Chapter One
1
October 5, 1997
10:00 AM
Asking those who just witnessed the event would yield four very different answers.
Forty-seven percent of the group surveyed would believe that it was probably some scene in a movie being filmed. Despite that no filming crew was present around the area.
Twenty-nine percent tended to think that it was some elaborate joke. Within this group, only fifty-two males would request the phone number of the subject of the event, compared to an overwhelming four-hundred-and-eighty-five in the last group, due to the fact that the average age of this survey group was about sixty-eight years old.
Another eighteen percent would tell you to fuck off because they didn't have a clue. Their names might appear in short obituaries on the papers summarizing some truly horrific deaths sometime in the future.
The last six percent of the survey would say that it must have been some strange Japanese ritual or custom, due to the fact that the group is comprised of two busloads worth of ignorant American tourists. The tour guide was approached later on this matter, and her opinion went along with the third group. She would get run over by an 18-wheeler two months later while picking up spare change in the middle of a road.
Interestingly enough, the only correct answer would come from a group not surveyed above, both because they couldn't be reached for comment and because they couldn't speak human tongue in the first place. However, if you were able to understand the collective thoughts of a small flock of doves that gathered at a nearby square five minutes earlier, you would probably have heard something like this as they took off into the air:
(Damned human! Can't she see that we're having breakfast?)
(I swear, one more time this happens and I'm going to poke somebody's eyes out.)
(No, you can't do that! Mother said we're only allowed to poop on them when we get mad, and only at five stone-throws aboveground or higher in case they got slings. If it makes you feel better, though, you can still aim for the eyes.)
(All right, but still… just because she was ditched by her mate doesn't give her a right to trample all over us!)
Meanwhile, the horrific cacophony of click-clacking noises that trailed the footsteps of the subject discussed above had finally quieted as a pair of sandaled feet came to a halt.
Meiou Setsuna, small-time model, ended her twenty-minute cross-town rampage in front of an apartment building on the outskirts of Minato-ku. She had jet-black hair coiffed in a fancy ornamental headdress, a matching white robe with sleeves that went past her fingers and skirt that ended just above the ankles, and enough powder on her face to kill a small kitchen fire. Panting, she turned her back to the front door and slumped against it, rivulets of sweat making tracks along her powdered face. Her eyes rolled towards the heaven in utter disbelief. The sun winked back at her innocently, as if to say, yes, it's Sunday, October the Fifth; congratulations, your wedding starts in thirty minutes, and it's still thirty-five degrees Celsius outside today. Half a block away, a boy no older than ten was happily licking away at a lollipop, looked up and saw her, then started pointing his fingers at her and yelling out something excitedly.
Still gasping for air, she had enough strength to give him a deathly glare that rivaled Sadako's from "The Ring." The kid recoiled from the stare, dropped his candy, and ran away crying.
A few moments later, Setsuna shakily pushed herself off the doors. Briefly adjusting the headdress with one hand, she yanked the door open savagely with the other and marched inside. Looking around, she cursed; just her luck, no elevators. Setsuna hiked up her thick skirt so as not to trip over herself, and started to climb the stairs.
She had just found her breath; now it was time to find her man.
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2
October 5, 1997
10:03 AM
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg.
A hand appeared from underneath the blanket, fumbled its way towards the small counter nearby until it found the alarm clock, then pressed a large white button on it.
It had rained earlier this morning. He had woken up briefly when a particularly strong peal of thunder sounded like an explosion not too far off in the distant.
The hand retreated back into the blanket.
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg.
The hand emerged from the blanket once more, climbed up the counter, and pressed the button on the clock more firmly this time.
The two of them had talked late into the night, and despite his wish to help, Takuya would not allow him to help pack. Nor did Takuya want to be seen off this morning. As lousy as his own social etiquette was, it just didn't feel quite right for friends to part without even a last handshake or something. Oh well. He'd long grown used to Takuya's strangeness and the man's need for privacy.
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg. Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnng-riiing-ring-rriiiiiinnnggg.
Just as his had was going to pound the alarm clock into a pulp, his mind made a monumental leap in logic. Oh, he thought, it must've been the doorbell.
Ranma sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He looked at the clock: 10:05. Not bothering to cover a yawn, he got out of bed, feet scraping the floor and shuffling him out of his room towards the foyer.
He opened the front door.
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3
October 5, 1997
10:05 AM
Hmm. How nice. A bride. Never seen her face before. Kinda cute, too, if a bit older than himself.
A fifteen-pound headpiece, slightly drooped to the left. Check. Flowing robe that almost touched the ground. Check. Ankle-length white socks and strapped sandals, check. Black stains on the socks and the bottom of the skirt, check. Probably stepped on a puddle or something left from the rain. Woman muttering something about a "Yamaguchi-san." Check. Panting like a horse and eyes bulging like a fish out of water – now, that's something new.
Ranma shut the door behind him and headed back for bed. It was way too early for this shit.
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4
October 5, 1997
10:06 AM
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg. Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnng-riiing-ring-rriiiiiinnnggg.
Door opened. Again.
"Yamaguchi-san?" The woman asked again, apparently recovered enough from her recent lack of air. Her hands moved out to adjust the wrinkles on his shirt. "Why are you looking like that? Don't you know what time it is?"
A tentative pause. The hands withdrew. She took a step back, looking at him critically. "Hmm, you shaved. That's good," she remarked absently, before noticing something else. "Huh, no glasses either. And when did you start wearing a pigtail?" In the end, a conclusion was reached. "You're not Yamaguchi-san?"
He shook his head.
The woman immediately ignored him. "Yamaguchi-san!" She called out into the room. Finding the man still blocking the doorway, she tilted her head to the right and tried to see past him.
"Yamaguchi-san!" Ranma moved his body to the left.
She tilted her head to the left. "Yamaguchi-san?" Still no answer. He shifted to his right this time.
Exasperated, she shoved a hand forward and pushed Ranma out of the doorway. Holding the folds of her skirt with the other hand, she squeezed herself past him and into the apartment. "Yamaguchi-san, where are you?"
She ran past the living room and poked her head into the first door on the right. "Where are you?" She called out again. Ranma, still slightly dazed from the rude treatment he received, protested and unsuccessfully made a move to catch her as he saw where she was heading. "Hey, that's my room!"
She yanked the blanket away from the bed. Nobody there. She scurried out of the room. Ranma closed his bedroom door in a hurry and followed after her.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She poked her head into the other room. Nothing there either. Not even furniture this time. "Now where could he be?" She frowned and muttered to herself as she slowly retreated into the living room.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She asked hopefully at the empty space underneath the sofa.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She yanked the refrigerator door open and asked. No answer; not in the freezer compartment either.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She dashed back to the foyer and called out into the closet. The name was repeated each time she moved a piece of clothing on the hanger to the side until her fingers suddenly stopped. "His favorite raincoat…"
Defeated, she walked back towards the living room once more. She leaned her weight against the first thing she found, propped up an elbow, her chin supported in one hand. "Where on earth could he have disappeared to?"
"Um, the piano…" Ranma weakly protested.
Startled, she took her elbow off the shiny surface it was resting on and turned toward him. "Sorry," she said. Then, as if really seeing him for the first time, she asked. "And you are?"
"Saotome Ranma, his roommate." Reflexively, he brought up a hand behind him, scratching the back of his head. His tone was almost apologetic.
"Yamaguchi-san used to do that too," she remarked absently. Then, as if realizing something, she asked, "Say, do you know where he is?" Red eyes bore into his.
"Takuya? Um, he just moved out earlier this morning."
She nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. "I see…" Suddenly, she froze.
Pause. Rewind. Play.
And Ranma had thought her eyes were huge three minutes ago.
.
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5
October 5, 1997
10:10 AM
"What do you mean, HE LEFT?" The woman in front of him screeched incredulously. Then, forcing herself to calm down, she went on in a slightly lower volume, "This has got to be a joke. I mean, the ceremony's at ten-thirty, and my parents and cousins are all at the square already…does he want me to go to the wedding all by myself?" She paced about angrily as she went on, walking back and forth in the small open space between the grand piano and the glass-top table in the living room.
Something tugged at Ranma's memory. He excused himself and quickly went into the other room, only to reappear a few heartbeats later, a thin envelop in one hand. "Uh," he hesitated, eyeing first at the addressee on the plain-looking envelop, then at the woman who was well on her way carving a circle into the living-room's floor with her feet. Finally, he said, a bit louder this time, "Meiou-san?"
Setsuna stopped walking. "How do you know my name?" She asked in an accusatory tone. Ranma pointed to the letter; or, rather, he pointed to the empty space in his hand where the letter had been two seconds earlier.
"For my dearest Setsuna…" Setsuna threw away the torn envelop and began reading, her body sinking into the couch, legs spread apart ungracefully. Ranma saw an unhealthy amount of creamy thigh for an instant before turning his gaze somewhere much safer. "…Here," she thrust out the hand holding the letter and said, "Read this."
"Who, me?" He pointed to himself, bewildered. "Why am I reading your letter?"
"Because my eyes might go into shock, that's why! I'll probably get so mad from looking at this that my eyeballs will explode," she said, hand waving impatiently. Not wishing to argue further, he reached for the letter.
"On the other hand, I think I'll just read it myself." She withdrew the hand. Then held it out again. "No, you'd better do it." And took it back. "Hold on, maybe not."
Ranma stared at Setsuna for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "I think I'll just go back to my room," he announced.
"Wait!" She stopped him. "You better read this after all."
He turned, eyeing her suspiciously. "You sure?" She nodded. He gingerly took the letter from her, unfolded it, and began reading. "Dearest –"
"Wait!"
Ranma put the letter down, totally exasperated. "Now what?"
"Give me a second to prepare," she said. She snapped her knees together, placed her hands on the bend of her skirt, and took a few deep breaths. "Okay."
"Okay," he agreed, and started again. "'Dearest Setsuna: I'm sorry…'"
Setsuna snorted in disgust. "Oh, what a beautiful opening."
"Oh, it gets better," Ranma said. Then he paused. "Hey! Do you want me to read this or not?" He finally snapped.
"Sure, sure," she made a half-hearted wave and said, "Go on." Seeing that it was futile to argue with the woman, he decided to just get the whole thing out of the way so he could ask her to leave.
"Anyway, here's the rest," he swallowed before continuing. Hopefully, no more interruptions this time. "'…I'm sorry. During the time that we've been together, I've found myself falling in love with another woman. As she is the type of girl who can't seem to live without me, and you're the type of girl who can probably survive for ages even if I'm not with you, I've decided that it would probably be best if we say goodbye to each other. Yours truly, Takuya. – p.s. Please say hi to your parents and cousins for me at the wedding, and give them my deepest apologies. I'm sorry that I've never had the chance to meet them personally, and probably never will."
Ranma put the letter down slowly. He had barely been able to finish the letter himself, his voice shaking several times during the reading and especially towards the end. Seeing no reaction from the other end of the living room, he added helpfully. "That's everything," he said, then glanced up at the woman on the couch with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not going to be pretty.
Setsuna, who sat motionlessly throughout the ordeal with a shell-shocked expression, made as if to say something, but no sound came out. To his surprise, her lips gradually widened, before finally setting into a beautiful smile.
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6
October 5, 1997
10:15 AM
"I'm going to shove my staff so far up his ass his eyes will turn garnet!" Setsuna roared, grabbing the TV remote from the glass table and waving it around like a club. "You hear me, Takuya? You can run, but you can't hide!" She kicked the table aside and started looking for something to break. She saw the piano.
Ranma followed the trail of her gaze and immediately went behind her. "Not the piano!" He yelled in panic, trying to restrain her flailing arms with his own and almost lost his balance as she kicked her legs up into the air in a desperate attempt to escape. Finally, her energy spent, Setsuna's body collapsed and slumped against him, her weight pushing both of them back onto the sofa.
"Feeling better?" Ranma looked down at the woman in his arms after what seemed an eternity had passed, his eyes full of concern and warmth. He briefly noted that her headdress had fallen off sometime during the struggle, and a cascade of rich, emerald green flowed out as a result. Evidently, the black wig had been part of the headpiece.
Her head still pressed against his chest, a much calmer Setsuna lifted her chin to regard him coolly. "No," she admitted honestly after considering, then went right back to screaming. "Let me go! Let me go! I'm going to kill him, the sonofabitch… Dead Scream! Dead Scream! Deeeeaad Screeeaaam!"
x x x
"Feeling better?" Ranma looked down and asked finally. Somehow, after the last outburst, they had ended in the exactly same position back on the couch. Setsuna tilted her head upward, lips pursing thoughtfully.
"Just say 'yes'," he nearly pleaded.
"…yes." She could feel his sigh of relief on her face.
The two stared at each other for a few moments longer, then simultaneously jolted apart as they realized their proximity to each other.
"Uh, well," Ranma started, scratching his pigtail uncomfortably. "I… I've gotta go and brush my teeth," he said.
"…right." Setsuna agreed from the other end of the sofa, a slight distraction in her voice betraying her otherwise cool composure. "Go on, go on." She waved a hand at him.
He didn't need further invitation.
x x x
Once he was by himself in the bathroom, Ranma had time to reflect on what was turning out to be one of the worst mornings he'd had the pleasure of waking up to since he left Nerima. Looking up at the mirror, he peered at his reflection and noted off-handedly that he still looked exactly as he did one year ago.
Honestly, why do things like this always happen to me? He thought, bending down to the sink again, toothbrush working furiously in his hand. Didn't this kind of stuff only happen in Nerima? And what's the deal about all that "Dead Scream" shit?
A knock on the bathroom door brought him out of the trance and reminded him that he was not alone in the house.
"Um, Sa…otome-san?" Setsuna asked from the other side uncertainly, trying to pronounce his name.
He spat out the paste in his mouth, rinsed, and quickly went to wiping his face with a towel from the rack. "Oh, you need to use the bathroom?" He asked. "Hold on, I'm almost done."
The bathroom door creaked open. Ranma took the towel away from his face and turned in slight disbelief. Surely she didn't need to go that badly.
Seeing the questioning look on his face, Setsuna amended hastily, still peeking from behind the door, "Er, no, but, I just thought of something…" she trailed off, not knowing how to begin. He looked at her expectantly.
"How old are you?" She asked abruptly. Eighteen, he said, eyes blinking in confusion. Setsuna nodded to herself. "A bit young…" she remarked to herself softly before continuing. "See," she explained, "I was thinking, you know, how it's the nineties and all, and it's not that big of a taboo anymore for younger guys to get together with women older than themselves… like, that actress Miyazawa and, what's his face, that sumo-wrestling champion–" she paused, fingers drumming on the doorframe, eyebrows creased in an attempt to recall the name.
"Takanohana," he supplied.
"–right, Takanohana." Setsuna said, squeezing her body past the opening in the doorway. "And, like, if you have five minutes, you can probably get cleaned up and put on something nice…" she broke off again, swallowing a little.
"Yea, so?" Ranma had no idea what the connection was. Suddenly, he found himself backed up against the wall, a slender to each side of the space around his neck, face to face with the woman with those strange red eyes that pinned him down like a trapped animal. He could feel her hair draping his shoulders.
Setsuna looked at the young man intently, the distance between them so close that their noses nearly touched. Never in a million years would Sailor Pluto do something like this, a fleeting thought crossed her mind. The problem was, she was no longer Pluto. What was left of the Senshi of Time was a normal woman whose dream of a career constantly ended up in the gutter, washed away by the sewage water that was her luck. She was only Meiou Setsuna, as the past year had repeatedly pointed out to her, and Meiou Setsuna would be damned if she had to face the mass ridicule on this particular day from the pack of hyenas people mistook for her relatives.
Setsuna stared into the blue irises of the young man's eyes for a bit longer, and saw only herself. A decision was reached.
"Marry me," she blurted.
1
October 5, 1997
10:00 AM
Asking those who just witnessed the event would yield four very different answers.
Forty-seven percent of the group surveyed would believe that it was probably some scene in a movie being filmed. Despite that no filming crew was present around the area.
Twenty-nine percent tended to think that it was some elaborate joke. Within this group, only fifty-two males would request the phone number of the subject of the event, compared to an overwhelming four-hundred-and-eighty-five in the last group, due to the fact that the average age of this survey group was about sixty-eight years old.
Another eighteen percent would tell you to fuck off because they didn't have a clue. Their names might appear in short obituaries on the papers summarizing some truly horrific deaths sometime in the future.
The last six percent of the survey would say that it must have been some strange Japanese ritual or custom, due to the fact that the group is comprised of two busloads worth of ignorant American tourists. The tour guide was approached later on this matter, and her opinion went along with the third group. She would get run over by an 18-wheeler two months later while picking up spare change in the middle of a road.
Interestingly enough, the only correct answer would come from a group not surveyed above, both because they couldn't be reached for comment and because they couldn't speak human tongue in the first place. However, if you were able to understand the collective thoughts of a small flock of doves that gathered at a nearby square five minutes earlier, you would probably have heard something like this as they took off into the air:
(Damned human! Can't she see that we're having breakfast?)
(I swear, one more time this happens and I'm going to poke somebody's eyes out.)
(No, you can't do that! Mother said we're only allowed to poop on them when we get mad, and only at five stone-throws aboveground or higher in case they got slings. If it makes you feel better, though, you can still aim for the eyes.)
(All right, but still… just because she was ditched by her mate doesn't give her a right to trample all over us!)
Meanwhile, the horrific cacophony of click-clacking noises that trailed the footsteps of the subject discussed above had finally quieted as a pair of sandaled feet came to a halt.
Meiou Setsuna, small-time model, ended her twenty-minute cross-town rampage in front of an apartment building on the outskirts of Minato-ku. She had jet-black hair coiffed in a fancy ornamental headdress, a matching white robe with sleeves that went past her fingers and skirt that ended just above the ankles, and enough powder on her face to kill a small kitchen fire. Panting, she turned her back to the front door and slumped against it, rivulets of sweat making tracks along her powdered face. Her eyes rolled towards the heaven in utter disbelief. The sun winked back at her innocently, as if to say, yes, it's Sunday, October the Fifth; congratulations, your wedding starts in thirty minutes, and it's still thirty-five degrees Celsius outside today. Half a block away, a boy no older than ten was happily licking away at a lollipop, looked up and saw her, then started pointing his fingers at her and yelling out something excitedly.
Still gasping for air, she had enough strength to give him a deathly glare that rivaled Sadako's from "The Ring." The kid recoiled from the stare, dropped his candy, and ran away crying.
A few moments later, Setsuna shakily pushed herself off the doors. Briefly adjusting the headdress with one hand, she yanked the door open savagely with the other and marched inside. Looking around, she cursed; just her luck, no elevators. Setsuna hiked up her thick skirt so as not to trip over herself, and started to climb the stairs.
She had just found her breath; now it was time to find her man.
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2
October 5, 1997
10:03 AM
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg.
A hand appeared from underneath the blanket, fumbled its way towards the small counter nearby until it found the alarm clock, then pressed a large white button on it.
It had rained earlier this morning. He had woken up briefly when a particularly strong peal of thunder sounded like an explosion not too far off in the distant.
The hand retreated back into the blanket.
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg.
The hand emerged from the blanket once more, climbed up the counter, and pressed the button on the clock more firmly this time.
The two of them had talked late into the night, and despite his wish to help, Takuya would not allow him to help pack. Nor did Takuya want to be seen off this morning. As lousy as his own social etiquette was, it just didn't feel quite right for friends to part without even a last handshake or something. Oh well. He'd long grown used to Takuya's strangeness and the man's need for privacy.
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg. Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnng-riiing-ring-rriiiiiinnnggg.
Just as his had was going to pound the alarm clock into a pulp, his mind made a monumental leap in logic. Oh, he thought, it must've been the doorbell.
Ranma sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He looked at the clock: 10:05. Not bothering to cover a yawn, he got out of bed, feet scraping the floor and shuffling him out of his room towards the foyer.
He opened the front door.
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3
October 5, 1997
10:05 AM
Hmm. How nice. A bride. Never seen her face before. Kinda cute, too, if a bit older than himself.
A fifteen-pound headpiece, slightly drooped to the left. Check. Flowing robe that almost touched the ground. Check. Ankle-length white socks and strapped sandals, check. Black stains on the socks and the bottom of the skirt, check. Probably stepped on a puddle or something left from the rain. Woman muttering something about a "Yamaguchi-san." Check. Panting like a horse and eyes bulging like a fish out of water – now, that's something new.
Ranma shut the door behind him and headed back for bed. It was way too early for this shit.
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4
October 5, 1997
10:06 AM
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg. Brrrriiiiiiiiinnnng-riiing-ring-rriiiiiinnnggg.
Door opened. Again.
"Yamaguchi-san?" The woman asked again, apparently recovered enough from her recent lack of air. Her hands moved out to adjust the wrinkles on his shirt. "Why are you looking like that? Don't you know what time it is?"
A tentative pause. The hands withdrew. She took a step back, looking at him critically. "Hmm, you shaved. That's good," she remarked absently, before noticing something else. "Huh, no glasses either. And when did you start wearing a pigtail?" In the end, a conclusion was reached. "You're not Yamaguchi-san?"
He shook his head.
The woman immediately ignored him. "Yamaguchi-san!" She called out into the room. Finding the man still blocking the doorway, she tilted her head to the right and tried to see past him.
"Yamaguchi-san!" Ranma moved his body to the left.
She tilted her head to the left. "Yamaguchi-san?" Still no answer. He shifted to his right this time.
Exasperated, she shoved a hand forward and pushed Ranma out of the doorway. Holding the folds of her skirt with the other hand, she squeezed herself past him and into the apartment. "Yamaguchi-san, where are you?"
She ran past the living room and poked her head into the first door on the right. "Where are you?" She called out again. Ranma, still slightly dazed from the rude treatment he received, protested and unsuccessfully made a move to catch her as he saw where she was heading. "Hey, that's my room!"
She yanked the blanket away from the bed. Nobody there. She scurried out of the room. Ranma closed his bedroom door in a hurry and followed after her.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She poked her head into the other room. Nothing there either. Not even furniture this time. "Now where could he be?" She frowned and muttered to herself as she slowly retreated into the living room.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She asked hopefully at the empty space underneath the sofa.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She yanked the refrigerator door open and asked. No answer; not in the freezer compartment either.
"Yamaguchi-san?" She dashed back to the foyer and called out into the closet. The name was repeated each time she moved a piece of clothing on the hanger to the side until her fingers suddenly stopped. "His favorite raincoat…"
Defeated, she walked back towards the living room once more. She leaned her weight against the first thing she found, propped up an elbow, her chin supported in one hand. "Where on earth could he have disappeared to?"
"Um, the piano…" Ranma weakly protested.
Startled, she took her elbow off the shiny surface it was resting on and turned toward him. "Sorry," she said. Then, as if really seeing him for the first time, she asked. "And you are?"
"Saotome Ranma, his roommate." Reflexively, he brought up a hand behind him, scratching the back of his head. His tone was almost apologetic.
"Yamaguchi-san used to do that too," she remarked absently. Then, as if realizing something, she asked, "Say, do you know where he is?" Red eyes bore into his.
"Takuya? Um, he just moved out earlier this morning."
She nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. "I see…" Suddenly, she froze.
Pause. Rewind. Play.
And Ranma had thought her eyes were huge three minutes ago.
.
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5
October 5, 1997
10:10 AM
"What do you mean, HE LEFT?" The woman in front of him screeched incredulously. Then, forcing herself to calm down, she went on in a slightly lower volume, "This has got to be a joke. I mean, the ceremony's at ten-thirty, and my parents and cousins are all at the square already…does he want me to go to the wedding all by myself?" She paced about angrily as she went on, walking back and forth in the small open space between the grand piano and the glass-top table in the living room.
Something tugged at Ranma's memory. He excused himself and quickly went into the other room, only to reappear a few heartbeats later, a thin envelop in one hand. "Uh," he hesitated, eyeing first at the addressee on the plain-looking envelop, then at the woman who was well on her way carving a circle into the living-room's floor with her feet. Finally, he said, a bit louder this time, "Meiou-san?"
Setsuna stopped walking. "How do you know my name?" She asked in an accusatory tone. Ranma pointed to the letter; or, rather, he pointed to the empty space in his hand where the letter had been two seconds earlier.
"For my dearest Setsuna…" Setsuna threw away the torn envelop and began reading, her body sinking into the couch, legs spread apart ungracefully. Ranma saw an unhealthy amount of creamy thigh for an instant before turning his gaze somewhere much safer. "…Here," she thrust out the hand holding the letter and said, "Read this."
"Who, me?" He pointed to himself, bewildered. "Why am I reading your letter?"
"Because my eyes might go into shock, that's why! I'll probably get so mad from looking at this that my eyeballs will explode," she said, hand waving impatiently. Not wishing to argue further, he reached for the letter.
"On the other hand, I think I'll just read it myself." She withdrew the hand. Then held it out again. "No, you'd better do it." And took it back. "Hold on, maybe not."
Ranma stared at Setsuna for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "I think I'll just go back to my room," he announced.
"Wait!" She stopped him. "You better read this after all."
He turned, eyeing her suspiciously. "You sure?" She nodded. He gingerly took the letter from her, unfolded it, and began reading. "Dearest –"
"Wait!"
Ranma put the letter down, totally exasperated. "Now what?"
"Give me a second to prepare," she said. She snapped her knees together, placed her hands on the bend of her skirt, and took a few deep breaths. "Okay."
"Okay," he agreed, and started again. "'Dearest Setsuna: I'm sorry…'"
Setsuna snorted in disgust. "Oh, what a beautiful opening."
"Oh, it gets better," Ranma said. Then he paused. "Hey! Do you want me to read this or not?" He finally snapped.
"Sure, sure," she made a half-hearted wave and said, "Go on." Seeing that it was futile to argue with the woman, he decided to just get the whole thing out of the way so he could ask her to leave.
"Anyway, here's the rest," he swallowed before continuing. Hopefully, no more interruptions this time. "'…I'm sorry. During the time that we've been together, I've found myself falling in love with another woman. As she is the type of girl who can't seem to live without me, and you're the type of girl who can probably survive for ages even if I'm not with you, I've decided that it would probably be best if we say goodbye to each other. Yours truly, Takuya. – p.s. Please say hi to your parents and cousins for me at the wedding, and give them my deepest apologies. I'm sorry that I've never had the chance to meet them personally, and probably never will."
Ranma put the letter down slowly. He had barely been able to finish the letter himself, his voice shaking several times during the reading and especially towards the end. Seeing no reaction from the other end of the living room, he added helpfully. "That's everything," he said, then glanced up at the woman on the couch with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not going to be pretty.
Setsuna, who sat motionlessly throughout the ordeal with a shell-shocked expression, made as if to say something, but no sound came out. To his surprise, her lips gradually widened, before finally setting into a beautiful smile.
.
.
6
October 5, 1997
10:15 AM
"I'm going to shove my staff so far up his ass his eyes will turn garnet!" Setsuna roared, grabbing the TV remote from the glass table and waving it around like a club. "You hear me, Takuya? You can run, but you can't hide!" She kicked the table aside and started looking for something to break. She saw the piano.
Ranma followed the trail of her gaze and immediately went behind her. "Not the piano!" He yelled in panic, trying to restrain her flailing arms with his own and almost lost his balance as she kicked her legs up into the air in a desperate attempt to escape. Finally, her energy spent, Setsuna's body collapsed and slumped against him, her weight pushing both of them back onto the sofa.
"Feeling better?" Ranma looked down at the woman in his arms after what seemed an eternity had passed, his eyes full of concern and warmth. He briefly noted that her headdress had fallen off sometime during the struggle, and a cascade of rich, emerald green flowed out as a result. Evidently, the black wig had been part of the headpiece.
Her head still pressed against his chest, a much calmer Setsuna lifted her chin to regard him coolly. "No," she admitted honestly after considering, then went right back to screaming. "Let me go! Let me go! I'm going to kill him, the sonofabitch… Dead Scream! Dead Scream! Deeeeaad Screeeaaam!"
x x x
"Feeling better?" Ranma looked down and asked finally. Somehow, after the last outburst, they had ended in the exactly same position back on the couch. Setsuna tilted her head upward, lips pursing thoughtfully.
"Just say 'yes'," he nearly pleaded.
"…yes." She could feel his sigh of relief on her face.
The two stared at each other for a few moments longer, then simultaneously jolted apart as they realized their proximity to each other.
"Uh, well," Ranma started, scratching his pigtail uncomfortably. "I… I've gotta go and brush my teeth," he said.
"…right." Setsuna agreed from the other end of the sofa, a slight distraction in her voice betraying her otherwise cool composure. "Go on, go on." She waved a hand at him.
He didn't need further invitation.
x x x
Once he was by himself in the bathroom, Ranma had time to reflect on what was turning out to be one of the worst mornings he'd had the pleasure of waking up to since he left Nerima. Looking up at the mirror, he peered at his reflection and noted off-handedly that he still looked exactly as he did one year ago.
Honestly, why do things like this always happen to me? He thought, bending down to the sink again, toothbrush working furiously in his hand. Didn't this kind of stuff only happen in Nerima? And what's the deal about all that "Dead Scream" shit?
A knock on the bathroom door brought him out of the trance and reminded him that he was not alone in the house.
"Um, Sa…otome-san?" Setsuna asked from the other side uncertainly, trying to pronounce his name.
He spat out the paste in his mouth, rinsed, and quickly went to wiping his face with a towel from the rack. "Oh, you need to use the bathroom?" He asked. "Hold on, I'm almost done."
The bathroom door creaked open. Ranma took the towel away from his face and turned in slight disbelief. Surely she didn't need to go that badly.
Seeing the questioning look on his face, Setsuna amended hastily, still peeking from behind the door, "Er, no, but, I just thought of something…" she trailed off, not knowing how to begin. He looked at her expectantly.
"How old are you?" She asked abruptly. Eighteen, he said, eyes blinking in confusion. Setsuna nodded to herself. "A bit young…" she remarked to herself softly before continuing. "See," she explained, "I was thinking, you know, how it's the nineties and all, and it's not that big of a taboo anymore for younger guys to get together with women older than themselves… like, that actress Miyazawa and, what's his face, that sumo-wrestling champion–" she paused, fingers drumming on the doorframe, eyebrows creased in an attempt to recall the name.
"Takanohana," he supplied.
"–right, Takanohana." Setsuna said, squeezing her body past the opening in the doorway. "And, like, if you have five minutes, you can probably get cleaned up and put on something nice…" she broke off again, swallowing a little.
"Yea, so?" Ranma had no idea what the connection was. Suddenly, he found himself backed up against the wall, a slender to each side of the space around his neck, face to face with the woman with those strange red eyes that pinned him down like a trapped animal. He could feel her hair draping his shoulders.
Setsuna looked at the young man intently, the distance between them so close that their noses nearly touched. Never in a million years would Sailor Pluto do something like this, a fleeting thought crossed her mind. The problem was, she was no longer Pluto. What was left of the Senshi of Time was a normal woman whose dream of a career constantly ended up in the gutter, washed away by the sewage water that was her luck. She was only Meiou Setsuna, as the past year had repeatedly pointed out to her, and Meiou Setsuna would be damned if she had to face the mass ridicule on this particular day from the pack of hyenas people mistook for her relatives.
Setsuna stared into the blue irises of the young man's eyes for a bit longer, and saw only herself. A decision was reached.
"Marry me," she blurted.