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.

"The Nancy" is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP), I'm only borrowing it. 
"Maids, When You're Young" is an Actual Folk Song, and is _Not_, I 
repeat, _Not_ My Fault.


*This is a sound.*
'This is a thought.'
_This is emphasis._
{This is a sign.}
<This is Chinese.>

----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. 
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part A: Duel of Engines: A dream of blood and Wolves.

   Nerima ward, darkest early morning, the time when old men die. 

   Focus in. A large maison in the newer, outer part of the ward; where
the transients go, and where those who can't afford a _real_ Nerima 
address find space to live. It's been here for 40 years. It's been 
dying, slowly, for 35.

   Focus in. The eighth floor, on the corner, in the back. There is no
elevator to this floor, (the shaft is boarded shut, there's no money in
elevators) only rickety stairs. There is no hallway light, but then no 
one here should be going in or out when it's dark, anyway (there's no 
_stairway_ light either).

   Focus farther. The apartment has one main room, one bathroom, no 
furo (there's a small shower in the bathroom), one room that combines
kitchen and breakfast nook, and one closet. Most of it was furnished
by the building owner in a style that can be described as 'severely
minimal' and the current occupant hasn't added much.

   Take a look at the main room. Perhaps 12 feet on a side, floored in
a dingy parquet linoleum, it holds two pieces of furniture. Against one
wall, underneath the only window, sits a footlocker. The door in the 
wall to the left leads to the kitchen. The door to the right, to the 
bathroom. In the corner formed by the back wall and the left is the 
other piece of furniture, a futon.

   Look a bit longer. To two pieces of furniture, add three other items 
of interest. The first, placed just in front of the leather bound chest,
is a sword stand. On its upper tier, edge upward, as is proper, rests 
a sword. A blade about 35 inches long, of the ancient pattern called 
/tachi/, chisel pointed, strait backed, uncurved. Its hilt is of wood, 
wound with steel wire, its tsuba is of plain, unmarked brass. Its 
scabbard, resting beneath it on the stand, is of plain steel, lacquered 
black, its wooden inserts are of common pine. A more commonplace, 
workaday weapon would be difficult to imagine. No flamboyant artwork on 
_this_ blade, no feeling of legendary glory waiting to be won. The only 
feeling an observer receives from this blade is: 'Gee, that looks 
really sharp'.

   Look behind it. On the chest, precisely in the center of its top,
and precisely in the center of the moonlight streaming through the
window, is a small bowl made of silver. In it floats a pool of softly
luminescent liquid, reminiscent of quicksilver, but more fluid.

   Look deeper. See the small assemblage suspended slightly above the
surface of the liquid: two pieces of carven ivory flanking a ring of
palest jade. See how the ivory pieces, if fitted together, would also
form a ring, fitted tightly around the jade core. See the sandalwood
cover waiting patiently to the side of the chest lid; if it was placed
over the bowl it would fit perfectly around its rim, and cover the
whole without disturbing it in any way. 

   Wait! Look. Did you see? Did you see the bead of soft light that 
fell from just above the bowl? Look above the rings above the bowl, 
about 6 inches, do you see? A pale circle of light hangs almost 
invisibly in midair, a slight thickening of the flowing moonlight.
Now watch the two small beads of light at the top of the circle; see 
them travel slowly around its circumference to the bottom. See them 
gain in brightness, so slowly, ever so slowly, as they flow. See them 
gleam as they pass, one by one, the geometric lines that cross and 
recross the design. Watch their color change, ever so faintly, as they 
pass each of the tracings of ancient chinese ideograms that form an 
inner ring of pale, translucent, radience. Watch them meet at the very 
bottom of the circle, meet and join. Watch the newly formed bead of 
luminescent liquid hang breathlessly a moment, then fall *blip* the 6 
inches to the rings above the bowl. Watch it seem to pass through the 
jade ring, then watch the jade, and then the ivory, glow. Ever so 
faintly, ever so briefly. Watch the cycle begin again.

   Now turn to the futon. See the masculine figure sprawled in sleep.
So inelegant for one who, awake, is so graceful.

   Look closer again. See the scars on face and arms. Trace the blow
that must have fallen to lay that path across larynx and shoulder.
Contemplate the tracery of past violence across his bare chest and the
portions of his legs that lie beyond his boxer shorts. Scars like
wide, raised, ridges 6 inches long; scars like nearly invisible threads,
white against the tanned skin; scars of all dimensions in between.
Marvel, lastly, at the tattoo. A dragon, marked with the symbols of 
yang power. Sprawled across chest and stomach, winding around his left 
shoulder and across his back to flirt with his right scapula with its
tail. Every scale and claw perfect, detailed in line, marvelous in 
color, drawn by a master's hand. So perfect that the simple act of
the man's normal breathing seems to make it live and breathe alike.

   Observe. See its fierce whiskers, its masculine lines. See the eye
closed in sleep, the coiled body peaceful and still. It is fortunate,
no doubt, that it sleeps so peacefully - were it to awaken, its wrath 
would surely be terrible. No doubt. No doubt at all.

   Fortunate, then, that the sleep of its bearer is likewise deep, and
peaceful. Fortunate that he is locked, deeply and thoroughly, in dreams.
Fortunate for the dreamer, and also, perhaps, for the observer.
Look deeper, you can see into the dream itself. But be cautious, as you 
do: it is all too easy to become lost in dreams, all too easy to give
them too much credence. In the end, remember this: however exact the
remembrance, however complete the illusion seems, you, yourselves,
are but also dreaming. Indulging in a metaphor, so to speak, for a 
somewhat more ... complex ... reality.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Gentle sunlight first, midmorning in the middle of spring: late 
April, or early May. An open field, uncultivated; spring grass as tall
as your horse's knees, spotted with wildflowers, strewn with butter-
flies. A hundred yard away to left and right the forest rises, dark 
with many pines, but drifted gold with their pollen. Horse beneath
you: coat black as night, mane and tail twin charcoal sprays. 

   Then birdsong like a many-voiced silver cataract, staccato tattoo
of several horses cantering, gentle rustle of the wind. Usagi rides his
roan 10 yards to your left, his straw hat thrown back off his head, his
ears streaming back in the breeze of your passage. Noriyuki-sama sits 
his bay 5 yards behind and between you, his plump, cheerful, panda face 
popping up above the head of his warhorse with the enthusiasm of the 12
-year-old boy he is. Tomoe-san rides her dappled gelding 5 yards behind 
her lord, her cat-ears pricked forward, face earnest and alert. Always 
devoted to her lord's safety, no matter her delight in the sunlit day, 
no matter her discomfort in the storming, bitter night. Odd how her 
cat's face causes no fear in your dream, odd how a cat grown man-tall 
and stood upright is, somehow, not the kind of cat your subconscious so 
reviles. Poetry from Usagi, chuckles from Tomoe and yourself, delighted 
laughter from Noriyuki-sama, each close enough to speak, close enough 
to laugh, but far enough away that danger cannot take two at once.

   Next dew-smell, and bruised grass, delicate scent of wildflowers,
honest smell of horse, and leather, sharp tang of steel and lacquer 
from the light breastplate hidden beneath your outershirt. Smells of 
spring, overlaid by smells of travel, sadly intermixed with smells of 
danger, and of threatening war.

   Last the sun's gentle warmth, slanting from above. Caressing breeze
across your face, gentler than the wind of your passage. Rythmic pound-
ing of hooves, the saddle's steady rise and fall. Thump of braid to your
back, followed by the click as the ring at its end slaps home. Creak
of saddle-leather, slap of stirrups, *tick* and *clink* of breastplate, 
thump of sword. 

   Just beside your track a wolf cub starts a mouse, pounces, grips his 
prey and kills. Pounding hooves disturb his meal, his jaws drip blood,
his eyes glow green, but his pounce is intercepted by your sandal, he 
sprawls before your progress. As the hoof comes down, a viper takes
his place. Too late: crunch under hoof, writhing rope behind. Tomoe's
naginata snaps downward, rises coiled by serpent, snaps to throw the
corpse away.  

   Suddenly pounding down a steep slope towards a lonely road. Dark 
pines grow close on either side, black clouds, bitter wind, sharp and
biting scent of storm. Before you a party of horsemen turns toward you
from their place along the road. The war mask of the leader makes their 
identity unmistakable - Hijiki, and a dozen of his guard. 

   Closed view from helm, O-yori heavy on your limbs. No daikyu, so a
charge will have to do - Yari straight before you, parallel with Usagi's
charge, behind you, Tomoe's naginata spins in a blurring circle as she
gallops past Noriyuki to shield him from his enemies. First contact, 
and your enemy's throat sprays blood, a brief side-rein as you break 
your foe's wall, rip open the side of another. Iron tang of blood, sewer 
reek of sudden death, background flash of lightning as the storm grows,
and threatens now in earnest. Tomoe's naginata takes the heads of the 
two guards in her path; Usagi has collapsed the other corner of their
formation, and converges on Hijiki, two bodies left sprawling behind 
him in pools of sudden scarlet. Rein left and launch your yari at 
Hijiki, he dodges but the guard behind him does not. 
  
   Tenchuu flashes from its scabbard in an arc that takes it through
two enemies' necks - stronger tang of iron now, sticky crimson mist 
sprays face and helm, blood-drops *tac* *tac* *tac* off armor as you 
spin and drive towards the center of the now encarmined battleground.
Usagi has downed his foe, throwing him into another: thunder of hooves 
as he follows up the advantage, crimson rivers as he passes the still
struggling tangle. Tomoe overmasters her last opponent, beating down 
his guard; scarlet clots the blade of her naginata as it punches, once,
twice, thrice through his backplate. Three warriors form an arc, 
centered where Hijiki waits: unbowed, but now alone. 

   Move to meet him, Tenchuu held low beside you. Then the wolf springs,
leaping from the trees. It is larger now, and crueler: already its
jaws drip poison spittle and its eyes blaze hatred and rage. Tenchuu 
chops it from the air and it tumbles broken to the ground, but it rises
to its feet, healed anew in an instant, and now it is to your off 
side. Armored in steel, your foot kicks free of its stirrup and meets
it in midair. Flailing, it flips over your head, Tenchuu blurs through
its diseased form a score of times at least. Scattered in many places,
no healing will save it this time.

   Yet the delay is costly: Hijiki cuts through your defense, a stream 
of fire across your throat and shoulder, falling from your mount to 
roll frantically across the ground. Tomoe is down on one knee, injured, 
defending Lord Noriyuki from half-a-dozen foes. Usagi kills his op-
ponent and you rise to your feet, Tenchuu hissing in the pattern called
'fire wheel', the three enemies about you falling back slain; horizontal
fans of glistening crimson spray across the little inn's tables and
tatami, coloring bowls of rice and clay mugs of beer now abandoned and
overturned. You turn toward Hijiki, as Usagi turns to the window in 
alarm. A barrage of arrows thunks like hailstones into the the thin,
plaster wall, piercing it in places to a depth of 3 or 4 inches, 
embedding themselves in the beams and rafters. You turn away from the 
bodies piled in the center of the floor as you sniff the air in alarm: 
smoke! They're trying to burn you out! 

   Quickly you string your daikyu, eight arrows in your fist: the most
that you can put in the air at once. A burst of archery drives the en-
circling foes on one side of the inn into cover, cowering. Now, out the
window, through their weakened line, run!

   Around the corner now, galloping over treacherous shale, flakes of
rotten stone spraying back from your horses' hooves. Thunder of hooves,
rolling back from a wall of living mountain to your right - an unpaved
track too narrow for more than single file. Behind, a small army, but 
they are at least half-a-mile back and if you can get past the towering
rock ahead they will never catch you.

   Rain-slick cobbles *rutch* beneath your flying, sandaled, feet, 
thunder crashes, loud as many dragons, ozone and sulfur, iron and hate.
Around the outbuilding now, Tenchuu naked and rain-flecked in your 
hand. Straw rain cape flapping as you bring the wolf and Hijiki to bay
before the tower looming black and monstrous in the storm. The wolf
stands manlike and erect now - robed in black, carrying a spear. Your
opponents are spread out too far for any gambit to succeed: dash be-
tween them, cutting at Hijiki as you pass, steel belling harshly against
steel. Turn to face him and feint to his torso, waiting for the flow
of ki from behind. Now, leap reversed over the wolf's head, thirty feet
of backwards somersault. Feel the power flow through ground and storm, 
call it to your hand. Now! They are concentrated, pinned against the 
tower, their defenses momentarily down. Now hold the power within and
weave a web of intent and iron control, now release the leash of will 
close-held and call the Dragon Wind.

   Storm erupts: sand caught by the wind and swept up as a thousand
miniature knives, lightning riding the fist of wind like a corona of
supernal fire. It washes over Hijiki and the wolf, overwhelms them, and 
blots them from view and debris sprays from the tower's base with the
power of the storm. Rising from the wrack, the wolf's lifeless, skeletal
jaws howl in futile rage in the moment they are given, before the fire
consumes them, before the avalanche of stone from the falling tower
buries them, before you turn and jump for distant safety, before the
tons of gunpowder stored below Hijiki's fortress destroy themselves, 
and all around them, and the titanic explosion reaches out, gaining
speed behind you...

  And the mass eruption of butterflies passes you by in a varicolored,
softly scintillating cloud of fragrance and you ride up the last hill,
amid a carpet of wildflowers. Usagi is beside you, Noriyuki-sama just 
behind, carrying the sword, and Tomoe-san brings up the rear. And you 
all laugh with joy, and awe, and delight as you top the rise to see 
before you the rice fields on the outskirts of the new capitol. This 
area is firmly under the Shogun's peace, patrols will escort you the 
rest of the way to his palace, the presentation will be performed 
without delay, and there remain before you no obstacles. No obstacles 
at all.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, awoke suddenly,
and turned over muzzily on his futon. Looking across the darkened room,
to the pale circle of magic dripping light into a silver bowl, he shook
his head and sighed. "Man, I haven't dreamed about _him_ in a _long_
time", he yawned. "I've got to stop making myself those midnight
habanero-and-teriyaki beef snacks. That, and hope that wasn't an omen."

   And then he turned over, and went back to sleep. Warriors learn
to prize the commodity, they know that morning will come soon enough.
And there will always be something to do in that morning. And you'll
always need your sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Next: part B
Akane greets a new day, silly people try for revenge, and Nabiki makes
more money. Be here for Battering Pieces, coming soon.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. 
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning

   A long established residential district in Nerima, somewhat later
in the morning, just after dawn. Birds twitter and sing in melodic
glee at the possibilities of a new day, matching the mood of antici-
pation present in one member of the household living at the old-fash-
ioned building with the big sign out front (the big sign that said 
"Tendo Dojo", of course).

   It could not be said that Akane was normally the type of girl to 
indulge in random destruction as a form of stress relief. She indulged,
generally speaking, in _highly specific_ and _exactly targeted_ 
destruction as a form of stress relief. Even considering this fact, 
however, the presence of a number of columns of cinder blocks, set at
various intervals around the practice hall's floor, must be considered
slightly unusual. 

   What was even more unusual, from a theoretical observer's viewpoint, 
however, was that Akane was not immediately preparing to destroy them. 
Instead, she was practicing a complex and intricate kata - almost a 
shadow-dance - around, between, over and beside them. A kata that seemed 
to involve defeating an imaginary set of enemies while at the same time 
avoiding attack proximity of the cinder block piles (if the cinder 
blocks were inlined to be pugnacious, which they had presented no sign, 
so far, of being). Finally, drawing to a peak, the kata concluded with 
a flurry of activity that wove and spun through the piles of concrete, 
destroying each in turn.

  For a moment after the kata's conclusion, Akane remained poised in the
attitude of her finishing blow, her eyes intent and focused on some-
thing far away. Then she relaxed and surveyed the destruction, somewhat
in the manner of one who, having just endured more than a year of grind-
ing discomfort and frustration, has just been released, metaphorically
speaking, from bondage, while - and at the same time - finding a much-
desired friend, a much-admired mentor, and much-needed help. Likewise 
in the manner of one who has, shortly thereafter, undergone an only-
partially-favorable appraisal of her main life skill, an agonizing 
reassessment of her chosen career goals, and the strangest evening of 
her 17 years of life. Not even to mention a total reassessment of her
most basic morality, and a reexamination of her honor. Followed by a
truly momentous decision: the first, depending on how you look at it, 
of her adult life.

   Which is, of course, exactly what she was. And which is also why,
after having, in a manner of speaking, cleared the air, she nodded
firmly, and dusted her hands and went in, whistling, to breakfast. It 
was a new day, after all, and she was eager, for the first time in a 
very long time, to begin it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Tendo Nabiki, of that same address, was also eager for the day to 
begin. Not because she had undergone a great and sweeping change of 
life, but rather because she too had received something she had not had
in a long time: a challenge. 

   She had been scored on. _She_ had been scored on. Her actions antici-
pated, her _pocket_ _picked_, of all the silly things. And yet, and yet
... it had been done with, with ... _style_. And grace. Not in such a 
way as to damage her reputation or smear her honor (indeed, she had - 
the household had - profited tremendously). And _then_ this same person,
this same barbarian grotesque, had turned around and not only helped
her little sister - helped her family - tremendously, but had also 
turned over a small fortune entirely for Akane's use! And for a new 
wardrobe, for the purpose of, of all things, 'helping her Art'!

   How had it happened? She still had no details that she trusted. _Why_
had she done it? And what would she do next? And how would she,
Nabiki herself, end up relating to this Bushiko Ranma? For the first
time in her life, she realized, the decision might not be in her hands.

  And what of Ranma, herself? What secrets did she hold? Who was she,
really? And how had she gotten that way? Oh, my, yes, a challenge, in 
all senses of that word. A challenge she was eager to take on. A 
challenge she was eager to measure herself against, a challenge she
was eager to grow with. For her, too, a stretching of her capabilities
was a thing that had not happened in a very long time.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   And this is an apartment last seen by moonlight, now stretching
drowsily in the pale illumination of a Tokyo dawn. The furnishings have
changed slightly: the sword stand is empty now, the silver bowl is gone.
In the place of the silver bowl, centered in the faint light of dawn
now invading through the window, is a wide platen of burnished, red 
gold. Above it, on a stand of braided bronze wire, rests a pair of 
rings. Carved from dark, emerald jade, with the very faintest tracery 
of interlocking ideograms, they are made in mirror images, each of the
other. Beside and between them, are a pair of interlocking shells of 
thinly braided copper wire, the inner halves linked by golden chains.

   Above, the diagram of light has been redrawn. Now shafts of pale 
dawn light seem to twist and intertwine, forming a disc about 2 feet
wide. Within the pattern of the disc, intertwined with light and shadow
in a fashion that would make M. C. Escher delirious with jealousy, 
stands a single ideogram in a chinese temple shorthand so ancient that
even the memory of the name of the style it is written in has been lost.
Had he so desired, Ranma could have informed an interested scholar that
the ideogram's meaning was critically interlinked with the style in
which it was written, a style to which it had given its own name:
Phoenix Dragon.

   In the corner of the main room behind the now opened bathroom door,
in that portion of the room farthest from sunlight, now stands a small
bamboo tray-table. On it is an iron stand, bearing a velvet curtain all
around that can be closed to keep the contents from any betraying
hint of sunlight. Within, shining with a light of its own, is a complex
assembly of leaded glass and silver rod. Alembics bubble with a pale,
luminescent liquid, from them, coils of glass transport glowing beads 
of pastel light up to roiling curcurbits, swirling with the colors of a 
mad, muted rainbow, from which straight tubes emerge to close on a 
central point, where they empty into a silver funnel. Drops of liquid, 
palely silver, roll down the funnel to drip onto the top of a peachwood 
rod, carven with writhing dragons going into and out of caves, down 
which a silver-lined spiral path leads the glowing liquid, reduced 
micron by micron, to a glass collecting bowl connected to the alembics 
in a continuous circular progression.

   Now from the open bathroom door comes a cloud of steam, followed by
a topless, towel-wrapped figure, still engaged in toweling dry her
scarlet braid. Striding firmly to the closet, Ranma drapes the towel
over the multicolored, iridescent, feminine dragon tattoo, that winds 
around her shoulders and torso: displayed passant regardant, dryly 
looking over its own sinuous shoulder to regard whatever might lie 
beyond.

   Then, dropping the towels from shoulders and hips, Ranma stands 
briefly nude (_down_ Hentais, down I say! You've seen as much many times
before in the manga) before donning boxers and a stretchy chest wrap 
that serves her as a sports bra. Then she places around her neck a 
small amulet of silver, one face of which is a cracked mirror and the
other an ancient piece of pottery, marked with a pattern reminescent of
many ropes. Following this with her usual loose pants, silk shirt and 
slippers, she tops these off with her leather bomber jacket, picking
her scabbarded sword from where it rests against the wall and placing 
it, and a wide variety of other implements inside her jacket, in places
that mostly do not seem capable of holding them. 

   Lastly she bounds into the kitchen, a brief swipe across the counter 
grabs the bento and briefcase thereon. Bounds to the far corner, 
twitching the curtain closed. Glides to the chest, checking the 
alignment of the rings held above the brazen bowl. Watch now as a bead 
of light splits into two at the top of the diagram and runs fluidly 
around the circumference, left and right. Watch it merge at the bottom. 
Watch it fairly leap across space to pass through the rings and splash 
into the bowl. Watch the drop spread into a small pool, fizzling 
energetically. Watch it bathe the rings from below, evaporating as it 
does so. Watch the next drop splash before it vanishes completely. 
Watch the pool spread a little farther, last a little longer. See Ranma 
examine her handiwork and smile.

   Watch her look up, and through the diagram hanging in mid-air in
the dawn's slowly gathering light. See her eyes go distant, as though
lost in dreams, or fears, or memories. But dreams fade in daylight,
and fears wither away. And memories don't always bring back that which
is looked for. And Ranma turns, and glides out the door, locking it 
behind her. And bounds down the staircase and out the maison's front
door. And, taking to the rooftops, moves quickly in a straight line 
towards her rendezvous. It's a new day, after all, and it wouldn't do 
to be late. It wouldn't do at all.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Yakubi Ryouken felt, in his heart of hearts, that everything in the
world which was wrong with his life was the fault of his name (with 
some justification, it can be translated as "Bad-luck Day Hound"). In 
fact, he would not even answer to the hated words unless extremely 
pressed, preferring, somewhat ironically, the sobriquet of Daken ("Cur"
or "Mongrel") instead. Complaining about his names was, in fact, 
normally one of the two overriding occupations of his life (the other 
being the worship of his Japanese-Nationalistic divine heredity, and 
the concomitant despite he felt for anything remotely foreign). 

   Pressed against Furinkan's wall, just inside the gate, however, he 
was not currently capable of indulging in either one. This was 
primarily due to the presence of another occupation; he was hating the 
redheaded bitch. 

   He had woken up, naked amidst the ruins of his gang, very late the 
previous night. He had spent the hours since seeking out the identity
of the bitches who had taken him by surprise, and taken his clothes and
cash as well. 'Plus which', he snarled to himself for the thousandth
time, 'I loved my Tagamotchi-chan, I'd kept him alive for two weeks,
*snff*, and the bitch _sold_ him, sold him like a slave.'

   But he had her now, oh yes. She couldn't surprise him _now_, and
he'd picked up a number of fine Japanese-Nationalistic students the 
barbarian whore had humiliated the day before, too. Soon, she'd come
through the gate and then ... then she'd get a surprise of her own!
And then he _would_ see if she was a natural redhead, teach her what
a _real_ man was like! 'Bitch's gotta learn her place!'

   And no-one else would interfere, he'd seen to that!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   And this is a street, a normal street for Nerima, and down it Akane 
and Nabiki are walking on their way to school. Progressing, it should 
be noted, in the normal, or common, fashion, which is to say, on the 
ground. And flanking this common street is a common rooftop, belonging
to a common business; and along this rooftop Ranma is progressing, in 
an _un_common fashion, which is to say, in bouncing leaps, 5 to 10
yards long.

   It would not be entirely fair to say that the Tendo sisters were
_surprised_ by Ranma's sudden appearance; they had been expecting it,
and besides, leaping from rooftops was normal compared to what they
had already seen her do. But they were, undeniably, startled. And
startled again by the fact that she appeared to have been, while 
blithely leaping from place to place along the skyline, _singing_.

	When we sat down to Tea, hey do me harity
	When we sat down to Tea, me being young,
	When we sat down to Tea, he started teasing me,
	Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!

   Finishing the verse as she settled gracefully to earth, Ranma swept
the other girls a great bow, and fell in beside them with a warm
greeting to Akane, and a merry one to Nabiki.

   "And _what_", Akane queried amusedly, "was that?"

   "Song, Boys, For The Teasing Of, One", Ranma smirked.

   "You, Bushiko Ranma, are _Evil_!"

   "Yes, I know. Ain't it _cool_?!"

   And they walked on toward school, and Ranma taught Akane the words,
and Nabiki shook her head in amusement, and sighed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Asano Sayuri shivered in terror, and looked out the window of the 
second floor. She couldn't, she was too afraid, but if she didn't ....
The man called Daken was terrifying, so cruel in appearance, and the
threats he had made .... She wasn't a brave person, she felt, but 
someone had to warn Ranma-san! And she could see, just looking around,
that no-one else was going to, they were all afraid of those slime who
had _joined_ the, the _mongrel_. But that meant that no-one would help
_her_, and they'd know who had called out, and she wasn't a brave 
person. But ... _but_, she'd heard Ranma-san sing. And she'd seen Ranma 
-san stand up for Akane-san when no-one else would. Ranma-san, she was
sure, would defeat these mongrels if only she was warned. But what if
she didn't, couldn't, what then?

   And then she saw, coming down the street in the distance, three
feminine figures; and discovered, suddenly, that she _was_ a brave 
person, after all.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Walking down the street with Akane, Ranma felt, was one of the 
better ways to begin a school day that she had yet encountered. Akane
had proven an apt, if somewhat embarrassed, student of "Maids, When
You're Young", and the verbal sparring with Nabiki had kept honors
relatively even in the opening exchanges.

   Despite the company and the conversation, however, a martial artist
of Ranma's skill is never entirely inattentive to her surroundings, and
the concentration of hostility, clumsily gathered ki, and focused
attention hiding just behind the wall ahead of her would have waked
her from the dead in any case.

   "Don't change your stance", Ranma whispered sotto voce, "and keep
walking forward. I think, Akane, that our friends from yesterday have
grown melancholy in our absence, and have come to renew aquaintances."

   Nabiki controlled her reaction automatically, but nevertheless 
stiffened slightly, 'What?'

   Akane pasted a wooden smile on her face and gripped Ranma's arm
urgently. "Ranma, don't kill them!"

   Ranma winked in reply, "Oh, if I had intended to kill them I'd have
done it last night. But since they didn't learn the earlier lesson we
taught them I think something slightly... stronger ... is in order.
Don't you?" Steering them gently toward the center of the gate she 
continued, "Nabiki, how are you at negotiations from the superior 
position?"

   Nabiki frowned, "You're joking, right?"

   Ranma grinned again, "Just keep walking, and keep your cool." As
they approached the gate she gathered ki for a momentary burst of 
extreme speed, and then...

   "_Ranma-sama, look out!!!_", a shout broke from the upper windows of
Furinkan, and Ranma spared half a second for an exasperated silent 
curse as Daken turned, furiously, to the school and marked the person 
he now fully intended to kill. Then she spent another quarter second to 
center herself as Daken cursed and lunged and the other thugs began to
leap forward. And then she _blurred_.

   And Akane and Nabiki walked into the suddenly quiet and still court-
yard of Furinkan; past the statue-like forms of the various thugs,
(arrested suddenly in mid-motion and still stunned, and also quite 
naked, their only covering the brown ribbons neatly tied around their, 
ah, ... "equipment") to where Ranma waited in the middle of the yard, 
next to a vendor's stand neatly piled with various items of apparel, 
smiling merrily and counting through the largish pile of cash next to 
the credit cards on the countertop.

   "Why, Ranma", Nabiki drawled archly, "there seems to be a group of
naked boys standing about the courtyard."

   "400,000 yen", Ranma said, handing half the money to a furiously
blushing Akane, "not bad. Yes, Nabiki, I did notice that, but boys will
be boys, you know: anything for attention."

   Daken snarled furiously, and began a lunge towards the girls. Ranma 
turned half around, mildly, and across 30 feet of courtyard Daken
met her eyes. Blue as the deepest ocean, still and quiet as a moon-
reflecting pool, hungry and terrible as the pregnant silence at the
eye of a hurricane. Met them, and saw, reflected in them, himself and
his relationship to them. And dived, suddenly terrified, for a small 
clump of bushes abutting the wall and about 10 feet away. Someplace he
could hide, someplace he could die, anyplace at all, as long as he
didn't have to see those eyes, ever, ever again.

   And Ranma turned back to Nabiki calmly and said, "Considering the
penalties for indecent exposure, and the relative status of flashers
in the prison population, though, it's extremely fortunate for them 
that you had this stall of emergency clothing ready, isn't it."

   "Oh, you know me", Nabiki grinned, "I always like to keep little
things like this around, for just such an emergency. I wonder, though,
how they're going to pay for it, considering their evident lack of 
ready cash."

   Ranma patted her on the shoulder as she passed by, "You're a capable
person Nabiki, I'm sure you'll think of something." And linking arms
with Akane and turning to her, "Ready? One, Two, Three ..." And their
voices rose above the onlookers in song...

	When we went up to bed, hey do me harity
	When we went up to bed, me being young,
	When we went up to bed, he lay as if 'twer dead,
	Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!

   And Nabiki shook her head, sadly, and turned to where the bushes 
quivered in terror, and indicated the sirens rising in the far distance
with a wave of her hand. "Well, gentlemen, what's your feeling about
extended negotiations at this point?"

   And Ranma and Akane walked up the stairs to class, singing.

	For he's got no Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum,
	For he's got no Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay!
	He's got no Fallorum, he's lost his Ding-Doorum,
	Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   At lunch, Ranma and Akane sat under a small tree, conversing. Finish-
ing her lunch, Ranma pulled out her guitar, and played tunes idly for a 
while before noticing the shy approach of one of her new classmates.

   "Sayuri-san, isn't it? You acted honorably this morning, thank you."

   Sayuri blushed, and stammered; "I couldn't, that is I, er, I...."

   Ranma smiled, gently, "It took bravery to call out like that. You 
must have been very frightened."

   Sayuri blushed harder, and looked down at her feet, "I, I wasn't
brave. I _was_ afraid."

   Ranma grinned, "That's what bravery is about! Being afraid, and 
doing the right thing anyway. What can I do for you?"

   "Um, well, I just wondered ... about the song you were playing? It
seemed so ... ferocious?"

   "Oh, well", Ranma grinned, "that song is from Canada, originally. I
translated it. And yeah it is a tad ferocious. Would you to hear it?"

   "Um, yes."

   "I'd like to hear it too, Ranma", Akane chimed in. And Ranma raised
her voice and sang.

	The clothes men wear do give them airs, their fellows to compare.
	A Colonel's regimentals shine, and women call them fair.
	I am Alexander Macintosh, a nephew to the Laird.
	And I do disdain men who are vain, the men with powdered hair!

	I command the Nancy schooner from the May on Lake St. Clair,
	On the third day of October, boys, I did set sail from there.
	To the garrison at Amherstburg I quickly would repair,
	With Captain Maxwell and his wife, and kids and powdered hair.

		Aboard the Nancy!
		In regimentals bright.
		Aboard the Nancy!
		With all his pomp and bluster there aboard the Nancy-O!

	Below the St Clair rapids I sent scouts unto the shore
	To ask a friendly Wyandott to say what lay before
	"Amherstburg has fallen, with the same for you in store!
	And militia sent to take you there, fifty horse or more."

	Up spoke Captain Maxwell then, "Surrender, now, I say!
	Give them your Nancy schooner, and make off without delay!
	Set me ashore, I do implore, I will not die this way!"
	But says I, "You go, or get below, for I'll be on my way!"

		Aboard the Nancy!
		"Surrender, Hell!" I say 
		Aboard the Nancy!
		"It's back to Mackinac I'll fight, aboard the Nancy-O."

	Well up comes Colonel Beaubien, then, who shouts as he comes near:
	"Surrender up your schooner and I swear you've naught to fear!
	We've got your Captain Maxwell, sir, so spare yourself his tears!"
	Says I, "I'll not, but send you shot to buzz about your ears!"

	Well, they fired as we hove anchor, boys and we got under way,
	But scarce a dozen broadsides, boys, the Nancy did them pay
	Before the business sickened them. They bravely ran away
	All sail we made, and reached the Lake before the close of day.

		Aboard the Nancy!
		We sent them shot and cheers
		Aboard the Nancy!
		We watched them running through the trees, 
		aboard the Nancy-O!

	Oh, military gentlemen they bluster, roar and pray.
	Nine sailors and the Nancy, boys, made fifty run away.
	The powder in their hair that day was powder sent their way
	By poor and ragged sailor men, who swore that they would stay

		Aboard the Nancy!
		Six pence and found a day
		Aboard the Nancy!
		No uniforms for men to scorn, aboard the Nancy-O!

   "Heh ... Definitely catchy, Ranma-san", Nabiki walked up. "Which 
reminds me ..."

   "Yee-ees?"

   "Why _brown_ ribbons?"

   "Well, after all, Nabiki-san", Ranma's eyes glinted mischief, "You
only get a _white_ ribbon if you get an honorable mention."

   After which, the students of Furinkan High were treated to an unpre-
cedented sight: Tendo Nabiki, leaning against the wall of the school
building, clutching her ribs desperately, laughing her head off.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   In the Girl's changing rooms, later, a minor confrontation was under-
way. The sensei of Phys-Ed, having decided that Ranma qualified under
the "Advanced" curriculum, had run head-on into a wall of polite 
intransigence. Finally, she battered down the defenses with an appeal
to school honor. If Ranma did not wear the gym uniform, she reasoned,
the other students would be disgraced.

   Finally, Ranma had, reluctantly, agreed. Therefore she was preparing
to change into the shorts and t-shirt which Furinkan girls wore on the
field. This had been an object of some speculation among the girls
(and boys, of course) since it afforded a look at her bodily configur-
ation, and promised another, better one later.

   It wasn't what they had expected. The thin, white lines of many scars
on arms and legs were definitely not what the girls of class 2-F felt 
should have been hidden under Ranma's jacket and pants, much less the
broad, raised scar across her voice-box. The boxers and chest-wrap were
likewise odd, but it was the dragon tattoo peeking out from under
her wrap that drew the most attention.

   Finally, as the designated activity for this class was soccer, came
the most dreaded activity in sports: choosing sides. Needless to say,
everyone wanted to be on Ranma's side, and no-one wanted to be on the
other side. Finally, a sotto voce suggestion from one of the more
horrified class members caused the sides to be chosen as follows:
Side A: Bushiko Ranma; Side B: Everyone Else.

   "We ought to set an upper limit of goals," Ranma suggested sardonic-
ally, "declare an instant win at 12 or so. With one side so outnumbered
and all I'm sure that it will be over quickly, and we wouldn't want 
anyone to be overly embarrassed."

   The suggestion was passed by acclamation, the teams took the field,
and the whistle blew. And, just as Ranma had predicted, it was over
quickly. The score was Ranma:12, Everyone Else:0, in just under 3 
minutes. After that, by acclamation, they did something else, instead.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   In the showers, after the lambasting, a chuckling Ranma congratulated
Sayuri on a difficult gymnastics move as she pulled her braid back and
looked up into the shower spray. Unfortunately, the heat of the water
caused her skin to flush, particularly on her torso, where the Dragon
seemed to preen under the heated spray, and beneath the amulet she 
still wore on her breast.

   The flush had the effect of throwing her scars into sharp relief, 
and Ranma paused as she noted Sayuri's horrified gaze, fixed on her 
right breast, where the pale line of an old scar bisected her aureole.
Ranma looked down, blushed, and shook her head, "The problem with my
lifestyle over the past several years is that it has thrown me far too 
often into the company of rude strangers with sharp objects."

   And she shrugged, and smiled weakly, and went back to her shower.
And Akane, behind her, narrowed her eyes speculatively and nodded, as
though a decision had been confirmed. And then they all went back to
class, looking forward to music, and the end of the school day beyond.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Coming next. Part C  Crumbling Stone, A Duet for Wind and Fire.
Early next week, same FFML time, Same FFML channel.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story. 
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part C: Crumbling Stone, Duets for Wind and Flame.

	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.

   Predictably, Akane had made the best match to Ranma's voice. Which
is not to say that the other members of class 2-F hadn't tried. Sayuri
and her friend Yuka has put up a brave struggle, and, of course, all
the boys in 2-F had desperately attempted to hold enough of a baritone
to match Ranma's contralto. But, in the end, Akane's clear soprano had
been the only one with enough endurance, or range.

   It was the sensei of music's private despair that neither girl was
at all interested in representing Furinkan on the Musical Performance
team. He had even attempted to lure Ranma with reports of "Musical
Martial Arts" only to run headlong into a will of tempered granite.

   "I have spent too much of my life, and far too much pain, on my Art
to betray it now", Ranma had said, firmly, "it is as perfect as I can
make it and I will not abandon it simply so some-one trained in another,
lesser, style can have a 'fair fight'. If some-one wishes to challenge 
me to Aikido, or Ninjutsu, or Martial Arts Croquet or Kung-Fu Break-
Dancing or any other such silliness they may do so. And they may use
their Art, and I will use mine, and we will see whose is superior." Her
grin as she delivered this pronouncement had been truly alarming, and
the matter had been dropped.

   This had led to Ranma and Akane practicing duets on the same song
that Ranma had began with yesterday.

		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.

   It seemed that they should cooperate on the chorus, which led, 
inevitably, to the question of how to divide up the verses. So Ranma
had taken the first set alone.

	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.

   Akane's soprano had rung out both more softly and more sweetly than
Ranma on the second set, leading to the harmonies of their combined
voices and Ranma's guitar on the second chorus.

		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.

   And then it was time for the final verses and the problem of how to
apportion them was solved, mutually, by alternating lines, first the
contralto, smoke and ozone on the autumn wind and the presence -far off
and brooding- of the storm; then the soprano, crackling now with driving
energy, bright and pure, (yet, somehow, not at all sterile) filled with
the changeable changelessness of a bonfire's roar.

	Well who scattered these diamonds, through the vault of Heaven?

   The wind questioned, and the flame responded.

	Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?

   The bonfire summoned, and the breeze answered.

	Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?

   The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed.

	Where is the heart of every living thing?

   The blaze flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed it, and 
drove it on before.

	Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.

   Wind roused flame to life ...

	I know you love me, how could it not be?

   Flame drew wind's reply ...

	And I am yours, now and forever,

   Feeding now from each other's power, one to the other, changing and
exchanging the lead, to join again in harmony at the last ...

	'Till my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.

   And the wind whipped the blaze into a wildfire...

		We are brief Summer lightning,
		We are swift as swallows' flight.
		We are sparks that spiral upwards,
		In the darkness of the night.

   And the fire blew the wind into a storm.

		We are frost upon the window,
		We won't pass this way again,
		In the end Dear, only love remains.

   And in the silence that filled the classroom when the song had fin-
ished, Ranma's slightly husky voice broke the stillness gently, like a
sudden breeze breaks the hush of dawn, "By the way Akane, shouldn't you
have been playing your instrument too?"

   "Um, well ...", Akane shook herself and replied, "No. You see I play
the saxophone, and if I play I can't sing ...."

   "You play _sax_??" Ranma blink-blinked, then mumbled, "Jazz. Now 
where am I gonna get sheet music for Jazz. Mmm, maybe I could ....
Well, that's nice, but it does leave us with one problem."

   "Er, what's that, Ranma?", Akane asked warily.

   "Where in hell are we going to find a drummer?"

   The bell took the opportunity to ring at that point, ending the 
class. And also cutting off at least three boys' attempts to volunteer
for the offered position (not that any of them could actually _play_
the drums, but that wasn't the point), which was, probably, extremely
fortunate for all involved.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Nabiki had excused herself for an unspecified appointment. Sayuri 
and Yuka had departed, giggling, to prepare the former for a date she 
had contrived with "this dreamy guy" from class 3-C. Various other 
people had departed to their various ways. Ranma and Akane were, tech-
nically speaking, not _alone_, just _by themselves_. They had therefore, 
by mutual, unspoken, consent, departed from the straight path towards 
Akane's home and were, instead, strolling idly through one of Nerima's 
parks, enjoying the warmth of the day and the freshness of the spring 
breeze. This being one of the Accepted Canonical Locations for Serious 
Discussions, one of the aforesaid Serious Discussions was underway.

   "Akane-san", Ranma gritted, "I _said_ that you should ..."

   "I did consider my decision, Ranma-chan", Akane replied calmly. "I 
decided that I wanted to go ahead."

   "_Damn it, girl_", Ranma roared, "you've got _no_ idea what you're 
getting into!"

   "Ranma-chan", Akane reached out and put a gentle hand on the faint 
scar that traced the side of Ranma's face, next to her mouth, "when you 
took the blow that dealt that scar, did it hurt? Did it hurt 
afterwards?"

   "_OF COURSE IT BLOODY HURT!!!_"

   "And, the others?", Akane's voice was gentle, "Did they hurt, too?"

   "What the hell kind of question is that?! Of _course_ they did!"

   "And after you healed, did they stop hurting?"

   "What are you ... _No!_ They never stop hurting, not completely! I 
_ache_ in the winter, sometimes!"

   "And you said that your honor didn't allow you to let your friend 
suffer likewise unless she _had_ to?"

   "_THAT'S WHY I'M TRYING TO TALK YOU OUT OF IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, 
YOU, YOU ... BAKA!!!_"

   Akane stepped forward to stand just in front of Ranma, face-to-face 
and looking closely into her cerulean eyes. "So what makes you think 
that _my_ honor will allow me to let _my_ friend suffer all that pain
... alone?"

   And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, looked into 
the great, dark, eyes of her opponent in this contest of wills, of her 
would-be student, of her friend; and found there no challenge, but also 
no surrender. And martialed a hundred arguments, and prepared a thous-
and objections, and called to mind every precept of logic she had ever 
heard. And saw, in the theater of memory, -- treacherous memory, that 
shows what it will, and not what _you_ will -- another face. And the 
expression in the eyes before her mirrored once, long before, in a 
mirror. And bowed her head to another's honor, and bent her neck to 
another's necessity; and buried her face in another's shoulder, and 
felt another's arms embrace her; and did not cry, nor did she weep, so 
great was her control, whatever she might wish. Only, instead, she
spoke, very low and muffled in another's breast, "Alright. Alright, 
I'll teach you. I'll teach you all I can."

   And Tendo Akane also did not cry, nor weep, for the moment was, for 
her, too great for tears. She only said "And I promise to learn, all 
that I can. And never to regret what you may teach, whatever it may 
cost me."

   And they stood like that for a time, which may have been long or 
short, and then released each other's embrace. And walked onward, more 
quickly now, to the hall that one called home.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   On the mat Ranma bowed to the Dojo's spirit and then turned to face
Akane and crossed her arms. "Okay. We now face the First Problem of 
teaching you how to lead a life dedicated to the fine art of slaughter.
Briefly, the problem is one of attitude. A warrior simply has a diff-
erent basic attitude than a person who has only trained, and the necess-
ary attitude is one you don't possess."

   Akane assumed an attitude of respectful attention.

   "And the number of ways I know of to induce the necessary attitude
reduce to three", said Ranma, beginning to pace back and forth. "First,
we could send you to a remote temple for 2 or 3 decades so you could
run up and down snowy mountains, and drink bark tea, and meditate on 
your navel. _But_, we can probably say that this approach will take a 
_trifle_ more time than we actually have." Ranma reached the end of her 
pacing arc, and raised one finger in the air as she turned around.

   Akane turned her head to face her, still attentive.

   "Second, we could send you off to somewhere where life is cheap, 
gunpowder is in the air, and death lurks behind every corner, in the
hope that, if you survived, you would pick something up by osmosis.
_But_, that approach is probably a little too, umm ... _uncertain_."
Ranma reached the other end of her arc and held up a second finger.

   Akane made a face, and nodded vigorously.

   "So what we are left with is choice three", Ranma said with an evil 
grin, holding up a third finger. "This is the approach where I beat the 
living snot out of you on a regular basis until you learn something."

   Akane observed the grin, and gulped.

   "And the first part of that process", Ranma said, turning to face
Akane, and crossing her arms again, "is to see precisely what you are
capable of _now_. _Assume_."

   Akane brushed away a sudden bead of sweat, and assumed the Tendo
Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu Crane In Waiting stance.

   Akane waited uneasily. Ranma looked her up and down for about three 
seconds, and then she moved. It seemed, to Akane, like being in the
center of a tornado. Great winds buffeted her from all sides, and her 
defences were useless against the hail of punishing blows descending 
from every angle that she didn't, or couldn't block, but not from the
ones she did. A slide kick sent her sprawling to the ground, followed 
by three fast and bruising punches to the small of her back, but she 
fought grimly upright and cleared some space with a sweeping hip kick 
that only cost her two snap-kicks to the knee and a crane strike to the 
thigh. Setting her back against the Dojo's outside wall, and reminding
herself not to move on that leg, she waited as steadily as she could 
for Ranma's next attack.

   It came within seconds, a v-step across Akane's range that turned
into a feint to her upper right guard. A 'feint' that succeeded in
bashing her out of position for another series of feints, each con-
tacting her defenses, each bruising her arms or legs, each moving her
farther and farther off her defensive center, until her guard was 
completely down. In the extremity of her extension, turned half away 
from the guarding wall, when she could respond to no more threats, she 
watched, with despair, a rising power kick that she knew she could 
never stop. Awaiting the end, she noted, as if from her peripheral 
vision, a slight movement _behind_ her, and then the world went black.

   She awakened upside down against a wall. She knew that only moments 
could have passed, but from the condition of her abused muscles it 
might have been hours. She was gently turned over and set upright, 
squatting against the wall, and blearily forced her eyes open - to 
discover Ranma kneeling in front of her, wiping her face clean of sweat 
and blood with a handkerchief. And grinning merrily, as though she had 
just been told the best joke in all the world.

   Akane frowned weakly, "I know I'm not in your class, Ranma-sensei, 
but I ..."

   Ranma's grin transmuted into a gentle smile and she shook her head.
"Not in my class? Heh. Not in my class. *snrk*. Akane-chan", she asked, 
more gently yet, "do you know why you're lying here on the ground, 
feeling run over?"

   "Well I missed that last power kick ...", Akane responded uncert-
ainly.

   "The power kick was a feint, Akane-chan", Ranma returned to her grin,
"the real attack was the thrust-kick from behind. The thrust-kick that
would have stopped before it actually hit you, like the death-blow I
did to Kuno-san. The thrust-kick that you couldn't even have _seen_,
much less blocked. That thrust-kick."

   "Oh", Akane said weakly, "So, what happened?"

   "You blocked it, of course", Ranma's grin was even larger now.

   "I thought you said I _couldn't_ have blocked it", Akane complained,
weakly. Something here wasn't making sense.

   "You couldn't have", Ranma replied cheerfully, "But you did, anyway.
And there's only one way that could have happened."

   Akane shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever particle of inspir-
ation was hiding in it that was keeping the conversation from making 
sense. "Wh .. What's that Ranma-sensei?", she quavered.

   Ranma's grin seemed to split her face, "You must have gone zanshin,
Akane-chan. It's the only way you could even have come close. With
all your defenses down. Completely overextended. And without even
_meaning_ to."

   "Z .. Zanshin, Ranma-sensei? You mean like, like Mushashi-sama?
The _Book of Five Rings_?"

   "Exactly! And, of course, you know what _that_ means?"

   "N-no, I mean, I don't ... what?", Akane shook her head frantically,
desperate to find something that made sense. Zanshin? Her?

   "It means you made me completely waste all that angst I went through,
that's what. You're as surely marked with the Murderer's sign as am I."
Ranma traced a circle on her forehead with a gentle hand. "It means
you will probably end up being better than _me_. It means that I've
found my Perfect Student, the one I can learn from as much as I teach.
And what, what, _what_ in the name of all that is holy is a nice girl
like you doing in a condition like that?"

   Akane's battered mind seized on the only thing she recognized in all
that barrage of words, and came up with the only appropriate response,
smiling weakly, "Umm, Just lucky, I guess?"

   Ranma's silver laughter filled the empty hall. And then she abandoned
any attempt to urge Akane to rise, and cradled her in her arms, rising
smoothly to her feet as Akane feebly waved her hands in protest.

   "And now we'll get you in the furo. You need to soak."

   "But, but, that is, I don't, you shouldn't ..."

   "Hush, Akane. The Sensei Is Always Right."

   "But you, I, it's not ..."

   "Hush, Akane-chan."

   "Don't need, why, can walk, ..."

   "_Hush!_"

   "Er, umm, that is... Yes, Ranma-chan", meekly.

   "And then I'll give you a massage, to keep you from being too stiff
tomorrow."

   "Erkk...", very meekly indeed.

   "And after that we'll get Kasumi-san to make you a _big_ meal, so
you can keep your strength up."

   "Oh, no", a very, very small voice.

   "And after _that_, we can do some _real_ training!"

   "Help", almost inaudible, in fact. Not that it helped.

   And Ranma's cheerful laughter blew them into the furo. And then they
did exactly what Ranma had said they would.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   And much later, long after dark, as Ranma wound her way alone to her
rented flat, and Akane slept the sleep of the Just -- or, anyway, the 
Sleep of the Very, Very Tired --, Ranma looked up into the light-glare
that blotted out the stars above Tokyo, and snorted.

   "'Keep your head down, and hope you find a friend', I said. Hah!
Oh, well I can't complain about the quality of her art at least. Even
if it is bloody inconvenient! 'Here Ranma, have a day, you've found 
your Perfect Student. Of course, you've only got 6 months to teach her
in, but...'." Musingly, "It's loads better than that last school, at
least. Food fights, bleah. Oh, yes, it could _definitely_ be worse."

   And then she began, without raising her voice, to sing. And continued
singing all the way down the road.

	The brooding ghosts of this dark night
	Are gone from wood and Town.
	My spirit revives in the morning breeze,
	Though it died when Sun went down.
	The river is wide, the stream is strong,
	And the grass is green and tall.
	And I feign would think that this world of ours,
	Is a good world, after all.

	The light of passion in dreamy eyes,
	The page of truth well read,
	The glorious thrill in a heart grown cold,
	And a spirit once thought dead.
	The song that goes to a comrade's heart,
	The tear of pride let fall,
	My heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
	Is a good world, after all.

	Let our enemies go by their own dull paths,
	Let theirs be doubt and shame.
	The man who's bitter against the world
	Has only himself to blame.
	Let the darkest side of the past stay dark,
	And only good recall, 
	For I must believe that the world, to me,
	Is a good world, after all.

	It may be that I saw to plain,
	It may be I was blind,
	But I'll keep my face to the morning light,
	Though the Devil stand behind.
	Though the Devil may stand behind my back
	Shall I see his shadow fall?
	And I'll read, in the light of the Morning Star
	Of a good world, after all.

   And then, very softly:

	Rest, for your arms are weary, Love,
	You drove the worst away.
	And the ghost of the one that I might have been
	Is gone from my heart today.
	We'll live our life for the good it brings,
	'Till our twilight shadows fall.
	Oh, my heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
	Is a good world, after all.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Next: More silliness. Ranma tells a story. Foreshadowings are 
foreshadowed. And ghosts begin to walk.

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 3: The Third Day
Part A: Point of Contact: The Hunter and the Bear.

Coming soon, to a FFML near you.

Eric Hallstrom  hallcon@mindspring.com