Waters Under Earth

A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum 
-harnums@thekeep.org
-harnums@hotmail.com (old/backup)

All Ranma characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, first
published by Shogakukan in Japan and brought over to North
America by Viz Communications.

Waters Under Earth at Transpacific Fanfiction:  
http://www.humbug.org.au/~wendigo/transp.html
http://users.ev1.net/~adina/shrines2/fanfics.html

Chapter 19 : The Motion and the Act

     Pain.
     
     And light.
     
     Blinding light brighter than the sun, hotter than than the 
stars.  Soul-withering, sight-ravaging light.  Light that was the
essence of everything, that drowned out everything.  Hateful, 
hateful light.  Murdering, monstrous, self-righteous light.
     
     Yoko snapped awake, trembling upon the edge of the dream for 
a second, mouth open to silently scream in memory.  The expensive
sheets of her bed clung to her body with sweat, and her hair was
plastered damply to her back and shoulders by the same token.  

     She threw off the sheets with angry force and placed her 
feet on the carpeted floor to swing herself out of bed, gathering
her hair up with one hand and smoothing it out slightly.  The
rays of the newly-risen sun were creeping between the slits in
the blinds over the window, and she grabbed her glasses from the
table by the bed and quickly put them on.  Clad only in a thin
nightgown, she walked across the room to the windows and pulled
the blinds up.  

     Light flooded the room from the sun, as she looked out of
the window of her top-floor penthouse to gaze across the city of
Tokyo, towards the bay, across the flashing lights of Ginza.

     Her city.  The greatest in Japan, and the base of the
Circle Eternal's power.  For nearly thirty years she had been in
control here, pulling the strings of those in power, bending 
them to her will, breaking them if she had to; for over twenty
years before that she had toiled loyally in the ranks below.  A
life span far beyond the norm was one bonus of being a senior
member.

     It was not that the Circle ruled Japan.  That was impossible
at this time.  But they could shift things as they wished, with
time and with effort.  Impatience had never been cultivated among
them.  All the control they had over business and government and
crime in Japan had only been a way of biding their time, a
building of their power, in awaital of the promised day of 
destiny, when they would reclaim what had been stolen from their
founders when they had been cast out, and reclaim the world that 
had been stolen from their master.

     She stared out across the city, and her eyes narrowed.  All
of those who made up the inner circle, the Circle within the
Circle, they had their reasons.  The wielding of power did not
come without cost; almost unconsciously, her hands drifted 
towards her eyes.

     For most, it was the desire for power.  Power was a desire
for her as well, but only as the means to the end, and her end
was such that any means would justify it.  

     Vengeance would be achieved, for her, and for the dead.  
When the time came, she would see it carried out.

     But it was not time yet, though it would be soon.  How soon,
she did not know.  So she would stay here, and build her power to
greater heights, and wait patiently.  Galm had been a first
careful testing of the foe's defenses, and his fall had shown the
depths of Jusenkyou's strength.  But he had been only the first.
     
     The first of many, the first twist of the knife.
     
     Everything was falling into place, and they all would pay 
for the wrongs of the past, a hundredfold, a thousandfold.  
     
     Oh, how they would pay.
          
**********     

     The stone arced gracefully through the air, twirling upwards 
before gravity took it and sent it plunging down into the pond 
with a small splash.  Nabiki slowly picked up another from the 
ground and tossed it at the waters, breaking again the stillness.  

     It would be the weekend that she had the urge to rise early,
she reflected sourly.  She'd tried to go back to sleep of course,
but sleep had decided to evade her for the half-hour she'd tried.
Finally, accepting the inevitable, she'd gotten up and thrown on
shorts and a t-shirt before coming out into the backyard.  She'd
heard someone in the bathroom as she came downstairs; Kasumi,
probably.  It certainly wasn't her father or Genma, who slept as
late as they could at all times, or her little sister, who liked 
to stay in bed on weekends, or Ryoga, who would have gotten lost 
on the way from the dojo to the bathroom.  

     A third circle joined the dissipating two in the waters as 
Nabiki hurled another stone, and shifted her position slightly as 
she sat with her legs crossed a few feet from the rock-circled 
pond.  The activity was pleasantly monotonous, free from any kind 
of thought or contemplation.  

     She heard the porch boards creak as someone stepped out onto
them, and she looked back to see Kasumi, a laundry basket in 
hand.  Her older sister set the basket down and gave her a cheery
wave and a bright smile, to which Nabiki responded by slowly 
raising one hand and turning back towards the pond.

     "You're up very early today, Nabiki, aren't you?"
     
     Nabiki turned her head back, watching as Kasumi strung the
laundry line and began to hang sheets to air out in the 
early-morning sun.  "Yup."

     "Did you sleep well last night?"
     
     "Like a log," Nabiki said.  "Until the point I woke up and
couldn't go back to sleep."

     "Hmm," Kasumi said vaguely, flapping a sheet once to 
straighten it out.  "How are things?"

     This was why she didn't talk to her older sister often,
Nabiki remembered.  Small talk with Kasumi was not on her list of
fun things to do.

     "Things are okay," she said, inserting the mildest edge of
sarcasm to her words.

     That flew over Kasumi's head by several feet, of course.
"How nice."

     "Yeah," Nabiki said, hunting with her eyes on the ground for
a stone of pleasing size and shape.  

     "How's school?" 
     
     "School is a constant source of fun and life education,"
Nabiki said, adding some more sarcasm and putting a layer of
boredom atop it as well, as she picked up a stone that seemed to
do the job.

     Kasumi missed that too.  "How nice."
     
     "You betcha," Nabiki said, cocking back her arm to throw.
     
     "Who owns that big car you were getting out of yesterday?"
     
     The stone dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers and 
landed with a soft thud on the grass near the pond.  "What?"

     "The big black car you were getting out of when you were
supposed to be going to school," Kasumi said pleasantly, hanging
up a sheet.  "When I was walking to the stores after breakfast, I
saw you from across the street.  I waved, but I guess you didn't
see me."

     "Oh, that," Nabiki said, forcing casualness into her voice. 
"Just belongs to a friend of mine.  I stopped to talk for a
minute."

     "How funny," Kasumi said with a smile.  "Getting into a car
to talk to someone."

     Nabiki grinned.  "Yeah, I guess it is, kinda."
     
     "This friend, would it be man?" 
     
     Nabiki nodded, slipping easily now into the role after the
momentary shock.  "You found me out, Kasumi."

     "Oh," Kasumi said.  "He must be older than you, I suppose.
That's a very expensive car for someone in high school."

     "Well, you like older men yourself, right?" Nabiki said.
"Doctor Tofu's older than you, after all."

     Kasumi's face was hidden by a sheet she held in front of her
at that moment, the cloth wrinkling as her hands clenched on it
slightly.  "Yes, yes he is."

     "You never go to visit him anymore, do you?" Nabiki said.  
"I remember you used to go all the time.  Something happen?"

     "Well, no," Kasumi said, turning her back to Nabiki and 
folding the sheet carefully.  "Not at all.  I seem to have 
forgotten the laundry soap inside, Nabiki, please excuse me, 
I'll be right back..."

     With that, she left the folded sheet lying on the porch and
almost ran inside.  

     "Laundry soap?" Nabiki said to herself, then snorted and
shook her head.  Kasumi was useful for cooking and cleaning, but
she just wasn't there a lot of the time.  Something was obviously
up with Tofu and her older sister, though, because it wasn't like
Kasumi to get nervous over little things.  And Tofu's name had
made her nervous; had he finally got the courage to do something
other than get flustered in her presence, maybe?

     Nabiki's curiosity was piqued.  Knowledge for it's own sake
was occasionally pleasurable in a certain archaic way, but most 
often it was just useless.  

     Knowledge that you could make some kind of profit off,
however, was another matter entirely.

**********

     Tatewaki Kuno's alarm had rung at precisely ten thirty in
the morning, rousing him from his slumber.

     However, as he had gone to bed at about sunrise a few hours
earlier, he was still lying there after ten minutes, blinking
bleary eyes at the ceiling and feeling the weary ache of his
limbs.  

     He was tired.  He was very, very tired.
     
     The snooze button on his alarm clock chose that moment to
deactivate again, and he reached out and smacked it with his
hand, then slowly sat up from his futon and glanced around his
bedroom.  The walls were adorned with countless enlarged photos
of Akane and Ranma's cursed form.

     How he hated the decor in here.  That thought let him get
up, because the idea of spending any more time in here amidst all
the staring eyes of the photos repelled him.  That was why he
spent all the time he could in the training hall; it was the one
place he could reasonably be that he didn't need to strew with
photos and not look suspicious.

     He threw on a robe quickly and stepped out into the hallway,
sniffing slightly at the scent of food cooking that was drifting
up from downstairs.  There was the clean scent of rice and the
crackling fragrance of frying eggs.  
     
     In the kitchen, his sister was at the stove, pots and pans
arrayed across the burners.  She had a white apron on over her
dark dress; as he entered, she turned and smiled at him.

     Not a sneer.  Not a triumphant grin at some act of 
humiliation.  A genuinely happy smile, as if she were truly glad
to see him.

     And oh, how good that was to see upon her face.
     
     "Good morning, brother," she said cheerfully.  "Sit down.
Everything's almost ready."

     Standing in the doorway, Kuno put one hand against the frame
as if to steady himself, and tentatively spoke.  "How are you
this morning, sister?"

     She took a step forward, still smiling.  "I feel well,
brother."

     "That's good," Kuno said softly, taking one step forward as
well to stand facing her.  "That's very good to hear."

     Kodachi reached out without any hesitation and took his
right hand in her left, gently and firmly.  "Brother?"

     "Yes, Kodachi?" 
     
     "Thank you," she said, reaching up with her free arm and
embracing him around the neck.  Shocked for a second, Kuno stood 
rigid, and then hesitantly hugged her with his free arm around
the back.  

     After what seemed like far too long, Kodachi's grip 
slackened and she let him pull away from her.  He adjusted his 
robe and coughed theatrically, then looked at her quizzically.

     "For what?" he asked.
     
     "You know why," Kodachi said.  "I think things are going to
be okay now, brother.  I'll go to Jusenkyou, I'll find what I
need to find there, and I'll come back to you, and things will be
okay."

     She laughed, softly.  "Brother, do you believe in powers
higher than ourselves?"     

     Kuno thought silently of his secret room beyond the training
hall, where he had so often knelt before the symbols he had 
placed there, the ones that helped him to imagine that there was,
somehow, some kind of justice in the world.  "I suppose that I 
do, sister."

     "I do too," Kodachi said, turning back to the stove.  
     
     "Ahh," Kuno said, taking a seat at the table.  "Shall I wake
our guest for breakfast?"

     "Guest?" Kodachi said, not looking back.
     
     "You met him last night," Kuno said.  "He seemed to have
little desire to return to his usual place of dwelling, so I
offered to let him stay the night here."

     "He was very kind to me last night," Kodachi said musingly.
     
     "He will be more than that," Kuno said.  "He is from a
village that lies within walking distance of Jusenkyou.  I
believe he can be persuaded to..."

     He fell silent at the sound of footsteps coming down the
stairs.  Moments later, Mousse entered the kitchen, dark hair 
tousled from sleep and eyes slightly bleary behind his thick
glasses.  

     "Good morning," Kuno said, keeping his voice carefully
polite.  Reflecting on the short conversation he had held last
night with the tall, long-haired Chinese boy, he was concerned 
that he had gone perhaps a bit too far beyond his normal 
mannerisms.  "Thy repose was pleasurable, I hope?"

     Mousse nodded and ran a hand through his tangled hair,
smoothing it out slightly.  "Yeah."

     "Sit," Kuno said, indicating a chair at the kitchen table.
"Break bread with us."

     Mousse looked unsure, nudging his glasses up the bridge of
his nose slightly.  "I really should get back to..."

     He trailed off, looking bitter and sad for a moment, then
laughed.  "Back home, I guess.  Really home."

     He pulled out a chair and sat, as Kodachi began to fill 
bowls with rice and plates with fried egg and tofu.  "So you want
to go to Jusenkyou, do you?"

     Inwardly, Kuno smiled.  There would be no difficulty in
broaching the topic, then.  

     "I do," Kodachi said.  "My brother says you are from the
area."

     Mousse nodded.  "I am."
     
     There was a silent sense of anticipation between the two of
them; neither, Kuno realized, was willing to make the first move.
     
     He carefully steepled his fingers on the table.  "Would you
be interested in a short span of employment, my friend?" he asked 
softly.

     "Hmm?" Mousse said.  
     
     He knew, of course, exactly what Kuno was talking about, but
it was all the part of the game, the complex simplicities of 
human nature and human negotiation.  "As I mentioned last night,
my sister will require a guide.  Are you interested?"

     He was, of course.  Kuno knew that.  He had made the first
casual foray last night into this territory, but he could see
Mousse hesitating now.  Kuno knew of his feelings for Shampoo,
and that was the only thing he could imagine that could have 
caused such a shift in the younger man.  

     He was directionless now, looking for a purpose, a center,
though perhaps he did not even realize it.  All that was needed
was to point him in the right direction.

     How easily he did this, Kuno reflected as all these thoughts
when through him in the space of a silent second.  How easily he 
pushed people one way or the other, how easily he manipulated 
them.  It was so often easiest because they believed him to be
the manipulated, the fool.  

     What the reason, the masquerade, the hiding?  The great game 
of make-believe.  Because if they don't know who you are, they 
don't know how to-
     
     "...yes, I might be."
     
     He shook himself from his internal thoughts and turned his
attention back to Mousse, silently berating himself for the
momentary lapse.  "You would, of course be compensated.  The 
House of Kuno is not without its wealth."

     "I'll do it for the price of passage there," Mousse said 
quietly, taking off his glasses and squinting at Kuno, as if he
might somehow manage to see deeper into him without them.  

    "That is most generous of you," Kuno said.
    
    "I need to get home," Mousse said shortly.  "And the way I
had intended to go before, I would rather not take."

     "Very well," Kuno said.  Kodachi was listening in silence,
as she placed the food before them and sat down.  "I shall begin
to make arrangements to leave."

     "How soon?" Mousse asked.
     
     "The sooner the better," Kodachi said wistfully.  
     
     "Is that agreeable to you?" Kuno inquired.
     
     Mousse nodded, and thinly smiled.  "It is most certainly
agreeable."

**********

     The sharp edge of the blade split the light as it tumbled
lazily through the air, harsh sparks of the morning sun cavorting
along the polished surface.

     Ukyou caught the spatula as it began its downward arc,
flipped it into the air once more, and then tucked it back into
her bandoleer as she walked down the street, the great spatula
slung over her shoulder bumping against her back with the
movement of her legs.  Absently, she reached back and ran her
fingers across the wrapped grip of the weapon, toying momentarily
with the ring at the end.
     
     Stores passed by, and houses, and in the distance, the
snaking shape of the canal, with the scattered crowds of morning
dotted among them.  Tucked into the folds of her blouse, the 
small wooden box she'd received yesterday was a slight presence 
against her body.  Something about it made her want to keep her 
eyes on it at all times, as if taking them off for a moment might 
make it disappear.  

     The walk was helping.  The walk was helping her think,
helping her to clear her head.  The old blind woman had warned 
her not to tell anyone that they'd met, that there were traitors
among those she trusted.  Who had she meant?

     The conversation she'd had in the restaurant yesterday grew
to become more and more surreal each time she considered it.  The
one thing that did not change in her memory was the utter, utter
conviction of the old woman's words.  She'd known Konatsu was in
danger from the moment she'd read his note, a note that lay
carefully folded next to the box in the inner pocket of her
blouse.  But what she'd been told yesterday only made her more
scared for her vanished friend.  

     In the sky overhead, there was a light scattering of clouds,
and they might see rain later on.  Thinking of rain reminded her
of Ranma; too many things did.  

     Ukyou sighed, and reached back again to nervously adjust her
massive battle spatula.  Wherever he was, whatever had happened 
to him, she did hope that he was okay.  Even if he didn't want
her.  Even if he didn't love her.

     She turned a corner, mumbling an apology under her breath as
she jostled another passerby, and continued to walk swiftly down
the street.  The streets were only going to get more crowded as
the day wore on, and she wanted to get back and open up before
lunchtime.  It might be one of the last times she did any 
business for a while.  

     Up ahead, she saw a familiar restaurant coming into view,
and realized that without really meaning to, she'd walked in the
direction of the Nekohanten.  At the same time, she realized that
she hadn't seen any of the people she'd gone to the mountain with
except Happosai since they'd come back.  She'd really been
meaning to drop in on Akane and see how she was doing, but then
the situation with Konatsu had occupied her attention.

     Feeling a little hesitant, she stood outside the restaurant,
people walking down the street diverting around her for the
moment.  The restaurant sign wasn't out, but she could see 
through the curtains of the window that the lights were on.  

     She reached out and put a hand on the sliding door, finding
it wasn't locked.  Pushing down the last of her indecision, she
slid the door open and stepped inside.

     Shampoo looked up from the single table that still remained
in the centre of the dining room; Ukyou saw that the rest of the
chairs and tables had been cleared to the side.  There were
several suitcases near them, and a number of sealed cardboard
boxes.  

     "Nihao, Ukyou," Shampoo said, disappointment in the tone.
     
     Ukyou clucked her tongue and stepped in, closing the door.
"Well, you sound happy to see me.  You expecting someone else?"

     Of all things, Shampoo blushed slightly and shook her head.
"No."

     "What are you doing?" Ukyou said, walking over to the table 
and looking down at the various objects in the centre.  There was 
a lot of jewelry, it seemed, and a few larger items like the
dragon-headed cane that Shampoo was carefully tilting back and
forth across her palms, an appraising look on her face.

     "Packing to go home," Shampoo said, as Ukyou pulled out a
chair from the table and sat down across from Shampoo.  A fan
hummed softly in one corner near the ceiling, and outside she
could hear the murmur of the people passing by, of their feet and
conversation.  

     "Isn't Mousse gonna help?" Ukyou asked.
     
     Shampoo shook her head.  "Mousse not here."
     
     Something in her tone gave Ukyou pause.  "Something happen?"
     
     Shampoo nodded.  "Have fight with him."
     
     Ukyou blinked.  "Like what?  Mousse always was kinda... I
dunno, a sponge around you."

     The other girl laughed softly, without humour.  "He change."
     
     She tilted her head slightly, laying the cane she'd been
examining on the table with a soft clatter of wood as she did,
and Ukyou saw the marks of a bruise upon her cheek and jaw.

     "Geez," Ukyou said, slightly awed.  "He do that to you?"
     
     "I deserve it," Shampoo said derisively, moving her head so
that the angles of light and shadow in the room hid the mark.  
"Surprised now that it not happen sooner."

     "So he left?" Ukyou said.
     
     "Yes," Shampoo said shortly, and looked down intently at the
objects on the table; her hand reached out and snagged a carven
ivory bracelet with intricate Chinese characters picked out on 
the surface in a faded dark ink.  "Not like I care.  Glad Mousse
gone; not bother me anymore."

     Her tone betrayed the shakiness of her conviction, but Ukyou 
decided not to press; better, it seemed, to change the subject.  
"So when are you going?"

     "Hope tomorrow," Shampoo said.  "Evening flight.  Be home 
soon after that."     

     "Ahh," Ukyou said, drumming her fingers on the wood and
glancing at the pale stones of a silver armband sparkling 
slightly in the light.  

     "What you want, Ukyou?" Shampoo said in a tired voice.  "Why
you here?"

     "I just wanted to see how you were doing, okay?" Ukyou said,
surprised at her own words.  "Is that such a big deal?"

     Shampoo had the grace to look embarassed.  "Sorry, Ukyou.
Not mean to accuse.  Just not really used to you visiting me."

     She put the bracelet she been looking at back on the table.
"How you doing, Ukyou?"

     Ukyou looked away nervously; she had not wanted the
conversation to go in this direction.  "I'm doing okay."

     "Really?" Shampoo said.
     
     Ukyou looked back at the other girl, then slowly shook her
head.  "Nahh."

     "Ranma?" 
     
     "Other stuff, too."
     
     Shampoo nodded, looking as if she understood.  "What other
stuff?"

     Ukyou looked at Shampoo with a measured gaze for a moment.
"How about this; you tell me more about this fight with Mousse,
I'll tell you about the other stuff."

     Shampoo stared back at her.  "Okay.  You first."
     
     "Oh no," Ukyou said, shaking her head.  "I guarantee my
other stuff is better than your other stuff."

     "You sure?" Shampoo said, a tracery of a smirk on her face.
     
     "Yup," Ukyou said.  "We'll save the best until last, hon."
     
     Shampoo seemed to hesitate for a moment, then nodded.  
"Okay.  I kind of want to talk to someone anyway.  You only one
around, I suppose."

     "Thanks," Ukyou said flatly.
     
     So Shampoo told her about what had happened to make Mousse
hit her, and what had happened after that to make him leave.

     "Oh," Ukyou said at the end, blinking her eyes slightly and
adjusting her spatula.  "Didn't take you long, did it?"

     Anger flared in Shampoo's eyes.  "What that mean?"
     
     "That came out wrong," Ukyou said, holding up a hand.  "I
mean, you just met the guy, right?"

     Shampoo nodded.  "That what I not know.  He not like Ranma
at all.  He not warrior.  He listen, talk to me.  But... I..."

     She cupped her chin with one hand.  "Is too soon, you
think?"     
     
     Ukyou thought for a moment.  "No... no, I don't think so at
all.  You sure this isn't just a rebound thing?"

     "Joketsuzoku woman not rebound type," Shampoo said flatly.
     
     "How do you feel about him?" Ukyou asked.
     
     Shampoo looked uneasy, unsure.  "Not sure.  He very kind,
very handsome.  Smart man.  He... he..."

     The next words were said so softly that Ukyou leaned forward
to hear them better.  "He like me."

     "Mousse liked you too, though," Ukyou said, straightening up
once Shampoo was finished speaking.

     Shampoo snorted.  "But I no like Mousse."
     
     "So you like this guy, though?" 

     Shampoo slowly nodded.  "Yes."
     
     "But if you're leaving tomorrow..."
     
     "I know," Shampoo said.  "That why so hard to know what to
do.  He coming by today, and..."

     "So that's why you seemed so disappointed that it was only 
me," Ukyou said, comprehension dawning.  She sighed softly.  "I
don't know what to tell you Shampoo.  I just think... wouldn't it
be nice if one of us came through this happy?"

     Indecision wavered on Shampoo's face, before she smiled
slightly and reached out, touching the back of Ukyou's hand were
it lay on the table with her slender fingers.  "Thank you, Ukyou.
You good to talk to."

     "No problem," Ukyou said, feeling genuinely pleased at
Shampoo's gesture.  "Now, I guess I oughta get going before this
Asakazu guy shows up, so..."

     As she started to rise, Shampoo put a hand over hers and
stopped her.  "Oh no.  You not get away that easy, Ukyou."

     Ukyou sat back down, grinning ruefully.  "I guess I did
promise."

     So she told Shampoo about Konatsu.  She left out the part
about her visit yesterday, remembering the old woman's words, but
kept in her plans to go to Okinawa to search for him.

     When she finished, Shampoo rested her elbows on the table
and her chin on her fists to look at Ukyou.  "You very loyal
friend, Ukyou."

     "Thanks," Ukyou said quietly, almost shocked by the other
girl's words.  
     
     Shampoo nodded absently and turned in the chair, leaning one
elbow on the back and staring off to where the boxes and 
suitcases were arrayed on the floor.  "I sorry we not talk like
this before."

     "Certain things kinda got in the way," Ukyou said softly,
a bit of regret in her tone.  "I'll get going now, Shampoo."

     She pushed back the chair and stood.  Shampoo nodded and
raised a hand in farewell, but said nothing, continuing to look
contemplatively at the packing she'd done.  

     "Bye," Ukyou said, walking slowly to the door.  As she put
her hand on it, she heard Shampoo's chair scraping on the floor,
and the clink of metal on metal.  

     She turned just as the other girl put a hand on her 
shoulder.  "Wait, Ukyou.  Have something for you."

     "Huh?" Ukyou said, and then Shampoo pressed something into
her hand.  Ukyou peered at the ring contemplatively, a plain
bronze band with a highly-polished red stone.  She almost thought
she saw something for a moment at the heart of the stone, a tiny
flash like a miniature sun.

     "Is very special ring," Shampoo said.  "You go alone to find
friend, maybe need help.  You in trouble, someone chasing you, 
twist ring around little finger of left hand three times, then
throw on ground before them."

     "What happens then?" 
     
     "Not know," Shampoo said.  "Great-gran... Cologne never 
say."

     "Hey, thanks," Ukyou said, tucking the ring into her blouse.
"That's..."

     "Is nothing," Shampoo said.  "You be careful, okay, Ukyou?"
     
     "I will," Ukyou said.  "You take care, Shampoo."
     
     She held out her right hand, and Shampoo took it in a strong
grip.  They shook, only for a moment, and smiled at each other.  

     A few minutes later, as Ukyou walked back towards her
restaurant, conscious always of the box and the ring she now
carried with her, she found herself wondering when, if ever, she
would see Shampoo again.

**********

     Happosai sat on the floor of his room, carefully checking 
over what lay in front of him.  Travel documents and plane tickets 
for himself, Genma, Ryoga and Akane.  The box that held what he 
had left of the Joketsuzoku treasures he'd acquired a century ago.  
And a large amount of Chinese currency, which wouldn't do them 
much good when they were in the Joketsuzoku village, but might be
useful on the train ride there from Xining.

     They would be leaving tomorrow.  He hadn't informed anyone
else of that yet, but he would soon.  He needed to talk to
Shampoo, not only because it would be a pleasure to see the
lovely young thing again, but also because he wanted her to be
with them on the plane tomorrow.  

     Happosai had several reasons for what he was doing.  One was
that as the master of the Anything-Goes school, he had an
obligation to look out for the welfare of his students, one which
he took with seriousness at times when it suited him.

     Another was that he had forgotten just how cute Cologne had 
been when she was young.  Things had never worked out between
them then, but maybe now that they were both back in the prime of
life, there'd be a second chance.

     Most of all, though, it was because of what he'd felt in the
clearing as they'd looked for Ranma.  Even with Cologne's
attempts to block it out, he had been able to feel the incredible
sense of the _importance_ of what had taken place there.  And it
was only the beginning; something was coming, something that all
their fates were being slowly gathered into, like separate 
threads coming together into the weavings of a tapestry.

     Happosai had lived a long time, and he had seen a lot of
things.  Because of all that living, he was not frightened of
what was coming. 

     He was terrified, because he had never, ever, felt such a
sense of impending doom.  Not for him, not for those around him,
but for everything, for all the world.  

     In the night, he woke cold and sweating from dreams he could
not remember.  When he heard the wind blow, it seemed to be in
sorrow.  Sometimes, he was almost sure he could feel the ground
crying out in agony, as if the very planet were in pain.

     What had happened on the mountain, when Ranma had 
disappeared, that had been his first warning.  He had seen more
since then; the disappearance of Ukyou Kuonji's friend, the
growing split between Genma and Nodoka.  He knew he would see
more, that the first had been but the first of many.

     Things were falling into place, for an end which he did not
know.  And he was scared, for himself, for the people like Ranma
and Akane whose lives had provided his entertainment in his old
age, for all the world.  He was so very, very scared.
     
**********     

     "The table is this way," the waiter said, leading Kuno 
between the rows of white-swathed tables to the accompaniment of
the clink of silverware on china and the soft sound of muted
voices from the men in the dark suits.  The restaurant was an
expensive Western-style establishment, a hangout for the power
brokers of both the public and the private sector.  All around
him, deals and agreements were being made that passed millions of
yen back and forth, that would both make and break the lives of
people throughout Japan and around the world.  

     The suit he was wearing for the lunch meeting was perfectly
cut, but it still felt strange on him.  He longed for the
comfortable ease of the kendo robes he had grown used to, though
he hated the thought of growing used to anything; you had no idea
when it might be torn away from you.

     Just another facade, he told himself as he followed in
silence.  Just another act, another part to play, to get towards
the final scene.  

     "Mr. Kuno is here, Miss Kontongara," the waiter said,
withdrawing silently after placing a second menu at the space
where Kuno would sit.  The table was in a far corner of the
restaurant, a space that seemed more shadowed than the rest of
the brightly-lit restaurant.

     Kuno regarded Yoko Kontongara for a quick second before he
took his seat, long enough to size her up, not so long as to
appear to be staring.  He had been mildly surprised to find out
the gender of Sen-Atama's CEO; meeting her in person only
increased that surprise.

     Yoko Kontongara could have been anywhere from twenty to
forty; her age was made extremely difficult to guess by the dark
glasses and long dark gloves, but whatever age she was, she
carried that age well.  There was an aristocratic prettiness to
her, in the cast of her features and the way she wore her hair,
elaborately bound up at the back with a long silver pin thrust
through to hold it.  Her clothing was the most expensive business
attire money could buy, and she wore it as if born to it.

     As he sat, Kuno regarded her politely, waiting for her to
speak.  He would test the waters only after he knew the depths.

     "I thank you for attending this meeting on such short
notice, Mr. Kuno," she said formally.  

     "You are welcome, Miss Kontongara," Kuno replied with equal
formality.     

     "I must say, I am surprised a man as young as yourself has
such great responsibility," she said.  "I would say you're about
twenty-five, correct?"

     She knew perfectly well how old he was.  "My responsibility 
is not excessive.  The men who worked with my father before his 
breakdown are competent, and handle most of the day-to-day 
running of the company.  My sister and I receive a very
generous stipend."
     
     "And yet I have found that you seem to keep a close eye on
the affairs of the companies administered in your family's name,
do you not?"

     She had dug deep, then.  "I have a duty to make sure that my
family's affairs are not handled by the unworthy."

     A waiter came.  They both ordered something without really
seeming to think about it, and he departed.  Kuno took a measured
sip of his water and waited.

     "Shall we dispense with all this formality?" Yoko said, her
voice sounding slightly lighter now.  "I do not think either of
us fits the mould of the typical executive, so why must we behave
like the rest of them?"

     So it would go like this, then, trying to make it seem as if
they were old friends.  "I am willing if you are, Miss 
Kontongara."     

     "Yoko," she said with a slight laugh.  "I don't like friends
using my last name."

     Yes, it would definitely go like that.  "Very well."
     
     "Mr. Kuno..."
     
     "Tatewaki," he said.  Let her think she was charming him;
better than her had tried and failed, though they surely thought
they had succeeded.  
     
     "Tatewaki, the company I represent is interest in purchasing
a large amount of real estate from you," she said.  
"Specifically, an area up to the north of Tokyo that is ripe for
development.  A forest referred to by some as Ryugenzawa."

     Kuno frowned.  "I do not know of it."
     
     "The land is owned by a holding company of your family's,"     
Yoko said.  "It took us a great deal of time to track down the
actual possessors of the deeds to the area."

     Now that he thought about it, the name did sound vaguely
familiar.  He remembered reading a report about a year ago, one
that was already over ten years old then.  Something about the
failure of an exotic animal zoo there that someone in the company
had somehow thought was a good idea.  He got the impression there
had been a coverup of some kind of scandal, and quite a few
firings; that had been back before his father went truly mad,
back even before the event of his life that drove his every
action yet that he found himself unwilling to even remember at
most times.

     The land was only sitting there, doing nothing, still?  He
had thought by now it would have been used for forestry.  He
vaguely recalled thinking about talking to those in charge of the
area about developing it somehow, but had apparently never gotten
around to it.  Odd; his memory was usually very good about those
things.

     He was suspicious, though.  "Why does a software company 
want a forest in the country?"

     Yoko smiled slightly.  "The interests I represent are far
broader than would seem at first appearance.  We are willing to
be very, very generous, Tatewaki."

     She leaned forward slightly, the motion accentuating the 
slim, attractive curves of her body.  "I take a most personal
interest in this.  As I say, we are generous to those who 
support our interests."

     Her voice was a soft, seductive purr now.  Tatewaki felt a
slow, cold anger begin to rise in him, like he always did when
women tried this with him, but he forced it down, as he always
did.  He had a role to play.  

     He realized his behaviour was far from normal, and he
realized his perspective was far from normal as well.  But his
situation was certainly not normal, and his desires could not be
achieved by normal ends.

     "I... do not know what to say," he said, making sure he
sounded slightly flustered.  "I would like some time to think on
this."

     "Tatewaki," she said.  "What need do you have for that land?
Sell it to us, Tatewaki.  Sell it to us.  I have contracts here;
I know that you are the ultimate decider for your family's
companies.  You are far more than you appear.  Sell it to us."

     There was an almost hypnotic quality to the lilting 
rhythms of her voice, to the way she somehow managed to look
right into his eyes, despite the fact that he couldn't see her
eyes.  What need did he have for the land?  

     Suddenly, a thought came to him.  What need did she have for
the land?  There were many more tracts of purchasable forest,
larger and more accessible.  And again, that question she had not
answered; why did a software company wish to buy a forest?

     "I am afraid," he said slowly, "that I cannot allow you to
buy the land."

     He did not know why he said it.  Then again, he had always
strove for a balance between the reason and the instinct in
himself, the logic and the faith.

     He knew, though he did know why he knew, that he could not,
under any circumstance, sell the land to this woman.  He realized
that Yoko Kontongara wanted him to sell to her very badly.  He
also realized that he was not going to ever do so.
     
     Of anyone he had met before, Yoko reminded him most of
Nabiki Tendo.  There was charm there, but it was a calculated
thing, carefully acquired by study rather than naturally 
developed.  There was to Yoko, however, a subtle undertone of 
menace in her speech that Nabiki usually lacked.  

     "Tatewaki," Yoko said, straightening back up.  "Money is not
an object.  If not money, there are many other things that I may
do for you."

     "I apologize," Tatewaki said, standing up from the seat and
bowing slightly.  "You have wasted your time.  Good day, Miss
Kontongara."

     He turned and started to walk from the restaurant, sure he
could feel the weight of her eyes upon his back.  

     "I shall contact you again," he heard her voice say, very
clear and loud, though by tone she spoke softly and only to
him.  "Perhaps I can convince you to change your mind."

     The words were polite, but the edge of them were like
polished blades.  As he stepped out the door onto the long flight
of stairs leading down from the entrance to the restaurant to
the crowded streets, he felt a chill run down his spine that he
soon managed to brush off.  He hadn't let her know him or who he 
truly was; thus, she could never truly hurt him.
          
**********

     It was a little after the lunch hour that Shampoo looked up
from where she sat, still sorting the last few Joketsuzoku 
treasures, and saw the door open and Asakazu Hidarite step in.

     It should not be like this, she silently thought.  She
should not feel the same way the second time she saw him as she
had the first; she should at least have found some control by 
now.

     "Hello, Shampoo," he said, inclining his head slightly in
greeting, dark, unruly bangs falling for a moment across his pale
blue eyes.  

     "Hello, Asakazu," she said, standing up from the table.  "I
thought you not coming for a while."

     "No," he replied softly, shaking his head.  "You didn't need
to worry about that."

     "Is nice to see you," Shampoo said, beginning to clear off
the table, putting jewels and small artifacts back into a box on
the floor near her chair.  "I make us tea, and then we talk, 
okay?"

     "You're going to tell me about what happened to your
great-grandmother, right?" he said, taking a seat and looking up
at her.  

     "Yes," Shampoo said.  She had promised him, after all.  
     
     "Good," he said agreeably, leaning back slightly in the
chair and looking up contemplatively at the ceiling.  

     Shampoo went into the kitchen, leaving him staring at the
ceiling with the faintest trace of a smile across his impossibly
handsome face.
     
**********     

     Mousse stepped out the gate and glanced back once at the
sprawling shape of the Kuno estate, the buildings and gardens
that filled the compound within the walls whose confines he was
just leaving.

     Even now, the last day seemed like a dream.  He was still in
something of a daze, not able to quite compass all that had
happened.  
     
     He could not, however, deny the feeling in himself when he
thought of Kodachi Kuno.  What her brother had told him last
night, about their mother, his shock at it still left him numb
each time he thought of it.

     Both his own parents were long gone, his father soon after
his mother, but that had been from illness, quick and painless,
and thought it still hurt to think of at times, the culprits, the 
cause, they were known.  Tatewaki and Kodachi had to live each
day, no doubt, wondering just who had been truly responsible for
their mother's murder, and why.

     Folding his arms into the voluminous sleeves of his robe,
Mousse started down the street that would take him in the
direction of the Nekohanten.  He had possessions to retrieve from
there, and he hoped very much to do that without having to deal
any more with Shampoo than was necessary.

     Frankly, he was considering simply sneaking in through his
bedroom window and getting what he needed, hopefully without
seeing Shampoo at all.  He didn't want to even think of her, but,
there was little chance of that.

     "Wait," someone called.  He turned, saw Kodachi standing in
the open gate, one hand resting against the wall, her body
shadowed by the fall of light against the stone walls around her.

     Walking back, he smiled at her.  As of last night, the
feeling was much, he imagined, what it was like to have a sister.
He wondered if Tatewaki felt this way at times, the strange
intermingling of pride and protectiveness.  "Yes?"

     "You are going now, then?" she asked.
     
     He nodded.  "Just for a few hours.  I'll be back."  
     
     She nodded, as if she had always known.  The shadows of the
walls draped all around her, and then she left them as she 
stepped out to stand closer to him.  

     A light breeze blew along the streets, waved some strands of
Mousse's hair across his face that he quickly brushed back with a
hand.  He realized that, odd for the middle of the day, the 
streets around here seemed empty of people.

     Moving slowly, but with such unexpected motion that Mousse
did not not quite know what was happening, Kodachi reached out a
hand and touched his forehead.  

     At the touch, the contact of flesh, he felt his legs go
weak, and he slowly sank to his knees, not sure why he did, 
feeling a strange pounding in his head, twinned by his heart.  
Everything seemed the convergence of light and dark; the slimness
of Kodachi's face, the fall of her hair, the sunlight splashed on
the sidewalk and the shadows splashed between.  
     
     "Guardian," Kodachi whispered gently, fingers spread out and
the tips touching his forehead.  

     "Lady," Mousse whispered even more gently, closing his eyes.
The words seemed impossibly ancient, older than him, come to him
down through the long fall of the centuries, passed out of the
shadow of time.  

     "Go now," she said softly, wind's voice, shadow's call.  
"But return."
     
     "I shall," Mousse said, and Kodachi took her hand from his
brow, coolness of fingertips vanishing.  He rose, and turned and
walked away without another word.

     By the time he was halfway to the Nekohanten, he did not
remember what had taken place between them at all, and would not
for a long time.
     
**********

     "Well," Asakazu said to Shampoo when she finished at last,
leaning back slightly in the chair and steepling his fingers.
"That is... quite a story."

     Like Shampoo had made him promise, he'd listened till the 
end, and though his expression had grown incredulous at times, he
had never spoke any word against what she had said.  The teapot
lay empty in the center of the table, a teacup matched in
emptiness before each of them.

     "But you no believe it," Shampoo said.
     
     He shook his head.  "I didn't say that.  I... it is a hard
story to believe.  Magical pools, things even stranger than 
that.  But... if you say it's true, then...

     "More than that," Shampoo said.  "I show you it's true."
     
     There were many things she had left out.  She had only
really focused upon explaing Ranma's situation to him, and where
it had finally led, to Cologne's madness and his disappearance;
even that had taken more than an hour.  She had left out her own 
curse, for one.  

     She stood up, gulped slightly, and tossed the glass of water
that she had at the table over herself.  Senses warped 
themselves, honed themselves to a razor's edge; her body changed,
shrinking instantaneously, bone and muscle and nerves altering.

     "Well," Asakazu said calmly, looking down at the cat
Shampoo had become, a giant from her perspective, his pale blue
eyes slightly wide.  "I suppose that does prove a lot of things,
doesn't it?"

     Shampoo meowed softly.  
     
     "Hot water, right?" he said, standing up and walking into 
the kitchen; she heard the sound of water running, and he
returned carrying a cup from which steam gently wafted into the
air.  Turning away, he poured it onto her, then stepped away with
his back to her.

     Shampoo had everything but her top on when a mischievous
thought struck her, and she softly called his name.  His head
turned, and she saw him flush brightly before looking away.  She
could not get over how handsome he was.  

     Pulling her top on, she walked up behind him softly and
placed her hands on her shoulders, leaning against his back and
standing up on tip-toes to whisper into his ear.  "You believe me
now, then?"

     "I don't really have anything else to do," he said.  
"Shampoo that... that was real magic.  I have seen nothing like
that before.  It was... amazing."

     "What?" Shampoo said, stepping back as he turned.  He was
smiling broadly, blue eyes sparkling.  

     "I've always wondered," he said quietly.  "If there are
events that we cannot hope to understand in purely logical ways.
This is the strongest proof I have ever seen."

     Shampoo took a deep breath; here was were it was, the great
risk, what she'd been building up to since her talk with Ukyou.

     "Asakazu," she said softly, relishing even the sound of his
name.  "Come to China with me."

     He blinked.  "I don't understand..."
     
     "To Joketsuzoku village," she said.  "There is so much there
for you to see.  You see Jusenkyou first hand, see things... that
you never imagine you see.  I..."

     "You... you really want me to come with you?" he said, as if
he did not quite believe it himself.

     "Yes," Shampoo said, surprised at the depth of sincerity in
her own voice.  She did want him to come with her; very badly.  
She needed someone, she realized, someone to fill the empty place
that Cologne had left, the empty place that Ranma had once been.

     Right now, she needed him.  Needed him so badly it hurt, the
strength of the need was so great.     
     
     "I need to think about this," he said, looking nervous.  
"I... here, I will give you my number.  You can call me there if
you want."

     He walked to the table, pulled a pen from his brieface and
scribbled out a number on a blank page of his notebook, then tore
it free and handed it to her.  

     "I need to go," he said.  "But call me tonight.  We need to
both think about... what this could mean."

     "I know," Shampoo said, tucking the number away.  
"Asakazu..."

     "Please," he said softly, something that might have been 
pain in his blue eyes.  "Don't say anything more, Shampoo.  I..."

     He reached out, took her hand in his, raised it to his lips.
"Till we meet again."

     As he let her hand drop, she stepped forward, wrapped her
arms around his neck, and pulled his lips to hers for a quick
kiss that went on longer than she'd planned.  

     But he left after that, without another word, the taste of
his lips still, like cool water, on hers.  

     Shampoo sat down in a chair at the table, listening to the
soft whirl of the overhead fan.  She revelled in the pounding of
her heart; it felt so good, so right.  To finally, finally have
the feeling of loving someone, and knowing that, perhaps, they
truly loved you in return.

     Her head felt light, giddy.  She was smiling broadly.  
     
     She stayed like that for a few minutes.
     
     Then the door opened, and Mousse stepped in.
     
     He looked at her from behind the thickness of his glasses, 
or seemed to look, for his eyes were hidden.  "I have things to
get.  I'll take them out the back."

     "Mousse..." she said slowly, rising out of the chair.
     
     "Don't say anything more, Shampoo," he said.  "There is
nothing more to say."

     And as he walked by, Shampoo realized, with more than a
little sadness, that he was absolutely and totally right.  There     
was, truly, no more to say.

**********

     "Who is this again?" Nodoka said.
     
     "Chopin," Taikazu said, putting his teacup back on the
coffee table with a soft clink.  

     Nodoka nodded and listened to the soft melody of the piano
music from the speakers as she looked around the living room of 
her new neighbour's house.  Inside, it was much like hers in 
layout, though the furniture was pricier.  The one great 
difference, however, was in the speakers.  

     They were everywhere in the house, from a set positioned on
the wall above the front door in the entrance hall to the four
large ones that sat in each corner of the living room.  One wall
of the living room was almost entirely occupied by an immense
stereo system whose price Nodoka could not even begin to guess 
at.  Another wall was rack upon rack of tapes and compact discs,
hundreds of them.  She had looked through them while Taikazu had
been in the kitchen making tea.

     Nodoka knew little about music; she remembered painful
experiences with violin lessons that her parents had pressed her
into, and listening to pop music blaring tinny from the radio as
a teenager, but it had never really been much to her.  

     Taikazu obviously loved it; it must have taken him years to
assemble the collection he had, to set up a sound system that
reached into every part of the house.  It was, she had to admit,
slightly eccentric in a way, but her neighbour seemed pleasant 
enough and it had been nice to accept his invitation to have tea
together.  All the friends she had were in other cities, and she
kept in touch by letter, but she had missed really sitting down
and talking to someone.

     Conversation was pleasant and inconsequential.  They talked
about gardening, mostly.  Oddly, she had seen no pictures of the
deceased wife he had mentioned anywhere in the house; she found
herself wondering if he had any children.

     The piano ran on in the background, flowing around and over
and above the murmur of their voices as they talked.  He was
excellent company; witty, articulate, amusing, but not to such an
extent that he dominated the conversation.

     Thus, it was most disruptive to the pleasant state of her
mind when the sound of someone knocking on the front door began.

     Taikazu stood up, smiling, put down his teacup.  "I'll be
right back, Nodoka-san."

     He walked out of the living room towards the front door; she
heard it slide open, and then his voice, almost muffled by the
sound of the music and the distance.  "You weren't supposed to be
here for another hour."

     "Better an hour early than five minutes late," another voice
replied.  Male, cheerful, pleasant.
          
     "I have a guest right now," Taikazu's voice said.  He still
sounded calm, but there was the slightest hint of annoyance.

     "Oh?  Who?"
     
     "If you must know, my new neighbour."
     
     The voices dropped lower now, and she couldn't make out
specific words.  Not wanting to eavesdrop, she concentrated on 
the sound of the piano.  

     A few moments later, there was the sound of two pairs of
feet walking down the hallway, and Taikazu came back into the
living room followed by another man.  He was tall, young and
handsome in a rather bookish way, though the way he moved showed
a fair amount of strength.  He wore a dark martial arts gi and
glasses, and he had the tiniest stub of a ponytail at the back of
his black hair.

     "Nodoka-san, this is Doctor Tofu Ono, a business associate
of mine," Taikazu said.  "Tofu, this is Nodoka Saotome."

     Tofu nodded and smiled; it was a very pleasant smile, which
somehow made the next words hurt even more.  "You wouldn't be any 
relation to Ranma Saotome, would you?"

     The teacup Nodoka had been holding dropped from her limp
fingers to spill upon the rug at her son's name.

     "I'm so sorry," she said.  "I'll clean-"
     
     "It's alright," Taikazu said.  "I'll handle it later."
     
     "So you're in the medical business?" Nodoka said to Taikazu, 
desperately forcing down the thoughts of her son, of where he
might be, of the pain he could be in...

     "Not precisely," Taikazu said.  "Tofu's skills are often
useful to us, however.  We employ him on a contractual basis,
when we have need of him."

     "Ahh," Nodoka said, not understanding in the least.
     
     "You're Ranma's mother, aren't you?" Tofu said quizzically,
cocking his head to look at her from behind his glasses.

     Another twinge of pain went through Nodoka's heart.  "Yes...
Yes, I am."

     "Ranma used to be one of my patients," Tofu said, not 
seeming at all to notice her discomfort at every word.  "Your
husband worked for me for a short while, actually.  How is Genma, 
by the way?"

     "I would not know," Nodoka said, more sharply than she meant
to.  

     "Oh," Tofu said, sounding apologetic.  "I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to bring up-"

     "It's alright," she said, though she did not feel alright at
all.  "You had no way of knowing."

     "No," Taikazu said.  "He didn't.  Tofu, perhaps you 
could..."

     "Of course," Tofu said.  He bowed to Nodoka.  "A pleasure,
Nodoka."

     Turning gracefully, he walked back down the hall; there was 
the sound of the door opening and closing.  

     "Nodoka-san," Taikazu said, sitting down on the couch next
to her and gently touching her shoulder.  His age-lined but still
handsome face was filled with concern, his dark eyes warm.  "I am
sorry.  If I had known in any way that he would have that effect 
on you, I would not have-"

     "No, you had no way of knowing either," Nodoka said, through
the lump in her throat.  "My husband and son... I really should
be going, I'm sorry."

     "I should be sorry," Taikazu said, taking his hand off her
shoulder.  

     "You have been a perfect host," Nodoka said, her voice
sounding stiff even to herself.  "I... I would like to go home 
now, though."

     She rose up off the couch and headed towards the hallway,
not wanting to look at him.  As she reached the front door, she
felt his hand touch her elbow; she hadn't even heard him follow
her.

     "Nodoka-san," he said, when she didn't turn.  "If you want
to... talk about these things, I am here.  I know what it is like
to lose people that you love."

     "Thank you," she said gently, and stepped out the door.  
     
     By the time she reached the front door of her house, she was 
crying silently.  As soon as she managed to get inside, she 
crumpled down against the wall with her face in her hands and
wept, the pain tearing at her heart like the claws of a beast.

     It was so hard, and it hurt so bad to go on like this.  She
had made so many mistakes with her son, and she did not even know
if she would ever see him again.  This house was too big; Genma
was meant to be here too.  She had wanted, wanted so badly, to be
able to love him again.  The house was too big, and it felt so 
empty, but not half so empty as her.     

**********

     When Shampoo went upstairs to bed that night, he was waiting
for her.  If she hadn't been able to recognize the vague traces 
of Happosai's features on the young man's face, his words alone
probably would have tipped her off.
  
     "Hiya, cutie," he said, patting the spot on the bed beside 
him.  "Care to join me for a little fun?"

     "Go away," Shampoo said.  
     
     "Nope," Happosai said cheerfully, hopping up from the bed
and rocking back and forth from heel to toe.  "We've got some
talking to do, my dear."

     "Tomorrow," Shampoo said.  "Now get out, or get thrown out."

     "Let's pretend for the moment you were capable of that," 
Happosai said quietly.  "Don't you think, considering the events
of the last few days, that you might like to at least listen to
what I have to say?"

     Shampoo frowned, but he was right.  "Make it quick.  I very
tired."

     "Where's Mousse?" Happosai said, glancing around the room as
if the name might cause him to reveal himself.  "He probably 
should be here too."

     "Mousse leave," Shampoo said shortly.
     
     "Well, while we're waiting for him to get back, you and I
could..."

     "No," Shampoo said.  "Mousse leave.  He take things and go.
I not know where."

     "Oh," Happosai said, looking slightly distressed for a 
moment.  

     His cheerfulness soon returned, though.  "Anyway, this isn't
really such a big deal.  I'm just here to inform you that when
you leave tomorrow for China, I and Genma and Ryoga and Akane
will be coming with you."

     "What you say?" Shampoo said, taking a step forward and 
grabbing him by the collar as a way of emphasizing her 
displeasure.  

     "We're coming with you," Happosai said as he was forced to
balance on the tips of his toes by the fact that Shampoo was
several inches taller than him.

     "Who say I leaving tomorrow?" Shampoo said, even though that
actually had been her intention.

     "Why, that's when we want to leave," Happosai said.  "And
frankly, we've all been hanging around for too long."

     "What it matter," Shampoo said.  "We no find Ranma anyway."
     
     "That's not the attitude to have," Happosai said chidingly,
slipping out of her grasp and at the same time managing to give
her a quick feel.  He ducked under the punch she levelled at his
head and hopped back to stand on the chair by her bed, gazing
down at her.  "And there's some things that lead me to believe
that those two lovely but unfortunately, obviously deeply 
disturbed ladies who attacked us on the mountain are connected to
your village."

     Shampoo stopped, her hands inches away from the weapon rack
whose contents she'd been intending to bring to full use in
showing Happosai her dislike for his attentions.  "What?"

     Happosai pulled out a tattered old book and held it open to
a page bookmarked with a somewhat ragged piece of lingerie.  

     Shampoo looked at the sketch of the artifact, then slowly
licked her lips.  "I see."

     "So it's simple," Happosai said triumphantly, putting the
book away.  "Our best chances are in your village."

     "Why I let you come with me though?" Shampoo said.  "You big
trouble, Ranma father not much better.  Akane and Ryoga, they
outsiders; outsiders not very welcome in village."

     "Because we can help you, Shampoo," Happosai said.  "Don't
you want to find Ranma?"

     "Why I want that?" Shampoo said bitterly.  "Ranma even more
trouble than you."

     "Because we don't know for sure if Cologne has him or if
those two psychopaths do," Happosai said softly, his voice losing
all traces of humour.  "What if those two have him, Shampoo?"

     A stab of pain traced itself through her.
     
     "What if they're hurting him right now?"  
     
     Another, fiercer, like a fist clenching her heart.
     
     "What if they've been hurting him since we came back?"

     And a third, like fire through her bones.
     
     "Stop," she whispered, feelings tears in her eyes.  "Please,
stop."

     "I'm sorry," Happosai said, sounding genuinely regretful.
"But you have to understand the situation, Shampoo.  And I know
it's going to be difficult for you with the Council when you go
back.  The four of us can help you."

     "How you help me?" Shampoo snapped.
     
     "We can bear witness to Cologne's irrational behaviour,"
Happosai said.  "To the fact that Ranma is gone.  And I have
something else that will help."

     "What that?" Shampoo asked.
     
     "I still have most of the treasure I stole from your village
left," he said.  "Returning that could swing things in your
favour."

     Shampoo blinked.  "You give it back?"
     
     "No," Happosai said.  "You give it back.  I'm not Happosai
when we go to your village, you see; there may be people there
who remember that name who it's best don't know who I am, you
see.  I'm going to be my own grandson, you see; Rikuichi, 
striving to cleanse my family's name of the degenerate stain of 
my notorious grandfather's foul deeds."

     "You think you can keep from pervert stuff long enough to
convince anyone that?" Shampoo said with a snort.

     "You'd be surprised what I can refrain from," Happosai said.
"If it's important enough that I do."

     "When you leaving tomorrow?" Shampoo asked.
     
     "Tomorrow night," Happosai said.  "We'll arrive in Xining 
the next day in the early morning, and take the train line as
close to the Jusenkyou area as we can."

     "Have to hike to village," Shampoo said.
     
     "I know," Happosai said.  "I know the area."
     
     He finally got down off the chair and stroked a hand through
his thin dark hair, looking at her expectantly.  "Then you 
agree?"

     "Yes," Shampoo said softly.  "I agree."
     
     Happosai nodded and stepped by her, and was gone almost
before she realized it.  

     Shampoo sat down heavily on the bed and rested her forehead
on her hands.  She wiped the few tears she'd shed from her eyes,
but just those few tears had made her realize something.  

     It was too early.  No matter how she felt, no matter how
Asakazu felt, she knew Ranma was still with her.  She would not 
have felt how she did at Happosai's words unless he was.  

     It wasn't alright, like she had thought.  It wasn't alright
at all.  And no matter how much it hurt not to go through with
this, she knew in the end that it would hurt all the more if she
did.

     She headed downstairs to find the phone.

**********

     The young man called Asakazu Hidarite stepped out of the 
hotel elevator, onto the fortieth floor, and walked past walls 
hung with expensive paintings and prints.  The apex of night was
drawing fast, and the corridors were deserted; he liked to spend
hours walking in the streets, looking at people as they went by, 
and had done that since he'd left the Nekohanten.

     When he reached the door to his room, he did not bother with
the key.  He turned the handle and the door opened to him.  He
stepped inside, and walked past the bed and chair and desk, and
into the marble-tiled bathroom lit by the harshness of the
fluorescent light overhead.

     He ran water in the sink, splashed it across his face, and
looked at the handsome, slender visage reflected in the cabinet
mirror, drops of water clinging damply to the flesh, rolling
slowly down the slim definitions of cheekbone and nose.

     It was a masterpiece, he had to admit that.  It had taken
him a long time to get it all right; the well-shaped chin and
nose, the thin and sensuous mouth, the tousled black hair.  The
cast of the features, drawn from his memories of so many
different men that he had known, was astonishingly attractive.

     "Too easy," he whispered softly, and smiled.  It almost had
been; if he'd asked, the girl would have opened her legs for him
then and there.  She was his, although she might not even realize 
it yet.  There was no magic to it beyond the combination of looks
and charm, and his taking advantage of the aching, awful 
vulnerability that he had known would be in the young 
Joketsuzoku.  He remembered that the women of that proud tribe, 
for all their spirit, had always given their heart easily.
     
     Easily, or not at all.
     
     He realized his hands were gripping the edges of the sink.
Which were no longer attached to the rest of the sink.

     Scowling, he tossed the broken chunks of marble away to 
crash against the wall.  Being out of his preferred form often
turned his thoughts away from what was truly important, to the
memories of the past, a weakness.

     With a snarl, he drew back a fist and punched the mirror,
very lightly, smashing a web of cracks into the glass.  He looked
at the broken image of his face, the shattered, multiplied 
reflections of eyes and nose and mouth, and smiled.

     Then he changed.  
     
     Now, the only thing left of what he had called Asakazu 
Hidarite was the eyes.  He had heard the statement many times
that the eyes were the gateway to the soul, as if you can somehow
read someone's nature by their eyes.  
     
     He knew that was a lie.  There were no gateways to his soul.
He could make his eyes as warm as summer or as cold as the ice of
winter, though he could not change how they appeared, always the
same pale blue.  
     
     He had borne so many names in his time.  Ritter was one.  
Asakazu Hidarite was yet another.  Before those two, he had many
more.  But the names were meaningless, only words.  He was the
master's hand upon the earth, the most beloved servant of the
Dark, and he was steeped in a power so ancient and deep that
pathetic children like Yoko and her sisters could not even hope
to compass it.

     Finally, at last, the final pieces were falling into place.
The last of many, so many, so many long centuries of preparation
after his last failure of before.  But from that failure had been 
planted the seeds of what would soon be his triumph, to grow and 
blossom and bear bitter fruit, nurtured by the shadows and the 
power of the master.  
     
     The phone rang, harsh in the silence of his contemplation.
     
     He picked it up, absently remembering to put on Asakazu's
voice.  "Hello?"

     "Asakazu?"
     
     Trembling, slightly unsure.  As he'd expected.
     
     "Yes, Shampoo?" he said, letting the word fall from his
tongue like a caress.

     "I sorry," she said.  "I sorry I start this, sorry... it too
early, Asakazu.  I not ready.  I not ready.  I... don't know if I
ever be ready."

     "What?" he said softly, not having expected this, 
maintaining his control.  She sounded on the verge of tears.

     "Is too early," she said, voice crackling over the line to
reach him.  "I sorry I ask you before, to come... to come.  Is
not fair to you."

     "No," he said, keeping his voice quiet, holding back his
rage at the unexpected twist to his plans.  "It wasn't fair to
you.  If I'd known what your situation was, I never would 
have..."

     "Is okay," Shampoo said.  "I... I going home tomorrow.  I
think is better I not see you again."

     "Yes," he said, managing to sound sad, regretful.  "I think
that might be best."

     "Goodbye," she said.
     
     The phone clicked down on the other end.
     
     He snarled and listened to the dialtone buzzing inside his
head.  Not at the thwarting of his plans; it was not as if he 
could not go to Jusenkyou without the girl.  But she would have 
made his triumph all the sweeter, his plans all the easier, his 
vengeance just a tiny bit greater.

     But perhaps it was not too late, he realized, as the wheels
began their wild, mad spin within his head.  Though he might not
do it as easily, he could still have what he had wanted from the
start.

     His face lost its scowl, and he smiled.  He was something of
an optimist, after all.  He would have both the girl and 
Jusenkyou, in the palm of his hand, in the end.

     Then, he thought as he tightened his grip on the handset and
slammed it back into the cradle with crushing force, he would
break them both.  

     Going to bed, he glanced back once at the shattered 
fragments of the phone that littered the desk and the carpet
around it, and smiled again, at that broken image, and when he
dreamed that night, all the dreams were dreams of breaking.