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. "Media Vita" ("In the Midst of Life") and "A Sto'r Mo Chroi'" ("Darling of my Heart" or "The American Wake") are Traditional. I'm using them as such. "The Enfolding" is copyright by Garnet Rogers; "Annie's Song" is John Denver's, and John Denver's alone. (Of course he's dead, but ...). This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/ Release 1.2 (Dec. 04, 2000) ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Shadows Part A: Requiem for Solo Voice ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The memorials had taken six days to organize. Formalities, autopsies and such, would have been enough difficulty for any reasonable person; unfortunately, this was Furinkan, and reasonable people were thin on the ground. The details had been worked out, finally, by Nabiki -- the school's 'consensus' had turned to her more or less by default -- who had drawn Ranma, Akane, and Kasumi deeply into the planning. One of the biggest problems had been a simple question of protocols. The Furinkan district of Nerima was 'blest' not only with more than ten times the percentage of practicing or committed Christians than that normal for Japan, but also a substantial minority of persons for whom Shinto must serve in death as it had in life. (Under normal circumstances, of course, Shinto is not consulted about the impure and ritually polluted concerns of death and the dead. But this _is_ Nerima, and Nerima is a weird place.) The only things that everyone _could_ agree on was that; one, the students who had studied and played together should be remembered together, and, two, that the business should be taken care of as quickly as possible lest the hanging ill-luck should reduce the chances of those still lying injured in the area hospitals. Past that, the factions and sub-factions were locked in a state of very un-Japanese disunity. Nabiki explained to Ranma that Nerima was noted for the degree to which its inhabitants tended to fixate on their pet obsessions. Ranma noted that fanaticism made accord difficult, and speculated on methods of conflict resolution. Eventually, Nabiki simply decreed a compromise. Since Nabiki was well- known at Furinkan, and since Ranma had been spending time frowning ferociously, the decree was assented to with remarkable speed. Due to the widely disparate nature of the religious obligations involved, Nabiki had decided that the actual services for each victim should be held privately. Furthermore, since actual burial would not, of course, be possible, that there would be a mass memorial held instead, during which priests or monks of the various orders would observe certain basic rites. Fortunately, there was a local Shinto shrine priestess, one Sakuranbou Sakura, who was used to weird requests. There would also be music from the Furinkan Choir, and memorial displays for each of the deceased would be proffered for reverence and remembrance. This was to be done during a procession of grief, which would be held in some appropriate public place. At that point Kuno Tatewaki had surprised the whole ward with an unexpectedly generous offer. Nerima (very unusually for a Japanese city, not to mention a ward of Tokyo) has a public cemetery. It is limited in space of course, and normally requires both a significant fee and a significant lead time to reserve a plot there. The Kuno family, as it turned out, possessed a moderate piece of it as an ancestral holding. Tatewaki ordered a medium-ish piece of this holding set aside to hold permanent memorial markers for his fallen schoolmates. Not even a medium piece of the Kuno holdings at the cemetery would be enough for the bodies actually to be _buried_ there, of course, but the prospect of having a permanent, public marker filled the school as a whole with a most unaccustomed warmth for the once-annoying young man. Akane was so pleased that she broke down and kissed him on the cheek on the spot. This reduced him to a gape-mouthed shock, which induced Ranma to kiss him likewise, which sent him into instant unconsciousness. Which caused Ranma to tease Akane for the next several weeks. But you can't have everything. Ranma and Akane, although not part of the choir, had consulted with it to aid in choosing appropriate music. Since it had been necessary to schedule rites by Shinto, Buddhist and Christian priests, it had been decided to use a Christian hymn, but adapt and translate it to a more Japanese mien. This had been done. It had also been decided that Akane and Ranma should escort the bearers of the memorial displays to their resting place, but not carry any themselves. Finally, the weather service had been consulted to select a day free of the sudden constant rain; but Ranma had advised them that no such day was likely until the whole business was over, and so the time had been set. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "No, Kasumi-san," Ranma said, "I understand your concern. Indeed, I share it. The only problem is, Jei-san has never been squeamish about involving other people than his 'targets'. In fact, he has taken hostages to force a confrontation before. So I do not feel that simply being elsewhere is sufficient to assure Furinkan or Nerima's escape from his further attentions. More the reverse, actually." "I understand, Ranma-san. Still, I feel that _something_ must be done. It is unharmonious to simply await possible catastrophe." "I agree completely, Kasumi-san. I have already begun to apply myself to the creation of various weapons and wards against such evil. Also, I have created several of these." Ranma offered Kasumi a small origami goose. Kasumi accepted the item and examined it closely, observing the kanji inked in many colors by a neat, precise hand onto the paper of which it was composed. To her untutored eye they appeared to be of a protective or spiritual nature, calling on the Amida Buddha and a selection of beneficent Shinto deities for aid. "Is it a ward, Ranma-san? A protective influence?" "Only in a manner of speaking, Kasumi-san; it is, more precisely, an alarm. If Jei-san or any equivalent evil impinges on Nerima again, this charm and the others like it will give warning; firstly by reacting physically to his approach, and secondly by transmitting a warning to their creator, i.e. me. The pattern of warnings I receive should alert me to the location of the problem, hopefully before it gains its full strength." "I shall pray and sacrifice for your success in this matter, Ranma-san. Please also try to protect my younger sister." "I shall do so to the limits of my capability and her honor, Kasumi- san, I assure you." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Now a double column of Furinkan students marched up the hill towards the cemetery , under a steady, moderate rain. The first seventeen pairs held between them a line of seventeen fine wooden chests. Each chest held one of the memorial displays that the school and the victim's families had hurriedly assembled. To the left Akane, in black vest, shirt and pants, and wearing a black trench coat and hat, paralleled the line with a slow, sad, steady pace. To the right, Ranma, identically dressed except for her ever-present white silk scarf and lack of hat, did likewise, her scarlet hair darkened by the rain, which ran off its end in a steady stream down the back of her coat. Behind them all, Furinkan's one decent drummer was beating a slow, mournful *tap tap tap*, barely audible over the patter of the falling rain. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Your sister is worried about you. She seems to feel that you're going to start going out monster hunting and get yourself hurt." "Well, I don't have any real interest in _hunting_ monsters, Ranchan." Akane said mildly. "Just as long as they keep to themselves and don't come around and try to kill my classmates or the like." "But what," Ranma assumed a whimsical tone, "if they come around and only try to _maim_ your classmates instead?" "You know perfectly well what I mean. Now hush, you." "Yes, Acchan. Of course, Acchan. Don't hurt me, Acchan." "Unprincipled bully." "Uncommitted slacker." "One of these days, I'm going to _get_ you." "Promises, promises. On another topic, we need to keep track of the wounded. See how they're doing and if they're healing well. Particularly Sayuri-chan and that girl who kept you from getting spitted." Akane shuddered, "Yeah, I owe her big-time." She chewed her lower lip meditatively for a few moments, "We ought to talk to Dr. Tofu, I bet he can get us the info, or at least get us access." "Dr. Tofu?" "He's our family doctor; both GP and chiropractic. I had a huge crush on him last year." "But you're over him now and not disappointed at all, ne?" "Well ... mostly; but everyone knew he was completely gaga over Kasumi-oneechan anyway, so .... Hey! Wait a minute... why, you...." Her only answer was Ranma's silver laughter as the redhead retreated around the corner faster than Akane could follow. In laughing pursuit, Akane pounded down the street yelling, "Come back here, you!" Rounding another corner she was surprised by a flying sneak tickle attack that quickly rendered her hors de combat, with Ranma lounging beside her and smirking, "And the lesson for today, Acchan, is?" "Make your combat stance your everyday stance and your everyday stance your combat stance." To Ranma's raised eyebrow she sighed, and added, "And my sensei's a bully." Ranma raised a hand in preparation for another attack, "Alright! Alright! 'And don't sass the sensei.'" "Exactly." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- As the officiating priests (and priestess) finished the rites there came a hush, filling the cemetery with a silence that the ever-present rain merely intensified. The combined student body seemed to hover, as though they wished to put out a hand and pat their fallen comrades on the shoulder, or urge them on to class one last time. Then the hush was broken by the voice of the lead singer of the Choir. Media vita in morte summus, Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine? Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris. Sanctus, Sancte fortis, Sancte misericors Domine, Amarae morti ne tradas nos. In te speraverunt patres nostri: Speraverunt et liberasti eos. Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine, Et lux perpetua luceat eis. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Why hello, Akane-chan. I didn't see you at Furinkan, I'm glad you weren't injured." "Only a few scrapes and bruises, Tofu-sensei. This is my sensei in the Art, Bushiko Ranma." Ranma and Dr. Tofu shook hands. "We had wondered, Tofu-sensei, if you had any information on the status of the injured, especially Asano Sayuri-san, and Kuno Tatewaki's sister." "Yes, Ranma-san, I have been keeping up a bit; particularly on the patients I attended. Most are healing nicely, at the moment, but Kuno- san was very badly hurt; it will take her several weeks just to recover enough to leave the hospital. As for Asano-san, the last I heard, she was healing nicely from the physical trauma, but has shown no signs of coming out of her coma." "Do you think we might obtain permission to visit them, Tofu-sensei?" "I can't see why not, Ranma-san. They're in Nerima General...." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Then the second singers came in on descant, leading from basses to sopranos as the second set of verses went by in rounds. Finally, the third singers chimed in , in Japanese, as the seconds combined their rounds into a single, blurred chorus. Media vita in morte summus, {[Media vita in morte summus,]} In the midst of life we are in death, Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine? {[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]} Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord? Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris. {[Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.]} Who because of our sins are justly angry at us. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Kuno Kodachi stirred weakly in her hospital bed, and pressed her brother's hand. Real life had turned out to not work like she had thought it did. She wondered how many other things she had been mistaken on. Then the door opened, and two girls came into the room. The first, she saw, was the redhead who had kept the monster from skewering her; the second she knew as Tendo Akane, and seemed to recall a blurred impression of her also protecting her and her brother from death. 'Such a great mistake to make,' she thought regretfully, 'it's embarrassing.' Ranma walked to the bed and surveyed Kodachi's visible injuries. Her face was marked by a bandage covering the left side, beneath which Ranma sensed a burn, which seemed to have been caused by a mingling of fire, acid and something poisonous. She nodded in confirmation of her suspicions, 'Yin shih charged spirit fire. That's going to _hurt_.' Ranma grinned crookedly at Kodachi and accepted a weak smile in return, "A piece of advice, lass. _First_ you take them down; _then_ you rant at them. Timing is important." Kodachi managed a breathy chuckle, "I shall follow your advice most closely, Ranma-san. Assuming I ever again get the chance." "Oh, I think that between us we can get you up and functioning again. Akane-san and I both owe you a debt after all. Have they given you a schedule of rehabilitation exercises, yet?" "No, Ranma-san, I believe they have yet to complete their schedule of surgery, and...." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Sanctus, {[Sanctus,]} Holy one, Sancte fortis, {[Sancte fortis,]} Holy powerful one, Sancte misericors Domine, {[Sancte misericors Domine,]} Holy compassionate Lord, Amarae morti ne tradas nos. {[Amarae morti ne tradas nos.]} Do not hand us over to bitter death. In te speraverunt patres nostri: {[In te speraverunt patres nostri:]} In you our fathers placed their hopes: Speraverunt et liberasti eos. {[Speraverunt et liberasti eos.]} They placed their hopes, and You freed them. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma drew Tatewaki aside from where Akane was visiting with Kodachi and lowered her voice. "You understand, Tatewaki-san, that even under the best of circumstances your sister will have to totally rearrange her life?" Tatewaki nodded, solemnly. "Akane-san and I will assist her, of course, but the primary burden will fall on her family." "We have no family save each other," Tatewaki said grimly, "I shall ...." Suddenly he looked down at his folded hands and bit his lip. "Ranma-san, you enjoined me to mend my soul ere I again called myself a Samurai." Ranma raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I feel that ... this challenge to my house requires the services of a Samurai, and I .... You enjoined me to mend my soul, Ranma-san, but I do not know how. Will you ...?" Ranma caught his eyes with her own for several seconds, looking deep within as though to see the state of his soul for herself. Then she nodded contemplatively, "Well, I don't suppose that it's much harder to heal two than to heal one. We will endeavor, in one way or another." "Thank you, Ranma-sensei." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine, {[Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,]} Rest eternal grant them, Lord, Et lux perpetua luceat eis. {[Et lux perpetua luceat eis.]} And perpetual Light shine upon them. Media vita in morte summus, {[Media vita in morte summus,]} In the midst of life we are in death, Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine? {[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]} Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The hospital room was quiet. Ranma stood by Sayuri's bedside and placed her hand, palm down, on her forehead. She frowned meditatively for a moment, then stepped aside and waved for Akane to try. Akane assumed the same position and concentrated. She did not reach a conclusion with anything like the same speed, and spent several minutes locked in struggle with her perceptions. Finally she frowned, stepped back, and spoke. "Ranchan, her body ki feels like it's in good shape, but I can't find her mind or spirit at all. It's like there's a fog, or a wall, or something." Ranma nodded, grimly, "Yeah. I get that too. My guess is that either she retreated into herself to escape whatever Jei-san did to her, or that she's being chained." "Chained, Ranchan?" "Yah. Jei or Somebody could have, err, locked up her mind's ki, so to speak. And in that case she won't get better unless somebody goes and rescues her." "Somebody." "Somebody, for instance, who is not you. On account of you are Not Yet Ready." "Oh, of course not. I wouldn't even dream of it," Akane replied in a bland, even voice. Ranma, preoccupied, missed the signs completely. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- After the choir had finished, Ranma stepped forward. Akane had wanted to assist her, but had proven incapable of learning the song quickly enough -- couched as it was in a mixture of Gaelic and English -- and so Ranma had diffidently asked if she might give the dead honor on her own. The request had, of course, been acceded to, by acclamation. And so Akane stood solemnly behind her teacher and, along with the rest of the crowd, was swept away. A sto'r mo chroi', when you're far away From the home that you'll soon be leaving, 'Tis many the time, by night and by day, That your heart will sorely be grieving. For the stranger's land it is bright and fair, And rich in treasures golden, But you'll pine I know for the long, long ago, And the love that never is olden. A sto'r mo chroi', in the stranger's land, There is plenty of wealth for the willing. Where jewels adorn the great and the grand, While our faces with hunger are paling. Yet the road may be toilsome, and hard to tread, And the lights of their cities may blind you. Then turn a sto'r, to the eastern shore, And the ones that you're leaving behind you. A sto'r mo chroi', when the evening mists, O'er Mountain and Sea are falling, Then turn aside from the throng and list' And maybe you'll hear me calling. For the sound of a voice that I sorely miss, For somebody's quick returning, Ohh! A ru'n, a ru'n, won't you come back soon, To the love that always is burning? As she sang, Ranma gathered power to herself; building an aura of blue and gold light that flared and grew, until at the climax of her song she seemed as a pillar of living flame. When she finished her requiem she stood momentarily motionless, burning like a star against the unceasing gray rain; and then she flared her aura and sent it out and up, like a great cry of rage against the dying of the light. And then the undertakers stepped forward, and lifted their spades, and the first clods of earth pattered down on the coffins, the sound muffled by the flowers that still bedecked their tops. And the mourners turned, and slowly walked away, Ranma and Akane last. And in the skies above Nerima the rain began to lighten, and the clouds began to part at last. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Shadows Part B: Sunday Service ----------------------------------------------------------------------- It is sunday morning ... _early_ sunday morning ... the sky still dark, in the darkest hours before the light of the new day. Ranma's apartment, like all the others in her building, is dark; that should not, however, be construed to mean that Ranma is asleep. Contrariwise, she is wide awake, sitting seiza in girl form in the middle of her main room, surrounded by a litter of books, papers, vials, beakers, boxes, racks, small pieces of metal or wood or wire, and a great quantity of objects which can only be classified as miscellanea. No diagram hangs in the air before the window, no mysterious liquids drip in shadowed corners, no air of arcane secrets prevails. Nonetheless, magic is being made. Magic of the best and most useful sort: prosaic magic. In front of Ranma sits a pile of small pieces of rice paper; next to them is a set of inkstones, bearing ink of many hues, and a matching set of pens. To one side is a completed set of small origami geese, patiently waiting their time. Ranma's attention, though, is not on the geese; instead, she turns a small piece of jade over in her hands, staring at it with a faint air of puzzlement. It is carved in the likeness of a nightingale, but this has been the case for centuries, and would not seem to be cause for puzzlement. Casually, Ranma reaches her hand to the side and picks a scroll out of a pile of similar writings. She places the jade nightingale carefully in front of her and unrolls the scroll, skimming at first, and then carefully reading one section. Then she moves on in the scroll, skimming the rest before returning to several sections to scrutinize them closely, rolling the scroll back and forth several time to cross-reference some point or other. Then she rerolls the scroll and places it back into its place before rising quickly to her feet, rapidly gathering the litter from the floor and replacing it in the foot-locker. The geese she puts aside, laying them on the table in the kitchen. The jade bird remains sitting enigmaticly where she left it. Although, to be honest, sitting where you leave it can not truly be considered enigmatic behavior for a jade figurine. This is, after all, what they do all the time; inanimation is a hard habit to give up. Ranma finishes her clean-up and returns to sit seiza before the still immobile figurine. Then she reaches out and takes it into her hands, resting it in the valley of her cupped palms as she sinks deeply into trance. And the minutes pass, fleeing like frightened minnows, as Ranma adjusts her perception, looking Without, and then Within - Within the jade bird cupped in her hands, and Within herself as well. Before her inward turned gaze she sees a tracery of fire, outlining blocks of softly luminescent patterns; patterns that, for those with eyes to see them, set out the precise details of the existence of any given object. This one, for instance, tells of the details for the jade figurine in Ranma's hand. See the patterns that mark out its shape, and color; trace the lines that tell of texture, chemical composition, mass and density; observe the lack of any pattern that would indicate life, or growth, or change. It is not unusual for there to be such a lack; after all, the figurine isn't alive. And yet ... yet within its structure it still possesses the energies of life. And yet within its patterns it follows the living patterns of the bird which is its model. And yet, somehow, locked in never-living stone, there still exists a living bird: awaiting life, longing for freedom, patient as a stone. Patient, as it has had to be patient, since the day so long ago when it first was carved. Waiting, as it has had to wait since the day when first it coalesced from primordial ore and silicates. Longing, as it had longed since the first human hand had touched it, since its shape had taken form, since it had become like life, but not alive. And Ranma hears the longing in her blood, knows the waiting in her bones, feels the patience down all the endless years in nerves and heart and soul. And reaches out a mental hand, and presses a metaphorical button, because, sometimes, patience _does_ have its reward. And a spring wound by a thousand years of longing unwinds. And in her hand the nightingale shakes its carven feathers into place, and stretches and spreads its stony wings, and hurls itself into the waiting air, and raises its voice -- at last, at last -- in song. For a moment Ranma follows the jade bird's ecstatic flight with a proud smile, but then she notes the music the joyful bird is raising to heaven, a tune slower and simpler than expected, a tune, she suddenly realizes, that she knows. And her smile turns wistful, and a golden contralto softly joins a jade fountain of song. Deep within this softly moonlit night we awoke, to find our Loves' sweet expression unfolding of its own accord. A touch in gentle sleepiness, a fingertip, a pressing lip The kindness of our bodies, speaking softly in the dark. Our love began so tentative; a smiling eye, a voice soft-spoken Touching in a way our lives had never quite been met. The quiet grave acceptance of the truth within each other, The meeting of two people, man and woman for all time. So in this night our love unfolds, your body is akin to mine. Another half once left behind in generations long ago. To finally meet together, in a silent true immersion. The natural culmination of a love we can't define. And this loving is a drawing close, a turning in, an opening Until one perfect moment; but how can it be expressed? A receiving, and enfolding as I cradle you in my arms. Within my heart, within my soul, You are my true love. The nightingale circuits the room and lands on Ranma's outstretched finger, throat pouring forth a torrent of song. Ranma listens for a moment, still smiling wistfully, then chuckles. "It's all very well for _you_ to say. You don't have to deal with it." Music. "'Man and woman for all time', _that's_ the problem." Music. "Because she's straight, you silly bird. And she thinks I'm a girl." Music. "Yeah, that _could_ be done, I suppose. But there's one problem. _I_ want 'man and woman' too, and if you say anything about Nannichuan I'll ...." Music. "Be her friend. What else is there?" Music: a sharp, brief stanza. "Love is ... not a good idea. Besides, there's Oyaji, remember? If he hasn't found an engagement for me I'll eat my hat. It'll be enough of a miracle if she's at all suitable. Hell, it'll be something of a miracle if she's _human_. Love is too much to hope for." Music. "Because _it won't work_, damn it. It hurts enough as it is." Music: a rich tapestry of interweaving harmonies. "Oh _well_. In _that_ case, yes, _then_ it would work. Of course, that won't happen ... but _if_ it did, then yes." Music: a joyous trill, fading into a sleepy purl. A stretching, a shake, a nestling down to rest; and a small jade figurine, a nightingale asleep, is cupped in the hollow of Ranma's palm. Patiently waiting for a spring to wind itself again; content now, in a sense, but still longing for the day when it can again unwind itself ... and fly ... and sing. And Bushiko Ranma looks down into the hollow of her hand, and says, very gently, "Silly bird." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Shadows Part C: Sonata for Flute ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Tendo Akane woke very early, just before sunrise. She quickly dressed, intending to get in some practice before breakfast. Going out of her room, she first stopped in the kitchen. "Ohayo, Kasumi-oneechan; I'm going to the dojo to practice; would you call me when breakfast is ready please?" "Ohayo gozaimasu, Akane-chan. Ranma-san is already in the dojo. She asked me to make you this snack, to eat before you train." Kasumi gave Akane a small plate, holding a pair of rice balls and a small filet of fish. *blinkblink* "Ranchan's _here_? _Already_? Augh! I'm late! She'll think I'm slacking!" A wind blew through the kitchen as the screen *whooshed* with Akane's passage, leaving the plate hanging in mid-air. It *whiished* as Akane reappeared, catching the plate and gulping down the food in a blur. It *whooshed* again as Akane vanished through the abused screen leaving the now clean plate hanging in mid-air; only to *whiish* as she reappeared, catching the plate before it could fall and placing it gently in the sink before *whoosh*ing out the screen again; followed by a *thump* as the screen was sucked off its track and fell over. A *shhhk* announced Akane's sliding stop, followed by a black-haired head that slowly inched its way back into the picture. Akane gave Kasumi a nervous smile before picking the screen up off the ground and placing it gingerly back into place. She patted it timidly, then took several cautious, silent steps away before vanishing dojo-wards again with a dopplered wail of, "Auugh! I'm Late!" Kasumi blinked at the screen slowly. It somberly toppled over with a somehow triumphant *thud* and broke into several pieces. Kasumi blinked again before lowering her face into her hands and shaking her head. "Oh ... dear." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 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. Akane skidded to a halt as she entered the dojo and dropped her jaw in shock. The formerly empty practice floor was covered by piles of cinder-blocks in a similar manner to those she had used to practice with, (was it less than a week ago, or was it a lifetime?) the first morning After Ranma. Ranma was stacking them into tall piles and had apparently been at work on a number of the piles she had already stacked, because they had been shaped in some manner into vaguely human form. How she had managed it Akane couldn't imagine, but she supposed that the trick of shaping cinder-blocks must be a fairly simple one after some of the things she had seen Ranma do. Akane watched as Ranma finished stacking her latest pile and withdrew her fan from her sleeve. Then Ranma raised her hand above the top of the concrete pile and snapped the fan open. That pair in the corner, They're here every Tuesday They come when the market first open its stalls. And it's got so that lately I'll wait just to see them Their heads bent together, As they come down the hall. And her hair has grown whiter His has grown thinner, And their pace has slowed down As the years have grown long. But they keep step together 'Mongst strangers who hurry, These two old companions, Walking slowly along. Ranma's fan flashed around and through the pile of blocks as she sang, and before Akane's eyes a pile of rectangular blocks was shaped, flexed, carved and melted into another humanoid shape. "Ohayo, Ranchan. How are you doing that?" "Ohayo, Acchan. Let me finish a couple more so we have half of them done and I'll show you." "Let me help stack." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Okay, now here we have a pile of cinder-blocks, right?" "Umm. Yeah. Looks like that to me, yep." Akane nodded happily, and looked at Ranma with wide eyes. "Stop that. Besides, for the purpose of this explanation, you're wrong. What we have here is a pile of patterns of energy. A set of shapes defined by ch'i and, in this case, mostly free of shih." Akane squinted to slip into othersight, "That's the same thing though, right, Ranchan?" "Not quite, no. See, if it was a pile of concrete blocks, then there'd be no way to do anything with it. Concrete blocks are concrete blocks, ne? But! If it's a collection of patterns of ch'i, then I can use _this_," she flourished the fan, "which is _also_ a pattern of ch'i, to change what the patterns say. "Now watch. I take the fan, and I feed shih from my ki into it, see?" Akane nodded. "Now, I use the shih to 'spread' the ch'i of the blocks. And now that I've got them in shape to be changed ...." The upper portion of the pile was quickly reduced to the shape of a crudely fashioned head. "Now you try." Akane dubiously took the fan from Ranma, and focused her othersight on the concrete. Sinking into a trance, she sent shih rushing into the fan, filling it with crackling tubes of light. She attempted to insert the fan into the concrete but met with resistance. Withdrawing the fan, she 'looked' at it, altering the shape and frequency of the power filling it to something closer to what she had seen Ranma use and then tried again. A few attempts later, the fan began to sink into the concrete, but stopped less than an inch in, having apparently run into something. Frowning slightly, Akane flexed her fingers, preparatory to changing the shih flow one more time. The flex caused the fan to open slightly. The pile exploded into dust, knocking her head over heels backward into the wall of the dojo. Ranma tapped her chin meditatively, "Well ... it's a start." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ...*boom* ... *boom* ... *boom* ... Tendo Nabiki was a heavy sleeper, particularly on Sunday. Nonetheless, repeated muffled explosions could waken even her. Blearily she wandered into the kitchen, where Kasumi intercepted her with a request to inform Ranma and Akane that breakfast was ready. Not particularly in a good mood she wandered through the house to the dojo and opened the door. Strewn about the once-polished dojo floor her narrowed eyes observed a dozen or so piles of rubble, and the accountant in her bemoaned the cost in cinder-blocks that rubble represented. Meanwhile the sister in her was storing up a grievance, and the observer was watching with dropped jaw as her sister went after another pile of blocks in a seeming frenzy with ... a fan??!! A most puissant fan, she noted; it was carving pieces of cinder-block off the pile like a ginsu knife slicing tomatoes. Akane finished carving concrete with what passed for a flourish, and stepped back from the now human shaped pile with a gasp of exhaustion and a whirl of triumph. "Ha!, Ha!, See, Ranchan, I told you I had it this time!" Ranma tapped her chin in silence and Akane turned to her in irritation, "Well ... what's wrong with it?" She was answered by a sound as of flowing sand as the concrete gave up its bondage to solidity and dissolved into dust, a few small pieces of somewhat more resilient mien falling through the pile to *ping* off the floor. Ranma raised an eyebrow in silence. Akane flushed beet-red and slumped to the floor in a heap, putting her head in her hands. "I don't think you've quite got that part quite down yet, Acchan." Akane *snff*ed from the floor. "Still. it _may_ be that you'll do better after a rest, ne? And I think Nabiki-san is here to announce breakfast." Ranma raised another eyebrow, at Nabiki this time. "Umm, yeah. Oneechan says it's ready, yes." Akane *snff*ed again and Ranma extended a hand to her. Akane grasped the hand and pulled herself up. She started to walk after Nabiki, but raised her head to where she could see the remaining uncarved, stacked cinder- block pile. Her head snapped up, her jaw firmed, and her shoulders straightened. She raised the fan and said, "No! I'm on the verge, I know it. Once more, and _this_ time I'm gonna do it right!" Then, suddenly, she grinned, "Hey, Ranchan, watch me pull a dummy out of a cinder-block!" "Aw, Acchan," Ranma squirreled, "that trick _never_ works!" "This time for sure!" Akane strode purposefully up to the untouched pile and stuck the fan an inch into the space where the head would be. Then her shoulders hunched and she gathered herself. The fan suddenly unfolded, and Akane seemed to go into a frenzy of fan blows; blurring about the pile, now to the left, now in back, as she stripped and melted concrete with each strike. After a minute of frantic effort she stepped back, panting in exhaustion and glaring at the shaped concrete, daring it to move in any way. Ranma stepped forward and flicked the dummy with her finger, nodding when it failed to immediately disintegrate. "Yep, I think that's got it." Then she pivoted gracefully, and caught Akane by the waist as the taller girl fainted with exhaustion, swinging her up into her arms. She carried Akane to the door and shrugged at Nabiki, "A little stubborn, maybe." Nabiki shook her head and walked ahead of Ranma into the dining room. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- After breakfast Ranma and Akane returned to the dojo. Ranma considered the dummies scattered about the room for a moment, and then turned back to Akane, putting her back to the dojo wall. "Well, you've proved that you can do basic ki movement, and also basic manipulations of other's chi. Now we move on a little. Using these skills, you can extend your capabilities in several ways. The first thing we'll talk about is an extension of what you just did with the fan. It's called ch'i disruption. When Jei attacked, did you notice what I did to the wall of the classroom he was in?" "Yah, Ranchan, I'd been meaning to ask you about it. You sort of ... waved at the wall? And it fell apart, is what it looked like." Ranma held up her right hand, outer fingers veed and inner fingers curled. "It's called The Butterfly's Kiss. What you do is send out a shih pulse from your hand. The pulse is set in a manner that disrupts the ch'i of any inanimate object that it hits. And once you've disrupted its ch'i of course, it falls apart." "What about living things, Ranchan?" "A good question, Acchan. Living targets are harder to affect. First, because their ki will tend to resist you messing with it; and second, because they have souls, which will keep them mostly intact even if you _do_ manage to mess with it. That said, however, there are versions of this move that will do nasty things to people, too. "Now you hold your hand like this ... and you feed shih from your ki like _this_ ... and you've got to keep in mind what the ch'i of the thing you're trying to affect looks like, 'cause you have to send a pulse that disrupts it, like so ...." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Now the next thing we're going to look at is called shih-sheathing. This is a method of creating a sheath or shroud of moving or 'fluid' energy from your ki, and having it exist _separate_ from your ki for some period of time. "Now you've already done a variant of this with the fan, but the essence of the technique here is to be able to apply a sheath not only to yourself or something you're holding, but to things you've let go of, or even to non-physical things like a ch'i structure. And also to get the sheath to _last_ once you can't feed shih to it any more, of course." "You want me to use this set of throwing knives to practice on, right, Ranchan?" "To start with, yes." Akane concentrated on the knives in her hands, turning them over and over and watching the reflections. Slipping deeply into trance, she concentrated on the task of covering the blades with a 'web' of shih that did not immediately disintegrate when she released it. After several minutes of effort she had determined that the most important step was insuring that the outer web was both self-contiguous and anchored to a stable object and was attempting to work out a method for doing so. Abruptly, a warning instinct she hadn't previously known she had went off, sending her rolling sideways, away from the concrete fist that *thudd*ed into the dojo floor where she had been standing. Akane rolled to her feet in automatic reaction and slid sideways, dodging the blocky attacker's forceful rush and flicking a knife into its throat. The knife *ping*ed off concrete and Akane cursed herself for a fool, evading another cobra-quick attack by the animate statue and jumping for increased fighting room. She desperately reached for concentration to empower a better weapon and felt time slow as a sudden gestalt clicked into place. All at once she _knew_ the feel of a properly made sheath, knew the sight and sound and taste of it, and a sheath of shih set to penetrate solid rock snapped down over two of her remaining knives. These then flashed across the rapidly decreasing distance to her target, thudding into its throat and heart and sinking deep. Unfortunately, as her attacker was made of concrete instead of flesh and blood, this accomplished nothing. Akane threw off two butterfly's kiss strikes set for stone to no effect before she skidded sideways from a combination strike that would have pulped her like a rotten grapefruit and jumped over the return stroke, pushing off from her opponent's back into a long dive that staggered the towering bulk and won her twenty feet of space. Coming up from her dive into a forward roll, she stood and whirled, mind still in overdrive as she sought a way to deliver a ch'i disruption attack that would destroy her foe without making the fatal mistake of coming into its reach. Her racing thoughts quickly pruned her decision tree to the only possible solution and began to implement it as her opponent regained its balance and turned to the attack again. Akane wove the sheathe around the disruption pulse and anchored it to the knife, then set the knife to throw. Dodging forward to close past the range at which her opponent's speed would allow it to dodge, she threw the knife from just outside the reach of its arms. The knife flew straight to its target and sank deep into the concrete chest, but the desired result did not obtain. 'Shit! Ranchan _told_ me you couldn't do that to a living target! What was I thinking?' Akane folded into a forward roll under the closing arms, her mind still in hyper. 'I need to set the disruption-ch'i off, but how do I alter ...? I'll have to get close.' Akane came out of her roll inside the reach of her opponent's arms and launched herself immediately into a jump that put her in a position to be crushed by their rapidly closing grasp; but also in a position to touch the hilt of the knife, into which she channeled all the shih she had, funneling it directly into the disruption-web which drove the animating shih before it as it expanded. And then the web collapsed inward into the creature's chest, exploding it with sufficient force to knock Akane back into the wall of the dojo, smacking herself on the suddenly disconnected arms as she went by. From the side of the dojo, Ranma chuckled, "Well, that's _one_ way to do it ...." Limping slightly, Akane moved to the crumbled remains of the practice dummy and retrieved her knives. Giving the redhead a glare, Akane replied in a dangerously mild voice, "What were you expecting?" Smiling, Ranma put a hand on the dummies to either side. As they rumbled into life, she said, "Look at these two. What do you See?" Akane looked at the lumbering figures, and tried to see what Ranma might be referencing. All she saw was a tracery of shih. layered and interwoven, providing the energy necessary for the dummies to move. Suddenly she saw what her friend meant, and sent a knife winging into each dummy, hitting, and cutting, the 'knot' of energies that anchored the shih-web in stability. The loosed energies fled back into Ranma's ki and the suddenly inanimate dummies stopped moving. "Very good, Acchan. Now we'll try that a couple different ways...." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- As Kasumi walked toward the dojo she worried, briefly, about cleaning. The training activities Nabiki had described sounded very messy to her, and she concerned herself with the question of just who was going to clean the result. It was important that the dojo show itself in good condition, after all; it reflected on the face of the dojo. And hence on her own honor. Not that she was eager to have to expend _yet more_ time in keeping up the condition of the Dojo and its constituents, mind you, but .... Honor was honor, after all. Still, it might be that there was _some_ help to be had from ... other sources. Like Nabiki and Akane, for instance. Or even Ranma-san. It is part of a sensei's duty to insure the proper condition of the dojo, after all. Walking in through the door to the dojo proper she stopped abruptly and gaped. The alteration in the dojo's countenance had been ... extreme. A half-dozen concrete or stone statues loomed menacingly around the dojo wall. A wide selection of dark spots, scorches, dents and holes now decorated the dojo's walls and floor. And a large pile of dust and debris was growing in the center of the floor where Akane and Ranma were sweeping it with brooms. Well ... Akane was sweeping with a broom; Ranma was ... shooing the debris along, _and it was moving!_ 'And to think,' she despaired, 'all these years and _I've_ been doing it the _hard_ way!' "Ohayo, Kasumi-san," Ranma chirped, "we're almost finished here. I'm just giving Acchan a lesson in practical magic." Ranma crossed her arms and leaned against the dojo wall next to the door to the house. Akane finished sweeping the floor and turned to Ranma questioningly. "Okay, Acchan, now we have two things to do to return the dojo to good condition. First, we must remove that pile of trash. Second, we have to fix the walls and floor." "Umm, yeah." Akane flushed guiltily and looked about at the damage. "I guess we did kinda trash stuff didn't we?" She looked at the pile of concrete shards. "I dunno about this pile, though, Ranchan. I could disrupt it piece by piece, but there's gotta be thousands of pieces in there." "No problem. Watch what I do, here. First you treat the pile as a single thing, with a single meaning. Then you use the butterfly kiss on that one thing." The pile dissolved into a looming cloud of fine dust; Ranma waved her other hand at it, fingers rotating. Kasumi's eyes went wide in shock. "Then you take the dust cloud and gather it together and run it off." The cloud was sucked into a small tornado that formed on the former location of the pile and blew out the outside door into the yard. "Now, for the next problem we rely on the fact that the inner meaning of the dojo is not particularly related to holes in the walls. That is, the natural state of the dojo is to be in good condition. What you need to do is find the dojo's 'right state' and Imbue reality with it." "Fffff." Akane blew out her cheeks, dropping into seiza in the center of the floor. "Okay, I _think_ I can do that. Let's see." She knelt forward onto her knees and put one hand onto the dojo floor, almost caressing it before stilling herself completely, almost ceasing even to breathe. A hum began to resonate throughout the dojo as Akane concentrated and began to glow herself, faintly. Then the walls and floor of the dojo began to blur, to seem as if seen in double-vision, overlaid by an image similar, but not exactly the same. The hum fell in pitch and rose in volume and Akane's glow shifted quickly towards the red, brightening as it did so and giving off heat. Then the walls seemed to snap into focus as the hum peaked in a sudden squeal of high-pitched sound. Akane's glow faded and revealed, when the light level had stabilized, a dojo not merely repaired, but polished 'til it shone. Ranma tapped her chin. "Not exactly the way I'd have done it, but it worked nicely." Akane wobbled to her feet, and put her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath. "How'd *gasp* how'd I do, Ranchan? *Pant* Harder than I thought. *Wheeze*" Ranma gave her a thumbs up, and turned to Kasumi. "You did great, Acchan! What's up, Kasumi-san?" Kasumi heard herself say something about dinner, and furo, and heard Ranma's reply. Internally, however, she was focused on one thought only, here was a product of the martial arts that _she_ could use. Domesticity Martial Arts. Plans and half-formed wishes volleyed back and forth in her head as she wandered away. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Akane leaned back into the heated bath-water and considered her friend. Ranma had delayed a moment to speak to Nabiki which gave Akane a chance to watch her undress and wash, a chance she was making the most of. From an aesthetic standpoint, she mused silently, Ranma's body left something to be desired. Oh, her _form_ and _figure_ were certainly acceptable enough, in an abstract sense; not quite as 'developed' as hers, but certainly acceptable. But the overall presentation ... while not ... uncomely ... nevertheless was distinctly lacking. Partly, she thought, due to the sheer unconventionality of it. Conventional standards, after all, definitely emphasized smoothness. Skin should be soft, or else taut and tanned, muscles sculpted and well-defined. Body fat should cover and enhance to sleekness those areas possessing it, and some areas, particularly those most feminine, _should_ possess it. Eyes should be large and expressive, and open to the world. The structure of the face should be smooth and sleek, flowing in curves strong or heart-shaped as circumstances indicated, defining that feature regarded as the emblem of the soul. The whole structure and carriage of the body should harmonize into the presented image, blending the soul and the body that carries it into one, unitary whole. Another part was carriage and attitude. 'So much of how you perceive a person comes from how they move and are still,' she thought. A woman may mince, or skip, or even prowl or strut, but nonetheless she moves in a certain manner. With grace and style, or at least with an attempt at them. Forever conscious of how other will see her. A man may move forcefully or timidly, claiming the limelight or evading it, but always dealing with the space to be seen _in_. A normal man, a normal woman, she thought. But not Ranma. Muscles like steel cable and whipcord. Skin seamed with thin white scars and tanned into a semblance of well-cured, soft leather. Face close-laid over strong bones, but without more than a pittance of body fat, eyes as often half-closed as open. Attitude most of all. Ranma, she thought, rather than being concerned with seeing or being seen, more often exuded a combination of complete relaxation unconcerned with its surroundings and utter steel-spring readiness for action that you would ordinarily have to be a mongoose to pull off. Lastly, and that which was first noticed, movement; no concern there with being seen, no concern with space. Ranma simply moved from one space to another, utterly unconcerned with what might be going on outside the spaces she was moving _in_. Idly, Akane wondered if she would end up looking like that, and how long it would take. Idly, she thought that Ranma wasn't conventionally pretty, but was certainly beautiful. Idly, she wondered why she had thought that, but lost the thought amidst heat-induced relaxation. Then she remembered another idle thought, and acted on it. "Hey, Ranchan! Tell me about the other one." "Which other one, Acchan?" Ranma replied, slipping into the tub. "The other one who used to call you Ranchan." "Huh? Oh! Oh, sure, Ucchan. Ukyou that is. Ko-something Ukyou, my first friend. "Ucchan lived in Osaka when I was six; still does, I guess. His dad owns an Okonomiyaki shop there. He and I always used to scuffle over food. "Well ... that's not _quite_ right. What happened was, Ucchan would make a couple of okonomiyaki, I would 'steal' them, then I'd give one back and we'd eat lunch." "Made you lunch every day, hmmm?" Akane teased, "Sounds like _some_one liked you a lot." "We were _six_, Acchan." Ranma said wryly, "Don't construct a great romance from nothing, here." "You mean to tell me," Akane arched an eyebrow, "that you never thought about it before? Not even a little? No dreams of going back to Osaka and, you know, looking him up?" "First, we were _friends_, Acchan. Not boyfriend and girlfriend. Second, he's a well-favored guy who stands to inherit a restaurant of his own; maybe more than one. So he's already got girls hanging off his arms, drooling. He may be engaged already, in fact. "Third, and most prominent, _he_ cooks Okonomiyaki. _I_ kill people. There is a severe disconnect in job prospects here. "I mean, what is he supposed to do, sell food at exhibitions or something? Or does he need, you know, armed guards and assassins to protect his Okonomiyaki Empire? No, it'd never work." "Oh well, it was a thought." "Ha! You can't get out of getting beat on by interfering in my love life either, slacker!" "Hmmmmf. Baka! You would think that." Akane focused her eyes dreamily on the scarlet braid floating free past Ranma's shoulder. Another thing different, she thought. Normal people's hair stayed where it was put, or flowed with the person's movement. Ranma's braid as often moved _against_ the motion of her body. And then there was the ring; made of ivory, carven into the shape of a pair of dragons biting each other's tails, and set with glittering gemstones, it was not the type of hair ornament you would typically see. "Why do you always wear that hair ring anyway, Ranchan? Don't you even take it off to bathe?" Ranma grinned slightly and unfastened the ring from her braid, placing it on the edge of the tub. 'Yes!' Akane enthused internally, 'I'll get her to unwind yet!' Then her mind began to gibber at her. Ranma's hair was unwinding of its own accord! Spreading out from its braid into a floating fan even as she watched, (Ranma unconcernedly sank her head beneath the water momentarily) tapping and touching the side of the tub, reaching out in all directions. And _growing_ she noted in amazement, lengthening visibly as she watched, stretching out to run along the surface of the water like a million tiny, questing snakes. Reaching, she noted with distant concern, towards her as well; it would cover the short distance in less than a minute. "Ah, ah, ah ... Ranchan? Ah, your hair ... ah ...." Ranma rose up from the tub momentarily, shaking her head; her hair whipped about briefly, then was returned to its braided state by a twist of her neck and blurring hands. She returned the ring to its place of honor, about a foot up the now-extended braid, then her hand briefly flashed light and she sat back down in the tub and handed Akane a neatly braided foot-long length of her hair. Ranma grinned crookedly as Akane looked up at her and down at the braid several times in shock. "Once upon a time, I was in a position to help out a dragon," she said, reminiscently. Akane blinked at her. "He had this problem with an infestation of parasites." Akane blinked again. "Dragon fleas?" Ranma raised her right leg above the water of the tub and regarded it pensively. "Yeah, sorta." The leg was patterned with scars that looked, to Akane, like something with a bunch of sharp claws had climbed up it and then dug in and tap-danced around the calf. "By the time I'd dealt with them I was pretty chewed up and one of the damn things had eaten off my hair." "Your hair, Ranchan? But why ...?" "Well, Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang isn't such a bad guy for a dragon, and he Owed me for the help anyway, so he fixed up a bowl of soup. I don't know what all it had in it, but after I drank it, I started healing a lot faster and my hair ... well, you saw. Now I have to keep this ring on to keep it from doing that." "Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang?!" Ranma nodded. "Jolly Yellow Fierce Tiger Emperor Spirit Scholar Dragon-King???!" Ranma shrugged. "Yeeesh. But why does it work?" "'Cause its carved from one of his teeth." Akane blink-blinked. "Like my knives." "He gave you his _teeth_?" "Well, the original offer was 'half my horde and my daughter's hand in marriage' and his daughter already _was_ married and a dragon without a horde is a truly pathetic thing, so-ooo ...." "Oh." Akane sank back into the bath-water again. "My sensei, the weirdo." "Biiidah!" ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Tendo Soun was not, contrary to popular opinion, entirely incoherent. It was true that his nerves were broken from the stress of his life and its many tragedies, but he did work towards his daughters' well-being. He worked all the time, actually, though it might have been more useful had any of the work consisted of more than dreams, schemes or tears. Lately he seemed to have been especially pressed, he felt. First, there had been the reluctant realization that the long-held dream he had based most of his hopes on would never come to fruition. No doubt the vagaries of a martial artist's life had overwhelmed Saotome; just the thought of Genma and his son's sad last moments could bring a renewed wail of grief. Yes, the realization had been hard, but he must face facts. It had been more than twelve years and he had no word for the last eight. No, he had to be realistic for his daughters' sakes; Genma would never return, and his son ('What had been his name, now? Lan-something?') would never marry one of Soun's precious children. He must forget the dead past; he must go on. But it was hard. He realized that he, himself, was almost useless now. He had almost been destroyed by Kyuumu's death; and he still could find no joy in the martial arts that he had put so much of himself into. They had not been able to save her; his skills had failed him in his supreme need, and he had done no more than teach desultorily since. It was a sad pass for a master of the Musabetsu Kakutou Tendo-ryu to come to, but there it was. Still, he was not _entirely_ dead yet, and the news that his beloved daughter Akane had nearly been killed fighting a monster, that many of the students at her school _had_ been killed or injured, _while he could do nothing to aid them_, had undone him entirely. Even days later the thought of what might have happened brought him almost to collapse; but he knew he must not dwell on it. He had a more pressing responsibility, one so urgent as to even overshadow his many fears and griefs. Akane was in training under another. In itself, this was no bad thing, Kami knew _he_ could no longer instruct her properly. But the fate of the school was at stake! He must assess _for himself_ the skill at the Art of her new sensei, this Bushiko Ranma. Not that he had any reason to distrust Ranma-san, no. But he must appraise her skills for himself; in the end, the responsibility was his, however inadequate his ability to meet that responsibility might be. At dinner, therefore, he had raised the question. Most properly, Ranma-san had immediately agreed, and so now he must do something he had not done in ten years. He must spar, all-out, with an opponent that he was uneasily coming to be aware might well his superior. He based this assessment partially on the relaxed flow of Ranma's movements as she evaded his attacks and insinuated herself past his defenses. It was the hardest sparring he had done since he and Genma had dealt with that old pervert Happosai, he had pulled out every trick he knew, and he was losing. But mainly he based the assessment on the fact that Ranma, moments after the match had started, had kicked him gently in the head. From behind. And he hadn't even seen her _move_. Akane watched the match intently. This was only the third time she had had the opportunity to observe Ranma in action without interference and the first where her sensei had been sparring rather than actually fighting. Ranma was obviously spending energy in performing her techniques rather than going for the win; Akane did not fool herself into thinking otherwise. Yet sparring also teaches an observer much about a fighter's style and Akane was almost in a trance as she drank in what the two in front of her were teaching. She had erred, she realized. She had assumed that her father's incapacity was due to inability. The match was disabusing her of that notion. He was still a great martial artist; rusty though he might be his moves were fluid and correct, his attacks precise and powerful, his defenses firm. Yet, even so, she could see the difference. Precise as Soun's motions were, each spent a small portion of effort achieving that precision; Ranma's did not. Powerful as were his attacks, firm though his defense might be, each took effort to achieve, attention to complete, focus of mind and body to continue; Ranma's did not. Ranma simply _was_: grace in motion, calm in mind, composed in mien, as though she had found satori, not in the stillness, but rather in the storm. Deep in her heart and soul, Akane could feel the storm-winds blowing. Far off she could hear the thunder, far off she could smell the rain. At the core of her heart a fire was building, flickering from candle- flame to campfire, rushing from campfire to bonfire, roaring in its power as it grew to an inferno that would consume her whole. An inferno that sought the storm and the rain it brought; that would run before it, and delight in it, and grow stronger by it; that would give back to the storm that would rise up into the rain, and make them greater and richer in their own turn. As from afar off and faintly she seemed to see from the corner of her mind's eye a sword, traced out only by its edge, limned by fire, defined by sea-wrack, born up on the wind. Farther yet she could sense the presence of a mighty tree; the storm-winds ruffled its branches, the rain nourished it, the sword warded it from harm. And the fire would blaze upon it, would leap from branch to leaf, would run up and down the trunk till all was ablaze, yet did not burn, but grew and thrived and was warded from harm by friendly flames. And she saw that she had wronged her father yet more; she saw how he loved the art, how he gloried in its practice even now. 'How much he must have been hurt,' she thought, 'to give it up.' She resolved to be nicer to him in future, and to appreciate him more. Appreciate him, as she appreciated the match before her. And she stood back and drank it in like pure water in the desert, that quenches thirst in delight and coolness, and reignites it again. And her muscles began to twitch minutely as she committed everything she could to muscle memory, and her eyes went wide as she desperately strove to see everything she could. And within her a voice began to chant, 'That! That, I want that! That! Just like that! Just like her!'. And Soun strove to give a good account of himself and Ranma flowed by, calm as a summer breeze, ferocious as the storm. At last Soun called a halt and admitted defeat. Ranma smiled and bowed to him. "Good match, Tendo-san." Akane and Nabiki nodded, enthused, and Kasumi smiled distractedly, her mind far away. "Yes. Yes it was, Ranma-san. Almost like the old days. If only ...." And he sighed, and said no more. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The sun was setting in a blaze of fire and light. Ranma sat on the porch of the dojo and watched it. After a time she drew a rude-looking bamboo flute from jacket-space and began to play. Akane stepped to the edge of the house behind her and listened. "That's a shakuhachi isn't it, Ranchan?" Ranma nodded and continued playing. Shortly Nabiki and Kasumi appeared from the interior of the house, drawn by the music. Then Soun turned from the place where he had been sitting, watching the TV, to regard the porch as well. After a few moments more Akane chuckled, "Hey, I know that one ... that's Bach. The Art of the Fugue. Do I want to ask how you learned it?" Ranma shook her head and continued to play, and Akane began to see a weave of shi passing with the notes of the flute out into the yard. Then the threads began to draw up butterflies from their resting grounds in the bushes and trees surrounding the koi pond. The butterflies began to dance to the flute notes, turning and fluttering in time to the rhythm of the song Ranma was playing (she had shifted from the Bach to another tune - one Akane did not know). At the climax of the tune Akane saw a thread dip gently into the pond and bring up a koi, which leaped high into the air as the last gleam of the setting sun illuminated it in a flaming shroud of gold. Kasumi laughed in glee and clapped her hands. Nabiki surreptitiously wiped away a tear. Ranma turned to Akane and winked casually. And the sky boiled up into violet and scarlet glory as the Sun went down. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Nerima after sunset is a quiet place, normally. Except for the Ginza, there is very little activity late at night, and most of the people who live here at least pretend to keep normal hours. From the window of Akane's bedroom the streets seem empty and still as she watches a red-headed, white-scarfed figure turn a corner and disappear from sight. Emptier after she is gone, certainly, she thinks, as most places are. And she prepares for bed and smiles in affection, she will see her again in the morning, there is no reason to worry. Already the thought of _not_ seeing her seems absurd for some reason. And as she moves quietly from one place to another in pursuit of the goal of 'ready-to-go-to- sleep' she begins, also quietly, to sing. A song she remembers from somewhere, that seems for some reason to remind her of Ranma. Though just why, she cannot now seem to bring to mind. You fill up my senses Like a night in a forest, Like the mountains in springtime, Like a walk in the rain, Like a storm in the desert, Like a sleepy blue ocean, You fill up my senses, Come fill me again. Come let me love you, Let me give my life to you, Let me drown in your laughter, Let me die in your arms. Let me lay down beside you, Let me always be with you, Come let me love you, Come love me again. You fill up my senses Like a night in a forest, Like the mountains in springtime, Like a walk in the rain, Like a storm in the desert, Like a sleepy blue ocean, You fill up my senses, Come fill me again. 'Now why is it,' she thinks sleepily, 'that Ranma always makes me think of love songs?' And she rolls drowsily into sleep. Briefly. Then she sits bolt upright in bed. It couldn't be! ...Could it? No! She wasn't ... she didn't ... well, she just didn't, that was all. But it seemed very hard to get to sleep suddenly, and she knew that she would spend a lot of time tonight laying on her side, and looking out into the dark. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Next: Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi Part A: Hateful Life ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's notes: Ahh. Young Love. Gets ya right *here*, no? The original funeral scene was too western, so I have added some explanation of why it turned out that way. Plus, I might need a good grave-side scene later, and this way I'll have an excuse. Waste not, want not. A Sto'r Mo Chroi', also called The American Wake, is the song that was sung by relatives and friends on the way to the ship that would take immigrants from Ireland to America. A voyage, they knew, that claimed many lives. A voyage from which, even for those who survived, there would be, essentially, no returning. Why Ranma sings _that_ song as opposed to another, and where she learned it, can be seen if you look closely at the next chapter. I'm trying to keep an eye on Ranma's progress in spiritual matters along with Akane's. Also, I like the present tense form. I've removed the old talking heads part again, and I will try to keep them to a minimum thenceforth. The information formerly imparted therein has been moved to the Side Arc: Training Sequence. For some reason, very few fanfics take advantage of the remarkable wealth of visual spectacle that Ranma provides. I don't know why that is, but I'm perfectly willing to take advantage of it. Yes, I am going to torture both of them mercilessly, but that's no reason for them not to have fun along the way. Yes, _that_ Sakura. Yes, the one from Urusei Yatsura. Yes, that _does_ mean what you probably think it does. 'Til next, Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001