Man, I Feel Like a Woman
Chapter 2: In which Hiko deals with Shonen becoming Shojo…
He had sat tangled in his oversized cloak for a very long time, trying to figure out exactly what had happened, and what to do now. Unfortunately, nothing immediately came to mind other than killing the kitsune, which was probably not one of his better ideas, even if he did find that insane woman. He had a terrible feeling that she was the only way back to his natural form… and that some groveling might be involved. It almost made him consider whether or not returning to his original gender was worth his pride. There had to be another way to fix this…
It didn't even occur to him that he was sitting half-naked out in the open until the rain started, and the water did not make his shirt stick to the skin of his shoulders…
With a sound somewhere between a yelp and a growl, he jumped to his feet, wrapping his gi around him as best he could, while trying to pull up his hakama, which was not cooperating with him at all. Swearing loudly, he impressively held both with one hand while trying to pick up his now muddy prized cloak with the other.
He gave it a heft, planning on swinging it over his shoulder. Oddly, it didn't work, and moments later, he found himself once again wrapped in the heavy material, this time facedown in the mud.
What the hell? The rain was getting worse, sticking his hair to his face and back. He didn't really have to hold the gi to him anymore, since it was soaked through, and, now that it was pulled back up, was sticking to his skin. He stood again, trying to get a better footing in the mud. Making sure no folds of the mantle were under his feet. That, of course, had to have been the problem. He'd been stepping on it, and had made himself slip.
Trying to ignore the pounding rain, he grabbed at the cloak again. He managed to lift it this time, but it was a struggle.
What the hell? Then realization dawned on him, further pissing him off. The weights were too heavy for his much lighter frame to manage easily. He was going to have to be more careful to gauge what he was capable of in this form before just doing things. Perfect… as if he didn't have enough to worry about…
He half carried, half dragged the blasted thing back into his shack and threw it on the floor. It landed with a thud in the corner. Normally he'd have immediately cleaned it as best he could. The thing was an heirloom. He wasn't going to be the first master of Hiten Mitsurugi that wrecked the mantle, even if he were the last to wear it. He had always been extra careful with it, sometimes appearing to worry more about the mantle than his deshi. It was one of the few things that actually visibly mattered to him. But, quite frankly, he didn't particularly give a shit at the moment. He was wet, muddy, frustrated, and female, and he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do about it.
Always the pragmatist, he decided to deal first with the things he knew how to fix, before he tried to repair the damaged caused by the magic-induced gender shifting, something he didn't really even want to think about. Carefully, he peeled off his soaking clothes, tossing them into the corner with his cloak to deal with later. Then, after drying off, he dug through his chest to get some fresh clothes to put on.
The storm raged outside, its fury beginning to match Hiko's own temper. Nature was reflecting his mood. If it kept copying him, the swordsman had a feeling a typhoon would be coming soon. He was ready to kill just about anything he saw at the moment. The gi he had pulled out suddenly looked ridiculously large. He tugged it on anyway, his eyebrow twitching when he noticed that it drooped pretty much everywhere, except his chest, where it almost seemed to fit. But even if he wrapped it around himself, there was a gaping opening at the top. His hakama wouldn't stay up no matter how tightly he tied it. He was certain there had to be some way to do it. He'd thought maybe it would just sort of sit on his suddenly large hips, but the narrow waist kept screwing him up on how tightly it had to be tied. And even when he did get it to work well enough to let go, it slipped off and fell down as soon as he took a step.
He needed alcohol to handle his magic-induced midlife crisis, but of course, that was what had started this whole mess, so it wasn't even an option.
"How the hell am I supposed to cope with this sober?" he shouted to no one in particular.
The wind howled back at him as he ripped these clothes off as well, tossing them onto his growing pile of "big boy" garments, and went digging once more. He pulled a light green gi and grey hakama from the chest. They were Kenshin's ridiculously small training clothes (which his deshi had no idea that his shishou had kept). He snorted and was about to toss them back into the chest, when a whim struck him, and he tried slipping them on.
To his horror, the gi fit. It was pretty short in the arms, and tight in the chest, but that was it. The hakama barely made it over his hips and backside, and was very short, but it sufficed. For the second time in his life (and in that evening), Hiko felt his cheeks burning. He was wearing Kenshin's old clothes.
And, with the exception of their length (or lack thereof), they fit.
He took a deep breath. Then another. He counted to ten…. Then switched to one hundred… forwards… backwards… in Chinese… He'd made it to eighty-six in English before his blood pressure had lowered enough to at least keep him from having a stroke. After one more cleansing breath, he stomped back to the mantle. Brushing it off as best he could, he hung it back on its peg. He was going to need to clean it in the morning, and bleach it in the sun. If it wound up wrecked, he was going to have another reason to go fox hunting. As though he needed one.
Satisfied that at least it wouldn't be wrecked any further, Hiko stomped off to grab his futon. Maybe he could sleep this off the way he could sleep off a hangover. Maybe this was just a hangover or something. He just drank too much for the first time ever and was hallucinating. It happened. Generally to other people, but still… it did happen…
God, he wanted alcohol. He had nothing to drink, his messed up anatomy had completely killed his appetite, and quite honestly, he was getting uncomfortable with the way Kenshin's old gi fit tolerably well everywhere except across his chest… Not to mention the fact that there was just something wrong with walking around as a girl in his deshi's clothes…
He unrolled the futon and grabbed a blanket, tossing it down to the ground. He then smothered the fire, and angrily plopped down onto the futon. "There's something wrong with me walking around as a girl at all," he snarled into the darkness. His feminine voice had a softened tone, as though it were trying to comfort the angry bachelor that it was suddenly inexplicably bound to.
"Oh, shut up!" he snapped at himself, burying his face in his blanket to muffle the sound of his own voice.
It took awhile, but he finally fell asleep like that, his blanket firmly covering his ears just in case, God forbid, he talked in his sleep.
He'd been having a very bad dream. As the sun shone warmly onto his face, alerting him to the fact that not only was the storm over, but he was waking up far later than usual, Hiko couldn't help but wonder how much he'd drank last night. He was sore all over with a headache and stomach pains.
Food poisoning? It would explain that crazy nightmare with the kitsune and that curse, or whatever the hell it had been…
Much like a dangerous cat, he languidly sat up and stretched. It had taken him a long time to fall asleep last night, so he was still a little groggy. The stomach pains, he realized, were apparently muscle cramps. He couldn't figure out what he could possibly have done to pull a muscle there, though.
Slowly, he trudged to the door, planning to go outside and wash his face, rinsing the sleep from his eyes. Absentmindedly, the powerful swordsman grabbed his cloak from its hook and slung it over his shoulder.
The momentum of the weighted cloak didn't slow as it normally had when it met with the resistance of his broad back. Instead, in a move reminiscent of a rock and sling, the cloak continued on its path, throwing Hiko forward into the flap of his door and onto the ground. He lay there, half in and half out of his little shack, looking absolutely ridiculous.
The expression on his face was priceless. Eyes wide in shock, face pale, lips partway open in amazement of the entire incident that had taken all of thirty seconds to reduce him from a cool and smooth Adonis, to a... well... Kenshin-like baka. He blinked a few times as he picked himself out of the dirt, standing shakily. His chest seemed to have taken the brunt of the fall, and was now killing him. He rubbed at it, wincing and froze.
"Kuso." That swelling wasn't going down anytime soon. It wasn't a dream. None of it was a dream. Or a hallucination. I'm a girl. I'm still a fucking girl! And why the hell do I keep winding up in the mud?
Not having anywhere else to direct his anger, he glared fiercely at the offending article of clothing that lay about a foot a head of him, as though the entire situation were the mantle's fault. Then he noticed motion in the distance ahead of him.
A bright spot of red hair making its way innocently up the hill…
Author's Note:A BIG thank you to lolo popoki for agreeing to beta this little piece of crack. She helped immensely... especially when my brain basically overheated, melted and died. BIG HUGS to her!
And thanks to everyone who has read this. Please review and let me know if you like (or hate) this fic. Thanks again!
Dewa mata!
Sirius