How wonderfully delightful, this. ^_~ My first post to the FFML-- not
including C&C, speaking of which, I wouldn't mind some, please.
Disclaimer colon bracket insert standard Ranma One-Half fanfiction
disclaimer here bracket period
Also, the phrase 'Reflections in a Dark Glass' was stolen and greedily
gobbled up by a certain li'l monster known as Nibun from a biography written
about 'Forty Notches' John Wesley Hardin. There is currently a three
candy-bar reward for the monster's capture.
~~~~~*~~~~~
OMOIDE GA IPPAI - PART ONE: Reflections in a Dark Glass.
Ranma didn't realize just how fast Ryouga'd gotten. Ryouga might never be
as fast as him, but his opponent's speed was enough to surprise oneself;
then Ranma cursed himself for not expecting the Bakusai-Tenketsu. He
jumped backwards, the fringes of the cloud of rock shrapnel grazing his
arms and shredding his clothes, and landed inches away from the pit's
gaping mouth. Through the explosion, he could barely hear Akane,
screaming at his adversary.
"Ryouga, please! Stop it! It's not Ranma's fault!"
Ryouga either didn't hear, or he flat-out ignored her. He charged,
fist pulled back. Should be easy to avoid that punch, Ranma thought, and
leapt into the air. Ryouga ran beneath him-- and pivoted on his heel.
For an instant, Ryouga had his back. Ranma twisted in midair.
There was a maniacal grin on Ryouga's face; it sent shivers down Ranma's
spine. "Die, Ranma." His fist went up, directed toward the underside of
Ranma's nose: Ryouga wanted to kill him.
"No!"
There was a flash of pale blue: a dress. Ryouga pulled his punch, but
still, he struck the wearer of the dress-- Akane.
Stunned, Ranma caught the limp body in his arms, staring blankly at the
inert face. He noted the red area on her forehead where Ryouga's fist had
connected. A... Akane? His gaze whipped up, and his eyes were trained
on the Hibiki boy even while his body gently lay Akane down over the dry
soil... except for when his lips briefly brushed over hers.
Again, he looked up. The madness in Ryouga's eyes was nearly gone;
in its place was horror. What had he done to Akane? The two blue eyes
broke the contact and caressed the pale face again. Akane's pretty--
beautiful-- face, and then, to her breast. Rising and falling... Akane
was alive. But no one hit Akane like that.
Ranma snarled.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Ranma stared at his hands as he sat in the waiting room in the hospital.
His hands were big, he noted, stretching his fingers. They should've been
able to protect Akane; like his heart, they didn't want Akane to be hurt.
His hands had nearly killed Ryouga.
He looked up through the window set in the wall across from where he sat.
Somewhere behind the thick glass and the half-open venetian blinds, Akane
lay in a bed, a breathing mask or something strapped across her face;
according to the doctor, that-- slowed breathing-- was normal for a
concussion, which, when he'd asked for details, was usually caused by a
fall or a blow to the head of some sort. Taking in the tears in his
clothing, the doctor'd gone so far as, cocking her head slightly, to ask
in heavily accented Japanese if there were any problems; she couldn't
have meant between the two of them!
He... cared for her too much.
Around him, there was white, white, white, white, white, red, white,
white, white. The smell of freshly cleaned and dried bedding-- which also
smelled like emptiness. There were murmurings in Chinese. Occasionally,
words and bits of phrases registered in his mind, picked up from his prior
training journey. Most of them were pessimistic. A little girl looked at
him curiously before turning to answer a woman whom Ranma assumed was her
mother.
His head drooped, although his torso was supported by his arms on his
knees. He didn't like this place at all; it meant something was wrong
with someone, somewhere, that that someone was so weak as to need care.
Akane wasn't weak, though. Ryouga was to blame. No girl could withstand
the guy's punch, pulled or not!
Ranma had killed before-- he'd killed Saffron... but not in that way.
Saffron had been reborn a baby. Ranma had worried, then, but didn't do
anything more, as Akane had awoken. It was the damn girl's fault he'd
been so angry at Saffron. She'd probably only pretended to be dead, so
he'd do or say something stupid, and she could hold it against or to
him... But he'd been glad.
This time, his hands had tightened and tightened around Ryouga's neck.
He remembered spitting in the guy's face. "You bastard! You love her,
and still, you fucking knocked her unconscious!"
Ryouga'd wheezed; it was all he could do.
It was when he stopped struggling that Ranma came to his senses, and he
fled, Akane's body cradled in his arms.
He had no idea what kind of condition Ryouga was in, right then.
By now, most of his body was numb. He needed to move. Ranma got to his
feet, at last, and looked uncertainly around him. Too many people, even
in this section of the hopsital. A few looked at him as they strode past,
but he knew that he'd just as quickly be gone from their memories as they
had from his vision. Briefly, he wondered if they too had dear ones here.
Unconsciously, he found that his body had moved toward the window, which
his breath fogged. "Akane," he whispered, as if believing that, once she
heard him, she would wake... but no, she was still asleep, a splash of
black-and-blue spread over the pillow where her head rested. His hands,
wanting to smooth out that hair, were placed against the window.
They were big hands.
~~~~~*~~~~~
A floodlight shone in the girl's pale face-- and yet, she could not see.
Air that seemed permeated by ink surrounded her, except for that stark,
blinding whiteness. Her feet knew no ground; a chill seemed to seep over
and under them, tendrils of cloud embracing her naked body.
Above her, infinity.
Below, oblivion.
Whispering voices circled her, taunting her. They darted to her ear in
one second, then away again, in the next. Who is this? they demanded.
Who is this? Who are you? You are whom? Who is this?
"I-I am Tendou Akane," she answered loudly, "third daughter of the Tendou
doujou. I am seventeen-years-old... a junior at Furinkan High School in
the Nerima Ward of Tokyou, Japan."
They laughed at her. You are nothing, nothing, nothing, little one. You
are a grain of sand in the desert you call the world. You are
insignificant.
You are nothing.
~~~~~*~~~~~
The dream slipped away as soon as consciousness loomed near; she did not
grasp for it and let it flee. She opened her eyes... and cold confusion
settled, weighing down and making heavy her heart.
Where was she?
Hostile white walls surrounded her, though glass hemmed her in on two
sides. The window on her right was strangled by several pairs of blinds;
she almost thought she saw a shadow flicker there... The air was cool,
though not fresh, though not from the outside, where the moon peeked out
from behind thick grey clouds and the wind murmured. A small television
had been mounted in the far corner near the ceiling.
Was she in a hospital? More importantly, why was she in there? An
unvoiced question danced beyond her mind's reach; giving up, she decided
that it would come, sooner or later, with answer in tow.
She slid from the bed, bare foot tingling at the frigidity of the tiled
floor. Awkwardly, she took several steps toward the shallow counter where
the sink and the mirror were. In the process, she bumped against the
dinner tray, and it rolled aside, as if it wanted nothing to do with her.
On the other hand, what she guessed to be her hospital gown seemed quite
taken with her; static caused the sickly green fabric to cling to her
body.
At last, she managed to reach the counter, her hands stretching out for a
hold-- to steady her quaking body. Her head was throbbing, and she rubbed
at her neck, grimacing, before the pounding of the drums faded quietly
away.
She looked up into the mirror hung above the sink, and her heart writhed
in her chest. Shaking, a hand reached up and fingered the shorn tips of
black, black hair. Had it always been so short?
>From the glassy reflection, large brown eyes stared at her blankly,
flickering from mussed hair to pink lips. The body beneath the face was
unfamiliar, as well, though it seemed that she had kept it in good shape,
some time ago: it was lithe and a bit muscular... very nice, yes...
Once again, she searched the face of the girl in the mirror, in hopes of
finding any one aspect that she could cling to. There was none. Perhaps,
perhaps if she washed her face-- the person in the mirror would vanish,
and her true self would appear. Whoever she was, added the silence.
Frenzied, she gripped the handles of the faucet and twisted. Steaming
water gushed forth from the tap, spattering her gown with tiny droplets;
her pink hands didn't seem to notice that the water was scalding as they
threw water up into her face and scrubbed it raw with a coarse paper
towel. Tears of desperation were wiped away as soon as they trickled
forth. Her own ears did not catch her whimpers of pain.
However, hands, not her own, killed the water, then slapped her across the
face. Once again, the water was revived as a patient trickle, though she
could plainly see, even through a veil of tears, that, this time, it was
not steaming.
The hands dipped beneath the faucet with a small rag and wrung it loosely.
They moved toward her. They had slapped her before, and so she shied
away, crying out. Her cheek burned-- whether from the slap or the
temperature of the water was unknown.
A red-clothed arm encircled her, firmly pulling her body close. She
became uncomfortably aware that the gown was awfully short; she could feel
the air conditioning caress her bottom. What was this person going to do
to her?
"G-Get away from me!" She gave a shove, but it was like trying to push
the nearby wall, albeit the man's chest was not quite as hard. He was
strong-- he could do anything he liked, it appeared! Her fists were not
going to be enough to hold him off-- already, the burns were stinging.
"Dammit, Akane," her assailant whispered fiercely. Curiously enough, his
hands were every bit as gentle as his voice was furious, as they trailed
the damp cloth across her bright red skin; just as curious, she lifted her
face and welcomed the coolness, the fear having dissipated. Here was
someone who recognized her! Maybe he could help her-- he had already told
her her name. "How could you be so stupid?"
She did not hear this. "Akane," she mouthed as he carefully took her
hands and placed them beneath a trickle of cool water. Even her name was
not familiar, but then again... She met gazes with the man, not noticing
the faint clip-clop of heels on the tile outside her room. A beautiful
blue, she noted of his eyes, absently, before she spoke.
"Who-- Who are you?"
END PART ONE.
~~~~~*~~~~~
C&C would be greatly appreciated. <:) The kind I'm looking for: Typos?
Grammar problems, possibly? Run-on sentences, incorrect verb tenses,
inconsistencies in the story, and y'know all that.
~~~~~*~~~~~
"Oh, what the fork?" --the Blue Raja, Mystery Men.
Nibun
E-mail: nibunyuri@hotmail.com and
countless_others@abillionotherplaceselsewhere.net.
Cha Cha Cha: http://members.xoom.com/nibunyuri/