[Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story. Chapter Two
Eric Hallstrom
Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only
swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds
cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the
Trolls.
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 1.1 (Oct. 28, 1999)
------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part A: Duel of Engines; A dream of blood and wolves.
------------------------------------------------------------
This is Tokyo, Nerima ward in the darkest early morning, the
time when old men die.
Focus in: to a large maison in the newer, outer part of the
ward; where the transients go, and where those who can't
afford a _real_ Nerima address find space to live. It's been
here for 40 years. It's been dying, slowly, for 35.
Focus in: to the eighth floor, on the corner, in the back.
There's no elevator to this floor, (the shaft is boarded
shut, there's no money in elevators) only rickety stairs.
There's no hallway light, but then no one here should be
going in or out when it's dark, anyway (there's no
_stairway_ light either).
Focus in. The apartment has one main room, one bathroom with
a small shower but no furo, one room that combines kitchen
and breakfast nook, and one closet. Most of it was furnished
by the building owner in a style that can be described as
'severely minimal' and the current occupant hasn't added
much.
Take a look at the main room. Perhaps twelve feet on a side,
floored in a dingy parquet linoleum, it holds two pieces of
furniture. Against one wall, underneath the only window,
sits a footlocker. The door in the wall to the left leads to
the kitchen, the door to the right, to the bathroom. In the
corner formed by the back wall and the left is the other
piece of furniture, a futon.
Look a bit longer. To two pieces of furniture, add three
other items of interest. The first, placed just in front of
the leather bound chest, is a sword stand. On its upper
tier, edge upward, as is proper, rests a sword.
A blade about three feet long, of the ancient pattern called
/tachi/, chisel pointed, strait backed, uncurved. Its hilt
is of wood, covered with ray-skin and wound with silken
cords; its tsuba is of plain, unmarked brass. Its scabbard,
resting beneath it on the stand, is of plain, black-
lacquered, common pine.
A more commonplace, workaday weapon would be difficult to
imagine. No flamboyant artwork on _this_ blade, no feeling
of legendary glory waiting to be won. The only feeling an
observer receives from this blade is: 'Gee, that looks
really sharp'.
Look behind it. On the chest, precisely in the center of its
top, and precisely in the center of the moonlight streaming
through the window, is a small bowl made of silver. In it
floats a pool of softly luminescent liquid, reminiscent of
quicksilver, but more fluid.
Look deeper. See the small assemblage suspended slightly
above the surface of the liquid: two pieces of carven ivory
flanking a ring of palest jade. See how the ivory pieces, if
fitted together, would also form a ring, fitted tightly
around the jade core. See the sandalwood cover waiting
patiently to the side of the chest lid; if it was placed
over the bowl it would fit perfectly around its rim, and
cover the whole without disturbing it in any way.
Wait! Look. Did you see? Did you see the bead of soft light
that fell from just above the bowl? Look above the rings
above the bowl, about six inches, do you see? A pale circle
of light hangs almost invisibly in midair, a slight
thickening of the flowing moonlight.
Now watch the two small beads of light at the top of the
circle; see them travel slowly around its circumference to
the bottom. See them gain in brightness, so slowly, ever so
slowly, as they flow. See them gleam as they pass, one by
one, the geometric lines that cross and re-cross the design.
Watch their color change, ever so faintly, as they pass each
of the tracings of ancient Chinese ideograms that form an
inner ring of pale, translucent, radiance. Watch them meet
at the very bottom of the circle, meet and join. Watch the
newly formed bead of luminescent liquid hang breathlessly a
moment, then fall *blip* the six inches to the rings above
the bowl. Watch it seem to pass through the jade ring, then
watch the jade, and then the ivory, glow. Ever so faintly,
ever so briefly. Watch the cycle begin again.
Now turn to the futon. See the masculine figure sprawled in
sleep. So inelegant for one who, awake, is so graceful.
Look closer again. See the scars on face and arms. Trace the
blow that must have fallen to lay that path across larynx
and shoulder.
Contemplate the tracery of past violence across his bare
chest and the portions of his legs that lie beyond his boxer
shorts. Scars like wide, raised, ridges six inches long;
scars like nearly invisible threads, white against the
tanned skin; scars of all dimensions in between.
Marvel, lastly, at the tattoo. A dragon, marked with the
symbols of yang power. Sprawled across chest and stomach,
winding around his left shoulder and across his back to
flirt with his right scapula with its tail. Every scale and
claw perfect, detailed in line, marvelous in color, drawn by
a master's hand. So perfect that the simple act of the man's
normal breathing seems to make it live and breathe alike.
Observe. See its fierce whiskers, its masculine lines. See
the eye closed in sleep, the coiled body peaceful and still.
It is fortunate, no doubt, that it sleeps so peacefully -
were it to awaken, its wrath would surely be terrible. No
doubt. No doubt at all.
Fortunate, then, that the sleep of its bearer is likewise
deep, and peaceful. Fortunate that he is locked, deeply and
thoroughly, in dreams.
Fortunate for the dreamer, and also, perhaps, for the
observer. Look deeper, you can see into the dream itself.
But be cautious, as you do: it is all too easy to become
lost in dreams, all too easy to give them too much credence.
In the end, remember this: however exact the remembrance,
however complete the illusion seems, you, yourselves, are
but also dreaming. Indulging in a metaphor, so to speak, for
a somewhat more ... complex ... reality.
------------------------------------------------------------
Impressions of gentle sunlight first, midmorning in the
middle of spring: perhaps late April, or early May. Look
around to see an open field, uncultivated; spring grass as
tall as your horse's knees, spotted with wildflowers, strewn
with butterflies. A hundred yard away to left and right the
forest rises, dark with many pines, but drifted gold with
their pollen. See the horse beneath you: coat black as
night, mane and tail twin charcoal sprays. Hear the birdsong
like a many-voiced silver cataract, staccato tattoo of
several horses cantering, gentle rustle of the wind.
Usagi rides his roan ten yards to your left, his straw hat
thrown back off his head, his ears streaming back in the
breeze of your passage. Noriyuki-sama sits his bay five
yards behind and between you, his plump, cheerful, panda
face popping up above the head of his warhorse with the
enthusiasm of the twelve-year-old boy he is. Tomoe-san rides
her dappled gelding five yards behind her lord, her cat-ears
pricked forward, face earnest and alert.
Always devoted to her lord's safety, no matter her delight
in the sunlit day, no matter her discomfort in the storming,
bitter night. Odd how her cat's face causes no fear in your
dream, odd how a cat grown man-tall and stood upright is,
somehow, not the kind of cat your subconscious so reviles.
Poetry from Usagi, chuckles from Tomoe and yourself,
delighted laughter from Noriyuki-sama, each close enough to
speak, close enough to laugh, but far enough away that
danger cannot take two at once.
Next the fresh dew-smell, overlying the faint bruised grass,
delicate scent of wildflowers, honest smell of horse, and
leather, sharp tang of steel and lacquer from the light
breastplate hidden beneath your outer shirt. Smells of
spring, overlaid by smells of travel, sadly intermixed with
smells of danger, and of threatening war.
Last the sun's gentle warmth, slanting from above. Caressing
breeze across your face, gentler than the wind of your
passage. Rythmic pounding of hooves, the saddle's steady
rise and fall. Thump of braid to your back, followed by the
click as the ring at its end slaps home. Creak of
saddle-leather, slap of stirrups, *tick* and *clink* of
breastplate, thump of sword.
Just beside your track a wolf cub starts a mouse, pounces,
grips his prey and kills. Pounding hooves disturb his meal,
his jaws drip blood, his eyes glow green, but his pounce is
intercepted by your sandal, he sprawls before your progress.
As the hoof comes down, a viper takes his place. Too late:
crunch under hoof, writhing rope behind. Tomoe's naginata
snaps downward, rises coiled by serpent, snaps to throw the
corpse away.
Suddenly pounding down a steep slope towards a lonely road.
Dark pines grow close on either side, black clouds, bitter
wind, sharp and biting scent of storm. Before you a party of
horsemen turns toward you from their place along the road.
The war mask of the leader makes their identity unmistakable
- Hijiki, and a dozen of his guard.
Closed view from helm, O-yori heavy on your limbs. No
daikyu, so a charge will have to do - Yari straight before
you, parallel with Usagi's charge, behind you, Tomoe's
naginata spins in a blurring circle as she gallops past
Noriyuki to shield him from his enemies.
First contact, and your enemy's throat sprays blood, a brief
side-rein as you break your foe's wall, rip open the side of
another. Iron tang of blood, sewer reek of sudden death,
background flash of lightning as the storm grows, and
threatens now in earnest.
Tomoe's naginata takes the heads of the two guards in her
path; Usagi has collapsed the other corner of their
formation, and converges on Hijiki, two bodies left
sprawling behind him in pools of sudden scarlet. Rein left
and launch your yari at Hijiki, he dodges but the guard
behind him does not.
Tenchuu flashes from its scabbard in an arc that takes it
through two enemies' necks - stronger tang of iron now,
sticky crimson mist sprays face and helm, blood-drops *tac*
*tac* *tac* off armor as you spin and drive towards the
center of the now encarmined battleground.
Usagi has downed his foe, throwing him into another: thunder
of hooves as he follows up the advantage, crimson rivers as
he passes the still struggling tangle. Tomoe overmasters her
last opponent, beating down his guard; scarlet clots the
blade of her naginata as it punches, once, twice, thrice
through his backplate. Three warriors form an arc, centered
where Hijiki waits: unbowed, but now alone.
Move to meet him, Tenchuu held low beside you. Then the wolf
springs, leaping from the trees. It is larger now, and
crueler: already its jaws drip poison spittle and its eyes
blaze hatred and rage. Tenchuu chops it from the air and it
tumbles broken to the ground, but it rises to its feet,
healed anew in an instant, and now it is to your off side.
Armored in steel, your foot kicks free of its stirrup and
meets it in midair. Flailing, it flips over your head,
Tenchuu blurs through its diseased form a score of times at
least. Scattered in many places, no healing will save it
this time.
Yet the delay is costly: Hijiki cuts through your defense, a
stream of fire across your throat and shoulder, falling from
your mount to roll frantically across the ground. Tomoe is
down on one knee, injured, defending Lord Noriyuki from
half-a-dozen foes. Usagi kills his opponent and you rise to
your feet, Tenchuu hissing in the pattern called 'fire
wheel', the three enemies about you falling back slain;
horizontal fans of glistening crimson spray across the
little inn's tables and tatami, coloring bowls of rice and
clay mugs of beer now abandoned and overturned.
You turn toward Hijiki, as Usagi turns to the window in
alarm. A barrage of arrows thunks like hailstones into the
thin, plaster wall, piercing it in places to a depth of
three or four inches, embedding themselves in the beams and
rafters. You turn away from the bodies piled in the center
of the floor as you sniff the air in alarm: smoke! They're
trying to burn you out!
Quickly you string your daikyu, eight arrows in your fist:
the most that you can put in the air at once. A burst of
archery drives the encircling foes on one side of the inn
into cover, cowering. Now, out the window, through their
weakened line, run!
Around the corner now, galloping over treacherous shale,
flakes of rotten stone spraying back from your horses'
hooves. Thunder of hooves, rolling back from a wall of
living mountain to your right - an unpaved track too narrow
for more than single file. Behind, a small army, but they
are at least half-a-mile back and if you can get past the
towering rock ahead they will never catch you.
Rain-slick cobbles *rutch* beneath your flying, sandaled,
feet, thunder crashes, loud as many dragons, ozone and
sulfur, iron and hate. Around the outbuilding now, Tenchuu
naked and rain-flecked in your hand. Straw rain cape
flapping as you bring the wolf and Hijiki to bay before the
tower looming black and monstrous in the storm. The wolf
stands manlike and erect now - robed in black, carrying a
spear.
Your opponents are spread out too far for any gambit to
succeed: dash between them, cutting at Hijiki as you pass,
steel belling harshly against steel. Turn to face him and
feint to his torso, waiting for the flow of ki from behind.
Now, leap reversed over the wolf's head, thirty feet of
backwards somersault. Feel the power flow through ground and
storm, call it to your hand. Now! They are concentrated,
pinned against the tower, their defenses momentarily down.
Now hold the power within and weave a web of intent and iron
control, now release the leash of will close-held and call
the Dragon Wind.
Storm erupts: sand caught by the wind and swept up as a
thousand miniature knives, lightning riding the fist of wind
like a corona of supernal fire. It washes over Hijiki and
the wolf, overwhelms them, and blots them from view and
debris sprays from the tower's base with the power of the
storm.
Rising from the wrack, the wolf's lifeless, skeletal jaws
howl in futile rage in the moment they are given, before the
fire consumes them, before the avalanche of stone from the
falling tower buries them, before you turn and jump for
distant safety, before the tons of gunpowder stored below
Hijiki's fortress destroy themselves, and all around them,
and the titanic explosion reaches out, gaining speed behind
you...
And the mass eruption of butterflies passes you by in a
varicolored, softly scintillating cloud of fragrance and you
ride up the last hill, amid a carpet of wildflowers. Usagi
is beside you, Noriyuki-sama just behind, carrying the
sword, and Tomoe-san brings up the rear. And you all laugh
with joy, and awe, and delight as you top the rise to see
before you the rice fields on the outskirts of the new
capitol. This area is firmly under the Shogun's peace,
patrols will escort you the rest of the way to his palace,
the presentation will be performed without delay, and there
remain before you no obstacles. No obstacles at all.
------------------------------------------------------------
Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, awoke
suddenly, and turned over muzzily on his futon. Looking
across the darkened room, to the pale circle of magic
dripping light into a silver bowl, he shook his head and
sighed. "Man, I haven't dreamed about _him_ in a _long_
time," he yawned. "I've got to stop making myself those
midnight habañero-and-teriyaki beef snacks. That, and hope
that wasn't an omen."
And then he turned over, and went back to sleep. Warriors
learn to prize the commodity because they know that morning
will come soon enough. And there will always be something to
do in that morning. And you'll always need your sleep.
------------------------------------------------------------
Next:
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning
Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only
swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds
cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the
Trolls.
"The Nancy" is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP), I'm only
borrowing it. "Maids, When You're Young" is an Actual Folk
Song, and is _Not_, I repeat, _Not_ My Fault.
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 1.1 (Oct. 28, 1999)
------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning
------------------------------------------------------------
Observe a long established residential district in Nerima,
just after dawn that day. Birds twitter and sing in melodic
glee at the promises of a new day, matching the mood of
anticipation present in one member of the household living
at the old-fashioned building with the big sign out front
(the big sign that said 'Tendo Dojo', of course).
It should not be said that Akane was normally the type of
girl to indulge in random destruction as a form of stress
relief. She indulged, generally speaking, in _highly
specific_ and _exactly targeted_ destruction as a form of
stress relief. Even considering this fact, however, the
presence of a number of columns of cinder blocks, set at
various intervals around the practice hall's floor, must be
considered slightly unusual.
What was even more unusual, from a theoretical observer's
viewpoint, however, was that Akane was not immediately
preparing to destroy them. Instead, she was practicing a
complex and intricate kata - almost a shadow-dance - around,
between, over and beside them. A kata that seemed to involve
defeating an imaginary set of enemies while at the same time
avoiding attack proximity of the cinder block piles (if the
cinder blocks were inclined to be pugnacious, which they had
presented no sign, so far, of being). Finally, drawing to a
peak, the kata concluded with a flurry of activity that wove
and spun through the piles of concrete, destroying each in
turn.
For a moment after the kata's conclusion, Akane remained
poised in the attitude of her finishing blow, her eyes
intent and focused on something far away. Then she relaxed
and surveyed the destruction, somewhat in the manner of one
who, having just endured more than a year of grinding
discomfort and frustration, has just been released,
metaphorically speaking, from bondage, while - and at the
same time - finding a much-desired friend, a much-admired
mentor, and much-needed help.
Likewise in the manner of one who has, shortly thereafter,
undergone an only-partially-favorable appraisal of her main
life skill, an agonizing reassessment of her chosen career
goals, and the strangest evening of her seventeen years of
life. Not even to mention a total reassessment of her most
basic morality, and a reexamination of her honor. Followed
by a truly momentous decision: the first, depending on how
you look at it, of her adult life.
Which is, of course, exactly what she was. And which is also
why, after having, in a manner of speaking, cleared the air,
she nodded firmly, and dusted her hands and went in,
whistling, to breakfast. It was a new day, after all, and
she was eager, for the first time in a very long time, to
begin it.
------------------------------------------------------------
Tendo Nabiki, of that same address, was also eager for the
day to begin. Not because she had undergone a great and
sweeping change of life, but rather because she too had
received something she had not had in a long time: a
challenge.
She had been scored on. _She_ had been bested. Her actions
anticipated, her _pocket_ _picked_, of all the silly things.
And yet, and yet ... it had been done with, with ...
_style_. And grace. Not in such a way as to damage her
reputation or smear her honor (indeed, she had - the
household had - profited tremendously).
And _then_ this same person, this same barbarian grotesque,
had turned around and not only helped her little sister -
helped her family - tremendously, but had also turned over a
small fortune entirely for Akane's use! And for a new
wardrobe, for the purpose of, of all things, 'helping her
Art'!
How had it happened? She still had no details that she
trusted. _Why_ had she done it? And what would she do next?
And how would she, Nabiki herself, end up relating to this
Bushiko Ranma? For the first time in her life, she realized,
the decision might not be in her hands.
And what of Ranma, herself? What secrets did she hold? Who
was she, really? And how had she gotten that way? Oh, my,
yes, a challenge, in all senses of that word. A challenge
she was eager to take on. A challenge she was eager to
measure herself against, a challenge she was eager to grow
with. For her, too, a stretching of her capabilities was a
thing that had not happened in a very long time.
------------------------------------------------------------
And this is an apartment last seen by moonlight, now
stretching drowsily in the pale illumination of a Tokyo
dawn.
The furnishings have changed slightly: the sword stand is
empty now, the silver bowl is gone. In the place of the
silver bowl, centered in the faint light of dawn now
invading through the window, is a wide platen of burnished,
red gold. Above it, on a stand of braided bronze wire, rests
a pair of rings. Carved from dark, emerald jade, with the
very faintest tracery of interlocking ideograms, they are
made in mirror images, each of the other. Beside and between
them, are a pair of interlocking shells of thinly braided
copper wire, the inner halves linked by golden chains.
Above, the diagram of light has been redrawn. Now shafts of
pale dawn light seem to twist and intertwine, forming a disc
about two feet wide. Within the pattern of the disc,
intertwined with light and shadow in a fashion that would
make M. C. Escher delirious with jealousy, stands a single
ideogram in a Chinese temple shorthand so ancient that even
the memory of the name of the style it is written in has
been lost. Had he so desired, Ranma could have informed an
interested scholar that the ideogram's meaning was
critically interlinked with the style in which it was
written, a style to which it had given its own name: Phoenix
Dragon.
In the corner of the main room behind the now opened
bathroom door, in that portion of the room farthest from
sunlight, now stands a small bamboo tray-table. On it is an
iron stand, bearing a velvet curtain all around that can be
closed to keep the contents from any betraying hint of
sunlight.
Within, shining with a light of its own, is a complex
assembly of leaded glass and silver rod. Alembics bubble
with a pale, luminescent liquid, from them, coils of glass
transport glowing beads of pastel light up to roiling
curcurbits, swirling with the colors of a mad, muted
rainbow, from which straight tubes emerge to close on a
central point, where they empty into a silver funnel. Drops
of liquid, palely silver, roll down the funnel to drip onto
the top of a peachwood rod, carven with writhing dragons
going into and out of caves, down which a silver-lined
spiral path leads the glowing liquid, reduced micron by
micron, to a glass collecting bowl connected to the alembics
in a continuous circular progression.
Now from the open bathroom door comes a cloud of steam,
followed by a topless, towel-wrapped figure, still engaged
in toweling dry her scarlet braid. Striding firmly to the
closet, Ranma drapes the towel over the multicolored,
iridescent, feminine dragon tattoo that winds around her
shoulders and torso: displayed passant regardant, dryly
looking over its own sinuous shoulder to regard whatever
might lie beyond.
Then, dropping the towels from shoulders and hips, Ranma
stands briefly nude (_Down_ Hentais! Down I say! You've seen
as much many times before in the manga!) before donning
boxers and a stretchy chest wrap that serves her as a sports
bra.
Then she places around her neck a small amulet of silver,
one face of which is a cracked mirror and the other an
ancient piece of pottery, marked with a pattern reminiscent
of many ropes. Following this with her usual loose pants,
silk shirt and moccasins, she tops these off with her
leather bomber jacket, picking her scabbarded sword from
where it rests against the wall and placing it, and a wide
variety of other implements inside her jacket, in places
that mostly do not seem capable of holding them.
Lastly she bounds into the kitchen, a brief swipe across the
counter grabs the bento and briefcase thereon. Bounds to the
far corner, twitching the curtain closed. Glides to the
chest, checking the alignment of the rings held above the
brazen bowl.
Watch now as a bead of light splits into two at the top of
the diagram and runs fluidly around the circumference, left
and right. Watch it merge at the bottom. Watch it fairly
leap across space to pass through the rings and splash into
the bowl. Watch the drop spread into a small pool, fizzling
energetically. Watch it bathe the rings from below,
evaporating as it does so. Watch the next drop splash before
it vanishes completely. Watch the pool spread a little
farther, last a little longer. See Ranma examine her
handiwork and smile.
Watch her look up, and through the diagram hanging in
mid-air in the dawn's slowly gathering light. See her eyes
go distant, as though lost in dreams, or fears, or memories.
But dreams fade in daylight, and fears wither away. And
memories don't always bring back that which is looked for.
And Ranma turns, and glides out the door, locking it behind
her. And bounds down the staircase and out the maison's
front door. And, taking to the rooftops, moves quickly in a
straight line towards her rendezvous. It's a new day, after
all, and it wouldn't do to be late. It wouldn't do at all.
------------------------------------------------------------
Yakubi Ryouken felt, in his heart of hearts, that everything
in the world which was wrong with his life was the fault of
his name (with some justification, it can be translated as
"Bad-luck Day Hound"). In fact, he would not even answer to
the hated words unless extremely pressed, preferring,
somewhat ironically, the sobriquet of Daken ("Cur" or
"Mongrel") instead.
Complaining about his names was, in fact, normally one of
the two overriding occupations of his life (the other being
the worship of his Japanese-Nationalistic divine heredity,
and the concomitant despite he felt for anything remotely
foreign).
Pressed against Furinkan's wall, just inside the gate,
however, he was not currently capable of indulging in either
one. This was primarily due to the presence of another
occupation; he was hating the redheaded bitch.
He had woken up, naked amidst the ruins of his gang, very
late the previous night. He had spent the hours since
seeking out the identity of the bitches who had taken him by
surprise, and taken his clothes and cash as well. 'Plus
which', he snarled to himself for the thousandth time, 'I
loved my Tagamotchi-chan, I'd kept him alive for two weeks,
*snff*, and the bitch _sold_ him, sold him like a slave.'
But he had her now, oh yes. She couldn't surprise him _now_,
and he'd picked up a number of fine Japanese-Nationalistic
students the barbarian whore had humiliated the day before,
too. Soon, she'd come through the gate and then ... then
she'd get a surprise of her own! And then he _would_ see if
she was a natural redhead, teach her what a _real_ man was
like! 'Bitch's gotta learn her place!'
And no-one else would interfere, he'd left the cringing
gaijin-otaku pigs too terrified to even move!
------------------------------------------------------------
And this is a normal street (for Nerima), and down it Akane
and Nabiki are walking on their way to school. Progressing,
it should be noted, in the normal, or common, fashion, which
is to say, on the ground. And flanking this common street is
a common rooftop, belonging to a common business; and along
this rooftop Ranma is progressing, in an _un_common fashion,
which is to say, in bouncing leaps, five to ten yards long.
It would not be entirely fair to say that the Tendo sisters
were _surprised_ by Ranma's sudden appearance; they had been
expecting it, and besides, leaping from rooftops was normal
compared to what they had already seen her do. But they
were, undeniably, startled. And startled again by the fact
that she appeared to have been, while blithely leaping from
place to place along the skyline, _singing_.
When we sat down to Tea, hey do me harity
When we sat down to Tea, me being young,
When we sat down to Tea, he started teasing me,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
Finishing the verse as she settled gracefully to earth,
Ranma swept the other girls a great bow, and fell in beside
them with a warm greeting to Akane, and a merry one to
Nabiki.
"And _what_," Akane queried amusedly, "was that?"
"Song, Boys, For The Teasing Of, One," Ranma smirked.
"You, Bushiko Ranma, are _Evil_!"
"Yes, I know. Ain't it _cool_?!"
And they walked on toward school, and Ranma taught Akane the
words, and Nabiki shook her head in amusement, and sighed.
------------------------------------------------------------
Asano Sayuri shivered in terror, and looked out the window
of the second floor. She couldn't, she was too afraid, but
if she didn't .... The man called Daken was terrifying, so
cruel in appearance, and the threats he had made ....
She wasn't a brave person, she felt, but someone had to warn
Ranma-san! And she could see, just looking around, that
no-one else was going to, they were all afraid of those
slime who had _joined_ the, the _mongrel_.
But that meant that no-one would help _her_, and they'd know
who had called out, and she wasn't a brave person. But ...
_but_, she'd heard Ranma-san sing. And she'd seen Ranma-san
stand up for Akane-san when no-one else would. Ranma-san,
she was sure, would defeat these mongrels if only she was
warned. But what if she didn't, couldn't, what then?
And then she saw, coming down the street in the distance,
three feminine figures; and discovered, suddenly, that she
_was_ a brave person, after all.
------------------------------------------------------------
Walking down the street with Akane, Ranma felt, was one of
the better ways to begin a school day that she had yet
encountered. Akane had proven an apt, if somewhat
embarrassed, student of /Maids, When You're Young/, and the
verbal sparring with Nabiki had kept honors relatively even
in the opening exchanges.
Despite the company and the conversation, however, a martial
artist of Ranma's skill is never entirely inattentive to her
surroundings, and the concentration of hostility, clumsily
gathered ki, and focused attention hiding just behind the
wall ahead of her would have waked her from the dead in any
case.
"Don't change your stance Ranma whispered sotto voce, "and
keep walking forward. I think, Akane, that our friends from
yesterday have grown melancholy in our absence, and have
come to renew acquaintances."
Nabiki controlled her reaction automatically, but
nevertheless stiffened slightly, 'What?'
Akane pasted a wooden smile on her face and gripped Ranma's
arm urgently "Ranma, don't kill them!"
Ranma winked in reply, "Oh, if I had intended to kill them
I'd have done it last night. But since they didn't learn the
earlier lesson we taught them I think something slightly...
stronger ... is in order. Don't you?" Steering them gently
toward the center of the gate she continued, "Nabiki, how
are you at negotiations from the superior position?"
Nabiki frowned, "You're joking, right?"
Ranma grinned again, "Just keep walking, and keep your
cool." As they approached the gate she gathered ki for a
momentary burst of extreme speed, and then...
"_Ranma-sama, look out!!!_" a shout broke from the upper
windows of Furinkan, and Ranma spared half a second for an
exasperated silent curse as Daken turned, furiously, to the
school and marked the person he now fully intended to kill.
Then she spent another quarter second to center herself as
Daken cursed and lunged and the other thugs began to leap
forward. And then she _blurred_.
And Akane and Nabiki walked into the suddenly quiet and
still court-yard of Furinkan; past the statue-like forms of
the various thugs, (arrested suddenly in mid-motion and
still stunned, and also quite naked, their only covering the
brown ribbons neatly tied around their, ah, ... "equipment")
to where Ranma waited in the middle of the yard, next to a
vendor's stand neatly piled with various items of apparel,
smiling merrily and counting through the largish pile of
cash next to the credit cards on the counter-top.
"Why, Ranma Nabiki drawled archly, "there seems to be a
group of naked boys standing about the courtyard."
"400,000 yen Ranma said, handing half the money to a
furiously blushing Akane, "not bad. Yes, Nabiki, I did
notice that, but boys will be boys, you know: anything for
attention."
Daken snarled furiously, and began a lunge towards the
girls. Ranma turned half around, mildly, and across 30 feet
of courtyard Daken met her eyes. Blue as the deepest ocean,
still and quiet as a moon-reflecting pool, hungry and
terrible as the pregnant silence at the eye of a hurricane.
Met them, and saw, reflected in them, himself and his
relationship to them. And dived, suddenly terrified, for a
small clump of bushes abutting the wall and about ten feet
away. Someplace he could hide, someplace he could die,
anyplace at all, as long as he didn't have to see those
eyes, ever, ever again.
And Ranma turned back to Nabiki calmly and said,
"Considering the penalties for indecent exposure, and the
relative status of flashers in the prison population,
though, it's extremely fortunate for them that you had this
stall of emergency clothing ready, isn't it."
"Oh, you know me Nabiki grinned, "I always like to keep
little things like this around, for just such an emergency.
I wonder, though, how they're going to pay for it,
considering their evident lack of ready cash."
Ranma patted her on the shoulder as she passed by, "You're a
capable person Nabiki, I'm sure you'll think of something."
And linking arms with Akane and turning to her, "Ready? One,
Two, Three ..." And their voices rose above the onlookers in
song...
When we went up to bed, hey do me harity
When we went up to bed, me being young,
When we went up to bed, he lay as if 'twer dead,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
And Nabiki shook her head, sadly, and turned to where the
bushes quivered in terror, and indicated the sirens rising
in the far distance with a wave of her hand. "Well,
gentlemen, what's your feeling about extended negotiations
at this point?"
And Ranma and Akane walked up the stairs to class, singing.
For he's got no Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum,
For he's got no Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay!
He's got no Fallorum, he's lost his Ding-Doorum,
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!
------------------------------------------------------------
At lunch, Ranma and Akane sat under a small tree,
conversing. Finishing her lunch, Ranma pulled out her
guitar, and played tunes idly for a while before noticing
the shy approach of one of her new classmates.
"Sayuri-san, isn't it? You acted honorably this morning,
thank you."
Sayuri blushed, and stammered; "I couldn't, that is I, er,
I...."
Ranma smiled, gently, "It took bravery to call out like
that. You must have been very frightened."
Sayuri blushed harder, and looked down at her feet, "I, I
wasn't brave. I _was_ afraid."
Ranma grinned, "That's what bravery is about! Being afraid,
and doing the right thing anyway. What can I do for you?"
"Um, well, I just wondered ... about the song you were
playing? It seemed so ... ferocious?"
"Oh, well Ranma grinned, "that song is from Canada,
originally. I translated it. And yes, it is a tad ferocious.
Would you to hear it?"
"Um, yes."
"I'd like to hear it too, Ranma Akane chimed in. And Ranma
raised her voice and sang.
The clothes men wear do give them airs,
their fellows to compare.
A Colonel's regimentals shine,
and women call them fair.
I am Alexander Macintosh,
a nephew to the Laird.
And I do disdain men who are vain,
the men with powdered hair!
I command the Nancy schooner
from the May on Lake St. Clair,
On the third day of October, boys,
I did set sail from there.
To the garrison at Amherstburg
I quickly would repair,
With Captain Maxwell and his wife,
and kids and powdered hair.
Aboard the Nancy!
In regimentals bright.
Aboard the Nancy!
With all his pomp and bluster there
aboard the Nancy-O!
Below the St Clair rapids I
sent scouts unto the shore
To ask a friendly Wyandott
to say what lay before
"Amherstburg has fallen,
with the same for you in store!
And militia sent to take you there,
fifty horse or more."
Up spoke Captain Maxwell then,
"Surrender, now, I say!
Give them your Nancy schooner,
and make off without delay!
Set me ashore, I do implore,
I will not die this way!"
Says I, "You go, or get below,
for I'll be on my way!"
Aboard the Nancy!
"Surrender, Hell!" I say
Aboard the Nancy!
"It's back to Mackinac I'll fight,
aboard the Nancy-O."
Well up comes Colonel Beaubien, then,
who shouts as he comes near:
"Surrender up your schooner and
I swear you've naught to fear!
We've got your Captain Maxwell, sir,
so spare yourself his tears!"
Says I, "I'll not, but send you shot
to buzz about your ears!"
Well, they fired as we hove anchor, boys
and we got under way,
But scarce a dozen broadsides, boys,
the Nancy did them pay
Before the business sickened them.
They bravely ran away
All sail we made, and reached the Lake
before the close of day.
Aboard the Nancy!
We sent them shot and cheers
Aboard the Nancy!
We watched them running through the trees,
aboard the Nancy-O!
Oh, military gentlemen
they bluster, roar and pray.
Nine sailors and the Nancy, boys,
made fifty run away.
The powder in their hair that day
was powder sent their way
By poor and ragged sailor men,
who swore that they would stay
Aboard the Nancy!
Six pence and found a day
Aboard the Nancy!
No uniforms for men to scorn,
aboard the Nancy-O!
"Heh ... Definitely catchy, Ranma-san Nabiki walked up.
"Which reminds me ..."
"Yeess?"
"Why _brown_ ribbons?"
"Well, after all, Nabiki-san Ranma's eyes glinted mischief,
"You only get a _white_ ribbon if you get an honorable
mention."
After which, the students of Furinkan High were treated to
an unprecedented sight: Tendo Nabiki, leaning against the
wall of the school building, clutching her ribs desperately,
laughing her head off.
------------------------------------------------------------
In the Girl's changing rooms, later, a minor confrontation
was underway. The sensei of Phys-Ed, having decided that
Ranma qualified under the "Advanced" curriculum, had run
head-on into a wall of polite intransigence. Finally, she
battered down the defenses with an appeal to school honor.
If Ranma did not wear the gym uniform, she reasoned, the
other students would be disgraced.
Finally, Ranma had, reluctantly, agreed. Therefore she was
preparing to change into the shorts and t-shirt which
Furinkan girls wore on the field. This had been an object of
some speculation among the girls (and boys, of course) since
it afforded a look at her bodily configuration, and promised
another, better one later.
It wasn't what they had expected. The thin, white lines of
many scars on arms and legs were definitely not what the
girls of class 2-F felt should have been hidden under
Ranma's jacket and pants; much less the broad, raised scar
across her voice-box. The boxers and chest-wrap were
likewise odd, but it was the dragon tattoo peeking out from
under her wrap that drew the most attention.
Finally, as the designated activity for this class was
soccer, came the most dreaded activity in sports: choosing
sides. Needless to say, everyone wanted to be on Ranma's
side, and no-one wanted to be on the other side. Finally, a
sotto voce suggestion from one of the more horrified class
members caused the sides to be chosen as follows: Side A:
Bushiko Ranma; Side B: Everyone Else.
"We ought to set an upper limit of goals," Ranma suggested
sardonically, "declare an instant win at twelve or so. With
one side so outnumbered and all I'm sure that it will be
over quickly, and we wouldn't want anyone to be overly
embarrassed."
The suggestion was passed by acclamation, the teams took the
field, and the whistle blew. And, just as Ranma had
predicted, it was over quickly. The score was Ranma: twelve,
Everyone Else: zero, in just under three minutes. After
that, by acclamation, they did something else, instead.
------------------------------------------------------------
In the showers, after the lambasting, a chuckling Ranma
congratulated Sayuri on a difficult gymnastics move as she
pulled her braid back and looked up into the shower spray.
Unfortunately, the heat of the water caused her skin to
flush, particularly on her torso, where the Dragon seemed to
preen under the heated spray, and beneath the amulet she
still wore on her breast.
The flush had the effect of throwing her scars into sharp
relief, and Ranma paused as she noted Sayuri's horrified
gaze, fixed on her right breast, where the pale line of an
old scar bisected her aureole. Ranma looked down, blushed,
and shook her head, "The problem with my lifestyle over the
past several years is that it has thrown me far too often
into the company of rude strangers with sharp objects."
And she shrugged, and smiled weakly, and went back to her
shower. And Akane, behind her, narrowed her eyes
speculatively and nodded, as though a decision had been
confirmed. And then they all went back to class, looking
forward to music, and the end of the school day beyond.
------------------------------------------------------------
Next:
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part C: Crumbling Stone: Duets for Wind and Flame.
Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only
swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds
cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the
Trolls.
"Summer Lightning" and "After All" belong to Garnet Rogers.
I'm only borrowing them.
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
Release 1.1 (Oct. 28, 1999)
------------------------------------------------------------
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Part C: Crumbling Stone: Duets for Wind and Flame.
------------------------------------------------------------
I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.
And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.
Predictably, Akane had made the best match to Ranma's voice.
Which is not to say that the other members of class 2-F
hadn't tried. Sayuri and her friend Yuka has put up a brave
struggle, and, of course, all the boys in 2-F had
desperately attempted to hold enough of a baritone to match
Ranma's contralto. But, in the end, Akane's clear soprano
had been the only one with enough endurance, or range.
It was the sensei of music's private despair that neither
girl was at all interested in representing Furinkan on the
Musical Performance team. He had even attempted to lure
Ranma with reports of "Musical Martial Arts" only to run
headlong into a will of tempered granite.
"I have spent too much of my life, and far too much pain, on
my Art to betray it now Ranma had said, firmly, "it is as
perfect as I can make it and I will not abandon it simply so
someone trained in another, lesser, style can have a 'fair
fight'. If someone wishes to challenge me to Aikido, or
Ninjutsu, or Martial Arts Croquet or Kung-Fu Break-Dancing
or any other such silliness they may do so. And they may use
their Art, and I will use mine, and we will see whose is
superior." Her grin as she delivered this pronouncement had
been truly alarming, and the matter had been dropped.
This had led to Ranma and Akane practicing duets on the same
song that Ranma had began with yesterday.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
It seemed that they should cooperate on the chorus, which
led to the question of how to divide up the verses. So Ranma
had taken the first set alone.
Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,
I see the hills shine, in its' silvery light.
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.
For where I go, You go with me,
Though the miles keep us apart.
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.
Akane's soprano had rung out both more softly and more
sweetly than Ranma on the second set, leading to the
harmonies of their combined voices and Ranma's guitar on the
second chorus.
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.
And then it was time for the final verses and the problem of
how to apportion them was solved, mutually, by alternating
lines, first the contralto, smoke and ozone on the autumn
wind and the presence -far off and brooding- of the storm;
then the soprano, crackling now with driving energy, bright
and pure, (yet, somehow, not at all sterile) filled with the
changeable changelessness of a bonfire's roar.
Well who scattered these diamonds,
through the vault of Heaven?
(The wind questioned, and the flame responded.)
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?
(The bonfire summoned, and the breeze answered.)
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?
(The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed.)
Where is the heart of every living thing?
(The blaze flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed
it, and drove it on before.)
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.
(Wind roused flame to life ...)
I know you love me, how could it not be?
(... flame drew wind's reply ...)
And I am yours, now and forever,
(... feeding now from each other's power, one to the other,
changing and exchanging the lead, to join again in harmony
at the last ... )
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.
(... and the wind whipped the blaze into a wildfire ...)
We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
(... and the fire blew the wind into a storm.)
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end Dear, only love remains.
And in the silence that filled the classroom when the song
had finished, Ranma's slightly husky voice broke the
stillness gently, like a sudden breeze breaks the hush of
dawn, "By the way Akane, shouldn't you have been playing
your instrument too?"
"Um, well ... Akane shook herself and replied, "No. You see
I play the saxophone, and if I play I can't sing ...."
"You play _sax_??" Ranma blink-blinked, then mumbled, "Jazz.
Now where am I gonna get sheet music for Jazz. Mmm, maybe I
could .... Well, that's nice, but it does leave us with one
problem."
"Er, what's that, Ranma? Akane asked warily.
"Where in hell are we going to find a drummer?"
The bell took the opportunity to ring at that point, ending
the class. And also cutting off at least three boys'
attempts to volunteer for the offered position (not that any
of them could actually _play_ the drums, but that wasn't the
point), which was, probably, extremely fortunate for all
involved.
------------------------------------------------------------
Nabiki had excused herself for an unspecified appointment.
Sayuri and Yuka had departed, giggling, to prepare the
former for a date she had contrived with "this dreamy guy"
from class 3-C. Various other people had departed to their
various ways.
Ranma and Akane were, technically speaking, not _alone_,
just _by themselves_. They had therefore, by mutual,
unspoken, consent, departed from the straight path towards
Akane's home and were, instead, strolling idly through one
of Nerima's parks, enjoying the warmth of the day and the
freshness of the spring breeze. This being one of the
Accepted Canonical Locations for Serious Discussions, one of
the aforesaid Serious Discussions was underway.
"Akane-san Ranma gritted, "I _said_ that you should ..."
"I did consider my decision, Ranma-chan Akane replied
calmly. "I decided that I wanted to go ahead."
"_Damn it, girl_!" Ranma roared, "You've got _no_ idea what
you're getting into!"
"Ranma-chan Akane reached out and put a gentle hand on the
faint scar that traced the side of Ranma's face, next to her
mouth, "when you took the blow that dealt that scar, did it
hurt? Did it hurt afterwards?"
"_OF COURSE IT BLOODY HURT!!!_"
"And, the others?" Akane's voice was gentle, "Did they hurt,
too?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?! Of _course_ they
did!"
"And after you healed, did they stop hurting?"
"What are you ... _No!_ They never stop hurting, not
completely! I _ache_ in the winter, sometimes!"
"And you said that your honor didn't allow you to let your
friend suffer likewise unless she _had_ to?"
"_THAT'S WHY I'M TRYING TO TALK YOU OUT OF IT IN THE FIRST
PLACE, YOU, YOU ... BAKA!!!_"
Akane stepped forward to stand just in front of Ranma,
face-to-face and looking closely into her cerulean eyes. "So
what makes you think that _my_ honor will allow me to let
_my_ friend suffer all that pain ... alone?"
And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise,
looked into the great, dark, eyes of her opponent in this
contest of wills, of her would-be student, of her friend;
and found there no challenge, but also no surrender. And
martialed a hundred arguments, and prepared a thousand
objections, and called to mind every precept of logic she
had ever heard. And saw, in the theater of memory, --
treacherous memory, that shows what it will, and not what
_you_ will -- another face. And the expression in the eyes
before her mirrored once, long before, in a mirror. And
bowed her head to another's honor, and bent her neck to
another's necessity; and buried her face in another's
shoulder, and felt another's arms embrace her; and did not
cry, nor did she weep, so great was her control, whatever
she might wish. Only, instead, she spoke, very low and
muffled in another's breast, "Alright. Alright, I'll teach
you. I'll teach you all I can."
And Tendo Akane also did not cry, nor weep, for the moment
was, for her, too great for tears. She only said "And I
promise to learn, all that I can. And never to regret what
you may teach, whatever it may cost me."
And they stood like that for a time, which may have been
long or short, and then released each other's embrace. And
walked onward, more quickly now, to the hall that one called
home.
------------------------------------------------------------
On the mat Ranma bowed to the Dojo's spirit and then turned
to face Akane and crossed her arms. "Okay. We now face the
First Problem of teaching you how to lead a life dedicated
to the fine art of slaughter. Briefly, the problem is one of
attitude. A warrior simply has a different basic attitude
than a person trained for sport or self-defense, and the
necessary attitude is one you don't possess."
Akane assumed an attitude of respectful attention.
"And the number of ways I know of to induce the necessary
attitude reduce to three said Ranma, beginning to pace back
and forth. "First, we could send you to a remote temple for
two or three decades so you could run up and down snowy
mountains, and drink bark tea, and meditate on your navel.
"_But_, we can probably say that this approach will take a
_trifle_ more time than we actually have." Ranma reached the
end of her pacing arc, and raised one finger in the air as
she turned around.
Akane turned her head to face her, still attentive.
"Second, we could send you off to somewhere where life is
cheap, gunpowder is in the air, and death lurks behind every
corner, in the hope that, if you survived, you would pick
something up by osmosis.
"_But_, that approach is probably a little too, umm ...
_uncertain_." Ranma reached the other end of her arc and
held up a second finger.
Akane made a face, and nodded vigorously.
"So what we are left with is choice three Ranma said with
an evil grin, holding up a third finger. "This is the
approach where I beat the living snot out of you on a
regular basis until you learn something."
Akane observed the grin, and gulped.
"And the first part of that process Ranma said, turning to
face Akane, and crossing her arms again, "is to see
precisely what you are capable of _now_. _Assume_."
Akane brushed away a sudden bead of sweat, and assumed the
Tendo Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu Crane In Waiting stance.
Akane waited uneasily. Ranma looked her up and down for
about three seconds, and then she moved.
It seemed, to Akane, like being in the center of a tornado.
Great winds buffeted her from all sides, and her defenses
were useless against the hail of punishing blows descending
from every angle that she didn't, or couldn't block, but not
from the ones she did.
A slide kick sent her sprawling to the ground, followed by
three fast and bruising punches to the small of her back,
but she fought grimly upright and cleared some space with a
sweeping hip kick that only cost her two snap-kicks to the
knee and a crane strike to the thigh. Setting her back
against the Dojo's outside wall, and reminding herself not
to move on that leg, she waited as steadily as she could for
Ranma's next attack.
It came within seconds, a v-step across Akane's range that
turned into a feint to her upper right guard. A 'feint' that
succeeded in bashing her out of position for another series
of feints, each contacting her defenses, each bruising her
arms or legs, each moving her farther and farther off her
defensive center, until her guard was completely down.
In the extremity of her extension, turned half away from the
guarding wall, when she could respond to no more threats,
she watched, with despair, a rising power kick that she knew
she could never stop. Awaiting the end, she noted, as if
from her peripheral vision, a slight movement _behind_ her,
and then the world went black.
She awakened upside down against a wall. She knew that only
moments could have passed, but from the condition of her
abused muscles it might have been hours. She was gently
turned over and set upright, squatting against the wall, and
blearily forced her eyes open - to discover Ranma kneeling
in front of her, wiping her face clean of sweat and blood
with a handkerchief. And grinning merrily, as though she had
just been told the best joke in all the world.
Akane frowned weakly, "I know I'm not in your class,
Ranma-sensei, but I ..."
Ranma's grin transmuted into a gentle smile and she shook
her head. "Not in my class? Heh. Not in my class. *snrk*.
Akane-chan she asked, more gently yet, "do you know why
you're lying here on the ground, feeling run over?"
"Well I missed that last power kick ... Akane responded
uncertainly.
"The power kick was a feint, Akane-chan Ranma returned to
her grin, "the real attack was the thrust-kick from behind.
The thrust-kick that would have stopped before it actually
hit you, like the death-blow I did to Kuno-san. The
thrust-kick that you couldn't even have _seen_, much less
blocked. That thrust-kick."
"Oh Akane said weakly, "So, what happened?"
"You blocked it, of course Ranma's grin was even larger
now.
"I thought you said I _couldn't_ have blocked it Akane
complained, weakly. Something here wasn't making sense.
"You couldn't have Ranma replied cheerfully, "But you did,
anyway. And there's only one way that could have happened."
Akane shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever particle of
inspiration was hiding in it that was keeping the
conversation from making sense. "Wh .. What's that
Ranma-sensei?" she quavered.
Ranma's grin seemed to split her face, "You must have gone
zanshin, Akane-chan. It's the only way you could even have
come close. With all your defenses down. Completely
overextended. And without even _meaning_ to."
"Z .. Zanshin, Ranma-sensei? You mean like, like
Mushashi-sama? The _Book of Five Rings_?"
"Exactly! And, of course, you know what _that_ means?"
"N-no, I mean, I don't ... what?" Akane shook her head
frantically, desperate to find something that made sense.
Zanshin? Her?
"It means you made me completely waste all that angst I went
through, that's what. You're as surely marked with the
Murderer's sign as am I." Ranma traced a circle on her
forehead with a gentle hand. "It means you will probably end
up being better than _me_. It means that I've found my
Perfect Student, the one I can learn from as much as I
teach. And what, what, _what_ in the name of all that is
holy is a nice girl like you doing in a condition like
that?"
Akane's battered mind seized on the only thing she
recognized in all that barrage of words, and came up with
the only appropriate response, smiling weakly, "Umm, Just
lucky, I guess?"
Ranma's silver laughter filled the empty hall. And then she
abandoned any attempt to urge Akane to rise, and cradled her
in her arms, rising smoothly to her feet as Akane feebly
waved her hands in protest.
"And now we'll get you in the furo. You need to soak."
"But, but, that is, I don't, you shouldn't ..."
"Hush, Akane. The Sensei Is Always Right."
"But you, I, it's not ..."
"Hush, Akane-chan."
"Don't need, why, can walk, ..."
"_Hush!_"
"Er, umm, that is... Yes, Ranma-chan meekly.
"And then I'll give you a massage, to keep you from being
too stiff tomorrow."
"Erkk... very meekly indeed.
"And after that we'll get Kasumi-san to make you a _big_
meal, so you can keep your strength up."
"Oh, no a very, very small voice.
"And after _that_, we can do some _real_ training!"
"Help almost inaudible, in fact. Not that it helped.
And Ranma's cheerful laughter blew them into the furo. And
then they did exactly what Ranma had said they would.
------------------------------------------------------------
And much later, long after dark, as Ranma wound her way
alone to her rented flat, and Akane slept the sleep of the
Just -- or, anyway, the Sleep of the Very, Very Tired --,
Ranma looked up into the light-glare that blotted out the
stars above Tokyo, and snorted.
"'Keep your head down, and hope you find a friend', I said.
Hah! Oh, well I can't complain about the quality of her art
at least. Even if it is bloody inconvenient! 'Here Ranma,
have a day, you've found your Perfect Student. Of course,
you've only got six months to teach her in, but...'."
Musingly, "It's loads better than that last school, at
least. Food fights, bleah. Oh, yes, it could _definitely_ be
worse."
And then she began, without raising her voice, to sing. And
continued singing all the way down the road.
The brooding ghosts of this dark night
Are gone from wood and Town.
My spirit revives in the morning breeze,
Though it died when Sun went down.
The river is wide, the stream is strong,
And the grass is green and tall.
And I feign would think that this world of ours,
Is a good world, after all.
The light of passion in dreamy eyes,
The page of truth well read,
The glorious thrill in a heart grown cold,
And a spirit once thought dead.
The song that goes to a comrade's heart,
The tear of pride let fall,
My heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
Let our enemies go by their own dull paths,
Let theirs be doubt and shame.
The man who's bitter against the world
Has only himself to blame.
Let the darkest side of the past stay dark,
And only good recall,
For I must believe that the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
It may be that I saw too plain,
It may be I was blind,
But I'll keep my face to the morning light,
Though the Devil stand behind.
Though the Devil may stand behind my back
Shall I see his shadow fall?
And I'll read, in the light of the Morning Star
Of a good world, after all.
And then, very softly:
Rest, for your arms are weary, Love,
You drove the worst away.
And the ghost of the one that I might have been
Is gone from my heart today.
We'll live our life for the good it brings,
'Till our twilight shadows fall.
Oh, my heart grows brave, and the world, to me,
Is a good world, after all.
------------------------------------------------------------
Next:
Chapter 3: The Third Day
Part A: Point of Contact; The Hunter and the Bear.
'Til next chapter,
Eric Hallstrom, 10/27/99
Yours very respectfully,
Eric Hallstrom, CC, PhD, UBIP,etc.
--
www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/index.html
www.kawaiikunee.com
hal...@mindspring.com
kaw...@kawaiikunee.com