhead who had kept the monster from skewering her; the second she knew as Tendo Akane, and seemed to recall a blurred impression of her also protecting her and her brother from death. 'Such a great mistake to make,' she thought regretfully, 'it's embarrassing.' Ranma walked to the bed and surveyed Kodachi's visible injuries. Her face was marked by a bandage covering the left side, beneath which Ranma sensed a burn, which seemed to have been caused by a mingling of fire, acid and something poisonous. She nodded in confirmation of her suspicions, 'Yin shih charged spirit fire. That's going to _hurt_.' Ranma grinned crookedly at Kodachi and accepted a weak smile in return, "A piece of advice, lass. _First_ you take them down; _then_ you rant at them. Timing is important." Kodachi managed a breathy chuckle, "I shall follow your advice most closely, Ranma-san. Assuming I ever again get the chance." "Oh, I think that between us we can get you up and functioning again. Akane-san and I both owe you a debt after all. Have they given you a schedule of rehabilitation exercises, yet?" "No, Ranma-san, I believe they have yet to complete their schedule of surgery, and...." ------------------------------------------------------------ Sanctus, {[Sanctus,]} Holy one, Sancte fortis, {[Sancte fortis,]} Holy powerful one, Sancte misericors Domine, {[Sancte misericors Domine,]} Holy compassionate Lord, Amarae morti ne tradas nos. {[Amarae morti ne tradas nos.]} Do not hand us over to bitter death. In te speraverunt patres nostri: {[In te speraverunt patres nostri:]} In you our fathers placed their hopes: Speraverunt et liberasti eos. {[Speraverunt et liberasti eos.]} They placed their hopes, and You freed them. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma drew Tatewaki aside from where Akane was visiting with Kodachi and lowered her voice. "You understand, Tatewaki- san, that even under the best of circumstances your sister will have to totally rearrange her life?" Tatewaki nodded, solemnly. "Akane-san and I will assist her, of course, but the primary burden will fall on her family." "We have no family save each other," Tatewaki said grimly, "I shall ...." Suddenly he looked down at his folded hands and bit his lip. "Ranma-san, you enjoined me to mend my soul ere I again called myself a Samurai." Ranma raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I feel that ... this challenge to my house requires the services of a Samurai, and I .... You enjoined me to mend my soul, Ranma-san, but I do not know how. Will you ...?" Ranma caught his eyes with her own for several seconds, looking deep within as though to see the state of his soul for herself. Then she nodded contemplatively, "Well, I don't suppose that it's much harder to heal two than to heal one. We will endeavor, in one way or another." "Thank you, Ranma-sensei." ------------------------------------------------------------ Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine, {[Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,]} Rest eternal grant them, Lord, Et lux perpetua luceat eis. {[Et lux perpetua luceat eis.]} And perpetual Light shine upon them. Media vita in morte summus, {[Media vita in morte summus,]} In the midst of life we are in death, Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine? {[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]} Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord? ------------------------------------------------------------ The hospital room was quiet. Ranma stood by Sayuri's bedside and placed her hand, palm down, on her forehead. She frowned meditatively for a moment, then stepped aside and waved for Akane to try. Akane assumed the same position and concentrated. She did not reach a conclusion with anything like the same speed, and spent several minutes locked in struggle with her perceptions. Finally she frowned, stepped back, and spoke. "Ranchan, her body ki feels like it's in good shape, but I can't find her mind or spirit at all. It's like there's a fog, or a wall, or something." Ranma nodded, grimly, "Yeah. I get that too. My guess is that either she retreated into herself to escape whatever Jei-san did to her, or that she's being chained." "Chained, Ranchan?" "Yah. Jei or Somebody could have, err, locked up her mind's ki, so to speak. And in that case she won't get better unless somebody goes and rescues her." "Somebody." "Somebody, for instance, who is not you. On account of you are Not Yet Ready." "Oh, of course not. I wouldn't even dream of it," Akane replied in a bland, even voice. Ranma, preoccupied, missed the signs completely. ------------------------------------------------------------ After the choir had finished, Ranma stepped forward. Akane had wanted to assist her, but had proven incapable of learning the song quickly enough -- couched as it was in a mixture of Gaelic and English -- and so Ranma had diffidently asked if she might give the dead honor on her own. The request had, of course, been acceded to, by acclamation. And so Akane stood solemnly behind her teacher and, along with the rest of the crowd, was swept away. A sto'r mo chroi', when you're far away From the home that you'll soon be leaving, 'Tis many the time, by night and by day, That your heart will sorely be grieving. For the stranger's land it is bright and fair, And rich in treasures golden, But you'll pine I know for the long, long ago, And the love that never is olden. A sto'r mo chroi', in the stranger's land, There is plenty of wealth for the willing. Where jewels adorn the great and the grand, While our faces with hunger are paling. Yet the road may be toilsome, and hard to tread, And the lights of their cities may blind you. Then turn a sto'r, to the eastern shore, And the ones that you're leaving behind you. A sto'r mo chroi', when the evening mists, O'er Mountain and Sea are falling, Then turn aside from the throng and list' And maybe you'll hear me calling. For the sound of a voice that I sorely miss, For somebody's quick returning, Ohh! A ru'n, a ru'n, won't you come back soon, To the love that always is burning? As she sang, Ranma gathered power to herself; building an aura of blue and gold light that flared and grew, until at the climax of her song she seemed as a pillar of living flame. When she finished her requiem she stood momentarily motionless, burning like a star against the unceasing gray rain; and then she flared her aura and sent it out and up, like a great cry of rage against the dying of the light. And then the undertakers stepped forward, and lifted their spades, and the first clods of earth pattered down on the coffins, the sound muffled by the flowers that still bedecked their tops. And the mourners turned, and slowly walked away, Ranma and Akane last. And in the skies above Nerima the rain began to lighten, and the clouds began to part at last. ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 4: Tapestry Shadows Part B: Sunday Service ------------------------------------------------------------ It is sunday morning ... _early_ sunday morning ... the sky still dark, in the darkest hours before the light of the new day. Ranma's apartment, like all the others in her building, is dark; that should not, however, be construed to mean that Ranma is asleep. Contrariwise, she is wide awake, sitting seiza in girl form in the middle of her main room, surrounded by a litter of books, papers, vials, beakers, boxes, racks, small pieces of metal or wood or wire, and a great quantity of objects which can only be classified as miscellanea. No diagram hangs in the air before the window, no mysterious liquids drip in shadowed corners, no air of arcane secrets prevails. Nonetheless, magic is being made. Magic of the best and most useful sort: prosaic magic. In front of Ranma sits a pile of small pieces of rice paper; next to them is a set of inkstones, bearing ink of many hues, and a matching set of pens. To one side is a completed set of small origami geese, patiently waiting their time. Ranma's attention, though, is not on the geese; instead, she turns a small piece of jade over in her hands, staring at it with a faint air of puzzlement. It is carved in the likeness of a nightingale, but this has been the case for centuries, and would not seem to be cause for puzzlement. Casually, Ranma reaches her hand to the side and picks a scroll out of a pile of similar writings. She places the jade nightingale carefully in front of her and unrolls the scroll, skimming at first, and then carefully reading one section. Then she moves on in the scroll, skimming the rest before returning to several sections to scrutinize them closely, rolling the scroll back and forth several time to cross-reference some point or other. Then she rerolls the scroll and places it back into its place before rising quickly to her feet, rapidly gathering the litter from the floor and replacing it in the foot-locker. The geese she puts aside, laying them on the table in the kitchen. The jade bird remains sitting enigmaticly where she left it. Although, to be honest, sitting where you leave it can not truly be considered enigmatic behavior for a jade figurine; this is, after all, what they do all the time. Inanimation is a hard habit to give up. Ranma finishes her clean-up and returns to sit seiza before the still immobile figurine. Then she reaches out and takes it into her hands, resting it in the valley of her cupped palms as she sinks deeply into trance. And the minutes pass, fleeing like frightened minnows, as Ranma adjusts her perception, looking Without, and then Within - Within the jade bird cupped in her hands, and Within herself as well. Before her inward turned gaze she sees a tracery of fire, outlining blocks of softly luminescent patterns; patterns that, for those with eyes to see them, set out the precise details of the existence of any given object. This one, for instance, tells of the details for the jade figurine in Ranma's hand. See the patterns that mark out its shape, and color; trace the lines that tell of texture, chemical composition, mass and density; observe the lack of any pattern that would indicate life, or growth, or change. It is not unusual for there to be such a lack; after all, the figurine isn't alive. And yet ... yet within its structure it still possesses the energies of life. And yet within its patterns it follows the living patterns of the bird which is its model. And yet, somehow, locked in never-living stone, there still exists a living bird: awaiting life, longing for freedom, patient as a stone. Patient, as it has had to be patient, since the day so long ago when it first was carved. Waiting, as it has had to wait since the day when first it coalesced from primordial ore and silicates. Longing, as it had longed since the first human hand had touched it, since its shape had taken form, since it had become like life, but not alive. And Ranma hears the longing in her blood, knows the waiting in her bones, feels the patience down all the endless years in nerves and heart and soul. And reaches out a mental hand, and presses a metaphorical button, because, sometimes, patience does have its reward. And a spring wound by a thousand years of longing unwinds. And in her hand the nightingale shakes its carven feathers into place, and stretches and spreads its stony wings, and hurls itself into the waiting air, and raises its voice -- at last, at last -- in song. For a moment Ranma follows the jade bird's ecstatic flight with a proud smile, but then she notes the music the joyful bird is raising to heaven, a tune slower and simpler than expected, a tune, she suddenly realizes, that she knows. And her smile turns wistful, and a golden contralto softly joins a jade fountain of song. Deep within this softly moonlit night we awoke, to find our Loves' sweet expression unfolding of its own accord. A touch in gentle sleepiness, a fingertip, a pressing lip The kindness of our bodies, speaking softly in the dark. Our love began so tentative; a smiling eye, a voice soft-spoken Touching in a way our lives had never quite been met. The quiet grave acceptance of the truth within each other, The meeting of two people, man and woman for all time. So in this night our love unfolds, your body is akin to mine. Another half once left behind in generations long ago. To finally meet together, in a silent true immersion. The natural culmination of a love we can't define. And this loving is a drawing close, a turning in, an opening Until one perfect moment; but how can it be expressed? A receiving, and enfolding as I cradle you in my arms. Within my heart, within my soul, You are my true love. The nightingale circuits the room and lands on Ranma's outstretched finger, throat pouring forth a torrent of song. Ranma listens for a moment, still smiling wistfully, then chuckles. "It's all very well for _you_ to say. You don't have to deal with it." Music. "'Man and woman for all time', _that's_ the problem." Music. "Because she's straight, you silly bird. And she thinks I'm a girl." Music. "Yeah, that _could_ be done, I suppose. But there's one problem. _I_ want 'man and woman' too, and if you say anything about Nannichuan I'll ...." Music. "Be her friend. What else is there?" Music: a sharp, brief stanza. "Love is ... not a good idea. Besides, there's Oyaji, remember? If he hasn't found an engagement for me I'll eat my hat. It'll be enough of a miracle if she's at all suitable. Hell, it'll be something of a miracle if she's _human_. Love is too much to hope for." Music. "Because _it won't work_, damn it. It hurts enough as it is." Music: a rich tapestry of interweaving harmonies. "Oh _well_. In _that_ case, yes, _then_ it would work. Of course, that won't happen ... but _if_ it did, then yes." Music: a joyous trill, fading into a sleepy purl. A stretching, a shake, a nestling down to rest; and a small jade figurine, a nightingale asleep, is cupped in the hollow of Ranma's palm. Patiently waiting for a spring to wind itself again; content now, in a sense, but still longing for the day when it can again unwind itself ... and fly ... and sing. And Bushiko Ranma looks down into the hollow of her hand, and says, very gently, "Silly bird." ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 4: Tapestry Shadows Part C: Sonata for Flute ------------------------------------------------------------ Tendo Akane woke very early, just before sunrise. She quickly dressed, intending to get in some practice before breakfast. Going out of her room, she first stopped in the kitchen. "Ohayo, Kasumi-oneechan; I'm going to the dojo to practice; would you call me when breakfast is ready please?" "Ohayo gozaimasu, Akane-chan. Ranma-san is already in the dojo. She asked me to make you this snack, to eat before you train." Kasumi gave Akane a small plate, holding a pair of rice balls and a small filet of fish. *blinkblink* "Ranchan's _here_? _Already_? Augh! I'm late! She'll think I'm slacking!" A wind blew through the kitchen as the screen *whooshed* with Akane's passage, leaving the plate hanging in mid-air. It *whiished* as Akane reappeared, catching the plate and gulping down the food in a blur. It *whooshed* again as Akane vanished through the abused screen leaving the now clean plate hanging in mid-air; only to *whiish* as she reappeared, catching the plate before it could fall and placing it gently in the sink before *whoosh*ing out the screen again; followed by a *thump* as the screen was sucked off its track and fell over. A *shhhk* announced Akane's sliding stop, followed by a black-haired head that slowly inched its way back into the picture. Akane gave Kasumi a nervous smile before picking the screen up off the ground and placing it gingerly back into place. She patted it timidly, then took several cautious, silent steps away before vanishing dojo-wards again with a dopplered wail of, "Auugh! I'm Late!" Kasumi blinked at the screen slowly. It somberly toppled over with a somehow triumphant *thud* and broke into several pieces. Kasumi blinked again before lowering her face into her hands and shaking her head. "Oh ... dear." ------------------------------------------------------------ We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. Akane skidded to a halt as she entered the dojo and dropped her jaw in shock. The formerly empty practice floor was covered by piles of cinder-blocks in a similar manner to those she had used to practice with, (was it less than a week ago, or was it a lifetime?) the first morning After Ranma. Ranma was stacking them into tall piles and had apparently been at work on a number of the piles she had already stacked, because they had been shaped in some manner into vaguely human form. How she had managed it Akane couldn't imagine, but she supposed that the trick of shaping cinder-blocks must be a fairly simple one after some of the things she had seen Ranma do. Akane watched as Ranma finished stacking her latest pile and withdrew her fan from her sleeve. Then Ranma raised her hand above the top of the concrete pile and snapped the fan open. That pair in the corner, They're here every Tuesday They come when the market first open its stalls. And it's got so that lately I'll wait just to see them Their heads bent together, As they come down the hall. And her hair has grown whiter His has grown thinner, And their pace has slowed down As the years have grown long. But they keep step together 'Mongst strangers who hurry, These two old companions, Walking slowly along. Ranma's fan flashed around and through the pile of blocks as she sang, and before Akane's eyes a pile of rectangular blocks was shaped, flexed, carved and melted into another humanoid shape. "Ohayo, Ranchan. How are you doing that?" "Ohayo, Acchan. Let me finish a couple more so we have half of them done and I'll show you." "Let me help stack." ------------------------------------------------------------ "Okay, now here we have a pile of cinder-blocks, right?" "Umm. Yeah. Looks like that to me, yep." Akane nodded happily, and looked at Ranma with wide eyes. "Stop that. Besides, for the purpose of this explanation, you're wrong. What we have here is a pile of patterns of energy. A set of shapes defined by ch'i and, in this case, mostly free of shih." Akane squinted to slip into othersight, "That's the same thing though, right, Ranchan?" "Not quite, no. See, if it was a pile of concrete blocks, then there'd be no way to do anything with it. Concrete blocks are concrete blocks, ne? But! If it's a collection of patterns of ch'i, then I can use _this_," she flourished the fan, "which is _also_ a pattern of ch'i, to change what the patterns say. "Now watch. I take the fan, and I feed shih from my ki into it, see?" Akane nodded. "Now, I use the shih to 'spread' the ch'i of the blocks. And now that I've got them in shape to be changed ...." The upper portion of the pile was quickly reduced to the shape of a crudely fashioned head. "Now you try." Akane dubiously took the fan from Ranma, and focused her othersight on the concrete. Sinking into a trance, she sent shih rushing into the fan, filling it with crackling tubes of light. She attempted to insert the fan into the concrete but met with resistance. Withdrawing the fan, she 'looked' at it, altering the shape and frequency of the power filling it to something closer to what she had seen Ranma use and then tried again. A few attempts later, the fan began to sink into the concrete, but stopped less than an inch in, having apparently run into something. Frowning slightly, Akane flexed her fingers, preparatory to changing the shih flow one more time. The flex caused the fan to open slightly. The pile exploded into dust, knocking her head over heels backward into the wall of the dojo. Ranma tapped her chin meditatively, "Well ... it's a start." ------------------------------------------------------------ ...*boom* ... *boom* ... *boom* ... Tendo Nabiki was a heavy sleeper, particularly on Sunday. Nonetheless, repeated muffled explosions could waken even her. Blearily she wandered into the kitchen, where Kasumi intercepted her with a request to inform Ranma and Akane that breakfast was ready. Not particularly in a good mood she wandered through the house to the dojo and opened the door. Strewn about the once-polished dojo floor her narrowed eyes observed a dozen or so piles of rubble, and the accountant in her bemoaned the cost in cinder-blocks that rubble represented. Meanwhile the sister in her was storing up a grievance, and the observer was watching with dropped jaw as her sister went after another pile of blocks in a seeming frenzy with ... a fan??!! A most puissant fan, she noted; it was carving pieces of cinder-block off the pile like a ginsu knife slicing tomatoes. Akane finished carving concrete with what passed for a flourish, and stepped back from the now human shaped pile with a gasp of exhaustion and a whirl of triumph. "Ha!, Ha!, See, Ranchan, I told you I had it this time!" Ranma tapped her chin in silence and Akane turned to her in irritation, "Well ... what's wrong with it?" She was answered by a sound as of flowing sand as the concrete gave up its bondage to solidity and dissolved into dust, a few small pieces of somewhat more resilient mien falling through the pile to *ping* off the floor. Ranma raised an eyebrow in silence. Akane flushed beet-red and slumped to the floor in a heap, putting her head in her hands. "I don't think you've quite got that part quite down yet, Acchan." Akane *snff*ed from the floor. "Still. it _may_ be that you'll do better after a rest, ne? And I think Nabiki-san is here to announce breakfast." Ranma raised another eyebrow, at Nabiki this time. "Umm, yeah. Oneechan says it's ready, yes." Akane *snff*ed again and Ranma extended a hand to her. Akane grasped the hand and pulled herself up. She started to walk after Nabiki, but raised her head to where she could see the remaining uncarved, stacked cinder- block pile. Her head snapped up, her jaw firmed, and her shoulders straightened. She raised the fan and said, "No! I'm on the verge, I know it. Once more, and _this_ time I'm gonna do it right!" Then, suddenly, she grinned, "Hey, Ranchan, watch me pull a dummy out of a cinder-block!" "Aw, Acchan," Ranma squirreled, "that trick _never_ works!" "This time for sure!" Akane strode purposefully up to the untouched pile and stuck the fan an inch into the space where the head would be. Then her shoulders hunched and she gathered herself. The fan suddenly unfolded, and Akane seemed to go into a frenzy of fan blows; blurring about the pile, now to the left, now in back, as she stripped and melted concrete with each strike. After a minute of frantic effort she stepped back, panting in exhaustion and glaring at the shaped concrete, daring it to move in any way. Ranma stepped forward and flicked the dummy with her finger, nodding when it failed to immediately disintegrate. "Yep, I think that's got it." Then she pivoted gracefully, and caught Akane by the waist as the taller girl fainted with exhaustion, swinging her up into her arms. She carried Akane to the door and shrugged at Nabiki, "A little stubborn, maybe." Nabiki shook her head and walked ahead of Ranma into the dining room. ------------------------------------------------------------ After breakfast Ranma and Akane returned to the dojo. Ranma considered the dummies scattered about the room for a moment, and then turned back to Akane, putting her back to the dojo wall. "Well, you've proved that you can do basic ki movement, and also basic manipulations of other's chi. Now we move on a little. Using these skills, you can extend your capabilities in several ways. The first thing we'll talk about is an extension of what you just did with the fan. It's called ch'i disruption. When Jei attacked, did you notice what I did to the wall of the classroom he was in?" "Yah, Ranchan, I'd been meaning to ask you about it. You sort of ... waved at the wall? And it fell apart, is what it looked like." Ranma held up her right hand, outer fingers veed and inner fingers curled. "It's called The Butterfly's Kiss. What you do is send out a shih pulse from your hand. The pulse is set in a manner that disrupts the ch'i of any inanimate object that it hits. And once you've disrupted its ch'i of course, it falls apart." "What about living things, Ranchan?" "A good question, Acchan. Living targets are harder to affect. First, because their ki will tend to resist you messing with it; and second, because they have souls, which will keep them mostly intact even if you _do_ manage to mess with it. That said, however, there are versions of this move that will do nasty things to people, too. "Now you hold your hand like this ... and you feed shih from your ki like _this_ ... and you've got to keep in mind what the ch'i of the thing you're trying to affect looks like, 'cause you have to send a pulse that disrupts it, like so ...." ------------------------------------------------------------ "Now the next thing we're going to look at is called shih-sheathing. This is a method of creating a sheath or shroud of moving or 'fluid' energy from your ki, and having it exist _separate_ from your ki for some period of time. "Now you've already done a variant of this with the fan, but the essence of the technique here is to be able to apply a sheath not only to yourself or something you're holding, but to things you've let go of, or even to non-physical things like a ch'i structure. And also to get the sheath to _last_ once you can't feed shih to it any more, of course." "You want me to use this set of throwing knives to practice on, right, Ranchan?" "To start with, yes." Akane concentrated on the knives in her hands, turning them over and over and watching the reflections. Slipping deeply into trance, she concentrated on the task of covering the blades with a 'web' of shih that did not immediately disintegrate when she released it. After several minutes of effort she had determined that the most important step was insuring that the outer web was both self-contiguous and anchored to a stable object and was attempting to work out a method for doing so. Abruptly, a warning instinct she hadn't previously known she had went off, sending her rolling sideways, away from the concrete fist that *thudd*ed into the dojo floor where she had been standing. Akane rolled to her feet in automatic reaction and slid sideways, dodging the blocky attacker's forceful rush and flicking a knife into its throat. The knife *ping*ed off concrete and Akane cursed herself for a fool, evading another cobra-quick attack by the animate statue and jumping for increased fighting room. She desperately reached for concentration to empower a better weapon and felt time slow as a sudden gestalt clicked into place. All at once she _knew_ the feel of a properly made sheath, knew the sight and sound and taste of it, and a sheath of shih set to penetrate solid rock snapped down over two of her remaining knives. These then flashed across the rapidly decreasing distance to her target, thudding into its throat and heart and sinking deep. Unfortunately, as her attacker was made of concrete instead of flesh and blood, this accomplished nothing. Akane threw off two butterfly's kiss strikes set for stone to no effect before she skidded sideways from a combination strike that would have pulped her like a rotten grapefruit and jumped over the return stroke, pushing off from her opponent's back into a long dive that staggered the towering bulk and won her twenty feet of space. Coming up from her dive into a forward roll, she stood and whirled, mind still in overdrive as she sought a way to deliver a ch'i disruption attack that would destroy her foe without making the fatal mistake of coming into its reach. Her racing thoughts quickly pruned her decision tree to the only possible solution and began to implement it as her opponent regained its balance and turned to the attack again. Akane wove the sheathe around the disruption pulse and anchored it to the knife, then set the knife to throw. Dodging forward to close past the range at which her opponent's speed would allow it to dodge, she threw the knife from just outside the reach of its arms. The knife flew straight to its target and sank deep into the concrete chest, but the desired result did not obtain. 'Shit! Ranchan _told_ me you couldn't do that to a living target! What was I thinking?' Akane folded into a forward roll under the closing arms, her mind still in hyper. 'I need to set the disruption-ch'i off, but how do I alter ...? I'll have to get close.' Akane came out of her roll inside the reach of her opponent's arms and launched herself immediately into a jump that put her in a position to be crushed by their rapidly closing grasp; but also in a position to touch the hilt of the knife, into which she channeled all the shih she had, funneling it directly into the disruption-web which drove the animating shih before it as it expanded. And then the web collapsed inward into the creature's chest, exploding it with sufficient force to knock Akane back into the wall of the dojo, smacking herself on the suddenly disconnected arms as she went by. From the side of the dojo, Ranma chuckled, "Well, that's _one_ way to do it ...." Limping slightly, Akane moved to the crumbled remains of the practice dummy and retrieved her knives. Giving the redhead a glare, Akane replied in a dangerously mild voice, "What were you expecting?" Smiling, Ranma put a hand on the dummies to either side. As they rumbled into life, she said, "Look at these two. What do you See?" Akane looked at the lumbering figures, and tried to see what Ranma might be referencing. All she saw was a tracery of shih. layered and interwoven, providing the energy necessary for the dummies to move. Suddenly she saw what her friend meant, and sent a knife winging into each dummy, hitting, and cutting, the 'knot' of energies that anchored the shih-web in stability. The loosed energies fled back into Ranma's ki and the suddenly inanimate dummies stopped moving. "Very good, Acchan. Now we'll try that a couple different ways...." ------------------------------------------------------------ As Kasumi walked toward the dojo she worried, briefly, about cleaning. The training activities Nabiki had described sounded very messy to her, and she concerned herself with the question of just who was going to clean the result. It was important that the dojo show itself in good condition, after all; it reflected on the face of the dojo. And hence on her own honor. Not that she was eager to have to expend _yet more_ time in keeping up the condition of the Dojo and its constituents, mind you, but .... Honor was honor, after all. Still, it might be that there was _some_ help to be had from ... other sources. Like Nabiki and Akane, for instance. Or even Ranma-san. It is part of a sensei's duty to insure the proper condition of the dojo, after all. Walking in through the door to the dojo proper she stopped abruptly and gaped. The alteration in the dojo's countenance had been ... extreme. A half-dozen concrete or stone statues loomed menacingly around the dojo wall. A wide selection of dark spots, scorches, dents and holes now decorated the dojo's walls and floor. And a large pile of dust and debris was growing in the center of the floor where Akane and Ranma were sweeping it with brooms. Well ... Akane was sweeping with a broom; Ranma was ... shooing the debris along, _and it was moving!_ 'And to think,' she despaired, 'all these years and _I've_ been doing it the _hard_ way!' "Ohayo, Kasumi-san," Ranma chirped, "we're almost finished here. I'm just giving Acchan a lesson in practical magic." Ranma crossed her arms and leaned against the dojo wall next to the door to the house. Akane finished sweeping the floor and turned to Ranma questioningly. "Okay, Acchan, now we have two things to do to return the dojo to good condition. First, we must remove that pile of trash. Second, we have to fix the walls and floor." "Umm, yeah." Akane flushed guiltily and looked about at the damage. "I guess we did kinda trash stuff didn't we?" She looked at the pile of concrete shards. "I dunno about this pile, though, Ranchan. I could disrupt it piece by piece, but there's gotta be thousands of pieces in there." "No problem. Watch what I do, here. First you treat the pile as a single thing, with a single meaning. Then you use the butterfly kiss on that one thing." The pile dissolved into a looming cloud of fine dust; Ranma waved her other hand at it, fingers rotating. Kasumi's eyes went wide in shock. "Then you take the dust cloud and gather it together and run it off." The cloud was sucked into a small tornado that formed on the former location of the pile and blew out the outside door into the yard. "Now, for the next problem we rely on the fact that the inner meaning of the dojo is not particularly related to holes in the walls. That is, the natural state of the dojo is to be in good condition. What you need to do is find the dojo's 'right state' and Imbue reality with it." "Fffff." Akane blew out her cheeks, dropping into seiza in the center of the floor. "Okay, I _think_ I can do that. Let's see." She knelt forward onto her knees and put one hand onto the dojo floor, almost caressing it before stilling herself completely, almost ceasing even to breathe. A hum began to resonate throughout the dojo as Akane concentrated and began to glow herself, faintly. Then the walls and floor of the dojo began to blur, to seem as if seen in double-vision, overlaid by an image similar, but not exactly the same. The hum fell in pitch and rose in volume and Akane's glow shifted quickly towards the red, brightening as it did so and giving off heat. Then the walls seemed to snap into focus as the hum peaked in a sudden squeal of high-pitched sound. Akane's glow faded and revealed, when the light level had stabilized, a dojo not merely repaired, but polished 'til it shone. Ranma tapped her chin. "Not exactly the way I'd have done it, but it worked nicely." Akane wobbled to her feet, and put her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath. "How'd *gasp* how'd I do, Ranchan? *Pant* Harder than I thought. *Wheeze*" Ranma gave her a thumbs up, and turned to Kasumi. "You did great, Acchan! What's up, Kasumi-san?" Kasumi heard herself say something about dinner, and furo, and heard Ranma's reply. Internally, however, she was focused on one thought only, here was a product of the martial arts that _she_ could use. Domesticity Martial Arts. Plans and half-formed wishes volleyed back and forth in her head as she wandered away. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane leaned back into the heated bath-water and considered her friend. Ranma had delayed a moment to speak to Nabiki which gave Akane a chance to watch her undress and wash, a chance she was making the most of. From an aesthetic standpoint, she mused silently, Ranma's body left something to be desired. Oh, her _form_ and _figure_ were certainly acceptable enough, in an abstract sense; not quite as 'developed' as hers, but certainly acceptable. But the overall presentation ... while not ... uncomely ... nevertheless was distinctly lacking. Partly, she thought, due to the sheer unconventionality of it. Conventional standards, after all, definitely emphasized smoothness. Skin should be soft, or else taut and tanned, muscles sculpted and well- defined. Body fat should cover and enhance to sleekness those areas possessing it, and some areas, particularly those most feminine, _should_ possess it. Eyes should be large and expressive, and open to the world. The structure of the face should be smooth and sleek, flowing in curves strong or heart-shaped as circumstances indicated, defining that feature regarded as the emblem of the soul. The whole structure and carriage of the body should harmonize into the presented image, blending the soul and the body that carries it into one, unitary whole. Another part was carriage and attitude. 'So much of how you perceive a person comes from how they move and are still,' she thought. A woman may mince, or skip, or even prowl or strut, but nonetheless she moves in a certain manner. With grace and style, or at least with an attempt at them. Forever conscious of how other will see her. A man may move forcefully or timidly, claiming the limelight or evading it, but always dealing with the space to be seen _in_. A normal man, a normal woman, she thought. But not Ranma. Muscles like steel cable and whipcord. Skin seamed with thin white scars and tanned into a semblance of well-cured, soft leather. Face close-laid over strong bones, but without more than a pittance of body fat, eyes as often half-closed as open. Attitude most of all. Ranma, she thought, rather than being concerned with seeing or being seen, more often exuded a combination of complete relaxation unconcerned with its surroundings and utter steel-spring readiness for action that you would ordinarily have to be a mongoose to pull off. Lastly, and that which was first noticed, movement; no concern there with being seen, no concern with space. Ranma simply moved from one space to another, utterly unconcerned with what might be going on outside the spaces she was moving _in_. Idly, Akane wondered if she would end up looking like that, and how long it would take. Idly, she thought that Ranma wasn't conventionally pretty, but was certainly beautiful. Idly, she wondered why she had thought that, but lost the thought amidst heat-induced relaxation. Then she remembered another idle thought, and acted on it. "Hey, Ranchan! Tell me about the other one." "Which other one, Acchan?" Ranma replied, slipping into the tub. "The other one who used to call you Ranchan." "Huh? Oh! Oh, sure, Ucchan. Ukyou that is. Ko-something Ukyou, my first friend. "Ucchan lived in Osaka when I was six; still does, I guess. His dad owns an Okonomiyaki shop there. He and I always used to scuffle over food. "Well ... that's not _quite_ right. What happened was, Ucchan would make a couple of okonomiyaki, I would 'steal' them, then I'd give one back and we'd eat lunch." "Made you lunch every day, hmmm?" Akane teased, "Sounds like _some_one liked you a lot." "We were _six_, Acchan." Ranma said wryly, "Don't construct a great romance from nothing, here." "You mean to tell me," Akane arched an eyebrow, "that you never thought about it before? Not even a little? No dreams of going back to Osaka and, you know, looking him up?" "First, we were _friends_, Acchan. Not boyfriend and girlfriend. Second, he's a well-favored guy who stands to inherit a restaurant of his own; maybe more than one. So he's already got girls hanging off his arms, drooling. He may be engaged already, in fact. "Third, and most prominent, _he_ cooks Okonomiyaki. _I_ kill people. There is a severe disconnect in job prospects here. "I mean, what is he supposed to do, sell food at exhibitions or something? Or does he need, you know, armed guards and assassins to protect his Okonomiyaki Empire? No, it'd never work." "Oh well, it was a thought." "Ha! You can't get out of getting beat on by interfering in my love life either, slacker!" "Hmmmmf. Baka! You would think that." Akane focused her eyes dreamily on the scarlet braid floating free past Ranma's shoulder. Another thing different, she thought. Normal people's hair stayed where it was put, or flowed with the person's movement. Ranma's braid as often moved _against_ the motion of her body. And then there was the ring; made of ivory, carven into the shape of a pair of dragons biting each other's tails, and set with glittering gemstones, it was not the type of hair ornament you would typically see. "Why do you always wear that hair ring anyway, Ranchan? Don't you even take it off to bathe?" Ranma grinned slightly and unfastened the ring from her braid, placing it on the edge of the tub. 'Yes!' Akane enthused internally, 'I'll get her to unwind yet!' Then her mind began to gibber at her. Ranma's hair was unwinding of its own accord! Spreading out from its braid into a floating fan even as she watched, (Ranma unconcernedly sank her head beneath the water momentarily) tapping and touching the side of the tub, reaching out in all directions. And _growing_ she noted in amazement, lengthening visibly as she watched, stretching out to run along the surface of the water like a million tiny, questing snakes. Reaching, she noted with distant concern, towards her as well; it would cover the short distance in less than a minute. "Ah, ah, ah ... Ranchan? Ah, your hair ... ah ...." Ranma rose up from the tub momentarily, shaking her head; her hair whipped about briefly, then was returned to its braided state by a twist of her neck and blurring hands. She returned the ring to its place of honor, about a foot up the now-extended braid, then her hand briefly flashed light and she sat back down in the tub and handed Akane a neatly braided foot-long length of her hair. Ranma grinned crookedly as Akane looked up at her and down at the braid several times in shock. "Once upon a time, I was in a position to help out a dragon," she said, reminiscently. Akane blinked at her. "He had this problem with an infestation of parasites." Akane blinked again. "Dragon fleas?" Ranma raised her right leg above the water of the tub and regarded it pensively. "Yeah, sorta." The leg was patterned with scars that looked, to Akane, like something with a bunch of sharp claws had climbed up it and then dug in and tap-danced around the calf. "By the time I'd dealt with them I was pretty chewed up and one of the damn things had eaten off my hair." "Your hair, Ranchan? But why ...?" "Well, Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang isn't such a bad guy for a dragon, and he Owed me for the help anyway, so he fixed up a bowl of soup. I don't know what all it had in it, but after I drank it, I started healing a lot faster and my hair ... well, you saw. Now I have to keep this ring on to keep it from doing that." "Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang?!" Ranma nodded. "Jolly Yellow Fierce Tiger Emperor Spirit Scholar Dragon-King???!" Ranma shrugged. "Yeeesh. But why does it work?" "'Cause its carved from one of his teeth." Akane blink- blinked. "Like my knives." "He gave you his _teeth_?" "Well, the original offer was 'half my horde and my daughter's hand in marriage' and his daughter already _was_ married and a dragon without a horde is a truly pathetic thing, so-ooo ...." "Oh." Akane sank back into the bath-water again. "My sensei, the weirdo." "Biiidah!" ------------------------------------------------------------ Tendo Soun was not, contrary to popular opinion, entirely incoherent. It was true that his nerves were broken from the stress of his life and its many tragedies, but he did work towards his daughters' well-being. He worked all the time, actually, though it might have been more useful had any of the work consisted of more than dreams, schemes or tears. Lately he seemed to have been especially pressed, he felt. First, there had been the reluctant realization that the long-held dream he had based most of his hopes on would never come to fruition. No doubt the vagaries of a martial artist's life had overwhelmed Saotome; just the thought of Genma and his son's sad last moments could bring a renewed wail of grief. Yes, the realization had been hard, but he must face facts. It had been more than twelve years and he had no word for the last eight. No, he had to be realistic for his daughters' sakes; Genma would never return, and his son ('What had been his name, now? Lan-something?') would never marry one of Soun's precious children. He must forget the dead past; he must go on. But it was hard. He realized that he, himself, was almost useless now. He had almost been destroyed by Kyuumu's death; and he still could find no joy in the martial arts that he had put so much of himself into. They had not been able to save her; his skills had failed him in his supreme need, and he had done no more than teach desultorily since. It was a sad pass for a master of the Musabetsu Kakutou Tendo-ryu to come to, but there it was. Still, he was not _entirely_ dead yet, and the news that his beloved daughter Akane had nearly been killed fighting a monster, that many of the students at her school _had_ been killed or injured, _while he could do nothing to aid them_, had undone him entirely. Even days later the thought of what might have happened brought him almost to collapse; but he knew he must not dwell on it. He had a more pressing responsibility, one so urgent as to even overshadow his many fears and griefs. Akane was in training under another. In itself, this was no bad thing, Kami knew _he_ could no longer instruct her properly. But the fate of the school was at stake! He must assess _for himself_ the skill at the Art of her new sensei, this Bushiko Ranma. Not that he had any reason to distrust Ranma-san, no. But he must appraise her skills for himself; in the end, the responsibility was his, however inadequate his ability to meet that responsibility might be. At dinner, therefore, he had raised the question. Most properly, Ranma-san had immediately agreed, and so now he must do something he had not done in ten years. He must spar, all-out, with an opponent that he was uneasily coming to be aware might well his superior. He based this assessment partially on the relaxed flow of Ranma's movements as she evaded his attacks and insinuated herself past his defenses. It was the hardest sparring he had done since he and Genma had dealt with that old pervert Happosai, he had pulled out every trick he knew, and he was losing. But mainly he based the assessment on the fact that Ranma, moments after the match had started, had kicked him gently in the head. From behind. And he hadn't even seen her _move_. Akane watched the match intently. This was only the third time she had had the opportunity to observe Ranma in action without interference and the first where her sensei had been sparring rather than actually fighting. Ranma was obviously spending energy in performing her techniques rather than going for the win; Akane did not fool herself into thinking otherwise. Yet sparring also teaches an observer much about a fighter's style and Akane was almost in a trance as she drank in what the two in front of her were teaching. She had erred, she realized. She had assumed that her father's incapacity was due to inability. The match was disabusing her of that notion. He was still a great martial artist; rusty though he might be his moves were fluid and correct, his attacks precise and powerful, his defenses firm. Yet, even so, she could see the difference. Precise as Soun's motions were, each spent a small portion of effort achieving that precision; Ranma's did not. Powerful as were his attacks, firm though his defense might be, each took effort to achieve, attention to complete, focus of mind and body to continue; Ranma's did not. Ranma simply _was_: grace in motion, calm in mind, composed in mien, as though she had found satori, not in the stillness, but rather in the storm. Deep in her heart and soul, Akane could feel the storm-winds blowing. Far off she could hear the thunder, far off she could smell the rain. At the core of her heart a fire was building, flickering from candle- flame to campfire, rushing from campfire to bonfire, roaring in its power as it grew to an inferno that would consume her whole. An inferno that sought the storm and the rain it brought; that would run before it, and delight in it, and grow stronger by it; that would give back to the storm that would rise up into the rain, and make them greater and richer in their own turn. As from afar off and faintly she seemed to see from the corner of her mind's eye a sword, traced out only by its edge, limned by fire, defined by sea-wrack, born up on the wind. Farther yet she could sense the presence of a mighty tree; the storm-winds ruffled its branches, the rain nourished it, the sword warded it from harm. And the fire would blaze upon it, would leap from branch to leaf, would run up and down the trunk till all was ablaze, yet did not burn, but grew and thrived and was warded from harm by friendly flames. And she saw that she had wronged her father yet more; she saw how he loved the art, how he gloried in its practice even now. 'How much he must have been hurt,' she thought, 'to give it up.' She resolved to be nicer to him in future, and to appreciate him more. Appreciate him, as she appreciated the match before her. And she stood back and drank it in like pure water in the desert, that quenches thirst in delight and coolness, and reignites it again. And her muscles began to twitch minutely as she committed everything she could to muscle memory, and her eyes went wide as she desperately strove to see everything she could. And within her a voice began to chant, 'That! That, I want that! That! Just like that! Just like her!'. And Soun strove to give a good account of himself and Ranma flowed by, calm as a summer breeze, ferocious as the storm. At last Soun called a halt and admitted defeat. Ranma smiled and bowed to him. "Good match, Tendo-san." Akane and Nabiki nodded, enthused, and Kasumi smiled distractedly, her mind far away. "Yes. Yes it was, Ranma-san. Almost like the old days. If only ...." And he sighed, and said no more. ------------------------------------------------------------ The sun was setting in a blaze of fire and light. Ranma sat on the porch of the dojo and watched it. After a time she drew a rude-looking bamboo flute from jacket-space and began to play. Akane stepped to the edge of the house behind her and listened. "That's a shakuhachi isn't it, Ranchan?" Ranma nodded and continued playing. Shortly Nabiki and Kasumi appeared from the interior of the house, drawn by the music. Then Soun turned from the place where he had been sitting, watching the TV, to regard the porch as well. After a few moments more Akane chuckled, "Hey, I know that one ... that's Bach. The Art of the Fugue. Do I want to ask how you learned it?" Ranma shook her head and continued to play, and Akane began to see a weave of shi passing with the notes of the flute out into the yard. Then the threads began to draw up butterflies from their resting grounds in the bushes and trees surrounding the koi pond. The butterflies began to dance to the flute notes, turning and fluttering in time to the rhythm of the song Ranma was playing (she had shifted from the Bach to another tune - one Akane did not know). At the climax of the tune Akane saw a thread dip gently into the pond and bring up a koi, which leaped high into the air as the last gleam of the setting sun illuminated it in a flaming shroud of gold. Kasumi laughed in glee and clapped her hands. Nabiki surreptitiously wiped away a tear. Ranma turned to Akane and winked casually. And the sky boiled up into violet and scarlet glory as the Sun went down. ------------------------------------------------------------ Nerima after sunset is a quiet place, normally. Except for the Ginza, there is very little activity late at night, and most of the people who live here at least pretend to keep normal hours. From the window of Akane's bedroom the streets seem empty and still as she watches a red-headed, white-scarfed figure turn a corner and disappear from sight. Emptier after she is gone, certainly, she thinks, as most places are. And she prepares for bed and smiles in affection, she will see her again in the morning, there is no reason to worry. Already the thought of _not_ seeing her seems absurd for some reason. And as she moves quietly from one place to another in pursuit of the goal of 'ready-to-go-to- sleep' she begins, also quietly, to sing. A song she remembers from somewhere, that seems for some reason to remind her of Ranma. Though just why, she cannot now seem to bring to mind. You fill up my senses Like a night in a forest, Like the mountains in springtime, Like a walk in the rain, Like a storm in the desert, Like a sleepy blue ocean, You fill up my senses, Come fill me again. Come let me love you, Let me give my life to you, Let me drown in your laughter, Let me die in your arms. Let me lay down beside you, Let me always be with you, Come let me love you, Come love me again. You fill up my senses Like a night in a forest, Like the mountains in springtime, Like a walk in the rain, Like a storm in the desert, Like a sleepy blue ocean, You fill up my senses, Come fill me again. 'Now why is it,' she thinks sleepily, 'that Ranma always makes me think of love songs?' And she rolls drowsily into sleep. Briefly. Then she sits bolt upright in bed. It couldn't be! ...Could it? No! She wasn't ... she didn't ... well, she just didn't, that was all. But it seemed very hard to get to sleep suddenly, and she knew that she would spend a lot of time tonight laying on her side, and looking out into the dark. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi Part A: Hateful Life ------------------------------------------------------------ Author's notes: Ahh. Young Love. Gets ya right *here*, no? The original funeral scene was too western, so I have added some explanation of why it turned out that way. Plus, I might need a good grave-side scene later, and this way I'll have an excuse. Waste not, want not. A Sto'r Mo Chroi', also called The American Wake, is the song that was sung by relatives and friends on the way to the ship that would take immigrants from Ireland to America. A voyage, they knew, that claimed many lives. A voyage from which, even for those who survived, there would be, essentially, no returning. Why Ranma sings _that_ song as opposed to another, and where she learned it, can be seen if you look closely at the next chapter. I'm trying to keep an eye on Ranma's progress in spiritual matters along with Akane's. Also, I like the present tense form. I've removed the old talking heads part again, and I will try to keep them to a minimum thenceforth. The information formerly imparted therein has been moved to the Side Arc: Training Sequence. For some reason, very few fanfics take advantage of the remarkable wealth of visual spectacle that Ranma provides. I don't know why that is, but I'm perfectly willing to take advantage of it. Yes, I am going to torture both of them mercilessly, but that's no reason for them not to have fun along the way. Yes, _that_ Sakura. Yes, the one from Urusei Yatsura. Yes, that _does_ mean what you probably think it does. 'Til next, Eric Hallstrom, 10/27/99 -- www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html www.kawaiikunee.com hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com From: Eric Hallstrom Subject: [Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story, Chapter Five Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. "A Sto'r Mo Chroi'" ("Darling of my Heart" or "The American Wake") is still Traditional. "The Whistling Pig" belongs, as far as I know, to Robert Frezza. I don't know who wrote "'Tis Mute ...," I lost the book. Whoever it is, they did a good job. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" is by Simon and Garfunkle. Warning: This part is [Dark] and may very well be [Squicky] as well. Depending on how you look at it, it may also deserve a [Lemon] or [Lime] tag, too, not to mention [WAFF]. You Have Been Warned. By popular demand, the majority of this episode should be read to Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. You can find a MP3 at the site below. Don't put it on yet. I'll indicate when. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.1 (Oct. 26, 1999) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi Part A: Hateful Life ------------------------------------------------------------ 1. O Fortuna 1. O Fortune Verse 1 O Fortuna, O Fortune, velut Luna like the moon statu variabilis, you are changeable, semper crescis ever waxing aut decrescis; and waning; vita detestabilis hateful life nunc obdurat first oppresses et tunc curat and then soothes ludo mentis aciem, as fancy takes it; egestatem poverty potestatem and power dissolvit ut glaciem. it melts them like ice. ------------------------------------------------------------ A demon was raping her. For the ... time. Again. What did it matter how many times. Just again. Only some of the demons who held her captive had shown an interest, but those who had seemed to find it their preferred mode of torment. They had taken away the control of her body, but they had left her the pain. This one, for instance, was making her moan and writhe, as though she was secretly enjoying the abuse. Others had made her plead, or scream, or just cringe. They had stuck hooks through her wrists, and lashed her with barbed chains. They had cut her flesh with knives and branded her with irons. They had shoved a sharpened steel pole through her anus and out her mouth and roasted her alive over a flame. They had bound her spirit into her dead body and carved it for their meat, and she had felt the pain of every bite and they had told her that it was pleasure, that she was delicious, that it was an honor to serve. They had bound hot stones into her knees and elbows and healed the wounds they made. They had slain her with steel and with fire and raised her again to life. They had shown her others in torment. They had laid out before her all the kingdoms of the world and shown her that they ruled them all. They had shown her her parents and friends writhing in the flames, begging her to save them. They had said that they were mighty. They had said that they were kings. They had demanded that she yield her soul to their mastery. They had made her body agree, but they had made a mistake. Her body had agreed, had pled, had begged. But she had not. They had lied to her body, but her soul was not fooled. And if they had lied in one thing, then they lied in every thing. And so she remained. They could torment her, they could mock her, but one thing they could not touch. Whatever else they told her, whatever they showed, whatever they made her body feel or do, one thing she knew beyond all doubt. _They lied._ And eventually they must give her a chance. Eventually their vigilance must slip. Eventually she would get her hands upon a knife. Or a flame, or a rock, or a chain, or a hook, or a spoon (They had scooped out her eyes with one, once. Or was it many times? And did it matter?). Eventually. And then she would see if they could lie to themselves as well as they had lied to her. She suspected that they could not, but she would see, regardless. She had nothing else to live for, and nothing at all to lose. And in the end, what could they do? Punish her? Send her, perhaps, to Hell? And that was why, as the demon thrust into her, as it's malformed member tore and ripped and lubricated itself with blood, as her body was commanded to gasp and moan in ecstasy, as it plead to be abused further, as it proclaimed itself a slave, a slut, a whore ... Asano Sayuri was smiling with her eyes. ------------------------------------------------------------ Verse 2 Sors immanis Fate - monstrous et inanis, and empty, rota tu volubilis, you whirling wheel, status malus, you are malevolent, vana salus well-being is in vain, and semper dissolubilis, always fades to nothing, obumbrata shadowed et velata and veiled michi quoque niteris; you plague me too; nunc per ludum now through the game dorsum nudum I bring my bare back fero tui sceleris. to your villainy. ------------------------------------------------------------ On Monday, she worried. It was inconceivable that she could be ... she wasn't ... she was just friends ... right? She wasn't ... Kasumi would be ... she would just frown sadly, and ... and Daddy, he'd ... and Ranchan ... Ranchan had all those boyfriends ... she'd had sex before, she said ... Ranchan'd hate her ... it'd be horrible. And besides, she'd never thought about girls _that_ way before. That was on Monday. On Tuesday the gym class did swimming. She didn't swim well, of course, but she stood on the side and watched. And Ranma, of course _did_ go swimming. In a one-piece. That was quite sufficient, especially with it being wet. She nearly buckled at the knees. Had she _really_ thought that Ranma was 'not uncomely' just two days before? Ranma, she discovered, possessed a sharp-edged, visceral attractiveness that grabbed you by the throat and _squeezed_. And besides that, she was _damned_ sexy. She wanted to ... was _this_ what the boys had felt? She'd always thought that they were just ... unthinking, but if this was what it was like .... On Wednesday, she agonized. What should she do? A relationship with Ranma was impossible, of course. Even if Ranma was ... that way, she could not be seen to be in love with another girl. Her reputation would never stand it. Neither would her own reputation, of course, but that was a secondary issue. It was Ranma who was important. She would simply have to go on, that was all. Deny everything, herself most of all. It would be a test of discipline, but there was no other option. Nor could she simply break off relations. It would raise questions. Investigations would be launched; her secret would come out. That would be just as bad, but worse yet, _what reason could she give_? Could she lie to Ranma? Tell her that she would no longer be her friend? No. That would add hypocrisy and dishonor to all her other sins. No. She would simply have to hide what she felt. Conceal her attraction. Ranma must never know; _no one_ must ever know. Above all other things this: her current 'attraction' was bad enough. Whatever else she did, she _must not_ fall in love. But one thing she could do: she could fight beside her, aid her, be her friend in all things. It wasn't anything nearly enough, but it was all she had, so it would have to do. ------------------------------------------------------------ Verse 3 Sors salutis Fate is against me et virtutis in health michi nunc contraria and virtue, est affectus driven on et defectus and weighted down, semper in angaria. always enslaved. Hac in hora So at this hour sine mora without delay cordum pulsum tangite; pluck the vibrating strings; quod per sortem since Fate sternit fortem, strikes down the strong man, mecum omnes plangite! everyone weep with me! ------------------------------------------------------------ A demon was torturing her ... no, wait; it was only her physical therapist. Sometimes Kuno Kodachi found it difficult to tell the difference. Still, she persevered. She _would_ return to form. She would escape the hell of this hospital for the clean air. Her brother would help, and Ranma-sensei would too; but they could only _help_. She would have to _do_. It worried her slightly that the doctors told her that cosmetic surgery would have to wait. Her body was still insufficiently healed to safely subject to the stresses of further injury. It worried her more that it worried her so little. She had always been so proud of her looks; what would she look like now? She had not yet gathered the courage to look in a mirror to see. At least Ranma-san had combined with Tofu-sensei to alleviate the pain of the burns. A procedure that combined some of the features of acupuncture and moxibustion, she thought, it had proven most effective. Still, that did not reduce the time she must spend in this pestilential "therapy". She preformed the exercise again and ignored the pain. She was getting out. She was going home. And what would be, would be. ------------------------------------------------------------ 1. Fortune plango vulnera 2. I bemoan the wounds of Fortune Verse 1 Fortune plango vulnera I bemoan the wounds of Fortune stillantibus ocellis, with weeping eyes, quod sua michi munera for the gifts she made me subtrahit rebellis. she perversely takes away. Verum est, quod legitur, It is written in truth, fronte that she has a capillata, fine head of hair, sed plerumque but, when it comes to sequitur seizing an opportunity, occasio calvata. she is bald. ------------------------------------------------------------ On Monday, he fretted. Sayuri-chan's condition was declining, Akane was insufficiently trained to support him in an intervention, and he was afraid he was beginning to do something he had specifically forbidden himself from doing. Or rather, _she_ was beginning to do something _she_ had ... and that was the problem, of course. On Tuesday, he agonized. The gym class had done swim practice that day; and while Akane had not, for some reason, actually gotten in the pool, she _had_ put on a swimsuit. That was enough. He was rarely, if ever aroused by a person's looks, now. An artifact, he supposed, of what Minnie-May had called his "versatility"; he tended not to scan people as potential partners unless he had already unconsciously decided in their favor. So his sudden arousal meant only one thing; he was in _deep_ trouble. On Wednesday, he worried. He had already resigned himself to nothing more than friendship, but he suspected that it would be even more difficult to stay within that category than he had previously suspected. Just as long as it wasn't love he was probably safe. Friendship, even close friendship, he had no fear of. Comradeship he could handle. She could be as attractive as she liked without overloading his control. Love would be a problem. Well, he would simply have to see to it that it did not go that far. He had worse problems. Sayuri's condition had not improved. No medical technique had palliated her decline. Neither rituals of healing nor exorcisms had made a difference. He would have to intervene personally. But he had a feeling about this one; this one was going to be bad. Akane was not trained well enough to help; taking her along would be far too dangerous, to her most of all. But a bad intervention might well lead to his own death. He feared that Akane was trained too well to escape extra-natural attention should he fall, but not trained well enough to defeat it. Nor could Sayuri wait for her further training; if he were to aid her at all it must be now. That night he prepared for battle, oiling and maintaining all his weapons, storing power against future need. Then, after all was in readiness, he wrote a letter. Rally Vincent Gunsmith Cats Chicago, USA Dear Rally, As you can see, the rolling stone has decided to gather a little moss for a time. I am presently living in Nerima Ward, and have taken an apartment .... The reason I'm writing you is that I seem to have gotten myself into a 'situation' again .... An old enemy, you wouldn't know him .... So I feel that I have to go see where Sayuri-san is being restrained.... The problem is, I have also taken a student. Her name is Tendo Akane, and she's going to be one of the great ones if she lives. But she needs more training, and I might not be able to do it myself. So, what I'm asking is, if I don't send you a message in a week or so and tell you I'm fine, I'd like for you to inform the appropriate people about her .... Not that I'm planning on dying or anything, but .... Tell Minnie-May I do _not_! Love, Ranma. (p.s. Note that I'm using the feminine here, and tell the barbarian ekrixiphiliac to use the appropriate gender! BR) ------------------------------------------------------------ Verse 2 In fortune solio On Fortune's throne sederam elatus, I used to sit raised up, prosperitatis vario crowned with prosperity's flore coronatus; many-colored flowers; quicquid enim florui though I may have flourished felix et beatus, happy and blessed, nunc a summo corrui now I fall from the peak gloria privatus. deprived of glory. ------------------------------------------------------------ A demon was raping her. Again. She did not know how long she had been under their torment. Any estimate she might have made would have been rendered unreliable by the penchant her captors had evinced for lying to her senses. How could she construct a reliable estimate of the time when a moment might seem like an year, or a year like a moment? It was sufficient for her to note that the demons had seemed to be growing increasingly worried. They had not yet been sufficiently careless as to allow her an opportunity to escape her bonds yet. But they would, in time. And she _had_ time. All the time in the world. ------------------------------------------------------------ Verse 3 Fortune rota volvitur: The wheel of Fortune turns: descendo minoratus; I go down, demeaned; alter in altum tollitur; another is raised up; nimis exaltatus far too high up rex sedet in vertice - sits the king at the summit - caveat ruinam! let him fear ruin! nam sub axe legimus for under the axis is written Hecubam reginam. Queen Hecuba. ------------------------------------------------------------ You can turn 'O Fortuna' on now. It's probably best to put it on repeat. -- www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html www.kawaiikunee.com hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi Part B: Driven On and Weighted Down ------------------------------------------------------------ The precincts of Nerima General Hospital are used to the sights of lab coats and sterile stainless steel. They have seen other things too; long brass needles and cones of combustible incense, Shinto rituals, Taoist magic, and Buddhist prayer. Through them have walked Priest and Shaman, Doctor and (secret) Divinity. This has not, however, prepared them for Ranma. Nabiki looked over the preparations Ranma was making apprehensively. Just behind her left shoulder she could feel the overly-calm presence of her younger sister; in front of her a person she had come to accept, tentatively, as a friend was apparently going slightly insane. Or maybe not; maybe, in a world that could contain things like Jei, marking out a circle on the floor of a hospital room with Mystic Chinese Symbols was perfectly sensible. Not that this made her any happier. Sensible or not, the combined emotional tones of Dr. Tofu, (monitoring Sayuri's condition) Akane (apparently just standing there) and Ranma (using some kind of wax to trace arcane symbols on the floor with exquisite care) were convincing her that Ranma was about to do something extremely dangerous and making her extremely nervous. Ranma finished her artwork and tidied up the remaining shards of wax. She had created a circle about five feet across in one corner of the room and had drawn another, smaller, circle inside it, just large enough, Nabiki estimated, to sit in. Now she turned to Dr. Tofu, who was examining Sayuri. "Any change, Tofu-sensei?" "No, Ranma-san," Dr. Tofu looked up from his work, "she is still near death." He polished his glasses nervously, "Are you sure this is the best option, Ranma-san? Death is only a transition, after all; can you justify the risk of delaying this one?" "Tofu-san, I cannot find her soul. You have yourself observed a dark blot on her ki. Medicine has proved insufficient; both an exorcism and a ritual of calling have likewise failed. A natural transition is one thing; this is something else. "Nabiki, I am entrusting you and Acchan with the task of ensuring that my body is not disturbed while I am away. _No matter what you see_, no matter what happens, do not allow it to be disturbed for 48 hours or until I come back." "Ahhh ... How will I know it's you? If you see what I mean? And what do we do after 48 hours?" Nabiki queried. "In answer to your first question: that's what the circles are for. In answer to the second: after 48 hours you may assume I'm dead and act as seems best to you at the time." "Oh, great," Nabiki mumbled. Over her shoulder she felt Akane nod, gravely. Ranma stepped into the smaller circle, being careful to avoid mussing either design, and knelt down into seiza. She took a breath to center herself and closed her eyes. To Akane's Sight, Ranma's ki patterns solidified and became much denser, then stood up out of their body and turned to her with a grave nod. Ranma's body continued a slow and deep breathing as her ki turned Elsewhere, stepped over a metaphorical wall, and was gone, trailing behind it the very faintest thread of power, still touching the body it had left behind. "Wonderful," Nabiki blew out her cheeks and turned to Akane, "now what?" "Now you do what she told you, Oneechan. You keep anyone from touching us for 48 hours." Akane stepped past Nabiki and swiftly coiled a string of prayer-beads into a smaller circle inside the main circle. Then she stepped inside and knelt. "And what are you ... what do you mean _us_?" Nabiki turned in alarm, and reached out; but Akane had already centered and closed her eyes, and she snatched back her hand, seeing Dr. Tofu move toward Akane with alarm. Then she saw Akane's breathing slow and deepen, and knew she was too late. "If she gets killed in there," she vowed, "I'm gonna _kill_ her!" And Tendo Akane stepped up from her body and set the controls of its life as she had Seen Ranma do. And turned toward the wall that crossed her vision in a certain metaphorical direction. It was low and made of fieldstone, weathered by the endless years; it would be no trouble to step over. She did so deliberately, following in her sensei's footsteps. And walked, though she did not know their names, down the Street of Tears, past the River of Dust, down into the Dry Land, where all the stars are strange. Down the road that leads toward the Houses of the Dead and beyond them to the docks and piers that reach out into the Starless Sea. ------------------------------------------------------------ She walked down the street and she did not look back. The great stones that the street was made of were worn smooth across their breadth by the passage of countless feet, but there was a dip in the middle of the blocks about a foot wide where the majority of traffic had passed by in years without number. All who travel that street know its name, by instinct if by nothing else, and its surface is worn not only by footsteps but by the slow erosion of numberless tears. Those tears flow off the street into drainage channels, which flow into gutters, which feed canals, which run from that street to the west, joining with the river a little to the side. Into that river they flow and there they vanish, drying into dust and forever gone in instants, indistinguishable from all the other dust that flows there, dust to dust and ash to ash forever. In that place there is no sun, and neither rain nor wind ever disturbs the silence. The dry air absorbs sound and moisture alike and no hint of life ever comes there save for those who have passed beyond it. The only light comes from above; for there are no streetlights either, and the houses and taverns of the city put out no lanterns, nor do they light torches to find their way. Instead they see by the light of stars beyond number or estimation; stars that shine down from the sky in glory undimmed and undimmable; brilliant in constellations that have never been named, that change by the hour and never repeat. Stars so thickly scattered that their colors may be seen by the human eye. Stars that wash the stone streets and alleys of the City of the Dead with a light that, brilliant and colorful as it may be in the sky, leeches all color and life from the stone and the people there, and washes everything with grey. Akane walked down the street in silence and silence swallowed her footfalls. Over all that grey city she could hear no sound, only a vast hush that seemed to have existed since the beginning of time. Silently she traveled, and in silence she passed the outskirts of the city. Silently she walked the worn stone of the street past the thin spray of stone houses with slate roofs that form the city's outposts. Silently she came to a gate in the obsidian wall that marks the edge of the city proper and passed through. Silently she passed, and heard no sound from herself or from any other thing. Until, from the city's heart, suddenly, a stone bell began to sound. First the normal dull rumble of beaten stone, growing in power as though to shake the entire city, then from beneath the stone-song a new voice woke; first a rising note, piercingly beautiful, then another, held in suspension, then a last cry, prolonged and falling away; as though some sweet and mighty voice was calling, "Love. Strength. Heeaaveeeen. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn." Up, pause, down. Up, pause, down. And all around her the stone walls and stone streets of the city responded to the bells, singing in harmony, "Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn." And above her, from many places near and far, more bells answered back; small brass clangor swelled by silver tintinattus joining golden metallic voices triumphant over harsh brazen roar of many great carillons undismayed by mournful iron tolling, and over and above and under all the mighty song of stone, "Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn." Blinded by tears and deafened by glory Akane stumbled to the side of the street and placed a hand against the wall, fighting for control. As the bells continued she managed to regain enough control to continue moving, but kept her course near to the wall, reaching out to touch it from time to time. As the bells rose to a crescendo she began to think that there could be no finer fate than to stay here in the city and listen to the bells. Then she stumbled past an alleyway in her daze and gasped as an arm encircled her neck and dragged her in. ------------------------------------------------------------ "Stupid girl," Ranma hissed into her ear, "are you _trying_ to get killed?" The last glorious crescendo faded into silence and Akane gasped in the pain of its passing. "R-Ranchan! What?" "What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_, you baka?" Ranma shook her like a rag-doll, glaring furiously. "This place is dangerous enough if you know what you're doing! Which you don't!" "St-stop shaking me, Ranchan!" Ranma subsided. "You're going to need me." "Whatta you mean _I'm_ gonna need you!? If I need you it'll be topside looking out for my body, you baka. And who's looking out for _your_ body anyway?" "I've got it in the same big circle you made, I saw how you made the little circle, I got some prayer beads to make it, Nabiki can watch, Dr. Tofu too, he's a good martial artist, And I wasn't going to let you go down here alone, you're going to need me _here_, I know it." Ranma hissed in frustration. "If time wasn't so short .... Can you at least follow orders now you're here?" she asked harshly. "H-hai, sensei," Akane whispered. "Then come on. Quietly!" ------------------------------------------------------------ In the exact geometrical center of the city of stone (if that city can be said to _have_ a center) stands a house. It exists in the middle of a garden of roses and an orchard of apple trees, and the roses and the trees and the apples they bear are black. It hums with a drowsy heat and buzzes with the activities of the many hives of bees that feed from the roses and the apples and that never seem to grow old; and the bees and the hives and the honey that they give are black too. It is made of black stone, cut with laser precision by something that wasn't a laser, and roofed with black slate. Its doors and window-frames are made of ebony and neatly painted black, and the panes of glass in the windows are heavily leaded and seem to have a black tint. It seems from time to time to be as small as a cottage or as large as a mansion; and from various views its grounds may not seem to exist, or may stretch on for light-years into distant star-shot mountains on whose slopes grow fields of golden wheat. Aside from these minor factors there is nothing at all to indicate whose house it is. To that black house in the middle of its black gardens and black orchard came Ranma and Akane. By the side door. ------------------------------------------------------------ "Grrk," said Akane, seeing the house they were making for. "Who lives _there_?" "Death." said Ranma calmly. "Be polite." ------------------------------------------------------------ They entered the gardens from a side street and hurried past the hedge of black-leafed holly that serves that part of the gardens as a wall. As she passed the hives of buzzing bees Ranma nodded to them calmly, as to old acquaintances met going about their business, and the bees dipped politely in reply. Passing under an apple tree, Ranma reached up and plucked two apples from its branches with a muttered word of thanks. "Eat," she said, handing one of the glossy black fruit to Akane. "Ahh ... but, I thought that you weren't _supposed_ to eat anything that you found here," wavered Akane. Ranma, she noted, had disposed of her apple in six bites, saving only a large black seed that had rested at the core of the bone-white flesh of the black-skinned fruit. "I never said this was a _safe_ expedition," Ranma said dryly, "eat your fruit." "Grrrk," said Akane, and did so. At Ranma's indication she placed the seed that she had likewise saved at the base of the tree alongside the one Ranma had placed there and bowed with her friend. Above their heads the tree's branches waved, though no breeze blew. "Grrrk," said Akane, and turned away. ------------------------------------------------------------ In a quiet hospital room, two forms sat still and silent. The only sound was their breaths, which slowed and grew deeper yet. ------------------------------------------------------------ Reaching the side of the house, Ranma opened the door and went in, Akane following. They found themselves in an empty hallway floored in black wood and wallpapered in a fetching black on which many beautiful and intricate patterns had been printed in black ink. Ranma walked swiftly down the hallway and turned into an open doorway. Akane followed her into a room that was at once both large and small. Crossing the floor to a figure shrouded in black and sitting in a chair that was turned half away from them, Ranma knelt and bent her head. "Ranma," said the white-skinned, black-haired girl dressed in a blue cotton T-shirt and biker leathers who turned around, "it's been so long! Can you stay a bit longer this time?" "I'm afraid not, Tel," Ranma rose and briefly pressed her cheek to the other girl's. "I've got a problem. Have you processed a girl by the name of Asano Sayuri, of Nerima, Tokyo, the home islands, Earth, recently?" The sardonic-visaged young man who was suddenly standing in the girl's place was dressed in skin-tight black leather, revealing an impressive figure. "*Aw*," he pouted devastatingly, "*you _never_ want to stay and play!* *Boring!*" The black-suited minor bureaucrat who replaced him had grey hair and a golden pince-nez. "/Hem/," his dusty voice echoed as he reached out and took an enormous book from nowhere, expertly flipping through the pages and ran his long fore-finger down the one he stopped at. "/No, that client has not been processed by this office. Nor is her name entered in the Book of Dust, nor the Book of Blood, nor the Book of Glory./" "Damn," Ranma muttered. "[However]," sang the earthy voice of the tall black-haired figure dressed in a short chiffon and carrying a boatman's staff who now stood by the desk, "[while _I_ have not carried her, I _have_ heard rumors of new activity in one of the out-flanker castles of the rebellion.]" "Which one?" Ranma questioned grimly. "{That belonging to the 'Marquis' Delaniel.}" replied the glorious choral voice of the immense robed and winged figure before them. "{Ranma, be careful? Just this once?}" Ranma quirked one side of her mouth. "But why start now?" "AS A FAVOR," tolled the leaden tones of the tall, black-robed skeleton, "FOR ME." Ranma gazed up into the skeleton's empty eyes for long moments, meeting its blue-shot gaze. Then she rose on tiptoe and grasped its head in both hands and kissed it firmly on the teeth, before she turned away. As Ranma and Akane left the black house by the side door, the girl in the blue t-shirt quietly said, "I'll sing for you." As they passed the hedge-gate Ranma quietly said, "I know." ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma did not speak as she set a rapid course through the side streets and alleys of that city, nor did Akane as she followed. As they jogged, Akane noted that the houses and the very stones of the streets were rapidly growing translucent, as though they were fading away. Behind her she heard the start of the chorus of the bells, but it quickly faded, and they found themselves on the top of a tall hill, or ridge. The ground was blasted earth and barren, crumbly rock, and the heavy hot air smelled faintly of rot, and of smells that are instinctively known as bad by all who smell them. Passing along the top of the ridge, Akane was relatively pleased to note a broad, well-made road of stone, leading down the ridge and across the plain below. "Well," she whispered, as they walked to the side of the road and skulked forward in the shadow of the tall stones that marked its borders, "at least we'll have a good road if we have to come back in a hurry." "It won't be here on the way back," Ranma said calmly. "Huh?" "Facilis decensus Averno," Ranma quoted, "sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras,/Hoc opus, hic labor est-" "Which means?" "Down is easy. Up is hard." "I'm _so_ glad I have you to tell me these things." ------------------------------------------------------------ Down the hill they went, flitting from shadow to shadow, and across the blasted plain below. They traveled for several hours by Akane's count, though she did not grow tired. Akane could see no other travelers on the road or off it, nor did she sight any patrolling force, either on the plain or in the air above it. Ranma, however, progressed in fits and starts by some method of her own; now holding to the deepest shadows, now sprinting for a dolmen or stone several gaps beyond the next one; but always, always aware of all around her, scanning the sky and the ground. Akane followed her step for step, shadow for shadow, and dash for dash as the long, hot day wore on. At last they began to come near castles or fortresses cut into the irregular basalt mesas that covered the plain. From these, whenever they approached closely enough, came alternating faint shrieks of pain and equally faint howls of glee. Akane shuddered as they passed these most closely, and huddled closer to Ranma in the increasingly more infrequent shadows. At each closest approach, Ranma would spend a few moments scanning the hellish fort from the deepest cover available. Finally, she spent more time than usual, and Akane turned her sight on the castle as well. Ranma seemed to hesitate in the great boulder's shadow, as though awaiting a more tangible sign. If so, she received one. One especially loud shriek of pain rang out over the darkened earth and stone and Ranma's lips firmed even as Akane gasped in recognition. "Ranchan, that wasn't like the other screams. It sounded wrong. It sounded like Sayuri." "Yah," Ranma said, "I'm afraid so." She tensed on her haunches, like a great cat preparing to spring and sprinted for the gate, Akane on her heels. Halfway there a cry of outraged discovery came from the battlements, followed hard by a rain of badly aimed missiles. These seemed like javelins or arrows, but raised spurts of a hellish flame where they landed; Akane resolved not to get hit by any. At the end of their sprint Ranma pounded up to the main gate, flattening herself against its rough timbers, under the eave and safe from fire. Akane followed, panting. "At least," Akane huffed, "they haven't heard of murder holes." "Be thankful for small favors," Ranma said, dryly, as a glare of heat and light burst from the plain behind them. Then she stepped a little away from the gate and put her hand flat against it. A moment passed as she tensed her shoulders and then the wall and gate began to rumble in a deep bass. From above, shrieks of rage turned to shrieks of fear, shrieks quickly silenced by a bellow of command from inside the fort. Ranma pressed the gate harder, and the whole front wall of the fortress began to tremble. From within came another bellow of command. "What are you doing?" "Someone once said, 'Give me a lever long enough, and a place to stand, and I will move the world.' A lever's just a device for concentrating force over time." Ranma tensed her shoulders further, "Or you can do it with shih instead of a big stick." Akane Saw immediately what she meant; Ranma was accumulating power in the wall, every moment's small pressure adding to the one before, growing moment by moment to a force that would rip the gate from its hinges. Akane also Saw that the wall was resisting, spreading out the power Ranma was putting into it into the entire front wall of the castle. Though if it continued to do so the only result would be the eventual destruction of the wall instead of just the gate. Lastly, Akane Saw how the trick was managed, a simple application that caused her to shake her head in wonder that she had not done it herself automatically. That, fortunately, was a failing she could rectify. Squaring her shoulders she placed both hands on the gate and began to push. Her efficiency was not as high as Ranma's, but her greater strength made up for the loss and the wall began visibly to vibrate. Vibrate like an over-stressed high-tension wire, but only briefly; from within the walls came a final bellow of command and then Akane _felt_ the wall stiffen into immobility as the demonic Marquis within exerted his will and linked the wall to his aura. The impact of the three wills colliding nearly drove Akane from the wall in shock, but only briefly. She showed her teeth in an entirely unconscious snarl as she redoubled her effort; pouring all of her will into the struggle she pushed with everything she had. The struggle continued for a timeless moment as the wall motionlessly vibrated from the conflicting energies, and then three things happened at once. From within the walls new screams of fear and pain arose, screams in entirely new voices. At the gates Akane growled in a pitch worthy of an angry bear and found reserves of strength she hadn't known she had. And Ranma snarled silently and drew back her hand from the gate, twisting at the torso to wind up before bringing her hand forward again in a curiously slow manner that conveyed a sense of unstoppable motion, almost leaving ghost images of the hand and arm behind it as it came forward and struck the gate. ------------------------------------------------------------ The Marquis Delaniel, Demon of the Seventh Rank, had a problem. Not only had he wasted resources on this mare's chase proposed by the patron of that deluded Jei, resources for which he would eventually have to account to _his_ patron; but the only prize which had actually been secured in the whole disgraceful affair had proven surprisingly recalcitrant. This had not put him in a good mood. The further development that his own sanctum was under assault had driven him to the brink of berserker rage. The fact that his gates, constructed under his own eye, might fail, that his castle's defenses might actually be breached was simply insupportable. He had, therefore, committed his own will and power to the defense, reinforcing the strength of the wall with his own life force. The fact that the unendurable scum outside his wall were overcoming even the merest shadow of his presence had thrown him into a howling rage and he had immediately thrown the full weight of his power behind his will. This meant that he himself was bearing the full brunt of Ranma and Akane's push, of course, and it was most unfortunate that his concentration left him incapable of noticing the fiery cracks which were spreading across the walls in front of him and, more importantly, across his own body. The cause of his final, fatal distraction is open to debate. It might have been simple overstrain from exertion. It might have been Akane's sudden burst of power. It might have been Ranma's Thousand Times Blow. It might even have been the spoon. ------------------------------------------------------------ A demon was torturing her. Just for a change. This one seemed to find it amusing to remove her skin in a spiral pattern. Perhaps it found some obscure aesthetic pleasure in it. Or, it might have just been bloody minded. For whichever reason, it seemed obsessed with achieving the 'perfect' pattern, 'healing' her and starting over whenever it made a mistake. Or, at least, until it made its _real_ mistake. She heard the cries from the wall dimly, through her body's screams. They pricked her interest; they might mean that an opportunity would arrive. Then she noted the presence of the demonic leader. He had not come within her purview often during her torment, apparently preferring to use underlings for any actual work, but his presence here now was an encouraging sign, and his obvious agitation even more so. The servitor demon's first mistake was to ignore the cries from the walls in favor of his own pursuits. Its second mistake was to fail to immediately acknowledge the presence of its master, a mistake immediately corrected by a kick to the backside. The servitor scrambled after its master (its third mistake) to be greeted by a backhanded slap, and a snarled command to return the captive to safe-keeping, and then to man the walls. Since all other forces were organizing for defense it felt it must perform these tasks alone (its fourth mistake). But its final mistake was to leave the prisoner's arm unoccupied for two seconds while struggling with her feet. The demon had left her arms free! And, oh look! A spoon! Wasn't that kind? Now to see if, when she gutted a demon, they could heal themselves as well as they could when they lied to her.... Hmmm. Nope, looks like they couldn't. And this one had left her _two_ knives, _and_ a chain, _and_ a hot iron too! So kind. Now she could find _lots_ of demons. And, what luck! Lots of demons coming this way! Now, what to use? Hmmm. Well, she'd start with ... oh wait, she was still holding the spoon; that wouldn't do, she'd already used it. Well, she'd just throw it at ... _that_ one. It was cracked and glowing already, maybe it would break? Now, let's start with _this_ knife .... ------------------------------------------------------------ The blow was minor, but totally unexpected. It cannot possibly have hurt the Marquis by itself; but it was not 'by itself' in any sense. It certainly got his attention. One second the demon-lord was straining to hold the aura of the walls with all his might, the next .... It was not precisely an explosion. Rather, the whole front wall of the castle, the Marquis' physical body, and the main gates fragmented into cinder-block sized pieces and rolled over the hapless demonic servitors like a storm. Which only goes to show how important it is to keep your mind on what you are doing. Sayuri, who was behind the demon she was busily introducing to the concept of mortality, was completely untouched. ------------------------------------------------------------ The stone-storm rolled over them, and fear followed it. Behind them their once-prisoner was giggling madly and carving up their fellows like a housewife carving up a frying chicken. To either side were still intact and very solid stone walls. Above them the alarm was already ringing, but what help would that be to them if they died first? In front of them were only two females, to keep them from an exit 50 yards wide. It is often said that everyone gets one mistake. Unfortunately for the remaining demonic servitors, theirs had already been made. They stampeded for the exit. And Ranma smiled, and drew her sword. ------------------------------------------------------------ Briefly, Akane managed a spasm of amazement. She _knew_ that Ranma was red-haired death unleashed, but it simply _was not possible_ to move that fast and still swing a sword that precisely. Not that Ranma seemed to care whether it was possible or not, and Akane charged through a gentle mist of demonic ichor to reach Sayuri's side. "Eeewww! Ick! Sayuri! Put that _thing_ down and come on. And for heaven's sake throw away that poker! You'll put someone's eye out." "Oh! Akane-san!" Sayuri casually discarded the iron and rushed to hug Akane. "You came! Thank you, thank you!" "Come on you guys," roared Ranma, "they're all dead, but there's going to be demonic air cavalry on this whole area like a fungus in about 15 minutes!" Sayuri put the knife she was holding in her belt (which had returned along with her skin when she had broken her bonds) and ran for the gap, picking up the knife she had left in a demon's throat as she went. Akane followed, pounding towards the way home, and the whole thing would probably have ended simply, had not Delaniel made a mistake. ------------------------------------------------------------ Permit, if you would, a brief digression. Demons lie. The fact is well known. What is less known by most is the degree to which this is true. The truth is, there are no demons. There are merely spirits. Animated, sentient expressions of the meanings of creation. Some lie to themselves, and say they are different. Special. Better. Far too important to waste time on being good, on keeping creation running the way it's supposed to. After all, it's much more fun to lie. To say that they control all the forces of death and darkness. To say that entropy was their invention. To say that free will was their discovery. To say that they own half of creation outright. To say that the place of the dead and the place of correction were both the same place, and both theirs. Demons lie. The fact is well known. Delaniel, in particular, was a Marquis. A border Count, that is to say. A rebel of rank and power. Named, and Listed, and possessed of a Word, that is - a concept of Evil to protect and call his own. A Worded demon, moreover, whose Word subsumed other Worded demons whose servitors had Words of their own. A powerful being was Delaniel, the Demon of a concept which translates from the celestial as [Rude Strangers in Places where Humans gather to Await Transportation]. ( I hear you snickering from here. Such a small concept, you say. What difference could it make? What harm could it do? Indeed, what harm? Rudeness in such crowded surroundings is only to be expected, after all. And one person, whom you do not know, makes little difference. That's why it's much more important to focus on the _big_ things. The small things never matter. What harm does rudeness do? Someone gets a little farther ahead than they should. Someone makes a number of people's day a little darker. Someone erodes the bounds of respect and courtesy between people a little. Someone tempts other people to do the same, slightly. Someone gets everyone they effect a little angry. Little things, no harm. After all, it's not as though it was a big person being rude. Big people are never rude, though sometimes little people _do_ get in their way. But that just involves their being brushed aside or run over, not _rudeness_. And big people don't have other people be rude to them, usually. Or, if they do, they can just splat the person, no worries. No, only little people are rude; only little people have rudeness inflicted on them. So it really doesn't matter. ( Once, Another had said "Whatsoever ye do to the least of my people, that also ye do unto me." Delaniel was at some pains to ridicule this concept. ) And if one of the people being inflicted with rudeness is yourself? Well, A person's gotta get by, you know? Gotta look out for number one, right? Have you tried it? You really should, you know. I mean, it's not as if it _matters_, if you're rude to people. Time is valuable. You've only got so much effort to spend. Got to keep your eye on the big picture. Got to keep up with the important stuff. Really, it _is_ old fashioned to try to defend civility like that. Archaic, even. People should know better. Why, the rain forest is being cut down, even as we speak! The spotted owl is dying out! Spending effort being polite to strangers in train stations is just a waste of time! You can't afford to sweat the small stuff. After all, the small stuff doesn't matter. And, when you think of it, how many people, really, are truly important enough to you to be polite _to_? Just a few, right? Just a few people, besides yourself, who really _matter_ to _your_ best interest? Your Mom and Dad, your close family, your SO, the kids if you got them, your boss, of course, his boss, maybe, that cop, naturally, that super- model/idol singer. Not a lot. And sometimes the difference between 'some', and 'none', is no difference at all. Which is why you've got to pay attention to the small stuff. Sometimes, the small stuff _matters_. ) The point, of course, is that such a powerful demon as Delaniel would never concentrate all of his power in one place. Only a small amount, to provide a body to yell at the servitors, and the rest dispersed, keeping tabs on his Word. When Ranma and Akane's combined pressure caused his body to be destroyed it deprived him of a focus for his consciousness and power. In an ordinary demon such a loss would lead to instant cessation, but Delaniel was not an ordinary demon. Those beings known as demon-lords normally provide themselves with special artifacts designed to give them an anchor in cases of emergency, generally concealing these in some safe place. Delaniel's was secreted in a blind hollow in the back wall of his castle. This presented him with a problem. He could now cut his losses, wait for the intruders to leave, and then hunt them down and extract revenge. On the other hand, his castle had been ruined and some of his servitors had been killed. A small thing, true, of no real importance. And yet, he was a demon of position. He had responsibilities. And his political position would be damaged if it became known that he had been attacked and not retaliated. On the _other_ hand, if he took a personal hand and failed to actually _destroy_ the intruders as they deserved, if they _escaped_, his position would suffer worse losses yet. On the gripping hand, the slut his servitors had been tormenting would certainly have difficulty moving fast enough to escape, and the other two would probably be fatally delayed trying to assist her. And they would assist her, he was sure; heroes are predictable like that. And there could be no question of the outcome. The false body holding but a fraction of his true power might be destabilized, true, but in his true power, and on the celestial plane, no human could be his equal. It was a simple question of celestial laws - on this plane he could only be damaged by raw celestial power, power that the humans did not have. No human _could_ have sufficient power, the laws of creation forbade it, And skill would not suffice to substitute; the web of lies that define a demon-lord's existence are too strong to overcome by mortal power. Only once, he knew, had any mortal, had any _being_, challenged this fundamental rule. And those ... were gone. They had won their battle and then ... well, _no one_ liked the implications. A mortal that could kill celestial powers? Permanently? No one wants that kind of weapon around, it might get pointed at them. The last one had died, oh, _centuries_ ago. There were none left, none at all. No, there could be no danger. So that was why Delaniel made his mistake. Because the difference between zero and one is a small difference, but sometimes it makes all the difference in the world. That's why you have to pay attention to the small stuff. It's always the small stuff that matters. ------------------------------------------------------------ They had gathered in the quiet room to watch and wait. Yuka was there, of course, clasping her hands so tight they were white. Sayuri's father and older brother too, holding her hands, and her mother, still in her wheelchair, waiting at her bedside. And Nabiki, in the corner, watching over Ranma and Akane, and praying. ------------------------------------------------------------ The back wall of the castle crumbled with a roar of unleashed power. Ranma spared a single moment to roar "RUN!" at Akane and Sayuri, and then turned to face the form that now loomed above the ruins. She slid sideways into the center of the ruined wall, blocking the demon's path toward Akane and Sayuri, running over the plain behind. Delaniel rose above the rubble of his hiding place, brushing shredded stone from the shoulder joints of his wide-spread wings. His face was cat-eyed and cruel, framed by scraggly locks of multi-colored hair. He wore a sarariman's suit and tie, expanded to fit his 20-foot-tall form and wound about with barbed wire. His cuff-links and tie-tack were made of the skulls of human babies, his face was cruelly scarred and twisted and his right hand bore a huge serrated sword. "First you, and then the other sluts," he growled in a low, chilling voice, "Die!" Snarling, he thrust himself forward, with a clap of his scraggly-feathered wings, swinging his sword back for the death stroke. Ranma, already in zanshin, flowed inside his guard and jumped forward, uncoiling into a thrust to Delaniel's chest. Her attack sank into his heart with sufficient force to turn him partly around; and Delaniel's eyes went wide in shock as Ranma called upon the power of an ancient bargain, sending it flowing down into the wound and flashing out to all the dark corners of his body and soul, destroying his web of sustaining lies with a certain truth that no being, however powerful, may deny. Ranma thrust herself sideways in mid-air, rotating Tenchuu inside the demon-lord's chest cavity before ripping it free from his rib-cage in a shower of blood. Delaniel's sword slipped free of his relaxing hand, rotating forward end over end to hit the ground hilt first, remaining upright momentarily before falling over with a pathetic *splut*. It was covered by the demon-lord's falling body, which crashed to earth and slid forward on its side for several meters before slowly rotating over onto its back to lie still, looking upward at the sky with an expression of vast surprise and a certain hidden peace in its sightless, dead eyes. Ranma landed lightly and spun on one foot, returning Tenchuu to its sheath. Above and behind her a great wail rose to the sky, hate and fear and rage intermingled, and far behind her she heard the first responding roars. She sprinted forward, passing the corpse without further comment, streaking for her running friends ahead and looking for a place to make a stand. ------------------------------------------------------------ But it's the small things that make a difference. Take, for instance, the difference between Bronze and Iron. Bronze is an alloy of Copper and Tin, Iron is a metal that must be mixed with carbon to be useful. Bronze is fairly easy to produce and work, but difficult to get in quantity. Iron is more difficult to process, but is fairly common. The metallurgical characteristics of Bronze are similar to those of early wrought Iron, so you would think that there wouldn't have been much of a basis to choose between them early in mankind's history. You would be wrong. If you were meta-historically inclined, you might remember the legends of Iron's supposed lethality to demons and spirits and conclude that this was the deciding factor. You would still be wrong, in a nice and accurate sense; Iron isn't any more damaging to demons than anything else. If you favor economics you might speculate about the logistical advantages provided to a tribe that didn't have to depend on Phoenician Tin traders. Or, if you are more inclined to the military profession you might decide that the wider availability of arms and armor turned the trick. But there wasn't much else of strategic interest to trade in back then, and the conquering Iron Men were mostly barbarians at the start, and had little arms beyond spears and bows and axes anyway, and there would have been enough Bronze for that. At this point you might throw up your hands, and conclude that there _was_ no difference, but you would again be wrong. Because, once upon a time, the difference between cast Bronze and hammered Iron was a very great difference indeed. There is a Bargain that once was made by those who linked the Iron in their blood to the Iron in their blades. There is a power available to those who share the blood that made the Bargain. There is a Price that can be paid to Those Others Who made that Bargain, and a Prize that that Price can buy. There are those who were Chosen as champions, to fight and win a battle in an ancient War, a battle in which they had no hope of victory, except .... Except for those who made a Bargain; not always to win the battle, but never to lose the war; not always to survive the fight, but always to destroy the foe. Except for the Iron Men, except for the Invincible Ones, except for those who came down from the hills in their thousands; and broke the hold of demons and spirits and magical warriors and destroyed them or drove them away from the cities and valleys they had ruled; and turned an Age of Myths and Legends and Powers into an Age of Men; and ignited a furnace of hatred and rage that has neither waned nor grown cold in four thousand years. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma was running. Running as though all the hosts of Hell were after her. Oddly enough, they were. Ahead, she could easily see Akane and Sayuri running too, but there was no point in catching up to them until she decided where to make her stand. She could not attempt to make it all the way back to the wall. For one thing, the demons would catch her first. For another, they would not stop their pursuit at the wall, rather, they would follow her anywhere she went; _that_ grudge was old and bitter, and the First of the Fallen would never pass up an opportunity to destroy an Invincible once he had marked one down. So she could not fight to save her life. And even if, somehow, she managed to evade her pursuers, their rage was well and truly woken. If they did not find a fight in her, they would seek one elsewhere. And with Sayuri fully celestial and unprotected .... Oh well, it wasn't like she had been expecting to die in bed anyway, and she would definitely go out with an escort. But she must somehow save the other girls. Well ... that would require a certain amount of delay. If she could keep the demonic host's attention long enough for Akane and Sayuri to get to the wall and go over, then there would remain no link to attract the host's wrath. Keeping the host's attention would be easy enough, but she must also keep _all_ of its forces in play and not allow any to go after an easier target. That meant .... The 'landscape' of the celestial plane is determined as much by the meanings sought or found there by its inhabitants as by anything else, so the result when one side wants to find clear sailing to its prey and the other wants to find a choke point should be obvious. Particularly considering that one of the sides is Ranma. "In yon straight place, a thousand/Might well be stopped by three ..." Words once written by a poet. They were written of a bridge, but Ranma was willing to write them of the great canyon walls that narrowed to a gap some hundred yards wide and perhaps five hundred long that loomed before the girls now. As they passed into the gap she increased her speed and caught up with the others, pulling Akane to a stop. "Acchan, you've got to get Sayuri-chan to the wall and put her over." "Ranchan, you can't stay here! They'll catch you, and ..." "Acchan," Ranma said gravely, "they're going to keep coming until they catch me regardless. But if they catch me _here_ they may regret it." "I can't leave you here, Ranchan!" Akane panted, "They'll ...." "Acchan, if they catch Sayuri-chan on this side of the wall, they'll go right through it and out into Nerima, where they'll kill everyone they can catch, definitely including Nabiki and probably Kasumi, your Dad, and everyone else in the whole ward. And Sayuri can't run fast enough to get away." "But, Ranchan, you'll _die_!" "Acchan, swear! On your soul's honor, _get Sayuri over the wall_!" "I ... Ranchan," Ranma's eyes bored into Akane's, cleaving her tongue to the roof of her mouth, "H-hai, hai, Ranchan." Akane hugged Ranma fiercely and turned away. Ahead of her she could blurrily see the steep incline leading up away from the borders of hell, and toward the dusts of Earth beyond. Fiercely, she attacked the slope, rapidly gaining on Sayuri, who had continued running. ------------------------------------------------------------ Behind her, Ranma turned around and watched the approaching demonic armies. After a moment's scrutiny she began to grin, and then spoke aloud. 'Tis mute, the word we went to hear on high Dodonna Mountain, When wind was in the Oakenshaws and all the caverns tolled, And mute's the Midland's navel-stone beside the singing fountain, And echoes list to silence now where Gods told lies of old. I took my question to the cave that never ceased from speaking, The Heart of Stone that tells the truth and tells it twice as plain, And from the cave of oracles I heard the priestess shrieking, That she and I would surely die, and never live again. Oh priestess, what you cry is clear, and sound good sense I think it, But let the screaming echoes rest, and froth thy mouth no more, 'Tis true there's better booze than brine, but he that drowns must drink it, And Oh my lass, thy news is news that men have heard before. She took Tenchuu in its sheath and threw it high in the air, rotating around and giving off a gleam at its apex, before falling back down to be snatched from the air by a sideways snap of her hand. And, softly: The king with all the East at heel has come from lands of morning. Their armies drink the river up, their shafts benight the air. And he that stands has died for naught, and home there's no returning. The Spartans, on their Sea-wet rock, sat down and combed their hair. And she replaced Tenchuu inside her jacket. The sword is a tool for killing, and order of the day would be maiming and terror, for a while. Out of jacket-space she took a kusari-gama and whirled its chain in a wide circle above her head, laughing. The haft and handguard of the war-sickle was made of blackened steel, covered with runes and ideograms, but the blade of the sickle was a silvery ivory fang many times harder than simple steel. In partial repayment of a debt a lord of dragons had given her a fang, and sharpened it for war. The chain of the weapon was cut of bone that shone white-silver like the fang, each link barbed on upper and lower surface and decorated with small ideograms at each corner. At the end of the chain a larger link flared out into a barbed arrowhead shape that seemed to resemble the silhouetted head of some fierce beast. Spinning the chain around her head, she listened to the howl of the whirling chain and laughed again. Once, she knew, there had been tens of thousands. But the battle had been won and the demons, and the Fae, and the Magic Warriors, and the ghosts, had retreated from the lands of men. And with their retreat had gone the need for invincible warriors, and with the need gone their allies had quietly withdrawn. No celestial had ever been comfortable with the Invincible, save, perhaps, Those Who had created them, and Those Powers played no favorites. So the forces they had defeated had snarled in the darkness and gone hunting. It was no more difficult to kill an Invincible than it was any other human. They could win any fight, but the price was that they must win _every_ fight, regardless of the cost. They could destroy any foe, meet any challenge, but they must destroy _every_ foe, must face _every_ challenge. And so the traps had been baited, and Invincible Ones had died. And fewer and fewer new warriors had stepped forward. Bloodline after bloodline had lost the knowledge of their heritage, going into cover and forgetting in order to survive. And where there had been tens of thousands were only thousands. And then hundreds, and then a few dozen, and then less than a dozen. And then there had been less than five. And now the very last Invincible alive stood in a bottleneck on the outskirts of Hell, and watched the first racing demons coming toward her, and cried out in a great voice, "Come to me, ye hosts of Hell! Come to me, an Invincible is calling! The storm is waiting for thee, the void yawns before thee! Come to me, Hell-spawn! Come to me and die!" And she grinned, wryly, as the first scattering of demons entered the canyon, and she sent shih raging down the links of the kusari-gama's chain and loosed upon those front-runners the wrath of the dragon. And lightning leapt and capered from rock to stone to wall to earth, scorching demon flesh at every crossing and blasting great holes in demonic bodies and souls before it finally gave up its energies in a torrent of unfocused electricity that earthed itself through the few remaining alive. And then came upon her, not a few demons, but dozens. The first, faint combers of the waves that would crush and rend. And Ranma leapt to meet them, bannered by lightning and heralded by thunder, riding on the wings of storm. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane ran, forcing her body to take deep, full breaths, ignoring the tears streaming from her eyes. No time for gasping or panting, now, no time for tears; she must call upon every ounce of courage and skill that she possessed. Ranma was counting on her to get herself and Sayuri to the wall between life and ... this place, and Akane would rather die than delay that arrival by so much as a single moment. Far rather die. Now, too late, she must admit the truth. She loved Ranma. Not 'her friend', not 'sensei', not even 'Ranchan'. But always and only Ranma, her beloved. She did not understand how it had come to happen. She had despaired of its arrival, and now, too late, she despaired of its departure. Behind her, her beloved was fighting, battling an impossible army to cover her retreat. Within her, her soul wept in anguish; Ranma would die, be torn apart, and _she_ was running away! Her fault! Her fault: too slow, too weak, too stupid, useless, unskilled, no good! 'Ranchan! I'm _sorry_ Ranchan! Oh, Kami I love you! I'm sorry! I want to be with you, Ranchan, I'm sorry!' Briefly, tears threatened to blind her sight. Savagely, she shook them off and upbraided herself. Stupid, useless, weak, childish: stop! Ranma must hold until she reached the wall, all she had to do was run. A minor spirit, a kind of demonic lizard, leapt from its hiding place to grab her thigh, teeth sinking deep. Her next stride flung it away, to smash against a rock further down the path and lie stunned and dazed in the track. Unseeing and unfeeling, Akane trod it underfoot. Head fixed on the slope and the horizon, arms pumping, feet spraying dust where they pushed back, Akane ran. ------------------------------------------------------------ In a quiet room, a body knelt in a circle in a larger circle. Hidden by its pants, a bruise was forming on its thigh. A thin prickle of blood drops sprang up around the bruise and quickly dried. ------------------------------------------------------------ Arms and legs pumping, Sayuri ran. Her legs and torso hurt terribly, her lungs screamed for air, her breath gasped and wheezed in the dry, choking heat, and dust clogged her mouth; but all these things, she knew, were lies. Truth was waiting somewhere up ahead of her, a world that was real. The knives tucked into her belt were real too, she thought, but that did not get her to the end of the road any faster. (She wished that she _could_ use the knives to do _something_, but only faintly.) Lies all about her and within her, but the truth was waiting at the end of the road. Yearning for the real world, Sayuri ran. ------------------------------------------------------------ In a canyon on the borderlands of Hell, a storm was raging. Demons choked the space between the walls of the canyon, packed in so thickly that there was barely room to move or turn, tripping over the maimed bodies of their fellows at every step. Bodies that moaned or snarled or weakly struck out. Through and above and around them Ranma rampaged unrestrictedly. Wherever she went she kept up a constant barrage of thrown knives. The great, slender, wickedly curved fangs flickered out in vicious arcs to slice through arms or legs or throats, as many as four or five in one arc, before curving back to her off hand, pulled by a thread of shih, and being sent out again. Snapping arcs of the sickle blade caused havoc wherever she passed. The chain flicked out in seemingly unrelated arcs, snapping into victims like a striking snake and curving barbed links around them, or sinking its carven jaws into arm or leg. Then a curl of steel would jerk the victim off its feet and into the air, curving past Ranma where a fang would gut or cripple it before releasing it to smash into a group of its hapless fellows. Then the cycle would begin again. Wherever she landed a blur of hyper-fast punches and kicks smashed demons from their feet and sent them falling into their fellows, tripping them and fouling their coordination. Wherever no space was left to land, a lightning bolt would blast a hole. A web of howling energy was sweeping and sparkling from the walls, sucking up the energy from the dying demons and arcing in coruscating beams from walls and pinnacles; sending sprays of boulders and shards from the walls to cause further havoc in the demonic horde and smashing everything from the air except Ranma herself. Beaten by a howling wind and blinded by lightning, packed in like sardines and jostled like the bumpers in a game of pachinko, uncoordinated, unfocused, undone and uncontrolled, the demons were barely capable of resistance. Jostled, unaimed hellbolts filled the air, and poor aim and reflex strikes by claw or sword did far more damage to other demons than to Ranma. An ordinary host, even the most fanatical, would have at least attempted retreat. But the pressure of arriving demons behind was too great and more and yet more were coming, charging up from the depths of Hell in a nearly infinite stream. Behind them came oblivion, and even now its awful shadow darkened the very air and sent sulfurous fumes rising from the trembling stone. Far back and slow a darkness loomed, and the hapless demons of the vanguard fought and scratched and bit and tore, less to destroy the dancing storm-flame in their midst than to get past her and out of the way. Even the certainty of destruction Ranma carried with her was less terrible than the looming shadow. Moment by moment more demons arrived to choke the storm's passage. Moment by moment the pressure grew. The difference between unaimed but enthusiastic counterstrikes and no counterstrikes at all was infinitesimal, but it was there, and it, too, grew greater bit by bit as time went by. Small differences, incremented by smaller ones yet as the minutes slowly passed. But sometimes it's the small differences that count. ------------------------------------------------------------ In a quiet room, a body knelt in a circle inside a larger circle. Small wounds began to appear on its arms, legs and torso. No more than a a half inch long each, they gave off a drop or two of blood and quickly faded to thin scars. The average increase in size of each successive wound would have required a micrometer to measure. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane and Sayuri were half-way up the slope when the demons pounced. Not all the demons in Hell had been _in_ Hell that day; some had been present in the notional area of reality Ranma had walled off from the rest of Hell with her canyon. A small patrol was closer than the other strays and had set a 'trap'. Unfortunately for them no one had thought to tell them about Sayuri and her knives. Thus, when a thorny bush tried to ensnare Sayuri, she had a knife out and hacking branches inside half a second. Blessing Ranma's instruction in the simple trick, Akane drew a tai-chi sword from jacket-space and cut the bush off at the roots. The two girls continued running ... which is why they weren't where the demons had anticipated when they sprang their ambush. A pair of demons suddenly sprang out at Sayuri, landing slightly away from her in startlement at her changed position. Both her knives were in hand immediately; here was something on which she could use them without guilt. They were _knives_ after all. She was quite a good cook, and was experienced at using knives. A fact the demons were appraised of, to their immediate and continuing sorrow. In the mean-time Akane had been accosted from behind by three more ambushers who attempted a dog-pile. The attempt was, from their viewpoint, utterly and fatally unsuccessful. Evading the clumsy grab, Akane whirled gracefully and instinctively cut one's throat before removing the others' heads with a pair of vicious, lightning-fast blows. Within her soul, a fire was burning, turning ki and flesh and blood into a perfect instrument of will, an instrument that was unleashed on the next six demons, who had made the fatal mistake of being in the second rank. The last group of servitors had assumed a distant blocking position, prepared to retrieve any prisoner who might escape the grasp of those closer in. In the event, it did not save them; Sayuri ran over the two in her path, slicing flesh and bone as she passed. The remainder got to appreciate the purity of will and energy embodied in an inferno named Akane. Very briefly. The firestorm swept over them and pounded up the slope on her charge's track. ------------------------------------------------------------ In the canyon, the storm was growing in intensity. The clogged bodies of the dead, trampled, and maimed were posing a genuine problem for demonic attempts to move out of the canyon. Or, indeed, to move into it. One might, at this point, wonder at demonic motivation. Or, in other words, why are all these demons running so merrily to their nearly certain destruction? The answer can be stated simply: it was nearly certain destruction. Whereas, on the other hand, the great lords of Hell, currently rising from Hell and pushing entire demonic armies ahead of them as they come, are the sorts of beings for whom inflicting fates worse than death are a pleasant morning's diversion. And when a demon calls something a fate worse than death, you may be sure that it knows whereof it speaks. All Ranma could do was kill them, and that death was embraced nearly eagerly, given the alternatives. Ranma noted little of this, though. By now her facial expression had locked itself into a gentle smile over an almost inhuman serenity. Though, had she not been so deep in zanshin, it is likely that she would instead have been wearing a grin wide enough to crack her face. Nor was the serenity only skin deep. Her wide, peaceful eyes, while not focusing on anything in particular, were gathering information on the totality of the battle she was fighting that would have made a J-STARS chief sensor-tech turn green with envy. Her other senses, especially her chi-sense, were equally active, and she seemed, from her own person-view, to be hovering slightly above the battle even as she was entirely immersed in it. Internally, her feelings were mixed. It was true that she was enjoying the fight, enjoying it immensely. It was a unquestionably righteous fight too, fought against true evil for a truly good cause. On the other hand, she knew how it would end. She did not fear death, no, but neither did she welcome it. Particularly not _now_; she had too much to do, and was leaving too much unfinished. 'Death,' she thought wryly, 'might be lighter than a feather, but just now it's damned inconvenient!' Unfortunately, inconvenient or not, it was inevitable. She made an adjustment to her attack patterns that cleared the canyon entrance and packed the interior a little more. As long as she held it to the single fight to keep the horde bottled up, she knew she could hold forever. But she knew that it could not remain just that fight for long. Eventually, one of the greater powers would come against her. Even sufficient order being restored to the current mob would be quickly fatal. Before that could happen, though, Akane and Sayuri would reach the wall; and after _that_ nothing mattered. She made another vaulting leap and again contemplated the arrangement of the host pressing in to the canyon. When the end was inevitable, she planned to move out onto the plain before her and see if she could hunt down a prince or two. Possibly even see if she could get close to the First himself. She doubted it was possible, but it was an adequate closing gesture, and perhaps she could make one or more of the high nobility of Hell metaphorically mess their pants. As long as Sayuri and Akane reached the wall. No, be honest: as long as Akane reached the wall. Not that she had anything against Sayuri, by any means. She had been very impressed by the girl's courage, and, under other circumstances, would have looked forward to calling her a friend. But she did not love her, and she did love Akane. It was really that simple, and she wondered how it had happened. She had _told_ herself not to fall in love with the other girl, but apparently herself had not listened. In some sense, being killed was probably going to save her from an immense number of problems, but being pleased about the whole affair was considerably more melodrama than Ranma had the stomach to attempt. Not to mention, she was exceedingly pissed off. Partly, she felt a mild anger that some people couldn't let go a grudge after four thousand years. Partly, she was mildly irritated that she wouldn't be able to die in her proper shape. But mostly, she was utterly enraged that someone was going to kill her for things she hadn't been able to get in on herself. This thought caused her to pull down a section of canyon wall in a mild expression of pique. The wall fell on thirty or so demons and reduced them to paste. With another corner of her mind she was keeping an eye on Akane's progress, admiring the girl's form, and cheering her fight against the patrol. She was prepared to intervene with missile fire, though she doubted it would be necessary. With most of the rest of her mind, she was surveying the tactical situation, and she sent herself on a bounding triple somersault across two hundred yards of canyon floor, reaping arms left and right and finishing with a snap of her kusari's chain that plucked a demon who by size must have been at least a Count off its feet and pulled it close to carve out its heart and lungs before flinging it a hundred feet into the air. The corpse's fall, she estimated, would crush at least a dozen lesser demons beneath it. Serene at heart, the storm raged on. ------------------------------------------------------------ Unfortunately for Akane and Sayuri, there had been more demons out than just one patrol. More unfortunately, the second batch was smarter. Pounding down into the last shallow valley before the long steep run to the top, Sayuri was suddenly hit in the leg by a burst of hellfire. Shrieking in shock she fell and rolled down the hill, only to be jumped on by a trio of demonic troopers. Akane dodged the three missiles that came her way and plowed into a squad of about twelve demons, killing three at first shock, but then being forced into a defensive posture by the remainder. Sayuri soon proved to those demons trying to restrain her that they would better have aimed for her arms. A flurry of knife blows reduced all three of her would-be captors to steaming corpses in moments, and she ignored the damage to her leg and the knife blows to her side she had received in return for the lies they undoubtably were and staggered onward. Past the two back-ups the ambushers had placed ahead of the girls she ran, killing them in passing, and again set herself to the slope beyond. Akane had gasped out the importance of what they were doing as they ran, and she would no more fail Ranma-san than Akane would. If only it weren't so hard to see.... Akane ran toward one demon, then curved into a forward roll between two others, sword flashing. She snapped upright, spinning to her left with her sword out, cutting into the rib-cage of the demon who was charging her from that side. Then her sword jammed in the ribs momentarily, slowing her enough for five more demons to jump her at once. Akane went down, striking out to her right side, as a demon grabbed her around the legs and another pair wrapped her around the chest. The fourth tried to grab her throat even as the fifth spasmed and died, and the last two demons in the squad took aim with hellbolts from a little away. Akane smashed her feet up, driving the demon holding them into the one grabbing her throat, dazing both and throwing them away. The fourth demon looked up from his brief daze to see the two squad missilemen falling with holes blown out the fronts of their foreheads and decided to tackle the other one instead. The other dazedly got to its feet as Akane rolled over and over with her assailants. Furiously, she struck out at one demon, smashing the blade through its stomach, only to cut into its skull on the back- swing. From its sudden corpse was released a sewer reek of death and things unnamed and probably best left unnameable, and Akane ripped the blade free from its sticking place as she rolled over above her other foe and struck downward with the hilt again and again, breaking bones and tearing skin before crushing the thing's throat and bashing in its skull. Coming back to her knees, Akane saw the fourth demon running after Sayuri and grunted with effort as she threw the sword straight and flat into its back, just above the hips. Wailing, it fell to its knees, grabbing at its back where the sword pierced it. Shuddering, it folded over, weakly scrabbling in the dust and drooling ichor from the mouth and nostrils. Akane rose onto one knee in preparation for rising to her feet, but stopped and twisted desperately on her knees as a shadow loomed over her. Before her, on the top of the low rise, stood the last demon, snarling and holding out doubled, clenched hands around which had built up a blaze of hellish, green fire. Akane began to throw herself forward in a knowingly futile attempt to duck, but then stopped as a large hole was suddenly blown in the demon's forehead from behind. Its eyes opened wide in shock and as it died it lost control of the hellfire, which blew its hands and lower arms off in a shower of gore and fire as the rest of its body dropped slowly to its knees before falling over on its back. Akane got to her feet and rushed up the rise, reaching the top in time to see Ranma turn back towards her foes far away, putting something back into her jacket. 'Oh, Ranchan! Even from there you're still looking out for me. Oh, Ranchan, I love you.' Dashing away another treacherous tear, Akane turned back to the slope ahead of her, looking over her shoulder briefly at the sound of wings. Far away, but gaining, she could see another group of about twelve flying demons. She had, she estimated, just enough time to reach the top of the wall. With a last look over her shoulder at the canyon below, Akane set herself to run. ------------------------------------------------------------ In a quiet room far away, and yet very close, the still form laying on a hospital bed began to breathe deeply and unevenly, turning weakly from side to side and gasping, as though struggling for breath. In a corner of the room, one of the bodies kneeling inside a pattern on the floor suddenly grew a set of long scratches on its arms and a shadow about its neck, as though some cruel claw had gripped there. The shadow faded quickly but the scratches were slow to close. On the back of the other body kneeling there a long, shallow wound opened and waited some seconds before beginning to close, slowly. Watching from outside the circle, Nabiki began to chew on one fingernail. ------------------------------------------------------------ Sayuri knew that the pains in her chest and the growing weakness in her limbs was a lie, but somehow she could not see through the growing grayness to see what the truth might be. Suddenly she felt a set of gentle but immensely strong arms close about her and lift her off the ground to be cradled against someone's chest. Groggily, she shook her head enough to observe Akane holding her to her chest as she ran, face grim and fixed as she stared at some distant goal. Good old Akane-san! She'd get her there, she was sure! Now, if only she could remember where they were going, and why ... if only it wasn't so hard to think .... ------------------------------------------------------------ In a hospital bed, a slight form began breathing much more shallowly, chest barely moving. At bedside, Dr. Tofu checked a monitoring instrument and frowned worriedly. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane ran up the slope with Sayuri in her arms. Only a few hundred yards to go now. Behind her the sound of wings was growing swiftly closer, but there was nothing _ahead_ of her to stop her, and those behind could not close the distance fast enough to prevent her from discharging her task. Close growing, thorny scrub lifted runners to trip her and the equally thorny branches of a number of middling high scrub bushes attempted to bar her path, but she powered through them without slowing, unheeding of the deep scratches and thorn-stabs they left behind. Blind to everything but her goal she reached within herself for her deepest reserves and drank deeply from the fountain of fire within. A distant corner of her consciousness registered a mighty roar of power from far behind her. Spurning the ground beneath her racing feet, Akane ran up the slope to home. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma bounced of the canyon wall and killed a demon with a backhand sickle blow, concentrating the ch'i it released as it died into a free-standing 'cold' point. "Hiryuu!" With an enormous leap over the whole floor of the canyon she established another on the corpse of a pair of lesser soldiers. "_Shoten!_" Flipping into the center of the circle of 'cold' ch'i points she had just finished forming, she landed in the midst of a cluster of about a dozen demonic officers, accepting a pair of minor slashes in return for setting their dieing ch'i ablaze. "HAAAA!" 'Pulling' a line of shih around the circle of 'cold' points, she completed the attack sequence, and called the cyclone to war. Blades of solid shih flamed inward from the wall of the canyon at a dozen points. Each struck one of the 'cold' ch'i points dead on, sweeping it up and spinning inward in a spiral pattern to their common center. There they met the 'hot' ch'i point, imploded it, and sank into a hyper-dense ball, roiling with counter-polarized ch'i and shih for a single second. Then the ball exploded, sending a swirling mass of intermingled ch'i and shih spinning outward to the walls of the canyon, picking up ferocious wind currents along the way. The ring of energy rebounded off the canyon walls, returning inward, setting up counter-currents of high-speed wind. Perhaps twenty feet inward from the walls the outer ring met the second ring that the swirling vortex of energy at the center had given off. Met and combined, combined and split, split and redefined themselves. A column of energy eighty yards wide, covered and shielded by multi-hundred-mile-per-hour winds erupted from the floor of the canyon, its rear edge less than twenty yards from the canyon's rear gate. It picked up and shredded every demon in its boundaries, leaving only a thin scattering of luckier demons behind it toward the rear mouth of the canyon. As it rose to the sky Ranma rose with it, riding the vacuum of the eye toward its apex and turning to look behind her, toward the wall, and Akane. Less than a hundred yards away, now, she judged. Enemy forces closing, but, she briefly tracked their _rate_ of closure, too slowly. Nothing ahead to bar the way she noted, giving the area between Akane and the wall a brief but deep scan with her chi-sight. Excellent. Mission accomplished. Her goal was achieved, and her fight won. That meant it was time to shift to a new fight, and she considered the hosts of Hell cowering far below her as she rose to the top of her storm. A last fight, and, she judged, a good one. Penultimately, she briefly considered the overall situation. There were regrets, yes, but only minor ones. In the end, all people die, and to die in the service of one she loved seemed, to Ranma, as the best category of ending any one of her destiny could make. She considered the love for which she was giving her life, and found it right and proper. And in the still and tranquil silence of the eye of the cyclone, there was peace upon the heart of the storm. As she neared the final apex of her rise, she carefully replaced all the weapons she had used in their individual resting places. It was not her way to show disrespect for any tool she used when it might be avoided, and the need for these tools had, temporarily, passed. No more need to maim and terrorize. No more need to hold their attention. The time for distraction had ended. The time for killing had arrived. As she reached the apex of her rise and began her fall, Ranma drew her sword. And smiled. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi Part C: Under The Axis ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane almost made it. Less than fifty feet from the wall, one of her demonic pursuers proved to have an exceedingly rare talent, and shifted the ground beneath her feet. The resulting stumble cost her almost no ground; but small differences can lead to big ones. A demonic hand grabbed her flying hair less than ten feet from the wall. Twisting her torso half back towards her pursuers, Akane exploded in one last effort, lofting Sayuri's unconscious body in a flat, fast arc across the last ten feet, and over the low stone wall. As it crossed the wall it rippled in mid-air, and disappeared, and Akane went down under the impact of a dozen winged demons, a few more pulling up at the last instant. ------------------------------------------------------------ In the hospital bed, Sayuri gave a sudden gasp and sat half-way up and out of bed. The people attending her rushed to meet her as her eyes opened, and her father and brother quickly moved to support her as she met her mother's eyes. Blinking a few times, she seemed briefly to focus as she crossed gazes with a tearfully smiling Yuka and even gave a weak smile herself. But then her eyes fell closed and she slumped back into her father and brother's arms as a dead weight, as Dr. Tofu desperately reached for emergency materials, and the connecting monitors began to ring alarms, all their readouts showing the same flat line. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane threw herself into a forward roll, bringing one demon over the top of her body and grinding it beneath her as she came out of the roll and jumped up. The demon who had grabbed her hair had, perforce, let go, and Akane left her feet in a whirling jump-kick that smashed into another demon's head, breaking its neck and throwing Akane herself a little sideways, into a relatively clear area and away from the intersecting hellbolts that would otherwise have fried her. Snap-drawing her throwing knives, Akane shih-sheathed and threw them in a single motion, two knives flying from each hand to suddenly veer apart in mid-air, each knife flickering on slightly differing trajectories to settle neatly into its own particular demonic throat. Following through on her throw, Akane drew a large, ugly mace from jacket-space, and charged the remaining demons. The one most immediately in her path jumped up, flaring its wings in dismay, rising about ten feet off the ground. Akane also left the ground, soaring in a rising jump kick that smashed the demon from the air, sending it down to the ground with Akane on top of it, landing on her feet, and pulling through into a powerful downward blow. Rebounding from the skull she had just crushed, Akane converted her recovery into a powerful upwards diagonal right-to-left, anticipating the demon who attempted to rush her while she was occupied with the flyer, and impacting its chest just under the breastbone. The impact shattered the demon's chest and lungs, lifting it about six feet into the air and sending it to the side, where its corpse fouled one of its compatriots. Meanwhile, the transferred impact had allowed Akane to regain control of the mace faster, and she used the extra time to steal a march, stepping into the attack of a pair of demons ahead of her. Whirling her mace in a vertical circle, Akane knocked their weapons out of line, nearly jarring one's axe loose from its wielder's hand. Finishing the circle with her mace held horizontally, head to the left, Akane stepped behind the demon to her right, bringing her torso around in a smashing reverse blow to the back of its head with the mace's finial spike; then unwinding into a sideways blow to the demon on her left that slid over its weaponless guard to pulp its head like a popped water-balloon. Returning her mace to a mid-guard, two-hand grip, Akane turned eighty degrees to her left, to meet the charge of another demon. Blocking its sword-swing away to her lower right with the mace, Akane spun her right foot into a leg sweep that took its footing out from under it. The demon stumbled, opening its stance onto the perfect form to receive Akane's returning kick into the groin, stunning it and dropping it rolling to the ground. Quick-stepping forward, Akane brought her mace to shoulder guard for the death-blow ... and made a small mistake. A small mistake. A minor error. A downward blow a bit too forceful, a recovery a bit too far, a return not quite to center. The next attacker, coming from her left again, threw its long knife. Small differences compounded: a dodge not quite fast enough, a shallow cut across the shoulder not quite compensated for, a block made the tiniest bit too low. The demons reaching claw-like hand came over her blocking mace and cut into the side of her face. Three of its claw-tipped fingers scored bleeding gashes across the side of her face and nose. The last slid across the outer top of her cheek, and plunged into her eye, cutting the eyeball in two and reducing the remains to jelly before the tip broke off inside the socket and the rest of the claw skipped across the top of her nose. Letting out a high, keening shriek, Akane spun away, the mace arcing from the hand that she clapped to her ruined eye. Stumbling away, she lost her footing, and sprawled helpless on the barren ground. ------------------------------------------------------------ A body kneels in a circular design in a no-longer quiet room. Wounds have opened on its cheek and nose, and an oozing mass of clotting blood is leaking from beneath the lid of its closed left eye. ------------------------------------------------------------ In the end, it was her father's training that saved her. Once, long ago at the very beginning of her real training in the Art, he had spent an entire day on a single drill. It taught, he said, that a warrior must not lose focus or control simply because his or her opponent has landed a blow. The warrior who wins her fights and survives, he said, is the warrior who understands that pain is merely information, and who can acknowledge that information and go on. For one entire day he had made her go through basic kata and hit her as she reached the crucial point in each. Again and again he had repeated the drill, until she had been able to complete any kata she could do, even if she was hit painfully hard at the exact wrong time. A kindly man, Soun Tendo, and devoted to his daughter. A kindly man who had been hard for one day, for just long enough to teach that daughter a lesson in the hard rules of survival. A kindly man who had, thereafter, stayed drunk for an entire week, and had never attempted to teach that lesson again. One lesson, delivered long ago by a kindly, doting parent. One lesson, polished into instinct by years of personal practice. Akane had always prided herself on being 'tough'. On being able to take a blow and still fight. 'Go ahead and hit me,' she had once told a sparring partner, 'I don't break.' In that moment, instinct and bone-deep training fought for her life, and searched for any chance at all. Rolling over as she fell, Akane's right hand scrabbled for purchase on the ground. Sliding across the dirt, it fell upon, and closed on, the hilt of a weapon. Rolling over onto her back and coming to one knee, she brought the ... blade? ... up to block away a demonic sword-blow so forcefully as to throw the demon who had perpetrated it into another to its side, then came erect with a massive, diagonal bottom-right-to-top-left slash that cut through the first demon's midsection and its compatriot's chest, exiting from the top of its right shoulder in a spray of bone and ichor. Setting her feet firmly beneath her, Akane reversed the long sword's blade and swept it back to her right, cutting off both demons' heads in passing. Rage and hatred blocked the pain, and her face was set in a snarling mask as she compensated for the missing half of her peripheral vision, turning her head in little sweeps left and right. Finding no flankers, she returned the sword to middle guard and lunged at her remaining foes. The combat was brief. Two demons were before her side-by-side, with another three in a cluster beyond them and to their left. Akane went between the first two with an attack Ranma had drilled her on, soukongou, twin thunderbolts. The long, intricately guarded hilt of the sword was perfect for controlled two-hand use, she found, and the grey, double-edged, chisel-point blade seemed positively eager, leaping to the attack and lopping off demonic heads as though they were but heads of grain. Beyond the two were three more; one leapt forward, one followed cautiously, one hung back. Akane met the first's attack with a sideways skip and a crossing blow that cut its throat before a turning kick smashed it into the third, knocking it from its feet. She stepped forward into the second's way, cutting through its guard and its body with an equal lack of ceremony. Recovering from the blow, she slid over to where the third demon sprawled, reversed her grip on the sword, and thrust downwards, once. Turning to look down the slope she had just climbed, Akane was startled to notice that the distance had changed. What had been a run of long minutes going up was perhaps a thousand yards or so going down. She supposed that was part of what Ranma had meant. Ranma. Reluctantly, she turned her single gaze to the canyon mouth. She could not see all the way into the canyon, having apparently moved a little to the side, but she noticed a thin scattering of demons spraying out from the canyon mouth. Ranma herself she could not see, but she _could_ see demons clustering thickly just inside the mouth of the canyon, walling off the exit. Further inside, a storm was raging, lightning exploding off the walls and the rocks that lined the canyon's rim. 'She isn't going to be able to break free,' she said to herself, 'they're already behind her.' 'No,' she replied quietly, 'she's not. And I think she knew that when she sent us up here.' Akane remained standing quietly, looking down on the plain below for long minutes, and the pain in her ruined eye was matched by the pain in her heart. 'She told us to get out of here,' she finally ventured. 'No,' she replied, 'she told us to get _Sayuri_ out. We've done that.' 'Look at it this way,' she argued, 'What could we do if we were with her, except die?' 'Look at it this way,' she answered, 'What can we do _without_ her, except die?' Tears slowly began to drip from her right eye, perhaps matching the slow drip of blood from the left. 'She wanted us to get out,' she said slowly, 'to survive.' Her hand came up unconsciously, gently touching the scars on her left cheek, slowly exploring their extent. '_I_ don't want us to get out, or survive, unless she survives too.' Her probing fingers encountered her eye socket. 'And besides, some bastard down there owes us an eye.' 'So we go down there and die?' she asked. 'So we go down there,' she replied, 'and die.' Akane withdrew her sword from its resting place with a *squelch* and took her first step down the slope. Two steps later she was jogging. Three steps after that, and then she ran. The outriders were the first to notice her. Spreading out from the main battle, most were, by definition, looking for something safer to do than challenging an Invincible. A wounded girl running toward them looked tailor made. They formed a battle line and sent out a net of skirmishers, in case she should get away. Yelling their battle cries, they raised arms against her. As well might the iron ingots cry out against the blast furnace. As well might the stalks of wheat take up the sword against the scythe. Reaching the entrance to the canyon, she was momentarily distracted by a small squad of demonic soldiers making a suicide attack from just outside the canyon to her right. As the last demon died Akane saw, beyond it, a small secondary canyon leading off into the badlands in a new direction. Spinning on her heel, she ran swiftly into the mouth of the canyon proper, cutting down another small party of demons. Just inside the canyon mouth she ran into the main horde, beyond them she could catch glimpses of lightning fast destruction. Cursing, Akane plowed into the back of the demonic army, desperately swiveling her head from side to side to scan the whole field of her foes. ------------------------------------------------------------ In a room both near and far away another battle was taking place. Dr. Tofu instituted emergency resuscitation procedures as another doctor, hastily summoned, ran in the door. The crackle of electrical paddles and the humm-hiss of artificial respiration units sounded over the numbed prayers of Sayuri's father and brother and Yuka's weeping, muffled by Sayuri's mother's chest. In the circle in the corner, two bodies grew and healed collections of wounds. Gashes and scars covering exposed arms and occasionally tracing across still faces. Battle wounds, Nabiki knew. The minor and major injuries sustained by people who are fighting for life, or things more precious yet. Clenching her hands into white-knuckled balls she silently urged them on. ------------------------------------------------------------ Turn ... block left, strike up ... v-step over blow ... pear-splitter ... helicopter ... circle block to low thrust feint to v-strike inverted. Don't bother with _their_ actions; they aren't important. Victory is achieved by the correct control of flow and timing. Act in such a manner as to force their errors, then take advantage. Twin-thunderbolt ... break-the-fortress ... spin around push, and _kick_ ... slash-feint to lunge ... parry to riposte, turn left and _strike_. Don't listen to your doubts or fears, listen to her voice. Beloved voice, '"When they outnumber you, you have to get in amongst 'em, Acchan. Remember that they may be bigger than you and they may be better than you, but you don't _ever_ have to let them be _meaner_ than you. So _use that advantage_! And don't get killed. It'd make me get all depressed."' Low-to-high-to-high-to-low diagonal cross ... jump and _cut_ ... feint left and roll right and slash _up_ and then whirl to block and _heave_. A demon went flying into a group of its fellows and then Akane heard the roar. Before her the demonic army lifted up into the air as Ranma called the Hiryuu Shoten Ha again. And there she was, riding the cyclone up into the sky. If Akane had had a rope, she could have thrown it to her and yanked her away to where she could run. Akane had no rope to throw, but she threw one anyway. "_Ranchaaan!_ _CATCH!_" To say that Ranma was startled would be to considerably underestimate the case. She had been concentrating on her quest to find a worthwhile, accessible target to the exclusion of all else, and had not seen Akane's charge. As she caught the rope and began to swing she also began to rage. Catching up the power of her storm, she collected it and let the winds die. Sending a small amount of power down the rope, she fixed a point midway down in space and swung to a landing near Akane. As she neared she began to snarl, but then caught sight of Akane's face and fell silent as her heart sent up a wail of grief. "Acchan, wha...." "SHADDAP! RUN! THAT WAY!" Suiting deed to word, Akane pounded for the rear mouth of the canyon. Re-sheathing her sword, Ranma followed. Behind then a roar went up, and the demonic armies lunged for the canyon mouth in pursuit. As she reached the rear of the canyon, Ranma stopped and whirled. Concentrating all the power she had remaining from the storm that had raged in that canyon, she made a small change to its substance, and released it into the canyon walls. Already sensitized by repeated battle strikes and magic releases, the walls responded. The upper six meters of their surface turned to energy and roared out onto the frontal plain, focused by the remaining walls. The canonical sound-effect for this type of action is: *Krakata-THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!* Ranma and Akane fled into the side canyon, quickly finding that it forked and re-forked, spreading out into a web of pathways. Ranma led, changing pathways randomly as she ran. "So," she panted, "what's the plan?" "Fuck if I know," Akane responded, "I hoped _you'd_ have one." "Oh great! We're gonna die!" On the plain in front of the canyon a shining figure rose to its feet, smoking. Slowly, it looked around itself, and sprang into the air and rose, shining like a star. As it rose, it let off a roar of hate and rage that can only be described as cataclysmic. Over her shoulder as she ran, Ranma glimpsed the shining figure. "Oh great! We really _are_ gonna die!" The First of the Fallen looked down from his height at the canyon-maze where his enemies hid. More or less at random, he destroyed part of it. It wasn't the right part, but the demons who had been flying down it got to die forever in excruciating agony anyway. Ranma ran frantically, Akane on her heels. She ducked around a corner and fled down a side passage, picking a new direction at random at its end. 'We're _dead_!', she said to herself, 'We can't hold off the First. We can't get _to_ him, and there isn't _anywhere_ he can't go after us!' Two passages later, she replied, quietly, 'Yes there is.' A dash down a rocky corridor, '_Oh_ no. We gotta save Acchan's life here. We can't go _there_! Fuck, that'll kill her too!' Turn left, down the canyon floor, left again. 'Death _there_ may be retrievable. Death at the first's hands is not. This is a fight to save Akane. _That_ is how we win. Do it, Invincible!' Skidding to an instant halt, balanced on her back foot, Ranma formed her fingers into the call position for the Butterfly's Kiss. Done one way, this technique will reduce rock to powder. Done another, it will rend a human being asunder. As Ranma did it now, the floor of the canyon for a hundred yards in front of the two girls broke apart into small square surfaces which vanished like a bad CGA effect, leaving a gaping hole down into a black infinity. Slamming to a halt on the very edge of disaster, Akane sheathed her sword in automatic reflex, waving her arms for balance. Behind her, Ranma exploded off her back foot, gathering Akane into her arms and jumping out with a mighty leap. Out over the rift, and then down, into the dark. ------------------------------------------------------------ Paddles snapped and contacts closed. Sayuri's body jerked in reaction, and then moved, slightly, on its own. Monitors jerked off flatline and began to *beep*. And the watchers around the bed slumped slightly in relief. ------------------------------------------------------------ And in the sky over a blasted plain, a shining figure howled in a frustrated rage forty centuries old. And in a castle in the Scottish highlands, the redhead fell down, shocked. The short-haired brunette shivered, uneasily, and the long-haired one looked up from what she was doing to trade worried glances with the blue-skinned man with the odd face and the blonde girl with the tail. The tall blonde man near the hearth looked clueless, of course, but _that_ was normal, so nobody noticed. And in the choking darkness of the depths of the Pacific Ocean something awoke and stirred. Tasting Wrong, it turned its head toward the distant invisible light. And in a shrine in the mountains of central Japan, a man came upright from a position of meditation. And in a gun shop in Chicago, two young woman shivered briefly, as though feeling a chill breeze. And in a business office in Hong Kong, a middle-aged woman echoed them. And in a clean, well-lit room in the sewers under New York City, another meditator came awake. And in a small town in America, a man turned to his scrying crystal. And in a city made of stone, the chorus of bells fell silent. And in many other places, many people shivered, or turned to search out an enemy, or used senses magical or mundane to track down a sudden feeling of Bad. ------------------------------------------------------------ In circles within another circle two bodies sat silently. And exhaled, with a long, quavering hiss. And did not breathe again. Outside the circle, Tendo Nabiki put her face into her hands and began, silently, to cry. ------------------------------------------------------------ You can turn off 'O Fortuna' now, if you like. ------------------------------------------------------------ | | | | \ / : Down. It was dark. And silent. There was no light, no sound. Not even the rush of wind. Not even the flashes you get behind closed eyelids. Just darkness, and silence. And she was all alone. And she f e l l d o w n . Darkness. It was dark, and she was falling all alone. All alone. There was nothing she could see, nothing she could touch. She moved her hands, waved them about, but there was nothing. She patted herself, to make sure that _she_ was there, and she was. So that was something. She felt her face. (Her eye! Her eye was gone!) (It had been gone) (before) (before it was dark) (when she stood at the wall) (and turned away) (press on.) She patted her chest and shoulders, she moved down her body, and touched ... what? Arms? Why were there arms? Were they _her_ arms? But they couldn't be _her_ arms, because she couldn't feel herself feel them. So whose? Then she remembered. Ranma! Ranma was with her! They must be Ranma's arms. Ranma was with her! She wasn't alone! She clasped her hands over the arms where they crossed, and held them. They were Ranma's arms, she was with Ranma, falling down, into the dark. They fell, and civilizations fell with them, and were reborn from dust, and grew again, and flourished, and faded, and fell once more. And worlds passed by, and gave birth to life and grew old and died. And suns grew old, and died, and new suns were born; and Galaxies were born, grew up, grew old, crashed together, and died, and were reborn in fire. And Universes ended and new universes began, and time went by, and the Wheel turned round, and she was with Ranma, and Ranma was with her, and it was dark, and they fell down . ------------------------------------------------------------ Hold on! You must hold on. If your grip fails, you end, and she ends, and you fail. If _her_ grip fails, the same. Will her strength, will her to hold. No way of telling, no way of knowing. Until it's too late to help. And it is dark and silent and there is no way to tell if your grip will hold and no way to tell if _she_ even _is_ holding and if either fails both fail but this is a fight and you cannot lose a fight and you are Invincible but there is a cost there is always a cost and the cost may be more than you can pay and it is not enough to hold out you must also survive to guide _her_ out and if you spend all your power now and leave none but you must win you must spend the power to win you must and if you have not the power then you must find more and will _her_ power she must have power and it must be enough ... and you must hold. And love must find a way. And if it does, or if it does not ... hold on. ------------------------------------------------------------ There is a place that is not a place. In that place there is an Ocean, that is not an Ocean. And the water of that Ocean (that is not water) rolls forever flat and still, beneath a starless, moonless, sunless sky. (Though some say it is a desert, and that the sand is black, and harsh, and does not gleam. (Though there is no light in that place _to_ gleam.)) When you go there (and you will) you will find nothing, except that which you bring. No guides bring boats there, no one will ferry you across. You must go yourself, using only what you have, and it will take you however long it takes. And it will cost you whatever it may cost. And all these things, of course, are metaphor, for a somewhat more complex reality. Into that place, Ranma brought Akane, and Akane brought Ranma. Into a place where there is nothing, except that which is brought, they brought each other, falling from an infinite velvet sky. And the night-black water (that is not water) of that ocean (that is not an ocean) swallowed them. Without a splash. Without a ripple. Without a sound. And in that place of silence, silence reigned. Briefly. Until the sky began to fill with light. With a sprinkling of burning dust. And with a widening scatter of illuminated diamonds. And with luminescent shards of emerald, and amethyst, and ruby, and topaz, and pearl. As though someone had taken the combined gem collections of the world's museums, and smashed them with a sledge-hammer, and set the shards afire, and scattered them across the endless velvet sky. For in that place you will find nothing, except that which you bring with you. And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise and would be otherwise again, surfaced from the nighted depths of that ocean that is not an ocean, and brought Akane up with her. And lay on her back in the velvet water that is not water, and held her beloved to her breast while she coughed and sputtered. And smiled upwards, tiredly, into the sky. And the sky was _alight_ with stars. ------------------------------------------------------------ *Cough*, *hkk*, *cough*. A small voice, "Ranchan?" "Yeah?" "Are we dead?" "Kind of. It depends." A small time went by. Finally, Ranma shook herself slightly and turned over in the water, still holding Akane above the surface. "I _wondered_ why you didn't get in the pool the other day." "I've never been able to swim," Akane confessed ashamedly. "Well, fortunately, you won't have to." Ranma stretched out and began swimming, for a few strokes. "Huh?" Ranma's hand touched wood. "Look up for a minute, dummy." Akane heaved herself upright in the water, turned to bring her good eye into arc, and gaped in shock at the white wood of the hull of the sailboat bobbing gently in the water before her. Ranma suddenly boosted her toward the gunwale and she grabbed it and scrambled over, 'Don't look at her for a minute, dummy, you don't need the distraction of seeing her all wet in that silk shirt. And this might not be a good place to confess to being in love with her. And _don't_ think about where she just put her hand!' into the bow of the twenty foot long lateen-rig. "Ranchan! Where'd _this_ thing come from?" Ranma reached up and grabbed, then heaved herself over the side, 'Don't look at her, dummy, you don't need the distraction of seeing her all wet in that silk shirt. And you need to get moving if you're going to get her back in time. And _don't_ think about where you just put your hand!' into the stern. "Huh. Funny, it's gotten a little bigger." Ranma kept her head down and rummaged around the mast. "Ahh." She released a rope and brought the main spar into line, quickly raising and setting the sail. "Hey Acchan. Thanks." "Huh? For what, Ranchan?" "For coming after me. For coming _back_ after me. ... I guess you were right. I _did_ need you." Akane blushed, and stared intently at the deck. "Ahh, any time Ranchan. Any time." Akane suddenly felt a breeze begin to blow, raising a slight swell, and causing the little ship to gather way. "Now, Miss Tendo, if you will be so good as to summon and maintain a light, so we can see where we are going, I will try to get us to shore, where we can see about not having to _stay_ dead." Akane blinkied for a few moments, then scrambled to her feet. "Sure, Ranchan!" She held out her hands, concentrated, and summoned Fire; creating a fiercely burning beacon that sent out a cone of light to pierce the gloom before them. Before the wind, the little ship sped across the darkened ocean, bow-wave peeling back to either side and wake spreading out behind them, far off into the eternal night. They flew towards an unseen destination for an unmeasurable time, and Akane held the beacon steady before them, feeling an unexplainable exaltation, as though some factor in the sea or the boat or the wind was calling to her in wild delight. All things must end, however, and finally Akane saw a dark line at the limits of her beacon's reach. A line that rapidly drew nearer, revealing itself as a dark, sandy beach stretching across the ocean as far as she could see. Exultantly she shouted, "Ranchan, Ranchan, Land!" Heedful of her words, Ranma dismissed the wind and quickly lowered the sail. Running up the slope of one final swell, the graceful ship remained poised at apex for a brief moment before slipping over, and sliding down the long, shallow slope to run itself into the beach with a long, slithering hiss. Jumping down from the little ship's bow, Akane got out of the way of its rush, and stood waiting as Ranma walked to the bow, likewise jumped down, and tugged her jacket straight. Adjusting her scarf to her satisfaction, Ranma caught Akane's eye and winked. Then she started up the beach, walking strongly and swiftly. Akane followed, wordlessly. About a hundred yards up the beach, the sand gave way to rocks of varying sizes. Akane also noted the beginnings of a gradual slope, and began to dimly perceive a darker wall looming ahead. Ranma set out over the rockpiles toward this distant object, warning Akane in a low voice to be careful of her footing. Akane was well aware of the problem, gingerly stepping over and around stones and shifting piles of gravel, keeping her good eye sweeping back and forth, searching out the best path. Traveling on a few dozen yards, Akane looked up to discover that they had come to the base of a towering ridge, looming up into the darkness, barely outlined by the light from the gleaming stars. Ranma, she noticed, was not going up the slope, but rather searching along its base. Akane followed her along, gingerly testing her way across the treacherous scree. At last, Ranma gave a muffled exclamation of triumph. "Ha! Found it! I _swear_ the bloody thing moves! Come on, Acchan. Come over here." Akane picked her way up a small sub-slope and around a large boulder, to discover a stone nook set about ten feet into the wall of a sheer cliff. It was enclosed on four sides out of five, and was open to the sky over less than a third its roof. The boulders and rock-faces that surrounded it were coated with mossy accumulations that must have been centuries old, and she noted a great tap-root crawling over the top of one wall and over a square lip of ancient, worked stone, down into the pool of water that filled most of the interior of the hollow. Ranma knelt on a convenient rock at the edge of the pool and dipped cupped hands into it, bringing up palmfuls of water and drinking them down several times. Ranma then bent over and dipped her head into the water, ducking under to her neck and shaking her head back and forth. At Ranma's indicative motion, Akane also knelt and drank. The water was cool and pure, quenching her thirst on first contact and then returning it again so that the second drink was even more welcome than the first, and the third more welcome than the second. After five drinks, she stopped being thirsty, sitting back with a long sigh and feeling the internal fires soothed and quenched by the healing water, only to reignite again, stronger, purer, and higher than before. Motioning Akane to tilt her head back, Ranma dipped another palmful of water and poured it onto Akane's face, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe away the blood and serum. The water was cool and refreshing on her face, and Akane felt the pain begin to ease. More importantly, she quickly lost the immediate awareness of injury, and for the first time since her maiming she could truly concentrate on her surroundings. Seeing the relief in her face, Ranma grinned at her. "Good stuff, huh?" "Uh-huh. That's _much_ better, yeah. Thanks, Ranchan. Umm, Ranchan?" "Yeah?" "Now what?" "Now we go up the cliff. About a hundred yards of climbing, and then we should hit a ravine and be able to walk." "How much time do we have?" "It's not so much time as intent, Acchan. As long as we don't slow down, get side-tracked or turn back, we'll be fine." "Well, let's get going then." As they rose to their feet, Akane had a thought. Lagging behind for a moment, she drew the sword she had found and dipped it in the pool, drawing it out and wiping it off with a cloth before returning it to its sheath. At Ranma's questioning look she shrugged, "Can't hurt ...." ** She was climbing ** search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip ** up a wall. ** move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach ** It was dark ** grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find ** and quiet, ** reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan ** and she ** find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search ** must spend more time, ** scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move ** too much time, ** search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip ** to find a way ** move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach ** that she could go. ** grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find ** Her arms hurt, ** reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan ** and she must move them, ** find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search ** her legs trembled, ** scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move ** but they must stay firm. ** search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip ** It was hard, ** move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach ** and she was tired, ** grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find ** and afraid. ** reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan ** But there was moss ** find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search ** for her to feel, ** scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move ** jeweled starlight above ** search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip ** to light her way, ** move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach ** and the dark ** grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find ** was far behind her, ** reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan ** like broken prison bars; ** find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search ** and she was with Ranma, ** scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move ** and Ranma was with her, ** search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip ** and they climbed up ** move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach ** to find the stars. ** The climb was fairly brutal for Akane, her missing eye no longer hurting, but still hampering her field of view and depth perception. Finding hand-holds was harder; routes must be scrutinized more closely. Plus, a climb up a sheer rock face coated with moss in deep darkness is almost guaranteed to be an event long worth remembering. But, in the end, they reached the deeply cut, steep ravine, and began to climb the long slope. Now the going was somewhat easier, but also, paradoxically, harder. Akane needed to expend less physical and mental effort to move and to find her way. But this left her more time for brooding. Brooding was not, typically, the sort of thing that Akane did. She had always been one to resolve a situation in as little time as possible. Typically abruptly, in a manner that involved violence. This extended feeling of malaise was not something that she was well prepared to deal with. It was basicly, she decided, All Her Fault. If she hadn't come tagging along behind Ranma and jogging her arm, she would certainly have handled it better. She was just ... no good, really. It was harsh, but there it was. She loved Ranma dearly, but she knew that she did not deserve her. She never would deserve her. She'd just keep getting in to trouble and Ranma would come get her out and one day .... All Her Fault. She should just ... she should .... Walking in her own cloud of gloom, Ranma was drearly certain that she had forfeited any friendship Akane might ever offer her. She'd gotten her _eye_ cut out, for Kami-sama's sake! It was just impossible, she had no right .... Akane sighed mournfully, and Ranma immediately jerked her attention back to the 'real' world. Akane was definitely drooping, she noted. That would not do. Travel here in the celestial borderlands was as much a matter of will as of physical effort; despair could be fatal, in a literal sense. She would have to cheer the other girl up, immediately. But what could she do that wouldn't seem fake? Then she realized that she was being silly. Cases like this were what music was _made_ for, after all. Adjusting her stride to tap out the beat, Ranma raised her voice in song. When you're weary, feeling small When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all. I'll take your part, Oh, when times get rough And friends just can't be found Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down It came as a complete shock to Akane, and broke her out of her funk immediately. Nonetheless, surprise held her voiceless for the first verse, a warm glow of love rising from her diaphragm to fill her whole body. On the second verse, she joined in. When you're down and out, when you're on the street When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you I'm on your side, Oh, when darkness comes And pain is all around Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down Oddly, Ranma found, she was feeling better too. And, to her, it wasn't just a song. It was a promise. Though she did not know it, Akane was thinking almost the exact same thing. The final verse rolled out sweetly, pushing back the night. Sail on, Silver girl, sail on by Your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way See how they shine, Oh, when you need a friend I'm sailing right behind And like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind. Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind. Ranma laughed delightedly. "Sorry, Acchan, I was letting the gloom get to me too, I think. The problem with this walk is keeping yourself from getting depressed." "Yeah, Ranchan, I was feeling down, too. I think it's the scenery, it's too dark. Is there a song we could concentrate on for a while?" "Mmmm. Sounds like a job for a marching song, really. Do you know 'The Whistling Pig'?" "No, never heard of it. How does it go?" "Like this:" Well, we're having a war, and we'd like for you to come, so the Pig began to whistle, and to pound upon the drum, We'll give you a gun, and we'll furnish you a hat! And the Pig began to whistle, when they told the Piggies that. Akane began to whistle too, stepping off in time to the beat, matching Ranma's pace. Ranma continued the song, recounting the many adventures and misadventures of the Whistling Pig, and Akane came in on the choruses, soon finding and holding the melody line. As she sang, she began to hear flashes of song, prefiguring things Ranma put in the verses later, and eventually she began taking the occasional verse herself, efforts that Ranma praised as very authentic. The Pig put on his webbing, and he shined his bayonet. Some people started shooting, so he shot them, with regret, He couldn't run an office and he couldn't be a clerk, cause a Pig that likes to whistle likes to whistle while he works. Oh, we're having a war, .... As she continued on, walking to the beat with a rhythmic tramp, it almost seemed to Akane as though she and Ranma were not alone. It almost seemed as though they walked in the center of a great host of people, soldiers, who marched or trudged or tramped along, variously equipped and conditioned, but undefeated and able, and they, too, were singing. Wars are sometimes over, and they garnisheed his pay. They took his hat and webbing, and they took his gun away. They told him they were thankful, and they split him north to south, and they fried him with a whistle and an apple in his mouth. Oh, we're having a war, .... The ghostly host began to fade from Akane's sight, until only a last, dedicated band remained. Before her, she saw a wide river, crossed by no bridge. To the side across the river, she spied the obsidian walls of the city of stone. The ghosts began to stamp their feet at the end of each line, making a hollow *boom* like the sounding of a great drum, far away. Akane fell silent and the soldiers followed suit, and Ranma raised her voice again, in what Akane recognized somehow must be the verse that closed the song. One day there won't be fighting (*boom*) and we'll put our guns away. (*boom*) Men will love each other, (*boom*) and we'll all join hands to pray. (*boom*) Peace will come forever, (*boom*) people won't get shot and die, (*boom*) and on that day, the Pigs will spread their wings, _and learn to fly!_ Oh, we're having a war, and we'd like for you to come, so the Pig began to whistle, and to pound upon the drum, We'll give you a gun, and we'll furnish you a hat! And the Pig began to whistle, when they told the Piggies that. They came to the bank of the river, and Akane saw that the river was filled with dust. Ranma gave the ghostly soldiers a casual salute, which they returned before fading away. Ranma then waded out into the river to her knees, and turned back to Akane and held out her hand. Akane waded into he river likewise, and took it. Ranma set out across, holding her hand tightly, and was quickly up to her neck. Akane held her breath as her head slipped under the surface of the flowing dust, but it did not seem to get into her nose or mouth, or hinder her breathing. She _did_ notice that there were occasional thin streams of water mixed in with the dust, and an accidental encounter with one revealed to her that they were salty. Though it did not choke her, the dust did stick to her skin, and the streams of tears only turned some of it to mud where it clung. Emerging from the river on the other side both Ranma and Akane were covered by a caking of dust and mud so that they were entirely white. Turning up the worn stone street towards the wall, Akane noticed that the dust was falling off with each step, and that the mud was drying up and flaking away. By the time they were sixty yards from the river the only traces it had left were a few grey smudges on their faces. Akane felt very tired, and was engaged in wishing it were over when the bells began to sound. Just as before, the low rumble of stone was picked up and echoed before breaking free in heartrending glory. Just as before the stone song was enhanced by the music of countless bells. Just as before she was overcome by the beauty of the music, and she began to turn back to hear it more closely when Ranma grabbed her hand, pulling her along. They were almost at the wall when a new factor was added. Above the glory of the bells, high and clear and impossibly sweet, rose a voice. Somehow, Akane recognized it as the voice of the young girl with the blue T-shirt she had met in Death's house, and it sang to her and Ranma now in verses she heard once before. Ranma had sung them at the funeral, power and beauty both, and she was glad for Ranma's hand, else she should have certainly run back to the city to comfort its mournful longing. A sto'r mo chroi', when you're far away From the home that you'll soon be leaving, 'Tis many the time, by night and by day, That your heart will sorely be grieving. For the stranger's land it is bright and fair, And rich in treasures golden, But you'll pine I know for the long, long ago, And the love that never is olden. They reached the wall. As before, it was low and weathered. It could be no trouble to get across, even for a cripple. And yet, somehow, Akane was reluctant. Somehow, she knew, the wall was as much a guardian as a barrier. Somehow, it would extract a toll. Mutely, she turned back to Ranma in an appeal for another way, but Ranma's eyes, gentle but stern, offered no compromise. As the song closed a verse, Akane took a deep breath, and stepped across. To Ranma's sight, she rippled, and was gone. A sto'r mo chroi', in the stranger's land, There is plenty of wealth for the willing. Where jewels adorn the great and the grand, While our faces with hunger are paling. Yet the road may be toilsome, and hard to tread, And the lights of their cities may blind you. Then turn a sto'r, to the eastern shore, And the ones that you're leaving behind you. Quietly Ranma stood, looking at the wall herself for a moment of silent appraisal, before turning to look back down into the city. Her features softened, but then hardened again, and she raised her right hand and held it high for a moment. As the song began its final verse, her hand gave off a flash of white light, momentarily throwing the wall and the ground before it into high relief. As the flash faded, Ranma turned around, and stepped across. A sto'r mo chroi', when the evening mists, O'er Mountain and Sea are falling, Then turn aside from the throng and list' And maybe you'll hear me calling. For the sound of a voice that I sorely miss, For somebody's quick returning, Ohh! A ru'n, a ru'n, won't you come back soon, To the love that always is burning? As Ranma crossed the wall, she too vanished. From the city of stone, the song grew mournful, and as it finished the chorus of bells also ended, and then the silence, and the tears, returned. ------------------------------------------------------------ Nabiki was no longer weeping. Tears would serve no further purpose, and she still had a duty to perform. Ranma had asked of her a service, and she had agreed. She did not see that the service held any further value, but she would perform it faithfully nonetheless. Precise fulfillment of contractual terms reflected on her honor, and Nabiki was a stickler for things like that. Mourning silently, she knelt in formal seiza, watching over the dead bodies of her sister and her friend. She would watch for 48 hours, and nothing would disturb them for that time. Let the doctors know what price had been paid, and who had paid it. 48 hours, and then she must take charge of the arrangements. They must have another funeral. She quailed internally at the very thought, but it fell to her to achieve. One thing, though, she would at least be spared. She would watch over the bodies and therefore, therefore _someone else_ would make the phone call. Someone else would have to tell Kasumi and Daddy. It was a form of cowardice, she knew, but with all of her soul she was thankful. That task, above all others, was one she could not face. 'Oh, Akane!' she mourned,'Why did you go and do something that stupid?' Though it was a rhetorical question, she knew. Akane had followed her friend. No! Say it, Nabiki! Akane had been in love with Ranma, and Ranma had been in love with Akane. Akane had followed her lover, and had died with her. At least they had died in battle, if she was any judge, and she also judged that they had died together. Whatever else, she _knew_ they were together now. She supposed that she ought to be angry at Akane for falling in love with someone like Ranma, but she could not be. Her sister had never shown a trace of lesbianism before; she _would_ have noticed. And she had been so ... so _grey_ before, and _she_ had not been able to help, and then Ranma came, and Akane was so happy after. She could not begrudge that happiness; and if it had cost her sister her life, well, no-one had forced her to go beside Ranma. Perhaps she had felt the risk of dying beside her beloved was less than that of living without her. In a detached way, Nabiki could understand that. Tracing the lines of their faces with her eyes, and following the new scars, Nabiki made a silent pledge. Ranma and Akane had not died through mischance. Someone had taken her sister and her friend from her. She did not know who, but she would. And then Someone was going to pay. Pay dearly, and pay interest. Tendo Nabiki became emotional over few things, but _no-one_ injured her family and walked away undamaged. It was a matter of honor, it was a matter of pride, and it was especially a matter of being very, _very_ angry. Dr. Tofu straightened from his ministrations and sighed in relief. Already she was recovering. Recovering at a very great rate, too. She would, he felt, be recovered sufficiently to leave the hospital in a day or three. Turning to her father, he relayed this news, softening the man's profuse thanks embarrassedly. It was not his victory, but two others', and he turned to check on them. Even from across the room, he knew, and his heart froze within him. Still, he moved over to be certain. Nabiki felt the presence of Dr. Tofu behind her. "48 hours." There was little humanity in her voice, only a vast and implacable purpose. He began to say something, but then reconsidered. "48 hours," he agreed. "Would you like me to call your house?" Nabiki turned a grateful face toward him, and smiled weakly. "Thank you, Tofu-sensei. I ...." In a city made of stone, a chorus of bells fell silent, though neither Nabiki or Tofu could hear them. In her circle, Akane gasped in air and arched her back, falling to her side and writhing out of the circle, keening in agony. They whirled back around and gaped at the sight of Ranma, head back and body locked, mouth gaping open in a long, silent scream. Akane inadvertently recalled their attention with a strangled whimper. Nabiki lunged to her sister's side, but Ranma got there first anyway. Cradling Akane's head in her arms, Ranma held her upright. Akane gasped, "Hurts, Ranchan." "Shh, Acchan, I know. It'll get better soon." Nabiki took a towelette from Dr. Tofu and used it to clean off the wounds on Akane's cheek, dreading what she knew she must see when Akane opened her eyes. Akane, feeling the gentle motion, gathered her energy and looked to see who was cleaning her, blurrily she saw ... "N-neechan? That you? Ranchan?" Seeing Nabiki's stunned stare, she continued, "Neechan? Is it ... my eye? I know it must look awful ...." "Oh, I don't know," Ranma smiled slowly, "_I_ think it makes you look ... rakish, really." Akane frowned at her, vaguely, and Ranma pulled out a mirror and held it before her face. Akane frowned at it; it wouldn't come into focus. It was all blurry, but it was odd. It seemed as though it was blurry in _both_ eyes, which made no sense at all. Then it did focus, and she gasped. There was her right eye, large and dark brown like it had always been. But where there should have been a mate to its left, or else a bloody ruin, was instead a deep black well, shot through with swirling flecks of red and gold. Akane tried to deal with the concept, but quickly gave up the idea as much too complicated. She was more tired and bore more minor injuries than she had ever had in her life, and all she wanted to do was go home. Ranma wobbled unsteadily to her feet and pulled Akane up after her. After checking with Dr. Tofu that Sayuri was all right, she got Akane moving and headed out the door to the Dojo, leaving Nabiki to deal with anything that came up. Nabiki, unwilling to be put off lunged after them and held them up, saying, "Hold on, you two. You don't leave until you tell me what the _hell_ just happened!" Ranma and Akane looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to Nabiki. "Nothing special, Oneechan." "No big deal, really." In unison, "Just routine." Chucking tiredly, they staggered out, brushing past Dr. Tofu, who made a move to stop them, but then shrugged, and let them go. Nabiki looked after the departing duo exasperatedly. Then she slowly smiled. Internally, she cancelled her pledge of vengeance and made a note to buy a great deal of incense and prayer candles. She didn't know just which god she now owed a debt to, but she should probably do some scatter-shot sacrificing anyway; it was a small price to pay for a miracle. Mentally, she made a list. First, she had to see about a few temples. Then she was going to go home and check that Akane was really all right. Then she was going to tear a long, bleeding strip off her for scaring her like that. Whistling in relief, she headed out the door herself. ------------------------------------------------------------ Somehow, she had kept awake long enough to get home. Staggering in the door of her room, she took off her jacket and hung it up. Then her legs failed her, and she just managed to sit down on the bed. Ranchan wanted her to do something, and she nodded vaguely, and she was _so_ tired, she'd do it in a minute, she'd get right up and ... and she'd ... she'd get up from where she was laying down and she'd .... A small snore came from Akane where she lay on her side on her bed, fast asleep. Ranma frowned and came over to the bed, shaking her shoulder lightly. This accomplished nothing, and Ranma sat down heavily to try to think what to do. Absently, she stroked Akane's hair gently. She would leave Acchan to her sleep, she decided, and go back to her apartment. She'd get right up and do it now. Yup. She'd get ... right ... up ... and .... ------------------------------------------------------------ Nabiki arrived home with a mission. She was going to kill her little sister on grounds of familial imperilment (viz: risking her, Nabiki's neck when she would have had to explain things to Dad). Skipping up the steps she listened at Akane's door, but heard nothing. Quietly, she opened the door to confirm that Akane was not present, and gaped at the sight within. On the bed lay Akane and Ranma, arms and legs intertwined, Akane's face pressed into Ranma's shoulder, raven hair entwining with sunset scarlet, deeply asleep. Nabiki smiled wistfully, and quietly closed the door. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences Part A: The Night Before The Morning After Authors Notes: Tear-jerking bastich, ain't I? Heh. No, it gets to me, too, and I _wrote_ the thing. You may notice that I spend a lot more time on describing Akane's fight and what maneuvers she is using, while letting Ranma by with visual descriptions and a higher level of vagueness. This is entirely intentional. You may also notice that I tend to choose Ranma's actions by their visual appeal, silly as that may seem in a text based fanfiction. Again, this is intentional. A lot of the whole fic is visually based, because I seem to have the habit of formatting and developing the scenes that way. Also, Ranma is serving as a plot-device and story- forwarder at this point, so I felt that visual imagery was more appropriate. Yes, Ranma does have a death wish. It's not a terribly strong one, mind. And he himself would deny it vehemenently, but it _is_ there. Again, this is a side-effect of Ranma no longer being truly heroic, and will probably fix itself as he regains his proper form. Or, again, I could just be playing with your minds. You never know. But, whatever Ranma may _think_, he has been strongly marked by the Samurai / Ronin death fetish (if that's what I want to call it). The sense that a 'heroic' death for duty or honor's sake is desirable or romantic. As I say, if you asked him, she'd deny it, but .... Moving on, I consider the Hiryuu Shoten Ha to be the most visually distinctive and impressive of Ranma's attacks, which is why I use it here. I've wanted to use "krakata-thoooooo......oooom" as a sound effect for a long time now, and I refuse to apologize for it. Yes that _is_ the First of the Fallen as in Satan, Old Scratch, Lucifer, the Adversary, etc. Yes, he's extremely bad-ass. For more on Invincibles, see the RAALS Essays on the web site. For that matter, world and meta-world information in general is there, and there's a lot to reference in this chapter. The fall into the dark was pure stylistic showoff on my part, but I'm not apologizing for _it_, either. The Starless Sea is an escape route because it's the one place in all creation where Lies are Not Allowed, and where the First _cannot_ therefore suddenly turn up. Or _any_ demon, for that matter. On the other hand, it's usually very much a one-way trip. Nor can most people climb the Cliff of Black Stone, even if they could _find_ it, which they couldn't. The pool of water at the base of the cliff is a very Important Well. The root that feeds into it is a very Important Root. And a nasty computer pun. I'm not saying any more right now. Ranma and Akane would not normally be able to throw their weight around to that extent; but due to their twin-world existence during the fight, they are in much the same position as a demon would be confronting humans on earth. That is, they're cheating extensively. This also explains the rapid healing of their wounds during the fight, and also at least partly what happened to Akane's eye. _That_ wound is also very symbolic, if you hadn't already guessed that. The sword will be dealt with in the next chapter. The Iron-Men pseudo-history is complete garbage, in case that wasn't obvious, but I think it's evocative garbage. It's also _All Mine_, but I'm willing to share ... Just for the record, major world influences to this point include: Slayers Godzilla Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (manga version) Gunsmith Cats Usagi Yojimbo Neil Gaiman Terry Pratchett Ah! Megamisama Iczer One El Hazzard Tenchi Muyo Hellblazer! In Nomine Ninja High School Gold Digger Gunmm (aka Battle Angel Alita) and my own deranged imagination. Oh, and Ranma, too. 'Til Then, Eric Hallstrom 10/26/99 -- www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html www.kawaiikunee.com hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com From: Eric Hallstrom Subject: [Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story, Chapter Six (Corrected) Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the Trolls. "Summer Lightning" and "Thanksgiving Eve" are copyrighted by Garnet Rogers; if you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings lots better than I write. "The Haughs of Cromdale" is a Traditional song from Scotland. My version is off an album by the Corries. Isileth and Aldric Talvalin, and everything to do with them belong to Peter Morwood. They come from his series, the Books of Days (The Horse Lord, The Dragon Lord, The Demon Lord, and The Warlord's Domain.); now, sadly, no longer in print. Gally, Hugo, Ido and Co. are characters from the manga/anime series "Hyper Future Vision Gunmm", which belongs to Yukito Kishiro. This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.0 (Apr. 22, 2000) ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences Part A: The Night Before the Morning After ------------------------------------------------------------ There are certain ways that things are supposed to go. Take, for instance, the case of waking up in someone else's bed. This is _supposed_ to involve long drowsy dalliances and breakfast in situ, served by dedicated servants. Or, on the other hand, romantic melodrama may easily be obtained by hasty dressing and tearful, secretive goodbyes. Unless, of course, the other whose bed you are waking up in is an Other whom no-one, including the other, may be allowed to suspect _is_ the Other; in which case things are supposed to occur so as to maximize embarrassment for all involved. (Yes, that _was_ a complex sentence. Read it through a couple times, it means what it says.) Fortunately for Ranma, the sensation of Akane breathing into her ear woke her alone and unobserved. This precipitated what should have been the type of convulsive jerk that knocks over the bed, wakes the bed-mate, calls the attention of the house, and otherwise results in complete higgelty-piggelty. Alas for the devotees of the Right and Proper Order of Things, however, Ranma's well-honed reflexes and hard-wired skills were in full working order; and she removed herself from complete (if, sadly, clothed) entanglement in Akane's embrace to a position standing upright in the middle of the room without much more than a mild heart attack. This should not, however, be construed as meaning that the forces of Dramatic Righteousness were entirely cheated of their due. The human body is a complex collection of muscles, bone, nerves, joints, ligaments, and other such items. Ranma's collection chose that moment to send her a wide array of bitterly-complaining messages, relaying their utter dissatisfaction with their current conditions and accusing her of criminal incompetence at the top. She also noted the pounding pain of a massive migraine headache, foretelling an impressive hangover; caused, she knew, by metabolic by- products and ki imbalances attendant upon the rather ... unique ... stresses to which she and Akane had been subjected earlier that day. Action was clearly called for, and she exerted her trained will and knowledge of Magic and martial lore, pushing back the pain and stiffness and adjusting a wide range of inner balances. Attempted to move. And whimpered, very faintly. Then she consulted a hard-won store of homeopathic medical lore and immediately prescribed herself a long soak in a hot bath and some serious reconstructive meditation. Which would require walking all the way out the hall and down the stairs, not to mention _another_ hall at the bottom of the stairs. Truly it is said that the life of a Martial Artist is fraught with peril. It would be a good idea to wake Akane, however. Particularly since, unless she was seriously mistaken, Akane's lingering effects of the day's adventures would be even more extreme than her own. Ranma felt a renewed pang of grief shoot through her as she took in Akane's profile, following the new lines of scars that spread out in a web around her left eye, easily visible as she lay on her right side. She forced herself to lock the sensation deeply inside; even if revealing the extent of her sorrow were not far too dangerous to the careful masquerade she must now live, it was horribly disrespectful to Akane. She had, after all, followed along of her own free will, and must be regarded as a warrior capable of knowing her own honor and what it demanded. Honorable action required what it required, and cost what it cost. Had she, herself, not born up under wounds as great? To rail against the necessary costs of one's actions was to cheapen them; and to cheapen Akane was a thing which she could never do. In the end Akane's slumber proved more than a match for Ranma's somewhat lessened resources, and Ranma finally decided simply to let her sleep. Summoning her ferocious will and inexhaustible endurance, she strode out the door and down the stairs towards the furo and a long, hot soak with all the grace and power of an octogenarian tortoise. ------------------------------------------------------------ The furo, generally speaking, was an institution and object of which Tendo Nabiki thoroughly approved. It was not merely sanitary and relaxing, she felt, but good for the mind and will as well. A long soak relaxed the body, which gave the mind time and space in which to think unhindered. Most of all, it provided a protected space. It was so often necessary to impose control on one's self, on one's expressions and actions. Any opportunity to create a time or space in which that control could be relaxed, however briefly, was to be treasured. Moreover, it was an easily secured space as well, especially a private furo, like the one in the Tendo bath. Even a public furo was far more private than it would appear at first glance, since custom imposed a veil of indifference over the lack of physical privacy that actually provided far more actual privacy than most would believe. As long as one was discreet, at least. But a _private_ furo .... Not only did it share in the custom-imposed privacy of the public furo, but it had _physical_ privacy, too. Also, if one suspected that one's privacy had been imposed on, one could take any actions necessary to regain it, _without_ alerting anyone to the presence of something out of the ordinary to be protected in the first place. All in all, Nabiki was very fond of finding a good furo and settling in for a long soak whenever she was feeling out of sorts. That afternoon she soaked for as long as she could stand. She was thinking. Thinking as hard and strategically as she had in a long time. It could be managed, she felt. Mind, her sister was still an idiot. But it _could_ be managed. There was no real hope that the news would not get out, but if she managed the grapevine just so .... She supposed that was 'spin', or whatever the current set of idiots currently running the Western Media were calling it at the moment. But any Japanese (really, any truly _civilized_ person, she reflected) knew instinctively that it was the consensus of community opinion that mattered. All she had to do was swing that consensus a little. A task in which she should have a considerable advantage. This consensus directly affected Ranma, after all. Not only had she, herself, _demonstrated_ an advanced grasp of public consensus management; but even more, a denigratory consensus might well cause her to become ... annoyed. Since she strongly suspected that no sane person in Furinkan would actually wish to see that happen .... So, all she _should_ have to do was drop a few subtle hints. And make sure that no random _in_-sane person upset the boat. Not difficult, if she was any judge, as long as she kept things vague enough that people could agree without having to confront what they were agreeing with directly. The last thing she thought before relaxing fully into the lassitude brought by the delicious warmth of the water was that she was glad that she lived in a society where allusion made arranging things like that no more difficult than necessary. She didn't really feel up to doing anything difficult right now anyway. ------------------------------------------------------------ After finishing her bath, she was inclined to talk over a few things with Kasumi, just to make sure that they were both on the same page as regards her dear little sister's idiocy and its probable cause. A small disturbance alerted her to an approaching spectacle however, and she silently took refuge in the Tendo Family room to await it. The spectacle in question did not disappoint. Ranma, jacket-less, de-scarfed and carrying her shirt in her hand, limped vaguely down the hallway, around the corner and into the furo. Nabiki forbade herself to make any noise. She had heard from her rumor sources that Ranma was scarred beneath her usual enveloping clothes, but she had not expected ... and _some_ of those scars were not old, fine, white lines but rather angry, red welts. Nabiki felt her eyes fill, briefly, with tears. She would have to remember this sight, she thought, whenever she doubted her sister's lover. Ranma might be overly heroic and possessed of something resembling a death-wish, but there could be no doubt that she knew the cost of the actions she took. Which was very much for the better, actually; if someone _had_ to act like a Samurai, it was much easier to respect them knowing that they always kept one eye on the cost. Shaking her head she turned from the closing door and went to talk to Kasumi. ------------------------------------------------------------ She woke up. This, she decided, was her first mistake. She was not immediately sure what had awakened her, but she _was_ immediately sure that she wished it hadn't bothered. Her hair hurt. That was not even considering the mad kamikaze air molecules that were attempting to flay her skin off. Now that she whimpered it, how _had_ those tribes of mad, jack-hammer wielding dwarves gotten inside her skull, anyway? And what had she done to piss them off so badly? Couldn't they have written her a ... a letter or something? She'd have apologized, really. Also, she really had to talk to someone about putting dead rats in her mouth. It just wasn't civilized, and whoever had done it ought to have known better. She tried to summon up a sense of righteous outrage, but all she could manage was a dull throb, and it immediately got lost in all the other aches and pains. Attempting to discern where, exactly, she was, she opened her eyes. Mistake number two, instantly taken advantage of by the roving hordes of nomadic biker photons, which used the opening in her defenses to invade down her optic nerves in a howling wave and set her brain on fire. Attempting to quench the flames, she curled into a foetal ball and threw her arms around her head. Mistake number three. It was really fascinating, she thought distantly, that a sufficient amount of suffering could not only _induce_ unconsciousness, but could then immediately _negate_ it. Well, she had obviously screwed up _somewhere_, big-time. Now the question was: where was Ranchan when you really needed her? Ranma. Didn't she have a vague memory of Ranma saying something? Something ... about ... about ... getting up? ... and going ... to the furo. Or she'd stiffen up.... Ah.... So that was it. Well, she could see that the rest of the day promised to be unpleasant. Yep. But she had a plan to outwit it. Just as soon as she took her bath and got a little control back, she was going to die. Yep. That'd show it. You bet. Now all she had to do was get to the furo. Which involved ... taking off her clothes ... and going ... all the way ... down the stairs. Oh dear. Shortly, a shambling figure tackled the complex challenge of walking down a flight of stairs without toppling over. Its progress was not eased by an apparent difficulty with the dim hallway light, which was causing it to move in a series of flinches. Exerting supreme self-control, it avoided a lunging attempt to descend the stairs in a single moment, outracing light itself. Which was a good thing, really, because the photons hanging around were sufficiently annoyed as it was, and the figure was in enough trouble. Stumbling down the last stair risers and shuffling painfully around two corners and down the hall, the figure had nearly attained its hoped-for sanctuary when fate cruelly intervened. A firm, decisive footstep was heard, and Tendo Soun entered the hallway from the garden outside and came face-to-face with his daughter. And, for a brief moment, nothing happened. Then Akane feebly attempted to placate the looming disaster by waving her hands at her father, and whimpering. Alas, in vain; slowly started but rapidly rising came the ultimate horror (at least to anyone with a killing hangover), a full, all-out, Tendo Soun Wail. (#2516: My daughter went to Hell and lost her eye, now she'll never get a husband and I'll be alone in my old age, aiieeee!) The noise went through Akane's already shot nerves like a buzzsaw and she collapsed to the floor in a foetal ball. Naked and dripping from the tub, Ranma was at her side two seconds later. Kneeling at Akane's side, Ranma gently coaxed her out of her curled up misery; in the process leveling a glare at Soun that sent him backwards in a dead faint. Nabiki, drawn by the *thud* of Akane impacting the floor, managed a gasp before Ranma cut her off. "Nabiki-san, please ask Kasumi-san to get Acchan a glass of whichever hangover cure she usually makes for your father." Smoothly, Ranma picked Akane up and took her into the furo. Nabiki gaped briefly at the closing door before running back to fetch Kasumi. ------------------------------------------------------------ Timidly, Kasumi knocked on the door to the bath. "Ranma-san, may I come in?" "Please do." Kasumi carried the large glass into the furo, and, like her sister, restrained a gasp. It was bad enough to see such extensive scars on Ranma-san, reminding her of the cost demanded of those who walk Bushido, but to see such scars in turn on the smooth flesh of her younger sister; that was almost more than she could stand. Akane was huddled against the edge of the tub, with her face turned down and her eyes shut as Ranma gently probed her acupuncture and shiatsu spots from behind. At Kasumi's approach, Ranma leaned back in the tub, and Akane turned around, looking up at Kasumi in thankfulness and reaching out for the glass she was carrying. Seeing the new web of faint scars around her sister's eye and the changed nature of the orb itself caused Kasumi to fall to her knees, extending the glass with shaking hand. Akane almost snatched the glass away from her, and drained it with a single, long pull before putting it to the side and coming up partially out of the tub to gather Kasumi into her arms and hug her fiercely. "Kasumi! Kasumi-oneechan, it's all right. It _looks_ awful but the eye still works just fine." Ranma raised an eyebrow and dryly said, "I say again, it looks _rakish_. Not awful, _rakish_." Kasumi made a mighty effort and came back on balance. "I don't want to contradict you, Ranma-san, but I'm afraid it does look awful. Just a little." Akane released her hug and turned back toward Ranma, sticking out her tongue, "See? I _told_ you so!" Ranma settled back in the tub and spread her arms along the rim, "Acchan, look this way. Now raise your left eyebrow. No, a little higher. Yeah, like that. Now show Kasumi-san." A short pause. "See? Rakish." Akane sighed and stood up, saying, "Please excuse me, 'Neechan, I have to kill -" as she reached her full height she paused, her eyes going wide in shock as an alarming cracking sound made itself known. "... er, that is. I have to get right back in the tub here and have Ranchan do some more shiatsu on me. Yeah, that's it." Ranma sighed, "Doesn't listen. Over-exerts. Rushes in where angels fear to tread. Domineering. And now she wants shiatsu, too. Oh dear. What a pity. Never mind." Winking at Kasumi's mildly alarmed look, Ranma slid forward in the tub to kneel behind Akane. Akane looked up, alarmed, "Ranchan! I need ... ooooh!" As Ranma's hand reached the first shiatsu spot, Akane's eyes slitted in relief, the left flashing a solid gold. Kasumi smiled slightly and silently slipped out. ------------------------------------------------------------ "Ranma-san! I will not permit you to run off without dinner. It is getting late and you _must_ be tired, you should eat with us and sleep in the guest room tonight." Ranma blinked, backing away from Kasumi and frantically waving her hands, "Ahhh ... of course, Kasumi-san, whatever you say. I'll just go into the Dojo and, ahh, maintain my equipment, yes?" Grabbing a confused and yukata-clad Akane by the shoulder, Ranma hastily retreated from the main house to the Dojo. "Geeze! Your sister is _scary_ when she's like that!" Ranma peeked cautiously around the edge of the Dojo door. "Anyway, I'm serious, Acchan, you need to go get your stuff and get it back in order right now, before you forget and then don't have it next time." Akane nodded muzzily and wandered out of the Dojo and back upstairs. Ranma busied herself with seeing to the good condition of her weapons, but was interrupted when Akane timidly reappeared, holding a sword in an ill-fitting scabbard away from her body with obvious reluctance. "Ranchan?" Ranma looked up and raised an eyebrow. "This," Akane continued, "is _not_ my sword. And I don't have _any_ of the other stuff and I've never seen this sword before ... I don't even know what _kind_ of sword it is ...." Ranma stood up and gingerly took the sword away, laying it flat on the portable table she was using to hold her cleaning gear. "Taiken. It's a taiken." She withdrew the sword from its scabbard and turned it over and around in her hands. It was slightly longer than a katana, straight bladed and double-edged, but still chisel-pointed. It was made of a dull, gray steel, better polished in the middle of the blade, which sank into a blood-groove accented by the yakiba-mon, the wavy pattern that indicates the different steel composition used in the edge of a blade. It was elaborately hilted in black, non-reflective steel, a two-handed, wire-wrapped grip rising from a heavy thorn pommel to a wide crossbar that flared out into hilt-loops to protect its wielder's fingers as they might be looped over the hilt. The side-bars of the hilt flared out into an almost-basket that provided a fair amount of protection to the upper hand of a wielder, and even a casual inspection woke amazement at the magnificent balance and liveliness of the cold, gray steel. "It's a _good_ taiken." Ranma withdrew a small tool from jacket-space and placed the blade on the table, beginning to disassemble its hilt. "These are usually tang-marked ... like ... so ...." her voice faded off into a long whistle. Akane drew closer and leaned forward to see, but could not read the strange, curling letters. Ranma held the blade up to the light and read something off the tang in a language that Akane likewise did not know. Indicating this with a slant of her eyebrow, Akane caused Ranma to flush briefly and then translate aloud into Japanese, "'Forged was I, of iron heaven born. Ulean made me. I am Isileth.'" "How, ah... how did you manage to pick this up, anyway, Acchan? I saw you waving it around when you, ah, came to get me, but ..." Ranma slowly and coolly put the hilt back together. Akane stammered something inane about how she had needed a sword and it had just been lying there and she'd just put her hand on it, and.... Ranma shook her head sadly. "Outnumbered. Injured. Back to the wall. And you 'just happen' to put your hand onto Isileth Widow-maker. Give it up, girl. You are _so_ doomed." Then, suddenly, she grinned, "But at least being around you won't be _boring_. I hate _boring_," she winked. Akane grinned weakly and blushed. Then she indicated the sword still lying on the table. "Ummm ... you seem to know it ... her? What's the story?" "Well ... about a dozen or so universes _that_ way there is a land called Alba, which has a number of similarities to Tokugawa era Japan. For samurai say 'kailin-eir', for katana say 'taiken'. "I had heard a rumor that the kailin in Alba practiced an Art called Taiken-ulleth, which involved a form of 'perfect swordsmanship', and that there was one living master left. "So about a year or so back I used the amulet to go look, but I never found him, or her, whichever. But, while I was there, I did pick up a fair bit of kailinin lore, one bit of which was the story of the 'most perfect sword', Isileth. "Supposedly made from 'star-metal' from a fallen meteorite. Said in legend to have been refolded three hundred times, quenched in blood and polished by fire and water. Rumored to be too tough to bend, too strong to break and with an edge that was sharpened once and hasn't dulled since. Claimed to have been used by heroes and villains for two thousand years or more." Ranma took a piece of rice-paper and traced out the outline of Isileth's blade, and then took up the ill-fitting scabbard and began preparations to modify it to properly receive its new resident. "What she was doing on a slope just outside of Hell I've no idea. Here," she handed the sword-hilt to Akane, "do a kata or two and get to know her. Perhaps she'll tell you." Akane took the sword silently and stood, momentarily at a loss. After a minute or so she shook her head dazedly and turned back to the center of the Dojo, moving with a slight wince for abused muscles and joints and focusing inward, preparing a pain-blocking mantra to aid her concentration. Then she pressed the sword's blade to her forehead in salute and sank into the slight trance she used to invoke Other-sight. Instead of focusing it on anything, she deliberately _de_- focused it and began a basic sword kata, extending a welcome to any insights the blade might offer. From behind her as she danced her kata she heard Ranma begin to sing lowly and distractedly as she worked on the scabbard. And as the song continued, low and dark and couched in some dialect of English that she could barely even determine _was_ English, her de-focused Sight began to gather sounds and images. Images of blood. As I came in by Auchindoun, a little wee bit frae the toun, When to the Highlan's I was bound, to view the haughs of Cromdale. Right hand highest on the hilt (a voice whispered, "One hand only girl, until you apply force to the cut, keep your other hand free. And put a finger over the hilt, it increases control, and the hilt-loops will guard it."), arm rising for jodan-no-kame morote uchi kiri otashi kudashi, the most basic of strikes, the two-handed vertical downward blow to cleave head and chest together ("The pearsplitter ..." the voice whispered). I met a man in tartan trews, I speir'd at him what was the news; Quo' he the Highlan' army rues, that e'er we came to Cromdale. And her mind sank into a receptive blankness and she stopped the cut at the level of the lower chest and transmuted its force into a bouncing return to guard, left hand dropping away and right hand blurring in withdrawal to hasso hidari gamae, left foot leading as she cocked the sword by the side of her head in preparation for ... We were in bed, sir, every man, when the English host upon us came, A bloody battle then began upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... for jodan-no-yoho giri kudashi, the high horizontal cut, right to left as the body uncoils and the left hand comes around to grip the hilt and put the whole force of that uncoiling behind the decapitation stroke ("... to the cross, inverted ..." the whisper said), and ... The English horse they were so rude, they bath'd their hooves in Highlan' blood, But our brave clans, they boldly stood upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and the left hand let go again as the body whirled around into right-advance guard and the right sank the blade into chudan-no-kame, middle guard, and the blade sank into darkness until only a gleaming tracery of blue-silver fire marked its edge and her body faded away and ... But, alas! We could no longer stay, and o'er the hills we came away, And sore we do lament the day, that e'er we came to Cromdale. ... and the blade angled left and thrust up and forward, left hand flickering forward to propel the body of the blade in a thrusting cut to the back and side of the neck of the dark, faceless figure that attacked from that side and, still faceless, faded as it fell and left only the great spray of blood from its severed carotid and jugular, bright red and wet as it fanned out from the massive slash and her left hand fell away again and ... Then the great Montrose did say, Highlan' men show me the way, For I will o'er the hills this day, to view the haughs of Cromdale. ... and her right hand brought the blade down a foot and began the mirror-image thrust-and-slash to the right and her left hand floated up (so fast) and she thrust right and past the target and her body twisted back as her left hand pushed forward and her right drew back and ... They were at dinner, every man, when great Montrose upon them came, A second battle then began, upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and the back edge of the blade cut through the target's throat in the strike Ranma had taught her earlier in the week ('This move was designed for a two-edged blade,' she thought) and the fan of blood arced out wide and scarlet as she completed soukongou (and the whisper said, "... twin-thunderbolts ...") and the blood-sprays blew past and behind her view and the fallen bodies faded like mist beneath the hot sun and ... The Grant, Mackenzie and MacKay, soon as Montrose they did espy, O then, they fought most valiantly! upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and she faced an opponent across ten feet of open ground and the circle of watchers were tense as the Marshall dropped the wand to begin the duel and she advanced chudan and feinted outside and knocked his sword off-line *scrape* along the top of the opponent's blade, shock of heavy resistance as she cut through the neck and ... The MacDonalds they returned again, the Camerons did their standard join, MacIntosh play'd a bloody game, upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and her horse kicked into a gallop as she put up the great bow and the sword was in her hand and she extended it forward, wrist cocked as the point turned a little down, making a small lance as they galloped toward the enemy in his array and a heavy, wet shock ran up her arm as the blade went home and she galloped across the field cutting down her foes and ... The MacGregors fought like lions bold, MacPhersons, none could them control, MacLaughlins fought, like loyal souls, upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and they faded into mist, gray and fading except for the bright scarlet of the spouting, running, dripping blood and the blood sprayed back and forth but none of it clung to her or to the blade but it seemed to bounce off a figure hanging in front of her in the heavy air and she ran through the dark stone halls striking target (only targets, gray, fading and gone) left and right and the flowing blood outlined and then filled in another opponent ... MacLeans, MacDougals, and MacNeils, so boldly as they took the field, And make their enemies to yield, upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... another opponent; tall and massive, armored in an alien style in full plate-and-chain, like and yet unlike a samurai in its blood-red armor and taiken like her own and she fought with it back and forth across a hearth a field a forest clearing and she brought the blade around kasumi kiri age, arms crossed, right hand sliding out low to join the left hand and come up hard and diagonally to the left across the body, and her opponent opened out along the line of the cut and there was nothing inside but blood and ... The Gordons boldly did advance, the Frasers fought with sword and lance, The Grahams they made the heads to dance, upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and it sprayed out and covered her but there was no smell of blood, no remembered iron tang but only a stale, sweet, sad hint of roses and the blood hanging in the air turned black and fell like rain, and she met and destroyed another gray warrior and another and another but their blood did not spout bright wet scarlet but black and heavy and it fell back upon them and they twisted and where a man had stood a black rose now hung in midair and the air was full, overpowered by the smell and something small and bright and blue fell out of the sky and the gem hung before her, glowing and ... The loyal Stewarts with Montrose, so boldly set upon their foes, And brought them down with Highland blows, upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and she swung the sword kiri otashi kudashi again and it flared with blue fire so intense that it blinded her and the rose was burned away and where the jewel had been crouched a figure twisted and huddled over, almost invisible except for the crippled, twisted claw that was its right hand and her hands went back for the stroke but then she brought the blade down and grasped it with both hands and _snapped_ it and her hands hurt and bled and her stomache hurt and bled and her chest hurt and bled and it was whole again and the twisted figure faded and she stepped past it and the blade flared brighter and higher and she attacked the alien, horrible form that rose above her, slobbering, and she cut it across and it divided in half and fell away and she dropped the blade, casting it aside and the dust covered it and her eye flared with pain and she fell and twisted as she rolled in the dust and she grasped the hilt and came upright and ... Of twenty thousand Cromwell's men, five hundred fled to Aberdeen The rest of them lie on the plain, upon the haughs of Cromdale. ... and settled into perfect chudan-no-kame as the kata ended and she saluted the Dojo and flicked the sword around. And she turned back to Ranma where she knelt near the Dojo wall and asked, "Does the name Talvalin mean anything to you?" "Not a thing," Ranma said cheerfully and handed her the remade scabbard and she sheathed the sword. And from the main house Kasumi called, "Ranma-san, Akane-chan, dinner!" And they went in to see. ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane's room was dark and still in night's embrace. Akane, however, was not. Shadowy dreams of loss and pain lurked just beyond the border of the waking world, and a pit of darkness vast enough to suck her down forever awaited her least little lowering of defense. This she knew. What she did not know was how to fight the encroaching dark. If she could only find a target, something to hit with her fist or her sword. If it were only an external threat that she could face head on. If it were only an obvious weakness, something even in herself, but something she could come to grips with. But what could she do with dreams in the dark? Lost in her silent, failing struggle, she did not hear the quiet opening of the door, nor did she note the form that ghosted across her room until it actually sat upon her bed; and by then, of course, it was too late. Ranma had already heard her faint whimper, already seen her toss and turn. Numbly she turned her head to look at Ranma, and was again surprised by the serene concern in her friend's sapphire eyes. Akane had always lived her life in a continual state of insecurity; always convinced that the next day, the next challenge would prove her painfully gathered skills inadequate, would leave her bereft and lacking in worth. It was not that she did not appreciate her own skills as a martial artist; indeed, in some ways those skills were themselves the source of the problem. She was good at martial arts, but, she felt, _only_ at martial arts. For all of her girlhood, Kasumi had been the perfect female figure. When their mother had died, she had stepped into the role of alpha female with barely a hitch. Nabiki had become skilled in manipulation, using her mind and her skills at sneakiness to get things accomplished; for the benefit of the Dojo itself, mostly, it was true. But to her, for whatever reason or purpose, fell the skills of manipulation, of social control and social dominance. Denied primacy in these areas, Akane had specialized in the Art, taking up the family school that neither of her sisters had expressed an interest in, and in that pursuit she had established a primacy of her own. What she had not established, to herself, was that her primacy was real. Always, in the back of her mind, came the thought that her sisters had _allowed_ her that primacy, because it did not matter. That no-one contested her in it, because no-one cared. That all that her effort had bought her was ... nothing. In the bright light of day she could look around herself and see her strengths. In the light it looked like she had made of herself a warrior who could overcome any challenge she attempted. In the light it looked like the paths she had turned aside from offered little in the way of real challenge. In the light it looked as though _she_ had taken the harder path, the path of greatest growth, and that the necessary parts (Oh, not _all_ the parts, no. But you don't need _all_ the parts to get by.) of the others would be ... easy. Mostly. In the light. But here in the night, lying still and quiet in the dark, ... well, things do have a tendency to look differently in the dark. And if you were lying on your back looking up at the ceiling, and if you were somehow to relax the guards you normally hold that keep you from thinking unpleasant thoughts like that, then, having thought one unpleasantness, you might go on to think others. You might begin to think that the path that you had chosen, far from being the path of greatest growth, was instead the path of least result. You might begin to think that you had traded the ability to make cookies for the ability to nearly get the woman you have just realized you love killed. Or, you might begin to question just how much all this practice you have been doing in your chosen field has actually bought you. You might begin to compare the things you had learned on your own to the things that, let's say, Someone had taught you, and conclude that you had learned nothing of value yourself at all. You might begin to think that you were ... lesser, ... second rate. And you might begin to wonder what use you, yourself, actually were. A second rater moreover, you might begin to think, who has had the great idiocy to fall for a first rater in the same field. And you might begin to wonder just what use there is in saying, for example, "Ranma and Akane". "Ranma and Kasumi", you might think, makes some sense; "Kasumi" can cook ... and clean ... and ... and be Kasumi. "Ranma and Nabiki" allows "Nabiki" to be sneaky and make money, and terrorize people who need to be terrorized. But if all "Akane" is good for is fighting, and if "Ranma" already has the fighting part of "Ranma and Akane" covered, then what use in "Ranma and Akane" is ... "Akane"? And if "Ranma and Akane" is a thing that you are coming to believe is the thing that makes being "Akane" worthwhile, but there is no use in "Ranma and Akane" for "Akane then what use _is_ "Akane"? Or ... _is_ there any use for "Akane" ... at all? And these are the sorts of thoughts that have a tendency to cause theoretical thinkers Deep Distress, and, on that count, to be relegated to the far background and never allowed out into the conscious portion of the brain. This defense mechanism can, in itself, cause certain problems. For instance, when confronted with the aforesaid "Someone first rate in the same field", and the occasion to meditate on silken scarlet hair and sea-deep sapphire eyes, and the opportunity to ask the question "Is there room in 'Ranma and Akane' for 'Akane'? Or, indeed, is there any reason to entertain the concept of 'Ranma and Akane' at all?" then thoughts like these might cause you to wimp out. For another instance, even if you _are_ the "Someone, etc." and even if you _know_ that there is indeed very good reason to entertain the concept of "Ranma and Akane", and what role "Akane" should play in it, it does not necessarily follow that you _also_ know whether there is any reason to consider the concept of "Akane and Ranma". And in this case similar thoughts can not only cause you to wimp out, but also to pay less attention to subtleties of interpersonal conversation than might otherwise be the case. To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a problem. All of which goes a long way towards explaining why, when Ranma said, "Problems?" Akane did _not_ say, "Yes! I'm tired, I'm sick, I hurt and I'm so confused and overwhelmed that I can't think. I need to bury my face in your hair for several years to clear my head. Make love to me 'til I pass out!" but rather (in a much smaller voice), "Can't think. Too much." And why Ranma did not, quite, hear what she meant, but only what she said. And also why, when Ranma knelt on the bed and drew Akane up into a reverse embrace, so that Akane was sitting in front of Ranma with Ranma's arms folded beneath her breasts and the top of her head beneath Ranma's chin, and said, "Maybe I can teach you a technique to help. Do you trust me?" Akane just said "Yes," instead of "With my honor, my life and my soul. And, incidentally, if you wanted to move your hands up a bit I'd be perfectly happy to trust you with my body, too." And Ranma, of course, missed that, as well. Even world class martial artists, gifted with the perception to track another person's motives and intentions in the heat of mortal combat have their occasional off days. Which is a shame, it's true. But it just isn't time for this story to go lemon yet. ------------------------------------------------------------ "Okay, Acchan," Ranma murmured, "this technique is called 'the Rainbow', because the way you begin requires you to picture one in your mind. What I am going to ask you to do is to close your eyes, and then to impress upon yourself a vision of each of the colors of the rainbow, one by one. "As you visualize each color, you will attach to it all of your tensions, unhappiness or pain and imbalance in a specific area. Then, when you release the visualization of the color, you will also release all the negative chi that you have just collected. "The order and rhythm of the colors will allow you to completely rid yourself of negative energy and to achieve a focused and receptive mental state. Then, when you have passed through all the colors, you will find yourself standing on a darkened landscape, where you will encounter a stairway leading down. "If you choose to descend the stairway, you will then encounter a well-built, solid door, to which, you will find, you hold the only key. Behind the door, if you choose to open it, you will find your Library, or Study, the metaphorical center of your intellect. "This technique employs a mixture of focused meditation and self-hypnosis, and I repeat that you may _choose_ to descend the stairway, and you may _choose_ to open the door to impress upon you that it is _your_ door and _your_ stairway, and that _you_ may and must decide when, and whether, to proceed in each and every case. I will be here to guard you, this first time, and I will show you the way, but it is your will that must impel events. If you decide to reverse the exercise, all you need do, _at any time_, is open your eyes. Okay?" Akane nodded, silently. "Then begin with the first color of the rainbow," Ranma said, quietly, "think about red - soft, warm red ..." Ranma kept her voice in a soothing, lulling murmur, just loud enough to hear at close range, and began to enter into the rhythms and pauses of a hieratic chant. "All there is is red ... red is the color of physical relaxation ... let the red fill every corner of your body, let it pick up all the pain and fatigue and tension and then let it flow away ... red flows away and is followed by orange ..." Ranma's low contralto voice flowed over Akane's weary mind and soothed her deeper and deeper into a trance state, taking her through the colors of the rainbow, and also through all the stages of release of care and tension, "... violet is the color of union with the Tao, the Tao is everything and nothing, become part of the color and let the color become part of you ... drift down with the color as it gets darker and darker ... closer and closer to the dark ... less and less color ... less and less of everything ... everything going away until you are alone with yourself and the Tao ... don't be afraid ... I'll be just out here ... nothing will get by me to harm you ... tell me when you are ready to go on." Akane seemed to drift down, through a slowly fading violet haze, down to a gentle landing on her feet. All around her she sensed a darkened, empty plain stretching far away. Though in looking around she could not see any sign of Ranma, her presence still nestled close about her, warm and comforting. "Okay," she said, "now what?" "Turn around," Ranma replied, "Do you see the stairway?" "Uh-huh. Should I go down?" "Whenever you're ready." Akane slowly walked down the stairway, feeling very secure, as though she were following an old, familiar pathway to a well-beloved destination. At the bottom of the stairs, she came to a small landing, seemingly cut out of the living rock. It was filled with a source-less illumination, and could be exited in only two ways: the stairway up, and a large, forbidding door made of iron-banded oak. The door did not open to a touch, and the keyhole exuded a definite impression of impregnability. "Ranchan? I'm at the bottom, but I can't get the door open." "Look in your pocket. You're carrying the key." "I don't remember any key that looked like that ... hey! You're right Ranchan!" Akane unlocked the door, and opened it into a place of wonder. "Ranchan! It's a library alright! Wow! There must be _millions_ of books and things, there's Mangas all over the place, all my favorites ..." (Ranma assumed a pained look.) "... the paintings on the walls, they're beautiful ... Kamis! Look at that desk! Thing's big enough for planes to land on ... ooohh! Nice, comfy chair too! Ahhh! This is really nice, Ranchan. Are you sure it's mine?" "All yours, Acchan," Ranma chirped. "Let me give you a present?" "Ummm, sure. What is it?" "Look on the desk, it may be under something. It's a small book, leather binding, thin pages ...." "I see it! Ranchan! It's really expensive .... are you sure you can afford to give it to _me_?" "Trust me. "Now, if you open the book, you will see that I've written a word on the first several pages, right? The first page says 'Akane', the second says 'study', the third says 'focus', the fourth says 'sleep', the fifth says 'dream' and the sixth says 'return', right? And the rest are blank." "Yep. So?" "So if you pick up the book and concentrate on 'Akane' you will then concentrate on who you are and why. This will let you more fully integrate new skills and experiences into your Tao. "Likewise 'study' will focus your subconscious on making sense whatever the last things you have just learned are, 'focus' will let you concentrate on one specific thing that you are thinking of, 'sleep' will let you do just that, 'dream' will give you the ability to direct and explore your dreams, and 'return' will bring you back. "You can do more than one thing at once, and if you open your eyes without concentrating on 'return' part of you will keep, for instance, studying everything you have been learning that day; even while you are asleep, or eating dinner, or whatever." "Gotcha. Pretty cool." "Glad you like it. Now concentrate on 'return' ...." Akane opened her eyes and looked around, blinking. She noticed that Ranma had somehow moved from behind her, holding her up, to sitting on the foot of the bed. 'Awwwww.' "Ohayo, Ranchan, what now?" "Do me a favor." "Okay." "Go back under and hit 'Akane' and 'sleep'. I'll see you in the morning." "Spoilsport." "Slacker." Akane stretched and yawned, laying back into her covers before Ranma's folded arms stance as colors whirled around her. Soon, the beautiful walls of her Library opened around her. Walking over to her desk she picked up the book Ranma had given her and thumbed through it. For a few moments she stopped on the first blank page and stared at it intensely, then she picked a fine quill pen off the desk and dipped it in the ink sitting in the small ink- stone. Poising the pen over the page she used the best calligraphy she could muster to write the word 'Ranma' on it. Holding the book open in her hands, she sank down into the chair and got comfortable. Then she focused her will on the pages 'Ranma', 'Akane', 'sleep' and 'dream'. On the last word she closed the book and put it down on the desk, letting her arms out wide in an enormous stretch and cracking all her vertebrae, before settling backwards to go to sleep. Outside the library, Ranma looked down fondly on Akane's sleeping form and ghosted out the door and back to the guest room. And had there been anyone around that night who was able to see the rising ghosts of dreams on the night air, that someone might have spied the columns of such rising strongly and fully from two separate rooms of the big old house, remarked on how similar to each other they were, and been astonished. But there wasn't, and so, no-one did. ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences Part B: The Morning After the Night Before ------------------------------------------------------------ Akane woke up happy. This was a moderately rare event for her, but she noticed that it had been becoming more frequent since the imposition on her life of a certain red-haired girl. Regardless of the source of her new-found contentment, however, she would normally _not_ have expected this morning to be a good one. Too much fear and pain the day before, too much expected stress today. Somehow, though, she had managed to navigate the dark rapids of the night and emerge in the hush of early dawn rested, loose-limbed and, somehow, entirely content. Quickly dressing, she picked Isileth from the stand on her dresser and slipped the sword into her jacket. Passing silently out her door and down the hall to the top of the stairs she stood silently for a moment, listening to the silence of the house. Just below the normal limits of audibility she could discern Kasumi's ministrations in the kitchen and someone singing quietly in the garden. It's so easy to dream of days gone by, So hard to think of times to come. And the grace to accept every moment as a gift Is a gift that is given to some. Nabiki woke up discontented. She had pinned some hopes on the night before, but her surveillance activities had come up empty. She was _sure_ that Ranma and her sister were lovers, but she had not achieved her lofty reputation as a manipulator of events by acting ahead of _certain_ knowledge without need. The remedy for the lack of which certainty had seemed simple, too; lovers will tend to cling to one another in times of stress, and yesterday's activities _should_ have provided _plenty_ of stress, which _should_ have expressed themselves nicely last night. But except for Ranma teaching Akane some sort of meditation thingy to help her sleep, _nothing had happened_. It was annoying, was what it was. Worse yet, from her viewpoint, she had theorized that they might, perhaps, simply have been too tired the night before; so she had woken up at an entirely-too-early time in the morning to continue her surveillance. But not only had Ranma already been up, but Akane had woken early too, and _again_ they hadn't done anything. Not even a kiss! Ah well, maybe one of them was more aware than she had thought. She would simply have to get more subtle. It would be a good challenge. Or, she might just strangle the gibbering pair of _early_ morning songsters. Blearily and grumpily, Nabiki sat down in the dining room and snarled at merrily cheeping birds and cheery sunrise alike. What can you do with your days, But work and hope? Let your dreams bind your work to your play. What can you do with each moment of your life, But live til you've lived it away? Live til you've lived it away. Soun awoke unsettled. This was hardly unusual, of course. Still, he thought, this was even worse than normal. For all the griefs he normally felt, for all the power of the terrors and regrets that he normally struggled with, they were just that: _normal_, the common structure of his days. The changes that young Ranma seemed to have brought into his family and his life might or might not be terrible, but he felt their abnormality keenly nonetheless. Yet alongside this additional weight lurked an additional variable, neither necessarily negative nor positive. With change comes the possibility of change for the better. Yet if that possibility is not fulfilled is it not more terrible than if no such possibility had existed? At the bottom of every Pandora's Box lurks shining Hope. Whether that was a good or a bad thing Tendo Soun could not for the life of him decide. There are sorrows enough for the whole world's end, There are no guarantees but the grave. But this life that we live, and the times that we spend, Are treasures too precious to save. Kasumi had probably awoken with the same serenity which she always showed the world. It's always difficult to tell, with Kasumi. What can you do with your days, But work and hope? Let your dreams bind your work to your play. What can you do with each moment of your life, But live til you've lived it away? Live til you've lived it away. Kodachi and Sayuri woke early, each separately deciding that they hated hospitals. But we won't get back to them until a little later. What can you do with your days, But work and hope? Let your dreams bind your work to your play. What can you do with each moment of your life, But live til you've lived it away? Live til you've lived it away. And a new day in Nerima began, as Kasumi called her (now slightly enlarged) family to breakfast. ------------------------------------------------------------ The thing that Akane was most aware of as breakfast continued was hunger; a great, growing void in her stomach that the breakfast Kasumi had brought to table, double-sized though it was, barely dented. Ranma, however, had put a surreptitious hand on her shoulder when she would have asked Kasumi for more food, holding her to silence. Once outside the Dojo on the road to Furinkan, Ranma led Akane and Nabiki to a small side-street off the Nerima Ginza, wherein they found what Nabiki immediately dubbed "the perfect hole-in-the-wall dive." It was a very small restaurant, without even a window onto the street. The door itself hardly advertised its status as a place of business; much more resembling a service entrance for some greater establishment, except for the small sign which held the single word, "Gally's". The inside of the restaurant was clean and neat, if small and dark. It was dominated by the enormous grill that swept across the back wall and left only a little space into which a counter with ten stools and half a dozen small tables had been crammed. There were no customers, and the only occupant, who was evidently the cook, looked up at them with an expression of professional cheer that lasted only a few seconds. "Hi! Welcome to Gally's. What I fix may for you today ... _Ranma_?" "Hiya, Gally-kun, we need eight mega-burgers to go, please." "Eight ...? Right, eight Megas, to go, coming up." Gally, if it were she, was a short, elfin girl with straight black hair that barely reached her shoulders. She possessed the grace of a martial artist in full measure and was almost superhumanly fast and deft. Her only unusual features were the black lines beneath her eyes, but both Akane and Nabiki received a clear impression of hidden depths, as though beneath her unmarked arms and perfect skin a whole collection of scars lurked: unseen, yet not unfelt. Akane, however, quickly found herself distracted from questions of deeper reality by her stomach's reaction to the _enormous_ piles of savory ground beef, bacon and onions being constructed at lightning speed before her eyes. She _had_ been to a McDonald's before , of course. She had even ordered a burger there, so she _was_ aware of the concept involved. But the idea of 'burger' that she had previously been aware of did not really seem to have much to do with the things that were taking shape before her eyes. "So, Ranma-kun," Gally said over her shoulder, "what doing were you that touched off an eight-Mega hunger? I mean 'What were you doing?'" "Aaaactually ... it's closer to a three-Mega hunger, Gally -kun. But Acchan here will probably need a little more." "She's in the same, errr, 'business', Ranma-kun?" Ranma smiled quietly, "I've taken her as a student." Gally whipped around and stared at Ranma for a moment, big-eyed. Ranma flushed slightly and mumbled, "She shows great promise." One of the burgers chose that moment to expel some of its grease onto the grill, hissing and spitting. Gally gave a small shriek and whipped into a cooking frenzy, getting the burgers back under control. "Well, I'm glad that it's just normal ..." she trailed off. Ranma raised an eyebrow at her back and asked, "Yes?" "It's just that I ... well, yesterday I suddenly got um... it was like I suddenly got the idea that you were a lot of trouble in. Silly, huh? Hugo told me that he had a bad feeling about mid-morning, too. Said it was like 'A goose had walked across his grave.' Honestly, know where he comes up with these things I don't." Ranma sweat-dropped briefly. "Ahh, yeah. Silly. How _is_ Hugo-kun, anyway? And Ido-sensei?" "Ohh, Hugo's _just_ fine. He and Ido are both doing things at Nekomi Tech, you know. Techy stuff." She grinned briefly, and fairly lit up the room. "It's entirely too geekly for me to be interested in, but it makes them _so_ happy...." "Yee-es," Ranma drawled, "I _do_ seem to recall you being more on the side of, mmmm, _practical implementation_, shall we say?" "Be nice, Ranma-kun. So I like moving fast and blowing things up good. Is that any reason for you to be mean to me?" Ranma smirked. "Oh! That reminds me," Gally continued, "Hugo and Ido have joined a motor club at NIT. Would you come out to the races with us?" "If nothing, mmm, _serious_ intervenes, sure. When and where?" Gally finished the first burger and whipped it in front of a nearly drooling Akane, who launched into it with vigor. "I'll get word to you when I know when the next race will be held." She put together a smaller burger that she had somehow hidden amongst the others and wrapped rice paper around it, handing it to Nabiki. "First hit's free," she winked. A short time later on the way out the door, loaded down with a _huge_ fast-food sack, Ranma turned back briefly. "... soon, Gally-kun. For some reason I think that we're about to suffer from an enormous addiction to ground beef," and winked in turn. ------------------------------------------------------------ Nabiki was somewhat amazed at herself, but exceedingly amazed at her companions. The burgers were as good as anything Kasumi could have made, and the relatively smallish one she had eaten was still larger than anything that she, an experienced consumer of munchies, would have believed she could have found room for so soon after breakfast. Yet it was less than a third the size of the _eight_ that the slight chef had made for Ranma and her sister. Nabiki was not sure whether to be more amazed that Ranma had finished _two_ of them, that her _sister_ had finished two of them, that Akane had eaten them with such voraciousness, that Ranma had put _three_ of them back for later in the school day, or that she was still carrying one of them in her hand, perhaps to eat on the walk _to_ school. But what Nabiki was _really_ amazed by was that Akane could pack away a major Kasumi-style breakfast, follow it with _two_ piles of meat, cheese, vegetables and bread that must have tipped the scales at a kilo each, and _still_ have the energy to jump about like a moderately demented ping-pong ball while "attacking" Ranma. At least Ranma was being sensible and remaining serene in her manner. Though it was a sobering exhibition of just how good she truly was to note that she was facing down a sword with a folding fan ... and kicking Akane's butt without so much as breaking a sweat. Nabiki stole a moment from admiring the martial arts exhibition to take another searching look at the fan. Nabiki harbored suspicions about that fan. Normal fans, after all, do not deflect sword-blades, nor can they be used as leverage to flip an opponent fifty feet into the air. The thing was, though, that it couldn't be a gunsen at all. It was plainly visible to anyone's sight: a simple, folding bamboo frame, covered with plain rice paper that had never even been died or patterned. To Nabiki's eye it seemed to be a well-used three or four years old, and the only thing on it was a small calligraphed phrase that appeared to be an autograph, or similar, running along one edge. "Umm, Ranma-san?" Akane slid forward along the fence, Isileth at mid-guard. Ranma looked down towards Nabiki's upturned face and flicked down beside her as Akane slide-stepped forward along the fence-top. "Yes, Nabiki-kun?" Ranma lightly rapped Akane's ankles, sending her forward another dozen paces as she struggled to control herself. "I was just wondering where you'd gotten that fan from?" Nabiki indicated the fan in question with a gesture as Akane regained control by jumping up and high into the air. "Well, I bought it for Sensei, once ..." Ranma gestured widely with the folded implement. "Haaaah!" Akane came down in a falling pear-splitter. *whsssh* Which Ranma dodged, gently guiding the blade past with the fan before *whrt* flicking her high into the air again. "Whooaaa!" "... and when, later, I left his school, so to ..." Ranma flowed around to Nabiki's outer side with respect to the street as Akane flipped in mid-air and came back down. "Not that ..." she began to snarl *hfff* as Ranma guided to sword-blade past herself again. Akane evaded a fan twist and lunged, perfectly in control. There was a *klng* as Ranma blocked the blow close and a rapid-fire *klk-klak-klik* as they fenced for fractions of a second before *whf* another blow went past and Akane's ".. eas.." trailed off behind another *whrt* "... eeeeee!" *THUD* "... speak, he gave it back. It's just a keepsake, really." Ranma hid her face behind the fan in a moderately provocative manner as Akane thumped into a telephone pole down the street. "But you're blocking a _sword_ with it! _And_ flipping my little sister umpty-dozen feet in the air. Why doesn't it break?" Nabiki asked plaintively as Akane pushed herself away from the pole. "You should try not to pay so much attention to the world's little illusions, Nabiki-kun." Ranma winked. Akane put Isileth away and threw her arms out in a great, wrenching yawn as Ranma and Nabiki came level with her. "Ahhhh! Ranchan, I don't think I'm going to get that one easily on my own. It ought to be easier; just what are you doing, anyway?" The explanation Ranma gave Akane lost Nabiki in martial arts technicalities almost immediately, and she tuned it out to concentrate Ranma's comment. 'Try not to pay so much attention to the little illusions? Huh?' She was not able to concentrate her attention on the question for long, however, as she was distracted by a loud growl next to her. Looking around, she saw that Akane was paper-white and holding her stomach with both hands. "Ranchan ...," Akane whispered, in a small, panicked voice, but Ranma had already unwrapped the burger she had been holding and put into her hand. Akane looked at it in shock for a moment before all but falling on it slavering. Nabiki looked on with concern as her sister ravened her way through her (effectively) fifth full breakfast of the morning. She would have been far more distressed, of course, had Ranma herself not so obviously anticipated it, but still .... Akane herself was no little worried. "Ranchan, what's happening to me?" "You used up a _whole_ bunch of resources yesterday, Acchan. In fact, I would estimate that you used up about twice what you had available. So you , we, had to borrow some more, so to speak. This is just the pay-back. Well, and the interest too, of course." "Me and my big ideas," Akane muttered. "So you'll stay behind, next time?" Ranma asked hopefully. Akane's glare required no translation. "You _did_ say that you _did_ need me along, _right_?" she purred. Ranma sweat-dropped and blushed, grinning weakly, "Errr. Yeah." "So there." ------------------------------------------------------------ The room was mostly dark, if you didn't count the TV. Normally, Sayuri was as capable of vegging out as any teenager, but that was when she had a choice whether to do so or not. Of course, she could have turned the lights up ... then she could have spent whole ... seconds cataloging the flowers and plants. As of the last time she had done so, fifteen minutes ago, there had been 35. Or, she could read. The signs on the wall, for instance. Why, there must be ... twenty of them. That had been half an hour ago. Of course, looked at objectively, it was sufficient of a miracle that she was alive for the sheer lack of anything to do to drive her crazy in the first place. She certainly shouldn't complain that her family had been too distracted by her miraculous recovery to remember to leave her any books. Or even homework. Or, she could review her suspicions about the source of that 'miracle' for the ... twenty-third ... time. Or, she could get right up and wander about in the _lovely_ hospital, wearing the _lovely_ hospital gown that was actually _more_ embarrassing than if they'd left her naked. At least there weren't any IVs left. Although there wouldn't be anyone out there to talk to except patients she didn't know and who certainly had worse problems than her and staff members who certainly wouldn't have time to amuse one teenage girl. It was certainly a better policy to wait quietly until someone came to visit her. If she avoided straining anything, they might let her go home, she supposed, sometime next week. Sayuri leaned back in her bed and watched the television's flickering glow for a few moments, then slung her feet over the edge of the bed and found a spare gown. This she put on over her original gown, but backwards. She topped off with a towel from the bathroom wrapped around her waist. Then she opened the door and went out into the corridors. It was either that, or another dubbed episode of Wheel of Fortune. ------------------------------------------------------------ Kodachi lay back in her bed with the TV off, and gathered her strength. Her leg was still very weak, in her estimation, and her face ached in a pattern that suggested to her that she might well end up with a permanent scar. Her eyes were closed in concentration, because she was attempting something that she had only heard stories about. She was trying to visualize all of the relevant acupuncture points for legs and arms and to connect them in a chi circulation circuit. It didn't help that she had never actually even felt her chi per se, of course, but it was something to do to pass the time until her torturer/ therapist showed up. And keeping her eyes closed to concentrate on her visualization meant that she didn't have to look at her room. Which didn't have anything in it to look at but the flowers that Ranma-sensei and Akane-san had left. And she knew what _they_ looked like. Unfortunately, self-hypnosis had never been among the skills she had mastered, nor was she particularly skilled in mediation. Despite her best efforts the necessary distance from the red dust of earth would not come to her. Thus, the unexpected opening of her door came as something of a relief. It _was_ a little odd, since it was outside the nurse's and therapist's schedules and no-one was likely to come by to visit _her_ in the middle of a school-day, but _some-one_ appeared to have done so. She sat up in bed and raised her lights. The appearance of a small, long-haired girl in two hospital gowns and a towel was thus somewhat unexpected. ------------------------------------------------------------ The school-yard before first bell was a hotbed of rumor and speculation. The only sure information was that Sayuri had come out of her coma at last and that Ranma had had something to do with it. Persistent rumor whispered Akane's name as well; said that she had died curing Sayuri's illness; said that _Ranma_ had died curing Sayuri's illness; said that Ranma and Akane had died _together_, and in each other's arms; said that the "in each other's arms" part was right but that they were still quite alive, thank you (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, etc.); denied all of the above for the thought that Sayuri's "illness" had been induced by The Forces Of Darkness, who had finally been defeated by Magical Girl Ranma and her apprentice; and threw around other thoughts, some of which were very strange and inaccurate indeed. The absence of Furinkan's normal source of rumors and hearsay, Tendo Nabiki, did nothing but add fuel to the fire. Yuka had originally been besieged, but since she had been otherwise occupied worrying about Sayuri she had little data to give. This had caused the crowd to fragment and so she had had to latch on to Daisuke and Hiroshi in order to have someone to speculate with. Nonetheless, she was the first to hear the distant voices, silver and gold. I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains. The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow, And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony, I was riding hard, I had miles to go. And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway, It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees, And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted, And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze. Hiroshi and Daisuke noticed her silence and then, moments later, the reason for it. Caught up between going to hear the voices better and gaining height so they could see better, the Average Pair settled for trying to shush people instead. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. Across the Furinkan schoolyard ripples of silence spread, as the spell of leaping flame and swirling wind touched briefly here and there and then passed on. Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley, I see the hills shine, in its silvery light. It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me, And'll light my way, till I'm by your side. For where I go, You go with me, Though the miles keep us apart. Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me, And your gentle hands, always on my heart. Some heard in the song confirmations of theories. Some did not. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end only love remains. Nabiki, walking just behind Ranma and Akane, marveled. She had always known that her little sister was good at martial arts, but who would have thought that _this_ was hiding under there, too. Well who scattered these diamonds, through the vault of Heaven? Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing? Who shaped your face, and what made you love me? Where is the heart of every living thing? Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either. I know you love me, how could it not be? And I am yours, now and forever, 'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see. Somewhere in the back of her mind words like 'Idol' and 'Agent' were flashing, surrounded by scads of beautiful yen signs, but for the moment even Nabiki was lost in the song. We are brief Summer lightning, We are swift as swallows' flight. We are sparks that spiral upwards, In the darkness of the night. We are frost upon the window, We won't pass this way again, In the end Dear, only love remains. Ranma and Akane entered the schoolyard to a wall of stunned silence. Akane almost blushed, but Ranma smiled broadly and spread her arms wide and the walls of Furinkan picked up her shouted "Good Morning, Furinkan!" and blurred it back into a roaring cheer. Yuka hurtled from her position by the doors with a cry of "Ranma-san, Akane-chan!" Like a hyperactive heat-seeking missile she hurled herself into Ranma's arms shouting "Thank you! Thank you for saving Sayuri-chan!" Slipping free from a slightly staggered Ranma she turned on Akane, and froze with a cry of shock. Yuka's wailed "Akane-san! What happened?!" pretty well silenced the cheering and when Yuka gently grasped Akane's blushing face by the chin and turned her head everyone could see the scars - and see, also, the night-black void of the eye beneath them, lit now by nebulas of flaming red and swirling gold. The stunned silence lasted for several seconds as Akane's blush achieved near nuclear proportions but the blush faded instantly when Yuka broke the silence ... by bursting into tears. Akane swept Yuka into her arms and hugged her hard. "Shh, Yuka-chan. It's all right. I'm not hurt, it's just a scar, like; the eye still works." "But ... *snff* ... I mean, are you sure Akane-san? It looks like ..." Akane blushed again, but rallied, "I'm _sure_, believe me. It looks weird as hell, but everything works just fine." "But _how_?" Yuka said. "Oh, well," Ranma said, dryly, "she _is_ a hero, you know." "But then why don't _you_ have one, Ranma-san?" someone called. Ranma ran a possessive hand over her flaming hair and said, "Each to their own." A small wave of chuckles was broken by another cry from the rear ranks: "Three cheers for Ranma and Akane!" "Banzai!!" Ranma smirked and covered her mouth with her fan as Akane's blush went beyond Mega-Nuclear to Don't Point That At My Planet. "_Banzai!!_" Akane resolved to kill the person who had spoken, but afterwards. Still, no-one had ever cheered _her_ before. When you came down to it, it was kind of nice. "BANZAI!!" And the left eye in her thrown back face flamed, briefly, a solid gold. ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences Part C: When I Was A Fighting Man, The Kettle-Drums They Beat ------------------------------------------------------------ The trouble with being a hero, Akane decided, is that the effort required to be one tends to distract you from whatever else you're doing, but you still have to do it anyway. Or, at least, you still have to do it if 'it' is schoolwork. Also, teachers are remarkably resistant towards accepting 'I spent most of yesterday in Hell. I didn't have _time_ to do homework.' as an excuse. (What was _truly_ irritating was that Ranma _had_ done her homework.) After your whole school has cheered you as a hero, being sent into the hall for the buckets can be a terrible letdown. But, somehow, it wasn't. She considered her feelings as she stood in the hall, and tried to pin down just _why_ it wasn't. Mostly, she decided, because it really didn't matter. The school knew. She knew. Ranma knew. Probably even the teachers knew. It was more a matter of the routine maintenance of order than anything really serious. It wasn't like the 'shame' was going to blight her record. Really, she suddenly realized, it wasn't as if her school record had any _real_ meaning. Even if she didn't stay with Ranchan after her high-school days were behind her (she knew she couldn't, and the thought was more painful than any other she'd ever had), her life had taken an irrevocable turn for the weird and the adventurous. It would not be possible for her to live a normal life as a normal Japanese girl. Had it ever _been_ possible? Well, she wasn't sure, any more than she was sure just what it _was_ possible for her to be. She supposed she'd find out. ------------------------------------------------------------ It was weird. This girl. Sayuri. She'd just ... wandered in and started talking. Weird. Hadn't even wanted anything from her, hadn't wanted information. Just kept her company. Sympathized with her. Wasn't related to her, didn't owe her anything. Didn't even go to the same school. She'd even had to ask her _name_. Hadn't connected her to her brother until Kodachi herself had mentioned it. Sayuri had been surprised. So, if she didn't want to be seen with Kodachi for social purposes (in a hospital?), and didn't want access to her brother, what _did_ she want? Kodachi was forced to conclude that she wanted to be friends. Strange. Very, very strange. Kodachi had never had .... Well, _of course_ she'd had friends. She'd had lots of them. But she'd never had .... She'd never had a friend who was just ... a friend. She was even ... protective. _Actually_ protective. She'd gotten _very_ mad that no-one from St. Herebreke had stopped by, or even sent a card. She had ... she had ... she'd shared her views on school with Kodachi. Just talking. She'd _gossiped_. Just like they were two schoolgirls. Just like Kodachi was a normal girl. _No-one_ had _ever_ treated Kodachi like she was a normal girl. Ever. Well, there was no reason for them to. She was _Kuno Kodachi_. She was _rich_. She was special. Wasn't she? ------------------------------------------------------------ Sayuri felt that Kodachi must be very brave. She had stood up to a dreadful monster (_she_ knew) and she wasn't even depressed about the scar on her face or anything. Mind, Sayuri also felt that the scar actually looked good. For a scar, that is. Sort of piratical. But Kodachi was going to have an operation to have it removed, soon. Which was good, because a girl really shouldn't have scars for very long because people could react badly. What Sayuri was actually concerned with, of course, was Kodachi's potential ability to attract a boyfriend. She would have recommended someone, but she didn't know any decent ones herself. It was, she felt, already sufficiently difficult to find a good prospect without having to worry about turning them off because of a scar. Sayuri had awoken with memories. She wasn't entirely sure about the veracity of _all_ of them. But she remembered enough. Ranma- and Akane-sempai had come to get her. They had rescued her in some way or another. She would have to ask Ranma-sempai about exactly what had gone on. Central to the traditional moral character of Japanese society are four interlinked concepts: On, Gimu, Giri and Ninjo. While translations are, by nature, inexact, a Westerner would probably translate them as Reciprocity, Piety, Duty and Compassion. Reciprocity requires acknowledgment and repayment of debt, including honor debt. Piety exhorts the debtor to allegiance to the debt-holder's cause, in ongoing repayment of debts otherwise too great to fully repay. Duty invokes the balancing of obligations as the highest function of an honorable life. Compassion requires empathy with others, and recognizes that all people are one, beneath the surface differences that karma imposes. Ranma-sempai and Akane-sempai had stormed Hell itself to rescue her, for compassion's sake. Sayuri wasn't sure that the debt could be repaid, but she was determined to try. Showing compassion herself seemed to be a good way to start. Besides, she truly did like the older girl. And there was no doubt in her mind that Kodachi _needed_ a little compassion, needed it badly. It was in the eyes, a certain mix of defensiveness and loneliness. She had seen it before. Once Yuka had had that look, when she was new to Junior High. She had offended the dignity of one of the fashionable cliques, and had been nearly shunned for her trouble. Akane had noticed it and had dragged Sayuri into a friendship that had never since faltered. Then later Akane herself had begun to grow that look, and Sayuri had not at all known what to do about it. Greater than all other terrors is helplessness. Three times in her life Sayuri had felt that great terror, once in retrospect and twice directly. Once she had been saved by Akane, once by Ranma, once by both. But in the course of that last rescue, running up a long slope, she had discovered that she need no longer be helpless. She had found a source of power in the bone- handled hilts of a pair of long knives. (Or perhaps she had discovered the power earlier, beneath the knife and the iron. But she did not send her mind back to that place of lies to see.) She had left the knives behind, imbedded in sulfurous dust and ichor-stained flesh. And yet, in some way, she still seemed to feel them within her hand, warm and sure-gripped, almost alive in their response to her arm and will. Knives can be used for many things. Sayuri was a good cook, and experienced with knives. It came to her, looking at the darkness in Kodachi's dark eyes, that no-one who has a knife is truly helpless. It came to her that there are many kinds of knives. The lurking darkness was a bitter enemy, but it was an enemy that she had faced before, and it seemed to her that she might just have a knife fit to cut it. Sayuri chatted on, using gossip and patter, talk of the latest shows and magazines, what idol singer was hot, what idol singer was cold, and how long they each would stay that way. What Kodachi did at home, what Sayuri did at home. Recipes and music and video-games and sweets and boys. Within fifteen minutes she had giggles. Within an hour they were chatting away as if they had known each other all their lives. Just as if they were at a sleep-over. Just as if they were talking after school. Just as if they were passing notes in class. Just a normal conversation, between two normal teen-age girls, who happen to be best friends. Normality and friendship, to cut the dark away. Strange knives to make strange cuts, Sayuri thought. But you had to take your knives where you found them sometimes. After all, strange or not, a knife was a knife. And Sayuri was good with knives. ------------------------------------------------------------ By lunchtime, she had a pile of notes that almost covered her desk. Fortunately, the teacher was understanding. Unfortunately, there was no way she could possibly reply to most of them. She didn't even dare read them, in case one of them asked something she couldn't afford to react to. Fame and triumph could be quite wearing. As could other things as well, of course. There was, in one corner of Furinkan yard, a tree. This had a low lying, broad, flat limb perhaps four or five feet off the ground. Underneath the limb there was a sheltered spot of shade. This collective area had been annexed by Ranma soon after she arrived at Furinkan, and was already locally known by the students thereof as Ranma's Branch and Akane's Spot. Ranma would stretch out on the limb and idle, while Akane sat underneath her in the shade and dozed or ate, frequently listening to Ranma play the flute or lecture on some arcane bit of cultural trivia or other. Under normal circumstances Ranma considered lunch a thing which should not be trivially disturbed. Today, however, was not a normal circumstance. For some reason best known to herself, Ranma had decreed a period of weapons drill. This involved several annoyances, from Akane's point of view. First, it meant that she had to cram down a great deal of food in a great hurry, which she considered distasteful. Second, it required her to bounce around like a superball even to avoid embarrassing herself against Ranma's skill. Third, it meant that she had to exercise even greater control over her movements than would normally be the case in a sparring match, lest she injure another student. Fourth, even despite this control, it was positively amazing how little protection a sword blade, a cupped hand-guard and a blade-breaker hilt could be against a fan. Lastly, Ranma regarded sparring time as an excellent forum for developing her cultural literacy, her store of trivia and her aptitude for quotation. Generally, by quoting extensively and extempore from the _Tale of Genji_ or _The Dream of the Red Chamber_. Translating the latter in midstream, of course, because Akane was quite incapable of speaking Chinese. Worse, Ranma meant to develop her ability to quote passages back, and was unerring in her ability to remember what Akane was already supposed to have heard (and, therefor (naturally), know by heart.) Altogether, it was enough to drive a respectable Tendo to tears. Or something. And she had discovered that she _despised_ the _Dream of the Red Chamber_. (Partly because getting passages thrown at you between the hand-strokes is _not_ the way to develop an appreciation for literary complexities or for the subtleties of the prophetic heroic form as Ranma interpreted it. And partly because, in her humble opinion, _The Dream Of the Red Chamber_ _sucked rocks_.) All in all, she would much have preferred if nothing _else_ had managed to come up. Unfortunately, Ranma's attitude of sunny certainty that no additional straw that might be piled atop her would _actually_ be the one straw too many seemed to be rubbing off on some of the other people around her. Such, for instance, as Nabiki. ------------------------------------------------------------ |Step forward. Feint. Three arc. Four-corner.| Spin. Sidestep-leap. Block low-to-high-to-cross-guard. Leap. "Umm. Ranma-san?" Uncertainty was uncharacteristic for Nabiki, but she didn't normally try to talk business with someone who was busy using a fan to chase someone who was using a sword around Furinkan yard. "Can I talk to you two about something?" At least Ranma wasn't moving very fast. |Casual feint. Side-swipe. Jodan. Chudan.| Land blocking. Slide back. Disengage. Block low-to-high. "Sure, Nabiki-san. What's on your mind?" Ranma moved Akane sideways, so that she wouldn't crowd Nabiki. "Acchan, if you don't attack you're going to lose, you know." |Slide-strike. Reverse kick. Three-strike. Jodan.| Parry. Riposte-to-stop block. Disengage, under cover. Duck. "What's up, Oneechan?" Akane chirped brightly, "And Ranchan, you know I'm gonna lose anyway. If I keep on the defensive, you might make a mistake." |V-step. Sweep-to-Gedan. Slap parry-and-bind. Flip.| Sweep kick-to-tumble dodge. Jump. Jodan cross. 'ohshit' WHAM "Waiting for your opponent to make a mistake is very passive, Acchan." Ranma chided, gently, "You should be causing mistakes, because a skilled opponent won't make any otherwise." As Akane spun through the air, Ranma raised an eyebrow, "See?" Akane had managed to rotate upright as she flew, but had not managed to get her legs in line with the wall. A puff of dust rose from the impact, and she stayed flattened against the wall about five feet off the ground for a moment before slowly sliding down. Nabiki winced, a reaction shared by many of the watching students. Her eyes wide and unfocussed, Akane shook her head as she reached the ground. "Theoretically, anyway," she mumbled, "Where'd that wall come from, anyway?" Ranma's lip curved upward in a gentle smile. "It's been there for twenty years or so, I think. They don't usually move." "Funny." Akane pushed herself to her feet, sheathing her sword. "I'm going to put the sword up and start using a stick. It'd be faster." Ranma smiled slightly, before turning back to Nabiki. ------------------------------------------------------------ And then there had been the weird thing that Nabiki had wanted to ask. Akane would never in her wildest dreams have expected Nabiki to declare that she and Ranma were as good as idol singers, nor have expected that Nabiki would offer to have a demo made. She probably _should_ have expected it, but she hadn't. She _had_ expected Ranma's reaction. She even agreed with it, although she was a _little_ sorry that she wouldn't get to hear their songs on the radio. But being an idol singer would cut _much_ too far into training time, and other things. And besides, if being famous just in Furinkan was this ... embarrassing, what might being famous on the street be like? When you thought about it, fame was something of an impediment to a Martial Artist, really. She should do her best to avoid it. In the future. You bet. Still. It _was_ a shame. ------------------------------------------------------------ 'Thirty spokes meet at a nave,' Kodachi thought, sadly, 'Because of the hole we may use the wheel.' Sayuri was dancing around the edges of something. It showed up in the pauses. Like many things, really. A matter of things not said, of topics not raised. She was good at it, and good at detecting it. All she had to do now was steer the conversation a little and she would find out what it was. Sayuri was _not_ good at it. She didn't want to. It would be ... she had ... Sayuri ... It had been _so_ much fun, thinking that Sayuri wanted just to be her friend. She really didn't want to find out what Sayuri's ulterior motives were. She really didn't. But, she had to. She set about doing so. Slowly, gently. Piece by piece. The spokes define the wheel, but the part you use is at the center, and around the edge. If you look at the shape of the wall, you can, if you're good, tell what lies _behind_ the wall. Piece by piece, the picture grew, but the picture made no sense. It was .... It was almost as though _she_ didn't matter at all, but then in the next instant it was as though she _did_ matter, but not because of who she was, but just because .... It made no sense. If Sayuri wanted Kodachi to do something _for_ her, she should be interested in what Kodachi _was_; what her contacts were, who she knew, which circles she moved in. And she wasn't, didn't care at all. On that point, if on no other, Kodachi was willing to swear. Oh, Sayuri would _talk_ about them, but she was more interested in how Kodachi felt, in what _she_ thought of them. She didn't seem to have any idea of how they could be used, or even that they _could_ be used. She seemed, honestly, to feel as though they were part of a world in which she would never move, or even wished to. Now, if Sayuri wanted Kodachi to enhance her standing in her own social circles, she should be interested in either getting Kodachi to visit that circle or in getting to visit _Kodachi's_. And she wasn't, especially. Kodachi thought that it was _vaguely_ possible that she could be wrong, ... there was this 'mall hanging' thing that Sayuri had mentioned, and she was positively _enthusiastic_ about a 'slumber party' ... she _thought_ she knew what those were, but ... it seemed to _her_ that someone ... well it was the same problem as before. Sayuri should be looking for details, names to drop, commitments, something of that sort. But, she just wasn't. The _other_ odd thing was the apprehension. It was fairly well buried, but there was definitely a thread of ... well, not _fear_ exactly, but something like it. But it wasn't directed at her. It seemed almost as though Sayuri was _worried_. Worried about Kodachi and worried about herself, at the same time. And Kodachi was willing to say that the worries had the same _cause_, too. Now. What could .... Hmmm. Well, what had Ranma-sensei said that Sayuri was in the hospital for, anyway? She was sure that she had heard .... Oh, yes! Sayuri had been ... unconscious ... because .... Sayuri, she suddenly remembered, had been unconscious, almost in a coma, because of something that had happened to her during the attack by that _creature_. She might have also been attacked. Ranma-sensei, she remembered, had seemed almost worried. Not good. No telling what ... She didn't look _physically_ damaged, but .... Oh, dear. Well. She would simply have to find out. If ... something ... _had_ happened, then .... Well, then _she_, Kuno Kodachi, still the Black Rose, would have _two_ grievances. Very severe ones. _And_, she, Kodachi, would also have a friend, or, at least, a companion in suffering, who she would be responsible for. Sayuri seemed to think that _she_ could, and should, protect _Kodachi_. From the terrible threat of being lonely, if from nothing else. Who knew? Perhaps she was right. Slowly, again, and carefully, Kodachi began to move the conversation to her will. But not, this time, to steer a wheel. This task would require strength, as much as guile. It was obvious that Sayuri would not willingly speak of her troubles; and yet, she was also carrying some great weight. If she was given reason to place the burden, or part of it, on another's shoulders, would she not do so? Kodachi was quite sure that she could carry at least as large a load as Sayuri did. Whatever she was carrying, Kodachi could bear it. Slowly. Cautiously. Carefully. Making words into clay. Moulding clay into a cup. Piece by piece, turn by turn, layer by layer. Not to build a wall, not to weave a net, but merely to shape a space, that Sayuri must eventually fill. The Clay is merely the vessel; it is the hollow that makes the cup. ------------------------------------------------------------ Music was being ... interesting. Maeda-sensei (Music) had been approached by Hachisuka-sensei (English). The result of which was .... "Okaaay." Yuka held her head. "Ranma-sempai's going to help us learn better English by _Karaoke_?!" Ranma chuckled. "Not _quite_, Yuka-kun. I'm going to teach you to _sing_ better English. It should help your accents and word choice." "Do you even _know_ any popular English songs, Ranchan?" Akane queried. "Oi!" Ranma snapped, frostily. "_Certainly_ I do! I'm just trying to figure out which ones they are!" "Ah." Akane met Ranma's glance with an expression of pure, wide eyed innocence. Ranma red-eyed her. "Biiiiidah!" "Now," Ranma turned back to her notes, "Ah-hah! Found it. This one was on the radio when I was in Chicago. I think it was some movie tune or other. Anyway. Page ... ah ... page 32. See it?" Various rustlings ensued as people flipped papers and stared at them. "Okay," Ranma bent forward, sitting on a chair with her guitar in her lap, "the chords go like this, and the first verse is ... Sometimes the snow comes down in June Sometimes the sun goes round the moon I see the passion in your eyes Sometimes it's all a big surprise The author will be kind, and spare his readers any attempt at describing the cacophony which followed. Ranma winced. Hard. "Ahhhh. Lets ... lets take it one line at a time, okay?" Sometimes the snow comes down in June "No, Yuka-kun; 'snow' not 'srow'.... ------------------------------------------------------------ It took ages. And long before it ended, Kodachi knew that she had been wrong. She wasn't strong enough. No human was strong enough. Except, just possibly, Sayuri. She had crafted herself a cup, she thought numbly, and now it overflowed. She had no-one to blame but herself. Towards the beginning, she had moved herself, and her injured leg, next to Sayuri, seeking to offer comfort. That was towards the beginning. But it was not long before she realized that she was desperately trying to build a defense. A wall of dispassion and distance. Between herself and the quiet voice, quietly reciting horrors. As though they were distant and unimportant. As though she did not know (but she _did_ know) that the horror the voice was laying out was horror that the voice itself had felt, had tasted, had been. As though the voice had not been part of the horror. But it had. She _knew_ it had. And _because_ it had, she was part of the horror, too. Long before the story ended, Kodachi was huddled next to Sayuri. _Seeking_ comfort. Sayuri seemed pleased to offer it. Seeking a wall, against the terror of the world. Finding a rock, to anchor the wall to. Building bricks from words, rapidly, hastily. Where there are no walls to offer shelter, a wall may yet be built. One wall may offer but little shelter, yet where you may build one wall, you may build another. And then another yet. ------------------------------------------------------------ She hadn't meant to speak of it. She had told Kodachi too much. Much too much. The girl was in the _hospital_, darn it, with her leg all bunged up. What had she been thinking? She pulled herself together with great force. Someone needed her help. _Kodachi_ needed her help. You could cling to that. It was a rock and a pillar, being needed, if you let it be one. You could use it, too. You could hold on and let it bear your weight, and then you could kick rocks out of the side, and make a staircase. And you could walk up the staircase, all the way to the top. ------------------------------------------------------------ She didn't remember what she said, or what Sayuri replied, but somehow Kodachi pulled away. It was a gradual process. But, bit by bit, she recalled herself to herself, and built on the foundation that herself provided. When the flood is sweeping down, you build a wall. When you've built a wall, you build another, and another, and another. When you're surrounded with walls you start building them higher. ------------------------------------------------------------ Kodachi was withdrawing, and it was all her fault. Not that she could blame her. If _she_ had had all that ... nastiness dropped on her, _she'd_ have withdrawn, too. Not that that made it any better. But withdrawing was the wrong thing to do, she knew it was. You had to bide your time, and then you had to go _at_ whatever was wrong, because otherwise it would run over you. Kodachi had something wrong. Well, aside from the leg, and the scar, which were obvious. There was something _else_ wrong, too. She didn't know what it was, or how to find out, but she knew it was there. And if Kodachi withdrew, if she put up walls around herself, whatever it was would just _sit_ there and get worse and _worse_ .... She was supposed to be Kodachi's _friend_. Some friend. It was all her fault. So she would have to fix it. She didn't know _how_ she would, but she would have to find a way. She was not going to stand helplessly by. Never stand by helplessly again. ------------------------------------------------------------ Late at night, a big ole house gets lonely, I guess every form of refuge has it's price As the school day at Furinkan ended, some of the departing student body behaved in unusual ways. Most of them, of course, promptly scattered for home or their normal after- school activities, breaking up into pairs and singletons and small groups. But two large clots of students did _not_ break up, but remained coherent. He looked at the chart but he looked in vain Heavy cloud but no rain One group, all boys, was joined by a small man with a ferocious white mustache, who rounded them up and marched them off. The other, about twenty students of mixed gender, wandered off down the road. A casual observer would have noticed that they were traveling in the general direction of Nerima General Hospital. Cause there was a time when all I did was wish You'd tell me this was love A _careful_ observer would have noticed that some of them were singing. A _very_ careful observer might also have noticed that, while the voices that were singing tended to alternate, two were predominate, with at least one of the two always involved. A furry, golden contralto, and a pure silver mezzo-soprano. But it would have to have been a _careful_ observer. Now I don't know where the moral is, Or how this song should end A _casual_ observer could have followed them, and seen that they _were_ heading for Nerima General, directly. And a casual observer might have wondered at their good cheer. Even people who work at Hospitals are seldom cheerful, and few people walk to one with laughter and song. 'Cause I don't wanna go on with you like that Don't wanna be a feather in your cap And that question, as the group spilled into the lobby of the Hospital in a flurry of (much quieter) good cheer, would have taxed even a good observer to the utmost. But no-one was particularly observing the group at the moment, and so, no such question was asked. ------------------------------------------------------------ Nabiki made the discovery, and was unsettled. This led to her finding a nurse, and transferring the unsettlement on. In a less-well run establishment, the resulting chain reaction could conceivably have provided amusement for some time, but fortunately Nerima General was well run. Shaking her head and talking quietly with Dr. Tofu and the floor physical therapist, Ranma walked towards Kodachi's room, followed by Akane and the others, bearing gifts of flowers purchased in the Hospital Gift Shop. Shifting her flower arrangement to one hand, Ranma knocked on the indicated door and opened it, to reveal a pale Sayuri, sitting in a chair, and a very quiet and still Kodachi, lying on her bed. She ushered Akane, Yuka and Tatewaki in the door, waving to the others to wait for a minute and then closing it after herself. "I've had complaints about you," Ranma said in a semi- humorous tone. Sayuri brought her head around with a mutinous light in her eyes. "Ranma-sempai! I couldn't just _lie_ there!" "And why not?" Akane came forward past Ranma and put her flowers down on Kodachi's table. "Hello, Kodachi-kun, we've brought you and Sayuri-chan some flowers." "Oh, no! Akane-chan, I already have more flowers than will ...." As Akane came back around the table Sayuri's eyed widened and her voice rose to a squeak, as she half rose from her seat. At the same time, Kodachi sucked in her breath in a gasp, as Akane's left eye swirled with flecks of red and gold in the flourescent light. "Well then," Yuka grinned, "if you don't want the flowers, we'll give them all to Kodachi-san." "Akane-chan!" Sayuri wailed as Akane perched on the arm of her chair and hugged her. "Your eye!" "What about it?" Akane grinned. "What _about_ it? It ... you ... but ... Yukaaaa!" Sayuri clutched at her gown. "It just changed color, Sayuri-chan. There's nothing wrong with it." Akane's voice was pure sweet realism. "_Just_ changed color?! Nothing _wrong_ with it?! Yuuukaaaa! Reason with her!" Sayuri cringed as she gently reached out a hand to touch Akane's left cheek. There were scars there, three scars across the cheek, and she _knew_ in the marrow of her bones what kind of thing had made them. She had seen them, often enough, on her own flesh. Akane-chan! Akane-chan had been hurt! For her! By Them! Kill! She wanted to kill. She wanted to rip and tear and smash and destroy! Another of her friends was hurt! If she had possessed a tail, it would have been bottled out in pure, furious rage. Her vision was suddenly forced to timeshare. Yuka's face, chin pugnaciously forward, thrust itself into her vision. "We are not here to talk about Akane-chan's eye, Sayuri- chan." Yuka's voice was low and grim. "We're here to look after someone who almost got _killed_ on us!" Suddenly Yuka broke down in tears and glomped Sayuri, trembling. "Don't go and try to die on us again, Sayuri-chan. We've lost too may friends from Furinkan as it is." Kodachi lay on her bed, and felt the walls grow higher. She watched the little gathering by the bed-side and knew that she should do something. The face of the Kuno family demanded that she show ninjo and control in this time of stress for a friend, but all she could do .... 'Friend'? Yes, she admitted to herself, her friend. Almost her only friend, and she could bear to do no single thing to aid .... Ranma edged a hip onto her bed, drawing her pale and quiet attention. As the small, red-headed girl reached out a gentle hand to cup over her scarred face, Kodachi watched her gravely and traced her own faint scars by eye. Kodachi fancied that she felt a vague flutter of sensation along the facial scan. Something almost too faint to discern and quickly fading. As her brother leaned over, equally gravely, to kiss her on the forehead, Kodachi almost wept, but could not. Walls, walls of glass, closing her in. The walls were bad things, but how could she exist without them? Even the friendship and concern between Sayuri, Yuka and Akane would be too much for her to bear just now, if she must confront them head on. Sayuri shook her head free of the tri-fold hug and looked concernedly at Akane again. "But, Akane-chan, it _looks_ ...." "Feh," Akane said. "Never you mind. Ranchan says it makes me look rakish." "Well," said Ranma, calmly, "it _does_." "Oh." Sayuri blinked at Ranma, blinked at Akane, blinked at Ranma again. "If you say so, Sempai." "I do," Ranma said dryly, sliding off the bed. She took the step necessary to reach Sayuri and took the other girl gently by the chin, holding her face level and looking deep into her eyes. Whatever she may have seen there, it seemed to satisfy her, as when she let go she nodded calmly. "Yes, you're a lot better. Looks like you're going to get well." Sayuri stood up, to gain a small advantage by being taller than the other girl. "I _am_ well, Sempai," she declared firmly. Ranma gazed at her through her eyelashes, crossing her hands behind her back. "You're sure? No nightmares? No lingering shadows? Everything just fine?" "I'm _sure_," Sayuri crossed her arms in front of her and glared at Ranma stubbornly, "no, no and _yes_, just _fine_." Ranma smiled a somewhat crooked smile and brought out her right hand, to hold palm upward and cupped in front of Sayuri. As she focused on it, it filled with a pearlescent globe of light, which seemed to be filled with colors, or perhaps they were shapes. Whatever they may have been, Sayuri leapt backwards with a strangled shriek, hands curling into claws (or, perhaps, to feel the hilt of an invisible knife) and rising to strike. Kodachi, reacting to the threat signal, tensed to defend, searching automatically for a weapon, buoyed by a momentary surge of adrenaline. Ranma simply held the light globe, bestowing upon Sayuri a somewhat sardonic gaze. Sayuri looked up and down between Ranma's face and the light a few times, before coming out of a defensive stance and dropping her arms to fold her hands together in front of her, ducking her head. As she did, the light-globe flickered and vanished, and Ranma stepped forwards again, reaching out with one finger to tuck it gently underneath her chin and lift up her head. "You know, Sayuri-chan, even very brave heroes have to take time out now and then to be healed." Sayuri flushed scarlet. "Yes, Sempai." "You're still very much under the _physical_ effects, you know," Ranma continued gently. "So you _are_ going to listen to your physical therapist, right?" Meekly, Sayuri said, "Yes, Sempai." "And you're going to listen to Dr. Tofu, too, right?" Diminuendo, "Yes, Sempai." "And you're going to listen to _me_, right?" Mumbled, with cast-down eyes, "Yes, Sempai." Ranma let go of Sayuri's chin. "Good. In that case, I think that between us we can get you on your feet and back to school in no time. No time, in this case, being defined as about a week." Turning to look at Kodachi, as well, "For both of you. Also, I would like for you two to stay together and do your exercises together while you're at the Hospital. I was going to suggest that you visit Kodachi-kun when we came over today, Sayuri-chan, but since you seem to have anticipated me ...." Sayuri blushed again. "I didn't want to just _sit_ there ... there wasn't anything to do ... Kodachi-chan doesn't have anything to do either ...." Ranma grinned at them, "We brought you some magazines, and some of the makings of a small party. So if the emotional hullaballoo is over ...." Akane grinned at her, Tatewaki and Kodachi nodded gravely and Yuka and Sayuri blushed. And Ranma opened the door to the teeming (in a sense) multitude (relatively speaking). ------------------------------------------------------------ Bosabosa Daisuke, Furinkan High School Class 2-F, was glad to be able to (finally) get in the room, pushing past his eternal partner Chapatsu Hiroshi in his haste. It wasn't so much that he was eager to see the other half of his normal double date and the closest thing he had to a girl friend; although he was. Nor was it the opportunity to be in the same small room with the newly triumphant Tendo Akane, although he thought of her as an acquaintance and hence, in some small way, shared her glory; although that would certainly be a good thing. It wasn't even that the same small room would also contain the exotic and utterly beyond cool new arbiter of stylishness at Furinkan, Bushiko Ranma; although the closer you stayed to her the better. No, the primary reason for his eagerness was much simpler; he was carrying a large plant, and it was getting darn heavy. It's amazing, sometimes, the small points on which destiny can turn. He spent the first several moments inside the room looking for somewhere to set it. Attempting to sort these first impressions gave him a few odd data points. First; the room had, in addition to Sayuri-chan, Yuka-chan, and Akane, Ranma, and Tatewaki-sempai, another occupant. Second; this occupant was a _very_ pretty girl, somewhat pale and grave looking. Third; Tatewaki-sempai was standing by her, and basic deduction told him that she must be the room's primary tenant; Tatewaki's sister, who, he believed, was named Kodachi. Fourth; there were lots of places to put flowers, because there were almost none already here. These facts drew forth a chain of deductions, thusly; a.) This was a hospital room. 1.) Belonging to Kuno Kodachi. 2.) Who is a very pretty girl. 3.) Who is, in addition, sick. 4.) In the hospital, in fact. 5.) Because of wounds sustained during Heroism. A.) Which, he, himself, had witnessed. b.) There were almost no flowers in this room. 1.) Being a hospital room, belonging to Kodachi, etc. 2.) What flowers there were bore tags. A.) That said Akane, Ranma or Tatewaki. Therefore: c.) Kodachi, 1.) Who was in the hospital. 2.) And a Hero. 3.) And a very pretty girl, too. d.) Had, Almost No Flowers. 1.) Which was Bad. 2.) And would probably make her Unhappy. 3.) Which was Very Bad. Moreover: e.) He, Bosabosa Daisuke, had Flowers. 1.) Rather good ones. 2.) Which could be given to Kodachi. A.) Who was a very pretty girl. B.) Etcetera. 3.) Which would make her happy. 4.) Which would be a Good Thing. f.) Kodachi had _not_, previously attended Furinkan. 1.) She had attended some other school. A.) Which had not, apparently, sent Flowers. 1.) And was, therefor, Forever to be Damned. 2.) She might not be happy with the situation there. g.) A good impression of Furinkan High School, 1.) As provided by, say, Bosabosa Daisuke. 2.) And possibly others (Grrr). 3.) As opposed to the Other School. h.) Might induce her to transfer. 1.) To Furinkan. 2.) Which was co-ed. 3.) Where her brother already attended. Which: i.) Would increase the number of pretty girls at Furinkan. 1.) By at least one. 2.) Kodachi. A.) Who was a very pretty girl. B.) Etcetera. j.) Which would be a Very Good Thing. ------------------------------------------------------------ The young man with the unruly hair had given her flowers. This might, in itself, have been considered normal. Many young men had given her flowers. The interesting thing was; he had not, thereafter, asked her for a date. This was, in her experience, highly abnormal. Moreover, many of the other people who had come to see Sayuri, presumably her schoolmates, had _also_ given her flowers. And none of them had asked her for a date, either. Or for anything else. Not even obliquely. It was almost enough to make her think that they liked her. That was silly, of course, because they hadn't had any opportunity to like her, or to know her at all. But still. There was a small party going on. People had brought chips, and other snacks. Someone had put a few packs of them on her bed. For her to eat. It was a nice party, for a hospital room. She wished she could take part. But to do so she would have to lower her walls, and if she did that .... She opened a bag of chips, and ate a few. But there were such a lot of people around. If even a few of them would break the force of anything ... bad ... that happened, she could get them back up again. But why would they do that? They didn't know her at all, and they didn't seem to want anything from her. Or even know that there was anything to be had. She ate a few more chips. They weren't too bad. Not bad at all, really. ------------------------------------------------------------ She watched Kodachi, furtively. It looked like she might be opening up a bit. It was a _wonderful_ party. Well, for a hospital room, anyway. She steered the conversation a little bit, so that it would include Kodachi, and watched her participate a little. It was a hard thing to do, which she hadn't really had to do before, and she didn't think she was doing it very well, but nobody seemed to mind, or even notice much. She stole a few more chips from Hiroshi, and tugged her gowns tighter; defying their natural tendency to flop open. ------------------------------------------------------------ She ate a few more chips, and then a piece of pocky. They were good. Gravely, she considered her new flowers. It occurred to her that _all_ of the flowers had been brought by (and bought by) students of Furinkan. Akane-san, Ranma-sensei and oniichan were students there too, after all. None of her schoolmates at St. Herebreke had sent her any flowers. Not one. None of them had even _visited_. Looking around, it _was_ a nice party. It occurred to her that there might well be more important things to look for in a school than exclusivity. When you looked at things closely. It occurred to her that, as of tonight, all of the people whom she might call her friends attended Furinkan. It occurred to her that all of the people she knew at St. Herebreke were either enemies, rivals or flunkies. It occurred to her that flunkies weren't doing her much good at the moment. ------------------------------------------------------------ Ranma was closeted closely with Sayuri, Dr. Tofu and Tatewaki, propping herself on the bed where Kodachi could hear. They were discussing strategies for therapy and coordinating the therapies that would happen in the hospital, with those that Sayuri and Kodachi would have to go through after they got out. "Okay, Kodachi-chan," Sayuri said, perkily, "that's the schedule for the hospital sorted out. Do you think we could keep working together after we get out. Some of these things are really boring." Kodachi smiled, for what felt like the first time in weeks, "I think so, Sayuri-chan. Tatewaki-oniisan?" Tatewaki blinked, and looked down. "Yes, Imouto-chan?" "Please have the family lawyers start the necessary administrative tasks to have me transferred to Furinkan." "Yeee-ha!" Sayuri leapt up into the air, clapping her hands. Her hands, being thus occupied, could not tighten the ties on her hospital gowns. These, therefor, in conjunction with the prime directive of their tribe, untied. Which left nothing at all to hold up the gowns. Which, subsequently, fell down. Yuka and Akane immediately whapped Hiroshi and Daisuke on the back of the head. "What?!" the Average Pair demanded, in unison. "Hentai," Akane and Yuka explained, not unkindly, also in unison. "We didn't even look!" Daisuke complained. "Well, you should have," Akane replied. "We didn't get a _chance_ to look!" Hiroshi said at the same time. Yuka whapped him again. "Ow!" Tatewaki and Dr. Tofu simultaneously put their heads into their hands, in pain. Ranma calmly stood up and handed Sayuri, who was eeping and trying to cover herself, her gowns. And Kodachi dissolved into giggles, helplessly. Sayuri hugged her and the other students gathered around to congratulate her on transferring. It was a beginning. You may build your walls as high and strong as you may choose. You may lay your roof and floor. But you have not built yourself a house, until you've built yourself a door. ------------------------------------------------------------ It was late, and the sky was dark and shot with stars. As they left the hospital, Ranma and Akane walked closely together, talking. But eventually they came to the street that led, down one way, to the Tendo Dojo, and down another, to Ranma's apartment. Here they paused for a while. Finally, they parted, one to go one way, one the other. As they walked, each alone, at nearly the same time, they each began to sing, quietly. Sometimes the snow comes down in June Sometimes the sun goes round the moon I see the passion in your eyes Sometimes it's all a big surprise It was probably coincidence. Certainly they were each, by that point, far out of the other's hearing. There really was no way that they could be coordinating with each other. So, despite the fact that a hypothetical careful observer would have noted that they were in tune and in time, it must have been coincidence. There really wasn't any other explanation. Cause there was a time when all I did was wish You'd tell me this was love It's not the way I hoped or how I planned But somehow it's enough It could have been something of an omen, I suppose, but it wasn't. But now we're standing face-to-face Isn't this world a crazy place Just when I thought our chance had passed You go and save the best for last The astute reader may have noticed, in this chapter, several instances of occurrences that would, in a normal Ranmaverse, have called for Omens of Doom. Thunder from a clear sky, family altars suddenly breaking, visits from strange monks, that sort of thing. The astute reader may be wondering why such Omens haven't shown up. All of the nights you came to me When some silly girl had set you free I wondered how you'd make it through I wondered what was wrong with you It's a fair question. Cause how could you give your love to someone else And share your dreams with me Sometimes the very thing you're looking for Is the one thing you can't see The answer is fairly simple. These things are taken care of by kami. Not very big, or important kami, it is true, but kami nevertheless. Lurking about celestially and waiting for omen-worthy events and causing an omen when necessary is simply these kamis' job. But now we're standing face-to-face Isn't this world a crazy place Just when I thought our chance had passed You go and save the best for last And, like all jobs, its holders occasionally take some time off. Sometimes the very thing you're looking for Is the one thing you can't see The holder of the position for Nerima ward, at the present moment, is a kami named Waruyoi Asabitan. He is presently living up to his name, drunk out of his mind in a club in Chiba, karaokeing like there will be no tomorrow. Sometimes the snow comes down in June Sometimes the sun goes round the moon Just when I thought our chance had passed You go and save the best for last So, you see, I can state with absolute authority that any coincidental timing that a hypothetical careful observer might have noted was, in fact, just that. Coincidental, and not any sort of omen at all. You went and saved the best for last, yeah. What can I say? Some days are just Like That. You went and saved the best for last, yeah. ------------------------------------------------------------ Next: Chapter Seven: If You Meet The Buddha On The Road Part A: Without Troubling of a Star. ------------------------------------------------------------ Author's Notes: Since this chapter is almost entirely devoted to characterization exercises, it seems to me to be an appropriate time for me to spend a few words talking about where I'm coming from on that subject. Briefly, I'm a manga fan(atic), and I'm using the canon characterizations (as I see them) for a starting point. The only exception to this is Ranma him/herself, who I basically ran through the mill before the story started. That is, I still started from canon, but Ranma has already undergone some variance from that by this point. The other main differences arise from a difference in primary goals between Takahashi-sensei's story and my own. Briefly, and IMHO, Ranma Nibbunnoichi as written is the story of how Saotome Ranma and Tendo Akane, despite many obstacles and difficulties, do _not_ get married. Whereas, RAALS is the story of how Tendo Akane becomes a Hero, and Saotome Ranma becomes a Hero _again_. Since the demands of the story drive characterization this invokes some differences from standard, but it's not that the characters themselves are particularly different, as that being in different sort of story requires them to act in different ways than they normally would. With that said: Saotome Ranma (nee Bushiko): Ranma is a Hero. It's one of the two main cornerstones of his personality. The other cornerstone is his sense of identity. Broadly put, Ranma _always_ knows _exactly_ who he is and how he's supposed to act. This self knowledge is so strong that he is, effectively, unbeatable; it's not that you can't beat him up, so much as that you can't make him stay down. He _never_ quits, and he _always_ keeps his main goal clearly in mind. On the other hand, that same sense of identity is also his biggest weakness. He is quite capable of running right over good sense and social duties alike when he gets the idea that something is important; he has very little ability to turn back from a contest even if he would prefer to; he has hot-buttons all over him, and they can lead him around if they are pushed and he will occasionally get the idea that he should do something or act like something simply because 'a guy would ...' or 'a martial artist would ...'. My Ranma is several years of experience older than that, and has mellowed a fair degree. Also, he/she has refined that sense of identity down to the most important elements. In particular, for instance, the Jhusenkyou curse, which hits the canon Ranma as hard as it does because it strikes directly at the heart of his greatest strength, his sense of identity ("I'm a _guy_!" and then, suddenly _he's not_.) In trade, however, she has lost a lot of her moral edge and her Hero's instincts for doing the _right_ thing at the _right_ time. That is, the strong sense of identity that sometimes blinds the canon Ranma to the likely result of his actions is turned around so that it is blinding this Ranma to the truth of her _motivations_, instead. Tendo Akane is also a Hero, although in canon not a very well developed one. If anything her own sense of herself as a hero is even stronger than Ranma's, as evidenced, among other instances, by the Martial Arts Gymnastics storyline. This strength is somewhat the backwards of Ranma, in that, while Ranma always knows who he is, but sometimes loses track of where he's going, Akane always knows where she's going, but sometimes loses track of who she is. This frequently blinds her to her own abilities and disabilities and also causes her to be more impetuous than even _Ranma_ manages. A lot of this problem in self-realization may stem from a lack of feedback from outside sources. In another sense, while canon Ranma is allowed to be who he is, but frequently encounters people who are unwilling to allow him to do the things that are right for the person he is to do, canon Akane has few people trying to prevent her from doing what she wants, but has great difficulty getting people to take her identity seriously. (Thus the frequent battle cry: "I'm a Martial Artist, too!" (Thus, also, her great dismay at the names Ranma tends to call her: Akane is a girl _and_ a Martial Artist, but most people don't think of her as a 'proper' martial artist, and here Ranma is calling into question her status as a 'proper' girl ....) So a lot of her actions are a quest for respect, self respect as much as any other, but since she tends to doubt her _own_ abilities sometimes, too, she's far too likely to try to proceed directly to the desired results rather than actually trying to _earn_ them. Thus her problems with cooking, for example, and also the Super-Soba and Battle Dogi story arcs, among others. In RAALS she is unencumbered by the handicap of being a girl in a shojo (boy's) manga who doesn't wear a bikini or pack a BFG9000, and will therefor get a much better chance to show what she can do. Nabiki and Kasumi are both Girl Archetypes, in one sense or another. Nabs is Modern Girl, with her pulse on the finger of the social scene and no patience with the 'old ways'. She's effective, and she's cute, but she's scary, too: you can't be sure that she'll stay in check, and she's too scary to go up against directly. Kasumi is traditional girl, serene and untroubled, i.e. she's Mom. She's nice, and a good housewife, but she's scary, too: you never know, she might _be_ Mom. Or, she might suddenly wash your mouth out with soap and send you to bed without supper. You can't be sure. Tatewaki and Kodachi are brats in the manga, plain and simple. Tatewaki, also, may well not be terribly bright, but it's hard to tell, because of how big a brat he is. Likewise Kodachi manages to counterfeit being crazy pretty well. The thing about being a brat, however, is that it's an hole that you can easily pull out of, assuming that you can grow up fast enough. And if a big enough shock makes you grow up ... Sayuri is Everygirl, like Yuka, and Hiroshi and Daisuke as well. Admittedly, when I started RAALS, I had no idea I needed an Everygirl to be heroic, and had no idea that Sayuri would turn into one, but .... Further notes will be provided as characters show up. 'Til next, Eric Hallstrom, 3/31/2000