Guest Ki: Chapter 4
Wheels on the Bus
Xian Pu, better known locally as Shampoo was up to greet the sun in the small garden behind the Nekohanten. Within the confines of that tiny space she practiced her Art relentlessly. As a warrior of the Joketsuzoku, it was her responsibility to be prepared to meet any challenge to the safety of her tribe and their customs, no matter how remote. Her mastery of both armed and unarmed combat must have no equal, as the lives of her future children could very well depend on it. Violence, both mundane and supernatural, was common in the shadows of the White Mountain. The unprepared did not leave a legacy.
She moved through the 'Wheel of Enlightenment Form' devised by her great-grandmother like flowing water. The unarmed strikes and blocks of the first form were reminiscent of the splash and surge of a river as it disturbed boulders on its path to the sea. Next she drew her characteristic bonbori, or battle maces. Her flow became the stance of mountains; each strike grounded in the bones of the earth, devastating and powerful as an avalanche. The maces were discarded, to be replaced by curved twin swords. Her dance became the dance of winds, quick, striking like lightning, fading like a breeze, chaotically stealthy yet beautiful in action. She glided through a maneuver known as Wind in the Leaves and moved into another largely static moment. Both feet planted, she moved in a totally defensive suppleness, swaying and dipping, contorting and twisting. Shampoo maneuvered through this element with the natural grace it deserved. She burst again into a dancing, largely aerial form with sudden, lightning, offensive strikes and a general movement to the high ground. As she reached the climax of the kata, her battle aura burst forth lifting her braids and dancing like flame across her head and shoulders. Descending she finished with hands low, one foot planted for her weight, one extended behind to gain purchase for retreat, or prepared to flash forward in a low wheel-strike. Breathing easily, she waited for evaluation.
"Faster," grated a voice in the shadows. "Without weapons this time."
As Shampoo began the form again, Ku Lon, matriarch of the Joketsuzoku, known locally as Cologne, watched with a critical and unforgiving eye. A year ago, Shampoo's present conditioning and skill would have met nothing but praise. Shampoo's mastery of the Art was equivalent, possibly greater than the most skilled of the warriors of the tribe, an incredible accomplishment.
But it was not enough, might never be enough. They lived here in noisy, crowded, filthy Tokyo because the one man who beat Shampoo in battle continued to outstrip his Amazon wife in skill. She shook her head. As old as she was, nothing had prepared her, or any of them, for the reality that was Ranma.
When Cologne had come, it had been with the intent to intimidate and overwhelm the boy with her skills and convince him that he had no choice but to return to China with them. The boy's mule-headed response allowed him to master the Kachu Tenshin Amiguriken and eventually resulted in unleashing the Nekoken.
The matriarch had been forced to alter the objectives somewhat at this point. Ranma had proved himself to be more than a mere male. Killing him would have been easy. Though fantastically skilled, he was still a boy and did not have the drive or cunning her advanced years gave her. But his blood would be of far greater use in enriching the bloodlines of the Joketsuzoku.
If only she were a teenager again. She'd gladly do battle over Ranma; he was as cute as he was skilled. She'd lose, of course, she commented to herself a little sourly. Shampoo had already far exceeded Cologne's skill at the same age, and was still improving.
A slight movement caught her attention. Mu Tsu had exited the Nekohanten to stand three meters from the old woman. Mousse was tall and slender, with broad shoulders and the long dark hair usually allowed only among the woman warriors of their people. Mousse broke a lot of rules and wriggled past limitations. For example, his coke-bottle glasses did little to aid his vision and in many cultures he might have been considered legally blind, yet he had trained himself to the point where he was as dangerous as the average Amazon warrior.
He was also blind in his absolute devotion to Shampoo, enduring damage and ridicule in equal measure. Unfortunately, his mastery of Hidden Weapons was not a bonus, as far as the Amazons were concerned. The over-dependence on tools in his Art was a weakness, the dependence on magic to hide the weapons, a crutch. His disobedience in going outside the tribe to learn those martial arts skills was a slap in the face of the Matriarchy.
He was courageous though, and Cologne always had a soft spot in her withered heart for anyone who 'took a licking, and kept on ticking', as it were. She simply felt he was not good enough for her great-granddaughter. As a result, she was often far harsher with him than she truly wanted. Even the old, with their vast experience, could make mistakes. The gods help her if she ever thought otherwise.
"So, Mr. Part-time has come to join us," she grated with a crafty smile. "Should we be honored?" She snickered as he jumped. She had suspected he was unaware of her presence.
"Old ghoul," he muttered, which earned him a thwack. He backed out of reach and watched as Shampoo finished her second run of the form.
Cologne watched him with hidden mirth. Too bad Mousse was merely competent as a warrior, a pity, really. His only use here was to help run the restaurant and give Shampoo a bit of a workout with her bonbori now and then. She wished he'd take the hint, go back home and find someone else. She glanced at Shampoo, crouched waiting for her critique.
The young Amazon warrior had performed flawlessly, better actually than with the weapons. Cologne suspected this was a response to Ranma's preferred unarmed style. She'd have to keep after the girl. After all, certain things were expected and it would be embarrassing for particular challengers at home, if she defeated them without the excuse of a weapon for them to fall back on. She glanced slyly at Mousse. He looked to be building up to one of his normal prosy love announcements.
"Shampoo," she commanded, "Spar with duck-boy here."
At her words, Shampoo attacked. Cologne smirked. She expected the young man to go down in a half dozen satisfying strikes.
It didn't quite work out that way.
Shampoo attacked almost contemptuously. Mousse usually countered with his weapons, though only in a defensive manner, allowing the girl to bore in without fear of reprisal.
Today, Mousse didn't stand and defend, however. He dodged. He swayed aside from her initial strike and used his longer legs to maintain the distance between them. Several attempts later, when he finally countered, it was with a weighted net. Had Shampoo not been passing near her sword, she might easily have been caught right there. A snatch and a hard, tight swipe of its razor edge divided the net and Shampoo's momentum carried her past the falling mesh.
Mousse sidestepped again and leaped, keeping his distance so that he could use the superior range his weapons provided. Chains and bolas launched from his sleeves in an attempt to entrap his opponent, but now that the initial shock had worn off, her superior speed and experience began to tell. Shampoo simply slid past the attacks, angry and embarrassed by her initial failure.
Cologne almost called out in alarm as the heavy Chinese broadsword swept around for a diagonal blow that would severely injure, if not kill Mousse outright. He didn't have time to draw another weapon, but his snap kick caught her behind the bracing wrist and caused a loss of control for the critical moment Mousse needed to disarm her.
Then, Shampoo was too close and Mousse, simply not her equal at close-in, unarmed combat, took a quick, early morning nap behind the restaurant.
Cologne puffed out her cheeks comically as Shampoo stepped back, a little winded by the exchange. Shampoo wasn't the only one improving apparently. Mousse was nowhere near Shampoo's level yet, but...
"Whew! Duck-boy getting better! Remind Shampoo of Ranma almost, but with weapons."
"Sneaky," Cologne whispered. Had Ranma been training Mousse in secret? Not that it would do any good. Mousse wasn't an outsider. "Shampoo, get cold and hot water for our 'sweet dreamer' here. I need to talk with him."
Akane waved to her father and older sister as she got on the westbound train. It was everything she could do to keep from grinning in anticipation. She frowned then, remembering one loose end she was leaving behind. She hoped P-chan would be all right. Oh, well, he would be better off without her there. She knew as well as anyone how violently she slept, having replaced a few headboards, and even a mattress, before Ranma showed up, and sometimes she worried about her pet. No, P-chan didn't need that kind of excitement while recovering from his surgery.
Her backpack, carried rather than worn at the moment, had several changes of clothes, her gi and a pair of sturdy walking shoes. Her present costume was a tough feminine pants suit and blouse that allowed her maximum freedom of movement combined with maximum decency if she had to fight. She also carried one special weapon with her, in case of extra fiancées.
The trip, which had seven stops before her aunt's hometown, was normally tedious: a distance of 150 kilometers or more. At least the rain that plagued them of late left the landscape clean and bright in the sunlight. If the meteorologist was right, it was only temporary. Akane was just beginning to doze off when she noticed a figure slowly walking the length of the car. The movement and posture suggested the figure was a woman, but it was hard to tell, as it was dressed in a rain slicker and calf-high rubber boots. The hair was mostly hidden under a broad-brimmed hat, but Akane thought she caught a hint of violet.
Akane avoided eye contact and watched the figure with a half-lidded gaze. It almost had to be Shampoo. Akane had never forgotten the 'kiss of death' the Amazon had given her almost two years ago. The skill with which the Chinese girl handled herself and her weapons of choice did not add to Akane's confidence. Still, she had specifically chosen her own weapon with Shampoo in mind. She decided to get off at the next stop and reconnect after dealing with her.
She disembarked. As expected, she did not see Shampoo leave the train, but could feel hostile eyes on her. The restroom was the obvious place for the confrontation. It would give the illusion that Akane was not concerned about escape routes, therefore unaware of pursuit. She entered the largely empty room and accessed a pay toilet in the middle of the row. Grimacing she slipped under the barrier to the empty stall beside it and crouched on the seat.
The squeak of the rubber boots gave away what was otherwise a soundless approach. She heard Shampoo approach the stall. She listened as her opponent set herself, taking the deep, slow breaths that optimized oxygen and helped conceal one's presence and then the door of the other stall was smashed down with the force of a cannonball.
Akane skimmed over the door of her stall, weapon in hand. Shampoo was delayed in recovering, as she had committed herself to the attack and her bonbori hampered her turn in the tight confines of the stall. Akane managed to jam the muzzle of her weapon against the base of the Amazon's skull before the latter got more than a glimpse of the youngest Tendo. They froze, a tableau of potential violence waiting the signal to resume.
"Hmmph! Should know pervert-girl use dishonorable way to fight."
"Really?" murmured Akane. "You should talk. You know your skills are better than mine, but that doesn't prevent you from attacking me again. And by ambush, yet! I thought strong, honorable martial artists didn't pick on the weak?" She hated admitting that she was weak compared to Shampoo, but she needed information. "You looked like you were ready to kill."
"Grandmother find out panda-man train duck-boy in Anything-Goes style. Maybe hope Mousse beat Shampoo, but only get caught. Grandmother think funny. Shampoo think maybe airen make mistake and choose wrong wife. Pervert-girl go on trip. Too-too bad, not come back, no one know what happen." She smiled and slowly turned her head to let Akane see her lack of concern at the other girl's advantage.
"So, it's back to 'obstacles are for killing'?" Akane said. Akane would have to make her move soon or Shampoo would take her, gun or no gun.
"Akane no warrior," Shampoo drawled confidently. "Law of Japan say no gun, so Akane in big trouble. No have guts make worse by pulling trigger." Her turn became more obvious and Akane knew she had run out of time.
Strangely she felt no fear, only mischief and exhilaration. "You might be surprised," she said as she laughed and pulled the trigger on her air-pressured water gun.
Shampoo squawked and shrank, and Akane sighed in relief. Her greatest fear in this encounter had been that the other had been prepared with waterproof soap or some similar protection. She risked a clawing to reach into the pile of clothing and dragged Shampoo out by the scruff of her neck. She had won this round and wanted to make a point.
"Well, well, Shampoo," she said as the cat tried a few wild swipes before subsiding growling in her grip. "By your standards, I'd be well within my rights to throw you under the next train or drown you in one of the toilets. You said 'obstacles are for killing'." The cat glared at her, tense and waiting. "I'm not going to kill you; but it's not a matter of guts, Shampoo; it's a matter of pride. I'm going to lock you in that closet over there. I'll even leave you your clothes. When the attendant comes around again, you'll get out and, since the spigots are a type you can turn, you'll change back."
She shook the cat slightly. "However, I will tell Ranma you've decided I'm 'for killing' again. He might let you off easier than he did Saffron, but I don't know." She felt Shampoo stiffen as she considered that possibility. "He was awfully upset at that, and I read somewhere that the first time someone kills, it makes the second time easier."
She flung the clothes into the closet and hurled Shampoo-cat after them, slamming the door. Through the panels she called out, "You're a fantastic martial artist, Shampoo. I always admired you for that. If Ranma ever decided to train me, though, I think I could give you a run for your money. Meanwhile, I'll have to depend on him to keep you in your place."
She quickly left the room and was delighted to discover she hadn't missed the train. Embarking, she heard the yowl of the cat echo from the depths of the washroom. She giggled. This was a method Ranma could never try. As the train pulled away, she saw several station personnel cautiously begin to approach the restroom in response to the racket.
Not long after Kasumi and Soun returned from seeing Akane to the train, P-chan had finally pried the window of Akane's room open. He looked for a soft landing place. Seeing none, he leaped, trusting to luck, which let him down as usual.
Nabiki was walking out with Kasumi. She wanted to get some sun while it lasted. The latter wanted to hang some laundry.
P-chan struck Nabiki's head like a guided missile, knocking the shorthaired girl down and dazing himself in the process. As he staggered to his feet, he bumped into Kasumi who boggled at him, hands over her mouth. He backed away, only to knock into Nabiki. He turned to register the new threat and froze.
Nabiki liked bathing suits to express more by being less. This one, in particular, succeeded very well. In fact, after she bought it, she used it for sunning only in the privacy of the Tendo compound, deciding that it was a bit too much of an expression. Two band-aids and a cork might have done a better job of covering her admittedly well-developed body.
P-chan's eyes bugged out at this display only a meter away, then blood gushed and he was down for the count.
"Oh, my," Kasumi stammered. "Are you all right, Nabiki?"
"No," snarled the downed girl. "That damned pig! Can't he even escape right?"
"Probably not, Nabiki. He is pretty pathetic about these things. Here," she said resting the basket on her hip and offering a hand. "Let me help you up." The nearly naked Nabiki came groaning to her feet, rubbing her bruised head.
"Well, I intend to teach him a lesson he won't soon forget! Bad enough that he's been sleeping in my sister's bed, but to hide it from me…! That pig is not going anywhere."
"Nabiki, you don't mean to..."
Nabiki grinned through her pain. "Don't worry, sis. I won't castrate the dummy. But I'm going to make him wish I had."
P-chan awoke in a strange room. He looked around. It was definitely not Akane's room. There was a desk, a computer, a ledger... A ledger!
'Oh, no,' thought the cursed boy. 'Not...'
"Oh, hi, Mr. P," giggled Nabiki as she ducked through the door. "Finally awake I see." She was slightly more decent, in that she had pulled a T-shirt over her almost-there top. "I brought you something to eat."
She placed a plate on the floor and, locking her door, went over and sat down at the computer. P-chan sniffed at the food. There was something familiar about it.
"We decided that you need someone to keep an eye on you until Akane gets back." She looked at him from half-lidded eyes. "I... volunteered. I'm sure we'll have suchfun, P-chan."
P-chan grimaced. 'Of course! Now I remember!' He backed away retching. It was a pork bun; he was certain of it.
"You know, I thought of getting a preview, as it were, of your upcoming operation." She called up a website and selected a button. As it loaded, she picked up P-chan who was debating what to do about the offensive meal.
"Here, P-chan, look at this!"
P-chan squealed in fear at the explicit images and fainted.
Nabiki grinned wickedly. She had pulled up the images from a college lecture on the dissection of the pig. She hadn't thought he'd notice the source. With any luck, she'd keep knocking him out with pictures, right up until he was at the vet's office.
Payback is a bitch and she just might, in this case, be named Nabiki Tendo.
Akane spent an interesting time with Aunt Makiko. She heard about what her mother was like growing up and it did much to help her own self-image. Kimiko Sayobara had been a purebred, unashamed tomboy. Some of the stories she heard, about the girl who became her mother, had sounded a lot like the Nerima gang. Kimiko had transferred into the district from Nagasaki in the early 70's to become the center of Soun Tendo's life.
A martial artist herself, she had, thirty seconds after bumping into upperclassman Tendo, flattened him, called him a jerk and a pervert, and stormed off in a huff. Soun, for his part, called her that 'devil girl', 'testosterone junkie' and, to Akane's astonishment, 'un-cute'. They had led each other a merry chase, especially after their parents arranged for them to be wed. Both had been dragged snarling and griping to the omiai. As was customary, neither of them knew anything about who they were meeting, only why. Then they had to be retrieved kicking and screaming when they saw whom they were being paired up with.
Akane sat up straight in her chair and sipped tea to hide her manic expression. Aunt Makiko, a tall woman who reminded her in some ways, of an older version of Aunt Nodoka, rattled on gleefully, never noticing her glazed look.
"Oh, yes! They were a wild bunch. You never knew when that Happosai character would drag Soun and that Saotome boy off on some wild adventure. Kimiko despised the old fart! When he got wise to her ambush tactics, she'd make sure there was plenty of sake around. Then, when he passed out, she'd hitch him to the late-train leaving town with a ten-meter chain. She claimed it was just long enough that way to introduce the Master to telephone poles along the route whenever the train turned corners. She would have loved to try that with the high-speed trains we have today, but it just wasn't convenient when they first started running."
"Ha-ha," Akane laughed weakly. 'Boy, listening to some of these stories makes me wonder if Dad was just pulling our legs. He and Mom make Ranma and I seem almost... normal.'
"Matter of fact, Soun got the pervert drunk at the bachelor party just before he and Kimiko got married. They chained him to the anchor of an American warship; a 'wedding present', Soun told her. Gave them nearly six months of peace till he got back." The older woman giggled, then leaned forward conspiratorially.
"Then there was that Amazon girl from China, Hei Ge' Li, or some such nonsense. We called her Gel. Anyway, she came here with her twin sister, looking for something the freak stole — panties, no doubt. And she ended up competing with your mother for Soun. What was worse was that she and Kimiko were best friends. When they got together, life was very dangerous for Happosai. Hee, hee! Of course, anytime the girls caught Soun or Genma doing his bidding, they got the same."
Amazon? Her dad had had Amazons after him? No wonder he was always yelling about this or that technique, when Cologne was pulling something. She'd have to apologize to him. She always thought he'd been spouting off to cover his ignorance. She'd also have to ask her father just how her mom had pried an Amazon away from him long enough to marry him.
"Oh, dear, there's the phone."
"I'll get it for you," Akane offered, jumping up. She zipped over and lifted the receiver by the third ring. "Moshi, moshi!"
"Oh, hello, Akane. This is Kasumi," came the reply.
"How's everyone at home, oneechan?"
"Fine, Akane. Nabiki was nice enough to take care of P-chan while you're gone."
"How much is that costing me?"
"Nothing, Akane. She said to consider it a small start on paying you back for the grief she caused at the wedding."
"Oh?" Akane considered, then shrugged. "How is P-chan?"
"Oh, I'm sure he's fine. Nabiki needed to do some studying anyway, so he is keeping her company up in her room."
"Good! I miss him, but I'm glad he's getting attention while I'm gone." Akane considered. "You know, Kasumi, if he and Nabiki get along, maybe she should just keep him. I mean he and Ranma don't... Is something wrong, Kasumi?"
On the other end, Kasumi was struggling desperatelyto not let a flood of laughter pour out. Nabiki could keep…? She tried to compose herself and failed. Nothing had ever cracked her facade this way in years! It must be the accumulating stress. And she couldn't even tell Akane! 'Oh, my! Think. Distract yourself. Deep even breaths...'
"Kasumi?" Akane was becoming concerned.
"Ummm..." Kasumi began with a rather high-pitched whine, "…uh, so what has Makiko told you about Mother?" she asked out of the blue.
Fortunately, it was just the right thing to ask. Makiko was telling Akane things she never offered Kasumi, probably because she thought the quiet girl would be shocked at how her parents had acted when they were younger. Makiko knew, both from Kasumi and her own inquiries, Akane was no shrinking violet and let her have both barrels, as it were. Interspersed with the cousin's voice in the background, Akane's recitation brought bright color to her oneechan's face, partly delight, partly astonishment and partly relief that she did not have to think about what Akane said earlier about P-chan and Na-Nabiki. A hysterical giggle escaped her lips, fortunately coinciding with a racy bit from the Makiko 'peanut gallery', who commented how she should have known any daughter of Soun and Kimiko wouldn't be a prude!
Nabiki sat in her chair at the computer. She was dressed normally for a change, having decided that too much direct exposure to live shows might coarsen Ryoga so much the effect would be lost. No, she had other plans, which, though they'd never see the light of day — nor monetary profit, drat it! — might be useful under the circumstances. She acquired, as editor of the school paper, a copy of a professional graphics-editing program and spent some time studying its tools and limitations. She also borrowed an expensive little toy, a full-page scanner the school newspaper was trying out. She dearly wished she'd had this equipment when Ranma had first arrived. You didn't need to be an artist to use it, either. If you had any sort of graphic image and a steady hand, reality was at your command.
She heard the faint 'bwee' of returning consciousness. It was time for the next step in the plan. She finished adjusting the images she had modified, saved the file and hit the print button. Impatiently, she waited for the sheet to print.
P-chan awoke slowly and quailed at the sound of the computer keyboard being used. 'The horror!' He opened his eyes a crack, just in time to see Nabiki take a page from the printer and skim it onto the bed, where he, as well as a number of similar pages, lay.
He watched her. She seemed unaware that he was awake. All he had to do was maneuver between those two pictures of Ranma and Akane, and she'd never hear him leave the bed. It even looked like her door was open a crack…!
Ranma and Akane's pictures? He looked again.
There, in living color, were Ranma and Akane posing together, dressed only in black leather that…(Gaak!) …using whips to…(Eeep!) …and Ranma was in girl form…"Bw-wee-e-e!" (Massive blood loss, stiffen like a board, faint!)
"You are too, too easy, P-chan," Nabiki said smirking. She patted the new full color scanner, gathered the scraps of one of Happosai's hentai magazines and separated them from the stock photos of Ranma and Akane that she kept for Kuno. With a hint of disgust, she dropped the former into the wastebasket and made a quick note to dump it before Kasumi came across them. Her older sister would be shocked.
"Hmmph! What garbage," she said to herself as she glanced over the remains in the bottom of the can. "Men have no imagination."
She turned back to her own efforts and chewed on her lip. The heads really didn't look like they belonged on the bodies. The skin tone was off and the lapping image 'ghosted' along the seam. She could do better. A gleam brightened her eye. She wondered what Kuno would be willing to pay, if she actually managed to make it convincing enough.
'No!' she restrained herself. 'Akane is family; thou shalt not besmirch.' The gleam returned then and she sighed. 'Still, still it was nice to dream… YEN, YEN, YEn, Yen, yen, yen, ye...'
Kuno Tatewaki swept through the movements of a kendo form. His head felt strange, or at least strange for him. It had been several weeks since his sister traveled overseas and the huge mansion was quiet. It was a relief not to hear her maniacal laughter echoing down the halls, nor worry about what had gone into the soup or coffee that evening. Perhaps, she would recover from her horrible obsession with his own chief tormentor? He certainly hoped so. Besides, had she ever managed to actually win the foul Saotome, he would have been obliged to treat him as a brother-in-… No, it could not be borne! Not even in speculation.
Dissatisfied, he paced to the archery range to test his skills there. He carefully chose half a dozen arrows and strung his bow. Stepping to his mark, he placed the arrows where he could reach them without hindrance and fixed his mind on the target. He selected his first arrow, caressed the feathers, then set the string to the notch. In a blur, arrow followed arrow as mind and body meshed. The third arrow left the string even as the first struck in the center of the target. As the last arrow was spent, Kuno let the wash of arrow flight and impact flow back over him and echo in the wooden hall.
A dark figure suddenly appeared before the distant target and Tatewaki smiled. Sasuke had returned. Perhaps he had news of his loves. A frown crossed his face as he thought of them. Akane Tendo, fiery, dark-haired, with flashing eyes and a brilliant smile that had, too infrequently, turned his way; and the pigtailed goddess, astonishingly red hair, the embodiment of energy, with fair skin to match her hair and a delightfully careless attitude concerning dress. According to his absent sister, she, too, was named Ranma Saotome, like the monster that held them captive. Ah! The horror of blessing such a name on one hand, yet cursing it on the other.
His frown became a grimace of pain as images flooded across his mind, confused, contradictory and unstable. Sasuke, sensing his master's distress, raced to his side. The scion of the house of Kuno waved him off and straightened once more.
"Report, Sasuke. What have you learned of Akane or the pigtailed goddess? Is there evidence that our interference has weakened his grip upon my loves?
"Master, neither Ranma Saotome nor Akane Tendo are in residence at the Tendo compound..."
"What! Has he stolen them both whilst I SLEPT?"
"No, no, Master! The vile Saotome left more than a week before Akane Tendo. My sources say another argument with Miss Tendo precipitated the act."
"And the fair Akane?"
"Gone to visit her cousin north of Tokyo, I am told. The argument upset her as well, and she went there in the hopes a change of scenery might soothe her heart."
"Would that she had turned to me, for I would soothe her even as she would be a balm to mine own!
"Indeed, Master."
What news of the pigtailed girl, then?"
"Vanished, as she always does when Saotome is absent."
Again Tatewaki purpled in rage and grimaced in pain. Something was wrong, but what? The intensity of his passion was off, his anger itself empty and stale. He found himself almost weeping in reaction and paled at this unmanly display.
"Sasuke, what is happening to me?" he gasped. He felt strong hands grasp him by the shoulders and lift him, then a shoulder beneath his arm.
"Everything will be all right, Master," the ninja soothed. "Since Mistress Kodachi went on her little trip, your body has been recovering from the substances she put daily in your food. Believe me, it could have been much worse. Fortunately, she never stuck with one type of hallucinogen or stimulant long. Your body is simply attempting to find its balance again after all these years."
Kodachi Kuno stood before the mirror in her suite in Honolulu. She was beginning to see what her demented sire, Koucho, saw in these quaint environs. Such an opportunity to show off her figure, too! She had a whole suitcase of daring bathing suits to bring back and model for her beloved Ranma-darling. Some were quite wicked, really, with snaps that could be opened, so... and allow access like that... 'Oh, Ranma-sama!'
How unfortunate these Americans could be so tiresome about a little gymnastics competition. Why, they had gone so far as to accuse her of cheating and had confined her to her quarters like a criminal. She was being informed even now by some minor official that she would be returning to Japan the next morning and would be escorted to her flight.
"Let me make myself clear, Miss Kodachi, you are strongly invited never to return to the U.S. or any of its territories."
She waved him away.
"That is quite acceptable to me, my good man. Now be gone, I must prepare for my return. I will capture my Ranma-sama at last! OHOHOHOHOHOHohohohohohoho!"
The official and the agency personnel shuddered and drew back through the doors. "What a fruitcake!"
"If she hadn't been the daughter of that industrialist and on a special waiver for that stupid competition, she'd be rotting in a jail for a while."
"Too bad."
"Too bad? For whom?"
"That Ranma guy she's cackling about." They hurried off.
Ranma felt the return to consciousness of his visitor, Barry, and waited with some irritation for him to become fully functional. Ranma was now male, having gotten a fire lit and water boiled. The sun seemed to be staying out for a change and he was making the most of it, stretching out clothing and the tent to dry on the rocks of the beach. Barry finally offered to help, then subsided in embarrassment.
'Well, I would have helped you, if I had an extra pair of hands.'
"Yeah, yeah," said Ranma skeptically. "Well, I guess it's karma or somethin'. Me and my pop were freeloaders for a long time."
'So, I'm a freeloader, eh?' Barry glowered. 'What about the thing I found last night?'
Ranma flinched and looked grimmer. "Look Barry, I'm... a little sensitive about my curse. Everybody seems ta think they can just push here and pull there, and then I hafta get away for a while. But I can't get away from you. I want ya to promise me, word of honor, that yer not going to mess with me like that, without my permission, while yer in there. Especially when I'm in my girl-form. It's not fair and, honestly, it scares the shit outa me. If ya'd been here, I woulda hurt ya for doin' what ya did."
Barry froze feeling the brunt of Ranm's distress. Faint images of Kuno, Mikado Happosai flitted across his consciousness. To Ranma, Barry was right on the verge of being filed in their category.
Had Barry been corporeal, he would have been shaking with shame. 'I'm sorry, Ranma,' he said. 'I was tired and maybe I forgot I was a guest. I apologize. I can't promise not to do what I did again, because I'm not sure what I did. That's sort of what I'm getting at. I found out something about us and how we're sharing your body.'
Ranma was silent. Barry fidgeted. It was so damn hard building trust when you were living in someone's back pocket. Invariably, you stepped on toes and someone snapped and you get too close to get out of the way. With Ranma's continued silence, he realized he had gone over the line and now had to back up, or be treated like any foreign object in a body: rejection, attack and destruction.
He wouldn't mind rejection, provided it was e-jection back to his wife and son. But to be rejected as an enemy was not what he wanted. He had learned enough about Ranma by now that he was beginning to respect the spirit that had taken the pigtailed martial artist so far. Ranma was rough but fair and always helped others if they were in need.
Right now, Ranma was in need, though he'd never admit it. Barry felt a desire to try to help this young man if he could; during whatever time they had together in these weird circumstances. His thoughts broke off as Ranma lowered himself to sit on the ground.
"Okay, then. Wadja find out?" Ranma offered the olive branch. "What exactly didja do?"
Slowly, in painstaking detail, Barry described the vision he had while trying to sleep the night before. He went into greater detail about what he touched and how he found out they were involved with the various areas. He related faithfully even the embarrassing initial effort that had tipped him to the relationship of the trails of energy and Ranma's body. It was embarrassing, but he felt at this point necessary for future trust. He suggested that these lines had some analogy with the 'ki' Ranma had been talking about the other day.
Throughout the confession, Ranma returned to being as silent and unresponsive as stone. Barry was left sweating. After he finished, Ranma remained silent for ten minutes more, while Barry essentially stood at attention, awaiting sentencing.
"Yer right, I think. Yer messin' with my ki directly, somehow," Ranma said quietly. Barry flinched. He still couldn't read what Ranma was thinking. Then Ranma chuckled.
'What?'
"Your blocking technique works pretty well."
Barry felt he was gaping like a fish. 'B-b-blocking?'
"Yeah, remember? Elevator music? Though I prefer Dragonball Z, thanks."
Barry metaphorically sagged. He had been sucker-punched; left to hang by Ranma as a test of a technique for personal privacy that Barry himself had suggested when they first met. He had used it to punish Barry for his inappropriate experimentation while Ranma slept. Barry flashed anger, then chagrin and finally, humor. 'Am I forgiven then?' he asked very humbly.
"Yeah, yer forgiven. I don't know if I coulda slept through that snoring if it'd been someone else." He mused a moment. "I sure hope Akane doesn't snore. It'll be the pits!"
Barry was suddenly thinking very hard of a popular tune he knew, to avoid making a comment about what that comment said about Ranma's fiancée problem.
"Let's look at this ki thing, though," Ranma continued. "I'm a specialist in martial arts ki attacks, so tell me what it's like from the inside. Maybe we'll learn somethin' new."
Barry agreed and concentrated on the glowing strands, as Ranma began to divert his ki to his hands in the first step of his special attack.
Ukyo Kuonji wandered, almost unaware of her surroundings. She couldn't remember when she had last eaten. She was only marginally aware of people who looked at her and backed away from the smell. "I'd love to take a bath, thank you, but where's the bathroom?" she muttered to herself. She vaguely remembered getting into a fight with a group of crude, sneering men, delighting in their yelps of pain as she had methodically beaten them. A smirking, pigtailed face had seemed to transpose over their grimacing features and she had turned and run in shame and fear and hopelessness.
Finally, she slumped against the base of a tree and tried to work out just where everything had begun to go wrong.