Sorry for the wait. Real Life(tm) is pressing again. Hopefully
the final version.
Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found
them and please don't feed the Troll.
*Summer Lightning* is copyrighted by Garnet Rogers; if you haven't
encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings lots better
than I write.
*Lock Keeper* is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP) and mangled by me; if
you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings
lots better than I write, and his estate could use the cash.
*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 your
eyes closed, 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 traveler.
*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 performed 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 traveled, 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 traveler 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 traveler, 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?
Susano-o protect me, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Who knows what
silliness he'll have picked up without me? I'll never have enough time
to train him out of his bad habits now! Compassionate Amida, 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 Ameratasu aid me, 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 defense ... 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, mustn'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, later, it attempts
to be a story of monsters and villains who attack these schools and
so on, it will instead become the story of monsters and villains who
turn around and run away -- at least, those of them who get the chance.
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, the boys of the student body 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
Theater (not much else happened in Nerima). Tendo Nabiki 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 as the days went by.
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
Furinkan's male student body, prepared to do battle in heroic
silliness 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, now 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 literally
_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 would'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, whereupon 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 a 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 villains 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 jewelry 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 seemed nonetheless much
to be preferred to the 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 wondered 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 heads of the other female onlookers, and
saw the slowly growing grins, 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 silliness frantically 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 therein, and did _not_ gloat. At least, not on the outside.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next: part B; Encampment: Kuno strikes out.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 1: The First Day
Part B: Encampment: Kuno Strikes Out.
Classes had gone moderately well, Akane reflected. Ranma's educa-
tional level had proven to be surprisingly spotty: she was barely
adequate in math for example and had no concept of Algebra, yet her
grasp of history was excellent and her English was much better than
anyone else in class, including the teacher. Fortunately class 2-F was
scheduled to take up physical education and music after lunch: Akane
was looking forward to seeing Ranma in action in Phys ed, and, consid-
ering her incredible voice, in Music too.
But both of these would wait until after lunch and Akane was looking
forward to lunch as well. Lunch would, after all, allow her to question
Ranma more closely about several matters: murder, for one, and what
she meant by 'nom de guerre', and what her history had been; many
such questions were bubbling in her head, looking for answers.
Fortunately for Akane's fragile patience, lunch was not long
delayed. The temporarily released students scattered over the Furinkan
grounds, Ranma and Akane claiming a shaded spot next to the Furinkan
wall. No one seemed inclined to join them, which was just as well,
Akane felt, as it afforded privacy.
"Okay", Akane said brightly, "tell me about Bushiko, and why it's a
nom de guerre. And what you're doing under a nom de guerre anyway."
"Well... Um. Basically it started when I was 5 or so. That was when
my Dad decided that I wouldn't get adequate training if we stayed home,
so he took me on a permanent training trip."
"We traveled a lot", Ranma continued, "and didn't settle in one
place for more than 4 months or so for the next 6 years. Then Dad found
this _stupid_ Martial Arts training manual that was supposed to show
how to train for an 'invincible technique'."
"Feh", Ranma brooded for a minute, then resumed. "Anyway, _after_
the training he discovered that the reason nobody uses that technique
is that, even if it works, the stress sends you psychotic."
Akane gasped, and Ranma nodded.
"After that, Dad tried to keep 'training' me, but I nearly killed
him 3 times in the next week. I knew it wasn't going to get any better
either, so I beat him up instead, and then left him behind. I told him
that he'd trained me for 6 years and now I was going to go away and
train myself for 6 years, and at the end of that time I'd fight him
for mastery of the school. If he beat me I'd stay in training under
him for as long as he wanted, but if I beat him he'd go back to work to
raise money until the school got back on its feet, and then retire."
"That was more than 5 years ago", Ranma continued, "and I've got
about 6 months to go."
Akane leaned closer concernedly. "How terrible! It must have been
very hard on you!"
"Less so than you'd think", Ranma replied. "I admit it wasn't easy,
but I'd been doing most of the domestic stuff anyway: Dad's hopeless
at anything that means he'd have to work. So, the only real problem
was fixing the damage he'd done. It took 6 months, but I found a
temple on Honshu and locked the technique away and the craziness with
it."
"But you're fine now?", Akane said, still concerned.
"Mostly, though I'm still afraid of cats."
"Cats? Why cats?"
"Because ..."
Alas for the state of Akane's curiosity, the conversation was to
be interrupted. And by none other than the usual suspect for interrup-
tions at Furinkan, that paragon of honor, that champion of sport, that
noble traveler in hakama, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High, Kuno
Tatewaki.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tatewaki himself was experiencing a state of mind that was highly
unusual to him: doubt. He had been angered (once he had taken a moment
to consider it) by Ranma's accusation that any action he had ever
undertaken was less than perfectly honorable, much less... that word.
It couldn't be... that word... could it? After all he had always
allowed her to win, had he not? (He knew, of course, that no girl,
beauteous tiger or no, could resist his masculine might.) So he had
allowed her to work through her shyness, trusting in the day when she
would see the purity of his affections, cast off her maidenlike
reluctance, and allow him to date her.
Now, however, the purity of his motives had been called into
question. Looked at in a certain light it could almost be said that his
honor had been sullied. If he did not redress the situation, and soon,
his fair flower might well (horrors) _believe_ the libelous, malicious
_lies_ proposed by that... that...
Well, of course, it was not fair to expect too much from the Sunset
haired Amazon. She was obviously some variety of barbarian and new to
Furinkan besides: she couldn't be _expected_ to see the true nobility
of his motives. But that at least was easily remedied. If he simply
displayed the excellence of his martial skills by defeating her, she
would quickly come to understand the rightness of his cause. No doubt
her savage heart would be won over to its rightful place as well,
and then, well, the possibilities were unbounded. He might even end up
with _two_ maidens to be beaten up by.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
At this time the narrator of this story would like to interject an
explanation for the lack of thought quotes in the preceding passages.
The reason can be stated simply: no verbalizable thoughts have been
in Tatewaki's possession to this point in the story.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Unfortunately for Tatewaki, however, more than one worry wrinkled
his noble brow as he stood before his locker some 5 minutes before
Ranma and Akane's conversation was interrupted. The other worry was
simply stated: should he take along his sword?
There were arguments for and against, of course. Against such an
action must stand the fact that the red-headed barbarian had not, till
now, deserved of him such a drastic response, likewise that bared steel
was after all both excessive and inappropriate for instruction or
for courting a shy maiden's hand. On the 'for' scale, alternately, lay
the undeniable fact that she had boasted of recently killing no fewer
than three opponents. Gross and disgusting men, no doubt, lacking in
honor and skill, and certainly deserving of their fates, but...
Fortunately, the noble Kuno mind was more than equal to the
challenge even of so momentous a decision, quickly supplying an answer
both sagacious and honorable: He would take the sword (in case of
need), but keep it concealed (to avoid spooking her).
And so it was that the noble and glorious Kuno Tatewaki, fortified
with blade and bokken, and prepared for every contingency, stood near
his beloved and her companion some five minutes later. Prepared to
issue a challenge both martial and kindly, such as to make clear not
only the rightness of his cause, but also his essential magnificence.
In what should come as no real surprise to anyone who has read this
far, he got it wrong.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma looked up at the annoying fool who was attempting to overawe
her and then tilted her head at Akane.
"And this is who?"
"I, fair maiden, am Kuno Tatewaki, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan
High. You may address me as 'upperclassman Kuno' when you ask my
pardon for your deplorable sin. For, by my sword's honor the worth of
the Blue Thunder is as great as his wrath, nor ever has he stooped to
other than honorable action, nor..."
"Lad ... _Lad_", Ranma interrupted, "before you go challenging me to
a sword fight, it _might_ be a good idea to find yourself a sword."
"A sword I possess", Tatewaki replied frostily, "its name is
Asatsuyu ('Morning Dew') and its lineage is ..."
"Ah", Ranma deadpanned, rising smoothly to her feet, "mine is named
Tenchuu no yasashigena (The Gentle Kiss of Heaven, Heaven's kiss).
Akane, will you call the dance please?"
"But of course, Ranma", Akane replied. She, too, rose to her feet
and took position just outside of a virtual 20 foot circle that seemed
to have magically appeared around the two sword bearers. "_Assume_!"
Tatewaki slowly drew his Katana and assumed chudan, reaching as his
training indicated for the dominance, the mental struggle that begins
a match. "I am Kuno Tatewaki, of the Spinning Shears School of Kendo,
champion of Furinkan High." His voice attempted firmness, yet his
thoughts were in turmoil, 'I did not wish a duel with _steel_,
something is wrong, her eyes, they are so ... blue ...'.
Ranma pulled a sheathed blade of the tachi pattern from beneath her
jacket and held it loosely at her side. "I am Bushiko Ranma, who may
claim no school", her voice was again pleasant and conversational,
"I am only a humble pilgrim on the road."
In contrast to the shaken kendoist her thoughts revolved around one
theme only: 'Remember, _don't kill him_.' And her calm, passionless
regard was a stone on which Tatewaki's concentration splashed like sea
wrack before a storm.
Some seven seconds a stillness passed between the two, while Akane
held her hand on high. And then she let it fall, "Kumite", and then the
storm began.
Ranma seemed to blur to most watching eyes, yet to Tatewaki she was
clear as day, though he himself seemed mired in mud. She crossed the 20
feet between them in a single gliding step while her sword came up to
just above her shoulder and its sheath spun about 15 feet up in the
air like a black-laquered frisbee. Then she was past him, and his
katana belled as she struck through his defense and he gasped in
surprise as his racing perceptions _saw_ the point turn aside from his
heart and tear through about 2 inches of flesh on his upper arm.
He turned half about with the force of the blow and felt the
beginnings of pain before she spun in a perfect hi-low slash, both of
which evaded his fumbling blade to spray blood from two slashes over
his cheeks, and to cut through his hakama to score both thighs. She
took another step forward and began a pattern of lightning fast light
blows, none of which even came close to being blocked, and all of which
drew blood.
Tatewaki was driven, stumbling, back until he was almost against
the outer wall of the schoolyard. Briefly, he rallied enough to return
his sword to something approximating a guard position, before Ranma
blurred even to his racing perceptions, seeming to appear on both
sides of him at once. Pain exploded through his body as more than 50
minor cuts struck all over his torso, arms and legs at once. Then, as
he stumbled back, Ranma set herself and snapped forward once more.
The first strike cut across the top of both hands, knocking the
sword from his grip in a gleaming mid-air circle. The second, reversed,
strike snapped the flying blade in half before his eyes, driving him
all the way back to the wall. The last, two handed, decapitation strike
blazed in unstoppably, flickering blurredly to kiss the skin on his
neck ... and then _stop_, motionless.
Trembling, Tatewaki looked up into emotionless blue eyes and the
passionless, restrained violence of a tornado. And suddenly, in what
may have been the only genuinely inspired moment of his life to that
point, received a vision. A vision of Ranma, clad in armor, and
wielding the sword pressed against his throat, slaughtering her way
through what seemed to him to be an entire army. A vision that showed
him, in no uncertain terms, the difference between fencing on the Dojo
floor, and life and death by the sword. Of the difference between a
person who could swing a sword, and one who could kill with it; and
more importantly in this moment, choose _not_ to kill with it.
And for the first time in his life, Kuno Tatewaki looked his own
Art in the face, and was ashamed. And buried his head in his hands,
pushing down the blade at his neck, and wept.
And Ranma lowered her blade and said "Aye, now. You've learned that
lesson. And you'll have scars to remind you of it, as scars tend to
do."
And she quirked a smile, highlighting the scars prominent around her
own mouth. And Tatewaki, looking up, essayed a tentative smile of his
own.
She walked over to her scabbard, picked it up, and put Tenchuu away.
Then she picked up the two halves of Tatewaki's katana, and returning
to stand in front of him, held them out to him to take.
"It's said that the soul of a samurai is his sword, Kuno Tatewaki.
Yours would appear to be broken. Perhaps, before you call yourself
a samurai again, you should spend some time mending it."
And then she returned to her seat by the wall, and Akane sat by her.
And Kuno Tatewaki turned away, holding the remnants of his blade, and
stumbled off to the infirmary, to patch his wounds.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"It is my firm conviction", Ranma said, "that it is a gentleman's
highest duty to smoke out silliness like that, and step on it."
"But, Ranma, you're not a gentleman."
"And why not?"
"Because, use the masculine forms how you may, it's obvious you're
_not_ a boy."
"Feh", Ranma waved a dismissing hand, "Details. Mere details."
Akane leaned close, "Ranma, you've _got_ to teach me how to do some
of that."
"Er, but, don't you have a sensei already?", Ranma nervously asked.
"Only my Dad, and he hasn't trained me seriously in years."
"Er ... *sigh*, OK, we'll go to your place later and see what you
need to work on."
And they shook hands on the deal as the bell rang to bring lunch to
a close. Which was perhaps unfortunate, as it meant that the _other_
important question she had meant to ask slipped her mind completely,
until much later.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Physical Education, for Ranma, at least, was curtailed due to
the sensei's conviction that, before a place in the class structure
might be assigned to her, her overall level of accomplishment must be
measured. Since the limited resources of the main gym proved incapable
even of causing Ranma sufficient exertion to change into gym uniform,
much less break a sweat, the sensei excused her of further toil that
day. Then excused herself to sulk, and to plot further, more strenuous
tests for the morrow.
In the last period of the day, and Music for class 2-F brought the
usual sounds of tortured musical instruments resounding through the
room. Akane, Ranma grumbled, had not had an opportunity to demonstrate
her skill. Most of the other students had but unfortunately 'qualified'
was a rare description of ability indeed as far as they were concerned.
Then it was Ranma's turn, and she drew her guitar from the same place
she stowed her sword and ran through basic scales, and chords, and
parts of tunes to the music teacher's instructions. She was, it was
noted to few people's surprise, easily better than anyone else in the
class, save perhaps for Akane.
As the end of the class drew close the teacher asked Ranma if she
was any good at song.
Ranma hefted her guitar and grinned, "What song would you like."
"You pick", came the response.
Ranma grinned again, and poised her hand above the strings.
"Alright, here's a love song then."
And then Akane heard, for the first time, the song she would, in
later times, come to regard as the song closest to her understanding
of Ranma's true heart.
I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.
And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,
I see the hills shine, in its silvery light.
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.
For where I go, You go with me,
Though the miles keep us apart.
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
Well who scattered these diamonds, through the vault of Heaven?
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?
Where is the heart of every living thing?
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.
I know you love me, how could it not be?
And I am your's, now and forever,
'Till my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end Dear, only love remains.
And as Ranma finished the song and lowered her head, the school day
of Furinkan came to its end.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next: Chapter 1, part C.
Circumvallation: Shopping for streetgangs.
Our Heros meet up with Nabiki at the end of the day, sometime later,
they go shopping. Explanations are proffered, plans are laid, Akane
makes a decision, and a fun time is had by all, except the streetgang.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 1: The First Day
Part C: Circumvallation: Shopping for Streetgangs.
Ranma lowered her head; and the song, and Furinkan's school day,
came to an end. Rising to her feet, she bowed to the rest of the class,
who bowed back. An unbiased observer would have seen that several of
them were suspiciously misty-eyed, but, fortunately, unbiased observers
were thin on the ground at Furinkan that day. So this enormous breach
of etiquette went unnoticed.
Akane rose too, and behind her the rest of the class. Flowing out of
their classroom, at the very back end of Furinkan's main building, and
down the stairs, they noticed that they were about to resolve a mystery
that had been plaguing some of them all day. First there would be a
noise as of someone shouting from afar. Then there would be a rumble,
as of many feet rumbling one way and then another. Finally a distant
murmur as of many voices, one to another, in the manner of a school
building when rumor has broken from its pen, or news runs flashing
through the halls.
Annoyingly, though, the disturbance had never approached class 2-F
closely enough for the inhabitants thereof to make out what was happen-
ing. Nor had rumor spread, if rumor it had been, to the class' distant
door. Nor had any class member obtained an explanation at lunch (unless,
perhaps, it might have been in distant, unobserved corners, under
strict and bloodthirsty oaths of secrecy).
So, to some of the class, the whole matter was still mysterious, and
Akane was frankly ignorant. What Ranma might have thought of the matter
she did not say, though, perhaps, she may have guessed.
Thus, when, as they approached the front of Furinkan building, the
noises from outside became clearer, it was Akane who pushed ahead.
Ranma, instead, pulled a Samurai's fan from her jacket sleeve, flipped
it open, and, gently fanning herself, walked forward to join Akane on
the Furinkan front steps, grinning.
As she reached the top of the steps, and looked out on the yard,
that grin became a full fledged chuckle. Spread out around the Furinkan
yard ("Roses, getcher bunch Roses heaahh!") were a number of mobile
vendors ("Caannndy, Bon-Bons, onna stick!") selling, or rather,
_outrageously gouging_, the various implements of girlfriend pacifica-
tion ("Joolry, getcher Joolry now-ow, best prices inna city, Guv'na").
On the way down the steps she passed Nabiki, standing slightly apart,
grinning in glee and using a walkie-talkie to direct ("Short-term
loaanns, only 30% interest over 1 month, just for you Guv'na, and I'm
cuttin' me own throat") the efforts of her minions. Reaching over as
she passed, she tapped Nabiki on the shoulder and said, "You're
welcome.", and then followed Akane through the schoolyard to the street,
still fanning herself gently, and still chuckling.
As they neared the gate, she drew level with Akane, who glanced
aside at the fan still waving gently in her hand.
"A little old fashioned, isn't that?", Akane asked.
"Oh no, It's entirely practical. Personal protection, you know."
Another sideways glance. "It's a war fan? Razor edges and such?"
"Oh no, not at all. The virtue of the warrior, after all, exists in
the warrior's soul. The weapon...", passing next to the gate-post she
swung the fan through it, apparently without effect, "is merely the
expression of it." Behind them, as she walked on still gently fanning,
the gate-post divided itself at chest height, fell to the ground, and
shattered into dust.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Some blocks away, while passing through a park on the way to the
Akane's house, Ranma finally broke the companionable silence they had
fallen into.
"Would have been nice if some of that apologizing the guys were
doing back there had fallen on the primary offendee."
"Mmm. I don't know", Akane replied, "they might have been worried
that I'd get mad at them for trying."
"Would you have?"
"Don't know, depends on how they did it, I suppose. I think I've been
given more than enough insincere flowers over the past year, anyway."
Ranma, was just then passing by a hedge of wild roses in the park,
which filled the air with a slightly bitter perfume. Her fan flashed
momentarily in the sun and sliced an 8 inch length of vine from the
hedge, which she quickly wove into a slightly prickly wreath.
"How about sincere flowers?", she mused, turning the roses over in
her hands, and offering them to Akane.
Akane paused and turned to face her, her eyes huge and dark in her
face. "Ranma-san?!?"
Ranma shrugged, and grinned lopsidedly, "I just don't think that,
when _all_ the girls are getting flowers, that any _particular_ girl
should be neglected. People might get to thinking that she wasn't good
enough to get flowers or something. It _might_ even hurt her feelings.
Avoiding hurt feelings is one of the most important tasks a gentleman
can perform, after all. And I _am_ a gentleman."
"Of course you are", Akane smiled cutely at Ranma, "but I can't wear
flowers unless you wear them too."
"Then crowned with flowers we both shall be!", laughing, Ranma bowed
flamboyantly. Her fan flashed again, and, crowned with flowers, as she
had said, the two friends walked on, towards Akane's home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma looked at the sign hung on the building's outside wall. "The
Tendo Dojo, hmm? You hadn't said that your family owned your own Dojo,
Akane-san."
"Dad hasn't done much teaching the past several years", Akane
replied absently as she entered the house, "Hello, I'm home!"
Ranma followed her inside and clapped once as she toed off her
slippers. "Excuse me for disturbing you!", she called.
"Oh, my!", came a sweet voice from the kitchen, "We have a guest!".
Hard on the heels of the voice came the speaker, a tall, sweet-faced,
girl, apparently a few years older than Akane. Ranma bowed to her
politely, and raised an eyebrow at Akane.
"Ranma-san, this is my older sister Kasumi", Akane said, "Kasumi-
oneechan, this is my new friend from school, Bushiko Ranma."
"Welcome to our home, Bushiko-san", Kasumi chirped, "will you be
staying for dinner?"
"Oh, I couldn't impose, Tendo-san, I'm only here to see about
helping Akane-san to train in the Art."
"In that case I insist you have dinner with us", Kasumi said firmly,
"I couldn't have you training with Akane without something to eat
afterwards. I know how martial artists are."
"Well, if you insist... I accept, and with thanks." Ranma bowed
again and waved grandly to Akane, "So let's see your Dojo proper, hmm?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Akane happily led the way to the Dojo, pausing only to change into
her gi, not noticing Ranma's raised eyebrow. "Here we are!"
Ranma bowed to the spirit of the Dojo and leaned against the wall.
"Alright, start out with your katas; I'll just watch, for now."
Akane centered herself, took a cleansing breath, and began. For 5
minutes, and then 10, she performed her katas to the best of her
ability, not noticing, as she continued, Ranma's increasingly serious
and concerned expression.
Finishing with the hardest and most complex kata she knew, she
returned to the outside world and noticed Ranma's distracted expression.
Quickly becoming depressed, she sank into seiza and looked down at her
hands, "Not good enough, huh?", she said quietly.
Returning to herself with a start, Ranma considered momentarily,
then replied. "No, the problem is that you're _too_ good." She looked
down at her hands and briefly chewed her lip, "I mean to say, yeah,
there's some things you could improve in, like speed, and maybe you're
a little clumsy yet, but... the thing is, most of the stuff I know,
that you don't is serious power stuff, and that's not what you need
right now."
"What do you mean, Ranma-san?", Akane frowned.
Ranma looked down, briefly, then raised her head and captured
Akane's gaze with her own, blue eyes serious and intense under flaming
hair. "Look, Akane, there are two types of martial artists, okay?
There's warriors, like me, and there's people with sticks like that
Kuno lad I thwacked earlier today. And the difference, the _important_
difference between them is: warriors are in the business of killing
people, and people with sticks are not. The Art of a guy with a stick
... well, it might be about art, or philosophy, or it might be a sport,
or an exercise, or basically it might be a lot of stuff, but _my_ Art,
a warrior's Art, is about killing people, or, sometimes, _not_ killing
people."
"Ranma, I _know_ what...", Akane began.
"NO", Ranma held up a firm hand. "You haven't thought it through!
Take a day, take a month, Hell, take the rest of your life if that's
what you need; once you start down that road you can't go back. You
don't want to go unless you have to."
Ranma stepped forward and put her hand on Akane's shoulder. "I'm
serious about this Akane-chan, take the time to _be sure_. I wasn't, I
didn't have a clue when I started, cause my Dad's an idiot, and it
_hurt_. It _always_ hurts, Akane-chan, or else, if it doesn't, it means
_you're_ dead too", she moved her other hand to Akane's other shoulder,
"and I don't want my friend to be hurt like that unless there's no
other, better, choice."
Akane collapsed into Ranma's embrace and sobbed. "Y ... y ... d-do
you think I should just ... not ... then?", she mumbled into the other
girl's shoulder.
Ranma stroked the back of her neck and *shhhed*, "No, Akane, I don't
know what your honor needs. I _do_ know that when you _have_ the power
you _have_ to worry about it, not using power is a use, too." Back to
arms length, "Take this morning, that Takuichi kid, he's in the hospital
now; and you can say he deserved it, and you can say it could have been
worse, and you can say he was stupid. But when it's totaled up, what it
comes down to is that I maimed him, maybe permanently, and I didn't
have to."
"Mind you", she continued, "6 months ago I'd have killed them all
and laughed, but that was in a different place, under different rules.
_Here_, reacting that ... extremely ... was wrong."
"Do you think he _will_ be maimed?", Akane said, worriedly.
"I don't know Akane-chan, Japanese medicine is lots better than I'm
used to, and I've got some tricks of my own to use if it gets bad,
but ... I don't know. And it was a mistake, and you know that at some
point I'm going to have to pay for it too. It's a weight, Akane-chan,
that you can't ever put down. Don't pick it up unless you've got no
choice."
"Okay, Ranma-chan, I ... I'll think about it first." Akane smiled,
weakly.
"Thank you." Ranma hugged her briefly, hard, and then let go. "And
it's not all _that_ bad anyway, even if you decide to stay sane.
There's a lot we can do to help your Art on general principles, and
just polishing you up should make a lot of difference. 'Kay?"
"Uh-huh", Akane sniffed, the smiled kawaiily, "Thanks. What should
we do first?"
Ranma shrugged, "Change your wardrobe."
"Huh!?"
"You're wearing a gi."
"Yeah ... so?"
"Earlier today, did you feel comfortable fighting in your school
uniform?"
"No-ooo, I mean I had to, er, _if_ I'd had to I could, but..."
"Exactly! When it's your art, it's got to be a part of your whole
life. When Basho was wandering around, d'you think he only did poetry
under special circumstances? Only when he had an audience, and a mat,
and a formal ink stone, and a 3 foot brush, and a dozen perfect sheets,
and so on? When Hokusai made his prints, do you think he was only doing
art on the formal, final print, and not the rest of the time?"
"Hell, no", Ranma continued, "Hokusai was doing art even when he was
partying, (and believe me, Hokusai knew how to party, too). Basho did
poetry all the time; even if they weren't doing the formal, get-it-down
-right part, they were sketching, or taking notes, or just taking what
was going on around them and putting it into context in their terms.
They were doing their art all the time. And any art that's _real_ has
to be like that. All the time. And you won't do your art all the time
if you're not in a situation that you're comfortable doing your art
_in_ all the time. Which, for Martial Arts, includes the clothes you're
wearing. So let's go see your closet."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhat dazedly, Akane led the way to her room, where Ranma was
soon standing in front of her closet, sorting through her clothes, and
muttering.
"Uniform ... uniform ... bleah ... dress ... dress ...", Ranma posed
briefly with a sundress, "mmm, looks good, but _I_ wouldn't want to try
to high kick in it...".
Akane megablushed. "Me neither."
"Mmm ..., well, I don't see anything in here really suitable for
combat, do you?"
Akane shook her head, shyly, no.
"Well, there's only one thing to do then", said Ranma, "go shopping!"
Akane grabbed her arm urgently, "Ranma, I won't have the money for
a shopping trip for..."
Ranma patted Akane's hand gently. "Don't worry about it Akane-chan,
for a good cause, you can always find _some_ kind of donor."
Akane blushed again, "Ranma-chan, I can't ask you to buy me..."
Ranma winked at her, "Who said anything about me? Come on!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma and Akane walked side by side deep into the Nerima Ginza.
Deeply engrossed in conversation with Ranma, Akane failed to notice her
steering their perambulations towards the less savory part of town.
She regained notice of her surroundings with the realization that
several Bad Elements were attempting to loom menacingly in the back-
ground. Ranma winked at her sudden start, and put a finger shushingly
to her lips. "Donors", she whispered, and continued to chatter.
"Heyhey, chickies, whatchoo doin out tonite, hah? Yew wanna _real_
man, hah? Haw, haw, looka this Junichi, a _redhead_, think I'll see if
she's a _natural_ redhead, haw!"
"Take the trailers", Ranma stage whispered. Her mouth smiled at the
forerunners of the 10 thugs surrounding them, but her eyes were cold.
"Now, gentlemen, you wouldn't risk your reputations by harassing a
pair of unescorted girls, would you?"
"Hawhaw, and what's gonna stop us chickie, huh?" the first thug
extended a tattooed hand.
"Well, for one thing", Ranma's tone was conversational, "the element
of surprise."
Her foot snapped up in a repeated high kick that landed 15 blows to
the thug's chin in a fifth of a second, then pivoted around the raised
foot in a ki charged arc that smashed the 2 forward flankers into their
respective walls. (Akane spun and launched a straight power kick into
the gut of the thug directly behind her. As he folded, her hand rose
and fell in a well-timed strike to the back of his neck.) Ranma shifted
position in midair, flashing to her left in a jump kick into a fourth
thug that carried him into the fifth, her hand blurred briefly as they
landed to the blurry *thud* of many blows to exposed heads and torsos,
then launched herself backward. (Akane continued her motion to the side,
launching herself at the thug there and blasting through his defenses
with a flurry of punches that soon sent him into unconsciousness.)
Ranma flipped through the air towards the remaining two thugs on her
side, altering course at the last instant to pass between them, her
hands blurring as she passed. She landed lightly on her feet, preparing
to move towards Akane as her last opponents slumped heavily to the
ground. Akane however, had already bounced off the wall in a long jump
kick that took her fleeing final foe in mid back, smashing him limply
into the other wall of the alley.
"Well", Ranma beamed, "not bad at all."
"What the heck did you get us into that for?", Akane all but
shrieked, "What were you think... What are you _DOING_?"
"Mmm? Looting the bodies, Akane-chan, what does it look like?"
"You _killed_ them!!??!"
"No, no, no. If I'd _killed_ them, I'd have said I was looting the
_corpses_."
"But ... but ...", Akane could only watch in stupefaction as Ranma,
in less than a minute, stripped the mindless bodies down to their under-
wear, stacked their jackets, shoes, shirts, pants, and paraphernalia in
the middle of the alley, and rifled their wallets, throwing their
cards and photos to the ground and counting their cash.
"Nearly half a million cash!", Ranma gloated, "and better than 250
thousand in loot too! As I said, not bad at all!"
"Ranma, what...?", Akane stood openmouthed in shock, "How can you
just...?"
"Well, after all, Akane-chan, they did try to accost us. If we don't
apply _some_ kind of penalty, they'll surely slip further and further
into Crime and Degradation, ne? And we do deserve some sort of compen-
sation for our efforts, right? Besides: to the victor go the spoils."
"Now, here, take this pile of pants and shirts and come on, we've
got to go fence this stuff, and then go shopping."
"Shopping?", Akane queried weakly.
"We need to get you a new wardrobe, remember?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Later, Ranma turned from Akane's closet and pronounced herself satis-
fied. "Hah! Hah! Still got that haggling touch! Hah!"
Akane turned from the mirror, and tried to see how her long hair
_really_ looked against the back of her new leather vest. "Do you
_really_ think this looks good, Ranma-chan?"
Ranma looked at Akane's black velvet pants / white silk shirt /
black leather vest combo and raised an OK sign. "Trust me, Akane-chan,
you look great. And there's nearly thirty thousand yen left for other
stuff you might need too!"
"Are you _sure_ you won't take any of this money, Ranma-chan? You
did do most of the work."
"Nah!", Ranma waved her hand, "don't need it at the moment. Besides,
we're friends right? One day you'll do something like that for me. Now
let's get going, your sister just called us to dinner!"
Returning to the dining room, Nabiki frankly stared at Akane's new
look. Introductions to Nabiki and Soun were made, and one of Kasumi's
typically excellent meals was consumed.
Mealtime conversation was mostly superficial, enlivened only by
Ranma's presentation of a guesting gift (Wrapped bottles of Sake and a
box of exotic spices for Kasumi) at the beginning of the meal.
Nabiki had been looking at Ranma with what seemed to be a certain
amount of unease throughout the meal, and after Soun excused himself
she appeared to come to a decision.
"Um, Ranma-san, I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity you
provided me this morning. And, um, Ithinkyoushouldtake10percentofthe-
moneyinthanks", Nabiki blushed as though she could not believe what
she had just said.
Ranma winked at her "10 percent, Nabiki-san? That's what? fifty
thousand? There's no need for that; I'm not hurting for cash."
"But I can't just ... _hey_ how'd _you_ know how much it should be?
I haven't said how much I made yet!"
"You've segregated it in your money belt, Nabiki-san", Ranma
replied, "I checked it earlier."
"You picked my pocket!?", Nabiki gasped.
"Well, only for informational purposes, Nabiki-san. I put every-
thing back, did I not?"
Nabiki stood it for 11 seconds before frantically checking her belt.
"Nabiki!", Akane glowered.
Ranma chuckled, and rose from the table, "It's time I went home, I
think; I'll see you tomorrow before school, Akane? And don't worry
about it Nabiki-san: I'd have checked too."
Akane nodded brightly, but Nabiki hmmphed, "You be careful, Ranma-
san, I'll get you back for that."
"I'll be looking forward to the contest", Ranma smiled, "I'm sure it
will be interesting."
"Do you have to go so soon?", Akane wondered.
"I'm afraid so. If you look at the time, it's actually quite late.
You have school in the morning, after all: you need your rest."
So saying, Ranma turned out the door of the Dojo, and, whistling,
walked down the street to her apartment, under the moon and the stars.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Walking down the street alone, Ranma thought to herself, 'Wow,
friendship, I wonder if...'
'NO', herself replied, 'she's straight, she's a girl, and she thinks
_you're_ a girl. This is the best friendship you've had since Kitsune
or Usagi, _don't mess it up_! Besides, you've got some kind of
arrangement coming from Dad, right? No More Romance, and that's
_final_."
So thinking, Ranma walked on down the darkened street. It is the
privilege of a Martial Artist to ignore the little voice inside that
says 'Sure' after all. Presently she began, somewhat unconsciously, to
sing. A song she had learned from a Gaijin ship crewman and translated
to Japanese:
You say 'Well met again, Lock keeper.
You see me laden even deeper than the time before.
Occidental oils and teas brought down from Singapore.'
As we wait for my lock to cycle, I say,
'My wife has just given me a son!'
'A son', you cry, 'is that all that you've done?'
'Then come with me!', you say,
'To where the Southern Cross rides
high upon your shoulder.
'Oh, come with me', you cry,
'Each day you tend this lock
you're one day older, and your
blood
grows
colder.'
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life
For one hour of home.
She wears Bougainvillea blossoms,
You pluck 'em from her hair and toss them in the tide,
Sweep her in your arms, and carry her inside.
And her arms rest on your shoulder,
And her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser through the tears,
And I say, 'How could you stand to leave this for the years?'
But 'Come with me!', you say,
'To where the Southern Cross rides
high upon your shoulder.
'Oh, come with me', you cry,
'Each day you tend this lock
you're one day older, and your
blood
grows
colder.'
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life
For one hour of home.
Sure, I'm stuck here on the Seaway,
While you compensate for leeway through the Trades;
And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made;
And you laugh at hearts you've riven,
But which of these has given us more love and life?
You, your tropic maids, or me, my wife?
And 'Come with me!', you say,
'To where the Southern Cross rides
high upon your shoulder.
'Oh, come with me', you cry,
'Each day you tend this lock
you're one day older, and your
blood
grows
colder.'
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your whole life
For one hour of home.
And I wouldn't trade your whole life
For one hour of home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Later yet, Akane stood in her bedroom, looking out the window at
nothing in particular. She was thinking about a Decision, thinking
about honor, and duty, and leather vests. Seeing, in her mind, a
kendoist flying backwards to a wall, and a katana, snapped in two,
hanging momentarily in mid-air. Weighing her honor against pain, and
tumbled thugs, and a crown of roses.
And then she smiled, and returned to her bed, and fell deeply asleep.
A response which is noted as common, in cases where a great Decision
has been made.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
And across Nerima, silence fell, and quiet reigned. And if, in some
darkened corner, people felt themselves abused, and whispered, and
plotted revenge, Ranma and Akane, at least, took no notice. And slept
the sleep of the just, till morning came.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next, Chapter 2: the second day: Assaulting the walls.
Various people plot revenge! Various people are silly! Nabiki makes
more money! Ranma pontificates! Akane resolves! Swimming! Showers!
Training! Magic! And just what is that ring Ranma's wearing on her
braid, anyway?
Coming soon, hopefully.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Notes: Or, Just what the Fsck is going on here anyway?
At the beginning of September, 1998, our two family dogs, aged 13
and 11, died within 10 days of each other. The second, largely, of
grief. We buried them in the back yard, late at night, when it was cool.
And now you know where the inspiration for the prologue scene came from.
This is a fic whose ending, 6 fic months away, I have known for more
than 8 real world months. If it seems polished, it's because I've worn
most of the rough edges away in my head, before ever setting fingers
to keyboard.
This is also a fic which was produced because of a deep and terrible
annoyance at Alternafics of the form "This changes, nothing else
changes, and we will now retell the origin story with everything the
same, except for what's different."
Finally, this is a fic written by the unabashed romantic in me. You
have been warned.
Questions:
What's the deal with Ranma, huh, why's he so good?
He's been training with competent people, even harder than in canon,
for more than, on his time line, 10 years. He's good!
But a little bloodthirsty, huh?
He thinks he's gotten the Neko-ken under control, but he hasn't
entirely.
Yeah, the Neko-ken, what's up with that?
This alternate diverges at the Neko-ken training, which Genma, for
reasons unknown, conducts a year later than in canon. Everything
up to that point is the same, after is very different.
Yeah, and...?
The training, instead of making Ranma think he is a cat, made him
more than slightly psychopathic. Unfortunately^HFortunately Genma
avoided a well-deserved culling^H tragedy, but only because Ranma
beat him up, and then left.
Genma made Ranma promise to return to test for mastery in 6 years
(6 months are left at the start of chapter 1) and specified that
the testing would take place at this wonderful training ground he'd
heard of. Ranma spent the first 6 months in a temple on Honshu,
getting the Neko-ken under control. Then he traveled to Jhusenkyou
to spy out the lay of the land. So he's had the curse for 5 years
now and has gone through puberty in both forms. He thinks of himself
as male, but of variable gender. If that seems confusing, it's
because you can't change like that yourself.
Okay, so about the sword?
Without Genma's interference, Ranma has traveled much farther and
trained in many more skills, weapons and special moves than in canon.
A list of special moves?
Largely irrelevant, assume he can do most anything one way or
another.
So, how are you going to challenge him anyway?
I've got ways plotted out, he's Invincible, not Invulnerable, but
that too is largely irrelevant. This is not Ranma's Story.
This is Akane's Story, or more to the point, The Story of
Ranma-and-Akane, and Ranma-and-Akane will have challenges aplenty,
I assure you.
Usagi? Kitsune?
From Stan Sakai, the glass part of the amulet Ranma holds up in the
Prologue is a cracked mirror, if that helps. Crossovers can be
expected to be present, yah.
The kata Ranma's doing in his apartment? Bargain, Prize, Price?
Ask Granny Weatherwax. Or Jason Ogg, for that matter.
Further questions?
Direct them to hallcon@mindspring.com, I'll try to answer as fast
as possible.
Eric Hallstrom hallcon@mindspring.com