Here's a short idea I had running through my head. 
Anyone who wants to expand on it, just ask.  I'd be
happy to help.  ^_^  Unlikely to continue due to
shortage of knowledge about Fatal Fury.  The rest of
my fics can be found at the link in my signature.

=====
-Tannim Murphy
(No, not THE Tannim, the OTHER Tannim)

"Writers who take more time trying to spell than write are editors."  -Unknown

http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=126066

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Lone Dragon

Disclaimer:  Neither of these series belongs to me.  They each belong
to their respective owners.  I am NOT, repeat, NOT making money off of
this.  WARNING:  There is some swearing in this fic.


The bar itself looked pathetically empty.  One man, just out of
boyhood, sat on a stool in front of a bartender who was idly cleaning
a glass.  The young man was wearing Chinese clothing, and in front of
him were several emptied shot glasses clustered together.  There might
have been two or three other patrons scattered about in the black
recesses of the bar, but it was hard to discern in the dim lighting.

The door slowly opened to reveal a strong-looking man.  He wore blue
jeans and an orange cut-off jacket.  The front of his cap was covered
by a metal plate, and he was carrying with him a duffle bag.

The man slowly made his way toward the bar, pain etched on his
features.  The kind of pain that was worse than anything physical.
The kind that cut deeply into one's soul.

The new man sat down next to the young man already there, slowly
dropping the duffle bag to the floor.

"I'll have double whatever he's having," said Terry as he motioned
toward the young man next to him.

Ranma slowly looked up from the glass in his hands.  On his face was
the same kind of pain etched on Terry's face, slightly blurred with
alcohol.  The two men looked at one other for a moment, first with
their eyes, then with other senses.  After a moment, Ranma nodded to
himself once before looking back at the glass in his hands.  He downed
the drink in a single gulp.

"Ya look like yer in pain," offered Ranma.

"Yep," was Terry's stoic reply.

"Lost loved one?"

"Yep."

"Same here."

The two sat for a few moments in compatible silence.  The bartender
put down a glass in front of Terry.

"Some people might say you're too young to drink," noted Terry.

"That's what the bouncer thought," said Ranma.

Terry nodded to himself.  It explained why the large man at the door
was doing his best to imitate a pretzel.

A few more moments of silence passed between them while Terry took a
generous sip of the brew in front of him.

"Name's Ranma."

"Terry."

Finally, Ranma couldn't bear it any longer.  The chance to talk to
someone about the pain he felt was too good an opportunity to pass up.
The alcohol might have affected his judgment somewhat, but that didn't
matter to him at the moment.  Before he could open his mouth to speak,
the door banged open with a large crash.

Terry and Ranma glanced out of the sides of their eyes to see who
disturbed their drinks.  It seemed that a large group of punks wearing
biker clothing were streaming through the door.  Most we grinning,
showing missing teeth, and many were chuckling to themselves.

Ranma frowned irritably at the empty glasses in front of him.  "Every
fucking time..." he muttered to himself.

Terry glanced inquisitively at Ranma.  "This happen often?"

Ranma nodded sullenly.  "Every time I get a good buzz goin', some
smart-ass punk, or some shit-faced ganger wants to pick a fight, and I
gotta burn the alcohol outta my system so I can fight."  Ranma
continued to mutter to himself.  "I swear, I'd learn Drunken Boxing if
I thought I would be able to hold myself back from killing the
assholes.  Fifth time this week, the pricks.  I hate being a trouble
magnet."

"Nice trick," noted Terry.

"My 'father' taught it to me."  Ranma spat out the word with the kind
of venom that only the very drunk can muster.  "That panda is a lazy,
no-good drunken coward of a martial artist, but no matter how much he
liked to drink, he always wanted a way to sober up if he had a serious
fight on him.  He liked livin' more than drinkin'," ranted Ranma.

By now, the entire cluster of gang members had surrounded the two men
in a wide semi-circle.

Ranma began to glow with a soft blue light, visible even to the
untrained eyes of the gangers.

"Want help?" asked Terry offhandedly.

"Nah.  I'm already too sober as it is.  I might as well let off some
steam."

One gang member, duller than the rest (though not by much, given the
crowd) decided that he was going to speak.

"Hey, you two prissy-boys wanna git outta our bar?  We OWN this side
of the streets."

"Do you punks know who you're messin' with?" growled Ranma.  He didn't
even bother turning around.

This made the thugs pause.  The leader of the gang signaled for
everyone to get in a huddle, and frantic whispered conversation could
be heard.

"...anyone know who he is...?"

"...do we NEED to know...?"

"...I'm hungry..."

"...shaddap Chojiro, you're ALWAYS hungry..."

"...I say we pound 'em to show 'em we don't care..."

"...sounds like a plan..."

The leader straightened up to give his retort, but the words died on
his lips.  On front of him was standing a now blazing Ranma.  The
bluish fire danced at a distance of three feet in all directions from
his body, slightly scorching the leather on the stool closest to him.

Ranma absently cracked his knuckles as he evaluated the fighting
skills of the hoodlums.

Danger rating:  Laughable.

"The name's Ranma Saotome."

There were many gasps and noises of surprise.

"Ranma the Bandit Killer?!"

Ranma paused for a moment, and tilted his head a bit.  "How did I get
stuck with that name anyway?  I never killed anyone, and I haven't
fought any 'bandits.'"

"Most of the gangs around here are closet Slayers fans," spoke a voice
from the back.

"Oh," said Ranma.

"We'll be going now," said the leader.  He looked very nervous as he
started edging toward the exit.

Ranma disappeared from view, only to appear in front of the door.

"I don't think so."

The ensuing chaos lasted exactly 8.35 seconds, and the only reason it
was that long was simply because Ranma didn't want to pay for broken
furniture.

Ranma sighed as he sat down at the bar.  "I hate these kinds of
fights.  They don't even give me a good workout."

Terry raised an eyebrow in the direction of Ranma.  "Hard finding
someone decent to spar with?"

Ranma smirked in Terry's direction.  "You offerin'?"

Terry considered his glass.  "Why not?" he mused to himself.  He put
the mostly full drink down on the bar before grabbing his duffle bag
and moving to exit.

Ranma grinned as he followed.

---

End of Prologue!

Author's Notes:

Heh, I don't think I'll be able to continue this, but it's an
interesting premise.  What if Ranma hadn't saved Akane from Saffron?
What would have happened if he met up with Terry, who had not once,
but many times lost people he thought he might have loved?

The only way anyone is going to see a fight scene out of me is if
someone sends me a list of Terry's moves, and a brief description of
each.  I'm not terribly familiar with Fatal Fury.  I've only seen the
Armor of Mars movie.

Here's the original idea, based on a thought:

Ranma and Terry are drinking.

One turns to the other (it doesn't matter who) and says, "I defeated a
demi-god, and still lost the girl I loved.  You?"

"The exact same thing happened to me."

"Horrible world we live in."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Pause.

"I bet my god was stronger than your god."

"Fight ya for it?"

"You're on."


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