Dislcaimer: Don't own, don't sure
Chapter 4
"All right, let me get this straight," the strange boy said, gripping his spatula so hard that his knickles were white. "You were knocked into my pot by a Princess who, from what I've heard, couldn't lift a pillow on her own. And you," he glowered at Ryouga, "were naked because, until the hot water hit you, you were a little black piglet."
"Yeeeeeees?" Ryouga squeaked, firmly grasping the towelt aht was wrapped around his midsection. The kitchen was a mass of moving, bustling bodies, people stepping around them, over them, in an effort to prepare enough food for the up coming ball. The boy with the spatula sat in silence for a long moment, drumming his fingers on the ground. At long last he sighed, apparently having come to some decision.
"Yukoto! Mari! Get me two kettles of water, one hot and one cold!" he bellowed out. Two of the kitchen maids seperated themselves from the crowd and bobbed breifly to the spatula-weilder.
"Yes, mistress!" they both shouted, scurrying off again. Ryouga and Ranma blinked, simultaneously leaning closer to the stranger.
"Mistress?" they asked, again in unison. Ukyou looked at them in surprise.
"Of course. Do I really look that much like a guy?" she asked, pointing at her face.
"Yep," Ryouga muttered. She swung at him with her spatula, but stopped herself short of hitting him. The expression on her face was thoughtful.
"I suppose it IS a good thing. . . that way I don't have to put up with suitors. . ." she murmered. Ranma almost, almost asked her what made her think she was so irresistable, but that was about the time that the maids arrived with the water. His question was lost in the tumultuos full body tingling that accompanied the change.
"So it is true," Ukyou whispered, her eyes wide as she surveyed the man and the pig in front of her. She handed Ranma the kettle of hot water, turning away for the sake of Ryouga's modesty.
"We wouldn't lie," Ranma replied, blandly. "I'm Ranma Saotome, by the way. I'd, ah, appreciate it if you kept this to yourself."
"Ryouga Hibiki," Ryouga announced, flipping his hand up in an introductory gesture. "Same sentiment."
"I'm Ukyou Kuonji," the brunnette informed them. She smiled, shrugging. "I have no reason to tell anyone."
"How do we know you won't?" Ryouga asked, narrowing his eyes. Ukyou blinked at him.
"How about. . . we all take an oath of secrecy, right now?" she suggested.
It was done. Thoughtlessly, recklessly, it was done, and after that moment honor restrained all of them.
"Oh, please? Please please please please? You'll be the most beautiful girl there, I promise," Akane wheedled, holding out the seafoam green dress. Ranma looked at the thing in abject horror. More accurately, Ranma looked at the corsets that would accompany said dress in abject horror.
"You have got to be kidding. Me? Wear something like that?" she squeaked, unable to keep her voice level.
"Oh, you can't make me go out there by myself! How am I ever going to fend all those boys off on my own?" she asked. Ranma blinked, an image growing in his mind that he really didn't like. Akane, being dragged out onto a balcony by a liscentious wolf of a man, a man who knew the quickest way to wiggle a woman out of a corset. A man like Tetewaki Kuno, more than likely. And she would be in one of those ridiculous dresses, unable to defend herself. . .
A ball, Ranma reflected, was a terrible idea. Sure, it would force Akane to speak to all those men she scorned. . . something he knew her father wanted. . . but it also. . . well, to hell with it, it forced him into an uncomfortable position.
"All right. Hey, we don't have a lot of time. Better start torturing me right away," Ranma conceded. Akane grinned and threw her arms around the neck of the small redhead. For a moment, Ranma's heart stopped. No one ever touched Prince Ranma like that, that impulsive familiarity. . . much less a girl. But it didn't mean the same thing, did it? Akane wasn't trying to flirt, she wasn't taking liberties, she was just being touchy-feely like all the girls he knew. . .
Why was that more upsetting than comforting?
"Nettie will help you get dressed, I have to go get my own dress on," Akane giggled, rolling her eyes. Ranma watched her go with a sinking feeling in his gut. No way this night was going to end well. Just no way.
"P-chan!" he heard Akane's voice from the hallway. Waving aside the attentions of Nettie for a moment, he peeked out the door to see Akane cuddling a little black piglet to her chest.
"Ryouga?" he whispered, taking a step toward the two. Ryouga looked up at him with big triumphant eyes from his place between Akane's breasts. Murderous thoughts filled Ranma's mind.
"Ranma, you remember the piglet? I think it's following me!" she smiled softly down at the little animal. "I just had to give him a name. P-chan! Isn't it cute?"
"Sure," Ranma grumbled, glowering at the pig. "Here, can I have him?"
"No, he's cold. I'm going to take him to my room and sit him by the fire," Akane declined, shaking her head. But.. . but. . . but. . .
"But you're going to be changing in there!" Ranma sputtered. Akane gave him an odd look. A sort of you-just-grew-antenna look.
"It's just a pig, Ranma," she frowned. Then she was gone, and the little pervert was gone with her.
"Oh, Ryouga is SUCH a dead man when I find him. . ." Ranma seethed. A light touch on his shoulder reminded him that there was work to be done. Resigned, he turned back into the bedroom and let Nettie strap him into some of the most disgusting torture devices ever known to man. His waist was squeezed, his breasts pushed up to an alarming height, his feet shoved into pinching, unstable shoes and his hair pulled back into an elaborate coif so tight he thought his scalp would pop off. Then came the gloves. Ah, the gloves!
Feeling as though circulation to every major part of his body had been cut off, he shuffled into the hallway. Shuffled, because he couldn't walk properly in the shoes. It was labored, because he was wearing nigh on forty pounds of fabric. After what seemed an eternity of stuffy dark passageways and smoky torches, he reached the ballroom.
It was a treasure trove of candles and gems, everything gave off light or reflected it. Men and women swirled around to the beat of the half-drunk musicians, the entire room a haze of smoke, light and chaotic melody. There was, of course, the obligatory giant balcony off of the main ballroom. There were also, however, numerous small alcoves built into the wall where people would talk without being seen. Or, more to the point, where they could simply not be seen.
Ranma had always hated balls. Always, always. Never before, however, had he had such a reason. As soon as he entered the room, men began swarming him, begging him for a dance, to let him fetch a drink, to let him have a private word. Ranma turned them all away with snarls and glares, but still they kept coming. He couldn't begin to imagine how the women he knew managed.
He was going to kill Akane for talking him into this. Seriously.
"The Princess Akane!" someone shouted, obviously an announcer of some kind. Everyone in the room stopped and stared at her, Ranma included. Most of them were trying to match her with descriptions in countless sonnets. Some were trying to see in her the happy girl that had once danced in these halls. He was the only one that was looking for the tomboy in the bejeweled woman. He could find her, traces of her, but as for the rest. . . it made his heart thud. Why? Was it fear? Fear that somehow he would not be able to protect a woman such as her from the eager crowds of men? Or, more likely, fear that her protection mattered so much?
What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he move? Why was his stomach trying to claw its way out of his throat? Why did his eyes keep straying to the pale skin of her throat, the smooth curves of shoulder, breast, hip . . . he'd never really noticed that sort of thing before, why her? Why here? Why now?
Akane began to move through the room, slowly, her dark eyes flashing a challenge. Take me if you can, they said, but only if you don't mind dying.
The men in the room shifted, a little at first, then in droves, until they were all surrounding her. What was it that she ahd said? She was the prize in the newest, grandest game? He could see that. They were like a bunch of peacocks, or stags, fighting for one female, preening and jabbing as they went.
After only a few minutes, his ribs were aching from the corset, his feet were aching from the shoes, and his head was aching from the coif. And it looked like all that fine work was going to be wasted. There was no way he could stay close enough to Akane to protect her. What was he going to do, follow her on the dance floor? Trail along, wading through his own stupid suitors, like a third wheel?
"To hell with this," he snarled, turning and looking for an exit. He found one at last, a long brightly lit corridor. There was a panda sitting in one of the windows along the corridor, looking out at the crescent moon. "Oyaji!"
"Aren't you just adorable," the sign said. Ranma blinked at the sign, then at the panda who was weidling it.
"How'd you learn to write so fast?"
"Nessecity."
"Aha," Ranma mumbled, thinking about that for a moment. He shook his head, instantly regretting the movement as it jerked his hair around. "Could you tell me where to get some guy clothes?"
"Down the hall, big gilt doors, ask the king," the sign read. Ranma nodded at his father, and continued on the way. It was a long corridor, and walking down it gave Ranma plenty of time to think. Unfortunately, thinking wasn't what he wanted just at that second.
'You're falling for that damn princess, you know you are. Stop trying to be so tough. . . .'
'I'm gonna figure out a way to cure this curse and leave this place and NEVER come back. . .'
"Ryouga is such a dead man. . . where have I heard the name Kuonji?'
'I'm not falling for her, stupid tomboy princess, I'll never fall for anybody because there is noone who could even BEGIN to understand me. . .'
'Liar.'
'She's gonna marry that damn Kuno anyway, she said they'd already kissed. . .'
"Excuse me, miss, are you lost?" a polite voice asked, outside of Ranma's head. He blinked at the guard in front of him, his head still spinning from the vortex of thoughts.
"Ah, no. No. I'm. . . Princess Ranma, and the king is expecting me. Has to do with a marriage contract for Ms. Akane, you understand," Ranma smiled in what he hoped was a winning manner. The guard looked at him dubiously for a moment, then shook his head.
"I'm sorry, the king asked that no one disturb him tonight," the guard replied. "Why don't you go back to the ball and enjoy yourself?"
A few seconds later, the guard was lying in a crumbled heap. Ranma stepped over him, grateful to know pressure points, and opened teh massive gilrt doors.
The apartments behind the doors were surprisingly spartan, with plain wooden furniture and a simple stone fireplace. There was a dark-haired man sitting by the fire, staring blankly at a notebook as tears poured down his face.
"Mr. . . . Tendo?" Ranma asked, tentitavely. The man's head snapped up, and he regarded Ranma with open hostility.
"What do you want?" he barked. Ranma flinched.
"I'm Ranma Saotome. My father told me to borrow men's clothing from you?"
Boys. An endless sea of mindless, drooling, stupid, boys. If she were to never see a boy again in her entire life, it would be too soon. Every five seconds they wanted something new from her. Actually, the little things they wanted changed. The big thing was eternal. Everyone wanted her as a bride to show off, as a name to put on the wedding invitations.
"Of course I'd like to dance," she smiled, tired already. The man she'd aquiesced to was tall, blonde, handsome, the works. He was also incredibly, unerringly dull. He danced with her as though he'd only seen the steps in a textbook once or twice. He did not, however, try to get her into an alcove. He didn't try to drag her out onto a balcony either. She coudl sense the men hovering just a little bit away from the dancers, seething with jealosy. Well, let them. Nothing she did was going to make this any better.
She hated balls. She had hated balls since she was fourteen.
"Excuse me, may I cut in?" a deep voice asked, somewhat sarcastically. She turned to face the intruder, a smart retort dying on her lips. She had no need of arrogance, not on nights like this. But it was him. The man who'd saved her from Kuno. The man who reminded her so much of Ranma. He was glowering at the blonde man as though trying to boil his blood, intimidating in all black. His hair, as black as his suit, floated just beyond his shoulders.
"Of course," the blonde man murmered, stepping away. The stranger took her into his arms, stiffly, formally, and began dancing with her. His eyes shifted from side to side, as if he expected to be attacked. Which, given his current situation, wasn't all that unreasonable.
"Who are you?" she hissed. He looked down at her in surprise, almost pausing in his step.
"I'm R. . . really just another guy, you know?" he replied, laughing nervously. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"I want a name, and a country of origin. While you're at it, you can tell me what the hell you're doing here," she snapped. His blue eyes darkened.
"You always this much of an ingrate?"
"What do you mean, ingrate?"
"I saved you from that smooth-talking jackass, and all you do is fire twenty questions at me!"
"SAVED me? I was doing just fine, thank you very much. . ."
"You? You couldn't save yourself from so much as a wild dog in those ridiculous dresses. . ."
"How would you know?"
"Beleive me, I know," he snarled. They glared at each other in silence for a moment, still swirling on the dance floor. That is, after all, what the daugfhters and sons of kings are taught to do at balls. Even during marraige proposals and epitaphs, they keep dancing so long as there is music.
"Why can't you tell me your name? Are you a fugitive?" she asked, her voice softer, quieter. He inhaled sharply, and she saw ti even beofre he had a chance to deny her words. "So you are. What are you hiding from?"
"My. . . my mother," he whispered, looking away. It was the truth. The absolute, bona fide truth. If only she knew how well he could hide now.
Much to his surprise, a small gloved hand pushed gently against his cheek, pulling his gaze back to the bejeweled woman in front of him.
"Why? And why come here?" she asked.
"I have friends here. Allies," he asnwered. She sighed ruefully, smiling a bit at the crowds around them.
"I only have one friend, and I cannot seem to find her. How is it that you have more friends in my kingdom than I do?" she asked, her tone playful. The words, however, brought a lump to Ranma's throat. He was her only friend? It made sense, now that he thought of it, from what he had seen of her life. . .
"Truthfully, in this kingdom, I only have one friend. She took me in, though. Gave me clothing, food, a place to stay." A place where I am not judged as a prince, but as a person. There went that whole thought thing again. If only he could avoid doing that. . . if only he could avoid thinking about her. . . it would sure as hell be a lot less confusing.
"And who is your friend? I might know her," Akane pressed on. Ranma snorted, pulling her closer so they could spin faster, so he wouldn't have to watch out so much for other dancers. She narrowed her eyes at him when their bodies touched, but he didn't notice.
"You might, at that, but I won't tell you her name."
"Why do you feel you need to protect me?" Akane asked, more onf an edge to her voice. the edge, also, went unnoticed by Ranma.
"You need it. You're trying to take on the whole world but really you're just a tomboy that people go easy on. . . " Ranma's grip on her grew tighter as she tried to pull away.
"I am no weakling, let me go or I will kill you for this!" she hissed at him. Anger surged through his body, and before he knew it her was clutching ehr to him so tightly she couldn't move away. They continued to swirl on the dance floor, as if oblivious, but now her feet dangled in the air and he, unthinkling, moved them both.
"I go out of my way to protect you, and you threaten me! I don't even know why it means so much to me. . . you're a stubborn, ingrate tomboy with legs like tree trunks. . ." Akane tried to kick him, but the layers of fabric she wore prevented him from really feeling it. "and you do nothing but make my life difficult, looking after you. You go out of your way to put yourself in danger, and then when I try to help you I get yelled at! What is it that you want, Akane?"
He stopped, suddenly, and the look in his eyes frightened her. This was a martial artist. A blooded martial artist, by the looks of him. She recoiled away from him, and when he felt it, hurt and shame filled his eyes. He loosened his grip a little, looking away.
"Tell. . . tell you what, Akane. You've got a choice. You can stay here, and I'll go. I'll leave your country, head out somewhere else, if this is what you want. To be fawned over by these idiots. Or, I can get you out of here, make you dissapear right out under their noses, and drop you off in your chambers," he offered. Akane blinked up at him, suspicion filling her eyes.
"You could do that? get me to my chambers?" she asked. He shrugged.
"You just hop down off the balcony and hop up a few stories. There are good footholds in the walls, you can just hop up. Like stairs."
"And how do I know that, once away from all these people, you won't rape me?" she asked, the question very soft. He jerked away from her as if hit.
"You don't think that I could. . ."
"Obviously you could," she snapped, gesturing towards the arms holding her captive. They loosened immeadiately.
"I give you my word as a martial artist, I would never do such a thing," he swore. His second oath of the day. She looked at him hard for a moment, then sighed and closed her eyes.
"All right. But if I live to regret this I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth and torture you in every way imaginable," she said, almost sweetly. He gulped, and nodded.
'Rapist, she thinks you're the kind that would force a person. . . she hates you already, and don;t you hate her? Just a little part of you, even, don't you hate her? Hate and love, love and hate, you don;'t know anything about either. . . .' the voices in his head chanted on. Ranma led Akane out to the balcony. After looking around to make sure noone was watching, he leapt to the ground with her in his arms. From there, he leapt up the side of the inside wall, from balcony to balcony. At last he landed on the balcony that belonged to her, a pretty thing contructed of white stone overlooking the garden. Without so much as a word of goodbye, he dropped down into the dark night.
"Wait!" Akane cried, reaching out to the place where he had dropped from sight. "You never told me your name," she whispered, then the shaking began in earnest. It was the shaking that comes with shock, the shock of feeling helpless for the first time in years. she sank to her knees on the balcony, staring into the black sky. He could have done whatever he wanted with her. As long as that man was around, she wasn't safe.
Hours later, Ranma found her kneeling on the balcony, her eyes closed and her mouth set in a thin line. He touched her shoulder, and she turned to him, almost in tears, telling him tales of a frightening stranger. He comforted her with his small, female body, cradling her as she shook all over again, as she snifled and tried not to cry. As le listened, his heart screamed in his small ribcage. He had become, for her, the embodiment of all she had tried to avoid for the last few years. He was the man who could force her into anything, even marriage. He had become an object of fear.
Most disturbing of all, she didn't even know him. She'd shown him such kindness at first, he could still feel the gentle touch of her gloved hand on his cheek. she ahd shown kindness to a stranger, as always. The difference was, this stranger frightened her in a way Ranma-onna hadn't, in a way no other man had. Maybe there was a real difference between his girl side and boy side. If the reaction of Akane was any indication, his boy side was a monster. That couldn't be right, could it?
How could she see the real him when he was a girl, but not a boy? DIdn't she know, couldn't she tell, that holding her like this, cradling her while she cried, was the closest he'd ever been to a woman? How could she think that he. . . he only vaguely even knew what the word rape meant, much less how to go about it. Did he seem like a womanizer, a controller, a violent man?
"And. . . he l-looks just like you," Akane gasped, her breath ragged.
It was only a matter of time before she knew. And when she did, would she hate him? Would she despise all of him, male and female?