Author Note- <nothing real important, if you want, go ahead and scan
down till you get to OtakuNXS where the fic starts> The original idea of
these forwards was to get a wee bit of fic promotion going, having some
of my prereaders saying a few words about why they enjoyed the fic. Then
Flashman/Christian Rogers, sent this to me. Sigh, I was having one of
those days, you know... smiling on the inside, bleeding on the outside
kind of day. Then, I got this... some spiritual salve at just the right
moment. I promised him that I'd use them from my next fic. I SWEAR no
money exchanged hands for these wonderfully kind words. ^_^;;

    Oh and sorry about having to split the fic up like this. My composer
just couldn't handle it in the full size.

Forward by Flashman-

Keener... how can I describe thee?  Let me count the ways.

Seriously though, I've got something really nice to say about Keener-
sensei (I'm a Parrot Prince In Training for the Revenge Wars) and I'm 
damn well gonna say it, so know your role and shut your mouth! (To 
borrow a phrase ^_^)

Once upon a time, there was a very sad and lonely fanfic writter.
Nothing he was writting was coming out very good and he kept erasing 
and rewritting the same things over and over again.  His unofficial 
girlfriend had unofficially dumped him.  Collage was going badly.  
One of the mailing lists he was on seemed to ostricizing him.  He was 
depressed.

Then, he read some posts from Keener.

He laughed at Keener's brand of unique humor.  He marveled at how 
well Keener could set a scene and mood.  He was humbled by how well 
Keener's works could make people FEEL something... on any part of the 
emotional scale, everytime.

He was out of his depression, determined to someday reach the lofty 
goal of writing even half as well as Keener could... even though he 
knew that it was almost impossible.

Keener, from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you for being 
you... and hope you stay your completly loopy self for the rest of 
your days.

Oh, by the way... here's the next chapter of Suicide Blast.


Disclaimer: Ranma 1/2 belongs to Rumiko Takahashi for creating it,
Shogunakate for publishing it, Viz for bringing it here, and finaly,
though by no means, leastly... the fans, your love makes it grow. 

Special thanks: Gary Kleppe, JD Farber, Switch, Cindy Toler, Duece,
K-chan, Nuitira, Ronny Hedin, TJ Hamilton, Matthew Lewis, Andrew
Petalik, and Zen for prereading for me... without them, well, I guess I
wouldn't have an audience, now would I?

BTW, if you have the Ruoroni Kenshin sound track at home, play the Theme
for the Darkside of Your Soul <aka, the Oni Wa Banshu theme song>
whenever Ryouga uses the Jisatsu Bakuha.


		OtakuNXS Presents...


    The dolls sat there, waiting. Things do that; inanimate and empty,
they wait to be filled. Their existence is less one of experience or
philosophy, and more one of interpretation. Knives stab, slice, cut...
and spread butter, lethality not so much a matter of tissue
disruption and penetration, but more of the whimsies of their users.
Anthropomorphication, soul to the soulless, and always a reflection of
ourselves.

    The young woman picked up one of the more fragile dolls,
remembrance tracing its intricate form with thousands of times the
sensitivity of fingertips. Cracks, almost invisible to the closest of
inspections, made their existence known. A better time, a better state
of mind, she would have thought of them fondly, nicks and chips giving
character that a factory or designing staff could never muster. But
times were different, and all she could feel was their corruption.

    She had been so young when it had broken. A rather cheap relic from
a too long trip. In the olden days, before they had T-shirts, people
used to buy one another little knick-knacks when out and about the world
at large. They said, I had a wonderful time, I really wish you had been
there, want something to clutter up your shelves and make it impossible
to dust properly? 

    Akari allowed herself a tiny smile, My husband went off to see
exotic sites, eat exotic food, and use exotic pay toilets. All I got was
a stinking figurine.

    But her mother had loved it, opening the package with an eagerness
that would have set a child to thoughts of large bearded men with
twinkling eyes and jelly-like bellies. Completely ignoring the small
sticker on the bottom that foretold of the doll's actual origins, she
held it close to her heart, then, with a small contented sigh, she'd
place it on the mantel, beside a dozen other remembrances of trips long
past.

    If anyone had asked how could such a small token could make up for
missing out on the wonders the outside had to offer, she'd simply smile
and point to one of them fondly. "That one is when he decided he liked
the way I cook Mongolian beef better then they do in Mongolia." After
absorbing the confused stares, she'd sigh wistfully. "They're not there
to remind me of the trip, but of the return." Fruit spoiled, spoons
bent, and photo books became less coffee table and more coffee sponge,
but little ceramic miniatures? They were forever.

    Forever is such a short increment of time when one has children.

    Sure, you could tell your child that riding bareback on a large sumo
pig inside the living room was generally a bad idea, right up there
with running around with scissors. Either one was a recipe for disaster.
But, as any chef will tell you, simply reading a cook book will not give
you a dish's flavor. For that, you had to make it yourself... most kids
agree.

    Her mother had come home to find a rather small girl huddling behind
a rather large swine, who was sitting on the bits of a rather broken
ballerina made of china. Another one of her smiles, she had a rather
large supply (people suspected her of being a dealer) was produced from
seemingly nowhere as she gathered the pieces.

    "Things break, Akari-chan, that's why you fill them up with
memories." After placing the fragments on the table, she reached down
and gave her daughter a hug, something else she had a seeming surplus
of. "Things break, little one, memories don't." A bottle of glue, a few
freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and some grade A pig-slop later,
everything was fixed, right as rain.

    Except, you could never fix those things exactly right. A
perfectness of form, even that brought about by machinery, was
inevitably lost. What had been a graceful dancer, a look of mystery on
her delicate face, had become somewhat of a cockeyed expression. Cracks
made eyebrows tilt and lips curve just so. She made a face at the tiny
woman in her hands. 

    The memories were different too. A space sat beside the various
dancers and women in waiting. A space that loomed larger then the rest,
twisting the remembrance of a man who came back with the reminder of one
who did not. Carefully, she placed the figure back where it belonged.
Memories cannot be broken, but they can be replaced.

    One metaphor gave way to another, sweet dreams for nightmares.

    "Akari-chan? What did the doctor say?"


            A Mad Bad Bishonen Lad Production...


    Lieutenant Hiromi had joined the force for many reasons. A bit of
tradition, a dash of self respect and just a pinch of television
inspired glorification. Yep, that had been the formula all right, a
desire for boredom, the inherent need to punish traffic violators and
taste of jam buns had not factored in, he was sure of it. Not that there
was no excitement to be had aplenty in the Nerima district. 

    Things exploded in tremendous showers of energy and debris, fights
raged on rooftops between warriors of skill and strength to pale even
the most outlandish of computer rendered combatants... but none of that
was his affair. They had no weapons, and could therefore not be shot,
and were rarely at ground zero for long. Catching them had become an
assumed impossibility for the past year or two.

    There you'd be, sipping tea and wondering if you had gotten shorted
on strawberries in your bun, when suddenly a building crumbled in bright
lights and screams detailing ancient Chinese secrets. Looking to the
chief, he'd shrug and turn the page in his newspaper while you poured
yourself another cup. Your job was to evacuate when possible, and call
in the emergency crews when not. Thank the gods, none of these guys
drove. He shuddered to think of what a simple parking violation could do
to a careless officer.

    He parked underneath the scene of the disturbance, glanced up, then
looked to the growing crowd of onlookers. "This is Car 54. I've got
confirmation on that report of a jumper up on the Matsudera building. I
need some crowd control and rescue vehicles, copy?" After receiving
confirmation, he walked toward the door. 

    Mentally he was rereading his suicide-prevention manual. First and
foremost was to make contact, second was to not shoot said contact. This
was especially stressed as the premature termination of a suicidee would
gum up the entire works. The man sighed; it was a pretty stupid manual.
He never noticed the glass door as it hit him going sixty miles an hour.

    "Oh my god, are you okay?" A gentle hand carefully picked him off
the ground. "What the hell were you doing just standing there, you
moron?"

    He stood there for a second, trying to reconcile the two voices as
coming from the same individual. The first was one hundred percent
mother, with all the kisses for boo-boos and cartoon encrusted
band-aids that implied. The second voice was all big sister, just before
she pounded you for reading her diary and posting the juicier bits on
the school bulletin board. 

    Shaking some sense back into his brain, he took the young lady in.
She was soft and hard all at once; eye's that were beautiful, yet fierce
like a firestorm. Her body was well rounded, but obviously taut to the
point of snapping. Had he been more of an intellectual, he could have
spent days just digesting the dichotomy. Still, he was a police officer
and therefore not paid to be observant. The young man's thoughts
consisted of: she's cute and she's in my way.

    "So-sorry miss. I've got to go save a suicidee." He saluted smartly,
and continued past men's wear, women's wear, and some rather dainty bits
of hardware, making his way to the emergency stairs.

    "A what?" Ukyo asked, bewildered. Continuing forward, she walked
into the throng of gawkers. To be fair, some of them might have actually
been worried that the guy above would get hurt. The immoral majority, on
the other hand, just wanted to see if road pizza looked the same in real
life as it did in the movies. Squinting up the ten stories of clothing,
food courts and power tools, she got as good a look as possible at the
young man atop the building. Was that a bandanna he was wearing? It
couldn't be...


	            Suicide Blast part 3


    "Don't do it." Sure, it was straight from the guide book, but it was
as sound a statement as any.

    "Why not?" The young man asked coolly. Either nervousness or panic
the book had said the guy should be experiencing was not reaching him or
he hadn't read the same text.

    "Because... because, there are so many things to live for." The
officer took a second to catch his breath. The guy was not going to take
a leap of faithlessness just yet, and there were a lot of stairs leading
up to the roof.

    "Like...?"

    "Ummm," he searched his brain, there were supposed to be three
things. Two of which would comfort the suicidee and the other one would
probably be whatever it was that was bugging him. A sound theory, only
he couldn't remember them all. "Love, and ummm, new episodes of Hyper
Police," which he happened to be missing at the moment,  "...and... oh
yes, and strawberry buns, very good things. You can't eat those when
you're dead."

    Okay, so only one of those was on the list. Still, it had been his
experience that most of these things revolved, one way or another,
around love issues.

    Ryouga smiled. "I like those."

    "Good, aren't they." The Lieutenant smiled. Maybe he'd get back in
time to catch the last few minutes or so.

    "But... love..."

    Hiromi sighed. oh well, maybe Captain Yotsuya would tape it.

    Ryouga scanned the city before him, a thousand points of lights, all
representing life in one way or another, at least half of them were in
love, the other half? Probably faking it. 

    It was like a double edged weapon. Most things were in life... if
you didn't feel pain when experiencing them, you hardly credited them
with existing. Love was different though, you were expected to hold it
by the blade, while you offered the pummel to another. 

    Sometimes they even accepted, your wounds regulated to just how
tightly you held on as they took possession. Most times though, they
simply smiled, and thrust into your chest. They couldn't possibly be
blamed; you were holding it weren't you? The fault must lie with you.
Let's just be friends.

    "Why did she have to do that? I mean, I wasn't there to ask for her
love. I- I gave up on that along time ago. I just needed one tiny favor.
Not even a hard one. I mean it's not like I was looking for something as
impossible as forgiveness or understanding. All I wanted was a little
bit of hatred. Is that so much to ask?"

    "You-you're just a little lost, that's all. Why don't you come with
me? We can talk about it over some soup. I'll even buy you a bun if you
like." He smiled as best he could, there was nothing in the manual about
any of this. Maybe he'd do a rewrite, assuming he was successful;
failures made for good novels but horrid How To books.

    "Lost? I used to be lost. But I found out something, you're never
lost when you've got the light to guide your way. No matter where you
are, having a clear purpose can orient you, like one of those compasses
on a survival knife. Except, of course, these work. Where am I?" He
seemed to ask his palm, before clenching it into a fist. "I'm heading
toward my goal... and I mustn't stop; that's all that matters." He
smiled as a random thought wandered its way into his brain. "Want to see
my light?"

    "Sure, I'd love to." Perfect. Somehow or another, he had gotten the
guy's trust. He reached out, expecting some kind of wallet with a bad
snap shot of a girl. Maybe there would be a strip of them, like those
you get in photo booths. Or, if the boy was more of a romantic, as most
jumpers tend to be, just a lock of hair. If the young man handed his
guiding light over, he might could get the boy to see himself as the end
of the tunnel. It would be one step closer to being out of it.

    Ryouga smiled and held out his own fist, closing his eyes, he
summoned a small portion of himself to it. Strands of black hair began
to mill about his head as though some winter's gale had roared to life.
A faint blue glow made its way through small gaps between his fingers
and a force from within his palm slowly pushed them apart. When his hand
opened fully, a shard of blue danced and shuddered, illuminating his
face. The speed and untammed nature of the spin put out its own force
and the officer had to grab at his cap to keep it from being blown off.
He gaped in awe; his badge and clothing was being whipped about... by a
snowflake.

    Gingerly he looked to the young man's eyes. They seemed to be
swallowed by the fragment of light, his orbs reflecting the bluish
illuminatination eerily. Suddenly, he realized, this young man was one
of them, one of those people who could leap buildings or run faster then
bullets, things like that. It was like being beside an angel. With a
thought, his current night-time companion could wipe away a lifetime's
worth of hopes and dreams, and not break a sweat. But, if this guy was
an angel, he was looking at that glowing piece of power like it was God.

    "Heh, I'm sorry," the young man broke from his absorption with the
light. "Just like a moth, huh?" Ryouga scratched the back of his head
with his other hand, embarrassed.

    "You- you..." He could scarcely get it out. Where were the anemic
mecha when you needed them? Stepping away slowly he pulled out his
walkie talkie; suddenly back up seemed like a good idea. Of course,
right now, so did jumping.

    "Ummm, is that building over there abandoned?" Ryouga asked.
pointing to a desolate pile of bricks and glass.

    "What? Oh yes, sir." What's wrong with them, why don't they answer?

    "Thanks." The martial artist pointed the empowered palm toward the
structure and released the energy. It screamed through the air. Even the
officer, as close as he was, could hardly follow the actual source of
the power, it's existence little more then a speck. Those below had even
less warning, but all of them could defiantly tell when it hit. The
impact point vaporized metal and rock alike. What had been, simply was
not, not any more. The area above and beneath crumbled and shook, coming
apart at the very seams as the blast undid what little integrity it had.

    The explosion, as the abandoned dwelling did a fine impersonation of
a kicked sandcastle, scattered several of the gathered mob. Screams of
"Oh my gods," were intermingled with "What the hell," as people leapt
for cover. A few, more or less stubborn spectators remained. They hadn't
come for a boom, they wanted a splat. 

    Ukyo was immobile as well, other thoughts on the young woman's mind.
Of the crowd, only her eyes had followed the tiny piece of soul, and
only she had any idea whose soul it had been.

    "He's going to use... THAT on... Ran-chan?"

...oooOOO(  )(  )(  )


    Horror turning blood to ice gripped the policeman. He pulled out his
side arm frantically, holding it less like a gun and more like a ward
against evil. "All right, put the weapon down. Hands over your head!"

    The boy seemed a bit busy at the moment. Falling to one knee, he
placed a hand over his mouth. Coughing, a strange gurgling noise made
its way up his throat. Slowly, he removed his hand from his mouth and
looked at it, carefully standing on shaky legs. "Not bad, I must be
getting used to it." He wiped the blood from his palm unto his shirt in
a grimy stain. Then he noticed the officer, cocking his head to the side
he smiled soothingly. "I'm sorry, did I startle you? Look." He gestured
with his hands. "I'm unarmed, no gun or anything."

    The Lieutenant's eyes never left the young man, fear paralyzing
anything but raw instinct. "Just don't come any closer. Please, just
stay right there."

    "Are all those people down there waiting to see if I jump? Heh, I
bet if Ranma were here he'd say it'd be no use. I'd just get lost on the
way down." A smile went from loose and jovial to tight and grim with one
smooth motion. Then, it became almost sinister. "Still, it seems a shame
to disappoint them. See ya officer. I had a great time. Look me up next
time you're in the cemetery." With that, he stood on the edge, hand to
each side and back to the crowd. He gave the policeman one final wink,
and leapt, like some tea drinker who had found a rather refreshing
brand.

    Cries, both shocked and encouraging were obscured strangely as the
roof sped away from him. His thoughts came amazingly quick, the brain
enjoying these moments of accelerated working right before the
inevitable. You know, he mused, I'm not going to die or anything, but
this is really going to hur... WHAM!

    Ukyo ran to the landing zone, if you could call it that. It looked
as though some contest of wills had been played out, and the concrete
had lost. Carefully, not sure what to expect, she approached his body.
"Ry-Ryouga?"

    "I was right... <cough> that hurt like all hell." He chuckled,
spitting up more blood to add to his growing collection. He was starting
to feel like a vampire, he sure knew what it would taste like. "Oh, hi
there Ukyo... <hack> fancy meeting you here. Hope you don't mind if I...
<huff> take a nap." Ryouga slowly closed his eyes, where most would find
the empty darkness and dreams, he found only the light... waiting for
him.


...oooOOO(  )(  )(  )


    Akane looked down at the tray she was carrying. She was bringing out
lemonade, one for her, another for the company. The third, well the
third was most definitely not for anyone she might be engaged to. And if
it was, so what? Was there anything wrong with a little courtesy? Of
course not. As to how the flower's had made their way onto the pallet,
she had no idea.

    As she approached the dojo, she heard the sounds of combat, as she
had come to know it. Silly names were added to punches to throw the
opponent off guard, possibly with laughter. Grunts were heard as bone
contacted with muscle. Meaty impact was made, when kicks were projected
accurately, whishes and "damnits" when they were not. And, as always,
the sounds of a wooden building, fastly approaching splinters. She stood
at the door, half opened, and watched the two young men dance.

    "You still leave too many openings." Mousse commented, hands closing
in on Ranma's abdomen.

    "Whatdya mean?" His attacker's hands were pushed downwards and the
pigtailed martial artist used them to springboard a kick to Mousse's
face. The lunge was sidestepped, but then so was the counter as Ranma
deftly touched the ground. "I've hit ya ten times to your one."

    "Ranma, you keep thinking of fights as endurance contests." Punch,
block, riposte, miss. "Something for testosterone laden meat heads to
keep knocking each other..." Jump kick, sidestep, grab, headlock, slip
out, "...across the room until one of them cries..." Spinning into a
kick, Mousse came at Ranma full tilt. Slipping under and going for the
foot sweep garnered nothing but air for the pigtailed boy, the
supposedly vulnerable left leg had taken to the air. The Chinese youth
had rolled over and landed on his palms, switching his momentum like a
rubber band. Then, he propelled himself back towards his opponent.
"...Uncle."

    Even with his rather unorthodox training, the move had been almost
impossible to read. Mousse's foot made contact across the young man's
face. He stepped back and shook his head, "Not a bad move, but most of
your force got lost in pushing off the ground, I barely felt it."

    "And if I had used my right foot instead, you would have never felt
anything ever again." Mousse gestured with his other leg, a blade
silently passing judgment where it protruded from his shoe. "One hit,
if it's a good one, and the end. You can't go into this like your other
fights. You might be there to save a life, but he's there to end one...
maybe two." He shook his head and pushed his glasses up. "You're tough,
but he's strong, and don't even think you can take a shot from that chi
blast he's using. However, using it also drains him. He's not quite at
top form physically. A single, well timed and perfectly controlled hit
could take him out."

    Mousse had appeared a few days ago, a gym bag in hand and a solemn
expression on his face. "I come to repay Ranma Saotome." Akane never did
get the full story about the events that had occurred a couple of weeks
prior, but Ranma had simply grinned and started warming up. The two had
been at it every day, replacing the usual regimen of father, son, koi
picnics. It was a bit odd, though, Shampoo was nowhere to be found and
all the young Chinese man would say was that she was... preparing.

    That's all they needed, especially with the wedding coming up.
Honestly, you'd think someone had it in for them. It was as though some
great epic, crafted by a goddess of wit and merriment, had been handed
off to a clinically depressed madman. Still, it was nice to have the
Amazons at least partially on their side. Mousse in the morning for
practice, Cologne at night for technique, Ranma couldn't possible wish
for better training.

    "Humph, well you could teach me that trick you used a few days
ag..." Ranma cut off as his train of thought derailed itself on Mousse's
stare.

    "No." He slaughtered any rebuttal with the steel in his voice. Then
he softened, ever so slightly. "For two reasons. The first is its a
killing technique, and if that's all your after, we can settle this a
lot easier..." Something lethal began to spin about Mousse's fingers. At
the sound of clattering glasses and a faint gasp from behind the paper
wall, he let the weapon disappear. Ranma was too focused on the task at
hand to notice the unintentional spy. The long haired male allowed
himself a quick smile, it was nice being the observant one for a change. 

    "...and second because it wouldn't work. The technique focuses on
Yang, using the lighter side of chi to track movements and see power
flows. Ryouga's too full of Yin, he'd be virtually invisible. Now then,
I'd appreciate if we didn't mention it again, okay?"

    "Yeah sure." Ranma sighed, then he smiled wryly, "So whatever
happened to that psycho duck I used to know?"

    Mousse returned the smile, grimly, "He had a scary dream. Isn't that
tray getting heavy, Akane?"

    Ranma turned, a pair of eyes met, an unresolved issue leapt about
between the distance and he looked away first. Gathering what composure
was left her, Akane walked in gracefully; she still couldn't managed
that gliding thing Kasumi did, but she at least she didn't spill
anything. Setting the tray down, she hand a glass to Mousse and took one
for herself. The Amazon watched the silent interplay while sipping the
liquid, it definitely had a tang to it, a taste only an astronaut could
love, but not really requiring any reconstructive throat surgery like he
was expecting. She really was getting better.

    Ranma took a cup and stared into it, not saying anything. Akane
drank and looked at something obviously very interesting on the opposite
wall, saying nothing. Mousse just sat and waited, being decidedly
non-vocular. Time passed, its own peculiar form of silence, deafening.

    "You're not coming." With finality he placed his cup down, cutting
Akane off before she even had chance to gather breath. Then he walked
off, stepping from the dojo and into the house. Mousse simply found what
peace could be had, contemplating the many odd textures and tartness to
be found within his lemonade. He knew his existence was a non-issue at
the moment.

    "He- he's my friend too." Akane said softly.

...oooOOO(  )(  )(  )