Chapter 7 – Object Lessons - Part One

Oneajar slat was sufficient to allow a minute stream of light to dance its ways across the frowzy room. Like the eyes of a single portrait on a wall, the little invading ray inevitably found its way to the exposed eye line of the vulnerable figure that lay prostrate on the floor. The beam sought not the tanning of the eyelids of the motionless martial artist, but the roasting of the frangible organs that lay behind them. Before the eager shaft could prove that not all gigantic fiery heavenly bodies of flaring gas have purely benign intentions, the sprawled form gradually sat up. He loosed a grunt less indicative of rising from a refreshing night's sleep, than say, recovering from spatula induced unconsciousness.

Genma groaned as he became aware not only of the throbbing resulting from cranium/blunt instrument interaction, but of the congenital soreness and aching that results from spending one's night face down in the 'promise-pose' position. It was a wonder that his fingers hadn't cramped. Grimacing, Genma alternated between patting gently at his abused skull, and inefficiently fumbling around in search of his wayward spectacles.

A little over a minute of myopic prodding resulted in success. The elder Saotome groggily replaced his glasses and glared balefully at the softly breathing form of his 'son', loosely curled into a one-hundred pound ball beneath her musty blanket. Still scowling he prepared to snort disgustedly. For a true snort should not be performed on the fly, but requires preparation and technique, heck, Tendo's remarkable 'Demon Head' ki illusionary 'attack', was in essence, simply an insanely exaggerated snort. He aimed at his rhythmically snoring offspring.

Snoring?

His eyes focused opportunistically. With a grin betraying but a fraction of his experience and competence in such pursuits, Genma began to lightly pad his way to his son's large travelling pack.

He had the pack partially open when he felt a floorboard being thread upon, immediately followed by a hiss. "Pops, catch!" Genma knew that for his own body's sake he'd best do just that. The man spun with a speed belying his massive girth. In the same motion, he confidently plucked the spinning spatula out of the air, just in time to use it to block Ukyo's downward stroke with her own weapon. The brunette grinned as Genma parried her second swipe and, with jarring quickness, swept low at her feet. She leaped above the attack as best she could in the confines of the hotel room, while making as little noise as possible. Ukyo grasped the ceiling desperately with her free arm, avoiding Genma's following uppercut. "Come on, Pops! Granny Kuonji could've dodged that attack," she blustered in false display of bravado, attempting to rile up her larger opponent. Genma was having none of it. He silently sidestepped her attempted landing lunge on his head. Ukyo recovered and nimbly rolled behind Genma. The girl lashed out with a flowing back kick, which he somehow twisted his way around to use his own near forgotten spatula to disarm the surprised chef. Her spatula clanged softly on the dust-cushioned floor.

The bald martial artist grinned cockily as he leveled Ukyo's second heavy spatula at her. When it came tosparring, Ukyo knew that Pops preferred to use the weapon as more of a defensive tool (not that he was unable to use just about any weapon to attack with great proficiency) opting to rely on his body to do the attacking. Despite this, once he'd disarmed an opponent, they were in a world of trouble if happened to be holding a weapon - just as Ukyo recognized she was in now.

She had to give it to Pops. He'd been waking both Ranma and she at pre-dawn hours for sparring as long as they could both remember, and yet when they returned the favour (which they'd quite taken quite avidly to in the past few years), he invariably turned the tables on them and administered a lesson limning why they were the students and he the teacher.

Genma made to thrust the hefty weapon straight at Ukyo. She dodged left to avoid being run through; too late deducing that he'd merely feinted. Shedesperately brought up both arms to block the incoming punch as best as she could. His right fist crashed heavily into the young chef (let it never be said that Genma Saotome pulled his punches). Ukyo cushioned the blow with a back spring into the hotel wall, from which she launched herself at her surprised foe. Unfortunately for the teen, surprise does not necessarily equal lack of readiness. Genma discarded the weapon he held and adroitly fell backward into a roll.She gasped ashe used her own momentum to extemporaneously tossher beyond him on a direct course for the room's single rickety window.

Genma wasn't the only one caught unawares when a red blur intercepted the airborne okonomiyaki chef. The burly fighter briskly righted himself, and adopted the deceptively casual stance associated with the Anything Goes School. Rather than the anticipated barrage, Ranma treated her companions to a tremendous yawn, still holding Ukyo in her small arms. Genma couldn't help but grin internally at the near comical spectacle of the bantam figure cradling the much larger Ukyo to her chest.

Panting rapidly, her heavy breathing not entirely due to her reveille-spar, Ukyo gulped "Th-thanks, Ranchan." Ranma blinked away the last vestiges of sleep and looked down at the chef she held. With her reduced stature, Ranma was unable to keep Ukyo's braid from snaking its way down to the floor, so she carefully avoided threading on it as she moved to the bed to lay the chef down.

"S'no prob, Ucchan," replied Ranma modestly, as the brunette sat up. "You'd have done the same to me – I mean, for me! I mean..." Ukyo giggled as to the redhead's dismay, Ranma began to blush visibly despite the dim illumination of the room. Turning to Genma, who was still expectantly awaiting an assault, the taller girl cheerfully commented,

"Great spar, Pops," stretching, audibly cracking a few joints in the process. "I've got to take a shower now," she added with a smile that was far too sweet in Genma's opinion, as she headed towards the dubious WC that contained the room's shower. The large martial artist glanced at his child in unconcealed readiness. Genma winced a little, then a lot, at the calculating expression he found there.

He... she was giving him The Look.

Until those confounded springs, Genma hadn't had to suffer through The Look in over ten years. Unfortunately, a decade hadn't served to dull the razor's edge of utter dread that The Lookunerringly sliced into the bald martial artist. Genma felt somewhat like an earthworm before a sparrow... No, reconsidered the elder Saotome. That analogy was insufficient. He felt likean earthworm before a six-year old. At least the bird wouldn't prolong the torture.

Feeling significantly less sure of himself, Genma croaked,

"Aren't you going to spar, er...boy?" Ranma frowned. "B-but of course you don't have to if you don't want to."

"I'm surprised you haven't woken up the entire hotel with your first spar," she commented flatly. Genma began visibly sweating.

"B-but Ukyo started..."

"I don't care who started it. You're supposed to be an adult, aint'cha?" she asked plaintively. The lapse into rougher speech helped quell Genma's conditioned terror a little, but not enough to interrupt his admonishment. "And I don't wanna get kicked outta here before I can shower." She sighed, as though resigning herself to doing something distasteful. "Now, c'mere, I've got something to give you." She motioned him to move closer to her pack. The Look transformed into The Glare as she discovered that 'someone' had already tampered with her pack. Genma had to bite his lip as a squeak of fright fought to escape him. He had been following like a scolded schoolboy and nearly melted under the piercing gaze of the choleric redhead. Ranma rummaged through her pack, quickly examining the contents to ensure everything was as it should have been. Producing a particular box, she presented Genma with an undecorated blue bar of soap. He gulped.

"Is that...?"

"Yeah, that's the waterproof soap." Genma stood dumbfounded, as she nonchalantly tossed it to him. In his surprised state, he nearly fumbled the catch. "You can go in after Ucchan," she said, indicating the shower with a nod. "Remember to use warm water, or you'll be stuck as a panda."

There was an idea that hadn't struck Ranma during her plotting with their fiancée the night before. 'Nah', she dismissed the thought. It'd be too cruel considering what was going to happen later. Ranma watched as her father's eyes widened as he clutched the soap to his chest greedily, eyeing the door to the shower.

When Ukyo emerged from the shower in male form a few minutes later, Genma's face fell. Heh, Ranma could almost feel sorry for the old man... 'nope'.

"Don't worry Pops," hummed Ukyo in a placating tone in his just slightly deeper than usual voice. He pointed a slender thumb over his shoulder. "There's only enough hot water in the boiler for one shower, so Ranchan and I thought we'd do you a favour." Ranma nodded in a fallaciously innocent manner, which under other circumstances would have signaled to Genma that something was rotten in the state of Denmark. However, he sensed nothing amiss, preoccupied as he was with his apparent good fortune.

"Ah, that's my boy!" declared Genma jovially, smacking Ukyo on the shoulder hard enough to win the stuffed animal at even the most tightfisted of fairground exhibitions, before grabbing a towel. Soon, the sounds of hissing water and Genma's less than lovely singing voice (imagine Yma Sumac if she were a chunky Japanese Martial Artist with a penchant for Perry Como) emitted from the WC.

Ignoring the cacophonous wailing, Ranma turned to Ukyo, who was awkwardly drying his hair while trying to avoiding dislodging the Dragon's Whisker.

"Is the water really...?" she trailed.

"Yep," nodded Ukyo with his eyes. "There's a meter in there and everything."

"Damn," grumbled the redhead, "and I was looking forward toa hot shower." She looked appraisingly at Ukyo. "Do you want me to help you with that?" indicating Ukyo's ungainly efforts to dry his pythonic braid.

"Could you, Ranchan?" he asked gratefully. She nodded agreeably.

"Sure, just gimme a sec," she mumbled, as she threw open the window shutter fully, allowing dawn light to spill into the stale smelling room. Ranma turned...andstared at the chestnut highlights that shimmered and rolled throughout the mass of Ukyo's dark hair. They seemed move like Christmas lights, illumed by the dazzling morning sun.

"Wow..." she exhaled. Forest green eyes regarded the redhead curiously.

"What is it, Honey?" he asked solicitously. Ranma blinked. Then blinked gain, clasping her hands behind her back as soon as she felt her index fingers rubbing together.

"Ah, nuthin'." Ukyo raised an inquisitive eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. Ranma agitatedly mumbled, "It's just that your hair looks, uh, it ah, looks really, y'know, pretty?" She released a deepbreath, her shoulders slackened slightly. She perked up again when Ukyo returned a sincere smile.

Ukyo beamed at the compliment. Especially when it was coming from somebody, who madethe chef feel positively plain by comparison.

"Thank you, Ranchan," breathed Ukyo. "That, uh, means a lot to me," he admitted, fighting down a blush. The okonomiyaki chef patted his chest with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a distracting manner. He looked up again at the sound of Ranma...giggling? Yes.A full on and a terribly amused giggle. Quite obviously aimed at Ukyo. "Er, what?" he asked glancing about plaintively. Ranma continued to laugh unabashedly, pointing a small finger at the chef's midriff, while trying unsuccessfully to clap her mouth shut with her other hand. "Just tell me, you jackass," he demanded. He glimpsed down at where he'd patted himself a moment ago, to see his towel he had hunkered up around him to his armpits. "Ahh," he murmured, as his ears began to burn. "It's not funny, Ranchan," he stated adamantly.

"Hell yeah it is!" she exclaimed affably. Ukyo couldn't maintain the scowl on his features for long and laughed with her.

"Alright, Ranchan, Happy Hour is over," he announced a minute or so later, as took a seat on the bed, "and you still haven't dried my hair," he pointed out suggestively.

"Okay, okay," grumbled the redhead without any heat, as she smiled contentedly.

Grabbing a towel propped herself bodily on the bed. The small girl took up a kneeling position behind Ukyo. Ranma began near the Dragon's Whisker, thoroughly drying the area around the unassuming looking string, before moving to her fiancé's scalp. Methodically, Ranma rolled the towel up and down Ukyo's hair. She soon settled the damp thing aside. Placing a fresh towel on the chef's strangely tense shoulders, she ran her hands experimentally through the dark-haired boy's locks, smoothing out his scalp. 'Hmm, still a little damp,' she appraised, and was caught off guard when Ukyo sighed serenly. Ranma raised a small arched eyebrow, andnoted how tense Ukyo's shoulders were. 'I guess a massage wouldn't hurt her, well him at the moment,' she considered, removing the towel from around her fiancé's neck to gain easier access to the necessary area.

She slowly kneaded her fingers through Ukyo's unruly hair again, and quietly asked, "You want me ta' keep goin', Ucchan?" The chef exhaled and rolled her neck from side to side.

"Sure. Thanks, Ranchan. I never realized just how stiff my neck was. A cold shower isn't exactly relaxing, you know? And of course, changing genders like that cannot help." Ranma snorted playfully, as she pressed her thumbs into the nape of her companion's neck.

"Hah, you wanna trade?" questioned the girl. Ukyo hummed as Ranma began tapping a series of basic pressure points around his shoulders.

"Right now?" he asked, "Not on your life," he purred.

"Don't do that, Ucchan," pleaded the temporary masseuse.

"Huh?" replied the chef, a little dazed. "Oh, jeez, was I?" he asked looking over his shoulder at his frowning fiancée. She nodded mutely. "I'm sorry, Sugar," he said contritely, the intimate term of endearment sounded strange produced through the altered mechanics of a male voice box. He made to move away. Ranma pulled him back down firmly.

"Don't worry about it," she ordered reassuringly, her tone brooking no argument. She again proceeded to run her fingers through Ukyo'sdamp hair. After a few minutes, the incident was forgotten, as Ranma worked in a steady rhythm, her small fists knuckling particularly knotted areas on Ukyo's physique.

As the session drew on, Ukyo found himself fighting sleep. His higher brain functions decided to take a nap regardless of how the rest of him felt. Relaxed as he had become, Ukyo retained enough awareness to avoid purring again. This didn't prevent the occasional blissfulbreath at the redhead's efforts. Those littleknuckles really got the job done. The cursed chef found himself musing how it would feel to have Ranma's petite frame straddling his back as she applied her deft fingers in this blissfully relaxing fashion.

His eyes opened and closed slowly as he envisioned Ranma's powerful legs clenched around his waist, as she sensuously slackened and kneaded his otherwise unyielding muscles... Perhaps the cachous scent of fragrant oils in the air, he thought, borrowing from a stock fantasy of his. Ranma's hot breath gently caressing the back of Ukyo's neck leaving a trail of hyper- sensitive gooseflesh from nape to collarbone; the illicited chill softened by the heat of desire in the ai-

Ukyo's eyes shot open as he realized that he wasn't imagining Ranma's breath on his back. His breathing quickened. He bit down a moan, but failed to subdue the quiver that accompanied it. The shiverdidn't discourage Ranma, seemingly as lost in applying her technique as Ukyo was in receiving it.

"Kami-sama," Ukyo near silently gasped as he realised that his goose bumps were not his body's only reaction to Ranma's ministrations. This was especially true, now that he felt what he knew intellectually could only be his fiancée's breasts crushed up against his bare back, only the loose fabric of Ranma's top separating them. Ukyo gasped as he felt the petite girl's uneven breath whispering wordlessly beyond his left ear. As a dainty hand reached out and plucked back a loose thread of hair, Ukyo's entire body shuddered in an anticipatory thrill, which seemed an unconscious signal as he gradually craned his neck around. The dazzled martial artist gazed at Ranma's illusory impassive features. Through heavy eyelashes, he found the small girl's eyes, as she looked up from where both her hands slowly seesawed back and forth across Ukyo's left shoulder. The fiancé's faces were scant centimetres away, moving closer. The trembling chef whispered "Ranchan..."

o-o-o

Ranma repositioned her right hand to join her second on Ukyo's left shoulder. God, her hands were small as a girl. She tentatively leaned her face forward, her chin almost resting on her hands. She could actually feel the beat of Ucchan's pulse, as she studied her fiancé's ear. Ranma absently noted that it was lobeless, as she carefully brushed back a stray lock of chestnut hair to reveal a single freckle at the tip of the round cusp. Ukyo shivered massively at the contact, and Ranma internally balked. 'Oh hell', what was she doing? She was supposed to be drying Ukyo's hair, not... whatever it was she was doing now. 'Time to stop,' she decided with conviction, before she felt Ukyo's neck crane around toward her. Ranma looked up, and her thoughts dissipated. She felt her body circumnavigate her brain, moving independently, her eyelids instinctively closing. "Ranchan..." came the susurration that may or may not have been a question. Ranma felt her forehead lightly tickled by stray strands of Ukyo's dark, unbrushed bangs. She felt his breath on her lips, which parted intuitively...

As Genma emerged from the WC.In a triumphant posehe yelled,

"Yatta!" The two teens blinked, frozen in place, millimeters separating them. While Genma praised himself a second time, the aqua-transsexual pair promptly scooted away from one another as their guardian bellowed about his accomplishment. Only now he loosened his grin enough to open his eyes. "And to think you tried to keep this cure from me Ranma. For shame, son. For shame!" he admonished paying no attention to the target of his ire's furiously blushing countenance.

o-o-o

You lousy-

Hah! This coming from the hypocritical existential force that willingly cursed the Jusenkyo Guide.

He's been cursed at least half a dozen times before. It's only a minor inconvenience to him at this stage.

Be that as it may, you cursed him. How could you be so cruel?

You cursed him the other six times!

But those were part of my Grand Scheme.

Turning the Guide into a marmoset for six months was part of your Grand Scheme?

Well, not per se, but whose to say what will and will not affect causality and the ever-turbulent existential vicissitudes that span and fuel reality?

We are.

Fate, being an existential force of reality didn't sweatdrop, but did something that one could implicitly compare to a sweatdrop in regarding existential forces of time and space.

What I can't figure out is what a South American primate was doing at Jusenkyo seven hundred years ago.

It could have –

And the orangutan water that nearly splashed that Hibiki kid for that matter. They're indigenous to Borneo and Sumatra. How did one get to China?

Maybe it swam? Came the tentative suggestion.

...I don't think so...

Or perhaps it escaped from the circus?

The Spring of Drowned Orangutan is twelve hundred years old. Do better, demanded Karma.

Jusenkyo does attract a lot of strangeness...

That is true... I suppose...

Karma became aware of a splash at the particular cursed springs, and observed as a young Chinese girl in an overly large green uniform informed the emerging black and white, flightless, aquatic bird of its curse.

...A &$# penguin! Care explaining that one, Fate!...Fate?

Clever bastard. Grand Scheme, indeed.

o-o-o

"You understand?" demanded Ranma. "Ucchan and I'll be busy buying supplies, so you can just go on ahead to Megumi's alone. She's bound to treat you just as well as last time, remember?" Genma frowned, which seemed strange on his manically grinning face.

"Of course I do, boy!" blustered a wet Genma. He had twice been splashed with cold water since vacating the hotel. Ranma and Ukyo shared a secret smile at Genma's lie. Ukyo, wearing his double spatulas once more, reached into his blue gi jacket, and fished out a crumpled piece of paper. He wordlessly presented it to Genma. "And what's this, boy?" asked the elder Saotome as he laughed off the sudden rainfall. Ranma's lips quirked in a nasty half smile as Ukyo answered.

"Just some directions to Megumi's, Pops. Xining is a big city after all. This," he looked at the piece of paper Genma had just taken, "will get you there in case you have a hard time remembering our last visit." 'Eventually,' added Ukyo to himself. Genma, 'humphed'.

"Hah! I won't need these," he boasted motioning as though to roll up the directions and throw them away. He then carefully placed it in his gi. "But since you two went to so much trouble..." Ranma rolled her eyes, while concealing a smirk behind a small hand. Ranma gained his attention again.

"So we'll meet you at Megumi's, then?" He waved a hand dismissively and surreptitiously looked at the directions when he thought they'd turned around. "See you later," smiled Ranma, as she and Ukyo headed a different direction from the one Genma had, dreamily muttering aboutshrimp okonomiyaki under his breath. The cursed pair could barely contain their amusement when they saw Genma laughing heartily after being splashed by water from a speeding truck. They turned to one another and grinned; their mutual distraction in pulling one over on Pops having temporarily overshadowed the awkwardness of the half hour after... what happened. "So Ucchan," began Ranma casually, looking up at her taller companion, "how much free time do we have before we have to get to your cousin's?" Ukyo snickered.

"I figured since Pops was too hung over to remember his last visit here, he'll get the full scenic tour of the town. We have a good three hours to kill before he gets anywhere near Megumi's."

Ranma whistled.

"It'll take us less than half that time to get all our supplies," estimated Ranma, looking into the distance. "What'll we do then?" She turned back to her fiancé, only to see a wicked gleam in his eye, somewhat akin to how she imagined she looked last night when they plotted out Genma's little 'object lesson'.

"Not all of them," Ukyo thrilled in a little sing song voice. "Some need to be tried on first."

"Huh? What'cha mea..." Oh no. Ohnoohnoohnoohnoohnoohnoohno. "Oh no, oh-"

"Oh yes!" he smirked, "Unless, that is, you're planning to go back on your word?" He winked at her. Ranma indignantly waved her arms, and flustered,

"Of course not! But, but I -" Ukyo pulled up his fists and held them below his chin, and mumbled cutely, chin quivering in an outrageous fashion,

"S-so, you're saying th-that y-you're breaking your promise to me!" looking absolutely miserable. Ranma began making warding signs in a panic, stuttering. But quickly calmed.

"Not workin' this time, 'Sugar'," smirked Ranma.She folded her arms cockily and snorted, "You should know better to try that on me when I'm the girl." Ukyo was using a lot of willpower to fight his grin. He was nodding.

"Yep, I agree, that old routine won't work on you. But just a quick question?"

"Uh huh?"

"Generally: do girls wear girl underwear?" Ranma blinked audibly and frowned at the non-sequiter.

"Well, yeah. Of course they -" Ranma suddenly found herself in apit of her own making, as the Cheshire cat formally known as Ukyo unleased his grin.

'I hate it when she smiles like that,' thought Ranma. 'I like it, too. A lot. But that smile never means anything good for me.' She shook her head. "Ucchan, it don't...it doesn't matter. I told you already I'd wear a bra –a sports bra," she emphasized before Ukyo got any ideas, "so I'll wear one." She sighed as Ukyo offered her a slim arm. Shaking her head in mostly mock agaitation, she accepted, saying, "Let's just get the supplies we'll need out of the way first. Then you can start the torture."

"I just think you're worried you'll like it," said Ukyo in faux seriousness.

"Hah," scoffed Ranma. "I can think of better things to do than waste my time pickin' out dumb underwear." To her astonishment, Ukyo nodded wholeheartedly.

"You're right there, Sugar."

Ranma knew she wouldn't like how this sentence panned out. "Its not just underwear. You're going to need a whole new wardrobe!" Ukyo paused as Ranma's face began to turn blue. "Only kidding! Jeez, always such a drama queen!" The redhead's eyes narrowed, before she grinned coquettishly, bringing her fists beneath her chin in imitation of Ukyo's earlier theatrics.

"It's better than being a drama-king, though, right Ukyo-kun?"

"I deserved that," he admitted. Ukyo cooly leaned closer to his fiancée, and unceremoniously blew in her ear, eliciting a straight ten-foot vertical leap from the younger Saotome. Ukyo simpered, as he caught the redhead in his arms "Doesn't mean I'm not going to get revenge though," he said as Ranma grumpily stuck out her tongue at the chef.

o-o-o

Okay, repeated Shampoo to herself. Must get information. Don't kill. Talk first. Kill then, if you have to, but talk first. Must find husband's location. And the enemy, too.

Since her objective was not to kill the man, Shampoo regarded the situation as she would any other involving an Amazon and an outsider male. She was of a higher station, and she would behave as such, receiving the respect and deference that was due her station. That beingtotal. Of outsider males, only her spouse deserved any modicum of respect from her. And once he was brought back to his rightful place in the village, he would become a good Amazon husband, and help Shampoo bear strong daughters.

Thinking on her husband, she sighed wistfully. Hewas awfully handsome, if a tad effeminate. But in a culture that glorified the female gender, that's wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She would have despaired at the physical size of her Lawfully Chosen husband, if not for the fact that she herself was one of the smallest women in the village, yet was the strongest of all the young warriors.

She knew that size did not always equate to power. Take thisbrute she was about to approach. He was much larger than her husband; a broad shouldered bulky specimen, but she doubted if he had half of Shampoo's strength. She would subdue him with her bonbori and then... She scowled. She could accidentally kill him. There was no assurance that he could survive even a weak attack from her maces. She was the best tracker in the village, but if the trail went cold here, she would not have an easy time finding her quarry in that overseas land of barbarians. As much as it grated her, she'd have to announce herself and... converse with him.

'The things we do in the name of Amazon Law', she thought as she approached the figure and his fire from downwind. "Nihao!" she called out with authority. The man stared at her in what she knew was awe. Yes, she recalled. Ling-Ling and Lung-Lung had described him as fairly intelligent for a male. Hmm, he wasn't too bad looking either. He might not make half-bad breeding stock for one of the unwed younger girls. But Shampoo was a married warrior, and that was none of her immediate concern.

"Who...who are you?" the bandanna clad boy asked, from beside his fire. He was unarmed and seemed to have only a pack and umbrella for company. She stepped forward with regal grace and announced with a finger to indicate herself.

"Shampoo, isShampoo." The Lost Boy stared mutely at the Amazon, just incredulously relieved that the girl had lavender hair. She wasn't... one of those. With a shrug, he walked to his pack, and began rummaging through the contents, until he found what he was searching for.

"Here you go, miss," replied Ryoga, happy to help as he tossed the bottle toward the girl. She effortlessly grabbed the container, and stared at it for a moment. Her eyes moved about as she slowly worked out what was written on the bottle, speaking aloud as she did:

"Tri...ple Bond Re... con...struc...tor. For life...less..limp...shag ...gy...hair...there.. is... no...better... sham..poo..." Suddenly her teeth clenched in rage, and she snarled, "You... you man! You dare insult Shampoo! Shampoo greatest and most beautiful warrior of all of Joketsuzoku! You die!" Ryoga was frantically waving his arms. It was happening again! Another misunderstanding. It was odd though. Unless it was a trick of the light, he was sure the girl's hair was lavender. Probably a dye-job, he surmised, as he woke from his reverie to duck a swipe of her multi-coloured mace. He stepped left as she stabbed the space he had just occupied. Where did she get a sword? "DIE!" she shrieked as he nimbly leaped over another thrust attack.

This girl was good! NotinRyoga's league, or Ukyo-san's, he thought dreamily, as he nonchalantly evaded a lunge. Or Ranma-san. Dodge, parry. Ah, Ranma. He couldn't wait to gaze upon her ravishing beauty again. Leap, dodge, roll. Yet for some reason, he felt a strange trepidation when he pictured her, he thought, as he sidestepped another of the 'shampoo girl's swings. Duck, lean back. What was there to dislike about Ranma? She has the most flawless creamy skin. Leap, slide. The most sparkling azure eyes. Dodge. Parry. Block. Huh, had to block that one. The most silvery voice. Duck. Sidestep. The most lithe, nubile, healthy...Oh hell -nosebleed!

"I'm sorry, miss. But could I trouble you for a tissue?" Ryoga frowned when the girl seemed to get even angrier. Backflip. Block. Parry. He smacked his forehead. Of course! "I apologise, miss. Could I please trouble you for a tissue?" There. He smiled...then blinked. The girl looked a mess. She looked sweaty and tired and her hair was in complete disarray. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, miss," he began apologetically, "but your hair is a mess." Yeah, she seemed shocked too. He'd try to help her out. "Maybe you should see a barber?" She screamed in what sounded life a blazing bonfire of infinite fury. But that couldn't be right. Leap, parry. What would anybody have done to get her so upset?... Hmm, maybe he should have said 'stylist'? The girl could very attractive, Ryoga imagined, if she had her hair styled. Dodge, leap, dodge, roll. Like Ukyo and Ranma; always with immaculate trademark braids. Ukyo, with her earthy, chestnut locks, and Ranma, with her silky...her silky...hey what the heck colour hair did Ranma have again? Cartwheel. Dodge. Ah, he supposed it didn't matter. Dodge, leap, duck, parry, sidestep. After all, her hair colour didn't change the size – the perkiness of her... "Miss, I really that tissue, if you have it," he said with eyes a little glazed over.

"AAAAARRGGGGGHHHH! SHAMPOO KILLLLLLL!" She screamed her from the depths of her very soul, and threw everything she had into one last gasp attack, and yes! The man wasn't moving. She'd kill him! She'd prove that she could win! She'd prove that, that...even Amazons trip every now and then, as she toppled over a log, completely missing her glassy eyed target and instead skewering his traveling pack.

She arose to find the evil man had recovered from his stupor. Not only that, she was dirty, sweaty, and yes, now sticky, having penetrated some water bottle in the man's-no, demon's - pack. As he approached her forlorn figure, she steadied herself. This might be the end, but she'd go down fighting. He winced as he got a better look at her.

"Ah, jeez, I'm sorry miss. You're a mess. I wish Ukyo-san or Ranma-san was here; they'd know all about this girl stuff." With the mention of her dear husband, and bitter rival, - both their names twisted in this demon's tongue - fire returned to Shampoo's spirit. The demon: it knew. It knew what she wanted all along, and it had only toyed with her. She would swear though, that the Joketsuzoku would not rest until this demon was sent back to the pits of hell.

"Where? Where husband?"

"Huh?" replied Ryoga intelligently. Tears threatened to form in the young Amazon's eyes.

"Why you toy with Shampoo! Shampoo make deal. You can no have Shampoo soul, but Amazons owe you boon. You tell Shampoo where husband Ucchan is, and you have boon of Joketsuzoku. Is very valuable. Treasure even in hell!" Ryoga was understandably perplexed, but did pick up a familiar name. Frowning, he asked,

"You said 'Ucchan'. That 's what Ranma-san calls Ukyo-san."

"Yes! Yes, them. Where they!" Having appraised this girl, Ryoga felt she'd be no threat what so ever to either of his loves. She was probably just a little fan or something.

"Sure, I'll help you out finding your hero," he said with a small sympathetic smile.

"Really? Really? You help Shampoo?"

"Last I heard, they were both in Qinghai." The girl became decidedly more belligerent.

"Not now stupid! Where they go?" Ryoga shook his head at the little girl's ignorance,

"Japan, of course." What type of fan didn't even know where their idol lived?

"Where? Where in Japan?" Ryoga scratched his chin.

"Can't really say. They move around a lot." The girl's eye began filling up with tears again. "Wait, wait. When we left Jusenkyo, I overhead Mr. Saotome talking about the Tendo Dojo in Tokyo while in he asleep. I sure hope that helps you, miss?" he asked again.

"Shampoo." Ryoga grimaced as he grabbed his gear. Maybe she'd accept his conditioner?

The girl smiled to herself. She had a name now, and a place. Yes, everything had gone according to plan. She turned around. The demon was gone! Pack and all. Probably teleported back to Hades, surmised the Amazon warrior. She imagined that if she strained her senses enough, she'd likely detect a hint of sulfur in the air.

Shampoo promptly left the site of the demon's camp. It was probably cursed; after all, the demon had mentioned something about the Pools of Sorrow. As she disappeared into the woods she missed the white cloaked figure emerge from the shadows.

"Thank whatever gods have stalled you here, my beautiful Shampoo," he spoke with fervour to himself. "Now that I have your trail, I won't lose you again. I shall not allow you leave your birthplace alone." Despite his brightly coloured attire, the figure quickly melted into the night.

"Where am I now?"

"Him again!" Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned – or those simply fed up with a specific pervert invading their particular locker room. "Get him!" Spying no avenue of escape, Ryoga cringed, resigned himself to his horrible fate yet again. Askance, he heard one of his assailants question nobody in particular (between bludgeoning the prostate Hibiki with a deceptively heavy dustpan),

"Seriously, why doesn't this freaking pervert go bother the blondes or brunettes once in a while?"


Author's Note: This chapter is directly continued in the next part.

FFNet's random removal of my spaces continues.