Of Choices and Chances
By GT Ranma-Chan
PART THREE
He was in a church, a western-style church. He knew it rather
than saw it; the organ music, after all, was a dead giveaway, and
there was the further clue that pews of some sort seemed to be
stretching off on either side of him, going off far into the
distance. He couldn't tell much beyond that; there was a thin
white fabric hanging in front of his face, one which successfully
hid whatever it was that lay beyond.
Somehow a bouquet of flowers had appeared in his hands. Strange
that they should do so, he thought, but he kept them
nevertheless. He was vaguely aware that he was suppose to be
holding them at this particular moment, that it was expected of
him to do so. They were pretty flowers, too; he could smell
their fragrance.
They were moving forward. *They?* he thought, and suddenly he
realized his father was standing next to him. He looked faintly
ridiculous, dressed as he was in a tuxedo while still in panda
form, but he displayed no outward appearance of finding the
absurdity of the situation even remotely humorous. Somber,
perhaps, but hardly humorous.
He grew aware that others were standing in the pews around him.
Those on his right side he didn't know, except perhaps as
indistinct faces he had met once or twice before. The ones on
his left side, though, he all knew. Friends, family, extended
family, acquaintances. Mom was there. So were Nabiki, Kasumi,
and Mr. Tendou (*Where was Akane?* he wondered, but then reminded
himself that he'd find her up front). Ryouga, the Kuno siblings,
and several of his old classmates from Furinkan were also
present. Happosai and the old crone too, being unusually civil.
So was the middle-aged man with the slices of cheese on the
platter (*Who the hell is that guy?* he wondered). Several more
faces that he could make out, despite the white gauziness, all of
whom were familiar.
They were all starring at him, as if accusing him of some crime.
As he passed them he felt a hard queasiness in his stomach, but
decided it was just due to the clothes he was wearing. It was a
rather tight outfit, after all; he could feel the material
cinching him tightly.
He proceeded toward the front of the church. Akane was there,
standing facing him. So were Ukyou and Shampoo. They were
dressed alike, in lavender dresses. Or were they green? It
didn't matter, he thought. All that mattered was that they were
glaring at him.
Akane was mouthing the word "pervert" over and over.
*Why would she do that?* he wondered.
Then he noticed the person meeting them at the front of the
church. Tall, handsome, dressed smartly in an expensive tuxedo.
The person looked at him with a smile on their face.
For a moment, he couldn't make out whose face it was. Tatewaki?
Ryouga? The features seemed to change so fast. Mikado?
Picolet?
The face solidified on Picolet, and suddenly everything made an
uneasy sense.
He'd lost, he decided. He'd lost the contest, and by the terms
of their agreement, he had to marry Picolet. He had to; he'd
given his word. That's why he was standing there in a wedding
dress (which, suddenly, in all clarity, he knew he was wearing.
*Why hadn't I objected to that before?*), why his father was
reaching forth and shaking the young man's hand (*Idiot! This is
your fault!*), and why suddenly he found Picolet's arm hooked
around his, and together the two of them were advancing to the
altar (*NO!!*).
The priest smiled at them. "Does anyone know any reason why
these two should not be wed?" the sage asked the congregation.
"Yes!" he shouted. "I'm a guy!"
Everyone acted as if they had not heard him.
The priest turned to Picolet. "Do you take this woman to be your
lawfully wedded wife?"
Picolet nodded. "I do."
The priest turned towards him. "Do you take this man to be your
lawfully wedded husband?"
*I can't marry him! I'm a guy!* he thought fiercely. But
somehow, the words that came out were: "I do."
A ring suddenly appeared on his finger. Both of their fingers.
"You may kiss the bride." he heard the priest say. And with
that, he watched in mounting horror as the white veil was drawn
back, and Picolet's smiling face was before him.
"NO! I can't kiss you! I'm a guy!"
"Not any longer." Picolet said. "Now you're my wife."
"But I'm a guy!" he insisted, and to prove the point he lifted a
kettle above his head and poured hot water upon him.
Nothing happened.
"The decision has been made for you." Picolet said, still
smiling. "It was taken out of your hands by your father. So now
you have to stay as you are."
"NO! I won't do it! I won't..."
Picolet leaned forward toward his lips. "Rejoice!" the young man
said, "Now you don't have to fight it anymore!"
And with that, Picolet reached forward and kissed... her.
She opened her eyes. The church was gone. The altar was gone.
Everyone else was gone. Except her and Picolet.
They were in a room. The walls were white, mountains of flowers
were piled high, and ionian columns stretched above far into the
sky. Behind her she could feel the presence of a bed.
The wedding dress was on the ground around her. She was standing
in her underwear.
Picolet stood before her, still smiling. He was naked.
"You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?" he asked her.
It sounded more like a statement than a question. "To be able to
give in, to not have to resist?"
She did not answer him. She could not. She dared not.
He reached forward and placed his hand on her waist. The cast
iron corset peeled away, as if nothing. "To no longer have to
suppress yourself, to just let yourself go?"
She still did not answer, but her face looked up directly at him,
afraid. She felt him draw her closer.
"To finally let yourself be?" he finished.
She stared up into his face, his eyes. She felt his arms
encircle her to caress, and his lips falling once more on hers.
And she felt herself backing up, falling gently onto the bed.
And felt him above her, still holding, still kissing, moving,
holding, caressing, kissing, holding, moving...
A voice echoed. Low at first, but gaining momentum as he
continued and she continued and they continued.
Madness, it said. Complete and utter madness.
Madness.
Madness.
Madness.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Ranko's eyes popped wide open, and she jolted with a start to a
sitting upright position. "Mad...!" she yelped.
Her breathing was heavy, fast. She panted for several moments in
the darkness, still stunned. Then slowly, uncertainly, she wiped
her forehead with her arm, getting rid of the prodigious amount
of sweat that had beaded on her brow.
She stared glass-eyed into the nearly-empty room, not so much
seeing anything as to let the darkness take her mind off what she
had just dreamt. She continued her heavy breathing, but slowly
it began to subside.
*Dear god.* she thought. *That has to be the worst one.*
*No,* she corrected herself, after a moment's consideration, *the
worst in months, but not the worst ever.*
As her ragged breath began to recover, she became aware of the
sounds around her. From outside she heard a dog bark in the
distance, and the sound of nearby solitary footsteps. A car
passed slowly in the street, the ghostly glow of its headlights
moving across the ceiling of her apartment. The low boom of an
airplane rumbled from above, and the extremely faint whisper of
pop music from a radio rose from below.
She continued to stare into space.
"What am I doing here?" she said to herself. "This is stupid. I
could be on my way to China by now, going to the springs."
She glanced down at the bedroll she was sleeping on, and grimaced
at the hideously cute incarnation of feline cartoon evil.
*Funny,* she thought clinically, *how a real cat could make me go
berserk, but a cartoon cat can only make me cringe for entirely
different reasons."
She laid back down, and stared at the ceiling.
"I shouldn't be doing this." she continued. "It's crazy that I'm
doing this. What possible good reason is there to put me through
all of this?"
*The dreams.* she told herself. *Look at what the dreams are
saying.*
She stared at the ceiling, and felt the first tendrils of fatigue
reach out for her.
*That's it.* she concluded, finally. *I'm outta here. Doing this
is only going to encourage everything, make it worse.* She
closed her eyes, and laid her head to her side. "Tomorrow I'm
going to Mrs. Hayakawa, tell her it was all a mistake, get my
money back, leave, go on to China, and find a real cure. Not
this stupid half-assed plan of mine.*
*Yeah, that's what I'll do.*
*Yeah.*
And as she drifted off to sleep, she tried to picture the look
that would be on Akane's face when she finally returned. After
the trip to China. When she was finally cured.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was early morning when Ranko stumbled into the commons room,
wearing a set of light blue warm-ups she had taken with her from
Nerima.
"You look awful." Fumiko told her as she entered, with a slight
grimace. The young woman was at the counter, putting the
finishing touches on her lunch package.
Ranko nodded, tried to stifle a yawn, and failed. "Rotten night
of sleep." she said, stretching her arms and twisting one
shoulder, mostly because it felt good to flex the muscles.
Fumiko nodded in understanding. "Let me guess: first night in
your first apartment."
Ranko nodded vaguely. "Yeah, something like that."
"Took me a week to get used to mine. Don't worry, it passes."
Ranko went to one cabinet and began to pull at the small pile of
pre-processed foods, looking for something quick to fix. Her
second day out, and already she missed Kasumi's cooking. Oh
well, it wasn't the first time she'd had to live on quickly-
prepared meals. She pulled a packet of ramen noodles, and picked
up a small pot from another cupboard.
"Have you given any thought about where you'll apply?" Fumiko
asked, conversationally.
Ranko looked up from the stove, slightly confused. "Apply?"
"For a job. You know, where you want to work, what you want to
do. Have you given it any thought?"
Ranko shrugged. "Not really. I guess I just planned to pick up
a newspaper or go down to the employment office and see what's
available." (*Not the employment office,* she corrected herself;
*No identification.*).
Fumiko thought for a moment. "Do you have any skills? Typing?
Computer? Anything like that?"
*Well, lets see. I can probably cream just about anybody you
care to mention.* "No, not really."
"Well, that takes care of most office work then. There's always
retail, I suppose."
"Not if I can avoid it."
"Smart girl." Fumiko considered for a beat. "Then there's
always the clubs, you know."
Ranko shot Fumiko a glare. "The clubs?" she said carefully.
The other young woman returned the glare with a completely
straight face. "Uh huh. You know, the night clubs. They're
always looking for barmaids or dancers or girls willing to,
umm..."
"Fumiko..." Ranko's voice took on an edge of ice.
"Oh, come on. It's short hours, good pay, and you get to meet
all kinds of interesting..."
"FUMIKO!"
Fumiko burst into laughter. "Ok, I apologize. I thought that's
what you'd say, but I just wanted to make sure. I'm sorry if I
offended you." Despite the apology, a large degree of humor
remained on her face and in her voice.
"Grrrrrr." *Ok, that's it. I'm leaving as soon as I can get my
rent back. And even if I can't.* A thought struck Ranko. "What
about you? What do you do?"
Fumiko told her. Ranko just shook her head.
"Hey, it's not bad. It's not strenuous, people usually don't
bother you, and you spend most of the time standing around
pushing buttons. That's it."
"It must get boring."
"It can be. But then that gives me an opportunity to think about
my studies, so it's not a complete waste of time. Besides," she
added, "it pays the bills. It's not like I'm going to make a
career out of it, just until I can get into school." Fumiko
considered again. "Say, if you're interested, one of the girls
is leaving, so maybe..."
Ranko shook her head in the negative. "No, don't. I don't think
I'd be interested. At least, not until I've checked on what else
is available." *I'm leaving, so why bother?*
It was Fumiko's turn to shrug. "Well, suit yourself." She
glanced up at the wall clock. "Which reminds me, it's time I
went up and got ready to go. See you later?"
"See you later." Ranko agreed. *Or maybe, not at all.* Which
reminded her of something. "Oh, by the way." she asked, at the
departing Fumiko. "Have you seen Mrs. Hayakawa? I wanted to ask
her something."
Fumiko shrugged again. "She left this morning, early. I, um, I
don't think she'll be back until later, perhaps not even until
tomorrow."
A confused, apprehensive look came to Ranko's face. "Tomorrow?
Why?"
"Family business. Look, um, I can't explain it right now, but
suffice to say she probably won't be back today." A deep sigh.
"When I get off work I'll try to explain some more, but right now
I've got to get moving if I'm going to make it on time." And
with that, Fumiko turned and headed up the stairs for her
apartment, leaving a slightly perplexed Ranko in her wake.
Ranko watched her depart. *What the?* was all she could think.
She gave a long sigh of resignation, and turned back to the
stove. Whatever it was about her landlady, she supposed she'd
find out in due course. In the meantime, there was this whole
getting back on the road thing she had to consider, and how to
ease out of this ill-advised side trip she'd concocted.
"Another day in my girl form." she mumbled to herself, as she
returned to her boiling pot and makeshift breakfast. "You'd
think the whole world was conspiring against me."
*Or agreeing with you.* one traitorous thought flashed.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Ranko had contemplated spending the day in her apartment, but
after doing a short, modified rep of her kata she found she had
too much pent up energy to long survive restricting herself to
the small room's four walls. Still in the light blue warm-ups,
she decided to expend some of that energy by just going outside
and literally taking a jog around the neighborhood.
And as she did so in the morning air, she found herself going
once more over the thought process' that had led her to this
moment.
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.* became the mental mantra
echoing in her mind for several blocks, with each word
corresponding to the impact of one foot on the pavement. In a
way she found herself hoping that constant repetition would
silence the uneasiness that was taking up residence inside of
her. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working. Contradicting
thoughts and ideas fought one another as she pushed forward.
In some ways, she thought, she envied those of her friends whose
curses made them into something other than human. From comparing
notes with the others (mostly dad or Ryouga, but sometimes
Shampoo or even Mousse), she had come to the conclusion that
changes between species were much easier to handle mentally than
changes within species. In part, she suspected that this was
because the stark differences between the average pig or cat were
much more pronounced than the corresponding human, and so it was
much easier to note the mental discrepancies and shunt them aside
or control them. As far as she could tell, for instance, neither
Shampoo nor Mousse had any real desire to stay for long periods
of time as a cat or a duck, and the only time Ryouga had had the
urge to be a piglet was when he had the very human male desire to
be close to Akane. That last had evaporated immediately upon
Akane's discovery of the truth, and even with that new girlfriend
of his Ryouga only descended to his pig form as rarely as random
bursts of flying cold water would allow.
Of course, this didn't quite explain her father's predilection
toward his panda form, but then Ranko just put that one down to
the fact that her father was just a lazy SOB.
Yes, she thought. From what she'd been able to figure out after
years of observation, having a curse that gave you a gender
change was much more difficult to deal with than one that merely
changed you into an animal. Despite the claims she loudly
maintained to herself and to all who would listen, she was
finding that there really was a difference between the two halves
of her fractured existence, one that extended to more than just
the physical. And it was there that the danger lied, because the
differences were small, subtle, almost imperceptible. Very hard
to detect, much harder to guard against, but ones which were
fully capable of eroding away the masculine facade she had so
determinably built and struggled to maintain since Jusenkyo.
When Ranma and Akane started to get close, really close, after
the whole Phoenix affair and the subsequent failed wedding, that
was when (s)he started to notice them. Yes, (s)he loved Akane;
of that there was no doubt. But yet, between the two halves
there was a perceptible difference. To Ranma, the attraction had
a physical, sensual edge to it. In Ranko, however, those aspects
where much more muted, replaced by a sensitive, emotional
awareness that transcended everything. In both halves, Akane was
the person that was adored; but only in one was she the one with
whom intimacy was desired.
S(he) was struggling against ordinary biology, and s(he) was
beginning to think that ordinary biology was starting to get the
upper hand.
Considering the turmoil her mental state had undergone in the
most recent months, it was the only explanation she could think
of that fit. Girls were hardwired to do certain things, to think
certain ways, just like boys were hardwired to do similar but
different things and similar but different modes of thought.
There were exceptions to these rules, of course, but for the most
part the evidence was overwhelming that the template held true.
So no matter how dominant her male half was, no matter how much
in control her masculine self sought to be in at all times, it
could not control the simple fact that in girl form female
hormones were raging through her system, his mind was functioning
in a brain that was naturally inclined toward female patterns of
thought, and that his very male mental image was at odds with her
overwhelmingly physical female body. No matter what the male
Ranma said or did in their female form, he could not change the
fact that said form had a natural predilection toward asserting
what millions of years of evolution had dictated for it.
He'd been able to compensate for some time, vigorously, even
ruthlessly, suppressing his feminine side wherever possible, both
because he thought of himself as overwhelmingly male and because
he had found the idea of a feminine self revolting. But years of
exposure were taking their toll, his masculine guard was clearly
not as adamant as it once was, and the female self was taking the
opportunity to make its presence known, as if to say it would not
be waved away by mere bluster.
She was finding herself becoming acclimated to her female half.
This was becoming apparent in hundreds of ways, large and small.
Apparel, for instance. When the curse was yet new, the idea of
wearing girl's or women's clothing was anathema. But now she
could if need be wear just about anything, from the most plain
work-clothes to the most seductive dress, and had in fact done so
on numerous occasions. It had started out small, a reason that
necessitated wearing a leotard and tights outfit here, a blouse
or skirt there, but each successive incident had served to make
the next that much less daunting, that much more likely, until
she reached the point that the prospects of appearing in public
wearing the clothing of this gender held no terror for her
anymore. A few years ago, the prospect of wearing the outfit she
had worn on her departure from Nerima would have seemed shocking,
almost sickening; the previous night, it had seemed everyday,
almost anti-climactic. Granted, when it came to clothing she
still had preferences (plain and unadorned were clearly her's),
and there were still whole sartorial regions that made her
uncomfortable, but when you came right down to it given a good
enough reason she could wear just about anything, and every once
in a while she found she didn't even need that. Somehow, that
was downright scary.
She had tried to tell herself that they were just clothes, just
pieces of cloth cut to fit on a body with certain proportions,
that they really didn't signify anything. After all, look at
Tsubasa and Konatsu, two of the most gender bending guys she
knew. But yet, the problem was that deep down those two were
still guys 100% of the time, and despite appearances still pretty
much acted as such (especially around Ukyo). (S)he didn't have
that luxury; because all it would take was a couple of drops of
rain, and it was back to the girl form. Even if some of the
conventions were ridiculous, biased, and otherwise outmoded, much
of how a person was perceived and how they were treated by those
around them was literally wrapped up in the way they dressed, so
much so that Ranko could now see, with the perfect clarity of
hindsight, that all the times she'd had to dress the part had
also served to give her feminine self that much more room to grow
and express. Like a vine, it had grown undetected in the
foundation, and now suddenly was threatening to undermine the
whole structure if it were removed.
She could remember the times clearly. When she was in girl form,
and she caught herself in a heresy. When emotions flashed, and
she felt herself drawn to raw feelings she had never experienced
before, or had never dared allow herself to share. Like when
Mikado kissed her, and she reacted less like a pissed off guy and
more like a freaked-out girl; or when the whole Picolet affair
seemed to be going horribly wrong, and the very real prospect
emerged that she could end up married to a young man; or when
that strange demon doppleganger of hers had challenged her to a
"picking up guys contest", and she had accepted. In all of those
times, she had felt the pull and resisted it, stifled the small
voice that yearned for equal time, and plowed ahead in masculine
certainty. She could feel the betraying little lurch inside of
her that sometimes came when a complete stranger respectfully
treated her as a girl, when an old woman complemented such a
"courteous young lady", or even sometimes, more alarmingly, when
a young man was looking her over appreciatively from several feet
away. It was that pleasant feeling of acceptance, of
acquiescence, that none of them knew wiser and as far as they
were concerned she was just another girl, without all of the
unique uncertainties dangling over her head, ready to crush.
It was a feeling that said being a girl wasn't all that bad, that
it offered up possibilities she had never imagined as a guy, and
that she was in a unique position and maybe it would be nice to
explore the options just a little more.
The feeling was always crushed, but never fully eradicated. And
the more she suppressed it, the stronger it would come back at
some unsuspecting time. Like at night, when she was dreaming.
At first the dreams came rarely, and only when she went to sleep
in girl form. But in the last year they became more frequent,
more demanding, and were coming even when sleeping as a guy,
eating away at her subconscious and demanding to be paid
attention to. The incident rate was going up. She'd sometimes
find excuses to change into a girl, or to not change back. She'd
wander aimlessly around town "just to get some exercise", and
pass up numerous opportunities for hot water. Once she even
found herself starring at Ryouga, telling herself that it was
nothing more than professional interest that prompted her to note
the shape of the musculature in his arms, his legs, his chest.
She always told herself differently, emphatically, that she was
not going over, but each time it happened she found it more
difficult to explain away. As uncertainties began to mount, the
need to find a cure was becoming more tantamount.
*So, why are you giving it free reign to take over?* the male
part of her sneered. *This is the last thing you should be doing
now! Go to China, get a cure, and be done with it all!*
*Yes, I know. That is what I should be doing.*
*So, why aren't you?*
*Because...* another part of her thought. She sighed in
exasperation. *Because...*
The mantra repeated: *I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a ...*
*Because...* she thought quietly to herself. *It's become a part
of me now. I don't know if I can give it up.*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / guy.*
*I'm / a / girl, / not / a / girl.*
*I'm / a / girl, / not / a / guy?*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl?*
*What about Akane?* the voice asked up. *Don't you love her?
Don't you want to marry her?*
*Yes.*
*THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU BETRAYING HER LIKE THIS?*
Her thoughts were suddenly silent. Glancing ahead, she suddenly
realized that she was rapidly running out of jogging pavement.
The street she was on was about to dead-end onto a bayside road
that ran east along the shore of Kobe Bay, and as she arrived at
the corner she noted that the road probably continued all the way
toward the head of the bay and the Pacific coast. She ran in
place among strangers while waiting for the light to change,
trotted across the zebra crossing when it had, and took a turn
east on the walkway along the coast, mostly because she had to
choose a direction and at least that one looked the more
pleasant.
She didn't answer herself for almost a kilometer.
*Because.... because Akane deserves a full man, not half of one.*
*She says it doesn't matter. She loves you no matter what the
form.*
*I know.*
*Then why...?*
*Because it matters to me.*
She stopped running. Taking deep breaths, she stood along the
side of the walkway, and momentarily gazed at the blueish-grey
bay. Then she began to slowly stretch her aching muscles.
*Because if I don't do this, I'll always have that uncertainty.
I'll always wonder what I missed, what I didn't let myself do
when I had the chance. I don't want to wake up ten years from
now and wish fervently I was Ranko again, even for an afternoon.*
Pant, pant, stretch. *I can't live this half-and-half life
anymore. It's miserable. It's getting to the point that I no
longer know who I am. I have to choose, and choose soon. I'm
tired of the uncertainties. I hate uncertainties. I want
answers.* Stretch, stretch, pant. *This is the only way I know to
find them. I can't make a decision if I don't know what the
answer is.*
*And what if you decide you like this? What if you decide you'd
rather be female for the rest of your life? What will you tell
Akane?*
*I'll have to tell her the truth. All of it.* She sighed. *That,
I think, would be much better than living a lie for an entire
life, don't you think?*
She stopped her stretching, and took stock of her surroundings.
To her right she could see the docks in the distance, to her left
the Pacific. She could see the skyline of Osaka across the bay,
and the distant mountains behind the city. Kyoto was someplace
nearby, but which direction she suddenly couldn't remember.
She'd always wanted to visit the ancient capitol but had never
had the chance, so perhaps sometime soon she might be able to.
She looked in the direction from whence she came. She thought
she could probably find her way back to the apartment. It would
make for an interesting afternoon, she decided, if she couldn't.
She took a deep breath, and found the conversation with herself
had done nothing to lessen the pent up energy she felt she had.
In fact, she suddenly felt as if it had been invigorated.
She started to jog back to the apartment.
*Look,* she promised herself, *the truth is, I don't think it's
likely to happen. There are some aspects about this that I still
don't know if I can live with. But I'm not going to find an
answer by hanging around back home. This is the best, and only,
way to know for certain. Besides... up until now, every major
decision about my life has been made for me by others. I want to
know I'm making the right decision, and making it on my own.*
*Three months. Three months out of an entire life, to find a
truth. That's all I'm asking.*
*Three months?* the male part asked, skeptically.
*Three months. Tops. After that, China. I promise.*
*To do what, though?*
She didn't answer the question. Instead, she simply continued on
her jog, the route to her destination still slightly uncertain.
But at least, she thought, she was going somewhere.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There was a gentle knock on the door as Ranko carefully screwed
the small bottle shut. In her window, the sky was ablaze with
the orange and reds of the evening.
"Who is it?" she asked, voice raised and waving one hand
frantically. "I can't exactly come to the door right at this
moment."
"It's me, Fumiko." the familiar voice sounded from beyond the
door. "I was just wondering how you were doing settling in."
Ranko glanced at the door. Sure enough, the locks were not in
place. Old habits were hard to break. "Oh, come on in, then.
The door's unlocked."
Fumiko stepped in and smiled at her neighbor, who had by now
changed into a simple outfit of red shorts and yellow t-shirt.
She glanced at the items on the desk the younger woman was
sitting at. The faint tinge of acetate hung in the air. "Doing
your nails, I see?" she observed.
Ranko stopped waving the one hand, and glanced down with mixed
emotions at the drying red enamel on her fingernails. "Yeah."
she said, unusually subdued. "I was, umm, getting ready to go
out for interviews."
"You mean you've lined up something already?" Fumiko asked,
slightly incredulous.
Ranko nodded in the negative. "I was just going to go out
tomorrow and start looking, see where things lead me. Other than
that, nothing yet."
"Oh." Fumiko said. "Well, I know you said you weren't
interested, but I did some asking around at work today and found
that they are looking to hire, so if you want to reconsider I can
probably set-up an interview, maybe even tomorrow. That is, if
you're willing..."
"To do what you do?" Ranko asked cautiously.
"Well, yeah."
Ranko considered. *Don't.* the male part of her said. *It's
demeaning and beneath you. There are better things out there for
you to do.*
*Yeah, but it's a job. It'll pay the rent, and I might be able
to start work immediately. Besides, it's public exposure, right?
I'll be out in the open, interacting with people. Which is part
of the point of this exercise, isn't it?*
*Isn't it?*
If her male psyche could shrug it would have done so. Instead,
it merely sulked.
Ranko looked back up at her helpful neighbor. "Well, maybe."
She sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to at least interview
for it."
"No, probably not." She smiled. "Want me to set it up?"
This time, Ranko did the shrug. "Yeah, might as well. I suppose
I've got nothing to loose. Want to give me the details?"
"Are your nails dry, yet?"
Ranko experimentally tapped the surface of one. Sure enough, it
was firm. "Yes. This stuff is quick drying. Why?"
"Then put something on, I'll treat for dinner, and we can discuss
it over food. Right now I want to just get out of here and get
something to eat."
Ranko nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. Wait a moment, I'll
find something."
As the redhead went over to her closet, Fumiko continued. "Oh,
by the way. I understand Mrs. Hayakawa called downstairs and
left messages. She says she'll be back tomorrow."
"Oh, that's good." Ranko said, examining her meager wardrobe and
selecting a couple of items, mostly because they were easy to put
on.
Fumiko watched as the younger woman put on a white blouse and
started to button. "Didn't you say you needed to talk to her
about something?" she asked.
Ranko nodded, seemed to hesitate, then reached for the other item
she had set mentally aside, a black skirt of about knee length,
one of the ones she had purchased the day before. "Oh, yeah."
she mumbled, as she began to step into it, then brought the
waistband up to her waist. "I did, but not anymore." Once at
the waist she zippered up the side, ending with a snap. "I took
care of things this afternoon. No need to bother her." Then,
unconsciously, the hand that had just zippered herself up now
slowly smoothed the garment to make it more presentable. "No, no
need to bother her at all."
For a moment, Fumiko thought the girl was staring into space.
Then, she looked down at herself, shook her head as if to clear
something, and smiled.
"Come on, lets go. I want to get out of here."
END PART THREE
By GT Ranma-Chan
PART THREE
He was in a church, a western-style church. He knew it rather
than saw it; the organ music, after all, was a dead giveaway, and
there was the further clue that pews of some sort seemed to be
stretching off on either side of him, going off far into the
distance. He couldn't tell much beyond that; there was a thin
white fabric hanging in front of his face, one which successfully
hid whatever it was that lay beyond.
Somehow a bouquet of flowers had appeared in his hands. Strange
that they should do so, he thought, but he kept them
nevertheless. He was vaguely aware that he was suppose to be
holding them at this particular moment, that it was expected of
him to do so. They were pretty flowers, too; he could smell
their fragrance.
They were moving forward. *They?* he thought, and suddenly he
realized his father was standing next to him. He looked faintly
ridiculous, dressed as he was in a tuxedo while still in panda
form, but he displayed no outward appearance of finding the
absurdity of the situation even remotely humorous. Somber,
perhaps, but hardly humorous.
He grew aware that others were standing in the pews around him.
Those on his right side he didn't know, except perhaps as
indistinct faces he had met once or twice before. The ones on
his left side, though, he all knew. Friends, family, extended
family, acquaintances. Mom was there. So were Nabiki, Kasumi,
and Mr. Tendou (*Where was Akane?* he wondered, but then reminded
himself that he'd find her up front). Ryouga, the Kuno siblings,
and several of his old classmates from Furinkan were also
present. Happosai and the old crone too, being unusually civil.
So was the middle-aged man with the slices of cheese on the
platter (*Who the hell is that guy?* he wondered). Several more
faces that he could make out, despite the white gauziness, all of
whom were familiar.
They were all starring at him, as if accusing him of some crime.
As he passed them he felt a hard queasiness in his stomach, but
decided it was just due to the clothes he was wearing. It was a
rather tight outfit, after all; he could feel the material
cinching him tightly.
He proceeded toward the front of the church. Akane was there,
standing facing him. So were Ukyou and Shampoo. They were
dressed alike, in lavender dresses. Or were they green? It
didn't matter, he thought. All that mattered was that they were
glaring at him.
Akane was mouthing the word "pervert" over and over.
*Why would she do that?* he wondered.
Then he noticed the person meeting them at the front of the
church. Tall, handsome, dressed smartly in an expensive tuxedo.
The person looked at him with a smile on their face.
For a moment, he couldn't make out whose face it was. Tatewaki?
Ryouga? The features seemed to change so fast. Mikado?
Picolet?
The face solidified on Picolet, and suddenly everything made an
uneasy sense.
He'd lost, he decided. He'd lost the contest, and by the terms
of their agreement, he had to marry Picolet. He had to; he'd
given his word. That's why he was standing there in a wedding
dress (which, suddenly, in all clarity, he knew he was wearing.
*Why hadn't I objected to that before?*), why his father was
reaching forth and shaking the young man's hand (*Idiot! This is
your fault!*), and why suddenly he found Picolet's arm hooked
around his, and together the two of them were advancing to the
altar (*NO!!*).
The priest smiled at them. "Does anyone know any reason why
these two should not be wed?" the sage asked the congregation.
"Yes!" he shouted. "I'm a guy!"
Everyone acted as if they had not heard him.
The priest turned to Picolet. "Do you take this woman to be your
lawfully wedded wife?"
Picolet nodded. "I do."
The priest turned towards him. "Do you take this man to be your
lawfully wedded husband?"
*I can't marry him! I'm a guy!* he thought fiercely. But
somehow, the words that came out were: "I do."
A ring suddenly appeared on his finger. Both of their fingers.
"You may kiss the bride." he heard the priest say. And with
that, he watched in mounting horror as the white veil was drawn
back, and Picolet's smiling face was before him.
"NO! I can't kiss you! I'm a guy!"
"Not any longer." Picolet said. "Now you're my wife."
"But I'm a guy!" he insisted, and to prove the point he lifted a
kettle above his head and poured hot water upon him.
Nothing happened.
"The decision has been made for you." Picolet said, still
smiling. "It was taken out of your hands by your father. So now
you have to stay as you are."
"NO! I won't do it! I won't..."
Picolet leaned forward toward his lips. "Rejoice!" the young man
said, "Now you don't have to fight it anymore!"
And with that, Picolet reached forward and kissed... her.
She opened her eyes. The church was gone. The altar was gone.
Everyone else was gone. Except her and Picolet.
They were in a room. The walls were white, mountains of flowers
were piled high, and ionian columns stretched above far into the
sky. Behind her she could feel the presence of a bed.
The wedding dress was on the ground around her. She was standing
in her underwear.
Picolet stood before her, still smiling. He was naked.
"You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?" he asked her.
It sounded more like a statement than a question. "To be able to
give in, to not have to resist?"
She did not answer him. She could not. She dared not.
He reached forward and placed his hand on her waist. The cast
iron corset peeled away, as if nothing. "To no longer have to
suppress yourself, to just let yourself go?"
She still did not answer, but her face looked up directly at him,
afraid. She felt him draw her closer.
"To finally let yourself be?" he finished.
She stared up into his face, his eyes. She felt his arms
encircle her to caress, and his lips falling once more on hers.
And she felt herself backing up, falling gently onto the bed.
And felt him above her, still holding, still kissing, moving,
holding, caressing, kissing, holding, moving...
A voice echoed. Low at first, but gaining momentum as he
continued and she continued and they continued.
Madness, it said. Complete and utter madness.
Madness.
Madness.
Madness.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Ranko's eyes popped wide open, and she jolted with a start to a
sitting upright position. "Mad...!" she yelped.
Her breathing was heavy, fast. She panted for several moments in
the darkness, still stunned. Then slowly, uncertainly, she wiped
her forehead with her arm, getting rid of the prodigious amount
of sweat that had beaded on her brow.
She stared glass-eyed into the nearly-empty room, not so much
seeing anything as to let the darkness take her mind off what she
had just dreamt. She continued her heavy breathing, but slowly
it began to subside.
*Dear god.* she thought. *That has to be the worst one.*
*No,* she corrected herself, after a moment's consideration, *the
worst in months, but not the worst ever.*
As her ragged breath began to recover, she became aware of the
sounds around her. From outside she heard a dog bark in the
distance, and the sound of nearby solitary footsteps. A car
passed slowly in the street, the ghostly glow of its headlights
moving across the ceiling of her apartment. The low boom of an
airplane rumbled from above, and the extremely faint whisper of
pop music from a radio rose from below.
She continued to stare into space.
"What am I doing here?" she said to herself. "This is stupid. I
could be on my way to China by now, going to the springs."
She glanced down at the bedroll she was sleeping on, and grimaced
at the hideously cute incarnation of feline cartoon evil.
*Funny,* she thought clinically, *how a real cat could make me go
berserk, but a cartoon cat can only make me cringe for entirely
different reasons."
She laid back down, and stared at the ceiling.
"I shouldn't be doing this." she continued. "It's crazy that I'm
doing this. What possible good reason is there to put me through
all of this?"
*The dreams.* she told herself. *Look at what the dreams are
saying.*
She stared at the ceiling, and felt the first tendrils of fatigue
reach out for her.
*That's it.* she concluded, finally. *I'm outta here. Doing this
is only going to encourage everything, make it worse.* She
closed her eyes, and laid her head to her side. "Tomorrow I'm
going to Mrs. Hayakawa, tell her it was all a mistake, get my
money back, leave, go on to China, and find a real cure. Not
this stupid half-assed plan of mine.*
*Yeah, that's what I'll do.*
*Yeah.*
And as she drifted off to sleep, she tried to picture the look
that would be on Akane's face when she finally returned. After
the trip to China. When she was finally cured.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was early morning when Ranko stumbled into the commons room,
wearing a set of light blue warm-ups she had taken with her from
Nerima.
"You look awful." Fumiko told her as she entered, with a slight
grimace. The young woman was at the counter, putting the
finishing touches on her lunch package.
Ranko nodded, tried to stifle a yawn, and failed. "Rotten night
of sleep." she said, stretching her arms and twisting one
shoulder, mostly because it felt good to flex the muscles.
Fumiko nodded in understanding. "Let me guess: first night in
your first apartment."
Ranko nodded vaguely. "Yeah, something like that."
"Took me a week to get used to mine. Don't worry, it passes."
Ranko went to one cabinet and began to pull at the small pile of
pre-processed foods, looking for something quick to fix. Her
second day out, and already she missed Kasumi's cooking. Oh
well, it wasn't the first time she'd had to live on quickly-
prepared meals. She pulled a packet of ramen noodles, and picked
up a small pot from another cupboard.
"Have you given any thought about where you'll apply?" Fumiko
asked, conversationally.
Ranko looked up from the stove, slightly confused. "Apply?"
"For a job. You know, where you want to work, what you want to
do. Have you given it any thought?"
Ranko shrugged. "Not really. I guess I just planned to pick up
a newspaper or go down to the employment office and see what's
available." (*Not the employment office,* she corrected herself;
*No identification.*).
Fumiko thought for a moment. "Do you have any skills? Typing?
Computer? Anything like that?"
*Well, lets see. I can probably cream just about anybody you
care to mention.* "No, not really."
"Well, that takes care of most office work then. There's always
retail, I suppose."
"Not if I can avoid it."
"Smart girl." Fumiko considered for a beat. "Then there's
always the clubs, you know."
Ranko shot Fumiko a glare. "The clubs?" she said carefully.
The other young woman returned the glare with a completely
straight face. "Uh huh. You know, the night clubs. They're
always looking for barmaids or dancers or girls willing to,
umm..."
"Fumiko..." Ranko's voice took on an edge of ice.
"Oh, come on. It's short hours, good pay, and you get to meet
all kinds of interesting..."
"FUMIKO!"
Fumiko burst into laughter. "Ok, I apologize. I thought that's
what you'd say, but I just wanted to make sure. I'm sorry if I
offended you." Despite the apology, a large degree of humor
remained on her face and in her voice.
"Grrrrrr." *Ok, that's it. I'm leaving as soon as I can get my
rent back. And even if I can't.* A thought struck Ranko. "What
about you? What do you do?"
Fumiko told her. Ranko just shook her head.
"Hey, it's not bad. It's not strenuous, people usually don't
bother you, and you spend most of the time standing around
pushing buttons. That's it."
"It must get boring."
"It can be. But then that gives me an opportunity to think about
my studies, so it's not a complete waste of time. Besides," she
added, "it pays the bills. It's not like I'm going to make a
career out of it, just until I can get into school." Fumiko
considered again. "Say, if you're interested, one of the girls
is leaving, so maybe..."
Ranko shook her head in the negative. "No, don't. I don't think
I'd be interested. At least, not until I've checked on what else
is available." *I'm leaving, so why bother?*
It was Fumiko's turn to shrug. "Well, suit yourself." She
glanced up at the wall clock. "Which reminds me, it's time I
went up and got ready to go. See you later?"
"See you later." Ranko agreed. *Or maybe, not at all.* Which
reminded her of something. "Oh, by the way." she asked, at the
departing Fumiko. "Have you seen Mrs. Hayakawa? I wanted to ask
her something."
Fumiko shrugged again. "She left this morning, early. I, um, I
don't think she'll be back until later, perhaps not even until
tomorrow."
A confused, apprehensive look came to Ranko's face. "Tomorrow?
Why?"
"Family business. Look, um, I can't explain it right now, but
suffice to say she probably won't be back today." A deep sigh.
"When I get off work I'll try to explain some more, but right now
I've got to get moving if I'm going to make it on time." And
with that, Fumiko turned and headed up the stairs for her
apartment, leaving a slightly perplexed Ranko in her wake.
Ranko watched her depart. *What the?* was all she could think.
She gave a long sigh of resignation, and turned back to the
stove. Whatever it was about her landlady, she supposed she'd
find out in due course. In the meantime, there was this whole
getting back on the road thing she had to consider, and how to
ease out of this ill-advised side trip she'd concocted.
"Another day in my girl form." she mumbled to herself, as she
returned to her boiling pot and makeshift breakfast. "You'd
think the whole world was conspiring against me."
*Or agreeing with you.* one traitorous thought flashed.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Ranko had contemplated spending the day in her apartment, but
after doing a short, modified rep of her kata she found she had
too much pent up energy to long survive restricting herself to
the small room's four walls. Still in the light blue warm-ups,
she decided to expend some of that energy by just going outside
and literally taking a jog around the neighborhood.
And as she did so in the morning air, she found herself going
once more over the thought process' that had led her to this
moment.
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.* became the mental mantra
echoing in her mind for several blocks, with each word
corresponding to the impact of one foot on the pavement. In a
way she found herself hoping that constant repetition would
silence the uneasiness that was taking up residence inside of
her. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working. Contradicting
thoughts and ideas fought one another as she pushed forward.
In some ways, she thought, she envied those of her friends whose
curses made them into something other than human. From comparing
notes with the others (mostly dad or Ryouga, but sometimes
Shampoo or even Mousse), she had come to the conclusion that
changes between species were much easier to handle mentally than
changes within species. In part, she suspected that this was
because the stark differences between the average pig or cat were
much more pronounced than the corresponding human, and so it was
much easier to note the mental discrepancies and shunt them aside
or control them. As far as she could tell, for instance, neither
Shampoo nor Mousse had any real desire to stay for long periods
of time as a cat or a duck, and the only time Ryouga had had the
urge to be a piglet was when he had the very human male desire to
be close to Akane. That last had evaporated immediately upon
Akane's discovery of the truth, and even with that new girlfriend
of his Ryouga only descended to his pig form as rarely as random
bursts of flying cold water would allow.
Of course, this didn't quite explain her father's predilection
toward his panda form, but then Ranko just put that one down to
the fact that her father was just a lazy SOB.
Yes, she thought. From what she'd been able to figure out after
years of observation, having a curse that gave you a gender
change was much more difficult to deal with than one that merely
changed you into an animal. Despite the claims she loudly
maintained to herself and to all who would listen, she was
finding that there really was a difference between the two halves
of her fractured existence, one that extended to more than just
the physical. And it was there that the danger lied, because the
differences were small, subtle, almost imperceptible. Very hard
to detect, much harder to guard against, but ones which were
fully capable of eroding away the masculine facade she had so
determinably built and struggled to maintain since Jusenkyo.
When Ranma and Akane started to get close, really close, after
the whole Phoenix affair and the subsequent failed wedding, that
was when (s)he started to notice them. Yes, (s)he loved Akane;
of that there was no doubt. But yet, between the two halves
there was a perceptible difference. To Ranma, the attraction had
a physical, sensual edge to it. In Ranko, however, those aspects
where much more muted, replaced by a sensitive, emotional
awareness that transcended everything. In both halves, Akane was
the person that was adored; but only in one was she the one with
whom intimacy was desired.
S(he) was struggling against ordinary biology, and s(he) was
beginning to think that ordinary biology was starting to get the
upper hand.
Considering the turmoil her mental state had undergone in the
most recent months, it was the only explanation she could think
of that fit. Girls were hardwired to do certain things, to think
certain ways, just like boys were hardwired to do similar but
different things and similar but different modes of thought.
There were exceptions to these rules, of course, but for the most
part the evidence was overwhelming that the template held true.
So no matter how dominant her male half was, no matter how much
in control her masculine self sought to be in at all times, it
could not control the simple fact that in girl form female
hormones were raging through her system, his mind was functioning
in a brain that was naturally inclined toward female patterns of
thought, and that his very male mental image was at odds with her
overwhelmingly physical female body. No matter what the male
Ranma said or did in their female form, he could not change the
fact that said form had a natural predilection toward asserting
what millions of years of evolution had dictated for it.
He'd been able to compensate for some time, vigorously, even
ruthlessly, suppressing his feminine side wherever possible, both
because he thought of himself as overwhelmingly male and because
he had found the idea of a feminine self revolting. But years of
exposure were taking their toll, his masculine guard was clearly
not as adamant as it once was, and the female self was taking the
opportunity to make its presence known, as if to say it would not
be waved away by mere bluster.
She was finding herself becoming acclimated to her female half.
This was becoming apparent in hundreds of ways, large and small.
Apparel, for instance. When the curse was yet new, the idea of
wearing girl's or women's clothing was anathema. But now she
could if need be wear just about anything, from the most plain
work-clothes to the most seductive dress, and had in fact done so
on numerous occasions. It had started out small, a reason that
necessitated wearing a leotard and tights outfit here, a blouse
or skirt there, but each successive incident had served to make
the next that much less daunting, that much more likely, until
she reached the point that the prospects of appearing in public
wearing the clothing of this gender held no terror for her
anymore. A few years ago, the prospect of wearing the outfit she
had worn on her departure from Nerima would have seemed shocking,
almost sickening; the previous night, it had seemed everyday,
almost anti-climactic. Granted, when it came to clothing she
still had preferences (plain and unadorned were clearly her's),
and there were still whole sartorial regions that made her
uncomfortable, but when you came right down to it given a good
enough reason she could wear just about anything, and every once
in a while she found she didn't even need that. Somehow, that
was downright scary.
She had tried to tell herself that they were just clothes, just
pieces of cloth cut to fit on a body with certain proportions,
that they really didn't signify anything. After all, look at
Tsubasa and Konatsu, two of the most gender bending guys she
knew. But yet, the problem was that deep down those two were
still guys 100% of the time, and despite appearances still pretty
much acted as such (especially around Ukyo). (S)he didn't have
that luxury; because all it would take was a couple of drops of
rain, and it was back to the girl form. Even if some of the
conventions were ridiculous, biased, and otherwise outmoded, much
of how a person was perceived and how they were treated by those
around them was literally wrapped up in the way they dressed, so
much so that Ranko could now see, with the perfect clarity of
hindsight, that all the times she'd had to dress the part had
also served to give her feminine self that much more room to grow
and express. Like a vine, it had grown undetected in the
foundation, and now suddenly was threatening to undermine the
whole structure if it were removed.
She could remember the times clearly. When she was in girl form,
and she caught herself in a heresy. When emotions flashed, and
she felt herself drawn to raw feelings she had never experienced
before, or had never dared allow herself to share. Like when
Mikado kissed her, and she reacted less like a pissed off guy and
more like a freaked-out girl; or when the whole Picolet affair
seemed to be going horribly wrong, and the very real prospect
emerged that she could end up married to a young man; or when
that strange demon doppleganger of hers had challenged her to a
"picking up guys contest", and she had accepted. In all of those
times, she had felt the pull and resisted it, stifled the small
voice that yearned for equal time, and plowed ahead in masculine
certainty. She could feel the betraying little lurch inside of
her that sometimes came when a complete stranger respectfully
treated her as a girl, when an old woman complemented such a
"courteous young lady", or even sometimes, more alarmingly, when
a young man was looking her over appreciatively from several feet
away. It was that pleasant feeling of acceptance, of
acquiescence, that none of them knew wiser and as far as they
were concerned she was just another girl, without all of the
unique uncertainties dangling over her head, ready to crush.
It was a feeling that said being a girl wasn't all that bad, that
it offered up possibilities she had never imagined as a guy, and
that she was in a unique position and maybe it would be nice to
explore the options just a little more.
The feeling was always crushed, but never fully eradicated. And
the more she suppressed it, the stronger it would come back at
some unsuspecting time. Like at night, when she was dreaming.
At first the dreams came rarely, and only when she went to sleep
in girl form. But in the last year they became more frequent,
more demanding, and were coming even when sleeping as a guy,
eating away at her subconscious and demanding to be paid
attention to. The incident rate was going up. She'd sometimes
find excuses to change into a girl, or to not change back. She'd
wander aimlessly around town "just to get some exercise", and
pass up numerous opportunities for hot water. Once she even
found herself starring at Ryouga, telling herself that it was
nothing more than professional interest that prompted her to note
the shape of the musculature in his arms, his legs, his chest.
She always told herself differently, emphatically, that she was
not going over, but each time it happened she found it more
difficult to explain away. As uncertainties began to mount, the
need to find a cure was becoming more tantamount.
*So, why are you giving it free reign to take over?* the male
part of her sneered. *This is the last thing you should be doing
now! Go to China, get a cure, and be done with it all!*
*Yes, I know. That is what I should be doing.*
*So, why aren't you?*
*Because...* another part of her thought. She sighed in
exasperation. *Because...*
The mantra repeated: *I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a ...*
*Because...* she thought quietly to herself. *It's become a part
of me now. I don't know if I can give it up.*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / guy.*
*I'm / a / girl, / not / a / girl.*
*I'm / a / girl, / not / a / guy?*
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl?*
*What about Akane?* the voice asked up. *Don't you love her?
Don't you want to marry her?*
*Yes.*
*THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU BETRAYING HER LIKE THIS?*
Her thoughts were suddenly silent. Glancing ahead, she suddenly
realized that she was rapidly running out of jogging pavement.
The street she was on was about to dead-end onto a bayside road
that ran east along the shore of Kobe Bay, and as she arrived at
the corner she noted that the road probably continued all the way
toward the head of the bay and the Pacific coast. She ran in
place among strangers while waiting for the light to change,
trotted across the zebra crossing when it had, and took a turn
east on the walkway along the coast, mostly because she had to
choose a direction and at least that one looked the more
pleasant.
She didn't answer herself for almost a kilometer.
*Because.... because Akane deserves a full man, not half of one.*
*She says it doesn't matter. She loves you no matter what the
form.*
*I know.*
*Then why...?*
*Because it matters to me.*
She stopped running. Taking deep breaths, she stood along the
side of the walkway, and momentarily gazed at the blueish-grey
bay. Then she began to slowly stretch her aching muscles.
*Because if I don't do this, I'll always have that uncertainty.
I'll always wonder what I missed, what I didn't let myself do
when I had the chance. I don't want to wake up ten years from
now and wish fervently I was Ranko again, even for an afternoon.*
Pant, pant, stretch. *I can't live this half-and-half life
anymore. It's miserable. It's getting to the point that I no
longer know who I am. I have to choose, and choose soon. I'm
tired of the uncertainties. I hate uncertainties. I want
answers.* Stretch, stretch, pant. *This is the only way I know to
find them. I can't make a decision if I don't know what the
answer is.*
*And what if you decide you like this? What if you decide you'd
rather be female for the rest of your life? What will you tell
Akane?*
*I'll have to tell her the truth. All of it.* She sighed. *That,
I think, would be much better than living a lie for an entire
life, don't you think?*
She stopped her stretching, and took stock of her surroundings.
To her right she could see the docks in the distance, to her left
the Pacific. She could see the skyline of Osaka across the bay,
and the distant mountains behind the city. Kyoto was someplace
nearby, but which direction she suddenly couldn't remember.
She'd always wanted to visit the ancient capitol but had never
had the chance, so perhaps sometime soon she might be able to.
She looked in the direction from whence she came. She thought
she could probably find her way back to the apartment. It would
make for an interesting afternoon, she decided, if she couldn't.
She took a deep breath, and found the conversation with herself
had done nothing to lessen the pent up energy she felt she had.
In fact, she suddenly felt as if it had been invigorated.
She started to jog back to the apartment.
*Look,* she promised herself, *the truth is, I don't think it's
likely to happen. There are some aspects about this that I still
don't know if I can live with. But I'm not going to find an
answer by hanging around back home. This is the best, and only,
way to know for certain. Besides... up until now, every major
decision about my life has been made for me by others. I want to
know I'm making the right decision, and making it on my own.*
*Three months. Three months out of an entire life, to find a
truth. That's all I'm asking.*
*Three months?* the male part asked, skeptically.
*Three months. Tops. After that, China. I promise.*
*To do what, though?*
She didn't answer the question. Instead, she simply continued on
her jog, the route to her destination still slightly uncertain.
But at least, she thought, she was going somewhere.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There was a gentle knock on the door as Ranko carefully screwed
the small bottle shut. In her window, the sky was ablaze with
the orange and reds of the evening.
"Who is it?" she asked, voice raised and waving one hand
frantically. "I can't exactly come to the door right at this
moment."
"It's me, Fumiko." the familiar voice sounded from beyond the
door. "I was just wondering how you were doing settling in."
Ranko glanced at the door. Sure enough, the locks were not in
place. Old habits were hard to break. "Oh, come on in, then.
The door's unlocked."
Fumiko stepped in and smiled at her neighbor, who had by now
changed into a simple outfit of red shorts and yellow t-shirt.
She glanced at the items on the desk the younger woman was
sitting at. The faint tinge of acetate hung in the air. "Doing
your nails, I see?" she observed.
Ranko stopped waving the one hand, and glanced down with mixed
emotions at the drying red enamel on her fingernails. "Yeah."
she said, unusually subdued. "I was, umm, getting ready to go
out for interviews."
"You mean you've lined up something already?" Fumiko asked,
slightly incredulous.
Ranko nodded in the negative. "I was just going to go out
tomorrow and start looking, see where things lead me. Other than
that, nothing yet."
"Oh." Fumiko said. "Well, I know you said you weren't
interested, but I did some asking around at work today and found
that they are looking to hire, so if you want to reconsider I can
probably set-up an interview, maybe even tomorrow. That is, if
you're willing..."
"To do what you do?" Ranko asked cautiously.
"Well, yeah."
Ranko considered. *Don't.* the male part of her said. *It's
demeaning and beneath you. There are better things out there for
you to do.*
*Yeah, but it's a job. It'll pay the rent, and I might be able
to start work immediately. Besides, it's public exposure, right?
I'll be out in the open, interacting with people. Which is part
of the point of this exercise, isn't it?*
*Isn't it?*
If her male psyche could shrug it would have done so. Instead,
it merely sulked.
Ranko looked back up at her helpful neighbor. "Well, maybe."
She sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to at least interview
for it."
"No, probably not." She smiled. "Want me to set it up?"
This time, Ranko did the shrug. "Yeah, might as well. I suppose
I've got nothing to loose. Want to give me the details?"
"Are your nails dry, yet?"
Ranko experimentally tapped the surface of one. Sure enough, it
was firm. "Yes. This stuff is quick drying. Why?"
"Then put something on, I'll treat for dinner, and we can discuss
it over food. Right now I want to just get out of here and get
something to eat."
Ranko nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. Wait a moment, I'll
find something."
As the redhead went over to her closet, Fumiko continued. "Oh,
by the way. I understand Mrs. Hayakawa called downstairs and
left messages. She says she'll be back tomorrow."
"Oh, that's good." Ranko said, examining her meager wardrobe and
selecting a couple of items, mostly because they were easy to put
on.
Fumiko watched as the younger woman put on a white blouse and
started to button. "Didn't you say you needed to talk to her
about something?" she asked.
Ranko nodded, seemed to hesitate, then reached for the other item
she had set mentally aside, a black skirt of about knee length,
one of the ones she had purchased the day before. "Oh, yeah."
she mumbled, as she began to step into it, then brought the
waistband up to her waist. "I did, but not anymore." Once at
the waist she zippered up the side, ending with a snap. "I took
care of things this afternoon. No need to bother her." Then,
unconsciously, the hand that had just zippered herself up now
slowly smoothed the garment to make it more presentable. "No, no
need to bother her at all."
For a moment, Fumiko thought the girl was staring into space.
Then, she looked down at herself, shook her head as if to clear
something, and smiled.
"Come on, lets go. I want to get out of here."
END PART THREE