Well, a while back I said I was working on (what I suppose is soon becoming a
semi obligatory thing,) a Ranma 1/2 fic, and I have gotten to the point where
some preliminary C&C would be useful, so as an incentive to myself to keep
going beyond the first bit of Ch. 1, I've decided to stop messing around with
the intro, and send what I have.  
	Most of the spelling, grammar, etc. _seems_ OK so far, but bear with me (and
point it out) if something's weird here and there. 
	Oh, and I still need a decent title, but for now here goes an intro to what
I'm tentatively calling:

			  Spike: Gum-Shoe Detective
	
	As usual, the characters and usual situations are not mine, used w/o
permission, please don't sue, etc. etc. etc.
	Regarding the standard Takahashi continuity:  Ignore it, as this is not quite
the Nerima you're used to.  Consider this Nerima an odd fusion of the one you
know with whatever favorite seedy detective novel setting you prefer.

				---------------			

	It was yet another cold, wet night in Nerima.  The mind-numbing mutter from
the heavy rain was finally over, but the noisy, dark clouds still remained,
threatening from above.  Only distress and loneliness awaited any poor
straggler unfortunate enough to travel along these grimy streets tonight. 
Nearby, the glare of bare fluorescent lights illuminate the unassuming
interior of a small restaurant, somehow still open at this late hour. The
harsh light shines on the mostly empty cafe, whose clean, unassuming interior
makes an abrupt contrast to the world outside.  Somehow, this veneer of peace
only heightens the haunted expression on a nearby young man.  
	Sitting by a  table near the door, his distorted face reflects on a large
pile of empty bottles, next to his untouched, and cold, cold, meal.  His
mutterings and loud sobbing have grown with the pile, to the point of
aggravation.  In a sudden burst of lucidity, the drunken young man seems to
notice the pile of empty bottles for the first time, and as he screams
something incoherent about lost love and foolish drunkenness, his right arm
sweeps everything off the table, and into the floor, where the plate and
bottles shatter loudly.  
	Now the thing to consider about "Ucchan's" is that, in spite of its slightly
unconventional ambiance, it is one of the friendlier dives in town, mainly
catering to ordinary, working class people.  The owner's patient listening and
sensible advice has even put a few local bars out of business.  But that
hospitality has its limits, as this soon-to-be former customer is about to
find out.  
	Behind the main counter, with a resigned sigh, a very annoyed look, and an
even larger spatula, the owner of "Ucchan's", a brown-haired woman in
masculine clothing, is moving towards the young man's table, where the
customer seems about to pass out. 
	 "Huh? Wha� Oh, I'm shorry, sir!  Ah' was jusht a bit upset, didn't mean'ta
cause a shcene.  Would it help if I order another special?  Mine seems to be
missing, somehow.  And, uhm� Oh yesh!  'bout the bill�  I'm trying to shave
some money fo�"  
	It is at this moment that the young man sobers up enough to realize that his
feet have left the ground, and that the rest of him is being held rather
uncomfortably close to a wall by something large and metallic, vaguely
resembling a very large, and very solid, snow shovel.  That panicky
realization, and the look of contempt and barely contained rage being given to
him by the person holding said metal object, were more than enough to sober
him up completely.  
	"Oh, all right, already, here ya go, and here's another few hundred yen for a
tip.  Could you please put me down now, please, sir?  I promise you I won't be
anymore trouble, if you'll just let me down.  Pretty please?  The money is
real, see?  There is even some left for the waitress that cleaned up my mess,
and maybe a bit for some coffee, if you'll let me stay.  Pleeeeaaase sir? 
I'll be good, OK?  Pretty pleeeaaase?"   
	Wanting to put an end to the budding spectacle being made by such pathetic
groveling, and given the client's newfound willingness to calm down and sober
up, (plus his sudden ability to pay,) Ukiyo Kuonji finally puts her spatula
down, but not before making sure the young man and his coffee will remain by
the front counter, from where she can keep an eye on him.
	After a couple of cups of coffee, the young man in the crumpled gray overcoat
has regained most of his sobriety as he starts to talk a bit more about
himself, and the reasons behind his sorrows. 
	"Ouch.  I'm not dangerous, and I would have paid with no complaints, if you
had just insisted politely.  Still, I suppose I deserved it, as I overdid it
with the sake, just a bit.  And I know that upon seeing me, anyone would have
thought: �This guy don't look like much, just some drunken derelict coming in,
getting out of the rain while he runs a tab he can't pay.  Truly pathetic, if
you ask me.�  Everybody does that!  But there really was no need to get
violent, honest!  As you can probably tell, I don't amount to much in a brawl,
and people do tend to ignore me, but over the years I've dealt with enough
scum and misery in this dark, broken town of Nerima, to tell you tales that
would shake anyone.  By the way sir, here's my card." 

		+-----------------------------------------+
		|          Hikaru "Spike" Gosunguki       |
		|           Private Investigator.         |
		|        666 desperation Rd. Suite 13     |
		+-----------------------------------------+

	"In this town where fists speak louder than words, I make a living off my
brains and innate cunning.  Everyone in this town, has at least one dark
secret to keep, and it is my tragic job to find those secrets out, and expose
them.  You don't believe me?  Well, let me tell you about my latest case�"

 			----------------------------

	Well, that was it for now.  What did you think?   Good, bad or indifferent? 
Let me know, either way.
-- 
"There is nothing in this world of value...
 Nothing worth risking our lives for...
	 ...except 'erhaps... 
	...what little we can create ourselves."
		Daisuke Ido (Gunnm / Battle Angel)
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