AN: Honestly, I have no idea why I wrote this. This is what happens when you surf random fandoms for something to read during the weekday. If anything's really innacurate, let me know and ignore it until I can fix it; as this isn't one of my main fandoms. Happy reading!
"Ranma! Stop being a little girl!" Genma yelled at the four year old boy chasing a fluttering butterfly as it soared by their camp on flashing, sunset wings. "No son of mine is girly."
The four year old stopped chasing the insect, confused. What was girly? Didn't you have to be a girl to be girly? That's what Dada always said. Did this mean he was a girl? The boy was horrified.
That was the first question.
The five year old was doing a little jig, trying to copy what the street performers in the village had done. They had danced, and to make it cooler, they had danced with fire!
His father whacked him around the head. "Stop being a little girl. You've never danced, and you never will," the man barked. "Only women dance!"
The child rubbed his head in annoyance and no small amount of hurt. His dad never hit him outside of training, and even then, he usually had warning, like, "Dodge, Ranma!" He stopped trying to imitate the intricate moves after that, afraid of being hit again, or harder than the little 'tap.'
That was the first suppression.
Whenever the six year old felt the need to do something 'girly' like make sure his clothes were clean, or check that they actually had edible food, Ranma made sure his dad wasn't around. He didn't like the comments he made, whenever he did something not 'worthy' of being male. To be honest, Ranma thought it kinda made his dad a jerk.
"You will be a man among men! You must be the best! The Saotome Art of Anything Goes will not die!"
Maybe it also made him a little insane. He always shouted random things like that.
But Ranma was beginning to notice a pattern about it.
That was the first suspicion.
Seven was supposed to be a good luck number, Ranma had heard once. Or maybe it just worked for westerners.
That would certainly explain his situation. He was being angled by the scruff of his neck above what looked like a bottomless pit. To make matters worse, it was his father dangling above what looked like a bottomless pit. Ranma could hear some animal sounds, but Ranma hadn't been around enough animals to accurately pinpoint what they were. They sounded very familiar though, despite the many voices he heard echoing in the hole.
"This will help you learn a very important technique known as the Neko-ken," his father sad cheerfully. "First, I need to tie this to you, and down you go!" To Ranma's horror, his father wound a long rope of western-style pork string around his waist, shoulders, and down each individual leg. It felt weird to be covered in meat, but the frightening thing was how much louder the voices in the pit got in response to the uncooked food. "Take it like a real man would, Ranma!"
Then Genma dropped his only son into the pit of starving feral cats. Almost instantly, he heard hissing, spitting, and his son's screaming. Ignoring it the way he had the rest of the times his son had screamed, Genma whistled and walked away, pleased with the unbeatable new technique he was helping his son learn.
That was the first splintering.
Eight years old and already emotionally scarred enough to have a phobia of cats, Ranma shivered as he waited for his father to show up. He'd said he was going to go get them some food, but that was half an hour ago! (or so the clock said.) Getting take-out or buying from a vendor shouldn't take this long! That creepy guy from the front desk of their chosen motel might try and get in and, while Ranma was a young martial artist in training, that didn't mean he wasn't susceptible to the sort of things Pops had told him to always avoid. The first was Perverts, and that creepy guy was at the top of that list at the moment.
Pops better get back soon, Ranma thought, stomach gurgling at him to feed it. He used to think that meant he had a monster in his belly, but now he knows there were worse things than that, like c-c-ca-cats.
This shiver had nothing to so with the feeling of dread he'd had since they came to this new town.
"Ranma! Come thank this man for saying he'd feed your ungrateful mouth!" Genma called from the front part of the room, voice echoing down the two-step hall and into the lone bedroom, where Ranma sat.
Perking up at the mention of food, and the smell of freshly made broth already filtering through the tiny rented collection of rooms, Ranma darted out, only to stop short when he met a mad with a snow-white mustache and beard, a little girl at his side, and a cart they had somehow gotten in through the door.
What the...?
"Go on, say thank you! Be a man!"
"Uhm, thank you for bringing food...?" Ranma said, unsure.
The rest of the night was a blur of sensation and thought, hardly worth note most of the time.
That wasn't the first utterly bizarre situation his father had gotten him into, so he ignored that odd tidbit.