This is a repost of a story I began over a year and a half ago. I
posted 3 chapters out of 5 around August 1998, and then never finished
the last two chapters. Now that I have a chapter 4 and am halfway
through chapter 5, it seemed like a good idea to start by reposting the
first three chapters. They're all fairly short -- nothing like my
chapters for Muyami Academy. ^_^ I've done some minor revisions but
nothing major. Hope you enjoy it!
I Can See Clearly Now!
A Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction
M. A. Davis, "Miko"
Co-plotted with Sky Rigdon and Jeffrey Cornish
More ideas from Catbert25 (aka Carrot Glace), Brendan, and Tom Hayes
Chapter 1: Jeepers Creepers!
Wing Ho held up the round piece of glass to the light. He
studied it critically, turning it over, looking for any hidden
flaws, then again peered at it through his jeweler's eyeglass.
Finally he removed the eyeglass, and held the polished orb over
his right eye.
Everything came into sharp focus. He stared through the
front windowpane of his shop, across the street, and into the
window of the neighborhood fish market. Even the tiniest
details, the smallest printing, could be made out easily.
There was no doubt. Wing Ho had mastered the most
ancient secrets of the art of glass grinding. He, and he alone,
was able to grind the perfect pair of glasses.
For a long time he sat there, staring into the fish market,
watching the old man behind the counter. Wing Ho was
thinking carefully. The secrets locked within his brain -- the
ability to perfectly correct anyone's vision -- could buy him a
fortune... but what if others learned of it? What if others read
the ancient scroll describing the secret process? What if any
optometrist could do what he did?
For the briefest of moments, Wing Ho contemplated a
world in which everyone had perfect vision, thanks to the
secrets written on the rolled parchment before him. It was a
horrifying thought. How, in such a world, would a humble
optometrist such as himself survive?
No! Wing Ho grabbed a metal bowl from the floor and set
it on his work bench. Holding up the parchment, he produced a
lighter. In a moment the parchment fed a growing flame. The
lens grinder dropped it into the bowl and watched as it turned to
ash.
The secret would be his, and his alone.
***
When he heard the sickening crunch, Mousse froze.
"Not again!" he muttered to himself. Kneeling, he felt the
ground around his feet. Broken shards of glass greeted his
outstretched fingers.
"Damn it!" he swore. "That's the third pair this month!"
Standing, he reached into the breast pocket of his robe and
produced a new pair of impossibly thick-lensed glasses. For no
readily apparent reason, he perched these on top of his head.
He patted down the entire length of his robe, then cursed
again, softly. He reached within his robes and pulled out
several bladed items, all attached to long chains. He dropped
these on the floor and dug deeper into his robes, producing a
variety of esoteric weapons, including a duck-shaped porcelain
training potty. The pile of odd devices grew around him as he
continued to bring forth unusual objects of a deadly nature.
Finally he stood in a pile reaching his knees. For several more
moments he searched through his robes, but nothing more was
to be found.
Pulling down his glasses, he knelt and examined the pile of
objects closely. After several moments he grunted to himself.
"My last pair," he muttered, standing. "I guess it's about
time to get some new ones, although how I'll find the money for
them..."
"ORDER UP!" a voice from the kitchen yelled out.
"Mousse, what are you doing? HEADS UP!"
The Chinese boy in the flowing white robe had just enough
time to turn his head. He saw a large bowl of beef ramen flying
across the room. It struck him squarely between the eyes.
There was a bright flash of pain and the sound of glass
shattering...
***
Wing Ho walked the streets of Nerima and smoked his
pipe thoughtfully. He'd been considering his impending wealth
and fame all morning, and had come to one inescapable
conclusion: fame and fortune could take days, or even weeks, to
arrive. Who could possibly wait that long? How could he
speed things up?
Advertising was the key, he surmised. One well-placed ad
could reach potentially millions of people. The second problem,
of course, was what to say. Simply telling people that you made
great glasses wasn't enough; every lens crafter said that.
Conversely, making patently outrageous claims, even if the
were true, would not help him one bit, as no one would take him
seriously.
What he really needed was incontrovertible proof that his
product worked. If he could produce one magnificent example
of the effects of his wondrous glasses, then people would sit up
and take notice. What he needed, then, was not simply someone
with bad vision, but someone for whom "bad vision" was a
marked improvement. In short, he needed someone who was
absolutely as blind as a bat. If he could give the most near-
sighted idiot in Tokyo the vision of a hawk, everything else
would take care of itself. He'd be a rich man in days, or even
hours, rather than weeks or months. His path to riches and
glory would be assured.
But where to find such a person?
"Excuse me, good sir, but could you direct me to the
nearest optometrist?"
"Why, certainly," Wing Ho said, glancing up. He paused.
Before him was a young Chinese boy, tall, handsome, and
well muscled, dressed in a long robe of white. He was facing a
utility pole. He was, in fact, talking to the utility pole.
"Thank you very much," the boy said politely. After a
moment, he added, "Is it this way?"
Wing Ho watched as the strange boy pointed to a wall not
ten feet behind him.
"No," the lens grinder said. "I'm over here, by the way.
You're talking to a post."
The boy turned to face a mailbox. "Oh, I'm sorry. Without
my glasses, I guess my vision isn't so good."
"No. Over here."
The boy turned to face the wall.
Wing Ho leapt forward and grabbed the boy's wrist in a
tight embrace. "Let me lead you there!" he exclaimed, eagerly.
"Oh, no, thank you, I can find my way..."
"Don't be daft, boy! I'm going to help you out! You have
no idea how much I'm going to help you out! And, in exchange,
you'll be doing me a favor, too..."
***
Mousse adjusted the strange wrap-around goggles and
looked about the small office. His likeness stared back at him
from a mirror on the far wall, and he studied it critically.
*If I were a foot taller, and bald,* he thought, *and black
instead of Chinese... I might look like that famous basketball
player from a decade ago. What was his name again? Cream?
Yeah, that was it. How strange, to be named after a skin care
product!*
"How does it feel?" the optometrist asked.
"I don't know," he said. "This strap feels strange. I've
never needed anything like it before."
"Tell me again how many pairs of glasses you've broken
this month," Wing Ho replied. "What was it? Four? Five? I
can imagine that you've lost or misplaced your glasses at least
ten times as often. And didn't you say you were a martial artist?
No, my friend, the strap is absolutely necessary. Don't you see?
You need never be embarrassed about your eyesight again!"
"Great," Mousse said, "I can rest comfortably in the
knowledge that I look stupid all of the time, instead of just when
I'm talking to rocks."
"Now, now," the lens grinder replied, "it'll take some
getting used to, but I think you'll find the advantages far
outweigh the disadvantages. Just remember, they're free; all
you have to do is demonstrate them in public for me. Now,
have you noticed the difference yet?"
Mousse looked about the room again. "Well, I have to
admit, things do look a lot clearer. But if these things are so
great, why can't I read your sign?"
The man's brow furrowed. "Sign? Which sign are you
talking about?"
Mousse pointed to the eye chart on the back wall. "That
one. Did you just put that up? It wasn't there when I came in.
EDFVUZA? I keep trying to read it, but it makes no sense
whatsoever."
"That's an eye chart," the craftsman replied. "It helps me to
know if you can see well."
Mousse thought about this a moment. "Ah, I understand,"
he said. "When people can't read it, you tell them that they need
glasses."
"Yes, essentially."
"Very clever indeed," Mousse said, "but what if they
realize that it's a trick? I mean, they could stare at it all day and
it's still not going to make any sense."
Wing Ho frowned in confusion. "I don't think you
understand..." he began, but by then Mousse was staring out the
window in fascination.
"That tree, across the street!" Mousse said, excitement
building in his voice. "I can't believe it! I can see leaves!"
"I know," Wing Ho replied. "Most people with new
glasses are amazed to be able to see individual leaves."
"I didn't know leaves came from trees!" Mousse exclaimed.
"Who would have imagined it? No wonder trees are all green at
the top!"
A large sweatdrop appeared on Wing Ho's head. "Exactly
how blind were you?" he asked, half to himself. The Chinese
boy wasn't listening to him anyway.
"Look! On all of the street posts! I've never seen anything
like it!"
"You didn't know the signs had writing on them?"
"I didn't know there were signs on all of those posts!"
Mousse exclaimed excitedly. "I can't believe how much I was
missing!" He spun suddenly and grasped the craftsman's hands,
shaking them vigorously. "I can't thank you enough, Sensei!
Your glasses are going to change my life! I'll never remove
them! Never!"
Wing Ho only smiled broadly.
***
Mousse walked back to the Nekohanten in a blissful daze.
Everywhere he looked was beauty, in sharp, colorful detail.
The birds high overhead fascinated him. As a bird himself, able
to soar, after a fashion, he'd watched other, more graceful birds,
and imagined that he was somehow special for being able to fly
with them and watch them swoop and soar. Only now did he
realize that any normal person could watch the same thing from
the comfort of the ground.
` Somehow he'd never realized how many different kinds of
cars there were. He studied the sleek, curving lines of a passing
Honda Prelude, then the arrow-straight, all-business lines of a
Mercedes Benz. He was surprised that each car had its name
somewhere on it. What else had he been missing?
He studied the clothing of the people he passed, amazed at
the patterns and designs that he'd never noticed before. He
glanced in shop windows, finding, for the first time, real
meaning in the phrase "window shopping". What a strange and
wonderful place the world was!
He reached the Nekohanten and stepped inside.
"Shampoo!" he exclaimed, coming to a halt.
There, before him, was the love of his life. Muted sunlight
danced across her hair, bringing out a thousand subtle shades of
blue and violet. The soft silk fabric of her top slipped and
shifted across her body as she moved, creating shadowy folds
and shiny creases of red and yellow that dazzled his eyes. Her
eyes... he'd never realized how beautiful her eyes really were.
Their depths held shades of dark blue and violet and black that
he'd never even imagined before. They sparkled with life, and
yes, with anger.
He'd never seen Shampoo like this before. Even the
smallest details about her were beautiful beyond belief. In his
wildest fantasies, he'd never imagined Shampoo looking this
indescribably beautiful.
"It's like I'm seeing you for the first time," he said. Tears
flowed from his eyes, gathering in the lower half of the face-
hugging goggles.
"MOUSSE!" Shampoo shouted. "Where you been? Is
dinner rush, and you leave Shampoo all alone!"
"I'm sorry, my love," Mousse said, grinning foolishly. "I'll
never, ever leave you again, I promise!"
"Stupid Mousse! You is talking crazy talk. You help clean
up now." The Japanese-challenged girl paused, looking at
Mousse more closely. "Where you find ugly goggles, Mousse?
It make you look even stupider than usual."
Mousse opened his mouth to reply, but caught a flash of
movement from the corner of his eye. He turned and easily
snatched two flying metal trays from the air.
"I expect you to be here during dinner rush!" Cologne
growled. "Stop gawking and get back to work!"
Mousse stared at the shriveled old ghoul behind the
counter, and a shiver ran down his spine. He'd known she was
ugly, but now every detail of her ugly, wrinkled face was clearly
evident to him, for the first time. It was a hundred times more
horrible than anything he could have imagined; he couldn't bear
to look another moment.
"Aaaaaaaaaigh!" he screamed, running into the storeroom.
Once inside, he paused, panting heavily. He moved to the
corner, where a battered futon and a cage sat. He tore the
goggles from his head and threw them down on the futon.
"So horrible!" he said, shuddering. "I never imagined how
truly awful she looks.... she really is a ghoul! Brrr! I'll never
wear those goggles again as long as I live! It's not worth the
price!"
Mousse flopped down on his futon and stared at the
ceiling. After a few minutes he began to feel about on the futon.
His hands found the object, made of smooth glass and clear
plastic, and he held it up and stared at it.
An image of Shampoo filled his vision. She was so much
more beautiful when you could actually see her. He'd known
she was beautiful... but he'd never really seen that beauty in the
way others did. His vision was so poor that even with his old
glasses, he had to get close to something to really see it at all
well, and Shampoo normally didn't allow him to get that close.
It was, in many ways, amazing that he could interact with
people at all, let alone become a top-notch martial artist.
Shampoo... Mousse sighed and slipped the goggles back
over his head. Anything was worth being able to see the love of
his life in all her glory. If it meant having to see the ghoul in all
her ugliness as well, then so be it.
With his new goggles securely fastened, Mousse headed
back out into the Nekohanten, ready to get back to work....
***
Nausicaa@sprynet.com Belldandy@angelic.com
Fan Fiction at http://members.xoom.com/bellchan/ranfan.html
Simple browser-friendly version at
http://members.xoom.com/bellchan/ranbasic.html