Subject: [PMFFML] [FFML-R] [fanfic][Ranma] Of Gods and Men, Prologue
Date: 3/19/2001, 12:25 AM

The FFML Refugee List

--------------------------- ListBot Sponsor --------------------------
Start Your Own FREE Email List at

    Kuno swaggers forward, holding his bokken at the ready.
    "The questionably honorable Flaming Amarant hath requested that I do him 
a favor in providing information for you, the reader," he states.  "The foul 
sorcerer Saotome, the beautiful Akane Tendo, my beloved Pig-Tailed Goddess, 
my noble self, and all other characters from Ranma 1/2 belong to the great 
Rumiko Takahashi-sama.  Also, he states that the esteemed Heihachi Mishima 
and the redoubtable Bryan Fury are the property of whoever owns them.  He 
humbly requests that none who read this work of fiction would bring forth a 
lawsuit against him, for he has nowhere near the vast resources of the great 
House Kuno."
    The author steps forward and pats Kuno on the back, saying, "Good job, 
Kuno.  You can go home now."
    "What?!" Kuno exclaims, outraged.  "Foul demon, to deny my right to star 
in your work!  I shall smite thee!!"  He then proceeds to beat the author 
into a bloody pulp, and finally leaves.
    "Owie...," the author mutters.

Flashfyre5 presents,

In association with Digital Wizardry Studios, Minnesota,

A Flaming Amarant production,

Of Gods and Men

A Ranma 1/2 fanfic with characters from the Tekken series.

" " = speech
< > = thought
/ / = panda sign
<" "> = other language where the norm would be Japanese

***Somewhere in the Australian Outback***

    A man sits alone at a table in a bar.  He has short-cropped gray hair, 
blue eyes, and a face that might have been handsome, were it not for the 
hideous scar that bisected the left half of his face, or the slightly insane 
look that occupied that very same face.  He wore a light leather vest, 
creased and worn from years of living in the outback.  He also wore a pair of 
snakeskin pants, browned with age and use.  Had anybody dared to examine 
them, they would discover from the scale patterns that they were made from 
the hide of King Cobras.  Nobody examined the pants, however.  They were too 
afraid of the man that was wearing them.
    We now see that the bar is empty, save for the bartender, who is looking 
very nervous, and the man himself.  There are half-full drinks scattered 
around in various places, where their owners left them when the man walked in 
the door.  That had been nearly three hours ago.
    "I," said the man, holding up his glass, filled with good brandy, "am the 
King of the fuckin' Iron Fist, and what does it get me?  A few glasses full 
o' brandy every month or so and a check for a billion dollars that I can 
never cash."  He snorts derisively, though it's not readily apparent weather 
he's snorting at the world or himself.  "Life sucks," he decides, draining 
the glass.  "Hey, Jim!  Fill me up!" he shouts at the bartender, who hastens 
to do so.  Holding the now full glass to the air, he says, "To meaningless 
titles and worthless fights!"  With that, he slowly begins to drain the 
glass, savoring every drop of the fine alcohol.
    As he is drinking, we hear the door open, the hinges squealing in protest 
as it does so, then snapping back shut.  The man pauses in the middle of his 
drink, examining the newcomer.  The camera is angled so that it is impossible 
to see the newcomer.
    "Are you Bryan Fury?" the newcomer asks, his voice a rich baritone that 
sounds strangely out of place coming from him.
    "Depends on who's lookin' fer me," he replies.
    "Someone who's looking to employ the King of the Iron Fist," the newcomer 
    Bryan seems to consider this for a minute, then says, "Jim, give him some 
brandy.  The bartender, not wishing to offend his customer, does so.  A black 
gloved hand slides into view.  It grasps the glass, but does not move it.  
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, we se tiny amounts of frost crawling across the 
surface of the glass.  "Had ta give ya somethin fer comin' all the way out 
here.  Y'see, I don't work on commission anymore.  I got more money then most 
people ever dream of havin'."
    "You don't want to be here, do you?" the newcomer asks.  Bryan raises an 
eyebrow at the question.
    "Nope, I guess I don't.  Nothin' worth doin' out here.  So what?  The 
only places I wanna go either have a warrant out for my arrest or have the 
mafia lookin ta recruit me, kill me, or both," he said, slugging the rest of 
his brandy.  The bartender is quick to refill it, then steps back.
    "What if I said I could get you to Japan?" the newcomer asks.
    "I'd say you were crazy.  The Mishima Conglomerate wants me dead, big 
time.  I killed a few too many of their yakuza goons.  Even I can't survive 
as many bullets as they can put into me.  No dice," Bryan concludes, taking a 
long pull on his brandy.  The newcomer pulls out a piece of paper from his 
back pocket, puts it on the table and slides it over to Bryan.  He eyes it 
curiously for a minute before setting down his brandy and picking it up.  
Slowly, he reads it, his eyebrows raising.  Then, he reads it again.  
Finally, he reads it a third time, still not believing it.  "This for real?" 
he asks, incredulous.
    "Absolutely.  Heihachi's willing to take you off his kill list as long as 
you leave his employees alone and deliver the man I'm hiring you to take care 
of," the newcomer replies.
    "Dead or alive?" Bryan asks.
    "Either.  He can do as much research on a corpse as a living person.  
Besides, by the time Heihachi's through with him, he'll be wishing he was 
dead anyway," the man clarifies.  Bryan leans back in his chair, pulling on 
his brandy.
    "And what do I get, besides passage back to Japan?" Bryan asks.
    "If you kill the target, I'll give you one hundred million U.S. dollars.  
If you brutalize him and hand him over to Mishima for 'experimenting,' I'll 
give you three times that.  If you're able to make him suffer incredible 
amounts of emotional and physical pain before you turn him over to Mishima, 
you can name your price," the man says.  At this, Bryan smiles.
    "Anybody who's willing to pay those amounts of money for this kind o' 
stuff is a man I like.  You've got yourself a deal, but you'd better pay at 
the end.  I don't like being stiffed."
    "Good," says the man, his brandy still untouched.  The sounds of him 
rising can be heard.  "When can you leave?"
    "Now, if you answer me a couple o' questions," Bryan replies, finishing 
his brandy.
    "What are they?"
    "Who are you, who do I get to 'play' with, and what did he do to get you 
this pissed at him?"
    "My name is Cayenne, your target is Ranma Saotome, and he killed my 

*   *   *   *   *   *

***Same time, Nerima***

    Ranma walked beside Akane, silent for once.  His mind was in turmoil, 
still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Akane had been ready to 
marry him.  <Maybe she does care,> he wondered.  <Ha!  What am I thinking?  
The only thing that that uncute gorilla over there cares about in regard to 
me is that I'm around for her to beat on!>
    "Ranma?" Akane asked, halting his train of thought.  (Which, some argue, 
was still boarding at the station.)
    "Yeah?" he replied.
    "You've been quiet all morning.  What's wrong?"
    "...You wouldn't understand," he answered, looking away.
    "You mean an uncute, stupid girl like me wouldn't understand, right?" she 
asked, her face darkening.
    "No.  I just don't think anybody would understand."
    "Oh," Akane said, calming.  They walked together for a while, silent.  
"Ranma, can I ask you a question?" she asked.
    "I guess so," he prompted.
    "Are... Are you glad that the wedding got trashed yesterday?" Akane 
asked, an unidentifiable tone in her voice.  She had stopped walking when she 
asked the question, and was now blushing furiously.  Ranma stopped a few 
steps ahead of her and thought for a moment, not looking at her, almost as if 
he knew she was blushing and wanted to give her some privacy.
    "I dunno," he finally responded.  "I mean, I woulda liked the Jusenkyo 
water and all, but then I woulda been married before I even got outta High 
School.  Then there might've been kids before we graduated or in College and 
that woulda screwed up both our lives.  Shampoo, Kodachi, and Ukyo would all 
be out for your blood and maybe mine too.  Besides...," he trailed off.  
Akane quietly, slowly approached him from behind.
    "Besides...?" she prompted, stepping beside him.  She saw the he was 
blushing bright red, but he turned his head as soon as he realized that she 
had approached him.
    "Besides," he continued, his voice a whisper.  "I'm not sure how well a 
marriage where you love the other person more than anything else in the 
world, but aren't really sure if you like her would work out, but I don't 
think that it'd work very well."  For a full minute, there was a dead silence 
between the two as Akane tried to come to grips with what Ranma had just said 
and Ranma tried to stop blushing.  It wasn't manly to blush, and you could 
never tell where Nodoka was.
    "Ranma, are you saying that you love me?" Akane finally breathed.  Ranma 
looked at her again, his blush mostly gone.
    "I didn't say nothin about nobody," he said, but then continued with a 
small smile, "but I would like to be your friend instead of your training 
dummy."  This brought a smile to Akane's lips, 
the humor of his statement not lost on her, though something inside her 
yearned for more.
    "Come on, you idiot," she said, her smile in her voice, "we're gonna be 
late for class."  Together, the two dashed off towards Furinkan High, for 
once not locked in battle.

***Author's Note***
    Woo!  Here we go!  In any case, this is the prologue to "Of Gods and 
Men," what I hope to confine to a six chapter short series.  This is my first 
Ranma 1/2 fanfic, though I've been writing other fanfiction for over a year 
now, so don't haze me too badly about people getting out of character.  (Note 
that I said 'too badly.'  I want all the feedback that I can get on this, 
even if you think it sucked.  All I ask is that you keep death threats down 
to fifteen words or less.  Ex.: This fic sucked so bad, I'm gonna hunt you 
down and kill your entire family.)  In any case, on to the fic.  The gradual 
improvement in Bryan's English was both intended and realistic.  You'd be 
amazed at just how quickly you can sober up when you're half drunk and 
something serious comes up.  Also, about Ranma- DON'T KILL ME!  In looking at 
the last few of the escapades that the gang goes on, it seems to me that 
Ranma tries to tell Akane that he loves her without really saying it.  THIS 
IS ONLY MY INTERPRETATION!  Any adverse opinions, comments, criticism, 
mailbombs, and death threats (remember, fifteen word max on the threats!) can 
be directed to:

So long till chapter one!

To unsubscribe, write to
.---       Patch Monkey's TEMP FFML                ---.
| Administrators - |
| Unsubscribing -               |
| Put 'unsubscribe ffml' in the body of your e-mail.     |