------------------------------------------------------------------------- * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction * ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Switch: Herbs and Spices (Chapter 18 / 22) by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please do remember that Ranma 1/2 is a trademark and a copyright of and by some big name people and companies I am not even worthy to introduce. Anybody who says that I took any of their stuff better not find me hiding. Also, great thanks to whoever reads this and likes it, good thanks to whoever reads it anyhow, and teeny-weeny thanks to whoever else even saw this. The seeds of the righteous... never mind. It's Day 3. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Parental Guidance Genma Saotome woke up with a start. His head rang slightly, and he forced himself to stay still. He took in the surroundings, and found them strikingly familiar. The bed, the ceiling, the sheets, the weight on his chest... Check that last thought. He shifted a little to the closer edge of the bed to find his estranged wife snuggling into his arm, her head on his torso. He used his left hand to run his fingers through her curls; the right had yet to wake up. He had the strangest feeling that he had missed a very, very interesting night. He was sure it was one of over three thousand five hundred nights that he had already missed. The ninja tiptoed past the room, hoping to hear a sign - any sign - of the miscreant bodypainters that had used the entirety of the walls and ceilings of the sprawling grounds of the Kuno estate. It was highly likely - especially since he was the main and the only regular servant - that he would have to personally repaint the rooms, but he had to make sure that, in fact, it was not the Kuno mistress to took the steps to refurbish the entire color scheme. He snuck into Tatewaki Kuno's bedchambers. The bed was making very interesting gyrations and undulations. "A-HA! GOTCHA!" Immediately, he sprung one of the ready-made traps - the edges of the bedsheets were pulled up along the corners of the room, and met in the middle of the ceiling, suspending the suspects. - which made absolutely no effect on the variety and frequency of movement in the now-colorfully painted covers. "Come quietly, hooligans and vandals!" Sasuke shouted. "Er... hooligans... vandals?" Remembering that the young Kuno master had, in fact, acquired a most potent love potion, and that it was his bed... he made a hasty retreat, hoping to find a proper cover-up for this one. Coast is clear. The blur quickly crossed the hallway, opened the door, entered and shut it. Not willing to risk it, the inner door opened and Gosunkugi jumped into the bath, clothes and everything. "I'm a man!" He made sure, and felt his chest up, beating it to emphasize. "I AM A *MAN*!" Then his jaw dropped. Mrs. Gosunkugi was not amused as she stared back at him. Better have a talk with my husband on what he's been teaching Hikaru about manliness... It is a well-accepted fact of nature that, in Nerima, men are actually considered a commodity. Young males are grown for the express purpose of exportation, after eighteen years of mental and physical preparation, all done in collaboration with the district school superintendent's office. After the required twelve years of formal and informal schooling, with a large helping of physical education (and short gym shorts) and constant domineering female presence, young men usually decide to seek less overpowering partners from elsewhere. Breeding males are usually imported from outside the district, and chosen for their physical skills - more than 60% of each male generation is composed of martial artists in some form or another, the others mostly cooks and laborers. They are usually acquired through the other half of the breeding project - the women are bred to be bold, beautiful and entirely unaware of their purpose in the project. All, that is, except for one. "Hikaru," Mr. Gosunkugi once told his son and heir, "to truly be a man." "Yes, dad?" "Never mind." He looked at his son who was playing with the videocam, and shook his head - he already had his own ideas on manhood. A pet? Ryoga watched Ukyo's aura dance around her seated figure, pink tendrils in flux around her. A pet? He felt the dark spirits fly around his blind spots, behind him. His lids started to feel heavy, and a wave of nausea was starting from the pit of his stomach. A pet...? Was that the smile he saw all this time? Was that the sparkle that he thought she had in her eye? Was that why she didn't mind him being the pig - BECAUSE SHE ALREADY KNEW? A *pet*! She wanted HIM to be HER *PET*! Her PLAYTHING! H-Her LOVE SLAVE! "Argh!" Before she could stop him, he had jumped behind the couch, clutching his clothes in his teeth. The morning sun peeked from behind the cloak of night. "Is it okay to come out now?" it asked the moon, who had started to make his rounds. "Whatever," the moon said coolly. The moon consulted briefly with the positions of his fellow night-skyfarers. "Looks like a jumbled-up day today, though." "Usually does, here," the sun nodded, and started scorching the dawn to morn. Below, the first rays started to stretch above the earthen walls surrounding the Tendo estate, reaching for the dirt and the grass within. It sunned the walkway to the dojo with relative ease, and slowly shook the lazy molecules of air into the excitement that summer gave with the atmosphere, perhaps readying them into a sudden breakout of rain. Although the room wasn't in the direct path of radiation, Mousse woke in the lower guestroom. He couldn't, he knew, have been able to soak through his tunic with sweat, but he easily imagined it. He sat up and wiped his brow, as the stale air caressed his face with a rough palm. "Mother..." he whispered, also knowing that he had left her in the Amazon village. "I'm... sorry. I'm sorry, but I can't go home." He heard the door slide behind him, making him turn quickly in place. With anyone else, this would have been okay. With Mousse, this just meant that yet another pair of glasses was flung from their location (which was just beside him) to somewhere else (which just so happened to be to the corner of the room). "Oh, you're awake, huh?" "K-Kasumi?" She sounded a bit to the right. Mousse turned slightly until he could find a silhouette, then bowed deeply. "Thank you for having me over." "Well, since Grandfather isn't here, it's okay..." Mousse pulled up. "Your Grandfather sleeps here?" He squinted quizzically. "Kasumi?" He turned, a futile effort to locate her. "Kasumi? Where are you?" Kasumi masked giggles with a hand, and walked around the room, almost tripping on Mousse's bottle-bottoms. "Oh? What are these, hmm?" "Kasumi?" Mousse could barely make out her specter, but other than noting that she looked, well, shorter, he couldn't have been able to tell that the nightgown she was wearing was barely on her shoulders - he would have probably had an eyeful of back, had he an eye to see with. She fixed the thick frame over her ears, and peered from behind half-inch lenses. "It makes me so dizzy..." And with that, she fell backward. "Hey!" Mousse caught the falling Tendo as she fell back into his arms. By sheer luck, the glasses had fallen onto his face, through which he looked at the figure in his arms. A twelvish Kasumi Tendo giggled, and pushed the glasses to his forehead. "You look cuter without them," she explained. Happosai sat up. "What, morning already?" Counting exactly three hours (an extra hour, since he hadn't slept since the day before yesterday), the old pervert readied his squirt guns and sailed through the air, away from the Tendo household, with the greatest of ease. Nabiki watched as Soun propped himself up with a wedding. At least, the wedding preparations. From behind the stage (a bit of flooring which easily slips away into music studio portion of the dojo), Soun pulled out streamers, pink and white, and congratulatory flower-stands he blew the dust out of - with an appraising glance, she noted that the roses and orchids were made of reusable plastics and cloths. Something was off with his step, though. A hesitation, a very keen sense of not-wanting to continue. Maybe it was because his dear friend wasn't here, at the penultimate moment of their families' joining (who had most likely jumped at the chance to escape duty - although he'd never been absent when this particular event seemed even remotely possible). Maybe it was because he was anticipating trouble, even knew it was coming. Maybe he was wishing Mom was here. She saw him take out a curiously old wad of paper. Maybe he was afraid of the money... She shook her head. Not today, though. She'd be awake now. Nabiki silently took her leave, making her own preparations. There were, after all, benefits in being a cat. Besides the increased mobility, there's also the heightened senses - both very useful when tracking prey. She could smell him: the cold, diluted sweat; the unmistakable musk of him (especially since he hadn't had a bath in one and a half days); was that a turkey sandwich on rye?; there was also an alien smell - discomfiture? She could imagine him, not used to sleeping at someone else's house - no, no, wait... yes, now she was certain. It was the scent of a woman. She bristled at the very thought of it. Sure, he was angry at her, but how could he just go and sleep with some other woman?! MEN! With a snarl, Shampoo jumped into the now closed dojo window. "Again! Will the Fates forever be jealous of my love, fair and true, to find its ultimate fulfillment so disagreeable? Must they cast from their heavens bitter glances and hardwood boards upon my person?" Kuno removed his family's sign sticking out from a niche in his skull, and considered his especially important cargo. Despite the fact that the ramen had gotten cold and slightly dusty, it had gone unscathed. "Soon, soon, my love..." He took faster steps into the estate. Cologne slept soundly for the next few minutes. No details are available. The first thoughts after waking are often the ones that determine the attitude of the person for the morning and, by domino effect, most of the day. Paint the picture then: you are a middle-aged woman. You married a nomadic, easy-go-lucky martial artist to get away from rich, overbearing, traditionalist parents. You live a few years of relatively poor and obscure married life. You bear a child with him, after six years of which, they leave you. In ten years of waiting, letters, paranoia, on-and-off depression, it hits you - mid-life crisis. Your life hinges on the return of your family - a payment in full of past promises. Just the day before, you meet with someone who has seen your family. He tells you the reason why you have never seen your family, and why you never will. Your son, the little boy you loved more than you ever could if he were on your bosom now, has been sold into a Chinese slave market. Your husband had been living off of the triad money, had several affairs, only one of which has bred a daughter, who he and his friend Soun Tendo has been passing off as a relation, Ranko Tendo. You almost kill an innocent child, in blind rage. You wake up. A soft hand struggled unfamiliarly with the curls, pulling softly as though unsurely smoothing them straight. She lifted her head to see the barefaced child staring intently at his hand, eyes watery and lip slightly puckered, quietly shaking. Genma traced just above her jaw, along the side of her face, but when his small fingers caressed the tell-tale pallor of her cheek and the forgotten depths of smile at the side of her mouth, he could only close his eyes and pull away, unable to completely stop his tears from flowing down unlined skin. "Oh! I'm sorry!" Nodoka sat up, giving the child's body some leeway as she pushed off the bed. "Where does it hurt?" Genma peered at her through his slightly puffy eyes. His throat felt dry and hot - he tempted himself to speak. No - he moaned, and put his hand over his heart. "There?" she asked, taking the blanket aside. He was wearing one of Ranma's old t-shirts - she thought that he was about his age when he was... she raised the shirt a little and felt his ribs. "Here?" Genma shook his head and took her hand - it looked large in his. She felt the clamminess of his palm and the rapid, frenzied pace of his beating pulse. "You've still got a fever..." She tried to pull away, but he held her fast, with much more force than she would have expected. She shot him a berating look, with which he locked gazes with her. "Please..." His lips were still quivering. She wanted to go - she had to catch her husband at the Tendos. She knew that time was of the essence - she did not want to lose her resolve, not when the honor of her family was in question. With a deliberately slow motion, Nodoka lay her head down on Genma's chest, letting out a long sigh. "Wakey-wakey..." Nabiki put her hands to her waist and blew through thinned lips. The kitchen was clean - too clean. She closed the door and took a few steps before she heard Kasumi shriek. "NO!" This wasn't going very well. Ukyo jumped over the couch, but she couldn't place where Ryoga went. "Wait! Come back! RYOGA!" She didn't even feel her legs give way as she sagged against the back of the sofa. "What's wrong with me...?" She desperately hugged her legs to close her leaky eyes. "Why do they keep running away?" She swallowed the frog she had in her throat in a painful gulp that made her breathe heavily and uneasily. The throbbing of her tiring heart pounded at her ribs, begging for release, for solace. She started to shake, a spasm brought about by frustration and loss and dejection. Then, finally, the hiccuping started. It came through the hyperventilation, causing her to cough badly. The second caused her to squinch her eyes, and by the fourth, she was on her side, curled up in a fetal position. Ukyo felt it all: the tightening in her chest, the burning tears on her cheeks, the ribbon on her neck that would be her velvet noose, and the soreness of her limbs victim to the attack from within. In her mind, she fought the weakness and the darkness eating away at her resolve and her vision, but her energy was sapped by the body she sought to use with it. Before she finally succumbed, she was sure she felt the strong and muscled arms of death take her in his warm embrace. "What a cute kitty!" Mousse felt Kasumi bound out of his personal space. Cats, eh? He didn't have any problem with them in the broadest sense. Mousse slipped his glasses back to his face to see - Nabiki slammed the door open. "Kasumi!" Mousse better not be trying to make the mov- Shampoo gawked openly. *She* was who Mousse was with? She must be six or seven years younger - what is she doing? Kasumi stared back at the unsure feline from her vantage point - that is, lying down and at about eye-level. She blinked, then smiled openly. "What a pretty kitty..." then she moved to stroke the cat behind its ears. Nabiki took a look at Kasumi, then at Shampoo, then finally at Mousse, who stared back, indicating that he had absolutely no idea what was going on. "Hey, Nabiki," Kasumi asked, "do you think it'd be okay with Father and Akane if we had a cat for a pet?" Nabiki considered Shampoo, who considered her with curiosity, and thought that she had no idea, either. "I'm sure we could ask them later, sis." "Okay," said the now-younger elder sister, who took Shampoo to her chest and petted her. For some reason, Shampoo seemed contented by this - she even purred and presented her neck to Kasumi's ministrations. "Umm, Kasumi," Mousse began. "Kasumi?" Nabiki interjected. "Could you give Mousse the kitty and help me with something?" Kasumi's face was aglow, an effect of the word "help". "Of course, I can, Nabiki-oneechan!" followed by her virtually pitching the hapless feline in Mousse's general direction. "Alley-oop" was all Mousse said as he set the cursed Amazon lightly for the semi-massive cesta volley that lobbed her through the ceiling and... Yuka yawned as she waited for him to come. She hadn't been waiting long, no - the fact was she had just arrived at about eight to eight, just early enough to say she'd been waiting and just a minute before she felt the pangs of sleepiness. With a sluggish arm, she brushed away at the fog with which the morning had lidded her eyes. She breathed in again, deeply through the nose - and smiled. The park in the morning always seemed alive with the buzzing of a thousand dreams: in the bushes, in the chains of the swings, in the dew, in the slides. She had her own dreams, true... and they were goals, too. It was time to make efforts to move towards them. "Five yen for your thoughts?" ["That should be one yen," she didn't say. "A penny for your thoughts, a nickel for your kiss, a dime if you tell me that you love me, remember? It's still a hundred yen to a dollar, right?"] The voice and the hand on her shoulder, light as the contact had been, carried her over the threshold of consciousness. "You're late." "After consultation with my watch, which you know is synchronized (to the second) with the watch at Furinkan High, I am actually one minute early for our eight o'clock appointment." He looked so serious that Yuka couldn't help but giggle. "But you're never less than five minutes early for anything." He sat down on the bench and started to run his fingers through her hair, which she had worn loose today - the action freed the smell of lilacs and honeydew that tickled his senses. "Really? Never noticed." She turned her head to her back, where he sat. "You're teasing." He nodded and nimbly traced the knots in her back as they had begun appearing. "Always, never. Had breakfast yet?" Yuka closed her eyes and wondered if she had any dresses with a wider neckline. She hummed in response. He pulled himself closer along the bench, kneading the knots atop her shoulder blades with the bottoms of his thumbs, his arms folding at the elbows near the small of her back. She wasn't even beginning to relax - he felt his gut tightening with each shuddering breath she would take, or skip. She could sense his hesitation, his uncertainty, the unasked question in waveform. She bent her neck slightly forward and pulled her hair up into a small unobstructive bun. She could sense him shooting questioning glances around. Only the buzzing answered him, an aura of curiosity and wonderment - would he chase this dream before him? After a moment, he placed his clammy palms on either side of her neck, at its junction with her shoulders. She ignored the chill, and smiled - so he wasn't as smooth and as suave as he wanted. He massaged the base, deep and to the sides, but too lightly and too weakly to provide any real therapy. "No, like this." She took his hands in hers, much like the straps of a schoolbag. He clasped them loosely at first, then gingerly, taking the warmth gladly. Holding her breath, she pulled his arms forward and herself backward, giving him all the feeling of her melting in his embrace. "Thanks," she purred into his neck, "I'm so relaxed now." She grinned, a small grin, as he tugged at the collar of his shirt. "That would be... ironic." She feigned inattention, playing with the digits in her grasp on her lap. "I guess you would be tense, since you're so comfortable being 'just friends'." "No, it's not that." He nudged her with his arm, as though in reassurance. "It's not that at all." "Is it... him?" she wanted to know. "You know it's over between us already." She let go of his hands and turned slightly, grabbing hold of the back of the bench. "He's not gonna try and get me back, if that's what you're thinking." And not because it was you. "Nope." He looked her in the eye and shook his head emphatically. "I'm sure he won't." "Then why, Daisuke?" She pulled herself up, a motion ending with her sitting on his lap. "Tell me why we have to keep this from Akane and the others." Daisuke didn't look like he wanted to get into an argument just then. "It's not Akane, or Ranma, that I'm worried about." Yuka prettily blew air out through her pouting lips. "We've been trying to get them together for more than two years now. Sayuri's been holding out for the longest time now, but I don't see why. Your friend's never shown any kind of interest in her." He recognized that tone of voice. "What did Hiroshi try to pull on you now?" Her eyes traced the agonizingly slow path of the tip of her forefinger, much like the blade of an axe, as it landed on, bounced off of and landed again on his nose. "Nothing." "Nothing?" He blinked - this was far worse. "Then...?" She softened - she even curled into an almost grin. "It's just that," and here she lost all trace of mirth, "it seemed he had a greater interest in me than you did." "Yuka..." he started pathetically. "Don't" was sharp. "Don't 'Yuka' me, Daisuke." He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and swayed them. "Yuka..." he said into the flesh of her arm, not quite kissing it, but caressing it nonetheless. She frowned. He mumbled. She bit the frog - and broke into peals of demure, uncontrollable laughter. "No fair!" He stopped, point made. The sound of walking souls, waking to the new day, was all and none around them. Yuka could not bear the silence, or the way that Daisuke had seemed to stop, hovering just over what she was now sure to be an erogenous zone. "Well?" "Mai gmes-" She whapped him. "Don't do that!" Daisuke extracted his face from her arm. "Sorry." Don't be. "You were saying?" Instead of answering immediately, he tilted his head upward, as though trying to catch a glimpse of the train of her thoughts from her delicate earlobes. They weren't large, smallish but adequate - they barely exceeded the fleshy arc between his thumb and his forefinger, as he brushed her hair lightly, fixing the strands in the cusp behind her ear. Yuka hid her grin with downcast eyes - he always seemed to bridge their light banter with profound silences; always, she found herself in his gentle touch, never embraced, just tangent, as though on the verge of intersecting, of uniting. The familiar motion beckoned her - she repeated his motion, smoothing the curves, chasing him across the waves of her changing mood - and finding him, just in the place she'd normally look last. His eyes spoke volumes, all irrelevant. "You're right." His eyes spoke volumes more, through a glassy lens. "Me, right? About what?" "It probably would be better if they knew. I mean, Akane and Ranma." He nodded slightly, as though affirming this to himself. "Besides, I'd have trouble explaining this." He pulled his hand away from hers - and in-between her fingers, which she had to pull from the coils of her hair, was a ring. Daisuke smiled at the genuine confusion she wore. "Happy three- month anniversary, Yuka." Yuka jumped from the ring, to Daisuke's amused expression, back to the ring, which was now being fitted to her left ring finger - it was more than she could take. She held him close, so that he wouldn't see her... unprofessional reactions. She wiped away, the sobs barely audible. That was when they got drenched. "Whew." It was amazing. Tsubasa felt so exhilarated, it was like he was floating. He looked at her, this nameless beauty in his very arms, and wondered if this was all a dream. That was when his body gave up. He slumped, and seams began to burst... the ripping sound was unheard, and... "It just had to r-" It just had to rain today, Yuka's mind supplied. Her mouth flapped semi-uselessly. It would be so embarrassing if I didn't wear a *poke*. "Poke?" her mouth said. She opened her eyes, and noticed that she was leaning forward a little too precariously off-balance. That would be strange, since she was leaning on Daisuke - unless he shrank. "Shrank?" her mouth supplied. Stop doing that, she chided. So, it was Daisuke who was poking her in the chest. Aren't his arms around her shoulders? "Sh-" In conclusion, her brain was saying, the person I am hugging is not Daisuke. The person she was hugging was, in fact, shivering. Curious, Yuka extracted herself from the other's limp arms, and pushed her to a small distance. Daisuke's jet-black hair, slick with rain. Daisuke's chinky eyes, though wide with surprise and dread. Small cheekbones, barely visible. Full, pouting lips. Analysis: inconclusive - continue check. "Y-Yuka..." Voice-match: inconclusive - continue check. Daisuke's t-shirt, now wet. 34C. Definitely not Daisuke's. Arms slender and similarly wet. Female. Daisuke's shirt is loose but translucent over her. (Why am I shivering?) "Yuka..." Voice-check: unfami-Daisuke-inconclusive - continue check. Daisuke's pants. Daisuke's shoes. (Why are my lips quivering?) She's feeling her chest - unnatural. Check completed. She stared at Daisuke's changed form, her head shaking from side to side, slowly at first. Daisuke's fingers confirmed the worst, and he mouthed the words "Oh no". A swift wind threatened to swoop, noticed a mob of women, changed direction and made chase. "Have you got it?" The accomplice nodded. With a turn, she was gone. "Where's Kasumi?" Nabiki turned from the back door. "She's just gone to send some invitations." Soun nodded. "Oh, okay." He stopped. "Invitations for what, Nabiki?" "For the wedding, Daddy." "Oh, okay. Wait a minute..." "She'll be here before lunch." The doorbell. "I wonder who that is." Minutes later, Nodoka Saotome found Ranma.
