[Standard Disclaimer: You know the drill, folks ^_^! I don't own this setting or any of these fine characters, other than perhaps those that i created myself, and even then i'm sort of wary about claiming responsibility. You never know what original characters might do O_o;... At any rate please don't sue me! I have no money, and i live in a foreign land; i don't wanna be deported yet! Waaaah!
~Eimii]
Prologue: Learning the steps...
"OW! Oh crap!"
Stumbling when her foot found an unseen hollow in the silty riverbed, the young girl's eyes widened fearfully as the shimmering surface of the water rushed up to meet her. Frantically windmilling her arms, she bent her knees and stuck out her rear, trying to find her balance. Bunches of multi-colored fabric, before clutched carefully above water level, splashed around her legs, their damp weight dragging at her in the lazy current.
At the time, crossing the shallow stream had seemed like a good idea. She hadn't seen it before, as far as she could recall, so it meant that she hadn't been running in circles all night through the dense, dark forest that covered the valley floor. Now, hefting the hem of her sodden robe out of the water to wring it between her hands, she cursed her decision. She should have just followed the river; surely there'd be a town or something along it at some point.
The frown on her lips deepened as she stretched the cream and lavender folds of silk between her hands, noticing how a pink stain had spread from the thin vein of deeper red that trailed from above. A dull twinge of pain, momentarily forgotten in her panic, intruded again on her senses. At least she wasn't bleeding much, it seemed. *Gods, please let there be a village nearby...*
As if in answer to her unspoken prayer, the booming peal of an iron bell split the air. It couldn't be more than perhaps a kilometer down river, probably less. A small smile of relief started to crack across the stony mask of long hardship that she wore, but the moment was short-lived. The trilling of the bell continued; now she could hear a hint of urgency in its cry. The whisper of shouts on the wind, less piercing than the call of iron, carried to her sharp ears, and then rising up from the ground, almost lost in the gentle murmur of the stream, was a rumble like distant thunder.
*That sound... I know that sound!* An angry snarl suddenly overtook the frown on her pretty face. Almost before she'd thought about it, one foot placed itself in front of the other and then she was running, a riot of spray flying around her as she pounded downstream along the rocky shallows.
"BOARS!" the town crier bellowed once again before continuing to pound on his bell. "GIT IN YER HOUSES AN' CLIMB THA ROOF! BOARS 'A COMIN'!" Running on sandaled feet, the lean, field-tanned man continued through the town, praying that he'd reach the river in time. The pack would probably turn at the water, or at least slow; hopefully enough for him to get away.
A few others, mostly those who lived on the other side of the river, looked to have had the same idea. Most eschewed the low, rickety bridge; an ox cart laden with bamboo had been abandoned in the middle of it, perhaps in hopes that the boars would divert along the waterline instead of continuing on through the other side of town. Instead, people splashed and waded through the waist-high waters, making slow progress. Midway was probably far enough. The pigs wouldn't go out farther no matter now riled they got.
For some, however, safety wasn't quite close enough. Turning only when the water swirled around his ankles, the crier could see a few farmers still running ahead of the dust cloud that rose along the western road. Shading his eyes, he could pick out individual boars as the huge pack thundered towards the town like a wave of living earth. One man fell just outside the line of houses that marked the edge of the village. The crier looked away; the unfortunate farmer would never have time to get to shelter before the beasts were upon him.
His gaze diverted, he barely caught sight of a sun-streaked blur as it burst from the water a little upstream, a plume of spray rising behind it like the tail of a comet. Bouncing from roof to roof almost too fast to follow, weaving a rainbow trail of water droplets in the air, it finally fell to earth between the downed man and the leading edge of the pack. He thought he glimpsed a billowing swirl of white and a flicker of gold as the wall of brown bodies crashed upon them.
Almost immediately the grunts and squeals of outrage seemed to change in tenor. Then, before his unbelieving eyes the carpet of raging swine seemed to explode outward from that point, dark forms flung in every direction by a great geyser of stone. Their wild charge broken, the confused animals that hadn't caught the brunt of the blast backed away warily, now circling the small patch of contested ground in their midst.
It was a girl! As impossible as it seemed, it was the form of a young girl, surely no older than his own daughter, that stood protectively before the prone and frightened farmer. Draped across her frame were the dirty tatters of perhaps a once regal robe; the bright silk shroud swirled around her like a flame, curling and twisting in possibly the most terrifying aura he had ever seen. Not felt- he could actually see the thin green glow rolling off of her exposed fists as she stared down the boars! Most striking, though, was the flash of gold he had seen before, not part of her robes but actually a thick shock of blonde hair, crowning her head and framing her face like a halo of sunlight.
The girl, if she truly was such a base creature of this earth and not a vision or a spirit of some sort, tensed, seeming to gauge the agitation of the boars that surrounded her. In a single motion she scooped up the farmer by the back of his shirt and hurled him high over the sea of frothing beasts. The crier was too stunned to flinch away as the man somehow cleared the entire half of the town that huddled against the river's west bank, flying over his head to land with an enormous splash in the deeper waters behind him.
Just then, as if acting on some strategy beyond the ken of mere animals, three large males burst from the lines, attacking from three directions at once. One was batted to the side with ease, and another avoided. The third came in head low, aiming to take the girl's feet out from under her. It was met by a flickering of white silk, the shredded sleeve of the girl's robe sweeping across its back and leaving a bloody gash before deflecting the beast aside. Then, as if forgetting her remaining opponents, the golden-haired girl paused and set her feet, lowering her arms to her sides and facing the ground, eyes closed. A fourth boar was caught in the midst of a leap for the girl's exposed back when the street around her erupted in a pillar of blinding light.
As the old woman carefully shut the door behind them, blocking the awed and fearful gazes of the villagers clustered outside, the blond girl took a look around the inside of the house. A few of the farmers had found the courage to approach her, or at least leave their houses, once the boars had been dealt with. She'd scratched the word for 'medicine' in the dirt, hoping that someone would be able to read it; the dialects in this region were just so much gibberish to her ears, and apparently none of them spoke Mandarin or Cantonese.
In fact, it almost seemed too much to ask that any of them might be literate. It had been a terrible relief when this old woman had approached, visibly unfazed by the wide crater that the girl stood in or the dead or unconscious boars that littered the ground around them, and beckoned her to follow. The other witnesses had trailed at a respectful distance as they walked down the beaten earth road, crossed the bridge, and entered a weathered hovel at the far edge of the village.
It appeared her message had been well received; the smell of spices almost choked the musty air within the small house, and clay jars of various sizes lined several rows of shelves. An ancient, beaten-iron kettle sat upon a cold brazier in a far corner of the room, next to the darkened portal that led deeper into the house. Here and there, an acupressure chart or other medical document resided on the stained walls, and a pile of books, worn but not dusty, sat upon a long counter that could double as an examination bench. Beside them rested a dog-eared sheaf of notes, held in place by a heavy stone mortar and pestle that were lightly flecked with some grayish-green powder.
Resting her aged frame in a comfortable looking chair that she pulled out from the round table that occupied the center of the room, the woman gestured for the girl to the do the same. When they were both settled, she began to speak in the tongue that the villagers used. Noting the look of incomprehension that her guest wore, she tried a few other dialects, each again met with failure, before finally reaching into a wicker box on one shelf and extracting a sheet of thin white paper. A wiry brush and ink pot were produced next, and she scribbled something in quick, neat hand, before passing the page and the writing utensil across the table to the other girl.
'You have our thanks, stranger. Have you eaten?'
The girl glanced over the simple greeting, pleasantly surprised by the ease of the old woman's manner. Taking the brush in hand, she fashioned her response. 'I have not, but I am more concerned about other things. I am ill.'
'So you sought me. Were you injured in the fight?'
'No, but...' The golden-haired girl paused, mulling over how she could address this topic. Suddenly, she was very glad that they were separated by a language barrier, as she'd never in a million years be able to stand explaining this aloud. '... I am bleeding. I have been bleeding for the last two days, and I have pains.'
'Bleeding? Where?' To the old woman's trained eye, the young warrior didn't move as though she was walking with any wounds that might be serious enough to arouse worry.
The girl's reply was a rushed, messy scribble. Strain and mortification vied for dominance on her flushed face as she passed the paper back again. 'From down _there_.'
'Is it not your time?' The apothecary penned carefully, now considering how best to examine this outwardly healthy looking girl, almost a woman really, for the more subtle symptoms of various ailments.
'Time? For what?'
The eye of the sun was just peeking above the tree line as she crested the first rise on the path away from the village. She was glad to be on the road again; though grateful, the villagers had been overawed to the point of terror by her display, and had run away whenever she approached. Only the village wise woman seemed immune. From the way the stern old gal moved, the girl suspected that she'd practiced the Art in her younger days; she could tell a ki attack from 'divine wrath,' or whatever the others thought she'd done.
The girl had spent the night at the old woman's house after an exhaustive, and difficult, explanation on the nature of her 'illness.' *Ugh... I can't believe girls have to go though... _that_, every month.* She could still barely stand to think about it. Aside from advice, the woman had given her some herbs to chew on that helped to alleviate some of the cramping, though she'd suggested that it was at least partially stress. *Imagine that...*
Shifting uncomfortably at the memory, the girl's hand moved to nervously finger the strap of the rucksack slung over her shoulder. Though she'd protested that there was no need, the old woman had later made rounds through the village to collect some traveling supplies for her. She'd been given enough food and water for several days, a few fresh sets of clothing, and some other essentials. Compared to the silken caress of the robes she'd been wearing, the rough cotton of the simple tunic and trousers she'd donned that morning felt almost like returning home after a long journey; it brought a small, hopeless smile to her face.
The wise woman had said that Nichiejuu, the village of the Amazons, was less than two days travel down the road. She would go there first, if she could. *Shampoo's great grandmother always was full of useful information about this kind of stuff; maybe they'll know something about it...* Pausing in her purposeful stride, she turned to look up and back at the fog-shrouded heights of the mountains that surrounded the valley. Somewhere up there, her answer might lie... *No.* She shook her head angrily. *I'm not going back. I'd never be able to find it again, anyhow.*
As she was about to start walking again, a faint rustle in the brush to one side of the road alerted her to the presence of someone sneaking up behind her. Setting herself into a guarded stance, she glared into the shadows beneath the canopy, emerald green eyes livid with menace. For a few tense moments, she found nothing. Then, glittering in the underbrush, she caught another pair of eyes no less feral than her own. Beyond them she could feel the stares of others upon her, and the shadows moved with restless energy.
The first boar, the one she'd locked gazes with, was a grizzled gray male; it moved with a slight limp as it trundled out onto the road. The others that followed, young and old, were similarly battered, though none so badly that they couldn't run. These few, barely half the number that had charged upon the town in chase of some foolish hunter, were all that remained of the pack. The villagers would be eating salt-pork all winter long, though she'd declined to take any with her; the thought of eating pig made her nauseous.
That didn't mean that she had any compunctions about killing a few more of the foul things, however. Boars were a menace; they were smart enough to hold a grudge but stupid and stubborn enough to not know when to give up. They didn't stick to any particular territory for very long either, so even if you ran they tended to come for payback when you least expected it. If these ones wanted revenge, she'd be almost happy to redefine the term 'vindictive' for them. A cruel smile stretched across her lips, baring a set of fangs almost as sharp as the cutting tusks of the old boar; she _really_ hated pigs.
For several seconds nothing moved; the boars met her baleful glare with an unreadable, almost eerie silence. Then, in a motion of nearly obscene incongruity, the hulking gray battle wagon of a pig folded his trotters under his body and knelt on the ground, head low, emitting a quiet grunt of acquiescence. Like a release of tension rippling though the crowd, the other boars turned away and began to wander about unconcernedly, scraping the ground for forage or lying in the shade beside the road.
*Huh??* Still holding herself ready to strike out in any direction, the girl glanced around at the boars, a look of irritated incomprehension stamped on her face. She only relaxed her stance slightly after almost two minutes without any sign of renewed hostility. Even then, narrowed eyes continued to watch the animals guardedly. Backing a few meters away from the quiescent pack, not much leeway for any normal person but plenty of room for her to react if necessary, she hesitantly returned her eyes to the road before her. *What the hell was that all about?*
She only got a couple steps before a bustle of motion behind her made her turn. The pigs weren't milling aimlessly anymore. Two score of beady little eyes regarded her retreating back, but she could detect no malice; only... anticipation? Still looking over her shoulder, she took a few experimental strides. The pigs advanced by about the same distance, some getting ahead of the others and a few lagging behind.
It took almost every shred of self-control she had to keep from losing it right there. She already despised them, and it would be so easy to vent all of her pent-up anger and frustration on the stupid things. She was sure she'd feel much better afterward; maybe even the cramps would go away...
But that wasn't how an honorable warrior would behave. She'd already defeated them, and they weren't _really_ menacing her at the moment, so it was with great reluctance that she faced forward and began walking again, a bit faster than before. She thought of shooing them away, but pigs could be unpredictable and fast to aggression, and she was trying so _hard_ to do the right thing. *Gods, what did I do to deserve this?*
She tried vainly to block their presence from her mind. She quickened her pace, unblinking stare fixed forward; unnoticed, one eyebrow began to twitch spasmodically. Behind her, the quiet rumble of many animals moving at an unhurried pace changed to the tune of 80+ hooves striking a dusty road at a swift trot. Telling herself that she wasn't running away, just making the most of the daylight while it lasted, she leaned forward into a brisk jog, barely noticing as the ground turned uneven under her feet; densely packed jungle posed no obstacle for her. It was the damn pigs' own fault if they couldn't keep up.
*Why does it always have to be _PIGS_?!* she didn't ask, for she already knew the answer. The entire world hated Hibiki Ryouga. Man, nature, and even the gods themselves delighted in tormenting her at every turn. And especially the pigs...
Queen of Pigs
A Ranma 1/2 Fanfiction...
[Author's Notes: Heh, as if anyone couldn't guess who it was from the first paragraph... or even from the disclaimer, if anyone out there remembers me ^_^;. At any rate, this is sort of an experimental fic, to try out FanFiction.net and to see if i remember how to write. If it works out, i might start posting some of my older stuff on here... which i _haven't_ abandoned yet! Either way, thanks for reading! Please drop me a line and please C&C... or R&R, or whatever it's called around here...
~Eimii
Omake! Eimii's Educational Corner (or, 'What The Heck Was THAT All About?!'): The separate regional dialects of Chinese are oftentimes so different from each other that they might as well be completely different languages. Despite this, however, they do share a (largely) unified writing system. In some of the standard dialects, at least, the phrase 'Have you eaten yet?' is a common greeting.]
~Eimii]
Prologue: Learning the steps...
"OW! Oh crap!"
Stumbling when her foot found an unseen hollow in the silty riverbed, the young girl's eyes widened fearfully as the shimmering surface of the water rushed up to meet her. Frantically windmilling her arms, she bent her knees and stuck out her rear, trying to find her balance. Bunches of multi-colored fabric, before clutched carefully above water level, splashed around her legs, their damp weight dragging at her in the lazy current.
At the time, crossing the shallow stream had seemed like a good idea. She hadn't seen it before, as far as she could recall, so it meant that she hadn't been running in circles all night through the dense, dark forest that covered the valley floor. Now, hefting the hem of her sodden robe out of the water to wring it between her hands, she cursed her decision. She should have just followed the river; surely there'd be a town or something along it at some point.
The frown on her lips deepened as she stretched the cream and lavender folds of silk between her hands, noticing how a pink stain had spread from the thin vein of deeper red that trailed from above. A dull twinge of pain, momentarily forgotten in her panic, intruded again on her senses. At least she wasn't bleeding much, it seemed. *Gods, please let there be a village nearby...*
As if in answer to her unspoken prayer, the booming peal of an iron bell split the air. It couldn't be more than perhaps a kilometer down river, probably less. A small smile of relief started to crack across the stony mask of long hardship that she wore, but the moment was short-lived. The trilling of the bell continued; now she could hear a hint of urgency in its cry. The whisper of shouts on the wind, less piercing than the call of iron, carried to her sharp ears, and then rising up from the ground, almost lost in the gentle murmur of the stream, was a rumble like distant thunder.
*That sound... I know that sound!* An angry snarl suddenly overtook the frown on her pretty face. Almost before she'd thought about it, one foot placed itself in front of the other and then she was running, a riot of spray flying around her as she pounded downstream along the rocky shallows.
"BOARS!" the town crier bellowed once again before continuing to pound on his bell. "GIT IN YER HOUSES AN' CLIMB THA ROOF! BOARS 'A COMIN'!" Running on sandaled feet, the lean, field-tanned man continued through the town, praying that he'd reach the river in time. The pack would probably turn at the water, or at least slow; hopefully enough for him to get away.
A few others, mostly those who lived on the other side of the river, looked to have had the same idea. Most eschewed the low, rickety bridge; an ox cart laden with bamboo had been abandoned in the middle of it, perhaps in hopes that the boars would divert along the waterline instead of continuing on through the other side of town. Instead, people splashed and waded through the waist-high waters, making slow progress. Midway was probably far enough. The pigs wouldn't go out farther no matter now riled they got.
For some, however, safety wasn't quite close enough. Turning only when the water swirled around his ankles, the crier could see a few farmers still running ahead of the dust cloud that rose along the western road. Shading his eyes, he could pick out individual boars as the huge pack thundered towards the town like a wave of living earth. One man fell just outside the line of houses that marked the edge of the village. The crier looked away; the unfortunate farmer would never have time to get to shelter before the beasts were upon him.
His gaze diverted, he barely caught sight of a sun-streaked blur as it burst from the water a little upstream, a plume of spray rising behind it like the tail of a comet. Bouncing from roof to roof almost too fast to follow, weaving a rainbow trail of water droplets in the air, it finally fell to earth between the downed man and the leading edge of the pack. He thought he glimpsed a billowing swirl of white and a flicker of gold as the wall of brown bodies crashed upon them.
Almost immediately the grunts and squeals of outrage seemed to change in tenor. Then, before his unbelieving eyes the carpet of raging swine seemed to explode outward from that point, dark forms flung in every direction by a great geyser of stone. Their wild charge broken, the confused animals that hadn't caught the brunt of the blast backed away warily, now circling the small patch of contested ground in their midst.
It was a girl! As impossible as it seemed, it was the form of a young girl, surely no older than his own daughter, that stood protectively before the prone and frightened farmer. Draped across her frame were the dirty tatters of perhaps a once regal robe; the bright silk shroud swirled around her like a flame, curling and twisting in possibly the most terrifying aura he had ever seen. Not felt- he could actually see the thin green glow rolling off of her exposed fists as she stared down the boars! Most striking, though, was the flash of gold he had seen before, not part of her robes but actually a thick shock of blonde hair, crowning her head and framing her face like a halo of sunlight.
The girl, if she truly was such a base creature of this earth and not a vision or a spirit of some sort, tensed, seeming to gauge the agitation of the boars that surrounded her. In a single motion she scooped up the farmer by the back of his shirt and hurled him high over the sea of frothing beasts. The crier was too stunned to flinch away as the man somehow cleared the entire half of the town that huddled against the river's west bank, flying over his head to land with an enormous splash in the deeper waters behind him.
Just then, as if acting on some strategy beyond the ken of mere animals, three large males burst from the lines, attacking from three directions at once. One was batted to the side with ease, and another avoided. The third came in head low, aiming to take the girl's feet out from under her. It was met by a flickering of white silk, the shredded sleeve of the girl's robe sweeping across its back and leaving a bloody gash before deflecting the beast aside. Then, as if forgetting her remaining opponents, the golden-haired girl paused and set her feet, lowering her arms to her sides and facing the ground, eyes closed. A fourth boar was caught in the midst of a leap for the girl's exposed back when the street around her erupted in a pillar of blinding light.
As the old woman carefully shut the door behind them, blocking the awed and fearful gazes of the villagers clustered outside, the blond girl took a look around the inside of the house. A few of the farmers had found the courage to approach her, or at least leave their houses, once the boars had been dealt with. She'd scratched the word for 'medicine' in the dirt, hoping that someone would be able to read it; the dialects in this region were just so much gibberish to her ears, and apparently none of them spoke Mandarin or Cantonese.
In fact, it almost seemed too much to ask that any of them might be literate. It had been a terrible relief when this old woman had approached, visibly unfazed by the wide crater that the girl stood in or the dead or unconscious boars that littered the ground around them, and beckoned her to follow. The other witnesses had trailed at a respectful distance as they walked down the beaten earth road, crossed the bridge, and entered a weathered hovel at the far edge of the village.
It appeared her message had been well received; the smell of spices almost choked the musty air within the small house, and clay jars of various sizes lined several rows of shelves. An ancient, beaten-iron kettle sat upon a cold brazier in a far corner of the room, next to the darkened portal that led deeper into the house. Here and there, an acupressure chart or other medical document resided on the stained walls, and a pile of books, worn but not dusty, sat upon a long counter that could double as an examination bench. Beside them rested a dog-eared sheaf of notes, held in place by a heavy stone mortar and pestle that were lightly flecked with some grayish-green powder.
Resting her aged frame in a comfortable looking chair that she pulled out from the round table that occupied the center of the room, the woman gestured for the girl to the do the same. When they were both settled, she began to speak in the tongue that the villagers used. Noting the look of incomprehension that her guest wore, she tried a few other dialects, each again met with failure, before finally reaching into a wicker box on one shelf and extracting a sheet of thin white paper. A wiry brush and ink pot were produced next, and she scribbled something in quick, neat hand, before passing the page and the writing utensil across the table to the other girl.
'You have our thanks, stranger. Have you eaten?'
The girl glanced over the simple greeting, pleasantly surprised by the ease of the old woman's manner. Taking the brush in hand, she fashioned her response. 'I have not, but I am more concerned about other things. I am ill.'
'So you sought me. Were you injured in the fight?'
'No, but...' The golden-haired girl paused, mulling over how she could address this topic. Suddenly, she was very glad that they were separated by a language barrier, as she'd never in a million years be able to stand explaining this aloud. '... I am bleeding. I have been bleeding for the last two days, and I have pains.'
'Bleeding? Where?' To the old woman's trained eye, the young warrior didn't move as though she was walking with any wounds that might be serious enough to arouse worry.
The girl's reply was a rushed, messy scribble. Strain and mortification vied for dominance on her flushed face as she passed the paper back again. 'From down _there_.'
'Is it not your time?' The apothecary penned carefully, now considering how best to examine this outwardly healthy looking girl, almost a woman really, for the more subtle symptoms of various ailments.
'Time? For what?'
The eye of the sun was just peeking above the tree line as she crested the first rise on the path away from the village. She was glad to be on the road again; though grateful, the villagers had been overawed to the point of terror by her display, and had run away whenever she approached. Only the village wise woman seemed immune. From the way the stern old gal moved, the girl suspected that she'd practiced the Art in her younger days; she could tell a ki attack from 'divine wrath,' or whatever the others thought she'd done.
The girl had spent the night at the old woman's house after an exhaustive, and difficult, explanation on the nature of her 'illness.' *Ugh... I can't believe girls have to go though... _that_, every month.* She could still barely stand to think about it. Aside from advice, the woman had given her some herbs to chew on that helped to alleviate some of the cramping, though she'd suggested that it was at least partially stress. *Imagine that...*
Shifting uncomfortably at the memory, the girl's hand moved to nervously finger the strap of the rucksack slung over her shoulder. Though she'd protested that there was no need, the old woman had later made rounds through the village to collect some traveling supplies for her. She'd been given enough food and water for several days, a few fresh sets of clothing, and some other essentials. Compared to the silken caress of the robes she'd been wearing, the rough cotton of the simple tunic and trousers she'd donned that morning felt almost like returning home after a long journey; it brought a small, hopeless smile to her face.
The wise woman had said that Nichiejuu, the village of the Amazons, was less than two days travel down the road. She would go there first, if she could. *Shampoo's great grandmother always was full of useful information about this kind of stuff; maybe they'll know something about it...* Pausing in her purposeful stride, she turned to look up and back at the fog-shrouded heights of the mountains that surrounded the valley. Somewhere up there, her answer might lie... *No.* She shook her head angrily. *I'm not going back. I'd never be able to find it again, anyhow.*
As she was about to start walking again, a faint rustle in the brush to one side of the road alerted her to the presence of someone sneaking up behind her. Setting herself into a guarded stance, she glared into the shadows beneath the canopy, emerald green eyes livid with menace. For a few tense moments, she found nothing. Then, glittering in the underbrush, she caught another pair of eyes no less feral than her own. Beyond them she could feel the stares of others upon her, and the shadows moved with restless energy.
The first boar, the one she'd locked gazes with, was a grizzled gray male; it moved with a slight limp as it trundled out onto the road. The others that followed, young and old, were similarly battered, though none so badly that they couldn't run. These few, barely half the number that had charged upon the town in chase of some foolish hunter, were all that remained of the pack. The villagers would be eating salt-pork all winter long, though she'd declined to take any with her; the thought of eating pig made her nauseous.
That didn't mean that she had any compunctions about killing a few more of the foul things, however. Boars were a menace; they were smart enough to hold a grudge but stupid and stubborn enough to not know when to give up. They didn't stick to any particular territory for very long either, so even if you ran they tended to come for payback when you least expected it. If these ones wanted revenge, she'd be almost happy to redefine the term 'vindictive' for them. A cruel smile stretched across her lips, baring a set of fangs almost as sharp as the cutting tusks of the old boar; she _really_ hated pigs.
For several seconds nothing moved; the boars met her baleful glare with an unreadable, almost eerie silence. Then, in a motion of nearly obscene incongruity, the hulking gray battle wagon of a pig folded his trotters under his body and knelt on the ground, head low, emitting a quiet grunt of acquiescence. Like a release of tension rippling though the crowd, the other boars turned away and began to wander about unconcernedly, scraping the ground for forage or lying in the shade beside the road.
*Huh??* Still holding herself ready to strike out in any direction, the girl glanced around at the boars, a look of irritated incomprehension stamped on her face. She only relaxed her stance slightly after almost two minutes without any sign of renewed hostility. Even then, narrowed eyes continued to watch the animals guardedly. Backing a few meters away from the quiescent pack, not much leeway for any normal person but plenty of room for her to react if necessary, she hesitantly returned her eyes to the road before her. *What the hell was that all about?*
She only got a couple steps before a bustle of motion behind her made her turn. The pigs weren't milling aimlessly anymore. Two score of beady little eyes regarded her retreating back, but she could detect no malice; only... anticipation? Still looking over her shoulder, she took a few experimental strides. The pigs advanced by about the same distance, some getting ahead of the others and a few lagging behind.
It took almost every shred of self-control she had to keep from losing it right there. She already despised them, and it would be so easy to vent all of her pent-up anger and frustration on the stupid things. She was sure she'd feel much better afterward; maybe even the cramps would go away...
But that wasn't how an honorable warrior would behave. She'd already defeated them, and they weren't _really_ menacing her at the moment, so it was with great reluctance that she faced forward and began walking again, a bit faster than before. She thought of shooing them away, but pigs could be unpredictable and fast to aggression, and she was trying so _hard_ to do the right thing. *Gods, what did I do to deserve this?*
She tried vainly to block their presence from her mind. She quickened her pace, unblinking stare fixed forward; unnoticed, one eyebrow began to twitch spasmodically. Behind her, the quiet rumble of many animals moving at an unhurried pace changed to the tune of 80+ hooves striking a dusty road at a swift trot. Telling herself that she wasn't running away, just making the most of the daylight while it lasted, she leaned forward into a brisk jog, barely noticing as the ground turned uneven under her feet; densely packed jungle posed no obstacle for her. It was the damn pigs' own fault if they couldn't keep up.
*Why does it always have to be _PIGS_?!* she didn't ask, for she already knew the answer. The entire world hated Hibiki Ryouga. Man, nature, and even the gods themselves delighted in tormenting her at every turn. And especially the pigs...
Queen of Pigs
A Ranma 1/2 Fanfiction...
[Author's Notes: Heh, as if anyone couldn't guess who it was from the first paragraph... or even from the disclaimer, if anyone out there remembers me ^_^;. At any rate, this is sort of an experimental fic, to try out FanFiction.net and to see if i remember how to write. If it works out, i might start posting some of my older stuff on here... which i _haven't_ abandoned yet! Either way, thanks for reading! Please drop me a line and please C&C... or R&R, or whatever it's called around here...
~Eimii
Omake! Eimii's Educational Corner (or, 'What The Heck Was THAT All About?!'): The separate regional dialects of Chinese are oftentimes so different from each other that they might as well be completely different languages. Despite this, however, they do share a (largely) unified writing system. In some of the standard dialects, at least, the phrase 'Have you eaten yet?' is a common greeting.]