Subject: [FFML] [fanfic][Ranma][REPOST] Part II-1 Spreading Wings.
From: Don Granberry
Date: 1/8/2000, 5:51 PM
To: ffml@fanfic.com
Reply-to:
lunohoco@lunohoco.com



Attached here is a REPOST of Part II: Scene 1 of Spreading Wings.

This should correct the grammatical errors and there are a number of
changes I made to make it read better. There is also some added text
intended to improve the emotional impact of the piece.

C&C is welcome.

Thanks in advance for your time and attention,


Don Granberry.

Most of the characters in this piece and the setting for it, were
conceived of by Rumiko Takahashi for her Ranma1/2 series of Manga. All
such characters and the setting are the property of Takahashi-san and
her licensees. All other characters in the piece are purely fictional
and any resemblences to actual persons living or dead are purely
coincidental.

Spreading Wings
Part II: A Canon in D
Scene 1:  Revised and Reposted


       "Computer! I am William Warden Tendo. My voice is my password.
Please open my personal journal."

       "Ohayou, Biru-san. Journal open. Today is Tuesday, May 10, 2020.
The time is now 08:10:30. Shall I take dictation?"

       "Please do."

       "Standing by."

       "Hold journal entry. Please retrieve student file, Nichiro
Ogawa."

       "Retrieving...on display."

       "Enter log. The psychological evaluations of Nichiro Ogawa
demonstrate that he suffers mildly from alluraphobia. Given that this
young man is very likely going to complete his training soon, I will
schedule an appointment for him with Dr. Tofu. If he can be trained to
use the Nekko-ken without undue harm himself, we will ask him if he
wishes to volunteer for the training. Fortunately, it is no longer
necessary to use real cats. Hold log."

       "Computer?"

       "Yes, Biru-san?"

       "Retrieve performance evaluations of students being instructed by
Hana Saotome."

       "Retrieving...Biru-san?"

       "Yes, computer?"

      "You're 08:15 appointment is arriving on time. She is at the gate
now."

       "Very well. Let her in and direct her to the reception area."

       "Working. Student evaluation files for students instructed by
Hana Saotome completely retrieved. Do you wish them to be displayed in
alphabetical order?"

       "No. Arrange them by evaluation scores in ascending order,
please."

       "Display complete. Your 08:15 appointment is now in the reception
area."

       "Thank you, computer. Please retrieve available training videos
for the first ten students on this list."

       "Working...Do you wish them arranged in the same order?"

      "Key video clips by student name, arranged in chronological order
please, computer."

      "Working...Your 08:15 appointment is waiting for you in the
reception area."

      "Thank you, computer. Please continue working while I take care of
this appointment."

       "Computer confirms. Retrieval of video clips continuing.
Biru-san?"

       "Yes, computer?"

       "A reminder is in order at this time. Your flight to Okinawa
leaves at eleven-hundred hours local time. You will need to depart for
Tokyo harbor no later than 10:15."

       "Thank you, computer. Please que in a fifteen minute warning."

       "Computer confirms. Fifteen minute warning enque-ed. Have a nice
visit, Biru-san."

       Have a nice visit, indeed! I hate talking to reporters. I
wouldn't give 'em the time of day if Nabs didn't insist on it. Trouble
is, she's right about ingnoring 'em and I know it.  So I get on the
elevator and ride down to the ground floor, trying stop my stomach from
tying itself into knots. We have a room just to handle public relations
and this reporter is already there, waiting on me. At least this
interview is about the past and not current events. I never handle the
hot stuff alone. I am too prone to say what I think and that can cause
no end of trouble--and no end is just exactly what I mean. A
Tendo-Kobiyashi executive can stir up more trouble with a simple
pronouncement than can most heads of state. It is an unmitigated pain in
the ass. I start to hurry once the elevator reaches the ground floor.
This reporter has been waiting around long enough for  her imagination
to begin dreaming up too many embarrassing questions. I hate it when
they do that. I open the door to find this newspuke staring at
Onna-Ranma's portrait. I breathe a sigh of relief. If she sticks to
questions about it, I'll get off easy. She does.

        "Well you see, the artist was a big fan of Bierstadt. He wanted
to paint landscapes of Japan the same way Bierstadt did of the Americas,
" I tell her with a semi-rueful grin. "He only did enough portraiture to
support his landscape habit. 'Course, his landscapes go for a ton of
money nowadays."

       She doesn't know it, but I now have her right where I want her.
By the time she drags this story out of me, it will be time for me to
leave.

      "No, not normally. He only painted this portrait on a large canvas
because it was the only spare canvas he had at the time. He wasn't
originally supposed to do a portrait of Ranma Saotome. I had hired him
to paint a portrait of Nabiki Tendo."

       The way I prefer to handle reporters is to get them curious about
stuff I don't mind talking about. I have tons of stuff I hate to talk
about and won't, unless it simply cannot be avoided. No, I'm not ashamed
of anything...well not too many things. We all make mistakes, but the
life of anyone living in Nerima for more than a month is complicated and
hard to explain. I have been here for a hell of lot longer than a month.

      "No, we were not married at the time. Nabiki's portrait was
supposed to have been part of a business deal. She of course, figured
out a way to make even more money out of the deal by somehow encouraging
Ranma to pose for the artist while she was...ah...unavoidably detained."

       I laugh at this question. It almost always comes up. They are
always disappointed with the answer. The truth is often disappointing
for reporters and other conspiracy theorists. Nabs has a dirty little
secret that no one but me knows about. Now that she is rich, she is
generous to a fault.

      "Nabs has never welshed on a deal in her life that I know about.
She always delivers what she promised. You just have to be careful to
understand what it is she's promising to deliver. She may even deliver a
little extra, but only if it works out better for her and the company.
You'd be surprised how often she comes out looking generous."

       Oh, yeah right! They always ask this one as well. Usually in this
exact order. Dammit all! I don't really mind answering this one, but why
do they always make such a big deal of it? It is not as though I had
been coerced, nor  was it because I was broke. Fucking reporters!

       "Ah...well...ensuring that there is a male heir in every
generation is not a matter of great concern to Americans like me, so my
becoming muyokoshi was a matter of little consequence as far as I was
concerned. Such a thing is however, a matter of great importance to
Japanese families. Soun Tendo did not have a son. By accepting adoption
into the Tendo Clan, I got Nabiki in the bargain. What other mere mortal
could count himself so lucky as me?"
       Oh good. She wants to know more about the painting. That's a lot
better. For a minute there I was afraid we were going to get into the
rigmarole over why I married so late in life.

       "No, it doesn't belong to the company. The protrait belongs to
Sanchiro Kuno. Tatewaki-kun left it to him as a final wish. It has been
here since the building was completed though, because Kuno-san was still
living in Shikoku at the time and has never had a place of his own
wherein it could be properly displayed."

       Will he ever claim it and take it home? I have often wondered
about that myself. I suspect it will probably stay here until well after
I'm dead and buried. Sanchiro never comes in here and Nabiki is at least
as fond of it as I am. It always brings back a flood of memories, both
happy and sad. Besides, Sanchiro-kun and Hana-chan have gotten pretty
damned close to one another over the last couple of years. Why would
Sanchiro want a mere portrait when he will likely be living with a
nearly perfect duplicate of this portrait's subject? Such conjectures
are not fit for the ears of reporters, however.

      "He may, but I doubt if he will do so anytime soon," I tell the
reporter, "He is scheduled to begin his graduate studies at MIT next
fall. I doubt that he will want to take it with him."

      Okay, good! Now we can get down to brass tacks. I can tell the
story straight out and eat up plenty of time with it. Then I can rush
out of here being "late" for my flight.

       "Neither Tatewaki Kuno nor I commissioned this portrait. Nabiki
did," I tell her as I hold up a hand so she will let me finish. "I think
it best if you hear the whole story first, then ask questions. Otherwise
doth quick, bright things come to confusion."

       I can tell I've got her by the nose now. The look on her face is
unmistakable. She turns back around to take in Ranma's portrait some
more. I can't blame her for that! It is a breathtaking work of art. I
wait for a moment and let her regard the work. She has to crane her
kneck to see all of it. There are not too many rooms it will fit into,
seeing as how it is nearly ten-feet tall. Ah well, time to move on with
this.

       "Computer!"

       "Yes, Biru-san."

       "Have someone bring us some coffee, would you please?"

       "Working...Biru-san?"

       "Yes, computer?"

       "The video clips are now retrieved and arranged per your request.
Do you want me to do anything else with them?"

       "No...check command! Yes! Download them to my laptop, please.
I'll review them in Okinawa."

       "Hai, Biru-san. Downloading now...will there be anything else?"

       "Negative! Just monitor as usual, computer."

       "Computer confirms."

       The reporter looks as though she has thought of a new question so
I rush into telling my tale. I'm fairly sure she will have forgotten to
ask it by the time I'm finished. The story of Onna-Ranma's portrait is
rather moving.

       "The artist was a relative unknown at the time, but he was
already going by the name Iro Koi. A sort of cross-cultural pun I
suppose. Anyway, I had stumbled across him well before I met Dr. Tofu
and the Tendos. I liked his work and unlike a lot of artists, he was a
pretty outgoing sort of person. I suspect though that he had settled in
Nerima for pretty much the same reason everyone who enters Nerima and
never leaves does. Here he was considered to be so normal as to be
mundane. Anywhere else in Japan he would have been counted among those
annoying eccentrics you wished would go elsewhere to live."

        This last gets a smirk out of the reporter. She knows full well
what I am talking about. You can get ostracized in a Japanese
neighborhood for mowing your grass on a diffferent day from everyone
else, nevermind being someone who paints landscapes on three by two
meter canvases for a living.

       "He had a store front here on the north side of Nerima at the
time. It did not have a proper skylight, but the building across the
steet had a new type of plastic siding that was the most blinding white
you have ever seen. It reflected enough light through the glass
storefront that he could work on his paintings for about four hours a
day. Anyway, I had taken him and his sketch pad with me on a couple of
fishing trips and I had bought some of his smaller paintings for the
house I was renting. Naturally, once I had become aquainted with Nabiki
and we had gotten into this little deal that involved her posing for a
portrait, he was the artist I hired to do the job."

        I had of course, anticipated the reporter's next question. It
was inevitable. It involved things I do not really mind talking about
that much, but Nabs doesn't like me talking about it to outsiders.

       "Please, one story at a time!" I say to the reporter with a
friendly grin, "It is hard enough for me to keep this one straight, even
without a digression.

       She nodded her acquiescence. I was shamelessly using a sort of
mental judo on her. Reporters are consumed with curiosity. It is their
main strength. I always endeavor to use an opponent's strength to my
advantage. It almost always works.

       "This had been one of the busiest times of our lives. We had just
finished preparing the launch of our rescue mission into Qinghai.
Everyone was fairly keyed up. I must tell you, Nabs was at the height of
her beauty during those hectic days. Most people's looks decline when
the pressure is on, but that isn't true for Nabs. She thrives on it. It
was the perfect time to freeze her appearance in oils and it was the
worst time. It was the perfect time because she was at the height of her
powers. It was the worst time because a mere second well used was as
valuable to us as a good diamond, but I insisted. Iro Koi would come
over and set up his easel in the dojo at the prescribed times, and she
would try to sit for him. It's funny. He hates cellular telephones to
this very day."

      The reported nodded, giving me a knowing grin. I'm sure she had a
love-hate relationship with them herself. She, in all probability uses
one, but finds them a nuisance whenever someone she is trying to
interview is constantly answering one of the damned things. Very few
people are like me nowadays. I do not carry one around with me unless I
am going to be away from my desk for more than two hours. Whenever you
come into my office, plan on turning your cellular telephone off. I will
throw the kami-cursed thing out the window. I never allow interruptions
during my appointments unless the matter is a dire emergency. I use the
time scheduled between appointments to take telephone calls.

       This means a great many people seeking my attention never get it,
but there are only so many hours in a day and only so much of me to go
around. More importantly, if you have done a good job of hiring, half
the people wanting your attention are merely seeking reassurance. I
answer almost two-thirds of my telephone traffic with brief notes sent
via e-mail. Seldom do I find it necessary to include instruction in
those little notes. They are usually just a formal acceptance of
decisions made by my subordinates. If they do not hear from me, the
majority of them have the good sense to make a decision and do what they
must. Believe me, it really does work out for the best. Every other
approach I have ever tried ended up with me working myself into an
intractable morass while becoming completely exhausted. Big business is,
out of necessity, a collaborative art. Hire the talent and let the
talent have elbow room. You will live a longer, happier life that way.

       "Iro Koi tells me that he was waiting for Nabiki in the dojo when
in walked Onna-Ranma, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts and
muttering something under his breath about water and pigs. Iro-kun just
had to capture this profoundly beautiful visage on canvas. He dared not
use the canvas he had begun for Nabiki, so he grabbed the one he had out
in his little van. The portrait you see before you here is painted over
a nearly completed Iro Koi landscape. What was started as Matsushima
During a Full Moon, became Osage no Onna to Sakura."

       The reporter gasped, gratifying me by being suitably impressed.
Sometimes the simple, unadorned truth can be as thrilling as it is
disappointing.

       "But that is by no means all of the story, not by a long shot!
Ranma was by no means inclined to pose for the awestruck Iro Koi and
would not have, had it not been for Nabiki walking in on
their...ah..discussion. Even with Nabiki's insistence, Iro-kun did not
have a lot of time to capture the Osage no Onna's form on canvas. Ranma
was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof at the time.

       That slightly haunted and distant stare you see in this great
work was not the result of mere boredom. He was staring out at far off
Qinghai and the dangers soon to come. We had already done an enormous
amount of training and intelligence work. By the time this happened,
Ranma-kun knew all too well what he was about to face. While Iro-kun had
him sitting for this portrait, all we were waiting for was the signal to
go. Tofu had been threatening Ranma with a dose thorazine if he did not
stop doing kata for twelve hours at a stretch."

       The reporter gives me a kind of wan smile, as though I were
talking about stage fright or something. I try not to grit my teeth. We
were all scared completely spitless. If not frightened of what might
happen to us personally, we were frightened by what we might have to do.
Ranma was especailly frightened. I had to do the flying and help Nabs
hold things together in Japan. This meant that Ranma would have to call
all the shots while on the ground in China. I felt for him. I remember
all too well what it was like being a shavetail. It ain't no fun being
the boss when the shit gets hot. Ranma was just then beginning to learn
how bad it could be, but there is no point in trying to explain it all
to this reporter. She lacks the background to understand and will never
get it across to her readers.

      "When I arrived at the dojo that afternoon, this magnificent work
you see here was just a color sketch of a half-naked Onna-Ranma," I say
to the reporter, "I was annoyed at Iro Koi for painting over the
landscape. He was trying to explain to me why he had been painting a
portrait of Ranma instead of Nabs, which was not my point at all, when
in walks Tatewaki Kuno. Kuno starts demanding to know how much the
artist wants for the portrait, incomplete though it was. While I am
arguing with Kuno and Iro Koi, Nabs gets involved and declares that she
commissioned the painting and that it was not for sale until she
approved it."

      Then the reporter asked me what anyone who knew anything of Nerima
would have asked, making me laugh out loud. For some reason or another,
I had never really considered what should have ensued that day.

        "No, not that time. Maybe we were just lucky that day or...maybe
we were all too tired, but no, the dojo didn't suffer any major damage
and Iro Koi took both canvases back to his little makeshift studio
intact. The next time I saw this portrait, it was as complete as you see
it now, with most of the Osage no Onna's flesh covered with cherry
blossoms and background color. Iro-kun had called Nabs to tell her it
was finished while we were eating lunch, so both of us went to his
studio to have a look at it. Iro, the crafty bugger, had called Kuno as
well. He got there about the same time as Nabs and I did. The trouble
started almost immediately. I was as awestruck by this piece as Kuno
was. Not quite for the same reasons as Kuno mind you, but I wanted it
just as badly."

       The reporter wants to know if Nabs got jealous. The truth is she
did, but never let on about it at the time. I found out about it later.
Let me give you a little tip. You can walk very, very far out on very
thin ice with Nabiki without ever realizing it. When you do finally
figure out that you have screwed up, it is too late. You will die in
agony many times thereafter. How Tatewaki survived for so many years is
incomprehensible to me. The only thing anyone can possibly do to make
themselves more miserable is to annoy Nabiki's sister, Kasumi. Ask Ryoga
Hibiki about that sometime.

       If you are irretrievably masochistic and simply must annoy one of
the Sisters Tendo, please do have the good sense to aggravate Akane.
With her, one merely needs to know how to prevent the bends and how to
maintain adequate serum oxygen levels as he or she rapidly exceeds an
altitude of thirty-thousand feet. Just to be extra safe, one should also
know how to use one's ki in lieu of ablative shielding during reentry.
Assuming you have had the foresight to train in advance, Akane's anger
will cause you far less discomfort than will the wrath of her elder
siblings.

       Happosai? Well I will not here declare him dead, but it is a
known fact that he has been in geosynchronous orbit for some twenty
years now. No, I have never managed to acquire a clear account of the
incident from either Akane or Ukyo. I am reasonably sure Ranma was
present at the time, but he swears up and down that he was unconscious.
Happy had neither a radio nor a cellular telephone on him at the time,
so I have not been able to talk to him about it--not that he would ever
tell anyone the complete truth about such an affair. In a way, I am very
glad that he did not have one of our solar powered field phones. I am
sure he would have driven us to complete distraction with nuisance calls
by now. I must also admit to harboring a strong suspicion that it was
Nabiki who set the old codger up for his prolonged stay on orbit, but I
have been careful to avoid finding conclusive proof. I have no desire to
find myself in the permanent company of Happosai. So I tell the reporter
as little as possible about this subject.

       "She was mildly aggrieved as I recall from later events, " I tell
the reporter, "but the fact that Tatewaki paid almost ten times as much
for the painting as she had expected, seems to have saved my life. You
see, Kuno and I got into a very brief, but exceedingly expensive bidding
war. The truly strange thing about this painting was Ranma's reaction to
the cherry blossoms. I never did get him to explain why they upset him
so much. If he ever tells you, I'd appreciate your giving me a ring."

       The reporter tries to touch one of the most poignant of our
keepsakes on the narrow table that sits right below Onna-Ranma's
portrait, and I have to warn her off.

       "Please, don't touch that. It is much more fragile than it
appears and fingerprints will cause the metal to rust."

       She wants to know about it of course. I sigh.

       "It is an AK-47. It was carried by a Chinese soldier Tatewaki-kun
killed when he attacked Ranma-kun from behind. Kuno cut the rifle in two
with his katana. It was a remarkable feat all said and done. Kuno was
suffering from advanced peritonitis at the time, and you can see that
the cut is perfectly clean. It runs right way through the rifle's action
including the bolt, which is made of very tough, durable steel. I later
examined the sword under a microscope. It was not
damaged...Huh?...oh...Yes, of course Sanchiro-kun keeps both the Kuno
family blades in his possession. Family honor demands it."

       Did Kuno know? I am certain that Kuno knew about Ranma's curse,
just I as am equally certain he did not fully understand it. What
remains unclear on the matter, is how long did Kuno know? I did not know
these two young men during their teen years, but it is difficult for me
to believe that Kuno did not have the matter sorted out early on. After
all, I dueled with Kuno twice. He became a major investor in the company
I helped to found, and I got to know him quite well as we trained for
the China Mission. There were no serious flaws in the boy's intellect
once you got him off the subject of his love life, or the lack of same.
I long ago concluded that he hoped to somehow impress Onna-Ranma so
much, that she would take over from Otoko-Ranma and fall in love with
him. What poor Kuno did not understand, was that there really was no
Onna-Ranma, at least not the sort of Onna-Ranma he percieved. Looking at
this portrait, I can readily forgive him his confusion--and his
obsession. And I am eternally grateful that I never fell into the same
trap. I think too, that Ranma came to fully understand the impact of his
curse on others for the very first time that sad day.

      But how much of the true story about Kuno and Ranma, if any, does
one relate to a vapid newspuke? Just enough to get by I should think.
More than that will cause Sanchiro and the rest of us a ship load of
heartache. Life is entirely too short for such nonsense.

       "I am certain that Kuno came to understand the nature of Ranma's
curse in the end," I tell the reporter, "Kuno spoke his last, dying
words to Ranma while Ranma was in his male form.  He said to Ranma and I
quote, I love you. And I will love you forever...then he did die. He
died with his boots on and his sword in his hand. But you need to
understand and make no mistake about this, it was the female Ranma that
Kuno had fallen in love with. You tell it any other way and I will be
thoroughly upset."

      The reporter tries to make reassuring noises, but I want to be
certain she understands the gravity of our sentiments. I take a deep
breath in hopes of controlling my voice because I have decided to tell
her something I have never told anyone outside the families.

       "Every spring, once the Kwanto has clouded over pink with cherry
petals and the air is sweet with their perfume, Ranma, Akane, Nabiki and
I go visit Kuno. We always take a thermos of hot sake, with a fifth cup,
and a basket loaded down with mochi cakes, and we stay there all
afternoon rain or shine. We take our time telling him about how well his
kids are doing and how we are doing and what have you."

        I can feel my face turning read and my eyes sting, but somehow I
manage to keep my voice steady. Our visit with Kuno was particularly
sweet this year. We are all certain of Hana's feelings for Sanchiro,
even though neither of them has said anything. I have a sneaking hunch
she's afraid to talk to Ranma about it. It is we think though, just a
matter of time before one or the other of them gets up enough courage to
broach the subject with him. This is the last thing I want the reporter
to know about.

       "Ranma always tries to get there in his male form, but one of us,
usually Akane or me, sees to it that he gets splashed with cold water on
our way to the graveyard. It has become something of a traditional
ceremony."

       By now the ache in my throat makes my voice quiver and I hate it,
but this is a point that must be driven home.

       "Every year I buy Kuno a new bokken to leave in place of the one
I left by his headstone the year before. We go way out of our way to do
right by the memory of Tatewaki Kuno. We would appreciate it if you
would do the same."

       She nods at me as she tears up a little, but she has one more
question. Reporters always have one more question so I don't mind, it is
almost time for me to go, but then she manages to exasperate me no end.
What is it that I really see in this painting, she wants to know. Nuts!
How can the woman stare at it all morning and not see what there is for
anyone to see in such a great work? Hasn't she any taste at all? She is
Japanese! She ought to at least understand about the young girl and the
cherrry blossoms! Shit! So I wax about as eloquent as any other denizen
of Nerima. I work myself up into the best Kuno imitation I can muster
and yell:

"Sakura da!"






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