In the mountains outside of Tokyo, far enough away that the light of
the city itself could not be seen when the sun had set, lay a
sprawling, if dilapidated inn. The building was run down, paint
having peeled from the wooden paneling, and small weeds growing
between the shingles of the moss-covered roof. Shutters rattled in
even the slightest breezes, and only a single guest was present.
The manager, a man of middling years with a dour opinion on
maintenance left his single guest undisturbed, with only the warning
that the inn would likely be gone within the week.
In his room, moth-eaten futon and blankets left in the closet, a male
figure sat at the writing table, a flickering electric light
providing illumination.
"Ugh," he muttered, setting a mechanical pencil to the sheet before
him. "What a ride."
In the room behind him, leaning against a wall to be protected from
the elements, a ten-speed bicycle stood, finish gleaming despite the
strangely evident age of the device. A pack sat on the floor a short
distance away, and a bedroll and sleeping bag had been set out in
what little space was left.
The man sighed audibly, pulling his pencil away from the paper and
shaking his head. His hair was black, kept in a pigtail to about the
middle of his back, and tightly braided. A bandana -- red satin, to
appearances -- kept the dark shock of his bangs out of his blue-gray
eyes. Clad only in a white T-shirt and jeans, unaffected by the
chill of the room, the man twisted his face into a grimace, and
threw his arms into the air in despair, falling backwards to lay on
the floor, staring upwards.
Lacing his fingers together behind his head, he gazed up at the
ceiling, attention distant. His shirt betrayed the bulges of a fair
number of fairly refined muscles -- not quite muscular, but more
than wiry. "How long has it been," he mused aloud. "Three... four
years?"
He sighed, closing his eyes, and shook his head. "Too damn long."
The wind broke the silence, a rustling noise filling the room as
leaves brushed across the roof. "Not long enough. That's it," he
decided, sitting up completely, and seizing the dropped pencil.
"Yo, Aniki," he began, reading aloud as he scribed on the paper.
He chewed his lower lip for a moment, then shrugged, and resumed
writing. "I haven't seen you in a couple of months, so thought I'd
mail this to your house.
"Life on the road is different from when I was a kid, and I've
learned a lot, but I think it's time for me to go to school. I have
a few months left before classes begin, anyway."
Sighing, he frowned at what he'd written. "I hate writing letters,"
he mumbled to himself, before he resumed his cautious scrawl.
"So I'm going to try and get into the same college you did. I think I
can do it because you helped me study. Wish me luck, Aniki. I'll
mail you my address once I find someplace to live near school."
Studying the letter uncertainly, he sighed, then gave a judicious
nod. "Good enough," he announced to no one in particular, signing
the letter.
"Your little brother, Oe Ranma."
Carefully folding the letter, he leant over to his pack, and produced
an envelope, quickly scribbling an address on it, folding the letter
up, and tucking it carefully inside before sealing it. Reaching back
into the drawer of the desk, he pulled out a worn, beaten, and
much-abused looking pamphlet.
"Ugh," he grumped, frowning. "This thing is old... but let's see...."
The pamphlet was carefully smoothed against the table, and the man's
ready eyes scanned across it. "Dorms... dorms... dorms...."
Finding what he looked for, he smiled brightly. "Hinata-Sou, eh? Now
all I gotta do is write one more letter, and we'll be set...."
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Diamonds in the Rough -- Prologue
Disclaimer: Paints in this story are from Takahashi, Viz (Ranma 1/2),
TV Tokyo and Ken Akamatsu (Love Hina), and Tatsuya Egawa
(Goldenboy). The easel is mine. That's all.
Notes: Divergences should become apparent as relevant.
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Sliding the curtains open poured a dim light into the room, filtering
through heavy clouds, and thin fog. The woman in the housedress who
had opened the curtains clicked her tongue, sighing at the weather
before allowing herself a small smile.
"Kasumi, dear?" a voice called out to her from the back of the small
apartment she occupied.
Blinking, the woman turned about, favoring one leg as she did so, and
turned large innocent eyes towards the speaker. That speaker was
male, with short, neatly trimmed black hair and wire-frame
spectacles. "Good morning, Tofu! I'm sorry -- I'll get started on
breakfast right away-"
"That's not necessary," he assured her, smiling as he stepped closer.
"But I know that the bad weather makes you ache. Are you alright?"
Biting her lip, Kasumi stared at her leg for a moment before allowing
her worried expression to melt into a pleased smile. "I'm glad
you're concerned, Tofu, but it doesn't hurt badly. It... it simply
reminds me of...." She trailed off, her smile failing as she
struggled for words. Clasping her hands together, she faced the man
worriedly, and finally blurted out, "Do you ever wonder what
happened to him, Tofu? Where he went after-"
"Let's not worry about that right now," Tofu interrupted, shaking his
head resolutely. "Your father brings it up often enough. For
today... for today, why don't we just be happy with one another, and
not worry about... about Ranma."
For a moment, the woman seemed about to protest, but finally, she
nodded, and allowed the man a pleased smile. "You're right, Tofu. Of
course."
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Author's notes:
And so it begins.