Alright already!  After several requests (some vaguely veiled as 
something other than a polite request :), I will be continuing Resurrected 
Memories, my Ranma 1/2 and Final Fantasy VII crossover.

(Just kidding, I like C+C ;)

Due to reader requests, I am continuing Resurrected Memories!  Will 
this be an actually series?  Probably not.  We shall see.


A brief thank you is in order for the two individuals gracious enough to
do a brief pre-read of this.  I kind of popped it on them unexpected-like.
So thank you Mr. James Merritt Jr. and Mr. Jiro Maeda!


This takes place after the first section/teaser/posting/introduction/semi-
spam/random-thought-process I sent to the FFML earlier.  This also, while
having been pre-read, hasn't really been editted or spell-checked, or
grammar-checked, etc.  So expect errors and such.  This section is also
small, so I can post future sections with greater frequency than my other
'fics.

For those of you unaware, this is a crossover of Ranma 1/2, by Rumiko 
Takahashi, and Final Fantasy VII, by those video game mavens at 
Squaresoft.


Resurrected Memories
Fragment Two
By Curtiss Nelson (aka Me)



	Ranma sat, weeping, his vision of the surrounding blackness 
obscured by the curtain of tears that clouded his eyes.  For he knew 
what was around him.
	Around him, like accumulations cumulus, precipations of blood 
floated, drifting lazily in a fog of crimson mist.  They drifted from the 
scores of ravaged bodies that lay about Ranma, indistinct for all the 
gaping wounds they suffered.  The blood, more gaseous than liquid, 
floated about in a rough circle, like the eye of a hurricane.  The blood 
would not approach, shying away from the center.
	From the gleaming blade still gripped tightly in Ranma's hand, 
unsoiled by the contents of the people it had hewn in twain.
	Ranma had his knees drawn up to his chin, arms wrapped 
about his legs.
	He hadn't wanted to!  He had fought it, every step.
	It was like he was a passenger in his own form.
	The blade had rose, only to fall.
	With a dull thud, the meaty thwack of flesh being struck.
	And the screams!  The screams!  They still echoed in the still 
air.
	Rose and fell.
	Again, and again.
	He had fought!  Clutching his head, using all his willpower and 
effort!  He had tried!
	He had tried....
	But it was no use.
	No use at all.
	No use....
	"Hey, you," came a voice from somewhere.
	Ranma, realizing it wasn't his own thoughts, raised his head.
	The bodies were gone, though the blood still swirled about.  
Even that stopped, as something; no, someone, penetrated the 
sanguine barrier about Ranma.  Ranma wiped his eyes, and started to 
stand up.
	"Yeah, you," the voice said again, as a figure walked toward 
Ranma.
	The blood had become stationary clouds, unmoving.  Through 
them walked the figure, a man by appearances, with red hair, purple 
jumpsuit, and a shovel; no, a sword strapped to his back.
	Ranma, a martial artist despite his mental trauma, raised his 
sword.
	The man stepped out of the cloud, and Ranma could see the 
man was in fact blond, with a blue jumpsuit, and steady green eyes.
	It was the man from his earlier dream!
	The man looked about, at the blood, and the shadowy outlines 
of where the bodies had been, before turning back to Ranma, eyebrow 
raised, voice heavy with contempt.
	"You going to be a puppet again?"


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Ranma opened his eyes, limbs briefly flailing at the weight they 
detected, before stopping as his body recalled the distant memory of 
bedsheets.  He was in some kind of bedding, in some sort of soft 
underclothes; pajamas?  Around him was darkness, but he did not seem 
to be in danger.  A hurried hand soon confirmed the presence of his 
sword, bracers, materia, and staff.
	Ranma brought the sword under the covers with him, for 
security, both for protection and comfort.  He remembered in his patrols 
along Mideel, back when Shinra was first expanding, he had surprised 
more than one overconfidant ambusher with the ploy.  Yes, even back 
then, Masamune had been his truest companion.  Ranma petted the 
sword.
	But what had that been?  Another Mako and Jenova induced 
dream?  Ranma knew that after Mako infusion in Soldier, many of his 
troops had suffered such dreams.  But the blond man!  He had been 
there earlier, at Jusenkyo.  Ranma wondered what the blond man had to 
do with himself.  Was he another spirit?
	It was probably just a dream.  Yes, a dream.  A dream.
	(Please, let it be just a dream.)
	A sliver of light intruded on the dark room.
	"Hello?" came a soft and hesitant voice, one that sent Ranma 
hurtling back in time, a voice that brought back memories of love and 
warmth, as well as a little bit of moisture to the eyes.
	"Mom?" Ranma inquired quietly, not quite believing it.
	"My son," Nodoka said, as she entered the room, sliding the 
door to one side, before sealing it, sparing Ranma the bright 
illumination.
	"Ofukuro?  What are you doing here?  Where am I?"  Ranma 
said, starting to sit up.
	A rustle of clothes, and a warm hand touched his forhead, 
coming back with a damp cloth that began to clean him.
	"My baby.  It is so good to see you again,"  Nodoka started, 
before shaking her head, heard and felt in the darkness.  "No, you are a 
young man now.  Though you will always be my baby," Nodoka 
concluded with a bit of regret in her voice.
	"Ofukuro!" Ranma said, blushing in the darkness, as Nodoka 
gave a small laugh.
	Ranma remembered something, or rather, a lack of something.  
"Ofukuro?"
	"Yes?"
	It seemed a little foggy.  "I remember coming home, meeting 
you at the door, and acting a little funny.  After that..."  Ranma 
shrugged under the bedcover.
	"It's alright, my son.  You fainted under the strain.  I doubt you 
had had a good night's sleep or meal for days,"  Nodoka consoled.
	Ranma was indignant, "I didn't faint!"  Fainting was for girls.
	Nodoka smiled in the dark, "Well, perhaps you were overcome 
by the heat."
	That made more sense.  That had happened a couple of times 
on the road.
	"Ranma?"
	"Yes?"
	"I want you to know how good it is to have you back.  I know I 
wasn't there for you, and if even half of what your worthless father has 
said is true, I have much to make up to you,"  Nodoka began, unsure, 
unshed tears in her voice.
	"Ofukuro...." Ranma started to interupt.
	"No, let me finish son.  I admit, at first, I was worried about you 
not being a 'men among men'.  But now I understand you are much 
more; you are a teenage boy who has been forced to become a very old 
and mature man in a sudden way.  For that I am truly sorry."
	"'Men among men'?" Ranma asked, confused.  Did she mean 
that he was tough?  He was one of the toughest guys he knew.  Or did 
she mean.... Ranma flushed.  Hey, he was still a growing boy!  There 
was yet time!
	Looking at the confusion and lack of understanding on the 
face of her only child, Nodoka once more silently cursed her husband, 
and even more herself for allowing that stupid promise to be made.  She 
still had that slip of paper, which she had kept like a life-preserver in the 
worst times when she was alone.
	So hesitantly, and then with a certain amount of resignation, 
Nodoka began to explain the promise.  The agreement they had made, 
she and Genma.  Watching Ranma's face, she could see the disbelief 
written there.  And when she came with great reluctance to the section 
regarding the conditions of the promise, his expression became a cross 
between horrified, disbelieving, and shocked.  Each little bit of contempt 
in his eyes was one more dagger of regret in her heart.  By the end of 
her explanation, tiny jewels, the birth of tears, had begun to form at the 
corners of her eyes.
	Ranma blinked at the end of the fantastic tale.  That was why 
his life had been so?  *That* was the reason?  It was incredible.  One 
section of his new memories suggested this was reprehensible behavior 
on the part of any mother.  The other selection of his new memories told 
him that mothers didn't matter, that this one had proved her general 
incompetence in the field, and that he should kill the human vermin with 
a quick strike to the head, snapping the spine, and thus allowing them 
to continue on their quest.
	Ranma frowned, told his new memories to take a long walk off a 
short pier, as this was his mother.
	Ranma was simply shocked, and confronted with such a tale, 
relied on what he had learned in the past, on of the most important 
lessons he had ever learned.
	"It's OK, Ofukuro.  It's all in the past,"  Ranma said, reaching 
out his with his hand.  He hated it when girls cried.  Guys who made 
girls cry were scum.  Sons who made their mothers cry deserved to be 
forced to commit sepukku.
	Nodoka clasped his hand, and Ranma ignored the sudden 
wave of dizziness as he sat up and enfolded his mother in a hug.
	Nodoka just buried her face in his shoulder and wept, ten years 
of regret and sorrow flowing out with the tears.
	For Ranma, the hug felt wrong.  He remembered his hugs with 
his mother while he grabbed her leg, or how her waist seemed so large.  
Now, she seemed like an older woman, and as Ranma's skills in 
comforting women were lacking, whichever the means, he felt distinctly 
odd.  But some of his new memory suggested this was the correct 
action.  Just hold her, make soft noises and wait.  Feh, how girlish.
	After a time Nodoka pulled herself together, dabbing her eyes 
with the kerchief that was her kimono's inner sleave, and turned towards 
Ranma, bravely trying to smile after the emotional torrent.
	Ranma looked uncertainly at her, trying to find a new topic.  He 
wasn't used to this touchy-feely chick stuff.  Real guys didn't worry 
about it.  One side of his new memories chided him while the other 
coldly agreed.  That's what his father had taught him.  His father...
	"Umm... Where's Pops?"
	Nodoka's face hardened to glacial coldness.
	(Woah!  Scary!)  Ranma thought to himself.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	This is the scene where Genma is undergoing some kind of 
hideous torment.  As my imagination is lamer than a dead horse, and 
twice as perverse as a Tibetan monk, I am going to leave this scene to 
the reader's imagination; hopefully, a tamer beast than my own.
	I leave it to the reader to fill in their own favorite Genma 
torture/mutilation/castration scene.  Have fun.
	*Ahem*  Now, on to the story;
	Wait....
	Actually, this is more of a fragment.  A real story has a defined 
plot-
	(SHUT UP ALREADY!)
	Umm... Yes, of course.  Right-o, 'ere we go.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Mother and son sat staring at each other.  Nodoka had 
brought up the lights so that Ranma could see clearly, even though 
they were a little dim.  Ranma kind of wished she hadn't.  It was 
embarrassing to see she still had kept his room clean and whole; Ranma 
only vaguely remembered his Yamato anime bedsheets, and his Lego 
toys.  He was rather certain he no longer needed them.
	"So, tell me, what is it really like?" Nodoka asked.  Her husband 
had told her some pretty fantastic things.  And she had seen some 
pretty incredible things; her husband turn into a cat riding a pink puff 
animal, her son turning alternately into a handsome white-haired man or 
a pretty brown-haired young woman, and the power of the magic stones 
her husband had demonstrated.  Materia, Nodoka knew.  Which was 
disturbing in and of itself.  Nodoka did not know how she knew such 
things.  Her husband had never mentioned the proper name of Materia.  
Mako.  Materia.  Lifestream.  Names, words.  Jenova.  But more 
important than anything else, was her son.  Her precious, precious child.
	"What do you mean?" Ranma asked, a little confused.  Did she 
mean-?  Ranma's mind, never the swiftest of devices, stalled.
	Nodoka gave a small laugh.  "Turning into a girl.  Turning into 
a different man.  Using your Materia, and Mako energy.  How do you 
feel about it?"  Nodoka asked.  Her tone had some lightness to it, but 
her gaze was serious.
	Ranma looked at his mother, then sighed and looked to the 
side.  "It's kinda hard to explain, you know?"  Ranma looked back at his 
mother.  "I mean, how much did the old man tell ya?"
	"Only that you fell in some cursed springs in China, or 
something of that nature.  He said he was worriedly about your mental 
health.  Something about you hearing things?"  Nodoka phrased it as 
delicately as she could.
	"Voices, Ofukuro?  That is what you mean, right?" Ranma 
stated.
	Nodoka nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder, showing she 
was concerned, not judgemental.
	Ranma wouldn't meet her eyes, but he started to talk.  "It's 
kinda hard to explain, you know?  It's like feelings more than something 
you can grab and hold.  Ya see, it's not-.  That is..."  Ranma's voice 
trailed off.
	After some suitable encouragement, Ranma, though he balked, 
slowly began to explain what had happened to him.  The two spirits who 
had fought over him.  The memories he now had, of places he never 
been.  People he remembered killing, people he had never met.  Blood, 
fire.  Flowers, smiles.  Pleasure, pain.  More things.  Mako energy, and 
how his father had exposed him to it.  Memory of people close to him, 
who were long gone.  Names, barely remembered.  The blond-haired 
man, in the blue uniform.  The pain of Earth, which haunted him every 
moment of his life, even as he slept, even when he tried to block it out.  
The mystical urges of the woman.  The killing urges of the man.  The 
war they still fought in him, though he had assimilated most of them.  
On and on, Ranma rattled his disjointed memories and recollections, 
pausing only to drink from a glass of water Nodoka had left on the 
bedstand.  Sometimes, he was animated, gesturing wildly, almost 
frantically.  Other times, he was dead quiet, unblinking, as he repeated in 
a monotone the things that had happened to him.  The things the 
people in his memories had done.
	After nearly an hour of non-stop talking, Ranma finally 
subsided.
	Nodoka looked with shock at her son, horrified.  This is what 
had happened to him?  This is what he went through EVERY *DAY*?!?  
Her Darling- no, her _husband_, had mentioned some things, but this!  
Such pain.  Such sorrow.  In her mind there was no doubt, no doubt that 
her son-
	"Son, you are a man among men,"  Nodoka said softly.
	Ranma looked up at her almost fearfully, reminding Nodoka of 
a small puppy afraid of being punished.  That now-familiar ache in her 
heart appeared once more.  It shouldn't be so.  It wouldn't have been so, 
if she had been there for him.
	"What you have seen; what you have known-" Nodoka 
stopped, emotion choking her voice.
	Ranma looked in concern at his mother, starting to speak, 
before she shook her head.
	"I'm very proud of you, my son."  Nodoka said it with calm 
sureness, though husky with emotion.  "And I will love you no matter 
what happens."
	Ranma looked at his mother, a woman only vaguelly 
remembered, but always missed, and couldn't help it as his vision began 
to shimmer.  (Dammit, guys don't cry!) Ranma chastised himself.
	But despite his best efforts, as though he was on autopilot, 
Ranma found himself falling into the welcoming arms of his mother.  
Tears began to fall from his eyes, just as his shame began to increase as 
he sniffled, burying his face in her bosum, shuddering as his grief and 
loneliness poured out, the voices and cries of Earth briefly vanishing in 
the haze of emotion.
	Nodoka held the sobbing Ranma, his entire frame convulsing 
with each strangled cry.  Biting her lip and holding back her own tears, 
Nodoka moved so that Ranma could rest easier on her lap.
	Only to pump the side table near the bed, tipping it over.
	Even in the midst of his weakling bawling, Ranma felt the damp 
chillness just to the right of the small of his back.  With dreadful 
certainty, an almost terrible sense of deja-vu, Ranma felt the change, 
almost like a slipping of his muscles, and then he was a she.
	Nodoka jerked involuntarily when she felt the soft plumpness 
of her son's chest, and the swell of his hips.  It was one thing to see, 
another to feel it.  She felt Ranma curl up into a tight ball of muscles, and 
Nodoka realized she had made a serious mistakee.
	A freak.  She felt he was a freak.  He knew it.  Everyone who 
discovered his secret felt the same.  Now he had no one.  No one.  The 
tears continued to fall.
	"Shh.... It's okay Ranma.  It's okay," she started to rock him 
back and forth.  What was she supposed to do?  There wasn't anything 
in the mothering handbook on how to deal with an aquatransexual child.
	Ranma only cried harder, hearing the loathing and pitying in 
her voice.  "It's only fitting a freak like me... (sniff)... I'm crying.  I 
*should* be a girl!" Ranma sobbed.
	"What?" Nodoka asked, puzzled and sad.
	Ranma cried even harder.  "Crying is for weaklings.  Girls cry.  
I- I should be a girl!" Ranma cried aloud.
	Something in Nodoka stopped feeling sorry for Ranma, and 
instead another emotion came into that void.  Though Ranma did not 
notice, the muscles in Nodoka's arms tensed, her embrace becoming less 
motherly.  "You think so?" she asked in a too-even voice.
	Still weeping, Ranma nodded into her chest, feeling absolutely 
miserable.
	Nodoka eyes narrowed in an expression that had sent Genma 
packing a great many times.  Her head jerked forcefully to the sword 
laying in the bed.  "You know how to use that?"
	Raising his head, blurry-eyed, but focussing, Ranma followed 
her gaze to the sword.  His sorrow began to dissapate as he sensed the 
challenge in her voice, reacting as he always did to such stimulus.  He 
nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers.
	Nodoka stood up and away from Ranma.  "How about a match 
then?"


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Several hours later, Ranma lowered his sore frame onto the 
bed.  It was good to sleep in a Western style bed.  In the years on the 
road, Ranma had gotten used to them.
	Gingerly stretching, then lacing his aching fingers behind his 
head, Ranma reflected on what had just happened...


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"Come now, isn't that just a little ridiculous?" Nodoka asked.
	They were standing in an area of the back yard with a raised 
wooden platform, similar to a dojo floor, but made of thicker and harder 
wood, as well as being exposed to the elements.
	Ranma jumped up on the platform, dropping the thermos, glad 
to be a guy once more.  He was a little puzzled at the last comment his 
mother had made, then realized what his mother was referring to.
	"The size?" Ranma asked, holding up the wrapped sword he 
held.
	Nodoka nodded.
	Ranma removed the leather wrap on the sword, examining the 
blade in the fading afternoon light, the green and blue of the materia 
twinkling in the sun.  "It wasn't intended to be used on human beings," 
Ranma muttered, speaking from memory for his own sake as much as his 
mother's.  "It was crafted to slay monsters."
	Nodoka nodded, accepting that explanation for now.  She 
walked over to a shed, rummaging through the barrels of practice 
swords until she found the blades she was looking for.  Finding a match 
for Ranma's sword was hard, but she did find what she was looking for.
	Emerging, she tossed the heavy wooden construct to Ranma, 
who caught it, reeds clattering.  Nodoka selected a practice blade 
herself.  It was about the size of their family katana.
	Ranma tested the blade, giving it a few practice swings.  The 
balance was all wrong, but he could work around that.
	Nodoka shrugged her sword arm out of the kimono, leaving the 
arm with more nobility.  Turning sidewise, presenting her profile to him, 
Nodoka set her legs and feet, sword held as though sheated by her side, 
hand inches away from the hilt.  It was a pose Ranma alternately 
identified as Shinra guard position #37 and Bathow jutsu.
	"Prepare yourself," Nodoka stated in a calm voice.
	Ranma held up his practice sword uncertainly.  "Ofukuro... I 
can't fight a girl.  It just isn't right."  Ranma shrugged.
	Nodoka smirked.  "I'm a _woman_, son.  I gave birth to you 
over several painful hours of labor.  Don't expect a few bruises to bother 
me."  Nodoka tensed slightly.  "Prepare yourself."
	Ranma still balked.  "Okufuro- you're my mother!  I can't fight 
you!"
	Nodoka's face hardened.  "I am doing my duty as a mother.  
You seem to have some very false impressions of the opposite sex.  It is 
my duty to beat some sense into you.  Now, en garde."
	Ranma just gaped at her, then shook his head.  "Ofukuro... I 
_can't_."
	Nodoka barked, "Come!"
	And then she glided forward, like a breeze floating through 
autumn leaves, and then...


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"... I got my ass kicked,"  Ranma groaned out loud as he rolled 
over.
	(By my mom!) Ranma flushed, too shamed to even say it out 
loud, even though he felt a glow of pride at having two competent 
martial artists as parents.
	(What else can go wrong?) Ranma thought, as he drifted off to 
sleep, utterly exhausted.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"School?" Ranma said incredulously, looking at his mother.
	(School?) he mentally echoed his words.  First it was being 
awoken at four in the morning, then a hearty meal of odd foods, 
followed by a brisk workout, and finally this.
	"Yes, an education," Nodoka repeated, shooting a look at 
Genma, who cowered but met her gaze.
	"I know what school is!" Ranma flared, feeling he was being 
insulted.
	"Yes, Husband has said you had managed to attend school a 
decent amount of time.  But my question is if you have had an 
education?" Nodoka asked.
	"'Course I have," Ranma proclaimed, chest and pride beginning 
to swell.  He had one of the best martial arts education in the world!
	Nodoka sighed.  "Son, you *will* go to school."
	"I don't need school, Ofukuro.  I'm a martial artist."
	Nodoka gave Ranma The Look (TM), granted all mothers, and 
even many females of any age category.  The one that said to the vict..- 
er, target, that they should not disagree.
	Unfortunately, as many potential suitors, fanfic writers, and 
anime character biographers know, Ranma lacks two important skills.
	Common sense being the first.
	Which was what was coming into play here (or rather the 
deficiency of, that is).
	"So, you think you don't need school?  That my role as a 
mother, as the motivator of educational excellence, is one of failure?" 
Nodoka asked, tears starting to form.
	Behind his mother, Genma was frantically shaking his head.
	Disliking seeing girls cry, and biting back the sharp rejoiner 
that she hadn't even been *in* his life until very recently, Ranma did his 
best move when communicating with the opposite sex.
	He waffled.
	"Ah... No!  I mean... I think I mean... umm...."
	Shaking her head, Nodoka regretfully said, "I suppose I must 
act like a failed mother..."
	Ranma, in a brief surge of brilliance and memory, recalled just 
how Japanese mothers who felt they had failed in their children's 
education reacted.  "Ahh... no, no!  I'll be happy to go to school!" 
Ranma practically babbled.
	"Really?" Nodoka brightened, almost like a schoolgirl, eyes 
shining.
	"But...." Ranma said uncertainly.
	"What?" both Genma and Nodoka said in unison, growling 
ominously.
	(Unfortunately, unknown to Ranma until this moment, when 
both parents give The Look (TM), the result is not multiplied by 2 as 
one might expect, but rather was squared; thus, increased by a factor of 
2.  Even the slowest mathematician knows, depending on the base 
variable, that this tiny difference can have dramatic differences.  While 
no mathematician, Ranma was getting first hand experience with this 
empirical rule.)
	"But why?" Ranma made one last plea.
	Nodoka sighed, glaring at Genma briefly, before laying her 
hand on Ranma's own.  "Son, with what you have been through, we 
realize how difficult it might be for you to adjust.  We decided to 
introduce you to members of your own age group to help you work 
things out.  We decided against the strictness of private school, and 
voted against the high schools of Tomboki and Juuban because of the 
strangeness they both have."
	Genma and Nodoka nodded.  Nodoka said, "We decided to 
enroll you at a good, stable school.  One your father was oddly insistent 
on...."
	"That's right, boy!" Genma said, nodding, "You are going to 
Furinkan High School!  You start in an hour and a half!"
	Then again, this lack of common sense might, in fact, be a 
genetic thing.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Elsewhere, some distance away, in a different part of Tokyo, 
another household was awakening to a new day.
	"Hi-yah!" cried Akane Tendo, as she gave a fierce straight 
kick.
	Bringing her foot back down, touching the wooden ground, it 
launched up in a spin kick that took her other foot nearly a foot off the 
ground.  The foot cut the air, drawing the scents from the kitchen, 
telling her that her older sister was afoot and cooking.  Her other sister 
was undoubtably finishing her jog and footing it back to the Tendo 
home.
	The foot landed, and Akane took a brief moment to focus, 
before she launched into a kata.
	A quick punch, followed by another jab, a kick at a phantom 
opponents leg, then an upraised arm in a phantom block, a jump back, 
feet barely leaving the ground, a twist of the hips to gain strength for 
her next roundhouse kick.  The invisible foe disoriented, Akane 
launched into a Beat Rush combo, finishing the non-existent boy.
	Falling back into a guard position, Akane relaxed as she wiped 
the sweat from her brow, letting her carefully loosened muscle fall into 
normal patterns.  Sitting down, she began to do some post workout 
stretches.
	It was incredible.  Until recently, she hadn't been up to varying 
techniques, or even seriously practicing.  But inspiration had struck her.  
She now knew a whole set of new moves she was working on.  Some of 
them she had managed to chain in a combination she called the Beat 
Rush.  Her martial arts skill, after being in a slump for many years, was 
starting to recover.
	Akane sighed.  But that was all just a pretense, in many ways.  
She was still disappointed.
	The boy, their supposed fiancee, hadn't shown.
	She knew it was silly to get her hopes up over a stupid *boy*, 
but she none-the-less had.  But then the morning had reminded her of 
the ritual she would be forced to endure.  Stupid Kuno, and his stupid 
speech.  Stupid boys!
	They were pathetic, more than anything else, Akane had come 
to realize.  Simple little boys, with hormone addled minds.  Sad, really.
	What Akane wanted was not a boy, but a real man.  Someone 
like Dr. Tofu.  Strong, yet sensitive and understanding.  But more than 
anything else, Akane wanted a guy who could be her friend.  Be always 
there for her.  A good friend, willing to help her if she got in trouble.  
One who would keep a promise.
	(Even one made so long ago.)
	A bit shocked by that last thought, Akane just sighed.  That 
was a pipe dream.  She had never met a guy who could meet those 
requirements.  She could only hope.
	Akane continued to stretch, wondering if it was her 
imagination, or had her legs gotten a little longer?


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Nabiki huffed and puffed as she passed through the gates of 
the Tendo Home, heading for the Dojo.  She was dressed in a short pair 
of jogging shorts, a soaked grey T-shirt, and a white headband to keep 
the sweat out of her eyes.  It had been a gift from one of Akane's 
friends, a Kusagano Sakura.  One of Akane's friends.
	Passing across the grounds, Nabiki walked up the steps of the 
Dojo, and looked in.
	Akane was doing some kata's, briefly kicking and punching, 
but mostly flowing through the forms.  Some Nabiki recognized, most 
she did not.
	Looking at Akane, Nabiki felt the familiar surge of contempt 
that she had for her father.  Her father was generally incompetent, to say 
the least.  Kasumi had raised them more than he had.  Nabiki herself 
dealt with the family finances.  And Akane, who was to be heir to the 
dojo, the primary money-maker of the Tendo family, had scarcely been 
trained beyond the basics by their father.  After the death of their 
mother, her father had fallen apart, resting on his laurels, a course which 
had ruined the dojo.  Nabiki wasn't particularily athletically inclined 
herself, not to the degree that Akane was, but had had high hopes for 
Akane.
	Surprisingly, Akane was doing rather well.  Most of the time, 
Akane relied on brute strength, such as breaking brick, and simple 
punches and kicks, to win her fights.  Nabiki could see several chain 
katas in the fluid and relaxed movements of her sister.
	Nabiki had neglected the Art, but never abandoned it.  She had 
secretly trained herself, keeping in shape and trim, as well as learning 
the fine art of dodging, and how to perform holds.  Recently, yesterday, 
she had stepped up her efforts, and begun to train in ernest.  The first 
step, starting, had been done.  Only the next and hardest step, keeping 
with it, remained.
	Nabiki knew the reason she had decided to dedicate herself.  It 
was the fiancee that was to be arriving someday.
	Nabiki knew also how badly she had wanted it.  Wanted a 
partner, probably more than she was willing to admit.  All the attention 
the boys paid to her kid sister made her a little jealous, she was willing 
to admit.  Now Kasumi; sweet, motherly, and adult, Nabiki could 
understand.  But Nabiki also knew that she had twice the body Akane 
did.  She also smarter than Akane.  What mysterious attraction her 
younger sister held, outside the fact was untterly unattainable by any 
_boy_, Nabiki did not know.  She was vaguely amused by the futile 
efforts of the males of Furinkan High, if only she wasn't so lonely.
	When news of a fiancee, come from the wilds of China on an 
exotic journey across the world, something in Nabiki had flared to life.  
A desperate hope that he might be handsome, that he might be rich, 
might even be of a good family, or.... or...
	He might simply accept her.
	It how much she wanted to be like the other girls.  Hurt how 
much the whispers and accusations behind her back touched her.  She 
wanted to laugh, joke, and have fun.  But more, she wanted someone, 
someone she could drop her automatic defenses with, show her true self 
to; she was feeling so confined, the facade of an ice-queen or heartless 
mercenary was slowly crushing her.  She just wanted what every other 
girl wanted, someone to love and be loved by, a boy she could cuddle 
up with.
	Nabiki leaned back against the wall, feeling her muscles tense 
and her arm cross her chest and she hugged herself, sliding down the 
wall.  Her mind out a fantasy from one of her manga.  And then she 
stopped.
	That had been her problem.  She had been so full of desperate 
hope, she had gotten dressed in her best formal kimono, done up her 
hair, and eagerly awaited the arrival of the mysterious fiancee.
	Too eagerly.  Almost desperate.  When he had never shown 
(she later discovered the postcard her father had received made no 
mention of time or date), Nabiki had been crushed.
	Perhaps it had been for the best he had not shown that night.  
False expectations were always the worst.  Nabiki knew herself, and 
knew that if Mr. Fiancee was anything less than perfect, she would be 
crushed.  At worst, she would probably retreat into a shell, convinced 
love held nothing for her, becoming the heartless manipulator too many 
people saw her as.  Her capacity for self-deception would make her deny 
it, make her-
	(Deny she loved him.)
	Blinking, Nabiki stood up and wondered where that thought 
had come from.  She didn't love her fiancee;  she hadn't even met him!  
What a strange pondering that was.
	But then, she could always hope, and hold that tiny flame in 
her heart, until she found a way to make its warmth fill her.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Kasumi hummed cheerfully to herself as she busied herself in 
the kitchen.
	Soun Tendo, obstinately reading his newspaper, was not the 
most observant of men, but even he could tell something was amiss.  He 
had determined, long ago, that some things in the universe had a certain 
harmony, a certain resonance that was timeless and eternal, with a 
consistency one could set a watch to.  These things were so much so 
that even the stupidest, and most unobservant, of animals could notice 
when something was wrong, out of harmony.
	Kasumi was one of those timeless things of harmony, and right 
now, something was definitely wrong.
	It wasn't anything definite, Soun realized, as he snuck glances 
over his paper.  Small things, almost unnoticeable, unless one knew 
what to look for.  Soun noticed the small changes, ones that added up.
	Kasumi's hair was _perfectly_ arranged, as opposed to _very 
carefully_ arranged, which was the norm.
	The dress that Kasumi was wearing was one of her nice outfits, 
to be sure, but it had undergone some alterations, ones that a diligent 
father like Soun would notice.  The bodice was tighter and more defined, 
the neckline was a little lower than it had been to show a little cleavage, 
and there was now a slit up one side of the dress.
	Though with any other man, it would be gawking and staring, 
Soun Tendo saw his daughters as being his precious children, and 
regarded them with an appraising eye.  It seemed Kasumi, already a 
blossoming young woman, seemed to have grown in bust size.  
(Unknown to Soun, in her last trip to the market, Kasumi had discovered 
something.  It was an American invention of unparalleled joy to Asian 
women (actually, women everywhere), simple, effective, and cheap.  It 
was every woman's best friend.  It was... the Wonderbra (TM)!)
	And there, on her cheeks and lashes, so light as to be nearly 
unnoticeable, was the unmistakable signs of make-up.  Soun blinked.  
Kasumi *never* wore make-up casually; only on very special 
occasions.
	Then there was her poise.  I held confidence now, along with 
aura of supreme wisdom and peace.  It was the smile, Soun decided.  
Not the vapid smile of mindlessly enjoying domestic tasks Kasumi 
usually showed.
	No, this smile held an honest warmth at the simple pleasure of 
being alive, of breathing.  The smile of a goddess.
	But he was her father, the man of the house.  He had to take 
things into account.
	Folding his paper, Soun placed his hands on the table.  He 
cleared his throat.  "Kasumi?"
	Turning, Kasumi turned to her father and smiled.
	Faced with the sudden radiance of a beautiful young woman 
smiling, Soun panicked, then grinned.  "Some more rice, Kasumi?"
	Kasumi smiled, "Hai, otto-san."
	Breathing a sigh of relief, Soun returned to his paper.  (My 
daughter), he reminded himself.  (Remember, she is your daughter.)
	Oblivious to the inner struggle, Kasumi hummed happily to 
herself.  She had been feeling so wonderful recently.  It seemed as 
though the planet itself was singing to her.  Talking to her.  She could 
feel the pain of the world, but even more, she could hear the eternal 
harmony of eternity.  Sighing, Kasumi listened to the song of the birds 
outside, as they told each other, empathically, of the places they had 
been, and the food they had found.  Kasumi giggled as she heard one of 
them, ignored by the others, claim it had eaten a dog.  Silly, silly bird!
	Kasumi thought about herself.  Silly, silly Kasumi.  So eager 
and fearful at the prospect of a fiancee, she had vacillated, unable to 
decide what to do.  After a good night of sleep and calm, Kasumi 
realized what a fool she had been.  She was the oldest of the family; it 
was her duty to marry for family honor.  And a marriage was her ticket 
out of this life.
	She enjoyed helping people, cooking and cleaning, but she 
also had realized, since yesterday, how that was hurting her family.  Her 
father did nothing, relying on her to deal with Akane and Nabiki.  She 
had become a substitute mother and wife.  And that was not good.  She 
coddled her father when he broke into tears.  Like a mother with a baby, 
making things alright, so he wouldn't cry.
	And Akane.  She knew nothing of domestic affairs.  Her 
cooking was toxic, her homemaking skills a joke.  All because Kasumi 
did everything.  And no one controlled that temper of hers.  She was 
too removed from reality.
	Nabiki.  She was the opposite.  Too cemented in reality, seeing 
the nitty-gritty.  Her dreams, her hopes; they were dying.  Nabiki had 
become the driving force of the family, while Kasumi was the glue.  Time 
for Nabiki to remember she was a teenage girl.
	Just as it was time for Kasumi herself to remember that so too 
was she.
	Humming happily, Kasumi smiled.  She had a solution, and 
plan.
	Now to implement it.
	(And make things go *her* way this time.)


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Ranma scratched the high collar of his new school uniform, 
which his mother had somehow gotten for him.  The thing was hot, 
scratchy, and hard to move in, lacking the flexibility and give necessary 
for a martial artists outfit.
	"Do I have to wear this?" Ranma empathically requested of his 
mother  (Not whined; real men don't whine, they tell others what to do.)
	Her gaze even, Nodoka nodded, "Yes.  And I expect you to be 
on your best behaviour, and do honor onto your family name."
	Sighing, as those words had the finality of judge pronouncing 
sentence to Ranma, Ranma nodded in turn, answering, "Hai, ofukuro."
	Hands on her hips, Nodoka looked sternly at her son, even as 
inside she smiled.  He looked so handsome in a school uniform!  And 
with a decent education and the friendly atmosphere of schoolmates, 
his problems should be lessoned.  But now to lay down the law.
	"First of all, did you remember the thermos?" Nodoka asked.
	"Got 'em," Ranma answered, raising the two impact-resistant 
cylinders.  He had to admit, that was pretty smart of his mom.  He 
probably wouldn't have thought of that.
	"Second, remember: only use your skills, martial or otherwise, 
when necessary,"  Nodoka said.  "I mean it, young man!"
	"Yeah, yeah,"  Ranma grumbled.  Martial arts was his lifeblood.  
Being denied it was like losing an eye or ear.  But if his mother wanted 
him to restrict his activities, he would.
	"Third, remember to be polite and respectful,"  Nodoka 
cautioned.
	"Geez, I got it already!" Ranma said hotly, then lowered his 
eyes as he saw the reproach in his mother's eyes.
	Nodoka stopped, lacking anything more to say, when she 
noticed that Ranma had his sword along with his bag and thermos.  
"And no sword!  This is a school, not a samurai hall!"
	"_No_" Ranma said with a voice like glacial ice, his eyes going 
green as he glared at his mother.
	Nodoka surpressed a sudden surge of fear, meeting his gaze, 
about to retort, when she felt a pressure on her arm.  Looking to her 
side, she saw her husband, eyes serious, shaking his head.  Realizing 
she would not win this, she said with exasperation, "He can't go around 
town with a sword!"
	Genma raised an eyebrow, looking behind her at the ancestral 
sword on the display.  "Do what you do No-chan.  Wrap it."
	Nodoka closed her mouth with a clack of teeth, angry.  She 
calmed herself.  "Alright then."  She raised a stern finger at Ranma, "But 
no using that sword, do you understand me, young man?"
	Bashful now, the blue-eyed Ranma scratched the back of his 
head and nodded, "Sure, Ofukuro."
	In the meantime, Genma had gotten a khaki cloth, which Ranma 
wrapped both his sword and umbrella/staff in.  Finally, his gear 
together, Ranma turned to leave.
	Nodoka grabbed Ranma in a fierce hug, suddenly afraid to see 
him walk out the door, and disappear, like he had ten years ago.  Tears 
in her eyes, she whispered, "Be careful, my son."
	"Don't worry, Ofukuro.  I'll be fine," Ranma replied.
	Genma wordlessly handed Ranma his bag and bundle after 
Nodoka and Ranma finished their embrace.  With a hearty clap on the 
back, Genma sent him on his way.
	Ranma walked down the street, going nearly a block, before he 
turned and looked back at his parents, who stood watching him in the 
doorway.  Raising one hand, he bid them fairwell, then turned and 
walked on.
	For once, Ranma actually felt good.  Even in a polluted, 
wasteful country like Japan, the cries of Mother Earth were there, but 
they were only in the background, like the sound of traffic.  The sun 
was in the sky.  The air, though laiden with chemicals, was good.  And it 
looked as though he might have a fresh start.
	School wasn't very appealing, but it could be worse.  At the 
least favorable scenario, he would be bored out of his mind.  At the 
best, he would enjoy it.  And the thought of a co-ed school made 
Ranma both nervous and eager for some reason.
	After all, it was only school.
	What could possibly go wrong?



End Fragment Two of Resurrected Memories.


All right, thats all for now.  Next:

Ranma goes to school!  Meeting with the Tendos, and Kuno!  Materia 
misplaced, strange encounters, and more, as Ranma finds his problems 
only beginning!

"Sephiroth-sempai, I would train under you!"

Fragment Three of Resurrected Memories!  Coming soon to the FFML, 
whenever I manage to finish it!


All comments and criticisms.  Despite the false alarms, I can still be 
reached as Curtiss Nelson at curtiss@seattleu.edu