Ranma Monogatari by Bridget Engman based on characters created by Rumiko Takahashi and on the Heian works "Genji Monogatari" and "Torikaebaya Monogatari," plus whatever else I felt like using. PART 3 Ranma set down the brush with a sigh, stretching his cramped shoulders. Koremitsu had fallen asleep propped up against the room's corner post, looking for all the world like a six-year-old kept up past his bedtime. Through the open window, Ranma could see the sun drawing close to the horizon -- it had taken him nearly all day to write just the one poem. He hadn't noticed while he was only speaking, but it became obvious when he sat down with an assortment of sample poems that he wasn't using standard Japanese anymore. However he had gotten here, he had somehow adjusted his speaking automatically. The very concept of him speaking classical Japanese was so alien to Ranma's brain that he simply blocked it out; it seemed to him that he was just talking normally. But writing was another matter entirely. There was a vast difference between understanding classical speech and spontaneously generating it on paper. But now, at last, he had finished. He gazed at the drying ink with pride. Oh, how difficult To wake up in the morning After such a night... It seems I only saw you In a brief and fleeting dream. (1) At least, that's what he thought it said; he couldn't be absolutely sure. He had a little trouble keeping track of the auxiliary verbs. The poem sure as heck sounded sappy enough, and every word of it was true. He'd definitely had trouble getting up after that blow to the head, and his memories of the night before were like a dream, albeit a nightmare. Yup, he was pretty clever. And his calligraphy wasn't too bad, either -- he had always done reasonably well with a brush when he simply imagined the movements of his arm as a kempo technique. Standing up, Ranma lobbed a crumpled up piece of paper from an early failure at Koremitsu, hitting him square on the nose. Koremitsu jerked awake, nearly tipping over. Ranma grinned. "Yo, Koremitsu. It's ready to send, old buddy." "Of course, Lord Ranma. I will send it with a courier right away." Koremitsu took the poem from Ranma, folding the now-dry parchment precisely and intricately as he scurried out the door. Ranma mused as he put his brush and ink back on a shelf. Oddly enough, he now thought of Aoi less as someone else's wife than as, well, not *his* wife of course, but a version of the Akane he knew. In the process of writing the poem, the distinction between the two had grown hazy; for some reason, when he thought of Akane, the poem had been easier to write. It took conscious thought to remember that he had sent the poem to Aoi; he could almost picture Akane sitting at her desk, reading it by her desklamp. She would sigh, and turn to him with wide, melting eyes... Ranma shook himself. He had definitely spent too long writing that poem; he was beginning to have sappy daydreams about *Akane*, of all people. If he wrote her a poem -- which he would never do in the first place -- she would probably kick him through the window. Speaking of kicking... Ranma cleared the floor, stripping off most of his clothes and tossing them over the back of the screen in the corner. Finally, time to work out. He wished for a moment that he had his _gi_ to wear; even the under-robe he was wearing was of far too fine material to work up a good sweat in - - it would be sticky and constricting five minutes into his workout. Shrugging, he finally stripped down to his loincloth (which he had worn under protest, but was a bit better than no underwear at all, and a lot better than some of the lingerie he'd worn in his girl-form...) and began with a slow, precise routine to stretch out his stiff muscles. Koremitsu returned a few minutes later, bringing with him another tray of food, which he promptly dropped when he saw what Ranma was doing. "M...m...my lord? Lord Ranma?" he stammered in disbelief. Ranma, who had lunged for and caught the food before it hit the ground, grinned cockily and handed the tray back, having already emptied it except for the carafe of sake. "Don't worry, Koremitsu. I've got to stay in shape if I'm going to defend my poetry..." he joked, moving on to a more vigorous exercise; a full stomach and a good warmup had put him in a cheerful mood. Koremitsu was still frozen like a statue; apparently he wasn't used to "Lord Ranma" exercising. After a few minutes, Ranma began to worry. Had the poor guy had a heart attack or something? Hmmm. If he was in shock, this was a perfect opportunity to get more information out of him without the annoyance of subtlety. Ranma liked the simple approach. "So, Koremitsu, tell me about me," he said nonchalantly while letting loose a flurry of punches. Koremitsu shook himself and looked even more dazed, his already confused mind moving on to another source of confusion. "But... if it is not too impertinent to ask... why?" Ranma hadn't thought of an answer to that one. (2) He tried a few roundhouse kicks while he was thinking. Somehow it just wasn't the same without some sort of target; a few practice dummies would really liven up the workout. Even having Kuno to beat up on would be.... Kuno! That was it! He paused and stared down his nose at Koremitsu in his best imitation of the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High School. "I merely wish to hear of my own greatness," he said loftily, hoping against all hope that he looked regal despite the silly-looking loincloth. He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or offended when Koremitsu nodded in immediate understanding. "Of course, my lord. Where should I begin? With your amazing feats of Anything-Goes Martial Arts Poetry, or your astonishing exploits with women?" Ranma didn't like the sound of either one. From what he'd read earlier, his poetic adventures were not likely to be too interesting, and the phrase "exploits with women" was not comforting. "Exploits," being plural, generally implied more than one woman, and from past experience he knew that that was a less-than-auspicious situation. Then again, if he had learned anything at all from his past experiences (3), it was that it was wise to know just where he stood with regards to any women he knew. (4) "Why don't you start with Aoi," he grimaced, resuming his exercises. he added mentally. "Don't hold back, either. I need your honest opinion." Koremitsu shrugged and knelt by the wall, pouring a dish of sake from the flask left on the tray. "Here, Chunagon," he said, proffering the dish. Ranma was taken aback. Since he was a martial artist in training, he tried not to pollute his body with alcohol. Of course, recently his body had been polluted by more mind-altering substances than he cared to think of, thanks to Shampoo and Kodachi's plots and Akane's cooking, but he still tried to stick to his policy. Especially since (he admitted to himself in some shame) the few times he had imbibed alcohol, he had proven himself to be fairly vulnerable to its effects. He shook his head. "No, thanks... Why don't you drink it, since it's all heated up...?" he suggested. Koremitsu looked surprised, but he didn't waste any time tossing back his first drink and pouring another. It had probably been a very stressful day. He sighed with gusto, settling down more comfortably. "So, what do you want to know about Aoi?" "Oh, I dunno... how did we meet, how do we get along... I'm looking for your take on the situation." "Ah, well, the two of you were promised to marry by your parents when you were but children, and a few years ago when you both came of age, the marriage was made official. Neither of you was pleased with the arrangement, of course. You had already gained yourself quite the reputation with the ladies, you know, and of course no one knew quite what to make of your wife." The alcohol seemed to have already made Koremitsu a trifle garrulous and red-faced; Ranma wondered whether he would have spoken so freely were he sober. He made a mental note to get Koremitsu drunk more often. "Aoi was never like the other women. When she was very young, in fact, she was so rambunctious that most visitors thought she was a boy. Her father even encouraged her, letting her play with bows and arrows and learn swordsmanship, and since her mother had already passed on, there was no one to temper this. When she came of age, her oldest sister insisted that she take on the woman's role she was born to. But she still refused to adopt many of the beautifying practices of the court, and she insisted on continuing her training as well. You were, quite understandably, not pleased..." Ranma could see where this was going. "Let me guess. I thought she was unfeminine." Koremitsu nodded and, oddly enough, giggled as he poured another drink. "And violent, and unattractive, and..." "I get the point." "Of course you do, those were your own words. You have quite a vocabulary, my lord." "Whatever, just go on." Ranma moved from kicks to blocks, since the ceiling was too low to get into the finer points of Anything-Goes. "Well, she also objected to your lifestyle. You were too involved with women, and had been since your youth. After your father left you with your mother's family and went to China..." That stopped Ranma in his tracks. "What? The old man left on his own?" "Why, yes. Of course you recall the tale; your mother has told it to you often enough. When you were but an infant, your father planned a trip to China to study the teachings of Confucius. Your mother objected, as was quite natural. Your father being a reasonable man..." --Ranma snorted in disbelief-- "...he decided to test your resolve. He placed on a tray before you an assortment of symbolic items, to determine where your interests would lead you. Had you chosen the brush, or even the scale, he would have taken you with him to China. However, instead you chose a hand mirror, which your father deemed too feminine for a son of his. He left you, and you were raised by your mother alone. She worried that the mirror was a sign that you would grow up to be an unmanly man, but when you came of age it became obvious that it was more an indication of your... strong interest in women. (5)" Ranma passed on that one for the moment, something having occurred to him. "Okay, so I've never been to China?" "Why, no. Of course not." The implications of that hit Ranma like a brick. (6) "So when I'm splashed with cold water, nothing happens?" "Uh, you do get wet. And angry." "But I don't change?" Ranma persisted. Koremitsu blinked. "I'm not quite sure what you mean." Ranma exulted, letting his joy out in a series of spin kicks that brought him in front of Koremitsu. He cheerily balanced the sake bottle on one finger for a moment before setting it atop Koremitsu's head. "Never mind that, let's get back to Aoi." Koremitsu shakily retrieved the bottle. "Oh, yes. Well, due to your father's leaving for China, you were raised entirely among women. You learned at an early age how to get what you wanted from them, and you used this knowledge at every opportunity. Aoi thought this was..." "Perverted?" Ranma interjected. "Why, no, she thought it was perfectly normal behavior for a young nobleman. However, that didn't mean she *liked* being an abandoned wife. You reside here, now that you are married, but you spend the majority of your nights elsewhere, with your other ladies. Although the Lady Aoi's father hopes that the child your wife bears will mean the start of a new relationship between the two of you." thought Ranma. From what he'd heard so far, he had about the same relationship, or lack thereof, with Aoi as he'd had with Akane. Except for the fact that they had to have done something to get that kid. He really didn't want to think about *that* right now. "You mentioned other ladies," he uneasily changed the subject, moving on to some more complex combinations of kicks. Koremitsu thought for a moment, counting on his fingers. "Well, when you were twelve years of age, you met..." Ranma cut him off, wincing. "I don't need a complete history," he said, recalling that he himself hadn't even known any girls at the age of twelve, much less gotten involved with them. "Why don't you just sum up my current... entanglements." Once again, Koremitsu counted on his fingers. Ranma sighed. "Only the significant ones, please. Ones I visit often." "Ah, that narrows it down to... three." "Three? Besides my wife?" "Yes -- many people at court have commented on your recent restraint." Ranma narrowed his eyes in thought. If Aoi bore such a resemblance to Akane, there was a chance that these three could also be similar to women he knew in his own life. The thought was not comforting. "Oboy. So what are they like?" "Well, the first one you met would be the Lady of the Reikeiden Court." "Wait. Doesn't she have a name?" "I don't believe you've ever asked." he thought angrily. <*I* may have multiple fiancees, but at least I know their names.> Aloud, he urged Koremitsu, "Well, go on. Tell me about her." "Well, according to what you have told me, she is a lady of rare taste, skilled not only at calligraphy and the mixing of fine perfumes and incenses, but also at poetry in Chinese." Ranma finished his final whirling combination and paused to stretch out his hamstrings. "Okay, how about the second one?" "Ah, your Lady of the Evening Faces. It was a whirlwind romance, you said. She passed a fan out to you through her gate, and you were smitten. You know her house by the flowers that bloom upon her fence -- flowers that remind you of her. Apparently she is a lady of a retiring nature, refined and gentle." -- he shivered -- <...Kodachi.> He could envision the type of "whirlwind romance" *that* had been -- probably a whirlwind of poison-laced flower petals. "And the third?" "The third is a mystery in many ways. She is said to be the sister of your close friend To no Chujo, and he himself confirms this fact; yet she lives in the unfashionable Rokujo district, in the west of the capitol, and never appears at court functions. She wears her hair short, like a nun, and is otherwise unfashionably attired. Yet somehow, you have accorded her the most of your evenings." That sounded strange. The process of elimination would make this one Ukyou; she even lived in the part of town her name was taken from. Yet the description didn't quite fit her... It occurred to Ranma that okonomiyaki probably didn't even exist yet. He wondered what an Ukyou without okonomiyaki would really be like. Would she even be Ukyou at all? Ranma sighed. He had no desire whatsoever to visit either Kodachi or Shampoo, the former because she was a nutcase and the latter because she obviously wasn't going to be cooking any ramen. Plus, she was something of a nutcase too, albeit a cute one. Ukyou he would like to see, but something in him balked at the idea. It was hard for Ranma to deal with the concept of marriage. For most of his life, he had believed he would be training with his father forever. Then he had been bombarded with so many fiancees and rivals that for the most part he ignored them, and when he thought of marriage at all -- a rare event -- he thought of it as something that would happen far in the future, to a woman of his own choice. To be quite honest, he had only the vaguest idea of what marriage entailed, having never really been exposed to a married couple himself, barring his own parents -- and he could hardly classify them as a functional family. But somewhere in his mind, he had built up an ideal of what marriage would be like for him. And though most of the details were fuzzy, one facet of that ideal that had always been clear was the significance of the vow of fidelity. Honor was one thing Ranma understood, and he could not reconcile it with adultery. No, it was best for him to stay away from these others, even if he himself had no particular ties to Aoi. He was playing the part of a married man now. Besides, if he went to visit any of them, they might expect him to do just a tad more than chat. And while Ranma was certainly a red-blooded young man, he was a martial artist in training, and it was his duty to avoid temptation. Really, that was it... Well, maybe he was a bit nervous, too... but only a bit... In any case, there was just something bothersome about the whole idea. Not to mention the fact that avoiding these others would make adjusting to his new life far less complicated. He hoped they wouldn't come looking for him. Koremitsu had finished the bottle and was listing slightly to one side, watching Ranma with a glazed look. Ranma finished stretching and brushed sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, sinking to the floor and lying on his back to let his mind go. He sighed. The silence was calming, and despite not knowing what was going on, or whether he would ever get back to his own life, he relaxed. The world seemed completely at peace. (7) The door slid open and a small child dressed in bright silk scurried in, sending Ranma an awed look as he ran over to Koremitsu. The child whispered in the servant's ear, handing him a small bundle of cloth. Koremitsu sat up straight, eyes wide. "Oh dear." That didn't sound good. Ranma sprang to his feet and crossed his arms, expectantly watching Koremitsu, who was assiduously avoiding his eyes. "Well? What's wrong?" Koremitsu laughed nervously; the boy slipped behind him, wide eyes glued to Ranma. "Your wife has responded to your poem." "Oh, good. Lemme hear her poem." This distance relationship was working out pretty well. If he ever made it back to his own life, he'd have to try this with Akane... not that he wanted a relationship, of course, just the distance communication part. Maybe it would hurt less. "You can't." "What? Why not?" Koremitsu swallowed and tried a cheerful smile that came out rather grotesque. "The Lady Aoi did not compose a poem." "Wait a minute. She's supposed to, right? That's how this thing works: I write a poem, she writes back, we don't see each other very much..." "No, the Lady Aoi *refuses* to write a poem. She says..." Koremitsu giggled again, a bit of hysteria seizing him. "She says that she can't be expected to reply to a poem that you obviously didn't write." "I... didn't write?" Ranma felt fury beging to bubble up inside him. "The Lady Aoi has received enough poems from you, she says, to know your handwriting. The poem you sent was in someone else's hand. Furthermore..." Koremitsu trailed off. Ranma was in no mood to play around. "What else did my *wife* have to say?" he bit out. "Well... in her words... um... 'There's no way he could have written that poem, it has the right number of syllables.'..." Koremitsu gulped shakily, holding out the bundle of cloth the page had handed him. Ranma opened it to find his carefully crafted poem, torn into hundreds of pieces. He let the pieces flutter to the floor as a storm of emotion swept over him. There was a weird ironic humor to the situation, he was to admit that later. After all, this wasn't really his Akane, was it? But right now, all he could see was that his gesture of lo... of friendly communication had been spurned. He began to tremble almost imperceptibly as his mind replayed the moment. By the time the last scrap of paper fluttered to his feet, he had reached his boiling point. "Why, that... that..." None of the insults he usually used for Akane seemed strong enough for his offended fury, and he wildly smashed his fist into the floor, smashing through the tatami and the boards beneath and sending the paper scraps flying. Koremitsu shrank back, and the page ran out the door. Ranma pulled his fist out of the gaping hole, ignoring the splinters as he looked for something else to smash. The screen looked like a good target; it had too much gold leaf on it anyhow, the museums of the twentieth century would never miss it. He was winding up for a flying kick when an amused voice broke in. "Marital problems again, I see." Ranma spun to see a young man in court dress lounging in the doorway. He looked dizzyingly familiar, and as Ranma's mind grappled with the resemblance, his fury began to fade. "Ah, To no Chujo!" Koremitsu gushed in obvious relief. "What a pleasure to have your company today!" That was it! It was the strong resemblance to Ukyou that had struck him; change the clothes and this To no Chujo could be her twin. The Rokujo Lady must be Ukyou after all... He realized he had been silent for some time, and guiltily looked up. To no Chujo appeared not to have noticed. He was staring at Ranma's near-nakedness, two spots of red high on his cheekbones. Ranma belatedly recalled the clothes draped over the screen. Ranma was not normally very self-conscious; nudity -- his own at least -- was a fairly comfortable state. But he had to admit, Koremitsu and To no Chujo's reactions indicated a less casual attitude in this time... hadn't Dr. Kakeba mentioned that in class? Besides that, he had to admit that the loincloth looked silly. Embarrassment shoved anger aside in his mind, and he turned sheepishly to Koremitsu. "Um... I'd like to take a bath now." Koremitsu stared blankly yet again. Ranma sighed. "Just bring me hot water. Lots of hot water." Koremitsu left quickly. "Perhaps I should leave," To no Chujo said, flashing a wide smile and backing towards the door. "That's okay, why don't you stay and talk a bit, since you came all the way over." Maybe he could get some more information this way. Ranma sat cross-legged on the floor; after a pause, To no Chujo knelt across from him, staring distractedly out the window. Ranma ran his fingers through his sweaty bangs, flicking them into place. "Man, I just do *not* understand women." Ranma absently pulled a few splinters out of his knuckles, flicking them across the room. "You'd think a sexless girl like her would be happy to get *any* poem." To no Chujo smiled wryly at that. "Well, we both know the Lady Aoi is uncommonly ill-tempered and capricious. You get along well with most other women. Take my sister for example." To no Chujo stood and walked to the window, studying the garden intently. "She tells me often how happy she is to receive a visit or a poem from you. It is unfortunate that you haven't visited her lately. Perhaps you should do so tonight." Ranma sighed, chin thumping into his hand. "Believe me, I don't need to deal with any more women right now." To no Chujo shrugged one shoulder carelessly. "As you like. I merely wished to point out that a woman more tractable than Aoi is waiting faithfully for you, instead of picking fights and flirting with other men. Why, you don't even know if the child Aoi carries is yours." Ranma felt a chill. "Other men?" To no Chujo's back was ramrod stiff as he answered. "Don't be a fool, Ranma. Everyone knows about Aoi and Third Councillor Saisho. You told me about it yourself." Ranma twitched, a sardonic smile twisting his face. "Of course I remember. It's not like I care what she does anyhow. After all, *we* never decided to get married ourselves. Our parents decided it all for us..." He noticed detachedly that his fingers were furrowing into the tatami mats. "True enough." To no Chujo turned away from the window with a composed smile. "Well then, I have others to call on today, and so I shall leave you for the moment. But of course I will see you at court tomorrow." "Yeah, whatever," Ranma muttered, barely noticing as To no Chujo slipped out the door. Ranma leapt to his feet and started violently shoving his hands into the sleeves of a robe, not bothering to fasten it. he told himself as he stalked out the door, narrowly missing Koremitsu and his bowl of water. END PART 3 NOTES (1) Most of the poems in here will be reworkings (read: mutilations) of poems from Japanese poetry collections; this one is based on a poem by Monk Sosei that appears in the _Kokinshu_ as number 575. (2) Other than the author's need for plot exposition... (3) Not likely... (4) This was, of course, only a theory; having never put it into practice in his life, he could only attest to the fact that without that knowledge life was pretty painful. (5) This method of fortunetelling is mooched from a Chinese novel, "Dream of the Red Chamber," with a few variations. (6) And yes, Ranma knew exactly how *that* felt. (7) This should have warned him.