1
December 15, 1997
11:22 PM
The first time Ranma heard Tchaikovsky being played, his gut reaction was that some tone-deaf person was venting his frustration on a piano by applying a large hammer to the keyboard repeatedly. Of course, it wasn't until later that he began to appreciate the finer points of what he had originally thought was an exercise in instrument destruction, but the feeling when he came to made him recall the experience vividly – only this time, it seemed like the hammer was applied to his skull instead.
Needless to say, the logical conclusion of why he felt how he felt brought about an immediate conditioned reflex. Ranma sprang up from the ground and turned to the irate fiancée who he knew would have been simmering in unrighteous fury right behind him.
"What the hell was that for, you uncute… tomboy?" The accusation trailed off into a question when he realized that where he expected to see Akane, there was only thin air. Oh, right, his mind supplied a half-beat later, I left the Tendos over a year ago. Slowly, other pieces of information started to trickle into his brain in tiny pipette-drops, like those old acid-base experiment stuff he did back at Furinkan when he was learning how not to entirely fail out of high school chemistry while still sleeping in class everyday. He blinked, taking in the silence in the living room he'd grown used to, the empty piles of wine bottles strewn all over the floor, the various girly magazines on the glass table and the bunch of cockroach traps placed in every corner of the room as far as he could tell, and felt that he was still missing something. He waited.
Given enough drops, the titration point was inevitably reached, and the solution in the beaker turned pink.
Shit.
"Setsuna!" Ranma yelled, arms milling about as his eyes searched the room frantically. Not having time to reflect on how sluggishly his body was moving, he steered himself towards his right, knocking over a few bottles of champagne in the process, and nearly shoulder-rammed into her room.
"Setsuna?" He flipped the light switch on and called out. No Setsuna. Not even under the bed. He exited the room and veered to the empty kitchen.
"Setsuna, where are you?" Somewhat disappointed that only silverware and soy sauce bottles occupied the various shelves where he somehow believed Setsuna to be hiding, he closed the cupboard doors. It took him a few tries to remove the lid, but aside from the bit of odor, the trashcan proved equally and unfortunately unresponsive. Just before he could place his hands around the kitchen sink and peer down into the drain hole, however, a slight rustling noise back in the living room grabbed his attention.
"Ugh… what happened?" Setsuna's voice drawled out in lethargic painfulness as she attempted to prop herself up to a sitting position from the sofa. "Where am I?"
"Setsuna…" Ranma sighed in relief as he caught sight of the green-haired figure on the couch exactly where he turned his back to when he first woke up, and, not knowing fully why and unable to control himself any further, hurled desperately towards the woman he thought he'd never see again.
His dinner, that was; not his body.
2
December 15, 1997
11:45 PM
Having physically proven that years of intense martial arts training and possessing a monstrous metabolism still could not overcome the stupidity of using binge-drinking as a way of introducing oneself to alcohol, Ranma groggily detached himself from the toilet bowl, flushed twice, washed his face and hands thoroughly, and stepped out of the bathroom in the same fashion he first stepped onto an ice-rink when he met the Golden Pair ages ago.
Setsuna looked away from the floor she was busily scrubbing for the last twenty minutes and immediately went to his aid, placing an arm around him and guiding his feet. "Here, Ranma-kun," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, "You need to go lie down on the couch." He sank into the sofa ungracefully and swung his legs up. She knelt down beside him and held his back straight before he could rest his head against the armrest. "But drink this first," Setsuna said, handing him a glass of water she placed on the table.
Ranma did as he was told.
"Hey, Setsuna?" A few moments later, lying on the sofa, Ranma turned his head to the right and asked. And then immediately turned his gaze upward, realizing that from this position his face was less than a few inches away from her chest.
"Yes?" Setsuna asked back softly. Luckily, if she noticed this, she gave no indication.
"Sorry… about the mess," he said weakly, recalling the show he put on earlier.
She tilted her head slightly. "Actually," she said, shaking her head, "it's my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to drink with me in the first place."
Another pause. Ranma took the time they spent in silence to fully reevaluate the bug-repelling perfume the woman was wearing, and was thankful that it smelled much better than the stomach contents he recently expelled.
"Hey, Setsuna?" he asked again, too tired to address the small part of his mind that wondered when he stopped calling her "Meiou-san".
"Yes?"
"I…" He swallowed the words back before he gave voice to his thoughts this time. What could I say? That I'm glad she didn't just up and disappear? She was probably looking forward to get back being Sailor… whatever it was. "I'm sorry that it didn't work. The Nanban, I meant." He finished instead.
Setsuna looked away and shifted her legs under her a bit. A few strands of green brushed against his forehead. "It's… okay." She replied after a thought. "I didn't expect it to anyway."
x x x
Sometime later, before he felt the drowsiness that crept upon him and lulled him into welcoming slumber, he remembered calling out again, half mumbling this time, "Say… Setsuna?"
"…hmm?" he thought he remembered hearing her say.
"You're still here, right?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
Not wanting her to see the strangely gratified look on his face, Ranma turned away and closed his eyes.
x x x
Setsuna rose without a sound as she watched the pigtailed young man drift into sleep at last. Almost aimlessly, she started walking around the living room until, by pure chance, she found herself standing in front of her own room. Ambling inside, she closed the door behind her with one hand, as the other had somehow found its way into her pant pocket, caressing the surface of the shard of Nanban Mirror while the faint tingling sparks of time-magic danced elusively across her fingertips.
She pulled the piece of glass out of her pocket, studied it for a few minutes, then placed it carefully inside a drawer in her dresser. A flick of the light switch later, Setsuna was sprawled out onto her bed, staring at the dark ceiling above her.
Now, she had all the time she needed to figure out why she was still not able to cry yet.
Timed Vacation
Chapter Five
Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)
Composed by: CAGNET
3
December 20, 1997
9:33 AM
The sounds of piano roared and thundered in the apartment, striking against walls like furious tides splashing incessantly against the cliffs. By the windows, under the morning light, Ranma rode atop wave-crests, commanding oceans, his fingers flooding across the ivory keys to make eddies out of the swirling notes.
Lost in the determination to hammer out each and every rise in Debussey's Dialogue du vent et de la mer, Ranma was certifiably upset when he heard a lone B-flat note several octaves off-key join into the piece and disrupt the melody completely. Abruptly, he stopped.
The raging wave face-faulted, and sank back into the rapidly calming waters in utter embarrassment.
With a start, the pigtailed young man realized that the noise he heard was actually his stomach growling in protest. He rose from the bench, and made his way into the kitchen. After all, La Mer was sure fun to play and listen to, but Debussey wasn't going to feed his ass breakfast.
Hmm. Open fridge, look for food, and… frown.
Two boxes of cheap, microwavable shumai, bought from the supermarket three days ago, were all that was left in the nearly-empty fridge. Unacceptable; this wouldn't even fill his tooth linings.
Nevertheless, he took out the packets of the Three-Minute-Wonder-Dim-Sum, tore off the covering in a swift motion, and stuffed the pitiful-looking portions into the microwave. The low, electric hum ran even as he rummaged through the cupboards, hoping to find that he had missed a few cups of Ramen on his last search.
No such luck, although that neatly wrapped can of Kanro-Gyo-whatever it was looked intriguing. Ranma removed the lid and peered into the can. Then he made a face.
Ugh, it's just tea. He couldn't remember when he bought it or why, since he was never fond of tea to begin with, and much less had the time or patience to brew it instead of using instant packets. Well, since I can't eat it… he shrugged mentally and put the can where it belonged.
A few moments later, still standing by the counter, Ranma stared at the steaming plate of shumai that, to his disbelief, had shrunk even further upon heating, and decided that it was worth a few more bucks out of his wallet to invest in a dinner at a restaurant tonight. Yeah, I can ask Setsuna too. Maybe she'll want to come. She hasn't been eating much for the last few days.
However, that thought was squelched as soon as it came up. All it took was a surreptitious glance at the mini-calendar on the fridge to remind him of the meeting that he had spent all morning practicing his songs trying to forget. He laid the upturned chopsticks in his hand back to the side of the plate.
Suddenly, Ranma realized he wasn't all that hungry anymore.
4
December 20, 1997
10:27 AM
It was not often that one had the opportunity to truly admire the aesthetic values of backgrounds on a stage set. For starters, common sense dictated that the atmosphere of the set needed to be clearly presented, but not so much that it could hinder the movement of the characters on the stage, or distract the audience away from the actors. The color schemes had to match up with both the costumes of the performers, and not clash with the lighting effects at the same time. Blinding the audience with glaring light was generally not considered a good thing, nor was casting rays of fluorescent green onto a drawing of grassy knolls in the countryside. Considering the limited resources that the stagehands and stage artists and engineers had at their disposal, making a set look presentable at all was usually a miracle in itself.
Of course, this needed not apply to a set specifically designed for a bubblegum commercial in which the solitary color scheme of the background consisted of various shades of pink. Supposedly, something could be said about how the use of bright pink, dark pink, Valentine's pink, Victoria's Secret pink, and other unrecognizable blobs of amorphous pink all contributed to a general pinkish and sugary feeling that the gum would give you, but provided with the choice, the various staff and workers around the set would rather have their eyes gouged out with skewers and fed to them like shish-kebob than to stare at all that homicidal pink. Unless, of course, the person who was supposed to be standing in front of the background was missing, giving the director and his staff an unimpeded view of the monstrosity the stage artists had conjured from the deepest bowels of hell.
This was becoming alarmingly ritualistic.
Occupying one of the third-row seats off to the left of the stage made for the Limited Special Christmas-Pink Edition of the Pretty Peachy Party Bubblegum series, a cute-looking young woman with a peach-shaped face whispered to her companion under the increasingly agitated voice of the crew around them. "Say, Senpai… shouldn't you try to look for Minako-chan? I think the director looks like he wants to shoot somebody right now." Seeing no reaction, the brown-haired girl put aside the newspapers she was reading and tapped her friend on the shoulder. "Um, Senpai? Are you zoning out on me again?"
For Momoko, watching Setsuna at work over the last few days was enlighteningly painful. More than once, she had seen the green-haired model drop her pens into her tea cup and hole-punch magazines while throwing away printouts of her work schedule. And Momoko could swear she had never seen that shambling gait and slouching shoulders gig being done by a model outside the audition of the Japanese remake of "Night of the Living Dead." Why, even the boss had been terrified two days ago, when he asked Setsuna to grab him some food and feed the fish outside the office, and found her dumping a slice of pizza and a can of Sapporo into the fish tank in the reception room while handing him a can of algae pellets simultaneously. Granted, Setsuna actually looked somewhat better yesterday – at least enough that Momoko didn't have to constantly hold the doors open for her so she wouldn't run into them – but you could never really tell for sure.
Thankfully, it only took a few seconds for Setsuna to get her bearings today. "Huh? Oh… no, Momoko-chan, it's not that." She waved a hand dismissively. "I… I just had a lot on my mind lately." Like trying to cope with the shock of losing even the last bit of hope to salvage the timeline. The concept that perhaps she really had been consigned to live out a crummy existence where any meaningful achievement would always slip past her fingers like sand had stuck with her like glue over the past few days, and the more she thought about it, the less the idea of leading a life which she was going to be constantly ridiculed by relatives, hit on by dirty old businessmen, and sexually molested by random avian or arthropods appealed to her. One could hardly blame her low spirits under these circumstances.
Fortunately, it also occurred to Setsuna a little later that she had been dealing with just this kind of life for the past year and had survived, if not exactly flourished, under it. True, it did take meeting Takuya to break her out of her shell over a year ago, but even if she was admittedly caught flatfooted by how much it actually hurt to see the Nanban fail her, Setsuna was sure she could, without anyone's help, sort out her feelings in no time flat this time around. Give or take a few days.
As it turned out, though, she did receive some help this time as well, whether she needed it or not. She smiled fondly as, in her head, the image of a young man appeared, puking his guts out onto the floor with so much force that his pigtail was standing straight up from the back of his head as he leaned forward. She had just woken up at the time, processed what had transpired, and suddenly found herself too busy dodging projectile vomit to remember that she was supposed to be depressed.
Heh, just like Takuya, Setsuna smirked inwardly and thought. Couldn't hold your liquor, could you, Ranma-kun?
And, just as suddenly, her mind hiccupped as it analyzed that last thought. Wait a minute… Ranma-kun? When in the world did I start calling him –
No, not going there right now, Setsuna quickly put the gears in reverse and backed out from that particular road. Noting that Momoko had once again taken a worried look beside her, she cleared her throat, flicked some strands of hair past her shoulders and spoke quickly. "Anyway," she began once more, hoping that the small bit of heat she felt on her cheeks came from sitting directly under a pair of stage lights, "Where's Minako? She should've been here half an hour ago."
Momoko rolled her eyes at that. "Geez, I thought you'd never ask." A glance at a shaking figure standing a bit away from them, the younger girl went on. "Um, I think you really might want to start hunting her down again." She pointed in the direction of the stage. Evidently, the director had taken to frothing at the mouth now to express the amount of his displeasure.
Setsuna's eyes followed the finger. "Naah," she decided at length, "It's all right. Minako needs to start learning how to be punctual. I think a little reprimand from someone other than me would actually do her good. In any case, what else is going on?"
"Not much," Momoko shrugged and said. Except that boss was so freaked out that he actually gave me leave for the day to tag along with you to see what's going on with you.
"I see," Setsuna said, half expecting the answer. She turned to regard her companion better, absorbing in one glimpse everything from the concern written on her friend's face to the papers that were haphazardly discarded by the young woman's side, and tapped a finger on her chin as if considering. Then her eyes turned back to the papers. "Hold on, Momoko-chan," Setsuna said incredulously. "Are you still reading that tabloid crap? Didn't I tell you that Shukan Shincho –"
"–was on the receiving end of about twenty-one lawsuits for misrepresentation of facts over the past ten years, and was only good for reading if you belong to a secret occult sect that disembowels random people on the street to worship Hello Kitty as the dark god?" Momoko recited the lecture from memory. "Really, Senpai, just because it's a tabloid doesn't always mean the stories are fake. And those tabloid stories are much more interesting anyhow, so the case is closed." Setsuna rubbed her temples. That girl and her love of outrageous rumors… "Plus," the subject in question just had to throw in the last bit for good measure, "What's wrong with Hello Kitty? I happen to like them. They're cute as hell."
"Hell" was right. The image of herself walking into Momoko's bedroom for the first – and unquestionably the last – time came to the forefront of Setsuna's thoughts, and she quietly shuddered. "Like," however, was not the suitable description here. I hope her boyfriend didn't mind conducting make-out sessions on a bed while sandwiched by an army of fuzzy, stuffed, super-deformed feline plushies each with a red ribbon tied into a bow on one ear.
Impulsively, Setsuna reached over the seat to grab the papers. She was too late to stop her friend from being terminally afflicted with the Hello Kitty cancer, but there might still be time to cure her of her tabloid craze. "All right, Momoko-chan, I'm not going to go through the whole argument again, but check this out and tell me afterwards that you still don't think the paper's completely bull." She skimmed through the headlines quickly, found something that looked like it would suffice her needs to prove her point, and took a blind stab at it by reading out loud:
–Juuban, Tokyo.
A link has been made connecting the mysterious comatose victims in Juuban in the last few months with the recent rise in the ward's unsolved arson cases and a strange figure seen at night on rooftops in the area. Although none of the witnesses were able to provide a detailed description on the figure, the general consensus was that it belonged to a female who spoke English, judging from the various phrases it was reported to have said.
What was perhaps more disturbing, however, was the nature of those cryptic messages. A noodle-stand owner believed that he heard the words "sell her peanuts" being uttered by a young woman before the windows of a lingerie shop nearby suddenly exploded, showering glass shards and pieces of female fashion undergarments into the bowls of noodles his customers were busily consuming before sending both chef and diners alike scrambling away for their lives. "She definitely wanted to get her peanuts," he recounted later in the emergency room at the Nisseki Medical Center while being treated for minor injuries. "The next time I see her, I'll be sure to have a few cans stashed away in my yattai and give them to her for free."
However, one Furuhata Motoki, a local arcade store owner, claimed that he heard something else entirely. "I was just minding my business at the store that one night when this loud explosion knocked me off my feet," he recalled. "Next thing I knew, I heard a young female voice from somewhere down the street, yelling out all kinds of things in English at the top of her lungs. I didn't want to believe it, but I was positive that at some point she said, "Show her penis!", along with something to the tune of "Great scent: pee shower!" That's when I realized I had to call the police."
When prompted for his thoughts on the matter, he added, "I don't think I've ever felt so violated in my whole life."
Were the fires and destruction the doing of someone desperate for a late night snack, or a deranged woman with perverse practices who felt the need to express her pent-up sexual frustrations to the public in the wee hours of the morning? And how did all this lead to the comatose victims in the area? Police are still investigating the case and have so far declined to offer specific details on the matter, only advising the locals to be cautious at night while walking about the neighborhood. "Obviously, the streets aren't safe anymore. There's some loony out there disturbing the peace around our very homes," commented one detective who wished to remain anonymous. "This person is probably highly dangerous, needs serious psychiatric help, and will definitely be brought to justice."
Meanwhile, perhaps the recent traumatic events that gripped the residents of Juuban in fear can be best summarized with the words offered by a young boy seen huddling against his mother on a night-bus as it drove down what was once a quiet and serene neighborhood.
"Mommy, I'm scared." He said.
x x x
Perhaps, Setsuna reflected as she heard Momoko valiantly defended the bit of tabloid news off to the side, that wasn't the best article to choose from. It actually seemed somewhat credible – no doubt engineered by the author to look that way – but despite how ridiculous the whole thing sounded, there still wasn't enough make-believe factor in it for Setsuna to completely refute whatever arguments Momoko could think up. More importantly, halfway into the story, she could feel something in the back of her head almost… click, as if the article was actually trying to remind her of an important detail. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she searched for it, the information eluded her.
As it turned out, so engrossed was Setsuna in her own thoughts that she failed to see Minako finally sneak into the set with yet another prized autograph from a random teenage idol in hand, heading over her way to offer yet another lame excuse for being late. Except, Minako being Minako, her attention was immediately diverted to the tabloids instead.
It didn't really occur to Setsuna that her protégé was finally present and standing right beside her until the girl began to make a strange gurgling noise in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like an imaginative kid trying to imitate Godzilla after watching an old rerun on TV.
5
December 20, 1997
6:11 PM
"I see," Placing the glass of water he was drinking back on top of the piano, Ranma looked over inquiringly from the bench towards the other end of the living room. "But you still haven't told me what that has to do with you getting fired from work."
Sitting cross-legged at her usual place on the couch with her silk flannel shirt hanging messily out of a plain knee-length skirt, Setsuna stopped examining her bare toes, kicked her legs out from under her, and sank into the seat with her head thrown back over the cushions. She let out a frustrated sigh. "I was just getting to that part…"
x x x
Purple was, without question, the wrong color for Minako.
"Breathe, Minako-chan, breathe!" Seeing that this was once again going nowhere, Setsuna muttered a quick apology to the director in front of her, then turned around to address the rest of the equally disgruntled camera crew. "Everyone take a break, please."
Walking over, she pulled the shaking girl off the stage in a hurry, checked her watch, and promptly let her temper fly. "All right, what the hell is going on out there? It's twelve-thirty now, and we still haven't gotten one decent take. You were supposed be chewing the gum and dancing around, not looking like you choked on the thing and started having a seizure!" Without missing a beat, Setsuna continued, "And, in case you still don't know, "I'm going to kill that son-of-a-bitch, whoever he is," was not supposed to be your opening line."
The blond-haired girl drew herself up and stared back challengingly. "Well, excuse me for having a bad day!"
"You're supposed to be more professional than that!" Setsuna raised her voice equally, the anger she had bottled up inside ever since she took on the job as the manager of the bumbling idol-wannabe threatening to take hold.
"And you have no idea what the hell you're talking about," Minako countered just as swiftly, hands firmly planted at her hips. Unnoticed by either of them, Momoko had wisely left the scene some time ago after taking one glance at the dark frown on Setsuna's face during one particularly disastrous take.
"Oh, I don't now, huh?" Setsuna held up one hand and started to count away with her fingers. "Let's see, you showed up late – yet again – because you couldn't wait to get another autograph, got both you and myself chewed out by the director, got so distracted with whatever it was that pissed you off so badly that you couldn't even walk straight when you were onstage, and even screamed out all kinds of obscenities in front of the camera… do I need to go on?" Taking a good look at the defiant girl, who had opted not to interrupt for a change, Setsuna observed by pure chance something so out of place that it took all the heat out of her voice temporarily. "Um, Minako-chan?" She pointed, sounding unsure of herself for the first time in the conversation. "What in the world is that thing on your chest?"
"…eye shadow." The girl mumbled almost unintelligibly after a long pause.
Feeling the onset of a bad headache, Setsuna shut her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "And why were you putting eye shadow on your cleavage?"
The reply was so faint that Setsuna had to strain to hear. "…the boy I got the autograph from said he liked girls with bigger… sizes during a magazine interview," Minako said, a hand waving in a curve in the air in front of her as a visual aid. "I thought it'd make me look more, um, curvy, and that it'd impress him more."
Unable to help herself, Setsuna barked a laugh. "No, you look like someone who has post-operative bruising from a lung-removal surgery."
"Hey!" Minako fumed, then piped down for a moment, realizing that this warranted a more calculated comeback. A few seconds later, she found just the words to say, and molded the fierce scowl on her face into a nasty grin. "You know," she began nonchalantly, cocking her head to one side so she could play with her hair, "I really have better things to do than to take this kind of abuse from some washed-up has-been model that has to play manager to keep a job because she can't compete with young girls like me."
The laughter died instantly.
Ha! Got you there, you old bag, Minako exulted inwardly as she watched Setsuna turned to face her woodenly. Bet you can't counter that, can you?
Then, as Setsuna started towards her with a strange definitiveness in her stride, the young girl became puzzled when what looked like a serene smile broke out unexpectedly across the older woman's visage. Hmm, that's weird, the blonde thought to herself. Didn't I just insult her? So… why is she smiling like that?
x x x
Recalling an earlier incident where Setsuna was smiling just as sweetly, Ranma quickly put two and two together and made a guess. "So you punched her?" He covered his face with a hand and asked tiredly.
Setsuna grunted, testing the bruise with a finger. "And she punched back." She winced.
"That would explain the black eye I saw when I came home then." Ranma rubbed his forehead with the hand, drew a deep breath, and went on. "So, what happened next?"
"What else? We had to get broken up by the security. And even my boss couldn't save me from the board when I got back, seeing how we caused such a big commotion. Funny thing is, I'm not sure I want to stay even if they give me another chance," she shrugged and said. "So, I've officially hit an all-time low. Guess the good thing is that I don't have to worry about my life getting any worse."
He agreed.
"You don't have to nod, you know?" Setsuna eyed him testily. "Anyway, aren't you supposed to meet up with your fiancée or something?"
"Yeah, well, finishing what you start is important, I guess." Ranma tensed, suddenly fidgeting in his seat.
Setsuna picked up the hint of nervousness in his tone and turned to him. "Hold on, you're not having second thoughts about this, aren't you?"
"O-Of course not," he said. "Why should I? But… since we weren't going to meet until eight, I figured that I don't have to leave until seven-thirty."
"Yes, you do!" She ran a hand through her hair in exasperation and sprang up from the couch. "You need time to get dressed, and stop by the flower shop on the way to pick something out for her. Honestly, do I have to tell you how to go on a date as well? Guys need to get prepared too, you know?"
"We do?" Ranma asked, genuinely perplexed at this new revelation. "But we're only going to the coffee shop!"
"Ugh. Just… go. Trust me." Walking around the piano, she grabbed his arm, dragged him off the bench and shoved him roughly into his room. "And don't come out until you look at least minimally presentable," she warned, before slamming the door shut.
6
December 20, 1997
6:45 PM
A torturous thirty minutes later, the pigtailed young man was standing in front of Setsuna as she looked him over with a critical eye. The silence in the room as Setsuna paced about, arms crossed in front of her chest and gnawing on a fingernail while she examined him, made Ranma distinctly uncomfortable. It felt like he was back in that open assembly hall in junior high, behind a set of moldy, makeshift curtains almost inadequately drawn up as lines of students in gym uniforms snaked about on the other side, waiting in suffered silence to take their general physical exam at the beginning of the school year. Any minute now, the doctor would be asking him to step off the scale and start pulling down his shorts.
Setsuna looked as if she was about to say something, then thought better and kept quiet. "Hmm. It'll do, I suppose." She glanced at the blue denim shirt he wore for one last time before she decreed at last. "At least they have fewer wrinkles than the ones you had on earlier."
Ranma let out a breath he did not know he had been holding, even though he couldn't really see the difference. Blue shirt, black pants, big deal. It's just another set he used to wear to school, that's all. "So, what now?" He asked impatiently, tapping a foot on the wood floor, waiting to see where she was going with this.
"Wait here," she said, walking over to the entrance and opening the closet. "Here," she returned with a slightly dusty black coat draped over an arm. "Take this." Ranma took the thing, frowned at it, then looked back at her in question. "It looks like it's going to rain today, so you might as well put this to better use than letting it sit in the closet and gather dust."
"Oh." Surprisingly, his old roommate's raincoat fit perfectly on him. "How does it look?" Ranma asked as he finished tightening the belt strap. "Um, Setsuna?"
Just like –
"Huh? Oh, uh –" Setsuna shook her head from whatever it was that distracted her, and recovered. "You look… fine." She replied haltingly, which earned a look of suspicion from him. "No, really, you do; I was just thinking about something else for a minute," she reassured.
"Ah, okay then," said Ranma, as something else crossed his mind. "Wait, if it's raining, then you're probably not going out, right?"
"No, why?"
"Well, then," he paused to scratch his chin with a hand before continuing, "Do you want me to get you some takeout when I come back? I forgot to get groceries today, and the fridge is empty."
Caught off-guard by the comment, Setsuna failed to speak for nearly a good minute. "I'll be all right," she managed to say at last. "Besides, I'm not that hungry. You just worry about your fiancée."
Ranma shrugged. "Okay. Anything else?"
"No... well, technically, yes." Setsuna drawled out and spun the clueless boy to face the entrance. "See that big white door over there?" She trained her red irises on him and instructed with just a bit of excess elaboration, "Open it, walk out, and don't come back until you've kissed and made up with your fiancée."
Ranma, who had been listening attentively and was about to say how she didn't have to be so sarcastic about the whole thing, halted in half-nod as the words finally registered. "K-Kiss?"
"You heard me." Seeing that Ranma's legs seemed to suddenly take root on the spot he was standing on, she rolled her eyes. "Well, why are you still standing there? Unless you want Big Sister Setsuna to give you a proper demonstration on how to kiss too?"
He fled.
"Have a wild time," Setsuna called out cheerfully down the stairwell, before heading inside and closing the door behind her.
7
December 20, 1997
7:43 PM
The blares of horns filled what little space there was on the streets.
Watching the lines of traffic inch along as he proceeded down the sidewalk, Ranma noticed the lit taxi signs adorning car roofs ubiquitously down the road, and was secretly glad that he had not opted for a cab earlier. On his right, standing out from the various neon lights across the street, a digital clock conveniently mounted outside some bank told him that he had less than twenty minutes to make it to the café and not be late.
Reflexively, Ranma gripped the bouquet he held in one hand a bit tighter, even as the fragrance of roses in full-bloom wafted into his nostrils. With even strides, he went down the street, passed under lighted signs from a row of stores that chose to stay open late to accommodate the holiday gift-rush that had started earlier this week, and unconsciously tugged at the black raincoat hanging over his other shoulder to make sure it wouldn't fall off. The rain that Setsuna had promised hadn't arrive yet, and there was enough heat from the mass of exhaust pipes on the road spilling onto the sidewalk to make him feel uncomfortable wearing the thing – especially since the night wasn't particularly cold to begin with, given that Christmas was only officially five days away.
A few well-dressed young men with well-oiled hair and fingers on their billfolds, trying not to look too obvious about their wish to trade trinkets for quick favors, gathered in front of a jewelry store just ahead. He swerved around them, turned right at the next intersection, and kept walking, faintly acknowledging that he had crossed the unmarked boundary between Azabu Juuban proper and Minami-Azabu, just to the south. Not far off in the distance, he could even make out the dark contours of the French Embassy building hidden in the glittering night. The café was only a few minutes away from there. Still plenty of time, his mind reassured him.
Navigating through the sparse crowd with ease, Ranma relaxed briefly, and focused his mind on other more important matters. Like what to say to Akane when he saw her.
He had gone over the scenario repeatedly in his mind as if he were analyzing a fight, and still could not figure out an easy way to break the ice between them. He doubted that he would get another chance to ask her out if their meeting turned as silent as last time. As it was, he would thank his lucky stars just to be able to hold a conversation with her, never-mind the kiss that Setsuna had suggested earlier.
Ranma paused at that image, ready to suppress the blush that customarily came along with the mention of a kiss. Then he paused again, when he discovered that none surfaced. It was startling to finally see that not only did he not know what he was going to say, he had equally no idea what to expect out of their meeting.
His gait lagged as he sought to evaluate the problem. Was he looking to patch things up with the old tomboy, and try to continue where they left off?
That would never work, the more rational part of his mind informed him.
Or, how about asking her how Ukyou and Shampoo were doing, and maybe whether his mom had finally decided to redecorate the house by mounting a trophy panda head on the living-room wall?
No, no way; being hammered through wooden walls in the dojo was bad enough. I don't want to try glass and concrete next.
Perhaps, then, he was looking forward to spending the time telling her why he chose to leave? After all, she did deserve an explanation –
But… no. Tempting as it might be, some things were better off not said. Especially complicated things.
Then, what was he looking for? To see Akane –
Akane, in her yellow-and-green sweater, standing thirty feet away on the other side of the intersection. Akane, with her back to the wall, looking as lost as he probably was, studying her coffee intently. Akane, trying to loosen the grip he had on her wrist, her eyes on the exit sign. Akane, her shoulder-length hair flowing in the wind, running away.
Plenty of time, he said to himself again, with a bitter smile on his face this time, and quickened his pace when he realized he had slowed to a stop while he was too busy thinking about her.
8
December 20, 1997
8:38 PM
Compared to his various past experiences, waiting for Akane to arrive proved to be infinitely easier than talking to her.
His arms folded and resting on the table, Ranma sat rigidly in one of those window-booths, letting the cup of latte cool in front of him, and pretended that he was not looking whenever someone walked in to the coffee shop. Tonight's customers, comprised mainly of couples who were more interested in each other's eyes than ordering drinks, and the dimmed lights, plus the sensuous, jazzy music drifting down from sets of ceiling speakers that couldn't make up their mind between imitating a bass or a low-pitched whine, did nothing but to heighten the atmosphere of your textbook, clichéd romance, and made him feel utterly out-of-place.
Hearing the jingling that accompanied the front door opening once again, he quickly spared a look at the bouquet of roses he'd laid to his left before looking up.
A young woman, probably a receptionist at some company from the look of her dress, blushing; behind her, holding the door open, a man in his fifties with graying moustache and a protruding belly shaped not unlike his balding forehead, smiling.
Ranma went back to staring at the space at the other end of his table.
The jazz piece ended, replaced by an easy, crisp tune played on a clarinet.
Halfway through the melody, the chimes rang once more. He raised his head, and lowered it again soon after. A young man in a business suit and a simple red tie walked in, brushing shoulders against a plain-looking couple on their way out.
Idly, he leaned back against the wooden bench a little, and tried to ease his mind by thinking about something else. Hmm, I wonder what Setsuna's doing right now? He pondered, then let out a sigh despite himself. She's probably just shutting herself in her room again. Ranma would never admit it, but he was starting to miss the old, pushy Setsuna who would snatch newspapers out of his hands to read them herself without a second thought, or slump into her couch, with her legs stretching all the way out, using the glass table as her personal footrest so that he would have to squeeze between the other end of the table and the wine crates by the wall if he wanted to walk through.
Chimes again, but this time the sounds missed his notice. Ranma leaned back further, tilting his head back until part of his pigtail nestled into the space between his neck and the collar of his shirt, touching the backrest of the bench with the top of his head. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched the last tendril of steam rise up from his coffee, dissipating into the air. Chopin's Etude in C Minor, Op. 10, No. 12 took over the fading clarinet from above, filling him with an impression of some intangible change in the air much like every other time he heard the piece, and, for just an instant, Ranma allowed himself to picture what it would have been like, if Setsuna was here with him tonight.
She would probably have been in one of those business suits, he thought, matched by one of her many mini-skirts; her long, lustrous green hair parting evenly at the front and resting perfectly down to the small of her back. Her full, red lips would have bloomed brighter than the roses at his side, and the dimmed lights would have made her crimson eyes stand out like a set of meticulously polished garnets that bootlicking vassals would bring back in the old days to corrupt even the most righteous of lords. Her hands would have been planted to each side of his neck as she inched her body closer to him, just like they were doing right now.
Wait, that didn't quite add up.
Ranma shook his head clear of the daydream, and looked at the pair of slender arms firmly lodged to each side of his head, showing unblemished, cream-colored skin. He looked at the owner of those hands, and gaped.
"Set-Setsuna?" he stammered. What in the world is she doing here?
Setsuna, in the same ruffled suit from earlier today, her face less than a foot away from his, bored her red eyes into him from above. She was also panting like a marathoner who just realized he was out of shape halfway through the race. A black eye and a tick over the eyebrow and above the bruise marred her usually beautiful features. Her hair was in complete disarray.
Breathing heavily, Setsuna swallowed several times before she was able to speak.
"M-My green tea," she gasped out, pushing the table all the way over with her hip until a corner dug into the wood on the opposite bench to position herself directly in front of him.
"What?" Ranma asked, wholly puzzled. "How did you know where this place was?"
Not even wasting time to answer, she threw down a torn piece of napkin that he recognized he had inadvertently brought back home last week. The name "Celestia's Café", along with the address, was printed squarely in the middle of it. "My green tea," she repeated, forcing her breathing to calm and rearranging her expression into an icy mask. "The orange can of Kanro Gyokuro," she grated out between clenched teeth in a barely-even tone, when she saw that he was still not getting the message.
"Oh." He oh-ed naturally, somewhat recalling the thing. "What about it?"
"Where. The. Hell. Is. It?"
"Oh," Ranma spoke disinterestedly before his brain could catch up with him, "I threw that thing into the garbage earli–" Suddenly, mouth unable to close, Ranma held a hand to his lips, one fingers pressing into the tip of his nose. A painful minute passed before he could voice out the appropriate response, when he realized what he had just said. "Ahh… oops?"
Setsuna shut her eyes, and her whole body shook. Her fingers twitched violently.
x x x
"I can't believe you threw my green tea into the trash," Setsuna grounded out, looking pointedly to the side. Her foot touched an empty soda can left on the sidewalk, but she decided to walk around it before instinct told her to rear back and kick it away.
"I can't believe you got us thrown out of the shop!" To her left, Ranma shot a glance at the coffee shop behind him, and ran a hand through his hair, dragging his fingers across his scalp. "You didn't have to start choking me in the public, you know?" he accused. "And couldn't you wait until I get back to tell me about the tea? How am I supposed to meet Akane now?"
"That thing cost me a fortune!" Setsuna stopped dead in her tracks and whirled to face the object of her ire. "I spent almost two weeks saving up just to get a can of that stuff!" Her fingers curled angrily into small fists at her sides.
The menace in her voice made Ranma back away a few steps and turn to regard her. However, the little fearful expression on his face was gradually replaced by a smirk, and, before he knew it, he was doubling over the sidewalk and holding his stomach, uncontrollable laughter escaping from his lips.
If anything, this only fueled Setsuna's anger even further. "You think this is amusing?"
"N-No," Ranma wheezed out painfully between gasps of air. "It's just that you should've seen your look… that black eye of yours doesn't really help when you're trying to be mad." He paused, took a few deep breaths, and went right back to laughing.
Teeth bared dangerously, Setsuna closed in on him in an instant with outstretched hands. "I am not TRYING!" She roared, raining fists onto his back and shoulders.
"Wait, hold on a sec –" he tried to dance away and failed, unable to find a good balance from his bent position. "Look, I'm sorry –" he said again, this time attempting to catch her hands from behind. Despite the randomness of her blows, Ranma was still able to capture first one wrist, then the other by a combination of skill and plain luck. Setsuna struggled against grip, but only succeeded in making herself lose her footing, sending the two tumbling onto the ground.
Immediately, the old training kicked in, and he managed to twist his body about in mid-air, circling his arms around her waist and let his back absorb the fall for the both of them before she had any idea what was going on. Once the shock of the impact had gone, he looked up tentatively at the woman on top of him, whose fury had been washed away by a look of slight shock as she began to register what happened. "Hey, Setsuna," he said softly. "Are you okay? You're not hurt, right?"
She did not answer. He shook his head to clear out some strands of green hair that had fallen past her shoulders and onto his face, and tried again.
"Look, I'm sorry, all right?" he stated as seriously as he could. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."
Setsuna opened her lips, but still no words came. Instead, she hastily pushed herself off of him with her hands, and turned to the left, one finger raised and pointing in question. Alarmed, he propped himself back up from the ground, his gaze following the direction of her hand.
And promptly slapped a hand to his forehead. "Aw, hell!"
To his right, down by the corner of the street, wearing a sweater in a familiar pattern, Akane held her hands up to her mouth to hide her shock, her eyes full of pained disbelief. Without a word, she spun violently on her heels, and fled around the corner.
"Akane!" He yelled, dashing frantically down the street and around the corner, unaware that Setsuna was trailing right after him. A few pedestrians looked at him as he called out her name, but there was no sign of the girl. On the street, however, a single taxi that had stopped by the side not too far away rolled back into the traffic lanes and took off past him. "Wait, Akane!" In the blink of an eye, he made a one-eighty and ran back the way he came, chasing after the white car.
Unfortunately, it sped up in response as well.
Normally, a race between a man and a speeding automobile wouldn't even be halfway-interesting, but this was Ranma. Whereas the car weaved in and out of lanes, eliciting horns and angry curses from various drivers around it, Ranma became nearly a blur as he blazed down the sidewalk, leaving innocent passers-by and their indignant shouts behind as they jumped clear of his path.
The impromptu duel between the arguably best ex-martial-artist of his generation and a 1996, 1.8 liter Toyota Corolla 7A-FE engine capable of delivering 110hp at 5,600rpm lasted exactly half a mile. It could have gone on much longer, of course, but the car, apparently not wanting to be bothered with an eventual trophy it would never have received anyway, made one last turn to its right, and left the man on the sidewalk looking as it turned onto the expressway.
His gaze remained fixed to the space where he could last make out the white cab, Ranma seemed to forget how to blink until he felt a sting in his eyes. Suddenly, feeling strangely weak and tired, he wavered for a second where he stood before his knees gave away, dropping him to the ground in a heap. He stayed that way for a long time, until the approaching sounds of high-heels clicking stopped next to him, and a pair of soft hands rested on his shoulders, guiding him back up from behind.
9
December 20, 1997
9:11 PM
On the road again, the pair walked in silence, except that the roles were somehow reversed.
"Ranma-kun?" Setsuna called out for the third time, her voice unsure. "I… I'm sorry about what happened."
As expected, the pigtailed young man kept walking, still studying the ground. Setsuna bit her lower lip as he sped up, and hurried after him. She did not know how long they had been walking, or even where they were now; all she knew was that they were not going in the direction back home, and that there were barely any people or cars sharing the street they were on.
Just ahead, light spilled onto the sidewalk from a hot-drink vending machine. Overhead, a lamp from a nearby post fizzled and died, making the glare stand out all the more.
Abruptly, Ranma paused by the vending machine, one foot landing near the edge between the pale shade and the white on the ground. She halted as well, stopping a foot behind him.
He sniffed at the air, then turned to face her with an awful, strained smile. "Hey, Setsuna?" he asked promptly, a strange catch in his throat.
"Y-Yes?" she asked back hesitantly. The pause that followed made looking at his face even more unbearable.
At length, Ranma spoke again. "About that demonstration you mentioned earlier…" he trailed off softly.
"…what?" Setsuna would have voiced out in non-comprehension, but the words died when she suddenly felt a pair of lips forcefully pressing onto hers. Her eyes grew so large that the bruise stung, even as her body was pinned against the vending machine by his powerful frame.
For an instant, she struggled wildly against this intrusion, making fists with her hands again and scraping the sidewalk with the tip of her heels. But, for some reason, Setsuna found her strength betraying her, leaving her with no other course of action than to accept his advances.
But, my green tea… a part of her mind argued feebly in the background. She threw it aside, ignoring it as much as she did at the low hum from the vending machine. Instead, she chose to melt against his body, draping her arms over his shoulders and letting lips return the taste of his feverish kiss.
And, just as suddenly, it ended.
Ranma drew his face away, leaving only enough space between them for her to see his glistening eyes. He swallowed once, hard. "Was it supposed to have been like this?"
Surprised at herself at feeling more disappointed than angry, it took Setsuna a few moments to reorient herself, and to see that the pair of blue, turbulent eyes he laid upon her was searching for an answer that more than referred to just the demonstration.
Eyes strangely moist, she replied in a voice full of emotions that she could not sort out herself. "Yes," she said, almost whispering. "I think so."
Ranma gave the barest of nods, then pushed himself gently away from her.
"…right," he drew a deep breath and said finally, looking back down the street. "Let's go home."
x x x
Sometime before they reached the apartment, Setsuna was briefly startled as she found herself grabbing Ranma's arm. She paid it no mind in the end, however, and laid her head back against his shoulder as she walked.
A bouquet of red roses, left on the sidewalk a few blocks from a small, cozy coffee shop, remained there well past the next morning, when the petals had been stained with a mixture of mud and the late-night rain.
(END CHAPTER)
Special thanks to Figment for his invaluable comments, as well as Corwin, Thermopyle, Sunhawk, Ebiris, Ranma007 and others who helped pre-read the chapter. The green tea part was an idea taken from Corwin's devious mind.
Apology goes to Gabriel Blessing, for mangling the titles of several of his well-written Ranma / SM stories.
Finally, sorry it took so long for an update. School ate up most of my time recently; as our family dog refused to digest any more of my papers after that last bout of constipation, I did not have a legitimate excuse not to turn in assignments and lab reports on time anymore.
- ukie