It
was a lazy summer afternoon. It was a Saturday-- No, it
was
definitely a Sunday since Akane wasn't home yet, having
spent the
previous night at Yuka's house.
Yes, a Sunday. That's when it all started.
"What started?", you might be
wondering. And the answer to
that would be revealed with a
roof shattering...
B A N G!
Splintered wood, pots,
pans, ceramic tiles, plastic, and
martial artists were sent flying
high into the air.
How very typical of a day in Nerima.
Or so you'd think.
Let us explore how said event unfolded, shall we?
------------
Category Five
Chapter 1
By Rai-kun
Disclaimer: The characters and setting of Ranma 1/2
belong
to Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, and Viz
Video.
------------
Kasumi Tendo was the oldest of three
sisters and cherished
daughter of Soun Tendo - local martial arts
master,
crybaby, and purported thumb sucker. Dressed in a
pink
apron, adorned with a pair of yellow baby chicks, she
was
deep in thought as she surveyed the splendor of her
culinary
kingdom.
Kasumi stared. She stared hard. It was
the kind of look
that you tended to reserve for situations where
you've hit
the guardrail known as normality then plowed headlong
into
the cinder block known as weird. I mean, really, what
is
an appropriate response and reaction when you're faced with
an
orange and green colored glorp?
Kasumi was sure that wasn't
even a word, but it SEEMED to
properly describe what was bubbling
merrily in the cast
iron pot on her stove.
Her eyes trailed
across the scorched plain of her counter
top to settle on the odd
gathering of an empty jar of
mayonnaise, a can of pickled duck
eggs, a carton of orange
juice, a spent squeeze tube of hot
mustard, the wrappers
from three sticks of butter, and an open
container of hot
cocoa mix.
It seemed to be the remnants of
a cult gathering of some
black magic sort. Or another blind
stab at recreating
Woodstock; it was hard to tell them
apart.
Kasumi handled the situation like a professional,
simply
wearing her ever-present smile. A boiled duck egg
floated
to the surface with a clod of spinach on top, looking
as
though it was raising an eyebrow at her in challenge - it
was
daring her to do something.
She wanted to be able to bat at
the grabby appendages and
admonish it sternly, but when you've
already lost your
wooden spoon, metal ladle, and a rolling pin to
the depths
of its foul brine, want has a tendency to diminish in
favor
of self-preservation.
That it proved stubbornly adept
at wielding a spatula in
self-defense played only a small,
insignificant part in her
decision.
Really.
Kasumi
tied a white kerchief tight over the top of her head
then snapped
on a pair of elbow length, black rubber
gloves. She wore an
eerie, neutral expression as she
turned on the garbage disposal.
This was going to be very
messy, she knew, but ultimately
necessary. Kasumi snatched
the butcher knife from the
cutting board and approached the
pot. She wasn't going to
purloin any pleasure in this
task.
A noodly appendage
snaked out and snared a nearby dish of
tofu and some jalapenos.
Kasumi's left eye twitched
noticeably and she revised her
earlier opinion. A silly
dance was now on menu once this was
done with.
The glorp - as if picking up on the shift in
Kasumi's
thoughts from pink bunnies, love, and lollipops -
shook
spastically in the pot as she neared. This had the
effect
of making the girl wonder if it was merely hardening
after
consuming that last strawberry Jell-O packet or because
it
was turning into some kind of mutant taffy.
Could it be that it knew instinctively that its end was near?
Kasumi
chuckled at her own silly musing as she lopped off a
wiggling
linguini tentacle with a deft cleaving of
her
knife.
------------
Ranma Saotome was an easily
recognized figure by many in
the Nerima area, from his distinctive
smoke-blue eyes to
his trademark pigtail and Chinese garb that he
always
seemed to favor. What really set him apart from
the
average ho-hum everybody was this unseen, but well
recognized,
field of absolute weirdness that followed him
dutifully and nipped
at his heels.
As it was doing right now, for example.
In
the middle of a fairly busy street, the young man found
himself
engaged in an animated discussion with a giant
panda bear that had
a thrashing burlap sack slung over its
shoulder.
Back and
forth they went, like hot stock market traders.
Barbed remarks
seemed to be selling at a two for one price
for every incensed
flashing of wooden signs. That they
were covered with
calligraphic scrawling that teetered on
the edge of being a work
of abstract art might have had a
hand in stilting the exchange
rate.
Serving a second function, as a blunt instrument didn't
hurt either, as the panda swatted the boy.
Ranma rubbed
his head, while glaring at the towering, fuzzy
throw rug. "If
you stopped smacking me with that damn
thing, I might be able to
read it, you fat fool!"
'Oh, woe is me. I've raised
an illiterate, ingrate with no
respect for his father. Where
did I fail, Nodoka? Where?'
it read after a quick
twirl.
Ranma kicked him in the knee, dropping him like a cut
tree
that'd make any lumberjack proud. He winced in
sympathy
though when he saw that the once-thrashing bundle was
now
pinned, unmoving, beneath the girth of hairy
panda
buttocks.
"Look, Pop," Ranma reasoned,
trying hard to ignore the
pitiful groans from the bag. "Just
cut the bull and tell
me why you got old man Tendo in the
sack."
'I'd never betray your mother like that!' the
panda
informed him with the furious waving of his sign.
Ranma
smacked a palm against his face. "Are you TRYING to
piss
me off?" he asked in a mirthless tone.
The shifty panda held up another sign for his boy.
"'It's because I'm his
friend that I do this!'" Ranma read
aloud with an arched
brow. "'His evil must be stopped!
It's for the good of
the world!'"
"Laying it on thick, aren't you?" Ranma asked.
'You'd think that, but that's why you're still
the stupid
student and I the wizened master.'
Ranma snorted.
'Let me tell you this then. Where do you think
dear Akane
got her cooking skills from, eh?'
"What are
you trying to say?" Ranma asked. A fearful chord
was
plucked in his tone. "Now look here, are you trying
to
say--"
A sign was thrust into Ranma's face with the
words: 'Oh
yes.' The chubby panda's menacing grin became
smug as
unwanted realization flashed in the eyes of his
kin.
Tendo Soun was the original Kitchen Destroyer.
------------
Cat-Fight (noun)
1. A
fight between or among cats.
2. Informal. A vociferous
dispute.
3. Daily get together between Ranma's
"friends".
------------
There was a small
gathering just outside the walls of the
Tendo family compound.
Two girls and a lone boy talked
heatedly between each
other.
"I can't believe you tried to get Ranchan with
another one
of your wacky weeds!" Ukyo Kuonji admonished,
with trace
hints of jealousy at not boasting the same arsenal in
her
weapon closet.
"Is not 'weed'," A statuesque
girl with lavender hair
commented with an annoyed toss of her
hair. "But would
work if stupid Pig Boy not get in
way." She punctuated her
statement with a sharp glare to her
right.
Said "Pig Boy", or Hibiki Ryoga as he
preferred when in the
right state of mind, didn't respond to the
verbal jab in
the least bit. Far too absorbed was he in
immaculately
setting in order his wild bangs as he adjusted a
makeshift
bowtie made from one his striped bandanas.
That
he was admiring the efforts of his impromptu fashion
makeover by
staring into the flat of Ukyo's battle spatula
spoke volumes of
the dread power of the Amazon herbal
practices.
"What
DID that drink do anyway?" Ukyo asked, staring as the
fanged
boy winked and blew kisses at his own distorted
reflection.
"Is
'Casanova Win You Over' potion with ginseng for healthy
body,"
Shampoo told her as a matter of fact.
"The hell is that
supposed to do?" Ukyo asked dubiously.
The name on some of
the concoctions... I mean, honestly.
It's like they pull these
things out of a hat.
Shampoo snapped her finger and a deep
shudder shot through
the directionally challenged boy. Stiffly
at first, but
becoming more relaxed with every movement, Ryoga
posed,
twirled, and strutted through a rough rendition of
Saturday
Night Fever. Unfortunately, he bore a more
striking
resemblance to a zombie backup dancer from
Thriller
instead.
Ukyo choked at the sight then couldn't
stop herself from
laughing out loud with little shame or
reservation. She
chortled then guffawed until she was red in
the face and
had to lean on the wall to keep from falling
over.
"What so funny?" Shampoo asked the
raven-haired girl with
true puzzlement playing across her face.
"Is dance of
manly man. Can even make him sing
too if want."
Ukyo wiped tears of laughter from her eyes
as she
straightened and composed herself. "I'm sorry,
sugar, but
I can't let you make Ranchan look that stupid. Even
if it
did serve that jackass right for ignoring me the last
few
days."
"You think is stupid?" Shampoo
replied aghast. "I think
you is stupid, Pie Girl."
"I
don't make pies, Noodle Wench, but I'll gladly show you
how
they're different while I cram one down your throat,"
Ukyo
offered with a saccharine smile.
"When the moon hits your
eye like a big pizza pie, it's
amore!" Ryoga crooned.
"SHUT UP!" Shampoo and Ukyo hissed venomously in chorus.
The
two women met glares, and then bared their claws - bonbori
and
giant spatula glinting ominously.
------------
"But
how can there be more than one?" Ranma asked his
father
incredulously.
Ranma had to squint as Genma's handwriting
became more
illegible while trying to keep his sack from
squirming.
"Great evils always come in pairs, Boy. A
master and its
apprentice, though never more than that," he
slowly read
out.
For once, Saotome father and son were in
total agreement, as
they were both thankful for the last fact.
The bundle
seemed to have issues with the continued slight
against his
cooking proficiency.
"So you're telling
me," Ranma went slowly, to make sure he
had all the details,
"that Mister Tendo TAUGHT Akane how to
cook like a dyslexic,
one-armed, color blind, kitchen
gorilla with no patience?"
Genma nodded.
"On purpose?"
The pig-tailed boy
would have to look at Soun in a new
light depending on how his
father answered.
'Evil knows no bounds.'
"Think we
can let him out the sack, Pop?" Ranma asked his
fuzzy father.
On getting a quirked brow in response, "I
got some
questions for him, is all."
------------
Kasumi
finally managed to upend the pot and send the
wriggly noodle
critter into the sink with old-fashioned
elbow grease, stubborn
determination, and sharp scissors.
The way it kept nervously
eyeing her blowtorch probably had
a helping hand as well. The
sheer usefulness of having a
blowtorch in a kitchen is
innumerable. It was perfect for
fancy touches on a creme
brulee, but was also good for
lighting cigarettes. Why, the
happy smile her father wore
on seeing the five-inch long blue
flame kick on made it all
worth it.
"Now what?"
Kasumi asked herself, staring at the situation
on hand.
A
spider web of linguini was wrapped around the faucet and
its gooey
cheddar cheese center was holding fast to the
sink like a suction
cup. It resisted pushing and pulling
so far like a petulant
child and it did something to her
scissors as they refused to open
now.
She crossed her arms across her chest in
consternation,
giving the concoction a frown. It seemed to
shrink in on
itself at the look of disproval, but its
self-preservation
instinct wouldn't be browbeaten into submission
so easily.
Kasumi rolled her neck, feeling the tension in
her
shoulders, and her eyes fell upon the blowtorch. As
if
following her gaze a pair of matzo balls shrank back in
horror
and the glazed Swedish meatballs attempted to give
her the best
puppy dog look it could manage.
Being made of sterner stuff,
the oldest Tendo daughter took
the canister in hand. The
loud clicks from the starter
trying to generate a spark was
followed by the 'whoosh' as
the blue and yellow flame kicked on.
Kasumi adjusted the
knob on the side of the device and the
flame focused to a
fine, azure tip.
If the foodstuff had
vocal cords it would've shrieked. For
when Kasumi turned,
the light of the blowtorch made grimmer
the stony expression she
wore. She sported tinted goggles
that shielded and hid her
eyes from the quivering mass.
------------
"Olive
oil, fish oil, peanut oil, corn oil... and I think
that's it,"
Soun finished.
It was an odd sight - a panda sitting
unsteadily on its
haunches, next to a pigtailed youth who
squatted
attentively, in front of a potato sack with the head of
a
mustachioed man poking out.
"Ugh! That's just
disgusting!" the youth exclaimed,
distancing himself from the
man he thought he knew so well.
Soun simply blinked
uncomprehendingly at him.
'Was it the part about the fish head
stewing in the cheddar
cheese, licorice, chunky peanut butter, and
banana base?'
the erratic scrawling of the sickly panda
asked.
"No," Ranma replied, "It's the whole
idea of mixing mustard
and ketchup on a hot dog. It's so
unnatural."
Genma would've hit him with another sign if
the mention of
the hot dog hadn't brought back his training
buddy's
brilliant notion of mixing mayonnaise, oysters,
cinnamon,
and chocolate syrup as a "flavorful sauce".
His stomach
lurched and he made gagging noises.
"But
we have to get back," Soun pleaded with his
future
son-in-law.
Ranma ignored his father's intestinal discomforts
as he
looked at Soun. "Yeah? Why's
that?"
"Because I have to finish my dish," the
man said, in a
matter of fact tone. "The chance to
surprise my little
girls with my skills that I honed during ten
years on the
road training in the art. 'Soun Tendo's Famous
Flambe' is
the stuff of legend!"
'More like
"infamous",' Genma's sign corrected. You could
feel
the sourness in the words, which coincidentally,
reflected the
state of his gut.
Ranma had an uneasy look. "Flambe? As in fire?"
"Yes, actually," Soun replied.
Genma and Ranma shared a look before a loud boom
seemingly
rocked the entire district.
------------
Author's
Note: This is merely the prologue. We have a
while to go
before the true storm begins!