Eldritch Asylum
obsidian-fox and Xylix
Started: September 17, 2004
Last Update: December 10, 2004
Disclaimer: Many characters used in this story were not originally conceived by the author. Ranma ½, Harry Potter, and various other works of literature and art are used. This work is not for commercial use. I appeal to Copyright Fair Use in keeping this work legal; as such, I consider it fair use for you (whoever you are) to use any original characters or settings in derived works, should you choose to write one.
Eldritch Asylum may be archived.
Chapter One: Warped Reflections
My dear Sir, take any road, you can't go amiss. The whole state is one vast insane asylum.
- James Louis Petigru
-oOo-
Red lay her head against a pane of frosty glass and rests her eyes upon the images beholden within. Her ethereal reflection fades out and in and out again, a ghost playing in the electric lights. A light drizzle of icy rain pitters against the window, almost without sound, and Red watches with interest as the water slowly slides and joins larger drops before slipping away under the ministrations of wind and gravity.
Her image gazes back, frightened and lonely.
One small hand clasps her medallion tightly. It somehow sits cold against her skin, bringing little comfort against the vast darkness. She is finally out... out of that awful place of endless ennui and inhuman whispers. But it was also a place of eternal light, eternal warmth. And where had she ended up? In the cold. In the dark.
And the whispers follow.
Red pays little attention to the conversation drifting from the front of the car. Instead, she takes reassurance from their soft tones. She listens to the lilting highs and resonant lows, allowing them to lull her towards sleep.
The moon sits near the horizon, red and full, a hunter's moon peeking through the drifting clouds. Red gazes at it until the car makes a sharp turn, tearing it from her sight. But just before it goes, it joins her reflection... a dark goddess with intense eyes and flaming hair. Full lips form words and she hears it whisper, "Join us."
Then a dulcet voice causes her to rise. "We're home."
Red yawns widely, stretches her arms towards the ceiling, and blinks bleary eyes to briefly banish her weariness. It doesn't work. She searches about in confusion; the whole situation – the car, the clouds, the moon, the stars, the very idea of having a home seems utterly alien. Her door swings open and Gareth's large form steps back, holding the door ajar and giving her a wide berth. Red rubs her eyes and looks at him curiously.
"Gareth dear, what is taking so long?" Elinore asks, swinging around from the passenger side.
"Nothing, Elinore," Gareth answers gruffly.
Stooping down, the man gently wraps his arm around Red and lifts the little girl from her seat. The hug feels comfortable, and Red cuddles with Gareth before he sets her feet on the ground and gingerly directs her towards the door. The hand on her medallion tightens as she gazes into the yawning darkness.
The door clicks open revealing even deeper shadows within. Red pulls herself close to Gareth's leg. Gareth winces slightly and pleads, "Elinore... lights please."
"Is something wrong?" Elinore asks worriedly as she banishes the darkness with the flick of a switch.
Red's grip softens and she steps a bit away from Gareth. Her eyes widen momentarily as she scans about the foyer taking in new and delightful sights. It is almost enough to drive away weariness and for a moment Red bounces on her toes. She is with her new parents at her new home to start a new life. She smiles a little, feeling intense warmth at the thought. Finally, she has someplace to call "home." She wants it, needs it more than she ever expected. Then her eyes droop once again.
"It appears that our new daughter is bit scared of the dark and like the orderly said she has quite the grip," Gareth says, following Red into the room. "I'll set things up in Hermione's room. Can you get her ready for bed?"
Elinore nods with a smile and looks down at Red, her eyes filled with delight. She grabs Red's tiny hand in her own and pulls her onwards. The little girl is led up the stairs, staggering with weariness.
With one last tug Red is pulled into a small room. Elinore releases the girl and swoops to the bath and turns on the water. The rush of the steamy fluid helps bring Red out of her stupor. Her eyes widen in joy at the prospect of a hot bath. Then she turns her gaze to the mirror set above the sink.
She sees no dark goddess within it. She sees only herself... red haired, weary, wet with icy rain. She gives herself a wan smile.
Elinore pushes a small object into her hand. Red stares at it as the older woman asks, "Do you know how to brush your teeth or do you need help?"
Red nods. Standing up on her toes she leans across the sink and starts up the water. A moment later she is brushing, arm buzzing like a chain saw and foamy toothpaste suds threatening to spill from her mouth.
"Slow down there! Remember to get behind the teeth too," Elinore cries in dismay. The little girl is going to wear her teeth to nubs at that rate. Red slows to a merely furious pace and casts an inquisitive look at Elinore.
Elinore does not see it. Her attention is focused on the bath; she dips a hand into the water, testing the heat. While adjusting the knobs slightly, she says thoughtfully to herself, "Now what are we going to call you?"
Red opens her mouth to answer, but cannot. The question haunts her. Who are you? This time, though, the answer cavorts teasingly upon the tip of her tongue, as if about to reveal itself.
"Oh dear, what a mess!" Elinore exclaims, rushing over. She stoops down and wipes away a trail of bubbling paste that had escaped Red's gap and made its way down her chin. "Now you need to wash out your mouth," Elinore explains, dabbing the face of her newest child a few more times.
Red grabs a handful of water, swishes it about in her mouth, and spits into the sink. Elinore smiles then grabs the dental floss. She draws a length of it and offers it to her daughter. Red accepts it, but looks at Elinore in confusion.
"That is dental floss," Elinore explains. Red shows no understanding, so Elinore sighs, "Here, I'll show you how to use it."
Elinore places her hands around Red's and takes her through the paces. Red remains confused as to the point of the ritual. Still, it doesn't seem worth the effort to resist. Thus she allows Elinore to again and again scrape her teeth and press her gums with the little piece of string.
"There you go!" Elinore says proudly, patting her daughter on the head. "Now that your teeth are all brushed, it's time for you to take a bath."
Red peels off her clothes without hesitation, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground. The medallion dangles from her neck against her naked skin. She moves towards the water, almost desperate to let its warmth sink into her body and vanquish the remaining cold. But a hand stops her.
"What is that?" Elinore demands, snatching up the necklace. She gazes upon the cast-iron mold of a flame within an eye within a star, and she grimaces. Whatever it purpose, it looks positively satanic. "No daughter of mine is going to wear something like this," Elinore snaps.
Red's eyes harden in disapproval and her brows and lips knit a frown that appears petulant on her face. Her hand grasps Elinore's; Elinore can feel the power in the girl's small hand, constrained by a mad will that can crush her bones with a casual twitch.
"Okay," Elinore starts cautiously. "I'll talk to Gareth first. Still, you need to take it off before bathing, or it will rust," Elinore says, releasing her grip on the medallion. It falls back to Ranma's chest.
Red's frown vanishes and her eyes twinkle in playful thought. She gazes at the bath, then her medallion, and after a moment, a tiny grin decorates the girl's face.
She lifts the medallion from her neck and drops it upon the hamper.
Elinore smiles a small victory. It is short lived. Almost the instant the medallion's silver chain escapes Red's touch, the lights above the mirror flicker wildly. A chill sweeps up Elinore's back and those little hairs on her neck stand at attention.
The lights stabilize in a low buzz. They provide an impossible half-light to the room. Shadows stretch, dark claws, stark and hard along the walls. They seem to crawl and waver sickly, but only in the corner of her eyes, wherever she isn't looking at them directly. She stares at the dark shadow bordering the sink, daring it to move so she can catch it... and hoping it won't.
She shudders.
Deep within, Elinore feels sick anticipation, dread, fear, the primal knowledge that this is NOT a safe place to be, something dangerous is coming, run, Run, RUN! The feeling grows like a cancer in her soul. Her breath quickens. Her hands curl into fists, squeezing tight until the knuckles turn white, and she is surprised to feel something cold and hard in her left hand.
Her hand is on the hamper, and within it is the ward. And suddenly she feels safe.
A pair of small, warm, powerful hands firmly but gently take hers and remove the medallion from her tight grip. Elinore turns in surprise, calming at the touch of her daughter. She sees Red once again placing the silver chain about her neck. The shadows melt away, once again reached by the soft light as they are meant to be.
Red looks up, face impassive, her eyes once again upon Elinore's.
Elinore gazes back and searches Red deeply for a moment. Deep within those eyes, she sees hurt, fear, insecurity, pain, loss, and a terrible, terrible darkness. Impulsively, she folds her daughter into a hug, pressing the little girl's head between her breasts. She shudders momentarily, then tightens the hug even further and runs a hand down the girl's back and long, red hair.
Her daughter hesitantly returns the hug, then squirms away and hops playfully into the tub.
Splash!
Daughter? Elinore blinks, hoping she is just imagining things. Momentarily, she gazes at the child's familiar face framed by unfamiliar black hair. But once again, her eyes wander downwards to one very un-daughterly feature that she is sure hadn't been there a minute before.
The young boy in the tub casually grabs a bar of soap and works up a lather before sinking into the watery warmth.
"GARETH!"
-oOo-
Morning sunlight pours through the kitchen, rebounding from the well-polished table and white linoleum floor, casting everything in its glaring light. Outside a few small birds twitter and a skinny squirrel gnaws on a small nut. A chilly paperboy makes his rounds, buried within layers of cloth, puffing misty little clouds, pedaling his ten-speed mountain bike carefully along the icy road and tossing papers to diligent subscribers of the London Globe.
One paper lands on the Grangers' lawn, shattering the ice encasing on several blades of grass, the Sunday edition, with full-color comics and loads of advertisements. It has been two full days and three long nights since they brought the little redhead home from the asylum on Thursday evening.
The newly adopted daughter was adapting quickly.
Shortly after the paper lands, she prances out the door, grabs the paper, runs back in shivering a bit, and tosses the Globe upon the immaculate kitchen table for Gareth to read. Then she bumps Elinore away from the stove and quickly flips several pancakes and five eggs, and pokes the few remaining pieces of sizzling bacon before deciding flipping those is premature. The vibrant redhead sends a hurt look in her new mother's direction.
Elinore licks her greasy fingers a few more times, enjoying the salty victory of stolen bacon, and smiles playfully at her daughter. "I told you last night that I'd cook this morning. And it really isn't fair, claiming all that for yourself," she says, waving a hand towards the piles of fruit pancakes, bacon, and eggs that could feed any five normal adults.
The little girl smirks at her before turning back to the food.
Gareth stomps down the stairs, foul mood held in check only by his weariness. Both can be banished with his regular morning caffeine fix. Elinore pours a steaming cup of coffee and places it into the man's waiting hand. He drinks it greedily before pouring himself another cup and dropping into his customary seat. He blinks in surprise to see the Globe already sitting in front of him.
"Thanks," Gareth says, not knowing to whom it's addressed. "I'm hoping for that return call today," he adds.
"Mr. Weasley?" asks Elinore, taking a sip of her own coffee.
Gareth nods.
They had been trying to get in contact with the man to ask about the girl's transformation in hot water, and about the medallion. Mr. Weasley returned an owl saying he'd call. That was on Friday.
The Grangers' search for information had turned up only what they already knew. She was in an explosion; a man assumed to be her father was found dead near her; neither carried any identifying papers, and when nobody arrived to claim her despite the amount of news regarding the event, she was assumed to be an orphan. So they had been waiting on Mr. Weasley for the last several days.
And those last several days had been hectic.
On Friday morning, Gareth awoke groggy and cranky to the sounds of her bouncing off the walls in the family room at some obscene hour before sunrise. After several large, desperate cups of coffee, Gareth made it clear she isn't to do that again, but that she may practice outside. Shortly thereafter, they found some of Hermione's old coats that fit the girl. And without a word, she leaped into the distance, across the rooftops, and away.
For a while, Gareth and Elinore were afraid they had lost the girl. However, that evening the little girl was found upon the roof, gazing at the stars and clutching her medallion. They didn't even try getting an explanation of the day's activities from the girl; as dentists, they know that pulling teeth would be far easier.
On Saturday morning, when the redhead left the table without cleaning up, they asked her to help with the chores. The child agreed eagerly, as though she were searching for something, anything, to do. And she took to them it with gusto, performing chores with far more coordination, speed, and showy flair than the Grangers thought possible. Tables were cleared and dishes were washed within minutes.
But nobody ever asked her to cook. She asked to do that on her own. Well, saying she asked is technically incorrect. On Saturday night, the child tugged on Elinore's sleeve and indicated she wished to join. She proved surprisingly adept in the kitchen, as though she had practice before, although her skill with a knife was startling for a child who had spent the last two years kept well away from any sort of edged object.
This morning, Elinore and Gareth pleasantly awoke to another surprise: their daughter preparing bacon, eggs, and fruit pancakes in vast quantities. Coffee was already brewing in the pot. There are very few pleasures greater than waking to the smell of cooking bacon and coffee. It was definitely one of the few pleasant surprises they had received from the young girl in the sixty hours since they brought her home.
All surprises aside, however, including the little surprises in the bath that first night, the primary reason the Grangers had problems adapting to the girl is that she hadn't yet spoken a single word. The rest could be explained away with, "Her father was a super-powered martial artist that could lift a twelve-ton chunk of road while dying," or "It's just magic"... as silly as those explanations are. Ultimately they attributed her skill with the knife to the art, the weird shadows to magic, and her prodigious strength to both. The unbelievable becomes a little easier to believe when your first daughter is a witch and your second daughter is doing the impossible before your eyes.
So it was her avoidance of speech that bothered them the most.
Initially they had wondered if the poor child was mute, but a quick call to the Asylum defeated that assumption. Smith insisted the little girl had spoken on rare occasions; she is just quiet. Willems made the cruder observation that, "Red is probably afraid of what might come out of her bloody mouth when she speaks; ain't too surprisin' considerin' what was comin' out of that mouth before." He quickly added, "And we ain't takin' her back," before hanging up.
When they called back and asked about bathing and hot water, Willems quickly denied all knowledge of the girl's transformation before hanging up again. His claim, of course, verified that those orderlies knew more about the girl than they were telling, but didn't otherwise help.
Further, Elinore and Gareth still hadn't a clue what to call her. But they both agree that "Red" is an inappropriate name for a girl, or boy, whatever the case may be. And "Red Granger" would be far worse; it would undoubtedly be butchered to "Red Ranger" by malicious children within days. Considering the girl's unique... condition, Elinore and Gareth had considered several names that were gender neutral.
They need a final name soon. And a final gender. There are legal documents that need to be finalized and schooling to start. On the drive home Elinore and Gareth had been discussing sending the girl to Hermione's old elementary school, a prestigious all-girl's school, but they are now uncertain as to whether they even have the gender right.
And what, exactly, will they tell Hermione?
Whoosh!
A plate sails, twirling and wobbling, through the air. Elinore flinches, fully expecting a mess of shattered glass and food. However, the plate lands gently, rolling about its inner rim, and slides to a stop in front of Gareth without losing any food. Shortly thereafter, a fork sails into place beside it, and another plate lands in front of Elinore.
Elinore slowly releases a breath she did not know she was holding. Getting used to their newest child is definitely going to take some work. Then she frowns at her plate. She didn't get any bacon.
Gareth chuckles at her while shuffling through the Globe and sipping some coffee. "Just deserts? I'll bet you stole some bacon before it was finished again, didn't you?"
Elinore sighs and nods, looking up to see a smirking redhead sitting opposite her. "Thank you," she says to the girl, flashing a sincere smile. Then Elinore picks up a fork and begins to eat.
The young chef smiles and blue eyes twinkle in the sunlight. The lion's share of food is carefully guarded upon her plate, at least for the few brief moments before she begins plowing into it.
"Slow down," commands Gareth, lowering his newspaper, "You have the table manners of a vacuum cleaner."
The girl shoots an amused smirk in his direction, but slows down.
Gareth nods in satisfaction then briefly returns his attention to the paper.
Brrringgg! Brrringgg! The telephone rings.
Gareth folds the paper then heads for the phone. "Hello," he intones, "Granger residence. ... Ah! Mr. Weasley, I've been hoping you'd call. ...," Gareth's momentary smile tightens into a grimace. "Yes, I know you're fascinated with phones and Muggle technology. But if using the phone is such a hassle, I'll be happy to meet face to face. ...," Gareth's frown deepens, and his voice becomes a bit rougher as he adds, "Enough about the inefficacy of phone books! I'm so very sorry you had to call twelve other Granger families before you found us. But, can we get to the topic at hand? What do you know about my newest daughter that I do not?"
After a moment, the big man scowls into the phone and begins pacing. He flashes a quick glare at Elinore.
Elinore frowns, then takes her child's arm and drags the girl away from the kitchen. Her daughter desperately grabs a handful of pancakes off her plate before it's out of reach. Even as the two leave, they hear Gareth shout, "What do you mean you didn't know! What's that ministry of yours good for, anyway?"
Elinore and the girl retreat to a smaller, dimly lit room centered around a tinted-glass coffee table. Documents are strewn across the table and two fashionable, low, cushioned chairs and a matching love seat are placed around it. Her daughter jumps into one chair, almost knocking it over, before sinking into it. She tears a bite from a pancake in her hands, then turns a curious gaze to Elinore. Elinore gently sits in the love seat across from her. For a moment, Elinore regards the petite child and her flowing red hair in the dim sunlight that manages to find the room.
Gareth's voice shoots angrily from the kitchen, muffled by several walls.
"Dear," Elinore starts, gazing levelly at the girl, "you'll be starting school soon. But before you can go, you need a name... and you must also choose whether to be boy or girl."
Elinore forces that last bit out. She had already started thinking of her daughter as just that... a daughter, a girl, despite the child's obvious and boyish interest in martial arts.
Her child continues to gaze calmly and thoughtfully into her mother's eyes. Then the girl shrugs, cerulean eyes wandering back to the kitchen as another shout reaches her ears.
Elinore sighs then continues, "Gareth and I both agree that 'Red' isn't an appropriate name for you." Elinore pauses and waits for a reaction from the girl. When none arrives, Elinore forges onwards. "We came up with several names we think would be good for you, but since you're old enough to make a choice, you'll get the final say. Do you understand?"
The nine-year-old nods absently.
"For girl names we like Imogen, Miranda, or Ceres. We also picked few names in case you choose to be a boy. Lysander is a fine boy-only name, and Robyn or Avery would be decent whether you choose to be a boy or a girl."
Elinore pauses and waits for a response from the girl. The girl sits there, a look of intense concentration on her face.
Then Gareth walks in saying, "I'm actually rather fond of Avery." He sighs, then takes a seat next to Elinore, wrapping an arm around his wife. He gives a wan smile to his daughter.
Elinore blinks, then leans into Gareth. "Hush, husband. We promised we wouldn't pressure her either way. Besides, you know I like Imogen best. But did you learn anything about our as-yet nameless child?"
The child in question looks up in curiosity, awaiting an answer.
Gareth gazes momentarily at the redhead then sighs, shaking his head. "I guess you deserve to know, too. Mr. Weasley managed to get his hands on the Ministry of Magic's file about the girl and the accident two years ago. He had to call in some favors."
"You did apologize for yelling at him, and thank him for his help, did you not?" Elinore interjects sternly. "It isn't his fault you did not like what you heard."
Gareth shakes his head and gazes at Elinore. "I forgot. I should invite the man out at some point to make up for it," he says reluctantly. He looks at the ceiling for a moment then adds, "I imagine he'd be thrilled to experience Muggle drive-through cuisine."
Elinore scowls.
Gareth chuckles then continues somberly, "Anyhow, apparently the accident two years ago was magical in nature. However, the ministry arrived late at the scene. They could tell a battle had been fought, the collapse had occurred, and powerful, dark magics had been used. But they didn't know much else.
"Ministry 'aurors' are the wizarding world's equivalent of a police and detective force, and despite having magic, they work much like our own. They piece together the bigger puzzle from tiny clues. And they didn't have much to go on... a few magical residues and physical evidence left after the event. However, a few of their top analysts believe that a portal of some sort had been opened to... someplace else and something tried to come through." Gareth frowns and continues, "They couldn't get more specific than that. Anyhow, according to the report, there is clear evidence of a very physical battle that collapsed the road, and at some point the portal was sealed."
Gareth turns to look at his adopted child. "They suspect your father was involved in the fight. The man believed to be your father died of wounds that neither ministry aurors nor our own doctors could recognize.
"Their only other action was to intervene when you had recovered enough to return to a normal life; they wanted you with a family like ours because... well, our eldest daughter, Hermione, is a witch. She just left for her first year at Hogwarts almost two months ago. You were found right where the portal supposedly opened, and they suspect that the magic would have some lasting effects, and that you might end up being a witch yourself."
Gareth turns to Elinore. "There was nothing about the medallion in her file. She must have received that recently, or they didn't think it was significant. They also had nothing about changing into a boy when splashed with hot water, but Mr. Weasley posits that may be one of the effects of the incident." Gareth growls a little then adds, "The investigation wasn't nearly thorough enough. The report seemed exceedingly vague."
Gareth sighs, releasing his tension and rage, then turns his gaze to the redheaded child. "So, do you have a name in mind? I'd prefer not to rush you, but these documents must be returned soon," he says, sweeping his hand across the documents on the table.
The girl gazes at the table, but does not answer.
"If you don't choose today or tomorrow, we'll have to choose for you," adds Elinore.
The child glances up at Elinore, then she concentrates, a petulant frown on her face.
Seeing that her daughter is getting nowhere Elinore prods the red head gently on with her words. "I especially like Imogen, and Ceres. There is also Avery... if you would rather. There is no need to rush, though. You still have all night to choose." Elinore adds the last quickly, trying to prevent her words from pressuring her daughter too much.
The little girl's frown holds a bit longer, then she speaks. But she grimaces in disgust as the words come out. "Wild Horse."
Elinore frowns and she opens her mouth to protest.
But the child shakes her head and swallows, then her face contorts with concentration and she tries again. This time she says, "Ranma. Call me Ranma."
-oOo-
"You are aware of our rather strict admissions policies and the reasons behind them, are you not, Mrs. Granger?" a rather stern looking woman asks.
Elinore's hands fidget in her lap. "Why yes, of course. But you see, you did such a good job with Hermione and I really wish to bring our newest daughter here."
The elderly woman smiles a bit. "Yes, I do remember Hermione. She was a rather uniquely gifted child." Then her face hardens. "I was rather sad to see her leave. We were hoping for her to complete her sixth form here. Where exactly did she go again, Mrs. Granger?"
"Err... Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts? I don't believe I have heard of the place."
"It's a boarding school in Scotland for... umm... rather uniquely gifted children," answers Elinore. She folds her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.
"I see," responds the older woman, as though she really doesn't. The woman grabs a folder from a nearby shelf. "Very well. We'll see what we can do for your... newest daughter, was it?"
Elinore nods. "Her name is Ranma. She was recently adopted."
The older woman frowns and scribbles a few words. "How old is the girl, again?"
"Nine, we believe."
The older woman looks up and raises an eyebrow.
"Her exact date of birth is unknown," Elinore clarifies. "But she's very talented. I'm sure she'll do well here."
The older woman sets down her pen before speaking again. "Very well, we shall give yourdaughter a chance," she starts, "But do understand that we must test the child before we even consider admitting her. Headwings is, as you well know, a rather selective school. We have limited space, high demand, and a reputation to maintain. Bring her in and we shall see if your adopted child can keep up with the finest and brightest girls in all England."
Elinore sighs, already giving up on the school. After all, how can Ranma, even as exceptional as she is, pass the tests to enter this place while missing two years of education? It would be best to simply give up and find a different school.
But it wouldn't hurt to let them test the child and find out where she's at.
-oOo-
Ranma leaps through the urban sky, landing softly on one rooftop before bounding towards another. Beads of sweat trail down her skin, even as her breath puffs visible in the cool air. As the redhead lands, she dodges back and lashes out, fighting shadows in a glorious dance.
Nobody else can tell that the shadow, in her mind, looks like a panda. If people were watching, they would only see her twirling and leaping in an impossible yet beautiful kata with grace and fervor. An experienced warrior might discern that she is shadow-fighting an opponent of great speed, size, and skill.
But nobody is watching.
The shadow stumbles to a well-timed sweep. Ranma tries to finish it, pushing from the rooftop with her arms and launching a vertical kick into the panda's chin. It doesn't work. Panda-shadow falls back a bit further, dodging in mid-stumble, and lifts a paw. She is sent crashing across the rooftop in an ill-composed heap.
Then the first rays of sunlight reach over the horizon. The shadow bows out and fades away. She stands up, brushes gravel out of her coat, and returns the bow in respect, directing it at the shadow's final position. She will continue the fight in tomorrow's morning twilight.
Yet, tomorrow's opponent might not be today's, for her shadows lie in her dreams. The child resurrects those from her nights and brings their strength to life in her fights. She rarely wins but always learns, and that has become her small victory. She once fought the boy who turns into the girl from whom she stole her name. She thoroughly lost, but she's getting stronger. It may take years or longer, but someday she will defeat even him.
It is rather sad, admitting defeat to your own shadow.
Ranma relaxes, taking a moment to stretch her lithe body. She grimaces a little as the stretching agitates a few bruises and gashes gained from her unfriendly meeting with gravel, brick, and concrete. However, they will soon be gone; they always are. So she deeply inhales the cool air, reveling in the pungent mix of city smog and morning dew, and looks around. The soft light of false dawn slowly evaporates to the rising sun. The morning sounds of a waking city fill the air.
Her repose is short lived. The sunlight invigorates her already energetic frame even further. The sights, the sounds, and the smells fill her. They give her a consuming need for action. Ranma jumps to another roof with renewed energy and her eyes cavort across the city in delight. On her face is a smile.
She has smiled a lot, recently.
And that smile widens as she remembers, today she is going to school. It sounds grand, a place where she will see and learn so many new things. New things are fun. Yet, there is doubt within her, something telling her that school just might be boring. She casts that thought aside. School will offer new challenges. Gareth and Elinore tell her she will have to work hard to make up for years of lost education. So she has waited in anticipation as papers were finalized and the first day crept up. Now it is here, only hours away.
Ranma leaps and scurries with boundless energy, sweeping across the roofs before she hears some drifting voices and abruptly settles to watch a new event in the streets below.
Four boys gather in a shrouded alley. Three surround the fourth, a tall, skinny boy whose jaw is hard-set in defiance. But that defiance is accompanied by fear in the boy's eyes. He steps back as the other three approach, bumping into the brick wall behind him. A glance only tells him what he already knows. It's a dead end. So he draws himself up and hides his fear behind a glare directed at his tormentors.
"Now, Billy, you weren't gonna' scamper on us, were you?" A large chubby boy demands, a cruel smile upon his lips. He shoves the taller boy into the wall and sneers. "You weren't planning to betray your good friends, were you?"
Ranma leans over the edge to get a better angle. Pebbles fall from her position, clattering softly on the ground. Nobody notices. All are caught too deeply within the unfolding drama.
Billy grits his teeth and glares back. His hand briefly tightens into a fist, then opens again. He cannot fight them. He sweeps his gaze across the three boys. "I already gave you what you wanted, so leave me alone!"
A swarthy, rough looking boy leans close into Billy's face. "Eh? You think you can bloody get off telling us what to do?"
"Hey, that's not what I- oooffff" Billy's breath whistles out of his lungs. The swarthy boy extracts his fist.
Ranma's eyes widen as she watches the blow from above. Her breath quickens. She feels a stirring excitement in her chest, and can hardly contain herself. She grins and keeps watching.
Below, the chubby boy laughs like a hyena. "That's what you get for talkin' back to Jack."
"You can't bloody get off, but I just might let you get off bloody," Jack finishes. When there is no immediate answer Jack adds, "Get it?" He flashes a smile to his two companions.
"Dog's bollocks, Jack," says the third boy without a hint of enthusiasm as he digs through Billy's backpack.
"I didn't ask you, Dirk."
"Bugger that," Dirk replies, shrugging. He riffles through the bag a bit more. "Alright, I found them." He displays a handful of papers to the others.
Billy sees the documents and shouts, "Hey! Don't mess with my backpa-" A hard hand cuts Billy off as the chubby boy smacks him across the face.
"I thought you knew when to shut up, Billy," the boy adds with a smirk.
"Tommy, you berk!" Dirk says, leveling a glare at the chubby boy, "How many times do we need to tell you? Don't hit him in the face! We don't want him having to talk to the teachers."
"I told you to call me Tom!" the boy says, turning to face Dirk.
"Will you both shut the bloody hell up!" Jack yells.
Billy takes advantage of the opening and dives towards his backpack. He rushes past Tommy, knocking the bulky boy off balance. But his escape is cut short. Jack sticks a leg in the tall boy's path, tripping him, then sends a swift, powerful kick into Billy's belly.
"Where do you think you're going?" asks Jack.
Billy coughs up a little blood and vomit, trying to breath.
Ranma stares at the blood. Her eyes widen a bit further, but she takes no action.
Tommy stomps towards Billy, who is on his hands and knees trying to stand. "Jack asked you a question!" he howls. He pulls his pudgy leg back and launches a swift kick between Billy's legs, knocking the boy back down.
Billy curls up tightly, sticking one arm across his belly and another between his legs, and starts sobbing softly.
"Ah look... he's crying! What a girly-boy," says Tommy with mocking disdain.
"You kicked him in the bloody bollocks, Tommy! What kind of man kicks another man in the -?" demands Dirk.
Jack grins a little and interjects, "Dirk's right, ya' know. Why, I do believe you should apologize."
Tommy scowls for a few seconds, then breaks Jack's gaze and scuffs one foot across the ground before looking at Jack shamefacedly. "I'm sorry."
"To him, not me, you git!" Jack grabs the papers from Dirk's hand and squats next to Billy to attain a level gaze, grinning wickedly. "My friend's sorry for wrackin' ya'. He's not all that bright, ya' know. I'm almost willin' to call that punishment enough. After all, you have done a little somethin' to regain my favor." Jack shakes the papers a little and smirks. "However, there is still that small matter that you've been getting better grades than me, been breakin' the curve on the tests, 'n such. While it helps you, it hurts me, see? You've got to consider the greater good, 'n the rest of the class. You aren't tryin' to short-change your old buddy Jack now, are ya'?"
Billy looks at Jack through teary eyes and chokes out, "Of- of course not."
"Good, we can just call it a misunderstandin'. This time. But just to be perfectly clear -" Jack lifts up the paper that has Billy's name at the top and casually shreds it to pieces before tossing them into the air like so much confetti. He stands up, ready to leave.
Tom pauses for a moment to kick Billy once more, this time in the gut. "I ain't apologizin' for that," he snarls. Sneering down at the boy, he spits on him. "Betcha won't mess with us again you stupid git. If this paper is poxy, you can bet your arse I'm coming back for ya."
"Tommy, stop! You're going to kill-" Dirk starts. But he is cut off as a petite little redhead drops into the alley ahead of him. He stumbles back and shouts, "Blimey! It's a girl!"
Ranma's heart sings in her chest. She feels... passion. It needs release.
She bounces lightly on her toes, having just dropped down to join in on the fun... the kicking, the punching... She grins happily at the boys as adrenaline surges through her body. With a little hop she flies. A foot lashes out lightning fast, striking solidly into Tommy's shin.
The chubby boy howls in pain and drops to the ground clutching his leg. Ranma just whirls on, dancing like a dervish. Jack growls and throws a fist. Leaning slightly, Ranma lets it pass harmlessly by, gazing at the fist for a few frozen moments. She slides around, hair floating free, fiery red in the rising sun. In a flash she passes Jack and is in the Dirk's face, and then she is over him. A gentle push of her foot sends the scrawny boy on a collision course with Jack. They both go down in a tangle of limbs and painful moans.
The girl's face flushes in excitement. Images of a pigtailed boy cavort in front of her, shadow dancing in her mind, teasing her with tantalizing possibilities. Tom takes that moment to regain his feet. He grasps a loose board and swings. Rusty nails and rotting wood swish above Ranma's head; the blow doesn't even grip the girl's hair as she drops out of sight. The girl immediately flows into a vertical back kick, foot lancing upwards as the girl surges into the air. It catches the chubby boy beneath the chin, knocking him upwards and away. Ranma sashays toward the other two, paying Tommy no mind.
Ka-clack! A knife flashes freely in Jack's hand. He swings wildly. Ranma steps left then right, cleanly avoiding the strikes. Her heart shouts a loud "doki-doki" battle cry, faster and faster, an excited drummer beating in her chest. Her eyes gleam with joy, and her lips curve devilishly.
She steps closer to him and her body sways lightly in rhythm with his motion. Jack strikes again and again in vain with his knife. Then she is upon him, literally, somehow standing lightly on his knife-hand and smiling downwards. He looks up, incredulous, fear frozen into his face. Then the redhead blurs into a flurry of motion. Her foot catches him on the forehead as she wheels backwards off his arm. His head thumps loudly into the brick wall.
She lands softly upon her feet before Dirk. He immediately turns to run, but a quick step and bounce again places her in his path. He stares down at her, wide-eyed, towering above yet cowering before the child in his path. Ranma waits for his attack.
It never comes. Dirk cautiously takes a step back. Ranma pouts then shoves him, a light tap to his chest. Dirk staggers before catching his balance. She waits again, and again he does not act.
Ranma feels the excitement fading away. And with it fades her smile.
She shoves once more, this time a quick palm-strike into Dirk's chest. He flies across the alley, thumping against the opposite wall, and sliding to the ground. Clutching his chest, he looks up at her from the floor. "Why?" he gasps out guttural, rasping. Ranma watches him, a sullen frown on her lips, hoping he'll get up and attack. But he does not.
She turns to gaze about. But no one moves. No one delights her with a new assault. Her eyes catch the fourth boy, Billy, who still lies in pain on the ground. She trots over to him. Experimentally, she nudges him a few times with her foot, but all he does is whimper and curl up tightly.
Ranma sighs, unhappy that it is already over. Then she casts her eyes to the brightening sky. A smile appears. That's right; today is her first day of school! Once again the redhead bounces lightly on her toes, boredom banished in the excitement of a new day. Knowing it's long past time to start breakfast, she gives the boys a sidelong glance and then quickly hops away, rebounding off a brick wall and returning to the rooftops.
-oOo-
"Cum eruditio ventis elatum aures, volimus."
The words are emblazoned upon a great wrought-iron gate that guards entry to the much esteemed grounds of Headwings. Beyond the gate, the road stretches onwards, paved in cobblestone reds, whites, browns, and blacks in no particular pattern. To either side are tall trees half-filled with leaves in seasonal reds and yellows. Their musty smell drifts through the air, carried by a chilly breeze.
A few black birds peek downwards from their perches, occasionally chirping but mostly remaining quiet. They watch as an old car approaches the gate, winding up the hill towards the school, gleaming in the early morning sunlight.
"Ranma," Elinore says, "you do understand that you shall need to speak during the interview and tests prior to enrollment and that you must speak on occasion during class, do you not?"
Ranma nods absently, gazing out the window and watching the scenery fly by.
Elinore takes her eyes off the road for a moment to glance at her daughter, who continues to look away. Then she sighs in exasperation and returns to driving.
Ranma turns to the front again. Her eyes dilate a bit and she releases a sharp gasp of mirth, a small laugh, immediately contained. She reads the words written around the gate once more. With knowledge the wind beneath our ears, we fly! The words seem fitting for an academy with the name Headwings.
Elinore gasps and gazes again at her daughter, grinning widely. "You laughed! You finally laughed! This is wonderful! I must tell Gareth!" She clasps her hands in front of her, still staring at the girl.
Her daughter looks at her pointedly, then slowly raises one hand and jabs a finger twice towards the road.
"Eep!" Elinore grabs the wheel, hits the break, and swerves back into the proper lane just in time to avoid an oncoming car. The driver of the opposite car angrily shakes an arm through her window as she drives past.
Ranma returns her gaze to the scenery outside. But, after a moment, her mouth twitches a little, then broadens into a wide smile. Once again she feels that warm, glowing passion within her. And it wells up from deep inside... at first a trickle of chuckles, rising in depth and volume into gales of guffaws.
Elinore cringes.
A flock of black birds squawk and flee, beating wings and shaking tree, as the car rumbles beneath the gate.
... convulsing chest, contorted face, a hundred tiny screams... a beautiful insanity...
The laughter dies.
Across the vast school grounds of Headwings, the school bell rings.