[FFML] [Ranma] A Baroque Yarn

[Brian Randall]

     "Anne!"  The girl jerked to attention at the call, casting around
wildly.  "Anne!"  She calmed herself quickly, taking a deep breath.
She was alone in the garden, and the voice had come from within the
house.  Just another boring day reading ... napping....

     "Coming, sister," she called back, climbing to her feet and
checking her skirts to make sure no grass or leaves remained.  Her
elder sister did get upset if she ever got them stained.  Another
quick check to make sure that her sword remained where she'd hidden it
-- inside the hem of her skirt, beneath her petticoats.  Kate would be
furious if she found Anne still carrying the thing.

     She smoothed her hands over her skirts again in case they'd
become rumpled, and headed for the doorway.

     "Nancy!"

     She rolled her eyes at that.  Being the youngest of the three
should have made her the most troublesome, if tradition had any
weight, but in practice it was Nancy who caused the most problems.
And also got away with the most.  If Nancy got stains on her
skirts....  But of course, that never actually happened.  Still, if it
had, she'd be scolded, and then the problem would melt away with a few
well-timed giggles and girlish blushes.

     Anne managed to school her expression by the time she strode
through the doorway.  The parlor was dimly lit, not nearly as pleasant
as the garden had been.  Kate was standing inside the room with her
back turned -- her dress immaculate as always, though her posture was
curiously stern.

     "Kate?" Anne asked her eldest sister.  "Is something the matter?"

     "Sit down," Kate said, turning around and gesturing to a seat.
Nodding dutifully, Anne did as she was instructed.  Anne and Nancy
never had a mistress to teach them, but as Nancy said (beyond Kate's
hearing, of course), they'd never felt themselves suffering that lack.
 Nancy came down the hall, expression drowsy and disinterested as
always.

     "What is it?" the middle sister asked, barely even raising a hand
to cover a yawn.  "I was napping."

     "It's important, I assure you," Kate said in crisp tones.  "Take
a seat.  Both of you should listen to this."

     "Bother," Nancy groused, sitting near Anne and adjusting her skirts.

     Anne shifted her own seat slightly, making sure that her blade
wouldn't be noticed by Kate.  That would start another unpleasant
argument, and there just wasn't any winning against Kate.  Or Nancy,
come to think of it.

     Life was so seldom fair.

     "As you know," Kate began, once both were seated, though she
herself remained standing, "I've received a gentleman caller
recently."

     "Oh, do tell," Nancy said in a bored tone.  "That half-wit
doctor, who becomes somehow even less when he sees you?"

     Anne tried to mask her apprehension behind a curious smile.
Doctor Oswold Thuford had caught Anne's eye some time ago ... but Anne
somehow doubted he even noticed her at all.  Certainly he'd been the
family doctor for a long while, but it seemed that Anne was always
just a child to him.  Still, this was the first she'd heard that he
was actively pursuing Kate.

     Kate smiled at Nancy warmly, who winced in response.  "Ah, sorry,
I mean that witty doctor," she corrected herself.  Kate's niceness
could extend to the point of cruelty -- and would -- if Nancy pushed
too hard.  "Er.  Yes.  I do know."

     "I know now," Anne couldn't help but add.

     Kate's eyes flickered from Nancy to Anne, and then her gaze
softened.  Sadly, she said, "Oh, stains on your dress again.  Playing
in the lawn.  Can't you at least take a blanket out with you?"

     "Then the grass won't get as much sun," Anne defended herself
weakly.  "I just ... really like spending time in the garden."

     "It doesn't matter," Kate said abruptly, pinching the bridge of
her nose and closing her eyes.  "There is an issue here, and there are
also several points to be made.  You must have noticed that Father is
not present."

     "I wasn't complaining," Nancy said with a smirk.

     "Nancy!"

     "I noticed, Kate.  What's the point, already?  It's just us girls
here, we can stop all this beating around the bush.  Are you getting
married?"

     "Father made an agreement some time ago," Kate said, shaking her
head.  "Of course, that meant the eldest of us would be married to the
son of a longtime friend of his.  He didn't see fit to bring this up
until after poor Doctor Thuford had proposed."

     Anne blinked quickly.  Doctor Thuford wasn't going to marry Kate?
 Kate was going to marry someone else?  Maybe it really was a
blessing!

     "So Father decided that if I wouldn't marry who he directed, I
would no longer be a part of his family."

     Nancy and Anne both sucked in breaths at that.  Their father was
not a strong-willed man; from him to even say such a thing, well, that
meant that this was no idle threat.

     "And so, for the time being, I am not your sister."

     Anne gaped, staring at Nancy, who gawked back.

     "Close your mouths," Kate snapped.  "And listen; I only have this
one last chance to speak to you so earnestly."

     "Y...you," Nancy began nervously.

     "But..." Anne tried weakly.

     "That's not listening!"  Kate took a moment to calm herself.
"Now.  The way of it is that I will be wed to Doctor Thuford despite
Father's wishes.  He can take that engagement and do with it what he
will -- which is pass it on to one of you."

     "I'm engaged?" Nancy said, blinking suddenly.  "Well.  He's
wealthy, then, whoever it is I am to marry?"

     "I doubt it," Kate grumbled.  "Some old plan of Father's to unite
the Academy with the headmaster of another school....  As I'm sure you
remember, schools don't generate terribly much wealth."

     "I'm to be a pauper," Nancy realized, looking ill.  "Well, my
dearest sister, you can take me in, can't you?  You and your adoring
husband would be most happily able to accommodate--"

     "I think not," Kate cut Nancy off.  "And, anyway, I doubt you
will marry him.  Father's upset over my choice.  I am certain that if
Anne asks, even though she's the youngest, she'll be wed to him
instead."

     Anne found her hands taken up in Nancy's.  "Oh, congratulations,
my dearest sister!  I hope that you find happiness with your new
groom!"

     Blanching, the youngest girl shook her head swiftly.  "N...no,"
she protested.  "Wait!  This is too soon!  And if you both deny him,
why would I marry him?"  She felt tears forming in her eyes and tried
to blink them away quickly.  "Why am I left with no choice?"

     "You can choose to reject him," Kate said in a quiet tone.  "But
mark my words, sister Anne....  You're lovely enough, and you're
decently mannered.  But you carry a sword beneath your skirts-- Oh, I
know, you think I don't, but I do-- you practice fighting in the
garden until you've ruined almost every dress you own, we've no dowry
but the Academy and this house, which I know you'd hate to part
with....  Anne, this is reason.  This is compassion, even.

     "I'm sorry to be so cruel about it, but the truth of the matter
is, if you do not take this man, who is obligated to honor and satisfy
you ... I do not think you will ever be wed.  And then you won't have
the chance of a tolerant father who allows you to play-fight in the
gardens while claiming you're reading or napping."

     Anne flinched, pulling her hands to her chest, away from Nancy.

     "You won't have the home that mother raised us in," Kate
continued.  "You won't have any of those things!"

     "W...what about you?" Anne asked, her voice cracking.  "If....
If Father sends Nancy and I away for refusing...."  She trailed off
helplessly.

     "I'd agree to take you in," Kate said in a sorry tone.  "But
you'd stay with the good doctor's mother.  And she has no tolerance
for shameless flirting," she said, eying Nancy, "or any of the things
you enjoy," she continued, turning her gaze back to Anne.  "I am
sorry, I truly am.  But if you wish to find happiness, I believe this
is your truest path for it."

     "And what about me?" Nancy asked, frowning.  "It's not for me to
say, normally, but here ... those are cruel words indeed from a loving
sister.  What barbs do you send my way?"

     "I have little to offer you," Kate said in a dry tone.  "You've
... charms ... enough," she said with a vague gesture at Nancy's
chest.  "I'm certain you'll find yourself a husband wealthy enough to
please you."

     Stung, Nancy worked her jaw a few times, then crossed her arms
over her chest.  "Cruel words indeed," she said, finding her voice.
"It is just as well you said you were no longer my sister.  I find
that suits me quite well, just now.  Come, Anne -- away from the
future Lady Thuford.  We should speak to Father about this man we've
been affianced to."

     "Y...yes," Anne managed, rising at Nancy's urging, her voice
cracking.  She tried not to look at Kate as she was led down the hall.
 Tried not to notice the tears in her eldest sister's eyes.

     Tried to believe that Kate wasn't right.

     ***

     In the end, Nancy hadn't put up any argument at all when Anne
asked their father if she could be engaged to the young man none of
them had ever met.  Their father was so ecstatic that she wouldn't
protest, he agreed immediately.  And that left Anne plenty of time to
be nervous about her fiancé.

     His name was Roan Shaftoe, son of Gary Shaftoe.  As her father
had explained it to her, Gary and her father had learned the arts of
war touring Europe for years together, and eventually earned a
consignment from the crown to found a school.

     Unfortunately, the school had to be shared between the two of
them.  So when Gary Shaftoe had a son, and Sam Tomlin had three
daughters, they'd agreed their children would be wed.  But when Roan
was still very young, Gary had taken him to Europe to learn the arts
of war as he had, so that when he returned to the Academy he could
continue the tradition.

     According to the letter that had been posted only a few days ago,
Gary and Roan were to be taking the next ship over from the Americas
-- they were in a place called Boston, which Anne vaguely knew as
being in the colonies ... but hadn't really spent any time to learn
more about.  Even if he had traveled the world, as she'd always
dreamed, he was still from London, just like her.

     Wasn't he?

          ------------------------------------
                   A Baroque Yarn
            (Different island; same story)
              a Ranma 1/2 fanfiction by:
                   Brian   Randall
                 Paints courtesy of:
                  Rumiko  Takahashi
                and some tinting from:
                  Neal   Stephenson
               Apologies: not provided
          ------------------------------------

     A knock sounded at the door, shattering Anne's carefully
cultivated calm.  She felt nervous, panicky -- almost as though she
were going to be married.  Which she was, she realized; but this
wasn't a wedding, it was merely an introduction.  "The door," she
said, needlessly.  Both her father and Nancy were in the room with
her.  Her father was thumbing through an old, torn book, and Nancy was
minding her embroidery.

     "Oh!" Nancy exclaimed with a bright grin.  "Let's go meet him, shall we?"

     "Of course," Sam said, already well on his way down the hall.
"Shaftoe!" he cried out, flinging the doors at the end of the hall
open, before an eerie silence fell.

     Nancy and Anne exchanged a glance and rushed out to see what was
the matter.

     The problem was a bit more complex than either had envisioned.
The young man at the door was dirty from travel, wearing a leather
vest over a thick cotton shirt, and some sturdy looking chaps.  For a
moment, Anne thought he was some wayward Spaniard, wandered across the
ocean from his herd.  But Spaniards didn't have red hair, like he did.
 The heavy black wooden pole he carried in one hand did lend to the
image, but the saber and pistol on his belt took away from it
somewhat.  And the majority of Spaniards were taller than Anne, not
shorter as this boy was.

     Still, that wasn't the problem -- exactly.

     The problem was the humongous bear just behind the redheaded boy.
 A grizzly, if Anne recalled her papers correctly.  She might not
remember the names of the cities in the colonies, but dangerous beasts
were always of fascinating and romantic interest.  It simply sat on
its haunches behind the redheaded boy, watching expectantly.

     "I'm terribly sorry about this," the boy said, looking over his
shoulder nervously, presumably at the bear.

     The streets had filled with curious onlookers keeping a wary eye
on the beast and its apparent tamer.

     "Roan?" Sam asked, finding his voice first.  "That is ... you're
Roan Shaftoe?"

     "Yeah," the red haired boy agreed, turning from the glower he was
shooting at his ursine companion.  "That's me.  Sir.  Sorry.  Um.  I
am.  Terribly sorry about this."

     "No matter!" Sam said happily, clapping one hand on Roan's back.
"That thing's tame, right?"

     "I don't know about that," Roan said skeptically, glancing back
at the bear.  "Harmless, sure.  But tame?  Never."

     "Er."  Sam frowned, looking at the beast.  "Well, we don't have
any horses here right now, so I suppose the stables will have to do."

     Roan smirked widely.  "Good plan," he agreed.  "Show me where,
and I'll gladly lock the beast up."  The bear reared up indignantly,
and Roan's pole flashed -- one second it was in hand at his side, the
next it was right before the beast's nose.  "No lip out of you," he
warned.

     "Bears don't have lips," Anne found herself saying.

     Roan glanced at her, then nodded.  "I think there's an awful lot
to explain here, though," he warned.

     Anne nodded back, saying nothing, and led the way.  Sam hesitated
a moment, then shook his head and turned to Nancy abruptly.  "Let's
see about putting some tea on for our guest, hmm?" he asked her.

     As they passed beyond earshot, Anne heard Nancy ask, "Don't you
wonder where your friend, Gary, is?"

     "Not to worry, not to worry!  Roan is here, and I'm sure things
will be fine at that!"

     Anne breathed out a sigh, and hung her head.  "I'm sorry about
that," she said quietly.  "Father may be blind, and Nancy may not
care, but I won't have you be troubled more than you have to."

     "What do you have to be sorry about?" Roan asked, herding the
bear towards the stables with his pole.  "I'm sorry for causing
trouble -- bringing a bear in, and all."

     "I mean," Anne said, opening the stable doors and pitching her
voice low, so none of the onlookers could hear, "about you being a
girl.  This must be awkward for you."

     Roan stiffened, shooting the beast at her side a dark glare.  It
snuffled, offered a gesture almost like a shrug, and then ambled in
and curled up on the pile of hay that had sat there longer than Anne
could remember.  "Yeah," Roan sighed, looking down at her chest,
mostly concealed thanks to the thick, but loose shirt, and the sturdy
leather vest that was a size or two larger than she really needed.
"You don't know the half of it."

     "Um....  Does your bear have a name?"

     "Gary," Roan replied, smirking.

     Anne shook her head.  "After your father?"

     "Something like that."

     "Hmm."  Anne stared for a moment, then crossed her arms over her
chest.  "Are you really Roan?  I won't tell on you if you're not ...
but we received a letter saying he would be coming."

     "I'm really Roan," the redhead said.  "Um....  So, there is
something that I can explain more simply once I have some hot water."

     ***

     "...and that's how it happened," Gary concluded, arms crossed
over his chest.

     Roan, a girl again (now looking like an Irish waif once she'd
taken off her vest and re-belted her shirt as a short gown), shot her
father a dark glare.  "Look, old man," she hissed, "if you didn't
enrage those American Indians, this never would have happened!"

     "It didn't kill us, and look at what we've learned!"

     "Anyway," Sam said, recovering, "that's not so bad.  Roan, this
is my daughter Anne, and she's agreed to be your fiancée."

     Roan blinked, looking at Anne.  "We're both girls," she
protested.  "Doesn't that strike you as being just a bit ... well ...
queer?"

     "It's nothing hot water doesn't fix!" Sam said.  "I'm certain
everything will work out just fine."

     Anne felt mired in a pit of misery.  "Come with me, Roan," she
said, putting a hand out.  "Let's go in the garden and talk, shall
we?"

     "Ooh," Nancy cooed.  "Young lovers alone without a chaperon?"

     "Please," Anne snarled, shooting her older sister a venomous
glare.  "We're both girls, aren't we?  We don't have need of a
chaperon."

     "She makes a sound point," Sam agreed.  "Anyway, let's schedule
the wedding for ... oh ... how does three months from now sound, Anne?
 Roan?"

     "I....  But..." Roan sputtered.

     "Roan and I will discuss it," she replied stiffly.

     "But," Roan tried to protest again, as Anne dragged her through
the halls.  Behind her, she distantly caught Gary suggesting that he
and Sam drink to celebrate their reunion.  Despite Roan's inarticulate
complaints she didn't say a word until she reached her garden.  The
whole house's garden, really, but Anne spent more time there than
anyone else.  The sun would set soon, but it wasn't full dark yet.

     "Now, look here," Anne said, wheeling to face Roan and releasing
her hand.  "I want one thing to be perfectly clear once we're
married."

     "Once?" Roan grumbled.  "Shouldn't that be an 'if'?"

     "Do you think anyone else will want to marry you with that
curse?" Anne asked skeptically.  "Come, now.  But, I'm reasonable.
I'll keep quiet about it in public, I won't torment you, and in
return, I expect that you'll let me continue as I have."

     "I....  You...."  Roan rubbed her face with her hands.  "Continue
as you have?  How so--  No!  Don't tell me.  There's another man," she
said in disgust.  "You want me as a cuckold?  Well, I won't have it!
I may turn into a girl, but I am no woman to accept such a thing!"

     "Hardly!" Anne said quickly, shaking her head.  Still, she
couldn't afford to reveal how undesirable she was as a bride -- thanks
to Kate's warning -- until Roan had agreed to give her the freedoms
she wanted ... no, needed to survive.

     Roan crossed her arms over her chest.  "Well?  What, then?"

     Gesturing to the garden, really just a lawn with a smattering of
flowers around the edges, Anne explained patiently, "When I was
younger, before my father decided that it wasn't ladylike, he trained
me to use a sword.  I still practice, and being wed to you will not
change that."  She shot the redhead a challenging stare.

     "Fair," Roan agreed with a shrug.  "Is that all?"

     "Is...."  Anne coughed quietly.  "And I have no great love of
society.  So don't expect to parade me around."

     "I see," Roan said, bored.  "That's fine with me."

     "And finally," Anne said, narrowing her eyes, "you will be
absolutely _discreet_ with your mistresses."

     "That's--  Wait, what?"  Roan shook her head furiously.  "I don't
have a mistress!"

     "Well, I expect you will, and I expect you to be subtle about it!
 I won't have you embarrassing us!"  There, Anne decided.  That should
ensure he didn't make her give up what she valued most.  And, if he
did decide she wasn't that interesting, at least he could still honor
the marriage.

     Roan stared at her, then rubbed her forehead.  "You're a strange
girl," she said.  "But, fine.  If that makes you happy.  Anyway, you
say your father taught you swordsmanship?"

     "Oh, yes," Anne said, smirking.  "He has, and I've practiced every day."

     "Good," Roan said, rubbing the back of her neck.  "The old man's
rusty.  I could use someone to practice with."

     Anne felt her face color with confusion.  "What?"

     "Well, you say you're good," Roan said, drawing one of her sabers
and sighting along the edge against the sky, checking it for nicks or
dents.  She tossed the pole she had been lugging around to the middle
of the lawn.  "And if you're going to make demands of me once we're
wed, I think it's fair I make some of my own."

     "Ah....  Now, wait just one moment," Anne began.

     But Roan was not listening, slinging her sword over one shoulder.
 "So, the first thing is, as long as we're engaged -- or wed -- you
won't call yourself a swords-woman if you don't practice against an
actual partner.  Ready?"

     "I...."  Anger and admiration warred within Anne.  Eventually,
eagerness to test her skills won out.  Roan did have a point; just
practicing was empty.  Putting it to use, on the other hand....  "Very
good!  We'll need practice swords, and--"

     "No, we won't," Roan said cheerfully.  "Have at you!"

     Anne barely managed to shove one hand into her skirt's
pocket-slit and drew her blade in time.  It was a rapier, a thin
weapon, and only just able to deflect the blade whistling towards her
neck.  She gibbered, backpedaling as Roan flicked an attack towards
her thigh.  Once her blade was out, she deflected this one with more
confidence.  But she'd severed something drawing her weapon.  She
danced backwards as Roan tried some tentative overhead slashes,
leaving the fallen hooped skirt behind.  Her face began to color as,
with each handful of steps backwards, she realized another layer of
her skirts were falling away.

     Roan paused, looking down at the collection of cloth scattered
across the lawn.  "Y...you brute!" Anne accused shakily.  "What was
the meaning of that?"

     "Well, I knew you were carrying a sword," Roan said with a shrug,
blushing brightly as she tore her gaze from Anne's lost clothing and
sheathed her sword.

     "I've half a mind to run you through for that," Anne growled.
Still, going back inside to redress was out of the question.  Then,
Nancy or her father would see, and that would be ... awkward.  "For
_shame_, Roan!"

     The redhead's face matched her hair.  "I didn't think you were
going to be tearing clothes off," she mumbled.

     "I wasn't!" Anne growled, gathering her things up.  Roan was
studiously still looking away.  "Don't turn around."  Oh, well, she
thought morosely.  She'd agreed to marry the savage, after all.

     "W...why don't you wait a bit?" Roan asked.  "You've still got
your dress on, right?"

     Anne snapped, "Of course I do!  I'm not _lewd_!"

     "Y...yes.  Of course.  But if it's just the two of us, won't you
be able to move more easily without all those other skirts?  Before I
noticed why, I thought you were ... well ... getting much better."

     Anne stared at the skirts, petticoats, and other pieces of
clothing she'd collected so far.  Then she looked down at the single
layer of cloth currently covering her underclothes.  She sighed
heavily.  "Well, fine.  But until we're married, I won't have you
practicing with me in your own form, you beast.  And don't stare!"

     Roan winced, but said, "Very well, then.  Again, Anne?"

     Tossing the clothing over the shrub she judged least likely to
deposit sap over everything, she said, "If you please, Roan."

     Roan turned slowly, then smiled.  "Your form is good."

     "You've a dirty mind," Anne replied.

     "I meant with the sword," Roan grumbled, rubbing her forehead.
"Okay.  Look.  Rapier, right?  Profile towards your opponent, one hand
behind you for balance.  I have to go through you to get to it, so
one-on-one it's not a liability."

     Anne blinked.  "Are you trying to teach me?" she asked, eyes
narrowing.  "It's one thing to practice together, and I'll even do it
in this indecent state, but come, now.  Must you condescend?"

     "Have you traveled the world refining your skill?" Roan asked.

     "Enough!"  Anne rushed Roan, guessing the redhead would be able
to dodge the first thrust, but planning a quick riposte to smack the
flat of her blade on Roan's backside.  That would teach her!  Only, it
didn't work that way.  Instead, she found her sword flying from her
hand, her fingers stinging.  She blinked, realizing that she and Roan
were nose-to-nose, and something was pressing into the bottom of her
chin.

     "This is somewhat awkward for me to say," Roan said, still
blushing faintly, "but I have to admit -- as bewildering as you are, I
think it would be easy to take a fancy to you.  But I won't have it!

      "You're skilled, for a child.  I've wandered the continents --
all of them.  I've learned Afrik fighting arts.  I've gone to the Far
East, where they teach ways of fighting with bare hands that shame the
best fighters our country knows.  I've been to the Americas, and
learned how the savages throw spears, and fire arrows.

      "I've studied under the best gunmen in the New World, and I
think that I am, in fact qualified to teach you how to fight.  Even if
that means thinking beyond your sword.  If you want the right to fight
me as an equal, then you shall earn it."

     Anne blinked, as the pressure beneath her chin was drawn away,
and she saw what it was -- Roan's pistol.

     She worked her mouth a few times, trying to find words, and
finally gave up, going after her sword.  Then, no longer caring if
Roan was watching or not, she sheathed it, and hiked up her dress,
laboriously climbing into the clothing that she'd previously lost.
Once everything was back in place, she turned back to Roan, who had
politely turned away while she dressed, hands clasped behind her back.

     "You _are_ a brute," Anne muttered.

     Roan turned back to look at her, frowning.

     "But I suppose," she added, unable to keep a small smile from her
face, "you're not a terrible brute, as these things go."

     "It wasn't loaded," Roan said quietly.  "I just wanted to make a point."

     "You've done that."  Anne paused, looking down.  "I suppose a
lesser man wouldn't consent to a wife who played at fighting--"

     "And neither will I," Roan said quickly.  "Fight, or don't, but
don't make a mockery of my life."

     Anne felt tears welling up in her eyes.  "I don't mean to make it
a mockery," she said quietly.  "I've done my best -- and it wasn't
enough."

     "It....  Everyone must begin somewhere.  And you're in good
condition; you just lack proper instruction.  I....  I'd like to see
you become everything you want, Anne.  Your conditions ... those
things we have to agree to if we're to be wed...."

     "Look at you," Anne laughed, wiping at her tears.  "You're trying
to propose!"

     "Are you making fun of me?" Roan asked miserably.  "I'm trying to
be....  Oh, never mind."

     "No, no," Anne said, laughing again.  Kate was right.  "I'm
sorry.  Yes -- it will be difficult, but I'd love to learn with you.
We'll simply tell father it's ... er ... getting to know one-another.
And there will be no need for a chaperon if you're a girl, so both of
our goals can be realized.  Isn't that so?"

     "I'd like that," Roan said quietly, offering a tremulous smile.

     "I think I would, too," Anne said, smiling back.

     ***

     Roan pushed Anne terribly in their first few fights, feeling out
her limitations and advising her on improvement.  She couldn't help
but admit that when it came to combat, Roan was indeed the most
skilled person she'd met.  Anne had every confidence that Roan could
disarm Sam without too much effort, and likely without the
embarrassing necessity of wounding his future father-in-law.

     He'd been right about her practicing without the too-many skirts,
too.  She worried that if she ever did have to fight, she'd need to do
it indecently ... but the joy of being able to keep practicing soothed
away most of that concern.

     The only problem, really, was that Roan didn't seem to know much
of anything at all beyond traveling and fighting.  Oh, he could
recount any number of battles he'd seen -- or been in -- and name any
number of masters of the arts he'd met and trained with.  Certainly he
had strong skills in mathematics where they related to military
actions, and he knew geography quite well from his travels.

     But he had only the merest glimmerings of social graces, beyond
his struggling to maintain the veneer of politesse that he had tried
to assemble.  Exclusively for her, she began to realize.  The poor boy
simply had no real grasp, and she wondered how silly her request that
he not parade her around the social circuit seemed, in retrospect.

     So she had taken it upon herself to train _him_ in social nicety,
while she was recovering from their training bouts.  It also made an
exceedingly handsome cover for their time in the garden.  Nancy
wouldn't probably care either way, but Sam would undoubtedly be
embarrassed.  Anne didn't know Gary well enough to guess at his
reaction, but judged that it wouldn't be favorable, given that Roan
hadn't suggested she confide in the man.

     "Tell me," she said, seated comfortably on a blanket in the
garden, looking at the currently female Roan as she finished the last
of her chicken, "for all your journeying, did you make many friends?"

     "Not that I remember," the redhead admitted, wiping her fingers
on a napkin.

     At just that moment, a call came from within the house.  "Roan!"
Nancy cried.  "Roan!  You have a visitor."

     "Who could that be?" she asked, puzzled.  Shrugging, the redhead
rose, marching towards the door.  Curious, Anne followed.

     Nancy waited just inside, her expression an amused smirk.  "A
friend of yours," she said, by way of explanation, gesturing to the
hall leading to the front door.

     Roan shrugged again and went down the hall.  Anne continued
following, when Roan swung the door open.

     The sight greeting her was a young girl of probably Anne and
Roan's age, dressed much as Roan was.  Chaps, leather vest, solid
boots.  In addition, this new girl had some sort of simplified cravat,
a wide-brimmed hat, a coil of rope at one hip, not one but two
pistols, and a pair of stone hatchets hanging just below, marked with
eagle feathers bound to them.

     "Howdy!" she said brightly, her smile menacing, her eyes hard.
"Roan!  I toldja I'd find ya!"

     "Ch--Ch--Chantille!" Roan gasped, backing away reflexively.
"L...look, you've got this all wrong, I--"

     But before Anne or Roan could react, Chantille had whipped the
rope from her waist and flung it over Roan's head, binding the girl's
hands to her sides.  "Boy howdy, you was one tough son-of-a-gun to
track down!"

     "Excuse me," Anne began, putting herself protectively between
Roan and the girl, placing hands on hips.  "What do you think you're
doing with my fiancé?"

     "Fiancé?" Chantille asked, squinting.  "I don't know what yer
talkin' 'bout.  This here's Roan, and we's gettin' married!  I even
learned to talk English real good from some friendly fellers down by
the Rio Grande.  Ain't that wunnerful, sweetie?"

     Roan gawked, eyes widening.  "I....  I....  I don't know what
she's talking about!" she screeched in a panic.  "I swear!"

     "Oh, it's okay," Chantille said loudly, slowly hauling Roan
towards her with the rope.  Sam and Gary poked their heads into the
hall to see what the commotion was about.  "See, I learnt that Roan
here's not a real girl, so I don't have to kill ya!  Roan's really a
boy, that's what grandmama says, so we'll get married instead!"

     "But, but, but," Roan protested brokenly, as Anne realized the
redhead was being dragged past her.

     "Roan!" Gary cried.  "How could you?"

     "Roan!" Sam cried, eyes watering.  "You shame your fiancée!"

     "Roan!" Anne cried, tears springing to her eyes.  "I thought I
told you to be _discreet_!"

     Nancy snickered behind the back of her hand, shaking her head.

     "Why me?" Roan whimpered.

     "Perhaps," a tiny, aged figure said, detaching itself from the
dust of the street, "I can shed some light on the subject."

     "Alrighty, Grandmama!" Chantille cheered, finally hauling Roan
into hugging distance, and latching onto the redhead.

     ***

     "...and so, by the laws of the tribe," the wizened woman
explained, "Chantille must slay the girl who defeated her.  But
because the spirits have shown us that Roan is truly a man, Chantille
must instead marry him."  Her English was quite good -- much better
than Chantille's rough attempts at the same.  Though, Anne suspected,
a part of that may have just been that she didn't like the way the
rough-and-tumble dark-haired beauty had latched onto Roan's arm,
trying to apparently suffocate the boy.  With her upper torso.
Chantille's 'charms' were at least on par with Nancy's, if not more
... dangerous.

     "That's all well and good," Anne said hotly, fixing the woman a
steady glare.  "But Roan is engaged to _me_.  And he has been, since
we were both young!"

     Chantille blinked, looking at Roan, male again, but dazed,
slack-jawed, and then Anne, who was certain if she was any more
furious she'd come aflame.  "You marry him already?" she asked,
narrowing her eyes.

     "No!  I mean, I will soon!"

     "But he is, at the moment, unwed," the old woman pointed out.

     "Gah," Roan protested.

     "Why don't you simply let him marry both of you?"

     "That's not possible!" Anne complained.  "The church won't allow
a man to be wed to more than one woman!"

     "Then only have one wedding at your church," the old woman said
with a shrug, sipping her tea.  "Hm.  Dreadful stuff, this.  My great
granddaughter could make better."

     "You're welcome," Nancy supplied graciously.  "With Kate gone, I
do my best.  Anne is more abysmal in the kitchen than I am.  Well,
Roan, it seems that your best bet in this instance is to take
Chantille up for marriage."

     "What?" Roan snapped.  "She chased me halfway across the
Americas, trying to kill me!"

     "Oops," Chantille giggled, pulling Roan close once again, making
his eyes go unfocused.

     "Nancy!" Anne gasped, stung.  "How could you?"

     "It seems very obvious to me," Nancy said with a shrug.  "By our
laws, Chantille and Roan won't ever be wed -- she'll be a mistress.
And what better cover for a mistress than a cook?  Heaven above knows
that you'll need one with your skill, and it's not like anyone else
here has the money for it."

     "Ah," the old woman murmured, nodding.  "That makes sense."

     "Wait just a moment!" Roan protested.  "That's not-"

     "Very well," Anne allowed.  "But he has to be married to me first."

     "Umm...."

     "Okay!" Chantille agreed with a bright smile.  "You're gettin'
married real quick-like, though, right?"

     Anne felt herself blushing.  "Roan, we must have a long
discussion on the nature of discretion, I think."

     Roan blinked, furrowing his brow.  "Don't I get a say in this?"
he asked in a quiet voice.

     "Anyway, Chantille," Anne said, turning to look at the girl
speculatively, "we really must see about getting you more proper
clothes.  It won't do to have you looking less than your best, given
your status as Roan's mistress."

     "But...."

     "New clothes?" Chantille mused.  "Sure, it might be fun to dress
up all London-like!"

     ***

     Kindness, Anne realized, retreating frantically from Chantille's
attack, was paid in kind.  The girl was only pressing her harder than
Roan did because of the clothes that Anne had chosen for her; the kind
of dress that a cook or scullery maid might wear.  The fact that she
was advancing with both hatchets and a mad grin told her that she was
going to have to be kinder to Roan's 'mistress' in the future.

	"I'm sorry!" she gasped, taking another step backwards, frantically
trying to parry every attack with her rapier; the problem was that the
other girl had gotten inside her defenses, and now Anne couldn't get
away, and Roan was going to watch her while giggling as an American
savage chopped her into little pieces for being stingy and giving her
only the most plain dresses.  "I'll get you a nicer dress!" she
wailed, as her retreat began to wander into one of the flower-beds.

	Roan's laugher ratcheted up another notch.  "Why aren't you helping
me?" Anne demanded, finally backing into the wall, shooting a teary
gaze at the redhead.

	Her laughter finally trailed off, as Chantille stuck one hatchet into
her waistband, pinning Anne's sword against the wall with the other.
"Help you with what?" she asked, puzzled.  "Chantille isn't going to
hurt you."

	"'Course not," the American said, snorting.  "Anne, you're one silly
gal ... but you gotta fight with more than your sword to be a real
fighter!"

	"Y...you're not upset about the dress?" she asked weakly, as
Chantille put her other hatchet away and walked back towards Roan,
stretching her arms over her head.

	"'Course I ain't!  That's dress is all kinds of purty, and I ain't
never had one so nice.  I'm just tryin' to help ya back.  After all,
ain't we both gonna be married to the same guy?"  She looked back over
her shoulder and smirked.  "What kinda sister-wives would we be if we
didn't work together, huh?"

	Anne blinked several times, then sank to her knees with a sigh.
"Roan," she said ruefully, "why did you have to make my life ever so
much more complicated?"

	Roan squinted and scratched his nose thoughtfully.  "Probably because
it seemed like the best way to help you get your training up to
speed."

	Hanging her head, Anne sighed.  "Well, what does that mean, then?"
she asked, picking herself up from the ground, brushing the dirt from
her skirt.  "Learning an entirely new way to fight?"

	Chantille and Roan exchanged a glance, then nodded at her.

	"Oh, dear," Anne groaned.

	***

	London was the world's greatest adventure, in the mind of a young
girl who had left her tribe to journey halfway across the world.
Well, mostly left her tribe; her great grandmother had followed, after
all.  Still!

	These strange people with their strange ways and silly names....  She
never got tired of the dresses that Anne and Nancy insisted that
'ladies' wear.  And they'd given her some, too!  And Nancy wasn't any
use in a fight, but Anne was fun to play with, and quick to learn.

	Of course, the most important thing was that this was where _Roan_
was.  So all things considered, she was having a pretty good time.

	Take the moment, for instance; Anne, Roan, Nancy, and herself were
shopping.  This meant that Anne and Nancy walked slightly ahead, the
elder sister explaining the importance of each potential purchase, and
all considerations to take into account about it.  It seemed that
Anne's elder sister was training her in some obscure London-people
art.

	Either way, it left Roan trailing behind with a look of eternal
dismay, and all of the bags.  Which made sense; obviously he was
training his strength up while Anne learned her new art.

	"Having fun, Chantille?" he asked, glancing at her with a rueful smile.

	Of course, he was pronouncing her name wrong.  It should have been
said like, 'Mountain of Coral', but the way he said it wrong was
pretty cute.  "You betcha," she returned, grinning.  "Say, Roan, I
gotta ask you a question."

	"Yes?"

	"You ever get challenges from other fighters 'round here?" she mused.
 "Or you gotta go somewhere else for that?"

	"Well," Roan began, before a thunderous roar rattled all of the
pedestrians on the street.  The crowd quickly pressed to the sides of
the street, revealing the source of the cry.

	The hulking form of a handsome young man towered, wearing a heavy
steel chain shirt and a rich green cloak.  He had to stand at least
six feet tall, in her estimation.  "Roan Shaftoe!" he bellowed, face
reddening with fury.  He was burly, built like a bison that happened
to have fashionably long hair.

	Roan stared, blinking, and nearly dropped the packages that the girls
had handed him.  "Do I know you?" he asked, cocking his head to one
side.  Anne and Nancy quickly moved out of the way to avoid being run
down by the charging brute.

	The dark-haired youth dropped his jaw in outrage, before gritting his
teeth and clenching his fists, stalking forward with a murderous
glare.  "You claim not to remember Carolus Rupert Huber?" the man
growled.  "We duel!  Heinrich!  Hand me my zweihander."

	"Of course," a wheezing, raspy voice answered, Chantille only just
then noticing the man's companion.  He was shorter, stooped and
weary-looking, with dark sunken circles beneath his eyes.  He wore a
poorer quality version of his master's chain shirt and cloak, but more
noticeable than that was the huge pack the shorter young man carried.
He reached into it and pulled out a sword as long as Rupert was tall.

	"Um," Roan managed, blinking.  "Do I know you, either?"

	"Doubtful, Sir," the servant wheezed.  "Heinrich Garnerius, servant
of Rupert Huber, at your service."  The stooped boy bent himself even
lower, managing a bow.

	Wincing sympathetically, burdened with the girl's packages, Roan
managed to return the awkward bow.  "So," he said, furrowing his brow
and turning his attention back to Rupert, hefting the parcels, "can
this wait until I finish taking these back?"

	Rupert's rage vanished instantly.  "Of course," he said reasonably,
lowering the great two-handed blade.  "A gentleman would not interfere
with ladies going about their business."

	Nancy blinked slowly, then raised her chin and narrowed her eyes,
studying the larger boy thoughtfully.  "Huber?" she asked, quirking an
eyebrow.  "Your family invested in the colonies to the New World?"

	"Ah, yes," he agreed, nodding, offering a boyish grin.  "I'm
impressed that you would know this; we do not much speak of our
investment in my family."

	"I see," Nancy said slowly, as Rupert handed his sword back to
Heinrich.  "Well, if you're coming to cause grievous bodily injury to
our house-guest, I suppose I can only kindly invite you in for tea
after."

	Rupert clapped his right hand to his chest, over his heart, the
oversized sword dangling casually in his other hand.  "It would be my
great honor," he said, sweeping an elegant bow.

	"Honorable fellow," Ranma said with a sigh.  "Say, Rupert, I don't
suppose I could get you to say why you're trying to kill me?  Or how I
know you?"

	"You should well remember!" Rupert growled, falling into step besides
Roan.  "Do you remember the War of the Spanish Succession?"

	"Yes," Roan said cautiously.  "Why?"

	"I was there!" the tall man roared.

	"Why?" Nancy asked, baffled.  "Aren't you German?"

	"Austrian, actually," Rupert said, shaking his head.  "Regardless,
our paths crossed in the war!"

	Roan glanced at the man sidelong.  "I think I would have remembered you."

	"You led a charge at the battle of Milan that cut my forces off,"
Rupert said quietly.  "Thanks to you, we had to retreat -- we never
met, face to face.  But I know it was you, and I've come to settle the
score and restore my honor."

	"Ah," Roan said quietly.  "I think I've heard of you, as well.  I
lost a good friend that day, Rupert."

	Rupert frowned.  "A friend?  That is nothing; you cost us a war."

	"To the death, then?"

	"I wouldn't have it any other way."

	"Smashing."

	"Well, things get interesting right quick 'round here," Chantille
decided.  "Guess I don't got no complaints."

	"You aren't the least bit alarmed that this man is trying to kill
Roan?" Anne hissed to the other girls.

	"Well," Nancy said quietly, "if he kills Roan, you're out of your
obligation, and if he lives, he's probably terribly wealthy, and
fairly handsome.  Not too bright, either, at a glance.  Worst case
scenario they both die, and then at least something interesting
happened."

     "Ah, shucks, Roan'll teach this feller his place right-quick, I
reckon," Chantille added reassuringly.  "I wouldn't worry 'bout it at
all!"

	"You're _impossible_!" Anne deplored.

	***

	Anne prayed fervently for Roan's victory.  After dropping off the
packages from their shopping, Rupert and Roan had walked to the
square, where there would be more room, and Rupert formally challenged
Roan once more.  After quietly affirming that the duel was to be to
the death, Roan accepted.

     Rupert was a brute in the purest sense of the word, his massive
zweihander swung with enough force that when he missed, cobblestones
shattered beneath the impact.  But Roan was much faster, dodging back
far enough to avoid more than token nicks while whipping the heavy
wooden pole around, clubbing Rupert several times for each of the
Austrian's shallow cuts.  For all that, Rupert never seemed to tire or
feel pain, until one of Roan's sudden staff-strikes gashed open one of
Rupert's eyebrows, sending the tall German to one knee with a bellow
of agony.

     The Austrian's desperate counterstrike slashed Roan's chest --
deeply this time, shedding an arc of hard crimson.  Roan hissed,
snapping his staff at Rupert's wrist, sending the sword clattering
across the cobblestones to vibrate briefly at Anne's feet.  One hand
across his chest, Roan raised the heavy pole in his free hand.  "You
are bested," he said in the same quiet tone he had accepted the duel
with.

     Rupert's face contorted into a grimace, and for a moment, he
tried to climb to his feet once more ... but his strength failed him.
"So it seems," he growled.  "So it seems."

     Anne shivered uncomfortably, her joy at Roan's victory warring
with the twisting in her stomach over what was to come next.

     "My honor is satisfied; I see now how you bested us that day."
Taking a deep breath, the Austrian closed his eyes.  "I have one small
request, if I might, before you take my life."

     Roan hesitated, starting to shake his head, then paused wearily.
"What is it?" he asked, voice now very tired.

     "Who was the friend you lost, that day?"

     Slowly, Roan lowered the staff to his side, leaning on it for
support, his eyes searching the Austrian's face for something.  "In
Spain ... I was fighting at the side of my friend, Esteban Urrutia,"
the English boy said quietly, his voice hitching.  "When the fighting
was fiercest in Milan, we were separated in a desperate infantry
charge.  My friend ... when I found Esteban again ... was bleeding to
death.

     "I knew there wasn't much time; as there is in these battles, I
was forced to an uncomfortable choice.  Stay with my dying friend, and
risk letting revenge slip from my grasp ... or follow, and find who
landed that fated blow."  Roan's breath hitched, slightly ragged.
"The battle was moving towards us again.  A wounded infantryman told
me this story -- how an Austrian noble had somehow gotten his regiment
lost behind the city.  When they finally returned to the battle, they
fell on Esteban's forces from behind."

     Roan nodded to Heinrich.  "That noble's crest was two black boars rampant."

     Rupert flinched, and lowered his head, eyes still closed.  Anne
swallowed, staring at the crest adorning Rupert's manservant wore.
The sad-eyed young man stared at his master, biting his lower lip and
shaking his head slowly.

     "I made the wrong choice," Roan continued.  "I pursued that
fiend's forces ... your soldiers ... but I underestimated your ability
to lose yourself in the city.  Even though we won that day, you eluded
me ... and I was not there for my friend's last moments.  I could not
have left my friend behind without saving something for his family,
and that was Esteban's cross.

     "That cross traveled with me across six continents, finally
reuniting with the last living relation of my friend, Cardinal
Rodriguez Urrutia.  When I found him in his monastery in the Americas,
and told him about the cross, and that I wished for nothing so much as
to be able to return it to my friend...."  He hesitated, then shook
his head.  "Cardinal Rodriguez gave me his blessing, and told me to
keep the cross with me on my mission."  Anne stared, her mind noting
the nearby clang of steel upon stones, but unable to look away from
her fiancé's eyes, and the raw emotion there.

     Rupert's head hung lower.  "Then justice was done," he said
wearily.  "God has indeed judged your vengeance rightful."

     "Yes," Roan said wearily, raising the heavy pole again.

     "No!" someone yelled from the surrounding crowd, leaping into the
path and taking a crushing blow from Roan's staff.  The blow that
would have broken Rupert's neck instead smashed into a young man,
slamming him to the cobblestones at the Rupert's side.

     Anne gawked; a young man, a Spaniard, had intercepted the strike.
 He was well dressed in a loose white tunic, and his long, straight
dark hair highlighted his handsome face, currently distorted into a
grimace as his hands clutched his chest, where the pole had struck.
"Bastardo!" the Spaniard wheezed.  "Roan!"

     Roan dropped his pole and fell to one knee, eyes bulging.
"Este...ban?" he managed, shakily pulling the chord from his neck.

     "I kill you so bad for this!" Esteban choked out.  "Uncle Raul or
no!  Give me my mother's cross!"

     "Esteban," Roan said more firmly, holding the ring out to the boy
on the ground.  "Your uncle asked me to give this to you."

     "Que?" the Spaniard growled managed, shaking his head, blinking
at the ring.  His own eyes widened and he suddenly blushed, pain
seemingly forgotten as she stared at the ring.  "Si!  Yes!"

     "Oh," Nancy said softly, before she began to snicker.

     Esteban seized the ring and put it on her hand, studying it for a
moment before smiling broadly.  "Gracias, Roan!  Gracias!"

     "You're welcome, Esteban," Roan said with a wide grin.  "It's so
good to see you again -- how did you survive!?"

     "Hah!  Mi nombre es Estella."

     Nancy turned away and began laughing more loudly.

     The Spaniard shook his head.  "Eh!  Roan, I was not killed, I was
just struck down!  And I thought my cross stolen, and you fled with
it!"

     "What?" Roan asked, aghast, shaking his head.  "No!  No!  I
thought--  I wanted NOTHING so much as to give that to you!"

     Nancy's laughter became a howl, tears filling her eyes.  "Hahaha!
 It's too rich!  Hahaha!"

     Anne stared at her sister in consternation for a moment before
turning to regard Chantille.  But the American girl was eying the
Spaniard with a flat-eyed stare.  "Eh," the girl finally decided.
"Roan's got good taste.  I'm sure it'll work out."

     "What?" Anne managed.

     Nancy collapsed to her knees holding her sides.  "You don't get
it!" she shrieked.  "Hahaaa!  Haa!"

     "Don't get--"  Anne began, cutting off with a choking noise when
she saw that the Spaniard had drawn Roan into an embrace, and Roan,
stiff, eyes bulging, was sharing a deep, searching kiss with the
young--  "Oh, damnation!" Anne growled, covering her eyes as she
realized.  "ROAN!  THIS IS NOT DISCRETION!"

     Rupert coughed quietly.  "With due respect, Shaftoe," he said,
his eyes open and filled with mirth, "may I yield to your mercy,
instead?"

     Roan managed a nod, once Esteban-- Estella-- broke off her kiss
with the boy.  "That....  That would be fine," he said shakily, eyes
not quite focused.

     ***

     "So," Anne said quietly, so as not to provoke another bout of
hysterics from Nancy, who was currently tending Roans injuries, "you
never realized that your childhood friend was a girl?"

     "Que!?" Estella barked.  "No!"  Then she paused, considered, and
frowned.  "Well, okay.  Very understandable; I dressed that way to
join the fight when I was younger, and it's easier to travel alone,
and....  Anyway!  It doesn't matter.  Roan proposed to me, and I
accepted."

     "Now that will be difficult," Anne groused.  "The church isn't
likely to approve of both of us marrying him."

     "Well," Roan began, "I think--"

     "Stop squirming," Nancy ordered.

     "Hey, she from another tribe?" Chantille asked, nodding at Estella.

     "Er...."  Anne considered.  "In a manner of speaking, yes."

     "Well, just get married by different chiefs, then," Chantille
said with a shrug.  "That's our plan, right?"

     "Wait a moment!" Roan protested.  "That isn't what I--"

     Dabbing the gash across Roan's chest with a clean cloth, Nancy
warned, "I said stop squirming!"

     "Actually," Anne said slowly, thoughtfully, "that COULD work....
Estella, does your family have an estate?"

     "Of course!" the Spaniard said cheerfully.  "It is fine land,
left to me by my uncle before he left to the New World!  We have
sheep, and cattle, and good apricots.  The villa has been in our
family for generations."

     "So, naturally, you have good ties with the church?"

     "Si.  Uncle Rodriguez went to the New World as a missionary.  He
is greatly missed by the villagers."

     "Anne," Roan said plaintively, "I can't help but feel like I'm
not being heard--"

     "Oh, shut up," Nancy said cheerfully.  "And hold still, this _will_ sting."

     "So ... they wouldn't really comment on you marrying a young
Englishman and bringing a new cook into the house?" Anne asked.

     Estella's smile faded slightly.  "I am a cook," she said quietly.
 "But, no, they would not comment on new servants in the household ...
there is one difficulty, embarrassing as it is."  She coughed
delicately, her cheeks coloring.  "All the same, I like time away from
the estate ... as ... well ... about dressing like a man...."

     "So your villagers were always told you were actually your
father's son?" Nancy deduced with a smirk, prodding at Roan's cleaned
wound and preparing a needle and thread.

     "Si."

     "Right," Roan said, voice hitching awkwardly as Nancy began
stitching.  "So, maybe we should all calm down and consider--"

     "Well, that makes things easier!" Anne said brightly.  "Roan here
has a ... condition ... that should work quite nicely for your
village's people!  And since I'm not keen on abandoning my own home
entirely, how about the idea of summering here, and wintering in your
estate?"

     "Condition?"

     "Well, maybe it would be easier to show--"

     "If you only listen to one thing I say right now," Roan said
sharply, "make it this: I do not wish to be transformed while Nancy is
still stitching my chest up!"

     "Oooh, that would be quite ugly," Nancy agreed, tugging the
needle through and jabbing it in again.

     "Hm.  Suffice to say that Roan turns into a girl when splashed
with cold water."

     "Que!?"

     "It's true, but it ain't all bad," Chantille added, her eyes
intent on Nancy's needlework.  "Hot water turns 'im back."

     "Well, that sounds like a fine plan, then."

     Roan merely groaned softly, obviously from the stitching he was
enduring, Anne was sure.
          ------------------------------------
     Author's notes:  Hmm, been sitting on this one for a few years.
I think this is as far as it goes.  I found it mildly amusing, and I
hope you did too. :)

-- 
Brian Randall
--
I write fanfiction. Too much of it. You can read it here, thanks to a
kind grant from the Larry F foundation:
http://www.florestica.com/brandall/
--
Together. Allegiance or death. BIGFIRE!
--
Haiku of my lament:

Forgive my spelling,
my U.S. education,
is the source of blame.