Well! Lots of C&C, for which much thanks. Herewith a second draft, revised
and
extended with what would have been part B. Hopefully the new part B will be
out
by tomorrow, or, at worst, the weekend. Chapter 1 should have 3 parts and the
author's notes at the end may clear up _some_ of the fog anyway.
Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only playing
in it. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and
please don't feed the Troll.
*This is a sound.*
'This is a thought.'
_This is emphasis._
{This is a sign.}
<This is Chinese.>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
Rain. Postcard. Kitchen. Bed. Dojo. Bricks. "FIANCE?!" Girl. Panda.
Fight. CLONG! GROWF! Knock. Ranma.
Seen it before, yes? In your sleep, behind your back, with a bad
hand, in the rain, right?
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
This story doesn't start like that.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
_This_ story starts in darkness, late on a warm summer night
without an artificial light for miles. _This_ story starts in a forest
clearing lit by several billion stars and the thin sliver of a gibbous
moon.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
_This_ story starts with a male figure stripped to the waist,
using a bamboo handled shovel to *Shnnnck* loosen and turn earth that
will be *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt* removed and tossed to the side.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
Figure about a half cubic foot of earth loosened and dug up per
sequence.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
Figure a hole 6 feet long, by 3 feet wide, by 5 feet deep.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
Times 8.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
For those who have not been following along on their abaci, that's
1440 *shnnnck*s and 4320 *ssshhpt*s.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
In just less than 8 hours. Including wrapping the bodies, and
filling in the graves.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
For what were, self-admittedly, bandits and highwaymen. Desperate
criminals who, caught by the authorities, would assuredly have
been hung, and the bodies left to rot.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
For men who, knowing this, and knowing the digger for a ronin, and
hence both dangerous and broke, had nonetheless attempted to rob him.
For men without honor or martial skill, who had fallen like weeds
before the scythe. For outlaws who, had they somehow triumphed, would
have spent not an iota of such effort for the traveller.
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
Because honor and respect are paid _by_ the digger, and not _to_ the
dug for? Because even scum and bandits are human, and are owed some
kind of marker?
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
Because the duty owed by a slayer to his own soul demands a
remembrance of the slain, lest they die twice? Or simply because it
was necessary that the service be preformed and no one else is around
to do it?
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.
The digger jumps out of the last grave, places the final body in
its' final resting place and says a final abbreviated prayer. Filling
the grave takes little time, building the cairn of stones to mark
the burial takes a little longer, preparing to move again longer
still.
And then the figure pauses, and looks down the road by the forest
clearing, and looks behind at the road already travelled, and looks up
to a sky just beginning to lighten in the east, and becomes briefly
still.
It had been less than three days between incidents. Both faces were
becoming targets of local toughs and fast swords. He had been forced
to kill more than 45 times in the past month.
Or had he? His skill was great after all. He was fast and strong and
capable of techniques that your average thug, or even ronin, wouldn't
dare dream of attempting. Had it simply become easier to kill than not
to? And what did that say of *his* soul, in the end?
Perhaps it was time to try somewhere else? After all there _was_
less than a year to go. It really was time to get back where he
belonged. Time to go somewhere you could defeat someone _without_
killing them. Time to go back to what was, theoretically, home.
And the traveller reached into his shirt, and pulled out an amulet
of silver, and clay and glass, and raised it high.
And the rising sun shone down on a clearing in a forest by a road,
on which was now to be seen no traveller, nor footprints, nor anything
else at all.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Shadow Lurker Productions...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is a bar in China where a man is sitting by himself in a
corner, getting stinking drunk. 'Oh Buddha, I'm doomed. How did I let
this happen? Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Where _did_ that ungrateful
boy get to? Why did I have to try that _stupid_ training technique?
Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Who knows what sillyness he'll have
picked up without me? I'll never have enough time to train him out of
his bad habits now! Nodoka's going to _kill_ me.'
'Now now, Genma, get ahold of yourself; you trained him for seven
years and he's surely a man-among-men, and hardship toughens you up,
and he's certainly alive even if you can't find hide nor hair of him,
and he promised on his honor, and he never breaks a promise, and you'll
get to Jhusenkyou first and get a good look at the ground so you'll
have an advantage in the fight, and he won't be as good as you anyway
cause he didn't have you to keep an eye on him, and you'll have _weeks_
to fix his bad habits, and... Oh Buddha, Nodoka's going to !kill! me.'
----------------------------------------------------------------------
...Is very proud to present...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is Fukuoka, a port city on Kyushu where a person who is
apparently a somewhat bishonen lad packing a _huge_ spatula is
bargaining for a boat ride to China. She'd tracked Genma to China at
last and this time her family's honor _would_ be cleared, one way or
another.
And this is a small village in Qing-Hai where the local champion is
preparing to defend her title. And wondering where a warrior husband
strong enough for her to marry was going to come from anyway.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
...An Eric Hallstrom Production...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is a bedroom in a dojo in a suburb of Tokyo, where a
certain girl is preparing for bed; after all, there's school in the
morning. School. And boys. Yay.
She'd tried, she really had. She'd tried to find one she could
stand to date. She'd tried to get the usual pack of fools to _stop_
their foolishness, peacefully and otherwise. It just hadn't worked.
'Every school day, _every_ school day. For more than a year. I'm
a Junior now, I'm supposed to be past hazing aren't I? They're
supposed to be at least a little mature aren't they? Or at least
tired of getting beaten up all the time?'
Every day, for more than a year. And she hadn't lost, and she
hadn't given up... but neither had they. And she was tired, so tired.
And Tendo Akane went to bed, hoping for something to break her out
of a losing rut. And went to sleep, although she didn't want to.
After all, there was school in the morning.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
...Of a Takahashi Rumiko Film.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is a small apartment, likewise in Nerima. And in it a man
last seen in a forest clearing is performing a slow kata. A very old
kata, were anyone else in Japan today capable of recognizing it. A kata
not of attack, or evasion, or defence ... but rather of remembrance.
Of a Bargain that was made, and a Prize that could be gained, and a
Price that must be paid. A very old bargain, that has something to do
with Iron.
And he too is hoping, and waiting for the morning. He hadn't had to
kill anyone yet, but in every other way the last several months had
been a disaster. Oh well, perhaps he simply wasn't _meant_ for romance?
After all, father had probably provided for a marriage long ago, and
while he didn't like it, he had accepted it for the sake of family
honor. Actually falling in love with someone was probably tempting
fate.
Which brought up an issue, actually; what face was he going to
wear? Flip a coin? Tails. Female. So be it. 'Now get to bed Ranma,
you've got school in the morning.'
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma and Akane, A Love Story
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1, The first day.
Part A. Arrival. Here's Ranma.
This is the story of a boy who was a girl, and a girl, and a boy,
and a girl, and a boy, and a girl, and a girl who acts like a boy, and
a boy who acts like a girl, and a woman, and a man, and another couple
girls, and a cast of thousands. Oh, and a Panda, can't forget the
Panda.
It's the story of a school, and another school, and another school;
of a city, and a village, and all the roads in between. It's a story
of desperate battle, and deadly opponents, and when it gets to be the
story of monsters and villians who attempt to attack these schools and
so on it will instead become the story of monsters and villians who
turn around and run away again.
It will have true love, and desperate peril, and romantic intervals
and high adventure and more martial arts action sequences than you can
shake a bokken at. And just a touch of citrus, for flavor. But before
we get to all that, it will be the story of a Fight.
Some schools are known for academics and some are known for sports.
Furinkan High, in Nerima ward, is known for the Fight. Every school
day for more than a year, all the boys had either lain in wait to
"win the right to date the fair and beauteous tiger Tendo Akane"
(i.e. beat her up) or, if they had done that recently, had attempted
to heal up for the Fight tomorrow.
The girls all thought the whole thing was a ploy by Akane to keep
the attention of the entire male student populace and had no sympathy
for either side. The populace of the neighborhood thought it was High
Theatre (not much else happened in Nerima). Tendo Nabiki, Akane's
sister thought it had gone much too far, but could think of no viable
way to stop something that no longer had a real reason except
tradition. And Tendo Akane vanquished her opponents, and ignored the
whispers, and grew ever grimmer.
And today will be no different, after all it never is at Furinkan.
All the normal players are in place: here is the assembled might of
Furinakan's male student body, prepared to do battle in heroic
sillyness for a prize they no longer remember; here are the observers
waiting for a sight they've seen before, and grown bored of; and here
is Akane herself grimly preparing to fight for a point of honor she
can no longer care about; all just as it was yesterday and the day
before. And now Akane has broken into a run at her tormentors, and now
the battle is about to be joined. But now, noe something different
_has_ happened.
Now a voice has called out, not even very loudly. A smokey
contralto with a slight edge of roughness, and power enough to crack
the world. A voice that merely by its presence has controlled the
situation. A voice that belongs to a short redheaded girl standing in
the gateway to the school. She wears loose black pants, battle
slippers, a loose red silk shirt and a bomber jacket. Her hair flows
down her back in a pigtail tied with an ivory ring in which gems gleam
brightly in the sun, her neck is wrapped by a flowing white silk scarf,
her hands are in her jacket pockets, her head is slightly tilted to one
side and she has just said "_What_ is going on here?".
And nothing will ever be the same again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Takuichi Daikun was not a happy kendoist. He had striven and won in
honorable combat for the privilege of leading today's charge so that
the entire school could see his honorable struggle with the fair Tendo
Akane (he's the first to get beaten up today). It was a great honor to
be first, and he had looked forward to it. But now his moment in the
sun had been _ruined_, upstaged by some ... barbarian _girl_ ... and
his honor had been shadowed. And so it was that he did a _very_
foolish thing: he got her attention.
"This is an affair of _Honor_ girl, who are you to..."
Somehow she had moved across the dozen yards separating them without
his seeing it. Up close he noted that her eyes were an incredible
blue as deep as all the worlds' oceans, that several slight lines of
old scars crossed the sides of her face, that her gaze was literaly
_impossible_ to look away from, and that she had just tapped him on
the nose.
"My name is Ranma, and you haven't answered my question."
From far away he heard his voice stammering some sort of explanation
for the mornings action. Now that he thought about it, it did seem sort
of silly.
"Ah. I see. and what was your place in this ... "honorable combat"."
"I have won the right to first contact today. It is a very great
honor." He hadn't really said that had he? He hadn't meant to.
"Ah. Well I certainly wuldn't wish to deprive you of your... "honor"."
The hands that broke his shoulder blades and dislocated his arms were
certainly gentle he thought, though unstoppable in their power. The
snap kicks that flattened his testicles and broke both of his lower
legs skillfully applied and blinding in their speed. The twin open hand
push that flung him 30 feet backwards was so fast and yet so graceful
as to be beyond belief. And was that an energy discharge from the point
of contact? 'Why, it doesn't even hurt' he thought as he flew backwards
through the air. Until 5 feet before hitting the wall, when it hurt a
_lot_. The unconsciousness that followed after hitting the wall was
probably a mercy.
Ranma turned to the remaining assembled male Furinkanery and
bestowed upon them the calm, angelic smile of someone who is wondering
how far your arm can be pulled from its' socket before the flesh and
ligaments separate, and whether beating you to death with it will
require one subsequent blow or two.
Above, Nabiki stared down in shock. Well _that_ was different.
"Now I was sitting in a tavern in country far away a couple months
back," she remarked conversationally, "trying to get something to eat.
And the door opened and in walked the nastiest trio of villians you
ever did lay eyes on. They were dragging along a youngish girl who
really didn't seem to want to be there, what with the torn clothing and
the bruises and all, and in ... speaking ... to them it developed that
yeah they had kidnapped her, and yeah they had done what you think
they'd done, and oh yeah just cause they _could_, cause no-one could
stop em."
She shook her head in dismay. "So I ripped the big one's heart out,
and broke the second's neck and used a chair to crush the skull of the
one who was running away. Because it was the right thing to do."
Nabiki registered further shock. Well, that _was_ different.
"Now I'm not saying that this case is exactly similar, mind you, but
you do know how badly you've been insulting the other girls in the
school, right?"
Furinkanery.male assembled quivered in terror and huddled together.
"And while I myself am the most gentle and reasonable of people, I
understand that _other_ people aren't and if they", she waved her hand
at the watchers above, "should decide to hold a _grudge_, well...
Things could become ... dire."
The word "dire" seemed to resonate with especial doom.
"And continued for a whole _year_? Why I doubt if _any_ amount of
flowers would help. You'd have to escalate straight to chocolate or
even jewelery even to get a chance to plead your cases."
Ranma shook her head sadly at the fate that no doubt awaited them.
"And here you are still standing here."
Furinkanery.male assembled blanched further and scrambled en masse
for the door to the fire within that was nonetheless much preferrable
to the pitying but merciless gaze without, only to be recalled to heel.
"Oh and by the way gentlemen... if it _should_ happen that intense
currying _does_ grant you the no-doubt-undeserved opportunity to plead
for your miserable lives... my advice to you would be to grovel, and to
grovel quite abjectly."
Nabiki wonderd if you could overload on shock. That had been
_different_. And then looked about her, and heard the all but audible
grinding of the gears in the other female onlookers, and then sprinted
for the door. A phone, she had to get to a phone.
Ranma crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head
sadly at the mass of boyish sillyness franticly cramming itself through
Furinkan's front doors, and turned sheepishly to Akane, who was still
standing where she had been about to knock Daikun into next week and
whose mouth was still open in shock.
"Aheh", she tugged on her braid, "sorry about that. Sometimes I get
carried away."
Akane shook herself and closed her mouth. "No, not at all. You were
_wonderful_! I'm Tendo Akane, wanna be friends?"
"Sure!" Ranma's eyes lit. Akane was staggered again by their power.
"If you've been going through that every day for a _year_ you _need_
a friend and it's always nice to make one the first day. I'm Bushiko
Ranma." She extended her hand, pinky outstretched and Akane linked
hers likewise.
Talking quietly they walked in the door and up the stairs.
"Tendo Akane, huh? "Scarlet Road to Heaven", how lovely."
Akane felt her cheeks heat. "Um, thanks! Um, Bushiko?"
"It's a nom de guerre", Ranma explained sunnily, "long story, I'll
tell you later."
"The heck with _that_ story; _how_ did you do that _push_? That was
_great_!"
"You think so? It's not that hard: you just..."
And walked happily to class, and smiled merrily upon the cringing
boys therin, and did _not_ gloat. At least, not on the outside.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next: part B; Encampment: Kuno strikes out.
--
I have a defective CD that was never aluminized or labelled. It's cool.
So you have the complete set of bug-free MS software?
-Peter da Silva and Paul Joslin, a.s.r
-Eric Hallstrom
Eric Hallstrom hallcon@mindspring.com