[Ranma][FanFic] Choices: The Party

[Mike Noakes]

Though I abhor the labelling of fics, a number of people have
suggested that this story should carry some kind of warning. So:
This is not a lemon. This is not a dark fic. It is, perhaps,
somewhat serious with a slight propensity towards angst and
overly-introspective characters; there is as well a scene or two that
may possibly be considered 'mature' in nature.
You have been warned!

Choices
by
Michael Noakes

Part One: The Party

Burning embers floated high on the night wind to flicker briefly
among the stars before flaring, fading, dying. Their dizzying dance
twirled amongst the smoke and raucous laughter of boys as they drifted
into the sky. As Hiroshi watched, one particular particle of glowing
ash was carried away, then reversed direction as it was caught in an
unexpected eddy. It alighted upon a bare arm and was unconsciously
brushed away.
"You sure you don't want one?" he asked, offering a bottle.
Ranma glanced at the bottle with a certain distaste and shook his
head. "You know I don't drink," he answered. Hiroshi shrugged and kept
the beer for himself, not entirely surprised. The mere fact that Ranma
had showed up was amazing enough in its own right; to expect him to
actually unwind, drink, and have a good time was probably asking too
much. Not that his attitude made any sense - what was the point of
Ranma coming to Kiyoshi's party - easily the biggest, best party of the
year - if he wasn't going to relax somewhat and have some _fun_.
Hiroshi settled comfortably into his seat by the fire. Must be
nice, he thought, to be this rich, to have parents as well off as
Kiyoshi's obviously were. Their house was absolutely huge: built on
slanted ground, the basement opened up onto the rear through patio doors
that led onto an attractive terrace; a beautiful porch was suspended
above it and gave a great view of the carefully landscaped yard. The
property was fantastically expansive - at least, it was to a boy like
Hiroshi whose idea of a backyard was a square plot of earth with just
enough room for his mother to grow a few flowers. There was even a low
stone wall surrounding the whole piece of land. Ultimately, though, the
most important aspect of their house was, of course, the outdoor pool.
It was - unsurprisingly, considering the uncommonly warm weather -
currently the centre of much of the activity at the party.
Whatever Kiyoshi's parents did for a living to afford this level of
luxury, it also kept them very busy - meaning that on a weekend like
this, nearing the end of another year of studies, madness, and chaos at
Furinkan High, with both adults gone, Kiyoshi's place became _the_ place
to have a whopping huge party. Classmates, male and female, from
Furinkan and elsewhere, were standing and chatting, and presumably
drinking, in groups, both inside and outside the house; others were
dancing or jumping about, music blaring; many were already taking
advantage of the outside pool and were swimming and splashing wildly,
bubbly laughter and joyful shrieks punctuating their fun. But he would
go swimming later, he decided. Right now, Hiroshi was content to just
sit around by the convenient fire-pit set in the backyard, shoot the
shit with his buddies, and enjoy the contrast of the fire's heat on his
front, the refreshing wind on his back, and the cold beer in his hand.
Yes, thought Hiroshi, this is turning out to be a beautiful party.
Kiyoshi had another hit on his hand - everybody was having a great time.
No, not everybody, he amended, looking sideways at Ranma, who was
absently brushing away another ember from the turned-down sleeves of his
usual red Chinese shirt. At least one person is not enjoying himself.
Not drinking, not talking, he was just. . . sitting there.
"Hey, Ranma?" Hiroshi leaned towards his friend. "What's wrong?
You're just. . . sitting there."
Ranma shrugged. "I dunno. Guess I'm just not in a partying mood,"
he answered. Picking up a stick, he poked idly at the fire.
"Ah." After a moment, he tried again. "Hey, didn't you come with
Akane? Where is she?"
"How should I know?" muttered Ranma. He gave the log a sharp jab.
"Stupid tomboy. . ."
Ooookay, thought Hiroshi. Obviously Saotome was not in a very good
mood tonight. Probably another falling out between him and his fiancee.
Again. But if they were fighting, why did he bother coming to the party
with her? Especially if he was just going to sit there and sulk?
Actually, he thought as he glanced around for Daisuke (his friend
having head back into the house to grab a few more drinks from the
fridge), it was surprising enough that Ranma had come at all. He never
showed up at any of the little get-togethers his classmates organized.
Understandable, perhaps, considering the rather active lifestyle he
seemed to lead, but, still, if he was going to bother coming out, he
could at least try to have a little fun. Ranma must have read his
thoughts, because a second later he turned to Hiroshi.
"I didn't really even want to come," said Ranma. "It was my stupid
pop's idea . . . and Mr. Tendo, of course. They found out Akane was
coming to this party with some friends of hers . . . so they thought it
only natural that her fiance aughta accompany her." He scowled. "Like
I even wanted to go to some stupid party, anyway. Especially after she
didn't even ask me. Especially after she told me she didn't want me
hanging around with her! Like I'd want to hang around with a kawaikunee
like her. . ." He gave another fierce poke at the fire.
So that was it. Another. . .
"Here ya go, bud. . ." His thoughts were interrupted as Daisuke
plopped down next to him. His friend passed a few bottles over before
glancing across at Ranma, who had returned to staring sullenly at the
fire. "Hey. . . what's with him?" he whispered to Hiroshi.
Hiroshi suppressed a smile. "Another fight with Akane," he
answered. "She told him to leave her alone."
"Again? Sheesh. Is it just me or have they been fighting worse
than usual, lately?"
He shrugged. "Probably. Who can tell?" He popped open another
beer and took a drink. "Hey, by the way. . . what took you so long?"
Daisuke glanced around, then smirked. "Heh. Almost got into a
little tangle."
"Huh? How so?"
"Well. . . I was grabbing a coupla beers from the bar fridge, and
when I stood up, I bumped into Ryuta, and. . ."
"Ryuta? Not Uehara. . .?"
Daisuke nodded.
"Shit! Who invited him?"
"Does it matter? He probably invited himself."
"Yeah. So what happened?"
"Nothing much, really." Daisuke shrugged. "I accidentally knocked
his drink into him. He wasn't impressed. Threatened to kick my ass if
I didn't get him another drink."
"So did you?"
"Yeah. Gave him a few bottles," he nodded. "But when he wasn't
looking, I swiped a couple of his bottles of sake." With a grin, he
tossed over one of said bottles. "Serves the jerk right, threatening me
over an accident!"
Hiroshi looked down at the bottles with a small frown. "Shit, man,
if he finds out. . ."
"What's he gonna do, eh?"
"I already _told_ you what I was gonna do, you little shit. . ."
growled a deep voice from behind.
With a surprised 'eep!', Daisuke spun and leapt to his feet. "Ah,
hey. . . ah. . ." he stammered.
Hiroshi watched as the other guy stepped into the firelight. It
most certainly was Ryuta: one of the local Furinkan bullies, one of the
few that had managed to survive after the various martial artists had
arrived and the regime of Miss Hinako had begun. Big guy, strong,
tough, his face somewhat resembling something chiselled out of granite,
he was known for having a rather nasty temper. Not the kind of guy
whose bad side you would want to get on (not, mind you, that he had a
good side anybody knew about, thought Hiroshi), and not the kind of guy
Kiyoshi would invite - but that had never stopped Uehara from crashing a
party before. Somewhere in the back of his mind Hiroshi wondered if any
of the bully's usual friends were hanging around, but his immediate
concern was on the nasty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
"Hey, listen, it was a little joke, you know?" tried Daisuke, as
the larger youth grabbed him by the front of the shirt and hauled him
forward.
"Yeah, sure, just a joke." Ryuta sneered as he tightened his grip.
"Funny." Daisuke paled slightly.
Well, this certainly sucks, mused Hiroshi. Trust an idiot like
this to ruin a perfectly good party. With a sigh he started to stand up
to help his friend, noticing that some of the other guys around the fire
were getting up as well. This is probably going to hurt, he decided.
"Sit down!" said the bully, eyes flashing, upper lip curling with
scorn. "Or do I gotta beat the lot of you wimps up, too?" Hiroshi had
no doubt that he could, too - the guy was a nasty brawler, always
getting into scuffles with goons from other schools. . and usually
winning. Resigned to a whole lot of pain, Hiroshi hesitantly raised his
fists in something hopefully approximating a fighting stance.
"Ummm. Listen. Couldja, you know. . . let him go?" stammered
Hiroshi, despite his best effort to sound tough.
"Oh, so you want it first?" demanded Ryuta, tossing Daisuke aside
and turning to his friend. With a contemptuous glance at the boy on the
ground, he took a step towards Hiroshi, one hammy fist rearing back. . .
. . . there was a sudden blur that zinged by, and a metallic
'ting'. . .
. . . and suddenly the big guy was clutching his shoulder in pain
and surprise. "What the?"
Hiroshi opened his eyes, surprised he was still standing, wondering
what the delay was. And suddenly, he knew, and grinned. Ryuta Uehara
had chosen the _wrong_ group to threaten this time. With a narrowing of
eyes, the bully took another step forward.
Something zinged by again. Again Ryuta let out an exclamation of
pain, rubbing at his thigh. "Hey! Who's. . ."
Hiroshi smiled and stepped aside, revealing the attacker still
sitting calmly by the fire.
"Why don't you just go away?" asked Ranma, bored.
Ryuta peered at the pig-tailed boy. Maybe he could not make out
who it was. Maybe he did not care, or actually did not know. But
Hiroshi watched as the larger youth flushed in anger. "You gonna make
me, you little piece of. . ."
There was an audible sigh from Ranma, and then his hands became a
blur. Things - Hiroshi still could not tell what - snapped from his
fingers.
"I'm gonna. . . ouch!" exclaimed Ryuta. "You. . . ouch! Ouch!
Dammit. . . ouch!" He tried to take a step forward; something pinged
off his knee. Then his chest. Then his thighs, shoulders, arms, and
finally his forehead. He staggered back, a small trickle of blood
beading from the small cut between his eyes. He glared at the group.
"I'll get. . .!"
This one bounced off his groin. His eyes bulged, briefly, before
he twisted away, moaning, and stumbled ungracefully in the general
direction of the house.
A small cheer went up around the fire as everyone sat down again.
Hiroshi turned to Ranma, Daisuke - who hadn't yet moved from where he
layed sprawled - scrambling to his feet and stepping in next to him.
Their friend looked up at them and grinned. "Not too smart, is he?
Still, good thing he left when he did," he added, opening his hand. "I
was running out of ammunition." Sitting in his palm was a single beer
bottlecap.
"You. . . you were flinging beercaps at him?"
"Yup! Saotome School of Anything-Goes Special Attack: Cap-oeira
Strike; just one of the many moves that make up the style known as 'Bar
Fly Do'."
Hiroshi and Daisuke stared at him for a moment. "You're kidding,
right?"
"Scarily enough, no." With a snap of his fingers, Ranma sent the
last bottlecap tearing off into the night. "It's a style my pop
developed while 'studying' in a string of bars across China. Uses all
the usual bar accessories - mugs, stools, bottles, beer nuts - as
martial art weapons. Pop always said it's meant as a supplement to
drunken-style Kung Fu." He shrugged. "I figured he was just looking
for an excuse to hang out at the local bar - and a way to get out
without paying the tab."
Daisuke looked at Hiroshi, who simply shrugged. Tavern-based
fighting styles, drunken wandering fathers, trips across China - it was
all part of a lifestyle he simply found impossible to understand. Ranma
seemed to take it all for granted; somehow, Hiroshi was not so sure that
he would be able to do the same.

The small metal disk winged its merry way through the Neriman sky.
Eventually, it began its rapid descent. With a loud 'ting' it bounced
off a late-night pedestrian's head.
With a growl, he reached down and picked up the crumpled cap. He
did not know where it came from. He did not know how it came to bounce
off his head. But somehow, Ryoga Hibiki knew that Ranma Saotome was to
blame.

"Are you sure you don't want it?"
Hiroshi watched as Ranma sighed and shook his head. "Yes, I'm
sure," he answered, pushing away Daisuke's offer. "Listen. . . you
don't gotta thank me for helping out. That guy was asking for it; can't
stand jerks like that. I hate bullies."
Daisuke looked a little disappointed, but nodded and sat down next
to his friend. With Ryuta gone, the conversation was starting to pick
up again. Hiroshi looked around the fire - mostly people he knew, guys
from his classes, or a grade above or below him, but a few strangers
that he guessed were from different schools. Coming around the circle,
his eyes came to rest upon Ranma.
"Hey, by the way - thanks."
Hiroshi blinked and turned to his friend. "Huh?"
"For, you know, standing up for me," supplied Daisuke. "Against
that asshole."
He shrugged. "What're friends for, eh?"
"Yeah."
There was a momentary pause, before Hiroshi continued in a low
voice. "Hey, Dai-."
"Yeah?"
"Have a look at Ranma there."
"Yeah? And?"
"What d'ya figure he's doing?"
"I dunno," answered Daisuke. "Looks like he's just sitting there.
Why?"
"That's just it - he's just sitting there!" said Hiroshi, and fell
silent. Daisuke gave him a quizzical glance, shrugged, and returned to
drinking and talking. His friend remained fixated on the pig-tailed
boy's actions, or lack thereof. He's just kinda pulled back, he finally
concluded, out of the group, out of the circle. Why? Why not join in
the conversation? After fighting off Ryuta - without even standing up!
- they probably _wanted_ him to join in, and certainly would not refuse
him! But he didn't. Maybe he thought he was too good for them? Maybe
he was bored? Maybe he simply did not care, did not even _want_ to be
part of the gang? But then he saw Ranma glance up, give a sad, almost
envious look at the guys as their voices rose in mirth and mock
argument, and Hiroshi knew that that could not be why. Well, whatever
the reasons, Hiroshi decided that, like it or not, Ranma was going to
have a good time tonight. Already, Ranma, who looked like he had come
alive somewhat while driving away the bully, was withdrawing into
himself, returning to his earlier sullen demeanor. Now, how to break
him out of it?
"Are you NUTS?" exclaimed a loud voice from across the fire,
distracting him for a moment. Hiroshi recognized Toshi, a friend from
one grade up. "Keiko's better looking than Hiromi? Are you blind,
man?"
"No! Are you? There's, like, no comparison!"
"You're right! Hiromi's a hell of a lot better looking!"
Getting drawn in despite himself, Hiroshi had to agree. Sure, the
red-headed Keiko was cute, but the body on Hiromi was. . impressive.
Very impressive. Besides, the one guy _had_ to defend Keiko - he was
dating her. "Sorry, man, but I gotta agree with Toshi," he said,
addressing Keiko's stalwart defender. "Just _look_ at Hiromi. . ."
Somebody gave a little laugh. "Yeah, right. Wonder what he's
looking at, eh?"
At which point somebody else added: "Hey, should you even be
lookin'? Ain't you and Sayuri, you know. . ."
"Hey! It's not of your business!" exclaimed Hiroshi. "We've just
gone on a few dates, that's all!" Well, maybe not _all_, but he did not
see any reason to share his personal life with these guys. Friends are
friends, but some things you simply don't share. Besides, Sayuri would
kill him if she ever found out.
"Sorry, bud," added Daisuke from next to him. "But I can't agree
with you, here. Keiko is _definitely_ better looking. . ."
"Ah, hell, you're both wrong!"
Soon, a lively argument was underway. As he listened (and added
the occasional comment), the conversation quickly grew to encompass the
largest part of the female population of Furinkan High. Seemed
everybody had an opinion on who was the hottest babe in school. Hiroshi
noticed that a couple of the girls walking by gave them dirty looks, but
he did not really care. Looking down at the empty bottle in his hand,
he realized that he was starting to feel. . rather good. Grinning
without any good reason, he turned to Ranma - suddenly remembering his
earlier decision - and noticed that, though not adding anything, his
friend had drawn a little closer to the group, was listening avidly to
everything with a slight smile and attentive eyes.
"Whaddya think, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, and smiled. "Who's the best
looking girl?"
The group fell quiet, all eyes turning to Ranma. And then: "Yeah?
Who d'ya think, Ranma? C'mon!" Ranma paled slightly.
"Well, ah. . . you know. . ." he stammered.
Daisuke nudged him. "C'mon, Ranma. . . you gotta have a favourite
. . . maybe that friend of Nabiki's, the one with the pig-tail? Eh?"
"What? No! I. . . ah, you know. . ." He stopped when he realized
everybody - or at least those who knew him - were grinning at him.
"What?"
"Guess it wasn't really a fair question," said Toshi.
"Yeah." added Hiroshi. "What with him having Akane and
everything. . ."
"HEY!" protested Ranma. "Akane? No way!"
"No?"
"No! That tomboy? Ha! She's. . ."
"KAWAIKUNEE!" chorused the crowd, and laughed.
After a moment, Ranma grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. That's right,"
he said. "And it's not like I 'have' her, either!"
"Really?" asked someone Hiroshi did not recognize. "You don't love
her?"
"What? No!" cried Ranma.
"Oh? So you wouldn't mind if I asked her out on a date?"
"WHAT?" yelled Ranma, jumping to his feet. "Akane's my fia. . ."
He stammered to a stop as everyone burst into laughter at him. Blushing
in embarrassment, he sat down again. "Fine. Ask her. See if I care
. . ." he muttered, but cracked a little smile. Leaning forward a bit,
he asked a question of his own. "So, what, do _you_ guys think she's
good-looking?"
There was a brief and somewhat uncomfortable silence around the
circle, which Hiroshi was the first to end. "Ah, Ranma? I don't think
anyone's gonna touch that one. But. . . just remember. Before you
showed up here, Akane had to fight off about thirty guys every morning.
What do you think?"
"Yeah, I've still got the scar on my arm. . ." muttered someone.
"Ok, ok. . ." said Ranma. "Well, then. . . what about. . .
Ucchan?"
"Ucchan?"
"Yeah, you know - Ukyou?"
"Isn't he a boy?" asked Toshi.
"Nah - just dresses as one," answered somebody else. "Actually,
I've kinda wondered what she's like, under. . ." But he petered off as
Ranma glared at him.
"Ranma? I don't think you're gonna get an answer on that one,
either. She's another one of your fiancees. That makes her off-ground
for us, you know?" said Daisuke.
"Oh," said Ranma.
"Well, what about. . ." started someone else, and the conversation
took off again in a new direction. Hiroshi leaned back again and
cracked open one of the bottles Daisuke had appropriated. As the
conversation turned slightly raunchier - now the guys were giving their
frank appraisal of what women liked, or why they did the
incomprehensible things they did - he noticed that Ranma drew in even
closer, avidly following every thread of the discussion, though adding
little or nothing himself. Hiroshi wondered why; if anyone here had the
slightest clue on how to attract women, or how they think, it was Ranma!
The guy had three fiancees and hordes of women always chasing him! And,
of course, there was the small matter of the curse. . .
"Hey! Why don't we ask Ranma?" suddenly asked Toshi's friend,
Kenji. "You gotta know what the women like!"
"Me?" Ranma started at his sudden inclusion in the conversation.
"Why me?"
"Well, gee, maybe 'cus you've got three fiancees?"
"And all those other girls chasing after you?"
"Heck, you've been living with two of the best looking girls in the
school for, what, a year now?"
"Whoa!" interrupted Ranma, raising his hands. "I didn't _ask_ for
any of my fiancees, or any of those other girls! They just. .
happened!" He paused for a moment, as if in thought. "Although, I
guess, I was partly responsible. . . what with my devastatingly good
looks and charming personality, and all. . ."
"Oh, please. . ." gagged someone.
"And, of course, there's the Saotome art of
Making-Women-Fall-In-Love-With-You, which, being a family secret, I'm
not at liberty to share. . ."
"I'm gonna be sick. . ."
"And, of course, the martial arts. Chicks dig the martial arts."
"Yeah, right. Of course they do. . ."
"But. . . really. . . I don't have a clue how I do it!" He gave a
grin - half arrogant, half playful - and shrugged. "I guess some of us
are just naturals."
"Gee, thanks a lot, Saotome. . ." grumbled Kenji.
"Seriously, though, guys," continued Ranma, shuffling in a little
closer. "D'ya think if I knew what made women happy, I'd always be
fighting with Akane? I may live with her - but I certainly can't figure
her out!"
"Oh." There was a momentary pause, and then a curious Kenji forged
gamely ahead. "But. . . still. You've must've had more experience then
most of us, right?"
"Huh?"
"I mean... well, between Akane, and Ukyou, and, ah. . . you now,
that purple-haired one, whatzername -"
"Shampoo."
"Yeah. Shampoo. I mean, we've seen how they throw themselves at
you. . ." He turned to the other guys for support. "Right guys?"
"Yeah!"
Ranma gave an expression somewhere between a grimace and a grin.
"Akane? Throw herself at me?"
"Ah, right. Well, the other two, then," amended Kenji. "They sure
seem to, well. . . like you - especially that Shampoo."
"Yeah? So?"
"So? So you must've, you know. . ." He left the statement
dangling.
Ranma totally failed to pick up on it. "What?"
"You _know_. . ." he repeated.
The pig-tailed boy remained blank. "What?"
"I think what he's insinuating," supplied Daisuke, leaning in and
grinning, "is that you must've had sex with at least _one_ of them."
There was a moment of stunned silence on Ranma's part, and then a
very odd look - something between disgust, annoyance, and outright panic
- crawled across his face. "WHAT?" he exclaimed. "NO! I didn't! I
haven't!"
There was a round of "Yeah, right!"s and "C'mon!"s and "As if!"s,
and disbelieving cries all around. Hiroshi did not bother adding his
own voice - he knew better, and actually believed Ranma, although having
seen Shampoo around campus a few times, could not help but wonder how
his friend resisted the temptation. Probably a fear or love (or both)
of Akane, or something - or maybe just a serious lack of testosterone.
"I'm serious!" insisted Ranma. "I already told ya - I didn't ask
for any of 'em! I sure ain't gonna. . . you know. . . with them." He
flushed a bit at the idea. "Besides, if I _did_, and Akane found out
. . . she'd kill me!"
"What if she was the one you did it with?"
"That would be even _worse_!"
Hiroshi snickered and patted his flustered friend on the back.
Kenji looked a bit disappointed for a moment. "So, uh, you're
a. . ."
"What? Virgin?" said Ranma, sounding a little angry. Not
defensive, just upset. "Yeah. What's the big deal?"
"Nothing!" Kenji raised his hands placatingly. "Nothing. I - ah,
we - just figured that, with all those girls, you would've. . ."
"Well I haven't." Ranma seemed to insert an air of finality into
his words, yet continued a moment later. "Listen. I spent, what, the
last ten years on the road. The last few months before coming to Nerima
were spent wandering across China. Training. That's where I met
Shampoo." He stopped for a moment, as if in reflection. He smiled
slightly. "But all she wanted to do was kill me. So, yeah, I didn't
have much time to think about that kinda stuff - what with running for
my life and everything. And when I got here, and moved in with the
Tendos - well, things've been kinda. . . busy, you know?
"Heck, I haven't even had a real kiss from one of 'em, yet.
Shampoo did, twice: but one was the Kiss of Death, and the other was the
Kiss of Marriage, so they don't count." He shrugged.
Kenji looked at him disbelievingly. "You mean, with all these
babes throwin' themselves at you, you haven't even had a real _kiss_
yet?"
"Well. . ." Ranma started to say, then hesitated. A odd look
crossed his face: he seemed to remember something, momentarily, that
made him look slightly ill; then, his face flushed and he suddenly
seemed upset. "No," he said curtly. "I haven't done anythin' like that
- with anyone." Seeing the unexpected, restrained anger, Kenji decided
to let the subject end. Hiroshi was glad he did. He could not fathom
what had upset Ranma, but it was obviously a touchy subject.
There was a brief lull as the sound of bottles being opened all
around rang out. Daisuke leaned forward after taking a drink. "So.
With all that said - you're saying you don't know more about the way
women think than the rest of us guys?"
"Nope." Ranma shook his head. "Why should I?"
"I think. . ." growled a voice from behind Hiroshi, slightly
slurred. "I think they're askin' 'cus. . . 'cus you're a girl
yourself!"
There was a sudden frigid silence around the fire, and all eyes
turned to Ranma. Under their scrutiny he stiffened, face hardening.
Hiroshi had a bad feeling about this - a very bad feeling. There were
certain subjects you simply did not raise around Ranma: his curse, his
masculinity or lack thereof; and you never, ever, called him a girl.
"Excuse me?" the pigtailed boy asked, voice dangerously cold.
"I said, you'd know. . . 'cus your a girl."
"That's what I thought you said." Slowly and smoothly, Ranma rose
to his feet and turned towards the intruder. "I. Am. A. Guy. Got
it?" He glared as the figure approached. "You got that, Ryuta? Or are
you stupid?"
Ryuta stepped closer, striding arrogantly up to Ranma. The bully
was, at a quick comparison, the more intimidating of the two; he was
certainly taller, and thicker set, with coarse, rigid features, and a
drunken wildness to his eyes that was decidedly uncomfortable. But a
glance at Ranma, at his intensity, at the sudden deceptive looseness
with which he held himself, made it obvious who was the one to fear.
"Oh, yeah, sure, a guy. . ." muttered Ryuta. "My mistake."
"I'm glad we got that cleared up," Ranma said, still glaring.
"Yeah." Ryuta turned away, then paused. "It's just that. . ." he
started. "You sure _look_ like a girl!" Ranma hopped back as Ryuta
spun around and punched forward; he avoided the strike with ease - but
the contents of Ryuta's glass hit him full in the face.
Hiroshi groaned out loud.

"Akane!"
"Just a 'sec, okay?" she said, and turned away from Sayuri as a
friend hurried up with a concerned look on her face. "Yes? What is
it?"
The girl came to a breathless stop. "Akane! There's. . . it looks
like there's going to be a fight outside!"
Akane countenance darkened. "It's Ranma, isn't it?"
The girl nodded.
"That idiot," she growled. And after I made him promise not to
fight! Could she not have at least _one_ night to herself, one night
where her baka, unwanted fiance did not get himself into a fistfight?
Well, she would show him! "Where is he?"
"I think he's with Hiroshi and the guys - over by the fire."
"So what's it about this time?"
"I don't know - I think the other guy started it - but he's not
alone. . ."
The other guy started it? Not likely, considering Ranma. Well,
she would set everything straight - even if she had to beat up both
involved parties to do so!

Ranma wiped the liquid from her eyes. It was not water - it was
slightly sticky and smelled sweet, and stung her eyes a little - but
obviously it had been enough to do the job. With unconscious ease
developed over innumerable accidental encounters with cold water, she
tightened the belt around her waist and adjusted her clothing.
"See what I mean?" mocked Ryuta. "You _are_ a girl!" Ranma
berated herself for not dodging the splash, and proceeded to eye her
opponent critically. The guy obviously knew how to fight; not as a
martial artist, perhaps - he lacked that unconscious air of calm
confidence and discipline - but most definitely as a brawler, with an
intensity that only experience brings. Big, strong, and probably pretty
tough; drunk, too, which never helped - enough fights with Pop after he
would come home after drinking too much, yet stubbornly insisting on
training, had taught her what to expect. Not that it mattered: after
one got used to fighting the likes of Ryoga, chumps like this simply
failed to measure up. There was only one problem: the promise to Akane.
She would not go back on her word; she could not, even though every
instinct was screaming at her to beat the shit out of this jerk.
"So, c'mon, Ranma. . ." Ryuta stepped forward. "What's it like?
Eh? What turns a girl on - what's it feel like?"
The redhead took a deep breath. She would _not_ be baited into a
fight. This was. . . training, like for the Hiryu Shotenha; she just
had to keep a level head, and stay cool. "Go away, Ryuta. . ." Ranma
forced her voice to stay calm, though there was a slight tremor she
could not avoid. "I'm not interested in a fight."
The larger boy ignored her and moved closer. Ranma noticed that he
was not alone; the bully had brought along a few of his bully friends,
two of them flanking their leader and the other making a pathetic
attempt at sneaking up from behind. "You telling us you don't know?
You telling us you've never. . . experimented?"
"No. I haven't," said Ranma, anger starting to grow. "I'm not
some kind of pervert!"
"I find that hard to believe. C'mon, what's it like - having your
breasts felt up?"
"I wouldn't know."
"No? Maybe you've gone further. . . maybe tried it with a guy, eh,
you little sex-changing freak? What's it like, feeling some guy inside
of you, huh? Grinding away at you, thrusting, his hands all over. . ."
Ranma felt the blood pounding in her ears, her rage building, the
leash restraining her anger slipping. The presence of the crowd thrust
itself upon her awareness, their whispering coming to her peripherally:
some of the guys she'd been chatting with, who knew her, wondering why
she hadn't taken Ryuta down yet; others, who hadn't been there, but
recognized her, unsurprised that she'd started a fight - "oh, look, it's
Ranma, fighting again, big surprise. . .", they said; and the others,
the curious, the surprised, wondering "who's that girl" or "shouldn't we
do something, she's going to get hurt", but no one actually doing
anything, after all, it wasn't any of _their_ business, and Uehara was a
really _big_ guy. And then the other whispers, the ones that hurt: "Do
you think she saying the truth?", "Maybe Ryuta's right. . .", "I always
knew he was a pervert!". So she spoke, to drown out the voices with her
own, words half-choked with fury and shame, louder and shriller than she
would have liked. "Don't. . . don't, Ryuta. Don't push me. I - I
promised I wouldn't get into a fight tonight - don't make me break my
word. Don't." A deep shuddering breath, an attempt to regain control.
And then, "I'm a man."
Uehara swaggered a step closer, sneering down at the diminutive
girl, close and towering over her. "I always knew it," he stated in a
cold, hard whisper, drunkenness fading before sudden meanness. "Scared.
You're all lies and reputation. A joke."
"You're the joke, Ryuta." she replied evenly. "You're just a
pathetic bully."
To her surprise, he nodded. "Maybe I am. But at least I'm honest
about it."
Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I'm a bully. Sure. I know it. But so are you - but you don't
even know it. Who's the one who's pathetic?"
"I am _not_ like you!"
"Yeah? Funny. I've seen the guys you hang around with. You ever
think twice about grinding them down? Humiliating them and hurting them
whenever they even slightly annoy you? Using cheap-shots and low-blows
to win a fight? 'Course not!" He made a sudden, wide gesture, taking
in the silent, straining crowd surrounding them. "Now look around.
Look at those wimps, those little shits. They're afraid of me, of what
I can do, and they do what I want 'cus of that fear. Now do you
_really_ think they fear you any less? Idiot. You're kidding yourself.
Did you think they were your _friends_?"
"They. . . they _are_ my friends!" insisted Ranma.
Ryuta stared down at her for a long moment, before one corner of
his smile twisted up in a sneer. "I just realized how well that body
suits you. You're a coward, Saotome."
"Am I? Challenge me and find out, asshole!"
He looked at her for a moment, then laughed. "I couldn't. I don't
fight girls," he said, loudly, and turned away.
The words resounded through Ranma's mind, Ryuta's patronizing laugh
a taunt, his turned back an insult. She felt her fist clench
convulsively by her side. "I'm a MAN!" she yelled after him. "You hear
me? I'm more a man than you'll ever be!" No one turns their back on
her, her mind screamed, not while she was still standing, not after
insulting her like that - not Ryoga, not Mousse, not Kuno, and most
certainly not a pathetic, weak, _lying_ little bastard bully like Ryuta
Uehara! "Come back here and face me like one! I'll show you how much
of a man I really am!"
He paused, and after a beat, slowly turned around to face her.
Ranma could feel the tension around her, everyone holding their breath.
And then he smiled, and gave her the most infuriatingly condescending
look. "Cute, ain't she?" he smirked. "Must be that time of the month."
Sudden shame possessed her, so intense it nearly brought tears to
her eyes. It quickly transformed into anger and hatred. She flowed
forward, riding the fury, feral grin and furious eyes lighting her face,
animalistic gleeful snarl escaping her lips. Her tormenter could not
follow, he was slow, far, far too slow to react in time. His tentative
guard was knocked away, yanked forward, her other hand latching onto his
armpit, fingers and thumb digging into muscle viciously, leg hooking in,
snapping straight, breaking his stance. She could smell the alcohol
clinging to him, the sudden fear, feel as he tried to pull away, see the
surprise and pain rise in his eyes as he stumbled forward, and then the
sudden wince, the eyes almost rolling back, as she buried her knee into
his crotch. He curled up and collapsed, but still she held him; her
grim smile tightened as she smashed her fist forward, downwards, the
rush of adrenalin proving that she was a _man_. . .
"RANMA!"
Her fist froze, bottom three knuckles flush against the arc of
Ryuta's nose. A sudden coldness and dread seized her stomach, almost
painful in its intensity. She glanced down at the arm still held in her
right hand, relaxed her hold, saw the line of red jagged marks in the
wrist left by her tight grip and nails. Absently releasing the limb,
Ranma turned to face Akane.
"A. . . Akane. . ."
"What are you DOING?" she demanded, stalking forward.
"I. . . It's not my fault!" Ranma protested.
"How can you _say_ that? Look at you - bullying that guy!"
"Bull. . . bullying?" Ranma stepped over Ryuta's crumpled form,
her anger shifting to Akane. "The jerk started it!"
"Like I'm going to believe that! Like I care! You promised me -
no fighting!"
"I didn't want to! What could I do!"
"Ignore him! Walk away!"
"What?" Ranma cried. "Are you stupid? You didn't hear. . ."
"What did you call me?" Akane yelled.
"Oh, so you listen to me _now_, huh?" She yelled back. "Stupid
tomboy!"
"You jerk!" she screamed, her hand lashing out. Ranma felt the
all-too familiar pain explode in the side of her face, and staggered
slightly. "You just had to ruin my night, didn't you! Everything was
going fine, and you just had to screw it up!"
"But I. . . I. . ." But what can I say, thought Ranma, and the
anger suddenly drained away. Akane was right. It was unfair - totally
so - but Akane was right. I broke my promise; I've ruined Akane's
night. A groan displaced her attention: Ryuta, clutching his groin, one
foot scrabbling in the dirt and vainly trying to stand, to push away.
The fight had never been about who was stronger, Ranma suddenly
realized. Uehara must have known he could never beat Ranma in a fight.
But the fight he had initiated - the real fight - Uehara had won hands
down. I shouldn't have lost my temper, she berated herself. But what
else could I have done? Ryuta had pushed, pushed too much and too far.
Ranma was surprised she had managed to hold back as long as she had.
She looked around: the other bullies were backing off, obviously
frightened now that their leader was down; Hiroshi and the guys were
staring at her and Akane, mixed glances of curiosity, amusement, and
annoyance; the others watched with surprise at the sudden violence,
victory, and words of the strange and small girl, or still in shock as
the curse was revealed to them for the first time; and, buried just
beneath the surface of it all, did Ranma detect just the slightest
glimmer of fear at the unexpected viciousness of her attack - was Ryuta
right?
And then, turning back to the source of the new conflict, he saw
the girls who had followed Akane: Sayuri, glaring at Ranma like she was
some kind of bug, the cause of all their friend's problems, the others,
obviously annoyed and tired of the whole thing; and finally Akane,
disgusted, enraged, sick of her fiancee and angry as usual. Everything
was so quiet, everyone looking at Ranma, the party disrupted, the fun
ruined. She was not wanted here. She did not belong here. Ryuta was
right.
"Fuck this," muttered Ranma. "I don't know why I bothered."
She turned her back on them all and walked away.

"Ranma. . ." Whispered Akane after a moment of shock, taking a
hesitant step after the pig-tailed girl.
A hand fell on her shoulder. It was her friend, Sayuri. "Don't
bother, Akane," she said. "There's no point. You'll just end up
fighting, you know you will. Give her a chance to cool down."
"But. . ."
"Didn't you come here to have a good time?" Sayuri waited a
moment, until Akane nodded glumly. "Well, it's not going to happen if
you chase after Ranma. This is your night out, isn't it? Then let her
sulk! Maybe she'll come back and apologize - though I doubt it - but
why worry?"
Akane looked after Ranma's retreating form. She could hear the
whispering around her; maybe it had not been Ranma's fault, after all.
But Ranma had promised! And yet. . . and yet, he had seemed so tired,
so sick of the fighting and the arguing, so open and hurt right before
turning away. Should she go after him?
"Hey, look!" Sayuri's hand suddenly grabbed Akane's. "My friend
from Tomoboki just got here! C'mon, you just gotta meet her! I know
you'll just get along great!" Akane found herself being dragged back
into the house.
She spared a last look outside after Ranma; he was already gone.

When he caught up, she was already stepping out onto the street,
heavy iron gate about to clang shut behind her. She paused for a moment
and stared down at the ground, one hand holding the gate open; then,
with a shaking of her head, she seemed to come to a decision. She moved
away from the house.
"Ranma! Wait!" shouted Hiroshi.
The redhead hesitated for a moment, and stopped. She did not turn
around, but allowed Hiroshi to catch up, stopping the gate from closing
with one foot.
"Ranma. . ." he started, slightly winded.
"What do you want?" she sighed, sparing him a brief glance. He was
surprised at the look on her face - never had he seen Ranma like this,
never seen a depressed nor tired side to her. Was this what she was
like outside of school? Or at home? I really don't know much about
her, he suddenly realized.
"I. . . don't go, Ranma," said Hiroshi. "You don't have to leave."
"You're right, Hiroshi. I don't _have_ to leave." She turned away
from him. "I _want_ to leave."
"But. . ."
"But what?" she interrupted in a tired voice. "What's the use of
staying? So I can start another fight? Piss off Akane again? Maybe
ruin the night for everybody else, too? Yeah. Good idea, Hiroshi, real
good. . ." She gave him one last look through the bars of the gate,
then stepped away.
Hiroshi watched as his friend left. Damn, but it wasn't fair, he
thought. For once, it really had not been her fault; for once,
everybody _wanted_ her to beat up the jerk. If she had not been there,
Ryuta would have doubtlessly started the fight with somebody else - and
probably won as well. Maybe the party had been disrupted, a bit, but at
least no one had been hurt! No, decided Hiroshi, Ranma was not going to
leave that easily. She deserved to have fun, too, once in a while. He
slipped through the gate and ran up behind his friend.
She tensed as Hiroshi pulled her back with a hand on her shoulder.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"I'm stopping you from leaving, Ranma. What happened back there
wasn't your fault, no matter what anyone says! If you hadn't been
there. . . well, Ryuta probably would've beat up Daisuke earlier, and
picked a fight with someone else, anyway!"
Ranma shrugged her shoulders. "Probably. So what? I'm not
leaving 'cus of the fight, Hiroshi. I'm not even leaving 'cus of
Akane." Hiroshi noticed her face darkened as she spoke the last name.
"You're not?"
"Nah." She shook her head, and sighed. "But I realized something,
right after. I looked around, Hiroshi. Looked at everybody, looking at
me. And Akane. And I realized - I didn't belong there. Maybe Akane
does - she grew up here, she's gone to Furinkan all along, she grew up
with these people - but I don't. The way everybody was looking; not
like I was their friend, but. . . but like I was some kinda freak." Her
gaze dropped to the ground. "Like some kind of _dangerous_ freak."
"Hey!" protested Hiroshi. "That's not true!"
"Isn't it? Maybe. But if not that. . . then I was the guy who's
always fighting. Or causing trouble. I'm the cross-dressing pervert,
or the Casanova, the guy who's always arguing with his fiancee. Akane
and I aren't even a real couple - we're a sideshow to keep you guys
amused." She let out a deep breath and leaned against the outside wall
of Kiyoshi's residence. "I just don't fit in, Hiroshi. Those guys in
there, everybody. . . they're just not my crowd, I guess."
"Then who is?"
"I. . . don't know, Hiroshi. I really don't know."
He stared at his friend is disbelief. Was Ranma. . . lonely?
Hiroshi had trouble reconciling that idea with the attractive young girl
before him. Ranma had everything: the good-looks (as both guy and
girl), the skill, the strength, the charisma; she had three fiancees,
and other gorgeous girls chasing after her; she was engaged to,
arguably, the most popular girl in school, and Ranma, herself, was
arguably the most popular guy. How could Ranma possibly be depressed?
She could have any girl at school, if she wanted, or, for that matter,
probably any guy. Try as he might, Hiroshi could not understand. But
whether he did or not was not important; his friend was feeling down,
and it was his job to cheer her up.
"Listen, Ranma," he said, after a few moments of silence. "I don't
know about all that; maybe you're right, maybe not. But I do know that,
before Ryuta came along, you were having a good time. Weren't you?"
She seemed a little surprised. "Ye. . . yeah, I guess so. . ."
"Did you feel out of place? Like you didn't fit in? Didn't seem
like it, to me at least. We were talking, you were talking, hell,
everybody was laughing and drinking and having a good time! I don't see
what the big deal is!"
"But. . ."
"But what? So you had a fight with Akane! So what? You think any
one of those guys sitting around the fire hasn't had at least one
argument with a girlfriend? So yours are a bit more violent, a bit
more. . . vocal; that's just the way you and Akane are!"
"But. . ."
"No," stated Hiroshi, grabbing Ranma's wrist and pulling her
towards the party. "No excuses. You're coming back with me. You're
having a good time tonight, no matter what!"
"Hey! Waitasec!" The girl easily slipped her wrist free from his
grasp. "Listen, thanks, I appreciate it, but I just _can't_ go back
with you!"
"Why the hell not?" he asked, a little confused.
"Well, just look at me!"
He did so. He liked what he saw. "Yeah, so?"
"I'm a girl, stupid! That group around the fire - they're all
guys. It's an all-guy thing, Hiroshi, and I'm a girl. I don't belong."
With a snort of disgust he grabbed her wrist again and yanked the
gate open with his other hand. "That's a pretty lame excuse, Ranma.
You're a guy - we all know that! We don't care what you look like! And
we can get you some hot water from the house, anyway." He noted with
some satisfaction that this time, at least, she allowed herself to be
pulled forward. She had a thoughtful look on her face, and the
slightest of smiles.
"Ok. Fine," she said. "I'll stay for a little while. But forget
the hot water. Akane's in that house - no way in hell I'm risking
bumping into that kawaikunee, violent. . ."
"Tomboy?" supplied Hiroshi.
"Yeah. I'll just stay like this."
"'kay," agreed Hiroshi, leading the way.
"Oh, and, bud. . . thanks. I appreciate this."
"No problem, Ranma."
"And, Hiroshi. . ."
"Yeah."
"Would you mind letting go of my hand?"
He grinned. "Oh. Sorry."
They rounded the corner of the house. Before them, the party was
once more in full swing. The pool was splashing, the music was blaring,
and the guys were sitting around the fire. With a nod in their
direction, Hiroshi led the way. "C'mon, Ranma. You won't regret this!
We'll make this a night you'll never forget. . ."

Releasing a sigh, Akane stepped out onto the second floor balcony,
looking out over the backyard and the festivities. Damn, she was
trying, but she simple felt unable to relax! Stupid Ranma - leaving
like that, leaving her all tense and stressed out and. . . and worried,
she added with a frown.
Why? Why did she let him get to her like that? It was not fair -
he starts the trouble, yet she was the one left feeling guilty. The
jerk was probably over at Ukyou's, anyway, eating okonomiyaki,
complaining about his 'kawaikunee' fiancee to his 'kawaii' fiancee. Her
grip tightened on the railing. Stupid jerk! She glanced back into the
house, towards the party noises and her school-friends: the balcony led
into the master bedroom, and she noticed for the first time the
silhouette of a couple making out on the bed. She blushed and turned
away, but for some reason the afterimage remained with her. Akane
suddenly realized that she felt. . envious, of that unknown couple on
the bed. Kissing, hugging - what is it like, she wondered, to be
_close_ to someone, a friend, someone who cared for her? But I hate
boys!, she reminded herself, but it did nothing to alleviate her
melancholy. She tried to imagine her and Ranma in a similar situation,
and gave a mirthless laugh. Not likely. Stupid baka.
Maybe she could go for a swim, she thought, trying to distract
herself, then remembered that she would likely drown if she did. She
looked down at the pool enviously. One day, maybe. Wandering eyes
carried her gaze to the scene of the fight. The fight. What had
happened? Had it been Ranma's fault? Whatever had happened, it had
left him furious - she had seen the intensity, the savageness of his
assault. Whatever. She did not want to think about it, about Ranma.
Sudden movement caught her eye: someone joining the group sitting around
the fire the guys had claimed as their own. Rather unfair of them, she
thought. But. . . wait! She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out who
was sitting by the fire. It was hard, the light was directly behind
them, but. . . was that a flash of red hair?
And then a cry rang out, a chorus of 'KAWAIKUNEE!', and the figure
glanced back nervously. Their eyes met - it was Ranma, laughing. Upon
recognizing Akane, his smile faded. A moment passed, and then Ranma
frowned and looked away, turning his back to Akane.
Akane growled in frustration. Here I was, worried!, she thought.
And there's the jerk, yukking it up! Well, fine! If he can have fun -
then so can I! With an indignant sniff, she spun away and stormed back
into the house, ignoring the motions on the bed as she passed them by.

"Shhhh. . ." hissed Ranma. "You tryin' to get me killed?"
The guys looked at each other for a moment, and as a group,
shouted: "KAWAIKUNEE!", which quickly degenerated into a fit of
somewhat-drunken giggling. Hiroshi watched in amusement as Ranma,
laughing as well, glanced around nervously. For a moment she froze,
staring up at the house; Hiroshi followed her gaze and thought he caught
a glimpse of Akane. When Ranma turned back to the fire, she was
frowning.
"Hey, what is it?" he asked, nudging her. The conversation carried
on without them, Daisuke desperately trying to convince the guys that
_he_ had dumped his ex-girlfriend, and not the other way around.
"Nothin'," muttered Ranma in response. A moment later she turned
to Hiroshi with an intense look in her eyes. "Listen. . . do you have
any of that beer left?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess. . ." he answered, surprised.
"Would'ya mind if I borrowed some? I'll pay you back, I
promise. . ."
"Don't worry about it." He pulled one out, but hesitated before
handing it over. "Are you sure you want one?"
She nodded. Almost reluctantly, he gave Ranma the beer. She
immediately popped it open and sucked down half the bottle in a single
swig; it seemed Ranma drank the same way she did everything else -
wholeheartedly. When she came up for air her face wrinkled in a
grimace.
"What, you don't like?" asked Daisuke, leaning over. She shrugged
and took another drink.
"Say. . . you ever drink before, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, still a
little worried. He had the sudden feeling that maybe Ranma was not in
the best of moods to be drinking.
"Yup," she answered. "Remember that stupid Romeo and Juliet play
from way-back?" Hiroshi and Daisuke, and a few of the other guys who
were listening, nodded. "Remember that bottle of sake Kuno poured down
my throat?"
"Oh yeah!" said Daisuke. "So, what, that was your first time
drinking?"
"Well, as a girl, anyway," answered Ranma.
Daisuke looked at his friend and shrugged. It was not like Ranma
needed him to look over her or anything - she could take care of
herself, realized Hiroshi. He was not too sure why it was bothering
him; it was just that he had this nagging feeling that maybe she should
not be drinking - at least not until she got things squared with Akane.
That brought a grin to his face; if Ranma waited for _that_, she would
_never_ get to drink! With a shake of his head he decided to let it go,
and instead of worrying he sat back comfortably and drank a bit more,
and listened. The name of Kuno had come up, and everyone was taking
potshots at the oh-so-well-respected Blue Thunder. Ranma, in
particular, had some rather caustic things to add, growing in vehemence
as she started her second beer (this one donated by Daisuke). Seemed
she was quite tired of being groped by him, fondled by him, and having
flowers sent to her. When asked why she did not just tell him who she
was, or tell him she was not interested, or just beat him up, she
responded that she had tried all three, several times, sometimes
simultaneously - but he just refused to understand. There was a general
laugh at Kuno's expense, and the conversation moved on.
The time flew quickly. They talked, they laughed, they drank, wood
was piled on the fire as it started to burn low. From time to time
someone would leave, or someone new would join, and in a few instances
the newcomer was not from Furinkan; Ranma would draw a few odd stares
from them, but they quickly learnt that this lone girl was 'one of the
guys' and that there really was no reason to treat her differently from
anyone else sitting around the fire (in fact, she rather vehemently
insisted that they did not). One stranger actually made the mistake of
hitting on her; _that_ had been good for a laugh, as Ranma (once she
figured out what the guy was doing) shifted from extreme embarrassment
to righteous anger, and promptly booted him away. There were brief
lulls, occasionally, especially after someone mentioned something
particularly deep or moving (or what passed as such after a few drinks),
but eventually conversation would start up again. And no matter what
range of topics they passed through - be it school, teachers, parents,
sports, martial arts (initiated by Ranma, of course), Nerima, plans for
the future - they would always invariably return to the opposite sex.
And so they talked, and drank.
One particular comment caught Hiroshi's attention. Kiyoshi - the
party-thrower himself - had joined the group for a moment, and was
complaining loudly about his girlfriend, Kaori. He was not all that
popular of a guy, aside for his parties, but since he was the host,
everyone listened politely.
". . .and so she cancelled on me! Just like that! Broke the date!
And do you know why? I can't believe this - she ruined a perfectly good
date I'd be planning for weeks, and I lost the reservation money and
everything! - she said she couldn't come out because of cramps! -
because of her period! She said it hurt too much!" he said, ending by
mimicking a girlish whining voice. "As if! I know girls hafta deal
with that crap, but as if it hurts that much! If she just didn't want
to go out with. . ."
"Oh, shut up!" interrupted Ranma, sounding disgusted. "You don't
gotta clue what you're talkin' about, okay?"
"Huh?" responded Kiyoshi, obviously wondering, somewhat drunkenly,
who had interrupted him.
"If Kaori said it hurt that much, believe her, 'kay? 'Cus it does
- it can. Sometimes it ain't so bad - and some other times, well. . .
it is. You ain't never felt it, Kiyoshi - it bites, man. It really,
really sucks."
"And how would you know, huh?"
Ranma glared at him evenly. "Think about it. . ."
He did so, for a moment, and his eyes widened. "Oh. Ohhhh, oh
yeah. I. . . forgot." he ended lamely, and soon left. An uncomfortable
silence was left in his wake, during which Hiroshi leaned towards Ranma.
She was staring down at the ground, blushing furiously, perhaps suddenly
realizing that maybe she'd admitted a bit more than she'd cared too, and
probably wishing that she had skipped that last drink.
"So, you mean, you, ah. . ."
She nodded mutely.
"And it, ah, hurts?"
"Yeah. Sometimes."
"Sheesh. I never, ah, realized that, you know. . ."
She shrugged. "It's not something I like to talk about, obviously.
It's. . . it's kinda embarrassing; I'm a guy, but I gotta deal with that
crap." With a depressed sigh she drooped a bit, finger tracing an
abstract doodle in the dirt. "Hell, if it was just the pain, it
wouldn't be so bad - I'm used to pain, I can take it no problem; it's
the other stuff. The blood and other shit. Or the way it makes me
feel, right before. It really sucks. . ."
"My girlfriend says that sometimes it makes her cry, for no
reason," supplied a classmate from across the fire. "Well, sometimes,
anyway."
Ranma raised her head and glared at him. "I _don't_ cry!" she
insisted. "Men don't cry." Then she softened slightly. "But, yeah,
I've seen Akane act that way a few times. Really had me confused 'till
I figured what was wrong with her - 'till I felt it myself. Well, kinda
- it doesn't hit me that way; but I can still tell, I know it's
affecting me, I find myself acting. . . weird, sometimes, reacting in
ways I know ain't normal for me. It scares me."
Hiroshi looked at his friend with some surprise, as Ranma returned
suddenly unseeing stare to the dancing flames. He had had no idea about
any of this; everyone knew that Ranma hated turning into a girl, was
desperate to do anything to get rid of the curse - but it had never
occurred to Hiroshi that it affected her this deeply, so profoundly. . .
that it _scared_ her.
"That's when it really hit me. . ." Hiroshi suddenly realized that
Ranma was still talking, hardly above a whisper, more to herself than
anyone. He doubted than anybody else could hear. "When it happened the
first time. I was still in China, and there hadn't been any hot water
for a while. When the cramps started, I ignored them - I figured it was
the strange food, or something. And if I was a bit short tempered, or
depressed - well, I figured I had every reason to be. But then the
bleeding started. It freaked me right out. Pop wasn't much help,
either: first he was ashamed of me, and then, when he actually explained
it, he messed it up and ended up scaring me worse. But that's when I
first truly realized it - I was a girl. In everyway. Every month, it
reminds me of what I am - every month, it scares me, and makes me wonder
if I'm a little less a man, if a little more of me has slipped away,
has. . . has bled away." And then suddenly Ranma was looking right at
him, eyes burning in the firelight, very serious. "I don't know why I'm
telling you this, Hiroshi. But I'm trusting you, man. I. . . I don't
want anyone else knowing about this stuff."
Stunned, Hiroshi could only numbly nod his head. He was not sure
how he felt. Did he even want to know about all this? But he could not
help but feel a little honoured that Ranma would share something this
deep, this personal with him. Sure, the alcohol had probably been
largely responsible, but this still meant something. He wondered if
Ranma had even shared these feelings with Akane - if she even could.
When he looked back up, Ranma was answering another question. That
moment, that look, when she had been whispering and baring her fears to
him, was gone. There was the same slight roughness, that cocky
self-confident if somewhat discomfitted attitude that he used with the
other guys.
"Sheesh. Can't we just let it drop?" She was saying. "Yeah, I
learnt to keep track of that stupid cycle - my stupid cycle. I had to
suffer through a crash course in feminine hygiene, how to use all that
stuff and clean myself and everything. I think I woulda died if it
hadn't been Kasumi doin' the teaching. Can you imagine Akane showin'
me?" Ranma gave a grim chuckle. "Although if I hear Kasumi tell me
that I'm blossoming' again, I think I'll scream." She took a drink - a
long one.
"What about your mom? My mom showed my sister all that stuff. . ."
asked someone.
Hiroshi was not sure if anyone noticed the flash of pain that
crossed her face, or the sudden tightening of her grip on her bottle.
"No," she answered in a voice that sounded strained. "My mom. . . isn't
around."
"Oh."
There was a moment's silence. Someone elbowed the guy who had
asked the offending question, and there was a hurried exchange of angry
mutterings. Ranma did not seem to notice, submerged in a sudden
melancholy. Then she snapped out of it and forced a smile to her lips.
"So. Yeah. There ya have it. The bottom line is: it sucks. Tho' I've
got it easier than most girls, I guess - after all, if I can get my
hands on some hot water, it all just. . goes away." Then she muttered
something about stupid rain, stupid curses and stupider fathers, and
took another drink.
A hesitant question interrupted her complaining. "So. . . ah. .
what does, you know, it feel like?"
She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. She ended up just
kind of waving her hand around uselessly in a gesture meant to convey
something she could not explain. "I. . . I don't know. You couldn't
understand. It's well. . . well, you feel it in. . . damn. You just
don't got the right parts, you know? I can't describe it. . ." A
couple of the guys squirmed uncomfortably after that, and finally let it
drop. But Hiroshi had one last question.
"Ranma, if you have, you know. . ."
"Yeah."
"Then I guess that means that, as a girl, you've got, you know, all
the. . . parts, right?"
She stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah."
"So that means that, ah, theoretically speaking, you could, you
know, get. . ."
"I don't like to think about that," she said, glaring at him. "And
neither should you."
Hiroshi wisely decided to drop the subject. It took several
moments for everyone to pick up again, but eventually people were
talking, obviously trying to not think about Ranma's little admission.
She seemed all too happy to let it go and drink some more. She did not
stay quiet for long, however, as Toshi, who had disappeared for a while,
returned and sat down.
"So, Ranma. . ." he asked from across the fire, his speech slurred.
"You never. . . you didn't tell us. . . which girl it was you liked
. . . thought was cutest!"
The redhead blushed, her face already rather flushed from drinking
and her last contribution to the conversation. She had a slightly
glazed look to her eyes. She looked at the ground in embarrassment, and
mumbled something unintelligible.
"Huh?" asked the guy next to her, prodding her. 'We didn't get
that. . ."
"Ah. . . aka. . . Akane," she muttered, then glared defiantly (if
somewhat unsteadily) at everyone.
"I knew it!" cried the group, more or less in unison. "She _does_
like her!"
"Hey!" she exclaimed. "I didn't say that! I didn't! I only said
she was cute!"
"Sure, whatever!"
"No! S'true! And only when she smiles! And 'specially not when
she's chasin' me and tryin' to beat me or cook me somethin'!" Her
protests were overridden by laughter, and after a moment of false anger,
she joined in. Around that time Daisuke plopped down heavily next to
Hiroshi.
"Hey man, where were you?" asked Hiroshi, dropping out of the
conversation. Ranma was still protesting loudly his feelings for Akane.
Daisuke smiled. "Just checkin' on something. For later," he said,
then nodded towards the group. "What's up?"
"Nothin' much. . ." smirked Hiroshi. "Ranma just admitted that she
likes Akane."
"What!" cried Daisuke. "And I missed it! Shit!"
"Yo, Daisuke!" called out Ranma, drawing both guys back into the
talk. "What about you? Which girl you like? Which one you think's the
cutest?"
Hiroshi watched as his friend blushed, looking away. He was
curious himself - Daisuke never really spoke about it much. Except. . .
Hiroshi caught the brief, momentary sideways glance that his friend
tried to hide, and suddenly, he knew. He had almost forgotten,
actually: all the little looks Daisuke secretly threw her way, the
occasional subdued comment, the mild infatuation he seemed to have. He
could not help it - Hiroshi burst out in laughter.
"What? What is it? You know?" asked Ranma.
"Oh yeah! I know!" he chortled.
"Who?"
"Oh, good choice, my friend!" he said, slapping his friend on the
back. "Excellent taste in women, I must say!"
"Who is it?" asked Kenji, echoed by the others. "She good
looking?"
"You betcha! You even know her - she's at this party!"
"Really?" The guys started craning their necks, looking about to
see what had clued Hiroshi in. "Where is she?" Next to him Daisuke was
shaking his head, a slightly panicked look on his face, but Hiroshi
ignored him.
"Oh, she's closer than you think. In fact - you could say she's
right here. . . sitting with us!"
There was a brief silence, and then everybody's eyes slowly turned
to Ranma. She looked around in confusion for a moment, then down at
herself, then back up at the group. Her eyes widened in shock. "What,
me?"
The guys looked among themselves for a moment, then shrugged.
"Hell, Daisuke's got a point."
"Yeah. Cute face."
"A redhead! With long hair!"
"Nice legs."
"Hot bod."
Ranma stared for a moment in disbelief as they laughed. The oddest
expression crossed her face, profound embarrassment struggling with a
certain perverse pride. Apparently, ego was the stronger of the two as
a glimmer entered her eye. "What? Guys. . . I'm. . . I'm hurt!" she
said, arching her back slightly, reaching down and cupping her breasts,
lifting them a bit. "You forgot to mention how stacked I am!" She
grinned and took a drink.
A couple of guys spurted out their drink when they saw her
response; a few looked a little uncomfortable, squirming slightly, as
Ranma lifted her hands behind her head and showed off her curves, still
grinning. For a moment no one seemed to know exactly what to say, until
Hiroshi lifted his bottle. "Uhhh. . . yeah." he said, but then after a
moment's thought he smiled wickedly and added: "She's got a point! We
weren't doing her justice!" He turned to her and bowed slightly. "On
behalf of everyone here, I apologize." Then, returning his attention to
everyone else, he continued. "And on that note, I think we have a
winner, don't you think?"
There was a brief exchange of glances, at first confused but
quickly clearing up, and soon everyone's grin matched Hiroshi's. There
was general nodding all around, except from Ranma who appeared somewhat
confused. "Huh? Winner? What for?" she asked, stopping her impromptu
modelling.
Hiroshi smiled as he explained. "Well, you see. . . every year,
when Kiyoshi throws this party of his, there's a tradition we guys
follow ('tradition?' someone added, 'it's only the second time!'): after
much deliberation ('and drinking!' someone else added), we, the men of
Furinkan High, declare the official hottest babe of Furinkan. And you,
Ranma, by unanimous vote, have been declared that babe!
Congratulations!"
There was a round of applause, and then Daisuke stood up. "Well,
that's done," he declared. "Time for a swim, I think." There was a
quick chorus of agreement, and everybody leapt to their feet, some more
unsteadily than other. They were half-way to the pool change-room
before they realized they had left Ranma behind, still sitting stunned
by the fire.

"The guys are going swimming! Let's go join 'em!" exclaimed
Sayuri, turning from the window and back to her friends. A small group
of them - Yuka, Hiromi, Keiko, Akane, Akemi - were lounging around one
of the rooms of the house, loud and annoying pop music blaring from the
far end of the room (but changing every few minutes as two guys
clustered around the stereo continuously switched the CDs). The current
topic died as they responded with vigorous nodding.
"You coming?" asked Yuka.
Akane shook her head. She sank back into the sofa, feeling
strangely depressed and out of place. Somehow, her friends'
conversation had seemed less interesting, the gossip dull, their
problems and complaints relatively minor. Why? What had changed in her
life, that these classmates, friends for years, suddenly became less
appealing to her? All she knew is that suddenly, at one point, she
found herself wishing that Ukyou - of all people! - had been able to
come.
"Why not? Didn't you bring a swimsuit? I thought you brought that
red one. It looks good on you, you know. Very sexy! Red is definitely
your colour! Akane?"
Akane sighed. Yuka was a good friend, but, as she had recently
discovered, annoyingly talkative when drunk. Most of her other friends
were a little drunk by now as well; Akane was the only one who had
refused anything to drink. She wasn't too sure why. She had never
really experimented with alcohol much in the past and, somehow, tonight
had not felt like the night to start - problems with Ranma
notwithstanding. "Yes, Yuka," she answered. "I did bring it - you kind
of forced me to, remember?"
Yuka giggled and nodded. "That's right!"
"But I don't think I'm going to go swimming. I. . . don't feel
like it." I don't feel like drowning or embarrassing myself, she
mentally added.
"Aw, c'mon, Akane!" begged her friend. "You haven't even had a
chance to show it off!"
Another sigh. "I'm sorry. . ." she said. "I guess I'm just not in
a partying mood." She gave a slight grin. "Maybe I can get Ranma to
model it. . ."
"That's mean!" Her friend giggled again, then frowned mockingly.
"But. . . she'd probably look better 'an us! We can't have her drawing
the guys away, now can we?"
"No, I guess not." She suddenly felt annoyed at the idea that
Ranma probably _would_ look better in the red two-piece than she would.
Now there was a problem her friends probably never had to deal with -
having a boyfriend who looked better in your clothes than you did! She
frowned. As for drawing the boys away - heck, he had spent the whole
night with them, not even bothering to stop by and check up on her once.
That jerk. She spends the night worrying about him, hoping to catch him
sneaking in for some hot water, and he never even bothers to show. He
must have found his water elsewhere - would he have remained in his
girl-form all night, even with all those guys around? Even he's not
that much of a pervert, she decided.
"So, you're coming?" This time it was Sayuri, pulling off her top.
She was already wearing her suit beneath, a nice blue one-piece with a
black stripe across the chest, the midriff left bare. It accentuated
her body nicely.
Akane stood up from her place on the couch. "Thanks, really," she
said. "But. . . no. I'm feeling kind of tired." She looked around at
her friends. She felt a small hurt when she realized that none of them
looked all that surprised, or disappointed. Had she really been that
much of a drag all night?
"You sure?"
"Yeah." She nodded. "I. . . I guess I'll just head home. See you
on Monday?"
They nodded. After a moment of hesitation she turned away, somehow
feeling that she had missed out on something tonight.

"Hey! I might be drunk - but I'm not _that_ drunk!" exclaimed the
pig-tailed girl, maybe a little too loudly. "You perverts just wanna
see me without my top on!"
"Aw, c'mon, Ranma!" insisted one of the guys crowding around her,
while a few others snickered. They were all changed into swimming
trunks and were headed for the pool, towels wrapped around waists or
hanging over shoulders. It was Hiroshi who had first noticed that
Ranma, with a slightly disconsolate and wistful look, was not following
them. When asked why she was not coming, it turned out that for obvious
reasons she had not thought to bring a girl's bathing suit - and was not
about to go swimming in her clothes, or without a top (despite several
lewd suggestions to that effect).
She gave a crooked little smile but shook her head. "Sorry guys.
I guess I'm out."
"Are you sure, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, nodding in the direction of
the pool. "Sure looks tempting, ne?" The party was still going strong,
but the pool had quieted down slightly since earlier in the evening.
Already a few of the guys, shrugging, had left the discussion and made
their way over to the water. With a drunken howl Toshi launched himself
off of the low diving-board and cannonballed next to a small group of
girls calmly talking by the edge of the pool, eliciting a few outraged
shrieks. Giggling, he fled from their ferocious retaliatory barrage of
splashing.
Ranma gave a sad nod. "Yeah. But that doesn't change anything."
She gave a small sigh. "Listen. Hiroshi - don't worry about it. It's
not the first time I miss out on somethin' 'cus of my curse, 'kay? I'm
used to it."
"But. . ."
"Nah. Listen. It's not a big deal, really. It's getting late,
anyway. Maybe I oughta just head home." She glanced down at the mostly
empty beer bottle in her hand. It was her third - no, fourth. Fifth?
"I've probably drank enough as it is."
"Couldn't you just, you know," tried Hiroshi, gesturing around the
party, "just, ah, borrow a bikini or a t-shirt or something from one of
the girls?"
"Bikini?" asked Ranma, raising an eyebrow.
"Uhhh. . . you know what I mean!"
"Right." She tried a grin - one that almost, but not quite, masked
an odd sadness lurking in her eyes - and placed her hands on her hips.
"I think you're just trying to keep Furinkan's 'best babe' around!" And
then, a moment later, suddenly serious, she asked, "Why are you tryin'
to keep me around, Hiroshi? Not that I don't appreciate it, but. . .
why do you care?"
"Because you're a friend, dammit!" exclaimed Hiroshi. "What do you
think?" They were alone standing by the change-rooms, all the other
guys having already moved on to the swimming pool. A small halogen
light flickered from its hook on the wall, a moth sending
disproportionate shadows scuttling across them. "I'm just trying to
look out for you, man! You've never come out with us before, I just
wanted you to have a good time - to be one of the guys!"
She smirked and glanced down at herself. "One of the guys - with
these?" she said, gesturing at her breasts.
"Enough with the curse already! I already told you - it doesn't
matter!"
"But it does matter, Hiroshi."
"No, it. . ."
"Yes it _does_," interrupted Ranma. "Maybe not to you, Hiroshi!
But to them, the other guys, the girls at this party, to almost
_everybody_, it does! Sure, most of them know that I'm a guy, that I'm
really a man, but they don't _care_. Maybe you don't notice - can't
notice. But they act differently when I'm a girl. They do! When we
were all talking, sure, they tried, they pretended I was just
'one-of-the-guys', but they didn't believe it; I didn't either, even
though the beer helped. I could see it in their eyes, the way they
looked at me, looked me over - not as another guy, but as. . . as, as
the 'best babe'! No - it's worse than that. The guys here at the
party, those who don't know I'm really a guy, that I'm cursed, at least
they're honest! They really think I'm a girl, and treat me like one,
approach me like one. But the others, those who know what I am - they
_still_ look at me that way. Sometimes I think they're more interested
in my girl-body simply _because_ they know I'm really a guy. Maybe they
see somethin' in me that they. . . oh, I don't know! Maybe they think
it makes me more of a challenge, or somethin', to them: which guy'll be
the one to get Ranma in touch with his feminine side?" She gave a
little snort of disgust.
"That's not true!" retorted Hiroshi.
Ranma shook her head. "Ah, hell, Hiroshi. Look at me! Of course
they're interested! You heard 'em back there! I'm hot! A babe! Sure,
maybe they were joking, maybe it was all in fun, but they still meant
it! Every word. A joke? Maybe - but I was just startin' to really
feel like one of the guys, for maybe the first time, until you pointed
out Daisuke's little interest. It just reminded me: I'll never be 'one
of the guys', not as long as I've got this curse. And you don't know
what it's like, man. Having guys look you over: breasts, legs, hips,
ass, sizing you up. I'm almost used to it now - which kinda scares me -
but it still makes me feel queasy when I notice." She sank down onto a
convenient bench with a sigh, beer bottle dangling limply from one hand.
She passed one hand tiredly across her face. When she looked back at
Hiroshi, her eyes glimmered with - something, some emotion. Hiroshi
could not tell what. They certainly could not be tears - not from
Ranma.
"I can hear 'em, too, you know," she continued. "I've heard the
guys talking over the last year. Some think I'm a jerk. Fine. At
least they're talking about _me_. It's when they start referring to my
girl side that it bothers me. When they refer to it. . . rudely." She
shuddered. "I've even heard 'em say they'd be happy if I _never_ turned
back to a guy, if I was stuck like this forever." Her fist clenched
spasmodically. "They. . . they would just curse me, leave me like this,
without. . . without. . ."
She let out a deep breath. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry, Hiroshi. I don't
mean to lay all this on ya. I'm not even sure why I'm talkin' about it.
I'm exaggerating. It doesn't really bug me that much. Really." Her
head sank back until it rested against the smooth wood of the changing
room wall. Her eyes flickered, closed, and she sighed.
Hiroshi slumped onto the far end of the bench, one arm draped over
the edge. A certain awkwardness fell upon him. This was a whole new
side to Ranma, a vulnerable, pained side that, he suspected, very few
had ever seen. But what could he say? How could he possibly understand
what the curse felt like, what if felt like to change into, to _be_, a
girl? A certain guilt gnawed at him: Ranma had excluded him from her
generalization concerning guys, and how they treated her - but was he
really any different? Even now, looking at her - laying on the bench,
slightly turned towards him, smooth curve of the neck, slight straining,
pulling, tautness of the shirt across rounded breasts, a slight glimpse,
maybe, of flesh where a tie had come undone, knowing that beneath she
would not be wearing a bra - he felt a familiar stirring, similar to
what he would feel gazing at any attractive woman. No. He gave his
head a firm shake. This was his _friend_, a man, just like him, it was
the alcohol making him feel that way, making her seem so defenceless;
yet the urge was there, the image, of leaning over, drawing her into a
comforting embrace, allowing her to release her pent-up sorrow, and
then. . .
"Is this what most parties are like?"
He started. "Ah. . . huh?" He felt the blood rush to his cheeks.
Her eyes were open, half-lidded, staring upwards. They flicked his way,
briefly. Sounds of merriment floated over from the pool.
"Just askin' a question. Are most parties like this?"
"What do you mean?"
She sat up slightly, turning to face him, drawing one leg up
beneath her. "Well. . . like this. Just two guy. . . er, two people,
sitting around, talkin'"
Hiroshi smiled. "Yeah. Well, the good ones, anyway." He swirled
the little bit of sake left in his little bottle, then downed it in a
gulp.
"Really?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "The dancing and group stuff and partying is
all fine, but for me, any good party has a time when a guy and his
friend - maybe a few buddies - just kinda break away and talk, you
know?" He chuckled. "Bond, I guess. It's what guys. . ." He
hesitated. "It's what we do."
Ranma finished off her drink, then proceeded to idly twirl the
bottle at the tip of one finger. "Ah," she answered. After a moment,
she added, "It's just that, you know, I haven't really been to too many
parties."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Not even on your birthday?"
"Nah. Not for the last few years. Training."
"That sucks."
She shrugged. "I guess."
Silence. Not awkward, or tense, simply contemplative. Ranma spun
her bottle a few more times before snapping it into the air with a flick
of her wrist, deftly snagging it, and setting it down on the ground.
She sighed again and pulled her legs up to her chest. She wrapped her
arms around her knees and hugged them close. She shivered.
No, decided Hiroshi, it was just too difficult. Ranma was a
friend, a guy, a buddy; she was also a damn good-looking girl, cute, and
seeing her curled up in the corner of the bench, he felt this stupid
urge to offer her his jacket or something. Dammit, he berated himself.
Just forget it. You're here to help her. She trusts you. Don't betray
that trust. He gave his head a shake and decided that, for know, just
looking away might be a better idea.
But when he glanced back, Ranma had leaned forward a bit, chin
resting on one knee, gazing at him speculatively. It was a cute pose,
attractive. A curious half-grin played across her face. "You can't do
it, can ya?" she asked.
"Uh. . . ah, huh?" he stammered.
"See me as a guy." She shrugged. 'Don't worry 'bout it, pal.
It's not a big deal."
He shook his head unconvincingly in denial. "No, but. . . of
course I know you're a guy!"
"Really?" she breathed. Ranma snaked forward smoothly, uncurling,
sliding across the bench towards her friend. Her eyes burned with a
sudden passion; their mesmerizing half-lidded sultriness ensnared
Hiroshi. He sat, frozen, surprised, heart pounding in his chest. With
a sinuous, swift movement she rose above him, artificial light
silhouette, one hand resting firmly against the back of the bench for
support, the other held loosely behind her neck. Her back arched
slightly, top tie of her shirt slowly, accidentally unravelling; she
peered down at him, lips curved in a pouting half-smile. "What," she
purred huskily, "you don't find me. . attractive?"
"I. . . I. . ." stammered a flustered Hiroshi.
"See?" She giggled, eyes clouding momentarily, and she drew away,
pulling her legs up again and scooted back to her end of the bench. Her
gaze drifted off into the distance for a few moments, contemplatively,
and when she turned back to her friend, her voice was serious. "Listen,
Hiroshi," she said, "don't worry about it. The only guys I know who can
ignore my curse are the ones who wanna kill me. I'd rather have a
confused friend than an indifferent enemy." She seemed to debate
whether to add something, but fell silent.
After a moment's indecision, staring at the girl across from him,
he hung his head. "I. . . I'm sorry, Ranma." A slight queasiness
formed in his stomach. Though he may academically understand that Ranma
was really a guy, his body had had a pointedly physical reaction to her
sudden closeness - one he was still shamefacedly trying to conceal,
shifting uncomfortably in his seat. If I'm attracted to him, he thought
worriedly, what does that mean about me? Hiroshi suddenly had an
inkling of what Ranma must feel every time she underwent a change, every
time a man looked her up and deemed her attractive.
There was a rustling as Ranma uncurled and sat up straight. "Ah,
c'mon man, I said don't worry about it! S'not your fault I'm such a hot
little number!" she said, smiling wryly.
Hiroshi returned the grin. "You know, egotism like that can get
you hated."
"Bah. Who cares? I've already got plenty of rivals - what's a few
more?"
"If you say so. . ." Hiroshi gave a little laugh. "Hey, you know,
I just realized something."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. If I'd been talking to any other girl for this long -
especially alone like this - Sayuri would've kill me for sure!" He
grinned. "See! People might treat ya a bit different. . . but, heck,
they know you're not a _real_ girl!" Pretty lame consolation, but it
was something. Beside, Hiroshi was starting to feel good again. He
hopped to his feet. Looking over at the pool, he saw that some of the
girls had joined the gang. Sayuri was lightly stepping around the edge
of the pool, avoiding the good-humoured threatening splashes of her
friends. He turned back to his friend, who once again looked slightly
disconsolate. "Ranma, I'm. . ."
She forced a slight smile, and nodded. "Yeah. Go swim, Hiroshi.
Have fun."
"You sure I can't convince. . ."
"Nah."
"I think I understand why, now," he said.
After a moment, she gave a slight nod. "Maybe you do."
He took a few steps away when her voice called him back. "And
Hiroshi. . ."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
He gave her a long, serious look. "Any time, man." He placed an
emphasis on the last word. "Any time."
"Thanks." There was a pause. Hiroshi almost stepped away again.
Ranma's voice made him hesitate. "It's just. . . I don't know what's
with me tonight. All this talking. Whining. It's not me. I _never_
complain like this."
"It's not whining, Ranma," said Hiroshi.
"Whatever. But it's not me. . ."
He shrugged. "Ah, gee, Ranma, you've been drinking! You're just a
bit drunk, is all."
"Really?" One foot prodded the empty bottle sitting next to the
bench.
"Yeah." He looked at her. "You've never really been drunk before,
have you?"
She shook her head. "Aside for that play? Not really."
"Then don't worry about it. Some people get violent. Some people
get silly. You - well, you seem to get melancholy, or kinda serious, or
something. Introspective. Heck, you might as well enjoy it!" Another
splash and shriek escaped from the pool. Someone had just picked up and
thrown Sayuri into the pool. Ranma noticed his glance.
"Listen, you go," she said. "I'll see ya on Monday at school."
Hiroshi nodded, flashed her a smile, and stepped away. He thought
he heard her whisper something, before the splashing and laughing and
talking drowned her out: "I don't like being drunk; I don't like
thinking."

She curled up into ball again, alone. Chin resting on knee, eyes
closed, Ranma's mind wandered. Hiroshi was right. Something about the
slight fuzziness she felt, the detachment brought on by the alcohol,
relaxed her, left her. . . open. More likely to talk. Not good. It
was a weakness, something she knew one of her many rivals would probably
use to their advantage. Ryoga, if he ever found out, would probably try
to embarrass her in front of Akane, try to take her away. She smiled
mirthlessly. Amazing, how easy it was to admit that she liked her, when
drunk. No, she decided, I really don't like drinking.
Yet there was so much more she had been tempted to mention and say,
things a little nagging voice in the back of her head had forbid. This
same voice warned that consequences would follow from what she had
already foolishly told the guys - come Monday and school, there was
bound to be teasing, ribbing, mocking, laughter, locker-room pranks and
menstruation jokes. Somehow, it had been easy to ignore the admonishing
voice back then; worse, she knew with another beer or two, other topics
- deep-grounded fears for her masculinity, of her sexuality, her true
feelings for Akane - would no longer arouse its anxiety. She shivered.
She stood up suddenly. A sudden wave of dizziness struck her, but
she overcame it quickly. She grinned. I guess I'm not all that drunk
after all, she thought to herself, heading back toward the house. There
was a slight numbness, a pleasant tingling through her as she walked; it
seemed, when she turned her head quickly, that the world took a moment
to catch up with her eyes. People passed her by, and smiled, and she
smiled back without recognizing most of them. But everything was fine,
she was warmly happy, she felt good. . .
She shivered again, and her steps faltered, smile slipping. The
patio doors leading into the house were right before her; instead, she
stepped aside, leaned against the cool brick of the wall and slowly slid
to the ground. What was I _thinking_, she asked herself, why did I _do_
that? Joking with Hiroshi, leaning over him playfully seductively - it
had been spurious, a spontaneous act, Hiroshi had seemed so serious and
worried. And then. . .
Hiroshi had, comically, instinctively, flinched away from her
advance. His arm had skipped back, leaving the feathersoft brush of
fingertips across the back of her hand. No doubt he was unaware of the
contact, but. . . There had been a. . . jolt, discomfiting pleasure
shooting up arm, through chest, rushing to, ending at, in, between her,
her. . . A quick tremulous breath helped her hold down the shaking that
threatened to overwhelm her as she recalled the encounter. In the wake
of that fleeting electric sensation, she had become aware of a. . .
sudden rush? flush? warmth? tingling? through her, dangerously pleasant,
and far too. . . female in nature for comfort. It had been there,
passively, a soft expansive hum throughout the entirety of her body for
some time now; she had mistaken the warmth of drunkenness for the warmth
of arousal. She shuddered. Arousal. How - why? That feeling -
nebulous indefinable wash - she had felt once or twice before in the
past. It terrified her. But that shock, jolt, the resonating
escalating glow that followed, enhanced, the echoing pulse in her
breasts - her breasts! - was new, worse, impossible!
Even now, cool evening air brushing by, solid wall behind her, she
was aware of the strange, exhilarating, troublesome sensation fading,
dulling, but still present, threshold prickling of the skin and mind.
It was too much - brief, perhaps minor, but new, alien - too much, too
much. She had barely hidden her shock from Hiroshi, forcing a small
smile and then quickly withdrawing. Odd, though, that even then, after
a moment's hesitation, she had felt tempted to mention what had just
transpired within her to Hiroshi; something else the little voice had
fortunately clamped down upon.
Ranma sighed, closed her eyes. That moment of arousal was not the
only thing disturbing her. Immediately after, while trying to bury the
unwanted sensation, she had become aware of the small. . . problem, that
Hiroshi had faced. How could she not? She knew exactly what Hiroshi
had felt, had felt it herself often enough. He had been aroused, and
had found it somewhat harder to conceal than she had her own experience.
Releasing a whisper of a breath, an outward gasp, she slumped against
the wall, head back, turning, cheek pressed lightly against the cool,
rough surface of the brick, and shivered. I have that effect on _men_,
Ranma realized: at that moment, Hiroshi no longer saw me as a man, a
classmate, a troubled friend - he saw me as a sexual object, as sexually
exciting, as a _girl_, possessing something he wanted, desired, yearned
for, with his. . . his body. Her skin crawled at the prospect,
something deep down inside, the pit of her stomach, hurt, she felt like
curling up in a tight ball around the queasy ache. What did that
_mean_? That she could excite Hiroshi physically - worse, than he could
excite _her_, physically, as well? It was something she had been aware
of before, an ability she had even used to her advantage against her
many male opponents - but never had she realized the full import of what
it entailed. No, not true. She had never _allowed_ herself to be aware
of it, deliberately blocked out the realization, the acknowledgment
that, while in female form, she was something men were attracted to, no,
an object they _desired_. And was she. . . was she attracted as well
to. . .
"Hey. Hey there, you ok?" interrupted a voice. She glanced up and
saw a guy, her age, probably from a different school, looking at her
curiously, smiling, the patio door open behind him. "You drink too
much? Huh?" The guy smiled.
Her eyes narrowed. "I know what you're doing!" she growled at him.
"I know what you want!" She stood, glared, and brusquely brushed past
him into the house. Enough of this. Drunk or not, this isn't me, she
berated herself, I don't sit around and moan, whine and complain. The
heir to the Saotome School of martial arts _confronts_ her problems,
deals with them. No. _His_ problems, he emphatically insisted: this
body isn't me, these breasts and hips and. . and other parts aren't me -
and I know a sure fire solution for all this nonsense. If he was not
going to go swimming, he decided, if he was going to leave the party,
then there was no point in remaining female. Time for some hot water;
time to be a man again!
Only, looking back, hesitating, brushing the bangs of red hair from
his face, he realized he really would have liked to join his friends.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching upstairs, Akane
remembered that she had left her jacket and bag with her swimming suit
and towel downstairs. Tired, annoyed, melancholy and anxious to get
home, she quickly hopped down the stairs. She quickly turned out of the
sunken staircase - and solidly slammed into someone. Her victim
stumbled back and Akane fell, hitting her rump on the bottom step.
"Ow!"
"Watch it!"
"I'm sorry," she quickly started to apologize, lifting herself off
the stairs. "I. . . Ranma?" Her eyes widened as she realized who she
had run into to.
"A. . . Akane?" answered the redhead, equally surprised.
An awkward silence for a moment.
"You're still. . ."
"What are. . ."
They both stammered to a stop. Ranma placed one hand nervously
behind his neck; Akane wondered if she ought to be annoyed or not. She
was, from the slight pain, for having bumped into him, for being
responsible, and for Ranma ignoring her all night; on the other hand,
she felt strangely glad to see him again.
"A girl?"
"You doing?"
They both tried to finish at the same time. They both tentatively
giggled and relaxed slightly. "You first," offered Akane.
He smiled. "Oh, er, yeah. I, ummm, was just wondering what you
were doing. In a hurry?"
Akane shrugged. "Not really. I'm just tired of the party. I want
to go home."
"Ah." Ranma nodded. Akane thought there was something a bit odd
about him: his eyes seemed a bit blurry, face a bit flushed, stance
slightly wobbly. Almost like her friends upstairs. "Ah," he repeated.
"So, errr, you're leaving?"
"Yes." She stepped away from the stairs, beckoning for Ranma to
follow. They wove their way through the rec-room, several party-goers
already passed out uncomfortably (and uncaring of the fact) across the
floor, on couches and chairs. Surprisingly soft music was drifting from
speakers in the corner; a few subdued whispered conversations added to
the background noise. They navigated by the pools of light slicing
through the curtains from outside, eliciting the occasional muffled
grunt when they stepped too close to a sleeper.
They stopped outside the door to Kiyoshi's sister's room, Ranma
reaching out and tapping her on the shoulder. The redhead nodded back
at the minefield of exhausted partiers. "You ever been to somethin'
like this, Akane?" he asked, smiling slightly.
"No," she answered. "Not really." Seeing his curious look, she
added, "I mean, yes, I've been to parties my friends have thrown - but
none of them were like this. With drinking and everything, I mean. . ."
"Ah," said Ranma. "But - why not? You were at Furinkan last year,
right? The guys said Kiyoshi threw this thing last year - why didn't ya
come?"
Akane's expression darkened. "Dad wouldn't let me," she grumbled.
"He didn't like the idea of all these boys and alcohol around. Neither
did Kasumi. They couldn't stop Nabiki, but they could stop me! I was
so mad! That's why I wanted to come this year so badly, especially
after my friends told me how good of a time they had!"
"So why was it ok to come this year?"
"Because," she felt a familiar annoyance and flash of anger,
"because you came, too. After all, who'd try anything with my 'fiance'
around?" When would her father learn that she could take care of
herself? She did _not_ need Ranma to look after her, she could take
care of herself! She could handle any _boy_ who tried anything with
her! With an angry huff she turned away, not caring to see the
inevitable cocky, egoistical expression bound to cross Ranma's face.
Instead, much to her surprise, the girl's hand fell on her
shoulder, softly. "I'm. . . sorry, Akane. I guess that's why you
didn't want me coming, right? I didn't know. Really." There was a
brief hesitation, then a slight squeeze from the hand. "I'm, ah. . .
sorry." Akane's eyes widened.
"Ranma?"
The pigtailed girl gave his head a little shake. "Er, nothing."
"Did you just. . ."
Ranma smiled. "Of course not. C'mon, lets get your stuff."
After a slight prodding, a confused Akane slid into the dark
bedroom, her fiance following close behind. "We piled all our stuff on
the bed," she hissed. "Can you see it?" The pigtailed silhouette shook
a negative. It took Ranma tripping over a stack of discarded coats on
the floor to finally locate Akane's possessions. She grabbed her coat,
Ranma took the bag, and the two silently left the room. They politely
ignored the couple making out on the bed.
With a giggle, Ranma clicked the door shut. "Didja see. . ." he
started to ask.
Akane blushed. "You pervert!" she exclaimed, giving him a slight
shove. "You were looking!"
". . . my jacket?" he finished, grinning. "What were _you_
thinking about, Akane?"
"You didn't bring a jacket, baka!" Akane said, but smiled slightly.
Then she shrugged and brushed past the girl. "Maybe I was just taking
notes - you never know when it might come in handy." She left the
stunned redhead behind, glad that the darkness hid the sudden redness of
her own face. It took Ranma a moment to recover.
"Hey!"
"What?"
"You -"
"I what?"
"Notes?"
"Yup."
"For. . ."
"Forget it, Ranma."
"Wouldja please shut up?" mumbled a voice from around foot level.
Their discussion had carried them through to the centre of the impromptu
sleeping hall. Ranma shrugged and turned his attention to rummaging
through Akane's bag.
"Hey!" she exclaimed. "Get your nose out of there!"
He looked up, grinned, and continued. "Hey," he said a moment
later, "where'd you get this?" Out came Akane's new and slightly daring
crimson bikini. He held it up to the faint light filtering in from
outside. Slate-blue eyes widened at the smallness of the ensemble; the
colouring, though - a fiery orange-red at the top of each piece,
gradually darkening to a deep crimson, almost burgundy by the bottom -
he seemed to approve of. "Haven't seen this one before - kinda sexy,
ne?"
Akane blushed. "Gimme that!" she whispered, grabbing the bag and
its contents from Ranma's grasp. "It wasn't my choice. Yuka and Sayuri
kind of forced me to buy it. I didn't really want it."
"Really?" said Ranma. "That's too bad. I think you'd look great
in it. . ."
For some unknown reason, her heart beat just a little bit quicker
at those words. "You really think so?" she started to say.
". . . though I'd look better, of course!" Ranma finished.
"You jerk." She glared at him and spun away.
"Aw, c'mon, Akane!" exclaimed Ranma, hopping over a sleeping figure
and catching up a few steps later. "I was just kiddin'! Can't ya take
a joke?"
"Hmph," she responded, slightly disgruntled by the fact that she
knew it was true. Well, whatever. At least she had finally found
Ranma; now, the two of them could head home. She was a little anxious.
The party had not been everything she had hoped for, although she blamed
Ranma for some of that. But, she grudgingly admitted, that was not
entirely fair. The last year had changed her - changed her a lot - and
she simply did not have as much in common with her friends as she once
had; or, maybe, there had never been as much there as she had supposed.
Either way, she was tired and home was still a fair walk away. "C'mon,
let's go," she finally added. "You ready?"
"Huh?"
"To lea. . ." she started to say, then looked at Ranma. They were
standing by the patio doors now. The doors were slightly open. A cool
breeze swirled around their ankles. Faint, cheerful laughter and sounds
could be heard from outside. The redhead was gazing outside, a wistful
look in his eyes. "Ranma?"
Ranma was silent for a moment, staring into the night. Then he
turned back to Akane. "You, ah," he started nervously, oddly, "you're
goin' home, right, Akane?"
Her brow creased. "Yes. . ." She noticed a thoughtful look on
Ranma's face. He was looking at the bag in Akane's arms. "What?" Akane
asked suspiciously.
"So you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your bathing suit, would you?"
"WHAT?"
"Well, I wanna go swimming with the guys, and. . ."
The sudden, fierce feeling of betrayal and anger that seized Akane
shocked and confused her. Ranma kept talking, but the youngest Tendo
was oblivious to the words, trying to understand, restrain the sudden
fury that filled her. He was gesturing towards the outside, relaxed,
half-grinning, happy. It was too much. She failed to understand, but
expressed her hurt in the best way she knew how. "You pervert!", she
hissed, eyes flashing.
She immediately regretted the words. The sudden twisting,
torturing of his features, hardening of soft facial lines, the way the
easy pleasure faded from the eyes, the immediate tenseness of body, cut
her deeply - even as it gave her an unpleasant bitter joy. Ranma spun
back to her, surprised, and this one time her trademark insult seem to
have struck him hard.
"Wh - what?" he whispered, voice pained and devoid of the jocular
tone he had bantered with since bumping into Akane.
"You want to stay, don't you? What kind of _guy_ hangs around
other guys wearing a _girl's_ bathing suit?" As the words escaped her
mouth she knew she should stop, let it drop, apologize even - but she
did not. Her unexpected anger still simmered within, pushed her. "A
pervert! That's what kind!"
The pigtailed girl's eyes narrowed, face flushing unpleasantly, the
look of bewildered, stunned hurt turning ugly. He took a step - almost
threatening - towards her. "I'm a pervert, am I?"
And, surprisingly, Akane no longer felt like continuing the
argument. That sudden burst faded as quickly as it had come, leaving
her feeling ill and frightened and terrible. But - but everything would
be fine, she had called him a pervert countless times before, why should
it bother him _this_ time? "I. . . I just want to go home, Ranma," she
answered softly, bowing her head. Please, Ranma?
"Fine then. Leave," he hissed coldly. "But you'll be going home
alone."
She glanced up at him in shock. "But - but you're supposed to walk
me back! Father said so!"
"Hey!" he exclaimed angrily. "You wanted to come here, alone,
right? Well, fine. Then you can leave here, alone, too! You didn't
want me hangin' around you at the party? Fine! Then why should I hang
around you _after_ the party?"
"Ranma, don't. . . I'm sor. . ." she whispered.
"After all, being alone suits you, ne?" He threw his arms up
wildly, expressively. "S'not like anyone _here_," and he gestured about
the room, "cares if you stay or go." He gestured at himself and leaned
forward. "_I_ certainly don't!"
And the anger returned in full.
"You jerk!" she howled, and punched forward, target blurred by
watering in her eyes, not that it mattered, she never missed Ranma, not
when he deserved it. Only this time, she did miss; no, she registered a
second later, he had blocked her, effortlessly deflecting the wild swing
aside.
"I don't think so, Akane," he said. "Not tonight."
It took her a moment to overcome the surprise and irritation, to
think rationally again, to respond. How dare he have the gall to
actually stop her righteous retaliation to his words? "Yeah," she
sneered. "I wouldn't want to mess up that pretty face, would I? That
smooth, feminine complexion of yours. Might stop the men from chasing
after you, and you wouldn't want _that_ now would you?"
"At least I _can_ attract 'em, unlike a certain kawaikunee I know
who'll never get a guy unless he's forced ta be engaged to her!"
She ignored the barb, attacked the first statement. "That's right!
You _can_ attract them, you pervert! And you _like_ it, don't you,
Ranma, don't you?" She advanced on him, punctuating the statement with
a jab of her finger. "Some man, some fiance you are!"
Ranma's face flushed an ugly read, and he glared up at Akane before
spinning away, falling against the glass of the door with one arm,
clenching the frame fiercely. "I - I _am_ a man!" He grinded the words
out through clenched teeth.
With a snort of derision, Akane thrust the bikini in his face.
"What kind of man _wants_ to wear this, huh?"
"You know I - I can't just wear guy's shorts when swimming, I. . ."
"Swimming? Why, huh? Not done flirting with Hiroshi yet?" And
she knew that last one was unjustified, did Ranma and Hiroshi even spend
that much time together tonight? But it struck and hurt its target, and
the pigtailed girl flinched. "Maybe you _want_ him to make a pass at
you?"
Ranma turned away, stalked back into the room. Akane followed,
heady with success and released frustration. But when she came up
behind him, she suddenly decided that enough was enough. She softened
her voice, or at least lessened it, though without sacrificing an
authoritative tone. "So are you going to stay here? Like a girl?" She
held the bikini out to be taken. "Because, fine, here's my bikini. See
if I care, maybe you really _are_ a girl. Or. . . or are you going to
get some hot water, change back, and walk me home - like a man?"
Back still turned, crimson pigtail hanging limply, Ranma gave no
response, beyond, perhaps, a stiffening of his back.
"Ranma?" she prodded.
Still no answer.
"Ranma?" she tried again, this time louder.
Again, without a word, he ignored her.
"RANMA!" she screamed at his impassive back.
No answer.
"Will ya answer the stupid bitch," muttered some boy laying at
their feet. "Some of us are tryin' to sleep here. . ."
This time he responded. Turning quickly, smoothly, he reached down
and snatched the speaker by the throat, hauling him to his feet, grip
tight and bruising. "That's my fiancee you're insulting there," he
intoned. "If anyone's gonna insult her, it's me." He gave his victim a
shake. "Understand?" Getting a frightened approximation of a nod, he
tossed the guy aside. All around, people were standing, waking up,
propping themselves up on elbows to observe the argument.
"Ranma. . ." whispered a surprised Akane. But when he finally
turned back to her, and she saw his eyes, she knew that he was angry,
far angrier than he had ever been with her before; and she knew that
there would be no simple reconciliation for tonight's fight, that she
had somehow injured her fiance badly - and that the worst was yet to
come.
"And, man, is she _ever_," he exclaimed, gesturing widely, speaking
to the sudden audience. He advanced on Akane, eyes narrowed, cold,
voice colder as he addressed her evenly without inflection. "A bitch,
that is."
Stunned, her breath caught in her throat for a moment; she hissed
it out between tight lips, blood pounding, intense wrath reddening and
contorting her visage. "What did you call me?" she demanded.
He actually hesitated, uncertainty clouding his eyes. Akane
stepped closer. "Ranma? What. Did you. Call _me_?" Her voice rose
with each word, unpleasantly shrill and loud to her own throbbing ears
by the end. The front of Ranma's Chinese shirt twisted in her grasp,
fabric likely drawing painfully against his breasts as it bunched in her
hand. He glanced down at her hold, then slowly met her inflamed glare
with steady eyes.
"You're violent. You're ugly and mean and cruel. The name fits,
ne?" he said. With casual, obvious deliberateness he lay both hands
over Akane's. "I think you'd better let go, Akane." Eyes peering from
beneath red bangs hardened.
Her own widened. She knew the technique. A small twisting of her
hand, a half bow at his waist, light pressure applied to the wrist -
simple, painful, and he would drive her to her knees. The Child
Worships the Buddha. Never. "You wouldn't dare," she whispered.
One eyebrow arched. Fingers trembled tremulously but tightened
lightly over the hand. For a moment his steady stare cracked, begged
her to let go; when her fingers tightened in the folds of the shirt, the
weakness disappeared, determination resolved itself in his features.
With an utter lack of haste he slowly started to twist her wrist. "Let
go," he demanded softly.
"No," she responded.
He twisted further. Twenty, thirty, forty-five degrees: the first
phantom spasm of pain. Again, briefly, the pleading in his eyes,
quickly covered up. "Akane," he whispered.
"Do it," she hissed. "You can't."
Continue turning, wrist bending, forearm unwillingly following the
turn; ninety degrees, her grip now awkward, but shirt still grasped
fiercely in hooked fingers. His grip on her hand solid yet oddly shy
and trembling. A final exchange, unflinching stares. And then, a sad,
almost apologetic sigh, soft release of breath; the shivering left
Ranma's hold. She felt him push down.
She released his shirt.
He released her wrist.
"I hate you," she said. She turned, stepped away. An unpleasant
emptiness filled her as she massaged her tingling hand. Something was
gone, a certainty, a foundation, torn away by his newfound willingness
to force her down. Ranma was drunk, she now recognized the shift in his
demeanor, the earlier unusual looseness; but his threat had been
perfectly lucid. Inexcusable. "I HATE YOU!" she cried, spinning back.
"I'm sorry," he answered tonelessly. "I. . ."
"No!" She stormed back, towered over the shorter girl. "No
excuses!" She blinked, unwanted tears returning. "You bastard!"
"I wanted to stay, Akane. With my friends. Why couldn't you just
let me stay?"
"Your friends?" She nearly yelled. "Your friends?" And then,
almost a whisper. "Aren't I your friend too?"
He simply levelled a silent, steady stare at her.
"Thanks," she said after a long moment. Voice heavy, eyes hot,
throat thick, she pushed past him towards the stairs, pausing as she
passed by. "Thanks for totally ruining my night, Ranma." She thrust
the bag, the bikini within, into his unresisting hands. It fell to the
ground when he failed to grab it. "Here. Enjoy. I hope it was worth
it." Wiping the back of one hand clumsily across her face, she mounted
the first step.
"Akane, no, wait. . ." she heard from behind. A hand fell on her
shoulder.
"Don't you dare touch me!" she howled, spinning savagely, arm
swinging, dead weight slamming into Ranma upside the head. He fell back
with a cry, surprised, hurt. "Don't you _dare_ ever touch me. Never
again!" She pointed an accusing finger at his fallen form. "You. . . I
can't. . . no fiance of mine would ever _think_ of hurting me like
that!"
"Would said I ever _wanted_ to be engaged to you?" His voice
cracked strangely as he spoke. He knew where this was leading, she knew
as well, they saw it in each other's eyes, but the challenge had been
thrown, the words released.
"You're right, Ranma," she said softly. A voice inside her, buried
deep, cried out, begged her to stop. Don't, don't, not like this, don't
- but she was long used to ignoring it, and the hurt Ranma had inflicted
tonight easily drowned out the pained sobbing from within. "You're
right. Fine. Fine. Our engagement is over, Ranma. You're free. Go
snuggle up to Hiroshi, or some other guy, or girl, I really don't care,
I never want to see you again." She turned away and slowly walked up
the stairs. "Goodbye, Ranma. Have a good night."

Hiromi watched stunned from her seat on the ground, her boyfriend
wordlessly holding her hand. Akane and Ranma had just split up. Again.
But this time - this time it was different. Somehow she knew this was
not going to be resolved by Monday.
As she watched - as the whole room watched, silently - Ranma stared
up the stairs for a long, long time, or so it seemed. Finally, without
a sound, she picked herself off the ground, reached down and looked in
the bag lying by her feet. Ranma pulled out a red-hued bikini and
simply looked at it. She glanced once more up the stairs, back at the
clothing in her hands, once outside towards the pool. She bowed her
head, staggered slowly in the direction of the patio doors.
And then, as she walked, a trembling overcame her, grew, violently,
till she was forced to stop, whole body shaking spastically. With an
explosive release of breath she nearly doubled over, clutching herself
in a fierce shivering embrace, a moan, escaping, sounding nearly like a
tortured word - Akane; and then, uncurling, nearly incoherent keening
scream ripping from her throat, she smashed her fist into the wall.
Ranma gazed dumbly at the hole in the wall for a moment and then
slowly withdrew her hand. Without another sound she shuffled off in the
direction of the pool change-rooms.
"Shit," breathed Hiromi's boyfriend. "Shit."
She nodded, feeling weak before the sudden show of violence, left
drained as overly high tensions and emotions faded from the room.
Whispers, murmuring, louder commentaries and gossip and discussion
erupted all around. Shaking her head, Hiromi stood. She had to find
Sayuri and tell her what happened. She would want to know what had just
happened to Akane.

"Anything-Goes Special Manoeuver: Mirthful Otter Springing Double
Board Dive of Death!" cried out a voice breathlessly.
Hiroshi spun in the water towards the source, unconsciously
treading to keep from sinking. "Is that. . ." murmured Sayuri in his
arms, as a red-bikini clad girl cleared the fence in a single jump and
bounded towards the diving boards, pigtail streaming behind her. With a
yell the newcomer leapt onto the low board; she sprang off, hurtling
straight up, flinging up and over the high board; she landed at the very
tip of the second platform, and it bent, curved beneath the sudden
weight, almost to the breaking point; for a second she seemed suspended
there, frozen; and then, with a savage snap, the board flung her high up
over the pool. For a moment she actually disappeared from sight in the
darkness overhead, her gleeful scream the only sign of her presence, and
then, her spinning, flailing, twisting, plunging form reappeared,
speeding towards the water. People desperately pushed themselves away
from where they thought she would land as her compact form hurled
towards them, and then, at the last moment, she started to uncurl,
and. . .
There was a thunderous, gigantic slap and spout of water as she
slammed into the pool's surface. "Ranma?" chuckled Hiroshi, disengaging
from Sayuri's hold and drifting towards his friend, pushing through the
waves caused by her entrance. "Yeah, I think so. . ."
Ranma slowly drifted to the surface, face down. After a moment she
rolled over, exposing skin almost as red as the bikini she wore.
"Ohhhh. . ." she moaned.
"Nice bellyflop, buddy," smirked Hiroshi. "Impressive move.
Methinks the 'Mirthful Otter' might wanna practice that a bit more."
"I shouldn't have tried for that last twist," she groaned. "That
HURT! She allowed her feet to sink and slowly treaded water, turning to
face her friend. Her skin was still a delicate pink beneath the water's
surface. Hiroshi had a nice view of her as she moved away and drifted
towards the pool's edge, breasts just hovering half-submerged at the
waterline. That crimson bikini - where on earth did she get it from! -
looked just fabulous on her: simple design, a little too small and a
little tight around the breasts; the colouring suited her perfectly,
complementing or accentuating her hair. He found himself staring at her
shapely rear as she pulled herself from the pool, water cascading down
her back, material glistening wetly, bottom part of the bikini tightly
and firmly conforming to her shape.
"Getting a nice eyeful?" hissed a voice at his side. Sayuri glared
at him. "Done ogling her yet?"
He raised his hands in defence. "Hey, hey! I. . . C'mon, it's
Ranma! She, er, he's my buddy!" In response she dunked his head and
paddled away, scowling. He grinned at Sayuri's retreating back, which,
while certainly attractive, did not have that healthy, lithe beauty
which Ranam possessed. Wiping the water from his eyes, he shrugged,
acknowledging that, yes, he _had_ been looking. For some reason that
fact no longer bothered him. Perhaps it had something to do with the
couple of bottles of sake he had shared with his girlfriend in the last
half hour or so, or maybe it was simply a result of that last
conversation with his friend. Whether or not Ranma was really a guy or
a girl. . . she looked damn fine in that bathing suit. He propelled
himself to where she was standing at the water's edge.
"Isn't that Akane's suit?" Yuka had apparently wasted no time in
confronting Ranma after her arrival. "Where did you get it? Did she
lend it to you? Where is she? Hey, you know, it _does_ look good on
you! But, really, should you be wearing your fiancee's clothes like
that? Isn't that a little perverted? Do you share other. . ."
Ranma fell back beneath the barrage of questions and comments,
desperation in her eyes. Opting for a quick escape, she dived backwards
into the pool, and, with a few, strong kicks of her legs, sliced
underwater towards the middle of the deep end. Sighing, Hiroshi kicked
off the edge and followed. Yuka merely snorted at the retreating figure
that had ignored her and turned back to her friends.
"So you made it!" he said when he finally caught up to Ranma.
She nodded. "Yup."
"So. . . is that really Akane's bikini?"
A momentary blush, a momentary frown, and then she answered.
"Yeah."
"It, ah, looks good on you."
"Thanks," she answered, and grinned. "I think." Hooking a finger
beneath the material that bound her breasts, she tugged uncomfortably at
the top. "S'bit tight, though."
Hiroshi grinned. "Yeah, I noticed," and made an exaggerated leer
at her.
"Hentai!" she smirked, and splashed him. They hovered in a circle
for a moment, Ranma scoping out the pool and company, until she noticed
a few guys and girls heading towards them. One was Daisuke, who looked
pleased to see Ranma; the other was Sayuri, who did not. "Uh oh," Ranma
said. "I'm in for it now."
Hiroshi noted the angry expression on his girlfriend's face.
"What. . . it's your fault she's mad?"
"Probably," she said, nodding. "Me and Akane. . ."
"You mean. . ."
"Yeah, we got in another fight." She sighed. "Sayuri must've
heard 'bout it."
"Not again!"
She nodded. "Yeah. Oh well, shit happens."
"Ranma!"
"Hey, I'm tired of always treading on eggshells with her, man!" A
passionate, heated undercurrent filled and raised her voice. "I'm not
gonna live my life watchin' every word! I - I don't know why I put up
with her!"
"I though you said it was because you loved her?" Hiroshi smiled.
The smile was not mirrored, and she stared angrily at the water
directly in front of her as she muttered her asnwer. "Yeah? Well I was
drunk when I said that, 'kay?"
They turned as the newcomers finally floated up alongside them.
"Hey, Ranma!" said Daisuke, voice rather slurred and sounding quite
cheerful. "How's it. . ."
"Where's Akane?" interrupted Sayuri. There was a sharp, accusing
edge to her voice.
The pigtailed girl looked at Hiroshi's girlfriend for a long, hard
moment before answering in a strong, level voice that left little room
for argument. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it." she said. Ignoring
Sayuri's incensed stare she turned back to Hiroshi. "Hey, bud, you got
anything else to drink?"
"Don't you think you've had enough?" demanded Sayuri.
Ranma turned back to her, face hardening further. "Bite me," she
said. She held Sayuri with her gaze a moment longer, and then turned
her back and swam off, flicking her pigtail in the girl's face. The
small splash from her departure caught Sayuri straight on.
"I'll, er, go check on her, okay?" said Daisuke, made an apologetic
glance at the girl, and took after the redhead. "Hey, Ranma, wait up!"
Hiroshi floated up to his girlfriend, who was rubbing the water
from her eyes and trying to glare after the retreating pigtailed girl.
She appeared very upset, and returned no affection as he gathered her
into his arms. "Hey, you ok?" he asked softly.
"That bitch!" she snarled.
"What?" he exclaimed, surprised, a little taken aback by her
vehemence. "You mean Ranma?"
"Yes."
He tried a tentative smile. "I don't think that's quite the right
. . ." he started to say, then petered off when she gave him an
unimpressed glare and pushed away, turning her back to him. "Aw, c'mon
Sayuri. What'd I say?"
"I just knew you were going to try and defend her," she grumbled.
"What? But I - I'm not tryin' to. . . she's just a. . ."
"Buddy. Yeah, I know. So it's Akane's fault, right?" Sayuri spun
on him. "Typical. You guys always back each other up!"
"What, first she's a bitch, now she's a guy?" His voice he
purposefully kept light, but nevertheless felt himself coming to the
defence. After all, why should it be Ranma's fault? Akane was the
abusive, violent one in the relationship; sure, the guy could be a bit
insensitive at times, but she was the one that kept flying off the
handle at the slightest provocation.
Sayuri's eyes narrowed. Without another word she paddled off.
"No, wait!" exclaimed Hiroshi. He slid in front of her, rested one
hand soothingly against her shoulder, played his finger softly up and
down her moist arm. "I'm sorry, ok? Listen, honey, I'm not trying to
take sides here. Really. I don't even know what happened."
She softened slightly. "It's. . . well, I didn't see it myself.
But I heard that Akane ran off crying. Ranma said some really mean
things to her - mean enough that she killed the engagement."
"WHAT?"
"Yeah. Big stuff. That jerk." Her lips curved in a tight smile.
"Or, as I prefer, bitch."
This time it was Hiroshi who refused to respond. Twisting to see
his friend, he saw Ranma and Daisuke engaged in conversation. They both
appeared happy, smiling; but now, he wondered if Ranma's smile was
hiding a deeper sorrow. "Poor guy," he murmured.
"Poor _guy_?" asked Sayuri incredulously. "What about Akane? She
was the one who was hurt!"
"So was Ranma."
"Yeah, right."
"He was!" he exclaimed, turning back to her, taken aback by the
volume, the strength of his own voice. "She was!" Seeing the surprise
on her face, he calmed himself. "You didn't hear her tonight! She's
hurting - she feels alone and depressed and. . ."
"Ranma?" she said skeptically. "That Casanova? As if!"
"No, she does!" he insisted. "I - Listen, I also thought that way,
but, but she doesn't have it as easy as we thought! She's tired and
confused! She's. . . she's scared!"
"The mighty Ranma, scared?"
"Yeah, scared! Him. . . her - whatever. Her too! Like. . . like
- like how'd you feel when you had your first period, huh? Think it
went any easier for her? And at least you're a. . . at least you had
your. . ." And then, seeing her shocked, blushing face, suddenly
realizing what he'd said, he stammered to a stop. "I, I mean, she. . ."
Shit, Hiroshi thought, I just betrayed her trust, I couldn't keep her
secret for even a single night.
The little 'o' of surprise on Sayuri's face twisted into a nasty,
pleased grin. "She's had her. . . and it _scares_ her? Oh, that's just
too rich!"
"Hey, hey, no, wait!" he said, slightly panicked. "I promised her
I wouldn't tell anyone how she feels about that stuff - you can't tell
anyone, Sayuri, you can't!"
"Oh, relax, Hiroshi," she said. "Everybody probably already knows
about her little 'problems'. It's not like you guys were all that quiet
talking about it."
"No, no, you don't understand! Sure, she told everyone about her
. . . her 'girl' problems, but the other stuff, like that she was scared
and confused, and, and, really worried about it - that she only told
_me_. She asked me to keep it a secret! If you tell anyone else,
she'll never trust me again!"
Sayuri's countenance darkened slightly. "Yeah, and we wouldn't
want _that_ to happen, would we?" she said, a slight bitterness to her
voice.
"What?"
"Nothing." Without another word she presented her back to him,
arms crossed.
"No, not nothing!" He pulled on her shoulder; she resisted, but
the water provided lousy support and she spun anyway. "Something's
bothering you. I want to know what."
"You should be able to figure it out on your own!"
"Oh, don't give me that, Sayuri! How can I?"
"Well, gee, it's only been bugging me all night!"
"Yeah, but I've been with the guys all night, and with Ranma all
. . ." Seeing her arch one eyebrow he stopped, and grimaced. "Oh. Er,
you mean. . ."
"Yeah, I do. I don't care if you spend some time with them, but,
dammit, Hiroshi, you could've at least passed by a few times!"
"I, ah, I'm sorry?"
She floated a little closer to him. "You don't seem very
sorry. . ."
"But I am," he said, reaching up and wiping away a few droplets
from her face, smoothing back a wayward strand of hair behind her ear
with a delicate touch. "How can I prove it to you?"
"You'll have to think of that yourself," she answered, smiling,
drawing closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. Hiroshi responded
in kind, arms lying comfortably around her neck.
"Is this on the right track?" he asked softly, laying a soft line
of kisses along her neck.
"I'm not quite convinced you mean it," she said, legs curling
around his torso, water buoying her up. One of his hands played along
the open-back of her swimsuit, tracing the seams, the length of her
spine; the other treaded water.
"This any better?" The next kiss was on her ear, a brief nibble,
then lightly across her face, where small drops of water still glittered
against her skin. Finally his lips brushed gossamer soft against hers.
"Hmm?"
She sighed softly, lips parting slightly, eyes half closed. "Yes,"
she breathed, and embraced him tighter. He felt her breasts press up
against his chest, the sleekness of her suit, her damp, clinging hair
brushing against his hand now clasping her back; the smell of chlorine,
her wetness, moist hair, the night wind filled and aroused him. Pressed
fully against him, shifting her hips against his a little, she smiled
and repeated, "Yes."
His lips brushed against hers again, parting a bit more. She
responded, their tongues flicked, touched briefly, but, as he pushed
forward, she drew back teasingly, eyes closed, smiling. Hiroshi growled
in the back of his throat, moved his hand from her back to her neck,
held her head, tilted slightly, kissed again; this time they met, breath
hot on each others cool, wet face, embrace tightening, the pair
spiralling slowly in the pool, tongues meeting once more, and. . .
"KIYAAAAA!" Sudden water and strong waves doused them. Sayuri
lost her hold on her boyfriend, but, anchored to him by her entangled
feet, was unable to disengage; with a surprised cry she fell back and
sank beneath the water, one leg still hooked around Hiroshi. Wiping the
water from his eyes, he gasped and reached for her, yanking her back up
above the surface. She gasped in surprise, coughing, clawing clinging
hair from her eyes, blinking and looking angrily around for the
disruption. Said disruption surfaced between the two.
"Oops!" giggled the redhead. "I, ah, didn't mean to land so close
to ya!" Ranma stuck out her tongue at Sayuri and kicked off before the
furious girl could retaliate. "Hey, Dai! You were right! She's pretty
pissed!" she called out as Sayuri, furious, spitting up water, glowered
in rage.
"Ohhhh. . .That, that. . . _bitch_," Sayuri growled, and swam off
angrily.
Hiroshi sighed, glanced between his girlfriend, and his friend who
currently happened to be a girl, and wondered which one he ought to talk
to first.

Water cascaded off of her lithe form as she effortlessly lifted
from the pool, pulling herself up and swinging smooth, curvaceous legs
over the edge of the deep end. The redhead unconsciously tugged at the
strings of her top as she stood and talked animatedly with a classmate,
gesticulating expressively. After a few moments she shrugged, accepted
an offered drink and stepped away, laughing, obviously enjoying herself.
"What'cha lookin' at?"
Sayuri glanced up as a rather drunk Daisuke plopped down next to
her. Looking away, she muttered, "Ranma," and nodded towards the girl
as she clambered up the ladder to the high diving board once more.
"Ah, yes. Lovely, ain't she?" Daisuke grinned and leaned back.
She glowered at him for a moment. "Yeah. Whatever."
They both watched as she hopped off the board backwards, opting for
a simple, direct dive devoid of fancy twirls or spins, cutting
effortlessly into the water with only minor splashing. Of course, being
the showoff that she was, Ranma then leapt out of the water, probably
pushing off the bottom with inhuman strength, and _then_ performed a
flashy somersault as she rose above the surface.
"Just look at her," Sayuri muttered. "She just _has_ to be the
centre of attention."
Daisuke nodded, still grinning, but replied by saying, "Aw, relax,
will ya. She's just having a good time, ya know? Heck, if I could do
that stuff, I'd flip and jump around, too." Slicing back into the
water, Ranma started to cruise back and forth on her back, legs
propelling her quickly through the waves. "Heh. She's like an otter or
somethin' out there."
"Whatever," she sniffed, turning away.
"What the hell is your problem?" demanded Daisuke, and his voice
lost some of its lightness. "Let up on her, okay? What's she ever done
to you?"
She levelled a cold look at the drunken boy. "Nothing, ok?
Nothing." Sayuri turned away further, back to both Ranma's antics and
Daisuke's annoying prodding. "Just leave me alone."
There was a brief silence, but then his voice piped up again. "Oh,
hey, look. She's just jumped off the diving board again. Oh, splashed
Yuka with that one! And Yuka retaliates! They're splashing each other;
oh, Keiko just joined Yuka's side, and, and, yup, Akemi evens things out
by coming to Ranma's rescue! Gee, _they_ sure seem to be having a good
time!" Sayuri felt Daisuke return his gaze to her. "The other girls
don't seem to have a problem with Ranma," he said. "So what crawled up
your. . ."
"Shut _up_," growled Sayuri. "Go away."
"Nah," said Daisuke, and returned to his running commentary of
Ranma's actions. She felt her irritation rising with each word,
worsened as the little group floated by close enough for her to hear
their joyful cries. She almost screamed when Daisuke called out to
them, and they answered with a spout of water, splashing her
accidentally. Just as she was about to spin and tell Daisuke off for
good, Sayuri saw Hiroshi emerge from behind the bushes and head towards
her.
"Oh, wow, _that_ feels better," he said, smiling, adjusting his
swimming trunks. A moment later a look of concern flashed across his
eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, kneeling down before his
girlfriend. "You ok?"
Despite herself, Sayuri smiled slightly. Whatever other faults
Hiroshi might have as a boyfriend, being attentive and caring was not
among them. Maybe not the most attractive guy she had ever dated, but
certainly one of the sweetest and gentlest. And - her smile grew - a
damn fine kisser, too. She shook her head. "Nothing," she said, and
took his hand and pulled him up. Smiling he rose and settled in next to
her, cuddling up, and she ruffled his blond, curly hair.
"Oh, ok," he said, and hugged her with the one arm. He smoothed
back her still-damp hair and kissed her on the cheek. "You havin' a
good night?"
"It's getting better now that you're back," she started to say,
turning into the kiss, when Daisuke interrupted.
"Yo! 'Roshi! Check this out!" he exclaimed.
Hiroshi twisted away from an annoyed Sayuri and looked over at the
pool. "Hey, cool," he said, and glanced once at his girlfriend. "Hey,
Sayuri, lookit this! Ranma's. . ."
"Ohhhhh," she cried. She leapt from her foot and stamped one foot
angrily. "I've had _enough_ of that stupid redhead!" Without waiting
for a reply she stormed away, ignoring the surprised cry from behind
her. Only once she escaped the confines of the pool area did she slow,
hugging herself against the growing, chill wind, pulling her towel
tighter around her. She shivered.
A moment later a pair of arms encircled and drew her into an
embrace from behind. "Hey. What's wrong?" Hiroshi. For a moment she
considered ignoring him, or breaking angrily away; instead, after a
sigh, she relaxed and fell back against him. His chin rested gently on
the top of her head and he hugged her tighter.
"I. . . oh, I don't know," she finally said. "She just irritates
me! Something about her just, just - just bugs the hell out of me!"
A silent moment, and then she felt him nod slightly. "Ok." Still
holding her from behind, he gently led her towards a nearby pair of
chairs left sitting out by the patio doors. After another tender
squeeze they separated and sat. He looked down at the ground and
shuffled his feet slightly - a little habit of his when deep in thought
that she found endearing - and finally focussed his attention back on
her. Hiroshi looked quite serious, and concerned, and remarkably sober;
Sayuri realized it had been a while since he had touched anything to
drink. "Why?" he eventually asked, reaching and holding one of her
hand, rubbing its back gently .
Sayuri shrugged. "I don't know!" she said. "Really. I guess - I
guess it's just the way she just waltzes in here, I mean, she didn't
even grow up with any of us, she's been here less than a year, she never
even hangs out with us. . . but she just walks in and becomes the centre
of the whole stupid party. I mean, she's not even a real girl! But,
dammit, she steals the guys' attention away, she steals _my_ friends
away - hell, she even drives Akane away, and no one seems to care!"
To her surprise, Hiroshi actually smiled slightly at her comments.
"Heh. I think you've finally got an idea of how us guys feel about her.
I mean him." He shook his head. "Oh, whatever."
"No, no," she answered. "It's not the same! I mean. . ."
"Of course it's the same!" he said. Hiroshi pulled his chair a bit
closer. "You're jealous!"
"WHAT?" she exclaimed.
He shrugged. "Of course you are! Hell, he, errr, she's, better
looking than you! Heck, the guys voted her 'Best Babe of Furinkan High'
tonight - and, let's face it, with good reason! How can any of you hope
to compete with legs like hers, a chest like hers? Ranma's in top shape
without looking gross, she's got great curves in all the right spots,
she's a great athlete, we know she can cook, and that she can. . ."
"Hi - ro - shi. . ." Sayuri growled, snatching her hand away.
"No, wait!" he said, raising his hands placatingly. "Hear me
through! The guys feel the same way about him! Hell, he's better
looking than us, judging from the way you girls react; he outdoes any of
us, easily, in any sport; he's in better shape that we'll _ever_ be, and
could kick the crap out of us if he ever wanted to - but he doesn't
because, despite everything, he's really not that bad of a guy. A bit
arrogant, sure, but why shouldn't he be? Anytime a new girl shows up,
she gravitates towards him; and anytime there's a serious problem, he
gets to be the hero and fix it." He shrugged. "Of course you're
jealous. _I'm_ jealous!" And then he smirked slightly. "But you know
what? I don't envy the guy, not really. Not after tonight. The shit
that comes along with all that is too much. The price is just too
high."
A cool wind blew by once more, and she shivered unconsciously.
There was something about his words that rang true, and she could see
where he was coming from; but despite all that, Sayuri found that she
still greatly disliked Ranma. Maybe it was not an entirely rational
feeling, but then again, feelings rarely were. But she could tell the
subject was important to Hiroshi: he cared for her, obviously, but Ranma
was his 'buddy', and Hiroshi obviously hoped that his friend and his
girlfriend could at least get along. So, with a sigh, she decided that,
for tonight at least, she might as well let go of some of her hostility.
She nodded. "Maybe you're right," she finally said, and then, leaning
forward, added, "You're sweet, you know that?"
"Yeah," he answered, smiling, pulling her off her seat. She
settled into his lap and cuddled up to him.
"I'm still a bit miffed about that comparison thing," she said.
"You sure I'm not better looking than her?"
"Yup," he answered, voice teasing.
She pulled back and pouted. "I'm hurt!"
"The difference is," he said, pulling her back, "is that with
Ranma, if I tried this," and he laid a gentle kiss on the soft curve of
her neck, "or this," and his hand played along her back, sliding rather
low over the surface of her bathing suit, "or, most certainly, _this_,"
and, as he brought his lips to hers, his other hand smoothly passed
lingeringly across her breasts, "I'd get killed." He squeezed one
breast softly through the slippery one-piece, as lips parted and his
tongue slid into her mouth.
Several moments later when they finally broke the kiss, she let out
a pleased sigh. "Ah. I guess it's ok, then." She playfully tweaked
his cheek. "Pretty daring tonight, aren't we," she said, clasping the
one probing hand to her chest.
Hiroshi had the decency to blush. "I, ah, I. . ."
"Don't worry about it," she murmured huskily. "It felt kind of
nice."
"It, it did?" he said, voice a little squeaky. She smiled at his
nervousness; the earlier confidence possessed during talking seemed to
have evaporated. Probably had something to do with his obvious
excitement, judging from the unsubtle newfound bump in her shifting
seat. This was a step forward in their relationship, Sayuri realized.
Sure, they had kissed before, hugged, held hands - but nothing very
physical beyond that; and it was a hesitant step for herself, as well.
No boy had ever touched her with the intimacy she was about to allow
Hiroshi.
"Yes." This time being the gentle one, she took the hand from her
chest and brought it to the area of her midriff that the bathing suit
left exposed. His touch was slightly clammy against her skin. Fighting
down her own nervousness, she led his fingers to the edge of her suit
and slid the tips of his fingers beneath the taut bluish material. "But
I can't really feel you through this," she added, rubbing the cloth,
then pushing his hand further in, fingers approaching her breasts, voice
slightly trembling.
With slightly terrified eyes he leaned in closer. Their mouths met
once more, deep, passionate kiss, she felt his hand slide fully beneath
her top, reach and caress the bottom of her right breast, sending a
pleasant, fiery tingle through her; and then, breath heavy on each
other's face, the embrace tightened, kiss deepened, fingers anxiously
yet curiously massaging her chest, thumb pressing in, rubbing against
her nipple, strange and rough but nice presence of a boy's touch upon
her, wonderfully pleasant sensation rising, and. . .
"Hey, yo, Hiroshi, what'cha. . . Woopsy!" intruded a decidedly
unwanted female voice.
She pulled back, growling in frustration and extreme annoyance. If
Ranma - if anyone! - interrupted them _one_ more time, she would scream!
Hiroshi seemed a bit miffed, too, as he turned to the intruding redhead.
"Ranma, please," he snapped.
"Hey, hey!" she said. "No prob! Just headed for the can, anyway!"
she said, grinning. Ranma had pulled on her red Chinese shirt, leaving
it hanging open over the still damp bikini. She leaned in close. "I
can't just piss behind the bush like the rest of the guys, ya know?"
The reek of alcohol wafted from the girl, riding her breath.
"Ugh, gee, Ranma!" Hiroshi exclaimed. "How much have you been
drinking?" he said, pushing her away.
She looked hurt - for all of a second - then shrugged and giggled.
"I dunno!" A half-filled glass with some amber liquid was raised in
mock salute. "I don't even know what this stuff is! People've been
really nice, ya know?" Again she pulled in close, voice dropping to a
loud conspiratorial whisper. "S'cus they know me 'n Akane broke up."
She sniffed. "She was right ta dump me, ya know. I almost hurt her.
But I didn't. I's bluffin'. I could never hurt her, I'd never hurt
her, I'll _kill_ anyone who tries t'a touch her. . ." and her voice grew
vicious and loud by the last, then immediately died to a whisper, "but
she don't know that. And now she's gone." She sniffed once more,
glanced at her glass, and threw it all back with a single gulp. Ranma
rose to her feet - swayed slightly - then grinned wildly. "Gee! That
last drink of Daisuke's tore right through me! I gotta go potty! Bai
bai!" She waved and stumbled off, passing through the patio doors.
The couple looked at each other after Ranma left.
"Wow. She's pretty messed up," said Sayuri.
Hiroshi nodded wordlessly and stared back into the house.
"You going after her?" she asked, almost in a sigh.
And, to her surprise, he shook his head. "Nope," he said. "What
can I do? This - this is her problem. She's gotta deal with it
herself. Besides, it's Ranma, she'll be fine." He stared off in the
direction she went for a moment longer, then turned back to his
girlfriend. With a goofy lecherous grin, he tugged her tightly up
against him. "Besides," he whispered, "I'd much rather continue here
. . . it's, um, a _lot_ more interesting. . ."
With a blissful smile she reached for another kiss, and quickly
picked up where they had left off. No one bothered them this time and,
quite some time later, Sayuri decided that tonight had turned out to be
a damn fine party after all.

With weaving, woozy steps, the drunken pigtailed girl wound his way
through the house. Somehow Ranma found his way upstairs, only stumbling
once on the way up. Uncertain steps brought him to a couch, which he
sank into gratefully. A moment's blurry rest, and then the increasing
pressure on his bladder reminded him of why he was in the house in the
first place, and he staggered back to his feet. He looked around
dazedly, not actually knowing where the washroom was. The few people
still awake in the room looked at the redhead curiously and then
returned to their hushed discussion. They were sitting by the stereo
and listening to soft music, nursing glasses of what was apparently
water.
Shrugging and still grinning stupidly, he chose a direction at
random and wandered off. I wonder if this is what Ryoga usually feels
like, Ranma thought to himself, and giggled. Hurried, unsteady feet
carried him through the kitchen - past cluttered, messy counters covered
with dozens of dirty glasses, bottles, and cups scattered among spills,
blobs of chips and dip, and little fruit wedges - into an empty dining
room, and finally down a hallway to the bedrooms.
"Ya lookin' for the bathroom?"
Ranma stopped, suddenly noticing the girl leaning against the wall
next to a closed door. He nodded. "Yeah. S'this it?"
"Yup. But yer gonna hafta wait - s'busy!"
"'kay!"
The girl smiled and stuck out her hand. "Megumi. Tomoboki."
"Ranma. Furinkan." He took the offered hand and shook. Loud,
hacking retching sounds emanated from behind the door. The two girls
winced.
"That's my Seiji," said Megumi, looking slightly annoyed. "Never
knows when to stop."
"Ah," said Ranma, and hesitated, unsure of what else to add.
A few moments passed until the sounds died out from within. The
girl shook her head. "Stupid baka," she said, then turned her attention
back to Ranma. She gestured at the bikini. "Went swimming?"
"Yeah." Ranma nodded.
"Nice bikini. Red suits ya."
Ranma blushed. "Er, ah. . . thanks." He looked Megumi over,
feeling he ought to return the compliment. Long, straight raven hair
that fell to mid-back, striking against her pale skin, was pulled away
from her forehead and kept tucked behind small, pierced ears. Dark
eyes, large and friendly-looking, gazed from a thin, angular face; then
she smiled casually and it softened her features, and Ranma decided that
she was cute. She seemed a bit older, closer to Nabiki's age, or even
Kasumi's, than to his own. She was also tall - well, _everyone_ seemed
tall to Ranma when he was in girl-form, he grumbled - and slender, short
black skirt leaving her legs bare. "Nice, um, blouse," he added,
indicating the simple, loosely-fitting white shirt she was wearing.
"Ain't it?" she asked, grinning. "Seiji bought it for my birthday.
That your boyfriend's shirt?"
"What?"
"Well, it's kinda big for ya, ne? I figured he lent it to ya or
somethin'." Megumi shrugged. "Sorry if I. . ."
"Ah, no, no, you - you're right." Ranma flushed, feeling a bit
awkward and embarrassed, but not up to getting into a detailed
explanation of his life. Besides, he decided, it was kind of nice to
talk to a girl who was not interested in marrying him, or hurting him,
or who even knew about the curse. "S'my boyfr - er, yeah, s'his."
Megumi looked around for a second. "Yeah? So where is he?"
Ranma's countenance darkened. "Gone. We had a fight. Sh - he
took off."
The dark-haired girl's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh! Oh, I'm
sorry! I didn't mean. . ."
"No, no, s'ok," started Ranma, shaking his head. But it was _not_
ok, and a savage pain that the alcohol had totally failed to drown
returned. Akane, Akane, why? An image of her whirling, face twisted
with rage, deservedly hitting him and screaming at him and leaving him,
reared up in his mind; taking a deep shuddering breath he leaned back
against the wall and closed his eyes.
A moment later he felt a comforting arm embrace her around the
shoulder. "Aw, shit, I didn't mean to - listen, Ranma, I'm sorry."
He desperately shook his head, summoning all the resolve he could
muster and pushing down on the emotions that threatened him; he took a
bitter pleasure in reducing the overwhelming wash of depression to a
mere trembling of his lower lip. "No, no -", he said, feebly trying to
get Megumi to release her grip. "It's - s'nothin', really. . ."
"It's not _nothing_, girl," the taller girl insisted, and merely
hugged him tighter.
"No - I - please, just let me go," he begged, feeling his control
erode, the last thing he wanted right now was compassion, he _deserved_
what Akane had done, every insult and punch, she was right to have
broken the engagement, and now she was gone and there was no way, no
_way_ things could be patched up after this argument, not after what he
had done. . . "You - you don't understand!"
"Tell me."
And, for some reason Ranma could not understand, he did. Somehow
he managed to avoid revealing his true gender, and Akane's; or, if he
did, Megumi glossed over it, or simply did not care. He started
hesitantly, not even sure where to begin, but soon the words began to
tumble out quickly and desperately. Most of what he said was no doubt
incoherent, or muffled and slurred beyond recognition, and Ranma
realized that it was not important, that merely _speaking_ them was a
relief. Self-recrimination and loathing oozed from every word; anger
and fury at Akane's barbs underscored them. And then at some point
Ranma started crying without realizing, tears freely running down his
face and blurring his vision; but he kept talking, and talking, and as
he wound down, words emerging in hot, gasping sobs, he found his face
buried in the girl's shoulder, kneeling on the ground, held in her arms,
and felt weak and tired. "And, and. . ." he tried to add, face burning,
not with shame at his collapse, but with release.
"S'okay," assured Megumi, soothingly petting down the redhead's
hair. "S'okay." For a long moment Ranma remained huddled there, slowly
relaxing and calming down, drawing some strange strength from the girl's
embrace until, finally, he was released and fell back. "You feel better
now?"
Ranma nodded. He wondered if he ought to be ashamed. This was
exactly what he had been afraid of - he had felt his normal inhibition
drop from drinking, had been afraid of what might happen if he drank
more - but _this_, this total loss of control, this collapsing into a
stranger's arms, girlish sobbing and crying, so unmanly and. . . and
_not_ embarrassing, he realized. He knew he should be, but he was not.
The pain was still there, the ache and feeling of loss, but the tension
had been released. For now, anyway. Wiping the tears from his eyes and
peering blearily at his unexpected friend, he tried a tentative smile
and gave a slight nod. "Ye - yeah," he sighed.
"You - you really love him, don't you?" asked Megumi tentatively.
And for once, slumped on the ground, bitter tears of loss and anger
still drying on his face, the tight, stabbing pain still nascent and
very much real, Ranma could not, would not deny his feeling. Maybe it
was too late, maybe his stupidity and stubbornness had cost him Akane,
but at least once, now, to this complete stranger, he would speak the
truth. "Yes," he said miserably.
"First one?"
Ranma nodded his head sadly.
"Aw, gee, that sucks," she said sincerely. "But, listen, don't
worry 'bout it. I won't lie, it's gonna hurt for a while, but it'll get
better, eventually. It will! Maybe you'll get back together. Maybe
you won't. But it's not the end. . ."
This time Ranma shook his head despairingly. "No - you, you don't
understand," he started.
Megumi kneeled down before the distraught girl, laying a comforting
hand on one shoulder. "Yes, I do," she said. "Really. I've been
through it - most girls have. It sucks, it hurts, but it happens. And
if he's stupid, and doesn't come back, then, heck, screw him! He's an
idiot!" She grinned and an uplifting note filled her voice. "Heck,
look at you! You're cute! You're attractive! If he doesn't come back,
or waits too long - heh, well, I don't think you'll have too much
trouble finding another guy, ne?"
He smiled wanly, not entirely thrilled at the prospect, but at
least appreciative of the girl's efforts. Oddly enough, though, her
comment was true: there were, after all, three other fiancees waiting in
the wings. But - but they were not Akane. "Yeah, I guess," he
muttered.
"That's the way," she said. "Feel better now?"
Ranma nodded.
"Good," she said, and stood up. "I think you needed that."
"Uh-huh," he agreed. He tried standing but still felt weak. "This
cryin' stuff's tiring," he said, reaching towards Megumi. With a kindly
smirk she reached down and helped the exhausted girl up. After finding
his somewhat wobbly feet he decided that maybe he had drank just a tad
too much and leaned weakly against the opposite wall. His newfound
friend resumed her position across from him.
"I - thanks," added Ranma after a moment. "I - that was - I. . ."
"Don't worry 'bout it," insisted Megumi, waving it off. "Shit
happens. Hey, maybe you'll be there for me when this bozo," she jerked
her thumb at the bathroom door, "dumps me."
Ranma shook his head. "He won't dump ya," he assured her, "not if
he's got half a brain."
Megumi grinned, and so did Ranma. A moment later, his smile
wavered and fell.
"What?" asked the tall girl, as Ranma's expression turned to one of
concern and pain. "What's wrong?"
"I - I kinda forgot with all that mushy stuff," said Ranma in a
strained voice, "but now I _really_ hafta go to the bathroom!" Megumi
smiled and turned to the bathroom door. She rapped on it with some
force, while crying out, "Hey, Seiji! Ya almost done in there?"
Fortunately Seiji _was_ done, and the door opened. A tall lanky
boy that Ranma recognized from Furinkan stumbled out, looking slightly
green and wiping the back of one hand across his mouth. His girlfriend
caught him and helped keep him upright. The redhead dashed by into the
bathroom, but hesitated at the threshold. "Megumi - thanks. You really
helped me here. I swear, I promise, if you ever need my help - just
ask. Ranma Saotome always remembers a friend."
"Hey, ya don't hafta be so serious!" she said. "I was glad ta
help!" And then, glancing at her partner, she added, "But, yeah, see ya
later, 'kay Ranma? Think it's time Seiji and I head home. Bye!" She
waved, and Seiji added a floppy gesture of his own that could be loosely
interpreted as a wave, and the two stumbled away. Ranma watched after
them for a moment, and then, nature repeating its rather forceful
demand, he ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

The party was very nearly over. The swimming pool, aside for one
last couple slowly twirling together in the middle, was empty. A few
guys were still softly talking by the dying embers of the fire, and a
few girls were discussing life in general out on the porch. Gleefully
passed out people were scattered everywhere, most of them purging
excessive amounts of alcohol from their systems as they slept. Those
still awake enough and sober enough were gathering their possession and
preparing to walk home, and designated drivers were finally getting to
do their thing. Most of the partied-out students would have
congratulated Kiyoshi on another excellent party, but he had disappeared
into his bedroom hours ago. Throughout the house a peaceful, slumbering
silence settled, broken only by the occasionally grunt, whisper, or
snore.
Hiroshi and Sayuri slowly, reluctantly, separated, still cuddling
out on the patio. With silly, blissful grins they leaned back into
their seats, still holding hands, and quietly stared up at the night
sky. With a sigh, a drunken, disgruntled, and somewhat more relaxed
bully waved his friends off and staggered towards the house, occasional
twinge of dull pain throbbing from his groin. A resigned and accepting
Megumi, meanwhile, shoved her boyfriend into the backseat of a taxi and
took the easy way home. Their drive along empty streets passed by a
short-haired young girl sitting on a bench, head held despairingly in
her hands.
She looked up as the car zipped by. She was obviously depressed,
eyes brimming with tears, hunched over in her seat. With a sniff the
girl wiped a sleeve across her face. For a long time she remained
still, staring into the clear Nerimean night as if in thought, and then,
slowly, a look of resolved hardened her features, and with a determined
frown Akane Tendo leapt to her feet and stormed back the way she had
come.

With a sigh of immense relief Ranma leaned back on the toilet and
answered the call of nature. As he settled back on the seat he began to
relax. Eyes slowly closed as a warm fuzziness spread throughout his
body, a deep lethargy settling into his limbs. It was so enjoyable,
comfortable, and the temptation to simply give in and fall asleep was
almost overpowering. Except - except that, somehow, he had to get home.
Had to find Akane. Had to - apologize, or, or, tell her how he felt,
or. . . something. Whatever doubts, concerns, uncertainties had
assailed him tonight, this he knew beyond a doubt - he had to talk to
Akane. He _would_ talk to her. Only - only he was so tired, and the
toilet was so surprisingly comfortable. . .
No. He shook his head. He had something to do. Blinking, Ranma
opened his eyes, letting go of the soft darkness. Looking around the
washroom he realized that it resembled the Tendo's considerably. Well,
except that the Tendo's toilet is on the first floor, he remembered. Or
was that the second? Sheesh, he thought wryly, I must be pretty drunk
if I can't even remember where the toilet is. Next I'll be forgetting
where my bedroom is. . . Then he noticed the full length mirror hanging
on the back of the door across from him. Who puts a mirror in a place
where you can see yourself shit, he wondered idly. He disliked the
image the mirror reflected: a young redheaded pigtailed girl peering
drunkenly, face blotchy, eyes and nose red and puffy, her bikini bottom
tangled loosely around her ankles. The bikini peeking through her loose
Chinese shirt made it look like she was wearing a bra, and for some
reason that angered her terribly. Damn stupid curse, he swore,
everything that's happened tonight is its fault. This, this - woman's
body, is nothing to take pride in - it cost me Akane, it cost me my
friends. . . hell, I can't even piss outside like the rest of the guys!
With something akin to shame he remembered a night from long ago,
early after the trip to Jyusenkyo: the day that Ranma and his father had
left the training grounds, they had, of course, been immediately rained
upon. Grumbling, still secretly horrified and alien to his new body, he
had slowly become aware of a pressing concern - the need to urinate.
Only - he had had no idea how. The normal parts were gone; would it
work the same way now that he was a girl? He had held it off as long as
he could, desperately holding back and hoping to stumble across a hot
spring or something. Finally, though, the urge had became too great
and, grabbing a role of toilet paper from his backpack, he had
disappeared behind some trees. Quickly tearing off his gi pants, he had
then learnt that, yes, he knew how to pee; at least, the pressure was
great enough that the body did so on its own. But it had been an
intensely shameful experience: not only frightening and uncomfortable,
it had also forced him to confront the newness of the parts between his
legs for the first time, something he had despairingly tried to avoid.
Worse, though, was not knowing what to expect, or even how to stand;
squatting, half-naked and miserable in the Chinese wilderness, his own
urine dribbling down his leg, had left him feeling humiliated and
degraded, while wiping himself down afterwards had forced closeness with
feminine parts he had never seen nor felt before, and he could have
cried, but back then he was stronger, still a man despite everything, he
never cried, unlike now. . .
For now he knew how to pee like a girl without any problem
whatsoever, and that very knowledge scared him and shamed him as much if
not more than the original experience ever had. There were so many
things he knew how to do like a girl now: he could piss like one and
shit and bleed like one, and wear makeup and dresses and sit with
crossed legs like one, and talk and look and act like one, so well that
you would never know he was anything else _but_ a girl, and. . .
Enough! Vivid anger at his own weakness temporarily overcame his
exhaustion of mind and body. Enough of this crap. There was no use in
feeling sorry for himself. Despite all the shitty things that had
happened tonight - way too much thinking, and feeling, and talking, and,
and. . . and that thing with Akane - the night had not been _all_ bad.
Ranma had enjoyed some parts of the party: talking with the guys and, if
even only for a short while, feeling like one of the group; stepping
aside with Hiroshi, 'bonding', even though the conversation material was
decidedly uncomfortable; and especially the time spent swimming and the
fun in the pool. For the first time he could remember he had felt like
part of a group - part of a group who's only bond was _not_ martial
arts, or revenge, of marital desires. If only everything else could
have turned out better. . .
Ranma looked up at the bathroom sink sitting flush against the
wall. Hot water. If this body is such an annoyance, he might as well
get rid of it. Besides, a thought in the back of his head suggested,
maybe he would be better able to fight off the effects of the alcohol as
a man. Hours ago (or so it seemed) he had entered this house with the
intention of turning into a man; since then he had fought and swam and
cried, and despite everything that had happened he was still a girl.
Well, now he could finish what he had started way back then. Who cared
if he ended up looking like a total idiot, male and wearing a girl's
bikini. Although, he realized glancing down, it might be a little. . .
tight, and a bit uncomfortable once he changed back. He shrugged.
Whatever. He just wanted to go home. Assuming he still had one.
Desire suddenly crystalizing into motion, he lifted off the toilet,
already reaching for the faucet. Only - only his legs, his arms and
body failed him. With a queasy lurch his legs turned to rubber beneath
him and with a strangled yelp he collapsed forward. Unexpectedly weak
arms refused to respond, and he pitched forward, head knocking painfully
hard against the edge of the bathroom counter. Ranma slumped dazedly to
the ground.
Well this certainly sucks, he thought groggily, laying sprawled on
the washroom floor and seeing stars, as encroaching darkness snuck in at
the edges of vision.

Darkness. Numbness. Silence and sensation of floating.
Unfamiliar voices:
"Hey, c'mon man, lets go!"
"Yeah, just a sec'. Gotta go piss."
Fumbling at the door, it creaked open.
"Hurry, will ya?"
"I'll just be a. . . shit! Oh, man. . ."
"What?"
"Come see this!"
"What?"
"There's some chick passed out on the floor!"
"Really?"
A brief pause.
"See?"
"Oh, wow, it's. . ." A brief snicker.
"Hey man, I can see her. . ."
"Hey! You pervert!"
"Like you didn't notice, hypocrite!"
This time a contemplative silence.
"So what do we do?"
"I dunno. We can't leave her there."
"Nope."
"Errr. . . maybe someone oughta, ah, you know, pull her bikini up?"
Now an awkward silence.
"Ummm. Yeah."
Another pause, and then nervous fumbling at his feet. Feeling of
the bottom being drawn up along legs, then left at the waist, slightly
twisted and uncomfortable.
"Ah. . . is it up?"
"I dunno. I ain't lookin'. Can't you see?"
"Nope. Ain't lookin' either."
Sound of shuffling feet.
"Good enough. Now what?"
"I guess we haul her outta here. Dump her in one of the bedrooms?"
"Guess so. Let her sleep it off. . ."
Movement. Hands grabbing him by the feet, and beneath the arms.
Sudden lurch, and effortlessly supported in the air, being carried. It
felt like flying.
"You know, I can't stand it when girls can't hold their liquor.
You'd think they'd learn their limits and not count on someone ta look
after 'em. . ."
A chuckle.
"What?"
"Nothin'. I'll tell ya later."
"Huh."
A few more lurching steps.
"Ya know, she's pretty cute. I'm surprised she don't have a
boyfriend lookin' after her. I mean, leavin' a girl like this, like
that, it's not. . ."
Another chuckle.
"What?"
"Heh. Trust me, no boyfriend. No guy'll ever go out with her."
"What? Why not? I mean, I'd. . ."
A laugh.
"No, no ya wouldn't. Trust me. Hi. . . her name's Ranma."
"So? Odd name, but. . ."
"I'll tell ya after. Hey, can ya get the door?"
"Uh, sure."
Disorienting swaying, feet dipping, awkward handling of a door. It
creaked. Movement resumed.
"I'm surprised she's so light."
"Why? She's not that big."
"Yeah. It's just. . . ah, forget it. There. The bed. We'll just
dump her."
"Okay."
Brief moment of no support, queasy spinning falling, then bouncy
yielding impact. Perfumed floral comfort and sinking rest.
"Think she'll be ok?"
"Yeah."
"Man, she must've drank a load."
"Yeah. She got dumped tonight. Guess she took it pretty rough."
"Dumped _her_? Idiot."
Again a laugh. "Let me tell you a few things about this delightful
redhead, my friend. . ."
Click.
Soft, definitive sound of the door being shut. Ranma was left in
the darkness, alone.

Spinning. The world was spinning, and Ranma was still. Everything
was dark and quiet. He felt pinned to the bed. Incessant deliberate
vertigo tugged at him. A slow dizzying tilting and turning of the bed
threatened to throw him to the ground. The feeling grew worse with
time, as did the precariousness of his hold on the sheets. He tried to
grip the bed tightly, but it felt as if his hand was a mile away, a numb
tingly lump far away stuck at the end of the unresponsive leaden weight
that was his arm, fingers and thumb moving sluggishly and twitchingly as
he let out an unconscious nauseous moan, room twirling and whirling.
Both eyes fluttered open, and he was thankful for the darkness. It
masked from his sight the world spinning around his still body. Eyes
slowly closed and he sighed. The sickening rise and fall within would
not stop.
This feels like Akane's cooking, he decided, or like Kodachi's
love. Wait. Could love be felt that way? Could he feel love? Was
this love, this queasy painful bitter feeling inside, this sharp bitter
emptying rising feeling as his stomach twisted and his body heaved and
his throat gave a spasm. . . There was no confusion for his body, which
responded quickly despite its sluggishness, heavily turning on one side,
mouth coughing open and splattering stream of reeking acerbic fluid
spewing out. Several moments of feeble hacking and thick drooling later
he collapsed back onto the bed. Oh, he thought, it wasn't love, I was
just sick.
But with the painful partial purging accomplished the swaying and
surging subsided. The bed softened and opened and accepted him into its
embrace, and Ranma gladly sank into the welcoming comfort. Yet as
eagerly expected and desired sleep approached, the warmth and padded
depths closed in, became cloying, smothering, claustrophobic, and with
sudden violent intense physicality he wanted free, wanted escape, and
one arm actually responded, flailing wildly before falling to the
mattress with a dull thump, muffled slurred cry choked by the darkness
and pressing, closing walls. . . Squeamish sickening sensation slowly
returned as a very slight spinning inexorably resumed and again forced
him onto the bed, forced him deeper into its now unwelcome clutches. He
would have cried out again, but what was the point? He was alone. Sick
and alone in the dark.
Where he belonged, as he deserved. He was a man, he had threatened
Akane, she had been harmed, it was his fault, real men never hurt girls.
He was a man. Despite the curves of his body, the hated softness over
once-hard pectorals, roundness of unmanly hips and rear, round soft
curve between legs, he was a man, he had arrived at the party as a man,
had escorted Akane here as a man. Don't you hang around me, he heard
her say, I don't know why you came, the last thing I need is a perverted
unwanted fiance hanging around me at the party. They were walking on
the sidewalk, the sun just beginning to dip beneath the horizon, fiery
highlights glimmering in her hair. Don't worry, you uncute tomboy, he
answered, it's not like I'd want to, and she responded with a hit, and
it hurt, he could almost feel the blows land on stomach and head and
arms, knew it was useless trying to apologize but gratefully whispered
her name as the pain subsided and faded and the bed softly pushed him
back up to the surface and the awful lurching slowed.
Click.
If only she would come back. But why should she, and how could he
possibly return to the Tendos after what he had done? Even Kasumi would
fault him, would be unable to forgive him, and rightfully so. Was there
any forgiveness or understanding for him out there? Hiroshi. Hiroshi
would understand, he had understood everything tonight, had been a good
friend and knew far far too much about him now, how could he be trusted?
Because you're a friend, dammit, exclaimed Hiroshi. What do you think?
Playful jumbled sounds drifted in the background, flickering halogen
light sharpening features and flaws. He could hear the odd beating of
large wings. What do I think, answered Ranma, I think I would like to
have a friend.
Hiroshi smiled. I just want you to have a good time, he said,
we'll make this a night you'll never forget, and Ranma smiled as well,
snaking forward, rising sinuously before Hiroshi, breasts thrust forward
and hips swaying and hands playing in her hair, unravelling it so that
it fell in crimson locks about her face, and she fell with the cascading
curls, collapsing back into the bed, Hiroshi's eyes burning into her and
staring at her face, at her breasts, and then fading into the dark.
Why, he moaned, how can Hiroshi be my friend if he thinks of me that
way, was there anyone who could see past the curse and be a friend with
_him_, not with the man, not with the woman, but with Ranma?
Aren't I your friend, asked a voice, and the tremulous bilious
lurching faded. He smiled at the sound. Yes. Yes. And he relaxed.
But then his friend approached and Ranma twitched, something was wrong
and he felt afraid and weak, and let out a soft whimper, writhing and
tangling with the sheets and scrabbling feebly into the mattress.
Thanks for totally ruining my night, Ranma, the voice whispered, drawing
back, taking with it the fear but also leaving him alone. Don't leave
me, he sighed, all I want is to belong.
Like at the pool. Cool nurturing welcoming water rushed up to meet
him as he plunged towards the flowing blue; thunderous splash and
deflected impact as he sliced into the depths. Everything was subdued:
sounds were softened, downward pull gone, harsh edges to sight and
senses reduced. Comforting pressure pressed in and supported him from
all sides, pushing against stomach and legs, beneath arms and teasingly
pulling at hair, and prodding, feeling, rubbing at breasts. . .
Breasts. Always his body betrayed him, he could not even remember what
it was like to swim as a boy, unashamedly topless and free to walk
without being ogled. But this once, did it matter? For as he surfaced,
people were waiting for him: Furinkan schoolmates, talking and joking
with sparkling eyes and easy laughter, accepting his presence and
drawing him into the group. An unconscious smile grew and his body
relaxed as the water pulled away and carefully deposited him dry and
limp back upon the bed, light sounds of casual and friendly chatter
still filling his ears. A contented giggle escaped his lips as the
internal roiling faded and the warm expansive lethargy took its place,
leaving Ranma lying wonderfully at ease. A caressing wind blew
tentatively across his body, leaving tingling faint lingering touches
across his body, over thighs and lips and neck and breasts. Then the
voices distorted, became mocking and unpleasant; the pleasant
contentment he had enjoyed slipped away, leaving a vague discomfort and
creeping growing fear. He was _too_ relaxed, too at ease - when had he
ever been this relaxed as a girl around others? The mocking, snide
laughter grew, grew, reached a cacophonic crescendo within his pained
ears. . . He whimpered, hands clasped tightly over ears but achieving
nothing. . . and then the noise faded as on a current of air.
The wind grew colder. Now it was clammy, chilling, and unwelcome,
and Ranma curled up into a ball, shivering and lips trembling. With
stuttering shaky movements he tried to burrow beneath the sheet, but the
welcome lethargy of a moment ago now constrained him, limbs weak and
lifeless once more. Acidic sharp taste rose in his throat again and he
moaned. Of course he was cold, he realized. He was wet and it was cold
and all he was wearing was a stupid tiny feminine bikini. Swimming was
fun, joining classmates was fun, but at what cost? Something was thrust
into his hands, and he looked as a voice echoed within, Here, enjoy, I
hope it was worth it. A bikini; as he recognized the swimwear, it leapt
from his grasp onto his body and tightly conformed to his female curve,
as the voice continued scornfully, What kind of man _wants_ to wear
this, huh? With burning spreading shame - so intense it banished the
numbing cold - Ranma knew it was true. Wearing this proved what he was:
a girl, for how could she be a manly man and yet be wearing women's
clothing? This shred of clothing, everything it represented, had cost
her too much, still bound her in orange-red strings, and she desperately
wanted it off, to be free of it. As she clawed at her clothing, fumbled
weakly within the constraints of her shirt, tugging awkwardly at clasps
and ties, the voice continued mockingly, See if I care, maybe you really
_are_ a girl. . .
I'm not a girl, I'm not, she cried, still struggling with his
clothing, aren't I, am I a girl? And a suddenly vivid voice whispered
in his ear, yes, yes, Ranma, you are, please be a girl; but Ranma
ignored the strangely familiar voice and attacked the ties behind her
back. I'll prove I'm not a girl, she insisted, I'll discard my
femininity, I'll peel it off as I do this bikini; and now the task
seemed much easier, almost as if she was being helped. The top came off
quickly and was flung aside; with much wiggling and a final kick the
bottom fell aside. Ha, he cried, I _am_ a man, and collapsed exhausted
on the bed, numb but finally free of hated femaleness. Ranma smiled.
At last.
But if he was free and happy, why did he feel so sick and scared?
Don't be scared, whispered a voice, I would never hurt you. I love you.
And then he knew the voice was Akane's, for now he knew that he loved
her, and that she must love him, after all, had she not come back to
him, even after all the terrible things he had said and done? Was she
not tending his wounds, healing him with bandages and words, curing the
bruising of his ego and the loss of something precious? The hard floor
of the dojo was beneath them, a dozen smarting wounds stinging his body,
and Akane was kneeling across from him. Do you love me, she asked,
would you kiss me? This time he got the answer right: If. . . if you
don't mind, he said, looking up shyly, then I don't, and he sat up in
the bed and embraced and kissed her and told her, yes, I do, more than
anything, and the final liberation of those words was greater than
anything, it sent a resonating escalating glow that followed, enhanced,
the echoing pulse in her breasts. They fell into each other and it
seemed to Ranma that they were as one, holding and kissing and touching
one another, and the passion was so great and consuming that he could
not sustain it and after an indefinable confused time he collapsed back,
unmoving and spent on the bed, but no longer alone.
I'm sorry, Ranma, I'm so sorry, whispered the voice, and there was
sudden, vicious pain, the wonderful awaited and accepted oneness
becoming too much for him, the presence too much, it overwhelmed him in
his sickened weakness. But as soon as it began, it ended and pulled
away, and the pain of the separation was as terrible as the consuming,
it carried away a certainty and unity and something precious to him, and
he released a moan, No, but already the voice, the presence, Akane, was
gone. . .
click,
. . . and Ranma was once again alone in the dark and the cold upon
the crumpled sheets, burning bile and rising stomach, spinning room,
tilting bed, approaching darkness, and falling, falling, falling into
painless nothingness. . .
Nothing. . .
Until a voice once again intruded, with painful light piercing
swollen eyelids and surprised, looming face. "Ra. . . Ranma? RANMA!"
Akane. She had not left him after all, she had come back for him, and
he smiled at her, glad to have told her how he truly felt and shared
that moment with her, and fell back down into the darkness and her
waiting arms, with her name on his breath.

*** The Party Ends ***

Continued in Choices: Dilemma

***

It's about time I get around to posting this story!
First things: special thanks to Raphael See, Krista Perry, and Zen,
for prereading, suggestions, and motivation. Thanks!
So. . .I hope you enjoyed it. The next part, Dilemma, is currently
(still!) being worked on, though I hope to have it completed some time
soon. A number of surprising and unexpected demands on my time have
surfaced, leaving me with little time to write; still, we have to try,
right? If you liked the story, the sequel will be updated regularly on
my webpage.
Comments, as always, are greatly appreciated - even those really
nasty ones that say 'I don't like your story, and you smell, to boot!'.
I took certain risks with this first chapter, and some earlier readers
disliked the implications of the ending; nevertheless, I hope you'll
hang around for the next part, and let me know what you thought!
Send comments to: s66...@aix2.uottawa.ca

Later!
-Mike Noakes
October 11, 1997

***
Homepage and Fanfiction at:
http://aix2.uottawa.ca/~s669330/
***