Shampoo sat before the mirror combing her hair, her fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the intricate jade comb. Outside her hut she could hear preparations for the celebration - - the murmur of gathering voices, the excited sizzle of dumplings frying, the hiss of meat and poultry roasting to tenderness on spits, and the understated thumping bubble of soup simmering. A half-smile crossed her lips as she thought of the open-pit fires that would burn all night, first for cooking, then the dancing and singing and fighting -- and then just a warm gleam in the distance as she and her new husband retreated for their own private celebration. Her husband. She paused in her combing and tried it out loud. "My husband." The words felt strange in her mouth, as if she were speaking a foreign language instead of her native Chinese. She said it again in Japanese, wincing at how easily it rolled off her tongue. She barely felt Chinese any more, much less part of the insular Amazon tribe she had grown up in. Somehow, the tribe -- her family, she reminded herself -- seemed to be at a distance, as if she were standing on a hillside looking out at a valley of flowers. The distance was not entirely imagined -- in the few days since her return, there had been something of an uneasy barrier around her that few dared to cross. It as as if -- she blinked at the thought -- as if she herself were an outsider. She wondered if someone would be tempted to give her the Kiss of Death at the end of next year's tournament. Her hands automatically began to pull out locks of hair to wind into her usual buns, though today she was twisting in long strings of pearls, which gleamed secretly through strands of her dark hair. Perhaps she was assuming too much, that she would win next year's tournament. Although she had kept up a rigorous training regimen in Japan and was as fit as ever, she had not had the advantage of training with and against her peers. Who knew what skills her challengers had developed during her years of absence? Some of the new warriors she had last seen as gangly adolescent novices had been giving her measuring looks from a distance already, and she expected to receive a few challenges before the coals of the celebration fires had cooled, from those who couldn't wait for the tournament, or who feared she would be pregnant by then, exempt from the battles. The burst of firecrackers from outside her door startled her, and she heard shrill children's laughter fading away, the scolds of some of the cooks, then Cologne's gravelly voice rising above them all. Cologne would be disappointed if she couldn't compete, but there was nothing to be done. Cologne would have to grow used to disappointment. It would be harder for the elder than it had been for Shampoo; so far as she knew, Cologne had never, not in the hundreds of years she had lived, never lost a battle, whether of strength or of wits. Until, as Shampoo's mentor, her great-grandmother, and her tribal elder -- a triple responsibility -- she had taken Shampoo's failure as her own. Shampoo shook herself grimly, tucking in the ends of hair and beginning on her second bun. she told herself determinedly. They echoed, though, and Shampoo smiled sadly. Her pride was not as it had been, nor her heart, but she had learned to deal with it, and even to find new happiness. Once, she had believed as she suspected Cologne still believed, that life was an all-or- nothing proposition. But she knew now that there was a middle ground, that bittersweet balance that made life livable; and, more importantly, she had decided that she herself would not settle for nothing. At times she found herself thinking of Cologne as a spoiled child, petted and catered to and ultimately immature, unaware of that middle ground where life took place. Shampoo always scolded herself for her disrespect, but at the same time she would not give up her own hard-won balance. Her own strip of grey was narrower than the Challenge Log, and she would not give up. After all, she had only once been unbalanced in tournament, and she had vowed never again. How fitting that the same opponent who had sent her tumbling on the field of battle should also have thrown her in life. Her eyes unfocused slightly as she recalled that first blow, her first moments of uncertainty. * * * It was a hot day, one that made the ladies of Tokyo unfurl their parasols and pat delicately at their sweating foreheads with silk handkerchiefs. Shampoo was no wilting flower, though, and she reveled in the hot sun on her back as she pedaled in search of her quarry, down back streets where no pedestrians slowed her. She calculated vectors in her mind, preparing to jolt her bicycle into the air at just the right moment and angle to pick Ranma off his usual fence without landing them both in the canal. Today she would add a bounce off that violent girl's head, just hard enough to send a clear message of superiority. Psychological warfare was essential in social situations, and the tomboy was satisfyingly vulnerable... With a sure jerk of her strong arms and a twist of her body, Shampoo bounced off the plastic frog in front of the drugstore, left skidmarks on a light pole, then rebounded to an awning that angled her up, over the roof of the squat drugstore. She shed her bicycle at the apex of her leap, using the leverage of her kick to send herself towards the tomboy... ...who wasn't there. Shampoo adjusted her trajectory in midair and landed lightly on her toes, scanning the street with narrow eyes. Akane was nowhere in sight. It was impossible that Shampoo had miscalculated; she had been at the top of her Combat Physics class and never missed her target on the Complex Projectile Motion laboratories. And although Ranma and Akane had been out of school for a short while following the failed wedding (Shampoo smirked to herself at her successful guerrilla warfare), they were due to return to school this week. The only answer was that Akane was not going to school today. Shampoo grinned ferally. Ranma was all hers. But... he wasn't on the fence, not as far as she could see in either direction. Ranma was skipping school too? That was odd. He usually showed up for first roll call at the very least. Perhaps he was sick; she would have to fix some special restorative ramen... "Shampoo." Ranma's cold voice came from behind her and she instinctively pushed off for a Full Glomp (tm), knocking him against the drugstore's back wall and wrapping her arms tightly around him. "Nihao," she purred, happily rubbing her cheek against his satin shirt. "You dump violent girl, play *hooky* with Shampoo?" She hoped Ranma noticed her subtle use of the word "hooky" as a euphemism for passionate husband-wife stuff, but just in case he was too dense to figure it out -- a definite hazard with Ranma -- she applied her favorite Subtle Mid-Glomp Movements (tm). "C'mon, Shampoo. Quit it," he said, pushing at her fruitlessly. (Nobody ever escaped from an Amazon Glomp (tm).) He obviously didn't get it. Shampoo sighed at her husband's lack of mental faculty, but then, what did she expect? He was only a man. She released enough to let him see her face and pouted. "If you no go on date with Shampoo, then why you no running to school?" Mentally she cursed the Japanese language, which made her sound like an idiot. Ranma apparently missed the playful logic; in fact, he seemed to be... angry? "It's a national holiday," he said in a tight voice. Then his tone grew harder, mirroring the glare in his eyes. "Shampoo, we have to talk. That's why I came out here today." "Okay, we talk." Shampoo snuggled closer. Her husband wanted to talk to her! The day shone before her. "Separately. I don't want you touching me." Shampoo didn't like that idea, but it occurred to her that maybe Ranma meant to confess his love on bended knee, and so she let him go and waited for him to kneel. Instead, he folded his arms and glared at her for a few moments. Shampoo grew uneasy as time stretched out. "Ranma?" she said in a tentative voice that she barely recognized as her own. She had never seen him quite like this, so... quiet. When he spoke, it was in a determinedly reasonable voice. "Why did you do it, Shampoo?" "Do what, airen?" "Why'd you attack Akane like that?" He began to speak faster. "I thought you were a friend of ours, that you'd gotten over that killing stuff, at least where we were concerned. But it was all an act, wasn't it? You were just waiting for an opportunity, an excuse. And then, you even dragged Ukyou into it." He raised his head and looked straight into her eyes. "It's taken me this long to calm down enough to even talk to you. I've never been this angry in my entire life." Shampoo blinked. "But, Ranma, you know I must kill Akane. She try to stop us from fulfilling destiny. And long ago I give her Kiss of Death. I try be su... sub... subtle for you, since you so cute and squeamish, but end is same. You and Shampoo are married. If Akane try to get in way, I must kill." Ranma took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if praying to some higher power. "Shampoo," he said carefully. "Akane isn't what's keeping us apart. It's you." "Me?" "Look. I'm tired of being put on a pedestal." He sounded rehearsed, as if he had practiced that line for hours without ever quite mastering it. "Put on pedestal?" Shampoo frowned. "What that mean?" "It means... forget it, I'm not going to explain anything to you. I'll make this short." He folded his arms. "Shampoo, the engagement is off." "We no engaged, we married." "Then the marriage is off." He stuck his jaw out belligerently. "As of today, I've made my decision. You and Ukyou and Kodachi, all of you are out of the picture. None of you seem to be able to get it through your heads that I'm not some contest prize, that I have the right to make my own decisions." Shampoo began to see red. Ukyou and Kodachi and herself... that left... "What about that violent girl?" "You stay away from Akane." Ranma's voice was deadly quiet. "If you ever try anything with Akane, I'll kill you." He shook his head as if clearing away cobwebs, then spoke in a more normal tone of voice. "I don't know whether I'm going to marry Akane. That's a decision I'm not ready to make. But I know who I'm not going to marry. You." Shampoo clenched her fists. "You no make fun of Shampoo." "I'm not making fun of you," he said flatly, with perhaps a hint of sympathy. "Look, if you can ever start treating me like a human being and stop trying to kill Akane, we can still be friends." Friends? Cold fury washed over her, and she could feel herself trembling. She had left family and friends, possibly even her career behind her, and he wanted to be friends? Well, she wouldn't give in so easily. There was one weapon she had left, and she wasn't afraid to use it. "Ranma," she growled. "You no do this!" With an energetic flip she flew backwards, landing feet first in the canal. As the change spread upward through her body, she could feel her fury crackling through her skin, making her wet fur bristle, and she grinned inside at the satisfying expressiveness of her cat body. As she leapt back over the fence, she heard Ranma moan in terrified anticipation. He scrabbled backwards at the sight of her, his eyes glazed and pupils dilated. One jump to his chest, a dainty lick on the ear, and he would succumb. She put thought into action. But -- he had closed his eyes. His head was shaking weakly back and forth, tears leaking out from his screwed-shut eyelids, his whole body trembling with fear and effort. His tongue flicked at his lips. "No, Shampoo." His voice cracked. "No." She swished her tail at his nose. "No," he muttered. Her whiskers played across his cheek. "No," he whispered. There was more, so much more she could do, but his determination gave her pause. Was he serious? And if he was serious... The implications staggered her, and in a flash -- her cat body did everything in a flash -- she decided to press her advantage another day. She scampered off in the direction of the Nekohanten, grateful once more for her cat body, for if she had been human, she would have cried. In the safety of her room, she did cry, though silently so that Cologne would not hear. When the tears had ceased their silent progress down her cheeks, she reached up to the shelf of language textbooks over her bed, pulling down her idiomatic dictionary. She had been studying Japanese for less than a year, and had found the book an invaluable tool in understanding the people around her. What had Ranma said? -- He was "tired of being put on a pedestal." Tongue between her teeth, she looked up the word "pedestal." See "on a pedestal." She flipped back a few pages. Hmmm... of English origin, meaning "lovingly honored and cared for; exalted." That didn't sound too bad; Ranma had said it like it was a bad thing. There were a slew of examples; she read them with interest, frowning intently. "In Japan we are so used to work that we can't conceive of life without it. We have placed work on a pedestal. It is our God." "They discovered that their idol had feet of clay, after placing him on a pedestal." Feet of clay? She flipped back some more. "A hidden flaw or weakness in a person which is discovered or shown." The example seemed strange. "The woman finds that her golden-headed god has got an iron body and feet of clay." Iron body described Ranma all right -- what was wrong with that? -- but... She combined the definitions in her head: They discovered that their idol had a hidden flaw or weakness, after lovingly honoring and caring for him. She discovered that Ranma had a hidden flaw or weakness, after lovingly honoring and caring for him.... She has placed Ranma on a pedestal. He is her God..... Realization flooded over her, and she winced. So it was not the honoring, but the fact that it was excessive that was bothersome. Perhaps she should hold back... She stared at the pages of the dictionary, brows knit in thought. Something nagged at her about that description... "Aiya!" she muttered in sudden realization. That was how _Mousse_ treated _her_! She sank back into her bed, shrinking slightly into herself. She couldn't be as pathetic as Mousse. She was a proud warrior of the Joketsuzoku tribe, as near to perfection as humanity came. Mousse was a blind, whining, pathetic *man*. She wasn't like him, not at all. But a little voice inside her whispered in a voice she knew, but couldn't quite identify, There was a faint knock at the door. She glanced into her mirror to make sure there was no trace of her tears. Her face was as flawless as usual. "Come in," she said haughtily. Mousse stood nervously in the doorway. "You've been crying," he stated. "I can tell." Shampoo narrowed her eyes. That was one reason she hated him, he could always read her. Not in battle, nor any time that it took eyesight, but when it came down to the things she truly wanted hidden, her weaknesses, he always saw them. Pathetic fool. Mousse went on. "I know you don't want to talk to me, Shampoo." His voice was as formal as ever, though oddly calm; usually he would be nearly hysterical at this point in the conversation. "I just want you to know that I know what's happened. You're not the only one Ranma had a talk with." He raised his head, glasses shining on his forehead. "Just remember that I am here for you. I love you, Shampoo..." She slammed the door in his face before he could glomp her; he had mastered the Amazon Glomp (tm) nearly as well as she, though luckily he usually missed his target. She sniffed, partly in pride, partly to hold back tears. Pathetic fool, coming to sweep up Ranma's leavings. Well, she would take no consolation prize. The campaign had just begun. * * * The next day, Shampoo showed up at Furinkan High School exactly thirty seconds before the lunch bell rang, carrying the wooden Nekohanten take-out crate with careless ease. Inside, she had placed her own special Pork Ramen, with spring onions and shiitake mushrooms and a perfect heart-shaped strip of seaweed that sank delectably into the broth. During her half-minute of wait, she gave herself a miniature version of the pep talk she had chanted inwardly the entire morning. "Okay, Shampoo," she muttered under her breath. "Treat Ranma normal. Give him food. Don't touch violent girl. You do that, he no hate you." He might fight her; okay. He might yell at her; okay. She could handle these things... The bell rang and she kicked in the wall. Conversations tended to stop whenever Shampoo entered a room; she was used to it by now. Not only was she worth pausing to look at, she really knew how to make an entrance. (With one well-placed kick, of course.) And so the silence Shampoo usually met was a good thing, proof of her superiority. This silence... this silence was different. Expectant. Tense. Fearful -- yet not fear of her, oh no. She sensed that immediately. No, the fear was *for* her. She faced Ranma across the classroom, noting in the corner of her mind that the other students had already clustered into groups at the fringes of the room. The only student still seated was Akane, who was nonchalantly eating rice out of her bento box. Ranma moved to block Shampoo's view of the violent girl, crossing his arms and half-seating himself on a desk. "I thought you might show up today." Ranma's voice was resigned and a little bitter. Shampoo recalled what she had heard about his confrontation with Ukyou, and quailed inside, but pasted a smile on her face and stepped forward. "Of course I come today. Shampoo bring special Pork Ramen for lunch. Is thing wi... uh, *friend* does for *friend*." She winked and opened the box to let the fragrant steam of the soup waft out. She could see Ranma's mouth begin to water, the hunger in his eyes. Oh, yes, her Ranma had feet of clay indeed, and she had the shoes that fit them. Ranma turned away briefly, keeping one eye on the ramen, and muttered something at Akane behind him. Shampoo leaned closer. "... and remember, whatever I say or do, just stay out of it!" "Of course I'll stay out of it," Akane hissed. "Get on with it!" Ranma turned back just in time for Shampoo to hold up a steaming bunch of noodles with her chopsticks. "Say 'ah,' Ranma!" she bubbled. Instead, he held out his hand, palm up. Shampoo slowly looked downwards. There, shining in the fluorescent gleam of the classroom lights, were three silver coins. She blinked. "Ranma, what this?" "It's 700 yen. That's what the ramen costs, isn't it?" Ranma gazed at her steadily. Shampoo felt something crumble inside. "But..." "Is it more?" Ranma pressed. "I haven't looked at the menu in some time, but it was 700 yen last I knew... Here." He pulled another coin out of his pocket and added it to the others. "This should cover the delivery charges." Shampoo's eyes were glued to the coins, and the ramen began to tremble in her hands. "Ranma..." she said softly. "You no have to pay for ramen. Shampoo give to you." Her eyes raised to his, pleading. He shook his head. "Sorry, Shampoo. I can't accept any more free food. Anything you bring me, I'll be paying you for." Shampoo's mind whirled. This was something she hadn't been prepared for. Why didn't he shout? Or fight her? This... this *money* made her feel... cheap. Like she was no warrior, but a mere waitress. Not a loving wife, but a servant... Tears sprang to her eyes, and she didn't bother blinking them away, allowing them to roll fetchingly down her cheeks; here was another weakness of Ranma's, one she had used often. Though her tears had never been quite the same as these... In any case, Ranma would soon be begging her forgiveness, as well he should. She heard the clink of coins as Ranma dropped his handful of change on top of her take-out crate. "I'm sorry, Shampoo," he said firmly. "This is the way it has to be." He folded his arms again and simply watched her. Shampoo looked up at him in anguish, something in her aching at the sight of him, so cold and strong and distant... she thought blearily, then narrowed her tear-filled eyes until Ranma's image was warped and blurred. She hurled the bowl of ramen with blinding speed, not even waiting for it to connect before she was out the hole in the wall, pulling her crate with her. Great-Grandmother would be upset that she had broken the bowl, but she would have plenty of other things to upset her as well. Halfway to the Nekohanten, Shampoo looked down and realized that some of Ranma's change was still sliding around atop the crate, though some had been lost along the way. Shampoo picked up the coins in her fist and threw them as far as she could, then smashed the crate against the nearest lamppost, sinking to the ground. The tears rolled unfettered, and she gave herself over to them, not caring anymore whether her face was blotchy, or her eyes red. That voice in her head was taunting her, telling her how worthless she was. it said, She wrapped her arms around her knees and let her hot tears soak into her satin pants, wondering what she could possibly do now that Ranma, the foundation of her future, was gone. * * * She managed to disguise her broken heart for three weeks before Cologne found out, but discovery was inevitable, despite her best efforts. She continued to fix ramen for Ranma's lunch every day, which she would dump untasted into the canal, or feed to stray dogs. She bounced off for an occasional "date" -- spent alone on a rooftop far from the Nekohanten, far from Furinkan High School, and farthest of all from the Tendo Dojo. She even bought herself the occasional gift with her own pocket money -- a hair comb, a sentimental card, a bit of chocolate. She hid her tears in her room. Even Mousse, for some reason, seemed to sense her need for secrecy -- where once he would have brashly proclaimed himself Shampoo's groom now that he had no rival, instead he simply watched Shampoo, silently, his brown eyes somber and shaded. Or perhaps that was just the effect of his glasses. But Cologne must have sensed that something was wrong, despite Shampoo's best efforts. Shampoo was unaware of the old woman's inquiries until, on her return from a "date" with the roof of the Asahi Bank, she was greeted by a staff blocking her way. "How did your date go?" Cologne asked as silkily as her voice would manage. Shampoo smiled weakly. "Fine, Great-Grandmother." Cologne's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. And son-in-law?" "Ranma fine too." "Ah, yes. He was in excellent health when I spoke to him a short while ago." Shampoo froze. "What you say, great-grandmother?" In a flash Cologne was eye to eye with Shampoo, locking gazes penetratingly. "You were on no date with Ranma. I found him at the Tendo Dojo. He told me that he... broke up... with you some three weeks ago. That it was no use my trying to get you back together, because he would not marry you, much less date you, even if you gave him a deed to Jusenkyou. Is that correct?" Shampoo winced at Ranma's words -- still painful, oh yes. "" she began in Chinese. "Speak Japanese, girl! You cannot function if you do not speak the native language." "I can explain..." Shampoo began again, only to be cut off. "No explanations!" Cologne and her stick were trembling with anger, and Shampoo shrank back slightly. The old woman's yellowed eyes opened slightly, giving Shampoo the sudden impression of madness. "You must marry Ranma! You must kill Akane and take Ranma back! Otherwise, no man in the village will ever marry you. You are the last of our line, child. Without your marriage to Ranma, the line will die out. No man will ever marry a woman who is weak." Shampoo thought, but squelched the thought as it arose. Mousse was no husband fit for her. Mousse annoyed her, with his claims to friendship and love from long ago. Mousse was too weak to defeat her. Mousse was a pathetic fool. No, Great-grandmother was right. She had to marry Ranma. But the thought made her feel empty, as if there were a pit deep inside her and she was falling into the cold blackness. But there was one last problem. "Great-grandmother, he say if I kill Akane, he hate me." "Child, let him hate you. It will not matter in the least. He will marry you, and eventually he will forget Akane and love you. And if he does not -- well, you will have children. Even if his mind resists, his body will still respond to you. Hate is quite the aphrodisiac. Ranma will be yours. All you must do is kill Akane." Shampoo almost said, but I don't want a husband who hates me -- but the look in her elder's eyes silenced her. There was her duty to the village and her family, and to her own future. A Joketsuzoku warrior who bore no children had no status, however well she fought. She closed her eyes and nodded. "All right, Great-grandmother. I kill Akane." "Tonight." The old woman's voice was final and distant. "Tonight," Shampoo agreed. Shampoo heard the old woman's hair rustle, as if in a nod, then the clack of her staff moving away. She kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, picturing herself killing Akane -- running her through with a sword, perhaps, or smashing her head with her bonbori. She envisioned the look of betrayal in Akane's eyes, blood flowing from them like tears as she crumbled. And there, behind her, was Ranma, his eyes unreadable. In her vision, she leaped forward to embrace him, neatly avoiding Akane's bloody corpse. Ranma's body was stiff and unyielding beneath her.... Could he love her then? The Ranma she embraced behind her eyelids slowly tightened his arms around her, embracing her with passion. Yes, perhaps he could, perhaps he would love her, she was strong, she was undefeated -- and yet against her will she envisioned the Ranma that held her so close slowly freeing one arm from the embrace, reaching behind him, grasping a knife, raising it high above her unsuspecting back... She blinked her eyes open, not wanting to see more, and saw a pair of feet close to her own. She snapped her head up, and gazed full into Mousse's face. He was staring at her with something that on anyone else's face would be revulsion. But not on Mousse. Mousse would never look at her like that. And yet she couldn't think of any other emotion that would make him look like that. "So you're going to kill her." His voice was flat and a tiny bit higher than usual, as if were repressing something. "I must kill Akane," she said dully, turning her head away from that incomprehensible look on his face. "No man marry me if I am weak..." Mousse cut her off, grabbing her shoulders. "I heard what Cologne said," he hissed at her averted face. "Don't repeat it for me. Are you going to kill her?" Shampoo remained silent. He shook her slightly. "Shampoo, answer me!" he gritted through his teeth. She wrenched herself away from his grasp, drawing herself up a few feet away. "Leave me alone! What I do no business of yours!" "You are going to kill her." There was faint disbelief in the statement, and a tinge of that thing that was not revulsion, not disgust, not from Mousse. Shampoo stared resolutely away from him, folding her arms in defiance. He was silent, oppressively silent. Too silent. After a while, Shampoo relented and turned to look at him. His fists were clenched by his side, nearly concealed by his dangling sleeves; his face was rigid, jaw clenched. He stared at her as if at an insect, one rare and unseen and ultimately revolting. When her eyes met his, he shook his head, and the look was gone. He whirled, his robes swinging heavily, and stalked through the doorway. Just before he vanished, he turned and looked over his shoulder -- and now she saw that the rigidness was gone, and tears were flowing down his face. "I thought better of you," he said in a voice like breaking ice, and was gone. * * * Shampoo crouched behind a rock in the Tendo garden, carefully watching the house. She had chosen her curved sword after all, and its weight at her hip felt as if it was dragging her down into the earth. She had watched, unseen, as the family ate their dinner, one or the other Saotome occasionally flying out to splash into the pond. It felt odd to watch them going about their normal life, unaware of her malevolent presence even when they passed within yards of her. Ranma at the very least should have sensed danger, should have known of a presence bent on harm, but he seemed completely at ease, glancing around unconcernedly after each dunking, then returning to the house, Shampoo's eyes hungrily following him. She could not risk a direct attack. A direct attack would only cause a ruckus she could not afford. No, she would creep into Akane's room when the family was asleep and silently slit her throat. She hated to sneak about like this -- she preferred open warfare -- but she could not risk Ranma discovering the battle; he would join in on Akane's side, and Shampoo would lose. And she could not afford to lose. Not this time. The last light in the house flicked off -- Nabiki's room -- and Shampoo checked her sword yet again. Razor sharp. It had to be -- there could be no noise. Only death. She waited a safe time, then scaled to Akane's window. It was unlocked; she slipped in, eyes fixed on the dark shape in the bed, rumpled hair barely peeking out from under the covers. The carpet was rough under her bare feet -- bare for silence -- and she took one step, two steps, estimating the location of the neck, raising her sword... and pausing. Her arms were quivering, tears were beginning to run down her face. Why could she not kill Akane, her enemy, the only thing standing between her and her love? Her inner voice taunted her weakness, and she recognized it as the voice of her great-grandmother. she exhorted herself, and tensed to begin her swing. "Don't even think about it." The voice came from the bed, but it was not Akane's. In horror, she watched as the covers slid back to reveal Ranma, his eyes narrowed into black slits that the moonlight could not touch. She shrank back, the sword falling from nerveless fingers to thunk heavily on the carpet. "Ranma... how...?" She backed against the desk, feeling it hard against her legs. He knew. He knew she was coming, and now he would kill her. She had failed. Meanwhile, he had picked up the sword, and was studying it intently, shifting it so that the moonlight glinted off the blade like ice. "You tried to kill me with this once," he said reflectively. He touched his fingertip to the edge, then held it up to the moonlight, the drop of blood black as his eyes. "I always wondered how sharp it would be." There was a flurry of movement, and he was standing close to her, leaning over her, pressing her into the desk. The blade was a hairsbreadth from her throat, his eyes pierced into hers. "I told you I would kill you if you tried anything with Akane. I should kill you now." His voice was almost conversational, and she could not look away, she could not breathe for fear of the blade. His body was pressed against hers, thigh and stomach and chest, warm and solid and not hers. That thought made her close her eyes in pain, and she decided to take care of things for him. Just move her head forward a few inches, quickly, and it would be over. Over. But before she could move, the sword was gone, and he was feet away from her again. She touched her throat, gingerly. Not a scratch. He looked at her with those dark, dark eyes, and turned away, walking to the door. As he opened it, he turned back. She recalled Mousse doing much the same thing earlier that day, and his words echoed in her mind. He had thought better of her. Ranma was silent as he looked at her and slipped out the door, but she thought perhaps he had thought better of her too. That night, after a shameful confrontation with Cologne, she went out into the night to think. Ranma had known. How? She had been absent from his life for long enough to breed complacency, he should have been at ease. But he had been waiting for her. She stared at the rooftops of Tokyo, so unlike the skyline of her home village, and thought. A sound behind hr made her turn, and she saw Mousse, his stance apologetic. Apologetic. She whirled and stood, hands unconsciously fisting at her sides. "You warned them." "Yes, I did." Mousse's voice was defiant and proud, unlike any she had ever heard from him. "I could not let you kill Akane." "Why not? Is law. You must follow law too." "But in this case, the law is wrong. It is wrong for you to kill Akane." Shampoo lunged at him; he stepped aside, barely evading her. "Mousse, you hy... hippo... you mad at Shampoo for doing same thing you always do! You mad Shampoo try kill Akane, but you always try kill Ranma! You just want Shampoo no have Ranma." She threw a series of punches and kicks that he barely dodged, leaping to a nearby chimney and looking down at her. "That's true, I don't want you and Ranma to get together. Akane does keep you apart. But it's been a long time since I actually tried to kill Ranma. I wanted him dead at first -- and even now, I wouldn't be too upset if he died. But mostly I wanted to beat him. I wanted the law to be on my side." "Shampoo not marry you, even if you beat Ranma!" "I know," he sighed, then leaped down to a ready stance not too far away from her. "Beating Ranma would never be enough for you. It would never prove it for you. The only way to prove my worth is to defeat you in combat. Because you don't really think Ranma is better than you. You don't think any man could be better than you." He deepened his stance, then suddenly lashed out with his chains. Shampoo somersaulted over them, one winging her leg; she turned her leap into a kick at his head. He ducked and swung some sort of weapon in the direction of her landing; it crashed into her arm, but she connected at the same time, heel smashing into the side of his head. He reeled, and would have fallen from the roof but for the weight of the chains he had flung. He gestured, and with a click the chains retracted into his sleeves like a tape measure. He flung them at Shampoo again, faster than she'd ever seen him move. This time her response was slower, and he almost entangled her, but she clawed her way free and leaped over his head, landing a wild kick on his shoulder, expecting him to retract his chains again. But instead he whipped one of them around in a wide circle, and it impacted against her side, knocking the breath out of her, then wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She fell to her knees, and the two of them were silent under the moon, panting in the aftermath of battle. He had beaten her. Mousse had beaten Shampoo. She could not absorb that into her head, it kept dancing around just out of reach, taunting her. She had been defeated, and so easily. Had he been holding back against her? Or had she lost some of her edge in the confrontation with Ranma? It must be the latter, Mousse would never beat her in a fair fight. And yet, she could not look at him. Any moment now, he would proclaim his victory. Any moment now... When he didn't, she spoke up in a small voice. "You beat me, Mousse." Her voice was not her own, it was weak, the voice of a beaten girl. "You have right to be husband now." When he still remained silent, she raised her head. He was looking at her with something between shock and elation. His eyes were wide, and his breathing still labored as he visibly questioned the reality of the situation. Then he blinked, and the joy was replaced with anguish. He shook his hands, and the chain around her loosened, then drew away into his sleeves. "No, Shampoo," he said softly. "Not this way. Not through duty, or laws, or shame. I don't want you like this." With that, he was gone, leaving Shampoo feeling like the abandoned shell of a cicada, fragile and empty. * * * The months passed with a relentless cycle that even Shampoo began to grow sick of. She would avoid Ranma and Akane for as long as she could, until Cologne browbeat her into another attack, which would invariably fail. Sometimes Mousse would warn them; sometimes she caught them unawares, but was defeated anyhow. For some reason, Ranma had stopped looking at her with hate when she had been defeated, but with pity. She hated his pity. She hated him, now. She didn't even want to marry him anymore. But Cologne stood behind her, prodding her, lambasting her when she neglected her duty to the family. Mousse was always present, yet distant. There were no more battles, though she suspected he had been doing some training with Ranma; he would arrive home some days sweaty and frustrated and yet somehow smug. During meals and after work, he would speak with her about inconsequential things, or sit silently reading across the table from her. And after each defeat he would sit with her outside, silent, never pleading with her to stop, or to marry him. She found herself wanting him to stop her, wanting him to grab her from behind as she set off on each mission, but he simply watched her silently, when he knew, and (she presumed) made his phone call to the Tendo Dojo. Once she lingered, hiding on the roof above the kitchen, and heard his voice on one of the phone calls. "She's coming again," he had said simply, then hung up. She silently thanked him for making the phone calls, and after a while it became a silent contract between them -- she would let him see her preparations, he would see her off, almost like a husband seeing her off to battle. Months stretched into years; Akane and Ranma graduated, then went off to college. Shampoo stayed behind. Upon their return from the first year, they announced their engagement, the real one. Shampoo heard some customers in the Nekohanten discussing it. She calmly gave them their ramen, went upstairs, and within minutes was tearing down the road towards the dojo, carrying every weapon she owned. She leaped over the wall, burst through the door -- and stared at Ranma and Akane, leaning tenderly against each other as they watched television. They sprang apart and into combat stances as she entered, but she had seen, and didn't even bother to attack. She simply stood there, staring, then bowed her head. "Congratulations," she said softly, then retraced her steps at top speed, ending up on the banks of the river. She threw her weapons aside, and stilled at the sound of footsteps behind her, somehow expected. Mousse. She flung herself at him, the tears soaking his robes as she clung and wept, for something she had lost long ago. "Be careful," he said when she was almost finished. "You'll rust my chains." * * * Shampoo hung up the Nekohanten phone, a queer shivery sensation lodged just under her ribcage. It was over. She stared at her hand, gripping the phone so calmly, as if it hadn't yet realized what had happened -- or perhaps it was numb, but that was hard to believe. She should be shaking with rage and loss now, shouldn't she? She should be flooded with anger, misery, revenge -- but she was not. She unfocused her eyes and focused inwards, on that shiver in the pit of her stomach, and with a sense of surprise she realized it was relief. "Shampoo?" Her great-grandmother's voice creaked behind her like an ancient door closing. "Is there a take-out order?" "No, Great-Grandmother. That was Ranma." Shampoo felt a certain anticipation inside and noticed that her voice held an unusual ring that she couldn't quite identify. "Ah, Son-in-law." Cologne eyed Shampoo speculatively. "Has he come to his senses, then? You sound happy." Happy. Was she happy? A smile crept across Shampoo's face as she realized that yes, she was. The weight of tradition that had oppressed her for so long was now on her side. Shampoo tilted her head proudly as she gazed steadily into the piercing light of her great-grandmother's eyes. "" She spoke in Chinese, adding to her defiance, but for once Cologne was silent. Shampoo seized her advantage and went on. "" The blow on her head took her completely by surprise, but she stood up straighter and locked gazes with Cologne, whose wizened face, normally a mask of calmness, was contorted in fury. "" the old woman spat, punctuating her words with a blow to the chin that sent Shampoo sprawling. "" Shampoo lifted herself up on her elbows, rubbing her jaw with careful, trembling fingers. "" she said painfully. "" She rose to her feet, refusing to wince at the pain of new bruises. "" A lopsided, painful grin split her face. "" Shampoo braced herself for another blow, one that would break bones, but it never fell. Cologne watched her steadily, the only movement the whisper of her long white hair in the autumn breeze that swept in the door, and a peculiar tic in the muscles of her cheek. Besides that small, barely perceptible movement, her face was a mask once more, and after a moment she spoke in a soft voice like rustling leaves. "" A humorless smile washed over her wrinkled face. "" "" Shampoo glared down her nose at the shriveled woman, the woman who had trained her. "" "" Cologne hopped off, the clack of her stick echoing in the silent kitchen. As it faded away, Shampoo sank to her knees. To have disappointed her elder so, to have made an enemy of her -- that was not wise. Shampoo was beset by a memory of riding on her Great-Grandmother's back as she hopped along on that stick of hers, teaching her from her earliest days nuances of balance and attitude that would make Shampoo one of the greatest fighters in the tribe. Her elder's dry, thin laughter mingled with her own childish giggles. There had always been a bond between them, beyond the bond of duty. It would take time to mend -- but mend it she would, for she could not help but respect and love her great-grandmother. She simply didn't agree with her. And Shampoo was no longer a sixteen-year-old girl, to follow blindly; she was ready to lead... but... Was Cologne right? Was she weak, unfit for command? She wrapped her arms around her knees. She had been full of brave words, but deep inside, her great-grandmother's censure scared her. , her inner voice derided her. "Great-Grandmother finds that her golden-headed goddess has got an iron body and feet of clay." She whispered the Japanese words to the air, bitterly, and was surprised to hear a voice answering her, low and intense. "'It is the feet of clay that make the gold of the image precious.'" Mousse stepped out of the shadows of the kitchen, raising his head slowly. "Mousse!" Shampoo's hands flew to her chin, her bruised arm. "How long you been there?" "Long enough. I heard you talking with the mummy." "Oh." Shampoo felt her face turning red, then tried to change the subject. "What that you say just now? You make that up?" "I... no. I was quoting an author, from Ireland, I think. Oscar Wilde." Mousse slowly approached Shampoo, kneeling beside her and tilting her chin up with his fingers to assess the purple swelling. "I read a Japanese translation of it last month. It means that weaknesses only make you more lovely." Shampoo swallowed, her stomach fluttering. "Oh," she repeated, wincing as his fingers found a particularly tender spot. "That man Wilde, he very romantic." She concentrated on Mousse's cheek, avoiding his eyes. "I suppose he is." Mousse's voice was hoarse. "We should get some ice on your chin, before it gets any worse." "Okay." Neither of them moved. Shampoo had finally met his eyes, distorted by his glasses, and all she could think of was taking them off, just to see... She did, watching in fascination the way he blinked at the change of focus. "Shampoo, why did you do that? Now I can't see you." His voice was still low, with nothing of the whine he had once used. That had changed, at the very least... Something else had too, she realized as she slid the hand holding his glasses behind his neck. "" His lips were soft and shy under her own for several seconds, then his arms came around her and the shyness slipped away. Shampoo felt tears coursing down her cheeks as she pressed him close. Yes, she would choose her own life and her own love. And now, at last, her choice was clear. She thought she heard the clack of her great-grandmother's stick, but when at last she opened her eyes, nobody was there but Mousse, his eyes blank and awed. Shampoo reached up one hand to cup his cheek, and he shook himself, attempting to focus on her face. Shyly, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on her stinging chin, then hesitated before briefly kissing her lips again. "You're crying," he said quietly. "Yes," Shampoo replied. "Are you unhappy? I can go." "Oh, no," she said shakily. "Don't go." She swallowed softly, then enfolded him in her arms. "I love you, Mousse," she whispered in his ear. "I know," he said, his breath tickling her hair. "I knew it all along." * * * Looking back, Shampoo was surprised anew at her great- grandmother's lack of response. She and Mousse had prepared for battle, confronting Cologne in the Nekohanten kitchen, but the old woman had simply looked at them, perched birdlike on her gnarled staff, then shrugged. "So that is how it is to be," she had said in an enigmatic tone of voice, then gone back to preparing broth for the next day's ramen business. Shampoo had felt rather lost, after the amount of mental preparation she had gone through, but she wasn't complaining. Retiring to the privacy of Mousse's garret room was much more fun than a hopeless fight against the greatest warrior of the amazons. Shampoo smiled secretly, remembering. Mousse had insisted that they wait until their wedding night for the actual consummation of their marriage, but they had managed to occupy themselves quite well anyhow with just about everything else. Shampoo considered it shock treatment for poor Mousse's nervousness; after what they had done, he no longer babbled like a fool in her presence, though he did tend to turn red in the face when they were in public. Particularly if Shampoo happened to mention chocolate syrup, whipped cream, or rubber spatulas. Shampoo bared her teeth at the mirror. Oh, yes, she was ready for the wedding feast. Speaking of which... she frowned at the reflection of her Hello Kitty clock in the mirror. Mousse was late. He was supposed to have been at her hut fifteen minutes ago, to formally beg admittance. Then they would walk together to the hall where the Council of Elders awaited them. It would take only a declaration before them and a simple ceremony, and they would be wed. The Joketsuzoku firmly believed in getting to the celebration as quickly as possible. He would never have run out on her, she thought complacently. He must be fussing over his robes, polishing his glasses, stocking up his sleeves with accessories for their wedding night (she hoped he didn't forget the egg-beater)... He would surely arrive soon. Twenty minutes later, she was ready to strangle him with his own chains. Looking good for his wife was one thing, but how long did he intend to primp? Men. She sniffed and went to her door. She had waited for this day long enough. The feast was done cooking, for the most part, and the rich scents of festival cuisine teased her nose as she stalked across the plaza where Mousse lived with his mother -- or would live, until tonight. His mother was helping with the feast, arranging garlands of flowers around a roast boar; she waved at Shampoo, who smiled just enough not to offend and continued on her way. Cologne was nowhere to be seen, probably in the Council Hall with the rest of the Elders. Another villager called out to her exuberantly. "" Shampoo caught her breath, then relaxed. None but Cologne knew of Mousse's curse just yet, and on the old woman's advice they would keep it that way for a while, to save him face. She answered in a light tone. "" She laughed with the villager, then stalked up to the door of Mousse's hut, knocking imperiously. There was no answer. Odd. She opened the door and stepped in. The interior was cluttered, though on a second glance there was a certain organization to it. One corner held edged weapons, another one a selection of Mousse's more unusual tools. The walls were hung with chains, their ends bedecked with hooks and knives and spiked balls. Shelves along one wall held bowling balls, commemorative statuettes of Liberty, anvils, egg cartons, back issues of Popular Mechanics, Mousse's throwing knives, and spare pairs of glasses. The room was filled to the brim with Mousse's possessions. But no Mousse. Shampoo peeked out the back door, then smiled indulgently. There were Mousse's celebratory clothes, in a damp heap on the ground. Nearby was a child's watergun, empty. A child's prank, no more. She gathered up the robes -- much heavier than they looked -- and was about to go in search of her husband-to-be when a gleam in the grass caught her eye. She bent and picked up the object -- a jade pendant, hung from a gold chain. She puzzled over it for a moment, then smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. It was a stretching cat, at once sensuous and aloof. Her fingers stroked the smooth lines of the carving. Mousse must have meant it as her wedding gift, a surprise. She slipped the chain over her neck, the chill of the gold a fine thread on the nape of her neck, then tucked the pendant inside so that it hung, cool and smooth, between her breasts. She would return it to him once she turned him back, then let him give it to her himself. After she punished him for making her wait, of course... The clothes bundled in her arms, she skipped back to where the feast was beginning to cool. Children were gazing longingly at the heavily-laden tables, and Mousse's mother hurried up to her. "" "" "" The thin woman smiled."" She blinked at Shampoo's armload. "" "" Shampoo said quickly. "" "" "" "" Mousse's mother began to walk along the table. "" Shampoo froze, feeling Mousse's robes slip from her nerveless fingers. No. She refused to believe what she was seeing. Mousse's mother's voice rang hideously in Shampoo's ears as she stared and stared. "" The voice faded slowly, echoing as if in a tomb, as Shampoo felt herself falling, falling into a blackness thick as velvet. * * * Voices crept into her bruised consciousness like maggots, squirming across her raw nerves. She tried to dive back into the darkness, so blessedly cool, but the voices insisted that she listen. "" said a dry, brittle voice like autumn leaves, falling and crackling underfoot. "" "" The reply was edged with shrillness, like a reed whistle. Shampoo wanted to say, no, Great-Grandmother counseled us to wait, she said it would smooth the way if we were wed first. But her mouth was numb and thick, and she could only swim a tiny bit closer to the light, her arms heavy and dull as clay. As she approached, she began to hear a faint sound underlying the conversation, the sound of a woman weeping. Why are you weeping? she asked the dimness, but there was no answer. The first voice spoke again, like the crunch of breaking bones. "" The second voice may have spoken, but Shampoo did not hear it, for it was drowned out by a scream, raw and tortured. As her eyes blinked open to the noonday light, her sore throat told her that the scream was her own. Her gaze fell first on Cologne, balanced like a vulture on her staff, looking down at her with compassion and grief and thinly masked triumph. With a wrenching turn of her head, Shampoo saw the source of the weeping, Mousse's mother, rocking back and forth as she clutched to her the plucked, naked body of a bird. Her son, Shampoo realized anew. My husband. My love. In a flash, she knew what had happened. No child's prank, no accident. A shriek rose from the core of her being, and she lunged for Cologne. Cologne, who had raised her. Cologne, her beloved great-grandmother. Cologne, the murderer of her love. Her hands, poised to crush the old woman's windpipe, closed instead on empty air -- but somewhere within her something snapped, and with catlike instinct she whirled in a blind kick that, miraculously, connected with the old woman's chin. Cologne somersaulted in mid-air to a perfect landing on her staff, then bounced high in counterattack. Shampoo leapt in pursuit, faster than she had ever been. Her hands grasped the ends of the old woman's long hair, tangling in the strands as fine as spider's silk, and she pulled, snarling. Cologne came flying towards her, turning as she came, and Shampoo reached out both hands for vengeance... The tip of Cologne's staff impacted on her chest, and Shampoo froze instinctively. That was one of many paralysis pressure points, and she knew that she should have been unable to move. Yet she watched her own hands clawing at Cologne's throat, missing by a fraction of a hair as the old woman pushed off, catapulting away from her. As Shampoo rolled to a landing on the buffet table and sprang forward again, a corner of her mind laughed in maniacal glee. For in place of the precise pressure of Cologne's staff, there had been a diffuse, cool sensation, the chill hardness of jade. Mousse's final gift to her: a chance at revenge. Yet it was wasted, for as she leapt, she realized that Cologne had abandoned the aerial attack, rolling under Shampoo's airborne feet to lash out from behind. Though Shampoo modified her trajectory and twisted in midair, she knew it was too late as she felt the point of the staff in the small of her back. she cried inwardly as she fell. She landed face-first in a platter of noodles that seemed to writhe like worms, unable to even turn her head away. The fetid stench of meat filled her nostrils, nauseating, rotten. Hands rolled her onto the ground, brushing at her cruelly. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes, but they were frozen open, and she was assailed by a montage of villager faces, expressions ranging from sympathy to horror in one moment, leering like demons in another. Then they all vanished and she was staring into the clear blue autumn sky, tears trickling down the sides of her face as she realized that the sky was nothing like Mousse's eyes. Then that circle of sky was filled with the dark shape of Cologne, her chin beginning to swell and purple. She stared at Shampoo for a long moment, her face unreadable. Mousse would have called her an old mummy, and Shampoo thought it for him, glaring as best she could through frozen eyelids. Cologne's head blotted out the sun. The bereaved mother's wails could still be heard, an eerie background to the old woman's silence. Finally Cologne spoke, staring straight at Shampoo though she addressed the villagers, out of her circle of vision. "" As hands took hold of Shampoo's frozen arms and legs, the old woman added as an afterthought, "" The hands on Shampoo were those of demons; her vision shook and swayed as she was carried -- one moment she saw the icy blue of the sky, then the distant tops of trees... an upside-down glimpse of Mousse's mother, still keening and rocking, keening and rocking... Cologne's shriveled figure rising and falling in slow motion... and then the dimness of the hut opening before her like the maw of a great beast. Shampoo felt herself screaming through frozen lips as she was swallowed up, consumed, devoured... * * * She lay on a bed, the scent of scattered flower petals mingling with the stink of food that lingered in her hair. The demons who had carried her were slipping out the door, muttering in subdued voices, jabbering at the feast denied them. Shampoo could not move as the ghoul came closer, red eyes gleaming like the setting sun. The ghoul's hand reached out to torment her, to rend her to shreds. Instead it stroked at her sticky hair, gently, wearing away at her sanity like water wearing down a stone. Shampoo would have flinched away from that soft reptilian pressure if she could, but she was no longer in control of her own body. "" the ghoul hissed in false pity. "" The hand moved away, and Shampoo heard a splashing close to her ear. Moments later she felt the ghoul's scaly hands tugging at her stained clothing, stripping it away, leaving her naked but for the pendant about her neck. The ghoul took notice of this and leaned in, claws clutching at Shampoo's treasure. "" the ghoul whispered, mocking her; Shampoo could not answer of course, and the ghoul apparently had no need of it. "" The claws turned it over and over; Shampoo expected the ghoul to rip it from her neck, but instead it placed it on her breastbone, the jade warmed by the infernal heat of the ghoul's hands, which arranged the chain carefully into a precise V. There was the sound of splashing again. Then the leer of the ghoul as warmth spread over Shampoo's body in long strokes, sponging away the dirt while Shampoo glared her hatred. The cleansing went on for long moments before the ghoul spoke again. "" Shampoo thought grimly. She knew better than to trust a demon disguised as a loved one. Even if it could somehow simulate tears. "" the ghoul continued. "" Another pause, feigning respect. "" There was a long moment of silence, then a final splash as the ghoul abandoned her sponge. "" the ghoul said softly, toweling Shampoo off. "" The ghoul's voice broke, and in the silence it met Shampoo's gaze of defiance with red-rimmed eyes. "" With that, the ghoul gently pulled a quilt up over Shampoo's body, encasing her in smothering warmth. The ghoul turned and left. Shampoo still could not move. * * * Time passed in a state between waking and dreaming -- Shampoo knew not when she slept or woke; sometimes it was light, sometimes dark, but there was no relationship between the two. The ghoul was always there. Always. It watched her from the shadows, cleaned her and trickled warm vegetable broth into Shampoo's slack mouth. Shampoo waited for her chance to kill. Sometimes the ghoul would release her from her paralysis for a few moments. Each time, Shampoo would lunge for the hag, her long nails scratching at eyes; each time, she was plunged back into paralysis by the ghoul's sorcery. Finally, the ghoul sighed. "" And so Shampoo was wrapped in a tight white robe that cinched her arms to her waist, three times a day, and the ghoul would try to force food down her throat. Horrendous food. Rotting meat, stinking fish, putrid eggs. Shampoo would not open her mouth for these. Once or twice the ghoul caught her by surprise, stuffing a hunk of maggoty meat in her mouth as Shampoo screamed out her hatred, but the taste of meat, the sinewy texture, made her think of Mousse, plucked and broken, and she vomited it up. Vegetables she could eat, and fruits. The ghoul stopped presenting her with meat at all, and Shampoo gloated inwardly. She was winning. After meals, the ghoul would paralyze her again, dress her in warm clothing, and bring her out to the nearby river, carrying her on its stooped back. The rise and fall of their progree sickened Shampoo. The ghoul would set her on a blanket, leaning up against a tree, and leave her to look out at the river. Never for long, though Shampoo felt no discomfort. Sometimes she would hear the flapping of wings and she would dart her eyes around looking for Mousse -- but it was always a pheasant, or a nightingale, never a duck. Mousse visited her sometimes. Shampoo would look over the ghoul's hated shoulder, and there he would stand. He never spoke, he simply stared at her sadly. Sometimes he would rot before her eyes, falling in a heap of bones to be eaten by worms. Sometimes Shampoo would gaze into the fire and see him there, turning on a spit, his dear brown eyes pleading with her as the sweet flesh crisped from his bones. Sometimes the spitted Mousse was a duck, sometimes a human, but the eyes were always there, even when there was nothing else left. He came to her in her bed, remembered caresses turning cruel; he hovered just out of reach. She could not even try to reach him; her arms were bound. It seemed like an eternity; perhaps it was. The breezes that came in the door warmed, then cooled, then began to warm again. A day came when the ghoul did not visit her, did not feed her. Instead, Shampoo was all alone with Mousse... He sat by her bedside, cool hand stroking her forehead, whispering something that she could not hear. It was dark when the ghoul reappeared, looming above them in the cool spring night. Mousse vanished like mist, and the ghoul spoke. "" The ghoul waited, then sighed. "" The ghoul held up a small wooden cask, then broke the seal on the top, flinging the contents at Shampoo, who could not flinch as the cold water struck her. Something should have happened. She knew that. But there was nothing but the clamminess of water seeping into her bedding, and the ghoul staring at her unreadably, then hopping away. * * * Days and nights passed, how many Shampoo did not know or care. She watched the ghoul, waiting for her opportunity. She had noticed that the ghoul always used the same point on her back to work its evil magic. She waited, then began to shift her back to the side, slightly, imperceptibly, as the ghoul struck. It took many nights before the desired result was achieved. A slight shift to the right, and the paralysis magic did not work. Shampoo stiffened as if it had, moving not a muscle as the ghoul stripped her of her bindings and put her to bed. She would wait for an unguarded moment, then strike. The ghoul turned from her, pulling a piece of paper out of its robe and staring at it a long moment. Shampoo feigned sleep, watching under half-closed lids. The ghoul huddled by the fire, muttering to itself. "" For a moment Shampoo's eyes cleared, and she saw the ghoul as a lonely old woman, bent and broken before the fireplace. She wondered in that moment of clarity why there were no visitors at their hut, why Cologne never seemed to have duties to fulfill. But then the bowed head turned towards Shampoo, and it was the ghoul again. "" The ghoul placed the paper in the fireplace, then hopped from the room, out into the darkness of night. At the door, it turned and stared unreadably at Shampoo. "" it whispered, then was gone. Shampoo tried to leap from the bed, but her muscles were weaker than she expected, and she fell to the ground, scrabbling ignominiously to the fireside. Her hands snatched at the smoldering paper, beating at it until the blackness stopped spreading across it. She was almost too late. Almost every word was gone, but she could make out a bit here and there. "Dear Shampoo..." --ah yes, it was indeed hers -- "... ho... reunion.... une 25 at the Saotome Do.... Please... love to..." The rest was obliterated, except for a single name, surrounded by blackness at the bottom of the page. Ranma. Shampoo stood shakily and wavered over to the trunk in the corner, her muscles growing steadier with each step. There beneath the hated white jacket, beneath her everyday clothing -- the gleam of red satin. Her wedding robes, cleaned and folded away. She donned them carefully, fastening the frogs of the bodice over the jade pendant that still hung coolly about her neck. The robes were loose. She stood before the mirror, winding pearls into her hair by the light of the moon and the fire. She saw Mousse in the mirror as she finished, his brown eyes full of anguish. She turned her face away. Pathetic fool. She gazed at herself in the mirror -- sunken cheekbones, papery skin, long thin hair. Flawless as usual. She thought she heard the ghoul's staff, but she had more important things to do now. She climbed carefully out the window and fled into the night. "Ranma, I coming!" But as her feet soaked up the dew of the summer night, a tiny part of her wondered if this wasn't exactly what the ghoul had wanted all along.