Is the inclusion of Ranma actually necessary to the plot or just a
cynical device to get more readers? ;) You decide!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[SCENE: The study in the terraced house in Chorlton, 3AM. While the
other three SUBIs sleep, a somewhat furtive WRITERSUBI switches on the
PC and considers the enormity of the crime he is about to perpetrate.]
WriterSubi: Can I really do this? I took the oath. If the others
find out about this I am _toast_. Ah, come on WriterSubi. Are you
a facet of personality, or a mouse?
[A moments consideration.]
WriterSubi: SQUEAK.
[Suddenly, the light goes on.]
WriterSubi: GAK!
ArtSubi: What the bloody hell are you doing? It's meant to be
CoderSubi who burns the midnight oil. Coders don't need sleep,
they just need enough pizza.
WriterSubi: It's the Easter break, so he's sworn off for four days.
ArtSubi: Oh yeah. So, what _are_ you doing?
WriterSubi: Er... well... I haven't had much chance to use the PC
recently.
ArtSubi: Oh?
WriterSubi: Yeah... er... since MusicSubi came out of his Peyote
induced coma and discovered MP3s he's packed the Amiga away and
been on this thing for three days straight. If he hadn't collapsed
from sleep depravation this afternoon I wouldn't've got _any_
opportunity to get the third part of RoD done. So... ah... I
thought I'd get some work in while I could...
ArtSubi: Fair enough, I don't need the computer just yet. What're
you reading? Research?
WriterSubi: [panics, hides window] Nothing! Nothing at all!
ArtSubi: "...LF FAQ". LF? Means nothing to me.
WriterSubi: Er... ah... "Lemnear Flash". Urushihara's done some new
episodes. So I, y'know, thought a bit of T&A fanfiction was the
order of the day. Seeing as that's what people seem to want.
ArtSubi. [raises eyebrow] Right. Sure. I'm going back to bed.
'Night.
WriterSubi: Turn the light back off.
[ARTSUBI does so and exits.]
WriterSubi: [breathes out] Shit. That was _too_ close.
[He takes out a somewhat worn scrap of paper from the back pocket of
his jeans which, on closer inspection, is revealed to be a panel torn
from a manga.]
WriterSubi: [goes all starry-eyed] I'm doing this for you, Ukyo.
Now...
[He begins to type.]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
NO OFFENCE INTENDED
If you're mentioned here, it is only because I hold your works in deep
awe and high regard. _Please_ don't get cheesed off. None of you
die, I promise. C&C is always welcome, and flames are attention of a
sort at least... ;)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BIT THAT COMES BEFORE THE TITLES TO TELL YOU WHAT YOU'VE MISSED
I was eight, living with the parents in a village that had been
transported brick-by-brick from its original position in middle
England to just outside Tokyo. My father worked for the Japanese
government, fooling visiting foreigners about the true nature of the
product of the vast silicon chip mines. One day a girl called Tuzi
turned up and claimed to be my sister. Somehow, everyone believed
her, even my parents, despite the markings on her face and the rabbit
ears. But _I_ knew, oh yes.
After a terrifying, and later embarrassing escapade to the big old
house on the hill, wherein I heard a story I'd rather not repeat from
the sad semi-deranged old man employed by Tokyo University as
professor of meddling with things that man was not meant to wot of,
things started to settle down a bit...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Republic of Desire
Part three: START THE RIOT! Or ABOUT TIME WE FOUND OUT SOMETHING!
Subi [24/04/00]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuzi and I were walking home from school. It was a Friday and we had
been hustled with the usual alacrity off the premises on the stroke of
four by the teachers, who were anxious to get to their homes, roll
back the carpet, chalk six-sided pentagrams on the floor and sacrifice
less achieving students to unspeakable creatures. These luckless
individuals were always reported as "suicides due to exam pressure"
and some sort of body was always presented to the police as proof of
this. Looking back now at the newspaper reports of the time I wonder
that anyone was fooled by the amateur efforts sometimes presented,
shop window dummies with their heads on backwards, scarecrows with
straw poking through the ends of the sleeves. Even, in one particular
case, a carrier bag containing the remains of a rabbit. The "student"
was alleged to have dismembered himself with a large knife prior to
hanging himself by the ear. I expect that the police were probably in
on it too. They are on most things.
But such thoughts were far from our minds that sunny afternoon and we
were only too keen to get away from the school and romp. It was
unusual to make it through an entire school day without something
destructive happening that would give us at least the afternoon off,
yet Tokyo had been going through an odd period of calm these last few
weeks, and the teachers had been obliged to part with more than the
usual share of knowledge. Coffee sales were on the up.
Barely had the synthesised Westminster chimes that all Japanese
schools use died away then we were out, streaming across the
playground, away to our homes. There had been talk a few years back
of replacing the standard sounds effects record for schools with
something a little less clich�. But nothing had come of it and we
were still stuck with the chimes signalling lesson breaks, an echoy
clink when we were nonplussed, a motif played using a sample of a dog
barking for _really_ surprising or embarrassing revelations and a
xylophone clunk every time we blinked. We looked forward to the
senior years and side two, which had that Jew's harp "poing" sound you
got when poking a girl in the breasts.
The main thing on mind my at that moment, as with most moments, was
Tuzi herself. Over the last few weeks I had grown used to having a
"sister", yet still wondered exactly who she really was. Well, you
_would_. I was currently studying her manner of locomotion. She
walked in the curious manner of all children that involved avoiding
the cracks in the pavement. I did it myself as a matter of course.
The route we were travelling was well known to me and my feet stepped
in almost exactly the same places every time I walked it. In the same
spirit of experimentation that had once lost me my eyebrows in a
chemistry lesson I deliberately trod on a line to see what would
happen. Nothing. No monsters appeared. Not one. Not even a bear.
I thrust my hands into my pockets, hunched my shoulders and walked on
in a huff, balancing on the line of the kerbstones.
"What's wrong with you?" asked Tuzi, grinning and waggling her long
bunny ears.
"Why do we _do_ this?" I replied, spreading my arms wide. "Why do we
walk in this manner?"
"Because otherwise we would stay in the school all weekend," she said,
hopping nimbly across a larger paving stone. "And probably get picked
to be the next candidates for the slice 'n' parties the teachers hold
for the dark ones."
"Not why do we walk, but why do we walk like _this_?" I leapt over
the same paving stone, mistimed my jump and crashed into the wall.
"I don't." She helped me up. "_I_ stay upright."
"You know what I mean. Why do we avoid the lines in the pavement?
Nothing happens when we do. I mean, look." Again I stomped hard on a
nearby crack to prove my point. Dreadful entities failed to
materialise. "Lets face it, it would take half-an-hour with a piece
of chalk, a protractor and a copy of the Necronomicon to get anything
bad out of these stones."
"You're probably right," she said, dusting me down. "But I've got a
different reason."
"What?"
"Watch," she replied, and stepped on a crack.
There was a noise like wet silk being torn, and an eye-watering
impression that she had suddenly turned two-dimensional. This only
lasted a fraction of a second, as she equally suddenly vanished from
view, sucked into the crack.
I spent a few seconds gawping, then a good while longer foolishly
scrabbling at the pavement to find out where she had gone. I only
stopped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
I leapt about four feet in the air and my heart, lulled into a false
sense of security by the tranquillity of the preceding few weeks, made
up for lost adrenaline and began hammering furiously. I landed
heavily and looked up into Tuzi's laughing face, the marks on her
cheeks creased by her mirth.
"How did you do _that_?!" I gasped, clutching at my chest.
She helped me up again. "I can see it's time to tell you the whole
truth," she said.
"Wonderful."
"But I'm not going to." She swung her schoolbag over her shoulder.
"And I'm sure you can dust yourself down this time." With that she
pranced away, hop, skip and jumping down the street, avoiding the
lines once again. Quite an achievement, as the pavement was cobbled
from this point onwards.
I picked a piece of gravel out of my ear and followed with great care,
and resolved that henceforth I would carry a plank of wood on me at
all times to aid in crossing especially tricky cracks.
In the distance somebody played a five-note riff on a dog bark sample.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
My father was sitting in his armchair, rustling his copy of the Times
as we got in.
"See that McCarthy woman got in then," he grunted, lighting a Hamlet.
"What dear?" came my mother's voice from the kitchen.
"Helen McCarthy, new Prime Minister." He fumbled for his matches. "I
don't know, Britain's just gone from bad to worse since we left. Well
out of it are we."
"Our father, who art in the armchair," I said as he turned the paper
over to the crossword and searched vainly for a biro. I used his
distraction to steal a couple of cigars from his briefcase. "May we
go and play in the shed?"
"Son," he said. "And daughter," he turned towards Tuzi for a second.
I dug my nails into my palm at the word "daughter" but held my piece.
"Do you not ask me that question every evening?"
"We must ask, father."
"You must ask, and I must answer."
"And what do you answer?"
"As ever, I answer no. Go upstairs and get washed for dinner. You
look as if you've been rolling around on the pavement."
"Why _do_ we always ask him that question?" I asked as Tuzi and I made
our way upstairs, me failing miserably to avoid stepping on the
pattern on the carpet.
"So you can distract him while I steal a couple more of his cigars,"
she replied.
"Ah yes." I produced my share of the spoils from my back pocket.
"And where shall we smoke them?"
"I think the shed's probably a good bet."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Sheds. Marvellous places.
The classic shed has been much described by other writers, so any
attempt by me to do the same would not only be superfluous, but would
likely as not draw the attentions of the numerous copyright lawyers
who sadly survived the Third Impact. So suffice it to say that this
shed met all the requisite requirements to bear its title with pride.
I took my usual place on the lawnmower hopper, only of those really
serious petrol-driven jobs that you just can't buy these days, whilst
Tuzi snuggled down onto some growbags.
Now, some readers will have undoubtedly noticed the juxtaposition of
our intent to smoke cigars in the shed and the inclusion of a petrol-
driven lawnmower in that very same place. Fret not, for my father had
long ago sworn off gardening and entrusted the care of the halcyon
glade attached to our house to an elderly man who came once a week
with a boxfull of guinea pigs. So the tank of the Colt was as dry as
a bone.
We had just lit up, and Tuzi was blowing smoke hexagons towards the
ceiling, when there came an almighty racket at the door. As there
were already several elderly rackets in the shed I felt no need to add
to their number, and instead took to desperately shoving my half-
smoked Hamlet into the water bucket and attempting to hide under the
coils of hosepipe.
"It's alright," said Tuzi, who had not moved one inch. "It's only
Ranma. Let him in."
"Why?" I asked, coming out from my somewhat damp place of concealment.
"I thought you hated him. In fact, you've beaten me up just for
mentioning anything to do with him."
"Plot advancement."
"Oh I see." I opened the door and, indeed, it was Ramna. Tuzi had
slipped up slightly however, as he was a she at that precise moment.
She slammed the door and leaned on it heavily, panting in that manner
which, were she not like the rest of us only eight years old, would
have had the fanboys gawping.
"Any... hot... water...?" she gasped.
Anticipating the request, Tuzi had unscrewed the top of the thermos of
tea that had escaped previous mention, and she now threw the contents
over the trembling girl. Our ears popped at the increase in air
pressure as Ranma's body changed back to its slightly bulkier
masculine form.
He spat. "Yeach! Three sugars!"
"I can wash it off if you like," said Tuzi, grinning evilly and
picking up the hosepipe.
"No! No. No thanks."
"So," I said, sitting back down on the lawnmower. "What brings you
here? You've been many places in the course of your fanfiction
career, but I can't say I recall you ever turning up in a garden shed
in an Eng-lish coun-try, gar-ar-den before. Even if the garden in
question is only a few miles outside Tokyo."
"Was that little tune supposed to be funny?"
"Let's pretend that it was."
"If we must." He slumped down into the wheelbarrow. "I'm just
looking for a place to hide."
"Who from?" I asked. Tuzi rolled her eyes. "Look," I continued,
turning to her. "We can't assume that everyone reading this knows the
plot of Ramna 1/2, so we have to establish continuity."
"All right," she said closing her eyes in resignation and waving at
Ramna. "Take it away, big boy."
Ranma ticked off the points on his fingers as he spoke. "Akane,
Ryoga, Happosai and Mousse, who want to kill me, Kuno, who wants to
kill me or kiss me depending on what form I'm in, Mr Tendo, my dad and
Cologne, who want to marry me off." He paused for breath. "Nabiki,
who wants to take me for every yen I've got, the headmaster, who wants
to shave my head, and Shampoo, Ukyo and Kodachi, who want me to play
kiss chase with them."
"Just think," said Tuzi sardonically. "It took Rumiko Takahashi
fourteen volumes to explain all that."
"Fair enough," I said, ignoring her. "You can stay here. Cigar?
Er... actually that one's a bit damp. Tuzi?" She passed one over.
"Cheers."
"Thanks, I won't," Ranma said. "I have my health to think off."
"Wimp," said Tuzi. Ranma turned on her, clenching his fists.
"WHAT?!"
"I said _wimp_," she said. "Are you going to make something of it?"
"This would be what they call peer pressure, I suppose," I said, but I
got no further. It may have been my imagination, or simply an attempt
to introduce a bit of dramatic tension, but as Ranma started towards
Tuzi, her ears seemed to stiffen to sharp points, her hair lifted, the
markings on her cheeks flushed and her eyes glowed red. Also, when
she grinned even wider and parted her lips slightly, I could've sworn
I saw fangs in there.
Very... sharp ones.
For a bare moment the camera of my mind's eye framed Tuzi's face
against a fiery background and drew speed lines tapering towards the
centre. Ranma's pupils shrank to little points and he froze.
Fortunately, my mother chose that point to shout "Dinner!" and the
moment was lost.
"Coming?" I asked.
"In a minute," said Tuzi, looking at Ranma. "I just want to have a
word in private with mister hermaphrodite here..."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma stayed for dinner, my mother always cooked plenty. However, it
was what she cooked plenty _of_ that was the problem.
"More sprouts, o son of mine?" she asked.
I grimaced. "No thank you. I do _not_ want any more sprouts. No
child wants any sprouts at _all_. Sprouts are bad. Sprouts are evil.
The defendant's taste for sprouts was one of the main points for the
prosecution in the trial of Jeffery Dahmer."
"I'll have some," said Tuzi.
"Me too," said Ranma.
"So what were you talking about?" I asked Tuzi, as my father hacked
away at a gargantuan side of roast beef with a hedgetrimmer.
"Who to?" she smiled innocently.
"To _him_." I pointed at Ranma, who, being a native of Japan, had
never seen so much beef in one place before and was staring open-
mouthed and drooling.
"Nothing that you need to worry about." She popped another sprout
into her mouth and crunched, just to make me feel ill.
"Oh?" I was not going to be put off.
"Nope. And he's staying the night too. We're camping out in the
garden."
"Are we now?"
"_Yes_." Something in her demeanour told me not to push it any
further. Ranma's presence in the story was obviously having an
effect, for a sweatdrop large enough to keep goldfish in materialised
on my temple and slid down my cheek. My mother plied the gravy boat.
"Where the _hell_ do you guys get this much cow from?" whispered
Ranma, leaning over the table.
"From one of the labs my father does the covering for," I explained.
"They're taking a different approach to cloning and trying to grow
domestic animals as fruit."
"Which," continued Tuzi, "Is damn handy seeing as the only thing the
English can do with fish is fry it in batter and serve it with chips."
I protested. "_That_ is gross stereotyping." She nodded.
"Yes, but _this_ is now a Ranma 1/2 fanfic."
I conceded the point. "So, when does Usagi get here? OW!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Now, there is a knack to putting up tents. Sadly, it is not one I
possessed back then. Or possess now, come to think of it, not that we
need tents now of course. Fortunately Ranma was more than adept at
it, his father being so lazy that Ranma had to learn or freeze to
death on training trips.
This being accomplished we built a fire from the logpile and the
gardener's secret stash of liquid paraffin and heated up some noodles.
Then we decided that it was probably better to heat up some water and
pour it _into_ the pots. The smoke from the burning plastic rose high
into the air and knocked birds from their perches.
Tuzi wiped tears from her eyes. "Why didn't you read the instructions
first you pillock?"
"I can't read Japanese, you know that." I groped blindly with my eyes
squeezed shut, looking for the water bucket.
She rounded on Ranma. "Well, why didn't _you_ tell him?"
"Me?"
"Look," I said. "No harm done. Now let's just wait for the kettle to
boil, okay?"
Ranma coughed smoke. "I need a drink."
"Ah," I said. "There I have had considerably more success." I pulled
the six-pack of Boa from its hiding place behind the cuttings heap.
Half-an-hour later we were a merry crew. As with most anime
characters, one sniff of alcohol was enough to send Ranma three sheets
to the wind, and pretty soon he was dozing by the tent flap surrounded
by empty noodle pots.
>From the village's position on the hill we could see Tokyo spread
beneath us. The moon hung full and bright in the dark blue sky and
perfectly silhouetted a girl riding a bike as she flew through the air
in the distance.
"Nuku-Nuku phone home," I mumbled.
"More likely Shampoo," said Tuzi, throwing her can onto the fire and
popping another one. "Still out looking for laughing boy here. This
is the last of the beer by the way."
"Fridge raiding time then." I puffed on the last of the cigars. "Or
shall we leave that 'till the morning?"
"Are you happy here?" she asked.
"Happy? I suppose so. Why do you ask?"
"And what about me?"
"I don't know. You've never told me how happy you are."
"I don't mean that. I mean about the whole 'sister' thing."
"It has me wondering, I must admit. Is this the moment of
introspection during which you tell all?"
"No."
"I really wish you would. All this mystery is driving me mental."
"Tough. Although I must admit I don't know why the cuckoo spell isn't
working on you. But do you really object to having me here?"
"No-oo... Not as such. Not actually _object_..."
"You get annoyed when your parents call me 'daughter' though."
"Probably just a condition reflex. What do you mean, 'cuckoo spell'?"
"Did I say that?"
"Say what?"
"'Cuckoo spell'."
I scratched my head. "Not that I can remember. What were we talking
about?"
"Nothing," she said innocently. "We were playing 'I Spy'. I spy with
my little eye something beginning with... T."
"'Top hat'," I said, pointing towards the distant figure of Tuxedo
Mask standing on top of the Tokyo Tower.
"Good guess. Your go."
I searched around. "I spy with my little eye something beginning
with..."
"'Ritual'," she interrupted, pointing towards the column of evil-
looking light emanating from the block of flats that housed most of
our schoolteachers.
I sighed. "Do you not feel that using your powers of mind-reading
somewhat defeats the point of this game?"
"Maybe," she grinned. "But it's worth it to see the look on your
face."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was about three in the morning when I woke up. I could never sleep
properly in a sleeping bag. Usually I would've turned over and
completely failed to go back to sleep again, but the absence of Tuzi
and Ranma jerked me into the waking world.
I sat up and began a frantic search of the tent in the somewhat
bizarre hope that they were just hiding. They weren't. I was just
starting to unpick the stitching of Tuzi's pillow when I heard voices
coming from outside.
My first thought was kidnappers! And the second involved what the
teachers were getting up to back in the city. However, the memory of
what happened to Mr Maeda back in episode one dismissed that suspicion
from my mind. I risked a peek under the canvas and saw Tuzi, fully
dressed, force-feeding a hungover Ranma coffee and packing a Gladstone
bag and a grappling hook into a rucksack. They were talking in low
voices, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.
I pulled myself back into the tent. What the hell was going on?
Where were _they_ going at this time of night? And I ask the reader
to remember once again that we were only eight at this time, so _that_
reason was _right_ out.
Whatever they were doing, wherever they were going, I was damn well
going too. I might even find the answers to a few of the many
questions I had about Tuzi. I scrabbled into my clothing and stuck my
head out again. They were climbing over the fence at the bottom of
the garden by the big old oak tree, Ranma clutching his head whenever
he had a hand free.
As Tuzi dropped over to join him I sprinted to the fence. They were
getting on a pair of bikes, Tuzi on hers, Ranma on mine. Bugger. I
couldn't follow them on foot. I was just wondering if I could hotwire
the car, and they had just disappeared around the corner, when there
was an enormous crash behind me. I got back into my skin and looked
up at the tree. There was a bike and a girl in the topmost branches.
The girl moaned, and fought to free her clothing from the numerous
snags. The bike meanwhile dropped down the tree, snapping branches on
its way down, and finally crashed to the ground.
"Stay there," I called to the girl, "I'll get a ladder." She smiled
and waved in thanks. "In return," I continued, "Could I borrow your
bike?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Fortunately my father kept a ladder in the passage by the house, so I
was able to catch up with them at the war memorial. To my surprise
they took the turning towards the eastern woods rather than carrying
on towards the city.
We went straight through the woods, which the dim light of dawn
transformed into a maze of dark thrusting shapes. It fair gave me the
willies I can tell you. Coming out from underneath the threatening
greenery they took another turning. My heart sank. I knew where they
were going.
The big old house on the hill.
Stuff it, I thought. I had to know what they were up to. Terror and
cowardice whispered in my ears but I ignored them, shifted to a lower
gear and laboured on up the hill. I wondered if I could get this
thing to fly like everyone else seemed to be able to.
"Up!" I tried. Nothing. "Up! Upwards! Fly! Soar!" Still nothing.
The only soaring going on around here was saddle soaring. I obviously
wasn't _that_ much of an anime character yet.
I was nowhere near as fit as Ranma, and Tuzi seemed to have boundless
reserves of energy, so they had already hidden their bikes and Tuzi
was watching Ranma fiddling with the rope by the time I got there. I
ducked behind a bush and watched as Ranma leapt to the top of the wall
and secured the rope. Tuzi gave the rope an experimental tug or two
before swarming up it with the rucksack and the pair of them dropped
down to the other side, irritatingly taking the rope with them.
I sat down. There was no way I could pursue them any further, so I
might as well go back home before Tuzi or Ranma realised I was
following them.
I put my hand down on something wet. Bloody rabbits. Right, that was
_it_, I was going. The whole outing had been a waste of time and now
my hand was covered in rabbit sh...
I looked at my hand. It was red.
Terror and cowardice chose that moment to stop whispering and start
shouting. I decided not to yell or vomit, as this would undoubtedly
make a noise and draw possibly unwelcome attention to me. It took an
effort, but I hauled the bike from the ground and was off back down
the hill and through the woods at a velocity that scorched the ground
in silence.
It was getting light now, so I felt able to stop and catch my breath
and have a good scream on the other side of the trees. I huffed and
puffed and waited for the bright lights to clear from my vision. The
dampness on my hand reminded me that there was something else I had to
do, so I was noisily sick against an elderly trunk. The tree shook
its leaves in disgust, but obviously understood my situation and
didn't complain. It dropped a couple of acorns on me in protest
though.
I was wiping my mouth and hand on some dock leaves and trying to think
of a better simile for speed when I saw lights go on in the big old
house on the hill. Oh shit, I thought, I hope they're all right.
The unholy screech that pierced the dawn a second later did not
inspire my hopes. It did, however, inspire me to get the hell back on
that bike.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Have you," said Biles, rubbing his eyes, "The _slightest_ idea what
time it is?"
"Seven AM," I replied. "And I told you, this can't wait."
We were back in the shed and I had dragged Biles from his cosy bed to
solicit his advice. And his phone book. Tuzi and Ranma had not
returned and I felt compelled to go to their aid. Well, to Tuzi's
mostly, but I felt sure that Biles would want to save Ranma.
"All right," said that very lad once he had had the situation
explained to him. "What do we do now?"
"We need to find people with enough motivation to rescue them."
"Ah," said Biles, reaching for the phone. A phone in a shed? "Damn,"
he continued.
"It's all right, we can say that there's a phone box on the other side
of the fence that I know how to get free calls off." I handed him a
handset which trailed its wire to the Morse tapper I now held.
Another wire went from the tapper through the back wall of the shed.
"Pulse-dial phones, yes?" I said. Biles nodded. "Right. All you
have to do is tap out the number on this," I waved the tapper, "And
the exchange will connect the call. If you wanted to dial, say, '123'
you would go tap, pause, tap tap, pause, tap tap tap. Got it?"
"Got it," said Biles.
"Pizza delivery," said the phone.
After that one little hitch, which I later discovered was caused by
mice nibbling at the wire, Biles made his calls. Scant minutes later
the entire cast of Ranma 1/2 was jammed into the shed. But, as anyone
who has ever tried to clear one out knows, all sheds are dimensionally
transcendental, so there was plenty of room for everybody.
I explained the situation. Akane lowered her head and muttered
"Idiot," but agreed to come once I told her that Tuzi probably wasn't
another fianc�e. Ukyo tightened her grip on her spatula and looked
determined. Shampoo started shouting and gesticulating wildly.
"What did she say?" I asked Biles.
"Haven't a clue, I can't speak Chinese."
"Hmmm. I forget, if we're eight years old, can she speak Japanese
yet?"
"No idea. But seeing as you _can't_ speak Japanese the question is
somewhat academic."
I wilted in the face of his logic. "All right. But is it ever stated
anywhere that she _can't_ speak English?"
"Not that I'm aware off."
"Great." I turned to face the Chinese girl. "What was that again,
Shampoo?"
"I'm sure there's a flaw in that argument," mused Biles, as Shampoo
gabbled on. "But for the life of me I can't think what."
"Ranma Shampoo groom!" said the Chinese lass. "Shampoo rescue!"
Ryoga looked up. "The man who can capture Ranma must be greater even
than he," he said. "Therefore I must test myself against him!"
Kuno drew his sword and waved it at the ceiling, dislodging numerous
spiders. "If I rescue Saotome, my mortal enemy, he will _have_ to
admit that I am the better man!" He performed further swings in the
rapidly widening circle in the crowd around him and knocked the paint
tins off the shelf.
"_You_ are not coming," I said. "This operation will require a
modicum of brains."
"You dare to insult my intelligence?"
"Yes," I said, taking cover behind the workbench. "Give us a quote."
Kuno blinked and the xylophone clunked. "Alright. Ahem.
"'I will do such things -
'What they are yet I know not - but they shall be
'The terror of the Earth'."
I held up a hand. "Lear 2:4, and it's 'terrors', not 'terror'.
You're not coming."
"Oh come on," said Biles, as Kuno's face fell. "Lots of people get
that one wrong. Give him another chance."
"All right," I sighed. "Take it away, bokohead."
Kuno turned to Akane.
"'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
'Thou art more lovely and more temperate
'Buff Finns do bake the snarling muds of late December -'"
Akane kicked Kuno in the groin and sent him through the roof, whilst I
turned to Biles with the look that says "I told you so."
"Okay," Biles conceded, wincing in sympathy. "He's not coming."
I rallied my troops. "Okay," I said. "This is the plan. We go up
there, beat up anybody who gets in our way, and get Tuzi and Ranma
out. Any questions?"
Biles raised a hand. "What about Gally and Alita? They might object
to you barging into their uncle's house."
I hesitated at this, but as none of the others seemed overly worried I
decided not to be either. The light of battle, and the prospect of
something _finally_ happening in this fanfic blotted out all other
considerations. From nowhere the incidental music started playing
"Breakbeat Generation" by the E-Z Rollers. As this wouldn't be
released until the end of the century this was something of a feat.
"Let's go!" I said.
"YEAAAH!" they shouted. "TO BE CONTINUED!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
WHAT THE HELL DID *THAT* MEAN?
Helen McCarthy has been described as "Britain's number one anime fan",
was the original editor of the now-defunct Anime UK/FX, has been
editor of Manga Mania (now Manga Max) and has written numerous books
on anime. She can also lay claim to being the person who introduced
anime to mainstream British fandom at Eastcon '90 when she showed an
untranslated Urotsukidoji to an unsuspecting audience of Trekkies,
billing it as "animated Japanese porn". The room was packed. :P
The phone trick really does work, although it's obviously easier to
just go into a phone box, lift the handset and tap out the number on
the rest. Sadly it doesn't work with tone-dial phones, which is what
virtually all exchanges use these days, but we had a lot of fun when
we were kids. ;)
Massive apologies for Kuno's gratuitous Shakespeare quotes by the way
(the second mangled quote is from sonnet 18), but I've just watched
Sakura Wars 2 which seems to think the line "all's well that ends
well" belongs in A Midsummer Night's Dream. So I'm a bit peeved with
the whole anime and Shakespeare thing at the minute and might actually
write 1/2th Night after all...
I am also well aware of the numerous paradoxes involving the Ranma 1/2
cast, just bear with me on that one. ;)
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Subi [24/04/00]
subi@mono211.com
http://www.gameart.com/4ca
[end]