Hi!
Well, normally I'm for relatively short preambles before a fic,
but since it's been about 8 months since I've posted any of this (and
about one year since I sent out part one), I figure I'd indulge a little.
I won't bore you with the details of why it took me so long --
it's just been a really busy life, I guess. End result: I've got a BA and
I'm now working in the army (well, for now...) Up the Guards! <smirk>
This is part two of my Choices storyline; at least, it's one half
of part two. I think. I'm not even sure if I'm still going to call it
Dilemma. Maybe 'Choices: The Day After'? It follows immediately after
Choices: The Party, and details ... you guessed it ... what happens the
very next day. Originally it was going to include that, and Ranma's first
day back at school following the party, but I'm thinking it may be long
enough as is to stand as its own chapter.
It's not really necessary to read 'The Party' before this one,
though I certainly hope you will -- but seeing as its been a year since I
released it, I sorta integrated a recap of what happened in that chapter
into 'Dilemma'. Well, minus some important details...
Anyway, enough of this. Hope you enjoy the story (I'm not
entirely sure I'm pleased with it, and some of the later stuff is rather
rough, but, hey, its only a draft, right?). C&C is, as always, not only
appreciated but actively desired, whether it be good or bad.
Unfortunately I'm not on the FFML (pseudo-army life is not conductive to
internet access, and I'm lucky to get to a computer about once a week), so
please send responses directly to my address (or CC it to my address,
since I wouldn't want to deny the FFML a possible thread, if any aspect of
this story is deemed worthy of discussion... <grin>)
-Mike Noakes
***
Choices
Part Two: Dilemma
Slow, reluctant rise from comforting
darkness. Unwilling awakening to dull
throbbing pain lurking within his skull.
Queasy, empty feeling in the stomach.
General sensation of body weariness and
irritating tingly sensitivity of the skin.
Foul, pasty taste to the mouth, tongue
feeling unpleasantly thick. Tentative
opening of one eye -- then immediate
squeezing shut, despite the relative darkness
of the room.
Ranma groaned. He felt terrible. He
wanted to sleep some more. He turned over
onto one side.
"Oh no you don't!" A voice interrupted
his suffering. "Time to get up!" A woman.
Cheerful sounding, but with an undeniable
authoritative edge. There was the sound of
curtains being drawn, and annoying, unwanted
light flooded the room. "You've slept long
enough!"
"No -- no," he moaned pathetically. "I
don't wanna get up, Mom!" Mom. Mom? "MOM!"
he exclaimed, bolting into a sitting
position, sheets flying from the sudden
movement. Interesting lights to flare before
his eyes. Fear clutched him, almost strong
enough to overcome the redoubled pounding in
his skull. Ranma clutched his head in pain
while peering, terrified, through a mess of
bangs at the tall woman. She finished
drawing back the last curtain and turned
around. Nodoka smiled.
"Good morning, Ranko!" she said.
"Sorry, dear, your mom is not here. Just
me."
Ranma blinked up confusedly at his
mother, and then, slowly, looked down at
himself. For perhaps the first time, the
sight of breasts on his chest -- still bound
in Akane's bikini -- comforted him. With a
sigh of relief he relaxed. "Oh. Ah, hi . .
. Auntie Saotome," he stammered.
His mother kneeled next to him. "How
are you feeling?" she asked softly, smoothing
back the redhead's hair. Ranma realized that
his hair was unbound and flowing freely, and
somewhat messily, down his back. He blew a
few wayward strands out of his face, which
his mom secured behind the ears.
"Ah . . . fi -- fine, I guess," he
answered. Then seeing the knowing look in
his mother's eyes, he grinned weakly.
"Terrible."
She nodded as she stood. "I'll get you
something to drink which should help to
soothe your stomach, Ranko. I will be back
in a moment." She stepped away, but paused a
moment before leaving the room. "You know,
Ranko, it really is not ladylike to drink so
much," she said disapprovingly, then turned
and left the room.
"Yeah, no kidding," he muttered as she
slid the door shut behind her. Ranma slowly
lowered himself onto his futon, throwing one
arm across his eyes to block out the light.
What is she doing here, he wondered. Then a
moment later: what am _I_ doing here? Last
he could remember was . . . the pool?
Diving. Drinking. Playful splashing and
swimming and relaxed fun.
No.
There was . . . something else. A girl?
A name hovered at the edge of his mind. A
bathroom? A snapshot image flashed through
his head: counter, rug, curtains, shower,
toilet. Was it at Kiyoshi's place? He could
not remember. Strange. Normally I'm really
good with names and places and stuff, he
thought. It's not like me to forget. . . .
Forget. . . .
He was forgetting something. He knew
it. Something important. His brow furrowed
in intense concentration as he forced
sluggish thoughts backwards: before swimming,
he had stepped into the house, looking for
some hot water, and he had bumped into. . .
Akane.
Ranma jerked suddenly upright once
again, eyes widening in horror. "Oh no," he
whispered, suddenly oblivious to the renewed
pounding in his head. An angry loud voice
echoed through his mind:
"You pervert!
"What kind of _guy_ hangs around other
guys wearing a _girl's_ bathing suit?
"Some man, some fiance you are!"
He winced at the memory -- at his
retaliation:
"You wanted to come here, alone, right?
Well, fine. Then you can leave here, alone,
too! You didn't want me hangin' around you
at the party? Fine! Then why should I hang
around you _after_ the party?
"After all, being alone suits you, ne?
S'not like anyone _here_ cares if you stay or
go. _I_ certainly don't!"
And then, worst of all:
"Let go." Her demand.
"No." His refusal.
And he had pressed down on her wrist.
He had inflicted pain upon her.
Ranma buried his face in his hands.
Akane's voice, dangerously soft, returned to
him, accompanied this time with the image of
her face, red and furious and strangely sad:
"I hate you," she said, and soon after: "Our
engagement is over, Ranma." The words had
been spoken with a chilling certainty and
finality that left little doubt in Ranma's
mind that whatever had existed between them
before was irrevocably over.
With a groan he sank back onto his
futon.
Soon after, the door slid open once
again. "Ranko . . . Ranko, come on now, I
thought I asked you to get up?" He turned
his head slightly and watched as his mom
stepped back into his room. With a sigh she
placed a small tray next to the futon. Faint
wisps of steam escaped from the spout of the
small porcelain kettle sitting on the tray; a
cup lay next to it. Ranma could not help but
look at the kettle somewhat nervously.
"Here," said Nodoka. "This should help. It
is a special Saotome recipe, renowned for
easing the effects of too much drinking. At
least," and she smiled slightly, almost
wistfully, "it helped my husband the many
times I served it to him." Nodoka poured him
a cupful of tea.
Smiling tentatively in return, Ranma
accepted her offer. "Er -- thanks," he said,
raising the teacup to his lips.
"Don't thank me until you taste it,
dear," she answered, a slightly mischievous
glint to her eyes. Ranma cast an inquisitive
look at his mother over the rim of the cup,
then took a deep drink.
The liquid was hot, bitter, thick, and
thoroughly unpleasant. He almost gagged at
the unexpected taste. "No -- finish it,
Ranko!" insisted his mother forcefully, when,
grimacing, he pulled the cup away.
"But. . . ."
"Ranko. . . ."
With a groan, he held his breath and
tried a second time. The pungent liquid
tasted like something Akane would cook up, he
thought wryly, as the last drop finally slid
sluggishly down his throat.
"There. That was not so bad, now was
it, Ranko?"
"Oh, not at all, Auntie Saotome," he
said, leveling an even stare at her and
smiling crookedly. "Just . . . wonderful."
Nodoka gave a small laugh. "It _is_
rather terrible, isn't it?"
Ranma nodded emphatically as his mother
poured out another cup. "How much of this do
I hafta drink, anyway?"
"Depends on when you feel good enough to
get up," answered the taller woman, smiling.
"Ah." He took the second cup and
sniffed at it, nose wrinkling at the piercing
scent. "Ugh. Then I think I'll be getting
up soon, then."
"That's the whole point, dear!"
Ranma snorted, but gamely tried another
tentative sip. It tasted just as bad as
before. "Does it hafta taste and smell so
bad?" he asked.
Nodoka giggled, and leaned in closer.
"The truth, Ranko?" she whispered
conspiratorially. "No!"
"But. . . ."
"I got into the habit of adding a few
extra ingredients when I made it for my
husband. Oh, how he hated the taste of it!
It was just an extra incentive for him to not
drink." She paused for a moment. "Not, mind
you, that it ever helped!"
Ranma giggled in turn. Then he looked
down at the viscous, dark drink, and shook
his head. "Well, I'm certainly not gonna
drink again! Ever!"
"The amount of times Genma said that as
well!"
No kidding, thought Ranma. Pop sure
never gave up drinking after leaving home.
At least, he drank enough while we wandered
across Japan -- a fair bit in China -- and it
certainly didn't get any better after
Jusenkyo. But after last night -- no. The
fight with Akane, all the stuff he had told
his classmates, even the stupid scanty
bathing suit he was _still_ wearing: it was
all the fault of last night's drinking.
Akane. He sighed.
"Is there something wrong, Ranko?" asked
his mother, looking down at him with concern.
Ranma shook his head, sighing again.
"Ah, gee, Auntie Saotome. It's -- it's
nothing. . . ." And then, suddenly, "Umm --
is everyone else here?"
"Everyone? Or someone in particular,
Ranko?"
He looked at her suspiciously, but
continued, "Is - is Akane here?"
Nodoka smiled. "Yes, Akane is here.
She was quite worried about you, Ranko."
"Worried?"
Nodoka nodded. "And a little angry,
too, I suppose," she said. "Although. . . ."
He drooped and sighed. Angry. Of
course Akane would be angry. She had every
reason to be, especially after what he had
said and done. But it's her fault too,
whispered a voice in the back of his head.
She insulted you first, she blamed you first,
she _started_ it. He cringed. No! He was
to blame in this. No matter what she had
said or done, Ranma knew he had gone too far
this time. He had threatened her. He had
almost hurt her. He had broken his promise
and ruined her night. It had been her
evening out, and he had selfishly pushed her
aside and made it his own. Ranma's face
burned red with shame.
". . . I really can't blame her,"
continued his mother. "After all, I am
pretty mad with you myself, Ranko." A note
of sternness entered Nodoka's voice, and the
Saotome `daughter' stared shamefacedly at her
futon.
"I . . . I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I . .
. I didn't mean to. . . ." His voice choked.
He was almost surprised at his own reaction;
the feeling in his stomach, the trembling,
the fear. Everybody knew. Even his mother.
What had he done?
A single finger gently lifted his chin
up, and caring eyes looked down at him.
"Ranko," said Nodoka, still firm, but with
added compassion and softness. "I know you
did not mean to -- but we did expect you to
be more responsible. I do not approve of you
drinking, but if you do -- do you not think
that, maybe, you should be a little more
careful?"
Ranma looked up at her in surprise. Was
that it? What about. . .
"You were lucky to have Akane there to
watch over you," added the elder Saotome.
"Really, Ranko, drinking to the point of
passing out! I expected better from you! If
your cousin had not found you and carried you
home, who knows what could have happened!
With all. . . ."
"I passed out?" he interrupted. "Akane
carried me home?"
"You don't remember?"
He closed his eyes, tried thinking back
again. Talking with friends. Hiroshi.
Fighting with Akane (he winced unconsciously
at that once again). Swimming. And then . .
. and then . . . blank. He shook his head.
"I . . . no. I can't!"
"What were you thinking, Ranko?"
Ranma looked confused for a moment.
"Huh?"
"Drinking like that? With all those . .
. those boys around!"
"So?"
Nodoka looked at him disbelievingly. "A
pretty young girl like yourself, drunk,
defenseless, dressed like that, surrounded
by. . . ."
"Oh, Auntie -- I don't think you have to
worry about that," he said dismissively,
smirking. "Trust me: the guys at the party
don't . . . ah, think of me that way. Heh.
You could kinda say they think of me as `just
one of the guys'." But that's not quite
true, now is it, intruded a voice in the back
of his head. Hiroshi thought you were
attractive, didn't he? So did the other
guys. The way they were looking at you --
they sure don't look at each other that way.
The smile slipped, and Nodoka's half-
concerned, half-annoyed look deepened.
"Ranko. . . ."
"No, really," he insisted. "Ok, maybe
they _do_ look at me kinda funny sometimes,
but they wouldn't _dare_ touch me." `Cus I'd
kill `em, he thought grimly. Besides, they
all know I'm really a guy, anyway. Some of
`em may be perverts -- but they're not _that_
bad! "Really, Auntie! If they tried. . . ."
he inserted a slightly threatening
undercurrent to his voice and mimicked
throwing a few punches.
His mother smiled slightly despite
herself. "You are such a tomboy, sometimes,"
she said, shaking her head and standing.
"Sometimes I despair of ever making a young
lady out of you!"
"I'm pretty hopeless, ain't I?"
Nodoka cast a critical eye over her
protege. "Well . . . I know one place to
start. We need to get you washed up and into
some decent clothing!"
Ranma wholeheartedly agreed. He looked
down at himself, peeked beneath the sheets:
he was still wearing nothing more than
Akane's bikini. He felt dirty and grimy and,
taking a sniff, he noticed that he even smelt
funny, too. His mother was right -- a nice,
hot bath, and. . . . He looked up at his
mother and sighed. Well, ok, maybe a not-as-
nice cold scrubbing, instead, and he would
feel a _lot_ better. The threat of his
mother's idea of `decent clothing' kind of
worried him, but he felt he had already
disappointed her enough already.
Disappointed everyone, really. He had a
feeling that today was going to be a very
long, very rough day.
"I'll go and make you a light lunch, ok,
Ranko?" said his mother, heading for the
door.
He nodded, paused, then turned to her.
"Lunch?"
"Oh my, didn't you realize? You slept
most of the day away, dear. It is already
almost three o'clock in the afternoon!" she
answered, and left the room.
He groaned once again. Maybe not such a
long day after all. His one day off, and he
wasted it away nursing a hangover.
_Definitely_ the last time he would ever
drink, he vowed -- it simply was not worth
it. Eventually, and with a final sigh, he
stood up and headed to his dresser. Grabbing
a towel and taking a deep breath, he prepared
himself for the inevitable and headed for the
bathroom.
Nodoka Saotome whistled a happy tune as
she prepared a light meal for Ranko, hands
working with unconscious ease. She always
felt comfortable and welcome at the Tendo's;
it was strange, really, that one place could
generate such feeling of both pleasure and
profound disappointment. Once again, her son
and husband were gone, training. Though she
recognized the need for constant diligence
and practice -- how else would her Ranma
truly become a man of honor, a man among men
-- she still missed them terribly. Every
time she visited, every time she discovered
that they had already left, she invariably
felt depressed . . . momentarily. For on
every visit, there was also Ranko.
Ranko. Such a sweet, spunky, vibrant
girl; such a tomboy! So beautiful and
confident, almost cocky and arrogant, and yet
obviously so unsure of her own femininity and
insecure in her own development. It had
never been made clear, but Nodoka surmised
that the young girl was motherless; or
perhaps Ranko and her mother simply were not
on speaking terms. Whatever the reasons, the
Tendo cousin obviously needed and sought
female guidance -- a sort of mother-figure,
as it were. And Nodoka. . . Nodoka was more
than pleased to fill that role.
She frowned slightly as she stirred the
broth. Judging by Ranko's current condition,
it was also clear that that role needed
filling _now_. Drinking to the point of
passing out? Picking a fight at the party?
According to Akane, her cousin had even been
flirting with many of the boys there!
Unbelievable. Worse, she seemed utterly
clueless as to what could happen to a pretty
young girl at a party like that. The
matriarch shook her head; Ranko and her were
going to have a little `mother' and
`daughter' talk, soon, before she left. . . .
"Mmmm. . . ." A voice interrupted her
reverie. Nodoka glanced back as Nabiki
stepped into the kitchen. "Smells wonderful,
Mrs. Saotome!"
Nodoka smiled. "Thank you, Nabiki," she
said, returning to her soup. Reaching over,
she lifted up the pile of sliced green onions
on the blade of her cutting knife, and slid
them into the simmering broth. "I'm making a
soup for Ranko. With her stomach as queasy
as it is, I doubt she could handle anything
much heavier." As she talked she continued
adding to her soup: celery, carrots, leeks.
The middle Tendo daughter stepped up to
the stove and peered in. "Looks good," she
said appreciatively, but with a slight smirk.
Nodoka gave her an inquisitive glance.
Nabiki noticed and grinned. "I was just
thinking of Ranko. How's she feeling?"
"As well as can be expected, I suppose,
since I assume it was her first time
drinking." She paused for a moment. "It
_was_ her first time, I imagine?"
Nabiki shrugged. "As far as I know."
"Good. And I hope it was her last. It
simply is not ladylike to drink like that. .
. ."
"No kidding. You'd almost think she was
a _boy_, the way she drank last night!"
"Now, now," gently scolded Nodoka, "it
is not nice to make fun of your cousin like
that."
"I know," said Nabiki. "I know. It's
just. . . well, you weren't there, Mrs.
Saotome. Ranko looked so rough -- so
_funny_, when Akane dragged her home last
night. And she was spouting absolute
gibberish, too. It was the first time I've
seen . . . Ranko, heh, drunk. Absolutely
priceless -- and I've got the pictures to
prove it!"
"Nabiki!"
The young girl grinned. Nodoka turned
back to her soup, hiding a slight creasing of
her brow. After all, they were not her
children -- but sometimes, she found Nabiki
to be just a little to brash for her own
good. But it was not her place to say
anything. Instead, she gave her soup a taste
and nodded in satisfaction.
"Almost done," she announced. "Would
you like some?"
Nabiki took another sniff, and nodded.
"For sure!"
"Do you think Akane would like some as
well?"
"Well," answered the Tendo, "She's been
out in the dojo all day -- which means that
she's probably pretty hungry." She paused as
if in thought for a moment. "Did you mention
whether Ranko was coming down any time soon?"
Nodoka pulled a small stack of bowls
from the kitchen cupboard. "Ranko should be
down any moment, the poor dear. She said she
would eat right after a quick bath."
"In a moment?" said Nabiki, grinning
evilly. "I'll go get Akane right away!" The
girl turned and quickly strode from the
kitchen.
Nabiki frowned as she watched her
younger sister finish a kata in the dojo.
The piles of shattered cinder blocks were
expected; this was not. Akane was complete
immersed within her movements, moving with an
intensity and -- and abandon, Nabiki
realized, that was quite unusual for her.
And yet, for all her concentration, Akane's
form was flawed, uncontrolled, almost sloppy.
Even Nabiki could tell. Which meant that
something was bothering her sister, something
important. It suddenly occurred to Nabiki
that, perhaps, something more serious than
just Ranma getting drunk and making an idiot
of himself had happened at the party last
night.
"Hey, Akane," she called out, stepping
into the training hall.
Her sister started at the sudden
interruption, and completed her technique
messily. "Na - Nabiki," she said, giving her
head a little shake. "I didn't hear you come
in."
"You ok, Sis?" interrupted the older
sister. "You look a bit out of it."
Akane flushed slightly as she wiped the
sleeve of her gi across her forehead. "It -
it's nothing, Nabiki. Just having a bit of
trouble concentrating."
Obviously, thought Nabiki, but why? No
doubt that idiot Saotome had insulted her or
something last night. Akane's recount of the
party had been rather sketchy this morning,
and her story had been full of holes, leaving
large sections of the night unaccounted for.
Nabiki had thought nothing of it -- what
reason had she to be suspicious? If Ranma
had done anything to annoy her, Akane could
be counted on to let the world know (as she
had this morning); and if her sister had been
up to anything more . . . serious, like
drinking or something, than what of it?
Nabiki had had her first experiment with
alcohol at the very same party last year, and
remembered that night quite fondly; why deny
Akane the same?
But, obviously, _something_ had not gone
well. Perhaps she ought to give a few
friends a call.
"So what did you want, Nabiki?" asked
Akane.
"Huh? Oh. Aunt Saotome just made some
soup. She wanted to know if you were hungry.
Smells good!"
Akane seemed to consider it for a
moment, then gave a single nod. "Sure. I
guess I am kind of hungry," she answered, and
fell into step beside her sister.
"So how are you feeling?" asked Nabiki.
Akane shot her a sideway glance. "Fine.
Why?"
"You just seem a bit . . . tense. Still
pissed off at Ranma?"
They stepped up onto the veranda. "I
don't want to talk about it, Nabiki."
"Oh, c'mon, Sis. You sort of glossed
over the details -- what did he do? Fool
around behind your. . . ," prodded Nabiki.
"I said," exclaimed Akane loudly, as
they stepped into the house, "I don't want to
talk about that hentai _baka_!"
Sudden silence greeted their arrival.
Looking around, Nabiki realized that they had
all arrived at the table simultaneously: Mrs.
Saotome, stepping out of the kitchen with a
tray laden with bowls; father and Uncle
Saotome (in panda form, of course) crossing
over from their habitual shogi-playing
position; and finally Ranma, turning the
corner, wrapped in a towel and carrying his
bath accessories.
Tension levels rose considerably.
Mrs. Saotome was the first to break the
silence. With a small frown, she turned to
Akane and asked, "Are you talking about my
son, Akane dear?"
The shift in her sister's demeanor was
stunning. She was suddenly smiling --
though it fell far short of Akane's eyes and
was so obviously false and forced to anyone
with any degree of perception that Nabiki
wondered how anyone could fail to see through
it -- and she answered in a too-too cheerful
voice, "Not at all, Aunt Saotome. I was
talking about . . . about some jerk at the
party last night.
"Isn't that right . . . Ranko?" And the
forced smile, forced cheerfulness in Akane's
voice hit a chilling high as she turned to
her nervous-looking fiance.
"Ah -- ah. . . ," he stammered, eyes
flicking back and forth across everyone in
the room, seemingly unable to meet Akane's
steady gaze.
"Say, how are you feeling, anyway,
Ranko?" asked Akane, and this time there was
a slight, almost imperceptible tremor to her
voice, buried by the time she finished. "You
looked pretty sick last night."
"Er, ah -- yeah. Fine. I feel . . .
fine." He took a hesitant step forward. "I
was, ah, just going to take a bath, Akane."
He nervously crossed the room; Akane stepped
back to give him space to pass by; he
hesitated once again before doing so.
And as he drew up beside Akane, she
asked, "Oh, and I was wondering if you were
done with my bikini yet, Ranko." The
cheerfulness in her voice suddenly dropped
like a rock, leaving her words hard and cold.
"Was it worth it . . . Ranko?"
Ranma flinched back as if slapped, then
dropped his gaze to the floor. Finally,
after a long-seeming moment, he raised his
eyes to Akane's, and matched her glare with a
look -- a searching gaze, an enigmatic glance
-- that defied Nabiki's attempt to decipher.
Another moment, then he sighed and stepped
away. Without another word or look back, he
stepped into the bathroom.
"Well, I see she's looking much better!"
said Mrs. Saotome with honest brightness,
serving out the bowls of soup. Father and
Panda nodded sagely before tearing into their
meal; Akane calmly sat at the table and began
eating methodically. Nabiki shook her head.
Something was _very_ wrong here, and
obviously the adults were too blind to
realize it. It seemed a few calls were in
order. After lunch, of course.
Ranma very calmly stepped into the
bathroom and closed the door behind him. He
leaned back heavily. A deep sigh escaped his
lips. Something akin to a shudder traversed
his body, tremulous hollow wave starting deep
within and traveling to his extremities. One
weary hand passed across his squeezed-shut
eyes; he took a deep breath and forced
himself to relax. He held the position for
what felt a long time.
Was it worth it? He recalled Akane's
question. Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his
eyes, let the towel fall away, glanced at
himself, at the clothes he was wearing. Had
it been worth it?
No.
And yet, deeper within, beyond the
frightening painful emptiness centered in the
pit of his stomach, there was an insidious
sense that, maybe, possibly, it _had_ been
worth it. So Akane was mad, whispered a
voice, so what, she's always mad. But now --
now he was popular, he had friends at school,
things would be different at Furinkan, he
wouldn't be . . . be alone, anymore.
Besides, the fight between him and Akane was
not _his_ fault, it was _hers_, that uncute.
. . .
"No. . . ," he hissed, voice escaping
through clenched. No. He shouldn't . . . he
couldn't fall back on that, on old insults
and easy excuses. This was serious.
Passing by Akane, he had searched her face,
her eyes, seeking the slightest glimmer of
forgiveness. In vain. Only coldness and
hard indifference had reflected his pleading,
anxious look. And he realized that, up until
then, he had still been hoping -- no,
expecting! -- her to let him off the hook.
But it was not going to happen.
With sudden alacrity he pushed away from
the door, reached behind and unhooked the
bikini top; with a quick wiggle and kick he
tore off the bottom. He scooped up both and
dumped them in the bathroom anteroom's
hamper. There. For what it was worth . . .
the bathing suit was gone. A meaningless
act, perhaps . . . but a start nonetheless.
It left him feeling slightly better.
Actually, he realized, he felt a _lot_
better. Akane's too-small top had been
constricting his breasts for, what, over
twelve hours now? It felt good to let his
chest loose. But then he looked down at his
ample bosom, the soft, full flesh that made
him something other than what he truly was,
and grew angry. It should not feel 'nice' to
let his chest loose, he should never have had
to bind it up in the first place! One fist
convulsed in anger. Damn curse! Stupid,
stupid, impossible curse! He glanced through
the sliding door, into the bathroom and at
the furo itself; light wisps of steam curled
up from the ready and waiting bath. Good.
Mother or not, he _would_ return to maleness,
even if only for a few minutes. He was a man
-- and he needed to feel like one again.
Decision made, he stalked over to the
bath, not even bothering to slide the door
shut behind him. His towel lay in a crumpled
heap in the middle of the anteroom. It was
inconsiderate for him to climb into the bath
like this, still dirty, unclean, without
scrubbing; he did not care. He wanted his
height, his weight, his manhood back. He
lifted one leg up and over. . . .
"Oh, Ranko dear. . . ."
With sudden uncanny speed and skill, he
brought his leg down and pushed off the
ceramic edge of the bath; he caught himself
easily as he fell back, hand-springing off
the slick floor, twisting in midair; before
his mother could even complete her cursory
knock, he landed on the little stool in the
anteroom and flipped up his bucket of bathing
products with one foot. The door
opened and in stepped his mother.
"Ranko . . . Ranko? You haven't even
started bathing yet?" she asked, surprised.
"Oh, ah . . . not yet, Auntie Saotome!"
he answered, forcing a girlish giggle. "I
guess I still felt a little tired, and. . .
."
"Are you feeling okay, dear?" she asked,
stepping into the room and softly closing the
door behind her. "You look a bit flushed.
Maybe I should not have forced you up so
quickly. . . ."
Ranma shook his head. "Oh, it's ok,
Mrs. Saotome! I'll be fine!"
"Are you sure?" After laying a bundle
of clothing on the counter, she knelt down
next to Ranma and brought one hand up to his
forehead. "I can take my bath with you, if
you like, wash your back for you. . . ."
"No!" exclaimed Ranma, and then again,
somewhat less excitedly, "No. I'll be fine,
really." He stood up and smiled. "See, I
feel. . . ." Then, realizing he was
completely naked, he blushed furiously,
snagged his towel from the floor, and wrapped
it around his female body. "Ah . . . sorry
'bout that."
His mother smiled, but cast a careful
eye over her 'daughter'. "Are you sure you
feel fine?" When he nodded, she relaxed and
turned back to the door. "Well, okay then.
Just remember that your soup is getting cold.
Don't take too long, Ranko!"
"I won't, Auntie!" he answered.
"Oh, and I left some clothes for you,
for after you clean up," she said as she
closed the door behind her. One hand pointed
vaguely toward the counter where she had
deposited the bundle, then withdrew. The
door clicked shut.
Ranma watched after her for a moment,
then sank back onto the stool with a relieved
sigh. Close -- too close. He glanced over
at the bath again and decided that, maybe, he
_could_ accept being female for just a little
longer. He released a dry chuckle. To
think, he thought, that I actually believed I
could have a little _privacy_ in my own
bathroom! As if.
Except, of course, it was not his
bathroom, nor his house. It was the Tendo's,
and at any time, they had every right to
interrupt him, intrude on a private moment --
or throw him out. Had they not done so a
number of times in the past? He was a guest
here, he had very few possessions to call his
own, and his residence was a perpetual debt
hovering over his head. Of course, now,
after what he had done last night. . . .
Ranma shivered. Shaking his head, he trudged
over to the taps and filled a bucket with
cold water. He then settled down on his
stool and started to lather up. Goosebumps
rose as the chilling washcloth passed across
arms, stomach, chest.
He continued to wash absently as his
mind wandered. What was he going to do?
Strangely enough, it seemed as if Akane had
not yet told his or her father about what had
happened last night. Hangover
notwithstanding, Pop and Mr. Tendo would most
certainly have been banging on his door the
moment they found out that Akane had called
off the engagement. In the brief time he had
seen Nabiki before stepping into the
bathroom, she had not seemed aware of what
had gone on, either. So obviously Akane had
only told part of the story -- the parts
where he drank himself silly and had a good
time. Was that a good thing? Did that mean
that, perhaps, there was a possibility of
somehow, with time, of working this through?
If only he knew where to start.
An involuntary gasp and sudden start
snapped him out of his revery, as he
unconsciously passed the icy cloth a little
close to his lower regions. Sighing, he
turned his attention back to his scrubbing.
At the rate he was going, he would never be
done. Although, added Ranma somewhat
bleakly, why hurry? Things were only going
to be worse out there.
Ranma returned to his task . . . and his
stomach, after a quick glance down, sank even
further. "Ah . . . aw _shit_!" he groaned,
and winced. There, on his inner thigh, was a
speckling of brownish red. Blood. He looked
closer: more staining, nearer his female
genitals. It could only mean one thing: his
period. And it looked heavier than normal,
too. "Great, just . . . just great," he
grumbled. It must have started during the
night or something, he reasoned. Still,
wasn't it a bit early? He tried remembering
the last time it had hit -- whether he had
avoided it by remaining male -- tried
counting the days -- lost track and gave up
with a scowl. Whatever. He was a guy,
dammit, and all that crap was a girl's
problem! With unnecessary vigor he attacked
the dried spots.
Just what he needed. On top of
everything else -- his hangover, his mom,
Akane -- did he have to deal with this, too?
Could this day get any worse?
And as he doused himself with the rest
of the bucket of water, and shivered
violently under the sudden cold, he
remembered the bundle of clothing his mother
had carried in. Undoubtably feminine
clothing -- with frills and pink and bows and
stuff like that. Silly him. Of _course_
things can worse, he groused, standing up and
reaching for his towel. Now all I need is
for Ryoga to show up and attack me. . . .
Spin and rise. Momentary flash in the
sunlight as it reached it apex. Momentary
hang, then downwards tumble. Unconscious
swift movement and the bottlecap was snatched
out of the air. Replaced in the nook formed
between thumb and index finger, and snapped
back up.
Ryoga steadfastly walked through
unfamiliar Nerimean backstreets, flipping a
slightly crumpled cap every few steps. He
was not in a good mood. He was not having a
good day. But he nevertheless grinned evilly
at the thought of making Ranma's day a whole
lot worse.
After quickly finishing off her soup in
silence, Akane returned to her room.. There,
away from everyone, from her sisters, her
dad, Ranma's parents -- away from _Ranma_,
that insufferable, unforgivable, insulting
_jerk_ -- she could release her anger. It
was a slow, silent, controlled release; for
several minutes after closing her door and
sitting on the edge of her bed, all she could
do was tremble, whole body taut, hot tears
threatening to slip free, hands twisted in
the folds of her bedsheets, fabric clutched
violently. Finally, after an indeterminable
time, her breathing slowed, the shaking
eased, muscles relaxed. She took in a deep
breath; she released it; she blinked away the
wetness in her eyes and stood up.
She walked in a tight circle in the
middle of her room. I need to get out of
here, she realized. It doesn't matter where.
I just have to leave. I can't stand to be in
the same house as him. I hate him. I hate
him I hate him I hate him!
"It hurts, Akane. It hurts. . . ."
Soft, almost whimpering remembered voice,
slicing through the haze of anger gripping
her mind. Her stomach twisted in a harsh,
sickening knot. "S'not your fault,"
whispered the phantom voice. Akane's angry
steps stopped; the earlier shaking returned.
She glanced down at her trembling arms, and
hugged herself. If you're so angry at him,
she unwillingly asked herself, then why are
you so worried about him?
I'm not worried, she insisted.
"Akane. . . ."
Ranma can take care of himself.
Nothing ever happens to Ranma that he
can't handle.
"It hurts. . . ."
He doesn't deserve my concern.
He's an insensitive, mean, cruel jerk!
"Akane. . . ."
"I have to get out of here!" she
screamed, threatening tears of frustration
suspended in her eyes. Without another word,
hesitation, she grabbed a light sweater and
stormed out of her room. Her door slammed
behind her, the duck sign banging woodenly in
response. A moment later the front door to
the Tendo Residence slammed as well.
As Ranma walked along the edge of the
canal, he found himself wishing that he could
be anywhere else -- practicing in the dojo,
killing time at Ucchan's, fighting with
Mousse -- than with his mother; but the very
recognition that he could think such things
about her left him feeling guilty and vaguely
ill, and so he drew closer to her.
"Are you okay, Ranko?"
"Yes, Auntie Saotome," he answered.
It was a lie, of course, but she seemed
to accept it. They continued walking, his
mother gazing as if in silent contemplation
out over the slowly moving water. The sun
was starting to lie low on the horizon,
having already begun its nocturnal decent;
the first streamers of red and orange crept
across the sky, and the mirror of their color
rippled quietly below. A pleasantly warm mid-
July wind tickled their skin. Ranma sighed
softly.
I oughta be happy to be able to spend
some time with my mom, he thought morosely.
He tugged at the high collar of the dress he
was wearing, squirmed slightly in its
constraining bodice. But he wasn't. Other
concerns -- the party, the fight, Akane --
weighed heavily upon his mind, and the
wonderful sight of the setting sun, which
drew a pleased exclamation of delight from
his mother, was entirely lost upon him. He
appreciated his mother's offer for a late
afternoon stroll; she was right, the fresh
air _was_ doing him some good. But the
inevitable nervousness that came with being
around her, and the impossibility of
forgetting the problems awaiting for him when
he returned home -- to the Tendo's home, he
amended -- made it impossible for him to
gleam any enjoyment out of the walk.
Problems; Akane. His steps slowed. Images
of Akane's face rose before him: glaring at
him in contempt as he asked to borrow her
bikini; the widening of the eyes, the
profound shock and hurt and look of betrayal,
as he applied pressure to her wrist; the
violent, unthinking rage as she turned on
him, struck him, ended the engagement; the
cold, emotionless gaze as he passed her today
on the way to the bathroom. And then -- as
he first recalled truly seeing her: half-
leaning over his shoulder, long tresses
framing relaxed, happily-smiling face,
extending an offer of friendship -- `you want
to be friends?' It was too much: the tension
between where they had started, and where
they now were, was too great; a vacuous
unpleasant sensation, a discordant echo of
feelings admitted to and forgotten last
night, arose and twisted his stomach. His
steps faltered and he leaned against the
railing, one hand viciously gripping the
pitted metal. Eyes squeezed shut against
imminent tears.
"Ranko?" Tender arms reached for him,
offered a comforting embrace.
Ranma shook his head once. He took a
deep breath. He blinked, and stepped away.
Nodoka looked momentarily hurt. "Ranko
. . . please dear, what is wrong?"
Looking up at her, up at his mother, at
her concerned look, sympathetic eyes, he
realized that he needed to talk to someone
about his problems; he realized that, maybe,
the one person he _could_ talk to was
standing next to him, offering support, and
was more than willing to listen. He would
have to be careful, of course, but the sudden
possibility of an understanding ear overrode
his worries.
"I. . . ," he started, then faltered.
He swallowed. "I need your advice, Auntie
Saotome. I may have done something really
stupid last night. At the party."
His mother looked down at him for a
moment, understanding dawning in her eyes.
"Ah. This is about you and Akane, isn't it,
Ranko?"
Ranma blinked in surprise. "How did you
know?"
Nodoka smiled. "A mother notices these
things -- even one who hasn't seen her son in
ten years." Ranma smiled wanly as she
continued. "But it was pretty obvious that
Akane was angry today -- angry at my son, and
angry at you. You girls normally get along
so nicely! But not today." She hesitated
momentarily. "Would you like to talk about
it?"
Ranma nodded. "But not here, Auntie
Saotome," he said, and took her by the hand.
"There's a park near here; we can sit down
and talk. Would that be okay?"
Nodoka agreed, and the two -- mother and
son, hand in hand -- resumed their walk. But
with each step Ranma found it more and more
difficult to remain silent. Now that an
outlet had been offered, he discovered a
burgeoning need to use it arising within. He
doubted his mother could give him any easy
solutions, but just having someone listen to
_his_ side of the story for once was an
opportunity he could not ignore. So it was
that, even before they arrived at the park
and with very little preamble, Ranma found
himself opening up concerning the party of
the night before.
"I guess it starts with, ah, me, joining
Ranma and Akane on their way to the party."
It felt weird, talking about himself in the
third person, having to describe an event
from a different and nonexistent viewpoint.
"Ranma and Akane were fighting. Again."
He sighed, glanced up at his mother. She was
looking ahead, eyes attentive. She nodded
for Ranma to continue.
"Akane didn't want Ranma coming along to
the party, hanging around her or something.
I dunno why. . . ." He paused, then
hesitantly continued after a moment's
thought. "Maybe . . . maybe she wanted to be
alone. With her friends. Or . . . or just
wanted a night to herself, without me --
without Ranma -- around. I dunno." He shook
his head and shrugged. "I don't. Anyway,
when they got to the party, Akane went her
way and Ranma went his."
"And you?" interjected his mother.
"Oh. I, er, I went with Ranma."
"Did he seem . . . angry?
Disappointed?"
"Ranma seemed. . . ." He wavered. How
had he felt? He didn't know -- he wasn't
used to, didn't like talking about, his
emotions. Ranma thought back to early last
evening, walking towards Kiyoshi's house with
Akane. When she had asked him to leave her
alone at the party, to not hang around with
her, he had felt . . . insulted. Insulted,
and . . . nervous? But he had replied with
insults of his own. By the time they had
arrived at Kiyoshi's, they were no longer
speaking, and their separation at that point
had come as something of a relief.
"Ranko?"
"Oh, sorry Auntie. I . . . I guess
Ranma seemed mostly angry." And yes,
disappointed, he realized. He frowned. Why
should he have cared whether that uncute
tomboy wanted him around or not? Only he
realized that her rejection _had_ hurt, and
in the aftermath of that unexpected pain had
been a lingering . . . fear. Eyes widening,
he wondered at his own reaction.
"Was that all?"
He snapped back to the present. "I
guess so. Ranma doesn't talk much about how
he feels. He doesn't like to whine -- I
think he considers it's unmanly."
Nodoka nodded, a hint of a smile on her
face.
"So we wandered around the place a bit,
until we bumped into some school buddies of
his. We joined up with them, and then sat
and hung around a campfire for a while. And
talked, pretty much."
"Really? About what?" asked his mother.
"Oh, mostly about girls and all that --
you know, guy stuff."
Nodoka raised an eyebrow. "Ranko! And
you stayed and listened?"
Ranma had the good sense to blush.
"Well -- it's like I said, Mrs. Saotome, most
of them think of me as `one of the guys'. It
wasn't a big deal or nothin', and I didn't
mind. It was fun, kinda." The irony of it
suddenly struck him: for while his words were
true, he realized that a good part of the
previous night's conversation had also
concerned `girl's stuff' -- that is, his
problems and experiences with his cursed
form. Somehow, he doubted his mother would
like to hear that he had discussed his period
with a bunch of boys.
His mother's brow creased with a slight
frown. "I see we will have to talk about
this at another time, my dear. But I'm
guessing it is here that you started to
drink?"
Ranma gave a careful nod. "Errr, yeah.
Well, not quite yet -- I didn't start until
later."
"And did my son drink?"
He actually considered this for several
long moments before answering. Technically,
he hadn't. Ranko had drank -- had drank
quite a bit, in fact; but _Ranma_ had left
the party via a splash of Ryuta's drink by
then, and never actually touched a drop. Nor
ever would, he vowed. But at this time he
refused to deny that he had drank last night
-- to do so would be too close to lying, and
he did enough of that with his mother as it
was. "Yeah. Yeah, he drank too." He
briefly wondered why he felt reluctant to
tell his mother that her son had consumed
alcohol.
She nodded, seeming unperturbed. "So
what happened next?"
"Well," continued Ranma, "this guy, this
real asshole. . . ."
"Ranko! Language!"
"Sorry. This . . . jerk," he amended,
"called Ryuta Uehara came over and started to
bully some of Ranma's friends. Ranma didn't
put up with it -- he hates bullies -- and,
ah, convinced the guy to leave. But the guy
didn't clue in: Ryuta came back, drunk and
mean and tried to pick a fight with Ranma.
Your . . . your son tried ignoring him at
first, but then that . . . that _jerk_
started getting personal. He started
insulting Ranma's manhood, called him weak
and womanly and insinuated . . . other
stuff."
"Other stuff?"
"He. . . ." How to put this, Ranma
wondered. He treaded forward delicately,
carefully choosing his words. "He, ah,
insulted me as well -- insinuated that I had
. . . you know. . . ."
Nodoka looked down, frowning. "This
boy. . . ."
"He said that I'd kissed guys; said that
I'd . . . had sex with. . . ." He flushed
with remembered anger, one hand clenching at
his side.
"I see," said his mother, and an
undercurrent of anger darkened her voice.
"And then?"
"And then. . . . Well, he pushed and
pushed until Ranma simply couldn't take it
anymore. But you see, Ranma didn't want to
fight -- couldn't fight! He had promised
Akane at the beginning of the party that he
wouldn't ruin her night, wouldn't get into
any fights or anything. But he couldn't
ignore the insults to his masculinity! Stuck
between his honor and his promise, he finally
just . . . just snapped." Ranma took a deep
breath. He realized that his voice was loud;
he was trembling slightly. He looked up at
his mother.
"What did he do?" she asked in a soft
voice.
"He grabbed Ryuta and beat him up. Beat
him up bad," he answered in a subdued tone.
Nodoka stopped walking and turned to her
protege. She gently lay her hands on the
smaller girl's shoulders. "Do you think my
son did the right thing?"
And Ranma desperately wanted to answer
`yes', wanted to justify his own actions; but
he knew he couldn't, he needed an honest,
unbiased judgement, and so he refrained from
giving the easy response. "I don't know,
Auntie! He -- he promised that he wouldn't
fight; but then, the things Ryuta said -- I
don't see how he could _not_ have!"
"The things this boy said were mean?"
"Mean and cruel and . . . and untrue!"
he answered fiercely.
"They slandered my son's manliness?"
He nodded emphatically.
"And my son hurt this boy? He was
brutal?"
Ranma gave a slow nod.
"Good," said Nodoka with an air of
finality. Her eyes shone with a hard light.
She resumed walking. "No one insults my
son's manliness." Ranma, surprised, caught
up after a few steps. He wondered at this
woman who was his mother.
Akane hugged herself and gazed
unseeingly out over the darkly flowing waters
of the canal. She stood oblivious, her
thoughts as aimless and twisting as the last
hour's confused wandering. But at least the
urge to cry is gone, she thought. So was her
anger. Her concern. She felt hollow, empty.
A shiver passed through her, one unwarranted
by the warm night air. After a time devoid
of thought or meaning, her knees folded below
her; she sank down, hands slipping along the
smooth bars of the fence, then holding her up
as she crouched, leaning back but hunched
over, still looking sightlessly outwards.
She noticed a muddy spattering in the dirt by
her feet. Oh, look, she noted absently, I
guess I was wrong. I'm crying. Strange, to
shed tears and yet feel nothing.
But no, not nothing, for as she became
aware of her tears, she felt the pain well up
within. No, she mouthed, no, not here, not
now. Not yet. I. . . .
"Akane?"
Hearing a voice call out her name
startled her. She blinked, rubbed the back
of one hand across her eyes. For a moment
she felt surprised to be squatting by the
river, unsure of the exact path that had led
her here.
"Akane?" repeated the voice, behind her
and closer.
She stood, legs protesting from the
sudden action, creaking and tingly. For how
long had she held that unthinking position?
No longer a focus, inner pain faded; a dull
expansive greyness took its place. Akane
turned away from the water.
It was Sayuri approaching her, and as
she neared and caught a good glimpse of Akane
her expression changed from one of greeting
to one of concern. "Akane -- Akane, are you
alright?"
The youngest Tendo tried forcing a smile
to her lips. "Hi Sayuri! Of course I'm okay
-- really! -- why wouldn't I be?" She
blinked rapidly to clear her eyes.
Sayuri stepped nearer. For several long
moments she gazed at Akane searchingly,
before frowning and shaking her head. "No
way, Akane. Something's wrong."
"No, really. . . !"
"Sorry," interrupted her friend,
grabbing her hand. "But I don't buy it."
She proceeded to pull Akane away from the
fence. "C'mon, follow me. I think we need
to talk."
"But. . . !"
"No `buts', Akane!" insisted the long-
haired girl. "There's a great little
kissaten near here. I'll buy you a coffee,
and you can tell me all about it. It's about
Ranma, right?"
"Well. . . ."
"I thought so," said Sayuri decisively,
and led the way. Bemused, and grateful
despite herself, Akane followed without
another word. Maybe this is just what I
need, she thought. Maybe I just need
somebody to talk to.
"One moment, dear," interjected Nodoka,
interrupting Ranko's narrative. "Why did my
son not want to go swimming with the rest of
his friends? Did he say?"
It took a few moments for the young girl
to answer, and she seemed very hesitant in
her choice of words. Something was nagging
at the Saotome matriarch: there was a
strangeness or oddity to the Tendo cousin's
story that Nodoka couldn't quite put a finger
on. Something in the way Ranko stammered
before every response; something in the way
the girl carefully contemplated every
question before uttering a word. But why?
Could she be protecting Ranma from something?
Or was she simply embarrassed by retelling
the previous night's activities?
"Well," said Ranko, "I guess -- I . . .
I'm not sure. I'd like to think it was
because he was worried and wanted to check in
on Akane . . . but . . . but in all honestly,
I don't think that was it." She swallowed;
Nodoka wondered if it was out of nervousness.
"Part of it was simply because he didn't have
any swimming trunks with him -- he hadn't
planned on swimming. But it's more than
that, I think." Again she paused, thinking,
and stared off across the park. Nodoka
wondered what she could see in the
encroaching darkness. When Ranko continued
her voice seemed distant. "I think . . . I
think he was nervous. Maybe even scared.
Not very manly, I realize," and she glanced
up at the older woman, "but -- there it is."
"Scared?"
"Yeah, scared." Ranko gave a vague nod.
"Because. . . ." Her voice trailed off, and
her face twisted in frustration. "Because --
I don't know! I don't know. He just . . .
he can't . . . he doesn't know how to . . .
relate . . . say what he wants to!" The
pigtailed redhead took a deep breath. "He
doesn't fit in. He doesn't have any friends.
And throw him into a situation like that --
something social, something _fun_ -- and he's
. . . scared. He doesn't know what to do."
Almost as if expressing herself had proven
exhausting, she slumped forward with head
hanging low. "There."
Nodoka looked down at the young girl
with some surprise. That Ranma was having
trouble fitting in was concern enough; but
that Ranko took it so seriously, so
personally, was further matter of importance.
Earlier suspicions consolidated in her mind.
An ephemeral inkling of what the relationship
between Ranko and Ranma might be formed. "So
what did you do?" she asked.
Ranko started. "Err . . . me?"
"Yes Ranko, you. Ranma decided to
leave, and I think I can understand some of
the reasons why he did so. But did you
follow him? Did you stay at the party? Did
you try and find Akane and tell her that her
fiancee was leaving?"
"I . . . followed Ranma back into the
house."
Of course, thought Nodoka. She would,
despite -- judging by Ranko's own account of
the party -- having a good time at the party.
"And then?"
"And then. . . ." Ranko gulped and
seemed to shrink in upon herself. She
lowered her eyes to the well-scuffed ground
at her feet.
"Then?"
"Then . . . Ranma met Akane."
"And then you met Ranma," confirmed
Sayuri.
Akane nodded. She took a sip of her
coffee, and felt strangely ambivalent about
continuing the conversation. She appreciated
her friend's effort to cheer her up, to help
her work through the current dilemma; yet, at
the same time, there was a . . . resistance
within, an urge to not dig too deep into
submerged emotions. I need to talk about
this, Akane realized, let my feelings out --
but what else might I find?
"And then. . . ," prodded the girl
siting opposite her.
"What do you think? We fought. Like we
always do." Akane scowled.
"Not like you always do . . . definitely
_not_ like you always do, Akane. I've seen
you two fight before; I've _never_ seen you
break off the engagement!" Sayuri leaned in
a little closer, eyes fixated eagerly on the
youngest Tendo. "I heard -- well, I heard
lots of things, about what happened, about
why it happened. Enough to get me worried.
What happened, Akane? I'd like you to tell
me. . . ."
Akane stared at her friend, uncertain.
She turned away, looked outside. It was
dark, streetlights dropping small pools of
paleness through which she glimpsed
intermittent snapshots of passing life.
There, two young girls, walking, laughing,
probably friends; but as they entered the
next circle of light one was frowning, lips
pressed tightly together, as the other
continued laughing, oblivious to her
companion's anger. Then Akane's eyes
shifted, and she was no longer looking
through the glass, but at it, the dark,
herself reflected. With a sigh she turned
back to her schoolmate and, still feeling
oddly detached from her own words, began
explaining.
"Well . . . after you and Yuka and Keiko
and everyone else took off to join the guys
at the pool, I went downstairs to grab my
stuff, right?" Mouth dry, she took another
drink. "Well, that's where I met Ranma. We
bumped into each other. He was getting ready
to leave. We talked a bit, and . . . well,
he was being weird."
"Weird? How?"
Akane shrugged. "Nice, weird. Almost
flirting, weird." Seeing Sayuri's raised
eyebrow, she hastened to add, "He was drunk,
of course. The stupid jerk." There was a
momentary sadness within, the first emotion
she recalled feeling in some time. Why . . .
why did he have to be drunk, or under magical
influence, or think he was a cat, to act half-
way human around her? And why did it have to
be such an infrequent occasion that she
viewed any such extension of genuine kindness
towards her from him with suspicion?
"Anyway. So we grabbed our stuff. But we
didn't leave. Just as I thought we were
going to, Ranma stopped and asked me if he
could borrow my bikini." She paused,
slightly puzzled. Strange. Last night, the
idea of that pervert borrowing her bathing
suit had enraged her; now, aside from a
slight residual embarrassment, she felt
nothing.
Sayuri nodded. "Yeah, that's right. I
wanted to ask you about that. I saw her
wearing it at the pool. That bitch was
flaunting it off like it was hers or
something." Scowling, she spat out a single
word, "Pervert!" as if it fully summed up her
feelings. It probably did.
For a moment Akane felt an irrational
irritation at her friend insulting her former
fiance, but quickly reminded herself that
Sayuri's assessment was true. He _was_ a
pervert and, though she had never thought to
apply it to him, did not the other word fit
as well?
"So then . . . why did you lend it to
her?"
Akane's countenance darkened. "I didn't
lend it to him at all, Sayuri. He must have
picked it up after we fought. After I left.
After. . . ." Knuckles whitened on her mug.
"I can't believe . . . I can't believe he
actually went _swimming_ after we broke up!"
Another emotion joined her repertoire for the
evening: anger. "That . . . that insensitive
jerk!" She fixated her glare on Sayuri.
"Were you there? What did that baka do?"
Smirking slightly, Sayuri leaned back
into her seat. "Are you sure you want to
know?" She gestured at Akane's claw-like
grip of the coffee mug. "You're looking
pretty tense as is . . . and I'm afraid this
isn't going to make you any happier. . . ."
For a moment -- briefly, an instant of
doubt -- she hesitated: did she really want
to know? Her anger with Ranma was already
complete; what would it avail her to despise
him more? And yet . . . she had to know,
_had_ to know, what had happened during the
previous night.
She gave a slight nod for Sayuri to
continue, and listened attentively as her
friend ran through the events of the party
after Akane's departure. Sayuri certainly
seemed to enjoy the telling, and left out no
detail. The narrative was quite damning, and
Akane found a whole sequence of emotions
passing through her; or at the least, a
single emotion building and intensifying
within. Ranma, happily swimming; Ranma
hanging around with the guys; Ranma, flirting
with the girls; Ranma drinking and partying
and playing and having a _great_ time, while
_she_ wandered, crying, through Nerima. How
could he? And she was _worried_ about him?
That . . . that. . . .
". . . saw her one last time," Sayuri
was saying, "as she headed back into the
house to use the bathroom. You should have
seen her -- she was seriously messed up.
Drunk, big time. To hear her talk! She
said. . . ." Sayuri hesitated for a moment.
"Well, what she said isn't important . . .
but she had trouble getting it out, and
Hiroshi and I could barely understand her,
her speech was so slurred. That's the last I
saw of her that night. Drunker than I think
I've ever seen anyone before. It's a wonder
she hadn't already passed out!"
The feverish pounding within drained
with such speed and suddenness that she felt
cold and empty in comparison. She shivered.
Well, she thought. Well. That certainly
explains the state I found him in, doesn't
it. The idiot got himself drunk -- got
himself drunk _fast_. I wonder why he did
it. . . ?
"Akane!"
She slowly returned her attention to her
friend, who was looking at her with some
concern. It took a moment to understand why.
Akane turned her attention to her hand, to
the remnants of the mug still clutched in her
grasp, the jagged ceramic edges cutting into
her palm, the warm liquid spattered across
her forearm and dripping onto the table. A
moment of incomprehension, then she opened
her hand. Broken fragments clattered to the
floor. She blinked. "Oh. Oh my. I . . .
I'm sorry."
"Are you alright?" Sayuri rushed over
to Akane's side of the table, grabbed her
unresisting hand to check it for injury.
Akane barely noticed. With her anger gone,
but her mind reawakened from its earlier
apathy or denial by the emotion's passage, a
host of questions and concerns were suddenly
assailing her. She needed to think.
"You're lucky. You didn't get cut, or
burnt." Sayuri's words tumbled out. "You --
are you even listening to me? Akane?"
"I . . . I need a moment to think,
Sayuri," she answered. She glanced down at
her hand and absently shook some of the
coffee off. "Something just occurred to me."
Sayuri held her friend's gaze for
several long moments, before nodding. "I'll
. . . I'll get a cloth, tell the waitress
what happened, and, uh, go to the washroom,
okay? I'll be back soon, and then maybe you
can . . . ah, finish telling me what
happened?" She got no response. Frowning
slightly, she walked off. Akane hardly took
note of her departure.
On a bench in a park sat two women,
illuminated palely by the light behind them.
They sat in silence. To a passing observer,
the similarity of look and dress between the
two made them appear as mother and daughter:
and if so, the younger redhead had done
something to terribly anger her older
companion, for the taller woman was staring
sternly into the darkness, mouth set in a
thin, hard line, while the girl kept her eyes
locked despondently on the ground, one foot
digging nervously at the dirt.
The mother was the first to speak. She
did so without turning her head, and her
daughter started at the sudden vocalization.
"So Akane left the party, alone." It was not
a question.
The younger girl nodded numbly.
"And my son did not follow her."
The daughter shook her head without
looking up.
"Nor did you."
Again a slow nod.
"Instead you both chose to remain at the
party and enjoy yourselves."
For a moment the younger girl seemed to
hesitate, perhaps considering a protest, but
then mouthed a barely audible, "yes."
"I see. Furthermore, as a result of the
quarrel between my son and your cousin, my
future daughter-in-law, the engagement
between the two -- an engagement decided upon
by both their parents sixteen years
previously -- has been terminated."
"Ye -- yes."
"And, in the aftermath of this disaster,
instead of remaining to face his dilemma head
on like a man, my son has chosen to run off?"
This time it was a question, and the older
woman turned her eyes, stern and seemingly
flashing with barely suppressed fury, upon
the young girl. The pigtailed redhead met
her gaze for a brief moment before flinching
away, crimson-faced.
"He -- he left, yes, but, but. . . ."
"But what?" interrupted the older woman,
and for a moment her restrained anger was
clear, her voice lashing out at the cringing
girl. "Eh, Ranko? What? What could excuse
my son's dishonorable actions?" With sudden
vigor she leapt to her feet, began stalking
back and forth before the park bench. "That
he drank, I can accept. Men drink, often to
excess. That he ignored Akane all night, and
chose to remain with his male friends, I,
too, can understand. Genma has oft done the
same to me, and I see nothing unusual in
Ranma doing likewise. That Ranma got into a
fight with a bully, that my son broke his
promise to Akane, I not only accept, but
approve of -- the slur against both his
manliness and your honor took precedence over
his oath to his fiancee. And that my son
argued with Akane, and fought with her --
well, though I am certainly disappointed, I
have come to understand that the two do not
always get along, and I suppose that a
certain tension between the two is not
entirely surprising.
"But that my son actually hurt Akane . .
. that he willingly chose to inflict physical
pain upon her to end an argument, I find both
cowardly and weak and unforgivable, and by
doing so he makes me question the entirety of
the last ten years of his training and the
quality of the values instilled in him by my
husband. What of all those training voyages?
Were they wasted? Did my son grow up to be a
true martial artist, or a mere bully no
better than the one he defeated mere hours
previously?"
"No," yelled the young girl, leaping to
her feet. "No!" "For a moment she wavered
there, trembling slightly, seemingly
surprised by her own temerity. But before
the older woman could recover, she forged
ahead. "It wasn't like that, mo -- Auntie
Saotome! I . . . he, he didn't want to hurt
Akane, he never meant to, he felt, no, he
feels terrible that he did so, he'd never,
couldn't, do something like that again!
Ranma Saotome doesn't hit girls!" Her voice
sank to a whisper. "Ranma Saotome never hits
girls."
"Well my son," the elder Saotome ground
out, "certainly seemed to have forgotten that
last night."
"It was -- it was the alcohol, and the
fight, and, and. . . ."
"And that makes it okay?"
Ranko hung her head. "No."
"And now, when the opportunity exists
for him to offer some kind of explanation, to
make amends -- where is he?"
"He's. . . ." Ranko swallowed
nervously, looked away as if unable to meet
the older woman's eyes. "He's gone on
another training trip. After the party,
after the alcohol started to wear off, and he
realized what he had done, he felt . . .
terrible. Guilty. Unmanly and dishonorable.
He felt the only thing he could do was to
leave, to train, that maybe through his
martial arts he could redeem himself. He
left very, very early this morning."
The Saotome matriarch looked at the
younger girl for several long moments, and
then, suddenly, seemed to fall in on herself.
The anger drained away, the fire in her eyes
dimmed, as her shoulder drooped and she sank
down onto the park bench. "Oh, my son -- my
son," she whispered. "What has happened to
you?"
After a brief hesitation, Ranko sat next
to her. "Auntie?" she asked timorously.
"Is my son's life truly that bad? Is he
really that unhappy?"
Ranko blinked. "Huh?"
"By your own account, he seems a
terribly unhappy young man: lonely, socially
insecure, desperate for friendship . . . who
does he turn to in his moments of weakness?
Even a man among men must tire at times."
Ranko tried swallowing in a mouth
suddenly gone dry. "I. . . ."
"You seem to know my son well, Ranko.
Do you talk to him much? Is he really that
unhappy?"
"I . . . I don't. . . ."
"Does he . . . does he miss his mother?"
The girl gave one single quick glance up
the older woman and nodded numbly.
"I see." And then, "Ranko . . . Ranko,
are you crying?"
The young redhead shook her head
violently. "No! No, of course not. It'd be
silly for me to cry, right?"
"Ranko, it's never silly for a young
girl to cry." She placed a comforting hand
on her protege's shoulder. "Right."
The girl's mouth twisted bitterly.
"Yeah. Of course. For a girl."
Silence descended once again as both
leaned back into the bench, seemingly lost in
their respective thoughts. Again, it was the
older woman who first broke the quiet.
"Ranko . . . do you love my son?"
Ranko started upright. "What?"
Mrs. Saotome faced her with the utmost
seriousness. "You heard me, dear. Do you
love my son? Are you attracted to him?"
"I . . . No! Of course not." Ranko's
red-faced blush was obvious even in the
relative darkness. "What'd make you ask
somethin' like that?"
The corner of the elder Saotome's mouth
twitched slightly. "Come now, Ranko, it
would certainly explain a lot: the way you
seem to know him so well, the way you
followed him around all night at the party,
the way you seem so anxious to defend him.
You understand him, I think, you obviously
respect him, and it seems you care greatly
for him."
"Well, er, yeah, sure, Ranma's a great
guy and all, but . . . but, there's Akane,
right? She's his fiancee!"
"And wouldn't that simply explain the
obvious tension between you and your cousin?
I'm sure that, despite Akane's protests to
the contrary, she feels strongly for my son;
and if she discovered that you harbored those
very same feelings, would she not likely
become jealous?"
Ranko smirked. "Akane, jealous? Yeah,
I think I could see that happening."
The older woman nodded. "Especially if,
as I suspect, he confides in you more than in
her. Is it to you that he turns in his times
of weakness? Does he reveal his fears and
doubts to you? He could never do so to his
fiancee, I'm sure -- but to you, a friend, a
confident, might he not let his guard down,
even if just briefly? Are you his friend,
Ranko? His relief and comfort?"
"I . . . I never thought of it that
way." She sounded puzzled. She looked
herself over, as if in wonder. "Maybe you're
right. I -- he, he does admit stuff throu,
er, to me, that he doesn't tell anyone else."
"You see? And the step from friendship
to . . . something else, is not as great as
some think. Especially when the boy is one
as manly and handsome as, by all accounts, my
son is." A mother's pride had sneaked into
her voice, overwhelming much of her earlier
anger.
Again Ranko blushed. "Well, Ranma is
quite the . . . ." She gave her head a
shake. "But, no, I swear, Auntie, there's
nothing between us. I'd never get between
Ranma and Akane." Her countenance darkened.
"If there was ever anything there." She
sighed. "And if there was, it's gone for
sure, now."
"Now, now, dear," reassured the older
woman, standing up and patting her
companion's shoulder. "As bad as things are,
there is always hope. Now that I have a
better idea of what happened, I think I will
have a talk with your cousin. She is
probably quite upset, and understandably so,
but I doubt things are beyond recovery."
"You . . . you think so?" asked Ranko
softly, standing as well.
"Of course." Mrs. Saotome took a moment
to look around. Aside for a few other
individuals taking late-night strolls, the
park was still and quiet. "But it is getting
quite late. You have school tomorrow, dear,
so I believe it is time to be heading back."
Ranko fell in beside the taller woman as
they headed off.
"My son, of course, still needs a
serious talking to."
"Err, yeah."
"And I am far from done with you, my
dear."
"Ah, me?"
"There is still the matter of your
infatuation with my son."
"But . . . !"
"And your unpardonable behavior at the
party."
A guilty silence.
"And the way you treated your cousin.
Remember, Ranko, nothing is more important
than family. Not even a boy as manly as my
son. Next time your cousin needs help, you
should be there."
"Of . . . of course."
"And there's still the matter of your
clothes. . . ."
"Mrs. Saotome?"
"You still dress like a tomboy. We'll
make a lady of you yet."
"Auntie!"
As Ranma and his mother approached the
Tendo residence, now bantering back and forth
on a far more amicable level, a gradual
weight seemed to grow upon him. Each step
seemed increasingly wearisome and laborious.
The time spent with his mother had helped,
had provided a certain hope; but now he had
returned to the source of his problems. Did
Mr. Tendo know that the engagement had been
cancelled yet -- did he know that his son-in-
law had hurt his precious daughter? And, of
course, Akane was in there. . . .
But, as they approached the front gate
of the household, he spotted a single figure
approaching from the opposite direction. His
steps faltered and his legs seized up as he
identified the individual. Akane. He
realized he was breathing heavily.
"It's okay, dear," said his mother
softly. "Relax."
He noticed that his fiancee -- his ex-
fiancee, he reminded himself -- didn't
hesitate in her approach: in fact, he could
almost feel her gaze sweep coldly over and
past him with complete indifference. He
shivered.
They reached the front gate
simultaneously: him and his mother, and
Akane. A very uncomfortable silence settled
between the three. Ranma tried to meet
Akane's eyes but found himself unable to: his
gaze kept slipping away and finding some
fascinating detail in the road, an errant
pebble, the stonework of the wall.
"Good evening, Akane," said the Saotome
matriarch.
"Good evening, Mrs. Saotome," answered
the youngest Tendo.
"Did you enjoy your walk?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Ranma felt his mother nudge him. He
took a hesitant step forward. "Um, er, hi,
Akane."
"Ranko."
"How are you, ah . . . ."
"Fine."
"Did you . . . ."
"It's getting late, Ranko," interrupted
Akane. "We have school tomorrow. Don't you
think we should be heading in?"
Ranma slumped his head in defeat.
"Yes."
"Oh, come now, girls," said his mother.
"It is not that late, and it is a beautiful
night. You should enjoy it!" He glanced up
at his mother, amazed that she seemed
oblivious to the chilliness Akane was
radiating. "Why don't you two stay out here
a little longer, talk, enjoy the fresh air?
I'll go in and make you some hot cocoa."
"Mrs. Saotome. . . ," attempted Akane.
"Now, now, dear, don't worry. It would
be my pleasure. You two have not seen each
other all day, so why not take the time to
catch up? I'm sure you both have lots to
talk about." The older woman turned away,
smiling brightly, and slipped through the
household gate. It closed with a firm thud
behind her.
Silence. They both stared at the large
wooden door before them.
Ranma had no idea what to say, and so
silence reigned between them. He thought he
could feel Akane's baleful glare burning into
him, but kept his eyes locked steadfastly on
the doors. Willing them to open didn't seem
to be working, but he kept on trying. What
else could he do? I just know, he thought,
that anything I say to her is just going to
make things worse. Of course, he added a
moment later, not saying anything probably
isn't helping.
Just as the silence was becoming
unbearable, Akane spoke: "Sometimes that
woman can be infuriating." The tone of her
voice was far from being friendly or
conversational.
"Watch it," said Ranma, turning to face
her and speaking with surprising vehemence,
"that's my mother you're talking about."
"Ah. So you can talk, after all."
He flushed. "Yeah. Yeah, I can talk."
"But you don't have anything to say, do
you?"
"I. . . ." He hesitated, then
straightened his posture. He bowed before
her, deeply, from the waist. He held the
position for a moment before rising. "I'm
sorry, Akane. I really am."
"Oh, well, great. I guess that makes
everything alright, then, huh?"
"No! No, but. . . ."
"But what, Ranma?"
"I. . . ." But what could he say. The
apology had come easily, the stubbornness
that so often intruded gone. He really was
sorry -- but what difference did it make?
Nothing he could say, or probably do, would
convince her it was honest; and even if she
accepted his apology as genuine, did that
change the reality that he had betrayed her
last night? "Nothing."
"Exactly."
He turned away, felt her chilling gaze
continue to bore into his back. Damn, but
this was stupid. He should just step away,
return to his room. Talking with Akane
tonight wasn't going to accomplish anything.
"So . . . how'd you feel this morning?
Now? Strange?"
He was surprised by the question:
sensing something other than cold
indifference in her voice was almost as
unexpected as the question itself. "Fine . .
. better, I guess. A little tired. The
queasiness is gone. The fresh air helped."
"So how much did you drink last night?"
Ranma wasn't sure where she was going
with these questions. They seemed out of
place. Why did she care? He shrugged. "I
dunno. A lot. Too much." Way too much.
"What did your mom think?"
"About the party? I told her what
happened. She's extremely displeased with
her son. She wants to have some stern words
with him."
"Ah. But he's not around, is he?"
He looked away as he answered. "No.
No, he's left on another training trip."
"Ah, I see. It must've been hard
packing with a hangover."
"Akane. . . ."
"And what about `Ranko'? Where does she
come into all of this?"
"She, ah, I . . . I followed Ranma
around for most of the night."
"Convenient."
"Er, yeah. She also thinks I'm in love
with my guy-side. And, ah, that you're
jealous of Ranko and I . . . er, Ranma and I
. . . of the two of us, and that that's why
we're not getting along." He gave a short
forced laugh; it sounded sickly and
unnatural.
Akane answered with a silence that was
just long and deep enough to signal her
disapproval of his attempt at humor. "And
what did she think of your drinking?"
"She wasn't happy. She said it was
dangerous, and unladylike behavior."
Akane snorted. "No kidding. What was
it that Sayuri called you? Bitch? Slut?"
His face darkened. "Akane. . . ."
"She told me a lot of things tonight.
You had a really good time after I left,
didn't you?"
"Akane, no --." A memory surfaced:
bumping into Sayuri in the swimming pool, an
exchange of words. "Listen, Sayuri and I
don't get along; I don't think she likes me.
. . ."
"Ah. So now you're calling my friend a
liar?"
"No!" Dammit, he thought. Why do I
bother. I should just shut up.
"So you did have a good time after I
left. Enjoy swimming with the guys? Hey,
get any compliments on my bikini?"
"Akane, no, listen. . . ."
"I'm glad you had a good time. See, I
was wandering the streets, crying.. After
all, my fiancee had just hurt me, called me a
bitch in front of all my friends . . . my
engagement was over, and. . . ."
"Dammit, Akane, waddya want me to say!"
yelled Ranma. "Eh? I'm sorry? I'll say it
as often as I have to!" He advanced on her,
punctuating his words with wild
gesticulations of his arms. "What do I have
to do? Bow? Get down on my knees? Huh?"
He stood mere feet from her, his words
echoing through the street. "What. Do.
You. Want?"
Her level gaze cut straight through his
desperate frustration. "What are you going
to do, Ranma? Hit me?"
He flinched as if physically slapped.
"Akane. . . ."
No answer.
"Can't . . . can't we ever be friends
again?"
A long, deliberate pause. And then,
"What makes you think we ever were?"
He turned away, all emotion draining
away. He felt hollow. There was nothing for
him here: no hope, no chance of redemption.
He might as well make the lie to his mother a
reality: grab his father and leave on another
training voyage -- a permanent one. As he
trudged away with heavy steps towards the
house, he realized that there would never now
be a joining of the Saotome and Tendo family
lines.
Even before the gate doors had closed
behind Ranma, Akane felt her self-control
slip and the tears escape.
"Ranma," she whispered, but of course it
was too late, he was gone. Not that she
wanted to forgive him -- she was still far
too angry with him for that. His words and
actions of the previous night had stung her
deeply; how deeply, she was just beginning to
realize. But she had never intended to lash
out at him the way she just had . . . not so
callously, viciously.
And yet . . . had she not taken a
certain pleasure in seeing her barbs strike
home, twist deep? To see him blanch, to
watch the life seep from his face. Perhaps,
now, he had an idea of how she had felt . . .
still felt, when she let her guard down.
But then why, now, did she feel so
terrible?
"Akane, are you coming in? Did you and
Ranko . . . oh, my, Akane dear, are you
alright?" She heard Nodoka approach her, but
twisted out of her embrace, hiding her tears.
"Akane?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Saotome. Really."
"Akane. Please. I'm only trying to
help."
"I . . . I know. I just don't feel like
talking about it yet."
"If it is about you and Ranko. . . ."
The Tendo daughter gave a bitter laugh.
"Believe me, it has nothing to do with me an
my `cousin'."
"And Ranma?"
Akane spun on the Saotome elder. "And
it's not about your stupid son, either!" she
screamed. "Why does everything always have to
revolve around Ranma! Always Ranma! This
isn't about him -- it's about me!" She took
a deep breath, forced her voice down to a
more neutral level. Yelling at Ranma's
mother wouldn't solve anything.
"Akane, I don't understand. . . ."
"And neither do I, really. I've been
thinking about it all night -- but there's so
many things swirling through my head, all
these thoughts and feeling and things I just
don't want to deal with . . . things I can't
deal with, not right now. It's too much, too
soon. I'm too tired." She gave a pleading
look at Nodoka. "Please. I understand you
want to help me. Really. But not tonight.
Help Ranko, if anyone. I said some mean
things to her, things I didn't entirely want
to say. I'm okay, really. I'm just . . .
tired." Sick and tired. Of everything.
Mrs. Saotome looked uncertain, but
eventually turned away. "If you're positive,
Akane dear. Everyone's already retired to
their rooms for the night -- but if you need
anyone to talk to . . . please, come to me."
"I will, Auntie."
"Good."
"And Auntie. . . ."
"Yes?"
"Please . . . please don't tell my
father what's happened. Not yet." She
wasn't too sure why she didn't want her
father to know, but she did know that, if he
was to find out, she wanted it to come from
her.
Nodoka frowned, but nodded. "I hadn't
decided whether to tell Soun yet or not. Not
yet, anyway. I'll wait . . . for now."
"Thank you."
"Goodnight."
Nodoka slipped back through the gate.
Akane followed a moment later. The door to
the household closed behind her with a
resounding thud.
He lay there on the futon, in the dark,
staring sightlessly at the ceiling and
listening to his mother's soft breathing as
she slept. He wasn't used to sharing the
room with his mother -- she rarely chose to
sleepover during her infrequent visits, but
when she did she insisted that Ranko slept
with her -- and he was surprised to discover
that he almost missed his father's deep
rumbling snores (which Genma produced
quantities of, whether he was a panda at the
time or not). Nor did he particularly enjoy
wearing the pale pink nightie his mother had
insisted upon -- and the fact that it was
Akane's did little to make matters any
better.
Man, what a day, Ranma thought to
himself. What a long, exhausting day. And
what, ultimately, had he achieved? A little
piece of mind, he supposed, but little else.
He had survived, which was something -- but
then again, he told himself that every night.
But had he resolved anything?
Yeah, I did, he realized. At least now
I know where Akane stands in all of this.
She hates me. The thought was a particularly
bitter one, but it was one he could not
avoid. She hates me, and can I really blame
her?
If only she would talk to me, allow me
to explain!
But then, what was there to explain?
He closed his eyes with a sigh. He
could only hope that, tomorrow, things would
be better. They had to be, right? If not
with Akane, then at least with the guys and
girls at school, right? With that thought,
the hope for a better day tomorrow,
contending with the certainty of Akane's
feelings for him now, swirling through his
mind, Ranma Saotome slowly faded into a sleep
that was blissfully calm and dreamless.
Continued in Choices: ???
***
Well. There ya go.
Hope it was worth the wait -- of course, most of it had been
posted at some point or another, or was available on my webpage. But at
least this part's done, now. I'm already working on the next piece,
whether it be the second half of part two, or a third chapter in itself.
It deals with the following day (mostly), and what happens at school.
And, of course, dealing with the continuing schism between Ranma and
Akane.
Before signing off, I'd like to thank all the people who've been
kind enough to pester me with repeated requests that I finish this damn
thing. It sure helped to get me to get my ass in gear. I promise, the
next part won't take nearly as long.. Really.
Later!
-Michael Noakes
* * * * * * * * * *
There they stood, ranged along the hillside, met* E-mail at:
To view the last of me, a living frame * s669330@aix2.uottawa.ca
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame * Homepage/Fanfiction:
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet * aix2.uottawa.ca/~s669330
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, * * * * * * * * *
And blew. "_Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came._"
-Robert Browing, "Childe Rolande to the Dark Tower Came" (34)
* * * * * * * * * *