Dedicated to Love, Hiroshi, and Faith.

May we all some day find our Truth and be complete.

-Kaoru

Shades of Gray

A poem by Shimitsu Kaoru

Mine Vision bestowed with black and white,

Mine Heart indulged in thus cruel world’s stage.

Eyes unseeing judge twixt wrong and right,

Soul thus imbued polarities rage.

Thine eyes do see thus how twisted formed

That ‘Truth’ wherein no exception hides,

Share not the furies mankind has worn....

See truth with thine blessed inward eyes.

This, thy stage, unjustly given life

Thy soul weighed with rules and thus condemned.

Taught proudly yin and yang’s bitter strife...

Never name thy passion thus a friend.

A world whence monotony didst thrive

Did bare you proudly up with open arms.

Shun the views of healthy, proper lives...

And then embrace the truth’s blessed charms.

This sphere doth not run on left or right

Nor are there lines which cut thine soul in two.

Good and Evil vary in degrees,

Single sin does not to hell accrue.

Tis’ not black ink writ on ghostly page

Tis’ grande plethora of unique days.

Recall thy world’s damned imbued rage,

For your life is marked in Shades of Gray.

Fragile Clay: Volume the Third

(Shades of Grey)

“Refractions of the Past”

Rain. A flash. A rolling sound that shakes the roofs of those below. The sky quilted with dark gray clouds, lightning flashing every few moments.

Beneath the rain. A small town, the rain cascading gently, falling in sheets upon the multitudinous roofs of the people inhabiting tiny houses below the clouds.

There is laughing within some of the houses. There is singing, and some are already fast asleep, escaping to a world of their own making. A world in many ways better than our own.

The icy rain outside frigid and unyielding in its relentless attack, thousands upon thousands of tiny silver javelins striking the earth, the trees.

Nerima. A place of excitement, adventure, the very word brings to mind wandering warriors, prideful samurai, and skilled Amazons. Yet all is quiet, as it has mostly been for many months now. Behind closed doors people have begun to wonder.

Where has all the magic gone? The adventure? It was once common to see a mob chasing a shriveled pervert with a dull brown satchel slung over his shoulders, the sun beating down upon the city mercilessly as martial artists demolished buildings with inhuman ease.

A week of rain. A week, and no sign of cease. Truly, in fact, it has escalated. An inch of the wet substance coated the roads; lawns were drowned out and muddy red.

Rain. A flash. The accompanied sound of thunder vibrates the roofs once more. Tea, steaming hot.

Thunder shakes the walls of the Tendou dojo, the sound of water cascading off the roof and smattering against the muddy ground, water logged trees bend and shake in the wind, droplets clinging to their leaves.

The world’s colors dulled, darkened in the wake of the storm. Almost black clouds boiling overhead, shifting and mixing.

Rain. A flash. Two delicate hands lift the teacup, the misty steam rising from the calm brown swirling liquid as the edge of the round porcelain cup is raised, gently caressing to full red lips.

The streets soaked, a car on the curbside, left abandoned in the downpour. Lightning flashes again, the thick layer of water on the street reflecting the light, making the road seem to glow for a brief instant.

She sniffs the tea, taking in its heady aroma. A part of her sighing within as she carefully sips it. Its warmth does not touch her soul. The others sit quietly, some watching her carefully.

Ranma stared into her tea.

Rain...

* * * * * *

The clack of polished wood on polished wood, the smattering of rain upon the back porch. Soun Tendou stared at the board intently; his hand on his chin, the opposite on his hip, back slightly hunched.

Black. And White. A large panda stares at the board as well, it’s all too human eyes looking inward as well as upon the flat board. It shivers and shakes, it’s bristly fur damp from the rain.

A tapping noise, a combination of dull gray buttons with numbers printed on them. Then the scratching of a pencil on the paper of a financial ledger. Nabiki replaces the pencil to its place behind her ear, her other hand brushing hair behind the opposite lobe. Looking up, her piercing analytical eyes took on a troubled sadness at the redhead staring intently into her tea.

The soft rustling of cotton fabric, and the gentle swaying of a dark yellow dress. A tray in hands, Kasumi gently sets it upon the table, the kettle now full and warm. An old kettle, with more than its share of dings and scrapes. Not all from average daily use.

Kasumi flips her ponytail over her shoulder, looking at Ranma, “Ranma-kun, would you like anything else?” She asks, sunshine and rainbows in her voice. Yet there is no smile on Kasumi’s face, something that once seemed an unshakeable piece of Kasumi Tendou’s soul now is quite vacant from her cheery demeanor, her melodious and motherly tones. Ever since that Day.

The sound of glass on the smooth table’s surface, a soft tap as the cup of half full tea is calmly set down. Sapphire eyes look back at Kasumi, and a soft smile ushers across even softer lips, “No, Thank you Kasumi-Oneechan,” the words are soft, lilted, feminine beyond a doubt. Pale skin shines with the color of peaches and cream, slightly whiter than normal from the cold rain outside. Ranma has just returned from a long walk in the rain.

Now there is a frown, Kasumi’s brow furrows and her face takes on a tense look, “Ranma-kun, are you sure?” She wishes she could be more helpful, *Kami Knows,* She tells herself, *I was not helpful when Ranma needed me.* Yes, when Ranma had needed her to be firm, she was weak in the face of the storm. Shame.

A small hand... so small and delicate, it reaches out, wrapping around the handle of the kettle. It gently lifts, and with a slight tip the hot contents cascade shimmering through the air, sparkling tea seeming to dance and then sing as it collides with red hair, red hair melting into a thick midnight black as the water covers it.

Ranma sets the kettle down, standing up, “I’m sure,” His words identical to the tone he used just moments before, “Scuse me,” He says, bowing formally to Kasumi. Then he turns, the house slippers on his feet making a soft whispering noise as he walks upstairs.

Nabiki’s eyes sting as she watches him go. *Ranma, the poor caged animal,* Her head slowly shakes, the hair framing her face swaying as she does so. Her mind wanders back, wondering how she could have stopped Hiroshi. She finds nothing. Or, at least, nothing she was willing to commit herself to.

“I wish there was something we could do,” Kasumi now speaking in a sad manner, none of the ribbons and lollipops of her previously cheery demeanor. Her skirt ruffles as she takes a seat at the table, clasping her hands in front of her as she stares at her lap, “This must be my fault, for not getting through to him sooner about how he was acting,” there is shame in the way she speaks. A deep self-grievance that Kasumi could not afford to forgive.

Soun looks at her in bafflement, his jaw moving like a codfish for a moment, “Kasumi! How could you say such a thing, my dear? It was that dreadful Hiroshi’s fault, it was,” There’s no doubt he believes it, where it once always had to be Ranma’s fault, now it must be Hiroshi’s. A simple transfer of blame, where before the blame had not always been just... but then, Soun is always quick to blame, as is everyone else.

Nabiki’s hands almost crush the calculator as if it were made of paper; her eyes dart up at her father, who stares back in silent confusion. “Daddy, if it is Hiroshi’s fault, how about you explain to us HOW it is?” A request. A simple request, one that she is sure he won’t be able to answer to.

Soun crosses his arms, thinking for a long moment, “The way I see it, if the boy had only kept his fool mouth shut, none of this would ever have happened. Ranma is not at fault for someone playing with his mind, it was dishonorable of Hiroshi to play with his best friend’s heart as well!” Soun nods to himself, as if to compliment himself on his good thinking.

Without a sound, the panda sitting opposite Soun stands, looking with as much fury as the bear can muster at his once friend. Garbled growls and muffled sounds emit from the bear’s mouth, anger evident in its gestures.

Soun stands quickly, ignoring the board as it topples over onto the ground sending pieces to litter the floor, the clattering of pieces mixing with the sound of rain on the roof. “Saotome! Not you as well? What of our promise? The engagement?” The sky flashes, and then the thunder shakes the walls once more.

Genma once more begins with frantic, angry actions. His wrath escalating as he waves vehemently, the noises incomprehensible yet somehow understandable.

Soun turns his back on his friend, shaking a hand, “Nonsense, Ranma is fine. He only needs some time to get his wits about him, then we can go forward with the marriage just as we’d always planned,” Soun tries hard to ignore his middle daughter’s piercing gaze, yet he is not entirely successful.

Genma growls once more, and then with a swift turn, tromps upstairs after his pride and joy. There is a tension in the household, ever since two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, when Miramoto Hiroshi vanished around the corner.

Vanished out of Ranma’s life. The weather seeming to match Ranma’s mood, seemingly confused for a full week, deciding if it should snow, remain sunny, or perhaps rain... then settling on rain finally. Rain and Rain and more Rain.

The nigh silent sliding of a door, followed by the shaking of two-bamboo umbrellas. “We’re home, everyone!” Came the firm, steady voice of Nodoka Saotome. If you listen carefully, you may hear the anger underneath her casual mood, Nodoka yet another person struggling for someone to blame for the dark spiral her child continues to descend into.

The soft rustling of a school dress ushers Akane into the scene, she looks from Kasumi to Soun (Whom is silently assembling board and pieces back in their rightful place) before settling her eyes on Nabiki.

Nabiki gives a curt shake of her head, a serious look in her eyes as her hair once more sways slightly with the movement. Akane nods in response, sighing, her eyes slowly closing as her own head turns back and forth. Sadness in the gesture as her shoulders slump, her arms hanging limp... useless at her sides.

“Soun? Where has my Husband gotten to? I thought you both would have been having your usual evening game of Shogi,” It is a casual question, yet there is a hint of suspicion in her words... suspicion, and perhaps accusation. Genma the coward. Genma the worm who retreats from anything threatening.

Kasumi’s fingers gently caress the fabric of her dress, working wrinkles out that are mostly nonexistent, “Father and Mister Saotome had a short argument, I’m afraid, Aunt Nodoka,” Kasumi lowers her eyes to the tea kettle, fixating her gaze on a small drop of liquid that seemed to be trying to decide whether to fall, or remain at the tip of the kettle’s spout.

An impregnable stare is cast upon Soun, “Is this true, Soun? Has my Husband been having choice words with you?” A pity, she thought, that recent events would be the only thing to actually make Genma grow a spine of any sorts. Nodoka frowns, forcing herself to stop twisting her wedding ring in that almost habitual manner.

Soun, seeming as if reprimanded, bows his head in a nod. His mouth opening to speak, yet before he can utter a single word, Akane’s voice is heard.

“Auntie, is that really important?” Akane asked, taking a seat across from Nabiki. Her hands firmly yet carefully folded in her lap, her back a little stiffer than usual. Perhaps less in anger and more in tension.

*Your anger was always your one flaw, Akane... always...* She muses sadly to herself, an anger that burns so hot can sometimes burn the wielder far beyond repair. Her perfect dream, Ranma the shining hero, her the fragile heroine, all shattered in a moment of her uncontrollable rage.

A sidelong glance, an arched brow as Nodoka considers Akane, “Are you saying you would condone Genma’s support of Ranma’s confusion?? Ranma doesn’t need time, he needs discipline to understand the choice he must make in the end, Akane... a choice that I PRAY will involve you deeply,” Her words are sharp, crisp, clear in gesticulation.

“But what if we’re wrong, Auntie??? Maybe Ranma needs time to heal, instead of being pushed by everyone around him,” Akane’s words are thick with unease; her thinking had been much the same, in that regrettable moment of anger.

“Akane, my daughter, don’t tell me that you actually agree with Saotome?? Surely you want to marry Ranma, do you not?” Soun asks, suddenly very close to Akane, and very intent on her answer.

Akane shakes her head, tears brimming in her eyes... Hot and burning in her eyes, “No! I... I mean... yes, yes, But I love him, Auntie, I Love him with all of my heart! Doesn’t that mean I have a say in anything? Doesn’t that mean that you should, maybe, just consider what Ranma needs instead of what we all need?”

Nodoka’s eyes gaze firmly upon Akane, noting the girl’s confused discomfort, noting how on edge Akane is. Akane hasn’t known what to think since that singular dreadful act of violence that brought about harsh revelation.

A short bark of a laugh, filled full to the brim with bitter bile, “Isn’t that what we’ve ALWAYS done, Akane? Isn’t that what made Hiroshi so special?” Nabiki frowns, suddenly very serious again, “You think we can hope to replace that?? You’ve got to be kidding, Sis,” Nabiki’s heart aches as she notices the crestfallen expression on Akane’s face. Her heart leaps again, in agonizing pain, when she hears Akane begin sobbing into her hand... then into both hands.

Nabiki shows no hint of remorse, her face remaining aloof and smug... her emotions carefully hidden beneath a facade of nonchalantness. Inside she is seething, boiling with self-doubt and anger at her own uselessness, her own ignorance that should have seen what was happening with Hiroshi the moment it started.

“Nabiki, dear, that is quite enough,” Nodoka speaks gently, yet there is nothing gentle about the calm manner in which her words are spoken. “Yes, Akane, your opinion does matter. The only problem is, honor demands this wedding go forth. Whether or not Ranma has more time, I sincerely doubt that my son will get over these feelings... so more time, less time, I do not think it matters much. The wedding will take place sooner or later... but it will take place, Akane.”

For a moment all is silent... the sound of rain upon the roof, smattering outside, and the sound of the koi in the pond leaping, only to descend once more into the depths.

Akane’s sobbing ceases, yet her demeanor says that at any moment she could totter once more over the edge. “I don’t want to marry him like this, Auntie!! It- It would feel like a lie! Like there wasn’t any love between us. He- he could start to hate me. I don’t want that to happen!” A flash of her mother’s face, smiling, happy... that is what she wants, she wants that happiness for herself. She is half afraid she might never know it, since Hiroshi...

Nodoka’s eyes glimmer faintly, her lips tight as she speaks, “Akane, to my sadness, I must say that honor about these things overrules what is best for Ranma... promises are promises. Think of it this way, Japanese women have been lying to themselves in marriages for thousands of years, and it hasn’t stopped us yet,” The soft rustling is heard as Nodoka sits at the head of the dining table, Soun taking a seat opposite of her.

“What about happiness??” Akane asks, her voice full of confused venom, her mind wondering if perhaps her trust in Nodoka’s kindness was misplaced.

Nodoka gently runs her hands synchronously across the edge of the table, touching the corners with her thumbs, “Akane, I pray nightly that this decision had been made out of love, and my Husband, Soun, as well as myself have been very patient in the hopes that this decision WOULD be made out of love. The promise was made out of convenience, to carry on the school... it deeply hurts me that such things could have happened to separate the two of you, but this pairing was made long before either of you were old enough to consent.”

Akane’s head fell; her shoulder’s slumping. “I see, so we really have no choice, we’ll get married when you want whether we like it or not, whether one of us suffers for it for the rest of our lives or not,” Akane shakes her head, half in confusion, half in shame that is full of guilt and pain.

In her mind, an image of Ranma’s face... tears upon her cheeks, as the hand flies back. Then a bright cracking noise and a flash of pain that leaves spots of bright colors dancing in her vision, and a throbbing ache in her swollen cheek. Then her heartbeat, Ranma looking at her horrified as she touches her cheek... feeling warm wetness far redder than tears.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that you and your husband are both out of your goddamn minds, ‘Auntie’,” Her tone is Saccharine sweet as she speaks, pouring herself some tea in a casual gesture. Nabiki looks up at Nodoka, “Pretty sure,” added seemingly half in thought as she sips.

At her words, Nodoka’s body grows rigid with tension, “I am a traditional Japanese Woman, Nabiki. You would do well to note that Giri still runs thick in Japan’s blood, and Honor is as strong nowadays as it was 300 years ago, before the English came,” Her words come smooth as ice, and much colder, laced with deadly venom.

Her patience is quickly waning, Nabiki’s diehard attitude not something she was used to from anyone. Ever.

“You don’t scare me, Nodoka,” Nabiki replies, in an exact replica of the venom laced ice Nodoka had used, giving the effect of laughter at Nodoka’s unspoken threat. The most casual and intense mockery Nabiki was best known for.

Nodoka’s hands shook as she clenched them tightly, attempting to control her rising anger at the middle Tendou girl, “Is that so, Nabiki? That is disrespectful of a Japanese woman, talking down to her elders like you always seem to do,” Nodoka suddenly biting her lip as one of her fingernails cuts deeper into her palms, a trickle of blood coloring her fingertip.

Nabiki’s smile shines as bright as the break of dawn upon the shores of Nihon. A jester’s smile... A trickster’s beguiling grin. Speaking to the viewer as if to say ‘I know more than you ever will’. “Well, let me see,” Her words dripped with sugar, “I don’t rightly give a damn, Mizz Scarlet. You don’t see me bustling about in a Kimono bowing and nodding and scraping, so here’s to the empire,” Nabiki grinned brighter still, as she hefted the cup of tea, then tossed it back like a shot of Whiskey.

“I will not tolerate you speaking down to me, little girl!” Nodoka’s whole body begins shaking with her half controlled rage, never in her life has anyone spoken to her in that manner, in such an arrogant, self-assured, fearless manner.

“Nabiki! What has gotten into you young lady! Apologize right now!” Soun’s shame and embarrassment from Nabiki’s words and actions were beginning to show plainly in his disposition.

Nabiki laughs, placing a hand on her mouth to keep from laughing too hard, “I’m afraid not daddy, in my case ‘Aunty’, I will have to say screw tradition. Oh, And Daddy, if you want to contest my independence, I seem to remember you owe me back pay from the last three loans,” the blood drains from Soun’s face at the mention of the borrowed money, and suddenly he is studiously examining the table.

Nodoka gapes in astonishment and anger, “Soun! Don’t tell me you are afraid of your own DAUGHTER!?” She’s never seen such a thing, a grown man fearing his own flesh and blood, his own little girl. Preposterous!

Kasumi sighs, her head lowering as she shakes her dark brown tresses, “Auntie, Nabiki has a lot of clout with the businesses around here, and when Daddy has needed the money... well... Nabiki hasn’t asked for it back before, not from family,” Her voice is thick with embarrassment, her cheeks red with a heavy blush.

“If you THINK that I will condone your course of action, Mizz Nodoka, you do not know Nabiki Tendou,” Suddenly Nabiki is rising, as if looming, her shadow falling over Nodoka with no room for interpretation of her menace. “I am the one girl you don’t want to mess with, ‘Aunty’, why do you think they call me the Ice Bitch?” A sadistic smile, a cold and venomous edge to her words.

Nodoka’s resolve, for a single moment, falters, and she shies back from a girl many years younger than herself, then the steel edge of her fiery soul once more bears itself, “I am Ranma’s Mother, Nabiki, and you will not stop this arrangement. It is out of your hands, and it was never in your hands to begin with young lady,” Her eyes hold strong the fire that is within her soul, a warrior woman’s spirit which shall never let go of her ideals, even in the labor of her last dying breath.

Yet, once more she is shaken as Nabiki straightens to her full standing height, a wry grin on her face, “Who said anything about trying to stop you, Nodoka?” A swift spin of her heels, her back turning to the elder Saotome woman. A cocky look back over her shoulders.

“You push it, and you will get what is coming to you. Do what you will, but I can make sure you’ll regret any... rash decisions,” Not a threat, simply a state of fact as Nabiki turns, gliding upstairs with a calm grace.

Nodoka stares after her, anger and bile seething in her mind, a girl. A GIRL has the audacity to threaten her!? She silently promises that she will NOT let Nabiki push her around, as she seems to think she can easily do.

Akane stares after her sister as well. There is much love in that gaze, a silent thank-you being said inside Akane’s heart. She has no concept of why Nabiki would wish to help Ranma, but all the same she is thankful for it.

Silently, she adds another almost reluctant prayer. *Hiroshi... come back safely.*

* * * * * *

Rain pours gently down the glass windowpanes, some soft Japanese pop music drifting lazily over the air. An occasional car moves sluggishly by on the road outside.

The scents of freshly diced vegetables, squid, batter... the sound of the grill sizzling, and the smell of fresh okonomiyaki assaults her senses.

There are only a few customers. An old man in dirty working clothes wearing a straw hat. A round lady in a floral print dress, her cheeks rosy with a bright smile, a small boy in a yellow raincoat with her... quietly humming a made up song as he pokes at his food.

Kuonji Ukyou flips the newly cooked okonomiyaki onto a plate, sliding it onto the counter to the more recent customer. A friend from school, his hair black and somewhat unkempt. A solemn mood surrounds him, something quite unfamiliar to Nakano Daisuke’s usual demeanor.

Ukyou’s hands shake as she sets the cooking spatula down; she rubs them together as if they are cold. She turns, looking back at Daisuke as the boy sips his plain black coffee, making some personal notes on a book full of numbers.

“Studying for the test?” She knows it’s not the question she would rather ask, the question that had been bothering her again and again for the past week and a half. Still, it was a more appropriate question.

Daisuke looks up, the small wire-brimmed glasses hanging on the tip of his nose, “Nah. Just a little personal stuff, you know I’m always fiddling with ideas,” He smiles then, halfheartedly to be sure, yet it is a smile that is mildly arrogant. Condescending with a reason.

Thunder booms outside, the wind picking up lightly. Icy Rain bombarding the street mercilessly, as it had for the past week.

She casts her eyes about the shop, noting that not very many people are here, all of her customers looking much warmer than they would be if they were outside. Not much chance of more coming in this kind of weather.

She sighs, then, deciding to take a short break from the more than slow day. Pulling out the oft-unused stool she keeps behind the counter, Ukyou takes a seat opposite Daisuke. “Still haven’t talked to him, have you?” A question she had been mulling over, turning again and again in her mind.

“Nope. Well, not really, I mean. I’ve spoken to him numerous times in the past week, the problem is- well.. The conversations keep getting shorter. He’s even started paying some form of attention in class, just so the Teacher doesn’t call his name and draw attention to him,” Daisuke stabs at a piece of his dinner, shoveling it into his mouth as his pen continues scratching on the paper of the notebook.

Ukyou fidgets, scratching at a rough part of the counter and idly thinking she should get something to scrub it off. “You don’t- I mean, do you think he’s okay? I... I heard about what happened from Akane, and it’s all over the school, Lots of Rumors-”

Daisuke looks up suddenly, “Most of them are false, Ukyou... I am sure. Ranma isn’t- Well, he isn’t as bad as some of the rumors say he is. None of this is his fault,” There is a vengeance in the way he speaks, as if his own reputation were at stake. Always the one to take offense at the smallest of statements.

Ukyou shakes her head; her brown hair shifting around her delicately framed face, “I just- I can’t believe it. Hiroshi... I guess thinking about it now makes sense, well, as much sense as ANYTHING involving Ranma can,” Deep green eyes dance with a heavy sadness as Ukyou forces a half-joking smile onto her lips.

“Yeah, well, believe it. I should’ve seen it sooner, the way it was going. To my own credit... I have to say that Hiroshi has good taste, even though it was a bad choice,” Another bit of Okonomiyaki disappears into the depths of Daisuke’s mouth as he turns the page, and resumes his writing.

Ukyou feels a slight anger build within her, “How could you say such a thing?! Ranchan is a wonderful person to fall in love with!” The man she loves, the man she has loved for a long time, the man she defends when people make comments like Daisuke.

Daisuke makes an odd, almost chortling laugh in his throat, pushing his wire-framed glasses up to sit on his forehead, “Only if you’re Akane, Ukyou... and I’ll be damned if Hiroshi doesn’t love Ranma to death. Whole heart and all that stuff, they seem great together. Well, until the truth came out, of course,” His eyes look down at the equations, numbers, and variables. Cold hard logic, perhaps he is being too disassociated with the entire situation, he wonders.

The door swings suddenly open, and from its frame two figures walk slowly in. Both wear matching raincoats, the colors contrasting yet complimenting, slick and shiny, wet. “Hey, Ukyou!” The voice of Sayuri, a voice full of calm and compassion in a troubled moment.

*Yuka must be the other* Kuonji deduces, as the two girls shake out their umbrella’s before turning and walking up to the counter.

The false demeanor of cheeriness once more clouds Ukyou’s face and stance, “The usual, girls?” having regular customers always made it easier to guess what they might want.

Yuka hops up into her usual seat, carefully looking over Ukyou’s face before speaking, “Sure thing, Ukyou-Chan, and you don’t have to act the part for us. We’ve all been a little down since Romeo left Ranma,” Yuka quickly runs her hands through her hair to make sure it is dry.

Ukyou mutters a silent curse in her mind. Having usual customers also meant they could usually see through your half-baked facades.

Ukyou’s brow furrows in worry, her cheery demeanor falling away like rotted parchment, “Is my worry really that obvious, Girls??” She occupies herself, trying to take her mind off of Ranma by mixing the batter, concentrating on what she does best. Make Okonomiyaki.

“Hon, it’s not that it’s obvious, it’s just we all know how you feel. Both about Hiroshi and about Ranma, so it’s just natural that you be worried,” Sayuri smiles, attempting to reassure Ukyou. A moment later, she turns her smile on Daisuke, turning up the intensity of her smile to a warm greeting.

Daisuke grins back, winking and adding a chuckle, “Nice to see you two are enjoying our fine Nerima weather,” flipping his notebook gently closed, he looks back at the two girls, watching as Yuka fixes Sayuri’s hair up into a ponytail.

A groan, then a roll of Sayuri’s eyes, “Oh yeah, right, the beautiful Nerima weather. I wonder what they write on the travel brochures for a trip to Nerima? ‘Have fun in the sun, then the rain, then the sun... All in a single day’? Why can’t it just snow already... this freezing rain is horrid,” Yuka nods her assent to her friends comment.

“Ohmygosh...he- he Loves him, doesn’t he?” Ukyou turns suddenly, looking straight at Daisuke with a shocked look on her face.

Daisuke blinks, scratching the back of his head in confusion, “Sorry. Uhm, lost the train of your thought, explain please?” Sayuri giggles at the end of his odd comment, and he flashes her a quick smile.

Leaning against the counter, Ukyou looks intently at Daisuke, “Ranchan... He... he couldn’t possibly- I mean, he’s not that way is he??”

The two girls suddenly exchange glances, and then return their twin gazes to Ukyou. There is a healthy level of worry, as well as the guarding look that is often associated with the reluctant answers people tend to avoid.

Daisuke laughs, nervously, “Well, I wouldn’t know! I wasn’t around them when they were being buddy buddy... urr, I mean really pal-like, uhh... You know what I mean!!” His hands fly up in an exasperated manner, his brow furrowing in an almost insulted scowl.

The chef suddenly grabs Daisuke by the lapel, shaking him, “What do you MEAN you don’t know!? You’re Hiroshi’s best friend! You’ve GOT to know!!!!” Her anger is none too level, her voice a bit too high for even her own liking. Stinging tears, how she hates the stinging tears.

Daisuke laughs a nervous, hesitant laugh, his hands assuming the sign of warding off demons as Ukyou’s anger and frustration wash over him for a brief moment.

Yuka’s hand touched Ukyou’s. Flesh to flesh, warm and gentle. “Ukyou-Chan,” She admonishes.

Sayuri’s hand finds its way to Ukyou’s shoulder; gently squeezing it with calm, yet insistent force, “It is not Daisuke’s fault,” Her words are as smoke upon the wind, soft and almost unreal.

A moment passes, as Ukyou’s hand tightens on Daisuke’s shirt... The straining of cotton heard for a brief moment before her hand suddenly slackens.

Ukyou sways a moment, almost falling as she leans on the counter. A moment later, she finds a pair of arms around her, helping to hold her up. *So weak,* her mind notes silently as she trembles lightly.

“He does Love Hiroshi, Sayuri and I know at least that much,” Yuka’s hands grip her outfit, her eyes looking inward for a brief moment as she recalls the vision of Ranma, speaking so proudly and eloquently of Hiroshi. Ranma’s Love.

Ukyou’s eyes rise, confusion and disorientation still evident in them, “Wh- why? How do you know??” She absently wonders why she feels half-devoured inside, as if she was an egg that had been cracked open and emptied violently.

“Ranma said stuff at Akane’s sleepover that was pretty obvious to everyone but her and Akane,” Sayuri’s hand gently strokes Ukyou’s back, and for a moment, the chef feels as if she was with her mother again. With her mother as a small child.

A gentle drumming of fingertips as Daisuke rubs his chin. “Why is it I am always the last to know about these things??” An almost half annoyed expression twists itself across his face, almost as if he swallowed a very bitter lemon.

A giggle, and Yuka shakes her head, “You’re always too busy with other stuff, ‘Suke-kun. What, did you think everyone was purposely hiding everything from you?”

Suddenly, Daisuke hops off of the stool, pulling on his hair in an over exaggerated mock-panicked expression. His eyes dart around with intense uncertainly. “I knew it! I knew it all along!! You’re all conspiring against me, the Aliens sent you!!!” He looks up, grasping clumps of his hair as he laughs maniacally.

Yuka mocks a Yawn, while Sayuri only rolls her eyes as she takes her seat again. “If we were sent by the aliens to conspire against you, they must be pretty pathetic aliens to need YOU for anything...” Yuka smirks, leaning against the counter as she watches Daisuke’s overzealous seeking of attention.

Ukyou promises herself that she will NOT smile. She tells herself there is far too much to worry about, and that she doesn’t deserve to smile until it’s all untangled from the mess it seems to have degraded into.

“Hey! Whatchit now. You know I’m a certified Genius; I have cards... and pieces of paper that say so!!! Don’t make me have to... Urrr... Do... Genius... Type... stuff. I’ll... I’ll... I’ll program my calculator on you!!!!” He jabs a threatening finger in a pointing motion at Yuka.

Ukyou’s mouth twitches, she bites her lip firmly. *I will NOT laugh. No matter how funny it seems.* Her thoughts drift far from the topic of her angst for but a brief moment, before she snatches them back. Tightly, she wraps them, around her soul. There is no time for laughter, her Ranchan’s heart has been broken and he needs her more than ever.

With little ceremony or smile, she slides the newly finished okonomiyaki in front of Yuka, then Sayuri. Her grim facade is not an unnoticed presence to her guests.

“Ukyou-Chan, sometimes you can spoil a person’s mood,” Yuka’s tone is one thick with worry, and more than a little annoyance. Her hands drifted, as if of their own free will, poking and prodding the okonomiyaki without any intention of removing a piece.

A ruffling of coarse cotton, Daisuke folding his arms as he shakes his head solemnly, that midnight mane of black hair swaying in its unkempt manner, “Ucchan, If you are so worried about him, why not go over there and talk to the king of all baka’s?”

Whispering as light as rose petals, Sayuri softly murmuring pleasant feelings into Yuka’s ear while stroking her back in a loving manner. Yuka herself nodding to the soft encouragement her best friend provides.

She blames herself, at most for not informing Akane of the blatant truth that the young Tendou girl was completely ignoring. Yuka called herself Akane’s friend, yet proceeded to allow Akane’s fiancée to fall deeper in love with a man of all things.

The shuffle of feet as the exit bell rings. A raised Eyebrow. Daisuke considers the two girls next to him, meditating on the inseparable duo. “You two blab on about how oblivious Akane was about Ranma... you are so hypocritical. I wish you two would just come out and admit it,” His voice echoes with barely guarded contempt, as if, once more, they were trying to pull a fast one on him.

Blink. Blink. They both gaze up suddenly, two pairs of brown eyes matching Daisuke’s glare.

“What the heck are you talking about, Daisuke??” Profound confusion, dancing in her words. Yuka apparently had missed something, at least she thought so.

A loud groan, a slap as his hand connects firmly with the flesh of his forehead. He waves a hand in a banishing gesture, swiftly abating Sayuri from speaking the similar question she had just prepared, “Forget it,” A quick dismissal.

“Do you really think I should?? I wouldn’t want to Intrude,” Unsure, wavering... she asks. She finds herself caressing the white bow in her hair, for some reason finding it important to make sure it is well.

Daisuke and Sayuri jump, having forgotten the presence of the 4th party. “Pardon?” The boy genius inquires, having lost his easily escapable train of thought.

A sip, warm and fluid, as Yuka tests the tea that comes with the meal. “Assuredly, Ukyou-Chan, I should probably tell you this though. Be there for him as a friend, you want to bury him go on with that fiancée stuff. It’s not what he needs right now. Men are very frail when it comes to relationships of actual love,” A swift cut, and gently she lifts a small portion of the okonomiyaki to her lips, deftly sliding it in as she chews vigorously.

A soft, diagonal shaking of her head, Sayuri’s pony tail brushing the nape of her neck. “Ranma... Is so broken lately. I- Well... I never felt much for him until I met her... that part that Ranma hides from everyone,” She chews her lip, looking almost ready to cry, “Maybe that’s why Ranma fell for Hiroshi... because Hiroshi brought that out in him, that needing, that longing, that feminine dependency on someone stronger in many ways.”

Even Daisuke’s disposition became sullen, “Ranma always lacked emotional strength, and in a lot of ways spiritual. He always depended on his own arrogance and cockiness, in ignorance of the things life could really offer,” A bitter, bile-filled laugh, “But then, most people don’t realize what they’re missing. Not everyone can be Hiroshi,” A sigh threatens escape, one that he unceremoniously shoves back down into it’s box. Still, his face was far less cheerful than it had been.

“Nobody can be Hiroshi,” Sayuri adds in a misty tone.

For several minutes, they eat silently, staring in thought at their food, their minds elsewhere.

She should chastise them, Ukyou thinks; chastise them for speaking so badly of her Ranchan. For some reason, she cannot find the strength to harm their moods, which are so full of rain and cloudiness.

She resolves, with much finality, to visit Ranma after work.

“This is quite good, Ukyou-Chan,” It was an unneeded comment, one spent to break the uneasy stalemate the conversation seemed to have degraded into, Yuka realized this... the clue being from her reluctance to glance up from her plate.

Rain. And a smile. It was something he would have said... if things had been the same.

It just isn’t the same anymore.

A smile nonetheless, as she thinks of better times. Times without Rain.

“Yes. I know...” Ukyou smiles, but can’t seem to wash the tears from her soul.

* * * * * *

Soft. As if it were fragile, he caresses the picture sitting in his lap; prominent is the feeling of everything inside him somehow shucked from his skin, leaving him a hollow shell.

Gently he traces the outline of the man’s jaw in the picture.... letting his fingertips drift slowly across his eyebrow, touching his lips with the tip of a single finger as a shiver runs through him. The emotions leave him raw and drained, wave upon wave crash into his heart with unyielding ferocity.

*Only a picture,* Disappointment shows in his posture, in how weary and tired his eyes look. You would think he had thought it was the person, for a brief moment. A moment in time, where everything once more seemed happy.... the figure laughed, and hugged him close. Closer than a friend should.

The picture of Hiroshi is a good one... one of him smiling. Unfortunately.... it is also one that makes him seem so dreadfully alone. The same picture taken the day Cologne vanished. His eyes seem to dig into Ranma’s soul, making the guilt feel ever worse. Eyes that see exactly what is there, something Ranma is unsure that he can ignore.

“I can’t do anything, you know that. They won’t let me.... I don’t know if it would work anyways. We’re... we’re both guys, you know??? I mean... I don’t think you’d do that for me, and I wouldn’t feel... Comfortable at all... why would you fall in love with stupid me??? I am just... trouble. Ask anyone... they’ll tell you,” He’s only trouble, he tells himself. He’s hurt, somehow, everyone who’s ever loved him...

He is a shameful disappointment to his father, a constant wound against his Mother’s happiness, a stupid stupid boy to Akane... everyone he disappointed. He’s never too smart for Nabiki, never too modest for Kasumi....

Clutching the picture to himself he fights back the tears. *I AM A MAN. A MAN, I can say that, because it’s true! I’m a MAN!* A soft chanting as he rocks back and forth, the ache in his heart only growing worse.

Ranma shivers, and opens his blue eyes.... he hears laughter, soft, musical, pure as distilled sunshine.

<<She blinks her eyes open, the brightness of the colors seeming so much more real than the world she left. She was somewhere else a moment ago.... it was dark, and there was a picture....

“My Love!” His voice! Oh, so handsome and strong.... his voice, that voice so full of sunshine and wind. She giggles lightly as she looks up at him, smoothing her skirt.

“Yes, Hiro-Chan???” His blush is so deep.... her affection always did make him blush. She looks at him, standing only a few yards away; the grassy hill around them topped with only a few trees, the breeze ruffling the leaves in a lazy manner.

He opens his arms, “C’mon... the others are waiting, can’t very well have a picnic without the guest of honor, ne???”

*He smiles so shyly* He always did when she kept her hair down. *Kami, how I love him,*

She waves at him as she stands, smoothing her blue and white dress, “I’m coming, I’m coming! keep your pants on!!!”

That grin, just out of the side of his mouth, his eyes squinting as he holds his hand out...

She reaches out to take it...>>

“Ranma?” The voice is wary as it speaks, a masculine voice, deep in timbre and thick in old strength, like an oak.

<<She laughs as he takes her into his arms, as he nuzzles her neck with kisses, “My my, very fresh today aren’t we hentai-chan???”

He chortles, bringing his head up and pressing it against her forehead, his eyes looking into hers. “You are so beautiful, you know... a man could just die,” His arms draping lovingly around her waist.

A mischievous grin from her as she cocks her head to one side, “That can be arranged, Hentai-Chan.... I thought you said the others were waiting???”

A blush colors his cheek as he smiles broadly, a slight mischievous wink, “They can wait”

“Oh, Stop!” She kicks him hard, pushing him away as he yelps in pain. “Honestly... I’m not some sex toy!”>>

Genma’s face becomes melancholic as he frowns, shaking his son, “Ranma... Ranma, look at me boy!”

Ranma’s eyes are distant, his face slack, his arms clutching the picture to his chest.

<<“Do you think that we could take a trip, my love???” His eyes are so soft, glimmering beautifully in the summer sunlight. It almost causes her to melt thoroughly on the inside.

Teasingly, she tugs on some of his bangs, brushing them aside, “Gee... I dunno.... a training trip???”

That laugh, that laugh so full of life, overflowing and abundant, that laugh she so dearly loves, “Of course! Of course... anything you want, Beloved,” A soft stroke of her hair with his hand, a gentle kiss on her forehead.

A shy, but almost coy grin as she turns away from him, her back against his chest... “Anything, M’lord???”

He shakes a finger in admonishing, “Now now... do I have to chastise YOU this time???”

That soft, all too girlish giggle ushering from her own lips. “Mmmmm, maybe...”

He starts gently to tug her away, “C’mon... the others are waiting for us...”>>

“Ranma!!! Please, boy! Wake up!” Genma’s strong, deep, resonating voice now wavers with fear, his boy just STARING off at nothing, as if he’d finally gone over the edge!!!

Ranma’s eyes take on a concerned look, the only change in the past several minutes.

<<“I don’t know, Hiro-Chan....” There was something she was forgetting, a room, with blinds. It seemed familiar, as if from a memory. There was a picture she was holding.

He frowns, looking at her cautiously, “Is something wrong, My Love??” His singsong voice thick with concern for her well-being.

She looks back, her head suddenly aching... she was somewhere else a few moments ago... a... a room, back in the Tendou Dojo???

“Ranma???” Hiroshi’s voice is now inquiring, wondering what could be troubling his beautiful bride.>>

*SNAP*

“Ranma!!! RANMA!” Genma sees that Ranma is slowly rising out of the strange stupor he had been in, the Saotome Father suddenly realizing how terribly frightened he suddenly is at the possibility of losing what was left of his child.

Blink. Blink. Ranma’s eyes slowly begin to focus as it thunders again outside, threatening yet again to burst forth in a maelstrom of water. “…pop…what…?”

The embrace almost crushes the wind out of Ranma, his Father’s strong arms wrapping around him. He wasn’t sure, but he thought Genma was shaking.

“Oh Ranma, don’t... Don’t do that to your Father again, boy!!!” Genma feels relief flood into him, and wonders at why his face is suddenly wet.

Ranma blinks in mute shock, then suddenly realizes that it was just a daydream... his body slumping into his Father’s arms as he sighs deeply, “Dad.... I... I’ve got a problem...”

“Dad??? What happened to Pop???” Genma wipes his eyes quickly with his sleeve, then holds his son at arms length.

Ranma’s eyes are haunted with grief that Genma only recalled seeing in Soun’s eyes when he had lost his wife. The boy seemed drained, completely sucked dry of any joyful life, as if there had been nothing before Hiroshi.

Sitting in the meager lighting that the candles provide for the room, Genma opens a part of his heart he long kept guarded so that he can listen for once.... truly listen to what his boy tells him.

“I think I love him, and I don’t know what to do. I- I know what you and mom want, and- and- and I’m... I’m willing to- ya know,” Ranma turns his face away from Genma, hiding the tears that suddenly begin escaping. “It’s- honor and all.... and you made a promise... And- And-,”

“Ranma,” Genma’s voice is stern as iron, sharp as steel. His boy was grieving for love.... love. Something he once had with Nodoka, something that seems now faded and lost, Nodoka a whole other woman. A woman not too unlike the man he had been acting like. The man he had been to his child.

That horrid, cruel man.

There is no rain outside, the battle between earth and sky having halted for a brief moment.

Ranma looks up, his eyes haggard and lost. He looks at his Father, whose eyes are almost sad. Something he’s never really seen before.... not true sadness like this, in any case.

“I love you, my son,” Five words. Genma wants to say more, years of admonishing leaping to the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut. He always spoiled those words before... using them to start a firm lecture of Ranma’s weakness.

“And-?” Ranma wearily waits to hear all of the rest... everything he’s heard a thousand times before, his heart sinking into his stomach as he realizes just how horrid his father truly is. *Soun and Mother probably sent him up here...*

There is a tense moment of silence; Genma hangs his head as he realizes that Ranma might not be able to trust him anymore. Him of all people. Ranma, coincidentally, wondering what it is that Genma gets out of this sick, sick endeavor.

Slowly, Genma begins to put words to his feelings, “Ranma, I love you. I have been a useless, hurtful monster... doing you more harm than good in your life. You’ve come to hate me, the coward and thief that I am... but... I love you, because you are my child and I can do nothing else.”

“Father?” This is new, and shocking to Ranma. His father seems to be speaking with feeling, from his heart. He doesn’t know if he should believe Genma, the man who has more often than not acted his way out of scrapes.

Genma’s hands tighten their grip on his son’s arms, his fierce eyes burning into Ranma’s, “Do you love him, Ranma?” The question is flat, straight, a demand for truth with no quarter for lies.

Flash. Boom. The sky threatens once more to proceed with its bombardment of Tokyo. The crisp smell of rain is thick in the air as the koi fish leaps towards the sky, only to arc back down into the icy depths of the pond.

Ranma slowly begins to shake his head. Then a broken look shows in his eyes, and his face contorts in heavy emotion... a short, curt nod. He feels so weak, suddenly.... as if his much talked about strength decided to take a vacation. His heart beats feebly, it seems.

“I- I know. I’m weak- I’m weak and- and... It’s just not right,” Ranma feels tears running down his cheeks. Damn him and his fool heart! That he would be crying like some stupid girl. He’s NOT a girl, he is a man!

Shock, the ruffling of a gi as silk shirt meets with it’s fabric, arms like branches of an oak tree pulling tight around Ranma’s body.

Genma’s deep baritone speaks as if it were silk in the wind, “Ranma... my child. You are the strongest person I’ve ever known, that I may ever know,” Genma shakes in the embrace, as if he was freezing.

Blink. Blink. For a long moment Ranma feels like a stuffed practice dummy. Then, quite suddenly, Ranma finds the strength to do one thing. And with that, he wraps his arms around his father. *HIS* Father... someone he strangely never thought he could be proud of. Someone he never thought would be the one he needed.

“Don’t dare make a decision now, Ranma.... I- I support you and Hiroshi, if it must come to that, but I beg you as your father that.... that.... you don’t decide right now. I will do all I can to make sure you have some time. I am sorry for all the things I’ve done wrong, but by Kami I will do THIS right,” His voice is fierce, and strong. It was a vow he was making, a vow that he would not soon break. A vow that, perhaps, had a wager of his soul on the paper.

Ranma felt despair set in once more.... the weakness washing over him as the devoured feeling returned. How could he make a choice, when he would disappoint someone either way??? It was too much. How could he choose to be with Akane... when he had trouble LIVING without Hiroshi???

“I love you, Father,” It was said in a weary, battered tone of voice, but it was nonetheless true. It made Genma weep.... something Ranma rarely remembered, at least the sort of weeping that required sincere tears.

For a brief moment, by the candlelight, a child’s faith was once more restored. Perhaps it was a new beginning for both of them... a chance to heal the wounds....

* * * * * *

Balance. Focus. Discipline. Kick low, then spin, snap the leg out and kick high. Letting the momentum carry her into a flip... adept skill from hundreds of years allowing her to find her footing once more. 300 feet down is a long way.

The winds whip by with harsh ferocity... 50 miles per hour. It takes concentration, ki, and balance to keep the footing on the narrow bridge across the chasm. Always balance, both internal and external.

Khu-Lon, matriarch of the Niie Chiiezu, warrior who has lived a good long while. Strength, vigor, vitality flow through her now... the thrill of life in its most pure state. THE ART.

She feels her ki flowing through her, thrilling her with the tingling anticipation, with every scent and sensation of the world. With a flurry of lightning fast gestures she begins a kata she hasn’t been able to finish since her bones became older, more frail.

The Art fills her to overflowing, her heart bursting with joy and life, she finds herself weeping from the beauty of the feeling! It is a drug that overwhelms the senses, sharpens the vision, and heightens the hearing... unifies the artist with the world.

Patiently, Ming-Mei watches her. She leans against one of the large rocks that adorn either end of the bridge, watching Elder Khu-Lon as she practices.

It has been weeks since Khu-Lon entered the village, demanding to meet with the other Elders. At first, she had been attacked, since the village did not recognize her. It had been swiftly proven that she was clearly who she claimed to be.

Khu-Lon pauses in mid movement, causing Ming-Mei to blink. She turns, looking into the wind, her eyes narrowing as she seems to listen to something. Perhaps there was a voice... as soft as the wind itself... Ming-Mei thought she could hear it.

The voice of a goddess??? There was something about it that gave Ming-Mei the shivers. Khu-Lon simply nodded in understanding. “Ming-Mei,” Her voice is sweet, almost sultry... but with an edge of steel that seems to taunt one to underestimate her.

“Yes, Elder Khu-Lon?” The girl ran a hand through her Paige-boy, plum colored hair. Her forest green eyes very alert all of a sudden.

Khu-Lon smiled a secret, almost mischievous smile, “I will meet you... at the bottom,” and with the ever so gentle push, she spread her arms in a backward flip... Right off the edge of the bridge.

Ming-Mei’s eyes widen in shock as she runs forward, the wind suddenly buffeting her, attempting to reach her elder before it is too late, knowing already she is moments past any hope.

Staring down, she gapes in horror as the figure of Khu-Lon plummets for several moments, and then a small, but immensely bright, flash momentarily blinds her eyes.

Staring down at the scorched bit of earth, she swears she can make out a small human-shaped figure walking... Turning, she makes haste to descend the rather steep, rocky hill. Jumping, dodging, leaping, she catches up to the figure a good 15 minutes later.

Khu-Lon smirks, a small upturning at the corner of her mouth. She absently fastens her golden hair back into a ponytail. “Child, you take far too long to catch up, but then I guess the young ones nowadays are a bit lazy,” Her smirk turns into an obvious smile as she hears Ming-Mei cursing under her breath.

“Pardon Ming-Mei, Elder Khu-Lon, She mean not insult you by take too long,” The words were almost spat out, in far less than perfect Japanese. It would appear Ming-Mei was not too happy at having her companion almost leap to her death.

A bright, piercing sound ushers forth from Khu-Lon’s lips, “Oh Child, did you think I would actually kill myself after living for so long? Would be an awful waste of my years, if you ask me,” The soft, musical noise of her laughter once more escapes her silken lips.

“What for you jump off, then?” Ming-Mei draws her sword, cautiously taking up a defensive stance as she glances around, her piercing gaze taking in the brush, the trees, and the hills. A trained Amazon warrior is always aware of her surroundings, and any threats that it may conceal.

A short smile, a pale eyebrow raised, then words that come as smooth as the wind, “In the days when I was young, well, when I was young for the first time... the world was a harsh and unyielding place, threats abounded everywhere. You could never be too careful, and a faked death could always come in handy,” She pauses, watching Ming-Mei. The girl is intent upon her words.

Now there is a smile, happy that the girl is finally listening, Khu-Lon continues her explanation, “We also had to deal with death daily, fallen companions, deadly enemies. In order to handle death, we had to court death. Look it in the face and smile. In order to court death, we had to be prepared at any moment to die without fear... that was when many of the desperation tactics and special attacks came about,” Khu-Lon recalls several instances where it had been necessary to stage her own death, one including a rather large group of soldiers which were intent upon raping her.

Ming-Mei puzzles over her elders words, trying to imagine a world that would pose such danger. The only danger the Amazon’s faced nowadays were from outside, and as a unified tribe they could easily handle any such attack. Add to that the Elder’s influence with the Chinese communist regime and there was really rather little that could be worried about.

“I see that you are trying to fit your mind over the concept. Don’t let it bother you too much, child. Times change, but the tribe shall remain. I just pray that...” Khu-Lon trails off, her pretty face marred suddenly by a frown. She recalls something. Something she should have remembered... but the march of time has dulled the memory, it is but a feeling of foreboding.

Ming-Mei watches Khu-Lon intently, waiting for her elder to voice her concerns. There is a look of worry on Khu-Lon’s face, it sets Ming-Mei’s heart pounding. The usually stoic woman before her hadn’t shown any signs of agitation since she had come back to the village, and Khu-Lon is well known for her immeasurable patience and calm demeanor.

Khu-Lon shakes her head, as if freeing it from the cobwebs of a distant past. “There is danger... I feel that our time grows short. We must return to Japan as fast as we can,” Khu-Lon looks up, as if staring at a cloud that seems to be moving closer. The blue sky is pure and pristine.

Ming-Mei, startled by Khu-Lon’s sudden serious tone, feels her hackles rise. “Elder Khu-Lon... what wrong?? You no worry, Ming-Mei will-”

Like a snap of lightning, Khu-Lon’s hand comes up, “No. This enemy is something... it’s not human. Whatever it is... it’s hunting. It is hunting Son-In-Law,” And once more, swiftly, Khu-Lon turns and with a spring she throws herself into a run... her companion follows moments later when she realizes that Khu-Lon is quickly vanishing into the horizon.

Catching up once more, she gasps... the sun beating down upon them in a feeble effort to assuage their progress. Hot, especially for the time of year... which is odd, Ming-Mei notes.

“Ranma is in danger, and I quite heartily believe that it is in part my own fault. Whatever hunts Ranma now is something foul beyond measure, just the breeze of it sickens me to the core,” There is hesitance in her words, as if she has left out the one most important thing that, perhaps, would have been best for her companion to know.

As swift as the wind she runs, golden hair bouncing within it’s imprisonment. Khu-Lon, Matriarch of the Niie Chiiezu Amazons of Joketsuzoku, leaps down off a ledge, timing it just right so that she can bounce from a small outcropping, and land on the road to Hong Kong.

Stopping dead in her tracks, she looks at the collapsed pass. Where a bridge had been before, there remains but a gaping canyon. The mists that commonly drifted in towards Jusenkyou clouded the bottom of the canyon, which was a long way down.

She hears the breathing of her companion, the young child Ming-Mei, labored from the rather swift pace she had put for the last 5 miles. She couldn’t sympathize, though; suddenly the sense of urgency was dire. Khu-Lon had long ago learned to trust her senses about such things.

A flash. A vast coldness seeming to crawl across her skin, Khu-Lon shivers. There are few times in her lifetime that she had felt such a sensation, to her remembrance. All of those instances could be counted on one hand. Not anymore.

“Why for bridge out? Was okay yesterday,” Ming-Mei leans carefully over, gazing down into the ravine and encountering only the far distant vision of thick mist.

Khu-Lon has never liked feeling on edge. It was why she trained so hard as a youth; so that she would never have to feel threatened or out of control again.

She feels out of control now.

“Someone destroyed the bridge, Child. It is a ploy to halt our progress to the Hong Kong port, which only reinforces my feeling that Son-In-Law is in greater trouble than he knows,” She steps back, looking across the ravine. A narrowing of her eyes, the gears in her mind turning as she calculates precisely how far the other end of the ravine is.

Ming-Mei straightens her vest, idly fiddling with the smooth crystal fasteners that hold the silk closed, “Why for someone want get Ranma? He just trouble, is no good,” Ming-Mei made a silent covenant that she would protect her Elder at all costs against the violent Saotome boy, and what he might do.

Khu-Lon shakes her head silently, “Ming-Mei... Ranma killed Saffron. He defeated Herb. He has time and time again proven to me that he is never one to be trifled with. I feel the weaves of fate that seem to draw everything to that boy. Whatever out there that is hunting him is something that could very well kill him, truly and finally.”

“He kill Saffron? Hiya, that big business, I not want mess with Ranma unless he attack you,” Ming-Mei’s fingers fashion into a fist, she punches the palm of her other hand with vigor, a determined glint in her eyes. Khu-Lon’s smile is tight and strained.

“Child. Ming-Mei. I am very flattered at your devoted protection, and I understand that the Council has ordered you to assist me; you still have much to learn as of yet. Our main purpose is to GET to Ranma first. I will worry about aggressions when I have him nearby,” She falls silent yet again, the wind whispering something to her.

Ming-Mei scowls, looking slightly pained, “You no want Ming-Mei help?” She asks, her sulkiness beginning to take over. She had so wished that she could prove herself this time. Prove that she was all woman, and a true champion example of the Niie Chiiezu.

Khu-Lon’s face summons a slightly annoyed frown, “Child, you do not understand. This is something far too dangerous for you to partake in; only someone with three hundred years of experience should even dare to take up such a task. You could very well be killed,” Her gaze stabs into the young girl opposite her.

For a moment, Ming-Mei falters, wondering if perhaps she should not go home. Go home and find a husband, be a mother, defend the village. All so tempting to her, never has she seen her Elder so serious.

Yet a small part of her clings to the ideal. Perhaps she can help, somehow. Perhaps she can learn from the famous Khu-Lon, wisest of the Elders. Then she recalls what her predecessor had said only an hour before.

“Ming-Mei no go. She stay. You telling her that much fear be Amazon of long go. Ming-Mei want learn, she want be strong like Khu-Lon. Ming-Mei not give up!” Her words are sharp, clear, crystal. Spoken with such certainty that it causes Khu-Lon to consider for a brief moment.

Khu-Lon scolds herself for putting ideas into the girl’s head. She should have let the girl have her fancy concepts without telling her about her youth. *Too late now, Sun-hair. You have to take her along or seem the Hypocrite.*

Khu-Lon hates when she is right.

“Child, if you are going to come with me then you will know every moment shall be training, from dusk till dawn and every moment in between. If you fail, I shall send you back to the tribe in shame. If you succeed, you will one day have a high placing in the tribe... and I will personally vouch for you as my student, you either leave now or proceed into the unknown, what is your choice?” The cold breeze washes across her once more, and the faint hint of that vile chill she had experienced earlier.

Ming-Mei nods almost instantly, “Ming-Mei sure. She promise to be good student, she promise she not give up ever, glory to Niie Chiiezu!”

Khu-Lon’s eyes roll in an exasperated manner. *Youth... was I ever so precocious?* She amends the thought a moment later as she realizes she is hardly much older than Ming-Mei now.

“Very well. Come along. I know a different way around this particular impediment,” With that, she was off again, running like lighting, smooth as silk and as graceful as the swan.

Ming-Mei’s face screws up in a slightly upset expression as she notices her teacher once more vanishing off into the horizon... with sore legs; she begins moving as fast as she can, wondering if they will have to run EVERYWHERE.

* * * * * *

Voices. Hundreds of voices. The cafeteria is full, students walking back and forth from the lunch line, many of them whispering in silent tones about the recent gossip. Kunou has vanished, strange sightings of two Nabiki’s, or two Ranma’s at times.

Silently they mutter, wordless utterances for the most part. Wary glances cast sideways at shadows, suspicions of every movement being someone spying on their own little secrets.

The tables are full; students chatting and mumbling verse after verse of the latest news. It’s too quiet, especially for Nerima they all say. It hasn’t been quiet for this long since before Ranma came.

Brown hair. Green eyes. She looks across the room with worry. Beside her sits a girl, black hair cropped short... almost tomboyish in comparison to the other girls.

Beside the Tomboy sits two more, both fair of skin and brown of hair and eyes. They look sadly at each other, exchanging an often practiced look that conveys their mutual sympathy for a certain martial artist... and perhaps a heavy bit of guilt at not having discovered sooner the reason for the boy’