From: ffml-bounce@fanfic.com on behalf of Hallstrom Consultants [hallcon@mindspring.com] Sent: Saturday, December 19, 1998 12:57 PM To: ffml@fanfic.com; Alex Archon; lappenc@ix.netcom.com; Christopher Gilbert; David Stanley Subject: [FFML] [R1/2] [Final] R&A:ALS Chpt. 1 Complete [A,B,C] Sorry for the wait. Real Life(tm) is pressing again. Hopefully the final version. 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 Troll. *Summer Lightning* is copyrighted by Garnet Rogers; if you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings lots better than I write. *Lock Keeper* is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP) and mangled by me; if you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings lots better than I write, and his estate could use the cash. *This is a sound.* 'This is a thought.' _This is emphasis._ {This is a sign.} ---------------------------------------------------------------------- *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Rain. Postcard. Kitchen. Bed. Dojo. Bricks. "FIANCE?!" Girl. Panda. Fight. CLONG! GROWF! Knock. Ranma. Seen it before, yes? In your sleep, behind your back, with your eyes closed, in the rain, right? *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. This story doesn't start like that. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. _This_ story starts in darkness, late on a warm summer night without an artificial light for miles. _This_ story starts in a forest clearing lit by several billion stars and the thin sliver of a gibbous moon. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. _This_ story starts with a male figure stripped to the waist, using a bamboo handled shovel to *Shnnnck* loosen and turn earth that will be *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt* removed and tossed to the side. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Figure about a half cubic foot of earth loosened and dug up per sequence. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Figure a hole 6 feet long, by 3 feet wide, by 5 feet deep. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Times 8. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. For those who have not been following along on their abaci, that's 1440 *shnnnck*s and 4320 *ssshhpt*s. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. In just less than 8 hours. Including wrapping the bodies, and filling in the graves. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. For what were, self-admittedly, bandits and highwaymen. Desperate criminals who, caught by the authorities, would assuredly have been hung, and the bodies left to rot. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. For men who, knowing this, and knowing the digger for a ronin, and hence both dangerous and broke, had nonetheless attempted to rob him. For men without honor or martial skill, who had fallen like weeds before the scythe. For outlaws who, had they somehow triumphed, would have spent not an iota of such effort for the traveler. *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Because honor and respect are paid _by_ the digger, and not _to_ the dug for? Because even scum and bandits are human, and are owed some kind of marker? *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. Because the duty owed by a slayer to his own soul demands a remembrance of the slain, lest they die twice? Or simply because it was necessary that the service be performed and no one else is around to do it? *Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*. The digger jumps out of the last grave, places the final body in its final resting place and says a final abbreviated prayer. Filling the grave takes little time, building the cairn of stones to mark the burial takes a little longer, preparing to move again longer still. And then the figure pauses, and looks down the road by the forest clearing, and looks behind at the road already traveled, and looks up to a sky just beginning to lighten in the east, and becomes briefly still. It had been less than three days between incidents. Both faces were becoming targets of local toughs and fast swords. He had been forced to kill more than 45 times in the past month. Or had he? His skill was great after all. He was fast and strong and capable of techniques that your average thug, or even ronin, wouldn't dare dream of attempting. Had it simply become easier to kill than not to? And what did that say of *his* soul, in the end? Perhaps it was time to try somewhere else? After all there _was_ less than a year to go. It really was time to get back where he belonged. Time to go somewhere you could defeat someone _without_ killing them. Time to go back to what was, theoretically, home. And the traveler reached into his shirt, and pulled out an amulet of silver, and clay, and glass, and raised it high. And the rising sun shone down on a clearing in a forest by a road, on which was now to be seen no traveler, nor footprints, nor anything else at all. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Shadow Lurker Productions... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- And this is a bar in China where a man is sitting by himself in a corner, getting stinking drunk. 'Oh Buddha, I'm doomed. How did I let this happen? Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Where _did_ that ungrateful boy get to? Why did I have to try that _stupid_ training technique? Susano-o protect me, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Who knows what silliness he'll have picked up without me? I'll never have enough time to train him out of his bad habits now! Compassionate Amida, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me.' 'Now now, Genma, get ahold of yourself; you trained him for seven years and he's surely a man-among-men, and hardship toughens you up, and he's certainly alive even if you can't find hide nor hair of him, and he promised on his honor, and he never breaks a promise, and you'll get to Jhusenkyou first and get a good look at the ground so you'll have an advantage in the fight, and he won't be as good as you anyway cause he didn't have you to keep an eye on him, and you'll have _weeks_ to fix his bad habits, and... Oh Ameratasu aid me, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me.' ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ...Is very proud to present... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- And this is Fukuoka, a port city on Kyushu where a person who is apparently a somewhat bishonen lad packing a _huge_ spatula is bargaining for a boat ride to China. She'd tracked Genma to China at last and this time her family's honor _would_ be cleared, one way or another. And this is a small village in Qing-Hai where the local champion is preparing to defend her title. And wondering where a warrior husband strong enough for her to marry was going to come from anyway. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ...An Eric Hallstrom Production... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- And this is a bedroom in a dojo in a suburb of Tokyo, where a certain girl is preparing for bed; after all, there's school in the morning. School. And boys. Yay. She'd tried, she really had. She'd tried to find one she could stand to date. She'd tried to get the usual pack of fools to _stop_ their foolishness, peacefully and otherwise. It just hadn't worked. 'Every school day, _every_ school day. For more than a year. I'm a Junior now, I'm supposed to be past hazing aren't I? They're supposed to be at least a little mature aren't they? Or at least tired of getting beaten up all the time?' Every day, for more than a year. And she hadn't lost, and she hadn't given up... but neither had they. And she was tired, so tired. And Tendo Akane went to bed, hoping for something to break her out of a losing rut. And went to sleep, although she didn't want to. After all, there was school in the morning. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ...Of a Takahashi Rumiko Film. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- And this is a small apartment, likewise in Nerima. And in it a man last seen in a forest clearing is performing a slow kata. A very old kata, were anyone else in Japan today capable of recognizing it. A kata not of attack, or evasion, or defense ... but rather of remembrance. Of a Bargain that was made, and a Prize that could be gained, and a Price that must be paid. A very old bargain, that has something to do with Iron. And he too is hoping, and waiting for the morning. He hadn't had to kill anyone yet, but in every other way the last several months had been a disaster. Oh well, perhaps he simply wasn't _meant_ for romance? After all, father had probably provided for a marriage long ago, and while he didn't like it, he had accepted it for the sake of family honor. Actually falling in love with someone was probably tempting fate. Which brought up an issue, actually; what face was he going to wear? Flip a coin? Tails. Female. So be it. 'Now get to bed Ranma, you've got school in the morning.' ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma and Akane, A Love Story ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1, The first day. Part A. Arrival. Here's Ranma. This is the story of a boy who was a girl, and a girl, and a boy, and a girl, and a boy, and a girl, and a girl who acts like a boy, and a boy who acts like a girl, and a woman, and a man, and another couple girls, and a cast of thousands. Oh, and a Panda, mustn't forget the Panda. It's the story of a school, and another school, and another school; of a city and a village and all the roads in between. It's a story of desperate battle and deadly opponents, and when, later, it attempts to be a story of monsters and villains who attack these schools and so on, it will instead become the story of monsters and villains who turn around and run away -- at least, those of them who get the chance. It will have true love, and desperate peril, and romantic intervals and high adventure and more martial arts action sequences than you can shake a bokken at. And just a touch of citrus, for flavor. But before we get to all that, it will be the story of a Fight. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Some schools are known for academics and some are known for sports. Furinkan High, in Nerima ward, is known for the Fight. Every school day for more than a year, the boys of the student body had either lain in wait to "win the right to date the fair and beauteous tiger Tendo Akane" (i.e. beat her up) or, if they had done that recently, had attempted to heal up for the Fight tomorrow. The girls all thought the whole thing was a ploy by Akane to keep the attention of the entire male student populace and had no sympathy for either side. The populace of the neighborhood thought it was High Theater (not much else happened in Nerima). Tendo Nabiki thought it had gone much too far, but could think of no viable way to stop something that no longer had a real reason except tradition. And Tendo Akane vanquished her opponents, and ignored the whispers, and grew ever grimmer as the days went by. And today will be no different, after all it never is at Furinkan. All the normal players are in place: here is the assembled might of Furinkan's male student body, prepared to do battle in heroic silliness for a prize they no longer remember; here are the observers waiting for a sight they've seen before, and grown bored of; and here is Akane herself grimly preparing to fight for a point of honor she can no longer care about; all just as it was yesterday and the day before. And now Akane has broken into a run at her tormentors, and now the battle is about to be joined. But now, now something ... different .. has happened. Now a voice has called out, not even very loudly. A smokey contralto with a slight edge of roughness, and power enough to crack the world. A voice that merely by its presence has controlled the situation. A voice that belongs to a short redheaded girl standing in the gateway to the school. She wears loose black pants, battle slippers, a loose red silk shirt and a bomber jacket. Her hair flows down her back in a pigtail tied with an ivory ring in which gems gleam brightly in the sun, her neck is wrapped by a flowing white silk scarf, her hands are in her jacket pockets, her head is slightly tilted to one side and she has just said "_What_ is going on here?". And nothing will ever be the same again. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Takuichi Daikun was not a happy kendoist. He had striven and won in honorable combat for the privilege of leading today's charge so that the entire school could see his honorable struggle with the fair Tendo Akane (he's the first to get beaten up today). It was a great honor to be first, and he had looked forward to it. But now his moment in the sun had been _ruined_, upstaged by some ... barbarian _girl_ ... and his honor had been shadowed. And so it was that he did a _very_ foolish thing: he got her attention. "This is an affair of _Honor_ girl, who are you to..." Somehow she had moved across the dozen yards separating them without his seeing it. Up close he noted that her eyes were an incredible blue as deep as all the worlds' oceans, that several slight lines of old scars crossed the sides of her face, that her gaze was literally _impossible_ to look away from, and that she had just tapped him on the nose. "My name is Ranma, and you haven't answered my question." From far away he heard his voice stammering some sort of explanation for the mornings action. Now that he thought about it, it did seem sort of silly. "Ah. I see. and what was your place in this ... 'honorable combat'." "I have won the right to first contact today. It is a very great honor." He hadn't really said that had he? He hadn't meant to. "Ah. Well I certainly would't wish to deprive you of your... 'honor'." The hands that broke his shoulder blades and dislocated his arms were certainly gentle he thought, though unstoppable in their power. The snap kicks that flattened his testicles and broke both of his lower legs skillfully applied and blinding in their speed. The twin open hand push that flung him 30 feet backwards was so fast and yet so graceful as to be beyond belief. And was that an energy discharge from the point of contact? 'Why, it doesn't even hurt' he thought as he flew backwards through the air. Until 5 feet before hitting the wall, whereupon it hurt a _lot_. The unconsciousness that followed after hitting the wall was probably a mercy. Ranma turned to the remaining assembled male Furinkanery and bestowed upon them the calm, angelic smile of someone who is wondering how far your arm can be pulled from its socket before the flesh and ligaments separate, and whether beating you to death with it will require one subsequent blow or two. Above, Nabiki stared down in shock. Well _that_ was different. "Now I was sitting in a tavern in a country far away a couple months back," she remarked conversationally, "trying to get something to eat. And the door opened and in walked the nastiest trio of villains you ever did lay eyes on. They were dragging along a youngish girl who really didn't seem to want to be there, what with the torn clothing and the bruises and all, and in ... speaking ... to them it developed that yeah they had kidnapped her, and yeah they had done what you think they'd done, and oh yeah just cause they could, cause no-one could stop em." She shook her head in dismay. "So I ripped the big one's heart out, and broke the second's neck and used a chair to crush the skull of the one who was running away. Because it was the right thing to do." Nabiki registered further shock. Well, that _was_ different. "Now I'm not saying that this case is exactly similar, mind you, but you do know how badly you've been insulting the other girls in the school, right?" Furinkanery.male assembled quivered in terror and huddled together. "And while I myself am the most gentle and reasonable of people, I understand that _other_ people aren't and if they", she waved her hand at the watchers above, "should decide to hold a _grudge_, well... Things could become ... dire." The word "dire" seemed to resonate with especial doom. "And continued for a whole _year_? Why I doubt if _any_ amount of flowers would help. You'd have to escalate straight to chocolate or even jewelry even to get a chance to plead your cases." Ranma shook her head sadly at the fate that no doubt awaited them. "And here you are still standing here." Furinkanery.male assembled blanched further and scrambled en masse for the door to the fire within that seemed nonetheless much to be preferred to the merciless gaze without, only to be recalled to heel. "Oh and by the way gentlemen... if it _should_ happen that intense currying _does_ grant you the no-doubt-undeserved opportunity to plead for your miserable lives... my advice to you would be to grovel, and to grovel quite abjectly." Nabiki wondered if you could overload on shock. That had been _different_. And then looked about her, and heard the all but audible grinding of the gears in the heads of the other female onlookers, and saw the slowly growing grins, and then sprinted for the door. A phone, she had to get to a phone. Ranma crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head sadly at the mass of boyish silliness frantically cramming itself through Furinkan's front doors, and turned sheepishly to Akane, who was still standing where she had been about to knock Daikun into next week and whose mouth was still open in shock. "Aheh", she tugged on her braid, "sorry about that. Sometimes I get carried away." Akane shook herself and closed her mouth. "No, not at all. You were _wonderful_! I'm Tendo Akane, wanna be friends?" "Sure!" Ranma's eyes lit. Akane was staggered again by their power. "If you've been going through that every day for a _year_ you _need_ a friend and it's always nice to make one the first day. I'm Bushiko Ranma." She extended her hand, pinky outstretched and Akane linked hers likewise. Talking quietly they walked in the door and up the stairs. "Tendo Akane, huh? 'Scarlet Road to Heaven', how lovely." Akane felt her cheeks heat. "Um, thanks! Um, Bushiko?" "It's a nom de guerre", Ranma explained sunnily, "long story, I'll tell you later." "The heck with _that_ story; _how_ did you do that _push_? That was _great_!" "You think so? It's not that hard: you just..." And walked happily to class, and smiled merrily upon the cringing boys therein, and did _not_ gloat. At least, not on the outside. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Next: part B; Encampment: Kuno strikes out. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma & Akane: A Love Story Chapter 1: The First Day Part B: Encampment: Kuno Strikes Out. Classes had gone moderately well, Akane reflected. Ranma's educa- tional level had proven to be surprisingly spotty: she was barely adequate in math for example and had no concept of Algebra, yet her grasp of history was excellent and her English was much better than anyone else in class, including the teacher. Fortunately class 2-F was scheduled to take up physical education and music after lunch: Akane was looking forward to seeing Ranma in action in Phys ed, and, consid- ering her incredible voice, in Music too. But both of these would wait until after lunch and Akane was looking forward to lunch as well. Lunch would, after all, allow her to question Ranma more closely about several matters: murder, for one, and what she meant by 'nom de guerre', and what her history had been; many such questions were bubbling in her head, looking for answers. Fortunately for Akane's fragile patience, lunch was not long delayed. The temporarily released students scattered over the Furinkan grounds, Ranma and Akane claiming a shaded spot next to the Furinkan wall. No one seemed inclined to join them, which was just as well, Akane felt, as it afforded privacy. "Okay", Akane said brightly, "tell me about Bushiko, and why it's a nom de guerre. And what you're doing under a nom de guerre anyway." "Well... Um. Basically it started when I was 5 or so. That was when my Dad decided that I wouldn't get adequate training if we stayed home, so he took me on a permanent training trip." "We traveled a lot", Ranma continued, "and didn't settle in one place for more than 4 months or so for the next 6 years. Then Dad found this _stupid_ Martial Arts training manual that was supposed to show how to train for an 'invincible technique'." "Feh", Ranma brooded for a minute, then resumed. "Anyway, _after_ the training he discovered that the reason nobody uses that technique is that, even if it works, the stress sends you psychotic." Akane gasped, and Ranma nodded. "After that, Dad tried to keep 'training' me, but I nearly killed him 3 times in the next week. I knew it wasn't going to get any better either, so I beat him up instead, and then left him behind. I told him that he'd trained me for 6 years and now I was going to go away and train myself for 6 years, and at the end of that time I'd fight him for mastery of the school. If he beat me I'd stay in training under him for as long as he wanted, but if I beat him he'd go back to work to raise money until the school got back on its feet, and then retire." "That was more than 5 years ago", Ranma continued, "and I've got about 6 months to go." Akane leaned closer concernedly. "How terrible! It must have been very hard on you!" "Less so than you'd think", Ranma replied. "I admit it wasn't easy, but I'd been doing most of the domestic stuff anyway: Dad's hopeless at anything that means he'd have to work. So, the only real problem was fixing the damage he'd done. It took 6 months, but I found a temple on Honshu and locked the technique away and the craziness with it." "But you're fine now?", Akane said, still concerned. "Mostly, though I'm still afraid of cats." "Cats? Why cats?" "Because ..." Alas for the state of Akane's curiosity, the conversation was to be interrupted. And by none other than the usual suspect for interrup- tions at Furinkan, that paragon of honor, that champion of sport, that noble traveler in hakama, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High, Kuno Tatewaki. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Tatewaki himself was experiencing a state of mind that was highly unusual to him: doubt. He had been angered (once he had taken a moment to consider it) by Ranma's accusation that any action he had ever undertaken was less than perfectly honorable, much less... that word. It couldn't be... that word... could it? After all he had always allowed her to win, had he not? (He knew, of course, that no girl, beauteous tiger or no, could resist his masculine might.) So he had allowed her to work through her shyness, trusting in the day when she would see the purity of his affections, cast off her maidenlike reluctance, and allow him to date her. Now, however, the purity of his motives had been called into question. Looked at in a certain light it could almost be said that his honor had been sullied. If he did not redress the situation, and soon, his fair flower might well (horrors) _believe_ the libelous, malicious _lies_ proposed by that... that... Well, of course, it was not fair to expect too much from the Sunset haired Amazon. She was obviously some variety of barbarian and new to Furinkan besides: she couldn't be _expected_ to see the true nobility of his motives. But that at least was easily remedied. If he simply displayed the excellence of his martial skills by defeating her, she would quickly come to understand the rightness of his cause. No doubt her savage heart would be won over to its rightful place as well, and then, well, the possibilities were unbounded. He might even end up with _two_ maidens to be beaten up by. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- At this time the narrator of this story would like to interject an explanation for the lack of thought quotes in the preceding passages. The reason can be stated simply: no verbalizable thoughts have been in Tatewaki's possession to this point in the story. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Unfortunately for Tatewaki, however, more than one worry wrinkled his noble brow as he stood before his locker some 5 minutes before Ranma and Akane's conversation was interrupted. The other worry was simply stated: should he take along his sword? There were arguments for and against, of course. Against such an action must stand the fact that the red-headed barbarian had not, till now, deserved of him such a drastic response, likewise that bared steel was after all both excessive and inappropriate for instruction or for courting a shy maiden's hand. On the 'for' scale, alternately, lay the undeniable fact that she had boasted of recently killing no fewer than three opponents. Gross and disgusting men, no doubt, lacking in honor and skill, and certainly deserving of their fates, but... Fortunately, the noble Kuno mind was more than equal to the challenge even of so momentous a decision, quickly supplying an answer both sagacious and honorable: He would take the sword (in case of need), but keep it concealed (to avoid spooking her). And so it was that the noble and glorious Kuno Tatewaki, fortified with blade and bokken, and prepared for every contingency, stood near his beloved and her companion some five minutes later. Prepared to issue a challenge both martial and kindly, such as to make clear not only the rightness of his cause, but also his essential magnificence. In what should come as no real surprise to anyone who has read this far, he got it wrong. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma looked up at the annoying fool who was attempting to overawe her and then tilted her head at Akane. "And this is who?" "I, fair maiden, am Kuno Tatewaki, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High. You may address me as 'upperclassman Kuno' when you ask my pardon for your deplorable sin. For, by my sword's honor the worth of the Blue Thunder is as great as his wrath, nor ever has he stooped to other than honorable action, nor..." "Lad ... _Lad_", Ranma interrupted, "before you go challenging me to a sword fight, it _might_ be a good idea to find yourself a sword." "A sword I possess", Tatewaki replied frostily, "its name is Asatsuyu ('Morning Dew') and its lineage is ..." "Ah", Ranma deadpanned, rising smoothly to her feet, "mine is named Tenchuu no yasashigena (The Gentle Kiss of Heaven, Heaven's kiss). Akane, will you call the dance please?" "But of course, Ranma", Akane replied. She, too, rose to her feet and took position just outside of a virtual 20 foot circle that seemed to have magically appeared around the two sword bearers. "_Assume_!" Tatewaki slowly drew his Katana and assumed chudan, reaching as his training indicated for the dominance, the mental struggle that begins a match. "I am Kuno Tatewaki, of the Spinning Shears School of Kendo, champion of Furinkan High." His voice attempted firmness, yet his thoughts were in turmoil, 'I did not wish a duel with _steel_, something is wrong, her eyes, they are so ... blue ...'. Ranma pulled a sheathed blade of the tachi pattern from beneath her jacket and held it loosely at her side. "I am Bushiko Ranma, who may claim no school", her voice was again pleasant and conversational, "I am only a humble pilgrim on the road." In contrast to the shaken kendoist her thoughts revolved around one theme only: 'Remember, _don't kill him_.' And her calm, passionless regard was a stone on which Tatewaki's concentration splashed like sea wrack before a storm. Some seven seconds a stillness passed between the two, while Akane held her hand on high. And then she let it fall, "Kumite", and then the storm began. Ranma seemed to blur to most watching eyes, yet to Tatewaki she was clear as day, though he himself seemed mired in mud. She crossed the 20 feet between them in a single gliding step while her sword came up to just above her shoulder and its sheath spun about 15 feet up in the air like a black-laquered frisbee. Then she was past him, and his katana belled as she struck through his defense and he gasped in surprise as his racing perceptions _saw_ the point turn aside from his heart and tear through about 2 inches of flesh on his upper arm. He turned half about with the force of the blow and felt the beginnings of pain before she spun in a perfect hi-low slash, both of which evaded his fumbling blade to spray blood from two slashes over his cheeks, and to cut through his hakama to score both thighs. She took another step forward and began a pattern of lightning fast light blows, none of which even came close to being blocked, and all of which drew blood. Tatewaki was driven, stumbling, back until he was almost against the outer wall of the schoolyard. Briefly, he rallied enough to return his sword to something approximating a guard position, before Ranma blurred even to his racing perceptions, seeming to appear on both sides of him at once. Pain exploded through his body as more than 50 minor cuts struck all over his torso, arms and legs at once. Then, as he stumbled back, Ranma set herself and snapped forward once more. The first strike cut across the top of both hands, knocking the sword from his grip in a gleaming mid-air circle. The second, reversed, strike snapped the flying blade in half before his eyes, driving him all the way back to the wall. The last, two handed, decapitation strike blazed in unstoppably, flickering blurredly to kiss the skin on his neck ... and then _stop_, motionless. Trembling, Tatewaki looked up into emotionless blue eyes and the passionless, restrained violence of a tornado. And suddenly, in what may have been the only genuinely inspired moment of his life to that point, received a vision. A vision of Ranma, clad in armor, and wielding the sword pressed against his throat, slaughtering her way through what seemed to him to be an entire army. A vision that showed him, in no uncertain terms, the difference between fencing on the Dojo floor, and life and death by the sword. Of the difference between a person who could swing a sword, and one who could kill with it; and more importantly in this moment, choose _not_ to kill with it. And for the first time in his life, Kuno Tatewaki looked his own Art in the face, and was ashamed. And buried his head in his hands, pushing down the blade at his neck, and wept. And Ranma lowered her blade and said "Aye, now. You've learned that lesson. And you'll have scars to remind you of it, as scars tend to do." And she quirked a smile, highlighting the scars prominent around her own mouth. And Tatewaki, looking up, essayed a tentative smile of his own. She walked over to her scabbard, picked it up, and put Tenchuu away. Then she picked up the two halves of Tatewaki's katana, and returning to stand in front of him, held them out to him to take. "It's said that the soul of a samurai is his sword, Kuno Tatewaki. Yours would appear to be broken. Perhaps, before you call yourself a samurai again, you should spend some time mending it." And then she returned to her seat by the wall, and Akane sat by her. And Kuno Tatewaki turned away, holding the remnants of his blade, and stumbled off to the infirmary, to patch his wounds. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "It is my firm conviction", Ranma said, "that it is a gentleman's highest duty to smoke out silliness like that, and step on it." "But, Ranma, you're not a gentleman." "And why not?" "Because, use the masculine forms how you may, it's obvious you're _not_ a boy." "Feh", Ranma waved a dismissing hand, "Details. Mere details." Akane leaned close, "Ranma, you've _got_ to teach me how to do some of that." "Er, but, don't you have a sensei already?", Ranma nervously asked. "Only my Dad, and he hasn't trained me seriously in years." "Er ... *sigh*, OK, we'll go to your place later and see what you need to work on." And they shook hands on the deal as the bell rang to bring lunch to a close. Which was perhaps unfortunate, as it meant that the _other_ important question she had meant to ask slipped her mind completely, until much later. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Physical Education, for Ranma, at least, was curtailed due to the sensei's conviction that, before a place in the class structure might be assigned to her, her overall level of accomplishment must be measured. Since the limited resources of the main gym proved incapable even of causing Ranma sufficient exertion to change into gym uniform, much less break a sweat, the sensei excused her of further toil that day. Then excused herself to sulk, and to plot further, more strenuous tests for the morrow. In the last period of the day, and Music for class 2-F brought the usual sounds of tortured musical instruments resounding through the room. Akane, Ranma grumbled, had not had an opportunity to demonstrate her skill. Most of the other students had but unfortunately 'qualified' was a rare description of ability indeed as far as they were concerned. Then it was Ranma's turn, and she drew her guitar from the same place she stowed her sword and ran through basic scales, and chords, and parts of tunes to the music teacher's instructions. She was, it was noted to few people's surprise, easily better than anyone else in the class, save perhaps for Akane. As the end of the class drew close the teacher asked Ranma if she was any good at song. Ranma hefted her guitar and grinned, "What song would you like." "You pick", came the response. Ranma grinned again, and poised her hand above the strings. "Alright, here's a love song then." And then Akane heard, for the first time, the song she would, in later times, come to regard as the song closest to her understanding of Ranma's true heart. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 your's, now and forever, 'Till my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see. 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. And as Ranma finished the song and lowered her head, the school day of Furinkan came to its end. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Next: Chapter 1, part C. Circumvallation: Shopping for streetgangs. Our Heros meet up with Nabiki at the end of the day, sometime later, they go shopping. Explanations are proffered, plans are laid, Akane makes a decision, and a fun time is had by all, except the streetgang. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma & Akane: A Love Story Chapter 1: The First Day Part C: Circumvallation: Shopping for Streetgangs. Ranma lowered her head; and the song, and Furinkan's school day, came to an end. Rising to her feet, she bowed to the rest of the class, who bowed back. An unbiased observer would have seen that several of them were suspiciously misty-eyed, but, fortunately, unbiased observers were thin on the ground at Furinkan that day. So this enormous breach of etiquette went unnoticed. Akane rose too, and behind her the rest of the class. Flowing out of their classroom, at the very back end of Furinkan's main building, and down the stairs, they noticed that they were about to resolve a mystery that had been plaguing some of them all day. First there would be a noise as of someone shouting from afar. Then there would be a rumble, as of many feet rumbling one way and then another. Finally a distant murmur as of many voices, one to another, in the manner of a school building when rumor has broken from its pen, or news runs flashing through the halls. Annoyingly, though, the disturbance had never approached class 2-F closely enough for the inhabitants thereof to make out what was happen- ing. Nor had rumor spread, if rumor it had been, to the class' distant door. Nor had any class member obtained an explanation at lunch (unless, perhaps, it might have been in distant, unobserved corners, under strict and bloodthirsty oaths of secrecy). So, to some of the class, the whole matter was still mysterious, and Akane was frankly ignorant. What Ranma might have thought of the matter she did not say, though, perhaps, she may have guessed. Thus, when, as they approached the front of Furinkan building, the noises from outside became clearer, it was Akane who pushed ahead. Ranma, instead, pulled a Samurai's fan from her jacket sleeve, flipped it open, and, gently fanning herself, walked forward to join Akane on the Furinkan front steps, grinning. As she reached the top of the steps, and looked out on the yard, that grin became a full fledged chuckle. Spread out around the Furinkan yard ("Roses, getcher bunch Roses heaahh!") were a number of mobile vendors ("Caannndy, Bon-Bons, onna stick!") selling, or rather, _outrageously gouging_, the various implements of girlfriend pacifica- tion ("Joolry, getcher Joolry now-ow, best prices inna city, Guv'na"). On the way down the steps she passed Nabiki, standing slightly apart, grinning in glee and using a walkie-talkie to direct ("Short-term loaanns, only 30% interest over 1 month, just for you Guv'na, and I'm cuttin' me own throat") the efforts of her minions. Reaching over as she passed, she tapped Nabiki on the shoulder and said, "You're welcome.", and then followed Akane through the schoolyard to the street, still fanning herself gently, and still chuckling. As they neared the gate, she drew level with Akane, who glanced aside at the fan still waving gently in her hand. "A little old fashioned, isn't that?", Akane asked. "Oh no, It's entirely practical. Personal protection, you know." Another sideways glance. "It's a war fan? Razor edges and such?" "Oh no, not at all. The virtue of the warrior, after all, exists in the warrior's soul. The weapon...", passing next to the gate-post she swung the fan through it, apparently without effect, "is merely the expression of it." Behind them, as she walked on still gently fanning, the gate-post divided itself at chest height, fell to the ground, and shattered into dust. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Some blocks away, while passing through a park on the way to the Akane's house, Ranma finally broke the companionable silence they had fallen into. "Would have been nice if some of that apologizing the guys were doing back there had fallen on the primary offendee." "Mmm. I don't know", Akane replied, "they might have been worried that I'd get mad at them for trying." "Would you have?" "Don't know, depends on how they did it, I suppose. I think I've been given more than enough insincere flowers over the past year, anyway." Ranma, was just then passing by a hedge of wild roses in the park, which filled the air with a slightly bitter perfume. Her fan flashed momentarily in the sun and sliced an 8 inch length of vine from the hedge, which she quickly wove into a slightly prickly wreath. "How about sincere flowers?", she mused, turning the roses over in her hands, and offering them to Akane. Akane paused and turned to face her, her eyes huge and dark in her face. "Ranma-san?!?" Ranma shrugged, and grinned lopsidedly, "I just don't think that, when _all_ the girls are getting flowers, that any _particular_ girl should be neglected. People might get to thinking that she wasn't good enough to get flowers or something. It _might_ even hurt her feelings. Avoiding hurt feelings is one of the most important tasks a gentleman can perform, after all. And I _am_ a gentleman." "Of course you are", Akane smiled cutely at Ranma, "but I can't wear flowers unless you wear them too." "Then crowned with flowers we both shall be!", laughing, Ranma bowed flamboyantly. Her fan flashed again, and, crowned with flowers, as she had said, the two friends walked on, towards Akane's home. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma looked at the sign hung on the building's outside wall. "The Tendo Dojo, hmm? You hadn't said that your family owned your own Dojo, Akane-san." "Dad hasn't done much teaching the past several years", Akane replied absently as she entered the house, "Hello, I'm home!" Ranma followed her inside and clapped once as she toed off her slippers. "Excuse me for disturbing you!", she called. "Oh, my!", came a sweet voice from the kitchen, "We have a guest!". Hard on the heels of the voice came the speaker, a tall, sweet-faced, girl, apparently a few years older than Akane. Ranma bowed to her politely, and raised an eyebrow at Akane. "Ranma-san, this is my older sister Kasumi", Akane said, "Kasumi- oneechan, this is my new friend from school, Bushiko Ranma." "Welcome to our home, Bushiko-san", Kasumi chirped, "will you be staying for dinner?" "Oh, I couldn't impose, Tendo-san, I'm only here to see about helping Akane-san to train in the Art." "In that case I insist you have dinner with us", Kasumi said firmly, "I couldn't have you training with Akane without something to eat afterwards. I know how martial artists are." "Well, if you insist... I accept, and with thanks." Ranma bowed again and waved grandly to Akane, "So let's see your Dojo proper, hmm?" ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Akane happily led the way to the Dojo, pausing only to change into her gi, not noticing Ranma's raised eyebrow. "Here we are!" Ranma bowed to the spirit of the Dojo and leaned against the wall. "Alright, start out with your katas; I'll just watch, for now." Akane centered herself, took a cleansing breath, and began. For 5 minutes, and then 10, she performed her katas to the best of her ability, not noticing, as she continued, Ranma's increasingly serious and concerned expression. Finishing with the hardest and most complex kata she knew, she returned to the outside world and noticed Ranma's distracted expression. Quickly becoming depressed, she sank into seiza and looked down at her hands, "Not good enough, huh?", she said quietly. Returning to herself with a start, Ranma considered momentarily, then replied. "No, the problem is that you're _too_ good." She looked down at her hands and briefly chewed her lip, "I mean to say, yeah, there's some things you could improve in, like speed, and maybe you're a little clumsy yet, but... the thing is, most of the stuff I know, that you don't is serious power stuff, and that's not what you need right now." "What do you mean, Ranma-san?", Akane frowned. Ranma looked down, briefly, then raised her head and captured Akane's gaze with her own, blue eyes serious and intense under flaming hair. "Look, Akane, there are two types of martial artists, okay? There's warriors, like me, and there's people with sticks like that Kuno lad I thwacked earlier today. And the difference, the _important_ difference between them is: warriors are in the business of killing people, and people with sticks are not. The Art of a guy with a stick .. well, it might be about art, or philosophy, or it might be a sport, or an exercise, or basically it might be a lot of stuff, but _my_ Art, a warrior's Art, is about killing people, or, sometimes, _not_ killing people." "Ranma, I _know_ what...", Akane began. "NO", Ranma held up a firm hand. "You haven't thought it through! Take a day, take a month, Hell, take the rest of your life if that's what you need; once you start down that road you can't go back. You don't want to go unless you have to." Ranma stepped forward and put her hand on Akane's shoulder. "I'm serious about this Akane-chan, take the time to _be sure_. I wasn't, I didn't have a clue when I started, cause my Dad's an idiot, and it _hurt_. It _always_ hurts, Akane-chan, or else, if it doesn't, it means _you're_ dead too", she moved her other hand to Akane's other shoulder, "and I don't want my friend to be hurt like that unless there's no other, better, choice." Akane collapsed into Ranma's embrace and sobbed. "Y ... y ... d-do you think I should just ... not ... then?", she mumbled into the other girl's shoulder. Ranma stroked the back of her neck and *shhhed*, "No, Akane, I don't know what your honor needs. I _do_ know that when you _have_ the power you _have_ to worry about it, not using power is a use, too." Back to arms length, "Take this morning, that Takuichi kid, he's in the hospital now; and you can say he deserved it, and you can say it could have been worse, and you can say he was stupid. But when it's totaled up, what it comes down to is that I maimed him, maybe permanently, and I didn't have to." "Mind you", she continued, "6 months ago I'd have killed them all and laughed, but that was in a different place, under different rules. _Here_, reacting that ... extremely ... was wrong." "Do you think he _will_ be maimed?", Akane said, worriedly. "I don't know Akane-chan, Japanese medicine is lots better than I'm used to, and I've got some tricks of my own to use if it gets bad, but ... I don't know. And it was a mistake, and you know that at some point I'm going to have to pay for it too. It's a weight, Akane-chan, that you can't ever put down. Don't pick it up unless you've got no choice." "Okay, Ranma-chan, I ... I'll think about it first." Akane smiled, weakly. "Thank you." Ranma hugged her briefly, hard, and then let go. "And it's not all _that_ bad anyway, even if you decide to stay sane. There's a lot we can do to help your Art on general principles, and just polishing you up should make a lot of difference. 'Kay?" "Uh-huh", Akane sniffed, the smiled kawaiily, "Thanks. What should we do first?" Ranma shrugged, "Change your wardrobe." "Huh!?" "You're wearing a gi." "Yeah ... so?" "Earlier today, did you feel comfortable fighting in your school uniform?" "No-ooo, I mean I had to, er, _if_ I'd had to I could, but..." "Exactly! When it's your art, it's got to be a part of your whole life. When Basho was wandering around, d'you think he only did poetry under special circumstances? Only when he had an audience, and a mat, and a formal ink stone, and a 3 foot brush, and a dozen perfect sheets, and so on? When Hokusai made his prints, do you think he was only doing art on the formal, final print, and not the rest of the time?" "Hell, no", Ranma continued, "Hokusai was doing art even when he was partying, (and believe me, Hokusai knew how to party, too). Basho did poetry all the time; even if they weren't doing the formal, get-it-down -right part, they were sketching, or taking notes, or just taking what was going on around them and putting it into context in their terms. They were doing their art all the time. And any art that's _real_ has to be like that. All the time. And you won't do your art all the time if you're not in a situation that you're comfortable doing your art _in_ all the time. Which, for Martial Arts, includes the clothes you're wearing. So let's go see your closet." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Somewhat dazedly, Akane led the way to her room, where Ranma was soon standing in front of her closet, sorting through her clothes, and muttering. "Uniform ... uniform ... bleah ... dress ... dress ...", Ranma posed briefly with a sundress, "mmm, looks good, but _I_ wouldn't want to try to high kick in it...". Akane megablushed. "Me neither." "Mmm ..., well, I don't see anything in here really suitable for combat, do you?" Akane shook her head, shyly, no. "Well, there's only one thing to do then", said Ranma, "go shopping!" Akane grabbed her arm urgently, "Ranma, I won't have the money for a shopping trip for..." Ranma patted Akane's hand gently. "Don't worry about it Akane-chan, for a good cause, you can always find _some_ kind of donor." Akane blushed again, "Ranma-chan, I can't ask you to buy me..." Ranma winked at her, "Who said anything about me? Come on!" ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma and Akane walked side by side deep into the Nerima Ginza. Deeply engrossed in conversation with Ranma, Akane failed to notice her steering their perambulations towards the less savory part of town. She regained notice of her surroundings with the realization that several Bad Elements were attempting to loom menacingly in the back- ground. Ranma winked at her sudden start, and put a finger shushingly to her lips. "Donors", she whispered, and continued to chatter. "Heyhey, chickies, whatchoo doin out tonite, hah? Yew wanna _real_ man, hah? Haw, haw, looka this Junichi, a _redhead_, think I'll see if she's a _natural_ redhead, haw!" "Take the trailers", Ranma stage whispered. Her mouth smiled at the forerunners of the 10 thugs surrounding them, but her eyes were cold. "Now, gentlemen, you wouldn't risk your reputations by harassing a pair of unescorted girls, would you?" "Hawhaw, and what's gonna stop us chickie, huh?" the first thug extended a tattooed hand. "Well, for one thing", Ranma's tone was conversational, "the element of surprise." Her foot snapped up in a repeated high kick that landed 15 blows to the thug's chin in a fifth of a second, then pivoted around the raised foot in a ki charged arc that smashed the 2 forward flankers into their respective walls. (Akane spun and launched a straight power kick into the gut of the thug directly behind her. As he folded, her hand rose and fell in a well-timed strike to the back of his neck.) Ranma shifted position in midair, flashing to her left in a jump kick into a fourth thug that carried him into the fifth, her hand blurred briefly as they landed to the blurry *thud* of many blows to exposed heads and torsos, then launched herself backward. (Akane continued her motion to the side, launching herself at the thug there and blasting through his defenses with a flurry of punches that soon sent him into unconsciousness.) Ranma flipped through the air towards the remaining two thugs on her side, altering course at the last instant to pass between them, her hands blurring as she passed. She landed lightly on her feet, preparing to move towards Akane as her last opponents slumped heavily to the ground. Akane however, had already bounced off the wall in a long jump kick that took her fleeing final foe in mid back, smashing him limply into the other wall of the alley. "Well", Ranma beamed, "not bad at all." "What the heck did you get us into that for?", Akane all but shrieked, "What were you think... What are you _DOING_?" "Mmm? Looting the bodies, Akane-chan, what does it look like?" "You _killed_ them!!??!" "No, no, no. If I'd _killed_ them, I'd have said I was looting the _corpses_." "But ... but ...", Akane could only watch in stupefaction as Ranma, in less than a minute, stripped the mindless bodies down to their under- wear, stacked their jackets, shoes, shirts, pants, and paraphernalia in the middle of the alley, and rifled their wallets, throwing their cards and photos to the ground and counting their cash. "Nearly half a million cash!", Ranma gloated, "and better than 250 thousand in loot too! As I said, not bad at all!" "Ranma, what...?", Akane stood openmouthed in shock, "How can you just...?" "Well, after all, Akane-chan, they did try to accost us. If we don't apply _some_ kind of penalty, they'll surely slip further and further into Crime and Degradation, ne? And we do deserve some sort of compen- sation for our efforts, right? Besides: to the victor go the spoils." "Now, here, take this pile of pants and shirts and come on, we've got to go fence this stuff, and then go shopping." "Shopping?", Akane queried weakly. "We need to get you a new wardrobe, remember?" ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Later, Ranma turned from Akane's closet and pronounced herself satis- fied. "Hah! Hah! Still got that haggling touch! Hah!" Akane turned from the mirror, and tried to see how her long hair _really_ looked against the back of her new leather vest. "Do you _really_ think this looks good, Ranma-chan?" Ranma looked at Akane's black velvet pants / white silk shirt / black leather vest combo and raised an OK sign. "Trust me, Akane-chan, you look great. And there's nearly thirty thousand yen left for other stuff you might need too!" "Are you _sure_ you won't take any of this money, Ranma-chan? You did do most of the work." "Nah!", Ranma waved her hand, "don't need it at the moment. Besides, we're friends right? One day you'll do something like that for me. Now let's get going, your sister just called us to dinner!" Returning to the dining room, Nabiki frankly stared at Akane's new look. Introductions to Nabiki and Soun were made, and one of Kasumi's typically excellent meals was consumed. Mealtime conversation was mostly superficial, enlivened only by Ranma's presentation of a guesting gift (Wrapped bottles of Sake and a box of exotic spices for Kasumi) at the beginning of the meal. Nabiki had been looking at Ranma with what seemed to be a certain amount of unease throughout the meal, and after Soun excused himself she appeared to come to a decision. "Um, Ranma-san, I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity you provided me this morning. And, um, Ithinkyoushouldtake10percentofthe- moneyinthanks", Nabiki blushed as though she could not believe what she had just said. Ranma winked at her "10 percent, Nabiki-san? That's what? fifty thousand? There's no need for that; I'm not hurting for cash." "But I can't just ... _hey_ how'd _you_ know how much it should be? I haven't said how much I made yet!" "You've segregated it in your money belt, Nabiki-san", Ranma replied, "I checked it earlier." "You picked my pocket!?", Nabiki gasped. "Well, only for informational purposes, Nabiki-san. I put every- thing back, did I not?" Nabiki stood it for 11 seconds before frantically checking her belt. "Nabiki!", Akane glowered. Ranma chuckled, and rose from the table, "It's time I went home, I think; I'll see you tomorrow before school, Akane? And don't worry about it Nabiki-san: I'd have checked too." Akane nodded brightly, but Nabiki hmmphed, "You be careful, Ranma- san, I'll get you back for that." "I'll be looking forward to the contest", Ranma smiled, "I'm sure it will be interesting." "Do you have to go so soon?", Akane wondered. "I'm afraid so. If you look at the time, it's actually quite late. You have school in the morning, after all: you need your rest." So saying, Ranma turned out the door of the Dojo, and, whistling, walked down the street to her apartment, under the moon and the stars. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Walking down the street alone, Ranma thought to herself, 'Wow, friendship, I wonder if...' 'NO', herself replied, 'she's straight, she's a girl, and she thinks _you're_ a girl. This is the best friendship you've had since Kitsune or Usagi, _don't mess it up_! Besides, you've got some kind of arrangement coming from Dad, right? No More Romance, and that's _final_." So thinking, Ranma walked on down the darkened street. It is the privilege of a Martial Artist to ignore the little voice inside that says 'Sure' after all. Presently she began, somewhat unconsciously, to sing. A song she had learned from a Gaijin ship crewman and translated to Japanese: You say 'Well met again, Lock keeper. You see me laden even deeper than the time before. Occidental oils and teas brought down from Singapore.' As we wait for my lock to cycle, I say, 'My wife has just given me a son!' 'A son', you cry, 'is that all that you've done?' 'Then come with me!', you say, 'To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder. 'Oh, come with me', you cry, 'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older, and your blood grows colder.' But that anchor chain's a fetter And with it you are tethered to the foam, And I wouldn't trade your life For one hour of home. She wears Bougainvillea blossoms, You pluck 'em from her hair and toss them in the tide, Sweep her in your arms, and carry her inside. And her arms rest on your shoulder, And her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser through the tears, And I say, 'How could you stand to leave this for the years?' But 'Come with me!', you say, 'To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder. 'Oh, come with me', you cry, 'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older, and your blood grows colder.' But that anchor chain's a fetter And with it you are tethered to the foam, And I wouldn't trade your life For one hour of home. Sure, I'm stuck here on the Seaway, While you compensate for leeway through the Trades; And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made; And you laugh at hearts you've riven, But which of these has given us more love and life? You, your tropic maids, or me, my wife? And 'Come with me!', you say, 'To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder. 'Oh, come with me', you cry, 'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older, and your blood grows colder.' But that anchor chain's a fetter And with it you are tethered to the foam, And I wouldn't trade your whole life For one hour of home. And I wouldn't trade your whole life For one hour of home. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Later yet, Akane stood in her bedroom, looking out the window at nothing in particular. She was thinking about a Decision, thinking about honor, and duty, and leather vests. Seeing, in her mind, a kendoist flying backwards to a wall, and a katana, snapped in two, hanging momentarily in mid-air. Weighing her honor against pain, and tumbled thugs, and a crown of roses. And then she smiled, and returned to her bed, and fell deeply asleep. A response which is noted as common, in cases where a great Decision has been made. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- And across Nerima, silence fell, and quiet reigned. And if, in some darkened corner, people felt themselves abused, and whispered, and plotted revenge, Ranma and Akane, at least, took no notice. And slept the sleep of the just, till morning came. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Next, Chapter 2: the second day: Assaulting the walls. Various people plot revenge! Various people are silly! Nabiki makes more money! Ranma pontificates! Akane resolves! Swimming! Showers! Training! Magic! And just what is that ring Ranma's wearing on her braid, anyway? Coming soon, hopefully. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's Notes: Or, Just what the Fsck is going on here anyway? At the beginning of September, 1998, our two family dogs, aged 13 and 11, died within 10 days of each other. The second, largely, of grief. We buried them in the back yard, late at night, when it was cool. And now you know where the inspiration for the prologue scene came from. This is a fic whose ending, 6 fic months away, I have known for more than 8 real world months. If it seems polished, it's because I've worn most of the rough edges away in my head, before ever setting fingers to keyboard. This is also a fic which was produced because of a deep and terrible annoyance at Alternafics of the form "This changes, nothing else changes, and we will now retell the origin story with everything the same, except for what's different." Finally, this is a fic written by the unabashed romantic in me. You have been warned. Questions: What's the deal with Ranma, huh, why's he so good? He's been training with competent people, even harder than in canon, for more than, on his time line, 10 years. He's good! But a little bloodthirsty, huh? He thinks he's gotten the Neko-ken under control, but he hasn't entirely. Yeah, the Neko-ken, what's up with that? This alternate diverges at the Neko-ken training, which Genma, for reasons unknown, conducts a year later than in canon. Everything up to that point is the same, after is very different. Yeah, and...? The training, instead of making Ranma think he is a cat, made him more than slightly psychopathic. Unfortunately^HFortunately Genma avoided a well-deserved culling^H tragedy, but only because Ranma beat him up, and then left. Genma made Ranma promise to return to test for mastery in 6 years (6 months are left at the start of chapter 1) and specified that the testing would take place at this wonderful training ground he'd heard of. Ranma spent the first 6 months in a temple on Honshu, getting the Neko-ken under control. Then he traveled to Jhusenkyou to spy out the lay of the land. So he's had the curse for 5 years now and has gone through puberty in both forms. He thinks of himself as male, but of variable gender. If that seems confusing, it's because you can't change like that yourself. Okay, so about the sword? Without Genma's interference, Ranma has traveled much farther and trained in many more skills, weapons and special moves than in canon. A list of special moves? Largely irrelevant, assume he can do most anything one way or another. So, how are you going to challenge him anyway? I've got ways plotted out, he's Invincible, not Invulnerable, but that too is largely irrelevant. This is not Ranma's Story. This is Akane's Story, or more to the point, The Story of Ranma-and-Akane, and Ranma-and-Akane will have challenges aplenty, I assure you. Usagi? Kitsune? From Stan Sakai, the glass part of the amulet Ranma holds up in the Prologue is a cracked mirror, if that helps. Crossovers can be expected to be present, yah. The kata Ranma's doing in his apartment? Bargain, Prize, Price? Ask Granny Weatherwax. Or Jason Ogg, for that matter. Further questions? Direct them to hallcon@mindspring.com, I'll try to answer as fast as possible. Eric Hallstrom hallcon@mindspring.com