[story � hkp] 5/13/1998
4
Pondering a Curse
Exhale.
"It was your own mistake, child."
Came the subdued, defeated voice: "I know." A flicker from the dying
flames in the stone fireplace illuminated the speaker's face briefly, too
briefly to discern anything useful, other than a single tear falling down a
slightly twitching cheek.
Inhale. A dull red glow came from a long-stemmed oaken pipe.
"You will be punished."
"Yes, I know," the tired voice responded mechanically. Another
flicker, another tear - this time the other speaker caught the glimmer of
the teardrop of the faint firelight.
"I'm sorry. Sorry that it has to be this way. I truly am."
"I know." There was a slight pause. "It's...alright. It was my own
fault. I should have known better than to challenge her."
Another barely visible glint came from the pipe. "You mustn't be so
distraught, child. Who was to guess that Sun-hair was that powerful?"
"I should have known better," came the monotonous reply. "I am a
warrior. I have been trained for this my whole life...I...should have
known better." It was obvious that the speaker was trying to keep any
evidence of tears from the stiff tones.
"Do not take it too hard, child," the elder voice said gently. "I was
a warrior a hundred years before you came into this world, and still I was
unable to guess Sun-hair's true strength. And yet..." A regretful sigh.
"...and yet, I know that the Council will not see it that way. I know.
They will not..."
"I...I know."
"I'm sorry, child. You must believe that, at least. I wish that the
Council would be persuaded to kindness, but I know they will not. You know
they will not; you've met them."
The sporadic sobs were becoming harder and harder to keep silent.
"Yes...I know."
After a slight pause: "You're taking this remarkably well, child."
"Perhaps." The melancholy voice was tinged with irony. "Considering."
"Yes, considering. Very well, child. Very well. Considering."
"I know."
Moonlight flashed for a moment through the hut's small window, breaking
for but a brief second through the grey cloudbank, and then was once again
obscured by the heavy skies. But it was long enough to see that the elder
speaker, an old, frail woman, was wearing a slight smile, displaying a
regretful pride in the younger, blue-haired girl in front of her.
"Great-grandmother?" The girl's voice broke, and she began to weep
softly. "Great-grandmother, what will happen to me?"
The old woman shook her head. "I do not know, child. Perhaps they
will favor you because you are my descendant, but I wouldn't count on it."
The young woman wiped the tears away from her eyes. "Yes, I know," she
stated in a voice choked with emotion. "Of course. I know."
"The penalty for this 'crime,'" the old woman spoke the word with a
hint of sober contempt, "has always been death, child. Death, unless you
can redeem yourself."
"I cannot. You know that I cannot."
"I am aware that you think you cannot, at any rate, great-granddaughter."
"I cannot, great-grandmother."
"You -can-, child. No one, not even Sun-hair, is so powerful that they
cannot be slain. Not even Sun-hair, child. Not even Sun-hair."
The girl gave a slight, bitter smile. "And how do you propose that I
slay Sun-hair, great-grandmother?"
Her great-grandmother also smiled, but it was a kindly smile.
"Shan-pu, child, don't you understand? You don't need to kill her. Just
say that you will, and you will be able to leave the village, honor intact,
and then you can return a few years later and say you killed Sun-hair. No
one will be the wiser. What are the chances of her returning to this
village, child?" She chuckled. "Very slim. Very slim indeed."
The girl, Shan-pu, looked shocked. "But...that would be dishonorable."
The old woman shrugged indifferently. "You'd be alive."
"But what good is a warrior without honor? I would be nothing but a
bandit and a rogue."
"Child, it would be far better, I should think, to be a bandit and a
rogue than to be a rotting corpse in the earth. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes...yes, I suppose I do," Shan-pu said slowly. "But I have been
taught..."
"...by a pack of fools, no doubt." She forestalled any of the girl's
protests with a wave of her hand. "Oh, I've no doubt they're decent
fighters that you learned from, but these old-fashioned honor-bound idiots
don't pay attention to the most important rule of life - survival. Now,
without that, you really are pretty much useless. To yourself..." The old
woman inhaled deeply on her pipe. "...or to anyone else."
After a moment of silence, Shan-pu nodded. "I guess you're right,
great-grandmother."
The old woman gave a withered sounding chuckle. "Of course I am,
child. I haven't lived this long only to become a fool, you know."
The girl laughed weakly.
"So?"
Shan-pu looked carefully at her great-grandmother, on the brink of a
decision. "I..." She hesitated.
The old woman smiled briefly, kindly. "Child, it's just this. What is
more important to you - your honor, or your life?"
Shan-pu shook her head, sighing. "And supposing I've been raised to
believe that my honor -is- my life?"
Her great-grandmother gave her a sad look. "Then, child, tomorrow you
will be sentenced." She said it with a remorseful look in her eyes, but
her voice was cold and hard, like the warrior she had lived all her years
as. "Tomorrow, child. Tomorrow, you will die."
The young woman hung her head, listening to the wind rustle softly
amongst the trees outside. "Yes, great-grandmother," she murmured
somberly, at length. "I know."
The wilderness of western China was a sight to behold. The majestic
peaks of far-off mountains towered in the background, the pointed,
snow-covered caps of their summits thrusting through the fluffy white
cloudbank like spears, and the fiery orange sun blazing as it set behind
them. A seemingly endless woodland stretched out for forever, or so it
seemed, all around the bases and up the sides of the mountains, and gentle
midspring breezes whispered over the land.
It was a sight that most travelers would have paused to gaze at in
wonder of the natural beauty, and if some tourist should have happened to
venture into the remote region, they, too, would have stood and stared,
quite overcome (and probably taken a couple rolls of pictures to boot).
Unfortunately for the appreciative travelers and camera-happy tourists,
they weren't there at the moment to revel in the fine sight; rather, the
huge forest was currently housing two most ungrateful wayfarers who didn't
seem to care about the scenery at all.
A young, slender, pretty, and altogether irate looking girl was
currently pounding in a metal stake with a stout, gnarled branch,
apparently trying to set up a tent. She was pleasant enough to look at -
even with the annoyed scowl plastered on her face - with her short,
gold-blond hair, girlish figure, and well-shapen face. She was dressed in
what was the standard traveling garb for poor wanderers, a dull outfit
consisting of a long sleeved, dust-colored tunic (which seemed slightly
oversized, and was crudely ripped twice in the back) and loose pants of the
same color, tied around her ankles.
The other wayfarer, a handsome young man with bright, fire-colored hair
and an odd looking moustache-that-wasn't (which was basically a few long
whiskers and nothing else, somewhat reminiscent of a cat's), was rooting
around the area for kindling, and apparently not having much luck finding
any. "Can't we just fly there?" He asked, giving the girl an annoyed glare.
"Quit asking me that, dammit," the blond girl responded tartly,
pounding away on the iron stake without making a great deal of progress.
He shrugged, continuing to forage around. "I just think it's a good
idea."
"No you don't," she retorted irritatedly. "You're just too lazy to
walk, so you want to fly instead." She finished hitting the stake and
looked at it, her gaze decidedly lacking in pride.
He answered with a sour grunt. "I don't understand you, Nut-Fruit.
Why would you want to walk such a long distance when you could get there
five times as quickly be flying?"
"As I've told you more than once before," she replied with an odd sort
of curt, ire-filled patience, "walking doesn't use much strength. At all.
And why're you concerned with travel time, anyway? Not like you get tired.
You've got the benefits of three damn-"
"Perhaps I don't like traveling because you get annoyed so easily on
long trips, Nut-Fruit," he interjected dryly.
She favored him with a flat stare. "Did you ever think that maybe
there's some -reason- that I get annoyed so easily on long trips, hm? Like
maybe elephant-wannabes asking me the same question over and over and
over?" She rummaged through her oversized traveling pack, which was lying
on the ground beside her. "And my name's not 'Nut-Fruit.' I've told you
-that- before, too."
He chuckled lightly. "Yeah, well, I'm not an 'elephant-wannabe,' either."
"Oh? What would -you- call it?"
Her companion shrugged. "I wouldn't call it anything. I mean, I like
it like this better. If I was an elephant-wannabe, I would think that I'd
be miserable."
She pulled another dented iron stake out of the pack. "How about
'tiger-wannabe?'" Then she shook her head remorsefully. "Nah, just
doesn't have the same ring to it. Or maybe the 'un-man.' That sounds kind
of interesting, don't you think?"
"Maybe for you."
"Well, of course I'm an un-man," she told him disdainfully, "-I- am a
lady."
He gave her a good-humored grin. "That depends on just how loosely
'lady' is being used. I mean, either way, you're female, but a lady? I
think not in either. Now Mai-Ling, from that last village, -she- was a
lady. Gave us room and board just for the opportunity to watch you perform."
"Watch it, Un-man. I'm divine. I don't perform, I just let the
ignorant peasants bask in the brilliant light of my pure divinity."
"Yes, well, it's clear that you have delusions of divinity, at any
rate. And quit calling me Un-man," he said sternly. "That's the kind of
name that might stick."
"You like 'elephant-wannabe' better, Un-man?"
He glowered at her. "No. And my name isn't Un-man."
"Oh? Then what is it, hm?"
"You," he responded loftily, "couldn't pronounce it, barbarian."
She began to pound in the second stake half-heartedly. "I'm not a
barbarian, I'm divine. Remember?"
"You're delusional, not divine."
"Then why'd Mai-Ling give us room and board, hm, Un-man?" She smirked.
"Perhaps she succumbed to your manly charms?"
He hurrumphed. "My tastes don't run that way, Nut-Fruit, and you know
it."
"A shame," she stated amusedly. "You're really, after all, quite a
handsome fellow. What do your tastes run towards nowadays, anyway?
Perhaps elephants?"
The Un-man made a rather disgusted face. "Eh, no."
"That's something of a relief." She grinned. "What -would- people
think?"
"Probably not much," he replied wryly. "Considering that we're not
that far away from that accursed place, yet. The people'd understand, I
think. I hope."
She shrugged, twirling the branch around her hand nonchalantly. "You
would think so. So much mystery about it, though."
"Legends about it should've traveled this far, Nut-Fruit, I would
imagine. We're only about twenty miles from it or so. Still..." He
trailed off.
"Yes, still. Still, I would keep those tastes of yours to yourself,
Un-man. The last thing we need is for the peasants to lynch you for being
a demon or some such nonsense."
"A demon?"
"Well, whatever they would say. Does the term 'deranged psychopath'
suit you better, do you think?"
"No, I don't."
"Probably get lynched for that, too," she muttered disconsolately.
"So, what exactly are your tastes, if not elephants or pretty girls like
the oh-so-adorable-it's-obscene Mai-Ling?"
"Tigers," he answered in an indiscernable tone, tossing some kindling
wood over to his comrade and beginning to search around a little longer in
the darkness, now that the sun had dropped behind the mountains.
"Elephants were lost along with...with, well, along with the shape. Not
that I miss it," he hastily added.
She nodded. "Of course not. To be honest, I wouldn't, either. A
tiger, I should think, I would prefer to be compared to an elephant." She
pondered briefly. "So then, the hot-water shape is the one that you have
the closest link to, it seems."
"Yes...so it seems." He suddenly grinned. "Got some affection towards
any divinity, there, Nut-Fruit?"
"I wouldn't know," she responded sardonically, lighting the fire with
some flint. "I haven't had the privelege of meeting any."
Nut-Fruit gave a contented sigh and lay back on her pack outside the
small tent. Her comrade, the man with the fire-colored hair and
half-cheerful, half-sardonic disposition, had gone hunting, leaving her to
rest by the tent; he knew that unlike himself, she lacked immense reserves
of energy and thus needed to sleep every night. He could go for a week at
least without sleep, and, knowing this, she was silently thankful that he
didn't mind stopping every night to allow her to rest under the stars.
She and her nameless companion had developed a deep and powerful
friendship, in spite of - or even, perhaps, because of - their jesting
comments that they always exchanged together as they traveled the
wilderlands of China (that was what the Outsiders called their homeland,
Nut-Fruit recalled), and their half-hearted grumblings in the soft
firelight's glare. They had always been close, she reflected, but it
wasn't always the same as it was now. No, it wasn't...no, it couldn't have
been.
The moon was almost full, gleaming like a cold, arrogant eye in the
starry, cloudless night sky. Nut-Fruit was thankful that it wasn't full
yet, as she knew that the full moon's pale, ghostly light shone with an
evil omen; her sick old mother had died suddenly during a night of the full
moon...that was, what? Three years past? Four?
"Five years ago," she murmured softly. "Has it really been that long...?"
She tried to recount roughly the months that had passed by since then,
and, indeed, found it to be about five years since her mother had died.
She had never been particularly fond of her old mother, but she had never
thought that she deserved to die, and was thus glad that it had been a
seemingly painless death; suffering appalled her. Even for those that she
most hated in the world, she had no wish to make them suffer. (Although,
admittedly, she didn't have much hate towards anyone, which was probably to
her benefit.)
Her mother and father, who had run a well-kept inn in a small village,
had arranged for her to marry a young man - the son of a gruff old farmer -
at a very young age, which was one of the chief reasons that she didn't
care for either of them much. She had always been a willful and stubborn
young girl, and had hated the idea that she was going to be married off to
some fellow that she'd never even met before because her parents dictated
that she should. After her father had died when she had just reached her
eighth year, her mother had become even more adamant that she ensure the
family blood's continuance by marrying the boy she had been promised to,
and she had become even more adamant, in return, that she would not do so.
Her opinion had wavered a little when she turned eleven and finally had
the opportunity to meet the boy (who had been twelve-and-a-half at the
time) - he was kind, sweet, and very considerate. And he seemed to also be
a fairly strong-willed child who didn't like the idea of marrying without
consent; however, as he took a liking to her - both her fiery personality
and her cute, if somewhat boyish, appearance - he decided that he should
like to marry her anyway. Unfortunately for him, while Nut-Fruit thought
he was one of the nicest boys she knew, she really hadn't been interested
in marrying him. He was a little too...well, a little too -something.- It
had been so long (about five years on the day, in fact) since those events
had taken place, and so much had happened to her since, that it was like
trying to bring back something from another life. It was there, she just
couldn't pull it back.
Thankfully - although she never openly admitted to herself that she was
thankful - her mother had died the following night, suddenly, as she had
discovered the next morning when the old woman wouldn't rouse from her
wooden cot in the corner of the inn's back room, so she avoided what would
have been a hot-tempered confrontation with her. But the loss of her
mother had saddened her, and, surprised by her own emotions for her
disliked mother, she hadn't been sure how to cope with it. Having seen
this, her unwanted fiance, who really was quite compassionate, had tried to
give her comfort. She tried to spurn his sympathy, of course, but not with
a great deal of energy - after all, he was just trying to help. And he was
fairly handsome, into the bargain...
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a twig's crisp snap, and
she glanced over at the edge of the ring of firelight to see an
orange-furred tiger padding quietly towards her, a small rabbit carcass in
its strong jaws. It glanced at her with its gleaming dark eyes, and tossed
the rabbit over at her feet with a flick of its head, where it landed with
a dull thump.
It seemed to grin at her as it wandered off into the velvety darkness
again, and Nut-Fruit smiled back at it, though she knew that it didn't see
her.
Tarou sighed.
Sitting on the Tendos' back porch, idly watching the fish swimming
peacefully back and forth and around in the rock-lined pond, he couldn't
help but wonder just what had happened to Ryoushi and Konatsu after they
had vanished onto the roof. After he, Ukyou, and Ryoga had chased Ranma
about for a short while (thinking back on it, Tarou was having his regrets;
he realized that he'd probably looked something of a fool), all in good
humor, of course, the crowd had started muttering that the two roof
combatants hadn't come back down yet.
Tarou, who had been curious about that, himself, had leapt up easily
onto the roof to investigate, and found, though it didn't really surprise
him, that the two fighters had already left. There was nothing of note on
the roof except for a splash of quickly evaporating puddles and a few
dollops of drying blood that stained the concrete here and there. He had
ventured a guess that it was Ryoushi's blood, since he had seemed the
less-skilled of the two, but there was no real way to know for certain.
And he hadn't seen either of them since. He didn't know either of them
particularly well, but Ryoushi had saved Ranma's fool neck - much as Ranma
irritated him, he didn't deserve to die. Tarou admitted to himself that he
probably would have saved him if Ryoushi hadn't, but Ryoushi had, and that
had impressed Tarou, mainly since Ryoushi seemed fairly unskilled, was
unarmed and Konatsu had seemed extremely formidable, and was armed with a
sword. But yesterday after their duel, Ryoushi had vanished with his brother.
This worried him, because he knew that there was a significant chance
that Ryoushi had been killed (contrary to Konatsu's boast about his honor
that he wouldn't kill his own brother), and Konatsu had taken his body and
fled, trying to get out of the area before his brother was realized to be
missing and searches were sent out to look for him.
He adjusted his dragonscale tunic, trying to think, his thoughts
wandering to his two days at school and the highly lecherous leers some of
the fellows around had given him when he had had the misfortune to be
splashed with cold water and turned into a girl. Not only a girl, but a
girl with pink hair. -Very- pink hair.
"Damn it all," Tarou muttered sourly to himself, tapping his fingers
against the sun-warmed wood porch that he was sitting on, "Pantyhose and
pink hair. Someone's definitely out to get me."
It was like icing on the cake. As if being turned into a ridiculously
sexy girl wasn't bad enough, that forsaken Pool of Horror (which was how
Tarou had come to think of the Nyanniichuan) had turned his hair pink, as
well. At first, he hadn't really noticed this irritating detail, and had
simply bought some hair dye in Hong Kong when they had passed through
there. The thing was, when he applied it as a female, then returned to
male form, then got hit with cold water again, his hair was once again
pink. Outwardly, he proclaimed that 'someone' was out to get him and left
it at that. Inwardly, he fumed.
He had wished more than once that he had just gotten a curse like
Ryoga's, or even Ranma's. (Actually, he more often wished that he had a
useful curse, like turning into, say, a flying tentacled minotaur. Or that
he didn't have a curse at all, which would have been nice.) Ranma turned
into a girl, sure, but at least it was a fairly normal looking female. The
flame red hair was actually added a sort of flare to Ranma's appearance, in
Tarou's privately-kept opinion, and lent the otherwise weak-looking girl an
air of ferocity. And besides that, although she - or he, rather - was
rather busty has a female, Ranma had a tomboyish appearance and a gritty,
somewhat boyish voice.
Tarou, on the other hand, didn't have the same tomboyish air that Ranma
did. Or the lusty red hair. Instead, he had the damned -pink- hair, which
he loathed to no end, which, instead of making him look strong, like
Ranma's fiery hair did, made him look sexy. Of course, since Tarou
absolutely didn't want to look sexy, he despised this. And instead of the
tomboyish appearance and scratchy voice, he had a smooth, sweet voice
(which seemed to stay as such, in his own mind, regardless of what he tried
to do to change it), and his female body was soft, slender, chesty, and
very delicate looking. And sexy.
"Dammit," Tarou growled, fuming privately, "I don't want to look sexy."
Tarou couldn't repress a shudder as cold water suddenly poured over him
and he felt his shape shift into his much-hated cursed form. It was
painless, and didn't really feel like much, but the knowledge of what was
happening always provoked such a reaction from her. Or at least, it always
drew some reaction or another. Usually, though, annoyance or resentment.
And anger.
"But Pantyhose," a cocky voice drawled from behind her lewdly, "you're
just so beautiful that you can't help looking sexy."
Tarou snarled. "Ranma."
"And that scale tunic is cut -awfully- low, Pantyhose," Ranma chortled.
"Something for the boys, eh? Nice of you."
Tarou turned around, glowered at Ranma, and clubbed him forcefully
across the face with a slender arm, sending Ranma crashing back into the
house, landing with much loud banging and clanking of the kitchen's pots
and pans that he smashed into.
"I'll...get...you..." came the painful sounding groan from the kitchen.
"As...soon as I...take a little...rest here..."
Pointedly ignoring Ranma, Tarou glanced down at her dragonscale tunic,
and realized that it really did show an awful lot of cleavage. Aside from
that, as a girl, the scale shirt - which acted as a sort of armor - was
hardened and pressed uncomfortably against her breasts. She tugged at it
slightly, frowning. It showed a -lot- of cleavage.
Hearing light footsteps falling almost inaudibly behind her, Tarou
glanced backwards, and saw a male Ukyou standing there, grinning down at her.
"Ranma was right, you know," Ukyou remarked cheerfully in his smooth
voice, squatting down next to the pink-haired girl, who glared prettily
(albeit unintentionally so) back at him. "I'm hardly the best judge for
something of this sort, of course, but I can tell. And that tank-top tunic
shows a lot of chest." He chuckled.
Wondering irritatedly whether everyone was going to make snide comments
about her tunic at the same time, Tarou got to her feet purposefully and
began to walk back inside, intent on getting herself some hot water.
"Before you try," Ukyou called to Tarou's retreating form, "there's no
hot water."
Tarou stopped dead in her tracks. "W-what?"
"Why do you think I'm in boy form?"
"I thought maybe you enjoyed it," she retorted scathingly, leaning up
against the house, looking miserable. "I know -I'd- enjoy it."
"Enjoy what?" Ukyou grinned broadly.
"Guess." Tarou started to stride back inside again.
With a chuckle, Ukyou asked, "So now where're you going?"
Tarou disappeared into the house. "To change my clothes," she shouted
back at him.
Ukyou was silent for a moment as he sat back and lounged on the porch,
leaning against one of the wooden supports. After he was sure that Tarou
was out of hearing range, he burst out laughing.
"To change his clothes!" He guffawed. "I swear that curse's mentality
is rubbing off on him."
A grey wolf, which had been resting unseen underneath the porch, padded
out and nodded empathetically at Ukyou's snickering form.
"Well, hi there, Ryo-chan," Ukyou greeted it in an amiable tone,
rubbing its soft, slate-colored fur. "You were there the whole time?"
The wolf grinned.
"Konatsu?"
The pretty-faced ninja glanced over at his friend. "Yeah?"
"I've got a question."
"Shoot."
"Um, actually, I've got two questions."
"Alright, go ahead."
"Make that three."
Konatsu looked slightly annoyed. "Fine, Tsubasa. What?"
Tsubasa cleared her throat. "Well, I was just wondering, you know, if
you thought maybe we overdid it." Konatsu raised an eyebrow at her, so she
explained. "I mean with the kid. You know, your brother. I wasn't there
to see just how harsh you were on him, but judging by the wounds
afterwards...well, I'd say you didn't go easy."
"True enough."
"So do you think we overdid it?"
Konatsu shrugged indifferently. "No. A duel's a duel. I wouldn't
kill my own brother any more'n I'd kill you, Tsubasa...but I couldn't go
easy on him. You know that."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
"I guess I am." Konatsu casted a wry glance over at the brown-haired
girl. "I also guess that that's not what you really were talking about,
was it, Tsubasa?"
"No."
Pause.
Konatsu gave her another glance, this one slightly humorous. "Then
what? The water?"
Tsubasa nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, that's right."
The ninja smirked. "Taboo subject, that Nyanniichuan, eh?"
The brown-haired girl chuckled. "Seems that way." She sighed. "Not
that that should really be surprising, you know."
"Not surprising, exactly, but I don't think it does any harm to just
talk about it."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
"I guess I am." Realizing the repeat of comments, Konatsu grinned
slightly. "Anyway, no, I don't think I was being too harsh, using the
water on my brother. After all, I could've just killed him."
"You said you wouldn't do that, though."
"I still -could- have."
"Not unless you wanted the police to come and handcuff your lying ass."
He gave a grin. "You really think the police could've caught me?"
Tsubasa smiled sourly. "Actually, come to think of it, no. But I
still think that the water may've been a little too much, you know?"
Konatsu shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. It's probably good for him,
though."
Tsubasa shot him an amused look. "Well. Aren't -you- just the
cavalier one today, ninja boy?"
"Cavalier or not, Tsubasa, you know I'm probably right."
"Probably. But you weren't so cool about it when -you- got cursed, you
know."
The pretty-faced ninja grimaced. "Oh believe me, I know. I
-definitely- know."
There was silence for a few minutes.
"Say, Tsubasa."
"Yeah?"
"You said you had three questions. Did you already ask all three?"
"Oh yeah. No, I didn't."
Konatsu nodded his head. "Didn't think so. Then go ahead."
"Well, I was just wondering, you know. Where'd you get this car?"
Tsubasa opened the glove compartment of the imported black BMW, pulling out
a cellular phone and fiddling with it interestedly. "And I don't remember
you ever using a telephone."
"Oh, the car. I had a couple friends from the States, from a place
called South Central in Los Angeles. Both real nice guys. They gave me
the address of their new place, and we're headed there to pay 'em a visit."
"South Central, eh?" Tsubasa stared out the window, watching the
buildings of the city rush by. "Well, you know, this car seems pretty
expensive. Is it a nice section of the city? Are they rich or something?"
"Nah."
"So where'd they get the car?"
"Oh, it's not theirs. It's mine."
Tsubasa stared at him blankly. "It's yours? Where the heck did you
get the money to buy a BMW?"
"I didn't. The guys from LA taught me how to jack cars."
Tsubasa took it in stride. She and Konatsu were no strangers to being
forced to steal in order to survive. "Oh, okay. Just wondering."
"Yeah, sure. What was the other question?"
"Um, where'd you learn how to drive?"
"I didn't."
Ukyou tossed a small, flat stone into the fish pond and watched it skip
across the surface disinterestedly. He glanced at Ranma, who was rubbing
the bruise that Tarou had given him on his left cheekbone. "How're we
going to pay rent?"
"Rent?"
Ukyou nodded toward his friend. "Yeah, don't you remember? Mister
Tendo told us we'd all have to pay rent."
Ranma shook his head. "I was more concerned with my sudden engagement
at the time," he answered sourly. "Why is he making us pay rent?"
"Because he's got to feed us and give us rooms while we're here, I
would guess."
"But we're repairing his bathroom. Isn't that enough?"
Ukyou smirked. "Lest you forget, we're the ones who wrecked it in the
first place."
"Oh, yeah," Ranma grumbled. He paused. "So, eh, how -are- we going to
pay rent?"
"I don't know. That's why I asked you."
Ukyou glanced down at the bored-looking wolf, who returned his glance
with a good-humored stare that seemed to say, "I'm just a wolf. Don't ask
me." It put its head back down onto the warm wood of the porch and fell
into a sort of half-doze.
Well, they could work, Ukyou supposed. Where they could work, or what
sort of place would hire them, he had no idea. He knew how to cook, sort
of, from back when he was a kid and his father had taught him the 'ancient
art of okonomiyaki cooking.' Unfortunately, after they had taken his
father's cart along with him, Ryoga had lost his grip on it during a storm
along the ocean, and it had fallen off one of the tall bluffs. From then
on, they just took turns cooking on their expeditions, but it typically
wasn't okonomiyaki that they cooked; if they were in a wild area, two of
them would hunt rabbits or deer or something and bring it back, and they
would just roast it over a fire.
"Kuonji and Co.'s barbeque pit." Ukyou snickered. "I can see it now."
Ranma glanced over at him, eyebrow cocked amusedly. "Say what?"
"Well, I was just thinking."
"Wow."
"Shut up. Like I was saying, I was thinking that if we're going to
have to pay rent, we're going to have to find work. And none of us can
really do anything useful, except roast meat."
His pigtailed friend shrugged. "We can fight."
"Decently. We're no masters at it."
"Good enough to open a dojo, don't you think? Or even help Mister
Tendo teach here, since Pop and him trained together and all."
Ukyou considered briefly. "Nah, I don't think that's such a good idea.
I mean, sure, we can fight okay, but none of us can really teach.
Remember that disappearing trick you saw Genma doing that one time, and
tried to teach me and Ryo-chan?"
"Hey," Ranma said defensively, "it's not like I can help it if you
slobs've got no talent."
The wolf bared its fangs at him, and Ranma cast it an apprehensive
glance. "Okay, so maybe I'm not the greatest teacher in the world," he
conceded. "But you two weren't exactly ideal students, either, you know."
"It's hard to try to be an 'ideal student' with a teacher like you,
Ran-chan."
"Yeah, but you guys-" He was cut off abruptly by a gush of ice-cold
water that washed over him completely, soaking him to the bone. "What
the...?"
"Hi Ranma." Tarou knelt down next to her, grinning unpleasantly.
"You're pretty sexy yourself."
"I see that you've lost the scale shirt, Pink-Hair," Ranma grunted in
return, looking without a great deal of interest at Tarou's new clothes, a
somewhat beaten brown outfit that Tarou had worn most of the time they were
in China for hunting; it blended in impressively with a woodland
background. "And here I thought that you -liked- having guys chase after
you." She smirked. "Brown kind of clashes with your pink hair, though.
Maybe you should dye it."
"Yeah, maybe," Tarou grunted sourly, remembering Hong Kong.
"Didn't you try that already?" Ukyou asked, tossing another flat stone
across the fish pond.
"Eh, something like that," Tarou muttered, not really feeling like
discussing her hair.
He chuckled. "You know, I actually think your hair's kind of pretty.
And unique; you're the first girl I ever saw with pink hair."
"Well, thanks, Ukyou," she replied dryly. "I mean, you know how
important my looks are to me."
Ukyou's response was a good-natured laugh.
Konatsu brought the BMW to a screeching halt in front of an old subway
entrance.
"You know, aren't they going to figure out that we stole the car?"
Tsubasa ventured to ask, after she caught her breath from the jarring stop.
"And how many traffic laws did we break, anyway?"
"Traffic laws were meant to be broken," Konatsu quipped, opening the
door and stepping out into the bright sublight. He opened the the left
rear door and pulled out his traveling pack, slipping his arms through the
straps. "Gureru told me that, at any rate."
"Gureru?"
"Yeah, Gureru Motteiku. One of the guys I mentioned earlier. The
other one's name's Chatu Freeman."
The brown-haired girl knotted her eyebrows, leaning against the car
nonchalantly. "Chatu Freeman?" The foreign name came awkwardly to her
lips. "Chatu doesn't sound particularly American."
"English."
"Hm?"
"They speak English in the States, not American."
Tsubasa shrugged. "Whatever. I'm not very familiar with the States.
So, Chatu doesn't sound English."
"I don't know many Americans, so I wouldn't know what a typical English
name is, Tsubasa." He motioned towards the downleading steps towards the
subway station, nearly deserted in mid-afternoon as it was. "Come on,
let's go."
She looked slightly confused. "Go where? To ride an underground train?"
Konatsu shook his head. "Gureru and Chatu live down there."
"They live down there?" She grinned amusedly. "Why?"
"Police or something like that," he explained vaguely. "I'm not sure.
Whatever it is, they're laying low by living in some dust bin below the city."
"Speaking of police, you didn't answer my question, you know. Aren't
they going to realize that we stole the car?" She pointed to Konatsu's
slender hands. "You took your gloves off after you sliced up that punk
brother of yours, so your fingerprints are all over that BMW. If you don't
want to get tossed in the pin, you'd better get rid of that car."
He shook his head. "We're going to want that to be able to move around
after we get Gureru and Chatu. Let's just leave it here. We won't be gone
long."
"I don't want to take chances," Tsubasa insisted. "Just get rid of it,
will you? It's not like your States boys can't walk, and hell, we can
always jack a new one if we really need to."
Konatsu looked annoyed. "Trust me on this one. The police aren't
going to track that thing down in the next ten minutes. Let's go."
"Supposing they do?"
"They might, if we just stand here."
Tsubasa sighed. "Fine, fine," she grumbled irately, starting to stride
easily towards the underground station entrance. "I give in. Let's just
not take too long, okay?"
He jogged briskly down the stairs, followed momentarily by his annoyed
friend. "I told you already, we won't, Tsubasa."
Tsubasa gestured to the concrete pathway, which led right and left into
long, dimly lit corridors. "Which way?"
Konatsu nodded to the left. "That way." He paused as they both began
to walk into the hallway, and looked at the brown-haired girl curiously.
"Say, you haven't asked me why we're visiting these two louts from the
States yet."
"Good point. Why -are- we visiting these two louts from the States?"
He snickered. "You'll see when we get there." He walked ahead of his
friend, grinning.
"That wasn't very nice, Konatsu," Tsubasa grumbled sourly.
"Turn...that...down...dammit!"
The goateed young man being spoken to seemed to more-or-less understand
what was being bellowed at him, which was quite a feat, given the obscene
loudness of the music being blasted from a pair of speakers (which were
actually quite nice; they were glossy black and looked brand new) and a
large subwoofer. He didn't particularly want to comply, but, not being an
inherently cruel fellow, did as he was asked, and turned down the volume -
slightly.
The complainer, a European-looking fellow who was about the same age as
the young man with the goatee (sixteen or seventeen or so), sighed
thankfully. "Or better yet, turn that crap off." He ran a hand through
his short, thick blond hair as he leaned back on a beaten couch thankfully.
"But I -like- that music," the other fellow protested. "You used to."
"Biggie's played out, Jeikar. Played out." He glared at his friend,
Jeikar. "So quit playing it already!"
Jeikar sighed. "Okay, so maybe it's played out. But so's everything
else in this miserable sewer." He relaxed without seeming very relaxed at
all on the equally beaten rug that covered the floor, drinking from a can
of beer. "Ral, remind me. Why're we in this stupid place again?"
Ral rolled his eyes. He'd obviously been asked that question more than
once. "You want to get arrested? And this isn't a sewer. It's a subway
system."
"Whatever. I still hate it down here. Been forever since I've seen
the sun..."
"We went up two days ago."
Jeikar snorted. "Yeah, to rob a liquor store. That doesn't count.
Besides, it was raining." He was suddenly struck by a brilliant
inspiration. "Hey, why don't we rob a music store, like we did to steal
these speakers? We could get the new stuff. Or at least stuff that we
haven't heard a million times over." He reached a hand over and shut off
the stereo system reluctantly, and the earth-shaking bass ceased. Then he
looked up at his friend hopefully. "Uh, you -sure- you don't want to hear
'Sky's the Limit' again?"
Ral threw a cushion at him.
"I guess not," Jeikar muttered sourly. Whatever he had been about to
say next was drowned out by the sound of a subway speeding by outside the
concealed underground room, and he looked at ceiling in annoyance. "I
really hate it down here. I swear, if we could just get the hell out of
this hellhole, I'd never even so much as -look- at a department store again."
His friend glanced at him exasperatedly. "Maybe you should have
thought of that before you decided to rob one, smart guy. And before you
convinced -my- sorry ass to do it along with you," he added in a dark
undertone.
"Yeah, well, it's better being here, than...than...than, um, in jail.
Don't you think?"
Ral gave a half-smile, sardonic and bitter. "Don't you mean 'better
than where Dru is?'"
Jeikar sighed. "Yeah, that...that too. He would be pretty pissed at
me, huh?"
"And he wouldn't be the only one."
His friend looked at Ral irritatedly. "Don't pin everything on me. I
mean, we would have gotten away scot-free if your ugly mug hadn't been
caught on camera."
"Sure, like it's my fault that that Arabian wacko tore off my ski mask,
right?" He chucked darkly. "Oh yeah, but I got that fool good, though."
Jeikar snorted again. "You sure did, schmuck. You and your damned
uzi. And got murder added to our list of charges. You know," he grumbled,
"if it wasn't for that and life in prison and all, I would've turned myself
in. And Dru...Dru would've still been alive...poor Hawkface..." He
sniffled pathetically.
Ral wasn't impressed. "Quit calling him Hawkface. You're defiling his
memory."
"He didn't mind when he was alive."
"Oh, then I suppose him screaming 'QUIT CALLING ME HAWKFACE, DAMMIT'
was just a figment of my fevered imagination."
Jeikar nodded empathetically. "You bet."
"Oh, go to hell."
"Probably more pleasant than this horrid hole in the ground," he
muttered disparagingly. "What -is- that damned stench, anyway?" He
demanded. "It's making me want to retch."
"It's probably you, you pile of shit. Which is what you smell like.
When was the last time you took a shower?"
"Ain't my fault," Jeikar returned unhappily. "The shower down here's
cold as hell and's full of cockroaches. And I doubt that you smell much
better, blondie."
"I reek of roses."
"You reek of ass is what you reek of." He glanced up towards the small
back room, which was slightly more well-lit than the one that he and his
friend were currently in, and saw a young girl enter through the
half-rotted curtain covering the doorway. She was pretty-faced and wiry of
build, and dressed in utilitarian night blue clothing with a nondescript
revolver tucked into her belt.
She looked towards the two verbal opponents with a flat gaze. "What
are you two arguing about -now-?"
"Nothin'," they both said, practically in unison, both preferring to
appear to be perfectly at peace with each other in the presence of others.
She nodded. "Yeah, well, that's good, because a couple of Gureru's
boys spotted a couple guys coming this way. Said that they thought they
looked like cops, and that's bad if they're looking for this place because
they've just about found it."
"What great news," Jeikar commented sardonically, pulling out a shiny
steel pistol from next to the stereo amplifier and shoving it into his
belt. "I suppose you want us to be on hand, right?"
She smirked wryly. "Well, it's nice to see that you've gotten nice and
familiar with the routine. Yeah, I do. Both of you, come with me to
Central and be ready to start blasting if these really are pigs. Okay?"
They both nodded, and Ral picked up his slightly tarnished uzi and
patted it with comfortable familiarity.
"Great. Then let's go."
Rain Song
http://www.serve.com/guilds/ranma/
guilds@mail.serve.com
open hk.sig
The slender girl, Ryako, only gave him a cute, yet somewhat wolfish,
grin. "Aw, you're no fun, Ryoga," she said, hitting him on the shoulder
playfully. "Here we are, so close, and you won't let me read what you're
writing?" She snuggled up against him, smirking to herself.
Ryoga apparently didn't notice that she was only kidding, because his
face glowed a bright red and he nervously inched away from her. "C-close?"
He stammered. "I...well...you see..."
-from Ryoga 1/2, chapter 11
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