Little about the story: The idea for this story began when watching the clip from the Jesus and Mary chain band "Sometime Always". Then I saw movies like Snatch and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, and I knew what kinda story I wanted to write.
It is a continuation of sorts from where the manga stopped, but going a completely different direction, action, crime, and comedy. Also, I base myself only on the manga. not that I've got something particularly against the anime (even though some episodes were kinda horrible), but I felt like this story could be written a lot better if I left out all that happens in the anime. the consequences aren't exactly big:
important: most notable, Ranma's female side has black hair, and of course, Ranma never turned female like inRanma's declaration of womanhood (even though that was a pretty good episode).
summary: a year after having proclaimed his undying love for Akane, Ranma took off without really elaborating. Now four years later he shows up again, and for some reason tries to get back in touch with her. Akane however isn't planning to forget what has happened.
note: my spellchecker somehow decided to only work halftime, not noticing the fact that my automatic capitalisation didn't work anymore. so I missed quite some capitals in the first version, sorry about that. Thanks for Ghost In The Machine to notice this early on.
Sometimes Always
Shot I
Bullet in the (R)ear
"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for"
I really didn't know what to think of the "quote of the day" in the free 'agenda' magazine lying on the bar. It was a quote by Joseph Addison, and if Joseph was right, my life was down the drain.
I just got fired, so I didn't really had anything to do, I just broke up with my boyfriend so I didn't really had someone to love. Hope was a tricky essential. I figured that I didn't really have anything to hope for – what with losing my job and to top it off recently being robbed –, meaning that my life looked pretty bleak. Still, I reasoned, I came here for a reason, and that meant that I must've some hope for something.
I don't know why I had any hope though. I didn't even know why I had come here in the first place. God knows I should've ignored the bastard's request for me to come here. God knows I should've torn the bloody piece of paper to shreds, burnt it, and for good measure deposited the ashes somewhere in Tokyo bay.
God knows I probably was drunk and possibly drugged when I decided to see what the conceited jock wanted. I should know that if I wanted to know what he wanted to tell me I probably was drunk or possibly drugged. I mean, he's been gone for four years without any explanation given except maybe that he felt things were too calm. Then out of the bleu after six years of dead silence, he sends a simple card saying: "Hi Akane, how are you holding up? Could ya come to "the monk" coming Saturday at eight o'clock? It's west Tokyo Himae street number 34. See ya then, cheers Ranma".
It was a typical Ranma card, meaning that he still used chicken scratches that he called writing. Fortunately for him I still – after all these years – could make out what it said. And if he somehow did acquire a decent handwriting, it still would've been so obviously Ranma. I think no one else could casually and crudely ask someone out after running off four years ago.
Logic dictates that with my present mindset I didn't really had any hope for anything between me and Ranma. However, if I didn't think this could lead to anywhere, I wouldn't be sitting here. So against all common sense, I am sitting here, which logically meant I had some hope, meaning one of the three essentials to happiness is fulfilled, half-hearted though it may be, my life isn't in complete ruins yet.
I just wished it didn't have to depend on Ranma. I'd rather depend on a polar bear doing my laundry, world peace and a solution for world hunger possibly or maybe equality for everyone. I'd depend on everything and everyone, please just not Ranma.
Ranma had been dependable when it mattered, agreed. If I was in a life-threatening situation he came to my rescue, also he made sure nobody took off with me, and if somebody did, he returned me safe and sound. It's really nice if you can depend on that, but it would've been nicer if I also could depend on smaller things like, wake up on time in the morning, do decent shopping, do what I ask, not peek on me, don't mirror yourself and then run off with her but other things as well: like don't run off when we finally settled down a little. I would've gladly tried to solve one of my own near death experiences if it meant he'd stay.
Once I'd have loved if I could depend on him staying.
"Once", because I couldn't care less now. He clearly had chosen another road, a road without me. He's a free man, regardless of the arranged marriage, and if that is his choice, then so be it. But I'm not the woman who's going to sit all teary eyed in a corner crying my eyes out. Okay, maybe a little. All right, I cried for a while, but after a lot of Kleenex and some counselling I was all-new and Ranma could go suck an egg.
Besides, through the years I've come to the realisation that Ranma wasn't all that great. He really had only two things going for him. The first one being that he was and probably is a great fighter. But in the end that didn't really matter. You don't get anywhere in this society with fighting alone, and that was all he really could do. Besides, it's a pretty shallow thing anyway. In the end, anyone could become a good fighter, okay, probably not as good as Ranma, but still pretty decent.
The second thing he had going for him were his looks. I had to admit, when I was younger, his kind of aloof macho beauty had my heart beating fast more than once. It was a sort of perfect manly face with the right kind of sharp mannish features that might let any female around that age self-conscience. Ironically, that manly handsome face could with some water turn easily into female. And where his nineteen or so face was the epitome of macho handsomeness, his female face was the embodiment of cute prettiness.
Same went for the body. The male Ranma was lean, tall, long legged and muscular with a body as hard as stone. The female side was petite, elegant and graceful. It was attractive and supported a well-developed bosom that stirred quite some jealousy from quite many females alas me included (but then stupidity runs in the youthful, I'm all better now).
However, the picture I now had in mind was hardly attractive anymore. I was twenty-three, still very youthful but no longer a girl. Ranma was in my mind still a boy. Manly and handsome for a nineteen year old, sure, but most man around twenty-three could now beat Ranma in manliness. It probably should have occurred to me that Ranma might age in those four years that I haven't seen him, but that would destroy my vengeful bashing so I didn't.
Ranma was a kid in my mind, and I wasn't attracted to kids. So really, Ranma had only one thing going for him, and there were his fighting skills. For the rest he was a conceited, vain, arrogant, self-important, narcissistic, self-centred, idiot that had only two things on his mind: how many people loved him, and how good he could fight.
This was exactly what I needed, a good run-through why Ranma was a bastard. The moment he'd enter this building I'd tell him exactly what's what. That he's a complete arse for running out on me six years ago. That I wouldn't take any more crap from him. I would tell him all that he has put me through.
I looked up from the glass of beer I was apparently clutching. My hand was visibly shaking, and so was the glass.
The bartender was apparently torn between protecting his poor glass or stand some metres back looking wary. I gave him a smile, and put the beer tenderly on the pub. My glass wasn't empty and it would be messy to have all that beer spilled on my hand. That and I had paid for the beer and I wasn't in any situation to start spilling money here and there.
Bored I began ticking my finger against my glass. I sighted and observed all the different bottles the bartender had. Martini, Ganzia, Campari, Erikstoff... the usual, all very fancy bottles trying to outdo each other in form of bottles more than in actual taste. Still I'd really love a glass of one of those. You've got to love liquor that looks red or green or even transparent yellow. I'd buy one if I had the money. As was the case, I didn't. In fact, I didn't actually have the money to buy this beer. Even worse, I didn't have the money to buy the subway ticket needed to get here. If people in this neighbourhood knew how much money I had, or lack of, they'd probably throw me out of this quarter of the city.
My spirits not as high anymore, I slumped into my chair. Luckily, I quickly reminded myself I had to keep myself angry and powered up for when Ranma would come. Having found a very valid and mature reason to be spirited again – not to mention a very spontaneous anger – I straightened myself, turned around and observed the crowd.
Though the neighbourhood was one of those rich new fancy places with apartment blocks reaching for the sky, the crowd seemed more or less normal. Sure, everyone was wearing expensive clothes, had their hair done in near perfection, and was smoking cigarettes that might cost more than my furniture; still they missed a certain obnoxiousness.
Maybe it was because the place, though very neat, didn't look exceptionally expensive. The same sort of pub could be found in less expensive neighbourhoods of Tokyo. Not only was the interior demure and modest, the drinks were also pretty payable. They were only slightly more expensive then what I'd pay in my neighbourhood. This of course in my case was a pretty good thing.
Was it because the pub looked cheap that the people didn't feel like acting pretentious, or was it because this pub just didn't attract that kind of people? I didn't really know, but I suspected the latter. Someone ostentatious would've had a hard time being pompous here. Since all drinks were relatively cheap and the surroundings modest someone like that would quickly stand out. Probably, the people here didn't care for richness and extravagance and likely wanted to avoid the overly obnoxious rich who did.
The result was a pub filled with people talking pleasantly with each other, friendly and quietly. Cigarette smoke drifted slowly into the air from almost every table. Jazz music softly rose from the background from apparently every corner. Two bartenders somewhere in their thirties one pretty woman and a man both dressed modestly were walking between the tables collecting glasses from the people.
People kindly moved out of the way for the bartenders, and in most cases gave them a grateful smile. Some even made a comment that got the bartenders smiling after which he or she quickly resumed his /her job. There were two other bartenders behind the bar taking orders and efficiently and quickly filled the right glass with the right liquor complementing the pub.
If it wasn't so far, I might want to come here more often.
There was this other aspect of this pub that I didn't know if I liked. People were silently conversing with each other and they were so engrossed in their conversation that they hardly looked around, so absorbed that apparently hardly anyone noticed me sitting alone. In any other pub I visited there would've at least been four guys who would have introduced themselves by now. Here only one had seriously been trying to start a conversation; three others had only said something kindly when ordering.
I didn't know whether to be happy that for once to be left alone, or be insulted at their lack of attention. Since I've been checking if this was a gay pub, if I stank or if my hair was a mess in the last hour, I presumed I was quite unhappy. It would've been great if Ranma entered the pub seeing me talking to some other guy. It would show the stuck up that he didn't matter anymore. The only guy however who did talk to me had to leave.
Bored, I turned on my barstool, leaned backward my elbows on the counter, and stared out the windows. It was dark, but then that wasn't surprising since it was eight. What I suspected when coming here was true. Dark grey clouds had gathered when I left, and they were now relieving themselves on the people outside.
It was comforting to see how cold wet and dark it was outside and how warm and cosy it was inside. I did feel somewhat bad for all those people who were hastily running around trying to find cover from the rain. Some stopped a taxi, others had umbrellas or they just ran very hard to make it home, or to their cars, and others, like this woman, just came inside.
I reached behind me for my beer, which was not that simple since as the beer was right behind me. I almost fell off my chair before I decided to decently turn and take a sip. I turned back, and saw the same woman in profile smiling gently to some people. The people smiled back, lifted their glasses for her. They invited her over, which she declined with a graceful smile.
They looked disappointed, and they had reason.
Bored I began studying the woman and wish I hadn't. Instantly I felt the green-eyed monster making an appearance. I didn't feel bad; I seriously doubted I was the only women who wouldn't have trouble containing that particular monster, not with this woman.
She had long lush natural-black hair that curled softly. It was soaked, but still somehow had the strength, volume to curl and breathe decently. The sticky strands of hair on her face due to the rain somehow only added to her beauty. Besides having curls that normally you can only find on supermodels and high-class actors, it shined and breathed a healthy natural blackness. It was the kind of hair that seemed to be alive, even though technically it was dead. There were some short stubborn strands of hair in front of her face also curling softly.
I'd say luckily some stubborn short curls had found a way to constantly be in front of her eyes, and probably frustrate her – which she rightfully deserved, no woman deserved that kind of hair – if it wasn't for the fact that those stubborn curls only made her pretty face come out better.
Her mass of raven dark hair made her absurdly pretty delicate face come out perfectly. Soft cherry coloured skin with a light red blush on her cheeks – probably because of the cold – and a sweet dainty, delicate nose that probably could cause nosebleeds by just twitching. Under that sharp but not too sharp nose where lush ruby red lips.
At this point, I've thrown all thoughts of maturity overboard and I desperately wanted her to have used lipstick or something. Actually, I wanted her to have suffered millions of pains under a surgery's knife, but lipstick would be a nice start.
Her lips of course didn't have lipstick. In fact, probably nothing on her face was even remotely painted. She didn't need make-up. She was so evil that even the most expensive make-up would pale at how she naturally looked.
At this point, I indeed had resorted to call this woman evil. Only people who sold their souls to the devil could attain such beauty. And with the way this woman looked, she probably had sold hundreds of innocent souls together with her own, all probably just for that perfect nose, those beautiful pouty lips, her peachy healthy skin with just the right blush on her cheeks, that beautiful shapely chin. Now if there only was a man who had paid the same price for the same reason, this would all be an awful lot more bearable (then I'd probably be swearing because I could never get such a man but then I could ogle, dream, and stuff like that)
I couldn't yet see her eyes, but I bet they'd be perfect as well. She probably had one of those natural dark eyes with green coloured irises. I could easily imagine the beauty shop in hell. "Add another fifteen innocent souls and we'll make your eyes sapphire green and now for only ten nun souls we'll give you the perfect set of ruby red lips". Hell's store indeed, gives a completely new meaning to the saying 'pretty as hell'.
At this point, it was almost boring how perfect her left ear was. But then there isn't much necessary for perfect ears, the right size and colour, nothing weird and a nice earlobe all of which she of course had. The ear was also the only noticeable place were the women wore jewellery. It was an expensive looking green red-coloured mini-dragon.
I was now sitting with my elbow on the counter frowning at the woman from hell's mega boutique were everything aesthetically perfect is unethically available.
The only thing that might make this a little better was that she didn't look angelic. Okay, maybe my rendition of the shopper from hell had some influence on that, but regardless there was something definitely not angelic about her. Her hair was black for a starter.
But above all, it was her posture, her manner of somewhat looking down at the people she was pleasantly smiling at. Of course, since I was seeing her in profile I couldn't exactly see her expression, but I somehow couldn't imagine her angelically smiling. She looked too intimidating for that.
There also was a certain poise in her stance, as if she owned the world. Then again, with her beauty maybe she had every reason believe she did.
Besides, an angel was supposed to be blond, carefree, open, smiling, radiating goodness and hope and of course be really pretty. This person had black hair, was, of course, absurdly stunning, controlled, radiated confidence and certainty and a self-importance that didn't quite tell you if her heart was in the right place. She was of course smiling. However, there was pleasantly smiling, and pleasantly smiling with between the lines 'I'm better then you'. Hard to say from her profile, but I'd most definitely bet on the latter.
Luckily I wasn't the only one who noticed her arrival and hence my observing went unnoticed. She was a woman that demanded attention and that she got from half of the pub. Idly I wondered if she was perhaps a famous actress or pop idol. Somehow she didn't seem the type.
Her face was stunning, but maybe there was something wrong with her body. Seeing her in profile I could tell nature had been more then generous with breasts. Maybe she had implants. Maybe she had bought them from hell as well. I couldn't see a lot of her bosom because of her baggy clothes, still as by miracle, I felt myself brightening up.
It wasn't that they were dominating her body; they were not absurdly big, but nonetheless present even though her clothing wasn't exactly flattering. If it wasn't for their size, her baggy clothes would've completely hid them, of course letting me assume that they were small.
On the other hand, those baggy clothes my mean she's fat. Well, not fat fat, but not thin either. I doubted that, actually I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that she had to be somehow athletic. Probably some last residues from my more or less past martial artist career that noticed this lady walked that confident stride that I've seen before in people like Ukyo, Shampoo and of course girl Ranma. Still, if I concentrated hard enough I could almost make myself believe she was thick and ugly beneath all those baggy clothes.
And she probably didn't have long elegant graceful legs either. Nope, those baggy grey expertly faded jeans harboured ugly short O-legs. Now if only I could find an excuse for the fact that she was taller than I was. Since I probably was a bit short, she probably had – surprise – the perfect height.
Wait, I heard myself saying. Heels, she had to wear heels. My eyes flew down to her footwear and showed two normal large black leather shoes.
I began smiling. Those shoes, they were too large for her. There was an imperfection. Hallelujah, demons haven't yet infiltrated earth. She had large feet.
Then the woman began to move backwards, and I noted with dread how her body moved but the shoes did not, the shoes were too big for her.
I sighed and turned back to my beer. Grumbling about how unfair it all was, I took a big swig. I put the glass down hard, looked at my watch, and then began grumbling how Ranma was ten minutes late. I began impatiently drumming my fingers on the counter.
Wait a minute.
I stopped drumming.
Too big shoes.
baggy clothes.
Black hair.
Well developed bosom.
I turned back to the woman, who had chosen that moment also to turn my way. Our eyes locked.
I was right. Those bright blue eyes could never belong to an angel. The intensity of confidence in those eyes was breathtaking. Those frank eyes could belong to only one person and HE certainly was no angel.
"Ranma," I breathed.
She didn't say anything, smiled a happy smile and quickly walked over to me.
"Hey Akane," she said chirpily literally radiating confidence and positivism.
"Hey Ranma," I felt myself replying hesitantly. I was in shock.
I guess I should've realised he'd also grow up, but I can't be blamed for not expecting he'd grow up to look like something that ran out of Ultimate beauty monthly. Then again, maybe I should've expected that. I mean, he or preferably she was exceptionally pretty when sixteen, was when she was nineteen, might as well follow the trend and be absurdly pretty twenty-three. No way was I going to stand next to his female form when he was thirty.
Ten minutes ago I had prepared speeches, monologues, phrases that on their own might get me into forced anger management. Threats and insults that would mentally scar Ranma for live (I hoped). My anger had it all planned out.
"You're changed," I breathed.
You're changed! What was I thinking? Of course she's changed, that's what people do in four years, certainly when leaving there teenage years. That is NOT what I am supposed to tell him. I need to tell him what a horrible jock he is; how he's the scum of the earth... how... how... he has changed. Christ sake damn my bloody treacherous mouth.
Ranma had the audacity to smile heartily at me, a faint haughty smirk accompanying that smile.
"Yeah I know, and for the better," she gave me a skewed smile and looked down at herself. "You'd think I couldn't get much better after nineteen huh, but here you have it". She fixed her bright intense blue eyes back on me.
That arrogance, that same conceited superior tone should've been enough to trigger a mad raving angry beast in me. She's taller than me? Why is she taller than me, she never was? He was, but never her. It should, but it didn't. 'Okay', I said to myself, no big deal. I mean, I hadn't seen Ranma in over four years; it wasn't that surprising it'd be a shock to see him again. Just wait you jerk, once I'm out of this first shock phase, you're dead as... someone very dead.
"You've grown," I mumbled, staring at Ranma with big open eyes, feeling somewhat self-conscious about my own length.
She laughed heartily, a pleasant but certain laugh; as if she was saying it was cute I noticed she was so goddamn perfect, but that I needn't tell her that. "Yep, I've grown into a big girl now. Not too big mind you, but pretty much the perfect height."
Idly I moved my beer a little. I wouldn't exactly go for the term "big girl"; there were more appropriate terms for what people called Ranma, something like "smoking hot", or "absolutely gorgeous".
I was aware of the fact that people had different taste and a woman thought of as drop dead gorgeous by one might be regarded as plain by someone else. Her black hair, for example, might not be liked by all, the way it softly curls, or her frank face that told you in no uncertain terms you weren't even near her league, or that her every laugh was in a way haughty. If I were to go by the consensus of this bar, they all had roughly the same taste were Ranma was concerned. She most certainly wasn't ugly.
Ranma and I stared at each other, both not really knowing what to say. Eventually, Ranma broke the uncomfortable silence by ordering a soda. She waited, got her soda and turned back to me, all the while wearing a Ranma kind of smile – which meant pleasant with arrogant undertones, depicted by a certain lopsidedness.
"So, how are you doing Akane?" she said merrily, turning her glass around while she spoke.
I turned away from her, considering how to answer the question. I could be honest and tell her how completely and utterly miserable I was doing right now. Thing is that after so many years of not seeing each other it would be kind of weird that my third answer would be a rendition of "Les Miserables" a la Akane Tendo.
"I'm doing okay," hence I answered hesitantly, not looking into her eyes.
Ranma pondered this for a second staring wonderingly at me. If I didn't knew better I'd say he was wondering why I was doing okay. He probably thought that without him I'd be a miserable wreck that I'd roll up, cry and die.
Her badly chosen expression began to trigger some long awaited anger in me. It was as if all the negative feelings of the epitome of arrogance were returning.
Eventually she replied slowly, never taking her steel blue eyes off me. "Okay, that's good to hear..." she hesitated for a second, her mouth open and holding up a finger as if wanting to add something. Eventually though she relaxed, dropped her hand and smiled. "That's good to hear," she repeated with a sigh.
When she continued her eyes had taken a mock serious glint "I heard there were a lot of robberies lately. Good thing you didn't get robbed," she warningly said. Then she smiled hesitantly, her mind apparently somewhere else, being confused over something. Ranma couldn't hide what she was thinking when she was young; apparently, this hadn't changed during six years.
I was indeed robbed, well, I thought I was robbed. A week ago, I came home and found my place a complete mess. Shelves were thrown on the ground, their contents shattered on the floor, my table turned, the carpet thrown aside, clothes were spread all over my room and my closet completely turned over. It took me a complete day to get everything in order, and another four hours to have the impression that whoever invited themselves into my home hadn't stolen anything. Of course, I didn't have anything worth stealing, and maybe the robbers – frustrated at not finding anything – went into a mad search-frenzy.
But Ranma couldn't know this, and she was very much giving the impression of pointedly asking about this robbery gone wrong. But I wasn't interested in that, I wanted to know why she was such a bastard.
"It is a good thing indeed considering that" I replied slowly never taking my eyes of the smiling Ranma. "But how are you doing Ranma? It's been four years since you ran off without a warning. Four years without you telling me anything" my tone was soft, but it was apparent that I was gaining control again and that at any moment I could start screaming.
To my satisfaction, that got her cheerful smile right off her face. Instead, she was awkwardly looking at me, trying to find words to answer me. It looked somewhat out of place.
The Ranma I remember made that face every time I confronted him with a situation where he clearly had screwed up. It didn't really matter when he was a she, or reversed, it was always that same hesitant awkward laugh, scratching the root of her or his bloody pigtail and trying to find an excuse.
That same expression didn't fit this full-grown woman. It somehow broke her perfection. It showed that even though she was very very pretty, she could easily make mistakes, and she easily got awkward when someone pointed that out, very much like the old Ranma.
"Well, you know, I get around" she eventually replied smiling uncomfortably. It was clear she very much wanted to be somewhere else now. She was scratching her scalp and refusing to look me in the eyes, a big minus for incredible woman, who was losing grace by the second.
"I bet you do. A lot better then you could've gotten around me, isn't it, Mr, ILoveYouSorryIGottaGo." Now I was going to fulfil my promise and scream at her. It didn't matter that she looked like something out of Maxim, or that she looked gorgeous without make-up, or that the people were looking at us or any of that. She was the lowest of low, and she was going hear that.
Resolutely I put down my beer on the bar, spilling some when it came down, and stood up. I took a deep breath and looked down at the beautiful black haired woman. "Four years, and not a word," I screamed furiously, putting a lot of effort in looking down at her. Strange, that seemed harder than it did years ago. She didn't shrink back on her stool. Regardless, I was too steamed up to let a detail like that halt my righteous rant. "Not one word, and when you do finally get around to get back in touch, it's a stupid postcard asking me to come to a pub," I went on, making the last part sound as condescending as possible. I paused, took a deep breath and went for the kill "you vain conceited bastard" I screamed at him, really screamed, as in: I screamed from a couple of inches in her face.
With that out of my system, I settled again on my barstool. Ranma was about to reply, but I furiously cut him off. "No, you don't have the right to say anything, you're gonna listen," I told him angrily my hand once again clutching my beer tightly.
"Why did you leave? You hardly gave me a reason besides telling me that it wasn't me but you," I continued, now a bit subdued. "That's so the lamest excuse in the book, I'm even surprised you'd know it. You told me you love me," at this angry outlet Ranma began to laugh nervously waving her hands in front of herself, looking frantically at the people around her. Murmurs began and some people, even some woman began smile kind of sultry. I just stared as Ranma began pointing frantically at her breasts, trying to make me understand that she was female at the moment.
I did realise that she was female, but I didn't give a damn. I didn't live in this neighbourhood anyway, what would I care what these people thought about me. Besides, lesbianism was in anyway. So not caring about Ranma nervous stares at the people around her I continued my ranting, but consciously emphasizing out shared love. "You told me you loved me," hence I repeated angrily put I couldn't completely hide my satisfaction as Ranma began to squirm a bit. "You kissed me, we made love," seeing Ranma bang her head in a very graceless way was a nice start for my revenge.
"You told me you didn't care about the arranged marriage, even made a faux contract and tore it in half to symbolise it. I loved you and you loved me...," I waited a while, looking at Ranma's utter misery and giving our audience the chance to let my rants sink in.
"Or that is what you told me," I said pointedly. "You told me you loved me. How come then Saotome Ranma that after a year you got tired of me and left? You didn't leave a note you just said, and I quote 'Akane, love of my life, I truly love you, but there is something wrong with me. I cannot get to express myself, I cannot do what I need to do here' what kind of lame arse phrase is that?" I finished my rant with a question. With great satisfaction I noted how both men and women were staring disapprovingly at Ranma. It was refreshing to know that no matter her beauty people could still see the true Ranma if someone told them. It was less refreshing to see two women staring seductively at me.
Ranma in the meantime was staring in disbelief at all the disapproving people. Not everyone was looking disapprovingly at her. For one, the people she had been talking to just smiled secretively. Idly I wondered if they knew about her secret.
Eventually Ranma turned back to me and I gulped as I saw a Ranma that I hadn't seen before. The graceless awkward Ranma I was much used to. Ranma trying to gain control over such a situation as she was apparently planning right now was unheard of.
She fixed her intense blue eyes on me, her pleasant smile was gone, and in it its place was a frown. "Well Akane dear," and suddenly I cringed. I don't know why, I shouldn't care what these people thought about me, but getting the same treatment somehow wasn't in the plan. "I did love you with all my heart, and I did enjoyed it when we MADE LOVE," she stressed those two words, making sure everyone in the bar had heard her. "It was fantastic, and every time we did it together, you enjoyed it as well, you couldn't stop." I could only glare daggers at her, and intensified that glare when she began grinning.
"But you can hardly say we had a stable relationship can you? Yes I loved you, yes we had lots of sex, but a relationship doesn't work on only that. You knew I had trouble combining my art with college. I wasn't so great a student in secondary and I wasn't in college. For you it was perfect, finally you had the normal life, normal friends, and normal everything, for me it was a fight against everyday life. And be honest, we were still in each other's hair whenever we could, and solving that with sex doesn't actually solve it. So yeah, I left" she finished her grin having turned in an angry glare.
I knew indeed he had problems when he went to college with me. But it was his own fault, if he had studied a bit better in secondary school, and afterwards in college he wouldn't have been in so much trouble. But I had to find that out from his irate demeanour, he didn't think it necessary to enlighten me that he had problems. Apparently the ideal wife can mind read.
"So why didn't you tell me?" I screamed at her.
"I didn't want to ruin your happiness," she screamed right back at me.
It wasn't a good reason, but I doubted Ranma realised that. My happiness was partly dependable on him and when he left part of my happiness did. Sure I regained it, I dated other people, fell in love, fell out of love, dumped, got dumped, but none of them were Ranma. That and none of them were as good in bed as Ranma.
"You ruined my happiness when you left," I told him sincerely.
"I know," he said, not doubting his own importance for a second. "But I couldn't stay; I'd wither away and die".
"You could've told me, together we could've found a solution," I responded curtly.
"You probably couldn't. The only way was for me to study, and I didn't want to do that, I wanted out, I wanted space, I wanted the world" she said as snappish as me.
"Well, have you found your world?" I asked with a sneer.
She didn't answer that, and just looked at me, angrily. I stared right back in her blue intense eyes, glaring, waiting for her answer.
Eventually she did, but not before letting her frown turn into a pleasant smile. "Wouldn't it be more pleasant if we didn't fight after not having seen each other for such a long time?" her blue eyes, her cheerful smile and her all around optimistic character made me a bit lenient. But this issue was everything but over. I was willing to talk, but that would be all. We weren't going to be friends.
Silently I nodded. Ranma grinned at me and got off her stool, took her soda, and walked over to a table. A bit reluctantly I grabbed my beer and followed Ranma. Walking behind her I couldn't help but notice Ranma's particularly female tread. The Ranma I remember was always walking widely, as any decent macho did. If I didn't know better I'd say Ranma was almost swaying with her hips.
She sat down, and to my amazement crossed her legs, also something the Ranma of four years ago wouldn't do. Somewhat confused I sat myself opposite her, staring all the while in Ranma's bright blue eyes. If her eyes told me anything she was still Ranma, aloof, arrogant but happy and optimistic. But who knows, maybe she really had chosen to be hundred percent female, maybe she got stuck again and couldn't get out, maybe that's why she weren't male. Still, even then Ranma had never acted feminine safe to get Happosai spirited. And here she was practically female.
"Ranma," I asked doubt clearly in my voice.
"Yea?" she said with that pleasant smile again.
"You're a woman?" I didn't need say more of course, she knew what I meant, and seeing her stifle a pleasant laugh I felt a bit better.
"Yea," she began chattingly. "I forgot my umbrella when I left and since I was already late for our rendezvous I didn't feel like rushing home and change myself." She finished taking another sip from her soda. I nodded and felt better, but then I remember her earring. Ranma would never wear that, at least I don't think he would.
"What's with the earring?" I asked curiously leaning slightly over the table to get a better look at it.
Again Ranma laughed heartily and touched the small dragon in her left ear pensively her thoughts somewhere else for a moment. She quickly realised she was in company and answered "you remember the dragon whisker? Well, this is more or less a magical object like that, making my life a bit simpler"
I nodded understandingly. "And what does it do?" I eventually asked, even though if Ranma had wanted to tell she probably would've told me.
Her answer was a mysterious smile that I never had seen before on Ranma. She wasn't going to tell me, at least not right now.
"Maybe I'll you later," she said with a smile. "It's a bit complicated, and when I start that story I'd have to tell you a hundred others" she said once again smiling mysteriously at me. It was unsettling. Ranma had been everything but a secretive character when he was nineteen. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and all there was to him were martial arts. It seems that in four years Ranma had done a lot.
"But," she said, her mysterious smile completely gone. "Regardless of the earring, I'm still completely and utterly male. Take my word on that," and there it was again, Ranma's certain lopsided grin. Involuntarily I felt my heart skipping a beat. Not only that grin, but hearing she was still one hundred percent male made me remember how male he was all those nights when laying in his arms, enjoying the feel of his nakedness against mine.
And I believed she was still male by heart, a true lesbian at the moment. It was so hard to imagine Ranma being anything else then female right now. Her petite face with some frank overtones could hardly belong to a guy. It was strange how Ranma's female side had apparently traded in her cuteness for a more effective prettiness. It made me wonder how she'd look as male. If he was anything alike I wonder how long I'd be able to resist him.
I gave Ranma a quick look-over and sighed. There was no chance in hell I'd be able to resist him.
Eventually, we began to talk. Slowly at first with a pause here and there but before long we were chatting away the evening. It was nice to just chat with her for once. Regardless of her still being Ranma, she had matured in her own way. She didn't make too many offhand remarks about some of my more sensitive subject like my more than dead acting career, and if she did she laughed and made clear that it was just a tongue in cheek comment. Admitted, her jokes tended to be really Ranma kind of jokes, but as long as I knew she wasn't too serious it wasn't that big a problem.
Luckily her habit of making the wrong kind of comments on exactly the wrong moment wasn't so bad anymore. She still had a bit of making those, like predicting mistakes I might make when performing on stage, but she at least left out that I couldn't help it, and that I was eternally clumsy.
I told a bit about my life, about how I mastered in acting, but that I was absolutely not the only one having done that. That life as an actress was a hard and difficult one. Ranma told me about his life in China, how he learned several new ways of fighting that were quite different from his own. She was a bit unclear what those new ways were, but if time came, she might show me. She also told how she once had been stuck once more in her female form, and that she had to learn techniques from an all woman temple in order to get her masculinity back.
Before we knew it, the night had ended, and we said our goodbyes.
Sometime Always Shot II, shelling past clouds
An attack on her life and Ranma riding a car going really fast. Akane's world just got weird again. However, she had a four year break, she doesn't complain, though she wished that Ranma was a bit more careful when landing the car from a twenty feet fall, her dress might be cheap, but she couldn't afford a new one. The ladder in her pantyhose were forgiven though, that was one of the horror in a woman's life.