I _did_ make it under the wire, after all.
I hope.
This is _hot_ off the press, and prolly has a million errors.
C&C to hallcon@mindspring.com or kawaii@kawaiikunee.com, please.
But please _do_ C & C.
Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on
the monkey bars. Some characters are the property of other entities,
real or corporate. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found
them and please don't feed the Trolls.
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 0.1 (January 30, 2001)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 7: If You Meet The Buddha On The Road
Part B: And Bless the Falling Leaves
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
BGM for this episode is on-line at kawaiikunee.com.
The URL is http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/mp3/Falling%Leaves.mp3
The song is "Falling Leaves (The Refugees)", by John Denver.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
To some few it is given (Is it a blessing or a curse? And how do you
tell?) to see the moment when it changes. To see the fraction of an
instant that divides Then from Now, Before from After. To even fewer is
granted the blessing or the bane of _knowing_, there and then, that the
Moment has occurred.
Most see it only afterwards, their attention drawn by that of others.
It may be drawn by cheers or moans of pain, or presented only as
historical fact, dust dry and dead.
Most.
Yet some few _do_ see the Moment.
Yet some few _do_ understand.
Yet some few.
Blessed or cursed or both at once, to their number add the students of
a smallish Japanese high-school located in a suburb of Tokyo called
Nerima. To that list of Moments add the end of the school day, a
Thursday towards the end of April.
Unexpected, certainly unwelcome; but it happened, and they were there.
They saw.
They knew.
Because ....
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a Hound bit off more than he could chew.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
His name is Yakubi Ryouken (Bad Luck Day Hound), but he much prefers to
be called Daken (Cur or Mongrel), instead. He is almost completely
lacking in any redeeming qualities, a simple street thug who came to
Ranma and Akane's attention once and survived and then came to their
attention _again_. That he survived again can be attributed almost
entirely to the fact that Ranma considers him too pathetic to kill.
He is about to demonstrate several of his less than redeeming features.
Several of these are immediately apparent upon observing him for any
length of time. His irredeemable faith in the efficacy of the "Japanese
National-Cultural Identity" and its irrefutable superiority over all
gaijin; certain texts and slogans of which he has written on rice paper
as though they were charms and distributed about his less-than-
impressive frame. His stunning lack of personal hygiene and fitness.
His unhealthy fascination with tamagotchi; several of which he has also
distributed about his person. His particularly unhealthy hatred of red-
headed female martial artists (you'd think he'd learn.)
Several more are apparent after a brief assessment of his present
location and occupation, hiding in an alley in a part of Nerima where
people with good intentions do not pass through alleys this late at
night. An illogical faith in the long-term profits of street thuggery.
An unexamined belief in the firepower of the lead pipe and the half-
brick. An almost total lack of skill at Urban Combat. Not to mention
his uncanny ability to find and assume the leadership of groups of even
_less_ prepossessing specimens (you'd think _they'd_ learn, too.)
The activity which he has currently chosen to pursue will immediately
demonstrate two final, and particularly damning faults.
His total lack of good sense or tactical skill.
And the bad luck for which he is named.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She doesn't have, as such, a name. It's one of the things which she is
hoping a stint on Earth among the Humans will bring her. She is a
Cthuwulf Iczer class Battle Android, and as she the second to reach
activation her usual designation is simply: Iczer 2.
Her hair is long and blood-red, cascading down her back and covering
her slightly pointed ears. She is dressed in foreign fashions, a denim
jacket over a silk shirt and leather pants, as she hasn't been on Earth
very long and has been having some trouble with the more complicated
"feminine" styles. She is many times stronger and faster than any
human, can wield destructive energy both as beams and as a sword, can
fly in inter-stellar space, can travel faster-than-light, and can
summon a skyscraper sized battle-mecha, among other abilities.
The sudden rush of Daken and his gang from a side alley gained complete
strategic surprise, as Iczer-2 hadn't yet quite got her mind around how
difficult most humans find the task of appraising battle-worthiness. It
did them precisely no good, but they achieved surprise anyway.
And then Iczer-2 vaporized the bodies and effects of the fallen (always
leave a clean battlefield) and paused to consider. Well ... Big Sister
_had_ been after her to show more mercy of late. Not that Iczer-2
really understood why, but Big Sister _was_ the Human expert, so ....
Perhaps she would merely relieve the survivors of their possessions,
and let them go. All the wounds were properly cauterized, so they
shouldn't die, and perhaps they'd learn something and improve
themselves. Or, at least, their combat skill.
Yes. That was a good idea. And the extra cash would be good, also
(Iczer-2 _had_ been on Earth long enough to learn about money).
Feeling virtuous Iczer-2 continued on her way, wondering about the
spate of such simple attacks she'd been having recently. She didn't
understand Humans at all; she'd been using these back alleys precisely
_because_ they were unpopulated. Shouldn't she be keeping _out_ of
"trouble"? Humans were _so_ confusing, sometimes.
Sigh.
Behind her Daken crawled awake, clutching the stump of his severed
thigh and groaning in pain, embarrassment and hate. Beaten again,
stripped again, robbed again, humiliated _again_. What _was_ it with
these damn redheads, anyway?
Well, he didn't have to stand for it! He was _Japanese_! He was
superior! He had _friends_! He had _contacts_! He'd _complain_!
Yep.
Just as soon as he could crawl over to a wall.
And he did, too.
Later historians (those with some inkling of the true causality of
things) would refer to this act as Daken's Blunder.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a middle manager followed The Book.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
His name is Hasimori Junichi. He presents the image of as assiduously
normal a Japanese middle-class male as ever lived. Nor is the image
particularly false. There are significant advantages to being normal
for those who possess managerial rank in the Yakuza.
At the moment, he has a problem. Problems are not things which middle
managers will ever learn to love.
This .. street trash. This mongrel. Hah. Little eta freak. "Japanese",
eh. Hah!
Still, a problem. Street thug and mongrel though Yakubi-_san_ might be,
he _was_ ... associated ... with the family. So it _was_ their
responsibility to do _something_. For the reputation and the Face and
the Honor of the Family.
_Something_. And guess who gets to decide what _something_ might be.
Yep. Junichi. And guess who wants nothing whatever to do with that
decision. Yep. Junichi.
His problem had two parts. First, he couldn't possibly make a _good_
decision, only a bad one. There was a Problem. If he made the problem
Go Away, either the action would be buried or else someone senior would
take the credit. If, on the other hand, the Problem did _not_ Go Away,
_he_ would definitely take the blame. If he passed the buck, it would
be his fault no matter _what_ happened, unless he had a _really good_
reason. If he did nothing at all ... he shuddered.
Secondly, even if he _did_ act and the Problem _did_ Go Away, he would
still be vulnerable. If he used too many resources, if there were ...
unfavorable comment, if, horror of horrors, he attracted _Media
Attention_ ....
And it wasn't as though he even had good data with which to plan. The
mongrel claimed that there were _two different_ martial artist redheads
around, which seemed ... unlikely. (And as for that story about a ... a
_beam-saber_! Hah! Little eta! Probably not even an Eta. Probably
_Korean_. Feh!)
Fortunately, there is a procedure in The Book familiar to every middle
manager specifically for this circumstance. CYA, or Pass The Buck,
Downwards. Now, who to send. Oh, yeah. Him. He'd do.
Sigh. And _also_ he had to find something to do for Yakubi-_san_.
Somewhat difficult, since he's missing a leg, but if Action Is Taken by
The Family on someone's behalf, even if that someone _is_ a mongrel,
then that someone is part of The Family, and Must Be Taken Care Of.
Or else.
Perhaps a driver? That would put him under the thumb of the driving
pool manager, who would certainly shape him up, and you don't have to
have two legs to drive an automatic.
Yes.
Good idea.
Now: the paperwork to make all that happen.
Sigh.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a flower fell.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
High above the valley, a dying flower clung desperately to a tiny twig.
But finally the changes in structure of the nodule it grasped became
too great. Heavy with ice, it fell.
As it fell. it left the shadow of the tree and, rolling over and over
and over, finally lodged just at the outside of the tree's root system.
There, exposed to the direct glare of the sun, it withered and the ice
flaked away and melted, dumping a virtual tidal wave of moisture into
the local environment.
Its task accomplished, the wind grabbed at it fitfully, twirling it
closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. Finally it fell over the
edge, where the wind grabbed it fully and hurled it out of sight.
Behind it, the moisture it had abandoned fed the growing lichen, and
tricked down the cliff-face. Certain patches of clay began to loosen,
just a bit. But then, it wasn't as if they needed very much.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a boy got to leave the hospital.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
His name is Takuichi Daikun. He used to study kendo, but a near-three-
week hospital stay has slightly disinclined him to further pursue it.
He is just about to get out of the hospital, but he has just discovered
that he has a problem.
He's been out of school and out of the loop, and he has not, therefor,
been aware that a schoolmate of his is _also_ in the hospital.
Honestly. People who visit you in the hospital are _supposed_ to keep
you up on important news like that!
Which means that now he has to go visit Sayuri-san and apologize. And
hope she isn't _too_ mad at him. And hope that Bushiko-sempai isn't
there, or else isn't still mad. One hospital stay was enough, thank
you, even if he had decided that he probably _had_ deserved it.
And here is the door, and all he has to do is knock.
Sigh.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a conversation got out of hand.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma, being closest, got up to open the door. On the other side was a
pale-ish, semi-athletic appearing young man whom she found vaguely
recognizable.
"Takuichi-san, isn't it? Please, come in."
"H-hai, Bushiko-sama! P-please excuse me ..."
Ranma clicked her tongue, for the moment the very image of the Stern
But Wise Colonel, speaking to the Upstanding but Misunderstood Private
Soldier Under His Command, "Come in lad, come in. No names, no pack
drill. You're here to say hello to Sayuri-chan, ne?"
"Hai, Bushiko-sama! I would have been by earlier, but ... I got out of
the loop and ..."
Ranma clapped him on the shoulder and sent him over to Sayuri to say
hello and be introduced to Kodachi.
Sayuri gave the tall(ish) and handsome(ish) (ex)kendoka an appraising
glance. It wasn't that she had recently _lost_ a boyfriend, because
she'd never really _had_ a boyfriend, but it was undeniable that
Daisuke and Kodachi were becoming firmly attached. Undeniably, Sayuri
was glad of this: Kodachi was a good friend and becoming a better one,
and she _needed_ Daisuke, needed him badly. And not that Sayuri was
hunting for a new boyfriend here in the hospital. But still. You never
know, and a girl's got to look after herself.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Daikun was in Heaven. She hadn't hit him. She'd _smiled_ at him. Patted
him on the shoulder, even. He still had a chance.
She was _so beautiful_! And so was she! And they were athletic, too!
And they could sing! And people said that they were heroes, too! And if
you were around the one, you were around the other because people also
said that they were _always_ together!
Why, just look at them!
Just look ...
Look ...
At them ...
Oh, dear.
Oh, shit.
Oh, my.
Oh, no, that's ...
... that's ...
... obvious really.
And another student at Furinkan made a standing broad-leap from inade-
quate data to a forgone -- correct in overall thrust but incorrect in
present detail -- conclusion.
In so doing, of course, he plunged himself from Heaven into the very
depths of Hell, which is a good illustration of the old proverb about
it being folly to be wise when ignorance is bliss.
Some days are like that.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Daikun was in Hell. His hopes shattered. His dreams swept away.
His captain -- his former captain, he would never pick up another
bokken or shinai, never set foot on a dojo floor again -- took him
aside.
Tatewaki-kun told him of the debt the school owed, the _true_ debt, and
of the holy duty that they had taken up to guard and defend their
sacred and forbidden love from all who would threaten it.
It ignited a fire in his darkened and despairing heart.
He straightened his shoulders and girded his loins.
He would take up the bokken in righteousness, united under his captain
in honorable defense.
He would protect the school's heroes from all who would dare defame
them or their friends.
He ... had better shut up before he said something out loud and got
himself _really_ killed.
So he started a conversation about getting ready for a big date, as
being the shortest segue to an acceptable topic from what was on his
mind anyway.
This set off a conversation about cologne, which drifted into a
discussion group about it's differences vis-a-vis perfume.
This set Sayuri and Yuka into a discussion about cosmetics with Akane
and Kodachi.
And _that_ was what caused all the trouble.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sempai," wondered Yuka, at the end of a conversation about mascara
which Ranma had tuned out, "why don't _you_ ever wear makeup."
"Because," said Ranma drily as she turned around, "I don't need it."
"Oh, come _on_, Sempai," Yuka put her hands on her hips, "_everyone_
needs to look their best from time to time!"
"Oh, I quite agree! It's just that _I_ don't need makeup to do that.
See?" And with that question, though she did nothing visible, Ranma
suddenly grabbed the hormones of everyone in the room by the throat and
gave them a good, hard yank.
Yuka staggered, Kodachi and Sayuri flinched, visibly, Hiroshi drooled,
Daisuke wobbled and Akane darn near dove in and started eating on the
spot. Then moment was broken, much to the relief of those present, when
Kodachi shook her head, yelling, "Oi! You! Stop seducing my boyfriend!"
The feeling vanished and Ranma looked over at Kodachi apologetically
and a little sheepishly, "Sorry. Corona effect."
Akane shook her whole body, more than a little angry, "Wh-what the
_heck_ was that?!"
Ranma shrugged. "You would realize, if you thought about it, that the
signals people look for when they form impressions of other people, and
things, are shi patterns. And the sensations given off by trying to
induce those impressions are shi patterns, too. Shi patterns can be
manipulated by your Ki, which is why some people have 'natural'
charisma; they're giving off the right shi patterns. And I _am_ a ki
master. It isn't basically any different than putting on makeup and
holding your posture right, except that my version is faster, uses less
effort, and is a good bit more effective."
"It applies to other things, too, of course, and ..."
"Ah ha!" Akane pointed a finger at Ranma, "So _that's how you did it!"
Ranma blink-blinked, "Did what?"
"Knocked poor Tatewaki-kun over when you kissed him that time!"
"Non-sense," Ranma waved a hand airily, "That was skill! Pure skill.
Besides, he was already wobbling."
"Skill, huh?" A sly glance, "So, tell me, sensei. How does Usagi kiss?"
Daiku and Tatewaki winced.
Ranma sniffed, primly, "As a good, respectable and proper student, I
am, of course, not going to answer that." Then she grinned evilly, "I
will say, though, that I did a full Charisma Flare on Gen once, and
nearly knocked him down."
"Gen?"
"Gennosuke. A bounty hunter ... acquaintance ... of Usagi-sensei's."
"Ah. So, what's _he_ like?"
"Ah, well ... He's rough and tough and crude and uncivilized. He's a
sneak, he's fairly good with a sword, he's _very_ good at surviving and
he's got a really big nose."
"So," Akane grinned evilly, "is it true what they say about swordsmen
with big noses?"
"I have no idea," Ranma said, in a hurt tone of voice.
"Ah." Flatly.
"I don't!" Very hurt.
"Of course not." Trusting.
"Really!" Protesting.
"_I_ believe you." Trustworthy.
"I'm innocent." Protesting.
"I agree with you completely." Akane was the picture of perfect
innocence. She should have known better.
Ranma, eyes half lidded, cast Akane a long, considering look. "I see
that _you're_ feeling good, today," she observed.
"Oh. absolutely," Akane chirped incautiously.
"Well then," Ranma said cheerily, "you won't mind getting our training
started a bit early, will you?"
"Ah ..." Akane temporized.
"I thought we'd start with a bit of exercise," Ranma opened the door,
"about, say, thirty miles? Or maybe thirty five. That's Marathon
length, isn't it? You should be able to do that."
"Umm ..." Akane whimpered.
"And then a bit of drill!" Ranma smiled enthusiastically as Akane
hesitantly approached the door.
As she walked out the door to Ranma's cheerfully sadistic grin, Akane
murmured a brief, "Help?"
As the door shut behind them, Daisuke leaned in towards Sayuri and his
girlfriend and whispered, "Shows you who wears the pants in _that_
relationship, huh?"
Hiroshi grinned, ecchily, "Yeah! Both of them! Ain't it great?"
Daisuke jumped away from his partner in mediocrity as Yuka, Sayuri and
Kodachi pulled telephone books from nowhere in particular and whapped
Hiroshi soundly in the head. Hiroshi slid across the floor with little
stars floating around his head, "Iteeeeee!"
Nabiki shook her head sadly, "Now, _that_ he had coming!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a student was stubborn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Head up and legs pumping, Akane is running. And leaping and jumping and
dodging and running some more. A very fast human can run a mile in four
minutes, or perhaps a little less.
_One_ mile.
Akane has been running at a steady mile every four minutes for the past
two hours. A normal human would have died.
But Akane is far from normal.
Nor has she been able to concentrate on running. Roof-hopping does not
provide a level, flat, unobstructed running surface, and in addition
she has to keep track of Ranma who is ghosting along ahead of her,
picking her route.
She is far, far over the edge of exhaustion, keeping running on bor-
rowed fumes, flowing chi and sheer elemental stubbornness.
She could stop at any time. She could say, "I can't run anymore, Ran-
chan." They could walk back to the Dojo, or catch a bus. Ranma could
carry her, even, if she needed it.
She could stop at any time.
All she would have to do is quit.
Head up and legs pumping, Akane is running.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a servant misunderstood.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
His name is Kuga Akihito and he can disappear into any crowd. He is
short and slight, mild and meek, slightly slow in his movements. He is
not a zero; if you were to take notice of him, you could describe him
with reasonable accuracy. But, somehow, no-one ever does.
He is the most expert of the Three Tiger Claw Yakuza family's assassins,
thugs and general leg breakers. He doesn't particularly want to be, and
somehow, no one ever notices, but he is.
He has been called to the desk of Hasimori-san, a person of much higher
rank within the Family, and he has, of course, immediately thence re-
paired. He could probably have not gone, had he so chosen. Indeed, he
could have probably called Hasimori to _him_, so great is the reputa-
tion which he has that, somehow, no-one ever notices. But he has gone.
To not go would be to make waves, to be _noticed_. Akihito _hates_ to
be noticed, and has _never_ made waves.
He noticed several problems at he meeting, but he did not draw atten-
tion to them. Akihito hates to rock the boat and generally assumes that
he can handle any problems himself. Unfortunately, there was a problem
at the meeting which he did not notice, and which he can not handle
himself. This is about to cause him to be very noticed, and to rock
quite a number of boats, indeed.
It's a shame that he hasn't noticed, because Akihito is very fond of
irony, and it is a very ironic problem. Stated simply, it is this: many
Japanese believe that Japan has a 'Unitary Culture' and that this cul-
ture is ingrained into the Japanese psyche on an almost genetic level.
One consequence of this belief is that many Japanese, even faced with
direct evidence to the contrary, believe that no person not of Japanese
descent can possibly actually speak Japanese understandably, and,
conversely, that persons _of_ Japanese descent _must_, in fact, speak
good Japanese.
Another consequence, and the one which caused the problem that Akihito
failed to notice, is that many Japanese assume that in any conversation
they hold with another Japanese both parties will automatically fully
understand the other. When combined with a cultural distaste for
discussing subjects which either party might find distressing this
occasionally leads to conversations of a shockingly imprecise nature.
In this case, it led Hasimori-san to assume that Akihito understood
that what Hasimori-san called 'this problem' was the unreliability of
the observations tendered by the person who was no longer allowed to
call himself Daken. And, also, that what Hasimori-san wanted Akihito to
do to 'resolve' the problem was to reconnoiter the situation and report
back so that he, Hasimori-san, could decide which way to pass the buck.
And this was unfortunate for both of them, because the problem _also_
led _Akihito_ to assume that what Hasimori-san called 'this problem'
was the existence of a (pair?) of (high-powered?) red-headed gaijin
female martial artists who had slightly infringed upon the interests of
the Family. And, also, that what Hasimori-san wanted Akihito to do to
'resolve' the problem was to find these individuals and persuade them
to be more circumspect. As gently as practicable.
It's important to remember that, very often, it is this type of little
difference on one end of a causal chain that makes the biggest differ-
ence on the other end.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a couple were making love on the roof.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Her name is Ifurita. She is a remnant of a technology long dead, an
ancient battle machine from the elder civilization of the world called
El-Hazard. She can fly at transonic speeds, attack with thermonuclear
force and adapt and improvise to overcome almost any opponent. You may
be wondering how a technological system that powerful could possibly be
powered by a clockwork wind-up key. If you ever find out, please tell
someone, because a lot of other people would like to know, as well.
Once upon a time, her mind and her actions belonged to the person who
owned her key, and only her heart was free.
But that was then, and this is now.
Now her ancient bondage has been ended and her mind and actions have
been freed. But the price of that freedom was paid in the bondage of
her heart to her emancipator, the young intuitive mechanical genius
named Mizuhara Makoto. It would be difficult for an outside observer to
tell which bondage was the stronger.
Ifurita, on the other hand, knew which one she preferred.
Currently she is indulging in a pass-time which might seem slightly odd
for the being which she is. But Makoto did more for her than to destroy
her bondage to the Power Key Staff. He also taught her what beauty was
and how to appreciate it. And so Ifurita enjoys making out under the
sunset for the simple reason that it enables her to enjoy two of the
things she finds most beautiful at once.
Considering all the things her senses have to keep track of at the mo-
ment, she might be forgiven for being, shall we say, a touch distract-
ed. But you can't ever truly _distract_ a Demon-God. Which is a bit of
a shame, really. If she _had_ been distracted, she might have missed
the interruption.
Some days are like _that_, too.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Whoops!"
Ranma came to a stop from what was, to her, a casual jog (to almost
anyone else it would have been a dead run), in embarrassment. The
incredibly beautiful woman with the long blue-gray hair looked at her
in mild annoyance. The average appearing, brown-haired young man who
was with her shook his head confusedly, which was quite fair.
Ranma swept into a deep bow from the cornice of the roof. "Please
excuse me, Gentles both. The interruption was entirely unintentional, I
assure you." Turning around, she waved Akane to turn off to the side,
which the dog-tired girl did without comment or curiosity. Turning back
she swept another bow, and continued, "Please accept my sincerest
apologies," before leaping to the next roof over in a low flat curve
and smoothly flowing back into her 'jog'.
Makoto and Ifurita blinked at each other. What an odd person. Very
polite, but odd. Ifurita considered that her sensors had registered
definite signs of the human condition called embarrassment in the red-
head's life signs, although she couldn't see just _why_ that should be
so. Internally, she noted that she needed to have another discussion
with Makoto on the precise boundaries of human interaction. Later.
The extension of Akane's run would add perhaps seven hundred meters to
its total length, but, as has been said before, it's the little
differences that matter.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a student was _really_ stubborn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Kasumi came out of the kitchen at the claps and the cry of "Please
excuse me for disturbing you!" Akane wasn't back yet, and if that was
Ranma ...
Indeed it _was_ Ranma, and Akane, too. At the sight, Kasumi nearly
dropped the soup pot she was holding. Ranma looked fine. Akane looked
like Otousan had that time he went on a week-long bender, just after
Okaachan had died.
Ranma communicated with her by means of eye-glances. 'Be calm, go
along, I'll talk with you later.'
She answered the same way, 'You'd better!'
'Trust me.' "Ohayo, Kasumi-san! I've come to practice with Akane-chan.
How long will we have until dinner?"
Cheerful chirp. "Oh, at least another hour, Ranma-san!"
Hearty good cheer. "Excellent! Well, Acchan,? Shall we have a half-hour
or so of drill before we eat?"
Before Kasumi's startled eyes a minor miracle occurred: Akane suddenly
began looking as if she was only mortally ill, instead of three weeks
dead. "Of course, Ranchan! Let's ..." a headshake, "... are we going
..." another, more vigorous headshake, "Sure! Drill! Great!"
As she shepherded Akane into the dojo, Ranma looked back at Kasumi and
rolled her eyes.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Forty minutes later, Kasumi buttonholed Ranma as she came out of the
furo tying up her yakuta. "Ranma-san! What ..."
Ranma held up a placating hand and made the *shhh* gesture. Stepping
quietly away she half whispered, "She's asleep in the tub; I'm
monitoring her now. In ten minutes or so I'll go in and get her. You
want to know what's going on."
Kasumi nodded vigorously as Nabiki came into the hall, "Me, too."
"One of the more important skills a martial artist can have," Ranma
said, quietly, "is a thorough knowledge of her limits. Both to know
which limits you think you can't exceed that you really can; and those
which you think you _can_ exceed that you really _can't_. And what the
cost of exceeding your limits is.
"It might seem slightly sadistic, and she'll definitely be unhappy the
next couple of days, but it _should_ teach the appropriate lesson."
"There isn't any ... danger, is there?" queried Nabiki.
"I'm monitoring her rather closely, Nabiki," smiled Ranma. "I'm not
going to let anything happen to her."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
By dinner-time, Ranma had re-dressed herself and Akane had achieved a
state where instead of looking dead, she simply looked dead asleep.
Nonetheless, she _was_ eating.
Soun frowned at her mildly, "A grievous state for a martial artist, ne?
How many miles?"
"Thirty five" Ranma replied mildly, "At a run. Roof-hopping."
Soun blink-blinked at Ranma, at Akane and at Ranma again. "Most
commendable, but what did you get to chase her?"
Ranma blinked back. "Chase her?"
"To make her run," Soun explained. "Why I remember the old day,
training under the master. Twenty miles in the snow, chased by wolves.
Every day. *snf* Those were *snf* great days! *Waahhhhh*"
Ranma smiled at him tolerantly. Some time later, almost absently, she
said, "Once the Teacher and a group of his students were walking
through the forest when they observed a hare being chased by a hound.
The Teacher indicated the frantic pair and asked his students, 'Which
do you think will win the race?' One student replied, 'The hound, as it
is the faster runner.' 'Not at all,' said the Teacher, 'the hare will
win. For the hound is only running for his supper, but the hare is
running for his life.'"
"Of course," Soun said, "that's why ..."
Smiling at him tolerantly, again, Ranma overrode him, "The next day the
forest was unquiet as all the animals laughed at the foolish hound that
had attempted to overtake the speedy hare. That evening, the Teacher
and his students again observed the hare, fleeing for his life from the
hound close behind. 'Which will win this time?' the Teacher asked. 'The
hare will surely win again,' a student replied, 'for he is still
running for his life.' 'No,' said the Teacher, 'you have missed it. For
this time the hare is still only running, as you say, for his life. But
the hound is running for his self respect.' And so it proved."
Smoothly, Ranma came to her feet, looking down on Soun with mild
admonishment. "Acchan was running because I was out in front of her."
She clapped her hands. "Acchan! Up! It's time for you to go to bed!"
Blearily, Akane struggled to her feet. "No' time ye'! More trainin'."
Sighing, Ranma crossed her arms behind her back and said, "Kumite!"
Akane tried a kick which Kasumi could have ducked in her sleep. Ranma
swept her with casual grace and caught her cradled in her arms. "Bed.
Now. And you're going to sleep, too."
Being carried towards the stairs, Akane whimpered, "But ..."
"And no complaints."
"Nnnnn! ," Akane complained.
"And no whining, either."
"Ranchan!" Akane whined.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Some time later, walking back _down_ the stairs, Ranma shook her head
and said, barely out loud, "_Stub_oorn!"
Soun had the grace to look mildly embarrassed.
Kasumi and Nabiki looked at each other and hid giggles behind their
hands.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because the dew came down.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was morning on the iceface. Dew, condensed from the moisture in the
air, began to glisten on the surface of the ice. Driven by a harsher
than normal wind, it rippled and almost instantly froze. The surface of
the ice became roughened by tiny wrinkles.
Above, thick, dark clouds were gathering. A storm was rising.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a request was denied.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a perfectly simple request. The trouble was that the person who
made it was not thinking of the same situation as the person who could
grant it, but neither of them realized it.
Which was why Hasimori Junichi denied Kuga Akihito's request to
mobilize a squad of 'technicians', thinking that Akihito was simply
trying to cover his own ass in his turn. If there was going to be any
ass-covering around it was Junichi's ass that was going to be covered,
not this jumped-up thug.
Whereas, on the other hand, Akihito had made the request thinking that
the easiest way of convincing a recalcitrant martial artist to mind his
or her own business involves superior numbers and position. "Even
Herculese," the old Greek saying goes, "can't fight two."
But, while you may send a lone agent out on reconnaissance as a stealth
measure, when you send out a single 'reasoner' it's a sign that you
intend to 'reason' ... sharply.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a student was _really_, _really_ stubborn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"No, Ranchan, I am _not_ going to stay home today! And I'm not going to
be cheated out of practice, either! Kumite!"
Ranma shrugged and knocked her fifteen feet backwards from a standing
start with a kick that Akane _knew_ she _should_ have been able to
block. She rolled upright with a little growl and set herself again as
Ranma moved in for what Akane suddenly knew would be a remarkably
thorough and complete battering.
Just because your capacity is reduced, don't expect the world to reduce
the level of the challenges it sends you.
Another lesson learned, another fraction of capacity eroded. Only a
temporary erosion, to be sure; but 'only temporary' only counts if
nothing _else_ happens _first_.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a wind blew fiercely.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
On the iceface, the same harsh wind that had frozen the dew gained in
intensity. Electrons were unceremoniously ripped from their proper
orbits and cast into the clouds. A massive charge of static electricity
began to build.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because they had hamburgers.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
As she wolfed down the enormous hunk of meat and bread, Akane
considered as to whether she just might, possibly, be making a mistake.
Not that Gally-chan's Mega-burgers weren't fantastic, mind you. As good
in relative terms as anything even Kasumi-oneechan could do, albeit
from a radically different culinary tradition.
Not that she didn't need the food. Even now massive quantities of badly
needed proteins and easily digestible, energy rich fats and starches
were flooding her system. She could use them to begin healing and
building new strength immediately.
Which was the (potential) problem, of course. All of that healing and
building for the future put a definite strain on her resources for
dealing with the present. It was an illustration of an old strategist's
dilemma. Should you use your current resources to build for tomorrow,
or to deal with today.
She hoped she was making the right decision.
And, as it so often does, just what the right decision _was_ depended
on information which she did not have, and could not get.
And once again the correctness of the decision which she had made
depended on the point of view from which you judged it.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because of a chance meeting.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Akihito lurked. It was a skill that he had thoroughly mastered, he
felt. He was using it now to spy on the school that his information
indicated was the base of one, at least, of his targets.
And indeed, there was, indeed, a red haired, female martial artist
present at the school. Akihito had seen more than enough to know that
she felt, more or less, in charge. The trouble was, he had not yet been
able to observe her closely enough to form an adequate assessment of
her skill.
He was considering how to gain an opportunity for such an observation
when he was rudely interrupted. So to speak.
He watched the interruption continue on its way and shuddered. Never
had he felt such an unconscious battle aura. So there _were_ two red-
head female martial artists in Nerima. How unusual! This could be a
real problem. What to do?
Hasimori-san had indicated that the problem was to be resolved with
dispatch, and he did not have the resources to play around with such a
potential opponent as that one. He would have to strike with undimin-
ished spirit and vigor to retrieve the situation.
The trouble was that, while he _could_ simply assassinate them, that
would certainly draw unhappy attention. Such was to be avoided at
almost any cost in the current situation, so ...
He would have to overawe them. An ambush _should_ do the trick, showing
them that there were no places safe from Family influence. A non-lethal
ambush, yes. Fortunately, he was adept at Ninja tactics. He would have
to get his Ghilly suit.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a student was _really_, _really_, _really_ stubborn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
'The problem,' Akane thought blearily, 'is that I am _tired_ _out_!'
It was lunchtime, and Akane, leaned back against the old tree under-
neath Ranma's Branch, was having some difficulty in not fading off to
sleep where she sat. Wearily munching on a Mega-burger, and the remains
of her bento, she was trying to muster up the energy to stay awake for
the rest of the day.
She _could_ of course, go home. It would be fairly easy to get an
excuse. All she had to do was quit.
'No!' she thought, 'I'm going to finish the day! And tomorrow too,
that's only a half day. That should be easy.
'But maybe ... maybe I'll go a little easy on the training. Until, say,
Sunday.'
Slipping down into the Rainbow, she created a page in her Workbook to
keep her functional without conscious thought and grimly locked her
attention onto it. With a little luck, it would keep her going until
she could go home and get some sleep.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because a pebble fell.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Loosened by the heat of the lichen's growth, and the water from the
fallen flower, a small section of clay loosened, ever so slightly.
The clay held up a pebble, which clung underneath the crevasse, a small
reminder of more life-friendly soil and happier times. Already loosened
in its clay-lined socket, the pebble slipped free, bouncing and pinging
off of surfaces all the way down.
The pebble's fall undermined an entire section of loose clay, which
suddenly flaked off, scattering itself to the endless winds.
Above the clay, at the root's edge of the tiny Plum tree, a small,
iron-rich rock was now held in place only by the lichen that snaked
between it and the living granite of the mountainside.
Slowly it began to draw away from the cliff-face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because the day was long.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
... and the classes were boring, and the weather was a warm, spring,
drowse inducing lullaby, and the day was _very_ long, and Akane sank
lower and lower in her seat and her energy drained away in a slow,
steady stream, like the blood from a punctured vein, and she went
further and further into mind-no-mind, and ...
Mind-no-mind, or zanshin, is an interesting state. In it, the bonds
that normally hold most of a person's capacity in reserve are loosed
and the mind and body's full reserves are available to deal with any
problem. It is normally achieved by severe zen-ness and extraordinary
meditation. But, in a pinch, complete mental exhaustion will also do.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Because of two chance decisions.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Or possibly not so chance, depending on how you look at these things.
In the end, what split the difference was that Akihito had lurked into
an ambush position on the _right_ ...
(An ambush not to kill, nor even to injure, but simply to shock
and dismay. No more should be required, and no-one really feels
like a big-shot with a sword at their throat, ne?)
... while Yuka came up beside Ranma to ask a question on the left.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
In the end, _because_.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/Or are they just like falling leaves/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a matter of friction, and gravity.
The rock's support had been the lichen and the clay, but now the clay
was gone.
And the lichen was weakening. The individual fibers separating, held to
one another by friction, forced apart by gravity's iron grip.
Eventually, one or the other had to win.
Eventually, one did.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/Who give themselves away/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
If Ranma had been looking the right way. But she wasn't.
If Yuka hadn't laughed just then. But she did.
If Akihito had noted Akane. But he didn't.
If he hadn't been anxious over the earlier encounter. But he was.
And Tendo Akane, Warrior, deep in mind-no-mind and all but exhausted,
turned her head to the right.
And saw a man dressed in a full suit of ghilly camoflage, with only his
eyes visible ...
... with a sword naked in his fist ...
... coming towards her Ranchan.
And her sword was in her hand.
And she wasn't tired at all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/From dust to dust from seed to shear/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Time moves at a steady pace. One second per second down the arrow,
'till death do us part, amen.
But the _perception_ of time, the human _experience_ of duration ...
That is flexible, plastic, mutable.
Under the right circumstances years can fly by without note, seemingly
in the blink of an eye.
Under other circumstances, one moment can last a whole lifetime.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/And to another day/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
On the ice-face the air fairly hummed with static energy; above the
thunderclouds crackled. All it needed was a spark.
In the crevice below the plum tree, the heavy iron-rich rock finally
overcame the linking power of the treads of lichen. It fell down.
Down, through the overcharged air, leaving tiny sparks as it went.
Down, towards the ice.
Down, towards the spot where the pressures within the ice were focused.
Down.
But you can't fall down forever. No matter how long it takes, you must
eventually reach the bottom.
The rock reached the bottom.
And a spark was duly struck.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/If I could have one wish on Earth/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
There is a basic strike in every school of swordsmanship in the world
that is a response to a sudden ambush: a sweep directly out of the
scabbard and into an attack or defense. Depending on the
characteristics of the sword in question, the details of how it is
stowed, and the philosophical basis of the school, it may be of greater
or lesser import.
In the schools devoted to the katana and the tachi, this stroke is so
important that it has inspired a martial art all its own. This Art is
called iajutsu.
The stroke in question begins with a smooth drop of the primary hand to
the hilt of the katana where it rests, which is usually horizontally
behind the back. The primary hand draws the sword while the body begins
to rise from a seated position or to shift stance. Then the secondary
hand joins the primary on the hilt as it is flipped around, holding the
sword in Jodan, mid-guard, angled slightly towards the target and close
to the body. Finally, the body uncurls into a lunging strike powered by
both the legs and body, attempting to strike the target before the
target can strike you.
A good student of iajutsu can perform this maneuver, like the quickdraw
of a mythical western gunfighter, far faster than the eye can follow.
Less than a second.
How long can a second be?
As long as a lifetime.
Long enough to be born.
More than long enough to die.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/Of all I can conceive/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Across a diminishing distance two pairs of eyes met and ... understood.
Understood who each one was, and who the other was, as well.
Understood the mistakes that had been made.
Understood the consequences.
And prepared for death.
And for a new, and different, life.
And one to the other said, "I'm sorry."
And the other replied, "I'm sorry, too."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/T'would be to see another Spring/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Consider the Instant, the moment when the Change is made.
It is fast; a connection across a gap between areas of differing
electrical charge, massive quantities of newly freed electrons leaping
from atom to atom, each seeking it's own path, driving others on before
it. It is fast; a three-foot bar of sharpened metal, its tip a lever,
extending the speed and concentrating the power of a whole human body,
the thin leading edge penetrating tissue and flesh and bone, the wedge
body forcing the gap wide.
It is slow; kinetic and thermal energy suddenly transferred into a
rigid crystalline structure, rebounding and reverberating, spreading
along lines of pre-established weakness. It is slow; the human body is
a resilient organism, slow to admit defeat, and the driving power of a
charge can carry it well beyond the place where its doom was assured.
And the fast part takes a lifetime to occur.
And the slow part takes no time at all.
And the difference ...
... the Instant ...
... the moment when the Change is made ...
... between Then and Now ...
... between the Past and the Future ...
... between the Icepack and the Avalanche ...
... between the Silver City and the Ascension War ...
... is a horizontal crack, or cut, perhaps no more than two feet long.
And a quartet of round, red drops of blood, like so many tiny pebbles.
And a quartet of tiny, round, red pebbles, like so many drops of blood.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/And bless the falling leaves/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Below the valley the talus slope lies dreaming, little disturbed by a
falling scatter of red pebbles. Soon enough it will dream no longer,
crushed beneath the spray of rocks and ice, drowned in frigid water,
torn by massive boulders.
Soon enough, but not just yet. For a while, for just a little while,
while rocks shift and pebbles grind, while boulders tremble and the
pressure builds, there is still time.
Though the avalanche has started, sit and watch the pebbles fall.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
/Oh sing for every mother's love/
/For every childhood tear/
/Oh sing for all the stars above/
/The Peace beyond all fear/
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
NyaHaHaHaHaHaHa!
A cliff-hanger to send you off with!
Next:
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 7: If You Meet The Buddha On The Road
Part C: To Be Standing On the Threshold of a Mystery
Find out who died.
'Til next,
Eric Hallstrom 01/30/2001
--
www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html hallcon@mindspring.com kawaii@kawaiikunee.com
The dragon lives in a room in the very lowest level of the dungeon,
from which the only exit is a 10' corridor, which it couldn't possibly
pass through.
Nah, that one's easy. There was this dragon in a pit, see, asleep,
and they built the dungeon around him, very quietly, hoping he
wouldn't wake up before the mortar dried...
And after that, it got to be a contest between the folks who didn't
want to piss off the dragon so they were encouraging "adventurers"
(aka lunch) to go into the dungeon and the folks who were building
traps to catch the lunch in the hopes of starving the dragon to
death....
-chromiumcanine@my-deja.com & John McMullen, rgfm