[Ranma][FanFic] Ranma and Akane: A Love Story, Chapter Four

[Eric Hallstrom]

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only
swinging on the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds
cleaner than you found them and please don't feed the
Trolls.

"Summer Lightning" and "Thanksgiving Eve" are copyrighted by
Garnet Rogers; if you haven't encountered him before go out
and buy his CDs, he sings lots better than I write.

"The Haughs of Cromdale" is a Traditional song from
Scotland. My version is off an album by the Corries.

Isileth and Aldric Talvalin, and everything to do with them
belong to Peter Morwood. They come from his series, the
Books of Days (The Horse Lord, The Dragon Lord, The Demon
Lord, and The Warlord's Domain.); now, sadly, no longer in
print.

Gally, Hugo, Ido and Co. are characters from the manga/anime
series "Hyper Future Vision Gunmm", which belongs to Yukito
Kishiro.

This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/

Release 1.0 (Apr. 22, 2000)

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Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences
Part A: The Night Before the Morning After

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There are certain ways that things are supposed to go.

Take, for instance, the case of waking up in someone else's
bed. This is _supposed_ to involve long drowsy dalliances
and breakfast in situ, served by dedicated servants. Or, on
the other hand, romantic melodrama may easily be obtained by
hasty dressing and tearful, secretive goodbyes.

Unless, of course, the other whose bed you are waking up in
is an Other whom no-one, including the other, may be allowed
to suspect _is_ the Other; in which case things are supposed
to occur so as to maximize embarrassment for all involved.

(Yes, that _was_ a complex sentence. Read it through a
couple times, it means what it says.)

Fortunately for Ranma, the sensation of Akane breathing into
her ear woke her alone and unobserved.

This precipitated what should have been the type of
convulsive jerk that knocks over the bed, wakes the
bed-mate, calls the attention of the house, and otherwise
results in complete higgelty-piggelty.

Alas for the devotees of the Right and Proper Order of
Things, however, Ranma's well-honed reflexes and hard-wired
skills were in full working order; and she removed herself
from complete (if, sadly, clothed) entanglement in Akane's
embrace to a position standing upright in the middle of the
room without much more than a mild heart attack.

This should not, however, be construed as meaning that the
forces of Dramatic Righteousness were entirely cheated of
their due.

The human body is a complex collection of muscles, bone,
nerves, joints, ligaments, and other such items. Ranma's
collection chose that moment to send her a wide array of
bitterly-complaining messages, relaying their utter
dissatisfaction with their current conditions and accusing
her of criminal incompetence at the top. She also noted the
pounding pain of a massive migraine headache, foretelling an
impressive hangover; caused, she knew, by metabolic by-
products and ki imbalances attendant upon the rather ...
unique ... stresses to which she and Akane had been
subjected earlier that day.

Action was clearly called for, and she exerted her trained
will and knowledge of Magic and martial lore, pushing back
the pain and stiffness and adjusting a wide range of inner
balances. Attempted to move. And whimpered, very faintly.

Then she consulted a hard-won store of homeopathic medical
lore and immediately prescribed herself a long soak in a hot
bath and some serious reconstructive meditation.

Which would require walking all the way out the hall and
down the stairs, not to mention _another_ hall at the bottom
of the stairs. Truly it is said that the life of a Martial
Artist is fraught with peril.

It would be a good idea to wake Akane, however. Particularly
since, unless she was seriously mistaken, Akane's lingering
effects of the day's adventures would be even more extreme
than her own.

Ranma felt a renewed pang of grief shoot through her as she
took in Akane's profile, following the new lines of scars
that spread out in a web around her left eye, easily visible
as she lay on her right side.

She forced herself to lock the sensation deeply inside; even
if revealing the extent of her sorrow were not far too
dangerous to the careful masquerade she must now live, it
was horribly disrespectful to Akane. She had, after all,
followed along of her own free will, and must be regarded as
a warrior capable of knowing her own honor and what it
demanded.

Honorable action required what it required, and cost what it
cost. Had she, herself, not born up under wounds as great?
To rail against the necessary costs of one's actions was to
cheapen them; and to cheapen Akane was a thing which she
could never do.

In the end Akane's slumber proved more than a match for
Ranma's somewhat lessened resources, and Ranma finally
decided simply to let her sleep. Summoning her ferocious
will and inexhaustible endurance, she strode out the door
and down the stairs towards the furo and a long, hot soak
with all the grace and power of an octogenarian tortoise.

------------------------------------------------------------

The furo, generally speaking, was an institution and object
of which Tendo Nabiki thoroughly approved. It was not merely
sanitary and relaxing, she felt, but good for the mind and
will as well.

A long soak relaxed the body, which gave the mind time and
space in which to think unhindered. Most of all, it provided
a protected space. It was so often necessary to impose
control on one's self, on one's expressions and actions. Any
opportunity to create a time or space in which that control
could be relaxed, however briefly, was to be treasured.

Moreover, it was an easily secured space as well, especially
a private furo, like the one in the Tendo bath. Even a
public furo was far more private than it would appear at
first glance, since custom imposed a veil of indifference
over the lack of physical privacy that actually provided far
more actual privacy than most would believe. As long as one
was discreet, at least.

But a _private_ furo .... Not only did it share in the
custom-imposed privacy of the public furo, but it had
_physical_ privacy, too.

Also, if one suspected that one's privacy had been imposed
on, one could take any actions necessary to regain it,
_without_ alerting anyone to the presence of something out
of the ordinary to be protected in the first place.

All in all, Nabiki was very fond of finding a good furo and
settling in for a long soak whenever she was feeling out of
sorts. That afternoon she soaked for as long as she could
stand. She was thinking. Thinking as hard and strategically
as she had in a long time.

It could be managed, she felt. Mind, her sister was still an
idiot. But it _could_ be managed. There was no real hope
that the news would not get out, but if she managed the
grapevine just so .... She supposed that was 'spin', or
whatever the current set of idiots currently running the
Western Media were calling it at the moment.

But any Japanese (really, any truly _civilized_ person, she
reflected) knew instinctively that it was the consensus of
community opinion that mattered. All she had to do was swing
that consensus a little. A task in which she should have a
considerable advantage.

This consensus directly affected Ranma, after all. Not only
had she, herself, _demonstrated_ an advanced grasp of public
consensus management; but even more, a denigratory consensus
might well cause her to become ... annoyed. Since she
strongly suspected that no sane person in Furinkan would
actually wish to see that happen ....

So, all she _should_ have to do was drop a few subtle hints.
And make sure that no random _in_-sane person upset the
boat. Not difficult, if she was any judge, as long as she
kept things vague enough that people could agree without
having to confront what they were agreeing with directly.

The last thing she thought before relaxing fully into the
lassitude brought by the delicious warmth of the water was
that she was glad that she lived in a society where allusion
made arranging things like that no more difficult than
necessary. She didn't really feel up to doing anything
difficult right now anyway.

------------------------------------------------------------

After finishing her bath, she was inclined to talk over a
few things with Kasumi, just to make sure that they were
both on the same page as regards her dear little sister's
idiocy and its probable cause. A small disturbance alerted
her to an approaching spectacle however, and she silently
took refuge in the Tendo Family room to await it.

The spectacle in question did not disappoint. Ranma,
jacket-less, de-scarfed and carrying her shirt in her hand,
limped vaguely down the hallway, around the corner and into
the furo.

Nabiki forbade herself to make any noise. She had heard from
her rumor sources that Ranma was scarred beneath her usual
enveloping clothes, but she had not expected ... and _some_
of those scars were not old, fine, white lines but rather
angry, red welts.

Nabiki felt her eyes fill, briefly, with tears. She would
have to remember this sight, she thought, whenever she
doubted her sister's lover. Ranma might be overly heroic and
possessed of something resembling a death-wish, but there
could be no doubt that she knew the cost of the actions she
took. Which was very much for the better, actually; if
someone _had_ to act like a Samurai, it was much easier to
respect them knowing that they always kept one eye on the
cost.

Shaking her head she turned from the closing door and went
to talk to Kasumi.

------------------------------------------------------------

She woke up.

This, she decided, was her first mistake.

She was not immediately sure what had awakened her, but she
_was_ immediately sure that she wished it hadn't bothered.

Her hair hurt.

That was not even considering the mad kamikaze air molecules
that were attempting to flay her skin off.

Now that she whimpered it, how _had_ those tribes of mad,
jack-hammer wielding dwarves gotten inside her skull,
anyway? And what had she done to piss them off so badly?

Couldn't they have written her a ... a letter or something?

She'd have apologized, really.

Also, she really had to talk to someone about putting dead
rats in her mouth. It just wasn't civilized, and whoever had
done it ought to have known better.

She tried to summon up a sense of righteous outrage, but all
she could manage was a dull throb, and it immediately got
lost in all the other aches and pains.

Attempting to discern where, exactly, she was, she opened
her eyes.

Mistake number two, instantly taken advantage of by the
roving hordes of nomadic biker photons, which used the
opening in her defenses to invade down her optic nerves in a
howling wave and set her brain on fire.

Attempting to quench the flames, she curled into a foetal
ball and threw her arms around her head.

Mistake number three.

It was really fascinating, she thought distantly, that a
sufficient amount of suffering could not only _induce_
unconsciousness, but could then immediately _negate_ it.

Well, she had obviously screwed up _somewhere_, big-time.
Now the question was: where was Ranchan when you really
needed her?

Ranma. Didn't she have a vague memory of Ranma saying
something?

Something ... about ... about ... getting up? ... and going
... to the furo. Or she'd stiffen up....

Ah.... So that was it.

Well, she could see that the rest of the day promised to be
unpleasant.

Yep.

But she had a plan to outwit it.

Just as soon as she took her bath and got a little control
back, she was going to die. Yep. That'd show it. You bet.

Now all she had to do was get to the furo.

Which involved ... taking off her clothes ... and going ...
all the way ... down the stairs. Oh dear.

Shortly, a shambling figure tackled the complex challenge of
walking down a flight of stairs without toppling over. Its
progress was not eased by an apparent difficulty with the
dim hallway light, which was causing it to move in a series
of flinches.

Exerting supreme self-control, it avoided a lunging attempt
to descend the stairs in a single moment, outracing light
itself. Which was a good thing, really, because the photons
hanging around were sufficiently annoyed as it was, and the
figure was in enough trouble.

Stumbling down the last stair risers and shuffling painfully
around two corners and down the hall, the figure had nearly
attained its hoped-for sanctuary when fate cruelly
intervened.

A firm, decisive footstep was heard, and Tendo Soun entered
the hallway from the garden outside and came face-to-face
with his daughter.

And, for a brief moment, nothing happened.

Then Akane feebly attempted to placate the looming disaster
by waving her hands at her father, and whimpering. Alas, in
vain; slowly started but rapidly rising came the ultimate
horror (at least to anyone with a killing hangover), a full,
all-out, Tendo Soun Wail.

(#2516: My daughter went to Hell and lost her eye,
now she'll never get a husband and I'll be alone
in my old age, aiieeee!)

The noise went through Akane's already shot nerves like a
buzzsaw and she collapsed to the floor in a foetal ball.
Naked and dripping from the tub, Ranma was at her side two
seconds later. Kneeling at Akane's side, Ranma gently coaxed
her out of her curled up misery; in the process leveling a
glare at Soun that sent him backwards in a dead faint.

Nabiki, drawn by the *thud* of Akane impacting the floor,
managed a gasp before Ranma cut her off. "Nabiki-san, please
ask Kasumi-san to get Acchan a glass of whichever hangover
cure she usually makes for your father." Smoothly, Ranma
picked Akane up and took her into the furo. Nabiki gaped
briefly at the closing door before running back to fetch
Kasumi.

------------------------------------------------------------

Timidly, Kasumi knocked on the door to the bath. "Ranma-san,
may I come in?"

"Please do."

Kasumi carried the large glass into the furo, and, like her
sister, restrained a gasp. It was bad enough to see such
extensive scars on Ranma-san, reminding her of the cost
demanded of those who walk Bushido, but to see such scars in
turn on the smooth flesh of her younger sister; that was
almost more than she could stand.

Akane was huddled against the edge of the tub, with her face
turned down and her eyes shut as Ranma gently probed her
acupuncture and shiatsu spots from behind. At Kasumi's
approach, Ranma leaned back in the tub, and Akane turned
around, looking up at Kasumi in thankfulness and reaching
out for the glass she was carrying.

Seeing the new web of faint scars around her sister's eye
and the changed nature of the orb itself caused Kasumi to
fall to her knees, extending the glass with shaking hand.
Akane almost snatched the glass away from her, and drained
it with a single, long pull before putting it to the side
and coming up partially out of the tub to gather Kasumi into
her arms and hug her fiercely.

"Kasumi! Kasumi-oneechan, it's all right. It _looks_ awful
but the eye still works just fine."

Ranma raised an eyebrow and dryly said, "I say again, it
looks _rakish_. Not awful, _rakish_."

Kasumi made a mighty effort and came back on balance. "I
don't want to contradict you, Ranma-san, but I'm afraid it
does look awful. Just a little."

Akane released her hug and turned back toward Ranma,
sticking out her tongue, "See? I _told_ you so!"

Ranma settled back in the tub and spread her arms along the
rim, "Acchan, look this way. Now raise your left eyebrow.
No, a little higher. Yeah, like that. Now show Kasumi-san."
A short pause. "See? Rakish."

Akane sighed and stood up, saying, "Please excuse me,
'Neechan, I have to kill -" as she reached her full height
she paused, her eyes going wide in shock as an alarming
cracking sound made itself known. "... er, that is. I have
to get right back in the tub here and have Ranchan do some
more shiatsu on me. Yeah, that's it."

Ranma sighed, "Doesn't listen. Over-exerts. Rushes in where
angels fear to tread. Domineering. And now she wants
shiatsu, too. Oh dear. What a pity. Never mind." Winking at
Kasumi's mildly alarmed look, Ranma slid forward in the tub
to kneel behind Akane.

Akane looked up, alarmed, "Ranchan! I need ... ooooh!" As
Ranma's hand reached the first shiatsu spot, Akane's eyes
slitted in relief, the left flashing a solid gold.

Kasumi smiled slightly and silently slipped out.

------------------------------------------------------------

"Ranma-san! I will not permit you to run off without dinner.
It is getting late and you _must_ be tired, you should eat
with us and sleep in the guest room tonight."

Ranma blinked, backing away from Kasumi and frantically
waving her hands, "Ahhh ... of course, Kasumi-san, whatever
you say. I'll just go into the Dojo and, ahh, maintain my
equipment, yes?" Grabbing a confused and yukata-clad Akane
by the shoulder, Ranma hastily retreated from the main house
to the Dojo.

"Geeze! Your sister is _scary_ when she's like that!" Ranma
peeked cautiously around the edge of the Dojo door. "Anyway,
I'm serious, Acchan, you need to go get your stuff and get
it back in order right now, before you forget and then don't
have it next time."

Akane nodded muzzily and wandered out of the Dojo and back
upstairs. Ranma busied herself with seeing to the good
condition of her weapons, but was interrupted when Akane
timidly reappeared, holding a sword in an ill-fitting
scabbard away from her body with obvious reluctance.

"Ranchan?"

Ranma looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"This," Akane continued, "is _not_ my sword. And I don't
have _any_ of the other stuff and I've never seen this sword
before ... I don't even know what _kind_ of sword it is
...."

Ranma stood up and gingerly took the sword away, laying it
flat on the portable table she was using to hold her
cleaning gear. "Taiken. It's a taiken."

She withdrew the sword from its scabbard and turned it over
and around in her hands. It was slightly longer than a
katana, straight bladed and double-edged, but still
chisel-pointed. It was made of a dull, gray steel, better
polished in the middle of the blade, which sank into a
blood-groove accented by the yakiba-mon, the wavy pattern
that indicates the different steel composition used in the
edge of a blade.

It was elaborately hilted in black, non-reflective steel, a
two-handed, wire-wrapped grip rising from a heavy thorn
pommel to a wide crossbar that flared out into hilt-loops to
protect its wielder's fingers as they might be looped over
the hilt. The side-bars of the hilt flared out into an
almost-basket that provided a fair amount of protection to
the upper hand of a wielder, and even a casual inspection
woke amazement at the magnificent balance and liveliness of
the cold, gray steel. "It's a _good_ taiken."

Ranma withdrew a small tool from jacket-space and placed the
blade on the table, beginning to disassemble its hilt.
"These are usually tang-marked ... like ... so ...." her
voice faded off into a long whistle.

Akane drew closer and leaned forward to see, but could not
read the strange, curling letters. Ranma held the blade up
to the light and read something off the tang in a language
that Akane likewise did not know.

Indicating this with a slant of her eyebrow, Akane caused
Ranma to flush briefly and then translate aloud into
Japanese, "'Forged was I, of iron heaven born. Ulean made
me. I am Isileth.'"

"How, ah... how did you manage to pick this up, anyway,
Acchan? I saw you waving it around when you, ah, came to get
me, but ..." Ranma slowly and coolly put the hilt back
together.

Akane stammered something inane about how she had needed a
sword and it had just been lying there and she'd just put
her hand on it, and....

Ranma shook her head sadly. "Outnumbered. Injured. Back to
the wall. And you 'just happen' to put your hand onto
Isileth Widow-maker. Give it up, girl. You are _so_ doomed."
Then, suddenly, she grinned, "But at least being around you
won't be _boring_. I hate _boring_," she winked.

Akane grinned weakly and blushed. Then she indicated the
sword still lying on the table. "Ummm ... you seem to know
it ... her? What's the story?"

"Well ... about a dozen or so universes _that_ way there is
a land called Alba, which has a number of similarities to
Tokugawa era Japan. For samurai say 'kailin-eir', for katana
say 'taiken'.

"I had heard a rumor that the kailin in Alba practiced an
Art called Taiken-ulleth, which involved a form of 'perfect
swordsmanship', and that there was one living master left.

"So about a year or so back I used the amulet to go look,
but I never found him, or her, whichever. But, while I was
there, I did pick up a fair bit of kailinin lore, one bit of
which was the story of the 'most perfect sword', Isileth.

"Supposedly made from 'star-metal' from a fallen meteorite.
Said in legend to have been refolded three hundred times,
quenched in blood and polished by fire and water. Rumored to
be too tough to bend, too strong to break and with an edge
that was sharpened once and hasn't dulled since. Claimed to
have been used by heroes and villains for two thousand years
or more."

Ranma took a piece of rice-paper and traced out the outline
of Isileth's blade, and then took up the ill-fitting
scabbard and began preparations to modify it to properly
receive its new resident. "What she was doing on a slope
just outside of Hell I've no idea. Here," she handed the
sword-hilt to Akane, "do a kata or two and get to know her.
Perhaps she'll tell you." Akane took the sword silently and
stood, momentarily at a loss.

After a minute or so she shook her head dazedly and turned
back to the center of the Dojo, moving with a slight wince
for abused muscles and joints and focusing inward, preparing
a pain-blocking mantra to aid her concentration. Then she
pressed the sword's blade to her forehead in salute and sank
into the slight trance she used to invoke Other-sight.

Instead of focusing it on anything, she deliberately _de_-
focused it and began a basic sword kata, extending a welcome
to any insights the blade might offer.

From behind her as she danced her kata she heard Ranma begin
to sing lowly and distractedly as she worked on the
scabbard. And as the song continued, low and dark and
couched in some dialect of English that she could barely
even determine _was_ English, her de-focused Sight began to
gather sounds and images. Images of blood.

As I came in by Auchindoun,
a little wee bit frae the toun,
When to the Highlan's I was bound,
to view the haughs of Cromdale.

Right hand highest on the hilt (a voice whispered, "One hand
only girl, until you apply force to the cut, keep your other
hand free. And put a finger over the hilt, it increases
control, and the hilt-loops will guard it."), arm rising for
jodan-no-kame morote uchi kiri otashi kudashi, the most
basic of strikes, the two-handed vertical downward blow to
cleave head and chest together ("The pearsplitter ..." the
voice whispered).

I met a man in tartan trews,
I speir'd at him what was the news;
Quo' he the Highlan' army rues,
that e'er we came to Cromdale.

And her mind sank into a receptive blankness and she stopped
the cut at the level of the lower chest and transmuted its
force into a bouncing return to guard, left hand dropping
away and right hand blurring in withdrawal to hasso hidari
gamae, left foot leading as she cocked the sword by the side
of her head in preparation for ...

We were in bed, sir, every man,
when the English host upon us came,
A bloody battle then began
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... for jodan-no-yoho giri kudashi, the high horizontal cut,
right to left as the body uncoils and the left hand comes
around to grip the hilt and put the whole force of that
uncoiling behind the decapitation stroke ("... to the cross,
inverted ..." the whisper said), and ...

The English horse they were so rude,
they bath'd their hooves in Highlan' blood,
But our brave clans, they boldly stood
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and the left hand let go again as the body whirled
around into right-advance guard and the right sank the blade
into chudan-no-kame, middle guard, and the blade sank into
darkness until only a gleaming tracery of blue-silver fire
marked its edge and her body faded away and ...

But, alas! We could no longer stay,
and o'er the hills we came away,
And sore we do lament the day,
that e'er we came to Cromdale.

... and the blade angled left and thrust up and forward,
left hand flickering forward to propel the body of the blade
in a thrusting cut to the back and side of the neck of the
dark, faceless figure that attacked from that side and,
still faceless, faded as it fell and left only the great
spray of blood from its severed carotid and jugular, bright
red and wet as it fanned out from the massive slash and her
left hand fell away again and ...

Then the great Montrose did say,
Highlan' men show me the way,
For I will o'er the hills this day,
to view the haughs of Cromdale.

... and her right hand brought the blade down a foot and
began the mirror-image thrust-and-slash to the right and her
left hand floated up (so fast) and she thrust right and past
the target and her body twisted back as her left hand pushed
forward and her right drew back and ...

They were at dinner, every man,
when great Montrose upon them came,
A second battle then began,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and the back edge of the blade cut through the target's
throat in the strike Ranma had taught her earlier in the
week ('This move was designed for a two-edged blade,' she
thought) and the fan of blood arced out wide and scarlet as
she completed soukongou (and the whisper said, "...
twin-thunderbolts ...") and the blood-sprays blew past and
behind her view and the fallen bodies faded like mist
beneath the hot sun and ...

The Grant, Mackenzie and MacKay,
soon as Montrose they did espy,
O then, they fought most valiantly!
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and she faced an opponent across ten feet of open ground
and the circle of watchers were tense as the Marshall
dropped the wand to begin the duel and she advanced chudan
and feinted outside and knocked his sword off-line *scrape*
along the top of the opponent's blade, shock of heavy
resistance as she cut through the neck and ...

The MacDonalds they returned again,
the Camerons did their standard join,
MacIntosh play'd a bloody game,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and her horse kicked into a gallop as she put up the
great bow and the sword was in her hand and she extended it
forward, wrist cocked as the point turned a little down,
making a small lance as they galloped toward the enemy in
his array and a heavy, wet shock ran up her arm as the blade
went home and she galloped across the field cutting down her
foes and ...

The MacGregors fought like lions bold,
MacPhersons, none could them control,
MacLaughlins fought, like loyal souls,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and they faded into mist, gray and fading except for the
bright scarlet of the spouting, running, dripping blood and
the blood sprayed back and forth but none of it clung to her
or to the blade but it seemed to bounce off a figure hanging
in front of her in the heavy air and she ran through the
dark stone halls striking target (only targets, gray, fading
and gone) left and right and the flowing blood outlined and
then filled in another opponent ...

MacLeans, MacDougals, and MacNeils,
so boldly as they took the field,
And make their enemies to yield,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... another opponent; tall and massive, armored in an alien
style in full plate-and-chain, like and yet unlike a samurai
in its blood-red armor and taiken like her own and she
fought with it back and forth across a hearth a field a
forest clearing and she brought the blade around kasumi kiri
age, arms crossed, right hand sliding out low to join the
left hand and come up hard and diagonally to the left across
the body, and her opponent opened out along the line of the
cut and there was nothing inside but blood and ...

The Gordons boldly did advance,
the Frasers fought with sword and lance,
The Grahams they made the heads to dance,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and it sprayed out and covered her but there was no
smell of blood, no remembered iron tang but only a stale,
sweet, sad hint of roses and the blood hanging in the air
turned black and fell like rain, and she met and destroyed
another gray warrior and another and another but their blood
did not spout bright wet scarlet but black and heavy and it
fell back upon them and they twisted and where a man had
stood a black rose now hung in midair and the air was full,
overpowered by the smell and something small and bright and
blue fell out of the sky and the gem hung before her,
glowing and ...

The loyal Stewarts with Montrose,
so boldly set upon their foes,
And brought them down with Highland blows,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and she swung the sword kiri otashi kudashi again and it
flared with blue fire so intense that it blinded her and the
rose was burned away and where the jewel had been crouched a
figure twisted and huddled over, almost invisible except for
the crippled, twisted claw that was its right hand and her
hands went back for the stroke but then she brought the
blade down and grasped it with both hands and _snapped_ it
and her hands hurt and bled and her stomache hurt and bled
and her chest hurt and bled and it was whole again and the
twisted figure faded and she stepped past it and the blade
flared brighter and higher and she attacked the alien,
horrible form that rose above her, slobbering, and she cut
it across and it divided in half and fell away and she
dropped the blade, casting it aside and the dust covered it
and her eye flared with pain and she fell and twisted as she
rolled in the dust and she grasped the hilt and came upright
and ...

Of twenty thousand Cromwell's men,
five hundred fled to Aberdeen
The rest of them lie on the plain,
upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and settled into perfect chudan-no-kame as the kata
ended and she saluted the Dojo and flicked the sword around.
And she turned back to Ranma where she knelt near the Dojo
wall and asked, "Does the name Talvalin mean anything to
you?"

"Not a thing," Ranma said cheerfully and handed her the
remade scabbard and she sheathed the sword.

And from the main house Kasumi called, "Ranma-san,
Akane-chan, dinner!"

And they went in to see.

------------------------------------------------------------

Akane's room was dark and still in night's embrace. Akane,
however, was not.

Shadowy dreams of loss and pain lurked just beyond the
border of the waking world, and a pit of darkness vast
enough to suck her down forever awaited her least little
lowering of defense. This she knew.

What she did not know was how to fight the encroaching dark.
If she could only find a target, something to hit with her
fist or her sword. If it were only an external threat that
she could face head on. If it were only an obvious weakness,
something even in herself, but something she could come to
grips with.

But what could she do with dreams in the dark?

Lost in her silent, failing struggle, she did not hear the
quiet opening of the door, nor did she note the form that
ghosted across her room until it actually sat upon her bed;
and by then, of course, it was too late. Ranma had already
heard her faint whimper, already seen her toss and turn.
Numbly she turned her head to look at Ranma, and was again
surprised by the serene concern in her friend's sapphire
eyes.

Akane had always lived her life in a continual state of
insecurity; always convinced that the next day, the next
challenge would prove her painfully gathered skills
inadequate, would leave her bereft and lacking in worth. It
was not that she did not appreciate her own skills as a
martial artist; indeed, in some ways those skills were
themselves the source of the problem.

She was good at martial arts, but, she felt, _only_ at
martial arts.

For all of her girlhood, Kasumi had been the perfect female
figure. When their mother had died, she had stepped into the
role of alpha female with barely a hitch.

Nabiki had become skilled in manipulation, using her mind
and her skills at sneakiness to get things accomplished; for
the benefit of the Dojo itself, mostly, it was true. But to
her, for whatever reason or purpose, fell the skills of
manipulation, of social control and social dominance.

Denied primacy in these areas, Akane had specialized in the
Art, taking up the family school that neither of her sisters
had expressed an interest in, and in that pursuit she had
established a primacy of her own.

What she had not established, to herself, was that her
primacy was real. Always, in the back of her mind, came the
thought that her sisters had _allowed_ her that primacy,
because it did not matter. That no-one contested her in it,
because no-one cared. That all that her effort had bought
her was ... nothing.

In the bright light of day she could look around herself and
see her strengths. In the light it looked like she had made
of herself a warrior who could overcome any challenge she
attempted. In the light it looked like the paths she had
turned aside from offered little in the way of real
challenge.

In the light it looked as though _she_ had taken the harder
path, the path of greatest growth, and that the necessary
parts (Oh, not _all_ the parts, no. But you don't need _all_
the parts to get by.) of the others would be ... easy.

Mostly.

In the light.

But here in the night, lying still and quiet in the dark,
... well, things do have a tendency to look differently in
the dark.

And if you were lying on your back looking up at the
ceiling, and if you were somehow to relax the guards you
normally hold that keep you from thinking unpleasant
thoughts like that, then, having thought one unpleasantness,
you might go on to think others.

You might begin to think that the path that you had chosen,
far from being the path of greatest growth, was instead the
path of least result. You might begin to think that you had
traded the ability to make cookies for the ability to nearly
get the woman you have just realized you love killed.

Or, you might begin to question just how much all this
practice you have been doing in your chosen field has
actually bought you. You might begin to compare the things
you had learned on your own to the things that, let's say,
Someone had taught you, and conclude that you had learned
nothing of value yourself at all.

You might begin to think that you were ... lesser, ...
second rate. And you might begin to wonder what use you,
yourself, actually were. A second rater moreover, you might
begin to think, who has had the great idiocy to fall for a
first rater in the same field.

And you might begin to wonder just what use there is in
saying, for example, "Ranma and Akane".

"Ranma and Kasumi", you might think, makes some sense;
"Kasumi" can cook ... and clean ... and ... and be Kasumi.

"Ranma and Nabiki" allows "Nabiki" to be sneaky and make
money, and terrorize people who need to be terrorized.

But if all "Akane" is good for is fighting, and if "Ranma"
already has the fighting part of "Ranma and Akane" covered,
then what use in "Ranma and Akane" is ... "Akane"? And if
"Ranma and Akane" is a thing that you are coming to believe
is the thing that makes being "Akane" worthwhile, but there
is no use in "Ranma and Akane" for "Akane then what use _is_
"Akane"? Or ... _is_ there any use for "Akane" ... at all?

And these are the sorts of thoughts that have a tendency to
cause theoretical thinkers Deep Distress, and, on that
count, to be relegated to the far background and never
allowed out into the conscious portion of the brain.

This defense mechanism can, in itself, cause certain
problems.

For instance, when confronted with the aforesaid "Someone
first rate in the same field", and the occasion to meditate
on silken scarlet hair and sea-deep sapphire eyes, and the
opportunity to ask the question "Is there room in 'Ranma and
Akane' for 'Akane'? Or, indeed, is there any reason to
entertain the concept of 'Ranma and Akane' at all?" then
thoughts like these might cause you to wimp out.

For another instance, even if you _are_ the "Someone, etc."
and even if you _know_ that there is indeed very good reason
to entertain the concept of "Ranma and Akane", and what role
"Akane" should play in it, it does not necessarily follow
that you _also_ know whether there is any reason to consider
the concept of "Akane and Ranma". And in this case similar
thoughts can not only cause you to wimp out, but also to pay
less attention to subtleties of interpersonal conversation
than might otherwise be the case.

To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a
problem.

All of which goes a long way towards explaining why, when
Ranma said, "Problems?" Akane did _not_ say, "Yes! I'm
tired, I'm sick, I hurt and I'm so confused and overwhelmed
that I can't think. I need to bury my face in your hair for
several years to clear my head. Make love to me 'til I pass
out!" but rather (in a much smaller voice), "Can't think.
Too much." And why Ranma did not, quite, hear what she
meant, but only what she said.

And also why, when Ranma knelt on the bed and drew Akane up
into a reverse embrace, so that Akane was sitting in front
of Ranma with Ranma's arms folded beneath her breasts and
the top of her head beneath Ranma's chin, and said, "Maybe I
can teach you a technique to help. Do you trust me?" Akane
just said "Yes," instead of "With my honor, my life and my
soul. And, incidentally, if you wanted to move your hands up
a bit I'd be perfectly happy to trust you with my body,
too." And Ranma, of course, missed that, as well.

Even world class martial artists, gifted with the perception
to track another person's motives and intentions in the heat
of mortal combat have their occasional off days. Which is a
shame, it's true. But it just isn't time for this story to
go lemon yet.

------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, Acchan," Ranma murmured, "this technique is called
'the Rainbow', because the way you begin requires you to
picture one in your mind. What I am going to ask you to do
is to close your eyes, and then to impress upon yourself a
vision of each of the colors of the rainbow, one by one.

"As you visualize each color, you will attach to it all of
your tensions, unhappiness or pain and imbalance in a
specific area. Then, when you release the visualization of
the color, you will also release all the negative chi that
you have just collected.

"The order and rhythm of the colors will allow you to
completely rid yourself of negative energy and to achieve a
focused and receptive mental state. Then, when you have
passed through all the colors, you will find yourself
standing on a darkened landscape, where you will encounter a
stairway leading down.

"If you choose to descend the stairway, you will then
encounter a well-built, solid door, to which, you will find,
you hold the only key. Behind the door, if you choose to
open it, you will find your Library, or Study, the
metaphorical center of your intellect.

"This technique employs a mixture of focused meditation and
self-hypnosis, and I repeat that you may _choose_ to descend
the stairway, and you may _choose_ to open the door to
impress upon you that it is _your_ door and _your_ stairway,
and that _you_ may and must decide when, and whether, to
proceed in each and every case. I will be here to guard you,
this first time, and I will show you the way, but it is your
will that must impel events. If you decide to reverse the
exercise, all you need do, _at any time_, is open your eyes.
Okay?"

Akane nodded, silently.

"Then begin with the first color of the rainbow," Ranma
said, quietly, "think about red - soft, warm red ..." Ranma
kept her voice in a soothing, lulling murmur, just loud
enough to hear at close range, and began to enter into the
rhythms and pauses of a hieratic chant.

"All there is is red ... red is the color of physical
relaxation ... let the red fill every corner of your body,
let it pick up all the pain and fatigue and tension and then
let it flow away ... red flows away and is followed by
orange ..."

Ranma's low contralto voice flowed over Akane's weary mind
and soothed her deeper and deeper into a trance state,
taking her through the colors of the rainbow, and also
through all the stages of release of care and tension, "...
violet is the color of union with the Tao, the Tao is
everything and nothing, become part of the color and let the
color become part of you ... drift down with the color as it
gets darker and darker ... closer and closer to the dark ...
less and less color ... less and less of everything ...
everything going away until you are alone with yourself and
the Tao ... don't be afraid ... I'll be just out here ...
nothing will get by me to harm you ... tell me when you are
ready to go on."

Akane seemed to drift down, through a slowly fading violet
haze, down to a gentle landing on her feet. All around her
she sensed a darkened, empty plain stretching far away.
Though in looking around she could not see any sign of
Ranma, her presence still nestled close about her, warm and
comforting. "Okay," she said, "now what?"

"Turn around," Ranma replied, "Do you see the stairway?"

"Uh-huh. Should I go down?"

"Whenever you're ready."

Akane slowly walked down the stairway, feeling very secure,
as though she were following an old, familiar pathway to a
well-beloved destination. At the bottom of the stairs, she
came to a small landing, seemingly cut out of the living
rock. It was filled with a source-less illumination, and
could be exited in only two ways: the stairway up, and a
large, forbidding door made of iron-banded oak. The door did
not open to a touch, and the keyhole exuded a definite
impression of impregnability.

"Ranchan? I'm at the bottom, but I can't get the door open."

"Look in your pocket. You're carrying the key."

"I don't remember any key that looked like that ... hey!
You're right Ranchan!" Akane unlocked the door, and opened
it into a place of wonder. "Ranchan! It's a library alright!
Wow! There must be _millions_ of books and things, there's
Mangas all over the place, all my favorites ..." (Ranma
assumed a pained look.) "... the paintings on the walls,
they're beautiful ... Kamis! Look at that desk! Thing's big
enough for planes to land on ... ooohh! Nice, comfy chair
too! Ahhh! This is really nice, Ranchan. Are you sure it's
mine?"

"All yours, Acchan," Ranma chirped. "Let me give you a
present?"

"Ummm, sure. What is it?"

"Look on the desk, it may be under something. It's a small
book, leather binding, thin pages ...."

"I see it! Ranchan! It's really expensive .... are you sure
you can afford to give it to _me_?"

"Trust me.

"Now, if you open the book, you will see that I've written a
word on the first several pages, right? The first page says
'Akane', the second says 'study', the third says 'focus',
the fourth says 'sleep', the fifth says 'dream' and the
sixth says 'return', right? And the rest are blank."

"Yep. So?"

"So if you pick up the book and concentrate on 'Akane' you
will then concentrate on who you are and why. This will let
you more fully integrate new skills and experiences into
your Tao.

"Likewise 'study' will focus your subconscious on making
sense whatever the last things you have just learned are,
'focus' will let you concentrate on one specific thing that
you are thinking of, 'sleep' will let you do just that,
'dream' will give you the ability to direct and explore your
dreams, and 'return' will bring you back.

"You can do more than one thing at once, and if you open
your eyes without concentrating on 'return' part of you will
keep, for instance, studying everything you have been
learning that day; even while you are asleep, or eating
dinner, or whatever."

"Gotcha. Pretty cool."

"Glad you like it. Now concentrate on 'return' ...."

Akane opened her eyes and looked around, blinking. She
noticed that Ranma had somehow moved from behind her,
holding her up, to sitting on the foot of the bed. 'Awwwww.'
"Ohayo, Ranchan, what now?"

"Do me a favor."

"Okay."

"Go back under and hit 'Akane' and 'sleep'. I'll see you in
the morning."

"Spoilsport."

"Slacker."

Akane stretched and yawned, laying back into her covers
before Ranma's folded arms stance as colors whirled around
her. Soon, the beautiful walls of her Library opened around
her. Walking over to her desk she picked up the book Ranma
had given her and thumbed through it.

For a few moments she stopped on the first blank page and
stared at it intensely, then she picked a fine quill pen off
the desk and dipped it in the ink sitting in the small ink-
stone. Poising the pen over the page she used the best
calligraphy she could muster to write the word 'Ranma' on
it.

Holding the book open in her hands, she sank down into the
chair and got comfortable. Then she focused her will on the
pages 'Ranma', 'Akane', 'sleep' and 'dream'. On the last
word she closed the book and put it down on the desk,
letting her arms out wide in an enormous stretch and
cracking all her vertebrae, before settling backwards to go
to sleep.

Outside the library, Ranma looked down fondly on Akane's
sleeping form and ghosted out the door and back to the guest
room.

And had there been anyone around that night who was able to
see the rising ghosts of dreams on the night air, that
someone might have spied the columns of such rising strongly
and fully from two separate rooms of the big old house,
remarked on how similar to each other they were, and been
astonished.

But there wasn't, and so, no-one did.

------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences
Part B: The Morning After the Night Before

------------------------------------------------------------

Akane woke up happy.

This was a moderately rare event for her, but she noticed
that it had been becoming more frequent since the imposition
on her life of a certain red-haired girl. Regardless of the
source of her new-found contentment, however, she would
normally _not_ have expected this morning to be a good one.
Too much fear and pain the day before, too much expected
stress today.

Somehow, though, she had managed to navigate the dark rapids
of the night and emerge in the hush of early dawn rested,
loose-limbed and, somehow, entirely content.

Quickly dressing, she picked Isileth from the stand on her
dresser and slipped the sword into her jacket. Passing
silently out her door and down the hall to the top of the
stairs she stood silently for a moment, listening to the
silence of the house. Just below the normal limits of
audibility she could discern Kasumi's ministrations in the
kitchen and someone singing quietly in the garden.

It's so easy to dream of days gone by,
So hard to think of times to come.
And the grace to accept every moment as a gift
Is a gift that is given to some.

Nabiki woke up discontented.

She had pinned some hopes on the night before, but her
surveillance activities had come up empty. She was _sure_
that Ranma and her sister were lovers, but she had not
achieved her lofty reputation as a manipulator of events by
acting ahead of _certain_ knowledge without need.

The remedy for the lack of which certainty had seemed
simple, too; lovers will tend to cling to one another in
times of stress, and yesterday's activities _should_ have
provided _plenty_ of stress, which _should_ have expressed
themselves nicely last night.

But except for Ranma teaching Akane some sort of meditation
thingy to help her sleep, _nothing had happened_. It was
annoying, was what it was.

Worse yet, from her viewpoint, she had theorized that they
might, perhaps, simply have been too tired the night before;
so she had woken up at an entirely-too-early time in the
morning to continue her surveillance. But not only had Ranma
already been up, but Akane had woken early too, and _again_
they hadn't done anything. Not even a kiss!

Ah well, maybe one of them was more aware than she had
thought. She would simply have to get more subtle. It would
be a good challenge.

Or, she might just strangle the gibbering pair of _early_
morning songsters.

Blearily and grumpily, Nabiki sat down in the dining room
and snarled at merrily cheeping birds and cheery sunrise
alike.

What can you do with your days,
But work and hope?
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.
What can you do with each moment of your life,
But live til you've lived it away?
Live til you've lived it away.

Soun awoke unsettled.

This was hardly unusual, of course. Still, he thought, this
was even worse than normal. For all the griefs he normally
felt, for all the power of the terrors and regrets that he
normally struggled with, they were just that: _normal_, the
common structure of his days.

The changes that young Ranma seemed to have brought into his
family and his life might or might not be terrible, but he
felt their abnormality keenly nonetheless. Yet alongside
this additional weight lurked an additional variable,
neither necessarily negative nor positive.

With change comes the possibility of change for the better.

Yet if that possibility is not fulfilled is it not more
terrible than if no such possibility had existed?

At the bottom of every Pandora's Box lurks shining Hope.

Whether that was a good or a bad thing Tendo Soun could not
for the life of him decide.

There are sorrows enough for the whole world's end,
There are no guarantees but the grave.
But this life that we live,
and the times that we spend,
Are treasures too precious to save.

Kasumi had probably awoken with the same serenity which she
always showed the world.

It's always difficult to tell, with Kasumi.

What can you do with your days,
But work and hope?
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.
What can you do with each moment of your life,
But live til you've lived it away?
Live til you've lived it away.

Kodachi and Sayuri woke early, each separately deciding that
they hated hospitals. But we won't get back to them until a
little later.

What can you do with your days,
But work and hope?
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.
What can you do with each moment of your life,
But live til you've lived it away?
Live til you've lived it away.

And a new day in Nerima began, as Kasumi called her (now
slightly enlarged) family to breakfast.

------------------------------------------------------------

The thing that Akane was most aware of as breakfast
continued was hunger; a great, growing void in her stomach
that the breakfast Kasumi had brought to table, double-sized
though it was, barely dented. Ranma, however, had put a
surreptitious hand on her shoulder when she would have asked
Kasumi for more food, holding her to silence.

Once outside the Dojo on the road to Furinkan, Ranma led
Akane and Nabiki to a small side-street off the Nerima
Ginza, wherein they found what Nabiki immediately dubbed
"the perfect hole-in-the-wall dive." It was a very small
restaurant, without even a window onto the street. The door
itself hardly advertised its status as a place of business;
much more resembling a service entrance for some greater
establishment, except for the small sign which held the
single word, "Gally's".

The inside of the restaurant was clean and neat, if small
and dark. It was dominated by the enormous grill that swept
across the back wall and left only a little space into which
a counter with ten stools and half a dozen small tables had
been crammed. There were no customers, and the only
occupant, who was evidently the cook, looked up at them with
an expression of professional cheer that lasted only a few
seconds.

"Hi! Welcome to Gally's. What I fix may for you today ...
_Ranma_?"

"Hiya, Gally-kun, we need eight mega-burgers to go, please."

"Eight ...? Right, eight Megas, to go, coming up."

Gally, if it were she, was a short, elfin girl with straight
black hair that barely reached her shoulders. She possessed
the grace of a martial artist in full measure and was almost
superhumanly fast and deft. Her only unusual features were
the black lines beneath her eyes, but both Akane and Nabiki
received a clear impression of hidden depths, as though
beneath her unmarked arms and perfect skin a whole
collection of scars lurked: unseen, yet not unfelt.

Akane, however, quickly found herself distracted from
questions of deeper reality by her stomach's reaction to the
_enormous_ piles of savory ground beef, bacon and onions
being constructed at lightning speed before her eyes. She
_had_ been to a McDonald's before , of course. She had even
ordered a burger there, so she _was_ aware of the concept
involved. But the idea of 'burger' that she had previously
been aware of did not really seem to have much to do with
the things that were taking shape before her eyes.

"So, Ranma-kun," Gally said over her shoulder, "what doing
were you that touched off an eight-Mega hunger? I mean 'What
were you doing?'"

"Aaaactually ... it's closer to a three-Mega hunger, Gally
-kun. But Acchan here will probably need a little more."

"She's in the same, errr, 'business', Ranma-kun?"

Ranma smiled quietly, "I've taken her as a student."

Gally whipped around and stared at Ranma for a moment,
big-eyed. Ranma flushed slightly and mumbled, "She shows
great promise."

One of the burgers chose that moment to expel some of its
grease onto the grill, hissing and spitting. Gally gave a
small shriek and whipped into a cooking frenzy, getting the
burgers back under control. "Well, I'm glad that it's just
normal ..." she trailed off.

Ranma raised an eyebrow at her back and asked, "Yes?"

"It's just that I ... well, yesterday I suddenly got um...
it was like I suddenly got the idea that you were a lot of
trouble in. Silly, huh? Hugo told me that he had a bad
feeling about mid-morning, too. Said it was like 'A goose
had walked across his grave.' Honestly, know where he comes
up with these things I don't."

Ranma sweat-dropped briefly. "Ahh, yeah. Silly. How _is_
Hugo-kun, anyway? And Ido-sensei?"

"Ohh, Hugo's _just_ fine. He and Ido are both doing things
at Nekomi Tech, you know. Techy stuff." She grinned briefly,
and fairly lit up the room. "It's entirely too geekly for me
to be interested in, but it makes them _so_ happy...."

"Yee-es," Ranma drawled, "I _do_ seem to recall you being
more on the side of, mmmm, _practical implementation_, shall
we say?"

"Be nice, Ranma-kun. So I like moving fast and blowing
things up good. Is that any reason for you to be mean to
me?" Ranma smirked. "Oh! That reminds me," Gally continued,
"Hugo and Ido have joined a motor club at NIT. Would you
come out to the races with us?"

"If nothing, mmm, _serious_ intervenes, sure. When and
where?"

Gally finished the first burger and whipped it in front of a
nearly drooling Akane, who launched into it with vigor.

"I'll get word to you when I know when the next race will be
held."

She put together a smaller burger that she had somehow
hidden amongst the others and wrapped rice paper around it,
handing it to Nabiki. "First hit's free," she winked.

A short time later on the way out the door, loaded down with
a _huge_ fast-food sack, Ranma turned back briefly. "...
soon, Gally-kun. For some reason I think that we're about to
suffer from an enormous addiction to ground beef," and
winked in turn.

------------------------------------------------------------

Nabiki was somewhat amazed at herself, but exceedingly
amazed at her companions.

The burgers were as good as anything Kasumi could have made,
and the relatively smallish one she had eaten was still
larger than anything that she, an experienced consumer of
munchies, would have believed she could have found room for
so soon after breakfast. Yet it was less than a third the
size of the _eight_ that the slight chef had made for Ranma
and her sister.

Nabiki was not sure whether to be more amazed that Ranma had
finished _two_ of them, that her _sister_ had finished two
of them, that Akane had eaten them with such voraciousness,
that Ranma had put _three_ of them back for later in the
school day, or that she was still carrying one of them in
her hand, perhaps to eat on the walk _to_ school.

But what Nabiki was _really_ amazed by was that Akane could
pack away a major Kasumi-style breakfast, follow it with
_two_ piles of meat, cheese, vegetables and bread that must
have tipped the scales at a kilo each, and _still_ have the
energy to jump about like a moderately demented ping-pong
ball while "attacking" Ranma.

At least Ranma was being sensible and remaining serene in
her manner. Though it was a sobering exhibition of just how
good she truly was to note that she was facing down a sword
with a folding fan ... and kicking Akane's butt without so
much as breaking a sweat.

Nabiki stole a moment from admiring the martial arts
exhibition to take another searching look at the fan. Nabiki
harbored suspicions about that fan. Normal fans, after all,
do not deflect sword-blades, nor can they be used as
leverage to flip an opponent fifty feet into the air.

The thing was, though, that it couldn't be a gunsen at all.
It was plainly visible to anyone's sight: a simple, folding
bamboo frame, covered with plain rice paper that had never
even been died or patterned. To Nabiki's eye it seemed to be
a well-used three or four years old, and the only thing on
it was a small calligraphed phrase that appeared to be an
autograph, or similar, running along one edge.

"Umm, Ranma-san?" Akane slid forward along the fence,
Isileth at mid-guard. Ranma looked down towards Nabiki's
upturned face and flicked down beside her as Akane
slide-stepped forward along the fence-top.

"Yes, Nabiki-kun?" Ranma lightly rapped Akane's ankles,
sending her forward another dozen paces as she struggled to
control herself.

"I was just wondering where you'd gotten that fan from?"
Nabiki indicated the fan in question with a gesture as Akane
regained control by jumping up and high into the air.

"Well, I bought it for Sensei, once ..." Ranma gestured
widely with the folded implement.

"Haaaah!" Akane came down in a falling pear-splitter.
*whsssh* Which Ranma dodged, gently guiding the blade past
with the fan before *whrt* flicking her high into the air
again. "Whooaaa!"

"... and when, later, I left his school, so to ..." Ranma
flowed around to Nabiki's outer side with respect to the
street as Akane flipped in mid-air and came back down.

"Not that ..." she began to snarl *hfff* as Ranma guided to
sword-blade past herself again. Akane evaded a fan twist and
lunged, perfectly in control. There was a *klng* as Ranma
blocked the blow close and a rapid-fire *klk-klak-klik* as
they fenced for fractions of a second before *whf* another
blow went past and Akane's ".. eas.." trailed off behind
another *whrt* "... eeeeee!" *THUD*

"... speak, he gave it back. It's just a keepsake, really."
Ranma hid her face behind the fan in a moderately
provocative manner as Akane thumped into a telephone pole
down the street.

"But you're blocking a _sword_ with it! _And_ flipping my
little sister umpty-dozen feet in the air. Why doesn't it
break?" Nabiki asked plaintively as Akane pushed herself
away from the pole.

"You should try not to pay so much attention to the world's
little illusions, Nabiki-kun." Ranma winked.

Akane put Isileth away and threw her arms out in a great,
wrenching yawn as Ranma and Nabiki came level with her.
"Ahhhh! Ranchan, I don't think I'm going to get that one
easily on my own. It ought to be easier; just what are you
doing, anyway?"

The explanation Ranma gave Akane lost Nabiki in martial arts
technicalities almost immediately, and she tuned it out to
concentrate Ranma's comment. 'Try not to pay so much
attention to the little illusions? Huh?'

She was not able to concentrate her attention on the
question for long, however, as she was distracted by a loud
growl next to her. Looking around, she saw that Akane was
paper-white and holding her stomach with both hands.

"Ranchan ...," Akane whispered, in a small, panicked voice,
but Ranma had already unwrapped the burger she had been
holding and put into her hand. Akane looked at it in shock
for a moment before all but falling on it slavering.

Nabiki looked on with concern as her sister ravened her way
through her (effectively) fifth full breakfast of the
morning. She would have been far more distressed, of course,
had Ranma herself not so obviously anticipated it, but still
....

Akane herself was no little worried. "Ranchan, what's
happening to me?"

"You used up a _whole_ bunch of resources yesterday, Acchan.
In fact, I would estimate that you used up about twice what
you had available. So you , we, had to borrow some more, so
to speak. This is just the pay-back. Well, and the interest
too, of course."

"Me and my big ideas," Akane muttered.

"So you'll stay behind, next time?" Ranma asked hopefully.

Akane's glare required no translation. "You _did_ say that
you _did_ need me along, _right_?" she purred.

Ranma sweat-dropped and blushed, grinning weakly, "Errr.
Yeah."

"So there."

------------------------------------------------------------

The room was mostly dark, if you didn't count the TV.
Normally, Sayuri was as capable of vegging out as any
teenager, but that was when she had a choice whether to do
so or not. Of course, she could have turned the lights up
... then she could have spent whole ... seconds cataloging
the flowers and plants.

As of the last time she had done so, fifteen minutes ago,
there had been 35.

Or, she could read. The signs on the wall, for instance.
Why, there must be ... twenty of them. That had been half an
hour ago.

Of course, looked at objectively, it was sufficient of a
miracle that she was alive for the sheer lack of anything to
do to drive her crazy in the first place. She certainly
shouldn't complain that her family had been too distracted
by her miraculous recovery to remember to leave her any
books. Or even homework.

Or, she could review her suspicions about the source of that
'miracle' for the ... twenty-third ... time. Or, she could
get right up and wander about in the _lovely_ hospital,
wearing the _lovely_ hospital gown that was actually _more_
embarrassing than if they'd left her naked.

At least there weren't any IVs left. Although there wouldn't
be anyone out there to talk to except patients she didn't
know and who certainly had worse problems than her and staff
members who certainly wouldn't have time to amuse one
teenage girl.

It was certainly a better policy to wait quietly until
someone came to visit her. If she avoided straining
anything, they might let her go home, she supposed, sometime
next week.

Sayuri leaned back in her bed and watched the television's
flickering glow for a few moments, then slung her feet over
the edge of the bed and found a spare gown. This she put on
over her original gown, but backwards. She topped off with a
towel from the bathroom wrapped around her waist. Then she
opened the door and went out into the corridors.

It was either that, or another dubbed episode of Wheel of
Fortune.

------------------------------------------------------------

Kodachi lay back in her bed with the TV off, and gathered
her strength. Her leg was still very weak, in her
estimation, and her face ached in a pattern that suggested
to her that she might well end up with a permanent scar. Her
eyes were closed in concentration, because she was
attempting something that she had only heard stories about.

She was trying to visualize all of the relevant acupuncture
points for legs and arms and to connect them in a chi
circulation circuit. It didn't help that she had never
actually even felt her chi per se, of course, but it was
something to do to pass the time until her torturer/
therapist showed up.

And keeping her eyes closed to concentrate on her
visualization meant that she didn't have to look at her
room.

Which didn't have anything in it to look at but the flowers
that Ranma-sensei and Akane-san had left.

And she knew what _they_ looked like.

Unfortunately, self-hypnosis had never been among the skills
she had mastered, nor was she particularly skilled in
mediation. Despite her best efforts the necessary distance
from the red dust of earth would not come to her. Thus, the
unexpected opening of her door came as something of a
relief. It _was_ a little odd, since it was outside the
nurse's and therapist's schedules and no-one was likely to
come by to visit _her_ in the middle of a school-day, but
_some-one_ appeared to have done so. She sat up in bed and
raised her lights.

The appearance of a small, long-haired girl in two hospital
gowns and a towel was thus somewhat unexpected.

------------------------------------------------------------

The school-yard before first bell was a hotbed of rumor and
speculation.

The only sure information was that Sayuri had come out of
her coma at last and that Ranma had had something to do with
it. Persistent rumor whispered Akane's name as well; said
that she had died curing Sayuri's illness; said that _Ranma_
had died curing Sayuri's illness; said that Ranma and Akane
had died _together_, and in each other's arms; said that the
"in each other's arms" part was right but that they were
still quite alive, thank you (nudge, nudge, wink, wink,
etc.); denied all of the above for the thought that Sayuri's
"illness" had been induced by The Forces Of Darkness, who
had finally been defeated by Magical Girl Ranma and her
apprentice; and threw around other thoughts, some of which
were very strange and inaccurate indeed. The absence of
Furinkan's normal source of rumors and hearsay, Tendo
Nabiki, did nothing but add fuel to the fire.

Yuka had originally been besieged, but since she had been
otherwise occupied worrying about Sayuri she had little data
to give. This had caused the crowd to fragment and so she
had had to latch on to Daisuke and Hiroshi in order to have
someone to speculate with. Nonetheless, she was the first to
hear the distant voices, silver and gold.

I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.

And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.

Hiroshi and Daisuke noticed her silence and then, moments
later, the reason for it. Caught up between going to hear
the voices better and gaining height so they could see
better, the Average Pair settled for trying to shush people
instead.

We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.

Across the Furinkan schoolyard ripples of silence spread, as
the spell of leaping flame and swirling wind touched briefly
here and there and then passed on.

Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,
I see the hills shine, in its silvery light.
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.

For where I go, You go with me,
Though the miles keep us apart.
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.

Some heard in the song confirmations of theories. Some did
not.

We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.

Nabiki, walking just behind Ranma and Akane, marveled. She
had always known that her little sister was good at martial
arts, but who would have thought that _this_ was hiding
under there, too.

Well who scattered these diamonds,
through the vault of Heaven?
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?
Where is the heart of every living thing?

Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.
I know you love me, how could it not be?
And I am yours, now and forever,
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.

Somewhere in the back of her mind words like 'Idol' and
'Agent' were flashing, surrounded by scads of beautiful yen
signs, but for the moment even Nabiki was lost in the song.

We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.
We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end Dear, only love remains.

Ranma and Akane entered the schoolyard to a wall of stunned
silence.

Akane almost blushed, but Ranma smiled broadly and spread
her arms wide and the walls of Furinkan picked up her
shouted "Good Morning, Furinkan!" and blurred it back into a
roaring cheer.

Yuka hurtled from her position by the doors with a cry of
"Ranma-san, Akane-chan!" Like a hyperactive heat-seeking
missile she hurled herself into Ranma's arms shouting "Thank
you! Thank you for saving Sayuri-chan!" Slipping free from a
slightly staggered Ranma she turned on Akane, and froze with
a cry of shock.

Yuka's wailed "Akane-san! What happened?!" pretty well
silenced the cheering and when Yuka gently grasped Akane's
blushing face by the chin and turned her head everyone could
see the scars - and see, also, the night-black void of the
eye beneath them, lit now by nebulas of flaming red and
swirling gold.

The stunned silence lasted for several seconds as Akane's
blush achieved near nuclear proportions but the blush faded
instantly when Yuka broke the silence ... by bursting into
tears.

Akane swept Yuka into her arms and hugged her hard. "Shh,
Yuka-chan. It's all right. I'm not hurt, it's just a scar,
like; the eye still works."

"But ... *snff* ... I mean, are you sure Akane-san? It looks
like ..."

Akane blushed again, but rallied, "I'm _sure_, believe me.
It looks weird as hell, but everything works just fine."

"But _how_?" Yuka said.

"Oh, well," Ranma said, dryly, "she _is_ a hero, you know."

"But then why don't _you_ have one, Ranma-san?" someone
called.

Ranma ran a possessive hand over her flaming hair and said,
"Each to their own."

A small wave of chuckles was broken by another cry from the
rear ranks: "Three cheers for Ranma and Akane!"

"Banzai!!"

Ranma smirked and covered her mouth with her fan as Akane's
blush went beyond Mega-Nuclear to Don't Point That At My
Planet.

"_Banzai!!_"

Akane resolved to kill the person who had spoken, but
afterwards. Still, no-one had ever cheered _her_ before.
When you came down to it, it was kind of nice.

"BANZAI!!"

And the left eye in her thrown back face flamed, briefly, a
solid gold.

------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences
Part C: When I Was A Fighting Man, The Kettle-Drums They Beat

------------------------------------------------------------

The trouble with being a hero, Akane decided, is that the
effort required to be one tends to distract you from
whatever else you're doing, but you still have to do it
anyway. Or, at least, you still have to do it if 'it' is
schoolwork.

Also, teachers are remarkably resistant towards accepting 'I
spent most of yesterday in Hell. I didn't have _time_ to do
homework.' as an excuse. (What was _truly_ irritating was
that Ranma _had_ done her homework.)

After your whole school has cheered you as a hero, being
sent into the hall for the buckets can be a terrible
letdown.

But, somehow, it wasn't. She considered her feelings as she
stood in the hall, and tried to pin down just _why_ it
wasn't.

Mostly, she decided, because it really didn't matter. The
school knew. She knew. Ranma knew. Probably even the
teachers knew. It was more a matter of the routine
maintenance of order than anything really serious. It wasn't
like the 'shame' was going to blight her record.

Really, she suddenly realized, it wasn't as if her school
record had any _real_ meaning. Even if she didn't stay with
Ranchan after her high-school days were behind her (she knew
she couldn't, and the thought was more painful than any
other she'd ever had), her life had taken an irrevocable
turn for the weird and the adventurous.

It would not be possible for her to live a normal life as a
normal Japanese girl. Had it ever _been_ possible? Well, she
wasn't sure, any more than she was sure just what it _was_
possible for her to be.

She supposed she'd find out.

------------------------------------------------------------

It was weird.

This girl. Sayuri. She'd just ... wandered in and started
talking.

Weird.

Hadn't even wanted anything from her, hadn't wanted
information. Just kept her company. Sympathized with her.

Wasn't related to her, didn't owe her anything. Didn't even
go to the same school. She'd even had to ask her _name_.
Hadn't connected her to her brother until Kodachi herself
had mentioned it. Sayuri had been surprised.

So, if she didn't want to be seen with Kodachi for social
purposes (in a hospital?), and didn't want access to her
brother, what _did_ she want?

Kodachi was forced to conclude that she wanted to be
friends.

Strange. Very, very strange.

Kodachi had never had .... Well, _of course_ she'd had
friends. She'd had lots of them. But she'd never had ....

She'd never had a friend who was just ... a friend.

She was even ... protective. _Actually_ protective. She'd
gotten _very_ mad that no-one from St. Herebreke had stopped
by, or even sent a card.

She had ... she had ... she'd shared her views on school
with Kodachi. Just talking. She'd _gossiped_. Just like they
were two schoolgirls. Just like Kodachi was a normal girl.

_No-one_ had _ever_ treated Kodachi like she was a normal
girl. Ever.

Well, there was no reason for them to. She was _Kuno
Kodachi_. She was _rich_. She was special.

Wasn't she?

------------------------------------------------------------

Sayuri felt that Kodachi must be very brave. She had stood
up to a dreadful monster (_she_ knew) and she wasn't even
depressed about the scar on her face or anything.

Mind, Sayuri also felt that the scar actually looked good.
For a scar, that is. Sort of piratical. But Kodachi was
going to have an operation to have it removed, soon. Which
was good, because a girl really shouldn't have scars for
very long because people could react badly.

What Sayuri was actually concerned with, of course, was
Kodachi's potential ability to attract a boyfriend. She
would have recommended someone, but she didn't know any
decent ones herself. It was, she felt, already sufficiently
difficult to find a good prospect without having to worry
about turning them off because of a scar.

Sayuri had awoken with memories. She wasn't entirely sure
about the veracity of _all_ of them. But she remembered
enough. Ranma- and Akane-sempai had come to get her. They
had rescued her in some way or another. She would have to
ask Ranma-sempai about exactly what had gone on.

Central to the traditional moral character of Japanese
society are four interlinked concepts: On, Gimu, Giri
and Ninjo. While translations are, by nature, inexact,
a Westerner would probably translate them as
Reciprocity, Piety, Duty and Compassion.

Reciprocity requires acknowledgment and repayment of
debt, including honor debt. Piety exhorts the debtor to
allegiance to the debt-holder's cause, in ongoing
repayment of debts otherwise too great to fully repay.
Duty invokes the balancing of obligations as the
highest function of an honorable life. Compassion
requires empathy with others, and recognizes that all
people are one, beneath the surface differences that
karma imposes.

Ranma-sempai and Akane-sempai had stormed Hell itself to
rescue her, for compassion's sake. Sayuri wasn't sure that
the debt could be repaid, but she was determined to try.
Showing compassion herself seemed to be a good way to start.

Besides, she truly did like the older girl. And there was no
doubt in her mind that Kodachi _needed_ a little compassion,
needed it badly. It was in the eyes, a certain mix of
defensiveness and loneliness. She had seen it before.

Once Yuka had had that look, when she was new to Junior
High. She had offended the dignity of one of the fashionable
cliques, and had been nearly shunned for her trouble. Akane
had noticed it and had dragged Sayuri into a friendship that
had never since faltered. Then later Akane herself had begun
to grow that look, and Sayuri had not at all known what to
do about it.

Greater than all other terrors is helplessness. Three times
in her life Sayuri had felt that great terror, once in
retrospect and twice directly. Once she had been saved by
Akane, once by Ranma, once by both.

But in the course of that last rescue, running up a long
slope, she had discovered that she need no longer be
helpless. She had found a source of power in the bone-
handled hilts of a pair of long knives. (Or perhaps she had
discovered the power earlier, beneath the knife and the
iron. But she did not send her mind back to that place of
lies to see.)

She had left the knives behind, imbedded in sulfurous dust
and ichor-stained flesh. And yet, in some way, she still
seemed to feel them within her hand, warm and sure-gripped,
almost alive in their response to her arm and will.

Knives can be used for many things. Sayuri was a good cook,
and experienced with knives.

It came to her, looking at the darkness in Kodachi's dark
eyes, that no-one who has a knife is truly helpless. It came
to her that there are many kinds of knives. The lurking
darkness was a bitter enemy, but it was an enemy that she
had faced before, and it seemed to her that she might just
have a knife fit to cut it.

Sayuri chatted on, using gossip and patter, talk of the
latest shows and magazines, what idol singer was hot, what
idol singer was cold, and how long they each would stay that
way. What Kodachi did at home, what Sayuri did at home.
Recipes and music and video-games and sweets and boys.

Within fifteen minutes she had giggles. Within an hour they
were chatting away as if they had known each other all their
lives. Just as if they were at a sleep-over. Just as if they
were talking after school. Just as if they were passing
notes in class. Just a normal conversation, between two
normal teen-age girls, who happen to be best friends.

Normality and friendship, to cut the dark away. Strange
knives to make strange cuts, Sayuri thought. But you had to
take your knives where you found them sometimes. After all,
strange or not, a knife was a knife. And Sayuri was good
with knives.

------------------------------------------------------------

By lunchtime, she had a pile of notes that almost covered
her desk. Fortunately, the teacher was understanding.
Unfortunately, there was no way she could possibly reply to
most of them. She didn't even dare read them, in case one of
them asked something she couldn't afford to react to.

Fame and triumph could be quite wearing.

As could other things as well, of course.

There was, in one corner of Furinkan yard, a tree. This had
a low lying, broad, flat limb perhaps four or five feet off
the ground. Underneath the limb there was a sheltered spot
of shade. This collective area had been annexed by Ranma
soon after she arrived at Furinkan, and was already locally
known by the students thereof as Ranma's Branch and Akane's
Spot.

Ranma would stretch out on the limb and idle, while Akane
sat underneath her in the shade and dozed or ate, frequently
listening to Ranma play the flute or lecture on some arcane
bit of cultural trivia or other. Under normal circumstances
Ranma considered lunch a thing which should not be trivially
disturbed. Today, however, was not a normal circumstance.

For some reason best known to herself, Ranma had decreed a
period of weapons drill. This involved several annoyances,
from Akane's point of view. First, it meant that she had to
cram down a great deal of food in a great hurry, which she
considered distasteful. Second, it required her to bounce
around like a superball even to avoid embarrassing herself
against Ranma's skill.

Third, it meant that she had to exercise even greater
control over her movements than would normally be the case
in a sparring match, lest she injure another student.
Fourth, even despite this control, it was positively amazing
how little protection a sword blade, a cupped hand-guard and
a blade-breaker hilt could be against a fan.

Lastly, Ranma regarded sparring time as an excellent forum
for developing her cultural literacy, her store of trivia
and her aptitude for quotation. Generally, by quoting
extensively and extempore from the _Tale of Genji_ or _The
Dream of the Red Chamber_. Translating the latter in
midstream, of course, because Akane was quite incapable of
speaking Chinese. Worse, Ranma meant to develop her ability
to quote passages back, and was unerring in her ability to
remember what Akane was already supposed to have heard (and,
therefor (naturally), know by heart.)

Altogether, it was enough to drive a respectable Tendo to
tears. Or something. And she had discovered that she
_despised_ the _Dream of the Red Chamber_. (Partly because
getting passages thrown at you between the hand-strokes is
_not_ the way to develop an appreciation for literary
complexities or for the subtleties of the prophetic heroic
form as Ranma interpreted it. And partly because, in her
humble opinion, _The Dream Of the Red Chamber_ _sucked
rocks_.)

All in all, she would much have preferred if nothing _else_
had managed to come up. Unfortunately, Ranma's attitude of
sunny certainty that no additional straw that might be piled
atop her would _actually_ be the one straw too many seemed
to be rubbing off on some of the other people around her.

Such, for instance, as Nabiki.

------------------------------------------------------------

|Step forward. Feint. Three arc. Four-corner.|
Spin. Sidestep-leap. Block low-to-high-to-cross-guard. Leap.

"Umm. Ranma-san?" Uncertainty was uncharacteristic for
Nabiki, but she didn't normally try to talk business with
someone who was busy using a fan to chase someone who was
using a sword around Furinkan yard. "Can I talk to you two
about something?" At least Ranma wasn't moving very fast.

|Casual feint. Side-swipe. Jodan. Chudan.|
Land blocking. Slide back. Disengage. Block low-to-high.

"Sure, Nabiki-san. What's on your mind?" Ranma moved Akane
sideways, so that she wouldn't crowd Nabiki. "Acchan, if you
don't attack you're going to lose, you know."

|Slide-strike. Reverse kick. Three-strike. Jodan.|
Parry. Riposte-to-stop block. Disengage, under cover. Duck.

"What's up, Oneechan?" Akane chirped brightly, "And Ranchan,
you know I'm gonna lose anyway. If I keep on the defensive,
you might make a mistake."

|V-step. Sweep-to-Gedan. Slap parry-and-bind. Flip.|
Sweep kick-to-tumble dodge. Jump. Jodan cross. 'ohshit' WHAM

"Waiting for your opponent to make a mistake is very
passive, Acchan." Ranma chided, gently, "You should be
causing mistakes, because a skilled opponent won't make any
otherwise." As Akane spun through the air, Ranma raised an
eyebrow, "See?"

Akane had managed to rotate upright as she flew, but had not
managed to get her legs in line with the wall. A puff of
dust rose from the impact, and she stayed flattened against
the wall about five feet off the ground for a moment before
slowly sliding down. Nabiki winced, a reaction shared by
many of the watching students.

Her eyes wide and unfocussed, Akane shook her head as she
reached the ground. "Theoretically, anyway," she mumbled,
"Where'd that wall come from, anyway?"

Ranma's lip curved upward in a gentle smile. "It's been
there for twenty years or so, I think. They don't usually
move."

"Funny." Akane pushed herself to her feet, sheathing her
sword. "I'm going to put the sword up and start using a
stick. It'd be faster."

Ranma smiled slightly, before turning back to Nabiki.

------------------------------------------------------------

And then there had been the weird thing that Nabiki had
wanted to ask. Akane would never in her wildest dreams have
expected Nabiki to declare that she and Ranma were as good
as idol singers, nor have expected that Nabiki would offer
to have a demo made.

She probably _should_ have expected it, but she hadn't. She
_had_ expected Ranma's reaction. She even agreed with it,
although she was a _little_ sorry that she wouldn't get to
hear their songs on the radio. But being an idol singer
would cut _much_ too far into training time, and other
things.

And besides, if being famous just in Furinkan was this ...
embarrassing, what might being famous on the street be like?

When you thought about it, fame was something of an
impediment to a Martial Artist, really. She should do her
best to avoid it. In the future. You bet.

Still. It _was_ a shame.

------------------------------------------------------------

'Thirty spokes meet at a nave,' Kodachi thought, sadly,
'Because of the hole we may use the wheel.' Sayuri was
dancing around the edges of something.

It showed up in the pauses. Like many things, really. A
matter of things not said, of topics not raised.

She was good at it, and good at detecting it. All she had to
do now was steer the conversation a little and she would
find out what it was. Sayuri was _not_ good at it.

She didn't want to.

It would be ... she had ... Sayuri ...

It had been _so_ much fun, thinking that Sayuri wanted just
to be her friend. She really didn't want to find out what
Sayuri's ulterior motives were. She really didn't. But, she
had to.

She set about doing so. Slowly, gently. Piece by piece. The
spokes define the wheel, but the part you use is at the
center, and around the edge. If you look at the shape of the
wall, you can, if you're good, tell what lies _behind_ the
wall.

Piece by piece, the picture grew, but the picture made no
sense. It was ....

It was almost as though _she_ didn't matter at all, but then
in the next instant it was as though she _did_ matter, but
not because of who she was, but just because ....

It made no sense. If Sayuri wanted Kodachi to do something
_for_ her, she should be interested in what Kodachi _was_;
what her contacts were, who she knew, which circles she
moved in. And she wasn't, didn't care at all. On that point,
if on no other, Kodachi was willing to swear.

Oh, Sayuri would _talk_ about them, but she was more
interested in how Kodachi felt, in what _she_ thought of
them. She didn't seem to have any idea of how they could be
used, or even that they _could_ be used. She seemed,
honestly, to feel as though they were part of a world in
which she would never move, or even wished to.

Now, if Sayuri wanted Kodachi to enhance her standing in her
own social circles, she should be interested in either
getting Kodachi to visit that circle or in getting to visit
_Kodachi's_. And she wasn't, especially.

Kodachi thought that it was _vaguely_ possible that she
could be wrong, ... there was this 'mall hanging' thing that
Sayuri had mentioned, and she was positively _enthusiastic_
about a 'slumber party' ... she _thought_ she knew what
those were, but ... it seemed to _her_ that someone ... well
it was the same problem as before. Sayuri should be looking
for details, names to drop, commitments, something of that
sort.

But, she just wasn't.

The _other_ odd thing was the apprehension. It was fairly
well buried, but there was definitely a thread of ... well,
not _fear_ exactly, but something like it. But it wasn't
directed at her. It seemed almost as though Sayuri was
_worried_. Worried about Kodachi and worried about herself,
at the same time. And Kodachi was willing to say that the
worries had the same _cause_, too.

Now. What could ....

Hmmm.

Well, what had Ranma-sensei said that Sayuri was in the
hospital for, anyway? She was sure that she had heard ....

Oh, yes! Sayuri had been ... unconscious ... because ....

Sayuri, she suddenly remembered, had been unconscious,
almost in a coma, because of something that had happened to
her during the attack by that _creature_. She might have
also been attacked. Ranma-sensei, she remembered, had seemed
almost worried.

Not good. No telling what ... She didn't look _physically_
damaged, but ....

Oh, dear.

Well. She would simply have to find out. If ... something
... _had_ happened, then ....

Well, then _she_, Kuno Kodachi, still the Black Rose, would
have _two_ grievances. Very severe ones.

_And_, she, Kodachi, would also have a friend, or, at least,
a companion in suffering, who she would be responsible for.

Sayuri seemed to think that _she_ could, and should, protect
_Kodachi_. From the terrible threat of being lonely, if from
nothing else. Who knew? Perhaps she was right.

Slowly, again, and carefully, Kodachi began to move the
conversation to her will. But not, this time, to steer a
wheel.

This task would require strength, as much as guile. It was
obvious that Sayuri would not willingly speak of her
troubles; and yet, she was also carrying some great weight.
If she was given reason to place the burden, or part of it,
on another's shoulders, would she not do so?

Kodachi was quite sure that she could carry at least as
large a load as Sayuri did. Whatever she was carrying,
Kodachi could bear it.

Slowly. Cautiously. Carefully. Making words into clay.
Moulding clay into a cup. Piece by piece, turn by turn,
layer by layer. Not to build a wall, not to weave a net, but
merely to shape a space, that Sayuri must eventually fill.

The Clay is merely the vessel; it is the hollow that makes
the cup.

------------------------------------------------------------

Music was being ... interesting.

Maeda-sensei (Music) had been approached by Hachisuka-sensei
(English). The result of which was ....

"Okaaay." Yuka held her head. "Ranma-sempai's going to help
us learn better English by _Karaoke_?!"

Ranma chuckled. "Not _quite_, Yuka-kun. I'm going to teach
you to _sing_ better English. It should help your accents
and word choice."

"Do you even _know_ any popular English songs, Ranchan?"
Akane queried.

"Oi!" Ranma snapped, frostily. "_Certainly_ I do! I'm just
trying to figure out which ones they are!"

"Ah." Akane met Ranma's glance with an expression of pure,
wide eyed innocence.

Ranma red-eyed her. "Biiiiidah!"

"Now," Ranma turned back to her notes, "Ah-hah! Found it.
This one was on the radio when I was in Chicago. I think it
was some movie tune or other. Anyway. Page ... ah ... page
32. See it?"

Various rustlings ensued as people flipped papers and stared
at them.

"Okay," Ranma bent forward, sitting on a chair with her
guitar in her lap, "the chords go like this, and the first
verse is ...

Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon
I see the passion in your eyes
Sometimes it's all a big surprise

The author will be kind, and spare his readers any attempt
at describing the cacophony which followed.

Ranma winced. Hard. "Ahhhh. Lets ... lets take it one line
at a time, okay?"

Sometimes the snow comes down in June

"No, Yuka-kun; 'snow' not 'srow'....

------------------------------------------------------------

It took ages. And long before it ended, Kodachi knew that
she had been wrong. She wasn't strong enough. No human was
strong enough. Except, just possibly, Sayuri.

She had crafted herself a cup, she thought numbly, and now
it overflowed. She had no-one to blame but herself.

Towards the beginning, she had moved herself, and her
injured leg, next to Sayuri, seeking to offer comfort. That
was towards the beginning.

But it was not long before she realized that she was
desperately trying to build a defense. A wall of dispassion
and distance. Between herself and the quiet voice, quietly
reciting horrors. As though they were distant and
unimportant. As though she did not know (but she _did_ know)
that the horror the voice was laying out was horror that the
voice itself had felt, had tasted, had been. As though the
voice had not been part of the horror.

But it had. She _knew_ it had. And _because_ it had, she was
part of the horror, too.

Long before the story ended, Kodachi was huddled next to
Sayuri. _Seeking_ comfort.

Sayuri seemed pleased to offer it.

Seeking a wall, against the terror of the world. Finding a
rock, to anchor the wall to. Building bricks from words,
rapidly, hastily.

Where there are no walls to offer shelter, a wall may yet be
built. One wall may offer but little shelter, yet where you
may build one wall, you may build another.

And then another yet.

------------------------------------------------------------

She hadn't meant to speak of it. She had told Kodachi too
much. Much too much. The girl was in the _hospital_, darn
it, with her leg all bunged up. What had she been thinking?

She pulled herself together with great force. Someone needed
her help. _Kodachi_ needed her help. You could cling to
that. It was a rock and a pillar, being needed, if you let
it be one.

You could use it, too. You could hold on and let it bear
your weight, and then you could kick rocks out of the side,
and make a staircase. And you could walk up the staircase,
all the way to the top.

------------------------------------------------------------

She didn't remember what she said, or what Sayuri replied,
but somehow Kodachi pulled away. It was a gradual process.

But, bit by bit, she recalled herself to herself, and built
on the foundation that herself provided. When the flood is
sweeping down, you build a wall.

When you've built a wall, you build another, and another,
and another.

When you're surrounded with walls you start building them
higher.

------------------------------------------------------------

Kodachi was withdrawing, and it was all her fault.

Not that she could blame her. If _she_ had had all that ...
nastiness dropped on her, _she'd_ have withdrawn, too. Not
that that made it any better.

But withdrawing was the wrong thing to do, she knew it was.
You had to bide your time, and then you had to go _at_
whatever was wrong, because otherwise it would run over you.

Kodachi had something wrong. Well, aside from the leg, and
the scar, which were obvious. There was something _else_
wrong, too. She didn't know what it was, or how to find out,
but she knew it was there.

And if Kodachi withdrew, if she put up walls around herself,
whatever it was would just _sit_ there and get worse and
_worse_ ....

She was supposed to be Kodachi's _friend_. Some friend.

It was all her fault.

So she would have to fix it.

She didn't know _how_ she would, but she would have to find
a way. She was not going to stand helplessly by. Never stand
by helplessly again.

------------------------------------------------------------

Late at night, a big ole house gets lonely,
I guess every form of refuge has it's price

As the school day at Furinkan ended, some of the departing
student body behaved in unusual ways. Most of them, of
course, promptly scattered for home or their normal after-
school activities, breaking up into pairs and singletons and
small groups. But two large clots of students did _not_
break up, but remained coherent.

He looked at the chart but he looked in vain
Heavy cloud but no rain

One group, all boys, was joined by a small man with a
ferocious white mustache, who rounded them up and marched
them off. The other, about twenty students of mixed gender,
wandered off down the road. A casual observer would have
noticed that they were traveling in the general direction of
Nerima General Hospital.

Cause there was a time when all I did was wish
You'd tell me this was love

A _careful_ observer would have noticed that some of them
were singing. A _very_ careful observer might also have
noticed that, while the voices that were singing tended to
alternate, two were predominate, with at least one of the
two always involved. A furry, golden contralto, and a pure
silver mezzo-soprano. But it would have to have been a
_careful_ observer.

Now I don't know where the moral is,
Or how this song should end

A _casual_ observer could have followed them, and seen that
they _were_ heading for Nerima General, directly. And a
casual observer might have wondered at their good cheer.
Even people who work at Hospitals are seldom cheerful, and
few people walk to one with laughter and song.

'Cause I don't wanna go on with you like that
Don't wanna be a feather in your cap

And that question, as the group spilled into the lobby of
the Hospital in a flurry of (much quieter) good cheer, would
have taxed even a good observer to the utmost. But no-one
was particularly observing the group at the moment, and so,
no such question was asked.

------------------------------------------------------------

Nabiki made the discovery, and was unsettled. This led to
her finding a nurse, and transferring the unsettlement on.
In a less-well run establishment, the resulting chain
reaction could conceivably have provided amusement for some
time, but fortunately Nerima General was well run.

Shaking her head and talking quietly with Dr. Tofu and the
floor physical therapist, Ranma walked towards Kodachi's
room, followed by Akane and the others, bearing gifts of
flowers purchased in the Hospital Gift Shop.

Shifting her flower arrangement to one hand, Ranma knocked
on the indicated door and opened it, to reveal a pale
Sayuri, sitting in a chair, and a very quiet and still
Kodachi, lying on her bed. She ushered Akane, Yuka and
Tatewaki in the door, waving to the others to wait for a
minute and then closing it after herself.

"I've had complaints about you," Ranma said in a semi-
humorous tone.

Sayuri brought her head around with a mutinous light in her
eyes. "Ranma-sempai! I couldn't just _lie_ there!"

"And why not?" Akane came forward past Ranma and put her
flowers down on Kodachi's table. "Hello, Kodachi-kun, we've
brought you and Sayuri-chan some flowers."

"Oh, no! Akane-chan, I already have more flowers than will
...." As Akane came back around the table Sayuri's eyed
widened and her voice rose to a squeak, as she half rose
from her seat. At the same time, Kodachi sucked in her
breath in a gasp, as Akane's left eye swirled with flecks of
red and gold in the flourescent light.

"Well then," Yuka grinned, "if you don't want the flowers,
we'll give them all to Kodachi-san."

"Akane-chan!" Sayuri wailed as Akane perched on the arm of
her chair and hugged her. "Your eye!"

"What about it?" Akane grinned.

"What _about_ it? It ... you ... but ... Yukaaaa!" Sayuri
clutched at her gown.

"It just changed color, Sayuri-chan. There's nothing wrong
with it." Akane's voice was pure sweet realism.

"_Just_ changed color?! Nothing _wrong_ with it?! Yuuukaaaa!
Reason with her!" Sayuri cringed as she gently reached out a
hand to touch Akane's left cheek. There were scars there,
three scars across the cheek, and she _knew_ in the marrow
of her bones what kind of thing had made them. She had seen
them, often enough, on her own flesh.

Akane-chan! Akane-chan had been hurt! For her! By Them!

Kill! She wanted to kill. She wanted to rip and tear and
smash and destroy! Another of her friends was hurt! If she
had possessed a tail, it would have been bottled out in
pure, furious rage.

Her vision was suddenly forced to timeshare. Yuka's face,
chin pugnaciously forward, thrust itself into her vision.

"We are not here to talk about Akane-chan's eye, Sayuri-
chan." Yuka's voice was low and grim. "We're here to look
after someone who almost got _killed_ on us!" Suddenly Yuka
broke down in tears and glomped Sayuri, trembling. "Don't go
and try to die on us again, Sayuri-chan. We've lost too may
friends from Furinkan as it is."

Kodachi lay on her bed, and felt the walls grow higher. She
watched the little gathering by the bed-side and knew that
she should do something. The face of the Kuno family
demanded that she show ninjo and control in this time of
stress for a friend, but all she could do ....

'Friend'? Yes, she admitted to herself, her friend. Almost
her only friend, and she could bear to do no single thing to
aid ....

Ranma edged a hip onto her bed, drawing her pale and quiet
attention. As the small, red-headed girl reached out a
gentle hand to cup over her scarred face, Kodachi watched
her gravely and traced her own faint scars by eye.

Kodachi fancied that she felt a vague flutter of sensation
along the facial scan. Something almost too faint to discern
and quickly fading. As her brother leaned over, equally
gravely, to kiss her on the forehead, Kodachi almost wept,
but could not. Walls, walls of glass, closing her in.

The walls were bad things, but how could she exist without
them? Even the friendship and concern between Sayuri, Yuka
and Akane would be too much for her to bear just now, if she
must confront them head on.

Sayuri shook her head free of the tri-fold hug and looked
concernedly at Akane again. "But, Akane-chan, it _looks_
...."

"Feh," Akane said. "Never you mind. Ranchan says it makes me
look rakish."

"Well," said Ranma, calmly, "it _does_."

"Oh." Sayuri blinked at Ranma, blinked at Akane, blinked at
Ranma again. "If you say so, Sempai."

"I do," Ranma said dryly, sliding off the bed. She took the
step necessary to reach Sayuri and took the other girl
gently by the chin, holding her face level and looking deep
into her eyes. Whatever she may have seen there, it seemed
to satisfy her, as when she let go she nodded calmly. "Yes,
you're a lot better. Looks like you're going to get well."

Sayuri stood up, to gain a small advantage by being taller
than the other girl. "I _am_ well, Sempai," she declared
firmly.

Ranma gazed at her through her eyelashes, crossing her hands
behind her back. "You're sure? No nightmares? No lingering
shadows? Everything just fine?"

"I'm _sure_," Sayuri crossed her arms in front of her and
glared at Ranma stubbornly, "no, no and _yes_, just _fine_."

Ranma smiled a somewhat crooked smile and brought out her
right hand, to hold palm upward and cupped in front of
Sayuri. As she focused on it, it filled with a pearlescent
globe of light, which seemed to be filled with colors, or
perhaps they were shapes.

Whatever they may have been, Sayuri leapt backwards with a
strangled shriek, hands curling into claws (or, perhaps, to
feel the hilt of an invisible knife) and rising to strike.
Kodachi, reacting to the threat signal, tensed to defend,
searching automatically for a weapon, buoyed by a momentary
surge of adrenaline.

Ranma simply held the light globe, bestowing upon Sayuri a
somewhat sardonic gaze. Sayuri looked up and down between
Ranma's face and the light a few times, before coming out of
a defensive stance and dropping her arms to fold her hands
together in front of her, ducking her head.

As she did, the light-globe flickered and vanished, and
Ranma stepped forwards again, reaching out with one finger
to tuck it gently underneath her chin and lift up her head.
"You know, Sayuri-chan, even very brave heroes have to take
time out now and then to be healed."

Sayuri flushed scarlet. "Yes, Sempai."

"You're still very much under the _physical_ effects, you
know," Ranma continued gently. "So you _are_ going to listen
to your physical therapist, right?"

Meekly, Sayuri said, "Yes, Sempai."

"And you're going to listen to Dr. Tofu, too, right?"

Diminuendo, "Yes, Sempai."

"And you're going to listen to _me_, right?"

Mumbled, with cast-down eyes, "Yes, Sempai."

Ranma let go of Sayuri's chin. "Good. In that case, I think
that between us we can get you on your feet and back to
school in no time. No time, in this case, being defined as
about a week." Turning to look at Kodachi, as well, "For
both of you. Also, I would like for you two to stay together
and do your exercises together while you're at the Hospital.
I was going to suggest that you visit Kodachi-kun when we
came over today, Sayuri-chan, but since you seem to have
anticipated me ...."

Sayuri blushed again. "I didn't want to just _sit_ there ...
there wasn't anything to do ... Kodachi-chan doesn't have
anything to do either ...."

Ranma grinned at them, "We brought you some magazines, and
some of the makings of a small party. So if the emotional
hullaballoo is over ...."

Akane grinned at her, Tatewaki and Kodachi nodded gravely
and Yuka and Sayuri blushed. And Ranma opened the door to
the teeming (in a sense) multitude (relatively speaking).

------------------------------------------------------------

Bosabosa Daisuke, Furinkan High School Class 2-F, was glad
to be able to (finally) get in the room, pushing past his
eternal partner Chapatsu Hiroshi in his haste. It wasn't so
much that he was eager to see the other half of his normal
double date and the closest thing he had to a girl friend;
although he was.

Nor was it the opportunity to be in the same small room with
the newly triumphant Tendo Akane, although he thought of her
as an acquaintance and hence, in some small way, shared her
glory; although that would certainly be a good thing. It
wasn't even that the same small room would also contain the
exotic and utterly beyond cool new arbiter of stylishness at
Furinkan, Bushiko Ranma; although the closer you stayed to
her the better.

No, the primary reason for his eagerness was much simpler;
he was carrying a large plant, and it was getting darn
heavy.

It's amazing, sometimes, the small points on which destiny
can turn.

He spent the first several moments inside the room looking
for somewhere to set it. Attempting to sort these first
impressions gave him a few odd data points.

First; the room had, in addition to Sayuri-chan, Yuka-chan,
and Akane, Ranma, and Tatewaki-sempai, another occupant.

Second; this occupant was a _very_ pretty girl, somewhat
pale and grave looking.

Third; Tatewaki-sempai was standing by her, and basic
deduction told him that she must be the room's primary
tenant; Tatewaki's sister, who, he believed, was named
Kodachi.

Fourth; there were lots of places to put flowers, because
there were almost none already here.

These facts drew forth a chain of deductions, thusly;
a.) This was a hospital room.
1.) Belonging to Kuno Kodachi.
2.) Who is a very pretty girl.
3.) Who is, in addition, sick.
4.) In the hospital, in fact.
5.) Because of wounds sustained during Heroism.
A.) Which, he, himself, had witnessed.
b.) There were almost no flowers in this room.
1.) Being a hospital room, belonging to Kodachi, etc.
2.) What flowers there were bore tags.
A.) That said Akane, Ranma or Tatewaki.
Therefore:
c.) Kodachi,
1.) Who was in the hospital.
2.) And a Hero.
3.) And a very pretty girl, too.
d.) Had, Almost No Flowers.
1.) Which was Bad.
2.) And would probably make her Unhappy.
3.) Which was Very Bad.
Moreover:
e.) He, Bosabosa Daisuke, had Flowers.
1.) Rather good ones.
2.) Which could be given to Kodachi.
A.) Who was a very pretty girl.
B.) Etcetera.
3.) Which would make her happy.
4.) Which would be a Good Thing.
f.) Kodachi had _not_, previously attended Furinkan.
1.) She had attended some other school.
A.) Which had not, apparently, sent Flowers.
1.) And was, therefor, Forever to be Damned.
2.) She might not be happy with the situation there.
g.) A good impression of Furinkan High School,
1.) As provided by, say, Bosabosa Daisuke.
2.) And possibly others (Grrr).
3.) As opposed to the Other School.
h.) Might induce her to transfer.
1.) To Furinkan.
2.) Which was co-ed.
3.) Where her brother already attended.
Which:
i.) Would increase the number of pretty girls at Furinkan.
1.) By at least one.
2.) Kodachi.
A.) Who was a very pretty girl.
B.) Etcetera.
j.) Which would be a Very Good Thing.

------------------------------------------------------------

The young man with the unruly hair had given her flowers.

This might, in itself, have been considered normal. Many
young men had given her flowers.

The interesting thing was; he had not, thereafter, asked her
for a date.

This was, in her experience, highly abnormal.

Moreover, many of the other people who had come to see
Sayuri, presumably her schoolmates, had _also_ given her
flowers. And none of them had asked her for a date, either.

Or for anything else. Not even obliquely.

It was almost enough to make her think that they liked her.

That was silly, of course, because they hadn't had any
opportunity to like her, or to know her at all. But still.

There was a small party going on. People had brought chips,
and other snacks. Someone had put a few packs of them on her
bed. For her to eat.

It was a nice party, for a hospital room.

She wished she could take part.

But to do so she would have to lower her walls, and if she
did that ....

She opened a bag of chips, and ate a few.

But there were such a lot of people around. If even a few of
them would break the force of anything ... bad ... that
happened, she could get them back up again.

But why would they do that? They didn't know her at all, and
they didn't seem to want anything from her. Or even know
that there was anything to be had.

She ate a few more chips. They weren't too bad.

Not bad at all, really.

------------------------------------------------------------

She watched Kodachi, furtively. It looked like she might be
opening up a bit. It was a _wonderful_ party. Well, for a
hospital room, anyway.

She steered the conversation a little bit, so that it would
include Kodachi, and watched her participate a little. It
was a hard thing to do, which she hadn't really had to do
before, and she didn't think she was doing it very well, but
nobody seemed to mind, or even notice much.

She stole a few more chips from Hiroshi, and tugged her
gowns tighter; defying their natural tendency to flop open.

------------------------------------------------------------

She ate a few more chips, and then a piece of pocky. They
were good.

Gravely, she considered her new flowers.

It occurred to her that _all_ of the flowers had been
brought by (and bought by) students of Furinkan. Akane-san,
Ranma-sensei and oniichan were students there too, after
all.

None of her schoolmates at St. Herebreke had sent her any
flowers. Not one. None of them had even _visited_.

Looking around, it _was_ a nice party.

It occurred to her that there might well be more important
things to look for in a school than exclusivity. When you
looked at things closely.

It occurred to her that, as of tonight, all of the people
whom she might call her friends attended Furinkan.

It occurred to her that all of the people she knew at St.
Herebreke were either enemies, rivals or flunkies.

It occurred to her that flunkies weren't doing her much good
at the moment.

------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma was closeted closely with Sayuri, Dr. Tofu and
Tatewaki, propping herself on the bed where Kodachi could
hear. They were discussing strategies for therapy and
coordinating the therapies that would happen in the
hospital, with those that Sayuri and Kodachi would have to
go through after they got out.

"Okay, Kodachi-chan," Sayuri said, perkily, "that's the
schedule for the hospital sorted out. Do you think we could
keep working together after we get out. Some of these things
are really boring."

Kodachi smiled, for what felt like the first time in weeks,
"I think so, Sayuri-chan. Tatewaki-oniisan?"

Tatewaki blinked, and looked down. "Yes, Imouto-chan?"

"Please have the family lawyers start the necessary
administrative tasks to have me transferred to Furinkan."

"Yeee-ha!" Sayuri leapt up into the air, clapping her hands.

Her hands, being thus occupied, could not tighten the ties
on her hospital gowns.

These, therefor, in conjunction with the prime directive of
their tribe, untied. Which left nothing at all to hold up
the gowns. Which, subsequently, fell down.

Yuka and Akane immediately whapped Hiroshi and Daisuke on
the back of the head.

"What?!" the Average Pair demanded, in unison.

"Hentai," Akane and Yuka explained, not unkindly, also in
unison.

"We didn't even look!" Daisuke complained.

"Well, you should have," Akane replied.

"We didn't get a _chance_ to look!" Hiroshi said at the same
time. Yuka whapped him again. "Ow!"

Tatewaki and Dr. Tofu simultaneously put their heads into
their hands, in pain.

Ranma calmly stood up and handed Sayuri, who was eeping and
trying to cover herself, her gowns.

And Kodachi dissolved into giggles, helplessly.

Sayuri hugged her and the other students gathered around to
congratulate her on transferring.

It was a beginning.

You may build your walls as high and strong as you may
choose. You may lay your roof and floor. But you have not
built yourself a house, until you've built yourself a door.

------------------------------------------------------------

It was late, and the sky was dark and shot with stars.

As they left the hospital, Ranma and Akane walked closely
together, talking. But eventually they came to the street
that led, down one way, to the Tendo Dojo, and down another,
to Ranma's apartment. Here they paused for a while.

Finally, they parted, one to go one way, one the other. As
they walked, each alone, at nearly the same time, they each
began to sing, quietly.

Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon
I see the passion in your eyes
Sometimes it's all a big surprise

It was probably coincidence. Certainly they were each, by
that point, far out of the other's hearing. There really was
no way that they could be coordinating with each other. So,
despite the fact that a hypothetical careful observer would
have noted that they were in tune and in time, it must have
been coincidence. There really wasn't any other explanation.

Cause there was a time when all I did was wish
You'd tell me this was love
It's not the way I hoped or how I planned
But somehow it's enough

It could have been something of an omen, I suppose, but it
wasn't.

But now we're standing face-to-face
Isn't this world a crazy place
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

The astute reader may have noticed, in this chapter, several
instances of occurrences that would, in a normal Ranmaverse,
have called for Omens of Doom. Thunder from a clear sky,
family altars suddenly breaking, visits from strange monks,
that sort of thing. The astute reader may be wondering why
such Omens haven't shown up.

All of the nights you came to me
When some silly girl had set you free
I wondered how you'd make it through
I wondered what was wrong with you

It's a fair question.

Cause how could you give your love to someone else
And share your dreams with me
Sometimes the very thing you're looking for
Is the one thing you can't see

The answer is fairly simple. These things are taken care of
by kami. Not very big, or important kami, it is true, but
kami nevertheless. Lurking about celestially and waiting for
omen-worthy events and causing an omen when necessary is
simply these kamis' job.

But now we're standing face-to-face
Isn't this world a crazy place
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

And, like all jobs, its holders occasionally take some time
off.

Sometimes the very thing you're looking for
Is the one thing you can't see

The holder of the position for Nerima ward, at the present
moment, is a kami named Waruyoi Asabitan. He is presently
living up to his name, drunk out of his mind in a club in
Chiba, karaokeing like there will be no tomorrow.

Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

So, you see, I can state with absolute authority that any
coincidental timing that a hypothetical careful observer
might have noted was, in fact, just that. Coincidental, and
not any sort of omen at all.

You went and saved the best for last, yeah.

What can I say? Some days are just Like That.

You went and saved the best for last, yeah.

------------------------------------------------------------

Next:
Chapter Seven: If You Meet The Buddha On The Road
Part A: Without Troubling of a Star.

------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Notes: Since this chapter is almost entirely
devoted to characterization exercises, it seems to me to be
an appropriate time for me to spend a few words talking
about where I'm coming from on that subject.

Briefly, I'm a manga fan(atic), and I'm using the canon
characterizations (as I see them) for a starting point.

The only exception to this is Ranma him/herself, who I
basically ran through the mill before the story started.
That is, I still started from canon, but Ranma has already
undergone some variance from that by this point.

The other main differences arise from a difference in
primary goals between Takahashi-sensei's story and my own.
Briefly, and IMHO, Ranma Nibbunnoichi as written is the
story of how Saotome Ranma and Tendo Akane, despite many
obstacles and difficulties, do _not_ get married. Whereas,
RAALS is the story of how Tendo Akane becomes a Hero, and
Saotome Ranma becomes a Hero _again_.

Since the demands of the story drive characterization this
invokes some differences from standard, but it's not that
the characters themselves are particularly different, as
that being in different sort of story requires them to act
in different ways than they normally would.

With that said:

Saotome Ranma (nee Bushiko): Ranma is a Hero. It's one of
the two main cornerstones of his personality. The other
cornerstone is his sense of identity. Broadly put, Ranma
_always_ knows _exactly_ who he is and how he's supposed to
act. This self knowledge is so strong that he is,
effectively, unbeatable; it's not that you can't beat him
up, so much as that you can't make him stay down. He _never_
quits, and he _always_ keeps his main goal clearly in mind.

On the other hand, that same sense of identity is also his
biggest weakness. He is quite capable of running right over
good sense and social duties alike when he gets the idea
that something is important; he has very little ability to
turn back from a contest even if he would prefer to; he has
hot-buttons all over him, and they can lead him around if
they are pushed and he will occasionally get the idea that
he should do something or act like something simply because
'a guy would ...' or 'a martial artist would ...'.

My Ranma is several years of experience older than that, and
has mellowed a fair degree. Also, he/she has refined that
sense of identity down to the most important elements. In
particular, for instance, the Jhusenkyou curse, which hits
the canon Ranma as hard as it does because it strikes
directly at the heart of his greatest strength, his sense of
identity ("I'm a _guy_!" and then, suddenly _he's not_.)

In trade, however, she has lost a lot of her moral edge and
her Hero's instincts for doing the _right_ thing at the
_right_ time. That is, the strong sense of identity that
sometimes blinds the canon Ranma to the likely result of his
actions is turned around so that it is blinding this Ranma
to the truth of her _motivations_, instead.

Tendo Akane is also a Hero, although in canon not a very
well developed one. If anything her own sense of herself as
a hero is even stronger than Ranma's, as evidenced, among
other instances, by the Martial Arts Gymnastics storyline.
This strength is somewhat the backwards of Ranma, in that,
while Ranma always knows who he is, but sometimes loses
track of where he's going, Akane always knows where she's
going, but sometimes loses track of who she is. This
frequently blinds her to her own abilities and disabilities
and also causes her to be more impetuous than even _Ranma_
manages.

A lot of this problem in self-realization may stem from a
lack of feedback from outside sources. In another sense,
while canon Ranma is allowed to be who he is, but frequently
encounters people who are unwilling to allow him to do the
things that are right for the person he is to do, canon
Akane has few people trying to prevent her from doing what
she wants, but has great difficulty getting people to take
her identity seriously. (Thus the frequent battle cry: "I'm
a Martial Artist, too!" (Thus, also, her great dismay at the
names Ranma tends to call her: Akane is a girl _and_ a
Martial Artist, but most people don't think of her as a
'proper' martial artist, and here Ranma is calling into
question her status as a 'proper' girl ....)

So a lot of her actions are a quest for respect, self
respect as much as any other, but since she tends to doubt
her _own_ abilities sometimes, too, she's far too likely to
try to proceed directly to the desired results rather than
actually trying to _earn_ them. Thus her problems with
cooking, for example, and also the Super-Soba and Battle
Dogi story arcs, among others.

In RAALS she is unencumbered by the handicap of being a girl
in a shojo (boy's) manga who doesn't wear a bikini or pack a
BFG9000, and will therefor get a much better chance to show
what she can do.

Nabiki and Kasumi are both Girl Archetypes, in one sense or
another. Nabs is Modern Girl, with her pulse on the finger
of the social scene and no patience with the 'old ways'.
She's effective, and she's cute, but she's scary, too: you
can't be sure that she'll stay in check, and she's too scary
to go up against directly. Kasumi is traditional girl,
serene and untroubled, i.e. she's Mom. She's nice, and a
good housewife, but she's scary, too: you never know, she
might _be_ Mom. Or, she might suddenly wash your mouth out
with soap and send you to bed without supper. You can't be
sure.

Tatewaki and Kodachi are brats in the manga, plain and
simple. Tatewaki, also, may well not be terribly bright, but
it's hard to tell, because of how big a brat he is. Likewise
Kodachi manages to counterfeit being crazy pretty well. The
thing about being a brat, however, is that it's an hole that
you can easily pull out of, assuming that you can grow up
fast enough. And if a big enough shock makes you grow up ...

Sayuri is Everygirl, like Yuka, and Hiroshi and Daisuke as
well. Admittedly, when I started RAALS, I had no idea I
needed an Everygirl to be heroic, and had no idea that
Sayuri would turn into one, but ....

Further notes will be provided as characters show up.

'Til next,
Eric Hallstrom, 3/31/2000

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