Shipwrecked

by Quis Custodiet

A pleasure cruise turns into disaster as Keitaro finds himself shipwrecked on a deserted island with the one girl that he's certain wants to kill him.

Shipwrecked.

Day One

When Keitaro was ten years old he had once imagined what it would look like to be in a shipwreck. Images of icebergs and elderly shuffleboard players flailing in fridgid water had been all his immature mind had been able to conjure. Now, however, he was experiencing it first hand and he was surprised by just how warm the pacific ocean was. This was of course secondary to the amazement he felt at the fact that wood could continue to burn despite the fact that it was floating on said warm waters.

Keitaro pushed his shoulders up and tried to look around the floating wreckage. He was immeasurably tired and his entire body ached with fatigue but he was still desperately searching for the person he had tried to find before the last lifeboat had departed.

"At least Shinobu and Su made it to the boats before the ship burned down," he thought to himself as he scanned the darkening horizon for his missing companion.

It was supposed to be a simple day cruise off the shore of Okinawa, a nice mid morning jaunt followed by a catered lunch and then a leisurely island hop before returning in the late afternoon. Shinobu had actually won the tickets in a supermarket raffle and while Keitaro had originally suggested that Naru should act as the two younger girls chaperone for the trip, Shinobu had all but outright rejected the idea and demanded that he come instead.

He had hemmed and hawed as best as he could but as usual his resolve amounted to next to nothing when compared to a teary eyed Shinobu so he had been forced to relent. Still, there had been one ticket leftover and while Keitaro had tried to force it on Naru, she had instead angrily rebuffed him. While he couldn't quite understand why the object of his affection would refuse to take a simple day cruise with him, he was perhaps more dejected that the last ticket had gone to the single person who seemed to hate his guts the most - Motoko Aoyama.

From the moment that Keitaro had become the manger of the girls dormitory it seemed that he was destined to be the nemesis of the devout man-hater and master swordswoman. It wasn't necessarily an issue with either party being entirely in the wrong, but more like the expected result of mixing an extremely dense and careless man with a bunch of beautiful young women. Sure, maybe he didn't deserve to be punched, slashed, punished or otherwise labeled as some sort of pervert-terrorist, but you'd be hard pressed to defend his actions as an outside observer. To put it bluntly, the number of times he had walked in on girls changing, been caught fondling their undergarments or accidently tripped and landed on them or with his head up their skirts was so enormously huge that there was no way anyone with a basic understanding of probability could believe that his reign of terror was anything but intentional.

Which was of course what Motoko had believed from day one and which Keitaro had done absolutely nothing to rectify. For this reason, her high degree of vigilance (and low opinion of the manager) combined with her ability to cleave rocks with a wooden sword, Motoko was the obvious choice to tag along on this trip in order to safeguard the chastity of the two younger teens.

Of course at the time no one knew it would turn out like this.

Keitaro paddled with one hand as he tried to wipe the water from his glasses with the other. It was futile, his fingers left grubby streaks on the lenses, but the best he could do in this situation. More debris and wreckage floated lazily by him and he tried to strain his ears, listening for any call for help. Hours ago the last lifeboat had seemed to drift away from the burning hulk and as such the ocean had become much quieter but still he could hear no other signs of life.

"Motoko-chan!" He screamed as loud as his lungs permitted. His voice actually seemed to reverberate off the rolling waves, but still no reply came.

Keitaro began to despair. He was normally a very optimistic sort of fellow, to the point where people who knew him well, and by extension his many failures in life, often held the opinion that there was something not quite right with him. However despite this nature, the three hours spent searching the waters combined with his own fatigue and dim prospects for survival was quickly turning his mood black.

He fought off another wave of exhaustion and slowly treaded water, letting the rolling ocean waves direct his body through the still floating debris. He knew instinctively that even his prodigious stamina was nearing its limits and he'd soon be forced to give up his search or risk drowning himself. Even though he had never been as close to Motoko as he had been with the other girls, the idea of abandoning her to the depths below was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Don't think like that Keitaro, even if she is a little rough she's just a high school girl. She doesn't deserve this kind of end."

Keitaro shook his head to dispel the depressing thoughts and looked around. The current had carried him further away from the main wreckage and only now could he take in the enormity of the disaster he had barely survived. Was it possible that Motoko was still clinging onto life somewhere in that mess of flotsam? He didn't know if he could hope for such a thing but he did know that he just couldn't swim away. With a supreme amount of effort he began to paddle back.

So intent was he on continuing his search that it was by mere chance that disaster was adverted.

The sun had all but descended and twilight was taking hold of the sky and as such the already smoke obscured visibility was rapidly turning everything into an inky black mess of rolling waves and endless horizon. Only the occasional bit of burning timber, likely set aflame by the engine explosion that had doomed the cruise, managed to cast any light at all. It was one of these flaming remnants that suddenly caught his eye as he swam, its feeble illumination momentarily revealing a huddled figure clinging to a makeshift raft.

Keitaro felt his pulse quicken as adrenaline flooded his heart. His limbs, previously shackled in lead, were reinvigorated as hope mixed with excitement started to well up inside him. Rationally he knew that such a stroke of luck was a shot in the dark but as he steered his way through the inky water every inch he swam seemed to bring him just that much closer to jubilation.

"It's her! It's really her!" He screamed triumphantly in his mind.

Now furiously paddling, Keitaro tried to keep his mouth above water so that he could call out her name. "Motoko-chan! Motoko-chan!" he yelled in-between ragged breaths but no response came.

A swim of only minutes felt like an eternity. Motoko's lack of response had made his heart do a flip as anxiety began to replace hope. Keitaro flung himself through the last few meters of water with reckless abandon, sideling up to the young girl and putting an arm on her shoulder as he called her name. Normally such an improperly friendly act would have earned him a one way trip to the moon, but under the current circumstances Keitaro was far too concerned to care.

"Hey Motoko-chan, this isn't funny... Wake up already," muttered Keitaro as he gently shook her shoulder. He waited an agonizingly long moment but when she didn't respond he immediately began to panic.

Steeling his resolve, Keitaro reached his free hand around Motoko's slender neck and tilted her head to face him. He gasped as he gazed upon her pale countenance, her eyes were closed and her skin had an unhealthy ashen sheen that contrasted with her fridgid blue lips.

"No, no, no..." Keitaro chanted as the sea water mixed with his own salty tears. He hugged the motionless girl to his chest and convulsed with body wracking sobs. He had been so consumed with trying to find Motoko that now that things had come to this he finally felt the reality of the situation in full force - he was adrift, both physically and emotionally.

Suddenly Keitaro was jolted out of his grief with a spike of panic as he felt Motoko begin to slip from his grasp. Something was pulling the slender girl from his arms and down into the murky water below. With a mighty effort he tried to heft Motoko further up onto the impromptu raft she had been resting on, only to feel an enormous weight that belied her lithe frame.

"Her hakima is pulling her down... It must weigh a ton."

For a brief moment Keitaro considered letting go and having the ocean subsume Motoko's corpse but he instantly banished the thought. There was no rational reason why, but he couldn't abandon her, not now, not ever. Instead he tore furiously at the swordswoman's billowing red pants, an act that under other circumstances would have earned him her eternal enmity. Within moments the discarded garment had sunk out of sight and Keitaro found himself able to wrestle Motoko's body onto the raft. Apologizing softly to the girl who couldn't hear him anymore, he crawled up himself and laid next to her, his body still half in the water.

He had meant to only rest for a moment, but both his body and mind were overburdened and without really knowing how, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Day Two

He didn't remember waking up. In fact he had been so confused by the sensation of having a solid surface under his back that he grabbed at his head as if he was going mad. What had happened? Was last night a terrible dream or was he dreaming now? Clearly the initial shock of the accident had worn off and in its place Keitaro was left to question the nature of reality. Slowly he opened his eyes, wincing as he bit back stinging pain from the brilliant sun. His hands were to his sides and he flexed his fingers, feeling the turf below them gently give way. He instantly knew the sensation.

"I'm on a beach somewhere... Maybe back in Okinawa?"

For a moment he felt a little swell of hope rise in his chest, the idea of having escaped back safely was intoxicating, but almost as swiftly as it had come on the high was banished by sobering reality.

"Motoko-chan!" He cried out in grief and panic, his body shooting up straight at the sound of his own voice. With hands still crusted with sand, Keitaro wiped at his blurry eyes and counted his blessings that he hadn't yet lost his glasses.

He raised a hand to his brow and scanned his surroundings. As he had guessed he was on a beach, an endless horizon of clear blue waves rolled gently into the surf before him. It was almost tranquil if not for the scattered garbage cluttering the beach - obviously the trashed remnants of the ill fated pleasure cruise.

Surprisingly it didn't take Keitaro long to find Motoko. Even without her bright red hakima, her white gi and long black hair stood out in stark contrast with the damp brown sand. He struggled to his feet and stumbled forward towards the fallen girl, his steps finding loose purchase on the soft sand. The situation was something quite beyond anything Keitaro could have ever imagined and it was with great trepidation that he approached the body. For a moment he stood still, gazing down on her back and praying that she was just sleeping. He fought back another wave of tears and knelt next to Motoko, taking her shoulders in his hands and gently rolled her onto her back.

He somberly gazed at Motoko's face, her hair was still wet and sticking to her cheeks and her normally flawless complexion looked mottled and grey. Desperately he wished he could do something for her, some last act of kindness that would set his heart at rest. It was with these dark thoughts in his head that Keitaro received the latest in a string of emotionally charged shocks as Motoko's seemingly lifeless corpse sputtered and coughed, a small trickle of sea water spilling out of the open corner of her mouth and dripping down the side of her face.

"M-m-motoko-chan!" Keitaro screamed as he lunged towards the prone girl, shaking her violently, but failing to elicit any response. Frantically his hands reached out to touch her delicate neck in an effort to find some sort of pulse. Keitaro was no doctor, so while he couldn't really find anything he was still struck with how warm her skin felt - compared to last night, Motoko was down right feverish. Eventually he gave up on trying to take a pulse and instead simply put his ear over Motoko's mouth. There was an agonizing pause as Keitaro's entire body clenched in anticipation followed by a soul lifting release as he both felt and heard Motoko's breath with his ear.

Keitaro rocked back on his ass and lifted his glasses, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. Motoko was alive! Unconscious, but mercifully still holding on. He almost panicked again remembering how he had almost let go of her last night and then cried a soft sob of relief that he hadn't.

"Now is not the time for this," he chastised himself.

He had no way of knowing how bad her condition might actually be nor had he any idea how to treat it, but even then he still had to deal with more immediate concerns. For starters he had no idea where they were at nor any idea if they were going to be rescued or not. Then there was the issue of food and shelter. Assuming that he and Motoko hadn't managed to run ashore on a populated island then they would obviously be lacking in both.

Keitaro rubbed his head and tried to think through the problem. He didn't have much confidence in his intelligence, after all he was a three time ronin and exam failure, but he also knew that if he didn't do something fast then chances were that both him and Motoko would survive the shipwreck only to die of exposure and starvation.

"First, lets get her out of the sun."

It was the most obvious call to make. The sun hadn't even risen to noon yet and the rays bouncing off the waves were already making his skin tingle. Motoko was even fairer skinned than he was and if he left her exposed any longer he reasoned her already poor condition would surely worsen. Thankfully there was a small tree line not far from the beach and while the cover was small he thought it'd suffice for now. Carefully Keitaro lifted Motoko into a princess carry and trudged across the sand, taking extra care to guard against his natural clumsiness so as to not endanger his precious cargo.

Keitaro quickly managed to find a small cluster of palm trees under which he gently laid Motoko. In doing so however he noticed something that had earlier escaped his attention - a long and nasty looking gash running deep down her inner thigh. He didn't know much about these kinds of wounds but he did know he couldn't leave it unattended. Casually he pondered how he could dress it without clean water or bandages but then he noticed the solution peeking out from the folds of Motoko's white gi.

Motoko Aoyama was a swordswoman, or more accurately the heir to an ancient art that had been passed down through generations of her family. Because of this she had always held herself apart from others both in behavior as well as in dress. Part of this was her traditional clothing including a particular eschewal of more modern undergarments - to put it clearly she used linen bandages to bind her breasts instead of much more comfortable (and sensible) alternative like a sports bra.

Keitaro apologized for the millionth time to the unconscious girl for the liberties he was taking with her person and with only a moments hesitation opened her gi and began to remove her bandages. Towards the end of the act, when Motoko's pert breasts had almost been fully exposed, he nearly stopped in panic but instead set his jaw and carried on. Just a day ago if he had been staring at this beautiful girl's naked chest he would have been a blubbering mess afraid for his life. Now however he was just doing what he had to in order to make sure they both survived. He hoped Motoko would understand.

He really hoped she'd understand.

With the bandage in hand Keitaro quickly covered Motoko up as best he could and then tightly wrapped her leg. It wasn't a great solution but until he could find some clean water it was the best he could do.

"Water... A whole ocean of it is just meters away and we can't really drink it can we?"

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Keitaro. It was likely, indeed even probable that he and Motoko would die from dehydration before any other cause, especially if they had to endure the harsh glare of this tropical sun. The way he saw it he had two realistic options right now - look for some nearby source of water and carry Motoko there or scavenge along the shoreline, hoping to find something useful in the debris.

After a moments thought Keitaro opted to explore the shore first. He reasoned that this way he could at least keep an eye on Motoko incase something were to happen and frankly he had no idea if he might find - secretly he was hoping for food.

Of course it didn't actually work out that way. It seemed that only in movies do stranded people manage to find useful supplies washed up on shore. For his effort Keitaro was only rewarded with an odd assortment of garbage - some empty plastic bottles, some equally empty aluminum cans and a long stretch of plastic tarp. Unfortunately for him the copious amounts of debris that had littered the beach had been just that, broken pieces of garbage and other useless bits of wood.

Sighing, Keitaro returns to Motoko's side and checked her breath. It was audibly louder now but he wasn't sure that was a good sign as her skin looked flush with heat. Carefully he laid his bounty next to her and felt her forehead.

"This isn't good, she's burning up. Maybe her leg got infected?"

Keitaro muttered a curse under his breath and picked up two large plastic soda bottles. He couldn't produce a miracle like antibiotics but maybe he could get lucky and find some water. At least now he had the means to carry some. He whispered a silent prayer to whatever God had been watching over him and then with one last concerned look at Motoko, set forth away from the shore and into the dense inland overgrowth.

Realistically speaking, trudging into an unknown forest barefoot and armed with only a pair of empty two liter soda bottles was a plan so stupid it didn't even qualify as reckless. Indeed no one would be more surprised than Keitaro himself when barely an hour later, rather than being bitten by a snake or falling off a cliff, he had seemingly miraculously stumbled upon a small island stream fed by some underwater source.

He had let out a cry of joy and rushed to the softly burbling stream. Cautiously he lowered his hand to the water, recoiling slightly when he noticed it was warm. He cupped his hands and brought a small amount to his face. It smelled familiar, like the mildly sulphuric waters that slumbered under the hot springs at the Hinata-sou. Without hesitation he brought the water to his lips and drank. It didn't taste poisonous, not that he knew what poison water tasted like, but not wanting to risk Motoko's health he filled up one of his plastic bottles and drank deeply then waited.

A half an hour later when he was convinced that he wasn't ill or otherwise in discomfort he drank more until his belly was full and then filled his two bottles with the spring water. He didn't know how but he had managed to find four liters of drinkable water. Sure, he was still hungry but he felt confident that he could last a few more days at least.

If only Motoko had that much time.

Spurred on by that thought, Keitaro raced back towards the shore and the unconscious girl he had left behind. Thankfully he managed to arrive back without getting lost and even more thankfully Motoko seemed to be unmolested. He quickly checked her breathing again and found it still hard and ragged. Gently he worked her head into his arms and tilted her up while trying to pour the contents of one of his bottles into her mouth. Unfortunately this didn't seem to work and instead of Motoko getting a life saving drink it simply flowed out of her mouth and into the ground.

Keitaro sighed and placed Motoko's head into his lap while he considered how to proceed. There was one way he knew how to make her drink, sometimes mothers would do it to their newborns and while Keitaro was positive it was crossing a line that neither Motoko nor him really wanted to cross, he also knew that he needed to get some water into her before she died.

Keitaro winced and then brought a bottle to his lips, filling his cheeks with the precious liquid and then after mentally apologizing to Motoko brought his mouth to hers. There was a brief moment if he wondered if this was both their first kisses but he quickly banished the thought - now wasn't the time for his normally self-conscious antics. He pressed down gently, making sure their lips formed a perfect seal and then slowly trickled water into Motoko's mouth. In this way Keitaro was able to make her drink and while it was time consuming he managed to share both bottles of water with her.

Keitaro looked up at the sky and knew that there weren't many hours of daylight left. As he carefully rested Motoko back onto the ground he pleasantly noted that her breathing seemed to be slightly stronger. Perhaps she had needed that water far more than he did? In any case it helped him make up his mind on what to do next. Taking all of the plastic bottles he could find and bundling them in his t-shirt, Keitaro used the waning day to carry as much water as he possibly could back to their impromptu camp.

As Keitaro sat next to Motoko's resting form he looked out across the ocean at the setting sun. Currently his stomach was gurgling as it was filled with spring water and while it kept the hunger pains away he would have liked to have found some food if at all possible. He hadn't seen anything edible while he had been traveling to the spring and back but that didn't mean that there was absolutely nothing out there.

Keitaro looked over at the girl lying next to him and wondered what she would make of the entire situation. He felt certain that not only would she had managed better than he had but she'd do it in such a way that it's put his own meager efforts to shame. He inwardly smiled at that thought - truthfully he didn't hate that part of her personality. Even though she was younger than him and still in high school, Motoko Aoyama was probably the most capable person he knew. Strong, smart and brave - she was all the things that he felt he wasn't.

Keitaro pulled up the plastic tarp over Motoko and then crawled in himself. He didn't know how he'd do it but for her sake he'd do his best at being strong, smart and brave on his own.

Day Three

It had never really occurred to Keitaro that just because a person was unconscious it didn't necessarily mean that the rest of their bodily functions stopped operating. Such knowledge however he managed to gain first hand on the second morning of his arrival to the island. He had never imagined he'd be playing nurse, especially to Motoko of all people, but he was at least grateful that she had only wet herself instead of what possibly could have happened.

That being said he was still left with a huge predicament - simply put Motoko needed to be cleaned up and in order to do so he'd have to remove her panties.

Normally the prospect of removing a girls underwear would have been so erotic to the perpetually inexperienced Keitaro that he would have nosebled on the spot from arousal. However under the current circumstances he found himself oddly enough somewhat repulsed by the idea. It was actually with a sigh of relief that Keitaro went around his business of cleaning Motoko that morning as his lack of excitement at the idea made him feel secure in the fact that while he may be overly obsessed with erotic ideas, they were still at least normal erotic ideas and didn't include any items off the menu of the darker corners of the internet.

With very little ceremony Keitaro used his own shirt soaked in clean water to wipe away the sweat and urine clinging to Motoko. It was relatively easy work compared to the last couple of days. He also took the opportunity to remove the bandages from Motoko's leg and was rewarded with what he thought might be a relatively normal healing process. Perhaps all the salt water had managed to keep the wound clean, or perhaps Motoko had just been lucky, but in either case Keitaro was glad that his fear of infection didn't seem to be coming true.

He spent the rest of the morning laundering clothes and making sure Motoko had enough to drink. Once everything was dried he redressed Motoko's injured leg and was just about to put her panties back on when he stopped.

"Oh she'll hate me for this but I really don't want to keep washing messes out of these. Sorry Motoko-chan."

Thankfully Motoko's gi was long enough to protect her modesty and he reasoned he could just move her to another patch of grass if she managed to soil herself again. He just hoped that she wouldn't murder him for leaving her in such a state of undress. It was funny in a way – for so long he had been accused of being a pervert by Motoko due to his seemingly endless array of accidents, but here he was now with her at his complete mercy and most of his thoughts revolved around what to do if he had to clean up her bowel movements.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Keitaro leaned back against the trunk of the palm tree that Motoko's still form was resting under. By his count this had been the third day that she'd been unconscious and while he'd been able to get her to slowly drink through natural reflexes, he knew that it was almost impossible to feed someone in a situation like this without directly shoving the food down their throat. Actually, it was more complicated than that – without the proper equipment, he'd be just as likely to shove the food into her lungs as her stomach.

"Not that we have any food anyway…"

Suddenly Keitaro had a flash of insight. There was something nearby that he could feed Motoko, at least if he prepared it correctly and luckily he had noticed it was in abundance on the beach. Standing up, he quickly ran down to the shore and scanned for it – the large clumps of algae that he had spotted yesterday. Within moments he was able to locate some and he raised it to his nose for a sniff.

"Hmm… not that I can tell really, but it looks like kombu seaweed."

Keitaro wasn't as skilled of a chef as Shinobu was, but he knew his way around a kitchen – at least enough to have a fair idea of which varieties of seaweed were used in which dishes. This type, or at least he hoped it was this type, was called kombu and it was both plentiful and nutritious, being used in a variety of dishes as well as the classic Japanese dashi soup stock. If he was wrong… well, then he'd definitely be cleaning up after Motoko later on tonight as certain types of seaweed were actually powerful laxatives.

Quickly he gathered as much of the plant as he could carry in his arms and washed it off in the ocean. Then he carried it back to what he'd dubbed the "base camp" and carefully laid it out in single strips on the plastic tarp. The heat from the sun as well as from the sun bouncing off the tarp was noticeable and he hoped that some of the plant would dry out quickly. Stopping for a moment to admire his handiwork he mused that if only he could find some tuna flakes and soy sauce then he might be able to make a proper dashi.

"Hmm, soy sauce isn't going to happen but it might be possible to get some fish… even then I probably need something to cook with."

Keitaro knew he could make a fire if he had to. Many years ago when he had been a child he had learned the trick of catching the rays of the sun with his exceptionally thick glasses and focusing it into a tiny spot of heat. It seemed odd that his misspent youth torturing ants could be so useful now, but even if he didn't have matches or a lighter, so long as he had his glasses he could make fire, which meant that if he had ingredients and something to cook in, he could make soup and that soup, no matter how terrible it tasted, might mean the difference between life and death for both himself and Motoko.

Still, the idea of fish sent his mind aflame. Didn't ancient Japanese used to fish in the sea with spears instead of lines and nets? Keitaro imagined himself perched on a rock, knees bent, hunched over and with a spear ready to be thrust into a huge tuna – the perfect image of a pre-modern Japanese fisherman, braving the seas and reaping it's bounty.

Quickly he set off to find the sharpest stick he could and raced towards the shore and in true Keitaro fashion his spirits were high and expectations even higher.

It turned out pretty much how it always did.

Hours later, with no fish in hand and a slight sunburn starting to happen across his face and shoulders, Keitaro trudged along the shore, scanning the surf like a hungry hyena for anything he could possibly feed on. In frustration, he threw his make-shift spear into the ocean and fell on his rear, cradling his head in his hands. It was hopeless. He was hopeless. Keitaro didn't need a PHD or a book to know that racial memory was bunk science, he had all but proved it this afternoon and while it was likely his sun drenched brain playing tricks on him, he imagined a cacophony of wizened old Japanese fishermen cackling at his pathetic attempt at fishing.

"The sun will go down in an hour or two… if I'm going to start a fire I need to head…"

He never completed that thought, because as fate and his ill luck would have it, he felt a stabbing pain on the big toe of his right foot. Screaming plaintively, he tried to immediately stand up, only to realize that the pain coming from his foot was actually attached, that is to say the point of origin - a large sub-tropical crab with a singular oversized claw, was going to town on the aforementioned big toe.

"OW! OW! OW!" he wailed as he hopped on one foot. The crab it seemed was stubborn and refused to let go, so Keitaro in his panic began to thrash his leg from side to side. His coordination wasn't good at the best of times and here he was, tired, hungry and probably with a bit of sunstroke, so it didn't take long for him to lose his balance and go arse over teakettle into the sand.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed as he wiped sand from his face and resettled his glasses on his nose. Keitaro was a man used to suffering indignities, but even someone with his level of stoic acceptance of the shitty randomness of the universe had limits and he was quickly approaching his. It was some small relief that at least his impromptu dance and fall had seemed to dislodge the nasty little crustacean from his foot.

Rolling over on his side, he looked around for the beastie, prepared to either pounce or run (probably run) if the situation called for it.

"Ah…" he muttered slowly to himself as he finally caught sight of the crab. It seemed his fancy footwork had sent it flying and directly into a large rock not too far away. It was immobile and Keitaro outright hoped, likely dead.

To his credit, it only took the befuddled ronin a minute to recover mentally enough to comprehend how his bad luck had suddenly turned good. It wasn't much, but tonight would be seaweed and crab soup.

Day Four

Keitaro looked at the aluminum can that held the remnants of last nights "soup". The outside was blackened and scorched, as he had directly heated it in a small fire he had created, and the contents themselves hadn't really been properly sealed, just a small flat rock laid over the top, but he reasoned in such a situation, it was probably still safe to eat.

Swirling the can of soup in his hand he cast a sidelong glance at Motoko. She had slept better last night, the rest, the water and probably even the "soup" had helped. Right now he could hear her breathing deeply, almost snoring, and it was easy to imagine that the girl was simply asleep.

Slowly he brought the can to his nose and gave it a sniff.

"I really have no fucking idea what bad crab soup smells like," he thought to himself as he hazarded a sip.

It certainly wasn't as "good" as it was last night, but he reasoned that's likely because he had been literally starving at the time. Still, it didn't seem as if it had gone off and while he had no confidence that he could tell either way, there really wasn't much of a choice. Bad crab soup, or no crab soup, that was the question – and the answer was obvious.

Keitaro scooted over next to where Motoko was resting and lifted her head and back, propping her up against the tree they were sheltering under. He paused for a moment to inspect her face and mused that she seemed healthier than before, or at least more "pink" and less "corpse-like". It was all he had to go on, because just like the soup situation he had no way realistically of knowing one way or another.

He sighed once and then slowly filled his mouth with the pungent liquid. This was something he had done multiple times over the last couple of days, but each time he got nervous. Even if Motoko was unconscious, his subconscious mind had been indelibly scarred with the number and severity of beatings she had given him over the months to this point where this was a wholly automatic reaction. He was, as they say, "Pavlov's Keitaro", and sadly, he knew it.

With practiced care he drew his face closer to Motoko, his lips seeking out hers so that he could transfer the soup to the girl.

"They're warm…" he thought to himself as he made contact.

Just as he was about to slowly start pushing the soup from his mouth; he noticed the strangest thing…

For the first time in days, Motoko was staring straight at him.

The reaction on both sides was instantaneous. Motoko went to say something, only to realize that her mumble had gone directly into Keitaro's mouth. This in turn had caused her eyes to go wide and her face to contort in a grimace. Keitaro, superbly conditioned to react appropriately to the sight of anger began to sputter and stammer, but instead of pleas and apologies, the only thing that came out was soup.

Day old "mystery crab" and seawood soup, all over her face.

Motoko watched in confusion as Keitaro ironically "crab-walked" backwards away from her at a speed that defied reality. She tried to yell at him, but her mouth was only capable of making a slurring succession of sounds. She tried to shake her head, but found herself faced with a wave of nausea. She tried to reach for her sword so she could finally murder that damnable pervert, but found her limbs robbed of strength.

Anger quickly turned into panic. Something was wrong, something was really wrong.

"M-Motoko-chan!" stammered Keitaro from a respectable distance, "You're awake!"

Motoko thought this much was obvious and went to say as much, only to find it coming out more like "Mmrph, mrrp…uhhh….. gasp"

Keitaro blinked and slowly crept closer.

"Don't try too hard," he said softly, "You've been out cold for four days."

Motoko let those words sink slowly into her brain. For four days she had been at the mercy of the king of perversion. She had never hoped to be a bride, but now she was certain that this future was all but closed off to her.

"Do you remember anything?" Keitaro asked.

Motoko stared at him blankly. Truthfully she could only remember her last moments on the ship, desperately searching for Su and Shinobu.

Her eyes went wide with terror.

"Sooooooo mrm Shinoobbmuu…" she groaned frantically.

Keitaro put his hand on her shoulder in an ill-advised effort to calm Motoko down. "Don't worry, they're safe. I saw them to the life boats before I went back for you."

She relaxed slightly, but not entirely. Keitaro was still being overly familiar with her, holding her shoulder, and she suspected that maybe his inquiry about what she had "remembered" held other meaning. She glared and turned up her nose – Keitaro got the message and removed his hand.

At this moment, the breeze coming in from the ocean decided to abruptly pick up. It was loud and brisk, whipping Motoko's hair to the side of her face. Suddenly, she became aware that she was outside. She moved her head… it seemed slightly better now, and scanned the area.

Why were they outside?

"Where?" she finally managed to say after a fierce struggle with her own leaden mouth.

Keitaro sat backwards and brought his knees to his chest.

"I don't know," he said softly and with a hint of desperation.

"We washed up her a few days ago… I thought… I thought…"

If Motoko had been capable of it, she would have gasped in shock. She had known Keitaro long enough to see the man display a variety of emotions – most of them, in her opinion, relating to lust or perversion, but she had never, not even once, seen the eternally (and perhaps stupidly) optimistic manager cry like he was crying now.

"I thought you were dead…" he continued in a soft voice.

"What the hell happened?" she thought to herself.

Her motor control was starting to come back, but she was still in a state of semi-shock. Keitaro's strange behavior, the strange location they were in, the fact that she was nearly completely undressed…

"Urashima," said Motoko, loudly, clearly and with a strength that sounded like steel grating on concrete.

Keitaro looked up in amazement at the seemingly instant recovery the younger girl had made. However at her next utterance, his face, on the brink of breaking out into a 10 thousand watt smile, quickly transformed into the look of a man about to die.

"Why am I not wearing any panties?" Motoko continued, with more than a hint of malice.

LH-LH-LH-LH-LH

End Part 1

LH-LH-LH-LH-LH

A/Note:

I wrote this on the beach on my mobile phone. If the writing seems a little janky, that's why. It's just a plot bunny that I needed to get out of my head. I suspect that this story will be three parts.

What do you guys think so far of this setting? I'm kinda digging it.