It's probably a bad idea, but I'm posting this story only hours after
writing it.  I've had the plot in the back of my head for some time, and it
finally had to come out.  I've spell-checked it an reread it once or twice,
so I hope it's okay.

This is Chapter 1 of 4.

I've also written a bit on Monkey Head Butting Part 5.  Brave souls can view
the mess that is my incomplete version of Part 5 at my web site.  ^_^  It'd
be done by now, but I just had to write this instead.  Also I spent the last
few days setting up a site for Sydney Kyle's Dynasty story; it's linked from
my web site or you can check it out at:  http://move.to/dynasty/


I Can See Clearly Now!
A Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction
M. A. Davis, "Miko"
co-plotted with Sky Rigdon and Jeffrey Cornish

Chapter 1:  Jeepers Creepers!

        Wing Ho held the round piece of glass up to the light.  He studied
it
critically, turning it over, looking for any hidden flaws, then again peered
at it
through his jeweler's eyeglass.  Finally he removed the eyeglass, and held
the
polished orb over his right eye.
        Everything came into sharp focus.  He stared through the front
window pane of his shop, across the street, and into the window of the
neighborhood fish market.  Even the tiniest details, the smallest printing,
could be made out easily.
        There was no doubt.  Wing Ho had mastered the most ancient
secrets of the art of glass grinding.  He, and he alone, was able to grind
the
perfect pair of glasses.
        For a long time he sat there, staring into the fish market, watching
the old man behind the counter.  Wing Ho was thinking carefully.  The
secrets
locked within his brain -- the ability to perfectly correct anyone's
vision --
could buy him a fortune... but what if others learned of it?  What if others
read the ancient scroll describing the secret process?  What if any
optometrist
could do what he did?
        For the briefest of moments, Wing Ho contemplated a world in
which everyone had perfect vision, thanks to the secrets written on the
rolled
parchment before him.  It was a horrifying thought.  How, in such a world,
would a humble optometrist such as himself survive?
        No!  Wing Ho  grabbed a metal bowl from the floor and set it on his
work bench.  Holding up the parchment, he produced a lighter.  In a moment
the parchment fed a growing flame.  The lens grinder dropped it into the
bowl
and watched as it turned to ash.
        The secret would be his, and his alone.

***

        When he heard the sickening crunch, Mousse froze.
        "Not again!" he muttered to himself.  Kneeling, he felt the ground
around his feet.  Broken shards of glass greeted his outstretched fingers.
        "Damn it!" he swore.  "That's the third pair this month!"  Standing,
he reached into the breast pocket of his robe and produced a new pair of
impossibly thick-lensed glasses.  For no readily apparent reason, he perched
these on top of his head.
        He patted down the entire length of his robe, then cursed again,
softly.  He reached within his robes and pulled out several bladed items,
all
attached to long chains.  He dropped these on the floor and dug deeper into
his robes, producing a variety of esoteric weapons, including a duck-shaped
porcelain training potty.  The pile of odd devices grew around him as he
continued to bring forth unusual objects of a deadly nature.  Finally he
stood
in a pile reaching his knees.  For several more moments he searched through
his robes, but nothing more was to be found.
        Pulling down his glasses, he knelt and examined the pile of objects
closely.  After several moments he grunted to himself.
        "My last pair," he muttered, standing.  "I guess it's about time to
get
some new ones, although how I'll find the money for them..."
        "ORDER UP!" a voice from the kitchen yelled out.  "Mousse, what
are you doing?  HEADS UP!"
        The Chinese boy in the flowing white robe had just enough time to
turn his head.  He saw a large bowl of beef ramen flying across the room.
It
struck him squarely between the eyes.  There was a bright flash of pain, and
the sound of glass shattering...

***

        Wing Ho walked the streets of Nerima and smoked his pipe
thoughtfully.  He'd been considering his impending wealth and fame all
morning, and had come to one inescapable conclusion:  fame and fortune
could take days, or even weeks, to arrive.  Who could possibly wait that
long?
How could he speed things up?
        Advertising was the key, he surmised.  One well-placed ad could
reach potentially millions of people.  The second problem, of course, was
what to say.  Simply telling people that you made great glasses wasn't
enough; every lens crafter said that.  Conversely, making patently
outrageous
claims, even if the were true, would not help him one bit, as no one would
take him seriously.
        What he really needed was incontrovertible proof that his product
worked.  If he could produce one magnificent example of the effects of his
wondrous glasses, then people would sit up and take notice.  What he needed,
then, was not simply someone with bad vision, but someone for whom "bad
vision" was a marked improvement.  In short, he needed someone who was
absolutely as blind as a bat.  If he could give the most near-sighted idiot
in
Tokyo the vision of a hawk, everything else would take care of itself.  He'd
be
a rich man in days, or even hours, rather than weeks or months.  His path to
riches and glory would be assured.
        But where to find such a person?
        "Excuse me, good sir, but could you direct me to the nearest
optometrist?"
        "Why, certainly," Wing Ho said, glancing up.  He paused.
        Before him was a young Chinese boy, tall, handsome, and well-
muscled, dressed in a long robe of white.  He was facing a utility pole.  He
was, in fact, talking to the utility pole.
        "Thank you very much," the boy said politely.  After a moment, he
added, "Is it this way?"
        Wing Ho watched as the strange boy pointed to a wall not ten feet
behind him.
        "No," the lens grinder said.  "I'm over here, by the way.  You're
talking to a post."
        The boy turned to face a mailbox.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  Without my
glasses, I guess my vision isn't so good."
        "No.  Over here."
        The boy turned to face the wall.
        Wing Ho leapt forward and grabbed the boy's wrist in a tight
embrace.  "Let me lead you there!" he exclaimed, eagerly.
        "Oh, no, thank you, I can find my way..."
        "Don't be daft, boy!  I'm going to help you out!  You have no idea
how much I'm going to help you out!  And, in exchange, you'll be doing me a
favor, too..."

***

        Mousse adjusted the strange wrap-around goggles and looked about
the small office.  His likeness stared back at him from a mirror on the far
wall,
and he studied it critically.
        *If I were a foot taller, and bald,* he thought, *and black instead
of
Chinese... I might look like that famous basketball player from a decade
ago.
What was his name again?  Cream?  Yeah, that was it.  What a strange
name!*
        "How does it feel?" the optometrist asked.
        "I don't know," he said.  "This strap feels strange.  I've never
needed
anything like it before."
        "Tell me again how many pairs of glasses you've broken this month,"
Wing Ho replied.  "What was it?  Four?  Five?  I can imagine that you've
lost
or misplaced your glasses at least ten times as often.  And didn't you say
you
were a martial artist?  No, my friend, the strap is absolutely necessary.
Don't
you see?  You need never be embarrassed about your eyesight again!"
        "Great," Mousse said, "I can rest comfortably in the knowledge that
I look stupid all of the time, instead of just when I'm talking to rocks."
        "Now, now," the lens grinder replied, "it'll take some getting used
to,
but I think you'll find the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages.  Just
remember, they're free; all you have to do is demonstrate them in  public
for
me.  Now, have you noticed the difference yet?"
        Mousse looked about the room again.  "Well, I have to admit, things
do look a lot clearer.  But if these things are so great, why can't I read
your
sign?"
        The man's brow furrowed.  "Sign?  Which sign are you talking
about?"
        Mousse pointed to the eye chart on the back wall.  "That one.  Did
you just put that up?  It wasn't there when I came in.  I keep trying to
read it,
but it makes no sense whatsoever."
        "That's an eye chart," the craftsman replied.  "It helps me to know
if
you can see well."
        Mousse thought about this a moment.  "Ah, I understand," he said.
"When people can't read it, you tell them that they need glasses."
        "Yes, essentially."
        "Very clever indeed," Mousse said, "but what if they realize that
it's
a trick?  I mean, they could stare at it all day and it's still not going to
make
any sense."
        Wing Ho frowned in confusion.  "I don't think you understand..." he
began, but by then Mousse was staring out the window in fascination.
        "That tree, across the street!" Mousse said, excitement building in
his voice.  "I can't believe it!  I can see leaves!"
        "I know," Wing Ho replied.  "Most people with new glasses are
amazed to be able to see individual leaves."
        "I didn't know leaves came from trees!" Mousse exclaimed.  "Who
would have imagined it?  No wonder trees are all green at the top!"
        A large sweatdrop appeared on Wing Ho's head.  "Exactly how blind
were you?" he asked, half to himself.  The Chinese boy wasn't listening to
him
anyway.
        "Look!  On all of the street posts!  I've never seen anything like
it!"
        "You didn't know the signs had writing on them?"
        "I didn't know there were signs on all of those posts!" Mousse
exclaimed excitedly.  "I can't believe how much I was missing!"  He spun
suddenly and grasped the craftsman's hands, shaking them vigorously.  "I
can't
thank you enough, Sensei!  Your glasses are going to change my life!  I'll
never remove them!  Never!"
        Wing Ho only smiled broadly.

***

        Mousse walked back to the Nekohanten in a blissful daze.
        Everywhere he looked was beauty, in sharp, colorful detail.  The
birds high overhead fascinated him.  As a bird himself, able to soar, after
a
fashion, he'd watched other, more graceful birds, and imagined that he was
somehow special for being able to fly with them and watch them swoop and
soar.  Only now did he realize that any normal person could watch the same
thing from the comfort of the ground.
        Somehow he'd never realized how many different kinds of cars there
were.  He studied the sleek, curving lines of a passing Honda Prelude, then
the arrow-straight, all-business lines of a Mercedes Benz.  He was surprised
that each car had it's name somewhere on it.  What else had he been missing?
        He studied the clothing of the people he passed, amazed at the
patterns and designs that he�d never noticed before.  He glanced in shop
windows, finding, for the first time, real meaning in the phrase �window
shopping�. What a strange and wonderful place the world was!
        He reached the Nekohanten and stepped inside.  "Shampoo!" he
exclaimed, coming to a halt.
        There, before him, was the love of his life.  Muted sunlight danced
across her hair, bringing out a thousand subtle shades of blue and violet.
The
soft silk fabric of her top slipped and shifted across her body as she
moved,
creating shadowy folds and shiny creases of red and yellow that dazzled his
eyes.  Her eyes... he'd never realized how beautiful her eyes really were.
Their depths held shades of dark blue and violet and black that he'd never
even imagined before.  They sparkled with life, and yes, with anger.
        He'd never seen Shampoo like this before.  Even the smallest details
about her were beautiful beyond belief.  In his wildest fantasies, he'd
never
imagined Shampoo looking this indescribably beautiful.
        "It's like I'm seeing you for the first time," he said.  Tears
flowed
from his eyes, gathering in the lower half of the face-hugging goggles.
        "MOUSSE!" Shampoo shouted.  "Where you been?  Is dinner rush,
and you leave Shampoo all alone!"
        "I'm sorry, my love," Mousse said, grinning foolishly.  "I'll never,
ever leave you again, I promise!"
        "Stupid Mousse!  You is talking crazy talk.  You help clean up
now."  The Japanese-challenged girl paused, looking at Mousse more closely.
"Where you find ugly goggles, Mousse?  It make you look even stupider than
usual."
        Mousse opened his mouth to reply, but caught a flash of movement
from the corner of his eye.  He turned and easily snatched two flying metal
trays from the air.
        "I expect you to be here during dinner rush!" Cologne growled.
"Stop gawking and get back to work!"
        Mousse stared at the shriveled old ghoul behind the counter, and a
shiver ran down his spine.  He'd known she was ugly, but now every detail of
her ugly, wrinkled face was clearly evident to him, for the first time. It
was a
hundred times more horrible than anything he could have imagined; he
couldn't bear to look another moment.
        "Aaaaaaaaaigh!" he screamed, running into the store room.
        Once inside, he paused, panting heavily.  He moved to the corner,
where a battered futon and a cage sat.  He tore the goggles from his head
and
threw them down on the futon.
        "So horrible!" he said, shuddering.  "I never imagined how truly
awful she looks.... she really is a ghoul!  Brrr!  I'll never wear those
goggles
again as long as I live!  It's not worth the price!"
        Mousse flopped down on his futon and stared at the ceiling.  After a
few minutes he began to feel about on the futon.  His hands found the
object,
made of smooth glass and clear plastic, and he held it up and stared at it.
        An image of Shampoo filled his vision.  She was so much more
beautiful when you could actually see her.  He'd known she was beautiful...
but he'd never really seen that beauty in the way others did.  His vision
was so
poor that even with his old glasses, he had to get close to something to
really
see it at all well, and Shampoo normally didn�t allow him to get that close.
It
was, in many ways, amazing that he could interact with people at all, let
alone
become a top-notch martial artist.
        Shampoo... Mousse sighed and slipped the goggles back over his
head.  Anything was worth being able to see the love of his life in all her
glory.  If it meant having to see the ghoul in all her ugliness as well,
then so be
it.
        With his new goggles securely fastened, Mousse headed back out
into the Nekohanten, ready to get back to work....

Next:

Chapter 2:  Through A Glass, Clearly

Things get interesting...

Trust me, this story really is going somewhere!

Okay, stick with me for a moment here.  If Mousse is really blind as I make
him out to be in this story (and the argument can easily be made... he's
always mistaking inanimate objects for people, and even when he puts his
glasses on he tends to lean in to examine things closely, just to make sure
of what he's seeing), then what happens when you give him perfect vision?
What happens when you give him, in fact, _better_ than perfect vision?

Just remember, as blind as he is, he's already a quite dangerous opponent.
Ask yourself, how good is Mousse, really?  How good is he if his vision
improves by several magnitudes?  How good is he if he can see those attacks
coming three or four times as quickly as before?  ^_^;

I have four chapters planned.  I hope you like it.  This story will
eventually be illustrated by Sky Rigdon, if I can believe what he's told
me...  ^_^;;

Miko!

"When you really need them the most," he said, "million-to-once chances
always crop up.  Well-known fact."  --Seargent Colon, "Guards, Guards!"
Terry Pratchett

Nausicaa@sprynet.com   Belldandy@angelic.com
Anime rpg at http://come.to/akane/
Fan Fiction at http://www.fortunecity.com/tatooine/pratchett/199/