Okay, so it's been a while... But I actually have part 1 of another fic
almost ready for release, so one can hope I'm on a fanfic-writing
upswing... :)
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-- Name : rmonogat7.txt
Ranma Monogatari
a Ranma 1/2 fanfiction
by Bridget E. Wilde
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WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: Spirited back to 11th-century Japan, Ranma has
found himself embroiled in saving his past self's wife, the hot-
tempered Aoi, from the nightly visitations of another woman's vengeful
spirit. That, he can handle. It's the poetry he's having problems
with. Following a poetic battle against past incarnations of present
enemies Wake no Yoshikichi (Ryouga), Tsuru no Mokuito (Mousse) and the
redoubtable Saisho (Kuno), he discovered that his curse remained with
him, even in another man's body, and escaped Yoshikichi's hot pursuit
with a bit of feminine distraction. Now he hopes to determine which
of his ladyloves is tormenting his wife, by visiting each of them
individually.
Previous parts available at http://www.psn.net/~wildeman/bridget.htm
C&C welcomed, public or private.
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Part 7
The beetle was new to the world, its glistening black carapace
still slightly soft and sticky with the residue of its pupal stage �
but the sun had warmth that would soon take care of that, just as it
had awakened the beetle from its winter�s slumber and softened the
ground about it just enough that it could burst out of the darkness.
Its feet were nearly noiseless on the moss as it scuttled from rock to
rock with the mindless joy of new life. If beetles were gifted with
voice, it would probably have hummed as it went about its business,
searching for food.
It barely saw the shadow that loomed over it before it was
snatched up by fingers that moved faster than the wind, lifted high
above the familiar rocks and moss, legs wiggling in a futile dance. It
felt itself being turned in a surprisingly delicate grip until its
antennae were barely a few inches from a giant white orb of an eye
that regarded it steadily.
"Gotcha!" a voice said, booming through the beetle�s senses and
causing its feet to wiggle even more frantically. The beetle was not
known for its grasp of language, but instinct told it that sounds of
that nature were dangerous, that the dangling of its feet was a sign
of death, and so it strove for escape as it swooshed through the air,
out of the sunlight, into a space where the air was still and quiet,
until at last there was surface beneath its feet, though the grip
continued to hold it still while its feet scrabbled uselessly.
"Okay, bug. Pick out which of the chicks is really a deranged,
vengeful spirit. Ready?"
Suddenly the grip was gone, and the beetle dashed madly in the
direction it thought might hold the sunlight, until it bumped into a
shiny black surface much like itself.
"Shampoo, huh? It figures." The grip was back, lifting the
beetle high again � but this time, the sunlight returned, and with an
insectile sigh of relief it felt the familiar ground of its birth
beneath its six legs, and then it was free to dash back into the moss,
blissfully aware of its own life.
*****
"A most interesting method of making a decision," Koremitsu said
as Ranma reentered the room, dusting his hands off briskly.
"Yeah, it's something of a family tradition," Ranma replied
absently, uneasily scooping up the glazed black "beckoning-cat" statue
as he began to pace the length of the chamber. The morning was mildly
chilly, but he had flung the shutters wide to rid the room of the
lingering scents of the exorcism, and the breeze that teased at his
hair was refreshingly brisk. He needed that briskness to clear his
head, to help him brace himself for the evening ahead of him.
Behind him, he could hear a rustling of robes as Koremitsu bent
over to pick up the other items he had found for his divination: a
cunningly folded paper flower, found lying in a corner of the
bedchamber, and a small spatula, snitched from the kitchen. Koremitsu
had watched mutely as Ranma had arranged the three items in a circle,
his brow creased with curiosity. Finally, as Ranma had encircled the
three with a "wall" made of a twisted sash, the servant had spoken.
"Your pardon, sir, but..."
"What am I doing?"
"...Yes."
"Well..." Ranma had picked up the flower and tossed it lightly in
the air. "This one is Miss Evening Faces. This one," indicating the
cat, "is the Reikeiden Lady. And the spatula is Rokujo." He had set
the flower back down with exaggerated care, precisely distanced from
the other items.
"Why?"
"Well, I figure I'll go find a bug or something..."
"No, why a spatula?"
"Because... Because that's kinda, well, her trademark."
"It is? But..."
"Trust me on this one." Ranma had swung to his feet to head out
to the garden, effectively ending the conversation. He could tell now
that Koremitsu was still confused, by the way he was turning the
spatula over and over in his hands, but Ranma didn't really think he
could ever explain it to the servant's satisfaction.
Ranma continued to pace like a panther in a cage, occasionally
lashing out at the air with a lightning-fast kick, just for the sake
of doing something. The cat statue was clenched tight in his hand,
the glazed ceramic cool against his hot palm. Now that he couldn't
see the features, he felt the fear that bubbled relentlessly inside
him relaxing to a simmer, just keeping him the tiniest bit on edge.
(It's just a statue, he reminded himself with annoyance. Not even a
real...) He supposed he might have picked the Reikeiden Lady to begin
with, had he agonized long enough. Shampoo was certainly not one to
treat her rivals gently. But the thought of visiting her made him
uneasy from more than the suspicion that she might be the culprit.
The fact that his curse had somehow followed him to this time weighed
on his mind; it was not inconceivable that other curses were present
as well. The Reikeiden Lady might well turn into a... With a
shudder, he tossed the small black statue out into the garden, where
it landed with a muted thump.
Koremitsu cleared his throat behind Ranma, who turned and saw
with a sinking sensation the paper, brush, and ink laid out before
him. "Aw, geez, what now?" he asked glumly.
The servant shrugged almost apologetically. "If you are going to
visit her tonight, you should really send a message."
Doomed. He was doomed to an eternity of calligraphy. "Can't you
write it for me?"
A hint of reproach in his expression, Koremitsu shook his head.
"It must be in your hand. Anything less would be an insult to the
lady."
Ranma sighed. "Give me a minute, okay?" Before he could think
further, he leapt out over the stoop to land in the mossy garden,
bouncing slightly on his toes as he inhaled the fresh, loamy scent.
The breeze chilled him, even through the layers of silk he wore, and
he soaked the chill up like a sponge, melting slowly into a kata that
barely fit into the small clearing, his kicks just clearing newly-
green bushes, sweeping the undersides of the budding tree branches.
<I've always known I'd fight to save you,> he thought in the utter
peace of the movement. <But I never once thought I'd _write_ to save
you.> He finished with a precise bow to his "foe," his mind filled
with an image that blurred between the long-haired Aoi, his own short-
cropped Akane, and the woman somewhere in between, met only in a dream
of cherry blossoms. <Only for you...> came a thought like a whisper
in his mind, so faint that he decided he must not have thought it at
all.
*****
Koremitsu hurried along the open walkway, glancing nervously at
the sinking sun. Lord Ranma was slower than usual at his poetry these
days, and there was now little time to arrange tonight's meeting; he
was fortunate to have thought ahead and arranged for the messenger
while his lord wracked his brains for just the right wording.
Not that the messenger would enjoy his visit... Lord Ranma was a
fine one, genuinely concerned for the well-being of his servants, but
he was sometimes just a little... Koremitsu apologized inwardly for
the disrespect... just a little dense. He led his life as if court
politics were nothing to him - and though Koremitsu might have wished
it so, he knew it was not to be. Lord Ranma was married to the
daughter of the Minister of the Left, a marriage that planted him
firmly on one side of the political machinations that embroiled the
court.
Exactly opposite the woman he visited tonight.
Sometimes Koremitsu thought his lord might be playing both sides
on purpose, hoping to avoid the necessity of politics through
indecision. A dangerous game, if it were so. What game the Reikeiden
Lady herself might be playing was uncertain; her father, the Minister
of the Right, currently wielded little power with the Emperor, and had
arranged for her no advantageous marriage.
Then there were the times - like this - when Koremitsu thought
perhaps, just perhaps, his lord had no idea what he was doing. That he
truly did not understand how the political reality he ignored was
manifested in the cold reception of his lady's servants, the uneasy
silence that surrounded him upon his arrival at her pavilion.
At times like this, Koremitsu worried. Especially now, with so
much at stake. And though he understood the need for this visit, he
knew also that it would cause problems among those who could not know
its purpose, whose ignorance served as shield.
The messenger, a young page boy with an older escort, stood
waiting for him on the front steps of the compound. Koremitsu quashed
his fears and handed the folded poem to the young boy, whispering in
his ear the destination. The boy's eyes widened, then narrowed in
childish determination as he nodded and set off with his companion.
Koremitsu though he heard something like a sob from the garden,
but when he turned there was nothing to be seen but gently waving
branches and leaves. <The house itself weeps for its mistress...> he
though suddenly, eyes lowering in slight shame. A necessary
deception, he reminded himself as he reentered the compound, feet slow
and measured.
*****
Ranma stepped from the carriage, grateful for the steady earth
beneath his feet, and straightened his clothing with a tug of
annoyance. <This place has got to get some decent roads...> he thought
grumpily, grimacing as each movement awakened bruises acquired on his
journey. He could only be grateful that the oxen pulling the cart
seemed to have only one speed: slow. He shuddered to think what might
have happened had they been in second gear.
The pavilion before him was small but elegant, nestled into a
grove of bamboo that glowed dimly in the last light of dusk. A low
wall surrounded the modest grounds, graced by a few climbing vines and
a mottling of rich moss. At each side of the gate stood a servant in
purple livery, slouched in some impatience and scanning Ranma's
retinue with heavy-lidded insolence.
Okay. All he had to do was go in, snoop around a bit, and get
out. No problem. That was all he had to do.
The oxen shifted restlessly. A mournful breeze swept through the
darkening bamboo. Somewhere nearby, crickets heralded the coming
night.
Ranma stood.
After several minutes had passed, Koremitsu cleared his throat
pointedly. "We shall be waiting here when you are done, my lord."
"Uh, yeah." Ranma straightened his clothes again. "Thanks."
The crickets chirped.
The oxen stomped.
The servants glared.
And Ranma stood.
Koremitsu leaned forward and murmured in Ranma's ear, "My lord,
might I point out that the Lady Aoi will be sure to notice your
absence should there be further delay..." The ominous tone of his
voice hinted at just what fate Ranma could then expect, and that was
enough to galvanize him into action, sending him striding forth along
the path.
The servants at the door hesitated just long enough that Ranma
had to stop short while they opened the door before him, their manners
just insolent enough for Ranma to take offense, but just obsequious
enough to keep him from calling them on it. He glanced over his
shoulder once, at the sullenly respectful faces of his own entourage,
and the round, sympathetic expression on Koremitsu's face, before the
gate closed behind him with a fatalistic clunk.
They showed him to a room that - he thought with a twinge of
concern - looked rather like a bedroom. Screens adorned with lavish
brush paintings obscured an unlit incense burner in one corner;
embroidered silk draperies hung from the walls and from stands about
the room. The floor was scattered with cushions, and a lacquered tray
held a sake bottle and cups, and a sparse selection of food. A few
lit braziers (carefully placed far from the hanging draperies) lit the
room with a cozy, intimate light. A light breeze swept in through
open sliding doors, gently wafting the light draperies in a constant
dance; outside the doors, a narrow veranda led down to a mossy garden,
a pond shining blue in the fading light.
The door slid shut loudly behind him.
Ranma seated himself awkwardly near the tray, noting that the
bottle did indeed hold sake, but that it seemed to be only lukewarm.
The hair on the back of his head was standing up, and his hand shook
slightly as he reached out for a rice cake. Something was just not
right, and his eyes darted around the room searching for the cause as
he gnawed at the rice cake, which tasted rather like paper. He felt
somehow surrounded, watched, stalked - a movement at the edge of his
vision startled him, and his mouth dried with a sudden horrible
realization.
He was surrounded by cats.
Painted cats glared at him from the folding screens. Stone
statues of cats stretched and leaped in the garden. And worst of all,
the draperies that floated restlessly about him bore the images of
dozens of cats, rendered from head to toe in hair-fine embroidery,
shifting and swirling in a disturbing dance.
He felt a mad grin rising on his face, and munched more
determinedly on the rice cake in his hand, fixing his gaze on the
mercifully unadorned ceiling. He could handle this. No sweat.
The door slid open again, and he swung his head down with what
would have been a friendly-but-noncommittal smile, had his teeth not
been clenched shut in a death's-head grin.
The lady of the house swept in with slow, measured grace, her
silk robes rustling sibilantly behind her. Ranma felt a moment of
dislocation as he mentally shifted the hairstyle and removed the face
paint, but the sultry eyes and secretive smile were familiar enough,
and the intense look of purpose - it was Shampoo, all right. The
small part of his brain that was free to think congratulated himself
on his astuteness. Her layers of silk robes alternated between deep
green and white, with the innermost one a rich saffron. The sleeves
hung down below her hands, leaving only the barest hint of her
fingertips showing; one hand bore a gilded paper fan, the other a
colorful braided cord that trailed behind her, out of sight.
"My lord," she said in a husky, musical voice. "You have come at
last." Gracefully, she sank to the floor behind him, unfurling her
fan and leaning close enough that he could see grains of powder on her
face, even in the dim light. "I trust you have been... well."
Ranma laughed uneasily, one hand coming up to scratch the back of
his head. "Oh, I've been great. Just... just great." It was odd,
how her voice was Shampoo's - and yet not Shampoo's. It wasn't just
the lack of accent; Shampoo's speech was less inhibited, more open
than this cultured elocution... He noticed something strange then,
something about the way that bright, braided cord was moving, even
though the Reikeiden Lady herself was now still... He was craning his
neck to see the other end, which trailed off somewhere behind her,
when the glomp came.
He let out a strangled gasp, hands coming up to struggle - but
she was still a girl, and stronger than the power he was willing to
use on anyone female, and so he was pinned as she affectionately
stroked her cheek against his chest, murmuring in a low voice,
"When the evening comes,
My love outburns the fireflies,
And yet you are cold.
Might your indifference vanish
If you were to see the flame? (KKS 562)
Do not hold back, my love."
She was really quite good at glomping, even if she wasn't an
amazon, he noted, trying desperately to think of freezing rain and
Cologne's face and anything else that might possibly distract him from
the very warm, very snuggly, and (despite the makeup) very attractive
woman in his arms. He was just not ready to deal with this, not in
his own life and certainly not in somebody else's. Unfortunately, he
was fast running out of distracting topics... That's right, he had
been wondering about the Reikeiden Lady's strange cord. He had the
perfect vantage point to see where it led... It reminded him of
something, maybe the string of a pull-toy, or...
He froze.
Or a leash.
There, in the folds of the lady's trailing robes, sat a scrawny
grey-on-grey striped cat with an expression somewhere between aloof
patience and neglected misery. Its fur was thin, sharply accented with
the shape of jutting bones that suggested it was not fed as often as
it would like. The cord led to a collar about the cat's thin neck,
and not a comfortable-looking one, at that. Ranma could practically
feel it as his own throat stopped up in horror.
The cat met his frozen gaze unwaveringly, yellow eyes like candle
flames.
Ranma felt his left eyelid twitching.
The cat stretched languorously, sharp white claws snagging at the
silk about it.
Ranma felt his hands clench.
The cat yawned, sharp white teeth gleaming in the dim light.
Ranma swallowed.
Then, with precise, delicate steps, the cat began its advance.
Ranma lasted for exactly two and one-half steps before reflexively
pushing away from those eyes, those claws, those teeth...
Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on who was asked - his
only source of leverage was the Reikeiden Lady, who fell back with a
tiny shriek into the mass of her robes, barely missing the cat, who
dodged aside with the ease of long practice, casting the lady a look
that somehow blended reproachfulness, fear, and mute adoration.
"Ah... sorry?" Ranma said quickly, assuming what he hoped looked
like a relaxed seated position several paces away. The cat was nosing
hungrily at the contents of the tray - still far too close; Ranma
clenched his legs tight against the urge to flee.
The lady sat in shock for some moments, then brushed her hair
away from her face and adjusted herself to recline gracefully opposite
him, a wry smile on her face. "You are always such a bore," she said
at length. "I have never understood why you keep coming here if not
to be my lover." She gave the cat's leash a sharp yank; it abandoned
its attempt to snag a rice cake and skulked behind her, nosing at the
wall as if looking for fat, juicy mice.
<I'm _not_ her lover?> Ranma thought incredulously through his
fear. He snagged another rice cake to stop his teeth from chattering.
The cat was giving him a... hungry look, a look that made his mouth
instantly dry - but at least the beast was farther away. He managed a
careless shrug.
The lady's smile turned slightly wistful, and she picked up the
sake flask, pouring a healthy slug into one of the cups. "Ah, well.
I am certain I shall change your mind someday. Perhaps you would like
a drink?" She picked up the cup to offer it, frowning as she noticed
the lack of warmth. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned a glare towards
the door. "Masamichi!"
Her voice had barely been above her normal speaking range, but
the door slid open immediately, one of the purple-clad servants from
the gate bowing low before them. "What does my mistress desire?" he
said in a voice that somehow managed to make it plain that he could
care less about what anybody else in the room might want.
"I do believe that sake is supposed to be served warm?" she said
icily.
Ranma broke in, "But I don't want any..."
"My humblest apologies, mistress. I had ensured that it was warm
when I set out the tray, but perhaps during the long wait..."
"Indeed. Well, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself."
She sniffed haughtily.
"I really don't want any sake..." Ranma said, a bit more loudly.
"I shall fetch it at once, mistress."
"See that you do."
"Water!" Ranma practically shouted. Every pair of eyes in the
room turned to him, wide with shock - including those chilling yellow
ones. He continued in a more normal voice, hands clenching and
unclenching from the effort to control himself. "I would rather have
some water."
"Water," the Reikeiden Lady echoed, her expression shocked; then
she laughed suddenly, a sound like ringing bells. "Very well.
Masamichi, go fetch some water. And this, you may serve cold."
"Immediately, my lady." The door slid shut again; again that
bright laughter rang forth. Her hands deftly scooped up the cat, who
let out a pitiful meow of protest, and settled it on a cushion before
her, one arm holding it firmly in place while she petted it. The
cat's face wavered between bliss and annoyance; Ranma began to edge
slightly further away.
"Water," the lady repeated. "You really are a bore."
"Uh... That's me, all right." Ranma gritted his teeth and looked
out at the pond. There were no cats in the pond.
"So, my lord. I have heard you acquitted yourself well at the
recent poetry match."
Ranma flicked a glance towards her, his eyes drawn inexorably to
the sight of the cat's tail lashing like a whip. "I guess so," he
muttered gracelessly, mesmerized by that motion. Did a cat's tail
moving like that mean it was happy, or that it was preparing to
attack...? He jerked his gaze back to the pond. The cat didn't look
happy. It looked grumpy. Really grumpy. Tear-your-throat-out
grumpy. It was going to leap any second now, he could sense it. Any
second now...
Gripped by panic, he bolted to his feet, nearly knocking over the
screen behind him, and whirled around to meet his fate...
The cat sat.
<Okay, slight misreading of the situation there...> Ranma exhaled
heavily, a mad, high-pitched laugh spilling from his lips before he
could stop it. <Control. Gotta take control.> With a Herculean
effort, he adopted an apologetic stance. "Uh... aheh... Sorry 'bout
that."
The Reikeiden Lady was staring at him as if he had two heads. He
would have felt better if she didn't also look like she thought two
heads just made him more attractive.
"Uh..." Ranma looked around frantically for an excuse, any excuse
for his behavior. There, behind the screen - that incense burner. He
had gotten to the point where he really hated incense, more than he
had ever though he could - but just at this moment, it looked like a
life preserver. "Mind if I light this?"
The lady smiled with even more promise. "Of course, my lord,"
she purred.
He hated purring.
A collection of long twigs was gathered nearby; he cautiously lit
one from the nearest brazier, moving like a puppet in his effort for
control, and lit the incense burner. It was nice there behind the
screen. He couldn't see the cat. Maybe he could just stay there...
The smoke started to waft up; he took a breath of it, sweet and spicy
and... sexy? That thought struck him as strange the moment it crossed
his mind, particularly since it was followed by an almost immediate
physical reaction. <Uh-oh.>
He held his breath and exited the screen, not sure whether he was
more afraid of the cat, or of the... interesting thoughts that were
suddenly wafting dizzily across his mind.
The look on the Reikeiden Lady's face was hungrier than the
cat's. "Do you like it?" she said softly. "It's my latest blend."
"Uh... Sure, I like it just fine." He was in trouble, all right.
He seated himself gingerly as close to the open window as he could,
breathing in gulps of the fresh garden air and praying for an escape.
The lady sighed in evident frustration. "My lord... Ranma.
Would you not-"
The door slid open with a loud rattle, and the servant entered,
bearing a bucket of water that looked to be fresh from a spring; at a
glare from the lady, he ladled some out into a pair of cups, then
bowed low and waited for dismissal.
Ranma edged forward and took a cup in his trembling hands. He
was about to take his first sip when he noticed that the servant's
clothing (again, one of the few cat-free things in the room)was
decorated with regularly placed circular patches, somewhat worn but
easily recognizable as a family crest. Three heart-shaped leaves,
points in towards the center. Not, he realized instantly, the
diamonds and butterflies of Aoi's nighttime visitor. Impulsively, he
snatched at the sleeve. "What's this?"
The servant jerked away, face betraying carefully controlled
fury. "You of all people should know."
"Masamichi." The lady's voice was sharp, and the servant bowed
his head to the floor.
"Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean any impertinence." The
stiffness of his back gave his words the lie, but Ranma didn't care;
he had the information he needed.
"It's your crest," he said quietly, addressing the Reikeiden
Lady.
"Of course it is." She waved a hand at Masamichi, dismissing
him; he escaped through the door with a final, covert glare at Ranma,
sliding it shut with just more force than necessary. The cat
struggled briefly to escape, but was stilled by her grasp visibly
tightening.
Ranma smiled, his first real smile since his arrival. "Of course
it is," he repeated, not certain if he was relieved or annoyed that
his first visit was without fruit.
Then his smile faded. There was only one thing left for him to
know.
The bucket of water was right there, practically within reach...
but the incense was stronger here; he could practically feel it in his
blood, making his heart beat faster, insinuating into his mind the
notion that the Reikeiden Lady was also within arm's reach... If he
closed his eyes, he could feel the pull, persistent and seductive; he
could almost feel his legs starting to move...
He snapped his eyes open, avoiding the knowing, expectant eyes of
the lady in favor of the glowing yellow eyes of the cat. Fear welled
up within him to fight attraction, and he shook with the force of the
battle. He had to escape; one was sure to win soon, and he couldn't
decide which would be worse, the lady or the cat.
"My lord, do come closer..." Her voice was seductive, pulling
him to her like tendrils of smoke. The cat purred, a death-rattle in
Ranma's ears. He had to escape.
He had to know.
Before he could stop himself, he grabbed up the bucket of water
and dashed it upon the lady before him.
The drenched cat let out a bloodcurdling wail, a wail like a
banshee, like a demon out of the darkest hell, and Ranma broke. He
was blinded in his terror, his feet carrying him anywhere that was
away from the cat, anywhere that the cat was not, anywhere at all.
Which turned out to be into the pond.
The cool water closed over her head for a moment, and she gazed
up briefly at a moon distorted by the churning waters before her head
broke the surface, the water washing away her terror. It took a
moment to focus her blurry eyes back the way she came, on the room
full of cats.
And one human.
As Ranma watched, the drenched Reikeiden Lady let out a shriek of
her own, hurling the cat aside with a backhanded slap and clutching at
her arm, which bled from a quartet of deep scratches.
<Oops.>
This was, Ranma decided, a good time to leave.
The wall was not so high; one good leap, and she was over and
away, ignoring the lady's shrill demands that her lord return. A few
running steps, and she was in the confines of her carriage, heart
pounding as she clutched her sopping clothes closely around her. She
would have Koremitsu get her some hot water as soon as they returned,
but she was not staying another moment in that area.
"My lord?" Koremitsu's face appeared in the doorway.
"Go!" Ranma said as gruffly as she could, turning her face away.
"Just go."
*****
Ranma slipped stealthily through the door, his sharp eyes picking
out Aoi's form curled up on the floor. The window was cracked open
enough that he could see the pale curve of her cheek; some trick of
the light made it seem to glisten under the moon's caress.
She was undisturbed, as yet. He hadn't noticed that he had been
holding his breath until that realization made him take in deep gasps
of relief. Noiselessly he picked his way across the floor, discarding
his damp outer robes and kicking them out of his way. The innermost
layers were still dry enough, he decided sleepily; he had grown used
to sleeping in various degrees of dampness long before his curse, and
he wouldn't let it stop him now. He still smelled like a pond, but
that couldn't really be helped, either. He left them in place as he
slowly lowered himself to Aoi's side, pulling up the covers just
enough to slip in...
"Where were you?"
The voice startled him, quiet though it was, and he glanced up
like a guilty rabbit to meet Aoi's eyes, gleaming black with
accusation.
"Aoi, I..."
"Who was it this time?"
There was no answer to that, and he stared at her for a long
moment, his mouth dry. In that moment he realized that there was no
trick of the light - the moonlight glistened off her cheeks because
they were wet, the sheen of too many tears for the tracks to be
counted. He felt a quick surge of anger - after all, he was doing this
for her, he certainly hadn't wanted to spend an evening in Cat Hell
with Shampoo and her codependent Auschwitz cat. But the anger quickly
faded under a flush of shame and embarrassment - there, a bit more
anger because he had done nothing to be ashamed of, really - and from
Reikeiden's attitude, neither had Lord Ranma - but the embarrassment
was definitely in charge, and he lowered his eyes, fidgeting with the
covers.
"I... I can't tell you." He continued silently, eyes fixed on the
shades of grey at his fingertips, shifting in the moonlight. <Not that
what attacks you is probably a living woman. Not that she's doing
this because of me. Not even that I'm trying to save you with these
visits. You'd never understand.>
She was silent at his words; he could feel her aura building, see
it glittering in her eyes when he peeked up cautiously. Then, with an
almost audible snap, she wilted into herself, awkwardly rolling over
to face away from him.
"You've gotta trust me..." he began, but the stiff cast of her
back said she wasn't going to listen, even if she couldn't help but
hear.
<Fine!> he thought testily, flopping down to match his back to
hers, determinedly ignoring its warmth against him as he settled in to
sleep. <If that's the way she wants it, that's just fine. It's not
like I need her to _like_ me while I'm saving her stupid neck. She
never has anyways...>
He was just drifting off into slumber when Aoi's voice came from
behind him, so quiet he would have thought he imagined it but for the
shuddering of her lungs against him.
"Your song, O cuckoo,
Would have me believe you sleep
In no tree but mine,
But whose might be the dwelling
You fail to sleep in tonight?" (KKS 710)
He was still awake, head reeling lightly from something he didn't
understand one bit, when the spirit arrived that night.
End Part 7