I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi or Steve Jackson Games.
Tony glanced around as he and Saniyah Vaughn walked along the street. He hadn't begrudged another assignment as soon as the ice worms were dealt with. He hadn't even minded that he and Jeff had essentially been given a bodyguard job even if that was usually more the secops' thing (not squealers, except on a bad day ... or mission). With Ben and Guile still recovering from their operations (successful, thank God, whatever those boring insect-like things were, they were the geeks' problem now, he just hoped their labs' security was up to the job) his squad was only at half-strength, and he didn't really want to resume his forced vacation. Besides, Toshiko was mixed up in the mission somehow and he had no problem helping out the girl whose unbelievable speed had saved her friend's life and mere presence had probably saved his and Jeff's.
But what Tony hadn't expected was to feel inadequate. And not about not understanding half of what Vaughn said about the surveillance operation she was running, the woman was a spook—observation was her forte, his was to blow stuff up. No, what had Tony feeling small was the number of fights he had seen in the few days since he'd arrived, that completely outclassed anything he was capable of. They even had vacant lots scattered about just so the combatants wouldn't tear up the landscape!
"It's not as bad as you think it is."
Tony broke off his examination of the terrain to glance down at the rather plain brunette beside him. (The uncharitable would say very plain, which didn't seem to bother Vaughn at all. She'd commented that it's hard to carry out a discreet surveillance if everyone around you is complimenting you on your beauty—not that she would have had that problem even if she'd been drop-dead gorgeous, her preferred surveillance tool was a keyboard.) He asked, "What's not as bad as I think it is?"
"The disparity in combat capabilities."
The pair turned a corner, to find a small crowd gathered across the street of another empty lot, watching yet another fight—this one between two young women, a brunette dressed like the cooks Tony had seen in the small shops that seemed to pass for fast food in this part of Tokyo and wielding a truly massive spatula, the other girl bouncing around her in a leotard while twirling a ribbon, of all things. Not that that was the most bizarre weapon Tony had seen here, that might have been the sharpened forks used as throwing knives; the shock had been that their wielder could actually hit what he aimed at.
Tony was tall enough to see over the crowd but Vaughn wasn't. Fortunately for her there was a nearby box by a store she was able to hop onto, and the pair silently watched. Tony winced when the spatula scooped up and hurled enough dirt to fill a backpack with a scattering of stones mixed in. The screech from the ribbon-wielder was amusing, especially since it undoubtedly had to do with the dirt that spattered across her, seeing how the spinning ribbon had nocked away any stone large enough to be a threat—except for the largest one, it had wrapped around that one and swung it back at its sender, hard enough that when it hit the spatula used as a shield it had shattered. Which meant that the ribbon was out of position to block the thrown tiny spatulas, its wielder had to dodge those. They imbedded themselves in the wall of the store on one side of the empty lot, sharp enough and thrown with enough force to sink in blade-deep.
"She's controlling that ribbon somehow, reinforcing it, too—there is no way any natural ribbon could do that," Tony muttered, then said a little louder, "The combat disparity looks pretty bad to me."
Vaughn shrugged. "One-on-one, sure. But you Grunts don't fight one-on-one."
Tony stiffened, and watched the ongoing fight with fresh eyes. Vaughn was right ... the pair were focused on each other. Sure, they were paying enough attention to their surroundings to not harm any of their audience across the street, but they didn't consider them a threat. "They're duelists," he murmured.
"Exactly. That probably means Toshiko is, as well."
"Her situational awareness was good when she helped us with the ice worms," Tony replied, though more playing devil's advocate than actually disagreeing, and Vaughn's reply matched his own thought.
"Yes, when she walked into a situation she already knew demanded it. What's she like when she's not?"
"I'll pass the word, have some people check."
"Yeah, let's do that. When we get back, we have a job to do now."
Right, working out how to deal with these combat monsters if they ever actually had to fight them. At this point Tony was thinking full auto from three angles, if they couldn't manage an ambush with claymores or a sniper from half a mile ... which was about the engagement distance he was comfortable with.
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Out of the corner of her eye, Ukyo saw the smaller of the two gaijin hop down from the box she'd been standing on. After that she could only track the pair's movements by the head of the taller man sticking up above the heads of the crowds, she suspected he was tall even for an American.
Her lack of attention cost her, and she yelped as Kodachi's ribbon wrapped around one ankle and yanked her off her feet. A throwing spatula dealt with the ribbon pulled tight for once, and she rolled out of the way as Kodachi landed where she had been lying. One sweeping leg knocked Kodachi's feet out from under her, and the pair rolled back to their feet almost simultaneously and backed off, chests heaving—their 'fight' had gone on longer than normal, even if both girls had been holding back. "I thought ... they were ... never ... going to ... leave," Ukyo gasped out between pants.
"They ... wanted ... to see ... as much as ... they could first," Kodachi replied, her own panting beginning to even out. "They knew what ... they were seeing, not ... just gawking tourists. I ... will let everyone know where ... they are staying when Sasuke reports back."
We'll be waiting, Sugar, let's wrap this up."
Kodachi nodded almost imperceptibly and hopped back a step, her ribbon (what was left of it) again twirling up around her as she raised her voice enough to be heard by their audience. "So, peasant ..."
The two exchanged insults before Kodachi blew Ukyo off as a waste of time before leaping up and away across the rooftops, her spine-twisting laugh trailing behind her.
Ukyo shook her head as she walked over to the store wall to yank out her throwing spatulas and store them in their sheaths on her bandoleer. Strange girl but not so bad, once you get off her 'kill on sight' list. Thankfully, she'd bought Nabiki's story that her Ranma had left looking for 'that brazen, fiery-haired strumpet' that the fathers had tried to sell. Their subsequent gastrointestinal problems hadn't just been because of Akane's cooking. Though Ukyo did have to admit that her former competitor's cooking was getting better—people could actually keep it down now, which was why Kodachi had chosen to step in—apparently even she had lines she wouldn't cross, and selling your daughter as a sex slave crossed them. It was a good thing Kasumi had pointed out that the fathers would suffer longer if Kodachi's little additions weren't lethal. Or at least, Ukyo suspected, immediately lethal.
Clean-up done, Ukyo paused for a moment as she gazed down the street in the direction the pair of gaijin had left. Unlike the other foreigners that had been obviously casing the town, those were the first gaijin to wander into Nerima since Ranma had fled the second time that weren't obvious tourists that had gotten lost ... and while she couldn't be sure, thanks to the needs of her staged duel with Kodachi, unlike any of the Asian strangers in town she thought that the big man moved like a soldier. At the next meeting of the (loosely organized) Nerima Protective Society she would have to mention the possibility that there were two groups poking around, not just Nabiki's current masters. I wonder who they are?
At least the ongoing surveillance probably meant that Ranma was still running free, somewhere.
Clean up finished, Ukyo took to the roofs herself, headed toward her shop. About halfway there she stopped on one canted roof and sat on its peak for a few minutes before rising with a sigh and setting out again, toward the Tendo dojo. As much as she hated risking another encounter with Akane, the news of the gaijin newcomers couldn't wait. She'd have to pass the word to Kasumi to spread around right away. Actually,—a quick glance at the sun—she might be shopping right now, less chance of Nabiki overhearing anything. Just because the middle Tendo had warned her and some others of the possible threat didn't mean she could be trusted.
Then the okonomiyaki chef saw someone on the street below and ahead of her she hadn't seen in a long while, since Ranma had left in fact—the large, dusty figure of the Lost Boy. She instantly picked up her speed, to catch up before he turned a corner and ended up who-knows-where. "Hey, Ryoga! Wait up!"