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The FFML Refugee List


Hey Everyone -

Well, this is the customary place for me to insert a sidestory into the
Fragments continuity. =)  And you'll understand why as you read it. =)

Enjoy. =)

BTW,

(1) - Danna - a old-fashioned term for 'husband' - or in this case, what a
geisha calls her main backer (If anyone has a better definition for this,
please, share it. ^_^)

You'll see why you need the definition later. =)


DISCLAIMER: Rumiko Takahashi owns the interesting characters, every last one
of them.  I'm just playing around, however, Yuki-chan is my own.

SUMMARY: Side-story to 'Fragments'.  An overcast day prompts introspection,
and maybe one or two self-realizations.

NOTE: You don't * have * to read 'Fragments' to understand, but if you want
to enjoy this story, I recommend it.

^*^*^

Becoming Geisha

^*^*^

History is dreary, unhappy in that it both records the triumphs and failures
of civilization after civilization, people after people, and most often,
it's written in the passive voice, carrying with it a sad, somber tone,
ascertaining that those who had lived so fruitfully a thousand years before
have now become little more than the dust beneath our feet.

Studying history always darkens my mood, and the weather is not helping the
situation at all.  The overcast clouds are heavy with some mood that they've
been nursing for a time now, and it's liable to rain at any moment.

"Hey, Yuki!  Is it all right if I come in for a while?"

The voice floats up from my front walk.  I wonder briefly why he knew to
yell upwards and towards the third window from the left, I wonder how he
knows that I will hear him, and I wonder how he remembers that I always
leave my window open, unable to stand stagnated air in my bedroom.

And then the thought leaves me.

I smirk at the very nature of this question.  There are more than a dozen
homes where girls would faint from joy at the idea of his presence casting
shadows across their front stoops, of course it's all right for him to come
in for a while.

"Sure!  Let yourself in, no one else is home!" I yell out the window.  And
pulling myself out of the chair, I bolt down the steps just in time to hear
the front door swing open, and his feet tread through our entryway, yelling
all the while:

"You would not believe the day that I've had!"

He shakes off the coat I made him buy a week ago slowly.  He's still
recuperating after what Ryoga did to him.  Though he's managed to convince
himself that the only reason Ryoga got that shot in was because he was
distracted at the moment, and that it was his own fault that he wasn't
focused enough to miss the punch, not mine.  But I can't help but feel a
tremor as his winces in pain.

His eyes finally settle on me, that pleasant gray-blue growing warmer as his
smile grows wider, less strained.

He usually tells me what's gone wrong on our way home from detention.  There
are signals that he exhibits, the way his shoulders are strained, or how his
eyes look too far downwards.  And although I mourn the black marks on my
record, I'll screw around in class, and I'll meet him after school, in the
auditorium.  * Our * auditorium.

We'll talk as we sweep or stack chairs, sometimes very seriously, other
times, very rambunctiously, when I know that I can't untangle his problems
with my words, and that the best I can hope for is to make him forget them
for a while.

But I didn't see him at all today, our class was held in for misbehaving
during Math, and I couldn't check his signals during lunch.

Which might be why he made his way towards my house, in hopes of finding me
here.

So we could talk, as we always have.

Kicking the floorboards, I'm very quiet, and very nervous.

Which is a terribly odd feeling for me.

Especially in front of Ranma.

I'd met him months ago, and we'd become friends after we discovered that we
shared more than a penchant for getting ourselves into trouble during
school.  I look exactly like his yin side - that is to say, the
manifestation of his Jusenkyo curse and I bear a photo-quality sameness in
every way.  He tells me most of his secrets, and I tell him most of mine.
He's seen me in less assembled states, moments when I've been dirt-streaked
and teary-eyed, helpless and frightened by everything around me, weak.

But . . .

To feel shy at this moment, it's wholly unexplainable.

Perhaps it's the way that his eyes look so kindly at me, glowing with an
affable mix of concern and happiness at seeing me.

The edges of the world seem blurry today, whether it's because of the thick
mist of fog that crept into Nerima, or the ludicrous nature of this
encounter, I'm not sure.  All I know is that my perception has become
softened, and what was angular and cumbersome has grown round and light.

And finally, breaking that moment, I draw up myself and walking towards the
family room, I throw over my shoulder, "What kind of day did you have,
Ranma?"

He groans following me, tossing his bookbag on my couch, saying:

"The absolute worst day anyone could have!  Started off the morning with
Shampoo accidentally knocking me into the canal, and of course, I didn't
have time to change back before I got to school.  So there was this whole
long interlude when Hinako-Sensei was convinced that I was you and tried to
send me down the hall to your classroom."

I bite back laughter as I hear him plop down on the floor, leaning his
elbows against the low table, I reply, "That doesn't seem too bad, I've had
worse."

He snorts derisively, "Did I say it was over?  No, it wasn't.  As if that
wasn't bad enough, the hot water was out at the school so I ended up staying
female for the whole day," his voice grows deeper, angrier, "which meant
that Kuno came up again."

I freeze in my tracks.

Kuno - it had been days since he's said anything at all about Kuno.

And I'm pretty certain that I know why.

It's not all the time that someone gets off so easy with attempted rape, and
I don't mean with the law.  Had I not pleaded with Ranma to let Tatewaki go,
the closest thing that the Kuno line would have had to an heir was a greasy,
bloody spot on the ground.

"Dammit, Yuki, why did you make me promise-" he cuts himself off, and then
with a much darker tone, he finishes, "he deserves it, he deserves so much
more than he got."

I take a deep breath, and grabbing the kettle full of hot water, I bring it
to the table, filling the delicate ceramic teapot, and closing the lid,
quickly trapping the fragrant steam.

Finally looking back up at him, I sigh, reaching out to touch his hand
gently, I murmur, "Ranma, I know you're angry, but-"

"Angry my ass!  That bastard should rot in hell for what he did to you-"

"What he * almost * did to me, remember?  You know, he couldn't finish
because he was becoming one with the turf?" I point out, my voice low and my
eyes lower.

He stops for a moment, looking at me carefully, before letting out a sigh
and leaning his cheek into his palm, propping up his elbow on the table.

"Sorry, Yuki," he says apologetically.

"Forgiven," I say pleasantly, and cupping my chin in my hand, I start,
"Well, go on Ranma-kun, what went wrong today - other than the Kuno thing?"

His eyes grow clouded for a moment in concentration, and he finally comes up
with, "Well, I had a bad A-day."

It's a code, really.

If he said, "I got in a fight with that stupid kawaiikunee tomboy again
today," he'd be in the emergency room again before he finished saying the
words.

So we've built a secret lingo.

K-days are anything that involves a Kuno, S-days, are Shampoo, and M-days
are Mousse days.  R-day is a Ryoga day, one where he decides to wander into
town, this code is particularly important to me because the lost boy has a
penchant to attack me without thinking.  I've gotten pretty badly hurt once
or twice before, though I hate to admit that I could lose to that idiot.

Simplistic, yes, but does it work?  Quite well.

A-days are the worst.  A-days are terrible.

A-days are days that Akane is either PMSsing, or that they get into a fight.
  This is bad for three main reasons, it sometimes leaves him in a state of
physical pain, something I cannot bear to see him suffer, it sets him up in
a flaming bad mood, third, and worst of all, it makes him sad.

Kami-sama, I'm such a pushover.

I smile at him gently, "Well," I start slowly, "That's exactly why you came
to see me, ne?"  My voice is soft, teasing, and I can see the shy happiness
start to seep back into his eyes as he grins at me.

"Why, Yuki, a little arrogant, are we?" he jokes, and I, feigning, extreme
offense, cry:

"Arrogant?  Why I- I never!  Arrogance is only truly embodied in one person
that I know of, and that," I pause for effect, "would be this guy I know at
school," smirking, I continue, "he's got his hair in this braid down to his
shoulder blades, he thinks that he's all that and a bag of chips," sighing
to mask the giggle I feel building up at his expression, I finish off, "But
in reality, that would only hold true if all that weren't too much to begin
with, and the chip bag was punctured and crumbly."

He glares at me in good humor, and jumping up from his place at the table,
he pounces, slowing himself down just enough so I have time to hop out of
the way, yelling all the while:

"Arrogant?  Am I?  Like you've got any right to speak!  I'd rather be
arrogant than a klutz!"

I leap over the table, and running through the sliding kitchen door to my
backyard, I holler back:

"Yeah, so what if I'm klutzy, at least I'm not a player!" a laugh lacing its
way into my voice.  And true to form, I trip, my foot catching on the edge
of the patio and I feel the air 'whoosh' beneath me as I tumble backwards
towards the soft mat of grass.

Suddenly, I'm not rushing towards the ground anymore; I'm lying atop a man's
muscular chest, with strong, familiar arms wrapped about my middle.  And I
recognize the scent of this man, I am comfortable with his touch, so instead
of jumping away from him, I snuggle a little closer in his hold, sighing
softly like a kitten as I hear his voice:

"You ought to be more careful, Yuki."

I look him in the eyes, and in a teasing tone, I reply, "But then you'd
never hold me like this."

We smile as we slowly untangle ourselves.  Looking around, I realize there
is a distinctive chill in the air, and that the skyline has grown a dark,
black-tinge around the edges, with the horizon bearing the last line of
light.  It's evening in Nerima; it's most beautiful moments are all
contained in this brief span of time from when the sun grows tired, till
when the moon awakes, this is the best time of the day.

Breathing in deeply, I wonder at the nature of our last exchange.  "You
ought to be more careful, Yuki," he'd told me, and I concede, I really ought
to be more cautious.

See, if I'm so careless in the future, I might fall in love with him - and
then where would I be?  I'm stuck, here.  In this strange, *middling* place
where I can touch him and yet I can never truly possess him.  I can have his
smiles, the little gems of affection and caress and friendship that he
offers to me like pretty stones from the endless stream of his soul.

But I can't have him.

"Yuki-chan?" he asks softly, interrupting my thoughts, "What are you
thinking?"

I turn towards him, seeing his charmingly disheveled appearance.  The way
his shirt is wrinkled from a day of wear and his pants are a little dusty.
How his face is flushed and his hair is messy.  And I grin, how could I not?

"Nothing at all, Ranma-kun," I answer softly, taking a breath, I grab his
hand, pulling him into the house again.  "Come on."  I twinkle my eyes at
him, the way I know makes him grin, and I get my response.

"Yuki," he starts slowly, "do you ever wonder about - about *this*?"  He
leans against the kitchen counter, eyes focused on me so intently that I can
feel his gaze burning into me.

"What is 'this' exactly?" I say softly, eyes staring away from him, captured
by the last threads of light in the evening.

There is a brief pause where he walks over to me, and in the softest voice,
he replies:

"That's exactly what I'm asking you."

I stare at him for a moment, feeling my heart beat in my chest much too
quickly.  He doesn't ask questions like this, and I don't answer them, it's
just not part of who and what we are.  If we question, if we delved too
deeply into ourselves -

We'd have to face a great many things we are not prepared to.

It's a delicate line that we walk, somewhere in between lovers and friends,
and I don't have the right to choose which side we'll land if we fall.
Common sense and emotions tell me that I want him.  That I want to claim his
bed and bear his children and be his for all eternity.  But duty and honor
and responsibility to another woman tell me that I'll be his friend.  For
now and forever.

I clear my throat, still the flutters in my stomach and force a smile to my
face as I say:

"We're best friends, Ranma-kun," and turning tail to sit down at the table,
I add, "I believe that, and I have accepted that."  Watching the almost
mournful expression come across his face, I say quietly, "Okay?"

'Okay' is not what it usually means when I say it in *that* tone of voice.
Okay means that I'm tired of talking about something, and that brining it up
again will only upset me.

In this case, it would probably make me cry.

"Alright," he whispers in return.

So he sits across from me and smiles.  And I smile in return.  Pleasant
words are exchanged, laughter and jokes and secrets.  Things no one else
could ever hope to know or understand because they are deeply woven into the
fabric of our relationship, embedded in the good intention and words of two
people who wanted nothing more than companionship, and found it in each
other.

We are not ourselves.  We are stronger for having lost what we knew to be
individual, and having replaced it with what we are together.

And time passes like the clouds in the sky, so before I know it, the only
sound in the room is his quiet steps outside the house, slow and unwilling.

It's a funny thing, an odd state of being that you really don't think about
all too much until you've dipped yourself so deeply into it that you can no
more remove yourself from it as the stars can tear themselves from the
heavens.

The thought that I, a girl born and raised in modern Japan, taught to be
proud and independent, scarred by life and unafraid of change, had suddenly
become a Geisha, willingly, all too willingly, to the only
danna (1) I would ever hope to court.

It is raining now, and even sitting here, next to the discarded teacups and
crumbs, when I ought to be worrying about the College Entrance exams or
whether or not I'll finish my homework if I continue to stare foolishly into
the distance, I worry about him.

My friend, my companion, my lover of sorts.

A borrowed man promised at birth and delivered at sixteen, faithfully, if
not openly, loving towards his fianc�e, and bound by honor and tradition to
remain that way.

Even knowing all this, I remain, kneeling here, holding a rag in my
fingertips to soak up the bitter green tea that had spilled out along the
edge of the table, and yet I yearn for him as no one ought to yearn for any
other living creature.

But it doesn't really matter, does it?

Because tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, once the school bell has rung
and we've all escaped the confines of those four walls, when we're just
Ranma and Yuki, no longer Saotome-san and Tanakawa-san, he will come again.

Drawn to me by some inexplicable thread of life, comforted by my words and
stories and presence, brought peace by my touch, but unable to stay.

Because he's got commitments at home, people he has made promises to, women
that he owes his time, and honor that he needs to guard.

But when he has the opportunity, when he can pay the price . . .

Just as always, I will be here, waiting with a smile and thoughtful
expression, soft and clever and kind.

So complete has this transition been in him becoming my danna, and I . . .

And I, becoming Geisha.

^*^*^

All feedback is welcomed and appreciated!

-Linda





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