Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found
them and please don't feed the Trolls.
"The Nancy" is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP), I'm only borrowing it.
Likewise "After All" is Garnet Roger's. "Maids, When You're Young" is
an Actual Folk Song, and is _Not_, I repeat, _Not_ My Fault.
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 1.2 (Dec. 04, 2000)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part A: Duel of Engines; A dream of blood and wolves.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
This is Tokyo, Nerima ward in the darkest early morning, the time when
old men die.
Focus in: to a large maison in the newer, outer part of the ward; where
the transients go, and where those who can't afford a _real_ Nerima
address find space to live. It's been here for 40 years. It's been
dying, slowly, for 35.
Focus in: to the eighth floor, on the corner, in the back. There's no
elevator to this floor, (the shaft is boarded shut, there's no money in
elevators) only rickety stairs. There's no hallway light, but then no
one here should be going in or out when it's dark, anyway (there's no
_stairway_ light either).
Focus in. The apartment has one main room, one bathroom with a small
shower but no furo, one room that combines kitchen and breakfast nook,
and one closet. Most of it was furnished by the building owner in a
style that can be described as 'severely minimal' and the current
occupant hasn't added much.
Take a look at the main room. Perhaps twelve feet on a side, floored in
a dingy parquet linoleum, it holds two pieces of furniture. Against one
wall, underneath the only window, sits a footlocker. The door in the
wall to the left leads to the kitchen, the door to the right, to the
bathroom. In the corner formed by the back wall and the left is the
other piece of furniture, a futon.
Look a bit longer. To two pieces of furniture, add three other items of
interest.
The first, placed just in front of the leather bound chest, is a sword
stand. On its upper tier, edge upward, as is proper, rests a sword.
A blade about three feet long, of the ancient pattern called /tachi/,
chisel pointed, strait backed, uncurved. Its hilt is of wood, covered
with ray-skin and wound with silken cords; its tsuba is of plain,
unmarked brass. Its scabbard, resting beneath it on the stand, is of
plain, black-lacquered, common pine.
A more commonplace, workaday weapon would be difficult to imagine. No
flamboyant artwork on _this_ blade, no feeling of legendary glory
waiting to be won. The only feeling an observer receives from this
blade is: 'Gee, that looks really sharp'.
Look behind it. On the chest, precisely in the center of its top, and
precisely in the center of the moonlight streaming through the window,
is a small bowl made of silver. In it floats a pool of softly
luminescent liquid, reminiscent of quicksilver, but more fluid.
Look deeper. See the small assemblage suspended slightly above the
surface of the liquid: two pieces of carven ivory flanking a ring of
palest jade. See how the ivory pieces, if fitted together, would also
form a ring, fitted tightly around the jade core. See the sandalwood
cover waiting patiently to the side of the chest lid; if it was placed
over the bowl it would fit perfectly around its rim, and cover the
whole without disturbing it in any way.
Wait!
Look.
Did you see?
Did you see the bead of soft light that fell from just above the bowl?
Look above the rings above the bowl, about six inches, do you see? A
pale circle of light hangs almost invisibly in midair, a slight
thickening of the flowing moonlight.
Now watch the two small beads of light at the top of the circle; see
them travel slowly around its circumference to the bottom. See them
gain in brightness, so slowly, ever so slowly, as they flow. See them
gleam as they pass, one by one, the geometric lines that cross and re-
cross the design.
Watch their color change, ever so faintly, as they pass each of the
tracings of ancient Chinese ideograms that form an inner ring of pale,
translucent, radiance. Watch them meet at the very bottom of the
circle, meet and join.
Watch the newly formed bead of luminescent liquid hang breathlessly a
moment, then fall *blip* the six inches to the rings above the bowl.
Watch it seem to pass through the jade ring, then watch the jade, and
then the ivory, glow.
Ever so faintly, ever so briefly.
Watch the cycle begin again.
Now turn to the futon. See the masculine figure sprawled in sleep. So
inelegant for one who, awake, is so graceful.
Look closer again. See the scars on face and arms. Trace the blow that
must have fallen to lay that path across larynx and shoulder.
Contemplate the tracery of past violence across his bare chest and the
portions of his legs that lie beyond his boxer shorts. Scars like wide,
raised, ridges six inches long; scars like nearly invisible threads,
white against the tanned skin; scars of all dimensions in between.
Marvel, lastly, at the tattoo. A dragon, marked with the symbols of
yang power. Sprawled across chest and stomach, winding around his left
shoulder and across his back to flirt with his right scapula with its
tail. Every scale and claw perfect, detailed in line, marvelous in
color, drawn by a master's hand. So perfect that the simple act of the
man's normal breathing seems to make it live and breathe alike.
Observe.
See its fierce whiskers, its masculine lines. See the eye closed in
sleep, the coiled body peaceful and still. It is fortunate, no doubt,
that it sleeps so peacefully - were it to awaken, its wrath would
surely be terrible.
No doubt.
No doubt at all.
Fortunate, then, that the sleep of its bearer is likewise deep, and
peaceful. Fortunate that he is locked, deeply and thoroughly, in
dreams.
Fortunate for the dreamer, and also, perhaps, for the observer.
Look deeper, you can see into the dream itself. But be cautious, as you
do: it is all too easy to become lost in dreams, all too easy to give
them too much credence.
In the end, remember this: however exact the remembrance, however
complete the illusion seems, you, yourselves, are also but dreaming.
Indulging in a metaphor, so to speak, for a somewhat more ... complex
... reality.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Impressions of gentle sunlight first, midmorning in the middle of
spring: perhaps late April, or early May.
Look around to see an open field, uncultivated; spring grass as tall as
your horse's knees, spotted with wildflowers, strewn with butterflies.
A hundred yard away to left and right the forest rises, dark with many
pines, but drifted gold with their pollen.
See the horse beneath you: coat black as night, mane and tail twin
charcoal sprays.
Hear the birdsong like a many-voiced silver cataract, staccato tattoo
of several horses cantering, gentle rustle of the wind.
Usagi rides his roan ten yards to your left, his straw hat thrown back
off his head, his ears streaming back in the breeze of your passage.
Noriyuki-sama sits his bay five yards behind and between you, his
plump, cheerful, panda face popping up above the head of his warhorse
with the enthusiasm of the twelve-year-old boy he is.
Tomoe-san rides her dappled gelding five yards behind her lord, her
cat-ears pricked forward, face earnest and alert. Always devoted to her
lord's safety, no matter her delight in the sunlit day, no matter her
discomfort in the storming, bitter night. Odd how her cat's face causes
no fear in your dream, odd how a cat grown man-tall and stood upright
is, somehow, not the kind of cat your subconscious so reviles.
Poetry from Usagi, chuckles from Tomoe and yourself, delighted laughter
from Noriyuki-sama, each close enough to speak, close enough to laugh,
but far enough away that danger cannot take two at once.
Next the fresh dew-smell, overlying the faint bruised grass, delicate
scent of wildflowers, honest smell of horse, and leather, sharp tang of
steel and lacquer from the light breastplate hidden beneath your outer
shirt. Smells of spring, overlaid by smells of travel, sadly intermixed
with smells of danger, and of threatening war.
Last the sun's gentle warmth, slanting from above. Caressing breeze
across your face, gentler than the wind of your passage. Rythmic
pounding of hooves, the saddle's steady rise and fall. Thump of braid
to your back, followed by the click as the ring at its end slaps home.
Creak of saddle-leather, slap of stirrups, *tick* and *clink* of
breastplate, thump of sword.
Just beside your track a wolf cub starts a mouse, pounces, grips his
prey and kills. Pounding hooves disturb his meal, his jaws drip blood,
his eyes glow green, but his pounce is intercepted by your sandal, he
sprawls before your progress. As the hoof comes down, a viper takes his
place. Too late: crunch under hoof, writhing rope behind. Tomoe's
naginata snaps downward, rises coiled by serpent, snaps to throw the
corpse away.
Suddenly pounding down a steep slope towards a lonely road. Dark pines
grow close on either side, black clouds, bitter wind, sharp and biting
scent of storm. Before you a party of horsemen turns toward you from
their place along the road. The war mask of the leader makes their
identity unmistakable - Hijiki, and a dozen of his guard.
Closed view from helm, O-yori heavy on your limbs. No daikyu, so a
charge will have to do - Yari straight before you, parallel with
Usagi's charge, behind you, Tomoe's naginata spins in a blurring circle
as she gallops past Noriyuki to shield him from his enemies.
First contact, and your enemy's throat sprays blood, a brief side-rein
as you break your foe's wall, rip open the side of another. Iron tang
of blood, sewer reek of sudden death, background flash of lightning as
the storm grows, and threatens now in earnest.
Tomoe's naginata takes the heads of the two guards in her path; Usagi
has collapsed the other corner of their formation, and converges on
Hijiki, two bodies left sprawling behind him in pools of sudden
scarlet. Rein left and launch your yari at Hijiki, he dodges but the
guard behind him does not.
Tenchuu flashes from its scabbard in an arc that takes it through two
enemies' necks - stronger tang of iron now, sticky crimson mist sprays
face and helm, blood-drops *tac* *tac* *tac* off armor as you spin and
drive towards the center of the now encarmined battleground.
Usagi has downed his foe, throwing him into another: thunder of hooves
as he follows up the advantage, crimson rivers as he passes the still
struggling tangle. Tomoe overmasters her last opponent, beating down
his guard; scarlet clots the blade of her naginata as it punches, once,
twice, thrice through his backplate. Three warriors form an arc,
centered where Hijiki waits: unbowed, but now alone.
Move to meet him, Tenchuu held low beside you. Then the wolf springs,
leaping from the trees. It is larger now, and crueler: already its jaws
drip poison spittle and its eyes blaze hatred and rage. Tenchuu chops
it from the air and it tumbles broken to the ground, but it rises to
its feet, healed anew in an instant, and now it is to your off side.
Armored in steel, your foot kicks free of its stirrup and meets it in
midair. Flailing, it flips over your head, Tenchuu blurs through its
diseased form a score of times at least. Scattered in many places, no
healing will save it this time.
Yet the delay is costly: Hijiki cuts through your defense, a stream of
fire across your throat and shoulder, falling from your mount to roll
frantically across the ground. Tomoe is down on one knee, injured,
defending Lord Noriyuki from half-a-dozen foes. Usagi kills his
opponent and you rise to your feet, Tenchuu hissing in the pattern
called 'fire wheel', the three enemies about you falling back slain;
horizontal fans of glistening crimson spray across the little inn's
tables and tatami, coloring bowls of rice and clay mugs of beer now
abandoned and overturned.
You turn toward Hijiki, as Usagi turns to the window in alarm. A
barrage of arrows thunks like hailstones into the thin, plaster wall,
piercing it in places to a depth of three or four inches, embedding
themselves in the beams and rafters. You turn away from the bodies
piled in the center of the floor as you sniff the air in alarm: smoke!
They're trying to burn you out!
Quickly you string your daikyu, eight arrows in your fist: the most
that you can put in the air at once. A burst of archery drives the
encircling foes on one side of the inn into cover, cowering. Now, out
the window, through their weakened line, run!
Around the corner now, galloping over treacherous shale, flakes of
rotten stone spraying back from your horses' hooves. Thunder of hooves,
rolling back from a wall of living mountain to your right - an unpaved
track too narrow for more than single file. Behind, a small army, but
they are at least half-a-mile back and if you can get past the towering
rock ahead they will never catch you.
Rain-slick cobbles *rutch* beneath your flying, sandaled, feet, thunder
crashes, loud as many dragons, ozone and sulfur, iron and hate. Around
the outbuilding now, Tenchuu naked and rain-flecked in your hand. Straw
rain cape flapping as you bring the wolf and Hijiki to bay before the
tower looming black and monstrous in the storm. The wolf stands manlike
and erect now - robed in black, carrying a spear.
Your opponents are spread out too far for any gambit to succeed: dash
between them, cutting at Hijiki as you pass, steel belling harshly
against steel. Turn to face him and feint to his torso, waiting for the
flow of ki from behind. Now, leap reversed over the wolf's head, thirty
feet of backwards somersault. Feel the power flow through ground and
storm, call it to your hand. Now! They are concentrated, pinned against
the tower, their defenses momentarily down. Now hold the power within
and weave a web of intent and iron control, now release the leash of
will close-held and call the Dragon Wind.
Storm erupts: sand caught by the wind and swept up as a thousand
miniature knives, lightning riding the fist of wind like a corona of
supernal fire. It washes over Hijiki and the wolf, overwhelms them, and
blots them from view and debris sprays from the tower's base with the
power of the storm.
Rising from the wrack, the wolf's lifeless, skeletal jaws howl in
futile rage in the moment they are given, before the fire consumes
them, before the avalanche of stone from the falling tower buries them,
before you turn and jump for distant safety, before the tons of
gunpowder stored below Hijiki's fortress destroy themselves, and all
around them, and the titanic explosion reaches out, gaining speed
behind you...
And the mass eruption of butterflies passes you by in a varicolored,
softly scintillating cloud of fragrance and you ride up the last hill,
amid a carpet of wildflowers. Usagi is beside you, Noriyuki-sama just
behind, carrying the sword, and Tomoe-san brings up the rear. And you
all laugh with joy, and awe, and delight as you top the rise to see
before you the rice fields on the outskirts of the new capitol. This
area is firmly under the Shogun's peace, patrols will escort you the
rest of the way to his palace, the presentation will be performed
without delay, and there remain before you no obstacles.
No obstacles at all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, awoke suddenly, and
turned over muzzily on his futon. Looking across the darkened room, to
the pale circle of magic dripping light into a silver bowl, he shook
his head and sighed. "Man, I haven't dreamed about _him_ in a _long_
time," he yawned. "I've got to stop making myself those midnight
haba¤ero-and-teriyaki beef snacks. That, and hope that wasn't an omen."
And then he turned over, and went back to sleep. Warriors learn to
prize the commodity because they know that morning will come soon
enough. And there will always be something to do in that morning. And
you'll always need your sleep.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Observe a long established residential district in Nerima, just after
dawn that day. Birds twitter and sing in melodic glee at the promises
of a new day, matching the mood of anticipation present in one member
of the household living at the old-fashioned building with the big sign
out front (the big sign that said 'Tendo Dojo', of course).
It should not be said that Akane was normally the type of girl to
indulge in random destruction as a form of stress relief. She indulged,
generally speaking, in _highly specific_ and _exactly targeted_
destruction as a form of stress relief. Even considering this fact,
however, the presence of a number of columns of cinder blocks, set at
various intervals around the practice hall's floor, must be considered
slightly unusual.
What was even more unusual, from a theoretical observer's viewpoint,
however, was that Akane was not immediately preparing to destroy them.
Instead, she was practicing a complex and intricate kata - almost a
shadow-dance - around, between, over and beside them. A kata that
seemed to involve defeating an imaginary set of enemies while at the
same time avoiding attack proximity of the cinder block piles (if the
cinder blocks were inclined to be pugnacious, which they had presented
no sign, so far, of being). Finally, drawing to a peak, the kata
concluded with a flurry of activity that wove and spun through the
piles of concrete, destroying each in turn.
For a moment after the kata's conclusion, Akane remained poised in the
attitude of her finishing blow, her eyes intent and focused on
something far away. Then she relaxed and surveyed the destruction,
somewhat in the manner of one who, having just endured more than a year
of grinding discomfort and frustration, has just been released,
metaphorically speaking, from bondage, while - and at the same time -
finding a much-desired friend, a much-admired mentor, and much-needed
help.
Likewise in the manner of one who has, shortly thereafter, undergone an
only-partially-favorable appraisal of her main life skill, an agonizing
reassessment of her chosen career goals, and the strangest evening of
her seventeen years of life. Not even to mention a total reassessment
of her most basic morality, and a reexamination of her honor. Followed
by a truly momentous decision: the first, depending on how you look at
it, of her adult life.
Which is, of course, exactly what she was. And which is also why, after
having, in a manner of speaking, cleared the air, she nodded firmly,
and dusted her hands and went in, whistling, to breakfast. It was a new
day, after all, and she was eager, for the first time in a very long
time, to begin it.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tendo Nabiki, of that same address, was also eager for the day to
begin. Not because she had undergone a great and sweeping change of
life, but rather because she too had received something she had not had
in a long time: a challenge.
She had been scored on. _She_ had been bested. Her actions anticipated,
her _pocket_ _picked_, of all the silly things. And yet, and yet ... it
had been done with, with ... _style_. And grace. Not in such a way as
to damage her reputation or smear her honor (indeed, she had - the
household had - profited tremendously).
And _then_ this same person, this same barbarian grotesque, had turned
around and not only helped her little sister - helped her family -
tremendously, but had also turned over a small fortune entirely for
Akane's use! And for a new wardrobe, for the purpose of, of all things,
'helping her Art'!
How had it happened? She still had no details that she trusted. _Why_
had she done it? And what would she do next? And how would she, Nabiki
herself, end up relating to this Bushiko Ranma? For the first time in
her life, she realized, the decision might not be in her hands.
And what of Ranma, herself? What secrets did she hold? Who was she,
really? And how had she gotten that way? Oh, my, yes, a challenge, in
all senses of that word. A challenge she was eager to take on. A
challenge she was eager to measure herself against, a challenge she was
eager to grow with. For her, too, a stretching of her capabilities was
a thing that had not happened in a very long time.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is an apartment last seen by moonlight, now stretching
drowsily in the pale illumination of a Tokyo dawn.
The furnishings have changed slightly: the sword stand is empty now,
the silver bowl is gone. In the place of the silver bowl, centered in
the faint light of dawn now invading through the window, is a wide
platen of burnished, red gold. Above it, on a stand of braided bronze
wire, rests a pair of rings. Carved from dark, emerald jade, with the
very faintest tracery of interlocking ideograms, they are made in
mirror images, each of the other. Beside and between them, are a pair
of interlocking shells of thinly braided copper wire, the inner halves
linked by golden chains.
Above, the diagram of light has been redrawn. Now shafts of pale dawn
light seem to twist and intertwine, forming a disc about two feet wide.
Within the pattern of the disc, intertwined with light and shadow in a
fashion that would make M. C. Escher delirious with jealousy, stands a
single ideogram in a Chinese temple shorthand so ancient that even the
memory of the name of the style it is written in has been lost.
Had he so desired, Ranma could have informed an interested scholar that
the ideogram's meaning was critically interlinked with the style in
which it was written, a style to which it had given its own name:
Phoenix Dragon.
In the corner of the main room behind the now opened bathroom door, in
that portion of the room farthest from sunlight, now stands a small
bamboo tray-table. On it is an iron stand, bearing a velvet curtain all
around that can be closed to keep the contents from any betraying hint
of sunlight.
Within, shining with a light of its own, is a complex assembly of
leaded glass and silver rod. Alembics bubble with a pale, luminescent
liquid, from them, coils of glass transport glowing beads of pastel
light up to roiling curcurbits, swirling with the colors of a mad,
muted rainbow, from which straight tubes emerge to close on a central
point, where they empty into a silver funnel. Drops of liquid, palely
silver, roll down the funnel to drip onto the top of a peachwood rod,
carven with writhing dragons going into and out of caves, down which a
silver-lined spiral path leads the glowing liquid, reduced micron by
micron, to a glass collecting bowl connected to the alembics in a
continuous circular progression.
Now from the open bathroom door comes a cloud of steam, followed by a
topless, towel-wrapped figure, still engaged in toweling dry her
scarlet braid. Striding firmly to the closet, Ranma drapes the towel
over the multicolored, iridescent, feminine dragon tattoo that winds
around her shoulders and torso: displayed passant regardant, dryly
looking over its own sinuous shoulder to regard whatever might lie
beyond.
Then, dropping the towels from shoulders and hips, Ranma stands briefly
nude (_Down_ Hentais! Down I say! You've seen as much many times before
in the manga!) before donning boxers and a stretchy chest wrap that
serves her as a sports bra.
Then she places around her neck a small amulet of silver, one face of
which is a cracked mirror and the other an ancient piece of pottery,
marked with a pattern reminiscent of many ropes. Following this with
her usual loose pants, silk shirt and moccasins, she tops these off
with her leather bomber jacket, picking her scabbarded sword from where
it rests against the wall and placing it, and a wide variety of other
implements inside her jacket, in places that mostly do not seem capable
of holding them.
Lastly she bounds into the kitchen, a brief swipe across the counter
grabs the bento and briefcase thereon. Bounds to the far corner,
twitching the curtain closed. Glides to the chest, checking the
alignment of the rings held above the brazen bowl.
Watch now as a bead of light splits into two at the top of the diagram
and runs fluidly around the circumference, left and right. Watch it
merge at the bottom. Watch it fairly leap across space to pass through
the rings and splash into the bowl. Watch the drop spread into a small
pool, fizzling energetically. Watch it bathe the rings from below,
evaporating as it does so. Watch the next drop splash before it
vanishes completely. Watch the pool spread a little farther, last a
little longer. See Ranma examine her handiwork and smile.
Watch her look up, and through the diagram hanging in mid-air in the
dawn's slowly gathering light. See her eyes go distant, as though lost
in dreams, or fears, or memories. But dreams fade in daylight, and
fears wither away. And memories don't always bring back that which is
looked for.
And Ranma turns, and glides out the door, locking it behind her. And
bounds down the staircase and out the maison's front door. And, taking
to the rooftops, moves quickly in a straight line towards her
rendezvous. It's a new day, after all, and it wouldn't do to be late.
It wouldn't do at all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Yakubi Ryouken felt, in his heart of hearts, that everything in the
world which was wrong with his life was the fault of his name (with
some justification, it can be translated as "Bad-luck Day Hound"). In
fact, he would not even answer to the hated words unless extremely
pressed, preferring, somewhat ironically, the sobriquet of Daken ("Cur"
or "Mongrel") instead.
Complaining about his names was, in fact, normally one of the two
overriding occupations of his life (the other being the worship of his
Japanese-Nationalistic divine heredity, and the concomitant despite he
felt for anything remotely foreign).
Pressed against Furinkan's wall, just inside the gate, however, he was
not currently capable of indulging in either one. This was primarily
due to the presence of another occupation; he was hating the redheaded
bitch.
He had woken up, naked amidst the ruins of his gang, very late the
previous night. He had spent the hours since seeking out the identity
of the bitches who had taken him by surprise, and taken his clothes and
cash as well. 'Plus which', he snarled to himself for the thousandth
time, 'I loved my Tagamotchi-chan, I'd kept him alive for two weeks,
*snff*, and the bitch _sold_ him, sold him like a slave.'
But he had her now, oh yes. She couldn't surprise him _now_, and he'd
picked up a number of fine Japanese-Nationalistic students the
barbarian whore had humiliated the day before, too. Soon, she'd come
through the gate and then ... then she'd get a surprise of her own! And
then he _would_ see if she was a natural redhead, teach her what a
_real_ man was like! 'Bitch's gotta learn her place!'
And no-one else would interfere, he'd left the cringing gaijin-otaku
pigs too terrified to even move!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is a normal street (for Nerima), and down it Akane and Nabiki
are walking on their way to school. Progressing, it should be noted, in
the normal, or common, fashion, which is to say, on the ground. And
flanking this common street is a common rooftop, belonging to a common
business; and along this rooftop Ranma is progressing, in an _un_common
fashion, which is to say, in bouncing leaps, five to ten yards long.
It would not be entirely fair to say that the Tendo sisters were
_surprised_ by Ranma's sudden appearance; they had been expecting it,
and besides, leaping from rooftops was normal compared to what they had
already seen her do. But they were, undeniably, startled. And startled
again by the fact that she appeared to have been, while blithely
leaping from place to place along the skyline, _singing_.
When we sat down to Tea, hey do me harity
When we sat down to Tea, me being young,
When we sat down to Tea, he started teasing me,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
Finishing the verse as she settled gracefully to earth, Ranma swept the
other girls a great bow, and fell in beside them with a warm greeting
to Akane, and a merry one to Nabiki.
"And _what_," Akane queried amusedly, "was that?"
"Song, Boys, For The Teasing Of, One," Ranma smirked.
"You, Bushiko Ranma, are _Evil_!"
"Yes, I know. Ain't it _cool_?!"
And they walked on toward school, and Ranma taught Akane the words, and
Nabiki shook her head in amusement, and sighed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Asano Sayuri shivered in terror, and looked out the window of the
second floor. She couldn't, she was too afraid, but if she didn't ....
The man called Daken was terrifying, so cruel in appearance, and the
threats he had made ....
She wasn't a brave person, she felt, but someone had to warn Ranma-san!
And she could see, just looking around, that no-one else was going to,
they were all afraid of those slime who had _joined_ the, the
_mongrel_.
But that meant that no-one would help _her_, and they'd know who had
called out, and she wasn't a brave person. But ... _but_, she'd heard
Ranma-san sing. And she'd seen Ranma-san stand up for Akane-san when
no-one else would. Ranma-san, she was sure, would defeat these mongrels
if only she was warned. But what if she didn't, couldn't, what then?
And then she saw, coming down the street in the distance, three
feminine figures; and discovered, suddenly, that she _was_ a brave
person, after all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Walking down the street with Akane, Ranma felt, was one of the better
ways to begin a school day that she had yet encountered. Akane had
proven an apt, if somewhat embarrassed, student of /Maids, When You're
Young/, and the verbal sparring with Nabiki had kept honors relatively
even in the opening exchanges.
Despite the company and the conversation, however, a martial artist of
Ranma's skill is never entirely inattentive to her surroundings, and
the concentration of hostility, clumsily gathered ki, and focused
attention hiding just behind the wall ahead of her would have waked her
from the dead in any case.
"Don't change your stance Ranma whispered sotto voce, "and keep
walking forward. I think, Akane, that our friends from yesterday have
grown melancholy in our absence, and have come to renew acquaintances."
Nabiki controlled her reaction automatically, but nevertheless
stiffened slightly, 'What?'
Akane pasted a wooden smile on her face and gripped Ranma's arm
urgently "Ranma, don't kill them!"
Ranma winked in reply, "Oh, if I had intended to kill them I'd have
done it last night. But since they didn't learn the earlier lesson we
taught them I think something slightly... stronger ... is in order.
Don't you?" Steering them gently toward the center of the gate she
continued, "Nabiki, how are you at negotiations from the superior
position?"
Nabiki frowned, "You're joking, right?"
Ranma grinned again, "Just keep walking, and keep your cool." As they
approached the gate she gathered ki for a momentary burst of extreme
speed, and then...
"_Ranma-sama, look out!!!_" a shout broke from the upper windows of
Furinkan, and Ranma spared half a second for an exasperated silent
curse as Daken turned, furiously, to the school and marked the person
he now fully intended to kill. Then she spent another quarter second to
center herself as Daken cursed and lunged and the other thugs began to
leap forward. And then she _blurred_.
And Akane and Nabiki walked into the suddenly quiet and still court-
yard of Furinkan; past the statue-like forms of the various thugs,
(arrested suddenly in mid-motion and still stunned, and also quite
naked, their only covering the brown ribbons neatly tied around their,
ah, ... "equipment") to where Ranma waited in the middle of the yard,
next to a vendor's stand neatly piled with various items of apparel,
smiling merrily and counting through the largish pile of cash next to
the credit cards on the counter-top.
"Why, Ranma," Nabiki drawled archly, "there seems to be a group of
naked boys standing about the courtyard."
"400,000 yen," Ranma said, handing half the money to a furiously
blushing Akane, "not bad. Yes, Nabiki, I did notice that, but boys will
be boys, you know: anything for attention."
Daken snarled furiously, and began a lunge towards the girls. Ranma
turned half around, mildly, and across 30 feet of courtyard Daken met
her eyes. Blue as the deepest ocean, still and quiet as a
moon-reflecting pool, hungry and terrible as the pregnant silence at
the eye of a hurricane. Met them, and saw, reflected in them, himself
and his relationship to them. And dived, suddenly terrified, for a
small clump of bushes abutting the wall and about ten feet away.
Someplace he could hide, someplace he could die, anyplace at all, as
long as he didn't have to see those eyes, ever, ever again.
And Ranma turned back to Nabiki calmly and said, "Considering the
penalties for indecent exposure, and the relative status of flashers in
the prison population, though, it's extremely fortunate for them that
you had this stall of emergency clothing ready, isn't it."
"Oh, you know me Nabiki grinned, "I always like to keep little things
like this around, for just such an emergency. I wonder, though, how
they're going to pay for it, considering their evident lack of ready
cash."
Ranma patted her on the shoulder as she passed by, "You're a capable
person Nabiki, I'm sure you'll think of something." And linking arms
with Akane and turning to her, "Ready? One, Two, Three ..." And their
voices rose above the onlookers in song...
When we went up to bed, hey do me harity
When we went up to bed, me being young,
When we went up to bed, he lay as if 'twer dead,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
And Nabiki shook her head, sadly, and turned to where the bushes
quivered in terror, and indicated the sirens rising in the far distance
with a wave of her hand. "Well, gentlemen, what's your feeling about
extended negotiations at this point?"
And Ranma and Akane walked up the stairs to class, singing.
For he's got no Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum,
For he's got no Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay!
He's got no Fallorum, he's lost his Ding-Doorum,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
At lunch, Ranma and Akane sat under a small tree, conversing. Finishing
her lunch, Ranma pulled out her guitar, and played tunes idly for a
while before noticing the shy approach of one of her new classmates.
"Sayuri-san, isn't it? You acted honorably this morning, thank you."
Sayuri blushed, and stammered; "I couldn't, that is I, er, I...."
Ranma smiled, gently, "It took bravery to call out like that. You must
have been very frightened."
Sayuri blushed harder, and looked down at her feet, "I, I wasn't brave.
I _was_ afraid."
Ranma grinned, "That's what bravery is about! Being afraid, and doing
the right thing anyway. What can I do for you?"
"Um, well, I just wondered ... about the song you were playing? It
seemed so ... ferocious?"
"Oh, well Ranma grinned, "that song is from Canada, originally. I
translated it. And yes, it is a tad ferocious. Would you to hear it?"
"Um, yes."
"I'd like to hear it too, Ranma Akane chimed in. And Ranma raised her
voice and sang.
The clothes men wear do give them airs,
their fellows to compare.
A Colonel's regimentals shine,
and women call them fair.
I am Alexander Macintosh,
a nephew to the Laird.
And I do disdain men who are vain,
the men with powdered hair!
I command the Nancy schooner
from the May on Lake St. Clair,
On the third day of October, boys,
I did set sail from there.
To the garrison at Amherstburg
I quickly would repair,
With Captain Maxwell and his wife,
and kids and powdered hair.
Aboard the Nancy!
In regimentals bright.
Aboard the Nancy!
With all his pomp and bluster there
aboard the Nancy-O!
Below the St Clair rapids I
sent scouts unto the shore
To ask a friendly Wyandott
to say what lay before
"Amherstburg has fallen,
with the same for you in store!
And militia sent to take you there,
fifty horse or more."
Up spoke Captain Maxwell then,
"Surrender, now, I say!
Give them your Nancy schooner,
and make off without delay!
Set me ashore, I do implore,
I will not die this way!"
Says I, "You go, or get below,
for I'll be on my way!"
Aboard the Nancy!
"Surrender, Hell!" I say
Aboard the Nancy!
"It's back to Mackinac I'll fight,
aboard the Nancy-O."
Well up comes Colonel Beaubien, then,
who shouts as he comes near:
"Surrender up your schooner and
I swear you've naught to fear!
We've got your Captain Maxwell, sir,
so spare yourself his tears!"
Says I, "I'll not, but send you shot
to buzz about your ears!"
Well, they fired as we hove anchor, boys
and we got under way,
But scarce a dozen broadsides, boys,
the Nancy did them pay
Before the business sickened them.
They bravely ran away
All sail we made, and reached the Lake
before the close of day.
Aboard the Nancy!
We sent them shot and cheers
Aboard the Nancy!
We watched them running through the trees,
aboard the Nancy-O!
Oh, military gentlemen
they bluster, roar and pray.
Nine sailors and the Nancy, boys,
made fifty run away.
The powder in their hair that day
was powder sent their way
By poor and ragged sailor men,
who swore that they would stay
Aboard the Nancy!
Six pence and found a day
Aboard the Nancy!
No uniforms for men to scorn,
aboard the Nancy-O!
"Heh ... Definitely catchy, Ranma-san Nabiki walked up. "Which reminds
me ..."
"Yeess?"
"Why _brown_ ribbons?"
"Well, after all, Nabiki-san Ranma's eyes glinted mischief, "You only
get a _white_ ribbon if you get an honorable mention."
After which, the students of Furinkan High were treated to an
unprecedented sight: Tendo Nabiki, leaning against the wall of the
school building, clutching her ribs desperately, laughing her head off.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
In the Girl's changing rooms, later, a minor confrontation was
underway. The sensei of Phys-Ed, having decided that Ranma qualified
under the "Advanced" curriculum, had run head-on into a wall of polite
intransigence. Finally, she battered down the defenses with an appeal
to school honor. If Ranma did not wear the gym uniform, she reasoned,
the other students would be disgraced.
Finally, Ranma had, reluctantly, agreed. Therefore she was preparing to
change into the shorts and t-shirt which Furinkan girls wore on the
field. This had been an object of some speculation among the girls (and
boys, of course) since it afforded a look at her bodily configuration,
and promised another, better one later.
It wasn't what they had expected. The thin, white lines of many scars
on arms and legs were definitely not what the girls of class 2-F felt
should have been hidden under Ranma's jacket and pants; much less the
broad, raised scar across her voice-box. The boxers and chest-wrap were
likewise odd, but it was the dragon tattoo peeking out from under her
wrap that drew the most attention.
Finally, as the designated activity for this class was soccer, came the
most dreaded activity in sports: choosing sides. Needless to say,
everyone wanted to be on Ranma's side, and no-one wanted to be on the
other side. Finally, a sotto voce suggestion from one of the more
horrified class members caused the sides to be chosen as follows: Side
A: Bushiko Ranma; Side B: Everyone Else.
"We ought to set an upper limit of goals," Ranma suggested
sardonically, "declare an instant win at twelve or so. With one side so
outnumbered and all I'm sure that it will be over quickly, and we
wouldn't want anyone to be overly embarrassed."
The suggestion was passed by acclamation, the teams took the field, and
the whistle blew. And, just as Ranma had predicted, it was over
quickly. The score was Ranma: twelve, Everyone Else: zero, in just
under three minutes. After that, by acclamation, they did something
else, instead.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
In the showers, after the lambasting, a chuckling Ranma congratulated
Sayuri on a difficult gymnastics move as she pulled her braid back and
looked up into the shower spray. Unfortunately, the heat of the water
caused her skin to flush, particularly on her torso, where the Dragon
seemed to preen under the heated spray, and beneath the amulet she
still wore on her breast.
The flush had the effect of throwing her scars into sharp relief, and
Ranma paused as she noted Sayuri's horrified gaze, fixed on her right
breast, where the pale line of an old scar bisected her aureole. Ranma
looked down, blushed, and shook her head, "The problem with my
lifestyle over the past several years is that it has thrown me far too
often into the company of rude strangers with sharp objects."
And she shrugged, and smiled weakly, and went back to her shower. And
Akane, behind her, narrowed her eyes speculatively and nodded, as
though a decision had been confirmed. And then they all went back to
class, looking forward to music, and the end of the school day beyond.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part C: Crumbling Stone: Duets for Wind and Flame.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.
And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.
Predictably, Akane had made the best match to Ranma's voice. Which is
not to say that the other members of class 2-F hadn't tried. Sayuri and
her friend Yuka has put up a brave struggle, and, of course, all the
boys in 2-F had desperately attempted to hold enough of a baritone to
match Ranma's contralto. But, in the end, Akane's clear soprano had
been the only one with enough endurance, or range.
It was the sensei of music's private despair that neither girl was at
all interested in representing Furinkan on the Musical Performance
team. He had even attempted to lure Ranma with reports of "Musical
Martial Arts" only to run headlong into a will of tempered granite.
"I have spent too much of my life, and far too much pain, on my Art to
betray it now Ranma had said, firmly, "it is as perfect as I can make
it and I will not abandon it simply so someone trained in another,
lesser, style can have a 'fair fight'. If someone wishes to challenge
me to Aikido, or Ninjutsu, or Martial Arts Croquet or Kung-Fu Break-
Dancing or any other such silliness they may do so. And they may use
their Art, and I will use mine, and we will see whose is superior." Her
grin as she delivered this pronouncement had been truly alarming, and
the matter had been dropped.
This had led to Ranma and Akane practicing duets on the same song that
Ranma had began with yesterday.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
It seemed that they should cooperate on the chorus, which led to the
question of how to divide up the verses. So Ranma had taken the first
set alone.
Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,
I see the hills shine, in its' silvery light.
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.
For where I go, You go with me,
Though the miles keep us apart.
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.
Akane's soprano had rung out both more softly and more sweetly than
Ranma on the second set, leading to the harmonies of their combined
voices and Ranma's guitar on the second chorus.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
And then it was time for the final verses and the problem of how to
apportion them was solved, mutually, by alternating lines, first the
contralto, smoke and ozone on the autumn wind and the presence -far off
and brooding- of the storm; then the soprano, crackling now with
driving energy, bright and pure, (yet, somehow, not at all sterile)
filled with the changeable changelessness of a bonfire's roar.
Well who scattered these diamonds,
through the vault of Heaven?
(The wind questioned, and the flame responded.)
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?
(The bonfire summoned, and the breeze answered.)
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?
(The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed.)
Where is the heart of every living thing?
(The blaze flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed it, and
drove it on before.)
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.
(Wind roused flame to life ...)
I know you love me, how could it not be?
(... flame drew wind's reply ...)
And I am yours, now and forever,
(... feeding now from each other's power, one to the other, changing
and exchanging the lead, to join again in harmony at the last ... )
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.
(... and the wind whipped the blaze into a wildfire ...)
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
(... and the fire blew the wind into a storm.)
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end Dear, only love remains.
And in the silence that filled the classroom when the song had
finished, Ranma's slightly husky voice broke the stillness gently, like
a sudden breeze breaks the hush of dawn, "By the way Akane, shouldn't
you have been playing your instrument too?"
"Um, well ... Akane shook herself and replied, "No. You see I play the
saxophone, and if I play I can't sing ...."
"You play _sax_??" Ranma blink-blinked, then mumbled, "Jazz. Now where
am I gonna get sheet music for Jazz. Mmm, maybe I could .... Well,
that's nice, but it does leave us with one problem."
"Er, what's that, Ranma? Akane asked warily.
"Where in hell are we going to find a drummer?"
The bell took the opportunity to ring at that point, ending the class.
And also cutting off at least three boys' attempts to volunteer for the
offered position (not that any of them could actually _play_ the drums,
but that wasn't the point), which was, probably, extremely fortunate
for all involved.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Nabiki had excused herself for an unspecified appointment. Sayuri and
Yuka had departed, giggling, to prepare the former for a date she had
contrived with "this dreamy guy" from class 3-C. Various other people
had departed to their various ways.
Ranma and Akane were, technically speaking, not _alone_, just _by
themselves_. They had therefore, by mutual, unspoken, consent, departed
from the straight path towards Akane's home and were, instead,
strolling idly through one of Nerima's parks, enjoying the warmth of
the day and the freshness of the spring breeze. This being one of the
Accepted Canonical Locations for Serious Discussions, one of the
aforesaid Serious Discussions was underway.
"Akane-san Ranma gritted, "I _said_ that you should ..."
"I did consider my decision, Ranma-chan Akane replied calmly. "I
decided that I wanted to go ahead."
"_Damn it, girl_!" Ranma roared, "You've got _no_ idea what you're
getting into!"
"Ranma-chan Akane reached out and put a gentle hand on the faint scar
that traced the side of Ranma's face, next to her mouth, "when you took
the blow that dealt that scar, did it hurt? Did it hurt afterwards?"
"_OF COURSE IT BLOODY HURT!!!_"
"And, the others?" Akane's voice was gentle, "Did they hurt, too?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?! Of _course_ they did!"
"And after you healed, did they stop hurting?"
"What are you ... _No!_ They never stop hurting, not completely! I
_ache_ in the winter, sometimes!"
"And you said that your honor didn't allow you to let your friend
suffer likewise unless she _had_ to?"
"_THAT'S WHY I'M TRYING TO TALK YOU OUT OF IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU,
YOU ... BAKA!!!_"
Akane stepped forward to stand just in front of Ranma, face-to-face and
looking closely into her cerulean eyes. "So what makes you think that
_my_ honor will allow me to let _my_ friend suffer all that pain ...
alone?"
And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, looked into the
great, dark, eyes of her opponent in this contest of wills, of her
would-be student, of her friend; and found there no challenge, but also
no surrender. And martialed a hundred arguments, and prepared a
thousand objections, and called to mind every precept of logic she had
ever heard. And saw, in the theater of memory, -- treacherous memory,
that shows what it will, and not what _you_ will -- another face. And
the expression in the eyes before her mirrored once, long before, in a
mirror. And bowed her head to another's honor, and bent her neck to
another's necessity; and buried her face in another's shoulder, and
felt another's arms embrace her; and did not cry, nor did she weep, so
great was her control, whatever she might wish. Only, instead, she
spoke, very low and muffled in another's breast, "Alright. Alright,
I'll teach you. I'll teach you all I can."
And Tendo Akane also did not cry, nor weep, for the moment was, for
her, too great for tears. She only said "And I promise to learn, all
that I can. And never to regret what you may teach, whatever it may
cost me."
And they stood like that for a time, which may have been long or short,
and then released each other's embrace. And walked onward, more quickly
now, to the hall that one called home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
On the mat Ranma bowed to the Dojo's spirit and then turned to face
Akane and crossed her arms. "Okay. We now face the First Problem of
teaching you how to lead a life dedicated to the fine art of slaughter.
Briefly, the problem is one of attitude. A warrior simply has a
different basic attitude than a person trained for sport or self-
defense, and the necessary attitude is one you don't possess."
Akane assumed an attitude of respectful attention.
"And the number of ways I know of to induce the necessary attitude
reduce to three said Ranma, beginning to pace back and forth. "First,
we could send you to a remote temple for two or three decades so you
could run up and down snowy mountains, and drink bark tea, and meditate
on your navel.
"_But_, we can probably say that this approach will take a _trifle_
more time than we actually have." Ranma reached the end of her pacing
arc, and raised one finger in the air as she turned around.
Akane turned her head to face her, still attentive.
"Second, we could send you off to somewhere where life is cheap,
gunpowder is in the air, and death lurks behind every corner, in the
hope that, if you survived, you would pick something up by osmosis.
"_But_, that approach is probably a little too, umm ... _uncertain_."
Ranma reached the other end of her arc and held up a second finger.
Akane made a face, and nodded vigorously.
"So what we are left with is choice three Ranma said with an evil
grin, holding up a third finger. "This is the approach where I beat the
living snot out of you on a regular basis until you learn something."
Akane observed the grin, and gulped.
"And the first part of that process Ranma said, turning to face Akane,
and crossing her arms again, "is to see precisely what you are capable
of _now_. _Assume_."
Akane brushed away a sudden bead of sweat, and assumed the Tendo
Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu Crane In Waiting stance.
Akane waited uneasily. Ranma looked her up and down for about three
seconds, and then she moved.
It seemed, to Akane, like being in the center of a tornado. Great winds
buffeted her from all sides, and her defenses were useless against the
hail of punishing blows descending from every angle that she didn't, or
couldn't block, but not from the ones she did.
A slide kick sent her sprawling to the ground, followed by three fast
and bruising punches to the small of her back, but she fought grimly
upright and cleared some space with a sweeping hip kick that only cost
her two snap-kicks to the knee and a crane strike to the thigh. Setting
her back against the Dojo's outside wall, and reminding herself not to
move on that leg, she waited as steadily as she could for Ranma's next
attack.
It came within seconds, a v-step across Akane's range that turned into
a feint to her upper right guard. A 'feint' that succeeded in bashing
her out of position for another series of feints, each contacting her
defenses, each bruising her arms or legs, each moving her farther and
farther off her defensive center, until her guard was completely down.
In the extremity of her extension, turned half away from the guarding
wall, when she could respond to no more threats, she watched, with
despair, a rising power kick that she knew she could never stop.
Awaiting the end, she noted, as if from her peripheral vision, a slight
movement _behind_ her, and then the world went black.
She awakened upside down against a wall. She knew that only moments
could have passed, but from the condition of her abused muscles it
might have been hours. She was gently turned over and set upright,
squatting against the wall, and blearily forced her eyes open - to
discover Ranma kneeling in front of her, wiping her face clean of sweat
and blood with a handkerchief. And grinning merrily, as though she had
just been told the best joke in all the world.
Akane frowned weakly, "I know I'm not in your class, Ranma-sensei, but
I ..."
Ranma's grin transmuted into a gentle smile and she shook her head.
"Not in my class? Heh. Not in my class. *snrk*. Akane-chan she asked,
more gently yet, "do you know why you're lying here on the ground,
feeling run over?"
"Well I missed that last power kick ... Akane responded uncertainly.
"The power kick was a feint, Akane-chan Ranma returned to her grin,
"the real attack was the thrust-kick from behind. The thrust-kick that
would have stopped before it actually hit you, like the death-blow I
did to Kuno-san. The thrust-kick that you couldn't even have _seen_,
much less blocked. That thrust-kick."
"Oh Akane said weakly, "So, what happened?"
"You blocked it, of course Ranma's grin was even larger now.
"I thought you said I _couldn't_ have blocked it Akane complained,
weakly. Something here wasn't making sense.
"You couldn't have Ranma replied cheerfully, "But you did, anyway. And
there's only one way that could have happened."
Akane shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever particle of
inspiration was hiding in it that was keeping the conversation from
making sense. "Wh .. What's that Ranma-sensei?" she quavered.
Ranma's grin seemed to split her face, "You must have gone zanshin,
Akane-chan. It's the only way you could even have come close. With all
your defenses down. Completely overextended. And without even _meaning_
to."
"Z .. Zanshin, Ranma-sensei? You mean like, like Mushashi-sama? The
_Book of Five Rings_?"
"Exactly! And, of course, you know what _that_ means?"
"N-no, I mean, I don't ... what?" Akane shook her head frantically,
desperate to find something that made sense. Zanshin? Her?
"It means you made me completely waste all that angst I went through,
that's what. You're as surely marked with the Murderer's sign as am I."
Ranma traced a circle on her forehead with a gentle hand. "It means you
will probably end up being better than _me_. It means that I've found
my Perfect Student, the one I can learn from as much as I teach. And
what, what, _what_ in the name of all that is holy is a nice girl like
you doing in a condition like that?"
Akane's battered mind seized on the only thing she recognized in all
that barrage of words, and came up with the only appropriate response,
smiling weakly, "Umm, Just lucky, I guess?"
Ranma's silver laughter filled the empty hall. And then she abandoned
any attempt to urge Akane to rise, and cradled her in her arms, rising
smoothly to her feet as Akane feebly waved her hands in protest.
"And now we'll get you in the furo. You need to soak."
"But, but, that is, I don't, you shouldn't ..."
"Hush, Akane. The Sensei Is Always Right."
"But you, I, it's not ..."
"Hush, Akane-chan."
"Don't need, why, can walk, ..."
"_Hush!_"
"Er, umm, that is... Yes, Ranma-chan meekly.
"And then I'll give you a massage, to keep you from being too stiff
tomorrow."
"Erkk... very meekly indeed.
"And after that we'll get Kasumi-san to make you a _big_ meal, so you
can keep your strength up."
"Oh, no a very, very small voice.
"And after _that_, we can do some _real_ training!"
"Help almost inaudible, in fact. Not that it helped.
And Ranma's cheerful laughter blew them into the furo. And then they
did exactly what Ranma had said they would.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
And much later, long after dark, as Ranma wound her way alone to her
rented flat, and Akane slept the sleep of the Just -- or, anyway, the
Sleep of the Very, Very Tired --, Ranma looked up into the light-glare
that blotted out the stars above Tokyo, and snorted.
"'Keep your head down, and hope you find a friend', I said. Hah! Oh,
well I can't complain about the quality of her art at least. Even if it
is bloody inconvenient! 'Here Ranma, have a day, you've found your
Perfect Student. Of course, you've only got six months to teach her in,
but...'."
Musingly, "It's loads better than that last school, at least. Food
fights, bleah. Oh, yes, it could _definitely_ be worse."
And then she began, without raising her voice, to sing. And continued
singing all the way down the road.
The brooding ghosts of this dark night
Are gone from wood and Town.
My spirit revives in the morning breeze,
Though it died when Sun went down.
The river is wide, the stream is strong,
And the grass is green and tall.
And I feign would think that this world of ours,
Is a good world, after all.
The light of passion in dreamy eyes,
The page of truth well read,
The glorious thrill in a heart grown cold,
And a spirit once thought dead.
The song that goes to a comrade's heart,
The tear of pride let fall,
My heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
Let our enemies go by their own dull paths,
Let theirs be doubt and shame.
The man who's bitter against the world
Has only himself to blame.
Let the darkest side of the past stay dark,
And only good recall,
For I must believe that the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
It may be that I saw too plain,
It may be I was blind,
But I'll keep my face to the morning light,
Though the Devil stand behind.
Though the Devil may stand behind my back
Shall I see his shadow fall?
And I'll read, in the light of the Morning Star
Of a good world, after all.
And then, very softly:
Rest, for your arms are weary, Love,
You drove the worst away.
And the ghost of the one that I might have been
Is gone from my heart today.
We'll live our life for the good it brings,
'Till our twilight shadows fall.
Oh, my heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next:
Chapter 3: The Third Day
Part A: Point of Contact; The Hunter and the Bear.
Authors Notes: Not so many, this time.
The first part was a try at using mood and shadow, rather than more
action-based writing, and I think it did its job. I'm trying to imply
much of the background detail, indeed, I think that Ranma's role in
this little story kind-of requires that there be a sense of a great
amount of background detail to be had. So, rather than trying to make
talking heads interesting ....
Secondly, I discovered that there was another hero on the premises who
I had not expected. Heh. And Ranma got to be a little nasty, to
counteract the honorable idiot mode he (or she) is normally cast in.
Finally, we come to the third part, and the beginning of Akane's rise
to her own heroic status. And also, I'm beginning to hint at the cost
she and Ranma will eventually have to pay to gain, or in Ranma's case,
_regain_, that high status.
Ranma's actions here are underscoring the degree to which he has, in a
sense, lapsed from a formerly heroic standing, which is what I mean
when I say _re_gain his status as a hero. That is, where once he would
have tackled problems head on (for better or for worse), he's now going
around them, and choosing the easier, safer path.
While in certain circumstances this is a good thing, when someone fails
to look and see whether the difficult path might not perhaps be the
_right_ path to take, it can lead you into a morass. As it currently
doing in the matter of his and Akane's romantic relationship, and as it
shall do again more than once before he pulls himself out of it.
'Til next chapter,
Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found
them and please don't feed the Trolls.
"The Nancy" is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP), I'm only borrowing it.
Likewise "After All" is Garnet Roger's. "Maids, When You're Young" is
an Actual Folk Song, and is _Not_, I repeat, _Not_ My Fault.
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 1.2 (Dec. 04, 2000)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part A: Duel of Engines; A dream of blood and wolves.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
This is Tokyo, Nerima ward in the darkest early morning, the time when
old men die.
Focus in: to a large maison in the newer, outer part of the ward; where
the transients go, and where those who can't afford a _real_ Nerima
address find space to live. It's been here for 40 years. It's been
dying, slowly, for 35.
Focus in: to the eighth floor, on the corner, in the back. There's no
elevator to this floor, (the shaft is boarded shut, there's no money in
elevators) only rickety stairs. There's no hallway light, but then no
one here should be going in or out when it's dark, anyway (there's no
_stairway_ light either).
Focus in. The apartment has one main room, one bathroom with a small
shower but no furo, one room that combines kitchen and breakfast nook,
and one closet. Most of it was furnished by the building owner in a
style that can be described as 'severely minimal' and the current
occupant hasn't added much.
Take a look at the main room. Perhaps twelve feet on a side, floored in
a dingy parquet linoleum, it holds two pieces of furniture. Against one
wall, underneath the only window, sits a footlocker. The door in the
wall to the left leads to the kitchen, the door to the right, to the
bathroom. In the corner formed by the back wall and the left is the
other piece of furniture, a futon.
Look a bit longer. To two pieces of furniture, add three other items of
interest.
The first, placed just in front of the leather bound chest, is a sword
stand. On its upper tier, edge upward, as is proper, rests a sword.
A blade about three feet long, of the ancient pattern called /tachi/,
chisel pointed, strait backed, uncurved. Its hilt is of wood, covered
with ray-skin and wound with silken cords; its tsuba is of plain,
unmarked brass. Its scabbard, resting beneath it on the stand, is of
plain, black-lacquered, common pine.
A more commonplace, workaday weapon would be difficult to imagine. No
flamboyant artwork on _this_ blade, no feeling of legendary glory
waiting to be won. The only feeling an observer receives from this
blade is: 'Gee, that looks really sharp'.
Look behind it. On the chest, precisely in the center of its top, and
precisely in the center of the moonlight streaming through the window,
is a small bowl made of silver. In it floats a pool of softly
luminescent liquid, reminiscent of quicksilver, but more fluid.
Look deeper. See the small assemblage suspended slightly above the
surface of the liquid: two pieces of carven ivory flanking a ring of
palest jade. See how the ivory pieces, if fitted together, would also
form a ring, fitted tightly around the jade core. See the sandalwood
cover waiting patiently to the side of the chest lid; if it was placed
over the bowl it would fit perfectly around its rim, and cover the
whole without disturbing it in any way.
Wait!
Look.
Did you see?
Did you see the bead of soft light that fell from just above the bowl?
Look above the rings above the bowl, about six inches, do you see? A
pale circle of light hangs almost invisibly in midair, a slight
thickening of the flowing moonlight.
Now watch the two small beads of light at the top of the circle; see
them travel slowly around its circumference to the bottom. See them
gain in brightness, so slowly, ever so slowly, as they flow. See them
gleam as they pass, one by one, the geometric lines that cross and re-
cross the design.
Watch their color change, ever so faintly, as they pass each of the
tracings of ancient Chinese ideograms that form an inner ring of pale,
translucent, radiance. Watch them meet at the very bottom of the
circle, meet and join.
Watch the newly formed bead of luminescent liquid hang breathlessly a
moment, then fall *blip* the six inches to the rings above the bowl.
Watch it seem to pass through the jade ring, then watch the jade, and
then the ivory, glow.
Ever so faintly, ever so briefly.
Watch the cycle begin again.
Now turn to the futon. See the masculine figure sprawled in sleep. So
inelegant for one who, awake, is so graceful.
Look closer again. See the scars on face and arms. Trace the blow that
must have fallen to lay that path across larynx and shoulder.
Contemplate the tracery of past violence across his bare chest and the
portions of his legs that lie beyond his boxer shorts. Scars like wide,
raised, ridges six inches long; scars like nearly invisible threads,
white against the tanned skin; scars of all dimensions in between.
Marvel, lastly, at the tattoo. A dragon, marked with the symbols of
yang power. Sprawled across chest and stomach, winding around his left
shoulder and across his back to flirt with his right scapula with its
tail. Every scale and claw perfect, detailed in line, marvelous in
color, drawn by a master's hand. So perfect that the simple act of the
man's normal breathing seems to make it live and breathe alike.
Observe.
See its fierce whiskers, its masculine lines. See the eye closed in
sleep, the coiled body peaceful and still. It is fortunate, no doubt,
that it sleeps so peacefully - were it to awaken, its wrath would
surely be terrible.
No doubt.
No doubt at all.
Fortunate, then, that the sleep of its bearer is likewise deep, and
peaceful. Fortunate that he is locked, deeply and thoroughly, in
dreams.
Fortunate for the dreamer, and also, perhaps, for the observer.
Look deeper, you can see into the dream itself. But be cautious, as you
do: it is all too easy to become lost in dreams, all too easy to give
them too much credence.
In the end, remember this: however exact the remembrance, however
complete the illusion seems, you, yourselves, are also but dreaming.
Indulging in a metaphor, so to speak, for a somewhat more ... complex
... reality.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Impressions of gentle sunlight first, midmorning in the middle of
spring: perhaps late April, or early May.
Look around to see an open field, uncultivated; spring grass as tall as
your horse's knees, spotted with wildflowers, strewn with butterflies.
A hundred yard away to left and right the forest rises, dark with many
pines, but drifted gold with their pollen.
See the horse beneath you: coat black as night, mane and tail twin
charcoal sprays.
Hear the birdsong like a many-voiced silver cataract, staccato tattoo
of several horses cantering, gentle rustle of the wind.
Usagi rides his roan ten yards to your left, his straw hat thrown back
off his head, his ears streaming back in the breeze of your passage.
Noriyuki-sama sits his bay five yards behind and between you, his
plump, cheerful, panda face popping up above the head of his warhorse
with the enthusiasm of the twelve-year-old boy he is.
Tomoe-san rides her dappled gelding five yards behind her lord, her
cat-ears pricked forward, face earnest and alert. Always devoted to her
lord's safety, no matter her delight in the sunlit day, no matter her
discomfort in the storming, bitter night. Odd how her cat's face causes
no fear in your dream, odd how a cat grown man-tall and stood upright
is, somehow, not the kind of cat your subconscious so reviles.
Poetry from Usagi, chuckles from Tomoe and yourself, delighted laughter
from Noriyuki-sama, each close enough to speak, close enough to laugh,
but far enough away that danger cannot take two at once.
Next the fresh dew-smell, overlying the faint bruised grass, delicate
scent of wildflowers, honest smell of horse, and leather, sharp tang of
steel and lacquer from the light breastplate hidden beneath your outer
shirt. Smells of spring, overlaid by smells of travel, sadly intermixed
with smells of danger, and of threatening war.
Last the sun's gentle warmth, slanting from above. Caressing breeze
across your face, gentler than the wind of your passage. Rythmic
pounding of hooves, the saddle's steady rise and fall. Thump of braid
to your back, followed by the click as the ring at its end slaps home.
Creak of saddle-leather, slap of stirrups, *tick* and *clink* of
breastplate, thump of sword.
Just beside your track a wolf cub starts a mouse, pounces, grips his
prey and kills. Pounding hooves disturb his meal, his jaws drip blood,
his eyes glow green, but his pounce is intercepted by your sandal, he
sprawls before your progress. As the hoof comes down, a viper takes his
place. Too late: crunch under hoof, writhing rope behind. Tomoe's
naginata snaps downward, rises coiled by serpent, snaps to throw the
corpse away.
Suddenly pounding down a steep slope towards a lonely road. Dark pines
grow close on either side, black clouds, bitter wind, sharp and biting
scent of storm. Before you a party of horsemen turns toward you from
their place along the road. The war mask of the leader makes their
identity unmistakable - Hijiki, and a dozen of his guard.
Closed view from helm, O-yori heavy on your limbs. No daikyu, so a
charge will have to do - Yari straight before you, parallel with
Usagi's charge, behind you, Tomoe's naginata spins in a blurring circle
as she gallops past Noriyuki to shield him from his enemies.
First contact, and your enemy's throat sprays blood, a brief side-rein
as you break your foe's wall, rip open the side of another. Iron tang
of blood, sewer reek of sudden death, background flash of lightning as
the storm grows, and threatens now in earnest.
Tomoe's naginata takes the heads of the two guards in her path; Usagi
has collapsed the other corner of their formation, and converges on
Hijiki, two bodies left sprawling behind him in pools of sudden
scarlet. Rein left and launch your yari at Hijiki, he dodges but the
guard behind him does not.
Tenchuu flashes from its scabbard in an arc that takes it through two
enemies' necks - stronger tang of iron now, sticky crimson mist sprays
face and helm, blood-drops *tac* *tac* *tac* off armor as you spin and
drive towards the center of the now encarmined battleground.
Usagi has downed his foe, throwing him into another: thunder of hooves
as he follows up the advantage, crimson rivers as he passes the still
struggling tangle. Tomoe overmasters her last opponent, beating down
his guard; scarlet clots the blade of her naginata as it punches, once,
twice, thrice through his backplate. Three warriors form an arc,
centered where Hijiki waits: unbowed, but now alone.
Move to meet him, Tenchuu held low beside you. Then the wolf springs,
leaping from the trees. It is larger now, and crueler: already its jaws
drip poison spittle and its eyes blaze hatred and rage. Tenchuu chops
it from the air and it tumbles broken to the ground, but it rises to
its feet, healed anew in an instant, and now it is to your off side.
Armored in steel, your foot kicks free of its stirrup and meets it in
midair. Flailing, it flips over your head, Tenchuu blurs through its
diseased form a score of times at least. Scattered in many places, no
healing will save it this time.
Yet the delay is costly: Hijiki cuts through your defense, a stream of
fire across your throat and shoulder, falling from your mount to roll
frantically across the ground. Tomoe is down on one knee, injured,
defending Lord Noriyuki from half-a-dozen foes. Usagi kills his
opponent and you rise to your feet, Tenchuu hissing in the pattern
called 'fire wheel', the three enemies about you falling back slain;
horizontal fans of glistening crimson spray across the little inn's
tables and tatami, coloring bowls of rice and clay mugs of beer now
abandoned and overturned.
You turn toward Hijiki, as Usagi turns to the window in alarm. A
barrage of arrows thunks like hailstones into the thin, plaster wall,
piercing it in places to a depth of three or four inches, embedding
themselves in the beams and rafters. You turn away from the bodies
piled in the center of the floor as you sniff the air in alarm: smoke!
They're trying to burn you out!
Quickly you string your daikyu, eight arrows in your fist: the most
that you can put in the air at once. A burst of archery drives the
encircling foes on one side of the inn into cover, cowering. Now, out
the window, through their weakened line, run!
Around the corner now, galloping over treacherous shale, flakes of
rotten stone spraying back from your horses' hooves. Thunder of hooves,
rolling back from a wall of living mountain to your right - an unpaved
track too narrow for more than single file. Behind, a small army, but
they are at least half-a-mile back and if you can get past the towering
rock ahead they will never catch you.
Rain-slick cobbles *rutch* beneath your flying, sandaled, feet, thunder
crashes, loud as many dragons, ozone and sulfur, iron and hate. Around
the outbuilding now, Tenchuu naked and rain-flecked in your hand. Straw
rain cape flapping as you bring the wolf and Hijiki to bay before the
tower looming black and monstrous in the storm. The wolf stands manlike
and erect now - robed in black, carrying a spear.
Your opponents are spread out too far for any gambit to succeed: dash
between them, cutting at Hijiki as you pass, steel belling harshly
against steel. Turn to face him and feint to his torso, waiting for the
flow of ki from behind. Now, leap reversed over the wolf's head, thirty
feet of backwards somersault. Feel the power flow through ground and
storm, call it to your hand. Now! They are concentrated, pinned against
the tower, their defenses momentarily down. Now hold the power within
and weave a web of intent and iron control, now release the leash of
will close-held and call the Dragon Wind.
Storm erupts: sand caught by the wind and swept up as a thousand
miniature knives, lightning riding the fist of wind like a corona of
supernal fire. It washes over Hijiki and the wolf, overwhelms them, and
blots them from view and debris sprays from the tower's base with the
power of the storm.
Rising from the wrack, the wolf's lifeless, skeletal jaws howl in
futile rage in the moment they are given, before the fire consumes
them, before the avalanche of stone from the falling tower buries them,
before you turn and jump for distant safety, before the tons of
gunpowder stored below Hijiki's fortress destroy themselves, and all
around them, and the titanic explosion reaches out, gaining speed
behind you...
And the mass eruption of butterflies passes you by in a varicolored,
softly scintillating cloud of fragrance and you ride up the last hill,
amid a carpet of wildflowers. Usagi is beside you, Noriyuki-sama just
behind, carrying the sword, and Tomoe-san brings up the rear. And you
all laugh with joy, and awe, and delight as you top the rise to see
before you the rice fields on the outskirts of the new capitol. This
area is firmly under the Shogun's peace, patrols will escort you the
rest of the way to his palace, the presentation will be performed
without delay, and there remain before you no obstacles.
No obstacles at all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, awoke suddenly, and
turned over muzzily on his futon. Looking across the darkened room, to
the pale circle of magic dripping light into a silver bowl, he shook
his head and sighed. "Man, I haven't dreamed about _him_ in a _long_
time," he yawned. "I've got to stop making myself those midnight
haba¤ero-and-teriyaki beef snacks. That, and hope that wasn't an omen."
And then he turned over, and went back to sleep. Warriors learn to
prize the commodity because they know that morning will come soon
enough. And there will always be something to do in that morning. And
you'll always need your sleep.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Observe a long established residential district in Nerima, just after
dawn that day. Birds twitter and sing in melodic glee at the promises
of a new day, matching the mood of anticipation present in one member
of the household living at the old-fashioned building with the big sign
out front (the big sign that said 'Tendo Dojo', of course).
It should not be said that Akane was normally the type of girl to
indulge in random destruction as a form of stress relief. She indulged,
generally speaking, in _highly specific_ and _exactly targeted_
destruction as a form of stress relief. Even considering this fact,
however, the presence of a number of columns of cinder blocks, set at
various intervals around the practice hall's floor, must be considered
slightly unusual.
What was even more unusual, from a theoretical observer's viewpoint,
however, was that Akane was not immediately preparing to destroy them.
Instead, she was practicing a complex and intricate kata - almost a
shadow-dance - around, between, over and beside them. A kata that
seemed to involve defeating an imaginary set of enemies while at the
same time avoiding attack proximity of the cinder block piles (if the
cinder blocks were inclined to be pugnacious, which they had presented
no sign, so far, of being). Finally, drawing to a peak, the kata
concluded with a flurry of activity that wove and spun through the
piles of concrete, destroying each in turn.
For a moment after the kata's conclusion, Akane remained poised in the
attitude of her finishing blow, her eyes intent and focused on
something far away. Then she relaxed and surveyed the destruction,
somewhat in the manner of one who, having just endured more than a year
of grinding discomfort and frustration, has just been released,
metaphorically speaking, from bondage, while - and at the same time -
finding a much-desired friend, a much-admired mentor, and much-needed
help.
Likewise in the manner of one who has, shortly thereafter, undergone an
only-partially-favorable appraisal of her main life skill, an agonizing
reassessment of her chosen career goals, and the strangest evening of
her seventeen years of life. Not even to mention a total reassessment
of her most basic morality, and a reexamination of her honor. Followed
by a truly momentous decision: the first, depending on how you look at
it, of her adult life.
Which is, of course, exactly what she was. And which is also why, after
having, in a manner of speaking, cleared the air, she nodded firmly,
and dusted her hands and went in, whistling, to breakfast. It was a new
day, after all, and she was eager, for the first time in a very long
time, to begin it.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tendo Nabiki, of that same address, was also eager for the day to
begin. Not because she had undergone a great and sweeping change of
life, but rather because she too had received something she had not had
in a long time: a challenge.
She had been scored on. _She_ had been bested. Her actions anticipated,
her _pocket_ _picked_, of all the silly things. And yet, and yet ... it
had been done with, with ... _style_. And grace. Not in such a way as
to damage her reputation or smear her honor (indeed, she had - the
household had - profited tremendously).
And _then_ this same person, this same barbarian grotesque, had turned
around and not only helped her little sister - helped her family -
tremendously, but had also turned over a small fortune entirely for
Akane's use! And for a new wardrobe, for the purpose of, of all things,
'helping her Art'!
How had it happened? She still had no details that she trusted. _Why_
had she done it? And what would she do next? And how would she, Nabiki
herself, end up relating to this Bushiko Ranma? For the first time in
her life, she realized, the decision might not be in her hands.
And what of Ranma, herself? What secrets did she hold? Who was she,
really? And how had she gotten that way? Oh, my, yes, a challenge, in
all senses of that word. A challenge she was eager to take on. A
challenge she was eager to measure herself against, a challenge she was
eager to grow with. For her, too, a stretching of her capabilities was
a thing that had not happened in a very long time.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is an apartment last seen by moonlight, now stretching
drowsily in the pale illumination of a Tokyo dawn.
The furnishings have changed slightly: the sword stand is empty now,
the silver bowl is gone. In the place of the silver bowl, centered in
the faint light of dawn now invading through the window, is a wide
platen of burnished, red gold. Above it, on a stand of braided bronze
wire, rests a pair of rings. Carved from dark, emerald jade, with the
very faintest tracery of interlocking ideograms, they are made in
mirror images, each of the other. Beside and between them, are a pair
of interlocking shells of thinly braided copper wire, the inner halves
linked by golden chains.
Above, the diagram of light has been redrawn. Now shafts of pale dawn
light seem to twist and intertwine, forming a disc about two feet wide.
Within the pattern of the disc, intertwined with light and shadow in a
fashion that would make M. C. Escher delirious with jealousy, stands a
single ideogram in a Chinese temple shorthand so ancient that even the
memory of the name of the style it is written in has been lost.
Had he so desired, Ranma could have informed an interested scholar that
the ideogram's meaning was critically interlinked with the style in
which it was written, a style to which it had given its own name:
Phoenix Dragon.
In the corner of the main room behind the now opened bathroom door, in
that portion of the room farthest from sunlight, now stands a small
bamboo tray-table. On it is an iron stand, bearing a velvet curtain all
around that can be closed to keep the contents from any betraying hint
of sunlight.
Within, shining with a light of its own, is a complex assembly of
leaded glass and silver rod. Alembics bubble with a pale, luminescent
liquid, from them, coils of glass transport glowing beads of pastel
light up to roiling curcurbits, swirling with the colors of a mad,
muted rainbow, from which straight tubes emerge to close on a central
point, where they empty into a silver funnel. Drops of liquid, palely
silver, roll down the funnel to drip onto the top of a peachwood rod,
carven with writhing dragons going into and out of caves, down which a
silver-lined spiral path leads the glowing liquid, reduced micron by
micron, to a glass collecting bowl connected to the alembics in a
continuous circular progression.
Now from the open bathroom door comes a cloud of steam, followed by a
topless, towel-wrapped figure, still engaged in toweling dry her
scarlet braid. Striding firmly to the closet, Ranma drapes the towel
over the multicolored, iridescent, feminine dragon tattoo that winds
around her shoulders and torso: displayed passant regardant, dryly
looking over its own sinuous shoulder to regard whatever might lie
beyond.
Then, dropping the towels from shoulders and hips, Ranma stands briefly
nude (_Down_ Hentais! Down I say! You've seen as much many times before
in the manga!) before donning boxers and a stretchy chest wrap that
serves her as a sports bra.
Then she places around her neck a small amulet of silver, one face of
which is a cracked mirror and the other an ancient piece of pottery,
marked with a pattern reminiscent of many ropes. Following this with
her usual loose pants, silk shirt and moccasins, she tops these off
with her leather bomber jacket, picking her scabbarded sword from where
it rests against the wall and placing it, and a wide variety of other
implements inside her jacket, in places that mostly do not seem capable
of holding them.
Lastly she bounds into the kitchen, a brief swipe across the counter
grabs the bento and briefcase thereon. Bounds to the far corner,
twitching the curtain closed. Glides to the chest, checking the
alignment of the rings held above the brazen bowl.
Watch now as a bead of light splits into two at the top of the diagram
and runs fluidly around the circumference, left and right. Watch it
merge at the bottom. Watch it fairly leap across space to pass through
the rings and splash into the bowl. Watch the drop spread into a small
pool, fizzling energetically. Watch it bathe the rings from below,
evaporating as it does so. Watch the next drop splash before it
vanishes completely. Watch the pool spread a little farther, last a
little longer. See Ranma examine her handiwork and smile.
Watch her look up, and through the diagram hanging in mid-air in the
dawn's slowly gathering light. See her eyes go distant, as though lost
in dreams, or fears, or memories. But dreams fade in daylight, and
fears wither away. And memories don't always bring back that which is
looked for.
And Ranma turns, and glides out the door, locking it behind her. And
bounds down the staircase and out the maison's front door. And, taking
to the rooftops, moves quickly in a straight line towards her
rendezvous. It's a new day, after all, and it wouldn't do to be late.
It wouldn't do at all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Yakubi Ryouken felt, in his heart of hearts, that everything in the
world which was wrong with his life was the fault of his name (with
some justification, it can be translated as "Bad-luck Day Hound"). In
fact, he would not even answer to the hated words unless extremely
pressed, preferring, somewhat ironically, the sobriquet of Daken ("Cur"
or "Mongrel") instead.
Complaining about his names was, in fact, normally one of the two
overriding occupations of his life (the other being the worship of his
Japanese-Nationalistic divine heredity, and the concomitant despite he
felt for anything remotely foreign).
Pressed against Furinkan's wall, just inside the gate, however, he was
not currently capable of indulging in either one. This was primarily
due to the presence of another occupation; he was hating the redheaded
bitch.
He had woken up, naked amidst the ruins of his gang, very late the
previous night. He had spent the hours since seeking out the identity
of the bitches who had taken him by surprise, and taken his clothes and
cash as well. 'Plus which', he snarled to himself for the thousandth
time, 'I loved my Tagamotchi-chan, I'd kept him alive for two weeks,
*snff*, and the bitch _sold_ him, sold him like a slave.'
But he had her now, oh yes. She couldn't surprise him _now_, and he'd
picked up a number of fine Japanese-Nationalistic students the
barbarian whore had humiliated the day before, too. Soon, she'd come
through the gate and then ... then she'd get a surprise of her own! And
then he _would_ see if she was a natural redhead, teach her what a
_real_ man was like! 'Bitch's gotta learn her place!'
And no-one else would interfere, he'd left the cringing gaijin-otaku
pigs too terrified to even move!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
And this is a normal street (for Nerima), and down it Akane and Nabiki
are walking on their way to school. Progressing, it should be noted, in
the normal, or common, fashion, which is to say, on the ground. And
flanking this common street is a common rooftop, belonging to a common
business; and along this rooftop Ranma is progressing, in an _un_common
fashion, which is to say, in bouncing leaps, five to ten yards long.
It would not be entirely fair to say that the Tendo sisters were
_surprised_ by Ranma's sudden appearance; they had been expecting it,
and besides, leaping from rooftops was normal compared to what they had
already seen her do. But they were, undeniably, startled. And startled
again by the fact that she appeared to have been, while blithely
leaping from place to place along the skyline, _singing_.
When we sat down to Tea, hey do me harity
When we sat down to Tea, me being young,
When we sat down to Tea, he started teasing me,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
Finishing the verse as she settled gracefully to earth, Ranma swept the
other girls a great bow, and fell in beside them with a warm greeting
to Akane, and a merry one to Nabiki.
"And _what_," Akane queried amusedly, "was that?"
"Song, Boys, For The Teasing Of, One," Ranma smirked.
"You, Bushiko Ranma, are _Evil_!"
"Yes, I know. Ain't it _cool_?!"
And they walked on toward school, and Ranma taught Akane the words, and
Nabiki shook her head in amusement, and sighed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Asano Sayuri shivered in terror, and looked out the window of the
second floor. She couldn't, she was too afraid, but if she didn't ....
The man called Daken was terrifying, so cruel in appearance, and the
threats he had made ....
She wasn't a brave person, she felt, but someone had to warn Ranma-san!
And she could see, just looking around, that no-one else was going to,
they were all afraid of those slime who had _joined_ the, the
_mongrel_.
But that meant that no-one would help _her_, and they'd know who had
called out, and she wasn't a brave person. But ... _but_, she'd heard
Ranma-san sing. And she'd seen Ranma-san stand up for Akane-san when
no-one else would. Ranma-san, she was sure, would defeat these mongrels
if only she was warned. But what if she didn't, couldn't, what then?
And then she saw, coming down the street in the distance, three
feminine figures; and discovered, suddenly, that she _was_ a brave
person, after all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Walking down the street with Akane, Ranma felt, was one of the better
ways to begin a school day that she had yet encountered. Akane had
proven an apt, if somewhat embarrassed, student of /Maids, When You're
Young/, and the verbal sparring with Nabiki had kept honors relatively
even in the opening exchanges.
Despite the company and the conversation, however, a martial artist of
Ranma's skill is never entirely inattentive to her surroundings, and
the concentration of hostility, clumsily gathered ki, and focused
attention hiding just behind the wall ahead of her would have waked her
from the dead in any case.
"Don't change your stance Ranma whispered sotto voce, "and keep
walking forward. I think, Akane, that our friends from yesterday have
grown melancholy in our absence, and have come to renew acquaintances."
Nabiki controlled her reaction automatically, but nevertheless
stiffened slightly, 'What?'
Akane pasted a wooden smile on her face and gripped Ranma's arm
urgently "Ranma, don't kill them!"
Ranma winked in reply, "Oh, if I had intended to kill them I'd have
done it last night. But since they didn't learn the earlier lesson we
taught them I think something slightly... stronger ... is in order.
Don't you?" Steering them gently toward the center of the gate she
continued, "Nabiki, how are you at negotiations from the superior
position?"
Nabiki frowned, "You're joking, right?"
Ranma grinned again, "Just keep walking, and keep your cool." As they
approached the gate she gathered ki for a momentary burst of extreme
speed, and then...
"_Ranma-sama, look out!!!_" a shout broke from the upper windows of
Furinkan, and Ranma spared half a second for an exasperated silent
curse as Daken turned, furiously, to the school and marked the person
he now fully intended to kill. Then she spent another quarter second to
center herself as Daken cursed and lunged and the other thugs began to
leap forward. And then she _blurred_.
And Akane and Nabiki walked into the suddenly quiet and still court-
yard of Furinkan; past the statue-like forms of the various thugs,
(arrested suddenly in mid-motion and still stunned, and also quite
naked, their only covering the brown ribbons neatly tied around their,
ah, ... "equipment") to where Ranma waited in the middle of the yard,
next to a vendor's stand neatly piled with various items of apparel,
smiling merrily and counting through the largish pile of cash next to
the credit cards on the counter-top.
"Why, Ranma," Nabiki drawled archly, "there seems to be a group of
naked boys standing about the courtyard."
"400,000 yen," Ranma said, handing half the money to a furiously
blushing Akane, "not bad. Yes, Nabiki, I did notice that, but boys will
be boys, you know: anything for attention."
Daken snarled furiously, and began a lunge towards the girls. Ranma
turned half around, mildly, and across 30 feet of courtyard Daken met
her eyes. Blue as the deepest ocean, still and quiet as a
moon-reflecting pool, hungry and terrible as the pregnant silence at
the eye of a hurricane. Met them, and saw, reflected in them, himself
and his relationship to them. And dived, suddenly terrified, for a
small clump of bushes abutting the wall and about ten feet away.
Someplace he could hide, someplace he could die, anyplace at all, as
long as he didn't have to see those eyes, ever, ever again.
And Ranma turned back to Nabiki calmly and said, "Considering the
penalties for indecent exposure, and the relative status of flashers in
the prison population, though, it's extremely fortunate for them that
you had this stall of emergency clothing ready, isn't it."
"Oh, you know me Nabiki grinned, "I always like to keep little things
like this around, for just such an emergency. I wonder, though, how
they're going to pay for it, considering their evident lack of ready
cash."
Ranma patted her on the shoulder as she passed by, "You're a capable
person Nabiki, I'm sure you'll think of something." And linking arms
with Akane and turning to her, "Ready? One, Two, Three ..." And their
voices rose above the onlookers in song...
When we went up to bed, hey do me harity
When we went up to bed, me being young,
When we went up to bed, he lay as if 'twer dead,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
And Nabiki shook her head, sadly, and turned to where the bushes
quivered in terror, and indicated the sirens rising in the far distance
with a wave of her hand. "Well, gentlemen, what's your feeling about
extended negotiations at this point?"
And Ranma and Akane walked up the stairs to class, singing.
For he's got no Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum,
For he's got no Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay!
He's got no Fallorum, he's lost his Ding-Doorum,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
At lunch, Ranma and Akane sat under a small tree, conversing. Finishing
her lunch, Ranma pulled out her guitar, and played tunes idly for a
while before noticing the shy approach of one of her new classmates.
"Sayuri-san, isn't it? You acted honorably this morning, thank you."
Sayuri blushed, and stammered; "I couldn't, that is I, er, I...."
Ranma smiled, gently, "It took bravery to call out like that. You must
have been very frightened."
Sayuri blushed harder, and looked down at her feet, "I, I wasn't brave.
I _was_ afraid."
Ranma grinned, "That's what bravery is about! Being afraid, and doing
the right thing anyway. What can I do for you?"
"Um, well, I just wondered ... about the song you were playing? It
seemed so ... ferocious?"
"Oh, well Ranma grinned, "that song is from Canada, originally. I
translated it. And yes, it is a tad ferocious. Would you to hear it?"
"Um, yes."
"I'd like to hear it too, Ranma Akane chimed in. And Ranma raised her
voice and sang.
The clothes men wear do give them airs,
their fellows to compare.
A Colonel's regimentals shine,
and women call them fair.
I am Alexander Macintosh,
a nephew to the Laird.
And I do disdain men who are vain,
the men with powdered hair!
I command the Nancy schooner
from the May on Lake St. Clair,
On the third day of October, boys,
I did set sail from there.
To the garrison at Amherstburg
I quickly would repair,
With Captain Maxwell and his wife,
and kids and powdered hair.
Aboard the Nancy!
In regimentals bright.
Aboard the Nancy!
With all his pomp and bluster there
aboard the Nancy-O!
Below the St Clair rapids I
sent scouts unto the shore
To ask a friendly Wyandott
to say what lay before
"Amherstburg has fallen,
with the same for you in store!
And militia sent to take you there,
fifty horse or more."
Up spoke Captain Maxwell then,
"Surrender, now, I say!
Give them your Nancy schooner,
and make off without delay!
Set me ashore, I do implore,
I will not die this way!"
Says I, "You go, or get below,
for I'll be on my way!"
Aboard the Nancy!
"Surrender, Hell!" I say
Aboard the Nancy!
"It's back to Mackinac I'll fight,
aboard the Nancy-O."
Well up comes Colonel Beaubien, then,
who shouts as he comes near:
"Surrender up your schooner and
I swear you've naught to fear!
We've got your Captain Maxwell, sir,
so spare yourself his tears!"
Says I, "I'll not, but send you shot
to buzz about your ears!"
Well, they fired as we hove anchor, boys
and we got under way,
But scarce a dozen broadsides, boys,
the Nancy did them pay
Before the business sickened them.
They bravely ran away
All sail we made, and reached the Lake
before the close of day.
Aboard the Nancy!
We sent them shot and cheers
Aboard the Nancy!
We watched them running through the trees,
aboard the Nancy-O!
Oh, military gentlemen
they bluster, roar and pray.
Nine sailors and the Nancy, boys,
made fifty run away.
The powder in their hair that day
was powder sent their way
By poor and ragged sailor men,
who swore that they would stay
Aboard the Nancy!
Six pence and found a day
Aboard the Nancy!
No uniforms for men to scorn,
aboard the Nancy-O!
"Heh ... Definitely catchy, Ranma-san Nabiki walked up. "Which reminds
me ..."
"Yeess?"
"Why _brown_ ribbons?"
"Well, after all, Nabiki-san Ranma's eyes glinted mischief, "You only
get a _white_ ribbon if you get an honorable mention."
After which, the students of Furinkan High were treated to an
unprecedented sight: Tendo Nabiki, leaning against the wall of the
school building, clutching her ribs desperately, laughing her head off.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
In the Girl's changing rooms, later, a minor confrontation was
underway. The sensei of Phys-Ed, having decided that Ranma qualified
under the "Advanced" curriculum, had run head-on into a wall of polite
intransigence. Finally, she battered down the defenses with an appeal
to school honor. If Ranma did not wear the gym uniform, she reasoned,
the other students would be disgraced.
Finally, Ranma had, reluctantly, agreed. Therefore she was preparing to
change into the shorts and t-shirt which Furinkan girls wore on the
field. This had been an object of some speculation among the girls (and
boys, of course) since it afforded a look at her bodily configuration,
and promised another, better one later.
It wasn't what they had expected. The thin, white lines of many scars
on arms and legs were definitely not what the girls of class 2-F felt
should have been hidden under Ranma's jacket and pants; much less the
broad, raised scar across her voice-box. The boxers and chest-wrap were
likewise odd, but it was the dragon tattoo peeking out from under her
wrap that drew the most attention.
Finally, as the designated activity for this class was soccer, came the
most dreaded activity in sports: choosing sides. Needless to say,
everyone wanted to be on Ranma's side, and no-one wanted to be on the
other side. Finally, a sotto voce suggestion from one of the more
horrified class members caused the sides to be chosen as follows: Side
A: Bushiko Ranma; Side B: Everyone Else.
"We ought to set an upper limit of goals," Ranma suggested
sardonically, "declare an instant win at twelve or so. With one side so
outnumbered and all I'm sure that it will be over quickly, and we
wouldn't want anyone to be overly embarrassed."
The suggestion was passed by acclamation, the teams took the field, and
the whistle blew. And, just as Ranma had predicted, it was over
quickly. The score was Ranma: twelve, Everyone Else: zero, in just
under three minutes. After that, by acclamation, they did something
else, instead.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
In the showers, after the lambasting, a chuckling Ranma congratulated
Sayuri on a difficult gymnastics move as she pulled her braid back and
looked up into the shower spray. Unfortunately, the heat of the water
caused her skin to flush, particularly on her torso, where the Dragon
seemed to preen under the heated spray, and beneath the amulet she
still wore on her breast.
The flush had the effect of throwing her scars into sharp relief, and
Ranma paused as she noted Sayuri's horrified gaze, fixed on her right
breast, where the pale line of an old scar bisected her aureole. Ranma
looked down, blushed, and shook her head, "The problem with my
lifestyle over the past several years is that it has thrown me far too
often into the company of rude strangers with sharp objects."
And she shrugged, and smiled weakly, and went back to her shower. And
Akane, behind her, narrowed her eyes speculatively and nodded, as
though a decision had been confirmed. And then they all went back to
class, looking forward to music, and the end of the school day beyond.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part C: Crumbling Stone: Duets for Wind and Flame.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.
And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.
Predictably, Akane had made the best match to Ranma's voice. Which is
not to say that the other members of class 2-F hadn't tried. Sayuri and
her friend Yuka has put up a brave struggle, and, of course, all the
boys in 2-F had desperately attempted to hold enough of a baritone to
match Ranma's contralto. But, in the end, Akane's clear soprano had
been the only one with enough endurance, or range.
It was the sensei of music's private despair that neither girl was at
all interested in representing Furinkan on the Musical Performance
team. He had even attempted to lure Ranma with reports of "Musical
Martial Arts" only to run headlong into a will of tempered granite.
"I have spent too much of my life, and far too much pain, on my Art to
betray it now Ranma had said, firmly, "it is as perfect as I can make
it and I will not abandon it simply so someone trained in another,
lesser, style can have a 'fair fight'. If someone wishes to challenge
me to Aikido, or Ninjutsu, or Martial Arts Croquet or Kung-Fu Break-
Dancing or any other such silliness they may do so. And they may use
their Art, and I will use mine, and we will see whose is superior." Her
grin as she delivered this pronouncement had been truly alarming, and
the matter had been dropped.
This had led to Ranma and Akane practicing duets on the same song that
Ranma had began with yesterday.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
It seemed that they should cooperate on the chorus, which led to the
question of how to divide up the verses. So Ranma had taken the first
set alone.
Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,
I see the hills shine, in its' silvery light.
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.
For where I go, You go with me,
Though the miles keep us apart.
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.
Akane's soprano had rung out both more softly and more sweetly than
Ranma on the second set, leading to the harmonies of their combined
voices and Ranma's guitar on the second chorus.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
And then it was time for the final verses and the problem of how to
apportion them was solved, mutually, by alternating lines, first the
contralto, smoke and ozone on the autumn wind and the presence -far off
and brooding- of the storm; then the soprano, crackling now with
driving energy, bright and pure, (yet, somehow, not at all sterile)
filled with the changeable changelessness of a bonfire's roar.
Well who scattered these diamonds,
through the vault of Heaven?
(The wind questioned, and the flame responded.)
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?
(The bonfire summoned, and the breeze answered.)
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?
(The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed.)
Where is the heart of every living thing?
(The blaze flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed it, and
drove it on before.)
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.
(Wind roused flame to life ...)
I know you love me, how could it not be?
(... flame drew wind's reply ...)
And I am yours, now and forever,
(... feeding now from each other's power, one to the other, changing
and exchanging the lead, to join again in harmony at the last ... )
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.
(... and the wind whipped the blaze into a wildfire ...)
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
(... and the fire blew the wind into a storm.)
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end Dear, only love remains.
And in the silence that filled the classroom when the song had
finished, Ranma's slightly husky voice broke the stillness gently, like
a sudden breeze breaks the hush of dawn, "By the way Akane, shouldn't
you have been playing your instrument too?"
"Um, well ... Akane shook herself and replied, "No. You see I play the
saxophone, and if I play I can't sing ...."
"You play _sax_??" Ranma blink-blinked, then mumbled, "Jazz. Now where
am I gonna get sheet music for Jazz. Mmm, maybe I could .... Well,
that's nice, but it does leave us with one problem."
"Er, what's that, Ranma? Akane asked warily.
"Where in hell are we going to find a drummer?"
The bell took the opportunity to ring at that point, ending the class.
And also cutting off at least three boys' attempts to volunteer for the
offered position (not that any of them could actually _play_ the drums,
but that wasn't the point), which was, probably, extremely fortunate
for all involved.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Nabiki had excused herself for an unspecified appointment. Sayuri and
Yuka had departed, giggling, to prepare the former for a date she had
contrived with "this dreamy guy" from class 3-C. Various other people
had departed to their various ways.
Ranma and Akane were, technically speaking, not _alone_, just _by
themselves_. They had therefore, by mutual, unspoken, consent, departed
from the straight path towards Akane's home and were, instead,
strolling idly through one of Nerima's parks, enjoying the warmth of
the day and the freshness of the spring breeze. This being one of the
Accepted Canonical Locations for Serious Discussions, one of the
aforesaid Serious Discussions was underway.
"Akane-san Ranma gritted, "I _said_ that you should ..."
"I did consider my decision, Ranma-chan Akane replied calmly. "I
decided that I wanted to go ahead."
"_Damn it, girl_!" Ranma roared, "You've got _no_ idea what you're
getting into!"
"Ranma-chan Akane reached out and put a gentle hand on the faint scar
that traced the side of Ranma's face, next to her mouth, "when you took
the blow that dealt that scar, did it hurt? Did it hurt afterwards?"
"_OF COURSE IT BLOODY HURT!!!_"
"And, the others?" Akane's voice was gentle, "Did they hurt, too?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?! Of _course_ they did!"
"And after you healed, did they stop hurting?"
"What are you ... _No!_ They never stop hurting, not completely! I
_ache_ in the winter, sometimes!"
"And you said that your honor didn't allow you to let your friend
suffer likewise unless she _had_ to?"
"_THAT'S WHY I'M TRYING TO TALK YOU OUT OF IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU,
YOU ... BAKA!!!_"
Akane stepped forward to stand just in front of Ranma, face-to-face and
looking closely into her cerulean eyes. "So what makes you think that
_my_ honor will allow me to let _my_ friend suffer all that pain ...
alone?"
And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, looked into the
great, dark, eyes of her opponent in this contest of wills, of her
would-be student, of her friend; and found there no challenge, but also
no surrender. And martialed a hundred arguments, and prepared a
thousand objections, and called to mind every precept of logic she had
ever heard. And saw, in the theater of memory, -- treacherous memory,
that shows what it will, and not what _you_ will -- another face. And
the expression in the eyes before her mirrored once, long before, in a
mirror. And bowed her head to another's honor, and bent her neck to
another's necessity; and buried her face in another's shoulder, and
felt another's arms embrace her; and did not cry, nor did she weep, so
great was her control, whatever she might wish. Only, instead, she
spoke, very low and muffled in another's breast, "Alright. Alright,
I'll teach you. I'll teach you all I can."
And Tendo Akane also did not cry, nor weep, for the moment was, for
her, too great for tears. She only said "And I promise to learn, all
that I can. And never to regret what you may teach, whatever it may
cost me."
And they stood like that for a time, which may have been long or short,
and then released each other's embrace. And walked onward, more quickly
now, to the hall that one called home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
On the mat Ranma bowed to the Dojo's spirit and then turned to face
Akane and crossed her arms. "Okay. We now face the First Problem of
teaching you how to lead a life dedicated to the fine art of slaughter.
Briefly, the problem is one of attitude. A warrior simply has a
different basic attitude than a person trained for sport or self-
defense, and the necessary attitude is one you don't possess."
Akane assumed an attitude of respectful attention.
"And the number of ways I know of to induce the necessary attitude
reduce to three said Ranma, beginning to pace back and forth. "First,
we could send you to a remote temple for two or three decades so you
could run up and down snowy mountains, and drink bark tea, and meditate
on your navel.
"_But_, we can probably say that this approach will take a _trifle_
more time than we actually have." Ranma reached the end of her pacing
arc, and raised one finger in the air as she turned around.
Akane turned her head to face her, still attentive.
"Second, we could send you off to somewhere where life is cheap,
gunpowder is in the air, and death lurks behind every corner, in the
hope that, if you survived, you would pick something up by osmosis.
"_But_, that approach is probably a little too, umm ... _uncertain_."
Ranma reached the other end of her arc and held up a second finger.
Akane made a face, and nodded vigorously.
"So what we are left with is choice three Ranma said with an evil
grin, holding up a third finger. "This is the approach where I beat the
living snot out of you on a regular basis until you learn something."
Akane observed the grin, and gulped.
"And the first part of that process Ranma said, turning to face Akane,
and crossing her arms again, "is to see precisely what you are capable
of _now_. _Assume_."
Akane brushed away a sudden bead of sweat, and assumed the Tendo
Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu Crane In Waiting stance.
Akane waited uneasily. Ranma looked her up and down for about three
seconds, and then she moved.
It seemed, to Akane, like being in the center of a tornado. Great winds
buffeted her from all sides, and her defenses were useless against the
hail of punishing blows descending from every angle that she didn't, or
couldn't block, but not from the ones she did.
A slide kick sent her sprawling to the ground, followed by three fast
and bruising punches to the small of her back, but she fought grimly
upright and cleared some space with a sweeping hip kick that only cost
her two snap-kicks to the knee and a crane strike to the thigh. Setting
her back against the Dojo's outside wall, and reminding herself not to
move on that leg, she waited as steadily as she could for Ranma's next
attack.
It came within seconds, a v-step across Akane's range that turned into
a feint to her upper right guard. A 'feint' that succeeded in bashing
her out of position for another series of feints, each contacting her
defenses, each bruising her arms or legs, each moving her farther and
farther off her defensive center, until her guard was completely down.
In the extremity of her extension, turned half away from the guarding
wall, when she could respond to no more threats, she watched, with
despair, a rising power kick that she knew she could never stop.
Awaiting the end, she noted, as if from her peripheral vision, a slight
movement _behind_ her, and then the world went black.
She awakened upside down against a wall. She knew that only moments
could have passed, but from the condition of her abused muscles it
might have been hours. She was gently turned over and set upright,
squatting against the wall, and blearily forced her eyes open - to
discover Ranma kneeling in front of her, wiping her face clean of sweat
and blood with a handkerchief. And grinning merrily, as though she had
just been told the best joke in all the world.
Akane frowned weakly, "I know I'm not in your class, Ranma-sensei, but
I ..."
Ranma's grin transmuted into a gentle smile and she shook her head.
"Not in my class? Heh. Not in my class. *snrk*. Akane-chan she asked,
more gently yet, "do you know why you're lying here on the ground,
feeling run over?"
"Well I missed that last power kick ... Akane responded uncertainly.
"The power kick was a feint, Akane-chan Ranma returned to her grin,
"the real attack was the thrust-kick from behind. The thrust-kick that
would have stopped before it actually hit you, like the death-blow I
did to Kuno-san. The thrust-kick that you couldn't even have _seen_,
much less blocked. That thrust-kick."
"Oh Akane said weakly, "So, what happened?"
"You blocked it, of course Ranma's grin was even larger now.
"I thought you said I _couldn't_ have blocked it Akane complained,
weakly. Something here wasn't making sense.
"You couldn't have Ranma replied cheerfully, "But you did, anyway. And
there's only one way that could have happened."
Akane shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever particle of
inspiration was hiding in it that was keeping the conversation from
making sense. "Wh .. What's that Ranma-sensei?" she quavered.
Ranma's grin seemed to split her face, "You must have gone zanshin,
Akane-chan. It's the only way you could even have come close. With all
your defenses down. Completely overextended. And without even _meaning_
to."
"Z .. Zanshin, Ranma-sensei? You mean like, like Mushashi-sama? The
_Book of Five Rings_?"
"Exactly! And, of course, you know what _that_ means?"
"N-no, I mean, I don't ... what?" Akane shook her head frantically,
desperate to find something that made sense. Zanshin? Her?
"It means you made me completely waste all that angst I went through,
that's what. You're as surely marked with the Murderer's sign as am I."
Ranma traced a circle on her forehead with a gentle hand. "It means you
will probably end up being better than _me_. It means that I've found
my Perfect Student, the one I can learn from as much as I teach. And
what, what, _what_ in the name of all that is holy is a nice girl like
you doing in a condition like that?"
Akane's battered mind seized on the only thing she recognized in all
that barrage of words, and came up with the only appropriate response,
smiling weakly, "Umm, Just lucky, I guess?"
Ranma's silver laughter filled the empty hall. And then she abandoned
any attempt to urge Akane to rise, and cradled her in her arms, rising
smoothly to her feet as Akane feebly waved her hands in protest.
"And now we'll get you in the furo. You need to soak."
"But, but, that is, I don't, you shouldn't ..."
"Hush, Akane. The Sensei Is Always Right."
"But you, I, it's not ..."
"Hush, Akane-chan."
"Don't need, why, can walk, ..."
"_Hush!_"
"Er, umm, that is... Yes, Ranma-chan meekly.
"And then I'll give you a massage, to keep you from being too stiff
tomorrow."
"Erkk... very meekly indeed.
"And after that we'll get Kasumi-san to make you a _big_ meal, so you
can keep your strength up."
"Oh, no a very, very small voice.
"And after _that_, we can do some _real_ training!"
"Help almost inaudible, in fact. Not that it helped.
And Ranma's cheerful laughter blew them into the furo. And then they
did exactly what Ranma had said they would.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
And much later, long after dark, as Ranma wound her way alone to her
rented flat, and Akane slept the sleep of the Just -- or, anyway, the
Sleep of the Very, Very Tired --, Ranma looked up into the light-glare
that blotted out the stars above Tokyo, and snorted.
"'Keep your head down, and hope you find a friend', I said. Hah! Oh,
well I can't complain about the quality of her art at least. Even if it
is bloody inconvenient! 'Here Ranma, have a day, you've found your
Perfect Student. Of course, you've only got six months to teach her in,
but...'."
Musingly, "It's loads better than that last school, at least. Food
fights, bleah. Oh, yes, it could _definitely_ be worse."
And then she began, without raising her voice, to sing. And continued
singing all the way down the road.
The brooding ghosts of this dark night
Are gone from wood and Town.
My spirit revives in the morning breeze,
Though it died when Sun went down.
The river is wide, the stream is strong,
And the grass is green and tall.
And I feign would think that this world of ours,
Is a good world, after all.
The light of passion in dreamy eyes,
The page of truth well read,
The glorious thrill in a heart grown cold,
And a spirit once thought dead.
The song that goes to a comrade's heart,
The tear of pride let fall,
My heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
Let our enemies go by their own dull paths,
Let theirs be doubt and shame.
The man who's bitter against the world
Has only himself to blame.
Let the darkest side of the past stay dark,
And only good recall,
For I must believe that the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
It may be that I saw too plain,
It may be I was blind,
But I'll keep my face to the morning light,
Though the Devil stand behind.
Though the Devil may stand behind my back
Shall I see his shadow fall?
And I'll read, in the light of the Morning Star
Of a good world, after all.
And then, very softly:
Rest, for your arms are weary, Love,
You drove the worst away.
And the ghost of the one that I might have been
Is gone from my heart today.
We'll live our life for the good it brings,
'Till our twilight shadows fall.
Oh, my heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next:
Chapter 3: The Third Day
Part A: Point of Contact; The Hunter and the Bear.
Authors Notes: Not so many, this time.
The first part was a try at using mood and shadow, rather than more
action-based writing, and I think it did its job. I'm trying to imply
much of the background detail, indeed, I think that Ranma's role in
this little story kind-of requires that there be a sense of a great
amount of background detail to be had. So, rather than trying to make
talking heads interesting ....
Secondly, I discovered that there was another hero on the premises who
I had not expected. Heh. And Ranma got to be a little nasty, to
counteract the honorable idiot mode he (or she) is normally cast in.
Finally, we come to the third part, and the beginning of Akane's rise
to her own heroic status. And also, I'm beginning to hint at the cost
she and Ranma will eventually have to pay to gain, or in Ranma's case,
_regain_, that high status.
Ranma's actions here are underscoring the degree to which he has, in a
sense, lapsed from a formerly heroic standing, which is what I mean
when I say _re_gain his status as a hero. That is, where once he would
have tackled problems head on (for better or for worse), he's now going
around them, and choosing the easier, safer path.
While in certain circumstances this is a good thing, when someone fails
to look and see whether the difficult path might not perhaps be the
_right_ path to take, it can lead you into a morass. As it currently
doing in the matter of his and Akane's romantic relationship, and as it
shall do again more than once before he pulls himself out of it.
'Til next chapter,
Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001