Deux
Machine
A Ranma ½ Self-Insert
Fanfic
By
Gaiamancer
Disclaimer: Ranma
½ is the property of Rumiko Takahashi and those to whom she grants
dispensation. I, unfortunately, am not
among those so honored…so it goes without saying that the characters and their
situations are used without permission, without dispensation, and without a
clue. This story was inspired partially
by all the dark, unhappily-ever-after fanfics that I wish could have ended on a
better note, being the terminal optimist that I am. I also received inspiration from the story Round Robin by the folks at Digital Knight Communications, authors
of the supremely fantastic and award-winning DnR/DnU Ranma ½ fanfic series.
Rick Shelley's Varayan Memoirs
served to inspire me to worlds where fantasy and reality are not merely shadows
of each other, but tidings of the same.
Prologue
Opening Theme: A
Piece of Love
Motes of dust danced lazily in the shafts of late morning
sunlight peering through the auditorium's aged venetian blinds. Yellowed by the passage of time and constant
exposure to elements, the blinds clacked and scraped softly against each other,
stirred by the occasional breeze that also sent the visible dust in the streams
of sunlight swirling in wild circles only to settle back to their indolent
drift. Several feet below the
auditorium windows, students reclined in their chairs, the desks arranged in a
tiered semicircle around a small floor area.
The expressions on the faces of the class' attendants reflected various
states of interest in the lecture being given by the instructor, who spoke away
in strong tones and lively gestures from the podium near the opposite wall.
A stray beam of light crept slowly up the steps toward the top
row, sweeping across several desks before alighting upon the face of a
particular student who sat, slumped back in his seat, his mind in a state of
complete and perfect Blankness. The
Sun's ray began to burn a blinding crease across his field of vision before
rudely awakening him from his reverie…
Sitting up with a start, I blinked hard several times to clear
my vision. Yawning briefly, I shook my
head several times to eliminate a droning that had suddenly begun in my
ears. No good. What the…?
Recognition dawned upon me as I became more aware of my
surroundings. A map of the world done
in the style of a da Vinci inked sketch adorned the wall to my immediate
right. To the left were several
paintings of Renaissance, Classical and Romantic persuasions; a replica of an
eleventh century tapestry hung on the wall behind me. World Literature class.
The droning began again as I realized my initial attempt to tune it out
had failed. I zeroed-in on the source
and found it was coming from the podium.
Dr. Encio, the university's Ancient Literature professor, lectured away
happily in his trademark accented bassundo.
I blinked again in sleep-induced confusion. "Wha…?"
"Oh, yeah," I said quietly to myself as my recognitive
time-binding ability backups began kicking in and my mind shifted out of Neutral. The good Doctor was siting in for Dr. Jensen, the regular
instructor, who was on a medical leave of absence. Jensen was also the university basketball team's coach, and
following a stunning victory over a rival team the previous Saturday (the first
in twelve years) a massive free-for-all brawl had broken out during the
pandemonium that had ensued. Dr. Jensen
suffered a black eye, a few bruised ribs and a sprained wrist (the latter after
tendering repayment in kind to the rival coach's nose and jaw). I shook my head in amazement, recalling with
amusement how far fans were willing to go in pursuit of their favorite
pastimes. Glancing at the wall clock
suspended over the substitute's head, I noticed class was nearly over – only
five minutes to go. Might as well feign
interest for the remaining duration.
Dr. Encio almost blended in perfectly with the dark mahogany
of the podium, his richly tanned skin offset only by the long sleeves and
collar of his gleaming white barong. This garment, usually light-weight for wear
in warmer climates with two vertical panels of latticework that ran the length
of the front left and front right of the garment, was commonly found in
cultures with heavy Spanish influences – especially the Philippines and
Mexico. He was a native of Samar, one
of several thousands of islands that made up the Visayan region of the
Philippine Islands. The more prominent
landmasses, Luzon and Mindanao, lay respectively to the north and south of this
island group. I had visited this
country in my youth and loved the year-round summer weather there. It was even worth enduring the odd typhoon
that occurred maybe once a year, or every few years if the Fates were
kind. I found Dr. Encio to be much like
the people I had met there: kind, hardworking, and having little patience for
foolhardiness.
A remarkably strong man for someone in his late seventies,
Ambrosio Encio had immigrated to the United States in the mid-seventies with
his daughter, recently married to an American G. I. stationed at Clark Air
Base. An avid lover of the classics, he
began a course of study that eventually led to a Ph.D. in Literature with a
Masters in History – I had heard he was continuing this line of study with
another doctorate in mind. Where he
ever found the time to do so between his duties at the university and...where
he ever found the time to do so was one of those Great Unanswered Questions.
Dr. Encio had launched into one of his customary digressions,
book in hand, expounding on the many literary devices created millennia ago by
the Greek and Roman cultures, and how many of them were still in use centuries
later by writers of such renown as the Bard himself, William Shakespeare. "En fehct," Encio went on in his thickly
accented English, "Oo-one ob Shake-es-pearrez
mosta frre-uh-quent euses ob dees debises was dat ob dee Dehyoo
Machenah…"
Deux Machine. French for the Greek concept of Deus Ex Machina: God in the Machine.
The Greeks, even in their tragedies, never believed in ending a show on
a bad note. At the end of a play,
characters dressed as the Gods came forth and explained how all was made right
with the world and how the tragedies that occurred were made right. Shakespeare utilized this with his idea of
resolution in most of his plays. Even
when things have ended badly, as in Romeo
& Juliet or even Julius Caesar,
there is always something to be learned from the tragedy so things didn't
happen in vain. When the villain is
found out and exposed for the buffoon he is in The Merry Wives of Windsor, the hapless chap is forgiven having
learned his lesson.
The sudden ring of the bell stopped the instructor in
mid-sentence. The bustle of closing
books, rustling papers, zipping backpacks, and creaking chairs began to join
the bell's metallic clang. Adjusting
his glasses with a free hand while the other snapped his book shut, the instructor
looked up at the clock and then turned his gaze back to the students, smiling
at the class. Placing the book on the
podium, he picked up a short stack of papers – Dr. Jensen's homework
assignments, no doubt – and handed them to each of the students as they
departed. Either it was my imagination,
or I'm going nuts, but I swear he
chuckled softly as he handed me a copy.
His cheerful mood was infectious.
I smiled and laughed back, earning an odd look in my direction from
Alisha, my best friend, as she waited outside the auditorium for me. She wore a sleeveless red blouse that was
belted over a jean skirt…both accentuating her figure nicely. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair, which
normally framed the fair color of her face, was pulled back into a ponytail
held in place by a yellow bowed ribbon.
A thin gold watch decorated one delicate wrist while a charm bracelet
adorned the other. Though we always debated who was the taller, I insist I have
at least a quarter of an inch on her.
Leaning back against the wall as I walked through the doorway, her books
held loosely in her arms, she continued to glance at me quizzically. I blew her a kiss and kept walking; she fell
in step with me, shaking her head and muttering at how I must have completely
lost it.
Background Theme: Greetings from China
"So, how'd your morning go?" I inquired after we exited the
Language Arts building. I knew she had
an Anatomy & Physiology exam first thing this morning; we had spent the
better part of the last two nights studying to make sure she'd be
prepared. I have every confidence in my
darling Alisha. She, however, didn't
seem as confident.
"I don't know. Got
stumped on the last few. I'm sure I got
at least a 'B'."
"You are far too modest, you know."
"Yeah, right. Anyway,
I'm hungry…up for some lunch?"
My stomach noisily growled its assent. "Excuse me!
I guess that's a yes," I quipped in surprise. Alisha simply laughed.
As we rounded the corner heading toward the Student Union, I
noticed two other friends of mine, Randall and Shawn, deep in debate. Probably over which of the newest computer
game releases were the best, who the current J-pop artist favorite was, or when
the next release date of their favorite anime series was going to be. Randall looked up and waved as Alisha and I
walked up. He stood about half a head
taller than I, with hair a few shades darker than my own brown hair and worn in
a ponytail. His bearded face hid the
small cached pouch of Skoal in his cheek.
A red and black backpack was slung over one shoulder and a Sony Walkman hung from his hip. A thin black cord was draped loosely across
his front as it ran to the headphones around his neck. Shawn was wearing his usual camouflaged
fatigue pants and khaki T-shirt and had a black and brown pack leaning against
the wall near his feet. He looked
clean-shaven today in contrast to the usual five o'clock shadow he normally
sported on his mustached face. I
humorously wondered what the occasion was.
He turned around and shook my extended hand as I returned their
greetings. "Hey guys…what's up?"
"Not too much," Randall responded, turning to spit on the
ground under a nearby bush. I tried not
to wince too conspicuously, noticing
Alisha pale briefly at the sight. Randall just shrugged and turned his attention to Shawn.
"Just going over some of the latest Ranma fanfics we got off
the 'Net," Shawn said. He handed me a
red folder. "Here, check these
out. There's a couple by Staik and the
latest DnR. There's this new one by someone named," he opened the folder and
flipped through a few pages and pointed at a name, "Nibun Yuri. A good fic but Ranma dies in the end."
"Great," I said, rolling my eyes. "I can understand taking artistic license…but you know me, I'm more
of the romantic 'happily-ever-after' type.
I'll check 'em out anyway.
Thanks!"
The handshakes again and a wave to Alisha, who waved shyly
back, then they set off toward the library.
Turning to Alisha, she had the beginnings of one of those looks again. "What?"
I asked innocently.
"You and your weird hobbies," she said rolling her eyes with a
smirk on her lips.
"Hey, you know me. I
like to read. I'm pretty finicky when
it come to what I read. I've been
getting into fanfics lately, especially Ranma
½. It's different and it's funny."
"Whatever." She rolled
her eyes again, just for emphasis. I
commenced to poking and tickling her, to which she slapped at me twice and took
off toward the Student Union entrance.
Laughing to myself, I gave chase.
