Another first-person present tense fic.  This time with yakuza.

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"Consequences"                      A Ranma/Sanctuary Crossover
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  Ranma 1/2 (c) Rumiko Takahashi / Shogakukan, Inc.  Story and
  art by Rumiko Takahashi.  Sanctuary (c) Sho Fumimura /
  Ryoichi Ikegami / Shogakukan, Inc.  RANMA 1/2 and SANCTUARY
  are trademarks of Viz Communications, Inc.  This story may
  be freely redistributed, but not altered or used for profit.

  Contains some offensive language.

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by Douglas MacDougall              http://www.dougmacd.net/fics/
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    "...have to get rough with you, Mr. Hasegawa."

    Whoops, almost missed my cue.  Raising the meter-long length of
rebar like a baseball bat over my shoulder, I take a swing at the
nearest fragile object I can see:  a fancy-looking vase filled with a
bouquet of white roses.

    The reinforcing bar (stolen, I assume, from some construction site)
is pretty heavy -- at least for me.  I've been carrying the thing around
for the past five minutes, trying to look menacing for the benefit of my
"boss."  My arms are getting tired, so my swing is a little loose.  I
can feel it drift down from the intended target.

    Crap.  He's gonna kill me.  I'm gonna screw up, make the "boss" look
bad, and he's gonna shoot me.  I'm only sixteen years old; I'm too young
to die!  

    In my panic-induced state, time slows to a crawl.

    The metal bar does indeed miss the vase, instead hitting the table
underneath it.  In fact, it hits the table surface precisely on-edge.
The piece of wooden furniture slides back a handful of centimeters
before being stopped by a wall.  And then the momentum of the rebar does
its work.

    The table splits, with the top folding in half like some crude form
of origami.  As the surface bends into a 'V', the uprights splay apart,
and the wooden crosspieces rip out.  The near legs swing out and up, as
if kicking their attacker.

    Barely slowed, the rebar continues its path of destruction.  It
slams the two halves of the tabletop together like a closing book,
lifting up the vase slightly before smashing it flat.  There's a
spectacular spray of flowers, water, and ceramic shards blasted up and
to either side, along the wall.

    Finally, my swing reaches the wall, smashing what's left of the
table surface to splinters and embedding the rebar into the drywall.  I
feel the impact where I'm holding it as a horrible vibration, numbing my
hands. 

    And then time returns to its normal pace.  Flying bits of vase land,
skittering along the floor.  Water droplets fall in an impromptu shower
and ivory-colored rose petals drift down.   I stare at the destruction
I've caused, hardly believing it.  I look back at the "boss," whose
expression shares my disbelief.

    With a calmness that surprises even me, I tug the rebar loose, and
hold it over one shoulder, trying to look like a high school kendo
delinquent.  I feel a stab in my cheek, beside my mouth.  As I turn my
face forward, pain traces a path along my jaw and neck, stopping just
below my ear.  A splinter from the table or shard of vase must have
impaled itself on the high collar of my school uniform.  Whatever it is,
I can feel it now, the point still pressed against my jaw.

    I don't do anything about it, though.  It would ruin the illusion
that I'm a violent thug and not just a scared teenager who's gotten into
something way over his head.  I twist my neck to the side to relieve
some of the pressure, but otherwise endure the feeling of hot, wet blood
dripping down my neck.  I bear it stoically, as the "boss" finishes his
"discussion."  

    The "customer" seems all too happy to negotiate.

----

    Once we're outside in the alley, I drop the rebar and tear off my
jacket.

    "Dude!  That was awesome!"  Spark practically hops with excitement.
"The way you did that!  You didn't just hit it!  You didn't just smash
it!  The damn thing EXPLODED!  Shit, man, how'd you do that?!"

    I was scared silly of the man at the beginning of the night, but now
I'm not in a mood to listen to the frenetic weirdo.  "W- Will you just
shut up?"  I turn my jacket around and finally see what was digging into
my neck.  "Shit."

    I normally wouldn't use that sort of language, but...  Damn, it's
not a splinter; it's a friggin' stake!  The thing's a decimeter long,
and coated with my blood!
    
    "Well, the rumors about your school were true, it seems."  The
"boss" gives me an unreadable look.  "Are you going to be okay?"

    Unlike Spark, this guy still scares the living daylights out of me.
A real, live yakuza.  With the permed hair and tacky suit and
everything.  He's a beast.  He doesn't radiate power like some of the
kids I go to school with, but he does have a sort of presence.  An aura
of death.

    Trying not to show any weakness, I grunt, "It's nothing."  He
reminds me of a wolf, who kills the sickly.

    He continues to stare at me for a moment, before reaching into his
jacket.  Is he going for his gun?  Oh no, he's gonna kill me!  I'm gonna
die!!

    "Here, kid.  Let's get you to a doctor."  He hands me his
handkerchief.  As he does so, I can't help but notice a finger missing
on his hand.  "Put some pressure on that or it'll scar bad.  Chicks dig
scars, but you don't wanna be ugly like me."  The corner of his mouth
twists up in a parody of a smile.

    "Uh, thanks..."  Nervously I take the cloth and press it against my
face as we start to walk to the car.  It really hurts now.  Is the
adrenaline of the moment wearing off?  Damn, it's throbbing.

    Spark, who's been dancing warily around the "boss," plucks something
off of my collarbone.  I freak, tensing up and spinning towards him.
What's he doing?!

    He must have completely misread my body language, since he's
apologizing!  "Sorry, man!  Sorry!  But, but check this out!  Cool,
huh?"  He holds up a limp bit of fabric or something between his hands.

    "What is it?"  I ask, unconsciously wiping the cloth over the spot
he just touched.  There's no wound there, but it is sticky with my
blood.

    "Dude, it's a rose petal, man!  From the vase!  Sweet!"  He
practically shoves the thing in my face.

    I push his hand back.  "What are you talking about?  Those flowers
were... white."  The petal, though, is dripping with another color.

    "Damn, you've got presence, man!  I heard about you Furinkan types,
but I never believed it!  But shit, bam!  You just blew that thing up.
Was that some sort of exploding ki, or something?  Dude!"

    The "boss" silences him with two words.  "That's enough."  As we
reach the car, he opens the door to the back seat.  Is he doing that for
me?  "Get in, Hiroshi.  Or maybe we should call you the 'Bloody Rose'
now?"  For the second time, I see him smirk.

    Oh, no.  My first night out working with the yakuza and they've
picked out a nickname for me?  And why THAT name?  Man, if Kodachi or
Asuka ever hear it, how would they react?  They'd probably attack me for
taking their "rose" name.  I swallow nervously.  Or worse yet, consider
me a suitor for their attention?  Damn, I don't need more women
problems.  That's how I got where I am now.

    "Please don't," I ask.

    He glances back at me one last time before getting into the driver's
seat; Spark is already in the passenger side.  "We'll see."  This time
his smile shows teeth.  Earlier in the night it would have felt like a
wolf baring it's fangs, but right now it almost seems friendly.

----

    It's been weeks since that night.  Unfortunately, the name "Bloody
Rose" stuck, more or less.  A few days after that night, some guy
commented that it sounded like the name of a girl at "that time of the
month."  Then he said he'd heard some rumors about the school I went to,
and asked if all the guys turned into girls.

    My reaction surprised even me:  I punched him.

    Now, I've always considered myself a pacifist.  I'm a firm believer
in making love, not war (although I've had strictly limited luck in the
former), so first of all I could hardly believe I'd punched him at all.


    It must have been the pressures of working with the yakuza.  I'm
always on edge at "work," worried that I'll say or do something wrong
and piss off one of the other "boys" and they'll beat the crap outta me.
 If Furinkan guys got a reputation for being pansies, or cross-dressers
or worse, I knew that anyone would think they could do whatever they
wanted to me; I'd have no friends to protect me.

    So I reacted.  Out of fear, yes, but the results were surprising.
When he started fighting back, I was able to hold my own.  Not only
that, but I beat him.  The guy had ten years and as many kilos on me and
I beat him!

    Now, I know I didn't learn to fight from watching Ranma, so I can
only guess that it was all those stupid things the Principal and
teachers put us through.  The periodic challenges, obstacle courses and
random head-shearing attacks in the halls can give a person a real sense
of self preservation.  Had it all been a cunning plan to secretly give
us physical training?

    Nah, I probably just lucked out and punched the guy in some weak
spot, like a glass jaw or something.  The jerk nearly did the same to
me, punching me right along the jaw, re-opening my wound.  It's pretty
much healed now, but the scar's worse than it could have been.  Still,
boss Ogami is right; chicks do dig it.  They say it makes me look
rugged.

    They also say they like my new attitude, although I'm not sure what
that means.  I'm the same guy I ever was.  Of course, Nabiki makes sure
that I never get to see any of that action.

    Oh, yeah.  The name.  Anyway, after the fight no one was willing to
call me the "Bloody Rose" to my face, but someone decided to be cute and
shorten it.  Take out the middle syllables, and you've got "Diro."  I
decided not to take offense at that.  It's close enough to my other
nickname Hiro, anyway.

    Our little "group," the Godai Agency, has been taken over by the
Sagara Syndicate.  Oddly enough, it didn't involve any killing.  The don
of the other group had a conversation with the don of our group and the
came to an understanding.

    Literally.  

    From what we can tell, there was no coercion at all.  Our don just
liked the things this new guy said, and agreed to work for him.  I
wonder what kind of a guy he is?  I've been "invited" to see him, so I
guess I'll find out.

----

    Well, he's good looking, anyway.  A pretty-boy face that would put
even Ranma's to shame.  Piercing gray eyes that bordered on ice blue.
He's perfectly groomed - not a hair out of place - and wears a
completely white suit.  Unlike the tacky outfits I've seen others wear,
this one is tasteful, and looks like it belongs on him.  He just plain
looks important.

    For a moment, I'm self-conscious.  Here I am, wearing a high-school
uniform.  It's not the same one from that night, and it's not a Furinkan
outfit, but boys' uniforms are pretty much all the same.  The only thing
special about this one is the high collar.  I wear it open, as boss
Ogami had told me to do on that night.  These days, though, I don't
bother to roll up the sleeves like some sort of punk.

    Oh, and someone managed to talk me into putting a red rose pin on
the collar.  I don't know why I keep it -- it seems kinda prissy -- but
the other guys think it's cool, for some reason.  Well, it lends a bit
of class, even if it draws attention to my scarred cheek.

    The new boss sips some tea before smiling and addressing me,
"Hiroshi.  Or would you rather I called you Diro?"

    I shrug.  "Um, Diro's fine.  That's what all the guys call me."

    "And I suppose it helps separate your school life from your...
after-school activities, too, hmm?"

    Right on the nose!  I lower my head a bit, reluctant to answer.

    "Do you know why you're here?"

    I shake my head no.

    The man lowers his teacup to the glass table between us and leans
back on his white leather couch.  "I asked your don to pick out the best
men in his group.  The smartest and most motivated.  The ones he thought
had the highest potential."

    "And he picked me?"  I blink, not believing it.  The don probably
didn't even know I existed!

    "No."  He smiles.  "But he did pick out Ogami, your boss.  And HE
said that you were the best blood he has."

    "Boss Ogami said that?"  No way.  I've gotten to know the boss a lot
better after that first night, but he's one of those stoic types.  He
rarely shows emotion, and never praises anyone.  He just expects them to
do their job as he does his.

    "Yes.  He's quite impressed by you.  Your first night out earned you
quite a reputation."

    I keep my mouth shut, letting the new don lead the conversation.  It
feels like he's sounding me out, and he seems like the really sharp
type.  If I say anything, I'm sure he'd be able to deduce all sorts of
things about me that even I don't know.

    The don drinks more of his tea.  "You don't believe that, do you?"

    "Believe what, sir?"

    "That you earned your reputation.  The respect."

    "...No."

    "It was just a fluke wasn't it?  You just happened to hit that table
in just the right place to make that explosion, didn't you?"

    "Yes."  I always avoid the issue when the other "boys" ask me about
it.  "If you want to know what happened, just ask Spark or Ogami," I'd
say.  But somehow I know I can't lie to this guy.  He'd smell me out in
a second.

    "You don't even know martial arts, do you?  Even though you go to
Furinkan, you never had any sort of fighting skills before coming here,
did you?"

    "That's right."  I can't help but lower my eyes.  The man's tone was
completely even, not betraying any emotion, but nonetheless I feel
embarrassed, like I'd shamed Ogami.

    He leans forward, and takes another drink from his tea.  A sip.
Two.  Three.  Leisurely, he leans back into the embrace of his couch,
still holding the cup and a saucer below it.  He crosses his legs.

    "Tell me.  On that night, why didn't you pull out the blade of wood
from your neck until you got outside?"

    "Uh...  I beg your pardon?"

    "Why did you let it stick in your neck?  You were bleeding, and yet
you left it piercing you."

    "I... I was scared.  Boss Ogami told me to look intimidating, and if
I'd stopped to pull it out--"

    He interrupts me, leaning forward and speaking with a little more
energy, like he'd caught me in a lie.  "You didn't cry out, or say
anything when it hit you.  Wasn't that enough?"

    "Well, I guess when you put it that way, it wouldn't have been less
impressive... But..."

    "But leaving it in was MORE impressive?"

    I nod.

    The don places his tea back on the table, and sits at the edge of
the sofa with perfect posture.  "Tell me Diro, do you know how much
money you helped your group collect that night?"

    "I don't know," I admit.

    "Ten billion yen."

    Throat suddenly dry, I reach for my own glass of tea, left untouched
after my initial sip.  After a few swallows, I stammer, "Y- You've got
to be kidding.  If that much money was involved, why did they just send
Ogami, Spark and me?!  It was my first night!"

    "Oh, I'm not saying that your group brought back any cash, or was
expected to.  No, you were intended to deliver a message to someone who
was reluctant to keep up his payments.  Someone who thought he was
important enough to ignore us.

    "Your don could have sent more people, or sent someone more
experienced, or gone himself.  That would have produced the same results
as you and Ogami had.  But he would have lost face if he'd done so.
There's a protocol to follow.  First send messengers.  Only when they
fail do you send someone more important.  For someone like Mr. Hasegawa,
I would have expected at least four trips to... 'convince' him.

    "But it only took one.  He saw something in your actions, or
something in your eyes that put fear into heart.  Instead of trying to
hold out in a show of power, he immediately capitulated.  It would have
been the end result regardless, but you helped expedite things.

    "And when others saw how quickly he responded, other people who had
been slow to pay wondered why Mr. Hasegawa broke down so fast.  They
didn't want to find out, and they paid up.  Instead of having to send
muscle to those people, your don was able to use men for more profitable
uses.  It all adds up."

    "But...  But even if that's true, it was all an accident.  It's not
like I planned anything."

    "At the moment, it doesn't matter me that you didn't plan on what
happened.  What does matter is how you reacted to it.  And considering
it was your first night, you showed a great deal of bravery."

    "Bravery?  I was scared out of my-"

    He lifts his hand up, quieting me.  "You said yourself that you're
not a fighter.  And yet you pretended to be Ogami's muscle.  You had no
more preparation than Ogami giving you a few words of advice, and yet
you acted exactly as you should have.  That's bravery AND thinking on
your feet."

    "If you say so..."

    "Which brings me to another question.  Why are you still going to
school?"

    "S- Sir?"

    "Most people who join yakuza do it full time.  You still owe us a
large sum of money, and yet you think you can pay us back by working
half-time?"  Gone is his praise, and his tone has returned to its
previous cold and emotionless state.  His pale icy eyes add to my
nervousness.  "It's almost unheard of to let someone continue to go
school when they start working for us."

    "I... I want to graduate.  I'm going to go to college."

    "So you're planning on going to college, too?"  He raises an
eyebrow.  "Do you plan to have a career, then?"

    "Y- Yes...."

    "So you think you won't be a yakuza for the rest of your life?"

    There's something about the tone of his voice.  A hint of danger.
And I know the implicit threat in his comment.  I contemplate lying to
him, but my resolve crumbles under his gaze.  My sense of
self-preservation wants me to say that no, I would never leave the group
or betray them, but it isn't the whole truth.

    "I...  don't plan on being a yakuza my whole life.  I thank the
group for everything it's done for me, and I'll pay back every yen, but
I do plan on moving on, having my own life."

    "I see.  And how long do you think it will be before you 'pay back
every yen'?"

    "Well, several years at least..."
    
    "If you like, I can help you figure it out exactly.  For example,
would you like to know how much have you've paid back in the two months
you've been with us?"  He pulled out a small leather organizer, flipping
it open with a flick of his wrist, and flipping up a few pages.  "Three
hundred ten thousand yen."

    I can see his finger trace down the page, and I can't help but
wonder what other numbers were written down there.  What information did
they have on me?  "And in that same time, you've borrowed two hundred
ninety eight thousand, five hundred yen, for a net reimbursement of
eleven thousand, five hundred yen."  He closes the book and puts in
aside.  "At that rate, it will be about thirty-six years and three
months before you pay us back."

    Ow.  I'd figured out the numbers myself, but it's still depressing
to hear them out loud.  And to know that my new don is aware of them,
too.  From the direction the conversation was taking, it looks like he
has every intention to use that knowledge against me.

    "That's a very long time, Diro.  And it doesn't include the costs of
going to college.  Tuition and residence can be expensive.  Are you sure
you wouldn't rather give that up and work with us full-time?  You know
how... lucrative it can be."

    I think for a second about how best to phrase this.  "While I'm
honored that you'd accept me full-time at the group, and I would
normally be happy to join you, I'm afraid that I must decline.  I've
learned a lot from my experiences here, but I do wish to move on."

    "I see."  He leans back in his sofa, and places the fingertips of
his hands together, just below and in front of his face.  His lips
purse.  "You're determined to do this, then?"

    Bowing my head, I speak.  "Yes, sir."  I keep my head down, waiting
for the consequences.

    "Good."

    Startled, I look up.  The don is wearing a smile.  "Uh, sir?"

    "You're exactly the type of man I'm looking for, Diro."

    "But sir, I--"

    "I understand.  You don't want to be a yakuza for the rest of your
life.  But I'm not looking for people satisfied to gangsters."

    The don was saying this?!

    "What I'm looking for, Diro, are men who will reforge this nation.
Japan has grown fat and lazy in its wealth.  Today's youth believes that
prosperity is a right given to them, rather than something they have to
fight for.  And as they grow complacent, we will grow weak.  They can't
provide our country with a strong future.

    "But young men like you can.  As a yakuza, you know that's it's 'eat
or be eaten.'  The strong survive, and the weak perish.  But it isn't
just a matter of physical strength, or firepower.  You need the
intelligence to apply your strength in the best ways, and the motivation
to do so.

    "I can see you've got both.  Most of the other boys are drop-outs
that couldn't handle school.  But not only can you handle it, you're
determined to stay in.  Determined to keep your dreams no matter what.
Well, I want to help you achieve your dreams, Diro, whatever they are."

    "I- I'm not sure I understand, sir...."

    "You're an investment to me, Diro.  An investment in the future of
our group, and an investment in the future of our nation.  And I plan on
taking care of my investment, to get the best return.  I want you to be
happy, Diro, and that means helping you reach your dreams.

    "If you continue to work with us, I will see to it that you have the
resources to get through college.  And after college, we can help you
get a job outside of the yakuza.  I've been consolidating groups all
over Japan, and I think you'll find my influence is rather
considerable."

    This guy was handing me the golden apple, with no strings attached?
That didn't sound right.  "I don't want you giving me a job, sir.  I
want to earn it on my own merits."  And I didn't want to be a yakuza
puppet.

    "Oh, I wouldn't be giving you a job; I fully expect you to earn that
on your own merits.  But I can make your name known in the higher
circles.  It's not just what you know, Diro, but who you know.

    "And if you're worried about us calling in favors for the rest of
your life, there's no need to worry.  Your ties with the yakuza only
need to be as close as you wish to make them.  I'm not looking for
marionettes to dance on our strings, Diro.  I want men of vision."

    "How can I not be a marionette when I'll owe you so much money?"
How did I end up in this lifestyle, anyway?  "Even if you don't plan on
exploiting it, others will find out about my ties, and there will be the
appearance that I'm just a stooge."

    "Then pay us back.  It's as simple as that."

    I'm sure I'm gaping at that remark.  "You yourself said that it will
take decades to pay you back.  And add college expenses..."

    "That's only if you continue to pay us back at your current rate.  I
fully expect you to get better at your job, and pay us back sooner.  In
fact, after this meeting, I'll take some measures that should greatly
help you.  And, of course, depending on the job you get, you could pay
off all your remaining debt in a year or two."

    "That'd have to be a damn high-paying job."  I frowned, and looked
down at the table.  "At the rate I'm going, I'd have to print my own
money to pay you back."  I chuckle half-heartedly.

    The new don merely leans forward and asks with complete earnestness.
 "Would you like to be the Minister of Finance?"

    He isn't joking.

    And there's something about him.  I know he can make it happen.
This is a man who'll reshape Japan; I suddenly feel my own place in
history, by my proximity to him.  He could do everything he said,
include giving me a cabinet office.  Could he make me the Prime
Minister, too, if I asked?

    But even more, this man, so confident in his own abilities, believes
in me.

    He sits back in his chair, and sips some more tea, obviously
unconcerned.  After a few moments, he asks.  "Have you come to a
decision?  Will you continue to work with us?  Will you help me rebuild
our nation?"

----

    Nabiki runs her finger along the collar of my jacket, lingering on
the red rose pin.  I'd started to wear it outside of work, as a personal
emblem.  Not that I explained to anyone what it meant; I was content to
let them guess.  As Nabiki was now.

    She starts, "I don't recall giving this to you..."

    "Have you ever given me anything?"  I reply.

    She tilts her head, lowering her eyelids and smiling luxuriously.
"Why, Hiroshi, I can't believe you have to ask such a question.  I've
given you my company; isn't that enough?"

    In exchange for the amount of money I was spending on dinner?  I
glance around the restaurant as we wait for appetizers.  Rated five
stars, it serves the finest French cuisine in Tokyo.  And has a waiting
period months long.

    I'll never figure out how Nabiki got her original reservation.  I'd
been suckered into promising her a date, wherever she wanted to go, on
me.  She'd innocently suggested this place, and like a moron, I thought
she was bluffing.

    My copy of "Psychology of Obsession" lies in a garbage dump,
somewhere.  I'll never try to second guess this woman again.  I got away
with it once, and that's probably more than any man ever gets.

    Back to the present, I notice Nabiki's finger wander along my
collar, and gently move up my face, tracing the line of the scar on my
jaw.  The touch was gentle, almost ticklish, but somehow very intense,
too.  I find myself staring at Nabiki.  Or trying not to stare at the
amount of chest her slip of a dress exposed.

    "There might be... some value to your company..." I answer.  Damn,
but she has me around her finger.  She couldn't believe it when I had
paid for that first date.  She never knew how I got the money on such
short notice.  But it intrigued her.  I intrigued her.

    And it was the end of my life as I knew it.

    I find myself the means by which she experiences the luxuries of
life.  If I could just quit taking her out on dates, I wouldn't be
fighting so hard just to keep up my payments to the group.  But, heaven
help me, I think I've fallen for her.  Far from the Ice Queen some call
her, Nabiki is the most sensual woman I know.  It's just that her senses
want to experience the best, and most boys are drained dry after one
night.

    Again, I'm drawn to the present, as she pinches my earlobe.  "Did a
girl give the pin to you?" she asks sweetly.  For a moment, the
resemblance between her and Akane is obvious.

    "What, don't you recognize the symbol of the Rose group?" I ask
mischievously.

    "Rose group?  Is that some sort of Kodachi fan club you're in?"

    It's a new group of yakuza created by the don.  He gave it to Ogami
and me to run as we please.  "No."  I lean forward and whisper into her
ear.  "We're part of an organization that's going to take over Japan."

    I haven't decided how we should run it, yet.  We've inherited some
business, but I'd like to stir up some of my own.  We'll probably stay
out of gambling, though.  I've learned from experience that you can lose
even on a sure bet.  I'm Ranma's best friend, but even I would never
have bet that he'd do what he did...

    Nabiki's eyebrows raise.  "Is that so?"  She smirks.  "And what are
you going to do when you take over our fair nation?"

    "I'll be the Minister of Finance."

    She laughs, even as I see a gleam in her eye.  "Minister of Finance?
 Whatever for?"

    I reach into my pocket and pull out a coin.  "I've decided that
these things are useless these days."  I flip it over, inspecting the
surface.  "Even vending machines take paper money these days.

    I fit the coin between my fingers, in the same manner Miss Hinako
does, and hold up my hand in a V pose.  "So I'm going to have them stop
pressing these things.  It'll reduce costs and conserve metal use.  We
should be using paper or electronic money."

    Nabiki rests her chin on the intertwined fingers of her hands.
"Coin collectors will be thrilled.  The values will go through the
roof."

    I smirk.  "Who knows, even this might become a collector's item
someday."  I walk the coin over the tops of my fingers, like a magician.
 Spark taught me the trick.  It's one of his dozens of nervous habits.
After a moment, I notice Nabiki's eyes watching the movement with great
interest.

    I stop, with the coin balanced on the back my pinky finger.  "Do you
want it?"

    Her gaze rises from my hand to my eyes.  There's a mixture of
anticipation and dismay in her lovely eyes.  She licks her lips and asks
with resignation,  "What do I have to do?"

    She never found out who was really responsible for that bet, did
she?  I grin, and place the ten yen piece onto the table.  Nabiki and
the yakuza have ended my life as I knew it, but now that I think about
it, maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

    "I'm sure I can think of something...."

----------------------------------------------------------------
Written 2000-12-05                      Last Modified 2002-05-01
----------------------------------------------------------------

I've never written as fast as when I typed this story.  It was
completed in about two hours after reading "Burleqsue," by D.F.
Roeder.  

The original title of this fic is "Consequences: a Tale of Ten
Billion Yen," and was my unauthorized attempt to create a
"proper" sequel to "A Tale of Ten Yen."  Hopefully he won't
kill me for it.  ^_^

For those who haven't read them, Dave's stories can be found at:
http://home.houston.rr.com/onnaranma/


Doug
----
Douglas MacDougall
http://www.dougmacd.net/             Fanfiction * Drawings * Roleplaying


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