you've got some serious formatting problems here. They're going
to make this fic difficult to read if they aren't solved somehow.
Tangent
----- Original Message -----
From: <FlashFyre5@aol.com>
To: <ffml@anifics.com>
Sent: Monday, October 08, 2001 10:22 PM
Subject: [FFML] [Ranma/DBZ][2ndBet] Roshi's Story, Prelude
Author’s Note: This is an idea. This is only an idea. If people
like the idea, the idea will be continued. However, this is only an idea
that I’ve had floating around in my head for a little while. You want
the real meaning of this? Fine; the feedback I receive will determine if
theis fic gets written or not. Thank you.
Disclaimer: DBZ does not belong to me. If I claimed that it did, , then
I’d be both a liar and a target for massive, painful, and expensive
litigation. Thus, I openly admit that it does not belong to me. FUNimation
owns it. Go bother them about licensing. Ranma belongs to Rumiko
Takahashi, not me. Go bother her about licensing. I’m just borrowing
everybody.
Flashfyre5 Presents
A Flaming Amarant Production
In association with Digital Wizardry Studios, Minnesota
Roshi’s Story, Prelude: Wha-? My Story?
* * * * * *
The Spirit looked around Mimir’s Well, taking in the modest
gathering of Gods, Demi-Gods, and Greater Spirits that had gathered to
participate in the Second Bet. Some timelines had already produced quite
interesting results, even though the timeframe was only halfway gone.
Smiling, the Spirit approached Mimir’s Well, where a small red fox and
a black cat rested.
“I’m here to make an entry,” he stated flatly, his
tail curling around his waist. The fox raised his head and looked him over.
He wasn’t particularly tall, standing at 5’8”, but he was
remarkable in almost every other way. His most obvious trait was a mane of
wild ebony hair that hung well past his waist. His face was chiseled, as if
from alabaster, and bore what seemed to be a semi-permanent sneer. He was
well muscled, and wore a heavy breastplate complete with groin, thigh, and
shoulder guards. Around his waist, wrapped like a belt, was a fuzzy, brown
tail. Floating over his head was a simple, golden ring.
“Who’re you?” Great Fox asked groggily. This roused
Toltiir, who merely looked the newcomer over, then went back to sleep.
“My name’s Raditz, and I’m here to make an
entry,” the man re-stated. Great Fox sniffed at his aura, then rested
his head back on the ground.
“You’re not strong enough to be a Greater Spirit. Go
away,” Great Fox commanded. Raditz clenched his fists, one of which
held a blue rubber ball. The rubber squeaked, but he let up before it
broke. Suddenly, in an explosion of noise, wind, and light, his black hair
suddenly turned blond, and his eyes blue. A golden corona flared into
existence around him, and he relaxed his grip on the rubber ball, lest he
break it. The noise and light had caught Great Fox’s attention, and
even Toltiir had chosen to crack an eye at the display of power.
“How about now?” Raditz asked simply. Great Fox looked at
him for a while, then nodded.
“Just as long as you don’t make an apocalyptic timeline.
We have... another entry that’s done that just fine,” Great Fox
warned.
“Hey!” Shouted a silver robot from across the room, but he
was ignored.
“Fine, take all the fun out of it,” Raditz sneered,
smiling. Great Fox hoped that he was joking. Regardless, Raditz flew above
Mimir’s well, clutching the ball.
“I already know what I want to do,” he stated. “Put
the baseline on top of the well, like oil. This ball represents my home
timeline,” he instructed. Great Fox was skeptical, but complied.
“Crossover or fusion?” Great Fox asked.
“Crossover,” Raditz answered. “Hopefully, I can hit
the bottom...” Mightily, he wound up, then hurled the ball into the
well with all his might. It disappeared beneath the surface with a great
splash and disappeared from sight, as the future of the baseline was altered
in small, yet significant ways. Silently, Raditz waited, watching the pool
intently.
“That thing is bottomless, you know,” Great Fox commented,
hopping on to the lip of the well.
“Nothing’s bottomless,” Raditz said.
“It’s impossible. Anybody’ll tell you that.”
“And changing the course of history is possible?” Great
Fox countered. Raditz, knowing better than to attack a God, held his temper
and his retort. Another tense minute passed, but Raditz didn’t move
an inch. Great Fox, by now, had returned to sleep, but Toltiir had sat up,
and was watching Raditz with interest.
“What’re you trying to do?” he asked.
“I want to be able to claim to be the first being to do
something I thought of a while ago. Something that nobody’s done, or
even tried to do,” Raditz said.
“Meaning?” Toltiir prompted.
“I want to change the course of a timeline in just the right
areas so that it completely changes course, and joins another
cluster,” Raditz said, almost as if he’d rehearsed it.
“You mean, you want to use a crossover to have the same effect
as a fusion?” Toltiir asked.
“Basically. I looked at the baseline, and if I add a few people
from my world and change one person’s course in life, I think that I
can relocate it to my home cluster,” Raditz said.
“Interesting. Who’re you adding?” Toltiir asked.
“Goku, Piccolo, Kami, and a couple of others that just
aren’t native to the planet. That’s my big splash,”
Raditz said. Suddenly, the rubber ball popped out of the well, ricocheted
off the ceiling, and fell into Raditz’s waiting hand. Toltiir
whistled, which was an impressive feat for a cat.
“No many have been able to hit the bottom of Mimir’s Well.
Nice arm,” Toltiir commented.
“I’m a Super Saiyan,” Raditz stated simply. Toltiir
shook his head, smiling.
“So, what did the other splash do?” he asked.
“Changed one person’s life. Without him, Goku
would’ve been killed, and Frieza would’ve eventually stumbled
across, and destroyed, Earth,” Raditz explained.
“Like in the baseline,” Toltiir nodded. Then, he looked
carefully at the pool, and the ripples that were coming from the splashes.
“Well,” he decided. “Whatever else happens, this should
be interesting.”
* * * * * *
“Kurillen, Eighteen, we’re here!” Gohan called, his
voice cracking just a hair. At fifteen, the young man could hardly help it.
At his side, walking with a grace that few martial artists three times his
age could muster, was Goten. Behind them stood Chi Chi, a smile gracing her
face as well.
“Gohan, Chi Chi, great to see you!” Kurillen shouted,
grabbing Gohan’s hand in greeting.
“Uncle Kurillen, Uncle Kurillen, I’m here too!”
Goten said, patting Kurillen’s thigh. The short man let go of
Gohan’s hand and lifted Goten high over his head, the little
five-year-old squealing all the way.
“So you are, kiddo. Wow, you’ve really grown,”
Kurillen said.
“Three whole inches!” Goten bragged. “Mama says
that I’ve still got a lot to go, though.”
“It’s good to see you, Kurillen,” Chi Chi said,
smiling.
Kurillen lowered Goten to rest in the crook of his arm and replied
warmly, “It’s good to see you too, Chi Chi. It’s been too
long.”
“Since Goten was born,” she agreed, as Gohan slipped by
the two adults into the house.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, seeing you brings
back a lot,” Kurillen apologized, ashamed.
“I’m just as guilty as you,” Chi Chi disagreed.
“I’ve been avoiding you, because seeing you and the others
remind me of Goku. I still miss him...”
“Me too,” Kurillen agreed, and the two were silent for a
moment. Goten, deciding that there was probably more fun to be had inside,
hopped out of Kurillen’s arms and dashed inside.
“Let’s... try not to avoid each other any more. It makes me
miss Goku to see you, but it brings back a lot of memories. Good
ones,” Kurillen finally said.
“I’d like that,” Chi Chi agreed. Suddenly, an
exclamation from inside shattered the sad moment.
“Wow! Auntie Eighteen, you sure are big!” Gohan’s
astounded shout echoed.
“Enough with this sad stuff!” Chi Chi exclaimed.
“Let’s get to the real reason why I’m here.”
“Right this way,” Kurillen directed. “She’s
in the living room. Want me to get those for you?”
“No, I‘m fine,” Chi Chi said, picking up a pair of
white paper bags. Together, she and Kurillen entered the house and made
their way to the living room, where Gohan chatted with Eighteen and Goten
rubbed her enormous belly, his eyes as big as saucers. “There’s
the expectant mother! When are you due again?” Chi Chi asked,
smiling.
“Not soon enough,” Eighteen replied sardonically. Even
still, she too was smiling.
“You say that, but you wouldn’t give it up for the
world,” Chi Chi accused, and Eighteen just shook her head, smiling.
“Two weeks,” Eighteen said.
“Huh?” Chi Chi asked, confused.
“She’s due in two weeks,” Kurillen explained.
“It’s still kind of amazing that Eighteen can have kids,
huh?” Gohan said.
“Hey, kid, nobody was more surprised than I was when she told
me,” Kurillen exclaimed, and everybody except for Goten shared a
laugh. He was still engrossed with Eighteen’s engorged stomach.
“Kurillen? Eighteen? Master Roshi? Anyone home?”
Yamcha’s voice called from the front door.
“Come on in, we’re in the living room!” Gohan
called. Footsteps approached, and soon Yamcha and Puar had joined the
others in the living room.
“Hi, guys. Piccolo and Dedne couldn’t make it, but they
send their congratulations,” Yamcha said, plopping a roughly wrapped
box onto the coffee table.
“Piccolo sends his congratulations?” Kurillen asked,
holding back a laugh.
“Fine, you win. Dende sends his congratulations. Piccolo was
too busy meditating, but I’m sure he would’ve if he’d
heard me,” Yamcha admitted, provoking another laugh from all present.
Goten, though, just rubbed Eighteen’s stomach.
“Wow...” he murmured.
“Like that, huh?” Eighteen asked.
“Yeah. It’s really cool!” Goten agreed.
Eighteen’s smile grew a fraction of an inch.
“You know, Kurillen, this is probably the happiest that
I’ve ever seen Eighteen,” Gohan commented.
“Yeah, me too,” Kurillen agreed. “Well, our wedding
day came close, especially if you only count the night...,” he said,
provoking another round of laughter.
“Huh? What’s he mean?” Goten asked, confused.
“I dunno, Goten. Probably an adult thing,” Gohan said.
“Enough of this,” Eighteen said once she had stopped
chuckling. “This is a baby shower; let’s get to the shower
part!”
*** Three Hours Later***
“I don’t think I’ll ever find a use for all of
this,” Eighteen finally declared. Many drinks, all non-alcoholic, had
been passed around as presents were opened and stories told. Somewhere
along the line, Master Roshi and Turtle had wandered in and had joined the
festivities.
“Just you wait,” Chi Chi promised. “By the time
your baby’s a month old, you’ll wish that you’d have
gotten more!”
“I don’t think we have room for more!” Kurillen
declared, standing next to a freshly assembled crib that still smelled of
varnish. “Wow, Gohan, this is really something. And you only used
your hands?”
“Well, I did use a sander to smooth it out,” Gohan
admitted.
“That’s incredible. I don’t think I could build a
crib, even with power tools, and here goes Gohan, only using his
hands,” Kurillen said, shaking his head. “You really are
Goku’s son, aren’t you?”
“I certainly hope so,” Roshi interjected.
“It’d be awfully hard to explain his tail otherwise!”
“That it would,” Gohan agreed, laughing. “Mom, have
you been seeing anyone?”
“Not on your life, mister,” Chi Chi huffed, upset. The
amusement that had been spawned from Master Roshi’s joke quickly died
down.
“Geez, Mom, I’m sorry,” Gohan said, seeing how hurt
his mother was.
“Me too. I should’ve known better,” Roshi
apologized, bowing his head. Chi Chi was silent for a moment, fuming.
“All right, but I don’t want to talk about Goku any
more,” Chi Chi sighed, a tear glistening in her eye. “It makes
me miss him too much.” Nobody could think of anything to say after
this.
“Well,” Kurillen finally said. “We’ve opened
the presents, we’ve told the stories. I think that that’s
pretty much it.”
“Not quite,” Eighteen said. “There’s still
one story that I want to hear. His.”
“Who?” Gohan asked.
“Roshi. I’ve never heard anything about his past. I want
to hear about how he got started,” Eighteen explained.
“Wha-? My story?” Roshi stammered.
“Come to think of it, neither have I,” Kurillen said,
cocking his head.
“None of us have,” Yamcha said. “The first I heard
about Master Roshi was when he and Goku first met.”
“Yeah,” agreed Gohan, nodding his head. He turned to look
at Master Roshi, and the others soon followed suit.
“Well?” Eighteen asked after a minute.
“Well... are you sure you want to hear the story of some old,
moldy martial artist?” Roshi asked, blushing faintly.
“We asked, didn’t we?” Eighteen said, her voice flat
and pragmatic.
“Don’t have anything better to do for the next few
hours,” Kurillen agreed.
“Well, in that case, I suggest that you all take a seat. My
story isn’t exactly what you might call short,” Roshi suggested,
sitting down on a cushion and folding his legs underneath him. Kurillen
plopped down next to his wife on the couch, while Gohan and Yamcha decided
to take up some wall space and a pair of pillows. Chi Chi claimed the
chair, but went to the kitchen to get some lemonade first.
“Let’s see... I guess that my journey down the path of
martial arts began when I was sixteen. Before then, I hadn’t even
considered being a warrior. I wanted to be an painter, or some other such
nonsense,” Roshi began as Chi Chi re-entered the room, carrying a tray
laden with lemonade. Silently, she passed a glass to each person present,
then took the last and sat down. “However, a young man moved into
town and showed me just how wrong I was.”
“Who was he?” asked Goten, who had decided to sit on his
mother’s lap.
“Well, I have to explain a few things before I really get
started,” Roshi said. “First of all, I lived in Tokyo, the
Nerima ward. Second of all, I wasn’t called Roshi back then, except
by my closest friends. My real name was Hiroshi Kibigami.”
“Your real name is Hiroshi?” Kurillen asked, surprised.
“Not anymore. I changed it when I came of age. I thought of it
as a symbolic start to the rest of my life,” Roshi explained.
“Now, I had just recently turned sixteen when a martial artist came to
town. He was incredibly talented. The only person that I know who’s
matched his ability to learn new techniques and just plain fight was Goku.
Of course, he was only human, so there’s probably hardly any
comparison anymore.”
“C’mon, tell us what his name was!” Gohan demanded.
“Gohan, manners,” Chi Chi reprimanded softly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered. Undisturbed, Roshi
continued onward with his story.
“His name was Ranma Saotome. He’d been training since he
could walk, and had more stubborn determination than most mules, a good
number of mountains, and more than a few of Saiyans I’ve met,”
Roshi said. “The day I first saw him fight... I’ll never forget
it...”
* * * * * *
“You think anybody’ll beat Akane today?” Hiroshi
asked. He was an average looking young man, with a skinny, but unmuscled,
build and dark hair that was already beginning to thin. If asked,
he’d furiously deny it, but there were far too much hair in the sink
every morning for it to be any less than the truth.
“Nah,” Daisuke Iwata replied. Daisuke was Hiroshi’s
best friend, and had been since before either of the two could remember. He
was a little taller then Hiroshi, and had a more muscular build,
fractionally. He had sandy brown hair and unusual, green eyes. Hiroshi
suspected that his mother had had an affair with an American G.I. after the
War, but he didn’t ask and Daisuke didn’t tell. “Kuno
might, if he ever got over his ‘go easy on her’ kick.”
“Which he won’t,” Hiroshi added. Daisuke nodded,
and the two took up their usual places at the windows. “Here she
comes,” he suddenly said, seeing the horde of lust-stricken young men
gathered at the gates begin their morning charge. Akane, a small blue
figure, plowed into them, decimating the horde. Meanwhile, a figure dressed
in red and black hopped to the top of the school wall and watched. Soon, the
boys of the horde were lying flat on their backs, or stomachs, whichever way
Akane had hit them. The figure dressed in red hopped off of the wall and
started to talk to Akane, but it soon became obvious that Kuno wasn’t
about to stand for that.
“Who is that guy? Kuno’s gonna kill him!” Daisuke
exclaimed. Hiroshi could only nod in agreement.
“- Blue Thunder of Furinkan High!” they heard Kuno shout
as he struck a noble pose. A crack of lightning boomed out behind him.
“... You think he planned that?” Hiroshi asked.
“With Kuno? Who knows. He might have a lightning machine or
something- he is the richest guy in town,” Daisuke said, shrugging his
shoulders. Below, the figure in red said something to Kuno, which seemed to
enrage the kendoist. He attacked, but the figure in red just dodged to the
side, his body absolutely fluid. Kuno tried again, slashing through the
perimeter wall this time. However, the figure had dodged again, this to the
left this time. Again and again Kuno attacked, but the figure never once
faltered, dodging the wild attacks flawlessly.
“Wow,” breathed Hiroshi. “That’s
incredible.”
“Yeah,” Daisuke agreed, watching with rapt attention.
Finally, the figure in red seemed to tire of the game he was playing with
Kuno, and attacked him from above. The punch to the forehead, then vicious
spin kick sent Kuno down hard, and the figure dashed inside, just beating
the rain.
“That...,” Hiroshi began, turning to face Daisuke.
“Was the most awesome thing I ever saw.”
“Yeah, it was pretty cool,” Daisuke agreed, walking back
to his desk. “So, are we still gonna try to knock that tile into the
girls’ locker room out today?”
“You can, Dai. I’m gonna talk to that guy,” Hiroshi
said.
“What?!” Daisuke nearly exploded, looking with wide eyes
at his best friend. “We’ve been planning this for months!
Don’t tell me that you’re giving it all up now, when we’re
so close, just to go chat with some new kid.”
“I’m not gonna talk to him, Dai,” Hiroshi said,
feeling, for the first time in his life, like he had a direction, a purpose.
“I’m gonna ask him to teach me how to fight like that.”
“Huh?” Daisuke asked, confused. This didn’t sound
like the skinny, bony young man who had dropped out of kendo because he was
too weak.
“Just seeing him out there, Dai... it was incredible. He was
like water, ya know...,” Hiroshi trailed off.
“Well, yeah, but he’s probably been training for his whole
life. You could never be like him,” Hiroshi agreed.
“I don’t care. Just seeing him out there...,”
Hiroshi said, shaking his head. “I know what I want to do with my
life, Dai. I want to be a martial artist.”
***Author’s Note***
Here we go- my second entry into the Second Bet. I know that I should
be working on The Opening Bet (sorry to all you who I kept waiting), but
this story just found itself a spot in the back of my head and
wouldn’t leave me alone. In any case, if you guys liked it, as far as
a beginning is concerned, E-mail me. If I get enough of a response,
I’ll continue the thing!
~Flash
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