finally, another installment



"A Change of Scene"  Chapters 57-61

November, 1998.  June "KaraOhki" Geraci
karaohki@snet.net

Previous chapters can be found at
http://www/fortunecity.com/victorian/rothko/228

The characters from Ranma 1/2 in this fiction are the
creations of Rumiko Takahashi.
This story was written for non-commercial purposes only.


Chapter 57

"The two of you are SO funny!"

Ranma and Akane stared at Mishi.  This was not the reaction they'd
expected.  Mishi saw their expressions, and started giggling.

"You two are much too serious about this poll.  I think it's a
compliment.  I came in second last year.  Why are you letting it get
you so upset?"

"I don't want that kind of attention, Mishi.  It reminds me too much
of high school."

Mishi looked totally confused.

"High school?"

Ranma nodded, and explained how Akane had been chased by all of the
boys at Furinkan High until he arrived, and the boys accepted their
engagement.

"That must have been a relief to you, Akane."

Akane bit her tongue.  She wasn't about to tell Mishi that back then
the last thing she wanted to do was marry Ranma.

"It was, Mishi, and I don't want it to start again.  The only man I
want attention from is Ranma."

*****

Over the next few days, Akane noticed a change in the way the young
men on campus would look at her and Ranma when they would be walking
together.  Some of them looked embarrassed, and looked away, while
others would glare at Ranma.  Ranma would glare back, and they would
redden, and look away.  Akane tried to ignore the situation, but it
began to bother her more.

Akane reached for the alarm clock, and turned it off.  She turned
over, and Ranma gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

"Good morning."

"Is it?"

"What do you mean, Akane?"

"I wish I didn't have to walk by all those guys every morning, Ranma.
Why do they have to stare at us?"

Ranma held Akane tighter.

"Ignore them, Akane.  The results of the poll come out today, and then
they can go stare at whoever won."

"I feel sorry for her."

*****

The campus paper came out that afternoon, and Ranma brought a copy to
the cafeteria.  He and Akane sat at a smaller table to check it out,
not far from their group of friends.

"Look, Akane.  It's Mishi.  That's a great picture of her."

The article had pictures of Mishi and the runners up, as well as an
article about them, and the couple read the article together as they
ate.

Then Ranma turned the page, and Akane went white.

There was a picture of Akane on the page, captioned "Prettiest Married
Girl on Campus."   The accompanying article explained that there were
so many write-in votes for Akane once she'd been removed from the
ballot that the publishers felt obligated to make the opinion of the
voters known.

There was a snap as Ranma's chopsticks crumbled, and he rose from his
chair.  Akane grabbed him, and pulled him back into his seat.

"Don't, Ranma.  Wait."

"Why, Akane?  We TOLD them to leave you out of this."

"You'll make it worse for me if you make a big deal out of it Ranma,
I'm sure of it.   Please don't."

*****

Akane emerged from her classroom, and spotted Mishi down the hallway.
She was surrounded by men, which had been the case every time she'd
seen her that day.  The way the men were crowding around Mishi made
Akane feel claustrophobic, but her friend seemed to be handling the
situation well.  She dealt with each person calmly, refusing dates in
a way that didn't hurt anyone's feelings, and made them feel they
hadn't feel totally rejected.  Akane wished she had that much tact as
she put on her coat and started toward the door, where a young man
fell into step with her.

"Hi."

Akane looked at the student suspiciously.  She didn't know him.

"Hello."

"Are you done with classes for the day?"

"Yes, I am.  Why?"

The young man smiled.

"Come have a drink with me."

"No thank you.  I'm a married woman."

The student shrugged his shoulders at Akane.

"So what?  What your husband doesn't know won't hurt him."

There was a dent in the wall because of the force Akane used when she
threw the young man into it.  Several other students had been watching
from a short distance, trying to see how successful their friend would
be with Akane.  They backed up a few steps, turned around, and left.

"I will NOT go through this again, I will NOT go through this again."

Akane kept repeating that statement to herself as she walked home.
Ranma was at work, and Akane continued to worry as she cooked dinner,
and studied.  She finally came to the conclusion that she wasn't going
to tell Ranma what had happened, because she was afraid of what he
might do.  Then Akane remembered her wedding day.  She and Ranma had
kept a secret from one another, a secret that caused a great deal of
trouble.  She would tell him, as soon as he came home.

Ranma ran through campus on his way home from the hospital.  It was
the shortest route home, except that he often was stopped by friends
as he crossed.

"Sensei!"

Ranma stopped and turned.  One of his students was running toward him,
waving.

"Sensei, is your wife all right?"

"Akane?  What do you mean?"

"It's all over campus that she threw a guy into a wall because he was
bothering her.  You hadn't heard?"

"No.  I hadn't."

*****

Footsteps on the stairs told Akane that Ranma had arrived home.  She
put her textbook down, opened the door before he could put his key in
the lock, and was in his arms seconds later.  Ranma hugged her, and
then gently pushed her back a little so that he could see her eyes.

"Are you okay?  Did that guy touch you?"

Akane's jaw dropped.

"You know?  No, Ranma, he didn't touch me."

Akane paused,  and grinned at Ranma mischievously.

"I don't think he'll want to any more."

"What do you mean HIM, tomboy?  You've probably scared off all of the
guys on campus.  Good for you.  Now tell me the whole story."

Akane ignored Ranma's grin, and the fact that he'd called her a
tomboy, and told him what had occurred.  His expression changed as she
spoke, and his hands became fists, but he listened without
interrupting until Akane had finished speaking.

"I can't blame you for flattening him, Akane.  I would have done it
for you if I had been there."

"But Ranma, Mishi handles it so much better.  Even if she says no to a
guy, she does it in such a nice way that he walks away smiling."

"You're not Mishi, Akane.  You're you, and you have a temper.  I've
had the bruises to prove it.

*****

Mishi stepped into her apartment, locked the door, and sighed with
relief.  Peace, quiet and privacy were something she'd been denied all
day, and now they were hers.

The classes Mishi had taken in business etiquette and diplomacy had
been very helpful to her that day.  She'd lied to Ranma and Akane when
she had told them that the attention didn't bother her.  It did, more
than she was willing to admit, but Mishi didn't want to be considered
a bad sport.  When she kept finding herself surrounded all day long,
Mishi handled the situation by pretending that they were people she
was doing business with, and telling herself that she must be friendly
and polite to each of them.  It had worked, but the end of the day
found her exhausted.

Mishi opened the refrigerator, took something out for dinner, and
walked toward the stove.  She passed a mirror on the way, and saw her
tired expression in it.

"I hate this."



Chapter 58

The woman on the phone picked up her head when the door opened, and
smiled at her visitor.

"I'll be with you in a moment.  Have a seat."

Shampoo sat down and picked up a magazine.  She found it difficult to
read, and put it down again.  That was why she had come, after all.
Whether she was trying to read a magazine, or Shiro's letters, or have
a simple conversation with someone, Shampoo had to admit that her
Japanese was awful.   When she looked up again, the woman put down the
receiver and nodded at her.  Shampoo smiled, and took a seat next to
the desk.

"Are you here for counseling, or to volunteer?"

Shampoo looked blank.

"Counseling?  Shampoo here for Japanese class."

"Oh!  You need the next door down to sign up for language lessons.  I
was really hoping you were a volunteer.  We're so short-handed."

Something made Shampoo stay in the chair.  The little lie she'd told
Mousse on New Year's Eve was coming back to haunt her.  Perhaps she
should look into volunteering, whatever it was for.

"What you do here?  Maybe Shampoo can help."

*****

"Where have you been, Shampoo?"

"At the community center, Great-Grandmother."

"What were you doing there?"

"I'm going to be doing some volunteer work a few afternoons a week."

"You're needed here, Shampoo."

Shampoo glared at Cologne.

"I have been here, every day.  I'm going to take a couple of hours off
a few afternoons a week."

Shampoo went upstairs to change into working clothes, leaving Cologne
staring at the place where she'd been standing, and wondering what had
gotten into her.  Perhaps it was time to write Mousse another letter.

*****

Mousse pushed against the door to his aunt's room, her breakfast tray
in his hands.  She was propped against the pillows, looking a little
paler than she had the day before.  Her words, however, were anything
but pale.

"It's about time, Mousse.  Why does it take you so long to make
breakfast, and did you oversleep again?  When my husband was alive, he
got up at the crack of dawn to cook for me.  How are you going to get
a wife if you don't learn to show the proper respect?"

"Respect", thought Mousse.  "Why should I respect this woman?  She's
given me nothing but headaches all my life."

"I'm not about to die without seeing you take your proper position in
the village, Mousse.  It's time you forgot about Shampoo.  I've told
my friends that you are available, and they are considering you as
husband material for some of their daughters and nieces.  Do NOT
embarrass me or our family by rebelling against our traditions.  There
will be a meeting tomorrow morning in the conference hall, and I
expect a full report when you get back."

Mousse's aunt alternated bites of breakfast with criticism.  When she
was done, she motioned for Mousse to take the tray.  He was more than
eager to escape his aunt's presence, and left her room, closing the
door behind him.  Once out of the room, he pulled a letter from his
pocket.  Cologne had sent it, expressing concern over Shampoo's
behavior.  Mousse knew that he had to go back to Japan as soon as
possible, but was stuck in Joketsuzoku until the death of his aunt.
If someone chose him as a husband the next day, he might be stuck
forever.

*****

"No woman should be forced to live in fear.  The goal of this
organization is to protect abused women and their children . . ."

Shampoo wrinkled her brow, and read on.  She couldn't understand the
brochure she'd been given.  Why would a woman submit to abuse from her
husband, or boyfriend?

"Maybe because they're not Amazons."

If someone had suggested to Shampoo that she'd be a volunteer at a
shelter for abused women, she would have laughed at them.  It had
happened by accident, and now Shampoo was glad the accident had
happened.

Since she'd just begun helping there, and didn't have any formal
training, Shampoo had been given an assignment she liked very much.
Many of the women who came to the center had their children with them,
and Shampoo watched over them while their mothers were in their
counseling sessions.

Between language lessons and volunteering, Shampoo was getting out
four times a week.  Cologne had asked a couple of questions about the
type of volunteer work Shampoo was doing, and she'd told Cologne the
truth.  What she had not told her, however, was that only two of the
four days were being spent at the shelter.  The other two afternoons
were for Japanese lessons, and Shampoo was making rapid progress.

Cologne was becoming accustomed to having Shampoo absent four
afternoons a week.  She was gone during the lull between the lunch and
dinner rush, and Cologne could cope with whoever came in for a meal.
Today, however, was different.  A group of businessmen came in,
followed by a crowd of teenagers, and she was swamped.  Cologne needed
Shampoo to return, and phoned the shelter.

"May I speak to Shampoo, please."

"I'm sorry, ma'am.  She's not working today."

"She's not?"

"No, today Shampoo is at her Japanese class."

"Thank you."

Japanese class?  Cologne continued working on the orders, while
thinking that one over.  She was planning to return to China, with
Shampoo.  There was no reason for her great-granddaughter to make the
effort to improve her Japanese.  No reason, unless.

Cologne dropped her ladle, and it sank into the soup.

No reason unless Shampoo intended to stay in Japan.

*****

     "I believe that Shampoo intends to leave us.  I don't understand
what is
       happening.  She has always told me the truth, and now she is
hiding
       something.  I will try to find out what it is."

Mousse frowned again at the letter from Cologne.  He had to get back
to Japan, and fast.  He turned around with annoyance when he heard his
aunt calling.

"Let me look at you, boy.  Before you leave, comb your hair, and put
on something clean.  You know that the women will have a look at you
this morning.  I won't have you embarrassing me."

The old woman opened her mouth to say more, but Mousse's look stopped
her.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt fear, which
dissipated when Mousse nodded, and quietly walked out to get her
breakfast.  He stood at her side silently while she ate, an attitude
that annoyed her enough to take another dig at him once she'd finished
eating.

"Go get cleaned up, Mousse.  I won't have you going to that meeting
looking like a slob.  And you will treat my friends with the proper
respect when you are there!"

Mousse didn't reply.  He was afraid that he would lose his temper, so
he quietly put the breakfast dishes back onto the tray, and picked it
up.  As he did so, his hand brushed against the inhaler that his aunt
kept on her bedside table, knocking it to the floor.  She glared at
him, and he picked it up and set it down again.

Two hours later, Mousse left the hall.  He had been subjected to a
great deal of scrutiny by the women present.  As he'd anticipated,
Mousse wasn't permitted to say much at the meeting.  His prospective
wives, their mothers, and their grandmothers asked him a few
questions, and then spent a few minutes looking him over.  Mousse felt
like a piece of merchandise, except that at least merchandise gets
paid for.  He was going to be stuck in a loveless marriage with an
Amazon who would treat him like an inferior for the rest of his life.

After some time, Mousse was told to return to his aunt's house.  He
would, they said, be informed of their decision.

When Mousse opened the door, the house was quiet.  This didn't
surprise him too much, since his aunt's illness caused her to sleep
most of the time, but he'd expected that she would be waiting for him
to tell her what had occurred.  Perhaps it would be best if he
approached her first - then she would not have an excuse to accuse him
of neglecting her.

The first thing he noticed was that she was much paler than she had
been when he left her.  Then he realized that she was half out of the
bed - reaching toward the night table.

Mousse took a deep breath and approached his aunt.  It only took him a
moment to confirm what he's guessed:  that she was dead.  Then he
realized why.  Her fingers were reaching for the inhaler, and had come
up just a few inches short.  He suddenly recalled knocking it over
earlier, and putting it back on the night table.

He had to move her - get her back into the bed properly - so that it
looked as though she had died in  her sleep.

Touching her would be the first step, and a hard one.  Mousse gulped
once, and reached out.  The body was cold, and beginning to stiffen,
and it took effort for Mousse to arrange it the way he wanted it to
look.  Then he moved the inhaler back where it belonged.

As he did so, Mousse began to feel extremely uneasy.  Was he
responsible for his aunt's death?  Had his dislike of her, and the
desire to get away from her presence, caused him to move the inhaler
out of her reach?  If so, then he was a murderer.

Mousse was still trying to come to terms with that concept when there
was a knock on the door.  He opened it to find one of the oldest women
in the village, who nodded at him in an abrupt manner.

"We've come to a decision, Mousse.  Where is your aunt?"

"In bed.  Come with me."

The visitors received quite a shock when they discovered the old woman
was dead.  They conferred among themselves, and spoke to Mousse, who
was doing a creditable job of faking grief.

"This is no time to talk about your marriage, Mousse.  We will help
you with the funeral first."

*****

The residents of the village stood at the grave, paying their final
respects.  Afterward, they all walked back to the house, together,
where one of the older women approached Mousse.

"It is time to speak of your marriage, Mousse."

"No."

Outraged, the woman rose to her full height.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I chose my bride a long time ago, and she's in Japan now.  I'm
leaving."

"Mousse!  If you defy our arrangements, you will be made outcast!"

Mousse lost his temper.

"Who cares?  You won't be seeing me again.  Good bye!"

Mousse stepped into his aunt's house.  He'd left his packed bags just
inside the door, and he picked them up, and left his birthplace behind
him.  He would not miss it, not for a moment.


Chapter 59

"Shiro, are you going to be busy Wednesday night?  You want to go to a
movie?"

"I have a class, Ranma.  Sorry."

"Damn, then I guess I'll be stuck at home."

Shiro just stared at his friend.

"Ranma, why do you want to be AWAY from home?"

Ranma looked uncomfortable, and hesitated before answering.

"Akane is having a bunch of girls over, and I'd rather be somewhere
else."

"The way you've described the girls in Nerima chasing you around, I'm
not too surprised.  I don't think Akane's friends will do that."

"You're probably right, Shiro.  Why are you taking night classes?  I
mean, Akane and I have learned to slow down and relax, and you're
working harder?"

Shiro laughed.

"This is different, Ranma.  I'm taking Chinese."

The look Ranma gave his friend told Shiro that he didn't need to
explain why he was taking the class.

*****

The smell of curry greeted Ranma when he arrived home from work
Wednesday night.  He opened the door, and Akane looked up with a
smile.  Ranma kissed her, and gestured at the stove.

"Curry, Akane?"

Akane smiled.

"Yes, doesn't it smell good?"

"Yeah, great.  Did you use the checklist?"

"No, I didn't.  This is the same curry I made at home, Ranma.  Taste
it for me?"

As Ranma stuck a spoon into the pan and scooped up some curry, he
realized that Akane was watching him anxiously.  He'd told her that he
wasn't marrying her for her cooking, but she continued to obsess about
it.  Akane visibly relaxed when he remained upright after tasting it.

"It's a little spicy, Akane, but I like it."

They'd barely finished eating dinner and cleaning up the kitchen when
Akane's guests began to arrive.  Ranma was trying to decide whether or
not to stay when Anne walked in and handed him a box of pastries.  One
look in the box convinced Ranma to stay, and he perched on the
counter.  Anne looked around her, and smiled at Ranma.

"I've been in Japan for a while now, Ranma, but I'm still having a
hard time believing how tiny your apartments are.  Your whole
apartment could fit in my parents' bedroom."

Ranma shrugged.

"There's just the two of us, Anne.  We don't need anything bigger."

"Oh, I'm not criticizing the place, Ranma.  I think it's adorable.
Besides, my mother says she wishes our place was smaller, so that she
wouldn't have to spend so much time trying to keep it clean."

After everyone finished their tea and pastries, they got out the
papers Anne had distributed.  Within a couple of minutes, Ranma was
totally helpless with laughter.

"Whose idea was this?  You girls are good!"

Anne giggled.  Ranma's laughter was infectious.

"Mine.  This is a tribute for Yoshimi.  We're going to do this after
the last performance.  What do you think?"

"I think he's going to be really embarrassed, but I also think he'll
love it.  Are you going to get him onstage?"

Anne nodded excitedly.

"I hadn't thought of that, Ranma.  We'll get him onstage if we have to
drag him."

"If it comes down to that Anne, I'll carry him for you."

*****

The Saotomes walked the girls down the stairs, and waved as they
disappeared around the corner.  Ranma put his arm around Akane's waist
as they walked up the stairs, holding her close to him.

"That wasn't bad, Akane."

Akane bristled, and moved away from Ranma.

"What do you mean by that?  What's bad about my friends?"

Ranma backed into the apartment, holding up his palms.  Akane followed
him in, glowing faintly.

"Nothing, Akane.  I was just nervous.  I keep remembering Nerima."

Akane stopped short, and her glow faded.  Back at home, Ranma was
constantly being pursued, and considered the "property" of his
pursuers.  He wasn't accustomed to being with women who weren't
chasing him.  Akane's anger disappeared, and she moved close to Ranma,
and wrapped her arms around him.

"I'm sorry, Ranma.  This is better than Nerima, isn't it?"

Ranma pulled Akane closer, and she rested her head on his chest.

"Much better.  I didn't get glomped once."

Akane glomped him.

*****

At 3:00 a.m., Ranma gently disentangled himself from Akane's arms,
trying very hard not to wake her.  He rummaged in the bureau, found
the bottle hidden there, and walked into the kitchen for water.  He'd
just finished filling the glass when Akane's voice came from the
bedroom.

"Ranma, what are you doing in the kitchen?  Are you hungry?"

"Just thirsty, sweetheart.  I'll be right back."

A few seconds later, Akane was at Ranma's side, reopening the bottle.

"Pour me some water, would you?  I thought that's why you were out
here."

Ranma stared.

"You knew about my antacids?"

He waited for her to explode, but instead Akane giggled.

"Baka.  If you keep them in with your socks, how could I not know?  I
guess the curry was a little too spicy."

Ranma poured Akane a glass of water, and they toasted each other as
they took their antacids.  The absurdity of the situation struck them,
and they began to laugh, trying hard to suppress the noise.

Downstairs, Mr. Misato listened to the laughter and smiled.  What the
young people were doing upstairs may qualify as "noise", but it was
preferable to the yelling he'd had to listen to from the previous
tenants.


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