The purpose of this forward is to warn you away. The only way to get a story out of my head is to write it down. Otherwise I tell it to myself over and over. Those of you who dare read it will see why I wouldn't want to dwell on this. It came from an ongoing discussion of what will happen to Tenchi, Ryoko and the others. I made the mistake of thinking, If there was no need for entertaining, no story-telling, if I considered the possibilities based solely upon real life, and the people I have known, what would happen? Sadly, I came up with this. I'll read it again, from time to time, but at least it is out of my head. Think twice before putting it into yours.
AIC owns all rights to the characters below. Please read the dedication at the end.
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Ryoko lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She examined the swirls in the plaster, pausing on occasion to concentrate on the tight feeling down the center of her chest and stomach. Every so often she'd reach out with her mind to Ryo-ohki, a not particularly unusual thing for her to do. Each time, she felt the cabbit's warm loving purr in her mind. Then it was back to the ceiling.
She deliberately kept her thoughts and feelings blank. There was another busybody around who could tap into her head anytime. Now was not a good time for that, not that there ever was a good time for Washu's interference.
But tonight, Washu would actually help. She was having a slumber party, held in a Jurian capsule she and Aeka were regenerating the princess's ship tree in. Everyone was going. Everyone except Ryoko, who only partially lied when she said it was all a bunch of silliness. Not even Tenchi's presence would make her attend.
The capsule was in one of Washu's dimensions. Once Washu and Ryo-ohki were there, then Ryoko's mind would be free. And then she could get this over with.
It was a soft feeling, like the bed dropping a half inch. Her link with the cabbit was broken. She lay there another five minutes, telling herself she was delaying as insurance. It was so quiet. Funny, she thought, that it would be this quiet. She really didn't know what she expected to hear, but she thought something was more likely that the absolute silence. She turned, got up, and stood by the bed. Reaching down, she took a small red pack. Funny, she thought again, I've traveled so far, so often with nothing., but this trip I just had to take these. No sense in looking at them again. There had been plenty of emotion when she put them in the bag.
A short teleport to the kitchen hall. This was the only point she was worried about. Someone late to the party, or someone forgetting something. But it was empty. And quiet. Head slightly bowed, she walked to the entrance hall.
Ryoko paused near the phone, drawing a slip of paper from the top of the pack. She thought about reading it one last time, seeing how it sounded. She was bored., it said. She was leaving. She would see the planet Earth for herself. She'd call when she was ready to come home. All in all, she felt it was quite believable.
Ryoko did not unfold the note. She placed it under one corner of the phone, where it was sure to be found. She walked through the formal entrance into the night, and left Masaki house.
Neither fast nor slow, she hiked to the hillside stairs leading up to Masaki shrine. As she climbed, it became harder and harder not to turn, not to glance back and make a memory. But she knew that if she did turn, then what she saw could easily change her mind. Ryoko did not want to change her mind. She continued her ascent, in due time reaching the top.
The shrine was completely dark. There wasn't even a candle lit. Ryoko stared at it, a temple built in her honor, a home to a man neither a true enemy nor a true friend, however closely their lives had been linked
Yosho, now called Katsuhito, had defeated her. Instead of killing her, instead of cutting her into pieces so small she could never regenerate, instead of any of that, he had imprisoned her. He gave her life, for redemption later on. Do-gooders were like that "Where there's life, there's hope" and all that bullshit.
Ahh, but if there's no love, is that truly a life? And where's your hope then, my prince of Jurai?
Thanks for the gift, old man. Pity I won't be keeping it.
Ryoko hitched her little pack on her shoulder and continued on.
She took the far path to the back of the shrine. The near path led by a certain cave entrance, and she was not eager to see that one last time. She scooted down the drop off behind the shrine, then followed an ancient trail as long as it headed in the direction she wanted to go. Eventually, she reached another uphill slope. With a pause to choose the easiest way, she began climbing again.
Once or twice she had to use a bit of flying to make her way up the mountainside, but for the most part, she relied on pure muscle. She wanted to reserve most of her special energies for later. The leafy trees gave way to pines, very tall and very far apart. The slope began to ease, and then Ryoko realized the broad pine field meant she was at the top. She chose a likely spot among the pine needles, dropped the pack, and sat down on the forest floor.
Well, she was here.
It was best this way. Everyone would worry for awhile, then every so often, then on holidays, and finally, when a rare moment reminded them of Ryoko. Ryo-ohki would worry the most, poor dear, but she was more Sasami's now that she was Ryoko's. In a way, those two had more in common. They'd go to the stars, Ryoko was sure of it. Perhaps Washu would arrange a link between them. It would be her kind of meddling to do so.
Would Washu know? If so, would she grieve? No, Washu hadn't been all that quick with the Dr. Clay idiocy. Who knows? Who cares?
And Tenchi. He would worry, just like Aeka and Sasami and Mihoshi. And not one bit more. Oh, if she were in trouble, he'd come a'running. The noble Jurai Knight. But would he pick up a pack of his own, and set out to find her? No. Of course not. Don't be silly. He didn't ask for her to drop in his life, and he wouldn't go to any trouble if she 'wanted' to leave. She sighed. No, Tenchi would fight for her life, but not for her company.
The air was filled with the scents of pitch and pine. The wind was soft, she could barely hear it. She had always expected this to happen in the heat of battle, with roaring and crashing and fire and pain. But this peaceful place, it was good. Yes, it was very good.
One last time. She shut her eyes, ignored the scent, took no notice of the wind. Ryoko opened herself to her love for Tenchi. Yes, there it was. As it always was. Golden, warm, filling every cell. Turning life into something so much more.
It was pure, this love. She had done it right. She had loved someone the best way she had known how. A little shaky during the first infatuation, but there after it was strong and fulfilling and right. Ryoko had loved Tenchi the way people should always love one another. She had given, and taken, and worried, and been impatient, and been patient, and caring, and willing to do whatever it would take. No holes, no gaps, no regrets. If there was a Cosmic Judge, ready to condemn her for what she had done, ready to condemn her for what she was about to do, she would throw his judgment back in his teeth, saying, "Do your worst! Send me to Hell or oblivion or where ever! For I have loved like you're suppose to love, and no one has ever done it better than me! I'll take that to my last moment, monster! Don't think that I won't! Do you hear me?"
She had pursued him. They had all pursued him, chasing after the prize. The choice. The selection.
Until last week. When it finally sunk in. There was no selection. No choice. No prize.
Tenchi had made his choice. None of the above. No, not that crude. Rather, second place. For all of them. All winners of the wonderful consolation prize. Friendship.
And as far as he was concerned, that ended it. The matter is closed. Oh, he'd never put it in such terms. He'd talk of friendship, and family, and caring. And, of course, how they were all equal. He cared deeply, and evenly, for all of them. Making no promises. Never making promises.
Tenchi's image of Ryoko was locked. Locked more securely than Yosho had locked her body in the cavern. Nothing she could say or do could result in improvement. He wasn't looking for improvement. That image was fine. Good. Correct. Wife had no place in it. Nor mother, mistress, girlfriend or one night stand. And it was then she realized that somehow, Ryoko had no place in it. She had no place in Tenchi's image of her. No place and no say. That made it fair. Fair to him, fair to the two of them, fair to anyone else involved. No, it wouldn't do to have some special relationship. With her, or any of them. The matter is closed.
She opened her eyes, still caught up in the joy of loving Tenchi, and the despair brought on by his determined effort to never once dare to look at her in the same way she had come to look at him.
She looked once over her shoulder, in his direction. Pine trees in the night. The barest thought of sayonara, then she let the despair run loose. She rolled to her side, as if to curl up, phasing as she went.
Ryoko disappeared into the earth.
Downward she plunged, seeking the molten magma sea that Japan floats upon. She tried to use as much energy as possible, for she had no idea what her dissolution would do. It was this concern that made her do this so far from the house. Further and further. She felt nothing while phasing, which is why she had chosen this. Deeper and deeper. She could sense herself tiring. On and on, and almost there.
She thought it would be red, or orange or yellow. But it wasn't. It was white.
She thought the light would be soft. Not hardly. It was glaring. Searing.
She thought there would be no pain. She was horribly wrong. There was pain and pain and pain and more. She wanted to scream, but she had no breath. She screamed anyway. She dodged and darted, trying to find the place of no pain. It didn't exist. Wait, it did! She remembered it. And she went there.
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Ryoko coughed and retched on the pine forest floor. She almost didn't make it back. Her lungs wanted clear first. She hacked up phlegm so full of forest loam it was black. Her stomach followed in a moment, vomiting dirt and pine needles. She was too busy being sick to wonder where else her body had merged with the surroundings. She paused long enough to look at her arms. Her sleeves were almost gone. Her dress was threads and tatters. Any place not still covered by cloth or boots felt like it had been rubbed raw with course sandpaper. She didn't know it, but she also had a pair of black eyes that would last more than a week.
Somehow, the little red pack of treasures had made it through.
Once she had finished heaving, she lay on her side, letting her healing powers do their work. She hoped she hadn't used up all their power in her plunge. Even so, they would prioritize her most vital organs. Her painful skin would have a long wait.
Well there, missy, she thought. Too afraid to live. And too afraid to die. Neither alive nor dead. So what does that make you? Nothing? She took the pack and placed it under her head. She couldn't see any thing, she couldn't hear anything, all she could smell was the damned pine and the vomit. She shivered, then blacked out from the pain.
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She woke up slowly. The world was the steel blue color of dawn twilight. She slowly tucked her knees under her, pushing herself into a sitting position. Everything either ached or burned. She wanted to puke again, but knew there was nothing down there, so she fought it. Around her, the forest was waking up, the sounds of life growing. She really wanted them to shut up.
A soft touch, like a feather. Ryo-ohki. Helping Sasami make breakfast. They were early risers. As was Tenchi.
Oh, gods, how she hated Tenchi Masaki!
She sat there enraged for an astonishingly long moment, before she realized what she was feeling. It hit her. A moment of disbelief. And of fear. Did she really hate Tenchi?
Yes.
Had she been at her full strength, Ryoko would have sheared off the top of the mountain. Instead she screamed the loudest scream she could manage. She bellowed out her rage and helplessness. She pounded the forest floor with her fists, kicking it with her heels, yelling and yelling. She rolled over, and shrieked some more, waving her hands through the thick bed of needles in a wild back and forth motion, fighting the snake of hate as it worked its way through her heart, oblivious to her insane protests.
She loved him. She hated him. Both were there. No matter how much she concentrated on the love, the snake was there, off to the side, smirking. She denied it. And denied it again. And looked at the snake, who would now never leave.
Ryoko cried like a child who knows her mother is gone, and is never coming back.
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Ryoko sat, looking off in the direction of Masaki House. She was finally strong enough to make her way back, but she didn't much give a damn, so sat feeing the stupid pine needs find their way through to the many abrasions on her ass.
She'd make up some story. If they read the note, it would go one way. If not, then perhaps some other way. She really didn't care. Of course, she'd never tell them the truth. Not ever. They'd start watching her. Acting strange around her. Always keep on her about her feelings. Why? So she would never try that sort of thing again. Yeah, right.
Ryoko would gladly die for the man she loved. But for a man she hated? Never.
Love had lost its virginity. It was pure no longer. It never would be again. It would still drive her, still supply her with creativity and caring and joy. But it was perfect love no more.
And the hate would provide her with self-respect. And frustration. and sudden impatience. And a short tongue to keep fairness truly fair. He would notice. They all would. Tenchi could now do wrong, wrong in so many ways he'd been forgiven in the past. They would argue. Not just squabble, or play, but door slamming rage. And he would wonder what was wrong with her, why she was violating the sacred image in his head. At that would be the moment Ryoko would do something REALLY sacrilegious to that blessed image that held her prisoner in the pit of friendship.
Perhaps one day he would even come to hate her. Yes, that could be done. Then, at least, the two of them would finally share a special feeling, one Tenchi didn't feel obligated to share equally among the others. He would lose. She would lose. But that damned image he held so passionately would lose, as well.
Getting to her feet, she said, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Masaki!" She wanted to spit, but she was much too dried out. She wiped her mouth, wanting a drink so bad even water would do.
Lifting the red pack of keepsakes, she began the slow walk back to hell.
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Dedicated to those, like myself, who have tried to see the face of Death, only to luckily discover he wasn't taking any walk-in appointments that day.
AIC owns all rights to the characters below. Please read the dedication at the end.
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Ryoko lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She examined the swirls in the plaster, pausing on occasion to concentrate on the tight feeling down the center of her chest and stomach. Every so often she'd reach out with her mind to Ryo-ohki, a not particularly unusual thing for her to do. Each time, she felt the cabbit's warm loving purr in her mind. Then it was back to the ceiling.
She deliberately kept her thoughts and feelings blank. There was another busybody around who could tap into her head anytime. Now was not a good time for that, not that there ever was a good time for Washu's interference.
But tonight, Washu would actually help. She was having a slumber party, held in a Jurian capsule she and Aeka were regenerating the princess's ship tree in. Everyone was going. Everyone except Ryoko, who only partially lied when she said it was all a bunch of silliness. Not even Tenchi's presence would make her attend.
The capsule was in one of Washu's dimensions. Once Washu and Ryo-ohki were there, then Ryoko's mind would be free. And then she could get this over with.
It was a soft feeling, like the bed dropping a half inch. Her link with the cabbit was broken. She lay there another five minutes, telling herself she was delaying as insurance. It was so quiet. Funny, she thought, that it would be this quiet. She really didn't know what she expected to hear, but she thought something was more likely that the absolute silence. She turned, got up, and stood by the bed. Reaching down, she took a small red pack. Funny, she thought again, I've traveled so far, so often with nothing., but this trip I just had to take these. No sense in looking at them again. There had been plenty of emotion when she put them in the bag.
A short teleport to the kitchen hall. This was the only point she was worried about. Someone late to the party, or someone forgetting something. But it was empty. And quiet. Head slightly bowed, she walked to the entrance hall.
Ryoko paused near the phone, drawing a slip of paper from the top of the pack. She thought about reading it one last time, seeing how it sounded. She was bored., it said. She was leaving. She would see the planet Earth for herself. She'd call when she was ready to come home. All in all, she felt it was quite believable.
Ryoko did not unfold the note. She placed it under one corner of the phone, where it was sure to be found. She walked through the formal entrance into the night, and left Masaki house.
Neither fast nor slow, she hiked to the hillside stairs leading up to Masaki shrine. As she climbed, it became harder and harder not to turn, not to glance back and make a memory. But she knew that if she did turn, then what she saw could easily change her mind. Ryoko did not want to change her mind. She continued her ascent, in due time reaching the top.
The shrine was completely dark. There wasn't even a candle lit. Ryoko stared at it, a temple built in her honor, a home to a man neither a true enemy nor a true friend, however closely their lives had been linked
Yosho, now called Katsuhito, had defeated her. Instead of killing her, instead of cutting her into pieces so small she could never regenerate, instead of any of that, he had imprisoned her. He gave her life, for redemption later on. Do-gooders were like that "Where there's life, there's hope" and all that bullshit.
Ahh, but if there's no love, is that truly a life? And where's your hope then, my prince of Jurai?
Thanks for the gift, old man. Pity I won't be keeping it.
Ryoko hitched her little pack on her shoulder and continued on.
She took the far path to the back of the shrine. The near path led by a certain cave entrance, and she was not eager to see that one last time. She scooted down the drop off behind the shrine, then followed an ancient trail as long as it headed in the direction she wanted to go. Eventually, she reached another uphill slope. With a pause to choose the easiest way, she began climbing again.
Once or twice she had to use a bit of flying to make her way up the mountainside, but for the most part, she relied on pure muscle. She wanted to reserve most of her special energies for later. The leafy trees gave way to pines, very tall and very far apart. The slope began to ease, and then Ryoko realized the broad pine field meant she was at the top. She chose a likely spot among the pine needles, dropped the pack, and sat down on the forest floor.
Well, she was here.
It was best this way. Everyone would worry for awhile, then every so often, then on holidays, and finally, when a rare moment reminded them of Ryoko. Ryo-ohki would worry the most, poor dear, but she was more Sasami's now that she was Ryoko's. In a way, those two had more in common. They'd go to the stars, Ryoko was sure of it. Perhaps Washu would arrange a link between them. It would be her kind of meddling to do so.
Would Washu know? If so, would she grieve? No, Washu hadn't been all that quick with the Dr. Clay idiocy. Who knows? Who cares?
And Tenchi. He would worry, just like Aeka and Sasami and Mihoshi. And not one bit more. Oh, if she were in trouble, he'd come a'running. The noble Jurai Knight. But would he pick up a pack of his own, and set out to find her? No. Of course not. Don't be silly. He didn't ask for her to drop in his life, and he wouldn't go to any trouble if she 'wanted' to leave. She sighed. No, Tenchi would fight for her life, but not for her company.
The air was filled with the scents of pitch and pine. The wind was soft, she could barely hear it. She had always expected this to happen in the heat of battle, with roaring and crashing and fire and pain. But this peaceful place, it was good. Yes, it was very good.
One last time. She shut her eyes, ignored the scent, took no notice of the wind. Ryoko opened herself to her love for Tenchi. Yes, there it was. As it always was. Golden, warm, filling every cell. Turning life into something so much more.
It was pure, this love. She had done it right. She had loved someone the best way she had known how. A little shaky during the first infatuation, but there after it was strong and fulfilling and right. Ryoko had loved Tenchi the way people should always love one another. She had given, and taken, and worried, and been impatient, and been patient, and caring, and willing to do whatever it would take. No holes, no gaps, no regrets. If there was a Cosmic Judge, ready to condemn her for what she had done, ready to condemn her for what she was about to do, she would throw his judgment back in his teeth, saying, "Do your worst! Send me to Hell or oblivion or where ever! For I have loved like you're suppose to love, and no one has ever done it better than me! I'll take that to my last moment, monster! Don't think that I won't! Do you hear me?"
She had pursued him. They had all pursued him, chasing after the prize. The choice. The selection.
Until last week. When it finally sunk in. There was no selection. No choice. No prize.
Tenchi had made his choice. None of the above. No, not that crude. Rather, second place. For all of them. All winners of the wonderful consolation prize. Friendship.
And as far as he was concerned, that ended it. The matter is closed. Oh, he'd never put it in such terms. He'd talk of friendship, and family, and caring. And, of course, how they were all equal. He cared deeply, and evenly, for all of them. Making no promises. Never making promises.
Tenchi's image of Ryoko was locked. Locked more securely than Yosho had locked her body in the cavern. Nothing she could say or do could result in improvement. He wasn't looking for improvement. That image was fine. Good. Correct. Wife had no place in it. Nor mother, mistress, girlfriend or one night stand. And it was then she realized that somehow, Ryoko had no place in it. She had no place in Tenchi's image of her. No place and no say. That made it fair. Fair to him, fair to the two of them, fair to anyone else involved. No, it wouldn't do to have some special relationship. With her, or any of them. The matter is closed.
She opened her eyes, still caught up in the joy of loving Tenchi, and the despair brought on by his determined effort to never once dare to look at her in the same way she had come to look at him.
She looked once over her shoulder, in his direction. Pine trees in the night. The barest thought of sayonara, then she let the despair run loose. She rolled to her side, as if to curl up, phasing as she went.
Ryoko disappeared into the earth.
Downward she plunged, seeking the molten magma sea that Japan floats upon. She tried to use as much energy as possible, for she had no idea what her dissolution would do. It was this concern that made her do this so far from the house. Further and further. She felt nothing while phasing, which is why she had chosen this. Deeper and deeper. She could sense herself tiring. On and on, and almost there.
She thought it would be red, or orange or yellow. But it wasn't. It was white.
She thought the light would be soft. Not hardly. It was glaring. Searing.
She thought there would be no pain. She was horribly wrong. There was pain and pain and pain and more. She wanted to scream, but she had no breath. She screamed anyway. She dodged and darted, trying to find the place of no pain. It didn't exist. Wait, it did! She remembered it. And she went there.
____________________________________________
Ryoko coughed and retched on the pine forest floor. She almost didn't make it back. Her lungs wanted clear first. She hacked up phlegm so full of forest loam it was black. Her stomach followed in a moment, vomiting dirt and pine needles. She was too busy being sick to wonder where else her body had merged with the surroundings. She paused long enough to look at her arms. Her sleeves were almost gone. Her dress was threads and tatters. Any place not still covered by cloth or boots felt like it had been rubbed raw with course sandpaper. She didn't know it, but she also had a pair of black eyes that would last more than a week.
Somehow, the little red pack of treasures had made it through.
Once she had finished heaving, she lay on her side, letting her healing powers do their work. She hoped she hadn't used up all their power in her plunge. Even so, they would prioritize her most vital organs. Her painful skin would have a long wait.
Well there, missy, she thought. Too afraid to live. And too afraid to die. Neither alive nor dead. So what does that make you? Nothing? She took the pack and placed it under her head. She couldn't see any thing, she couldn't hear anything, all she could smell was the damned pine and the vomit. She shivered, then blacked out from the pain.
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She woke up slowly. The world was the steel blue color of dawn twilight. She slowly tucked her knees under her, pushing herself into a sitting position. Everything either ached or burned. She wanted to puke again, but knew there was nothing down there, so she fought it. Around her, the forest was waking up, the sounds of life growing. She really wanted them to shut up.
A soft touch, like a feather. Ryo-ohki. Helping Sasami make breakfast. They were early risers. As was Tenchi.
Oh, gods, how she hated Tenchi Masaki!
She sat there enraged for an astonishingly long moment, before she realized what she was feeling. It hit her. A moment of disbelief. And of fear. Did she really hate Tenchi?
Yes.
Had she been at her full strength, Ryoko would have sheared off the top of the mountain. Instead she screamed the loudest scream she could manage. She bellowed out her rage and helplessness. She pounded the forest floor with her fists, kicking it with her heels, yelling and yelling. She rolled over, and shrieked some more, waving her hands through the thick bed of needles in a wild back and forth motion, fighting the snake of hate as it worked its way through her heart, oblivious to her insane protests.
She loved him. She hated him. Both were there. No matter how much she concentrated on the love, the snake was there, off to the side, smirking. She denied it. And denied it again. And looked at the snake, who would now never leave.
Ryoko cried like a child who knows her mother is gone, and is never coming back.
___________________________________
Ryoko sat, looking off in the direction of Masaki House. She was finally strong enough to make her way back, but she didn't much give a damn, so sat feeing the stupid pine needs find their way through to the many abrasions on her ass.
She'd make up some story. If they read the note, it would go one way. If not, then perhaps some other way. She really didn't care. Of course, she'd never tell them the truth. Not ever. They'd start watching her. Acting strange around her. Always keep on her about her feelings. Why? So she would never try that sort of thing again. Yeah, right.
Ryoko would gladly die for the man she loved. But for a man she hated? Never.
Love had lost its virginity. It was pure no longer. It never would be again. It would still drive her, still supply her with creativity and caring and joy. But it was perfect love no more.
And the hate would provide her with self-respect. And frustration. and sudden impatience. And a short tongue to keep fairness truly fair. He would notice. They all would. Tenchi could now do wrong, wrong in so many ways he'd been forgiven in the past. They would argue. Not just squabble, or play, but door slamming rage. And he would wonder what was wrong with her, why she was violating the sacred image in his head. At that would be the moment Ryoko would do something REALLY sacrilegious to that blessed image that held her prisoner in the pit of friendship.
Perhaps one day he would even come to hate her. Yes, that could be done. Then, at least, the two of them would finally share a special feeling, one Tenchi didn't feel obligated to share equally among the others. He would lose. She would lose. But that damned image he held so passionately would lose, as well.
Getting to her feet, she said, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Masaki!" She wanted to spit, but she was much too dried out. She wiped her mouth, wanting a drink so bad even water would do.
Lifting the red pack of keepsakes, she began the slow walk back to hell.
________________________________________
Dedicated to those, like myself, who have tried to see the face of Death, only to luckily discover he wasn't taking any walk-in appointments that day.