A Ranma 1/2 fanfic by Mike Simmons. Characters are property of
Takahashi Rumiko...
Broken Part 1
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Dawn whispered like a slow wind across Japan. And indeed, the
wind came with it, a boisterous companion to the pale sunlight. Gusting,
tossing, the wind stirred, moved, blessed, and brought life to the new
day. It scattered the dry leaves before it like tiny daredevils, swooping
and curling in mad random flight through the chill air. It whipped the
tall grasses in huge waves, turning fields into heavy oceans of green.
It brought the tang of salt and the smell of diesel fumes from the harbor
miles away, the strong scents diluted to faint threads by the length of
their passage. The wind brought all these things and did all these
things, gleeful, capricious and wild. And in a moment of kindness it
touched a young man on a rooftop in Nerima, drying the sweat on his skin
and tossing idly at his long black hair before dying down once more, off
to new places.
Mousse, for that was his name, propped himself up against one of
the air vents that dotted the roof, gasping from his exertions. He was
bare to the waist, clad only in black Chinese pants and soft shoes. His
plain robe lay folded neatly by the edge of the rooftop, and several
small weapons lay carefully on top of it. Pulling himself upright with
an effort, the young man pushed his glasses up on his nose, ignoring them
as they immediately slid down again. He didn't need to see to practice;
his body already knew the movements. In the martial arts, the greatest
success comes when a movement is practiced and concentrated on for hours.
Exhaustion breeds economy of motion, all unnecessary movement is
jettisoned, and only the heart of the matter remains.
Assuming a respectful stance, Mousse inhaled, drawing in on
himself, filling his lungs, his heart, his very soul up brimming with
life until he felt as though he might burst from within. Calm. He held
himself within a moment of stillness. Motion bloomed as he exhaled,
sliding forward in a rapid series of knife-hand strikes and a spiraling
kick. The young man drew his breath in as he came down, and proceeded
through the long kata. His movements were smooth, rhythmic and powerful;
flowing with the rush of air through his lungs, the pulse of blood
through his veins, the deepest currents of chi in earth and sky. The
beat of wings.
* * *
Nerima Ward was just beginning to fill up with the traffic of
commerce as Mousse climbed down the fire escape ladder from the roof of
the Nekohanten. Small trucks, delivery people on bicycles, and streams
of people all rushed by, involved in the brisk business of the commercial
district. The dull roar of morning noise was muted as he stepped into
the Nekohanten, cinching his belt and pulling his plain white robe tight
around his waist. The single change of clothes he'd brought from China
had long since fallen apart from heavy use, and he couldn't afford
anything beyond simple robes when replacing them.
The restaurant was empty, and would remain so until eleven
o'clock, when the Nekohanten opened to catch the lunchtime crowd of
shoppers and businessmen. Mousse stretched, flexing the muscles in his
back as he exhaled. He always felt better after practicing. He was
tired, but not overly so. Light physical exhaustion would soon pass, and
besides, it was a -good- kind of tired, the kind that left you feeling
refreshed.
Shampoo was leaning on the counter, discussing something in low
tones with the old mummy. Mousse stood in the faint shadows of the
doorway for a moment, unnoticed, pale glass lenses glinting faintly in
the dimness of the foyer. {How long are things going to continue the way
they are?} Mousse wondered, resting his head idly against the doorframe.
He watched Shampoo laugh at a comment from Cologne, brushing back an
errant lock of blue hair out of her deep violet eyes. {How long....?}
The Chinese boy let out a quiet breath, wishing all of his troubles
could be expelled as easily as he did air. {Might as well get it over
with.} Moving back out the door as silently as he had come in, Mousse
entered again making noise, moving into the brightly-lit restaurant with
a clatter and boisterousness that he didn't feel at all. Shampoo
glanced up and the smile dropped from her face as she saw who it
was.
"Uh.... g- good morning, Shampoo!"
She narrowed her eyes at his conversational foray, but a
superior smile quickly replaced the scowl on her fine features.
"Practicing, Mousse? Why you bother? You know you can never beat
Ranma. He strong, fast, smart, handsome! You stupid ugly duck boy. Go
away!" Shampoo hmmphed and flounced into the kitchen, letting the
swinging doors bounce back and forth in the wake of her passage. Mousse
opened his mouth to yell a retort at the door of the kitchen, but thought
better of it. {What's the point?} Cologne watched the exchange without
a word, but undoubtedly chuckling to herself at what an idiot he was.
Fine, that's just perfect. He sighed and left the dining room, with one
last longing look at the kitchen. He hadn't had breakfast yet, and
today was obviously going to be one of those days. He could feel it.
It made his head hurt.
Cologne had given him one of the storage rooms in the Nekohanten
basement to live in, and agreed that he could feed himself from the
kitchen as long as he helped out when the restaurant was busy. The
times that she told him to work were few and far between, he suspected
the old crone would rather deal with the extra business herself rather
than have him around Shampoo any longer than necessary. {At least we're
in the same house.} The only reason she allowed him to stay at all was
loyalty to her tribe, the same tribe that had raised an orphan Mousse.
A small generosity, but one that he'd been counting on. Although Cologne
had made no secret of the fact that she would prefer that he was back
in China, he'd taken a lot of care to appear harmless and stupid. As
long as the old mummy didn't consider him a threat, he could stay as he
wished and do as he pleased.
The small bare room had more the look of a monk's cell than the
living space of a young man. Mousse had brought only what he could
carry with him from China, and since he had arrived here in Nerima he
hadn't accumulated much in the way of possessions. His futon lay
neatly rolled in one corner, a lacquered chest for weapons took up
most of the remaining space, and a small portable tape player lay on
top of a small metal box in the far corner. Next to the player stood
a small porcelain statue of Shampoo. Mousse picked it up and sat down
cross-legged in the middle of the room, brushing a faint patina of
dust off the statue until it shone. The tiny, immaculate porcelain
face was turned upwards, eyes closed and a faint smile of wonder
crossing her lips. Her arms were spread wide in welcoming, and Mousse
remembered the little Amazon girl who used to dance in the rain,
welcoming the sky's blessing as it poured down on the earth. {We've
come a long way since then,} he thought.
Setting the statue aside, Mousse tipped open the lacquered chest
and began to sort through his collection of small weapons, selecting
some and setting them aside, examining others carefully for signs of
wear. He generally had to replace them all every six months or so,
regular battles with Ranma and the many other martial artists in Nerima
were hard on his supply. Most of what money he could scrounge went
into repairing and replacing them. Mousse held a shuriken up to the
light, examining the edge as he thought about what Shampoo had said.
{Never beat Ranma? Ha! If only it were that easy... }
* * *
The mist enshrouded the rocky shoulders of the Bayankala
Mountains like a cloak, one that would only be shrugged off later in
the heat of the day. Right now it was early morning, and the thick
folds of low-hanging cloud lay heavy across the land. The air was damp
and cool as a young boy with tangled black hair and glasses dropped to
the ground with a 'whuff'. He rubbed the knot that was beginning to
rise on his forehead, and his hand left streaks of dirt across his
already muddy face.
"But I'm trying as hard as I can!" the boy snarled, the noise of
a small angry animal, wounded but still ferocious. There was a swift
rush of motion, and he rolled desperately to the right as several small
blades thudded into the dirt where he had just been. "I'm not holding
back!" he yelled, and lay panting in the grasses. A figure formed out
of the mist, and flew at him, striking through his defenses. He
recoiled at the sharp impact of another blow and sat, rubbing the
matching bruise that had just been dealt to the side of his head.
Glaring at the little old woman who had just nailed him, he muttered
"I don't understand."
The old woman brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the
shoulder of her short white robe. She was a tiny woman, and even the
boy of eleven years towered over her. Her stature had garnered her
the name Hsiao (little) Ling, but no one ever seemed to expect so
small a woman to be such a ferocious fighter, a fact that never ceased
to amuse her. Even now, the half-smile that she seemed to go through
life with always was playing across her lips. She rubbed a hand
across her tonsured and sunburned scalp, casting her eyes to heaven
in supplication.
"Why?" she grumbled. "Why, oh why did I agree to teach this
ungrateful child?" She addressed the small muddy boy. "You do
remember that -you- were the one that came to -me-, hmmm?" The boy
scowled, wiping his face on his sleeve. She chuckled. "I remember well.
Teach me, Old One! you begged me. Show me the ways, O Master of
Hidden Weapons! you said. Ahhhhh, what a child..." She flourished
an arm, producing a fanned array of shuriken from, seemingly, thin air.
"Get up, young Mousse! A true martial artist stands on his own feet.
Show me your fighting spirit!"
The young boy struggled to his feet. He was a heap of dirt,
a mass of bruises, and had obviously been going on like this for quite
some time. A stubborn look crossed his features. Whirling his arms
back in a flowing motion as he dropped into a low stance, the young
Mousse produced a chain with a spiked ball on the end, letting the
weight fall lightly to the earth. His entire being spoke of
determination, and Ling knew that in a single moment the weight could
be moving with deadly purpose from where it rested, featherlike in the
grass. "Good," she said. "You have at least managed some small
improvement. But you are still lacking."
Mousse wilted. Ling motioned for him to sit, and she ruminated
silently for a moment. "You have said that you don't understand. You
have already had four years of training, and you have considerable
talent, you know this to be true. And yet, when you attack me with
every resource you command, you fail, and I am displeased." Mousse
nodded. At first he had just thought that his failure was due to the
extreme talents of Hsiao Ling herself. The woman rarely allowed her
true abilities to be displayed, but rumor had it that she was on a
level with Khu Lon herself, one of the tribe's most powerful elders.
But as time went by and he improved more and more, he began to think
that there was something he was missing, and the thought had been souring
his training right up until that very moment.
Ling began to pace. "I think that perhaps you still insist of
thinking of the Hidden Weapons style as simply a form of physical combat.
This is what limits you, and has been hindering any further development
for you in the style." The old woman was in full lectoral swing,
something that only seemed to happen rarely. Mousse kept silent,
although his head was full of questions. He didn't want to miss
anything. "A practitioner of the Hidden Weapons leads a life based on
subterfuge and confusion. The shinobi thought much the same. You must
learn concealment, Mousse! Not only of mere physical weapons and
techniques, these are easy! A small thing, simple manipulation, a skill
that you have already displayed great talent for. You must conceal your
thoughts, your motives and your actions, your abilities, your history
and your reasons. Knowledge is power, and subterfuge the most
impetranable defense. The founding tenets of the Hidden Weapons
style have always been twofold, one proceeding from the other. The
first is secrecy, concealment, confusion. Only you know the truth, of
your abilities and of yourself. And the second... if you are the only
one who knows the truth, then you may choose the best opportunity in
which to use it. In the end, you yourself are the greatest Hidden
Weapon. Do you understand?"
Mousse wrinkled his brow, thinking about all that she had told
him. "I- I think so. But it seems like it should be more complicated
than that..."
Ling gave him a wry glance, nodding. "My displeasure stemmed
from the fact that while you are talented in the physical aspects of the
art, you violate its spirit by attacking in such an open and direct
manner. It is the truth, and like most truths, deceptively simple. I
think you will find it eventually more complex than you can fathom,
and also more difficult than you can imagine."
Young Mousse bowed low to the little woman, his small scrawny
frame endowed with a peculiar grace. "Thank you, Master Ling. But..."
His face was a whirling mass of doubt.
"Something troubles you?" She eyed her pupil with a baleful
eye, but her stare softened as the light of realization dawned. "Ah,
it's the girl, is it? Khu Lon's eldest granddaughter?" Ling looked
troubled. "Then I think maybe you begin to understand the difficulty
that I was talking about. Concealment from someone you care for is
the most wrenching of secrets. I have confidence in you, Mousse. You
are a fine young man, and can go far if you have the will and the heart.
But be wary of love. It can cause the mind to do strange things, and
can hurt in ways that nothing else can...."
* * *
Mousse smiled quietly to himself. He had been so proud of
himself for even discovering that Ling was an adept of the Hidden
Weapons style. It had taken him months of listening to rumors and
eavesdropping on the conversations of adults, everything about the
old woman was so hidden in veils of confusion and illusion. It was
only later on that he found out Ling didn't let you know the truth,
any truth, unless she wanted you to. He had confronted Ling with this
knowledge later on, and she had given him that half-smile and told him
"Does it really matter whether you found me or I found you? The
important thing is that we found each other, and what we can accomplish
together." It wasn't until much later that Mousse realized this wasn't
any kind of answer at all.
Cocking his wrist, Mousse flicked the shuriken at the wall,
sinking it deep. The numerous scars and cuts in the thick plaster
said that that particular wall had been used for a target many times.
{Never beat Ranma...} He fell back and stared up at the ceiling,
tapping his knuckles thoughtfully together. {It's been a few days
already. I guess I should put in another appearance.} Pulling his
legs back and up, Mousse flipped to his feet, revelling in the smooth
flex of muscle and sinew. As disagreeable as losing fights on
purpose was, he had learned to deal with it over the years, and in
time even come to enjoy it. At the very least, it was something to do.
He began to stock up with the weapons he used for general daily use.
{No need for anything special, Ranma can be pretty predictable.} Mousse
began to choreograph the fight in his head, visualizing how it most
likely go. {Insults usually provoke him, I can leave an opening
-there-, nothing that noticeable, I wouldn't want to make it -too-
easy for him...}
* * *
By the time Mousse had made his way to the street outside the
Tendo training hall, the sun was high in the sky, and his shadow was a
small dark blotch at his feet. The walk over from the Nekohanten had
kept his muscles warm and relaxed after his practice that morning. He
rolled one shoulder slowly, feeling for any small aches or warnings
that he should heed. If there was one thing Mousse had learned early
on, it was to watch out for and take care of small problems before
they could become big ones. If he had overstretched or strained
anything in practice, he could take that into account in the coming
fight. His black hair rippled, swaying slightly as he snapped out a
kick, keeping the leg extended and slowly pivoting on his standing foot.
He grinned. For once, he was actually feeling good. It was probably
a temporary circumstance, but all the more reason to enjoy it while
it lasted.
Mousse dropped his leg and listened. The sounds of the Tendo
household were easy to read, betraying the presence of individual family
members. The quiet clink of dishes from the open kitchen window spoke
of Kasumi's presence. The barely audible pulse from above was Nabiki's
stereo, tuned in to a popular radio station as she balanced her books.
He felt a momentary relief that he'd always managed to scrape by
financially. {Although it's been pretty dicey from time to time. One
more reason to make sure Cologne doesn't boot me out of the Nekohanten.}
And the sounds of arguing voices... That was the one he was looking for.
Mousse winced as the sharp crack of a slap echoed, and the sound
of Akane storming into the house soon followed. {Well, he'll already be
angry so it'll be child's play to provoke him, but I have a feeling this
could get rough.} Mousse shrugged, and crouching, made a powerful leap
that carried him easily over the wall. As the Chinese boy met the eyes
of an angry and embarrassed Ranma, he wondered for a moment whether he
should invent some kind of excuse. The red welt on the side of his
face looked nasty, and so did Ranma. {And here I am, just in time for
you to take out your frustrations, Saotome. I hope you enjoy it,} Mousse
remarked to himself in a sarcastic tone. 'Might as well get it over
with' seemed to be the theme of the day.
"Die, Ranma!" Gritting his teeth against the impact that was
sure to follow, Mousse flung an array of chains out of his sleeves at
his adversary, making sure that they were just slow enough for Ranma to
avoid, although a few of them wrapped around Ranma's blocking arm.
"What do you want -now-?" Ranma yelled, but he didn't really
seem to care. Right now, he just wanted the chance to take out some of
his frustrations. "Never mind, I just decided to bust something and
you're it! Hyah!" The angry young man pulled the chains tight,
whipping Mousse into the stone wall that surrounded the garden.
Mousse regained his feet with difficulty and fell back before the
hailstorm of punches that Ranma rained on him, making sure that at
least half of them got through his defense. This was the part Mousse
hated the most, taking blows that he could have evaded or blocked
without too much difficulty. He braced himself and welcomed the pain,
embracing it, and remembering each and every touch. {Just you wait,
Ranma. When the time is right, I'll return each of these to you a
hundredfold. I'll show you -my- truth...}
Ranma slacked off his barrage, sweeping in with a combination of
a wide roundhouse and a powerful side kick. Mousse saw it coming and
blocking the roundhouse, turned just slow enough that the thrusting
side kick tagged him in the ribs, throwing him back. Mousse held himself
up against the wall and wiped at his mouth. The taste of his own
blood was on his lips. The coppery tang had come to be a familiar
flavour of his life in the past few years, but he still choked on it.
"Had enough?" Ranma barked, dropping into a ready stance.
Mousse straightened himself, and a lance of pain speared through his
chest. He let out a barely audible grunt, and his eyes watered as he
forced himself upright. {Must have misjudged that kick a little, feels
like bruised ribs. I hope nothing's broken.} Saotome looked like he
was ready to go for another few hours, but Mousse decided that he had
better end this one quickly. A small movement, concealed within his
large sleeves, dropped two smoke capsules into his cradling hand. He
scowled, pointing an accusing finger at Ranma.
"Stay away from Shampoo, you womanizer! Or I'll be back!"
Mousse flung the capsules against the rocks of the pond, creating
enough of a smoke cloud for him to escape over the wall unseen. Ranma
didn't seem to be following, he almost never did, but Mousse painfully
ran for a couple of blocks just in case. Gasping for breath, he
staggered into a short alley and slumped down against the nearest
wall, hidden from sight behind a dumpster. A quick survey of his
wounds revealed the usual; an array of bruises that appeared a lot
worse than they actually were, and a few deep scrapes on his face from
being slammed into the wall. More unusual was the lingering pain in
his ribs, a fiery throbbing with each inhaled breath. Mousse slowly
pushed himself up, but faltered as the soreness in his chest
overwhelmed him, dropping him into an undignified heap.
The flames of determination roared to life in the young man's
heart. His pride seared at him. {Are you just going to lie there? A
true martial artist stands on his own feet! Get up. -Get Up!-}
Baring his teeth, Mousse slowly inched his way up, and found that
while the pain was almost excruciating, it could still be tolerated.
Breathing in short, ragged gusts, Mousse held himself up against the
wall. {Stupid,} he berated himself for his miscalculation.
{Overconfidence... always makes you screw up. Should have been
more careful...} He finally managed to heave himself upright; shaking,
he stood on his own. {I'm going to have to get Tofu to take a look at
me. Minor wounds I can deal with on my own, but this feels different.}
His pride flared up at this thought, disdaining any idea of help, but
he quickly squashed it with a dose of cold common sense. {All you know
is some basic first aid, and that's obviously not going to cut it.
Better to rely on Tofu's discretion, than to be incapable of acting
when the opportunity arises.} The decision made, Mousse began to
hobble slowly in the direction of Tofu's clinic, casting a wary eye
about him for anyone he knew.
"What a world this is, when even a wounded bird such as you
holds dark secrets..."
The voice from above drove all thought from Mousse's head, and he spun
in amazement. He clutched an arm around his ribs a second later, he
shouldn't have been moving that quick, but he ignored the throbbing as
he stared in amazement at the tiny woman before him. A small smile
curved her lips as always, and her eyes sparkled with the same wry humor.
Her hairless head gleamed in the morning sun, sunburned and brown as
she brushed imaginary dust from the spotless sleeve of her white robe.
Shock made his words stumble.
"Master Ling? I-- how long? How long have you been here,
were you--?" He gestured wordlessly back in the direction of the Tendo
household.
"Long enough." Her smile warmed him, driving the confusion
from his troubled mind. "Ha haaaa!" she laughed out loud, an infectious
sound. "You have done well, young Mousse! Much progress!" She eyed
his slumped posture for a moment. "Although not without room for
improvement."
"I--" he stammered, momentarily at a loss.
"Hush. We will speak later, of many things. Go and tend to
your wounds. I will meet you again this evening. Do you know of a
place where we can speak unseen at our leisure?"
Mousse nodded. "Of course! Furinkan High School will be
deserted at that time of day, the roof is easy to get to. It's..." He
started to recite directions, but Ling held up a hand.
"I'll find it. Go now, young Mousse! Look to yourself, and I
will see you this evening." She leapt quickly to a nearby rooftop, and
was gone as abruptly as she had come. Mousse stood for a moment
watching in the direction she had taken, his thoughts a turmoil.
{Master Ling, here?} A grin spread over his face despite the twinges
in his ribs, and he continued to make his way slowly towards Tofu's
clinic. Pride was no longer an issue. He had a lot to do, and he
couldn't do it in this condition.
* * *
The warmth of the evening sun bathed the long buildings of
Furinkan High with gold, glimmering off of the wide windows. On the
roof, the last light of the day cast odd shadows from the assortment
of air vents and other small structures that were scattered about in
a pattern only an engineer would be able to make sense of. For a
moment, it seemed to Mousse as though he were looking over a large
field of giant mushrooms and odd plants, all sprouting from a vast
spread of golden soil. Seated comfortably in the cool aluminum
dimness of a vent opening, he shifted and was still. He had gone to
the clinic, and Tofu had bandaged him up. The physician had smiled
sadly at his serious entreaties to tell no one.
"You were very lucky, Mousse. This time it was only seriously
bruised ribs; very painful, but with your constitution it will heal
quickly. What next? A broken arm, fractured spine? Perhaps you
should consider retreat next time." Tofu hesitated. "There is no
shame in running from a fight you cannot win," he said gently. Mousse
lowered his eyes and said nothing. Tofu had sighed, and quickly
finished his ministrations. "There. Go, take it easy for the next
couple of days, and at least -try- to stay out of trouble."
Mousse stared out at the empty roof. Tofu didn't understand
the real events that brought a banged-up Mousse to his door every now
and again, but at least he meant well. {Unlike -other- people I could
mention...}
* * *
Laughter and jeers filled the air with uproar. The majority of
the young Amazons that made up the tightly bunched circle ranged from
eight years old to about thirteen. They shouted comments and advice,
keeping a clear space in the middle about six feet around. A younger,
gangly-looking Mousse struggled to his feet, and wiped the blood from
beneath his nose. He looked about thirteen, all skinny limbs and a
tangle of black hair that reached his shoulders.
"Yiiiii!" he ducked. "Shampoo, what are you doing?" he shouted
over the din. Another flurry of attacks. Mousse blocked desperately,
leaping back to the edge of the crowd. Laughing, many hands shoved him
back towards his assailant. He rolled out of the way just in time to
avoid an axe kick that dropped from high up, digging a deep furrow in
the earth.
The young Shampoo recovered and turned like a small whirlwind,
blue hair flying. Anger and disgust warred across her still childish
features. She shrugged her shoulders, straightening the short singlet
that she wore. One hand shot out in dismissal.
"I've had enough, Mousse. What's it going to take to get it
through that rock you call a head? I'm sick of you following me
around and constantly pestering me!" She launched a combination of
lead-up strikes and a quick front kick with a powerful kiai. "Aiiiyah!"
Mousse gulped and blocking the strikes with seemingly wild sweeps of
his arms, slid around the kick and stepped back, giving himself a larger
margin of safety. It wasn't so different from dodging the blows of
Master Ling, although he was sure that Ling held back a great portion
of her actual strength and speed, partly to teach him rather than
pointlessly overwhelming him, but also because she would never reveal
her limits to anybody. Shampoo, on the other hand, while still crude
in her technique, was already very strong, and wasn't holding back at
all. {There's a big difference between fighting someone who you know
won't hurt you seriously, and someone who wants to pummel you into
rice pudding...} Mousse ducked again.
"But Shampoo," he began desperately, trying to reason with her.
"I l--"
"You a liar, Mousse!" she interrupted his protests. "If
you really wanted me that bad, you'd fight me! All -I- see is a
snivelling coward, too -weak- to even lift a hand to defend himself!
Yah!" She brought a sweeping crescent kick across at his head. He
dropped down to avoid it, blocking the low follow-up with a jolting
impact against his left arm. For a split-second Shampoo was wide open,
but Mousse jumped back again. The insults and jeers from the
surrounding crowd grew louder, and Mousse sighed. {You can't do it.
She's practically inviting you to nail her, but you can't do it. You
know you can't.} He gazed at Shampoo, keeping his body relaxed. Even
now, frothing with anger and concentrating only on rending him into
little tiny pieces, she was beautiful. {Dammit.}
Shampoo panted from her exertions, her eyes never leaving
the scrawny boy in front of her. {This could go on all day!} she
muttered to herself. {If he was as good at fighting as he is at running
away, I'd probably have something to worry about. Stupid Mousse.} She
straightened, an idea sparking in her brain. She cleared the stormclouds
from her face, and smiled.
"Huh?" Mousse hesitated.
"Mousse?" her voice was quiet, with a slight tremble to it.
"Do you really like me that much?"
"Uh... well, I..." Mousse dropped his stance, putting a hand
behind his head. He blushed, oblivious to the chuckles of the
surrounding Amazons. His heart thumped. {Maybe she really -does-
like me, and was just fighting to satisfy her friends. Yeah, that's
it. Whew...}he blew out a sigh of relief. {I'm glad she wasn't
actually trying to kill me. I mean, this whole thing caught me
totally... off... guard...} Realization struck a little too late.
{Oh no.}
Shampoo's clenched fist caught him in the stomach, and the
raging young Amazon swiftly brought an elbow strike down on the back
of his neck as he doubled over, dropping him to the dirt. Black sparks
shot behind his eyes, and she kicked him once in the side, hard. He
rolled over, moaning and looked up at her.
"Sham...poo..." he got out. Her eyes were cold. He would
grow to know that gaze well in the years to come, but he did not know
that yet, and in this moment it was more than he could bear.
So cold...
"You are nothing to me." She spat on the ground, and walked
away. Laughing, the crowd of young girls followed her, each pausing
to spit on the ground near Mousse, and give him a look of loathing.
Some didn't aim for the ground. He was a man. Worse yet, he was a
man who would not fight. For a Joketsuzoku, he was beneath contempt.
Mousse lay still for a long time in a bedraggled heap. A
passerby might have mistaken him for a pile of litter and torn clothing,
tugged at idly by the wind as it swept uncaring across the meadow. The
shadows grew long. It wasn't until the light of day had faded that he
moved, and then slowly, inch by inch, Mousse began to crawl. Scuffing
like a crab, he pulled himself into the shadow of the jungle. It was
there that Ling had found him many hours later...
* * *
"Thinking deep thoughts, young Mousse?"
The voice that came from overhead jerked Mousse from his
reverie. The sun had gone down, leaving only a glimmer of pale light
edging the rim of the dim blue bowl of night. In a flutter of white,
Ling leapt down from her perch above his head. She folded her arms,
regarding him with an evaluating glance. Mousse bowed his head
apologetically, but remained in the cool darkness of the vent.
"I was remembering the night you found me in the jungle."
"Ahhhhhh, I see." Ling nodded sagely, closing her eyes for a
moment. She breathed silently with the wind. The old woman had aged
little since he had seen her last. There were a few more wrinkles on
her forehead then before, and more laugh lines around her eyes, but her
back was straight and her glance was keen. "I have asked much of you,
Mousse. I fear that I may ask even more of you before this night is
through." Her voice was quiet and earnest. "But first, I want you to
know how very proud of you I am." She grinned toothily. "I've never
had a student as stubborn or persistent as you, but I have a feeling that
if you -hadn't- been, we would not be here today. It's been a long
time since you left the village, and you have kept your promise at the
expense of everything you hold dear. Be proud, Mousse. Not -too-
proud," she warned. "But proud enough. You have done well, and I thank
you."
Mousse slid out of the vent, choking back the lump that had
risen in his throat. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, Master.
You alone cared for me, and treated me with respect when I was lower
than nothing." Determination rode stern on his features. "You just
tell me what to do, and it'll be done. You have my word on it."
Ling gazed at the quiet young man, marvelling at the change from
the unsure, hesitant and temperamental boy who had left the village not
so very long ago. Faint surprise and humour brought a half-smile
twitching at the corner of her mouth. {The fierce little bird has
grown up... Good. He will do.} Nodding, she produced a heavily
folded parchment packet and handed it to Mousse.
"I cannot risk a lengthy stay here. My presence is necessary
to keep the situation in hand back home, and I can't spend a single
hour more than I must. Events are beginning to move quickly. Also,
every moment I stay here increases the risk that Cologne will become
aware of my presence. No matter how well I can mask my battle aura,
my mere presence cannot be completely hidden from another elder for
very long. But you know that already. I have no wish to raise her
suspicions by even having you anywhere in my vicinity." She indicated
the thick packet. "Everything you need to know is in there. Read it
carefully, commit it to memory, and then burn it. You must make
-absolutely certain- that you follow it all to the letter, I will
have no other contact with you until a later time. Is that clear?"
Mousse nodded firmly.
"Good," she said. "Go now. My trust and my pride go with
you." Ling chuckled, a quiet rippling merriment. "You almost make
me wish I had a son. Almost." Mousse smiled at the old woman
before leaving, and she made a pushing gesture with one hand.
"Stop wasting time. Go!" He bowed once, deeply, and faded silently
like a wraith into the darkness. Ling watched until he was out of
sight, and slumped. A brief look of pain flashed across her face as
she watched him go. {Ah, young Mousse. If only you knew...} The
moment of weakness passed, and she made her own way down from the
rooftop, passing like a whisper in the grass across the fields of
Furinkan and into the city beyond, heading for the sea. As she
sped across the country, the stars wheeled in their endless dance
above her head. She slowed, tracking the familiar constellations
and remembering a night much like this one...
* * *