Catching a Clue
By Madame Meow
This piece works as a stand alone, and also as the prologue to the
story that I'm working on by the same name (I think). I suppose I'd
classify it as introspective, cause however I might try, I can't seem to
write a dark piece, nor would you call it all that depressing. It's really not
even all that angst-y. So...introspection it is ^_^. But though the
prologue is introspective, I working on making the story light hearted,
adventurous, and mildly romantic. I guess we'll see.
In any case, all standard disclaimers apply. Beware of bad
grammar, incorrect spelling, and unmarked plot holes. Other than that,
enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"PERVERT!!"
*WHACK! ZOOM! CRASH!*
There are times in every person's life when it becomes impossible
to deny the obvious any longer. The catalyst doesn't have to be anything
unusual or important. It can be a perfectly ordinary, regular thing,
something you wouldn't really notice otherwise. A match, struck against
an agitating surface bursts into flame. Left alone, it flickers and dies.
Soon forgotten. But when a mind becomes ready to accept reality, it acts
as a stack of wood and kindling. The match, struck alight again, instead
of flickering and fading away, touches an available source of fuel and an
inferno is ignited, burning to ash any denial.
Saotome Ranma's mind was as a stack of wood and kindling. With
the swing of a mallet, a match had been struck. Instant inferno.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ranma lay within an impact crater, two meters wide in diameter.
Every time he took a break, he could feel his cracked ribs creaking.
Doing his best to breath slowly so as not to cause unnecessary pain, he
took inventory of his injuries. Cuts and bruises on his arms and legs,
three cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, two bumps on his head, a headache,
and an ache in his heart.
A sorrow, deep and despairing, steeped into his body like tea from
a teabag, muting the pain from his wounds, but aggravating the anguish
in his mind.
In a painful whisper, Akane's name escaped from his lips.
He couldn't ignore it anymore. Their relationship wasn't getting
better. It wasn't getting worse either, but that left it getting nowhere.
For a while it had seemed they were making progress. Five minutes of
quiet time together here, ten minutes of actual conversation there, but
always, always the incessant arguments and insults interspersed it. It
was almost a habit. She'd blame him for something that wasn't his fault,
he'd taunt her, she'd get mad and mallet him into oblivion. Or he'd
choke on his own shyness and something nice he'd intended to say
would come out as an insult, she'd get hurt and call him a pervert, he'd
get defensive and taunt her back, and once again he'd get malleted.
It was a small, petty thing, but for once, just once, he'd like to be
the one to end an argument. He would never hit her of course, but he
wished that she'd admit he had a point, that perhaps he wasn't at fault,
and no, he wasn't a pervert. He couldn't remember once, in the entire
time he'd known her, that she'd admitted he wasn't a pervert. The hurt
that caused seemed to have solidified, somewhere in the region of this
throat, making it even more hard to breath.
And yet, despite their vicious circle of mutual abuse, everyone
seemed to think they should get married. Well, with the notable
exceptions of Shampoo, Cologne, Ukyo, Ryoga, and Kuno. It didn't seem
to matter to anyone that their engagement was and had always been a
series of arguments, taunts, and beatings. Didn't they understand that
even if he did, in fact, love her, he couldn't marry her?
You don't marry the person you bring out the worst in.
But perhaps, in the end, it was only that they were both too young.
Perhaps, they needed to be apart for a while, to give each other time to
adjust to the engagement that had been so rudely thrust upon them,
without their proposed partner always there to fuel the resentment.
Akane would never, could never leave her home. She just wasn't
capable enough to do it. She'd be poisoned by her own food within the
first week.
But he could. And as it was becoming plain that they needed some
time alone, without each other's presence, he would.
He would come back when he had grown up, mentally as well as
physically. Maybe, hopefully, she'd have grown up too.
Ranma slowly got to his feet, careful to keep his breathing easy and
even, and to keep his weight off his sprained left ankle. Limping heavily
he started back to the dojo. To pack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"STUPID MOUSSE!"
*THUMP! ZOOM! CRASH!*
There are times in every person's life when it becomes impossible
to deny the obvious any longer. The catalyst doesn't have to be anything
unusual or important. It can be a perfectly ordinary, regular thing,
something you wouldn't really notice otherwise. A match, struck against
an agitating surface bursts into flame. Left alone, it flickers and dies.
Soon forgotten. But when a mind becomes ready to accept reality, it acts
as a stack of wood and kindling. The match, struck alight again, instead
of flickering and fading away, touches an available source of fuel and an
inferno is ignited, burning to ash any denial.
Mu Tsu's mind was as a stack of wood and kindling. With the
swing of a bonbori, a match had been struck. Instant inferno.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mu Tsu lay, breathing heavily, among the debris that had formerly
been the wall of the Nekohanten. She had broken more than his glasses
this time, although they were certainly broken too. The strange angle his
arm was lying in said it all. That and the fact that it felt like someone had
stuck a metal rod into his arm and hooked it up to a battery.
Xian-Pu, his angel and demon rolled up in one came to stand over
him as he tried to control the pain. Though she was merely a purple and
pink blur without his glasses, he could easily imagine her pitiless
expression. She reached out with her foot and nudged his broken arm.
She snorted when he cried out in pain.
"Stupid Mousse. Put arm in sling, then fix wall. And stop bugging
Shampoo."
Mu Tsu closed his eyes, but tormented tears leaked out the corners
anyway. As she turned away, he reached out towards her ankles with his
good arm but she kicked it away and kept walking, probably to report
back to her great grandmother, Elder Kho Lon. He let his hand drop to
the ground, defeated.
This was the end then. He had promised himself, swore to himself,
that if she beat him up one more time he would stop this travesty of a
courtship. That was at least eleven beatings ago. Each beating had been
worse than the last. And after each beating he had continued to pursue
his hopeless dream. No matter how he pressed his suit, no matter how
he expressed his devotion to her, always she rejected him, shut him out
in favour of Saotome Ranma. And she got about as much response from
him as Mu Tsu got from Xian-Pu.
At least Ranma had never tried to give her a beating.
For some reason, he had always been convinced that, no matter
how vehemently Xian-Pu declared she didn't want him, it wasn't really
true, she was just showing a warrior's face to him and the world. Of
course, he had seen just how enthusiastic she could get when he watched
her encounters with Ranma.
Perhaps it was just the incredible discrepancy in her two responses
that had led him to conclude that Ranma had bewitched her. Surely, his
fragile ego had reasoned, he could not be so pale in comparison to
Ranma that her reactions to the two of us could be like the two extremes
of a scale. Every time he tried to woo her and was hit for his troubles, his
rage against Saotome had grown. Every time he tried to rid himself of his
rival, and she defended him, the hurt and disbelief inside him grew.
Every indication that Xian-Pu preferred Ranma to him had fueled his ever
growing obsession with the one woman who had once overlooked his
weak eyes long enough to show him some kindness.
He had driven her away. His constant affections had transformed
her into something he almost didn't recognize as being his childhood
friend.
He could no longer afford to delude himself. If he continued with
his unwanted attentions, she might eventually be driven to kill him.
Ranma had not enchanted his beloved. In fact, to all appearances,
the cocky martial artist seemed only to put up with her to avoid hurting
her feelings. Mu Tsu might almost feel sorry for him if he wasn't the
recipient of what he himself so desperately wanted. But no matter how
much he loved her, no matter how much he desired to be her husband,
he couldn't pretend she would ever marry him now.
You don't marry someone you bring out the worst in.
It was time to leave. He was no longer serving any purpose,
staying with Kho Lon and her granddaughter, here at the Nekohanten. To
stay here was asking for more abuse. He couldn't go back to the Amazon
Village either, with the Amazon people's contempt of those who were less
than perfect.
But there was more to the world than Nerima and rural China.
Perhaps, if he left, Xian-Pu would finally be happy. And if she forgot her
hatred, perhaps when he returned, she might find it in her heart to be his
friend once again.
Standing slowly, cradling his broken arm, he headed towards his
small room. To pack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eh, not much, but it's really setting the stage for a story I've got
rolling around in my head. We'll just have to see if I can actually get it
started. Read and Review or contact me at Madame_Meow@hotmail.com.
By Madame Meow
This piece works as a stand alone, and also as the prologue to the
story that I'm working on by the same name (I think). I suppose I'd
classify it as introspective, cause however I might try, I can't seem to
write a dark piece, nor would you call it all that depressing. It's really not
even all that angst-y. So...introspection it is ^_^. But though the
prologue is introspective, I working on making the story light hearted,
adventurous, and mildly romantic. I guess we'll see.
In any case, all standard disclaimers apply. Beware of bad
grammar, incorrect spelling, and unmarked plot holes. Other than that,
enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"PERVERT!!"
*WHACK! ZOOM! CRASH!*
There are times in every person's life when it becomes impossible
to deny the obvious any longer. The catalyst doesn't have to be anything
unusual or important. It can be a perfectly ordinary, regular thing,
something you wouldn't really notice otherwise. A match, struck against
an agitating surface bursts into flame. Left alone, it flickers and dies.
Soon forgotten. But when a mind becomes ready to accept reality, it acts
as a stack of wood and kindling. The match, struck alight again, instead
of flickering and fading away, touches an available source of fuel and an
inferno is ignited, burning to ash any denial.
Saotome Ranma's mind was as a stack of wood and kindling. With
the swing of a mallet, a match had been struck. Instant inferno.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ranma lay within an impact crater, two meters wide in diameter.
Every time he took a break, he could feel his cracked ribs creaking.
Doing his best to breath slowly so as not to cause unnecessary pain, he
took inventory of his injuries. Cuts and bruises on his arms and legs,
three cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, two bumps on his head, a headache,
and an ache in his heart.
A sorrow, deep and despairing, steeped into his body like tea from
a teabag, muting the pain from his wounds, but aggravating the anguish
in his mind.
In a painful whisper, Akane's name escaped from his lips.
He couldn't ignore it anymore. Their relationship wasn't getting
better. It wasn't getting worse either, but that left it getting nowhere.
For a while it had seemed they were making progress. Five minutes of
quiet time together here, ten minutes of actual conversation there, but
always, always the incessant arguments and insults interspersed it. It
was almost a habit. She'd blame him for something that wasn't his fault,
he'd taunt her, she'd get mad and mallet him into oblivion. Or he'd
choke on his own shyness and something nice he'd intended to say
would come out as an insult, she'd get hurt and call him a pervert, he'd
get defensive and taunt her back, and once again he'd get malleted.
It was a small, petty thing, but for once, just once, he'd like to be
the one to end an argument. He would never hit her of course, but he
wished that she'd admit he had a point, that perhaps he wasn't at fault,
and no, he wasn't a pervert. He couldn't remember once, in the entire
time he'd known her, that she'd admitted he wasn't a pervert. The hurt
that caused seemed to have solidified, somewhere in the region of this
throat, making it even more hard to breath.
And yet, despite their vicious circle of mutual abuse, everyone
seemed to think they should get married. Well, with the notable
exceptions of Shampoo, Cologne, Ukyo, Ryoga, and Kuno. It didn't seem
to matter to anyone that their engagement was and had always been a
series of arguments, taunts, and beatings. Didn't they understand that
even if he did, in fact, love her, he couldn't marry her?
You don't marry the person you bring out the worst in.
But perhaps, in the end, it was only that they were both too young.
Perhaps, they needed to be apart for a while, to give each other time to
adjust to the engagement that had been so rudely thrust upon them,
without their proposed partner always there to fuel the resentment.
Akane would never, could never leave her home. She just wasn't
capable enough to do it. She'd be poisoned by her own food within the
first week.
But he could. And as it was becoming plain that they needed some
time alone, without each other's presence, he would.
He would come back when he had grown up, mentally as well as
physically. Maybe, hopefully, she'd have grown up too.
Ranma slowly got to his feet, careful to keep his breathing easy and
even, and to keep his weight off his sprained left ankle. Limping heavily
he started back to the dojo. To pack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"STUPID MOUSSE!"
*THUMP! ZOOM! CRASH!*
There are times in every person's life when it becomes impossible
to deny the obvious any longer. The catalyst doesn't have to be anything
unusual or important. It can be a perfectly ordinary, regular thing,
something you wouldn't really notice otherwise. A match, struck against
an agitating surface bursts into flame. Left alone, it flickers and dies.
Soon forgotten. But when a mind becomes ready to accept reality, it acts
as a stack of wood and kindling. The match, struck alight again, instead
of flickering and fading away, touches an available source of fuel and an
inferno is ignited, burning to ash any denial.
Mu Tsu's mind was as a stack of wood and kindling. With the
swing of a bonbori, a match had been struck. Instant inferno.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mu Tsu lay, breathing heavily, among the debris that had formerly
been the wall of the Nekohanten. She had broken more than his glasses
this time, although they were certainly broken too. The strange angle his
arm was lying in said it all. That and the fact that it felt like someone had
stuck a metal rod into his arm and hooked it up to a battery.
Xian-Pu, his angel and demon rolled up in one came to stand over
him as he tried to control the pain. Though she was merely a purple and
pink blur without his glasses, he could easily imagine her pitiless
expression. She reached out with her foot and nudged his broken arm.
She snorted when he cried out in pain.
"Stupid Mousse. Put arm in sling, then fix wall. And stop bugging
Shampoo."
Mu Tsu closed his eyes, but tormented tears leaked out the corners
anyway. As she turned away, he reached out towards her ankles with his
good arm but she kicked it away and kept walking, probably to report
back to her great grandmother, Elder Kho Lon. He let his hand drop to
the ground, defeated.
This was the end then. He had promised himself, swore to himself,
that if she beat him up one more time he would stop this travesty of a
courtship. That was at least eleven beatings ago. Each beating had been
worse than the last. And after each beating he had continued to pursue
his hopeless dream. No matter how he pressed his suit, no matter how
he expressed his devotion to her, always she rejected him, shut him out
in favour of Saotome Ranma. And she got about as much response from
him as Mu Tsu got from Xian-Pu.
At least Ranma had never tried to give her a beating.
For some reason, he had always been convinced that, no matter
how vehemently Xian-Pu declared she didn't want him, it wasn't really
true, she was just showing a warrior's face to him and the world. Of
course, he had seen just how enthusiastic she could get when he watched
her encounters with Ranma.
Perhaps it was just the incredible discrepancy in her two responses
that had led him to conclude that Ranma had bewitched her. Surely, his
fragile ego had reasoned, he could not be so pale in comparison to
Ranma that her reactions to the two of us could be like the two extremes
of a scale. Every time he tried to woo her and was hit for his troubles, his
rage against Saotome had grown. Every time he tried to rid himself of his
rival, and she defended him, the hurt and disbelief inside him grew.
Every indication that Xian-Pu preferred Ranma to him had fueled his ever
growing obsession with the one woman who had once overlooked his
weak eyes long enough to show him some kindness.
He had driven her away. His constant affections had transformed
her into something he almost didn't recognize as being his childhood
friend.
He could no longer afford to delude himself. If he continued with
his unwanted attentions, she might eventually be driven to kill him.
Ranma had not enchanted his beloved. In fact, to all appearances,
the cocky martial artist seemed only to put up with her to avoid hurting
her feelings. Mu Tsu might almost feel sorry for him if he wasn't the
recipient of what he himself so desperately wanted. But no matter how
much he loved her, no matter how much he desired to be her husband,
he couldn't pretend she would ever marry him now.
You don't marry someone you bring out the worst in.
It was time to leave. He was no longer serving any purpose,
staying with Kho Lon and her granddaughter, here at the Nekohanten. To
stay here was asking for more abuse. He couldn't go back to the Amazon
Village either, with the Amazon people's contempt of those who were less
than perfect.
But there was more to the world than Nerima and rural China.
Perhaps, if he left, Xian-Pu would finally be happy. And if she forgot her
hatred, perhaps when he returned, she might find it in her heart to be his
friend once again.
Standing slowly, cradling his broken arm, he headed towards his
small room. To pack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eh, not much, but it's really setting the stage for a story I've got
rolling around in my head. We'll just have to see if I can actually get it
started. Read and Review or contact me at Madame_Meow@hotmail.com.