Authors new notes:

This is the revised Yen Town, polished up and smoothened out.
I'm posting parts 1-3 today, and 4 and 5 tomorrow (just in
case someone complains about mega-dumping chunks of posted
fanfics again, grumble grumble) hopefully along with part 6, 
which is currently in yet another stage of complete rewrite.

Note all the fuss I make about this fic. I ought to fuss, this
is my life philosophy we're talking about here.

I promise to update my page to include the later parts. Honest.

Well, here goes my experimental writing project.

NOTE: This fanfic, aside from drawing on various anime sources, 
is loosely (very loosely) based on the Japanese Movie 
'Swallowtail' which featured the J-pop star Chara. Therefore, 
credit is due to Swallowtail productions, and I don't claim any 
rights to the concept, name, or characters. 

Also, this is not your average TimeRunner fanfic. Be prepared to 
find elements in this story which are not generally associated 
with my writing. This is not a very happy fic, but neither is it 
a dark fic, either. Anyway, you'll see what I mean. 

Proper mood music for this series would be anything from Key, 
The Metal Idol, especially the opening track, [In The Night]. 

Nothing from the Ranma Series will work.

On with the show.

=====

	The little girl with the pigtails and coveralls stood on 
top of the building, on the edge. She stared at the city below, 
her new home ever since her father decided to move here with his 
friend. The buildings around her were bathed in the setting 
sun's light, some glinting, some not.
	"Someday," she said to her companion, a brown-haired 
little boy whom she just met, "I'm gonna be rich, and all of 
these big buildings will be mine!"
	"Okay," the boy answered, "if you do that, then I'll do 
that too!"
	"You can't do that!" she exclaimed. "We can't both own the 
same buildings!"
	"Why not?" the boy asked. "Can't we share or something?"
	"I guess," she answered. "You know how I'm gonna do it?"
	"How?"
	"Easy," she said, "I'm gonna make a lot of rich friends, 
and I'm gonna make them buy it for me!" She giggled. "What about 
you?"
	"Me? Um, I never really thought about it. Uh, I'll 
probably do the same thing."
	"You can't do that!" she said again. "If we have the same 
friends, then they'll run out of money, and they won't be able 
to buy all of the buildings!"
	"They don't have to buy them twice!" the boy answered. 
"All they have to do is buy half for you, half for me, and we'll 
just share!"
	"I guess you're right," she said.
	"I am right!" the boy exclaimed. "In fact, I'm so right 
that I'm willing to pinky-swear on it, if you will, too." He 
stuck out his right pinky. "Yubikiri?"
	She stared at the finger for a moment, and then she 
wrapped her own pinky around it. "Yubikiri," she said, smiling. 
She let go, and went back to staring at the city.
	The boy sat down on the floor, and leaned against the 
stairway door, popping a stick of gum into his mouth. After a 
while, he said, "You don't think we could REALLY do that, could 
we, Nabiki?"
	Nabiki turned back to look at the boy. "Mitsuru, you're 
stupid."

*****


	Once upon a time, there was a town in which the yen was 
all-powerful. It was illegal to possess it, and yet, owning yen 
promised unlimited wealth by some mysterious means, and so 
people kept trying to get some for themselves. For this reason, 
outsiders called the town 'Yen Town'. The residents of the city 
who didn't join the mad quest for the yen saw the name as a term 
of derision, and called those who sought the yen by the same 
name. It was an odd thing, that the town, and the people that 
lived in it were both called�



Y e n  T o w n

A Limited Fanfic Series



All characters contained within are property of their owners, 
and are being used without consent, for non-profit purposes.

*****
Chapter One

	Ten years later�

	Nabiki arrived home from school. She opened the old 
sliding door and went straight for her room, tossing her bag 
onto the bed. She reached into her pocket and took out the day's 
earnings.
	"Ten, twenty, thirty, forty-five dollars and seventy-two 
cents. Not bad." She placed it all in a small lacquered box on 
her dresser. She went to the kitchen and fixed herself some 
instant noodles. As she ate at the small central dining table, 
she stared at the empty kitchen sadly. She then simply sighed, 
and continued to eat.
	After a few moments, she suddenly said, out loud, "It's 
quiet."

	No one answered.

	Like anyone would answer, she thought. It had been a year 
since Kasumi got married and left. Soon after that, her father 
and Mr. Saotome disappeared with Akane and Ranma, leaving a note 
that said something about 'training'. And now, no one else is 
around, and I have to fend for myself�
	Anyone else would have broken down and cried. Anyone else 
would have given up and left, to look for the others. Anyone 
else would have lain down and died.
	But Nabiki simply shrugged, and ate the rest of her ramen.



	Mitsuru sat on the park bench, watching the people go by. 
He sighed to himself. Temple. I have to go back to Koryu Temple. 
I should just give this stupid dream up and take over the temple 
from my father.
	He leaned back and traced the city skyline with his eyes. 
Even inside the pack, the din of traffic and commuters and 
pedestrians and peddlers and panhandlers and beggars rang 
incessantly, grating, pounding, gnawing at him, driving him 
insane with every rumble, every step, every pitch, every single 
appeal to his sympathy.
	He had everything going for him. He was the desire of 
every female and the idol of every male high school student in 
the entire town, and some of the college ones as well. Gifts and 
praise were constantly showered on him by most everyone he met.
	And yet, Dorm President Ikeda Mitsuru simply leaned back, 
on a dusty old park bench, heaved a sigh, and said�
	"I'm tired."


	The sound of water dripping rang throughout the house. A 
pile of empty noodle cups not quite blocked the path of the 
water, allowing it to strike the unwashed pots and pans sitting 
in a shallow scum-crusted bath in the sink.
	A toppled pile of coins lay, partially on the dresser, 
partially on the floor below. The top coin was wet with that 
ring of water a cold glass always left on a wooden table.
	Nabiki lay in her futon, her right hand gripping the 
yellow sports towel she had used after her nightly exercise. 
Although the night air was bitingly cold outside, beads of sweat 
still formed on her arms, legs, and brow.
	She shivered.


	Mitsuru shivered.
	Breath forming fleeting clouds in the night air, he pulled 
up his jacket collar above his neck, tucked his hands in the 
pockets, and began to walk home.
	It was staring at him, this building. Every glass window 
an eye, glaring at him, mocking him, as if eyeing his dream, 
eyeing his delusion. There was no way to succeed in this town, 
there was no way to succeed and remain sane. There was no way to 
stay sane without going insane.
	He glared back at the skyscraper.
	You can't beat me, you can't knock me down. Success is not 
defined by how far up the floor your office is on is. He turned 
his eyes up, to the penthouse, where the light indicated that 
whoever worked in it was still there. You're up there, but are 
you happy? You're financially secure, but are you content?
	He chuckled. We're both unhappy right now, but you're up 
there. I'm down here. I'm no executive, just a priest's son. I'd 
say you're way ahead of me.
	As he stared at the top window of the building, the lights 
went off. He stopped walking and stood there for long moments, 
still looking, still staring.
	He turned and started to walk away, then glanced back up. 
"I win. You blinked," he said.


	Nabiki blinked.
	She stared at the broken picture of her father, lying on 
the floor where she had accidentally knocked it down.
	A piece of paper stuck out from behind. She picked it up, 
unfolded it, and examined it. Another piece of paper fell out, 
but she didn't pick it up yet. Instead, she examined the 
original piece.
	Ten thousand, it said. Ten thousand.
	What was this bill? Some kind of foreign currency? It was 
starting to yellow around the edges, and was a little wrinkled, 
but was otherwise intact.
	She picked up the other piece of paper. She unfolded it, 
and immediately recognized her father's handwriting. It had one 
sentence, written hastily, it seemed. 
	It said, "Your inheritance."
	"This is my inheritance? This... thing?" she snapped in 
irritation. She held it as if to rip it to shreds, but then 
thought otherwise. "I can probably sell it to some collector or 
something," she said, sighing. "At least I'd make a few bucks 
out of it, hey, maybe even as much as fifty. Oh, look at the 
time, I better get going, Mitsuru's probably waiting for me." 
She folded it, put it in her wallet, and left out the front 
door.
	Tendo Soun's picture stared, smiling, into the pile of 
half-dollars it lay next to.


	I may not be rich, I may not be some big corporate 
hotshot, thought Mitsuru, but at least there's one thing I'm 
thankful for...
	He smiled, staring deep into Nabiki's dark brown eyes as 
they walked down the sidewalk.
	She smiled back and held out her hand. "Ten dollars. And 
forty-seven cents."
	"What?!" Mitsuru exclaimed. "I'm trying to have a tender 
moment with you and all you can think about is the ten dollars 
and forty-seven cents I owe you?"
	"Well, yes, actually," Nabiki said. "Every time we have 
these 'moments' together, you forget about the money you owe me. 
So I figured I'd collect now and get it out of the way."
	"You have the romantic soul of a cash register, Nabiki," 
Mitsuru said, digging into his pocket, grumbling. "I know I have 
some cash here somewhere..."
	"Don't pull the old 'my wallet's stolen' routine on me, 
Mitsuru. I know you too well. If anything you own is missing at 
all, it's yesterday's underwear."
	"Is it my fault those fan-girls are crazy?" Mitsuru asked 
indignantly.
	"The money, Mitsuru? I'd like to get this little business 
out of the way as quickly as you do, you know," Nabiki said in 
mock-impatience.
	"Aha!" Mitsuru exclaimed. "Here!" He pulled out a twenty-
dollar bill. "Aw, nuts! I don't have any change."
	"Don't pull that 'I don't have any change' stunt on me, 
Mitsuru."
	"I know, I know. Say, do you have any change on you?"
	"You're doing it, Mitsuru."
	"Not on purpose!" Mitsuru cried. "Okay, look over there," 
he pointed, "a change machine. I'll go get change there."
	"Fine."

	"Damn machine!" Mitsuru said, banging on it as it rejected 
his bill for the nth time. "Say, Nabiki, how about you get some 
change? Then you could just..."
	"No go, Mitsuru. All I have right now is this funny-
looking bill." she said, pulling it out and showing it to 
Mitsuru.
	Mitsuru's eyes widened. "That's... that's...."
	"What?"
	"Hide that thing!" he hissed, keeping his voice down and 
looking around to see if anyone was watching. No one was.
	He searched the machine for any surveillance cameras, but 
there were none. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Safe," he said.
	"Why? What's this all about?" Nabiki asked, eyes darting 
around nervously, even if she had no idea what she was looking 
out for.
	Mitsuru grabbed the bill and inserted it into the change 
machine, before Nabiki could do or say anything. "Hey!" she 
exclaimed, "What do you think you're doing?"
	"Shhh! Not so loud!" whispered Mitsuru. "Just watch!"

	The machine rejected the bill.

	Nabiki grabbed it and placed it into her purse. 
"Honestly!" she whispered, even though she didn't know what she 
was whispering for. "You do the weirdest things sometimes." She 
started to walk away, and looked back at Mitsuru. "Are you 
coming or..." Her voice trailed off.
	The machine spouted out a one-hundred dollar bill.
	And another.
	And another.
	And another.

	Nabiki couldn't believe her eyes, even as Mitsuru grabbed 
a box and stuffed each bill into it, hiding the box under his 
jacket the whole time.

	After what seemed like an eternity, the machine stopped. 
It displayed the 'out of bills' message.
	"C'mon, let's go!" hissed Mitsuru, grabbing Nabiki's arm 
and running.
	"Ouch, you're hurting me!" Nabiki cried, nearly stumbling.
	"You can complain later! Let's get out of here and go to 
your place, fast!" Mitsuru said, eyes searching for someone, 
anyone, who saw them.


	"Will you please explain to me what the heck is going on, 
Ikeda Mitsuru!" Nabiki demanded as they stared at each other, 
gasping for breath, outside the front door of her house.
	Mitsuru's heart and temples pounded. The realization of 
what had just transpired and the exhilaration from it all 
clouded his sight, clouded his judgement. The expression of 
uncertainty on Nabiki only served to make his heart race even 
more. As he lifted his jacket to look at the box, he realized 
that the scent that was clinging to it was hers. "Open the 
door," he managed to say.
	Nabiki did, stepping inside, out of the cold. Mitsuru 
followed, closing the door behind him. He walked over, trying to 
avoid looking at her, and walked into the bedroom, placing the 
box on her dresser.
	"Mitsuru? What is going on? What happened? How did you get 
all that money?" Nabiki asked frantically, one question after 
the other, as she entered the room. "What is this bill my father 
gave me? And how do you know so much about it?"
	"Nabiki," he said, drawing closer without looking into her 
eyes, "shut up."
	"How can you tell me to shut up?" she cried. "I don't even 
know what's going on! Why don't you tell me what's going on?!"
	He looked up at her, and he couldn't stand any more. He 
grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. The scent 
of her sweat, the scent of her hair... the scent of HER, filled 
him, and he felt his resolve slip away.
	"Mitsuru! Tell me what's going on! I demand that you give 
me an exp--"
	He kissed her. 
	She tensed for a moment, and then began to kiss him back. 
He slipped his hand down to her waist, down to the side of her 
thigh... He felt her back arch forward, and he kissed her, 
deeper... He heard, no, felt,  a moan from her, and started to 
kiss her on the neck, working downwards...

	The box sat there, on top of the dresser, tilted, sitting 
on top of the pile of half-dollars, momentarily forgotten.

	Nabiki rested her head on Mitsuru's chest as they lay, 
under the sheets. Neither of them spoke, both of them spent, the 
sound of their breathing interrupted only by the sound of 
dripping water.
	Long moments passed, as Mitsuru traced the arch of 
Nabiki's back lightly with his middle finger. Her cool flesh was 
slick with sweat, and her whole body exuded that exquisite 
scent. He wondered why she bothered to wear all those perfumes 
when just her sweat smelled this way.
	"Mitsuru," she finally whispered.
	"Yes?"
	"What was that all about?"
	He took a deep breath. He searched his mind for the proper 
way to put it, but the only way he found was the obvious way, 
the blunt way, and so he used it. "Your father left you a yen."
	"Yen? That was a yen?"
	 "Yes."
	"That thing that you and your childhood gang used to 
'quest' for?"
	"Yes. Me and my gang of Yen Towns."
	Nabiki nodded, and it occurred to Mitsuru that the gravity 
of what they had done was still lost on her. "I remember. I 
thought that the yen was a myth, and that you left because you 
stopped believing it existed."
	"No. I knew it was real. I just... left the gang after 
things got a little too out of hand."
	"After... That time?"
	Mitsuru nodded. "The police stated cracking down on 
everyone who had yen, or even knew of yen. A lot of my friends 
were killed or captured. I don't even know where Shinobu, 
Kintaro or even Tetsuo are anymore."
	"Ugh, Tetsuo," Nabiki said, grimacing at the name. "Good 
riddance. Shinobu did the right thing, driving him away like 
that."
	"I know, but he was a friend, and he helped me out when I 
needed it, so I put up with it, until he left," Mitsuru said, 
taking Nabiki's hand into his, comforting her for the doubt he 
thought she should be feeling.
	"And how about that dead-calm Shinobu, huh? Talk about 
your stiffs."
	"I thought you liked him. You said you thought he was 
'cool'."
	"I did think he was cool," Nabiki replied, stroking 
Mitsuru's hand, which oddly enough,  comforted him, although she 
probably didn't realize she was doing it. "He was calm and 
composed all the time. He never lost it. Not like SOME people I 
know, who completely lose it in the heat of the moment," she 
teased.
	"Hey!" Mitsuru said, grinning. "It wasn't just me! Kintaro 
was like that too!"
	"I remember Kintaro. He used to have a crush on me."
	 "He used to have a crush on all the girls, not just you."
	"Well, thank you, Ikeda-san, for lowering my self-esteem 
another notch," Nabiki said in mock-indignation.
	Mitsuru chuckled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."
	"I don't care," Nabiki said, teasingly. "Apologize."
	"Okay. I'm sorry."
	"Not good enough," Nabiki said, continuing the act. "I 
want you to beg on your hands and knees."
	"My hands and knees? But I'm naked!" Mitsuru exclaimed.
	"I know," Nabiki said.


	As Nabiki slept, Mitsuru lay there staring at the box on 
the dresser, staring the fulfillment of his dream in the face.
	The sound of dripping water pounded on his skull. It 
seemed louder than all the cars and all the people in this town 
all together. Every drop made the box seem to draw closer to 
him, every pound on his head made it seem more and more 
oppressive. He started to find it hard to breathe again, and he 
broke out in a cold sweat.
	The box felt bigger than the city.
	He stared at his dream in the face, and he did not like 
what he saw.
	

	To be continued...


	TimeRunner, January 5, 1997

=====
TimeRunner's Page:
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Towers/7482

icq: 7153134 (Keiichi)
=====

"The story grew in the most convoluted way, as many people will be
surprised to learn. Writing episodically meant that when I finished one
episode I had no idea about what the next one would contain. When, in the
twists and turns of the plot, some event suddenly seemed to illuminate
things that had gone before, I was as surprised as anyone else."

--- Douglas Adams, "A Guide to the Guide"

"Mos people who want to be writers don't really want to be writers. They
want to HAVE BEEN  writers."

--- James A. Michener