Hi!

Well, I'm placing the finishing touches on Choices: Decision (Part Three), and since it's been about three years since I started this thing (and about a year since I posted part two), I thought reposting the series might be justified.

So here's the first chapter, Choices: The Party.  Enjoy!  As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, private's cool, public's even better.  I'll post part two when this clears through the ffml, and part three a few days after that.

(This is my second try at posting this.  The bounced message came back while the ML was down, so there shouldn't be a double post.  I appologize in advance if there is.)

-Mike Noakes
noakes_m@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m

*****

                    Choices

Part One:
The Party
by
Michael Noakes


Burning embers floated high on the night wind to flicker
briefly among the stars before flaring, fading, dying.  Their
dizzying dance twirled amongst the smoke and raucous
laughter of boys as they drifted into the sky.  As Hiroshi
watched, one particular particle of glowing ash was carried
away, then reversed direction as it was caught in an
unexpected eddy.  It alighted upon a bare arm and was
unconsciously brushed away.
   "You sure you don't want one?" he asked, offering a
bottle.
   Ranma glanced at the bottle with distaste and shook
his head.  "You know I don't drink," he answered.  Hiroshi
shrugged and kept the beer for himself, not entirely surprised.
The mere fact that Ranma had showed up was amazing
enough in its own right; to expect him to actually have a good
time was probably asking too much.  Not that his attitude
made any sense: what was the point of Ranma coming to
Kiyoshi's party -- easily the biggest, best party of the year -- if
he wasn't going to relax somewhat and have some _fun_.
   Hiroshi settled comfortably into his seat by the fire.
Must be nice, he thought, to be this rich, to have parents as
well off as Kiyoshi's obviously were.  Their house was
absolutely huge: built on slanted ground, the basement
opened up onto the rear through patio doors that led onto an
attractive terrace; a beautiful porch was suspended above it
and gave a great view of the carefully landscaped yard.  The
property was fantastically expansive -- at least, it was to a boy
like Hiroshi whose idea of a backyard was a square plot of
earth with just enough room for his mother to grow a few
flowers.  There was even a low stone wall surrounding the
whole piece of land.  Ultimately, though, the most important
aspect of their house was, of course, the outdoor pool.  It was
-- unsurprisingly, considering the uncommonly warm weather
-- currently the centre of much of the activity at the party.
   Whatever Kiyoshi's parents did for a living to afford
this level of luxury, it also kept them very busy -- meaning
that on a weekend like this, nearing the end of another year of
studies, madness, and chaos at Furinkan High, with both
adults gone, Kiyoshi's place became _the_ place to have a
whopping huge party.  Classmates, male and female, from
Furinkan and elsewhere, were standing and chatting, and
presumably drinking, in groups, both inside and outside the
house; others were dancing and jumping about, music
blaring; many were already taking advantage of the outside
pool and were swimming and splashing wildly, bubbly
laughter and joyful shrieks punctuating their fun.  But he
would go swimming later, he decided.  Right now, Hiroshi
was content to just sit around by the convenient fire-pit set in
the backyard, shoot the shit with his buddies, and enjoy the
contrast of the fire's heat on his front, the refreshing wind on
his back, and the cold beer in his hand.  Yes, thought Hiroshi,
this is turning out to be a beautiful party.  Kiyoshi had
another hit on his hand -- everybody was having a great time.
   No, not everybody, he amended, looking sideways at
Ranma, who was absently brushing away another ember from
the turned-down sleeves of his usual red Chinese shirt.  At
least one person is not enjoying himself.  Not drinking, not
talking, he was just . . . sitting there.
   "Hey, Ranma?"  Hiroshi leaned towards his friend.
"What's wrong?  You're just, you know, sitting there."
   Ranma shrugged.  "I dunno.  Guess I'm just not in a
partying mood," he answered.  Picking up a stick, he poked
idly at the fire.
   "Ah."  After a moment, he tried again.  "Hey, didn't
you come with Akane?  Where is she?"
   "How should I know?" muttered Ranma.  He gave
the log a sharp jab.  "Stupid tomboy."
   Ooookay, thought Hiroshi.  Obviously Saotome was
not in a very good mood tonight.  Probably another falling
out between him and his fiancee.  Again.  But if they were
fighting, why did he bother coming to the party with her?
Especially if he was just going to sit there and sulk?
   Actually, he thought as he glanced around for
Daisuke (his friend having left for the house to grab a few
more drinks from the fridge), it was surprising enough that
Ranma had come at all.  He never showed up at any of the
little get-togethers his classmates organized.  Understandable,
perhaps, considering the active lifestyle he  led, but, still, if he
was going to bother coming out, he could at least try to have
a little fun.  Ranma must have read his thoughts, because a
second later he turned to Hiroshi.
   "I didn't really even want to come," said Ranma.  "It
was my stupid pop's idea  . . . and Mr. Tendo's, of course.
They found out Akane was coming to this party with some
friends of hers . . . so they thought it only natural that her
fiance oughta accompany her."  He scowled.  "Like I even
wanted to go to some stupid party, anyway.  Especially after
she didn't even ask me.  Especially after she told me she
didn't want me hanging around with her!  Like I'd want to
hang around with a kawaikunee like her!"  He gave another
fierce poke at the fire.
   So that was it.
   "Here ya go, bud."  His thoughts were interrupted as
Daisuke plopped down next to him.  His friend passed a few
bottles over before glancing across at Ranma, who had
returned to staring sullenly at the fire.  "Hey. . . what's with
him?" he whispered to Hiroshi.
   Hiroshi suppressed a smile.  "Another fight with
Akane," he answered.  "She told him to leave her alone."
   "Again?  Sheesh.  Is it just me or have they been
fighting worse than usual, lately?"
   He shrugged.  "Probably.  Who can tell?"  He popped
open another beer and took a drink.  "Hey, by the way. . .
what took you so long?"
   Daisuke glanced around, then smirked.  "Heh.
Almost got into a little tangle."
   "Huh?  How so?"
   "Well. . . I was grabbing a coupla beers from the bar
fridge, and when I stood up, I bumped into Ryuta, and. . . ."
   "Ryuta? Not Uehara. . .?"
   Daisuke nodded.
   "Shit!  Who invited him?"
   "Does it matter?  He probably invited himself."
   "Yeah.  So what happened?"
   "Nothing much, really."  Daisuke shrugged.  "I
accidentally knocked his drink into him.  He wasn't
impressed.  Threatened to kick my ass if I didn't get him
another drink."
   "So did you?"
   "Yeah.  Gave him a few bottles," he nodded.  "But
when he wasn't looking, I swiped a couple of his bottles of
sake."  With a grin, he tossed over one of said bottles.
"Serves the jerk right, threatening me over an accident!"
   Hiroshi looked down at the bottles with a small
frown.  "Shit, man, if he finds out. . . ."
   "What's he gonna do, eh?"
   "I already _told_ you what I was gonna do, you little
shit," growled a deep voice from behind.
   With a surprised 'eep!', Daisuke spun and leapt to his
feet.  "Ah, hey. . . ah," he stammered.
   Hiroshi watched as the other guy stepped into the
firelight.  It most certainly was Ryuta: one of the local
Furinkan bullies, one of the few that had managed to survive
after the various martial artists had arrived and the regime of
Miss Hinako had begun.  Big guy, strong, tough, his face
somewhat resembling something chiselled out of granite, he
was known for having a rather nasty temper.  Not the kind of
guy whose bad side you would want to get on (not, mind you,
that he had a good side anybody knew about, thought
Hiroshi), and not the kind of guy Kiyoshi would invite -- but
that had never stopped Uehara from crashing a party before.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Hiroshi wondered if any
of the bully's usual friends were hanging around, but his
immediate concern was on the nasty feeling growing in the pit
of his stomach at the prospect of impending pain.
   "Hey, listen, it was a little joke, you know?" tried
Daisuke, as the larger youth grabbed him by the front of the
shirt and hauled him forward.
   "Yeah, sure, just a joke."  Ryuta sneered as he
tightened his grip.  "Funny."  Daisuke paled slightly.
   Well, this certainly sucks, mused Hiroshi.  Trust an
idiot like this to ruin a perfectly good party.  With a sigh he
started to stand up to help his friend, noticing that some of the
other guys around the fire were getting up as well.  This is
probably going to hurt, he decided.
   "Sit down!" said the bully, eyes flashing, upper lip
curling with scorn.  "Or do I gotta beat the lot of you wimps
up, too?"  Hiroshi had no doubt that he could, too -- the guy
was a nasty brawler, always getting into scuffles with goons
from other schools. . . and usually winning.  Resigned to a
whole lot of pain, Hiroshi hesitantly raised his fists in
something hopefully approximating a fighting stance.
   "Ummm.  Listen.  Couldja, you know. . . let him go?"
stammered Hiroshi, despite his best effort to sound tough.
   "Oh, so you want it first?" demanded Ryuta, tossing
Daisuke aside and turning to his friend.  With a
contemptuous glance at the boy on the ground, he took a step
towards Hiroshi, one hammy fist rearing back. . . .
   . . . there was a sudden blur that zinged by, and a
metallic 'ting'. . .
   . . . and suddenly the big guy was clutching his
shoulder in unexpected pain.  "What the?"
   Hiroshi opened his eyes, surprised he was still
standing, wondering what the delay was.  And suddenly, he
knew, and grinned.  Ryuta Uehara had chosen the _wrong_
group to threaten this time.  With a narrowing of eyes, the
bully took another step forward.
   Something zinged by again.  Again Ryuta let out an
exclamation of pain, rubbing at his thigh.  "Hey!  Who's. . .
."
   Hiroshi smiled and stepped aside, revealing the
attacker still sitting calmly by the fire.
   "Why don't you just go away?" asked Ranma, bored.
   Ryuta peered at the pig-tailed boy.  Maybe he could
not make out who it was.  Maybe he did not care, or actually
did not know.  But Hiroshi watched as the larger youth
flushed in anger.  "You gonna make me, you little piece of. . .
."
   There was an audible sigh from Ranma, and then his
hands became a blur.  Things -- Hiroshi still could not tell
what -- snapped from his fingers.
   "I'm gonna. . . ouch!" exclaimed Ryuta.  "You. . .
ouch!  Ouch!  Dammit. . . ouch!"  He tried to take a step
forward; something pinged off his knee.  Then his chest.
Then his thighs, shoulders, arms, and finally his forehead.  He
staggered back, a small trickle of blood beading from the
small cut between his eyes.  He glared at the group.  "I'll get.
. . !"
   This one bounced off his groin.  His eyes bulged,
briefly, before he twisted away, moaning,  and stumbled
ungracefully in the general direction of the house.
   A small cheer went up around the fire as everyone sat
down again.  Hiroshi turned to Ranma, Daisuke -- who
hadn't yet moved from where he layed sprawled -- scrambling
to his feet and falling in next to him.  Their friend looked up
at them and grinned.  "Not too smart, is he?  Still, good thing
he left when he did," he added, opening his hand.  "I was
running out of ammunition."  Sitting in his palm was a single
beer bottlecap.
   "You. . . you were flinging beercaps at him?"
   "Yup.  Saotome School of Anything--Goes Special
Attack: Cap--oeira Strike; just one of the many moves that
make up the style known as 'Bar Fly Do'."
   Hiroshi and Daisuke stared at him for a moment.
"You're kidding, right?"
   "Scarily enough, no."  With a snap of his fingers,
Ranma sent the last bottlecap tearing off into the night.  "It's
a style my pop developed while 'studying' in a string of bars
across China.  Uses all the usual bar accessories -- mugs,
stools, bottles, beer nuts -- as martial art weapons.  Pop
always said it's meant as a supplement to drunken--style
Kung Fu."  He shrugged.  "I figured he was just looking for
an excuse to hang out at the local bar -- and a way to get out
without paying the tab."
   Daisuke looked at Hiroshi, who simply shrugged.
Tavern-based fighting styles, drunken wandering fathers, trips
across China -- it was all part of a lifestyle he simply found
impossible to understand.  Ranma seemed to take it all for
granted; somehow, Hiroshi was not so sure that he would be
able to do the same.


The small metal disk winged its merry way through the
Nerimean sky.  Eventually, it began its rapid descent.  With a
loud 'ting' it bounced off a late-night pedestrian's head.
   With a growl, he reached down and picked up the
crumpled cap.  He did not know where it came from.  He did
not know how it came to bounce off his head.  But somehow,
Ryoga Hibiki knew that Ranma Saotome was to blame.


"Are you sure you don't want it?"
   Hiroshi watched as Ranma sighed and shook his
head.  "Yes, I'm sure," he answered, pushing away Daisuke's
offer.  "Listen. . . you don't gotta thank me for helping out.
That guy was asking for it; can't stand jerks like that.  I hate
bullies."
   Daisuke looked a little disappointed, but nodded and
sat down next to his friend.  With Ryuta gone, the
conversation was starting to pick up again.  Hiroshi looked
around the fire -- mostly people he knew, guys from his
classes, or a grade above or below him, but a few strangers
that he guessed were from different schools.  Coming around
the circle, his eyes came to rest upon Ranma.
   "Hey, by the way -- thanks."
   Hiroshi blinked and turned to his friend.  "Huh?"
   "For, you know, standing up for me," supplied
Daisuke.  "Against that asshole."
   He shrugged.  "What're friends for, eh?"
   "Yeah."
   There was a momentary pause, before Hiroshi
continued in a low voice.  "Hey, Dai-."
   "Yeah?"
   "Have a look at Ranma there."
   "Yeah?  And?"
   "What d'ya figure he's doing?"
   "I dunno," answered Daisuke.  "Looks like he's just
sitting there.  Why?"
   "That's just it -- he's just sitting there!" said Hiroshi,
and fell silent.  Daisuke gave him a quizzical glance,
shrugged, and returned to drinking and talking.  His friend
remained fixated on the pig-tailed boy's actions, or lack
thereof.  He's just kinda pulled back, Hiroshi finally
concluded, out of the group, out of the circle.  Why?  Why
not join in the conversation?  After fighting off Ryuta --
without even standing up! -- they probably _wanted_ him to
join in, and certainly would not refuse him!  But he didn't.
Maybe he thought he was too good for them?  Maybe he was
bored?  Maybe he simply did not care, did not even _want_ to
be part of the gang?  But then he saw Ranma glance up, give
a sad, almost envious look at the guys as their voices rose in
mirth and mock argument, and Hiroshi knew that that could
not be why.  Well, whatever the reasons, Hiroshi decided that,
like it or not, Ranma was going to have a good time tonight.
Already, Ranma, who looked like he had come alive
somewhat while driving away the bully, was withdrawing
into himself, returning to his earlier sullen demeanor.  Now,
how to break him out of it?
   "Are you NUTS?" exclaimed a loud voice from
across the fire, distracting him for a moment.  Hiroshi
recognized Toshi, a friend from one grade up.  "Keiko's
better looking than Hiromi?  Are you blind, man?"
   "No!  Are you?  There's, like, no comparison!"
   "You're right!  Hiromi's a hell of a lot better
looking!"
   Getting drawn in despite himself, Hiroshi had to
agree.  Sure, the red--headed Keiko was cute, but the body on
Hiromi was. . . impressive.  Very impressive.  Besides, the
one guy _had_ to defend Keiko -- he was dating her.   "Sorry,
man, but I gotta agree with Toshi," he said, addressing
Keiko's stalwart defender.  "Just _look_ at Hiromi!"
   Somebody gave a little laugh. "Yeah, right.  Wonder
what he's looking at, eh?"
   At which point somebody else added: "Hey, should
you even be lookin'?  Ain't you and Sayuri, you know. . . ."
   "Hey!  It's none of your business!" exclaimed
Hiroshi.  "We've just gone on a few dates, that's all!"  Well,
maybe not _all_, but he did not see any reason to share his
personal life with these guys.  Friends are friends, but some
things you simply don't share.  Besides, Sayuri would kill
him if she ever found out.
   "Sorry, bud," added Daisuke from next to him.  "But
I can't agree with you, here.  Keiko is _definitely_ better
looking."
   "Ah, hell, you're both wrong!"
   Soon, a lively argument was underway.  As he
listened (and added the occasional comment), the
conversation quickly grew to encompass the largest part of
the female population of Furinkan High.  Seemed everybody
had an opinion on who was the hottest babe in school.
Hiroshi noticed that a couple of the girls walking by gave
them dirty looks, but he did not really care.  Looking down at
the empty bottle in his hand, he realized that he was starting
to feel. . . rather good.  Grinning without any good reason, he
turned to Ranma -- suddenly remembering his earlier decision
-- and noticed that, though not adding anything, his friend had
drawn a little closer to the group, was listening avidly to
everything with a slight smile and attentive eyes.
   "Whaddya think, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, and
smiled.  "Who's the best looking girl?"
   The group fell quiet, all eyes turning to Ranma.  And
then: "Yeah?  Who d'ya think, Ranma?  C'mon!"  Ranma
paled slightly.
   "Well, ah. . . you know. . ." he stammered.
   Daisuke nudged him.  "C'mon, Ranma. . . you gotta
have a favourite. . . maybe that friend of Nabiki's, the one
with the pig-tail?  Eh?"
   "What?  No!  I. . . ah, you know. . . ."  He stopped
when he realized everybody -- or at least those who knew him
-- were grinning.  "What?"
   "Guess it wasn't really a fair question," said Toshi.
   "Yeah," added Hiroshi.  "What with him having
Akane and everything. . . ."
   "HEY!" protested Ranma.  "Akane?  No way!"
   "No?"
   "No!  That tomboy?  Ha!  She's. . . ."
   "KAWAIKUNEE!" chorused the crowd, and
laughed.
   After a moment, Ranma grinned sheepishly.  "Yeah.
That's right," he said.  "And it's not like I 'have' her, either!"
   "Really?" asked someone Hiroshi did not recognize.
"You don't love her?"
   "What?  No!" cried Ranma.
   "Oh?  So you wouldn't mind if I asked her out on a
date?"
   "WHAT?" yelled Ranma, jumping to his feet.
"Akane's my fia. . . ."  He stammered to a stop as everyone
burst into laughter.  Blushing in embarrassment, he sat down
again.  "Fine.  Ask her.  See if I care," he muttered, but
cracked a little smile.  Leaning forward a bit, he asked a
question of his own.  "So, what, do _you_ guys think she's
good-looking?"
   There was a brief and somewhat awkward silence
around the circle, which Hiroshi was the first to break.  "Ah,
Ranma?  I don't think anyone's gonna touch that one.  But. . .
just remember.  Before you showed up here, Akane had to
fight off about thirty guys every morning.  What do you
think?"
   "Yeah, I've still got the scar on my arm," muttered
someone.
   "Ok, ok," said Ranma.  "Well, then. . . what about. . .
Ucchan?"
   "Ucchan?"
   "Yeah, you know -- Ukyou?"
   "Isn't he a boy?" asked Toshi.
   "Nah -- just dresses as one," answered somebody else.
"Actually, I've kinda wondered what she's like, under. . . ."
But he petered off as Ranma glared at him.
   "Ranma?  I don't think you're gonna get an answer
on that one, either.  She's another one of your fiancees.  That
makes her off-ground for us, you know?" said Daisuke.
   "Oh,"  said Ranma.
   "Well, what about. . . ," started someone else, and the
conversation took off again in a new direction.  Hiroshi
leaned back again and cracked open one of the bottles
Daisuke had appropriated.  As the conversation turned
slightly raunchier -- now the guys were giving their frank
appraisal of what women liked, or why they did the
incomprehensible things they did -- he noticed that Ranma
drew in even closer, avidly following every thread of the
discussion, though adding little or nothing himself.  Hiroshi
wondered why; if anyone here had the slightest clue on how
to attract women, or how they think, it was Ranma!  The guy
had three fiancees and hordes of women always chasing him!
And, of course, there was the small matter of the curse. . . .
   "Hey!  Why don't we ask Ranma?" suddenly asked
Toshi's friend, Kenji.  "You gotta know what the women
like!"
   "Me?"  Ranma started at his sudden inclusion in the
conversation.  "Why me?"
   "Well, gee, maybe 'cus you've got three fiancees?"
   "And all those other girls chasing after you?"
   "Heck, you've been living with two of the best
looking girls in the school for, what, a year now?"
   "Whoa!" interrupted Ranma, raising his hands.  "I
didn't _ask_ for any of my fiancees, or any of those other
girls!  They just. . . happened!"  He paused for a moment, as
if in thought.  "Although, I guess, I was partly responsible. . .
what with my devastatingly good looks and charming
personality, and all. . . ."
   "Oh, please," gagged someone.
   "And, of course, there's the Saotome art of Making-
Women-Fall-In-Love-With-You, which, being a family
secret, I'm not at liberty to share."
   "I'm gonna be sick."
   "And, of course, the martial arts.  Chicks dig the
martial arts."
   "Yeah, right.  Of course they do."
   "But. . . really. . . I don't have a clue how I do it!"
He gave a grin -- half arrogant, half playful -- and shrugged.
"I guess some of us are just naturals."
   "Gee, thanks a lot, Saotome," grumbled Kenji.
   "Seriously, though, guys," continued Ranma,
shuffling in a little closer.  "D'ya think if I knew what made
women happy, I'd always be fighting with Akane?  I may live
with her -- but I certainly can't figure her out!"
   "Oh."  There was a momentary pause, and then a
curious Kenji forged gamely ahead.  "But. . . still.  You
must've had more experience then most of us, right?"
   "Huh?"
   "I mean. . . well, between Akane, and Ukyou, and, ah.
. . you know, that purple--haired one, whatzername--"
   "Shampoo."
   "Yeah.  Shampoo.  I mean, we've seen how they
throw themselves at you. . . ."  He turned to the other guys for
support.  "Right guys?"
   "Yeah!"
   Ranma gave an expression somewhere between a
grimace and a grin.  "Akane?  Throw herself at me?"
   "Ah, right.  Well, the other two, then," amended
Kenji.  "They sure seem to, well. . . like you -- especially that
Shampoo."
   "Yeah?  So?"
   "So?  So you must've, you know. . . ."  He left the
statement dangling.
   Ranma totally failed to pick up on it.  "What?"
   "You _know_. . . ," he repeated.
   The pig--tailed boy remained blank.  "What?"
   "I think what he's insinuating," supplied Daisuke,
leaning in and grinning, "is that you must've had sex with at
least _one_ of them."
   There was a moment of stunned silence on Ranma's
part, and then a very odd look -- something between disgust,
annoyance, and outright panic -- crawled across his face.
"WHAT?" he exclaimed.  "NO!  I didn't!  I haven't!"
   There was a round of "Yeah, right!"s and "C'mon!"s
and "As if!"s, and disbelieving cries all around.  Hiroshi did
not bother adding his own voice -- he knew better, and
actually believed Ranma, although having seen Shampoo
around campus a few times, could not help but wonder how
his friend resisted the temptation.  Probably a fear or love (or
both) of Akane, or something -- or maybe just a curse-
induced lack of testosterone.
   "I'm serious!" insisted Ranma.  "I already told ya -- I
didn't ask for any of 'em!  I sure ain't gonna. . . you know. . .
with them."  He flushed a bit at the idea.  "Besides, if I _did_,
and Akane found out. . . she'd kill me!"
   "What if she was the one you did it with?"
   "That would be even _worse_!"
   Hiroshi snickered and patted his flustered friend on
the back.
   Kenji looked a bit disappointed for a moment.  "So,
uh, you're a. . . ."
   "What?  Virgin?" said Ranma, sounding a little
angry.  Not defensive, just upset.  "Yeah.  What's the big
deal?"
   "Nothing!"  Kenji raised his hands placatingly.
"Nothing.  I -- ah, we -- just figured that, with all those girls,
you would've. . . ."
   "Well I haven't."  Ranma seemed to insert an air of
finality into his words, yet continued a moment later.
"Listen.  I spent, what, the last ten years on the road.  The last
few months before coming to Nerima were spent wandering
across China.  Training.  That's where I met Shampoo."  He
stopped for a moment, as if in reflection.  He smiled slightly.
"But all she wanted to do was kill me.  So, yeah, I didn't
have much time to think about that kinda stuff -- what with
running for my life and everything.  And when I got here, and
moved in with the Tendos -- well, things've been kinda. . .
busy, you know?
   "Heck, I haven't even had a real kiss from one of
'em, yet.  Shampoo did, twice: but one was the Kiss of Death
-- which was on my girl-body to boot -- and the other was the
Kiss of Marriage, so they don't count."  He shrugged.
   Kenji looked at him disbelievingly.  "You mean, with
all these babes throwin' themselves at you, you haven't even
had a real _kiss_ yet?"
   "Well. . . ," Ranma started to say, then hesitated.  A
odd look crossed his face: he seemed to remember something,
momentarily, that made him look slightly ill; then, his face
flushed and he suddenly seemed upset.  "No," he said curtly.
"I haven't done anythin' like that -- with anyone."  Seeing the
unexpected, restrained anger, Kenji decided to let the subject
end.  Hiroshi was glad he did.  He could not fathom what had
upset Ranma, but it was obviously a touchy subject.
   There was a brief lull as the sound of bottles being
opened all around rang out.  Daisuke leaned forward after
taking a drink.  "So.  With all that said -- you're saying you
don't know more about the way women think than the rest of
us guys?"
   "Nope."  Ranma shook his head.  "Why should I?"
   "I think," growled a voice from behind Hiroshi,
slightly slurred.  "I think they're askin' 'cus. . . 'cus you're a
girl yourself!"
   There was a sudden frigid silence around the fire, and
all eyes turned to Ranma.  Under their scrutiny he stiffened,
face hardening.  Hiroshi had a bad feeling about this -- a very
bad feeling.  There were certain subjects you simply did not
raise around Ranma: his curse, his masculinity or lack
thereof; and you never, ever, called him a girl.
   "Excuse me?" the pigtailed boy asked, voice
dangerously cold.
   "I said, you'd know. . . 'cus you're a girl."
   "That's what I thought you said."  Slowly and
smoothly, Ranma rose to his feet and turned towards the
intruder.  "I.  Am.  A.  Guy.  Got it?"  He glared as the figure
approached.  "You got that, Ryuta?  Or are you stupid?"
   Ryuta stepped closer, striding arrogantly up to
Ranma.  The bully was, at a quick comparison, the more
intimidating of the two.  He was certainly taller, and thicker
set, with coarse, rigid features, and a drunken wildness to his
eyes that was decidedly uncomfortable.  But a glance at
Ranma, at his intensity, at the sudden deceptive looseness
with which he held himself, made it obvious to those who
knew, who was the one to fear.
   "Oh, yeah, sure, a guy," muttered Ryuta.  "My
mistake."
   "I'm glad we got that cleared up,"  Ranma said, still
glaring.
   "Yeah."  Ryuta turned away, then paused.  "It's just
that," he started.  "You sure _look_ like a girl!"  Ranma
hopped back as Ryuta spun around and punched forward; he
avoided the strike with ease -- but the contents of Ryuta's
glass hit him full in the face.
   Hiroshi groaned out loud.



"Akane!"
   "Just a 'sec, okay?" she said, and turned away from
Sayuri as a friend hurried up with a concerned look on her
face.  "Yes?  What is it?"
   The girl came to a breathless stop.  "Akane!  There's.
. . it looks like there's going to be a fight outside!"
   Akane's countenance darkened.  "It's Ranma, isn't
it?"
   The girl nodded.
   "That idiot," she growled.  And after I made him
promise not to fight!  Could she not have at least _one_ night
to herself, one night where her baka, unwanted fiance did not
get himself into a fistfight?  Well, she would show him!
"Where is he?"
   "I think he's with Hiroshi and the guys -- over by the
fire."
   "So what's it about this time?"
   "I don't know -- I think the other guy started it -- but
he's not alone. . . ."
   The other guy started it?  Not likely, considering
Ranma.  Well, she would set everything straight -- even if she
had to beat up both involved parties to do so!


Ranma wiped the liquid from her eyes.  It was not water -- it
was slightly sticky and smelled sweet, and stung a little -- but
obviously it had been enough to do the job.  With
unconscious ease developed over innumerable accidental
encounters with cold water, she tightened the belt around her
waist and adjusted her clothing.
   "See what I mean?" mocked Ryuta.  "You _are_ a
girl!"  Ranma berated herself for not dodging the splash, and
proceeded to eye her opponent critically.  The guy obviously
knew how to fight; not as a martial artist, perhaps -- he lacked
that unconscious air of calm confidence and discipline -- but
most definitely as a brawler, with an intensity that only
experience brings.  Big, strong, and probably pretty tough;
drunk, too, which never helped -- enough fights with Pop
after he would come home after drinking too much, yet
stubbornly insisting on training, had taught her what to
expect.  Not that it mattered: after one got used to fighting the
likes of Ryoga, chumps like this simply failed to measure up.
There was only one problem: the promise to Akane.  She
would not go back on her word; she could not, even though
every instinct was screaming at her to beat the shit out of this
jerk.
   "So, c'mon, Ranma."  Ryuta stepped forward.
"What's it like?  Eh?  What turns a girl on -- what's it feel
like?"
   The redhead took a deep breath.  She would _not_ be
baited into a fight.  This was. . . training, like for the Hiryu
Shotenha; she just had to keep a level head, and stay cool.
"Go away, Ryuta. . . ." Ranma forced her voice to stay calm,
though there was a slight tremor she could not avoid.  "I'm
not interested in a fight."
   The larger boy ignored her and moved closer.  Ranma
noticed that he was not alone; the bully had brought along a
few of his bully friends, two of them flanking their leader and
the other making a pathetic attempt at sneaking up from
behind.    "You telling us you don't know?  You telling us
you've never. . . experimented?"
   "No.  I haven't," said Ranma, anger starting to grow.
"I'm not some kind of pervert!"
   "I find that hard to believe.  C'mon, what's it like --
having your breasts felt up?"
   "I wouldn't know."
   "No?  Maybe you've gone further. . . maybe tried it
with a guy, eh, you little sex-changing freak?  What's it like,
feeling some guy inside of you, huh?  Grinding away at you,
thrusting, his hands all over. . . ."
   Ranma felt the blood pounding in her ears, her rage
building, the leash restraining her anger slipping.  The
presence of the crowd thrust itself upon her awareness, their
whispers coming to her peripherally: some of the guys she'd
been chatting with, who knew her, wondering why she hadn't
taken Ryuta down yet; others, who hadn't been there, but
recognized her, unsurprised that she'd started a fight -- "oh,
look, it's Ranma, fighting again, big surprise. . . ," they said;
and the others, the curious, the surprised, wondering "who's
that girl" or "shouldn't we do something, she's going to get
hurt," but no one actually doing anything, after all, it wasn't
any of _their_ business, and Uehara was a really _big_ guy.
And then the other whispers, the ones that hurt: "Do you
think she's telling the truth?", "Maybe Ryuta's right," "I
always knew he was a pervert!"  So she spoke to drown out
the voices with her own, words half-choked with fury and
shame, louder and shriller than she would have liked.
"Don't. . . don't, Ryuta.  Don't push me.  I -- I promised I
wouldn't get into a fight tonight -- don't make me break my
word.  Don't."  A deep shuddering breath, an attempt to
regain control.  And then, "I'm a man."
   Uehara swaggered a step closer, sneering down at the
diminutive girl, close and towering over her.  "I always knew
it," he stated in a cold, hard whisper, drunkenness fading
before sudden meanness.  "Scared.  You're all lies and
reputation.  A joke."
   "You're the joke, Ryuta." she replied evenly.
"You're just a pathetic bully."
   To her surprise, he nodded.  "Maybe I am.  But at
least I'm honest about it."
   Her eyes narrowed.  "What?"
   "I'm a bully.  Sure.  I know it.  But so are you -- but
you lie to yourself, hide from the truth.  Who's the one who's
pathetic?"
   "I am _not_ like you!"
   "Yeah?  Funny.  I've seen the guys you hang around
with.  You ever think twice about grinding them down?
Humiliating them and hurting them whenever they even
slightly annoy you?  'Course not!"  He made a sudden, wide
gesture, taking in the silent, straining crowd surrounding
them.  "Now look around.  Look at those wimps, those little
shits.  They're afraid of me, of what I can do, and they do
what I want 'cus of that fear.  Now do you _really_ think
they fear you any less?  Idiot.  You're kidding yourself.  Did
you think they were your _friends_?"
   "They _are_ my friends!" insisted Ranma.
   Ryuta stared down at her for a long moment, before
one corner of his smile twisted up in a sneer.  "I just realized
how well that body suits you.  You're a coward, Saotome."
   "Am I?  Challenge me and find out, asshole!"
   He looked at her for a moment, then laughed.  "I
couldn't.  I don't fight girls," he said, loudly, and turned
away.
   The words resounded through Ranma's mind,
Ryuta's patronizing laugh a taunt, his turned back an insult.
She felt her fist clench convulsively by her side.  "I'm a
MAN!" she yelled after him.  "You hear me?  I'm more a
man than you'll ever be!"  No one turns their back on her, her
mind screamed, not while she was still standing, not after
insulting her like that -- not Ryoga, not Mousse, not Kuno,
and most certainly not a pathetic, weak, _lying_ little bastard
bully like Ryuta Uehara!  "Come back here and face me like
one!  I'll show you how much of a man I really am!"
   He paused, and after a beat, slowly turned around to
face her.  Ranma could feel the tension around her, everyone
holding their breath.  And then he smiled, and gave her the
most infuriatingly condescending look.  "Cute, ain't she?" he
smirked.  "Must be that time of the month."
   Sudden shame possessed her, so intense it nearly
brought tears to her eyes.  It quickly transformed into anger
and hatred.  She flowed forward, riding the fury, feral grin
and furious eyes lighting her face, animalistic gleeful snarl
escaping her lips.  Her tormenter could not follow, he was
slow, far, far too slow to react in time.  His tentative guard
was knocked away, yanked forward, her other hand latching
onto his armpit, fingers and thumb digging into muscle
viciously, leg hooking in, snapping straight, breaking his
stance.  She could smell the alcohol clinging to him, the
sudden fear, feel as he tried to pull away, see the surprise and
pain rise in his eyes as he stumbled forward, and then the
sudden wince, the eyes almost rolling completely back, as she
buried her knee into his crotch.  He curled up and collapsed,
but still she held him; her grim smile tightened as she
smashed her fist forward, downwards, the rush of adrenalin
proving that she was a _man_. . . .
   "RANMA!"
   Her fist froze, bottom three knuckles flush against the
arc of Ryuta's nose.  A sudden coldness and dread seized her
stomach, almost painful in its intensity.  She glanced down at
the arm still held in her right hand, relaxed her hold, saw the
line of red jagged marks in the wrist left by her tight grip and
nails.  Absently releasing the limb, Ranma turned to face
Akane.
   "A-- Akane."
   "What are you DOING?" she demanded, stalking
forward.
   "It's not my fault!" Ranma protested.
   "How can you _say_ that?  Look at you -- bullying
that guy!"
   "Bull. . . bullying?"  Ranma stepped over Ryuta's
crumpled form, her anger shifting to Akane.  "The jerk
started it!"
   "Like I'm going to believe that!  Like I care!  You
promised me -- no fighting!"
   "I didn't want to!  What could I do!"
   "Ignore him!  Walk away!"
   "What?" Ranma cried.  "Are you stupid?  You didn't
hear. . . ."
   "What did you call me?"  Akane yelled.
   "Oh, so you listen to me _now_, huh?"  She yelled
back.  "Stupid tomboy!"
   "You jerk!" she screamed, her hand lashing out.
Ranma felt the all-too familiar pain explode in the side of her
face, and staggered slightly.   "You just had to ruin my night,
didn't you!  Everything was going fine, and you just had to
screw it up!"
   "But I -- I. . ."  But what can I say, thought Ranma,
and the anger suddenly drained away.  Akane was right.  It
was unfair -- totally so -- but Akane was right.  I broke my
promise; I've ruined Akane's night.  A groan displaced her
attention: Ryuta, clutching his groin, one foot scrabbling in
the dirt and vainly trying to stand, to push away.  The fight
had never been about who was stronger, Ranma suddenly
realized.  Uehara must have known he could never beat
Ranma in a fight.  But the fight he had initiated -- the real
fight -- Uehara had won hands down.  I shouldn't have lost
my temper, she berated herself.  But what else could I have
done?  Ryuta had pushed, pushed too much and too far.
Ranma was surprised she had managed to hold back as long
as she had.  She looked around: the other bullies were
backing off, obviously frightened now that their leader was
down; Hiroshi and the guys were staring at her and Akane,
mixed glances of curiosity, amusement, and annoyance; the
others watched with surprise at the sudden violence, victory,
and words of the strange and small girl, or still in shock as the
curse was revealed to them for the first time; and, buried just
beneath the surface of it all, did Ranma detect just the
slightest glimmer of fear at the unexpected viciousness of her
attack -- was Ryuta right?
   And then, turning back to the source of the new
conflict, he saw the girls who had followed Akane: Sayuri,
glaring at Ranma like she was some kind of bug, the cause of
all their friend's problems; the others, obviously annoyed and
tired of the whole thing; and finally Akane, disgusted,
enraged, sick of her fiancee and angry as usual.  Everything
was so quiet, everyone looking at Ranma, the party disrupted,
the fun ruined.  She was not wanted here.  She did not belong
here.  Ryuta was right.
   "Fuck this," muttered Ranma.   "I don't know why I
bothered."
   She turned her back on them all and walked away.


"Ranma," whispered Akane after a moment of shock, taking
a hesitant step toward the pig-tailed girl.
   A hand fell on her shoulder.  It was her friend, Sayuri.
"Don't bother, Akane," she said.  "There's no point.  You'll
just end up fighting, you know you will.  Give her a chance to
cool down."
   "But. . . ."
   "Didn't you come here to have a good time?"  Sayuri
waited a moment, until Akane nodded glumly.  "Well, it's
not going to happen if you chase after Ranma.  This is your
night out, isn't it?  Then let her sulk!  Maybe she'll come
back and apologize -- though I doubt it -- but why worry?"
   Akane looked after Ranma's retreating form.  She
could hear the whispering around her;  maybe it had not been
Ranma's fault, after all.  But Ranma had promised!  And yet.
. . and yet, he had seemed so tired, so sick of the fighting and
the arguing, so open and hurt right before turning away.
Should she go after him?
   "Hey, look!"  Sayuri's hand suddenly grabbed
Akane's.  "My friend from Tomobiki just got here!  C'mon,
you just gotta meet her!  I know you'll just get along great!"
Akane found herself being dragged back into the house.
   She spared a last look outside after Ranma; he was
already gone.


When he caught up, she was already stepping out onto the
street, heavy iron gate about to clang shut behind her.  She
paused for a moment and stared down at the ground, one
hand holding the gate open; then, with a shaking of her head,
she seemed to come to a decision.  She moved away from the
house.
   "Ranma!  Wait!" shouted Hiroshi.
   The redhead hesitated for a moment, and stopped.
She did not turn around, but allowed Hiroshi to catch up,
stopping the gate from closing with one foot.
   "Ranma," he started, slightly winded.
   "What do you want?" she said, and sighed, sparing
him a brief glance.  He was surprised at the look on her face -
- never had he seen Ranma like this, never seen a depressed
nor tired side to her.  Was this what she was like outside of
school?  Or at home?  I really don't know much about her, he
suddenly realized.
   "I. . . don't go, Ranma," said Hiroshi.  "You don't
have to leave."
   "You're right, Hiroshi.  I don't _have_ to leave."  She
turned away from him.  "I _want_ to leave."
   "But. . . ."
   "But what?" she interrupted in a tired voice.  "What's
the use of staying?  So I can start another fight?  Piss off
Akane again?  Maybe ruin the night for everybody else, too?
Yeah.  Good idea, Hiroshi, just great."  She gave him one last
look through the bars of the gate, then stepped away.
   Hiroshi watched as his friend left.  Damn, but it
wasn't fair, he thought.  For once, it really had not been her
fault; for once, everybody _wanted_ her to beat up the jerk.
If she had not been there, Ryuta would have doubtlessly
started the fight with somebody else -- and probably won as
well.  Maybe the party had been disrupted, a bit, but at least
no one had been hurt!  No, decided Hiroshi, Ranma was not
going to leave that easily.  She deserved to have fun, too,
once in a while.  He slipped through the gate and ran up
behind his friend.
   She tensed as Hiroshi pulled her back with a hand on
her shoulder.  "What do you think you're doing?" she
demanded.
   "I'm stopping you from leaving, Ranma.  What
happened back there wasn't your fault, no matter what
anyone says!  If you hadn't been there. . . well, Ryuta
probably would've beat up Daisuke earlier, and picked a
fight with someone else, anyway!"
   Ranma shrugged her shoulders.  "Probably.  So what?
I'm not leaving 'cus of the fight, Hiroshi.  I'm not even
leaving 'cus of Akane."  Hiroshi noticed her face darkened as
she spoke the last name.
   "You're not?"
   "Nah."  She shook her head, and sighed.  "But I
realized something, right after.  I looked around, Hiroshi.
Looked at everybody, looking at me.  And Akane.  And I
realized -- I didn't belong there.  Maybe Akane does -- she
grew up here, she's gone to Furinkan all along, she grew up
with these people -- but I don't.  The way everybody was
looking; not like I was their friend, but. . . but like I was some
kinda freak."  Her gaze dropped to the ground.  "Like some
kind of _dangerous_ freak."
   "Hey!" protested Hiroshi.  "That's not true!"
   "Isn't it?  Maybe.  But if not that. . . then I was the
guy who's always fighting.  Or causing trouble.  I'm the
cross-dressing pervert, or the Casanova, the guy who's
always arguing with his fiancee.  Akane and I aren't even a
real couple -- we're a sideshow to keep you guys amused."
She let out a deep breath and leaned against the outside wall
of Kiyoshi's residence.  "I just don't fit in, Hiroshi.  Those
guys in there, everybody. . . they're just not my crowd, I
guess."
   "Then who is?"
   "I. . . don't know, Hiroshi.  I really don't know."
   He stared at his friend in disbelief.  Was Ranma. . .
lonely?  Hiroshi had trouble reconciling that idea with the
attractive young girl before him.  Ranma had everything: the
good-looks (as both guy and girl), the skill, the strength, the
charisma; she had three fiancees, and other gorgeous girls
chasing after her; she was engaged to, arguably, the most
popular girl in school, and Ranma, herself, was arguably the
most popular guy.  How could Ranma possibly be depressed?
She could have any girl at school, if she wanted, or, for that
matter, probably any guy.  Try as he might, Hiroshi could not
understand.  But whether he did or not was not important; his
friend was feeling down, and it was his job to cheer her up.
   "Listen, Ranma," he said, after a few moments of
silence.  "I don't know about all that; maybe you're right,
maybe not.  But I do know that, before Ryuta came along,
you were having a good time.  Weren't you?"
   She seemed a little surprised.  "Ye. . . yeah, I guess
so. . . ."
   "Did you feel out of place?  Like you didn't fit in?
Didn't seem like it, to me at least.  We were talking, you
were talking, hell, everybody was laughing and drinking and
having a good time!  I don't see what the big deal is!"
   "But. . . ."
   "But what?  So you had a fight with Akane!  So
what?  You think any one of those guys sitting around the fire
hasn't had at least one argument with a girlfriend?  So yours
are a bit more violent, a bit more. . . vocal; that's just the way
you and Akane are!"
   "But. . . ."
   "No," stated Hiroshi, grabbing Ranma's wrist and
pulling her towards the party.  "No excuses.  You're coming
back with me.  You're having a good time tonight, no matter
what!"
   "Hey!  Waitasec!"  The girl easily slipped her wrist
free from his grasp.  "Listen, thanks, I appreciate it, but I just
_can't_ go back with you!"
   "Why the hell not?" he asked, a little confused.
   "Well, just look at me!"
   He did so.  He liked what he saw.  "Yeah, so?"
   "I'm a girl, stupid!  That group around the fire --
they're all guys.  It's an all-guy thing, Hiroshi, and I'm a girl.
I don't belong."
   With a snort of disgust he grabbed her wrist again and
yanked the gate open with his other hand.  "That's a pretty
lame excuse, Ranma.  You're a guy -- we all know that!  We
don't care what you look like!  And we can get you some hot
water from the house, anyway."  He noted with some
satisfaction that this time, at least, she allowed herself to be
pulled forward.  She had a thoughtful look on her face, and
the slightest of smiles.
   "Ok.  Fine," she said.  "I'll stay for a little while.  But
forget the hot water.  Akane's in that house -- no way in hell
I'm risking bumping into that kawaikunee, violent. . ."
   "Tomboy?" supplied Hiroshi.
   "Yeah.  I'll just stay like this."
   "'kay," agreed Hiroshi, leading the way.
   "Oh, and, bud. . . thanks.  I appreciate this."
   "No problem, Ranma."
   "And, Hiroshi. . . ."
   "Yeah."
   "Would you mind letting go of my hand?"
   He grinned.  "Oh.  Sorry."
   They rounded the corner of the house.  Before them,
the party was once more in full swing.  The pool was
splashing, the music was blaring, and the guys were sitting
around the fire.  With a nod in their direction, Hiroshi led the
way.   "C'mon, Ranma.  You won't regret this!  We'll make
this a night you'll never forget. . . ."


Releasing a sigh, Akane stepped out onto the second floor
balcony, looking out over the backyard and the festivities.
Damn, she was trying, but she simply felt unable to relax!
Stupid Ranma -- leaving like that, leaving her all tense and
stressed out and. . .  and worried, she added with a frown.
   Why?  Why did she let him get to her like that?  It
was not fair -- he starts the trouble, yet she was the one left
feeling guilty.  The jerk was probably over at Ukyou's,
anyway, eating okonomiyaki, complaining about his
'kawaikunee' fiancee to his 'kawaii' fiancee.  Her grip
tightened on the railing.  Stupid jerk!  She glanced back into
the house, towards the party noises and her school-friends: the
balcony led into the master bedroom, and she noticed for the
first time the silhouette of a couple making out on the bed.
She blushed and turned away, but for some reason the
afterimage remained with her.  Akane suddenly realized that
she felt. . . envious, of that unknown couple on the bed.
Kissing, hugging -- what is it like, she wondered, to be
_close_ to someone, a friend, someone who cared for her?
But I hate boys!, she reminded herself, but it did nothing to
alleviate her melancholy.  She tried to imagine her and
Ranma in a similar situation, and gave a mirthless laugh.
Not likely.  Stupid baka.
   Maybe she could go for a swim, she thought, trying to
distract herself, then remembered that she would likely drown
if she did.  She looked down at the pool enviously.  One day,
maybe.  Wandering eyes carried her gaze to the scene of the
fight.  The fight.  What had happened?  Had it been Ranma's
fault?  Whatever had happened, it had left him furious -- she
had seen the intensity, the savageness of his assault.
Whatever.  She did not want to think about it, about Ranma.
Sudden movement caught her eye: someone joining the group
sitting around the fire the guys had claimed as their own.
Rather unfair of them, she thought.  But. . . wait!  She
narrowed her eyes, trying to make out who was sitting by the
fire.  It was hard, the light was directly behind them, but. . .
was that a flash of red hair?
   And then a cry rang out, a chorus of
'KAWAIKUNEE!', and the figure glanced back nervously.
Their eyes met -- it was Ranma, laughing.  Upon recognizing
Akane, his smile faded.  A moment  passed, and then Ranma
frowned and looked away, turning his back to Akane.
   Akane growled in frustration.  Here I was, worried!,
she thought.  And there's the jerk, yukking it up!  Well, fine!
If he can have fun -- then so can I!  With an indignant sniff,
she spun away and stormed back into the house, ignoring the
motions on the bed as she passed them by.


"Quiet," hissed Ranma.  "You tryin' to get me killed?"
   The guys looked at each other for a moment, and as a
group, shouted: "KAWAIKUNEE!", which quickly
degenerated into a fit of somewhat-drunken giggling.  Hiroshi
watched in amusement as Ranma, laughing as well, glanced
around nervously.  For a moment she froze, staring up at the
house; Hiroshi followed her gaze and thought he caught a
glimpse of Akane.  When Ranma turned back to the fire, she
was frowning.
   "Hey, what is it?" he asked, nudging her.  The
conversation carried on without them, Daisuke desperately
trying to convince the guys that _he_ had dumped his ex-
girlfriend, and not the other way around.
   "Nothin'," muttered Ranma in response.  A moment
later she turned to Hiroshi with an intense look in her eyes.
"Listen. . . do you have any of that beer left?"
   "Uh, yeah, I guess," he answered, surprised.
   "Would'ya mind if I borrowed some?  I'll pay you
back, I promise."
   "Don't worry about it."  He pulled one out, but
hesitated before handing it over.  "Are you sure you want
one?"
   She nodded.  Almost reluctantly, he gave Ranma the
beer.  She immediately popped it open and sucked down half
the bottle in a single swig; it seemed Ranma drank the same
way she did everything else -- wholeheartedly.  When she
came up for air her face wrinkled in a grimace.
   "What, you don't like?" asked Daisuke, leaning over.
She shrugged and took another drink.
   "Say. . . you ever drink before, Ranma?" asked
Hiroshi, still a little worried.  He had the sudden feeling that
maybe Ranma was not in the best of moods to be drinking.
   "Yup," she answered.  "Remember that stupid Romeo
and Juliet play from way-back?"  Hiroshi and Daisuke, and a
few of the other guys who were listening, nodded.
"Remember that bottle of sake Kuno poured down my
throat?"
   "Oh yeah!" said Daisuke.  "So, what, that was your
first time drinking?"
   "Well, as a girl, anyway," answered Ranma.
   Daisuke looked at his friend and shrugged.  It was not
like Ranma needed him to look over her or anything -- she
could take care of herself, realized Hiroshi.  He was not too
sure why it was bothering him; it was just that he had this
nagging feeling that maybe she should not be drinking -- at
least not until she got things squared with Akane.  That
brought a grin to his face; if Ranma waited for _that_, she
would _never_ get to drink!  With a shake of his head he
decided to let it go, and instead of worrying he sat back
comfortably and drank a bit more, and listened.  The name of
Kuno had come up, and everyone was taking potshots at the
oh-so-well-respected Blue Thunder.  Ranma, in particular,
had some rather caustic things to add, growing in vehemence
as she started her second beer (this one donated by Daisuke).
Seemed she was quite tired of being groped by him, fondled
by him, and having flowers sent to her.  When asked why she
did not just tell him who she was, or tell him she was not
interested, or just beat him up, she responded that she had
tried all three, several times, sometimes simultaneously -- but
he just refused to understand.  There was a general laugh at
Kuno's expense, and the conversation moved on.
   The time flew quickly.  They talked, they laughed,
they drank, wood was piled on the fire as it started to burn
low.  From time to time someone would leave, or someone
new would join, and in a few instances the newcomer was not
from Furinkan; Ranma would draw a few odd stares from
them, but they quickly learnt that this lone girl was 'one of
the guys' and that there really was no reason to treat her
differently from anyone else sitting around the fire (in fact,
she rather vehemently insisted that they did not).  One
stranger actually made the mistake of hitting on her; _that_
had been good for a laugh, as Ranma (once she figured out
what the guy was doing) shifted from extreme embarrassment
to righteous anger and promptly booted him away.  There
were brief lulls, occasionally, especially after someone
mentioned something particularly deep or moving (or what
passed as such after a few drinks), but eventually
conversation would start up again.  And no matter what range
of topics they passed through -- be it school, teachers, parents,
sports, martial arts (initiated by Ranma, of course), Nerima,
plans for the future -- they would always invariably return to
the opposite sex.  And so they talked, and drank.
   One particular comment caught Hiroshi's attention.
Kiyoshi -- the party-thrower himself -- had joined the group
for a moment, and was complaining loudly about his
girlfriend, Kaori.  He was not all that popular of a guy, aside
for his parties, but since he was the host, everyone listened
politely.
   ". . .and so she cancelled on me!  Just like that!
Broke the date!  And do you know why?  I can't believe this -
- she ruined a perfectly good date I'd been planning for
weeks, and I lost the reservation money and everything! -- she
said she couldn't come out because of cramps! -- because of
her period!  She said it hurt too much!" he said, ending by
mimicking a girlish whining voice.  "As if!  I know girls hafta
deal with that crap, but as if it hurts that much!  If she just
didn't want to go out with. . . ."
   "Oh, shut up!" interrupted Ranma, sounding
disgusted.  "You don't gotta clue what you're talkin' about,
okay?"
   "Huh?" responded Kiyoshi, obviously wondering,
somewhat drunkenly, who had interrupted him.
   "If Kaori said it hurt that much, believe her, 'kay?
'Cus it does -- it can.  Sometimes it ain't so bad -- and some
other times, well. . . it is.  You ain't never felt it, Kiyoshi -- it
bites, man.  It really, really sucks."
   "And how would you know, huh?"
   Ranma glared at him evenly.  "Think about it,
moron."
   He did so, for a moment, and his eyes widened.  "Oh.
Ohhhh, oh yeah.  I. . . forgot," he ended lamely, and soon left.
An uncomfortable silence was left in his wake, during which
Hiroshi leaned towards Ranma.  She was staring down at the
ground, blushing furiously, perhaps suddenly realizing that
maybe she'd admitted a bit more than she'd cared to.
   "So, you mean, you, ah. . . ."
   She nodded mutely.
   "And it, ah, hurts?"
   "Yeah.  Sometimes."
   "Sheesh.  I never, ah, realized that, you know. . . ."
   She shrugged.  "It's not something I like to talk
about, obviously.  It's. . . it's kinda embarrassing; I'm a guy,
but I gotta deal with that crap."  With a depressed sigh she
drooped a bit, finger tracing an abstract doodle in the dirt.
"Hell, if it was just the pain, it wouldn't be so bad -- I'm used
to pain, I can take it no problem; it's the other stuff.  The
blood and other shit.  Or the way it makes me feel, right
before.  It really sucks."
   "My girlfriend says that sometimes it makes her cry,
for no reason," supplied a classmate from across the fire.
"Well, sometimes, anyway."
   Ranma raised her head and glared at him.  "I _don't_
cry!" she insisted.  "Men don't cry."  Then she softened
slightly.  "But, yeah, I've seen Akane act that way a few
times.  Really had me confused 'till I figured what was wrong
with her -- 'till I felt it myself.  Well, kinda -- it doesn't hit me
that way; but I can still tell, I know it's affecting me, I find
myself acting. . . weird, sometimes, reacting in ways I know
ain't normal for me.  It scares me."
   Hiroshi looked at his friend with some surprise, as
Ranma returned suddenly unseeing stare to the dancing
flames.  He had had no idea about any of this; everyone knew
that Ranma hated turning into a girl, was desperate to do
anything to get rid of the curse -- but it had never occurred to
Hiroshi that it affected her this deeply, so profoundly. . . that
it _scared_ her.
   "That's when it really hit me. . . ."  Hiroshi suddenly
realized that Ranma was still talking, hardly above a whisper,
more to herself than anyone.  He doubted that anybody else
could hear.  "When it happened the first time.  I was still in
China, and there hadn't been any hot water for a while.
When the cramps started, I ignored them -- I figured it was
the strange food, or something.  And if I was a bit short
tempered, or depressed -- well, I figured I had every reason to
be.  But then the bleeding started.  It freaked me right out.
Pop wasn't much help, either: first he was ashamed of me,
and then, when he actually explained it, he messed it up and
ended up scaring me worse.  But that's when I first truly
realized it -- I was a girl.  In every way.  Every month, it
reminds me of what I am -- every month, it scares me, and
makes me wonder if I'm a little less a man, if a little more of
me has slipped away, has. . . has bled away."  And then
suddenly Ranma was looking right at him, eyes burning in
the firelight, very serious.  "I don't know why I'm telling you
this, Hiroshi.  But I'm trusting you, man.  I. . . I don't want
anyone else knowing about this stuff."
   Stunned, Hiroshi could only numbly nod his head.
He was not sure how he felt.  Did he even want to know
about all this?  But he could not help but feel a little
honoured that Ranma would share something this deep, this
personal with him.  Sure, the alcohol had probably been
largely responsible, but this still meant something.  He
wondered if Ranma had even shared these feelings with
Akane -- if she even could.
   When he looked back up, Ranma was answering
another question.  That moment, that look, when she had
been whispering and baring her fears to him, was gone.
There was the same slight roughness, that cocky self-
confident if somewhat discomfitted attitude that he used with
the other guys.
   "Sheesh.  Can't we just let it drop?"  She was saying.
"Yeah, I learnt to keep track of that stupid cycle -- my stupid
cycle.  I had to suffer through a crash course in feminine
hygiene, how to use all that stuff and clean myself and
everything.  I think I woulda died if it hadn't been Kasumi
doin' the teaching.  Can you imagine Akane showin' me?"
Ranma gave a grim chuckle and took a drink -- a long one.
   "What about your mom?  My mom showed my sister
all that stuff," asked someone.
   Hiroshi was not sure if anyone noticed the flash of
pain that crossed her face, or the sudden tightening of her grip
on her bottle.  "No," she answered in a voice that sounded
strained.  "My mom. . . isn't around."
   "Oh."
   There was a moment's silence.  Someone elbowed the
guy who had asked the offending question, and there was a
hurried exchange of angry mutterings.  Ranma did not seem
to notice, submerged in a sudden melancholy.  Then she
snapped out of it and forced a smile to her lips.  "So.  Yeah.
There ya have it.  The bottom line is: it sucks.  Tho' I've got
it easier than most girls, I guess -- after all, if I can get my
hands on some hot water, it all just goes away."  Then she
muttered something about stupid rain, stupid curses and
stupider fathers, and took another drink.
   A hesitant question interrupted her complaining.  "So.
. . ah. . . what does, you know, it feel like?"
   She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it.  She
ended up just kind of waving her hand around uselessly in a
gesture meant to convey something she could not explain.  "I.
. . I don't know.  You couldn't understand.  It's well. . . well,
you feel it in. . . damn.  You just don't got the right bits, you
know?"  A couple of the guys suddenly looked queasy at that,
and finally let it drop.  But Hiroshi had one last question,
which he asked in a subdued voice.
   "Ranma, if you have, you know. . . ."
   "Yeah."
   "Then I guess that means that, as a girl, you've got,
you know, all the. . . parts, right?"
   She stared at him for a moment before nodding.
"Yeah."
   "So that means that, ah, theoretically speaking, you
could, you know, get. . . ."
   "I don't like to think about that," she said, glaring at
him.  "And neither should you."
   Hiroshi wisely decided to drop the subject.  It took
several moments for everyone to pick up again, but
eventually people were talking, obviously trying to not think
about Ranma's little admission.  She seemed all too happy to
let it go and drink some more.  She did not stay quiet for long,
however, as Toshi, who had disappeared for a while, returned
and sat down.
   "So, Ranma. . ." he asked from across the fire, his
speech slurred.  "You never. . . you didn't tell us. . . which
girl it was you liked. . . thought was cutest!"
   The redhead blushed, her face already rather flushed
from drinking and her last contribution to the conversation.
She had a slightly glazed look to her eyes.  She looked at the
ground in embarrassment, and mumbled something
unintelligible.
   "Huh?" asked the guy next to her, prodding her.  "We
didn't get that."
   "Ah. . . aka. . . Akane," she muttered, then glared
defiantly (if somewhat unsteadily) at everyone.
   "I knew it!" cried the group, more or less in unison.
"She _does_ like her!"
   "Hey!" she exclaimed.  "I didn't say that!  I didn't!  I
only said she was cute!"
   "Sure, whatever!"
   "No!  S'true!  And only when she smiles!  And
'specially not when she's chasin' me and tryin' to beat me or
cook me somethin'!"  Her protests were overridden by
laughter, and after a moment of false anger, she joined in.
Around that time Daisuke plopped down heavily next to
Hiroshi.
   "Hey man, where were you?" asked Hiroshi,
dropping out of the conversation.  Ranma was still protesting
loudly his feelings for Akane.
   Daisuke smiled.  "Just checkin' on something.  For
later," he said, then nodded towards the group.  "What's up?"
   "Nothin' much," smirked Hiroshi.  "Ranma just
admitted that she likes Akane."
   "What!" cried Daisuke.  "And I missed it!  Shit!"
   "Yo, Daisuke!" called out Ranma, drawing both guys
back into the talk.  "What about you?  Which girl you like?
Which one you think's the cutest?"
   Hiroshi watched as his friend blushed, looking away.
He was curious himself -- Daisuke never really spoke about it
much.  Except. . . Hiroshi caught the brief, momentary
sideways glance that his friend tried to hide, and suddenly, he
knew.  He had almost forgotten, actually: all the little looks
Daisuke secretly threw her way, the occasional subdued
comment, the mild infatuation he seemed to have.  He could
not help it -- Hiroshi burst out in laughter.
   "What?  What is it?  You know?" asked Ranma.
   "Oh yeah!  I know!" he chortled.
   "Who?"
   "Oh, good choice, my friend!" he said, slapping his
friend on the back.  "Excellent taste in women, I must say!"
   "Who is it?" asked Kenji, echoed by the others.  "She
good looking?"
   "You betcha!  You even know her -- she's at this
party!"
   "Really?"  The guys started craning their necks,
looking about to see what had clued Hiroshi in.  "Where is
she?"  Next to him Daisuke was shaking his head, a slightly
panicked look on his face, but Hiroshi ignored him.
   "Oh, she's closer than you think.  In fact -- you could
say she's right here. . . sitting with us!"
   There was a brief silence, and then everybody's eyes
slowly turned to Ranma.  She looked around in confusion for
a moment, then down at herself, then back up at the group.
Her eyes widened in shock.  "What, me?"
   The guys looked among themselves for a moment,
then shrugged.  "Hell, Daisuke's got a point."
   "Yeah.  Cute face."
   "A redhead!  With long hair!"
   "Nice legs."
   "Hot bod."
   Ranma stared for a moment in disbelief as they
laughed.  The oddest expression crossed her face, profound
embarrassment struggling with a certain perverse pride.
Apparently, ego was the stronger of the two as a glimmer
entered her eye.  "What?  Guys. . . I'm. . . I'm hurt!" she said,
arching her back slightly, reaching down and cupping her
breasts, lifting them a bit.  "You forgot to mention how
stacked I am!"  She grinned and took a drink.
   A couple of guys spurted out their drink when they
saw her response; a few looked a little uncomfortable,
squirming slightly, as Ranma lifted her hands behind her head
and showed off her curves, still grinning.  For a moment no
one seemed to know exactly what to say, until Hiroshi lifted
his bottle.  "Uhhh. . . yeah." he said, but then after a
moment's thought he smiled wickedly and added: "She's got
a point!  We weren't doing her justice!"  He turned to her and
bowed slightly.  "On behalf of everyone here, I apologize."
Then, returning his attention to everyone else, he continued.
"And on that note, I think we have a winner, don't you
think?"
   There was a brief exchange of glances, at first
confused but quickly clearing up, and soon everyone's grin
matched Hiroshi's.  There was general nodding all around,
except from Ranma who appeared somewhat confused.
"Huh?  Winner?  What for?" she asked, stopping her
impromptu modelling.
   Hiroshi smiled as he explained.  "Well, you see. . .
every year, when Kiyoshi throws this party of his, there's a
tradition we guys follow ('tradition?' someone added, 'it's
only the second time!'): after much deliberation ('and
drinking!' someone else added), we, the men of Furinkan
High, declare the official hottest babe of Furinkan.  And you,
Ranma, by unanimous vote, have been declared that babe!
Congratulations!"
   There was a round of applause, and then Daisuke
stood up.  "Well, that's done," he declared.  "Time for a
swim, I think."  There was a quick chorus of agreement, and
everybody leapt to their feet, some more unsteadily than
other.  They were halfway to the pool change-room before
they realized they had left Ranma behind, still sitting stunned
by the fire.


"The guys are going swimming!  Let's go join 'em!"
exclaimed Sayuri, turning from the window and back to her
friends.  A small group of them -- Yuka, Hiromi, Keiko,
Akane, Akemi -- were lounging around one of the rooms of
the house, loud and annoying pop music blaring from the far
end of the room (but changing every few minutes as two guys
clustered around the stereo continuously switched the CDs).
The current topic died as they responded with vigorous
nodding.
   "You coming?" asked Yuka.
   Akane shook her head.  She sank back into the sofa,
feeling strangely depressed and out of place.  Somehow, her
friends' conversation had seemed less interesting, the gossip
dull, their problems and complaints relatively minor.  Why?
What had changed in her life, that these classmates, friends
for years, suddenly became less appealing to her?  All she
knew is that suddenly, at one point, she found herself wishing
that Ukyou -- of all people! -- had been able to come.
   "Why not?  Didn't you bring a swimsuit?  I thought
you brought that red one.  It looks good on you, you know.
Very sexy!  Red is definitely your colour!  Akane?"
   Akane sighed.  Yuka was a good friend, but, as she
had recently discovered, annoyingly talkative when drunk.
Most of her other friends were a little drunk by now as well;
Akane was the only one who had refused anything to drink.
She wasn't too sure why.  She had never really experimented
with alcohol much in the past and, somehow, tonight had not
felt like the night to start -- problems with Ranma
notwithstanding.  "Yes, Yuka," she answered.  "I did bring it
-- you kind of forced me to, remember?"
   Yuka giggled and nodded.  "That's right!"
   "But I don't think I'm going to go swimming.  I. . .
don't feel like it."  I don't feel like drowning or embarrassing
myself, she mentally added.
   "Aw, c'mon, Akane!" begged her friend.  "You
haven't even had a chance to show it off!"
   Another sigh.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I guess I'm just
not in a partying mood."  She gave a slight grin.  "Maybe I
can get Ranma to model it. . ."
   "That's mean!"  Her friend giggled again, then
frowned mockingly.  "But. . . she'd probably look better 'an
us!  We can't have her drawing the guys away, now can we?"
   "No, I guess not."  She suddenly felt annoyed at the
idea that Ranma probably _would_ look better in the red two-
piece than she would.  Now there was a problem her friends
probably never had to deal with -- having a boyfriend who
looked better in your clothes than you did!  She frowned.  As
for drawing the boys away -- heck, he had spent the whole
night with them, not even bothering to stop by and check up
on her once.  That jerk.  She spends the night worrying about
him, hoping to catch him sneaking in for some hot water, and
he never even bothers to show.  He must have found his water
elsewhere -- would he have remained in his girl-form all
night, even with all those guys around?  Even he's not that
much of a pervert, she decided.
   "So, you're coming?"  This time it was Sayuri,
pulling off her top.  She was already wearing her suit beneath,
a nice blue one--piece with a black stripe across the chest, the
midriff left bare.  It accentuated her body nicely.
   Akane stood up from her place on the couch.
"Thanks, really," she said.  "But. . . no.  I'm feeling kind of
tired."  She looked around at her friends.  She felt a small
hurt when she realized that none of them looked all that
surprised, or disappointed.  Had she really been that much of
a drag all night?
   "You sure?"
   "Yeah."  She nodded.  "I. . . I guess I'll just head
home.  See you on Monday?"
   They nodded.  After a moment of hesitation she
turned away, somehow feeling that she had missed out on
something tonight.


"Hey!  I might be drunk -- but I'm not _that_ drunk!"
exclaimed the pig--tailed girl, maybe a little too loudly.
"You perverts just wanna see me without my top on!"
   "Aw, c'mon, Ranma!" insisted one of the guys
crowding around her, while a few others snickered.  They
were all changed into swimming trunks and were headed for
the pool, towels wrapped around waists or hanging over
shoulders.  It was Hiroshi who had first noticed that Ranma,
with a slightly disconsolate and wistful look, was not
following them.  When asked why she was not coming, it
turned out that for obvious reasons she had not thought to
bring a girl's bathing suit -- and was not about to go
swimming in her clothes, or without a top (despite several
lewd suggestions to that effect).
   She gave a crooked little smile but shook her head.
"Sorry guys.  I guess I'm out."
   "Are you sure, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, nodding in
the direction of the pool.  "Sure looks tempting, ne?"  The
party was still going strong, but the pool had quieted down
slightly since earlier in the evening.  Already a few of the
guys, shrugging, had left the discussion and made their way
over to the water.  With a drunken howl Toshi launched
himself off of the low diving-board and cannonballed next to
a small group of girls calmly talking by the edge of the pool,
eliciting a few outraged shrieks.  Giggling, he fled from their
ferocious retaliatory barrage of splashing.
   Ranma gave a sad nod.  "Yeah.  But that doesn't
change anything."  She gave a small sigh.  "Listen.  Hiroshi --
don't worry about it.  It's not the first time I miss out on
somethin' 'cus of my curse, 'kay?  I'm used to it."
   "But. . . ."
   "Nah.  Listen.  It's not a big deal, really.  It's getting
late, anyway.  Maybe I oughta just head home."  She glanced
down at the mostly empty beer bottle in her hand.  It was her
third -- no, fourth.  Fifth?  "I've probably drank enough as it
is."
   "Couldn't you just, you know," tried Hiroshi,
gesturing around the party, "just, ah, borrow a bikini or a t-
shirt or something from one of the girls?"
   "Bikini?" asked Ranma, raising an eyebrow.
   "Uhhh. . . you know what I mean!"
   "Right."  She tried a grin -- one that almost, but not
quite, masked an odd sadness lurking in her eyes -- and
placed her hands on her hips.  "I think you're just trying to
keep Furinkan's 'best babe' around!"  And then, a moment
later, suddenly serious, she asked, "Why are you tryin' to
keep me around, Hiroshi?  Not that I don't appreciate it, but.
. . why do you care?"
   "Because you're a friend, dammit!" exclaimed
Hiroshi.  "What do you think?"  They were alone standing by
the change-rooms, all the other guys having already moved
on to the swimming pool.  A small halogen light flickered
from its hook on the wall, a moth sending disproportionate
shadows scuttling across them.   "I'm just trying to look out
for you, man!  You've never come out with us before, I just
wanted you to have a good time -- to be one of the guys!"
   She smirked and glanced down at herself.  "One of
the guys -- with these?" she said, gesturing at her breasts.
   "Enough with the curse already!  I already told you --
it doesn't matter!"
   "But it does matter, Hiroshi."
   "No, it. . . ."
   "Yes it _does_," interrupted Ranma.  "Maybe not to
you, Hiroshi!  But to them, the other guys, the girls at this
party, to almost _everybody_, it does!  Sure, most of them
know that I'm a guy, that I'm really a man, but they don't
_care_.  Maybe you don't notice -- can't notice.  But they act
differently when I'm a girl.  They do!  When we were all
talking, sure, they tried, they pretended I was just 'one-of-the-
guys', but they didn't believe it; I didn't either, even though
the beer helped.  I could see it in their eyes, the way they
looked at me, looked me over -- not as another guy, but as. . .
well, as the 'best babe'!  No -- it's worse than that.  The guys
here at the party, those who don't know I'm really a guy, that
I'm cursed, at least they're honest!  They really think I'm a
girl, and treat me like one, approach me like one.  But the
others, those who know what I am -- they _still_ look at me
that way.  Sometimes I think they're more interested in my
girl-body simply _because_ they know I'm really a guy.
Maybe they see somethin' in me that they. . . oh, I don't
know!  Maybe they think it makes me more of a challenge, or
somethin', to them: which guy'll be the one to get Ranma in
touch with his feminine side?"  She gave a little snort of
disgust.
   "That's not true!" retorted Hiroshi.
   Ranma shook her head.  "Ah, hell, Hiroshi.  Look at
me!  Of course they're interested!  You heard 'em back there!
I'm hot!  A babe!  Sure, maybe they were joking, maybe it
was all in fun, but they still meant it!  Every word.  A joke?
Maybe -- but I was just startin' to really feel like one of the
guys, for maybe the first time, until you pointed out
Daisuke's little interest.  It just reminded me: I'll never be
'one of the guys', not as long as I've got this curse.  And you
don't know what it's like, man.  Having guys look you over:
breasts, legs, hips, butt, sizing you up.  Have you ever had a
guy talk to your chest, had a man stare at your ass when you
walk buy?  I'm almost used to it now -- which kinda scares
me -- but it still makes me feel queasy when I notice."  She
sank down onto a convenient bench with a sigh, beer bottle
dangling limply from one hand.  She passed one hand tiredly
across her face.  When she looked back at Hiroshi, her eyes
glimmered with -- something, some emotion.  Hiroshi could
not tell what.  They certainly could not be tears -- not from
Ranma.
   "I can hear 'em, too, you know," she continued.
"I've heard the guys talking over the last year.  Some think
I'm a jerk.  Fine.  At least they're talking about _me_.  It's
when they start referring to my girl side that it bothers me.
When they refer to it. . . rudely."  She shuddered.  "I've even
heard 'em say they'd be happy if I _never_ turned back to a
guy, if I was stuck like this forever."  Her fist clenched
spasmodically.  "They. . . they would just curse me, leave me
like this, without. . . without. . . ."
   She let out a deep breath.  "Ah, shit, I'm sorry,
Hiroshi.  I don't mean to lay all this on ya.  I'm not even sure
why I'm talkin' about it.  I'm exaggerating.  It doesn't really
bug me that much.  Really."  Her head sank back until it
rested against the smooth wood of the changing room wall.
Her eyes flickered, closed, and she sighed.
   Hiroshi slumped onto the far end of the bench, one
arm draped over the edge.  A certain awkwardness fell upon
him.  This was a whole new side to Ranma, a vulnerable,
pained side that, he suspected, very few had ever seen.  But
what could he say?  How could he possibly understand what
the curse felt like, what it felt like to change into, to _be_, a
girl?  A certain guilt gnawed at him: Ranma had excluded
him from her generalization concerning guys, and how they
treated her -- but was he really any different?  Even now,
looking at her -- laying on the bench, slightly turned towards
him, smooth curve of the neck, slight straining, pulling,
tautness of the shirt across rounded breasts, a slight glimpse,
maybe, of flesh where a tie had come undone, knowing that
beneath she would not be wearing a bra -- he felt a familiar
stirring, similar to what he would feel gazing at any attractive
woman.  No.  He gave his head a firm shake.  This was his
_friend_, a man, just like him, it was the alcohol making him
feel that way, making her seem so defenceless; and yet the
urge was there, the image, of leaning over, drawing her into a
comforting embrace, allowing her to release her pent-up
sorrow, and then. . . .
   "Is this what most parties are like?"
   He started.  "Ah. . . huh?"  He felt the blood rush to
his cheeks.  Her eyes were open, half-lidded, staring upwards.
They flicked his way, briefly.  Sounds of merriment floated
over from the pool.
   "Just askin' a question.  Are most parties like this?"
   "What do you mean?"
   She sat up slightly, turning to face him, drawing one
leg up beneath her.  "Well. . . like this.  Just two guy. . . er,
two people, sitting around, talkin'."
   Hiroshi smiled.  "Yeah.  Well, the good ones,
anyway."  He swirled the little bit of sake left in his little
bottle, then downed it in a gulp.
   "Really?"
   "Yeah."  He nodded.  "The dancing and group stuff
and partying is all fine, but for me, any good party has a time
when a guy and his friend -- maybe a few buddies -- just
kinda break away and talk, you know?"  He chuckled.
"Bond, I guess.  It's what guys. . . ."  He hesitated.  "It's what
we do."
   Ranma finished off her drink, then proceeded to idly
twirl the bottle at the tip of one finger.  "Ah," she answered.
After a moment, she added, "It's just that, you know, I
haven't really been to too many parties."
   "Really?"
   "Yeah."
   "Not even on your birthday?"
   "Nah.  Not for the last few years.  Training."
   "That sucks."
   She shrugged.  "I guess."
   Silence, contemplative.  Ranma spun her bottle a few
more times before snapping it into the air with a flick of her
wrist, deftly snagging it, and setting it down on the ground.
She sighed again and pulled her legs up to her chest.  She
wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them close.
She shivered.
   No, decided Hiroshi, it was just too difficult.  Ranma
was a friend, a guy, a buddy; she was also a damn good-
looking girl, cute, and seeing her curled up in the corner of
the bench, he felt this stupid urge to offer her his jacket or
something.  Dammit, he berated himself.  Just forget it.
You're here to help her.  She trusts you.  Don't betray that
trust.  He gave his head a shake and decided that, for now,
just looking away might be a better idea.
   But when he glanced back, Ranma had leaned
forward a bit, chin resting on one knee, gazing at him
speculatively.  It was a cute pose, attractive.  A curious half-
grin played across her face.  "You can't do it, can ya?" she
asked.
   "Uh. . . ah, huh?" he stammered.
   "See me as a guy."  She shrugged.  "Don't worry
'bout it, pal.  It's not a big deal."
   He shook his head unconvincingly in denial.  "No,
but. . . of course I know you're a guy!"
   "Really?" she breathed.  Ranma snaked forward
smoothly, uncurling, sliding across the bench towards her
friend.  Her eyes burned with a sudden passion; their
mesmerizing half-lidded sultriness ensnared Hiroshi.  He sat,
frozen, surprised, heart pounding in his chest.  With a
sinuous, swift movement she rose above him, artificial light
silhouette, one hand resting firmly against the back of the
bench for support, the other held loosely behind her neck.
Her back arched slightly, top tie of her shirt slowly,
accidentally unravelling; she peered down at him, lips curved
in a pouting half-smile.  "What," she purred huskily, "you
don't find me. . . attractive?"
   "I. . . I. . . ," stammered a flustered Hiroshi.
   "See?"   She giggled, eyes clouding momentarily, and
she drew away, pulling her legs up again and scooted back to
her end of the bench.  Her gaze drifted off into the distance for
a few moments, contemplatively, and when she turned back
to her friend, her voice was serious.  "Listen, Hiroshi," she
said, "don't worry about it.  The only guys I know who can
ignore my curse are the ones who wanna kill me.  I'd rather
have a confused friend than an indifferent enemy."  She
seemed to debate whether to add something, but fell silent.
   After a moment's indecision, staring at the girl across
from him, he hung his head.  "I. . . I'm sorry, Ranma."  A
slight queasiness formed in his stomach.  Though he may
academically understand that Ranma was really a guy, his
body had had a pointedly physical reaction to her sudden
closeness - one he was still shamefacedly trying to conceal,
shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  If I'm attracted to him, he
thought worriedly, what does that mean about me?  Hiroshi
suddenly had an inkling of what Ranma must feel every time
she underwent a change, every time a man looked her over
and deemed her attractive.
   There was a rustling as Ranma uncurled and sat up
straight.  "Ah, c'mon man, I said don't worry about it!  S'not
your fault I'm such a hot little number!" she said, smiling
wryly.
   Hiroshi returned the grin.  "You know, egotism like
that can get you hated."
   "Bah.  Who cares?  I've already got plenty of rivals --
what's a few more?"
   "If you say so."  Hiroshi gave a little laugh.  "Hey,
you know, I just realized something."
   "Yeah?"
   "Yeah.  If I'd been talking to any other girl for this
long -- especially alone like this -- Sayuri would've killed me
for sure!"  He grinned.  "See!  People might treat ya a bit
different. . . but, heck, they know you're not a _real_ girl!"
Pretty lame consolation, but it was something.  Beside,
Hiroshi was starting to feel good again.  He hopped to his
feet.  Looking over at the pool, he saw that some of the girls
had joined the gang.  Sayuri was lightly stepping around the
edge of the pool, avoiding the good-humoured threatening
splashes of her friends.  He turned back to his friend, who
once again looked slightly disconsolate.  "Ranma, I'm. . . ."
   She smiled and nodded.  "Yeah.  Go swim, Hiroshi.
Have fun."
   "You sure I can't convince. . . ."
   "Nah."
   "I think I understand why, now," he said.
   After a moment, she gave a slight nod.  "Maybe you
do."
   He took a few steps away when her voice called him
back.  "And Hiroshi. . . ."
   "Yeah?"
   "Thanks."
   He gave her a long, serious look.  "Any time, man."
He placed an emphasis on the last word.  "Any time."
   "Thanks."  There was a pause.  Hiroshi almost
stepped away again.  Ranma's voice made him hesitate.  "It's
just. . . I don't know what's with me tonight.  All this talking.
Whining.  It's not me.  I _never_ complain like this."
   "It's not whining, Ranma," said Hiroshi.
   "Whatever.  But it's not me."
   He shrugged.  "Ah, gee, Ranma, you've been
drinking!  You're just a bit drunk, is all."
   "Really?"  One foot prodded the empty bottle sitting
next to the bench.
   "Yeah."  He looked at her.  "You've never really
been drunk before, have you?"
   She shook her head.  "Aside for that play?  Not
really."
   "Then don't worry about it.  Some people get violent.
Some people get silly.  You -- well, you seem to get
melancholy, or kinda serious, or something.  Introspective.
Heck, you might as well enjoy it!"  Another splash and shriek
escaped from the pool.  Someone had just picked up and
thrown Sayuri into the pool.  Ranma noticed his glance.
   "Listen, you go," she said.  "I'll see ya on Monday at
school."
   Hiroshi nodded, flashed her a smile, and stepped
away.  He thought he heard her whisper something, before the
splashing and laughing and talking drowned her out: "I don't
like being drunk; I don't like thinking."


   She curled up into a ball again, alone.  Chin resting
on knee, eyes closed, Ranma's mind wandered.  Hiroshi was
right.  Something about the slight fuzziness she felt, the
detachment brought on by the alcohol, relaxed her, left her. . .
open.  More likely to talk.  Not good.  It was a weakness,
something she knew one of her many rivals would probably
use to their advantage.  Ryoga, if he ever found out, would
probably try to embarrass her in front of Akane, try to take
her away.  She smiled mirthlessly.  Amazing, how easy it was
to admit that she liked her, when drunk.  No, she decided, I
really don't like drinking.
   Yet there was so much more she had been tempted to
mention and say, things a little nagging voice in the back of
her head had forbid.  This same voice warned that
consequences would follow from what she had already
foolishly told the guys -- come Monday and school, there was
bound to be teasing, ribbing, mocking, laughter, locker-room
pranks and menstruation jokes.  Somehow, it had been easy
to ignore the admonishing voice back then; worse, she knew
with another beer or two, other topics -- deep-grounded fears
for her masculinity, of her sexuality, her true feelings for
Akane -- would no longer arouse its anxiety.  She shivered.
   She stood up suddenly.  A sudden wave of dizziness
struck her, but she overcame it quickly.  She grinned.  I guess
I'm not all that drunk after all, she thought to herself, heading
back toward the house.  There was a slight numbness, a
pleasant tingling through her as she walked; it seemed, when
she turned her head quickly, that the world took a moment to
catch up with her eyes.  People passed her by, and smiled, and
she smiled back without recognizing most of them.  But
everything was fine, she was warmly happy, she felt good. . . .
   She shivered again, and her steps faltered, smile
slipping.  The patio doors leading into the house were right
before her; instead, she stepped aside, leaned against the cool
brick of the wall and slowly slid to the ground.  What was I
_thinking_, she asked herself, why did I _do_ that?  Joking
with Hiroshi, leaning over him playfully seductively -- it had
been spurious, a spontaneous act, Hiroshi had seemed so
serious and worried.  And then. . . .
   Hiroshi had, comically, instinctively, flinched away
from her advance.  His arm had skipped back, leaving the
feathersoft brush of fingertips across the back of her hand.
No doubt he was unaware of the contact, but. . . .  There had
been a. . . jolt, discomfiting pleasure shooting up arm,
through chest, rushing to, ending at, in, between her, her. . . .
A quick tremulous breath helped her hold down the shaking
that threatened to overwhelm her as she recalled the
encounter.  In the wake of that fleeting electric sensation, she
had become aware of a. . . sudden rush? flush? warmth?
tingling? through her, dangerously pleasant, and far too. . .
female in nature for comfort.  It had been there, passively, a
soft expansive hum throughout the entirety of her body for
some time now; she had mistaken the warmth of drunkenness
for the warmth of arousal.  She shuddered.  Arousal.  How --
why?  That feeling -- nebulous indefinable wash -- she had
felt once or twice before in the past.  It terrified her.  But that
shock, jolt, the resonating escalating glow that followed,
enhanced, the echoing pulse in her breasts -- her breasts! --
was new, worse, impossible!
   Even now, cool evening air brushing by, solid wall
behind her, she was aware of the strange, exhilarating,
troublesome sensation fading, dulling, but still present,
threshold prickling of the skin and mind.  It was too much --
brief, perhaps minor, but new, alien -- too much, too much.
She had barely hidden her shock from Hiroshi, forcing a
small smile and then quickly withdrawing.  Odd, though, that
even then, after a moment's hesitation, she had felt tempted to
mention what had just transpired within her to Hiroshi;
something else the little voice had fortunately clamped down
upon.
   Ranma sighed, closed her eyes.  That moment of
arousal was not the only thing disturbing her.  Immediately
after, while trying to bury the unwanted sensation, she had
become aware of the small. . . problem, that Hiroshi had
faced.  How could she not?  She knew exactly what Hiroshi
had felt, had felt it herself often enough.  He had been
aroused, and had found it somewhat harder to conceal than
she had her own experience.  Releasing a whisper of a breath,
an outward gasp, she slumped against the wall, head back,
turning, cheek pressed lightly against the cool, rough surface
of the brick, and shivered.  I have that effect on _men_,
Ranma realized: at that moment, Hiroshi no longer saw me as
a man, a classmate, a troubled friend -- he saw me as a sexual
object, as sexually exciting, as a _girl_, possessing something
he wanted, desired, yearned for, with his. . . body.  Her skin
crawled at the prospect, something deep down inside, the pit
of her stomach, hurt, she felt like curling up in a tight ball
around the queasy ache.  What did that _mean_?  That she
could excite Hiroshi physically -- worse, than he could excite
_her_, physically, as well?  It was something she had been
aware of before, an ability she had even used to her
advantage against her many male opponents -- but never had
she realized the full import of what it entailed.  No, not true.
She had never _allowed_ herself to be aware of it,
deliberately blocked out the realization, the acknowledgment
that, while in female form, she was something men were
attracted to, no, an object they _desired_.  And was she. . .
was she attracted as well to. . . .
   "Hey.  Hey there, you ok?" interrupted a voice.  She
glanced up and saw a guy, her age, probably from a different
school, looking at her curiously, smiling, the patio door open
behind him.  "You drink too much?  Huh?"  The guy smiled.
   Her eyes narrowed.  "I know what you're doing!" she
growled at him.  "I know what you want!"  She stood, glared,
and brusquely brushed past him into the house.  Enough of
this.  Drunk or not, this isn't me, she berated herself, I don't
sit around and moan, whine and complain.  The heir to the
Saotome School of martial arts _confronts_ her problems,
deals with them.  No. _His_ problems, he emphatically
insisted: this body isn't me, these breasts and hips and. . . and
other parts aren't me -- and I know a sure fire solution to all
this crap.  If he was not going to go swimming, he decided, if
he was going to leave the party, then there was no point in
remaining female.  Time for some hot water; time to be a man
again!
   Only, looking back, hesitating, brushing the bangs of
red hair from his face, he realized he really would have liked
to join his friends.


After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching upstairs, Akane
remembered that she had left her jacket and bag with her
swimming suit and towel downstairs.  Tired, annoyed,
melancholy and anxious to get home, she quickly hopped
down the stairs.  She turned out of the sunken staircase -- and
solidly slammed into someone.  Her victim stumbled back
and Akane fell, hitting her rump on the bottom step.
   "Ow!"
   "Watch it!"
   "I'm sorry," she quickly started to apologize, lifting
herself off the stairs.  "I. . . Ranma?"  Her eyes widened as
she realized who she had run into.
   "A. . . Akane?" answered the redhead, equally
surprised.
   An awkward silence for a moment.
   "You're still. . . ."
   "What are. . . ."
   They both stammered to a stop.  Ranma placed one
hand nervously behind his neck; Akane wondered if she
ought to be annoyed or not.  She was, from the slight pain, for
having bumped into him, for being responsible, and for
Ranma ignoring her all night; on the other hand, she felt
strangely glad to see him again.
   "A girl?"
   "You doing?"
   They both tried to finish at the same time.  They both
tentatively giggled and relaxed slightly.  "You first," offered
Akane.
   He smiled.  "Oh, er, yeah.  I, ummm, was just
wondering what you were doing.  In a hurry?"
   Akane shrugged.  "Not really.  I'm just tired of the
party.  I want to go home."
   "Ah."  Ranma nodded.  Akane thought there was
something a bit odd about him: his eyes seemed a bit
bloodshot, face a bit flushed, stance slightly wobbly.  Almost
like her friends upstairs.  "Ah," he repeated.  "So, errr, you're
leaving?"
   "Yes."  She stepped away from the stairs, beckoning
for Ranma to follow.  They wove their way through the rec-
room, several partiers already passed out uncomfortably (and
uncaring of the fact) across the floor, on couches and chairs.
Surprisingly soft music was drifting from speakers in the
corner; a few subdued whispered conversations added to the
background noise.  They navigated by the pools of light
slicing through the curtains from outside, eliciting the
occasional muffled grunt when they stepped too close to a
sleeper.
   They stopped outside the door to Kiyoshi's sister's
room, Ranma reaching out and tapping her on the shoulder.
The redhead nodded back at the minefield of exhausted
partiers.  "You ever been to somethin' like this, Akane?" he
asked, smiling slightly.
   "No," she answered.  "Not really."  Seeing his
curious look, she added, "I mean, yes, I've been to parties my
friends have thrown -- but none of them were like this.  With
drinking and everything, I mean. . . ."
   "Ah," said Ranma.  "But -- why not?  You were at
Furinkan last year, right?  The guys said Kiyoshi threw this
thing last year -- why didn't ya come?"
   Akane's expression darkened.  "Dad wouldn't let
me," she grumbled.  "He didn't like the idea of all these boys
and alcohol around.  Neither did Kasumi.  They couldn't stop
Nabiki, but they could stop me!  I was so mad!  That's why I
wanted to come this year so badly, especially after my friends
told me how good of a time they had!"
   "So why was it ok to come this year?"
   "Because," she felt a familiar annoyance and flash of
anger, "because you came, too.  After all, who'd try anything
with my 'fiance' around?"  When would her father learn that
she could take care of herself?  She did _not_ need Ranma to
look after her, she could take care of herself!  She could
handle any _boy_ who tried anything with her!  With an
angry huff she turned away, not caring to see the inevitable
cocky, egoistical expression bound to cross Ranma's face.
   Instead, much to her surprise, the girl's hand fell on
her shoulder, softly.  "I'm. . . sorry, Akane.  I guess that's
why you didn't want me coming, right?  I didn't know.
Really."  There was a brief hesitation, then a slight squeeze
from the hand.  "I'm, ah. . . sorry."  Akane's eyes widened.
   "Ranma?"
   The pigtailed girl gave his head a little shake.  "Er,
nothing."
   "Did you just. . . ."
   Ranma smiled.  "Of course not.  C'mon, lets get your
stuff."
   After a slight prodding, a confused Akane slid into the
dark bedroom, her fiance following close behind.  "We piled
all our stuff on the bed," she hissed.  "Can you see it?"  The
pigtailed silhouette shook a negative.  It took Ranma tripping
over a stack of discarded coats on the floor to finally locate
Akane's possessions.  She grabbed her coat, Ranma took the
bag, and the two silently left the room.  They politely ignored
the couple making out on the bed.
   With a giggle, Ranma clicked the door shut.  "Didja
see," he started to ask.
   Akane blushed.  "You pervert!" she exclaimed,
giving him a slight shove.  "You were looking!"
   ". . . my jacket?" he finished, grinning.  "What were
_you_ thinking about, Akane?"
   "You didn't bring a jacket, baka!" Akane said, but
smiled slightly.  Then she shrugged and brushed past the girl.
"Maybe I was just taking notes -- you never know when it
might come in handy."  She left the stunned redhead behind,
glad that the darkness hid the sudden redness of her own face.
It took Ranma a moment to recover.
   "Hey!"
   "What?"
   "You --"
   "I what?"
   "Notes?"
   "Yup."
   "For. . . ."
   "Forget it, Ranma."
   "Wouldja please shut up?" mumbled a voice from
around foot level.  Their discussion had carried them through
to the centre of the impromptu sleeping hall.  Ranma
shrugged and turned his attention to rummaging through
Akane's bag.
   "Hey!" she exclaimed.  "Get your nose out of there!"
   He looked up, grinned, and continued.  "Hey," he
said a moment later, "where'd you get this?"  Out came
Akane's new and (for her) daring crimson bikini.  He held it
up to the faint light filtering in from outside.  Slate-blue eyes
widened at the smallness of the ensemble; the colouring,
though -- a fiery orange--red at the top of each piece,
gradually darkening to a deep crimson, almost burgundy by
the bottom -- he seemed to approve of.   "Haven't seen this
one before -- kinda sexy, ne?"
   Akane blushed.  "Gimme that!" she whispered,
grabbing the bag and its contents from Ranma's grasp.  "It
wasn't my choice.  Yuka and Sayuri kind of forced me to buy
it.  I didn't really want it."
   "Really?" said Ranma.  "That's too bad.  I think
you'd look great in it. . ."
   For some unknown reason, her heart beat just a little
bit quicker at those words.  "You really think so?" she started
to say.
   ". . . though I'd look better, of course!" Ranma
finished.
   "You jerk."  She glared at him and spun away.
   "Aw, c'mon, Akane!" exclaimed Ranma, hopping
over a sleeping figure and catching up a few steps later.  "I
was just kiddin'!  Can't ya take a joke?"
   "Hmph," she responded, slightly disgruntled by the
fact that she knew it was true.  Well, whatever.  At least she
had finally found Ranma; now, the two of them could head
home.  She was a little anxious.  The party had not been
everything she had hoped for, although she blamed Ranma
for some of that.  But, she grudgingly admitted, that was not
entirely fair.  The last year had changed her -- changed her a
lot -- and she simply did not have as much in common with
her friends as she once had; or, maybe, there had never been
as much there as she had supposed.  Either way, she was tired
and home was still a fair walk away.  "C'mon, let's go," she
finally added.  "You ready?"
   "Huh?"
   "To lea. . ." she started to say, then looked at Ranma.
They were standing by the patio doors now.  The doors were
slightly open.  A cool breeze swirled around their ankles.
Faint, cheerful laughter and sounds could be heard from
outside.  The redhead was gazing outside, a wistful look in
his eyes.  "Ranma?"
   Ranma was silent for a moment, staring into the night.
Then he turned back to Akane.  "You, ah," he started
nervously, oddly, "you're goin' home, right, Akane?"
   Her brow creased.  "Yes. . . ."   She noticed a
thoughtful look on Ranma's face.  He was looking at the bag
in Akane's arms.  "What?" Akane asked suspiciously.
   "So you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your bathing
suit, would you?"
   "WHAT?"
   "Well, I wanna go swimming with the guys, and. . . ."
   The sudden, fierce feeling of betrayal and anger that
seized Akane shocked and confused her.  Ranma kept talking,
but the youngest Tendo was oblivious to the words, trying to
understand, restrain the sudden fury that filled her.  He was
gesturing towards the outside, relaxed, half-grinning, happy.
It was too much.  She failed to understand, but expressed her
hurt in the best way she knew how.  "You pervert!", she
hissed, eyes flashing.
   She immediately regretted the words.  The sudden
twisting, torturing of his features, hardening of soft facial
lines, the way the easy pleasure faded from the eyes, the
immediate tenseness of body, cut her deeply -- even as it gave
her an unpleasant bitter joy.  Ranma spun back to her,
surprised, and this one time her trademark insult seem to have
struck him hard.
   "Wh -- what?" he whispered, voice pained and devoid
of the jocular tone he had bantered with since bumping into
Akane.
   "You want to stay, don't you?  What kind of _guy_
hangs around other guys wearing a _girl's_ bathing suit?"
As the words escaped her mouth she knew she should stop, let
it drop, apologize even -- but she did not.  Her unexpected
anger still simmered within, pushed her.  "A pervert!  That's
what kind!"
   The pigtailed girl's eyes narrowed, face flushing
unpleasantly, the look of bewildered, stunned hurt turning
ugly.  He took a step -- almost threatening -- towards her.
"I'm a pervert, am I?"
   And, surprisingly, Akane no longer felt like
continuing the argument.  That sudden burst faded as quickly
as it had come, leaving her feeling ill and frightened and
terrible.  But -- but everything would be fine, she had called
him a pervert countless times before, why should it bother
him _this_ time?  "I. . . I just want to go home, Ranma," she
answered softly, bowing her head.  Please, Ranma?
   "Fine then.  Leave," he hissed coldly.  "But you'll be
going home alone."
   She glanced up at him in shock.  "But -- but you're
supposed to walk me back!  Father said so!"
   "Hey!" he exclaimed angrily.  "You wanted to come
here, alone, right?  Well, fine.  Then you can leave here,
alone, too!  You didn't want me hangin' around you at the
party?  Fine!  Then why should I hang around you _after_ the
party?"
   "Ranma, don't. . . I'm sor. . . ," she whispered.
   "After all, being alone suits you, ne?"  He threw his
arms up wildly, expressively.  "S'not like anyone _here_,"
and he gestured about the room, "cares if you stay or go."  He
gestured at himself and leaned forward.  "_I_ certainly
don't!"
   And the anger returned in full.
   "You jerk!" she howled, and punched forward, target
blurred by watering in her eyes, not that it mattered, she never
missed Ranma, not when he deserved it.  Only this time, she
did miss; no, she registered a second later, he had blocked
her, effortlessly deflecting the wild swing aside.
   "I don't think so, Akane," he said.  "Not tonight."
   It took her a moment to overcome the surprise and
irritation, to think rationally again, to respond.  How dare he
have the gall to actually stop her righteous retaliation to his
words?  "Yeah," she sneered.  "I wouldn't want to mess up
that pretty face, would I?  That smooth, feminine complexion
of yours.  Might stop the men from chasing after you, and you
wouldn't want _that_ now, would you?"
     "At least I _can_ attract 'em, unlike a certain
kawaikunee I know who'll never get a guy unless he's forced
ta be engaged to her!"
   She ignored the barb, attacked the first statement.
"That's right!  You _can_ attract them, you pervert!  And
you _like_ it, don't you, Ranma, don't you?"  She advanced
on him, punctuating the statement with a jab of her finger.
"Some man, some fiance you are!"
   Ranma's face flushed an ugly red, and he glared up at
Akane before spinning away, falling against the glass of the
door with one arm, clenching the frame fiercely.  "I _am_ a
man!"  He grinded the words out through clenched teeth.
   With a snort of derision, Akane thrust the bikini in his
face.  "What kind of man _wants_ to wear this, huh?"
   "You know I -- I can't just wear guy's shorts when
swimming, I. . . ."
   "Swimming?  Why, huh?  Not done flirting with
Hiroshi yet?"  And she knew that last one was unjustified, did
Ranma and Hiroshi even spend that much time together
tonight?  But it struck and hurt its target, and the pigtailed
girl flinched.  "Maybe you _want_ him to make a pass at
you?"
   Ranma turned away, stalked back into the room.
Akane followed, heady with success and released frustration.
But when she came up behind him, she suddenly decided that
enough was enough.  She softened her voice, or at least
lessened it, though without sacrificing an authoritative tone.
"So are you going to stay here?  Like a girl?"  She held the
bikini out to be taken.  "Because, fine, here's my bikini.  See
if I care, maybe you really _are_ a girl.  Or. . . or are you
going to get some hot water, change back, and walk me home
-- like a man?"
   Back still turned, crimson pigtail hanging limply,
Ranma gave no response, beyond, perhaps, a stiffening of his
back.
   "Ranma?" she prodded.
   Still no answer.
   "Ranma?" she tried again, this time louder.
   Again, without a word, he ignored her.
   "RANMA!" she screamed at his impassive back.
   No answer.
   "Will ya answer the stupid bitch," muttered some boy
laying at their feet.  "Some of us are tryin' to sleep here. . . ."
   This time he responded.  Turning quickly, smoothly,
he reached down and snatched the speaker by the throat,
hauling him to his feet, grip tight and bruising.  "That's my
fiancee you're insulting there," he intoned.  "If anyone's
gonna do that, it's me."  He gave his victim a shake.
"Understand?"  Receiving a frightened approximation of a
nod, he tossed the guy aside.  All around, people were
standing, waking up, propping themselves up on elbows to
observe the argument.
   "Ranma. . . ," whispered a surprised Akane.  But
when he finally turned back to her, and she saw his eyes, she
knew that he was angry, far angrier than he had ever been
with her before; and she knew that there would be no simple
reconciliation for tonight's fight, that she had somehow
injured her fiance badly -- and that the worst was yet to come.
   "And, man, is she _ever_," he exclaimed, gesturing
widely, speaking to the sudden audience.  He advanced on
Akane, eyes narrowed, cold, voice colder as he addressed her
evenly without inflection.  "A bitch, that is."
   Stunned, her breath caught in her throat for a
moment; she hissed it out between tight lips, blood pounding,
intense wrath reddening and contorting her visage.  "What
did you call me?" she demanded.
   He actually hesitated, uncertainty clouding his eyes.
Akane stepped closer.  "Ranma?  What.  Did you.  Call
_me_?"  Her voice rose with each word, unpleasantly shrill
and loud to her own throbbing ears by the end.  The front of
Ranma's Chinese shirt twisted in her grasp, fabric likely
drawing painfully against his breasts as it bunched in her
hand.  He glanced down at her hold, then slowly met her
inflamed glare with steady eyes.
   "You're violent.  You're ugly and mean and cruel.
The name fits, ne?" he said.  With casual deliberateness he
laid both hands over Akane's.  "I think you'd better let go,
Akane."  Eyes peering from beneath red bangs hardened.
   Her own widened.  She knew the technique.  A small
twisting of her hand, a half bow at his waist, light pressure
applied to the wrist -- simple, painful, and he would drive her
to her knees.  The Child Worships the Buddha.  Never.  "You
wouldn't dare," she whispered.
   One eyebrow arched.  Fingers trembled but tightened
lightly over the hand.  For a moment his steady stare cracked,
begged her to let go; when her fingers tightened in the folds of
the shirt, the weakness disappeared, determination resolved
itself in his features.  With an utter lack of haste he slowly
started to twist her wrist.  "Let go," he demanded softly.
   "No," she responded.
   He twisted further.  Twenty, thirty, forty-five degrees:
the first phantom spasm of pain.  Again, briefly, the pleading
in his eyes, quickly covered up.  "Akane," he whispered.
   "Do it," she hissed.  "You can't."
   Continue turning, wrist bending, forearm unwillingly
following the turn; ninety degrees, her grip now awkward, but
shirt still grasped fiercely in hooked fingers.  His grip on her
hand solid yet oddly shy and tremulous.  A final exchange,
unflinching stares.  And then, a sad, almost apologetic sigh,
soft release of breath; the shivering left Ranma's hold.  She
felt him push down.
   She released his shirt.
   He released her wrist.
   "I hate you," she said.  She turned, stepped away.  An
unpleasant emptiness filled her as she massaged her tingling
hand.  Something was gone, a certainty, a foundation, torn
away by his newfound willingness to force her down.  Ranma
was drunk, she now recognized the shift in his demeanor, the
earlier unusual looseness; but his threat had been perfectly
lucid.  Inexcusable.  "I HATE YOU!" she cried, spinning
back.
   "I'm sorry," he answered tonelessly.  "I. . . ."
   "No!"  She stormed back, towered over the shorter
girl.  "No excuses!"  She blinked, unwanted tears returning.
"You bastard!"
   "I wanted to stay, Akane.  With my friends.  Why
couldn't you just let me stay?"
   "Your friends?"  She nearly yelled.  "Your friends?"
And then, almost a whisper.  "Aren't I your friend too?"
   He simply levelled a silent, steady stare at her.
   "Thanks," she said after a long moment.  Voice
heavy, eyes hot, throat thick, she pushed past him towards the
stairs, pausing as she passed by.  "Thanks for totally ruining
my night, Ranma."  She thrust the bag, the bikini within, into
his unresisting hands.  It fell to the ground when he failed to
grab it.  "Here.  Enjoy.  I hope it was worth it."  Wiping the
back of one hand clumsily across her face, she mounted the
first step.
   "Akane, no, wait," she heard from behind.  A hand
fell on her shoulder.
   "Don't you dare touch me!" she howled, spinning
savagely, arm swinging, dead weight slamming Ranma
upside the head.  He fell back with a cry, surprised, hurt.
"Don't you _dare_ ever touch me.  Never again!"  She
pointed an accusing finger at his fallen form.  "You. . . I
can't. . . no fiance of mine would ever _think_ of hurting me
like that!"
   "Who said I ever _wanted_ to be engaged to you?"
His voice cracked strangely as he spoke.  He knew where this
was leading, she knew as well, they saw it in each other's
eyes, but the challenge had been thrown, the words released.
   "You're right, Ranma," she said softly.  A voice
inside her, buried deep, cried out, begged her to stop.  Don't,
don't, not like this, don't -- but she was long used to ignoring
that little voice, and the hurt Ranma had inflicted tonight
easily drowned out the pained sobbing from within.  "You're
right.  Fine.  Fine.  Our engagement is over, Ranma.  You're
free.  Go snuggle up to Hiroshi, or some other guy, or girl, I
really don't care, I never want to see you again."  She turned
away and slowly walked up the stairs.  "Goodbye, Ranma.
Have a good night."


   Hiromi watched stunned from her seat on the ground,
her boyfriend wordlessly holding her hand.  Akane and
Ranma had just split up.  Again.  But this time -- this time it
was different. Somehow she knew this was not going to be
resolved by Monday.
   As she watched -- as the whole room watched, silently
-- Ranma stared up the stairs for a long, long time, or so it
seemed.  Finally, without a sound, she picked herself off the
ground, reached down and looked in the bag lying by her feet.
Ranma pulled out a red-hued bikini and simply looked at it.
She glanced once more up the stairs, back at the clothing in
her hands, once outside towards the pool.  She bowed her
head, staggered slowly in the direction of the patio doors.
   And then, as she walked, a trembling overcame her,
grew, violently, till she was forced to stop, whole body
shaking spastically.  With an explosive release of breath she
nearly doubled over, clutching herself in a fierce shivering
embrace, a moan, escaping, sounding nearly like a tortured
word -- Akane; and then, uncurling, nearly incoherent
keening scream ripping from her throat, she smashed her fist
into the wall.
   Ranma gazed dumbly at the hole in the wall for a
moment and then slowly withdrew her hand.  Without
another sound she shuffled off in the direction of the pool
change-rooms.
   "Shit," breathed Hiromi's boyfriend.  "Shit."
   She nodded, feeling weak before the sudden show of
violence, left drained as overly high tensions and emotions
faded from the room.  Whispers, murmuring, louder
commentaries and gossip and discussion erupted all around.
Shaking her head, Hiromi stood.  She had to find Sayuri and
tell her what happened.  She would want to know what had
just happened to Akane.


"Anything-Goes Special Manoeuver: Mirthful Otter
Springing Double Board Dive of Death!" cried out a voice
breathlessly.
   Hiroshi spun in the water towards the source,
unconsciously treading to keep from sinking.  "Is that. . . ,"
murmured Sayuri in his arms, as a red-bikini clad girl cleared
the fence in a single jump and bounded towards the diving
boards, pigtail streaming behind her.  With a yell the
newcomer leapt onto the low board; she sprang off, hurtling
straight up, flinging up and over the high board; she landed at
the very tip of the second platform, and it bent, curved
beneath the sudden weight, almost to the breaking point; for a
second she seemed suspended there, frozen; and then, with a
savage snap, the board flung her high up over the pool.  For a
moment she actually disappeared from sight in the darkness
overhead, her gleeful scream the only sign of her presence,
and then, her spinning, flailing, twisting, plunging form
reappeared, speeding towards the water.  People desperately
pushed themselves away from where they thought she would
land as her compact form hurled towards them, and then, at
the last moment, she started to uncurl, and. . . .
   There was a thunderous, gigantic slap and spout of
water as she slammed into the pool's surface.  "Ranma?"
chuckled Hiroshi, disengaging from Sayuri's hold and
drifting towards his friend, pushing through the waves caused
by her entrance.  "Yeah, I think so."
   Ranma slowly drifted to the surface, face down.  After
a moment she rolled over, exposing skin almost as red as the
bikini she wore.  "Ohhhh," she moaned.
   "Nice bellyflop, buddy," smirked Hiroshi.
"Impressive move.  Methinks the 'Mirthful Otter' might
wanna practice that a bit more."
   "I shouldn't have tried for that last twist," she
groaned.  "That HURT!  She allowed her feet to sink and
slowly treaded water, turning to face her friend.  Her skin was
still a delicate pink beneath the water's surface.  Hiroshi had
a nice view of her as she moved away and drifted towards the
pool's edge, breasts just hovering half-submerged at the
waterline.  That crimson bikini -- where on earth did she get it
from! -- looked just fabulous on her: simple design, a little
too small and a little tight around the breasts; the colouring
suited her perfectly, complementing or accentuating her hair.
He found himself staring at her shapely rear as she pulled
herself from the pool, water cascading down her back,
material glistening wetly, bottom part of the bikini tightly and
firmly conforming to her shape.
   "Getting a nice eyeful?" hissed a voice at his side.
Sayuri glared at him.  "Done ogling her yet?"
   He raised his hands in defence.  "Hey, hey!  I. . .
C'mon, it's Ranma!  She, er, he's my buddy!"  In response
she dunked his head and paddled away, scowling.  He
grinned at Sayuri's retreating back, which, while certainly
attractive, did not have that healthy, lithe beauty which
Ranam possessed.  Wiping the water from his eyes, he
shrugged, acknowledging that, yes, he _had_ been looking.
For some reason that fact no longer bothered him.  Perhaps it
had something to do with the couple of bottles of sake he had
shared with his girlfriend in the last half hour or so, or maybe
it was simply a result of that last conversation with his friend.
Whether or not Ranma was really a guy or a girl. . . she
looked damn fine in that bathing suit.  He propelled himself
to where she was standing at the water's edge.
   "Isn't that Akane's suit?"  Yuka had apparently
wasted no time in confronting Ranma after her arrival.
"Where did you get it?  Did she lend it to you?  Where is she?
Hey, you know, it _does_ look good on you!  But, really,
should you be wearing your fiancee's clothes like that?  Isn't
that a little perverted?  Do you share other. . . ."
   Ranma fell back beneath the barrage of questions and
comments, desperation in her eyes.  Opting for a quick
escape, she dived backwards into the pool, and, with a few,
strong kicks of her legs, sliced underwater towards the middle
of the deep end.  Sighing, Hiroshi kicked off the edge and
followed.  Yuka merely snorted at the retreating figure that
had ignored her and turned back to her friends.
   "So you made it!" he said when he finally caught up
to Ranma.
   She nodded.  "Yup."
   "So. . . is that really Akane's bikini?"
   A momentary blush, a momentary frown, and then
she answered.  "Yeah."
   "It, ah, looks good on you."
   "Thanks," she answered, and grinned.  "I think."
Hooking a finger beneath the material that bound her breasts,
she tugged uncomfortably at the top.  "S'bit tight, though."
   Hiroshi grinned.  "Yeah, I noticed," and made an
exaggerated leer at her.
   "Hentai!" she smirked, and splashed him.  They
hovered in a circle for a moment, Ranma scoping out the pool
and company, until she noticed a few guys and girls heading
towards them.  One was Daisuke, who looked pleased to see
Ranma; the other was Sayuri, who did not.  "Uh oh," Ranma
said.  "I'm in for it now."
   Hiroshi noted the angry expression on his girlfriend's
face.  "What. . . it's your fault she's mad?"
   "Probably," she said, nodding.  "Me and Akane. . . ."
   "You mean. . ."
   "Yeah, we got in another fight."  She sighed.  "Sayuri
must've heard 'bout it."
   "Not again!"
   She nodded.  "Yeah.  Oh well, shit happens."
   "Ranma!"
   "Hey, I'm tired of always treading on eggshells with
her, man!"  A passionate, heated undercurrent filled and
raised her voice.  "I'm not gonna live my life watchin' every
word!  I -- I don't know why I put up with her!"
   "I though you said it was because you loved her?"
Hiroshi smiled.
   The smile was not mirrored, and she stared angrily at
the water directly in front of her as she muttered her answer.
"Yeah?  Well I was drunk when I said that, 'kay?"
   They turned as the newcomers finally floated up
alongside them.  "Hey, Ranma!" said Daisuke, voice rather
slurred and sounding quite cheerful.  "How's it. . . ."
   "Where's Akane?" interrupted Sayuri.  There was a
sharp, accusing edge to her voice.
   The pigtailed girl looked at Hiroshi's girlfriend for a
long, hard moment before answering in a strong, level voice
that left little room for argument.  "Don't wanna talk 'bout
it," she said.  Ignoring Sayuri's incensed stare she turned
back to Hiroshi.  "Hey, bud, you got anything else to drink?"
   "Don't you think you've had enough?" demanded
Sayuri.
   Ranma turned back to her, face hardening further.
"Bite me," she said.  She held Sayuri with her gaze a moment
longer, and then turned her back and swam off, flicking her
pigtail in the girl's face.  The small splash from her departure
caught Sayuri straight on.
   "I'll, er, go check on her, okay?" said Daisuke, made
an apologetic glance at the girl, and took after the redhead.
"Hey, Ranma, wait up!"
   Hiroshi floated up to his girlfriend, who was rubbing
the water from her eyes and trying to glare after the retreating
pigtailed girl.  She appeared very upset, and returned no
affection as he gathered her into his arms.  "Hey, you ok?" he
asked softly.
   "That bitch!" she snarled.
   "What?" he exclaimed, surprised, a little taken aback
by her vehemence.  "You mean Ranma?"
   "Yes."
   He tried a tentative smile.  "I don't think that's quite
the right," he started to say, then petered off when she gave
him an unimpressed glare and pushed away, turning her back
to him.  "Aw, c'mon Sayuri.  What'd I say?"
   "I just knew you were going to try and defend her,"
she grumbled.
   "What?  But I -- I'm not tryin' to. . . she's just a. . . ."
   "Buddy.  Yeah, I know.  So it's Akane's fault, right?"
Sayuri spun on him.  "Typical.  You guys always back each
other up!"
   "What, first she's a bitch, now she's a guy?"  His
voice he purposefully kept light, but nevertheless felt himself
coming to the defence.  After all, why should it be Ranma's
fault?  Akane was the abusive, violent one in the relationship;
sure, the guy could be a bit insensitive at times, but she was
the one that kept flying off the handle at the slightest
provocation.
   Sayuri's eyes narrowed.  Without another word she
paddled off.
   "No, wait!" exclaimed Hiroshi.  He slid in front of
her, rested one hand soothingly against her shoulder, played
his finger softly up and down her moist arm.  "I'm sorry, ok?
Listen, honey, I'm not trying to take sides here.  Really.  I
don't even know what happened."
   She softened slightly.  "It's. . . well, I didn't see it
myself.  But I heard that Akane ran off crying.  Ranma said
some really mean things to her -- mean enough that she killed
the engagement."
   "WHAT?"
   "Yeah.  Big stuff.  That jerk."  Her lips curved in a
tight smile.  "Or, as I prefer, bitch."
   This time it was Hiroshi who refused to respond.
Twisting to see his friend, he saw Ranma and Daisuke
engaged in conversation.  They both appeared happy,
smiling; but now, he wondered if Ranma's smile was hiding a
deeper sorrow.  "Poor guy," he murmured.
   "Poor _guy_?" asked Sayuri incredulously.  "What
about Akane?  She was the one who was hurt!"
   "So was Ranma."
   "Yeah, right."
   "He was!" he exclaimed, turning back to her, taken
aback by the volume, the strength of his own voice.  "She
was!"  Seeing the surprise on her face, he calmed himself.
"You didn't hear her tonight!  She's hurting -- she feels alone
and depressed and. . . ."
   "Ranma?" she said skeptically.  "That Casanova?  As
if!"
   "No, she does!" he insisted.  "I -- Listen, I also
thought that way, but, but she doesn't have it as easy as we
thought!  She's tired and confused!  She's. . . she's scared!"
   "The mighty Ranma, scared?"
   "Yeah, scared!  Him. . . her -- whatever.  Her too!
Like. . . like -- like how'd you feel when you had your first
period, huh?  Think it went any easier for her?  And at least
you're a. . . at least you had your. . . ."  And then, seeing her
shocked, blushing face, suddenly realizing what he'd said, he
stammered to a stop.  "I, I mean, she. . . ."  Shit, Hiroshi
thought, I just betrayed her trust, I couldn't keep her secret
for even a single night.
   The little 'o' of surprise on Sayuri's face twisted into
a nasty, pleased grin.  "She's had her. . . and it _scares_ her?
Oh, that's just too rich!"
   "Hey, hey, no, wait!" he said, slightly panicked.  "I
promised her I wouldn't tell anyone how she feels about that
stuff -- you can't tell anyone, Sayuri, you can't!"
   "Oh, relax, Hiroshi," she said.  "Everybody probably
already knows about her little 'problems'.  It's not like you
guys were all that quiet talking about it."
   "No, no, you don't understand!  Sure, she told
everyone about her. . . her 'girl' problems, but the other stuff,
like that she was scared and confused, and, and, really
worried about it -- that she only told _me_.  She asked me to
keep it a secret!  If you tell anyone else, she'll never trust me
again!"
   Sayuri's countenance darkened slightly.  "Yeah, and
we wouldn't want _that_ to happen, would we?" she said, a
slight bitterness to her voice.
   "What?"
    "Nothing."  Without another word she presented her
back to him, arms crossed.
   "No, not nothing!"  He pulled on her shoulder; she
resisted, but the water provided lousy support and she spun
anyway.  "Something's bothering you.  I want to know
what."
   "You should be able to figure it out on your own!"
   "Oh, don't give me that, Sayuri!  How can I?"
   "Well, gee, it's only been bugging me all night!"
   "Yeah, but I've been with the guys all night, and with
Ranma all. . . ."  Seeing her arch one eyebrow he stopped,
and grimaced.  "Oh.  Er, you mean. . . ."
   "Yeah, I do.  I don't care if you spend some time with
them, but, dammit, Hiroshi, you could've at least passed by a
few times!"
   "I, ah, I'm sorry?"
   She floated a little closer to him.  "You don't seem
very sorry. . . ."
   "But I am," he said, reaching up and wiping away a
few droplets from her face, smoothing back a wayward strand
of hair behind her ear with a delicate touch.  "How can I
prove it to you?"
   "You'll have to think of that yourself," she answered,
smiling, drawing closer, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Hiroshi responded in kind, arms lying comfortably around
her neck.
   "Is this on the right track?" he asked softly, laying a
soft line of kisses along her neck.
   "I'm not quite convinced you mean it," she said, legs
curling around his torso, water buoying her up.  One of his
hands played along the open back of her swimsuit, tracing the
seams, the length of her spine; the other treaded water.
   "This any better?"  The next kiss was on her ear, a
brief nibble, then lightly across her face, where small drops of
water still glittered against her skin.  Finally his lips brushed
gossamer soft against hers.  "Hmm?"
   She sighed softly, lips parting slightly, eyes half
closed.  "Yes," she breathed, and embraced him tighter.  He
felt her breasts press up against his chest, the sleekness of her
suit, her damp, clinging hair brushing against his hand now
clasping her back; the smell of chlorine, her wetness, moist
hair, the night wind filled and aroused him.  Pressed fully
against him, shifting her hips against his a little, she smiled
and repeated, "Yes."
   His lips brushed against hers again, parting a bit
more.  She responded, their tongues flicked, touched briefly,
but, as he pushed forward, she drew back teasingly, eyes
closed, smiling.  Hiroshi growled in the back of his throat,
moved his hand from her back to her neck, held her head,
tilted slightly, kissed again; this time they met, breath hot on
each others cool, wet face, embrace tightening, the pair
spiralling slowly in the pool, tongues meeting once more, and.
. . .
   "KIYAAAAA!"  Sudden water and strong waves
doused them.  Sayuri lost her hold on her boyfriend, but,
anchored to him by her entangled feet, was unable to
disengage; with a surprised cry she fell back and sank
beneath the water, one leg still hooked around Hiroshi.
Wiping the water from his eyes, he gasped and reached for
her, yanking her back up above the surface.  She gasped in
surprise, coughing, clawing clinging hair from her eyes,
blinking and looking angrily around for the disruption.  Said
disruption surfaced between the two.
   "Oops!" giggled the redhead.  "I, ah, didn't mean to
land so close to ya!"  Ranma stuck out her tongue at Sayuri
and kicked off before the furious girl could retaliate.  "Hey,
Dai!  You were right!  She's pretty pissed!" she called out as
Sayuri, furious, spitting up water, glowered in rage.
   "Ohhhh. . .That, that. . . _bitch_!" Sayuri exclaimed,
and swam off angrily.
   Hiroshi sighed, glanced between his girlfriend, and his
friend who currently happened to be a girl, and wondered
which one he ought to talk to first.


Water cascaded off of her lithe form as she effortlessly lifted
from the pool, pulling herself up and swinging smooth,
curvaceous legs over the edge of the deep end.  The redhead
unconsciously tugged at the strings of her top as she stood
and talked animatedly with a classmate, gesticulating
expressively.  After a few moments she shrugged, accepted an
offered drink and stepped away, laughing, obviously enjoying
herself.
   "What'cha lookin' at?"
   Sayuri glanced up as a rather drunk Daisuke plopped
down next to her.  Looking away, she muttered, "Ranma,"
and nodded towards the girl as she clambered up the ladder to
the high diving board once more.
   "Ah, yes.  Lovely, ain't she?"  Daisuke grinned and
leaned back.
   She glowered at him for a moment.  "Yeah.
Whatever."
   They both watched as she hopped off the board
backwards, opting for a simple, direct dive devoid of fancy
twirls or spins, cutting effortlessly into the water with only
minor splashing.  Of course, being the showoff that she was,
Ranma then leapt out of the water, probably pushing off the
bottom with inhuman strength, and _then_ performed a flashy
somersault as she rose above the surface.
   "Just look at her," Sayuri muttered.  "She just _has_
to be the centre of attention."
   Daisuke nodded, still grinning, but replied by saying,
"Aw, relax, will ya.  She's just having a good time, ya know?
Heck, if I could do that stuff, I'd flip and jump around, too."
Slicing back into the water, Ranma started to cruise back and
forth on her back, legs propelling her quickly through the
waves.  "Heh.  She's like an otter or somethin' out there."
   "Whatever," she sniffed, turning away.
   "What the hell is your problem?" demanded Daisuke,
and his voice lost some of its lightness.  "Let up on her, okay?
What's she ever done to you?"
   She levelled a cold look at the drunken boy.
"Nothing, ok?  Nothing."  Sayuri turned away further, back
to both Ranma's antics and Daisuke's annoying prodding.
"Just leave me alone."
   There was a brief silence, but then his voice piped up
again.  "Oh, hey, look.  She's just jumped off the diving
board again.  Oh, splashed Yuka with that one!  And Yuka
retaliates!  They're splashing each other; oh, Keiko just
joined Yuka's side, and, yup, Akemi evens things out by
coming to Ranma's rescue!  Gee, _they_ sure seem to be
having a good time!"  Sayuri felt Daisuke return his gaze to
her.  "The other girls don't seem to have a problem with
Ranma," he said.  "So what crawled up your ass and set up
nest?"
   "Shut _up_," growled Sayuri.  "Go away."
   "Nah," said Daisuke, and returned to his running
commentary of Ranma's actions.  She felt her irritation rising
with each word, worsened as the little group floated by close
enough for her to hear their joyful cries.  She almost
screamed when Daisuke called out to them, and they
answered with a spout of water, splashing her accidentally.
Just as she was about to spin and tell Daisuke off for good,
Sayuri saw Hiroshi emerge from behind the bushes and head
towards her.
   "Oh, wow, _that_ feels better," he said, smiling,
adjusting his swimming trunks.  A moment later a look of
concern flashed across his eyes.  "Hey, what's wrong?" he
asked, kneeling down before his girlfriend.  "You ok?"
   Despite herself, Sayuri smiled slightly.  Whatever
other faults Hiroshi might have as a boyfriend, being attentive
and caring was not among them.  Maybe not the most
attractive guy she had ever dated, but certainly one of the
sweetest and gentlest.  And -- her smile grew -- a damn fine
kisser, too.  She shook her head.  "Nothing," she said, and
took his hand and pulled him up.  Smiling he rose and settled
in next to her, cuddling up, and she ruffled his blond, curly
hair.
   "Oh, ok," he said, and hugged her with the one arm.
He smoothed back her still--damp hair and kissed her on the
cheek.  "You havin' a good night?"
   "It's getting better now that you're back," she started
to say, turning into the kiss, when Daisuke interrupted.
   "Yo!  'Roshi!   Check this out!" he exclaimed.
   Hiroshi twisted away from an annoyed Sayuri and
looked over at the pool.  "Hey, cool," he said, and glanced
once at his girlfriend.  "Hey, Sayuri, lookit this!  Ranma's. . .
."
   "Ohhhhh," she cried.  She leapt from her foot and
stamped one foot angrily.  "I've had _enough_ of that stupid
redhead!"  Without waiting for a reply she stormed away,
ignoring the surprised cry from behind her.  Only once she
escaped the confines of the pool area did she slow, hugging
herself against the growing, chill wind, pulling her towel
tighter around her.  She shivered.
   A moment later a pair of arms encircled and drew her
into an embrace from behind.  "Hey.  What's wrong?"
Hiroshi.  For a moment she considered ignoring him, or
breaking angrily away; instead, after a sigh, she relaxed and
fell back against him.  His chin rested gently on the top of her
head and he hugged her tighter.
   "I. . . oh, I don't know," she finally said.  "She just
irritates me!  Something about her just bugs the hell out of
me!"
   A silent moment, and then she felt him nod slightly.
"Ok."  Still holding her from behind, he gently led her
towards a nearby pair of chairs left sitting out by the patio
doors.  After another tender squeeze they separated and sat.
He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet slightly --
a little habit of his when deep in thought that she found
endearing -- and finally focussed his attention back on her.
Hiroshi looked quite serious, and concerned, and remarkably
sober; Sayuri realized it had been a while since he had
touched anything to drink.  "Why?" he eventually asked,
reaching and holding one of her hand, rubbing its back
gently.
   Sayuri shrugged.  "I don't know!" she said.  "Really.
I guess -- I guess it's just the way she just waltzes in here, I
mean, she didn't even grow up with any of us, she's been here
less than a year, she never even hangs out with us. . . but she
just walks in and becomes the centre of the whole stupid
party.  I mean, she's not even a real girl!  But, dammit, she
steals the guys' attention away, she steals _my_ friends away
-- hell, she even drives Akane away, and no one seems to
care!"
   To her surprise, Hiroshi actually smiled slightly at her
comments.  "Heh.  I think you've finally got an idea of how
us guys feel about her.  I mean him."  He shook his head.
"Oh, whatever."
   "No, no," she answered.  "It's not the same!  I mean. .
. ."
   "Of course it's the same!" he said.  Hiroshi pulled his
chair a bit closer.  "You're jealous!"
   "WHAT?"
   He shrugged.  "Of course you are!  Hell, he, errr,
she's, better looking than you!  Heck, the guys voted her
'Best Babe of Furinkan High' tonight -- and, let's face it,
with good reason!  How can any of you hope to compete with
legs like hers, a chest like hers?  Ranma's in top shape
without looking gross, she's got great curves in all the right
spots, she's a great athlete, we know she can cook, and that
she can. . . ."
   "Hi -- ro -- shi," Sayuri growled, snatching her hand
away.
   "No, wait!" he said, raising his hands placatingly.
"Hear me through!  The guys feel the same way about him!
Hell, he's better looking than us, judging from the way you
girls react; he outdoes any of us, easily, in any sport; he's in
better shape that we'll _ever_ be, and could kick the crap out
of us if he ever wanted to -- but he doesn't because, despite
everything, he's really not that bad of a guy.  A bit arrogant,
sure, but why shouldn't he be?  Anytime a new girl shows up,
she gravitates towards him; and anytime there's a serious
problem, he gets to be the hero and fix it."  He shrugged.  "Of
course you're jealous. _I'm_ jealous!"  And then he smirked
slightly.  "But you know what?  I don't envy the guy, not
really.  Not after tonight.  The shit that comes along with all
that is too much.  The price is just too high."
   A cool wind blew by once more, and she shivered
unconsciously.  There was something about his words that
rang true, and she could see where he was coming from; but
despite all that, Sayuri found that she still greatly disliked
Ranma.  Maybe it was not an entirely rational feeling, but
then again, feelings rarely were.  But she could tell the
subject was important to Hiroshi: he cared for her, obviously,
but Ranma was his 'buddy', and Hiroshi obviously hoped
that his friend and his girlfriend could at least get along.  So,
with a sigh, she decided that, for tonight at least, she might as
well let go of some of her hostility.  She nodded.  "Maybe
you're right," she finally said, and then, leaning forward,
added,  "You're sweet, you know that?"
   "Yeah," he answered, smiling, pulling her off her
seat.  She settled into his lap and cuddled up to him.
   "I'm still a bit miffed about that comparison thing,"
she said.  "You sure I'm not better looking than her?"
   "Yup," he answered, voice teasing.
   She pulled back and pouted.  "I'm hurt!"
   "The difference is," he said, pulling her back, "is that
with Ranma, if I tried this," and he laid a gentle kiss on the
soft curve of her neck, "or this," and his hand played along
her back, sliding rather low over the surface of her bathing
suit, "or, most certainly, _this_," and, as he  brought his lips
to hers, his other hand smoothly passed lingeringly across her
breasts, "I'd get killed."  He squeezed one breast softly
through the slippery one-piece, as lips parted and his tongue
slid into her mouth.
   Several moments later when they finally broke the
kiss, she let out a pleased sigh.  "Ah.  I guess it's ok, then."
She playfully tweaked his cheek.  "Pretty daring tonight,
aren't we," she said, clasping the one probing hand to her
chest.
   Hiroshi had the decency to blush.  "I, ah, I. . . ."
   "Don't worry about it," she murmured huskily.  "It
felt kind of nice."
   "It, it did?" he said, voice a little squeaky.  She
smiled at his nervousness; the earlier confidence possessed
during talking seemed to have evaporated.  Probably had
something to do with his obvious excitement, judging from
the unsubtle newfound bump in her shifting seat.  This was a
step forward in their relationship, Sayuri realized.  Sure, they
had kissed before, hugged, held hands -- but nothing very
physical beyond that; and it was a hesitant step for herself, as
well.  No boy had ever touched her with the intimacy she was
about to allow Hiroshi.
   "Yes."  This time being the gentle one, she took the
hand from her chest and brought it to the area of her midriff
that the bathing suit left exposed.  His touch was slightly
clammy against her skin.  Fighting down her own
nervousness, she led his fingers to the edge of her suit and slid
the tips of his fingers beneath the taut bluish material.  "But I
can't really feel you through this," she added, rubbing the
cloth, then pushing his hand further in, fingers approaching
her breasts, voice slightly trembling.
   With slightly terrified eyes he leaned in closer.  Their
mouths met once more, deep, passionate kiss, she felt his
hand slide fully beneath her top, reach and caress the bottom
of her right breast, sending a pleasant, fiery tingle through
her; and then, breath heavy on each other's face, the embrace
tightened, kiss deepened, fingers anxiously yet curiously
massaging her chest, thumb pressing in, rubbing against her
nipple, strange and rough but nice presence of a boy's touch
upon her, wonderfully pleasant sensation rising, and. . . .
   "Hey, yo, Hiroshi, what'cha. . . Woopsy!" intruded a
decidedly unwanted female voice.
   She pulled back, growling in frustration and extreme
annoyance.  If Ranma -- if anyone! -- interrupted them _one_
more time, she would scream!  Hiroshi seemed a bit miffed,
too, as he turned to the intruding redhead.  "Ranma, please,"
he snapped.
   "Hey, hey!" she said.  "No prob!  Just headed for the
can, anyway!" she said, grinning.  Ranma had pulled on her
red Chinese shirt, leaving it hanging open over the still damp
bikini.  She leaned in close.  "I can't just piss behind the bush
like the rest of the guys, ya know?"  The reek of alcohol
wafted from the girl, riding her breath.
   "Ugh, gee, Ranma!" Hiroshi exclaimed.  "How much
have you been drinking?" he said,  pushing her away.
   She looked hurt -- for all of a second -- then shrugged
and giggled.  "I dunno!"  A half-filled glass with some amber
liquid was raised in mock salute.  "I don't even know what
this stuff is!  People've been really nice, ya know?"  Again
she pulled in close, voice dropping to a loud conspiratorial
whisper.  "S'cus they know me 'n Akane broke up."  She
sniffed.  "She was right ta dump me, ya know.  I almost hurt
her.  But I didn't.  I's bluffin'.  I could never hurt her, I'd
never hurt her, I'll _kill_ anyone who tries t'a touch her. . ."
and her voice grew vicious and loud by the last, then
immediately died to a whisper, "but she don't know that.
And now she's gone."  She sniffed once more, glanced at her
glass, and threw it all back with a single gulp.  Ranma rose to
her feet -- swayed slightly -- then grinned wildly.  "Gee!  That
last drink of Daisuke's tore right through me!  I gotta go
potty!  Bai bai!"  She waved and stumbled off, passing
through the patio doors.
   The couple looked at each other after Ranma left.
   "Wow.  She's pretty messed up," said Sayuri.
   Hiroshi nodded wordlessly and stared back into the
house.
   "You going after her?" she asked, almost in a sigh.
   And, to her surprise, he shook his head.  "Nope," he
said.  "What can I do?  This -- this is her problem.  She's
gotta deal with it herself.  Besides, it's Ranma, she'll be fine."
He stared off in the direction she went for a moment longer,
then turned back to his girlfriend.  With a goofy lecherous
grin, he tugged her tightly up against him.  "Besides," he
whispered, "I'd much rather continue here. . . it's, um, a _lot_
more interesting. . ."
   With a blissful smile she reached for another kiss, and
quickly picked up where they had left off.  No one bothered
them this time and, quite some time later, Sayuri decided that
tonight had turned out to be a damn fine party after all.


With weaving, woozy steps, the drunken pigtailed girl wound
his way through the house.  Somehow Ranma found his way
upstairs, only stumbling once on the way up.  Uncertain steps
brought him to a couch, which he sank into gratefully.  A
moment's blurry rest, and then the increasing pressure on his
bladder reminded him of why he was in the house in the first
place, and he staggered back to his feet.  He looked around
dazedly, not actually knowing where the washroom was.  The
few people still awake in the room looked at the redhead
curiously and then returned to their hushed discussion.  They
were sitting by the stereo and listening to soft music, nursing
glasses of what was apparently water.
   Shrugging and still grinning stupidly, he chose a
direction at random and wandered off.  I wonder if this is
what Ryoga usually feels like, Ranma thought to himself, and
giggled.  Hurried, unsteady feet carried him through the
kitchen -- past cluttered, messy counters covered with dozens
of dirty glasses, bottles, and cups scattered among spills,
blobs of chips and dip, upturned salt shakers and little lemon
wedges -- into an empty dining room, and finally down a
hallway to the bedrooms.
   "Ya lookin' for the bathroom?"
   Ranma stopped, suddenly noticing the girl leaning
against the wall next to a closed door.  He nodded.  "Yeah.
S'this it?"
   "Yup.  But yer gonna hafta wait -- s'busy!"
   "'kay!"
   The girl smiled and stuck out her hand.  "Megumi.
Tomobiki."
   "Ranma.  Furinkan."  He took the offered hand and
shook.  Loud, hacking retching sounds emanated from behind
the door.  The two girls winced.
   "That's my Seiji," said Megumi, looking slightly
annoyed.  "Never knows when to stop."
   "Ah," said Ranma, and hesitated, unsure of what else
to add.
   A few moments passed until the sounds died out from
within.  The girl shook her head.  "Stupid baka," she said,
then turned her attention back to Ranma.  She gestured at the
bikini.  "Went swimming?"
   "Yeah."  Ranma nodded.
   "Nice bikini.  Red suits ya."
   Ranma blushed.  "Er, ah. . . thanks."  He looked
Megumi over, feeling he ought to return the compliment.
Long, straight raven hair that fell to mid-back, striking
against her pale skin, was pulled away from her forehead and
kept tucked behind small, pierced ears.  Dark eyes, large and
friendly-looking, gazed from a thin, angular face; then she
smiled casually and it softened her features, and Ranma
decided that she was cute.  She seemed a bit older, closer to
Nabiki's age, or even Kasumi's, than to his own.  She was
also tall -- well, _everyone_ seemed tall to Ranma when he
was in girl-form, he groused -- and slender, short black skirt
leaving her legs bare.  "Nice, um, blouse," he added,
indicating the simple, loosely-fitting white shirt she was
wearing.
   "Ain't it?" she asked, grinning.  "Seiji bought it for
my birthday.  That your boyfriend's shirt?"
   "What?"
   "Well, it's kinda big for ya, ne?  I figured he lent it to
ya or somethin'."  Megumi shrugged.  "Sorry if I. . . ."
   "Ah, no, no, you -- you're right."  Ranma flushed,
feeling a bit awkward and embarrassed, but not up to getting
into a detailed explanation of his life.  Besides, he decided, it
was kind of nice to talk to a girl who was not interested in
marrying him, or hurting him, or who even knew about the
curse.  "S'my boyfr -- er, yeah, s'his."
   Megumi looked around for a second.  "Yeah?  So
where is he?"
   Ranma's countenance darkened.  "Gone.  We had a
fight.  Sh -- he took off."
   The dark-haired girl's eyes widened in surprise.  "Oh!
Oh, I'm sorry!  I didn't mean. . . ."
   "No, no, s'ok," started Ranma, shaking his head.  But
it was _not_ ok, and a savage pain that the alcohol had totally
failed to drown returned.  Akane, Akane, why?  An image of
her whirling, face twisted with rage, deservedly hitting him
and screaming at him and leaving him, reared up in his mind;
taking a deep shuddering breath he leaned back against the
wall and closed his eyes.
   A moment later he felt a comforting arm embrace her
around the shoulder.  "Aw, shit, I didn't mean to -- listen,
Ranma, I'm sorry."
   He desperately shook his head, summoning all the
resolve he could muster and pushing down on the emotions
that threatened him; he took a bitter pleasure in reducing the
overwhelming wash of depression to a mere trembling of his
lower lip.  "No, no," he said, feebly trying to get Megumi to
release her grip.  "It's -- s'nothin', really."
   "It's not _nothing_, girl," the taller girl insisted, and
merely hugged him tighter.
   "No -- I -- please, just let me go," he begged, feeling
his control erode, the last thing he wanted right now was
compassion, he _deserved_ what Akane had done, every
insult and punch, she was right to have broken the
engagement, and now she was gone and there was no way, no
_way_ things could be patched up after this argument, not
after what he had done.  "You -- you don't understand!"
   "Tell me."
   And, for some reason Ranma could not understand,
he did.  Somehow he managed to avoid revealing his true
gender, and Akane's; or, if he did, Megumi glossed over it, or
simply did not care.  He started hesitantly, not even sure
where to begin, but soon the words began to tumble out
quickly and desperately.  Most of what he said was no doubt
incoherent, or muffled and slurred beyond recognition, and
Ranma realized that it was not important, that merely
_speaking_ them was a relief.  Self-recrimination and
loathing oozed from every word; anger and fury at Akane's
barbs underscored them.  And then at some point Ranma
started crying without realizing, tears freely running down his
face and blurring his vision; but he kept talking, and talking,
and as he wound down, words emerging in hot, gasping sobs,
he found his face buried in the girl's shoulder, kneeling on the
ground, held in her arms, and felt weak and tired.  "And,
and," he tried to add, face burning, not with shame at his
collapse, but with release.
   "S'okay," assured Megumi, soothingly petting down
the redhead's hair.  "S'okay."  For a long moment Ranma
remained huddled there, slowly relaxing and calming down,
drawing some strange strength from the girl's embrace until,
finally, he was released and fell back.  "You feel better
now?"
   Ranma nodded.  He wondered if he ought to be
ashamed.  This was exactly what he had been afraid of -- he
had felt his normal inhibition drop from drinking, had been
afraid of what might happen if he drank more -- but _this_,
this total loss of control, this collapsing into a stranger's arms,
girlish sobbing and crying, so unmanly and. . . and _not_
embarrassing, he realized.  He knew he should be, but he was
not.  The pain was still there, the ache and feeling of loss, but
the tension had been released.  For now, anyway.  Wiping the
tears from his eyes and peering blearily at his unexpected
friend, he tried a tentative smile and gave a slight nod.  "Ye --
yeah," he sighed.
   "You -- you really love him, don't you?" asked
Megumi tentatively.
   And for once, slumped on the ground, bitter tears of
loss and anger still drying on his face, the tight, stabbing pain
still nascent and very much real, Ranma could not, would not
deny his feeling.  Maybe it was too late, maybe his stupidity
and stubbornness had cost him Akane, but at least once, now,
to this complete stranger, he would speak the truth.  "Yes," he
said miserably.
   "First one?"
   Ranma nodded his head sadly.
   "Aw, gee, that sucks," she said sincerely.  "But,
listen, don't worry 'bout it.  I won't lie, it's gonna hurt for a
while, but it'll get better, eventually.  It will!  Maybe you'll
get back together.  Maybe you won't.  But it's not the end. . .
."
   This time Ranma shook his head despairingly.  "No --
you, you don't understand," he started.
   Megumi kneeled down before the distraught girl,
laying a comforting hand on one shoulder.  "Yes, I do," she
said.  "Really.  I've been through it -- most girls have.  It
sucks, it hurts, but it happens.  And if he's stupid, and doesn't
come back, then screw him!  He's an idiot!"  She grinned and
an uplifting note filled her voice.  "Heck, look at you!
You're cute!  You're attractive!  If he doesn't come back, or
waits too long -- heh, well, I don't think you'll have too much
trouble finding another guy, ne?"
   He smiled wanly, not entirely thrilled at the prospect,
but at least appreciative of the girl's efforts.  Oddly enough,
though, her comment was true: there were, after all, three
other fiancees waiting in the wings.  But -- but they were not
Akane.  "Yeah, I guess," he muttered.
   "That's the way," she said.  "Feel better now?"
   Ranma nodded.
   "Good," she said, and stood up.  "I think you needed
that."
   "Uh-huh," he agreed.  He tried standing but still felt
weak.  "This cryin' stuff's tiring," he said, reaching towards
Megumi.  With a kindly smirk she reached down and helped
the exhausted girl up.  After finding his somewhat wobbly
feet he decided that maybe he had drank just a tad too much
and leaned weakly against the opposite wall.  His newfound
friend resumed her position across from him.
   "I -- thanks," added Ranma after a moment.  "I -- that
was -- I. . . ."
   "Don't worry 'bout it," insisted Megumi, waving it
off.  "Shit happens.  Hey, maybe you'll be there for me when
this bozo," she jerked her thumb at the bathroom door,
"dumps me."
   Ranma shook his head.  "He won't dump ya," he
assured her, "not if he's got half a brain."
   Megumi grinned, and so did Ranma.  A moment later,
his smile wavered and fell.
   "What?" asked the tall girl, as Ranma's expression
turned to one of concern and pain.  "What's wrong?"
   "I -- I kinda forgot with all that mushy stuff," said
Ranma in a strained voice, "but now I _really_ hafta go to the
bathroom!"  Megumi smiled and turned to the bathroom
door.  She rapped on it with some force, while crying out,
"Hey, Seiji!  Ya almost done in there?"
   Fortunately Seiji _was_ done, and the door opened.
A tall lanky boy that Ranma recognized from Furinkan
stumbled out, looking slightly green and wiping the back of
one hand across his mouth.  His girlfriend caught him and
helped keep him upright.  The redhead dashed by into the
bathroom, but hesitated at the threshold.  "Megumi -- thanks.
You really helped me here.  I swear, I promise, if you ever
need my help -- just ask.  Ranma Saotome always remembers
a friend."
   "Hey, ya don't hafta be so serious!" she said.  "I was
glad ta help!"  And then, glancing at her partner, she added,
"But, yeah, see ya later, 'kay Ranma?  Think it's time Seiji
and I head home.  Bye!"  She waved, and Seiji added a
floppy gesture of his own that could be loosely interpreted as
a wave, and the two stumbled away.  Ranma watched after
them for a moment, and then, nature repeating its rather
forceful demand, he ran into the bathroom, slamming the
door shut behind him.


The party was very nearly over.  The swimming pool, aside
for one last couple slowly twirling together in the middle, was
empty.  A few guys were still softly talking by the dying
embers of the fire, and a few girls were discussing life in
general out on the porch.  Gleefully passed out people were
scattered everywhere, most of them purging excessive
amounts of alcohol from their systems as they slept.  Those
still awake enough and sober enough were gathering their
possessions and preparing to walk home, and designated
drivers were finally getting to do their thing.  Most of the
partied-out students would have congratulated Kiyoshi on
another excellent party, but he had disappeared into his
bedroom hours ago.  Throughout the house a peaceful,
slumbering silence settled, broken only by the occasional
grunt, whisper, or snore.
   Hiroshi and Sayuri slowly, reluctantly, separated, still
cuddling out on the patio.  With silly, blissful grins they
leaned back into their seats, still holding hands, and quietly
stared up at the night sky.  With a sigh, a drunken,
disgruntled, and somewhat more relaxed bully waved his
friends off and staggered towards the house, occasional
twinge of dull pain throbbing from his groin.  A resigned and
accepting Megumi, meanwhile, shoved her boyfriend into the
backseat of a taxi and took the easy way home.  Their drive
along empty streets passed by a short-haired young girl sitting
on a bench, head held despairingly in her hands.
   She looked up as the car went by.  She was obviously
depressed, eyes brimming with tears, hunched over in her
seat.  With a sniff the girl wiped a sleeve across her face.  For
a long time she remained still, staring into the clear Nerimean
night as if in thought, and then, slowly, a look of resolve
hardened her features, and with a determined frown Akane
Tendo leapt to her feet and stormed back the way she had
come.


With a sigh of immense relief Ranma leaned back on the
toilet and answered the call of nature.  As he settled back on
the seat he began to relax.  Eyes slowly closed as a warm
fuzziness spread throughout his body, a deep lethargy settling
into his limbs.  It was so enjoyable, comfortable, and the
temptation to simply give in and fall asleep was almost
overpowering.  Except -- except that, somehow, he had to get
home.  Had to find Akane.  Had to -- apologize, or  tell her
how he felt, or. . . something.  Whatever doubts and concerns
had assailed him tonight, this he knew beyond a doubt: he
had to talk to Akane.  He _would_ talk to her.  Only -- only
he was so tired, and the toilet was so surprisingly
comfortable. . .
   No.  He shook his head.  He had something to do.
Blinking, Ranma opened his eyes, letting go of the soft
darkness.  Looking around the washroom he realized that it
resembled the Tendo's considerably.  Well, except that the
Tendo's toilet is on the first floor, he remembered.  Or was
that the second?  Sheesh, he thought wryly, I must be pretty
drunk if I can't even remember where the toilet is.  Next I'll
be forgetting where my bedroom is.  He noticed the full
length mirror hanging on the back of the door across from
him.  Who puts a mirror in a place where you can see
yourself shit, he wondered idly.  He disliked the image the
mirror reflected: a young redheaded pigtailed girl peering
drunkenly, face blotchy, eyes and nose red and puffy, her
bikini bottom tangled loosely around her ankles.  The bikini
peeking through her loose Chinese shirt made it look like she
was wearing a bra, and for some reason that angered her
terribly.  Damn stupid curse, he swore, everything that's
happened tonight is its fault.  This, this -- woman's body, is
nothing to take pride in -- it cost me Akane, it cost me my
friends. . . hell, I can't even piss outside like the rest of the
guys!
   With something akin to shame he remembered a night
from long ago, early after the trip to Jusenkyo: the day that
Ranma and his father had left the training grounds, they had,
of course, been immediately rained upon.  Grumbling, still
secretly horrified and alien to his new body, he had slowly
become aware of a pressing concern -- the need to urinate.
Only -- he had had no idea how.  The normal parts were
gone; would it work the same way now that he was a girl?
He had held it off as long as he could, desperately holding
back and hoping to stumble across a hot spring or something.
Finally, though, the urge had became too great and, grabbing
a roll of toilet paper from his backpack, he had disappeared
behind some trees.  Quickly tearing off his gi pants, he had
then learnt that, yes, he knew how to pee; at least, the
pressure was great enough that the body did so on its own.
But it had been an intensely shameful experience: not only
frightening and uncomfortable, it had also forced him to
confront the newness of the parts between his legs for the first
time, something he had despairingly tried to avoid.  Worse,
though, was not knowing what to expect, or even how to
stand; squatting, half-naked and miserable in the Chinese
wilderness, his own urine dribbling down his leg, had left him
feeling humiliated and degraded, while wiping himself down
afterwards had forced closeness with feminine parts he had
never seen nor felt before, and he could have cried, but back
then he was stronger, still a man despite everything, he never
cried, unlike now.
   For now he knew how to pee like a girl without any
problem whatsoever, and that very knowledge scared him and
shamed him as much if not more than the original experience
ever had.  There were so many things he knew how to do like
a girl now: he could piss like one and shit and bleed like one,
and wear makeup and dresses and sit with crossed legs like
one, and talk and look and act like one, so well that you
would never know he was anything else _but_ a girl, and. . . .
Enough!
   Vivid anger at his own weakness temporarily
overcame his exhaustion of mind and body.  Enough of this
crap.  There was no use in feeling sorry for himself.  Despite
all the shitty things that had happened tonight -- way too
much thinking, and feeling, and talking, and. . . and that thing
with Akane -- the night had not been _all_ bad.  Ranma had
enjoyed some parts of the party: talking with the guys and, if
even only for a short while, feeling like part of the gang;
stepping aside with Hiroshi, 'bonding', even though the
conversation material was decidedly uncomfortable; and
especially the time spent swimming and the fun in the pool.
For the first time he could remember he had felt like part of a
group -- part of a group who's only bond was _not_ martial
arts, or revenge, or marital desires.   If only everything else
could have turned out better.
   Ranma looked up at the bathroom sink sitting flush
against the wall.  Hot water.  If this body is such an
annoyance, he might as well get rid of it.  Besides, a thought
in the back of his head suggested, maybe he would be better
able to fight off the effects of the alcohol as a man.  Hours
ago (or so it seemed) he had entered this house with the
intention of turning into a man; since then he had fought and
swam and cried, and despite everything that had happened he
was still a girl.  Well, now he could finish what he had started
way back then.  Who cared if he ended up looking like a total
idiot, male and wearing a girl's bikini.  Although, he realized
glancing down, it might be a little. . . tight, and a bit
uncomfortable once he changed back.  He shrugged.
Whatever.  He just wanted to go home.  Assuming he still had
one.
   Desire suddenly crystalizing into motion, he lifted off
the toilet, already reaching for the faucet.  But then his legs,
his arms and body failed him.  With a queasy lurch his legs
turned to rubber beneath him and with a strangled yelp he
collapsed forward.  Unexpectedly weak arms refused to
respond, and he pitched forward, head knocking painfully
hard against the edge of the bathroom counter.  Ranma
slumped dazedly to the ground.
   Well this certainly sucks, he thought groggily, laying
sprawled on the washroom floor and seeing stars, as
encroaching darkness snuck in at the edges of vision.


Darkness.  Numbness.  Silence and sensation of floating.
   Unfamiliar voices:
   "Hey, c'mon man, lets go!"
   "Yeah, just a sec'.  Gotta go piss."
   Fumbling at the door, it creaked open.
   "Hurry, will ya?"
   "I'll just be a. . . shit!  Man!"
   "What?"
   "Come see this!"
   "What?"
   "There's some chick passed out on the floor!"
   "Really?"
   A brief pause.
   "See?"
   "Oh, wow, it's. . . ."  A brief snicker.
   "Hey man, I can see her. . . ."
   "Hey!  You pervert!"
   "Yeah, like you weren't staring too!"
   This time a contemplative silence.
   "So what do we do?"
   "I dunno.  We can't leave her there."
   "Nope."
   "Errr. . . maybe someone oughta, ah, you know, pull
her bikini up?"
   Now an awkward silence.
   "Um.  Sure."
   Another pause, and then nervous fumbling at his feet.
Feeling of the bottom being drawn up along legs, then left at
the waist, slightly twisted and uncomfortable.
   "Ah. . . is it up?"
   "I dunno.  I ain't lookin'.  Can't you see?"
   "Nope.  Ain't lookin' either."
   Sound of shuffling feet.
   "Good enough.  Now what?"
   "I guess we haul her outta here.  Dump her in one of
the bedrooms?"
   "Guess so.  Let her sleep it off."
   Movement.  Hands grabbing him by the feet, and
beneath the arms.  Sudden lurch, and effortlessly supported in
the air, being carried.  It felt like flying.
   "You know, I can't stand it when girls can't hold
their liquor.  You'd think they'd learn their limits and not
count on someone ta look after 'em."
   A chuckle.
   "What?"
   "Nothin'.  I'll tell ya later."
   "Huh."
   A few more lurching steps.
   "Ya know, she's pretty cute.  I'm surprised she don't
have a boyfriend lookin' after her.  I mean, leavin' a girl like
this, like that, it's not. . . ."
   Another chuckle.
   "What?"
   "Heh.  Trust me, no boyfriend.  No guy'll ever go out
with her."
   "What?  Why not?  I mean, I'd. . . ."
   A laugh.
   "No, no you wouldn't.  Trust me.  Her name's
Ranma."
   "So?  Odd name, but. . . ."
   "You're not from Furinken.  I'll tell ya after.  Hey,
can ya get the door?"
   "Uh, sure."
   Disorienting swaying, feet dipping, awkward
handling of a door.  It creaked.  Movement resumed.
   "I'm surprised she's so light."
   "Why?  She's not that big."
   "Yeah.  It's just. . . ah, forget it.  There.  The bed.
We'll just dump her."
   "Okay."
   Brief moment of no support, queasy spinning falling,
then bouncy yielding impact.  Perfumed floral comfort and
sinking rest.
   "Think she'll be ok?"
   "Yeah."
   "Man, she must've drank a load."
   "Yeah.  She got dumped tonight.  Guess she took it
pretty rough."
   "Dumped _her_?  Idiot."
   Again a laugh.  "Let me tell you a few things about
this delightful redhead, my friend. . . ."
   Click.
   Soft, definitive sound of the door being shut.  Ranma
was left in the darkness, alone.


Spinning.  The world was spinning, yet Ranma remained still.
Everything was dark and quiet.  He felt pinned to the bed.
Incessant debilitating vertigo tugged at him.  A slow dizzying
tilting and turning of the bed threatened to throw him to the
ground.  The feeling grew worse with time, as did the
precariousness of his hold on the sheets.  He tried to grip the
bed tightly, but it felt as if his hand was a mile away, a numb
tingly lump far away stuck at the end of the unresponsive
leaden weight that was his arm, fingers and thumb moving
sluggishly and twitchingly as he let out an unconscious
nauseous moan, room twirling and whirling.  Both eyes
fluttered open, and he was thankful for the darkness.  It
masked from his sight the world spinning around his still
body.  Eyes slowly closed and he sighed.  The sickening rise
and fall within would not stop.
   This feels like Akane's cooking, he decided, or like
Kodachi's love.  Wait.  Could love be felt that way?  Could
he feel love?  Was this love, this queasy painful bitter feeling
inside, this sharp bitter emptying rising feeling as his stomach
twisted and his body heaved and his throat gave a spasm. . .
There was no confusion for his body, which responded
quickly despite its sluggishness, heavily turning on one side,
mouth coughing open and splattering stream of reeking
acerbic fluid spewing out.  Several moments of feeble
hacking and thick drooling later he collapsed back onto the
bed.  Oh, he thought, it wasn't love, I was just sick.
   But with the painful partial purging accomplished the
swaying and surging subsided.  The bed softened and opened
and accepted him into its embrace, and Ranma gladly sank
into the welcoming comfort.  Yet as eagerly expected and
desired sleep approached, the warmth and padded depths
closed in, became cloying, smothering, claustrophobic, and
with sudden violent intense physicality he wanted free,
wanted escape, and one arm actually responded, flailing
wildly before falling to the mattress with a dull thump,
muffled slurred cry choked by the darkness and pressing,
closing walls. . . .  Squeamish sickening sensation slowly
returned as a very slight spinning inexorably resumed and
again forced him onto the bed, forced him deeper into its now
unwelcome clutches.  He would have cried out again, but
what was the point?  He was alone.  Sick and alone in the
dark.
   Where he belonged, as he deserved.  He was a man,
he had threatened Akane, she had been harmed, it was his
fault, real men never hurt girls.  He was a man.  Despite the
curves of his body, the hated softness over once-hard
pectorals, roundness of unmanly hips and rear, round soft
curve between legs, he was a man, he had arrived at the party
as a man, had escorted Akane here as a man.  Don't you hang
around me, he heard her say, I don't know why you came, the
last thing I need is a perverted unwanted fiance hanging
around me at the party.  They were walking on the sidewalk,
the sun just beginning to dip beneath the horizon, fiery
highlights glimmering in her hair.  Don't worry, you uncute
tomboy, he answered, it's not like I'd want to, and she
responded with a hit, and it hurt, he could almost feel the
blows land on stomach and head and arms, knew it was
useless trying to apologize but gratefully whispered her name
as the pain subsided and faded and the bed softly pushed him
back up to the surface and the awful lurching slowed.
   Click.
   If only she would come back.  But why should she,
and how could he possibly return to the Tendos after what he
had done?  Even Kasumi would fault him, would be unable
to forgive him, and rightfully so.  Was there any forgiveness
or understanding for him out there?  Hiroshi.  Hiroshi would
understand, he had understood everything tonight, had been a
good friend and knew far far too much about him now, how
could he be trusted?  Because you're a friend, dammit,
exclaimed Hiroshi.  What do you think?  Playful jumbled
sounds drifted in the background, flickering halogen light
sharpening features and flaws.  He could hear the odd beating
of large wings.  What do I think, answered Ranma, I think I
would like to have a friend.
   Hiroshi smiled.  I just want you to have a good time,
he said, we'll make this a night you'll never forget, and
Ranma smiled as well, snaking forward, rising sinuously
before Hiroshi, breasts thrust forward and hips swaying and
hands playing in her hair, unravelling it so that it fell in
crimson locks about her face, and she fell with the cascading
curls, collapsing back into the bed, Hiroshi's eyes burning
into her and staring at her face, at her breasts, and then fading
into the dark.  Why, he moaned, how can Hiroshi be my
friend if he thinks of me that way, was there anyone who
could see past the curse and be a friend with _him_, not with
the man, not with the woman, but with Ranma?
   Aren't I your friend, asked a voice, and the tremulous
bilious lurching faded.  He smiled at the sound.  Yes.  Yes.
And he relaxed.  But then his friend approached and Ranma
twitched, something was wrong and he felt afraid and weak,
and let out a soft whimper, writhing and tangling with the
sheets and scrabbling feebly into the mattress.  Thanks for
totally ruining my night, Ranma, the voice whispered,
drawing back, taking with it the fear but also leaving him
alone.  Don't leave me, he sighed, all I want is to belong.
   Like at the pool.  Cool nurturing welcoming water
rushed up to meet him as he plunged towards the flowing
blue; thunderous splash and deflected impact as he sliced into
the depths.  Everything was subdued: sounds were softened,
downward pull gone, harsh edges to sight and senses reduced.
Comforting pressure pressed in and supported him from all
sides, pushing against stomach and legs, beneath arms and
teasingly pulling at hair, and prodding, feeling, rubbing at
breasts. . .   Breasts.  Always his body betrayed him, he could
not even remember what it was like to swim as a boy,
unashamedly topless and free to walk without being ogled.
But this once, did it matter?  For as he surfaced, people were
waiting for him: Furinkan schoolmates, talking and joking
with sparkling eyes and easy laughter, accepting his presence
and drawing him into the group.  An unconscious smile grew
and his body relaxed as the water pulled away and carefully
deposited him dry and limp back upon the bed, light sounds
of casual and friendly chatter still filling his ears.  A
contented giggle escaped his lips as the internal roiling faded
and the warm expansive lethargy took its place, leaving
Ranma lying wonderfully at ease.  A caressing wind blew
tentatively across his body, leaving tingling faint lingering
touches across his body, over thighs and lips and neck and
breasts.  Then the voices distorted, became mocking and
unpleasant; the pleasant contentment he had enjoyed slipped
away, leaving a vague discomfort and creeping growing fear.
He was _too_ relaxed, too at ease -- when had he ever been
this relaxed as a girl around others?  The mocking, snide
laughter grew, grew, reached a cacophonic crescendo within
his pained ears. . . .  He whimpered, hands clasped tightly
over ears but achieving nothing. . . and then the noise faded as
on a current of air.
   The wind grew colder.  Now it was clammy, chilling,
and unwelcome, and Ranma curled up into a ball, shivering
and lips trembling.  With stuttering shaky movements he tried
to burrow beneath the sheet, but the welcome lethargy of a
moment ago now constrained him, limbs weak and lifeless
once more.  Acidic sharp taste rose in his throat again and he
moaned.  Of course he was cold, he realized.  He was wet and
it was cold and all he was wearing was a stupid bikini.
Swimming was fun, joining classmates was fun, but at what
cost?  Something was thrust into his hands, and he looked as
a voice echoed within, Here, enjoy, I hope it was worth it.   A
bikini; as he recognized the swimwear, it leapt from his grasp
onto his body and tightly conformed to his female curve, as
the voice continued scornfully, What kind of man _wants_ to
wear this, huh?  With burning spreading shame -- so intense it
banished the numbing cold -- Ranma knew it was true.
Wearing this proved what he was: a girl, for how could she be
a manly man and yet be wearing women's clothing?   This
shred of clothing, everything it represented, had cost her too
much, still bound her in orange-red strings, and she
desperately wanted it off, to be free of it.   As she clawed at
her clothing, fumbled weakly within the constraints of her
shirt, tugging awkwardly at clasps and ties, the voice
continued mockingly, See if I care, maybe you really _are_ a
girl. . . .
   I'm not a girl, I'm not, she cried, still struggling with
his clothing, aren't I, am I a girl?  And a suddenly vivid voice
whispered in his ear, yes, yes, Ranma, you are, please be a
girl; but Ranma ignored the familiar voice and attacked the
ties behind her back.  I'll prove I'm not a girl, she insisted,
I'll discard my femininity, I'll peel it off as I do this bikini;
and now the task seemed much easier, almost as if she was
being helped.  The top came off quickly and was flung aside;
with much wiggling and a final kick the bottom was yanked
free.  Ha, he cried, I _am_ a man, and collapsed exhausted on
the bed, numb but finally free of hated femaleness.  Ranma
smiled.  At last.
   But if he was free and happy, why did he feel so sick
and scared?  Don't be scared, whispered a voice, I would
never hurt you.  I love you.  The voice was Akane's, had to
be, had to be: for he now knew that he loved her, and that she
must love him, after all, had she not come back to him, even
after all the terrible things he had said and done?  Was she not
tending his wounds, healing him with bandages and words,
curing the bruising of his ego and the loss of something
precious?  The hard floor of the dojo was beneath them, a
dozen smarting wounds stinging his body, and Akane was
kneeling across from him.  Do you love me, she asked, would
you kiss me?  This time he got the answer right:  If. . . if you
don't mind, he said, looking up shyly, then I don't, and he sat
up in the bed and embraced and kissed her and told her, yes, I
do, more than anything, and the final liberation of those
words was greater than anything, it sent a resonating
escalating glow that followed, enhanced, the echoing pulse in
his breasts.  They fell into each other and it seemed to Ranma
that they were as one, holding and kissing and touching one
another, and the passion was so great and consuming that he
could not sustain it and after an indefinable confused time he
collapsed back, unmoving and spent on the bed, but no longer
alone.
   I'm sorry, Ranma, I'm so sorry, whispered the voice,
and there was sudden, vicious pain, the wonderful awaited
and accepted oneness becoming too much for him, the
presence too much, it overwhelmed him in his sickened
weakness.  But as soon as it began, it ended and pulled away,
and the pain of the separation was as terrible as the
consuming, it carried away a certainty and a unity, and he
released a moan, No, but already the voice, the presence,
Akane, was gone. . .
   click,
   . . . and Ranma was once again alone in the dark and
the cold upon the crumpled sheets, burning bile and rising
stomach, spinning room, tilting bed, approaching darkness,
and falling, falling, falling into painless nothingness. . . .
   Nothing. . . .
   Until a voice once again intruded, with painful light
piercing swollen eyelids and surprised, looming face.
"Ranma?  RANMA!"  Akane.  She had not left him after all,
she had come back for him, and he smiled at her, glad to have
told her how he truly felt and shared that moment with her.
He fell back down into the darkness and softness and her
waiting arms, her name on his breath.


   ***  The Party Ends  ***

Continued in Choices: Dilemma

*****

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