Hi everyone -
It's been ages; I've been holed up sick and weak and reading far too much
fanfiction than is healthy to any normal human being. See, this is what
happenes when one is feverish and with too much spare time.
=====
DISCLAIMER: Ranma 1/2 is property of Rumiko Takahashi, its use in this
original work of fiction generates no profit and no infringement is
intended.
RATING: R
OVERVIEW: Ranma is reassigned to the Special Operation unit in Tokyo
homicide after 'incidents' in Kyoto left him as something of a horrific
legend, the details of which are still unclear. Once there, he is
partnered with Michi Hirugashi, a woman in whom he finds a strange
resemblance (at least physically) to Akane, and a platonic friendliness
he's never known before. All the while, a priority one murder case is
keeping him up at nights, and in an effort to narrow down possible
suspects, he arranges a dinner with Kodachi to find himself falling for
her, and vouching for her innocence.
Previous parts available upon request at echonymph@msn.com; or, if you
give me something like two or three weeks, they'll be available at
http://ling.anifics.com/
=====
CATHARSIS
-by ling
=====
PART ONE: Hubris/Pride Above Power (c)
=====
The car ride was mostly uneventful, filled with the quiet, comforting
sound of wheels over asphalt. The driver, under most conditions, would
have turned on the radio, unable to withstand the silence; in this
case, he rather enjoyed it. There was something very companionable
about the quiet.
The morgue was about an hour and a half ride from Michi's apartment,
good news for the driver, bad news for Ranma's wallet. He was mentally
calculating how much hard currency he had on him, and came to the
dismal conclusion that after paying the fare, he wouldn't even have
enough to purchase a stick of gum. In reality, he had nothing to worry
about; Michi wouldn't have let him pay her way for something that was
obviously her responsibility.
Ranma had a lot on his mind.
Michi was pregnant, and obviously suffering the less pleasant side
effects of it at the moment. He recognized the nausea and dizziness
from when Kasumi had had her first child; and while his eldest (sort
of) sister was lucky in that her symptoms seemed less severe, Ranma
figured that what worked for one woman would work for them all.
Mentally, he made a checklist: chamomile tea, ginger ale, saltines, and
pickles and ice cream. He glanced at his partner and dismissed his
wonderings, realizing that she would have been massively insulted if he
attempted to play a concerned father-figure. 'Besides,' he said to
himself, 'she's got a fianc�. I'm probably just being nosy; he's
probably taking care of her enough as it is.' With Michi wiped from
his conscience for the moment, he turned his thoughts to a happier
subject, one who had plagued his waking moments often in the last
weeks: Kodachi.
"So I was thinking, Ranma," Kodachi had said over the phone earlier
that day, "The Crystal Palladium, downtown? Our family just bought out
the owners - how'd you like to go and sample our menu? It'll be fun,
you'll see! Say you'll come." Of *course* he'd go! In fact, he'd
nearly been giddy as he had told her very certainly that he *would*
meet her in front of the Crystal Palladium restaurant. A small smile
spread across his face as he thought of her sparkling purple eyes and
dark, lustrous hair. She was something else all right, smart and funny
and sweet; *she* was the girl that he had wanted all those years ago in
Nerima. 'How could I have known that she was right under my nose,' he
mused distractedly, not noticing Michi's intrigued expression.
Michi's terminal curiosity seemed inextinguishable, even in the most
dire of circumstances, in a bright tone, she suddenly asked, "Why?"
"Why what?" he replied, puzzled. She couldn't possibly have known what
he was thinking, not unless her sense of intuition extended beyond
simple hunches in judgment.
"Why did you leave her?" Michi continued bravely.
Ranma stared at her in surprise. Michi had never before pried into his
past as she did in that moment. Even before, when they were sitting in
the car during a long, boring stakeout, the super-condensed version of
events had been all that she'd heard, and that was volunteered
information. What was the sudden interest?
"I found something about her I didn't like," he said slowly, realizing
for the first time that he'd never really dug too deeply into his own
reasons why.
The problems on the surface of the divorce were clear: they had been
too young; the initial match had been made by their parents; there was
no true depth of emotion underneath all the youthful flirtation and
sexual attraction. Then again, these seemed like shallow excuses.
After all, they'd been through thick and thin together even before
they'd been married. At Phoenix Mountain, he'd told her that he loved
her, whether or not he was willing to admit it, and whether or not she
had heard it as she thought she did. Though there were still the ever-
present problems of Amazons and okonomiyaki chefs thereafter, their
relationship seemed to have shifted from a plateau (as a relative term,
of course) of constant fighting and crazy adventures to something
softer, more...commonplace. And they had learned to love; if
everything hadn't been roses, it was at least pleasant, more than
enough. So what had happened?
Ranma didn't have time to contemplate the subject further.
Michi quirked an eyebrow at him. "Yeah? And what was that?" After a
minute of silence - during which the cab driver turned the radio on as
loud as he could stand - she added, "Oh, I'm being rude, aren't I?"
"No," he said, eyeing the front seats of the taxi slowly, wondering at
the sudden presence of loud noises aside from their talking. "It's all
right. Just a little strange that you'd suddenly want to know, that's
all." He sighed. "An idiot busted up our second anniversary party and
told her that I was..." he let his voice trail off, and Michi stared at
him, interrupting:
"Sterile?" she asked.
He frowned at her. "Burakumin," he finished.
Michi looked surprised for a moment. "Are you?"
"No, I'm not!" he said pointedly in reply.
Michi chuffed softly. "Don't worry about it, Ranma. According to the
old traditions, I'm one by choice." He stared at her for a few moments
before understanding the truth in her statement; Michi handled the dead
quite often, and yes, her career *was* by choice, wasn't it? In older
days, or perhaps, more traditional families, she would be completely
blacklisted.
"The point is," he finally said, "I told her that I wasn't, and she
didn't believe me." He shrugged. "Engaged since we were sixteen, and
she still didn't trust me." Was that it, though? Mistrust? Was that
simple flaw, one that existed in every relationship to some degree,
enough to cause the downfall of what seemed like such a hopeful
marriage?
Michi tried her very hardest not to comment on what her partner had
just said, and succeeded in limiting her shock to two succinct
exclamations. "*Sixteen*?! You got engaged when you were *sixteen*?!"
she cried, flabbergasted.
He stared at her blankly. "Well," he started, realizing that he had
never before felt *bad* about the fact that he'd become affianced so
early on in life. "Yeah...what's wrong with that?" he asked, suddenly
self-conscious around his cosmopolitan partner. Michi seemed like a
woman of the ages, a well-educated, self-sufficient female who could
hold her own in any fight, verbal or otherwise. She made a good
living, dressed well, and upon all observations, was good at enjoying
all that life had to offer. She didn't seem like the type of woman to
be held to an arranged marriage, much less understand the concept. He
suddenly felt very foolish compared to her.
Michi shook her head. "'What's *wrong* with that?!'" she demanded.
"You were teenagers for God's sake! How could do properly decide what
to do with your adult lives?"
She found herself thinking, 'Well, no *wonder* he's divorced!
*Sixteen*! *I* wasn't even that young; and Takashi was barely shaving
when we got engaged!' She suddenly didn't feel quite so bad for her
partner. After all, if he was going to be so foolish as to make such
an enormous decision in the throes of his pubescence, he obviously
deserved whatever matrimonial horrors he got. The little voice in the
back of her head that reminded her that she had gotten her own
comeuppance for marrying so early was stomped to a gory death as soon
as it emerged.
Snarling, he replied, "It was an *arranged* marriage!"
This brought upon the long-suffering driver yet another period of
awkward silence as Michi regarded her fuming partner silently.
"Well," she said softly. "That's different."
He continued to glare at her for a while longer before Michi sighed,
and in an apologetic tone, said, "My parents did, too. I was supposed
to get married; I went to college instead." She smiled at him.
Up front, the driver groaned as they settled in for another painfully
quiet ten minutes. Finally, driven by the same maternal instinct that
had forced him to do so many other stupid things already, Ranma
grudgingly asked, "Are you feeling any better?"
She snorted derisively, and crossing her arms over her chest, saying
unhappily, "Whoever heard of a woman getting her morning sickness in
the afternoon."
Ranma grinned wickedly. "You always were different, Michi."
She sighed and shook her head. "I'm tired, Ranma. I guess I'm just
going to take that as a compliment today."
He laughed, earlier argument forgotten. "Don't you find it remotely
strange that you're telling me this?" He was just her work partner
after all, someone she saw as she stepped into the office and said
goodbye to on occasion.
"Not really," she whispered, her eyes drooping closed. "You're a good
detective, Ranma; your nosey ass would have found out one way or
another."
He chuffed unhappily. "I would have rather had you say 'It's because
we're friends.'"
She turned her head to the side, eyes still closed. And drifting off
to sleep, she murmured, "We don't always get what we'd rather, Ranma."
He resisted the inexplicable urge to stroke her hair, and sighing under
his breath, he whispered, "Don't I know it."
=====
To: mhirugashi@police.go.jp
From: rsaotome@police.go.jp
Subject: transcript
Attachment: edaku_indigocafe_trans.txt
Michi,
Short interview, had tech transcribe what we got off of Chojo's tape
(you'd think after ten years he'd learn NOT to stick the damn thing in
his pocket where there's tons of static an interference)...If nothing
else, it provides some fun reading material. Edaku really is a trip.
- RS
Attachment:
=======================================================================
SEALED FILE - POLICE USE ONLY
=======================================================================
REQUESTED: R. SAOTOME; 9807986; [ALPHA-4-444]
PARTIES: R. SAOTOME; H. CHOJO; R. EDAKU
RECORDING TIME: 3:45PM, TUESDAY 4/4/2013 - 4:15PM, TUESDAY 4/4/2013
=======================================================================
C - CHOJO ; S - SAOTOME ; E - EDAKU
=======================================================================
C: [muffled] Mister Edaku, could you describe to us what happened two
days ago in your caf�?
E: [nervous] It was just a normal afternoon. I mean, we were <busier>
than usual, you can check the accounts for that - did you check the
accounts for that already?
R: [soothingly] Don't worry about that, Mister Edaku, we trust you.
E: [tense] I'm just saying, because you could verify with the register
receipts from that day; they're upstairs, you know, just in my office.
I've got credit cards and signatures and everything and -
C: [angry] Just answer the <damned> question, will you?!
R: [annoyed] Chojo!
[A minute of silence passes slowly]
E: [quiet, tripping over his words] I mean, it was busy that day, and I
was upstairs crunching numbers, so I didn't get to see much of what
went on. But a couple of the waiters got into a fight, so I ran
downstairs. I mean, it was raining, and really cold for a March
afternoon. You could check the newspapers to verify that, too, you
know, I mean, I've got the newspapers from last week just in my -
R: [annoyed] Just tell the story, Mister Edaku.
C: [whispering, probably right into mike] *Now* who's playing good cop.
E: [tense] I went downstairs, and they wouldn't listen to me. So, I
got the bartender to help, and I threw them out into the alley behind
the bar...
C: [excited] And then?
E: [whispering] And that's when they found the body. They yelled, and
I ran over and called the cops.
R: [solemn] So you never saw the body yourself? The waiters could have
moved it? You know, on accident or whatever?
E: [nervous once more] I guess...but no one touches dead bodies on
purpose you know. I guess they could have fallen on top of them when I
pushed them out. I mean, you could check their uniforms; I've got them
right up-
R & C: [annoyed] -stairs in your office. Right?
E: [surprised] How did you know?
R: [amused] Just a guess. Thanks for your help, Mister Edaku. We'll
need those uniforms, you know, just in case. And those receipts from
that day, register tape, you know, whatever you have available.
E: [moving sounds, confident] I didn't touch them, bagged them up.
Very unsanitary, you know. I usually leave them in their lockers, but
sometimes, you never know, you've just got to be careful about these
things, prepared for all circumstances.
C: That's very heartening to know, Mister Edaku.
E: Yes, I'll bring you the newspapers right -
R: [amused] That's...all right, Mister Edaku. I think I can rustle up
some copies of the newspaper on our own. Thanks so much for your time.
E: [startled] Oh, well...I'm glad that I could help -
C: So are we, really, glad beyond words - thrill-fucking-illed -
R: [warning] Chojo! [Softer] Thanks again, Mister Edaku. Could we
have those receipts now?
E: Oh! Right! Hold on, I'll be right back!
[Scuffling, footsteps echoing and fading]
C: [snorting] What a fucking pathetic loon.
R: [annoyed] Don't be an ass, Chojo. He's being helpful.
C: [amused] By being a fucking pathetic loon. Who keeps *everything*?
R: [serious] Someone useful to the case, that's who. Who knows, this
information could mean *a lot* to figuring out who did it.
C: [derisively] Because who bought how many sour apple martinis is
*really* going to turn the tide on this investigation.
R: [short] God - do you *never* stop, Chojo?
C: [innocently] Stop what?
[Shuffle again, footsteps growing louder]
E: Sorry that took so long, I keep the receipts in a temperature-
controlled mini-vault, ten-digit pin and all, you know, so nothing rots
due to inclement weather and stuff.
[Papers rustling]
R: [repressing laughter] Thanks for your time.
[Doors slamming, cloth rustling]
C: Crazy-ass-OCD-
R: [angry] Shut the *fuck* up, Chojo!
C: [startled] Oh...sure. End tape.
[click]
[END TRANSCRIPT]
=======================================================================
SEALED FILE - POLICE USE ONLY
=======================================================================
=====
Michi groaned as she tiptoed into the restaurant, seeing her mother,
father, sister, future mother-in-law, father-in-law, and fianc� all
sitting at their table, looking expectantly at her. Self-consciously,
she patted her hair, realizing with a mental wince that the tight
chignon of hair at the nape of her neck was going to drive her nuts the
entire evening, and there was nothing she could hope to do about it.
All things considered, the night looked as if it was going to be bad.
She'd gotten home from the autopsy, still nauseated and weak, helped up
to her apartment through Ranma's charity. He'd checked his watch,
frowned, and pardoned himself soon thereafter, saying that he had a
'thing' that evening. Michi had smiled at him, waving him off, and
telling him to have fun on his date. Her partner had blushed and
disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. That had been the last
of the good things to happen that day. Her parents lived in Osaka; so
when they came to Tokyo to visit their eldest daughter, it was a major
production. So major in fact, that they had left the house three hours
late (greatly thanks to Aoi), and had to go directly to the restaurant
to avoid being tardy for the meal. This left Michi - inexperienced,
helpless, nauseated Michi - to put on her kimono, tie her obi, and do
her hair completely on her own. Halfway through the endeavor, she'd
almost started crying, convinced that her only option would be to go
dressed in jeans and a sweater, her hair in braids.
In the end, through some act of God, she'd made it...
...Twenty minutes late, but there none the less.
Albeit, in the pink kimono that *she* liked rather than significantly
smaller green one her mother had picked ("It's the being pregnant
thing," she'd consoled herself earlier, "it's not the drinking, or the
junk food. It's the pregnancy."), and with a pale green obi that was
meant for the original kimono ("Colorblind," she'd berated herself on
the way to the restaurant, "*colorblind.*"), but still - there.
She had been so exhausted from her day's labors that by the time she'd
reached the doorway of the Crystal Palladium, she had been ready to
collapse into one of the fluffy, friendly chairs and sleep forever.
With a deep breath, she reached the table. Forcing a smile to her
face, she bowed respectfully at everyone there, and began fabricating
the most convincing of lies.
=====
To: rsaotome@police.go.jp
From: mhirugashi@police.go.jp
Subject: Re:[transcript]
Ranma -
No comment. I didn't think Chojo would be *that* bad.
He usually doesn't talk to me very much when we work together.
When do we get together to over the receipts?
- Michi
=====
"So, when I got to class, there they were, Mio and Asuka, tearing at
each other's *hair* and - " Kodachi's voice continued, slightly amused
as she related the day-to-day dramas that she remembered from her
classes.
Kodachi, though she still lived in the Kuno mansion, was all but
completely independent from her father and brother, Ranma had learned
that evening. She owned and operated a small gymnastics school,
catering to girls anywhere from age three to eighteen, teaching those
who only wanted to dabble and serving as coaches to professionals. She
was happy there, and worked alongside five other instructors, all of
them teaching on average three two-hour classes each night, filled with
the laughing, cheering sounds of young children. "I'm impressed,
Kodachi," he'd said earlier, genuine, "how do you have time for
anything else?" She had shrugged, her eyes still sparkling. She made
time for her gardening; her trees and flora were dearer to her than
Ranma could probably understand. "It's a passion," she'd said softly,
almost afraid to look into his eyes as she remembered how many of her
plants had been cultivated specifically for shady medicinal purposes.
To his credit, Ranma had realized her uneasiness was because of him,
and somewhat shyly, he'd reached across the table and placed one
reassuring hand atop hers. She'd gasped in surprise, but had showed no
sign that she found his tactile encouragement unwelcome.
And so, his hand had remained there for the duration of the evening.
Ranma found himself constantly distracted by how damnably *pretty* she
was. Not even bothering to remind himself how wonderfully *beautiful*
Kodachi was (that was a given, a fact he'd understood even back when he
was terrified of her), he lavished attention on noting the way that she
seemed to alternate between hating and loving her hair, letting it
drape across her shoulders one moment, and then brushing it away in
annoyance the next. He was fascinated by the way that her mind worked,
quick as a whip, and in a completely unconventional manner. Her skin
was satiny beneath his rough fingers, and he found that even if he
locked all his other thoughts away, attempted to focus on carrying on
an eloquent conversation, he would fail, simply because he was touching
her. Deciding that thinking in such a manner was detracting him from
listening to her, he stopped himself and tried to pay attention to the
story she was telling.
" - So anyway, Yukawa-san now has a long scratch down her arm, and is
visiting *both* girls' parents. I can't blame her," Kodachi finished,
a laughing tone in her low, sotto voice. Cocking her head to the side,
and blushing slightly, she said:
"Your eyes are bluer than I remember."
Ranma decided in that instant that he liked her an *awful* lot.
Fighting back inelegant stuttering, he managed to mutter something
about it being the dim lighting in the restaurant, or something equally
lame. Clearing his throat, he asked her to continue. "I like your
stories," he said shyly.
So Kodachi, smiling brilliantly, obliged. How could she not?
=====
From: rsaotome@police.go.jp
To: hchojo@police.go.jp
Subject: transcript
Attachment: edaku_indigocafe_trans.txt
=====
Michi promised herself that once she'd gotten home, she'd stuff herself
silly, she'd turn up bad American punk music as loudly as possible, she
would *stomp* on her obi and burn the padding. She promised herself
that she'd abandon her ingrained rules of good behavior and social
obligation. All of that, if only she could go through the rest of the
dinner without doing something else wrong.
The conversation was simple enough, just politeness, as neither family
was stupid enough to delude themselves into thinking that their
pleasant, structured chatter over whether or not their children would
make a good match had any *actual* bearing on their children's
decisions. Michi had been lost when she decided to go to college;
Kazuaki had left his home behind when he'd spent seven years at TouDai,
getting a degree in law.
But in all reality, their families had very little to protest.
After all, Michi was a woman already in her thirties, and widowed at
that; it was lucky that anyone wanted her. Kazuaki had spent two and
half years married to an American journalist, she'd gone to Japan to
write about the cherry blossoms, and stayed to be married. After 24
months of frustration over Kazuaki's gentle insistence that she stay
home despite her disgust with the very idea, she'd given up and
divorced him, returning to her native Boston and never giving him a
backward glance. In a strange way, both of them having been more of
less cast off by their significant others, abandoned by those who
they'd first dared to love, Michi and Kazuaki made a well-suited pair.
Michi was always overly-concerned about any internal turmoil, worried
constantly about how everyone felt, terrified that what had happened to
her first husband would happen again at the expense of her own
emotional negligence. Kazuaki was overly easy-going, afraid that his
set tradition would force another away from him, and that the way he
viewed the world would make someone else he cared for leave. Theirs
was a careful, comfortable relationship, built upon casual friendship,
and maintained through an amazing amount of compassion and concern for
the other party. In fact, in all reality, theirs should have been a
wonderful marriage, one that would last and remain strong throughout,
seeing as both of them were so set on never making the same mistakes
twice.
Michi controlled her temper, trying to ignore the binding misery of the
obi, and regulated her breaths, trying to ignore how she wanted to
scream at the top of her lungs. Under the table, she clenched her
fists, her nails digging into her palm. So far that evening, much of
the conversation had revolved around the basic business ends of
marriage, and the constant reminder of her not-so-distant fate grated
on her nerves. Otherwise, it was her sister that annoyed her. Aoi and
Michi had a tenuous relationship on their best days; both seeing the
other as the favorite of their parents. Though neither of them had
ever vied for their parents' affection (Aoi and Michi placed very
little emphasis on what their mother and father thought, understanding
that age did not equate wisdom), as Michi had been temporarily
blacklisted when she'd left in open defiance, and Aoi had been shackled
to her lifetime position as a shrine-girl with no small measure of
resentment as a result, their sisterly affections for one another had
all but disappeared.
Sometimes, when one is in the most dire and desperate situation, the
last person expected to come to the rescue is the one person who offers
a helping hand.
For whatever reason, Kazuaki had spent much of the evening observing
his fianc�e, noting with some measure of guilt that she looked
exhausted, drawn, and not at all like the lively, vibrant woman that he
had fallen in love with many months ago. He blamed himself, his own
selfishness. Work had been hectic, and admittedly, over the course of
their relationship, Michi had always forgiven him when he was snappish
during tax season, but things were different now. He cursed himself
under his breath, rebuking himself for not having taken better care of
her, for not realizing that all the little and large problems that had
surfaced in recent months were all the result of simple distance, maybe
boredom. All quite reparable, if only he'd taken the time.
He would *not* lose her.
And so, with careful motions, he extended one hand beneath the table
and strained to reach her fingers across the way. First he failed,
almost losing balance and tipping forward into his plate. Sighing
softly, he blocked the droning sound of his parents' and in-laws'
chatter from his ears, and reached around the table, thankful that they
were both on the ends, and touched the sleeve of her kimono. Michi's
startling gray eyes flashed with surprise, and as she looked at him,
her confusion registered across her face. Smiling apologetically, he
mouthed, "Sorry," and hoped that she understood that it meant for all
the events of the past week. She frowned at him until he pouted,
adding silently, "You look sad. Forgive me, please."
Her expression softened ever so gently, and with a grin, he reached
further, grabbing her fingers flirtatiously, as he had once in the
early days of their romance. Michi, as she had once long ago, smiled
at him, momentarily forgetting what she'd been pondering with such a
grave and solemn expression. Kazuaki congratulated himself, seeing
that simple grin transforming Michi's forlorn expression into one of
beauty, the face he longed to see.
Michi, holding his hand incognito, decided that her fianc� wasn't so
bad after all. The heavy feeling of his smooth fingers wrapping around
her own made her feel safe and wanted, loved.
For the remainder of that evening, she blocked her earlier thoughts
from mind. She'd been unduly cruel, meanspirited, and petty. So
Kazuaki wasn't Prince Charming; no one was. It was unkind of her to
think down on such a wonderful man simply because she was cranky and
feeling flighty. 'This is good,' she told herself simply. 'This is
what you need, Michi. Kazuaki is a nice, stable man.' Observing his
calm, reliable features, she rewarded him with another smile, this
time, stronger than the last.
Briefly, she'd recall some weeks later, forever seemed friendlier.
=====
To: nerriy@tech.co.jp
From: mhirugashi@police.go.jp
Subject: Re:[Back!]
Nerri -
You have *no idea* the hells I've suffered since you've been gone.
Please come over, NOW! I need you to talk to me and fix everything!
Just as an example of this week's events:
1. Got knocked up.
2. Had to put on kimono by myself.
3. Cannot conscionably drink.
4. Will die.
Help!
=====
Ranma's wandering eye was not the type that got men into trouble.
It made him notice things about everyone, analyzing people within range
as potential opponents, sizing them up. During his youth, this had
been on a purely physical level, gauging their size and probably skill.
Now, as an officer, he exploited his powers of observation to
understand criminals, to question witnesses effectively, to study
people who fascinated him.
When Kodachi had excused herself to the powder room, and when his eyes
had followed her across the vast dining room of the Crystal Palladium,
he'd noticed a woman in a pink kimono sitting stiffly in one of the
western-style chairs, her table crowded with what looked like family
and one middle-aged man. He'd been intrigued by the contrast that her
clothing made to the sleek nouveau decorating in the restaurant: the
very traditional Japanese versus the very western Palladium.
The kimono, he realized with some surprise, was quite old, probably
antique. He knew this only because of his own mother's collection.
He, prior to his wedding, had been dragged to the storage facility at
which the Saotome family kimonos were stored. After all, his mother
was prepared to arrive in grand style for wedding number two; and she'd
already flashed around her orange and green robe, it wouldn't be
stylish to appear redundant. His family might not have been very well
off, but they had what seemed to be a fortune in kimono, thick brocades
and light summer yukatas in every color and design imaginable, it was
as if he'd opened the door, turned on the light, and accidentally
stumbled into the inner workings of a rainbow. He hadn't even bothered
to look at the obis, knowing that his brain was already on overload as
it was from all the colors and styles.
Kimono, like handwriting and smiles, reveal more about their wearers
than one would at first imagine. The way that the sleeves are
arranged, their length, the width of the furi all have important
meaning. The way that the obi is tied, the collar, and even the type
of socks worn and with which shoes are all indicative of the social
status and type of person wearing it. These were not lessons that
Ranma had taken as a boy; in fact, he'd never given much thought to the
entire subject of kimono before his mother had gone off on one of her
tangents about them before his wedding. But all these small things,
these minute details were so ingrained from so many years of being
immersed in Japan, all those social customs and rules were not learned.
Rather, they were imbued, like the fragrance of lavender that clung to his
mother's clothes, each soft, silky garment having had a satchel tucked away
in its folds.
The pink kimono was arranged so that the collar hung very low along the
back of the woman's neck, and hiding a smile, he wondered if some poor
businessman had brought a geisha into Tokyo for the day. It was
*indecently* low for a girl of any good social standing, but the way
that the woman held herself didn't seem to indicate that she *was* a
geisha... Rather, she looked awfully stiff and uncomfortable, as if it
was her first time in a kimono in a very long time. The most
interesting thing, he thought, was that the kimonoed woman wore a
watch, a shiny one, with lots of fiddles and dials. Someone who worked
for a living, most probably, and had to watch her time; the woman was
someone who was unfamiliar with the gentler history of her sex. And
still, Ranma thought, she was stunning in the robe, her profile was
gorgeous, and her lush, dark hair shined in the dim mood lighting.
He mulled over the intriguing puzzle for a few more moments, wishing
that she'd turn around so that he could see her face.
However, as dark hair and sparkling eyes once again filled his line of
sight, he forgot all about the woman in the pink kimono, and returned
to less confusing avenues of thought.
Namely, Kodachi.
=====
To: ntendo@pricewaterhouse.co.jp
From: rsaotome@police.go.jp
Subject: Re:[Date?]
Nabiki -
All right, don't freak.
I'd like to start by saying that she's COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THAN SHE
USED TO BE, and with that said, I'm asking you if I can bring Kodachi.
She's normal now, sweet and fun and everything. Just give her a
chance, please, Nabiki. If nothing else, she'll give you a *really*
expensive present, and I will, too, okay?
- RS
=====
Across town, near the furthest edges of the Nerima city limits, there
was a vast, sprawling complex of houses. All in all, the mansion and
it's grounds comprised an unheard-of acre-large lot, every available
square centimeter piled high with fragrant flowers, bowing willows, and
the obligatory forest of cherry blossoms. People from all over Nerima
(since in recent years, more frightening rumors had been dispelled)
often liked to walk over on cool evenings to enjoy the scenery, and if
they were lucky, they sometimes caught a glimpse of a beautiful, dark-
haired woman kneeling in front of one plot of land or another.
That evening, when residents strolled by, they were not greeted by a
friendly wave of a trowel; instead, they found a brooding old man
standing in the midst of all those lovely flowers. They shied away as
soon as they realized that he looked conflicted, nearly angry, lost in
his multi-layered thoughts.
And besides, no one was particularly keen on seeing their old
principal, anyway - *especially* not the crazy ones.
Kosaku Kuno had been forcibly removed from his post at Furinkan High
School some years after Ranma and Akane had graduated, the unfortunate
effect of his zeal with scissors resulting in some minor injuries for
some poor, unsuspecting student. While the school system had been able
to turn a blind eye to most of the earlier happenings (they were
unwilling to lose such an enormous monetary asset as Principal Kuno),
injury to any student was unacceptable. Disheartened, he'd nursed his
ego with family money and a position he created for himself at Kuno
Industries Incorporated. Over the years, as Tatewaki (despite his best
efforts to strike out on his own as a wandering samurai, saving
virginal young maidens) had joined the company, the Kuno patriarch had
very nearly become complacent.
Still, it sometimes came back to him.
That evening, the unpleasant memories were caused by knowledge of who
was courting his daughter.
She had not wanted to tell him who she'd been going off to see, and
quite frankly, he knew that he was lucky she'd finally decided to end
his curiosity. "Look," she'd said, annoyed, "you've been stalking me
around this house for days, so I'm just going to tell you." She'd
frowned at him, her beautiful features angry, looking just like her
mother, so exquisitely perfect, and declared, "I am going out to dinner
with Ranma Saotome. And what happens there, or after, is *none of your
business*." With a huff, she'd stomped out the door, her pale pink
skirt billowing behind her in the wind.
He reached for one of the delicate rosebushes that Kodachi loved so
well, caressing its tiny buds. He'd watched his daughter slave over
their cultivation for nearly ten years, watched her curse and stomp and
cry and rack her brains over what she was doing wrong every year.
"This year," he had overheard the other night, eavesdropping as Kodachi
had sat for the second straight hour on the phone with Ranma, "*this*
year they will bloom, and they will be beautiful!"
The Father/Daughter dynamics between them were complex, and nearly
inexplicable to those who did not know the entirety of their history.
>From early youth, Kodachi had always lashed out at her father, blaming
him for the loss of her mother; it was an error that he admitted to
occasionally when he wasn't very deep in his dreams of Hawaii. He had
squirreled her away in a girls' school, and sent Tatewaki to Furinkan
only as a last resort; all the private prep schools had expelled him.
She'd spent much of her life under his thumb, either up close or long
distance, Kodachi was rarely left to her own devices. The only time
she was ever given reprieve was in her garden, and in her practice of
gymnastics, both of which he had approved. Then Ranma appeared. After
what seemed like forever of chasing and scissors and heartbreak on his
daughter's part, the pigtailed boy had been married off to the Tendo
girl, as the Kunos must have known would happen since the beginning.
The same disease that had claimed her mother manifested itself in his
beautiful daughter's eyes. The mood disorder that had sent Junko Kuno
to the crazy house threatened to lock away Kodachi as well.
Then...then...
Then Kodachi had done something. Something that all the money in the
Kuno vault could not right, and something that he had never anticipated
could occur. Something that was, however indirectly, his own fault.
Infuriated, desperate, he'd kept her under further house arrest,
driving her nearly to the brink of insanity before (remarkably)
Tatewaki checked her into the Nerima Psychiatric Institute, where she
had stayed for three long years, recovering.
The point was that his daughter was well.
And instead of marrying some nice young man, or staying home with her
flowers, she was out with *Ranma*.
She would never know how much he had sacrificed for her; never
understand how much he had done for her.
He sighed, closed his eyes, and wandered back into the house.
=====
To: nerriy@tech.co.jp
From: mhirugashi@police.go.jp
Subject: Re:[Re:[Back!]]
Nerri -
Don't worry if you're tied up, I'm actually doing all right.
I suppose it's strange, isn't it? I mean, if you had asked me three
months ago how I saw my future with Kazuaki looking, I would have told
it to you in three short words: bleak, boring, and baleful. Triple
'B,' bask in my eloquence ;). Now...now it looks much friendlier.
Yesterday night, when Kazuaki and co. were having dinner with my
parents (Crystal Palladium, crappy tea, but nice d�cor), he reached
under the table and held my hand. It was...warm, like it was when I
just met him. I guess that finding nice, reliable guys has some perks,
among which include simple warmth.
Passion is highly overrated anyway, right?
I may not be madly in love with him, but we've got a long time
together, there's time to learn.
Oh, besides which, they opened a Baby Gap at the strip (Good Lord,
would they *stop* importing Gap stores from America? I don't have the
money to spend it like the cash registers want me to!), come with me?
I have some sick maternal urge to buy pants that would fit a cat.
Call me after nine; I'm out for dinner.
- Michi
=====
It seemed to Ranma that every two-bit yuppie in Tokyo had been to the
Indigo Caf� the night of the murders. So far, he'd identified four
former-yakuza members, three leaders of large corporations, and at
least four people that he knew socially. It seemed that half of the
city had turned out to drink spritzers and pretend that they were chic.
In the background, over the quiet hum of the computers, he heard
Michi's voice rising to an annoyed climax, reaching - for the seventh
time that afternoon - the end of her professional rope with yet another
credit card company. Her eyes were flashing, and she was snapping the
last remnants of what had been a ballpoint pen earlier that day, her
fingers stained with blue ink. "Look, you miserable excuse for a
customer service representative - !" she hissed dangerously, pausing as
someone on the other end interrupted.
Ranma found himself smiling despite how dreary the situation looked.
There was something inexplicably endearing about Michi; there was
something wonderfully bright and sunny about spending Monday at the
office when one had spent the majority of their weekend with their
newest crush, one Kodachi Kuno. After the Thursday night dinner,
they'd made a date for Friday, one which had lagged into the early
daylight hours of Saturday, one which they'd paused to get some sleep
(in their respective homes), and continued late Sunday afternoon. He
could not seem to get enough of her, and the way she had smiled at him,
how her eyes twinkled all seemed to fill his mind and push away more
urgent things.
He was reviewing security tape from ten different places in the store,
knowing that a lot of people paid cash and cash only at bars. It was
boring work, but listening as Michi's death threats became more and
more creative was entertaining, despite the soundless monotony of the
gray and white footage. He caught a couple of faces here and there,
people that he saw in and out of distant social circles, or even the
occasional college buddy.
Michi slammed the phone down onto the cradle, and Ranma jumped,
swearing that he was hearing plastic crack. He glanced to his side
warily, knowing by then that Michi was as prone to her fits of bad and
irrational temperament as any other human being. Muttering foul
curses, his partner stalked out of the office and down the hall, the
clicking of her heels fading slowly as she went further and further.
Ranma stared in bemusement when she returned a few minutes later, an
armful of chocolate bars grasped in her hands; she gave him a look that
just *dared* him to make a comment before she sat down.
=====
To: Kodachi@kunoinc.co.jp
From: rsaotome@police.go.jp
Subject: Re:[last night]
Kodachi -
Ha. Ha. Ha. Very cute. You and Ryoga have the same sense of humor.
Honestly, Michi and I work together, you know that, and besides, she's
engaged (and more, but I'll tell you that when she can't potentially
look over my shoulder and see me writing it). I don't see how it's
funny to scare me like that.
Anyway, this weekend was incredible. And yeah, I do admit that I never
expected you to be like this. I mean, no offense, but when I knew you
earlier...you were always sorta...scary, you know? I like you a lot
better like this, I like you a lot a lot better.
Good luck with the gymnastics expo, you show those parents who's boss!
Call me tonight!
Yours (very) truly - RS
=====
"Can I give you a lift?" he'd asked.
"You sure it's okay?" she'd replied, hesitant to take his offer.
Smiling, he'd said, "Aw, come on, Michi. It's right down the street;
grab your stuff and get ready to go."
That had been half an hour ago, before she'd informed Ranma who she was
going to the restaurant to see. Ranma, though only on a limited level,
understood that Michi's relationship with her family was strained at
best. It was one of those small things that made them kindred spirits,
and made his own miserable history seem not so bad; at least someone
else shared his problems. She'd blinked at him in surprise when he'd
brought it up. "Well, yeah, I don't get along with my sister."
Frowning, she'd cocked her head to the side. "How did you know?" He
decided he would play it safe. "Wild guess," he answered stupidly.
Ranma knew better than to mention that Michi's sister, Aoi, rang the
office at least twice a week, sounding irate and bratty (something he
did not appreciate) and he usually ended up playing secretary; though
he faithfully delivered messages, he'd never once seen Michi pick up
the phone to return the call.
But as he found himself saying often in the quiet of his own mind, it
was Michi's life. She could live it as she saw fit.
Ranma watched her disappear through the doors of the restaurant, and
sighing, he pulled out of the parking circle, heading toward his own
apartment. All the while he ignored the nagging voice in the back of
his mind: it teased and tormented and reminded him of things that he'd
rather not remember. Whether it was because she let herself be
fragile, or because she had opened herself up to him, he felt an
obligation to keep Michi safe, courtesy of the tattered remnants of his
martial artist's honor. He was certain that being divorced was not
cohesive with the idea of giri.
He frowned darkly, recalling in quick succession the things that had
nailed the coffin shut in his ill-fated marriage:
The wedding had been a disaster, and the second time around, they had
only barely been joined. The whole affair had only come to fruition
due to a persistent priest and sedatives. Their first year of marriage
had been good, they were two kids just out of high school a little
confused about what they were supposed to do, but doing it anyway,
screwing up along the way but enjoying the ride. The dojo had been
successful, thanks in no small part to the wrecking crew's reputations
over the last years. For a while, they'd been happy.
But the subject of children had caused them a great deal of conflict.
He and Akane realized there was something wrong when a year and a half
of unprotected sex had yielded no offspring. Many tests and many
tearful nights later the verdict had come down: he was sterile.
Before that night, he'd never understood the impact of simple words.
They'd always seemed so meaningless to him, transient, and he'd never
quite grasped why people found them so hurtful. Stupid, tomboy,
uncute, they weren't *honest* representations of his emotions, just
things he said when he was angry, or when he was at a loss of other
things to yell; they didn't *mean* anything. Sterile, however, meant
many things. It meant that Genma Saotome would storm the doctor's
office, demand test after test after test, claiming that no son of his
would be "barren," as that was a woman's place and woman's shame. It
meant that Tendo Soun would start not-so-subtly hinting that Akane seek
a different husband. It would mean that for once, Nabiki would listen
to him, and he would trust her not to tell anyone, not for any price;
it meant that they became friends. It would mean that Kuno would find
out anyway, and rub his face into it. The great Saotome: possessor of
defunct loins. Any children that he and Akane had would be bastard
offspring, any adopted child would be whispered about; they would get
no peace. He'd been undefeatable for his entire life, and when he'd
lost the little ones, he'd come right back to win where it mattered.
"Azospermia, Ranma," the doctors at Nerima General Hospital had said,
"a total absence of sperm in your semen. We're sorry." One could not
defy scientific absolutes, as Michi enjoyed pointing out to him, never
knowing that the brief wince was not of annoyance at her repetitious
words, but rather of painful remembrance. He had learned a lot about
scientific truths that afternoon.
It was the first time Akane had ever seen him cry.
He'd locked himself in the dojo for over a week, not coming out for
food, and only leaving at night, coming back the morning after stinking
of liquor and smoked-out, his eyes red from lack of sleep.
He had never known how much he'd *wanted* a baby until it was certain
that he wouldn't be able to have one.
By the middle of the second week, his wife grew frustrated, and broke
down a wall - literally. She'd stormed in, grabbed him by the collar,
and hugged him tightly, telling him that she didn't care, that she
loved him anyway, that there was more to their future than simply
children. "This is about us, Ranma, not what anyone else thinks,"
she'd declared bravely. They were young; they were stupid; they
thought that those words, that philosophy of living off of emotion
would sustain a fragile affection. At the time, he had believed her.
Akane had bravely said that they could adopt, or something like that.
For a while, it had seemed like they would make it after all.
However, Kuno and his shoddy detective work had decided to prove Ranma
ultimately unworthy of Akane's affections; ironically enough, it only
served to do the opposite. He smiled bitterly at himself, being called
burakumin certainly gave him insight into the reactions of all those
around him. Nabiki had castigated Akane severely, citing how out of
date and stupid it was to even place emphasis on something so ancient
and pointless, Kasumi had that if the matter could be kept quiet, it
ought to be. Genma had been infuriated - and set about proving Kuno
wrong. But the damage had been dealt.
"Look, Ranma - "
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!"
"I didn't know for sure, Ranma! Please, please stop," Akane had
begged, crying, pleading, for the first time in her life denied the
smiles and favors of a man. "Please!"
His wife didn't trust him, and without trust, nothing else mattered.
Ranma's childhood had been bad. His father was undependable, he'd had
no mother, his friends were taken away from him, and he'd spent much of
it living like a vagrant. There might have been no honor among
thieves, but he had been a martial artist, sort of, and he'd had his
own personal code. For love, for friendship, for forever, it did not
require much: kindness, patience, and trust. Akane had never been
particularly kind, nor patient, but she'd trusted him after they'd been
married. The constant paranoia that had led to so many fights during
their engagement had not ended with the twin gold rings, but it had
lessened, and he'd breathed a sigh of relief for it. If Kuno, if some
*raving psychotic* could shatter her belief in him...why were they
still together? It had been the straw that broke the camel's back,
arguments and frustration had built up; he knew it was time to go.
He'd asked for a divorce.
College had been lonely for him. He'd started two years later than
anyone else, and his curse had further alienated him, at first. After
a few grudging months, he was eventually drawn into a few selective
social circles, both for his attractiveness and winsome friendliness
under almost any circumstance.
He grinned ruefully, turning the car into the sublevel parking lot in
his apartment. He'd made a few mistakes, had a few too many nights of
drinking and women. But he'd come around; he'd made his decisions.
He'd become a police officer. He had liked it. And all those daily
horrors he'd faced usually faded from his mind with a good night's
sleep, he'd awaken refreshed and safe from the demons that had held him
at bay earlier.
But there was one case that refused to leave him be.
Photos of children, some younger, some older, all of them naked and
crudely displayed, were found papering the back rooms of illicit
bookstores and in the hands of seemingly good people all over the city
of Kyoto. A leak in the operation was found, but the source and the
children could never be located, they were constantly being moved
around. In between all the red tape and paperwork, somehow a young
officer had been dragged into the case, and Ranma Saotome was slightly
unstable when it came to cases dealing with children. Of course he
tried to control his temper, but upon stumbling across an escaped child
- and upon discovering the warehouse were the pornography was being
produced - there had been an explosion.
Cars were dispatched, and only half of them to apprehend the criminals,
several were there to stop a crazed officer. One, who, without guns,
managed to level a warehouse and turn half the buildings in the block
into tiny, indiscriminate chunks of rubble.
Oddly enough, he'd sometimes wonder, he felt no guilt.
He gave one last glance to the restaurant before he drove away,
thinking idly of histories and secrets, things that one would keep to
oneself, and divulge only in the most desperate of situations.
=====
To: rsaotome@police.go.jp
From: mhirugashi@police.go.jp
Subject: finished!
Attachment: cclist.pdf
Ranma -
I finally finished the list of credit cards, and cross-referenced them
with the existing database of known felons. Not surprisingly, the
numbers came down pretty low - but what *did* surprise me was that two
of our victims came up. Oh, and open this in Adobe *Acrobat* - yeah, I
know I'm a pain in the ass. The file's incomplete, I'm really rushing
right now; I'll add the contact info and the specific credit card
numbers in later.
I'm sure the majority of those who committed crimes before paid cash,
since the majority of people pay cash anyway; good luck with the half-
broken register camera! ~_^
- Michi
Attachment:
=======================================================================
SEALED FILE - POLICE USE ONLY
=======================================================================
COMPILED BY: M. HIRUGASHI; 2338434; [ALPHA-4-444]
=======================================================================
V- VISA; M - MASTERCARD; O - OTHER
=======================================================================
YOUTA MELENDORI (M) - 1989; Money laundering
SOTA ONO (M) - 1990; Bank fraud
KOSAKU KUNO - (V) 2002; Assault
KANEDA TSUKISHIRO (V) - 2009; Prostitution
GENJI MOROBOSHI (V) - 2009; Prostitution
=======================================================================
SEALED FILE - POLICE USE ONLY
=======================================================================
=====
"God, I've never seen this much money in my entire life," Michi said
softly, her tone awed.
They were parked on a leafy avenue in one of the most expensive
suburban wards of Tokyo. The street was generally quiet, though
occasionally a toddler or two zipped across yards screaming and
laughing, followed by their haggard - but Gucci-clad - mothers. There
were expensive cars in every driveway (which Ranma looked at
enviously), and beautiful roses in every yard. It was the modern
definition of wealth, past that initial point where flagrant material
displays were necessary; modesty in the form of tiny BMW motifs was all
the flair. Michi and Ranma were in the middle of the stomping grounds
of a very affluent tier of Japanese society; neither of them felt very
comfortable.
Ranma frowned, saying, "Money isn't everything."
She smirked, opening the car door and stepping out. "We only say that
because we don't *have* it, Ranma."
Ranma scowled at her, hopping out of the driver's seat and walking
after his partner, both of them headed toward a large, pink house at
the top of a sloping driveway. "That's not true, Hirugashi."
She rolled her eyes at him. "Sure it isn't."
He caught up to her and caught her gaze. "Look, what do you find more
important: your family, or money?" Instantly, he realized that he'd
made a bad comparison, and that he was about to be horribly disgusted
with her next words, at least, that's what he assumed from the wickedly
delighted expression on her face.
Michi laughed softly, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the front
door of the house again. "Money was always tight when I was growing
up, Ranma." She looked at him seriously, pausing on the front stoop to
the luxurious residence, her hair looking very auburn in the late
afternoon light and from the reflection of the glassy door. "It's not
that I'm a moneygrubber, I just know what it's like to not have any of
it on hand."
He cocked an eyebrow at her, murmuring, "So do I," just as she pressed
the doorbell.
=====
To: records@police.go.jp
From: rsaotome@police.go.jp
Subject: [none]
Attachment: Request_Form.doc (Kaneda Tsukishiro)
Request_Form.doc (Genji Moroboshi)
Request_Form.doc (Kosaku Kuno)
=====
All feedback is welcome! -ling
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