Additional Parts to 'Learning Curve' can be found at:
http://www.wpi.edu/~jbw





-- Attached file included as plaintext by Ecartis --
-- File: LC7A.TXT

Ranma 1/2 was created by Rumiko Takahashi and its characters belong to
her, and her alone. I'm just kinda borrowing them. A few others are
mine. The story below is for entertainment purposes only, and not to
be used commercially. ...Obviously.


"Learning Curve"
        Part VII

by:   J. Wagner   (Mako)    jbw@wpi.edu


12,000 BCE

Dusk.

The man heard the wolf's growl, and felt the tension of the animal
to strike, as from the assembly of spear holders another, smaller
framed, form stepped forward, in an ornate mask framed by massive
animal horns, in clothes decorated with strange and enigmatic symbols.
The shaman paused, as if to consider the proper course of action,
before deciding on shaking his staff vigorously. When that failed, he
started to chant in long, run on pseudo-words.

The object of his ire frowned. It sounded like there was actually a
female voice behind that mask, but the language was strange and
incomprehensible, and he could not be sure. Stepping forward, he held
his arms wide; lion skin cloak billowing behind him in the warm breeze
blowing down from the heart of the island. He was a traveler, and a
hunter, far from home. Large hands and great muscles tensed, however,
in case he was not greeted civilly. They, like so many others, would
not stand in the way of the hunt.

"I greet you, in the name of the All Mother," he put forward, in the
northern Zul'ylli dialect, the closest he knew that these people could
understand, "I am..."

"We were warned of you, traveler," the shaman's fist clenched tightly
on the old wooden staff, the many bird feathers imbedded in it shaking
softly from the motion, "This is no place for you."

"My prey is on this island. I will continue the hunt," he tipped his
head to the side, slightly, recounting the number of spear bearers,
and those armed with crude bows.

"You will leave here... or we will force you to leave," the shaman
said, firmly.

The other man's frown deepened into a well-worn scowl, heavy jaw
settling into its seemingly natural position. He was never one for
much negotiation, nor did he care much for those foolish enough to
oppose the hunt. Years before, maybe, there would have been
hesitation, but there was none now. His lips slowly parted, and he
spoke a single word.

No sooner had the word left his mouth, than a great gray wolf, two
hundred pounds of teeth and muscle, leapt forward, covering the
distance in a heartbeat. Before the shaman could bring up any sort of
defense, his throat was in the animal's jaws, his back was on the
ground, and he tasted only blood. The spear wielders turned to the
animal, but only until the first two screamed and fell apart at the
waist, cleaved almost cleanly in half.

The lion cloaked man spun after landing from his jump, a three-foot
long obsidian stone blade in one hand, and the broken neck of another
spearman in his left. Arrows flew, at point blank range, from those
few that kept their wits about them, only to be swatted out of the air
by the dead spearman's corpse, swing like a club against a small swarm
of insects, striking each out of the air without failure or miss.
Readying the next set of bone arrows, however, averted the tribesmen's
attention from another danger.

Snarling, the wolf set upon them, swatting one aside with its
haunches, before tearing the throat out of another. Its master,
meanwhile, continued his grim massacre, even after the warriors fled
in disarray. In the end, it looked like one would escape... until
something gray and fast ran him down amid a rocky rubble strewn
volcanic bed. Wiping the blood from his stone sword with the furred
hood of one of the slain, the traveler tied his weapon back onto its
place on his belt and left thigh. Features unchanged, he approached
the body of the shaman, and slowly removed the antlered mask.

Soft features, middle aged, greeted him - it had been a woman.

A foolish woman.

Checking the back of the neck, where the wolf's teeth had not done
much damage, he saw the small black etching in the skin, that of the
coiled serpent and the spear. Standing up, he looked out and over to
the mountain dominating the small island. There was a hint of ash in
the wind. He held out his left hand, and found the rough fur of his
tracker and his only true ally. Scratching behind her ears, the man's
face softened into a small smile.

"Soon," he assured her, and himself, "Soon, we shall have our prey."

Walking purposefully through the mist shrouded beachhead, and deeper
inland, he felt the blood in his veins boil and surge. The power
within him was just now breaking the surface, and beginning to emerge.
At his side, as always, Wolf wined, sensing her master's agitation.
Eyes narrow, jaw set, the man made his way up the rocky hillside, and
towards the summit of the volcano where his prey had finally settled
on making a last stand.

It was old, now, infirm and weak, but still powerful. Still beyond
powerful. The hunt had begun, years ago, when the prey came through
the tiny village of Amaun, in the Land encircling the Sea. It had
raided, and it had pillaged, for food, for All Mother idols, and most
importantly, for slaves. He had seen it then, fat and spoiled by
centuries of devoted slavery. He had felt it in his mind, and he alone
had thrown off the shackles of the prey.

His sword sharpened on the bodies of his own people, he began the
hunt.

It had taken him to the far north, where the snow never melted, and
where the Ice was as Water. It had taken him south, where the earth
was not but burning sand. It had taken him over the Deep Water. And,
now, when he sensed that it was ending, either in his death or in his
triumph, a feeling of unease and listlessness came over him.
Regardless of outcome, this was the end... the culmination of his
life.

Pausing, he checked the scent and the trail, and confirmed what his
Wolf was already indicating. Moving off the hillside, and around, he
entered a dark cave. Indecision quickly gave way to focus, in the
hunt, and in survival. The prey was smart, and no doubt leading him to
a place of its choosing. The cave was indeed dark, but the hunter's
eyes adjusted quickly, and his other senses were more than powerful
enough to compensate. Sweeping his large lion skin cloak off to the
side, he advanced through the maze of high cavern walls and jagged
crevasses. He was so close now, closer than he'd been in years; the
taste in his mouth was almost identifiable.

Wolf started to snarl, as she led him into a vast chamber, the ceiling
invisible in the darkness. High above, as it started to slant inwards,
strange runes, the size of men, perhaps painted, or imbedded, in the
rock began to glow. It was warm, too - musky, like a tepid swamp, or
some reptile's lair. The hunter snorted at the smell. It was foul, and
possessed of an alien quality unable to accurately describe. Below, at
his feet, and all around him, the world started to shimmer, and it
took a moment for the hunter to realize what it was.

The cavern was full of springs...

***

329 BCE

Hyrcania.

Artabazus stroked his beard, and considered the situation. The night
was unseasonably, and unexpectedly, cold. The land of Hyrcania, that
he knew intimately, was a part of the ancient Persian Empire, until
very recently, and nicely located on the southern shores of the
Hyrcanian Ocean. The Elburz Mountains were just to the south and west,
affording those in the region a comfortable, almost tropical, climate.
The soil was fertile; in their time as its rulers, the Persians had
considered it to be one of the special places that the supreme god
Ahuramazda had created personally.

Tightening his bronze bracers, he grumbled something softly to
himself, and watched for their guests. The moon was already up, though
it wasn't quite dark enough for the great orb to start glowing.
Looking to his left, he saw his benefactor - his locks of curled hair
caught slightly in the breeze. The head of the man was imperceptibly
turned towards the left shoulder, and his whole body seemed to both
radiate calm confidence and a sort of anticipation. Without his
helmet, the light from hundreds of fires shadowed his face and
prominent eyebrows.

"Ah," the man took a step forward, and smiled, "They come."

To his side, several other men shifted uncomfortably. They were
unarmed, except for their leader's bronze sword. Off to the side,
forming a veritable wall of metal shields and long sarissa spears,
reaching up past three times the height of a man, the army stood at
attention, and waited. They were elite hypaspists, 'shield bearers,'
and technically all the protection any of the generals could ask for.


Perhaps, then, it was not really fear.

No, thinking about that, Artabazus realized he wasn't afraid, but
rather apprehensive, and suspected the others were, too. They were
meeting with people who were neither trustworthy, nor particularly
friendly, who had fought against Artabazus's leaders, both old and
new. They had even dared to assume the authority to negotiate, or to
bargain. Perhaps it would have been a better thing, in the long term,
if they had simply been dealt with, rather than talked to, simply out
of curiosity.

Of course, Hercules had met them, so why not Alexander the Great?

"They approach!" A runner came forward, almost short of breath, and in
no way due to the run. He went down, bowed prostrate before Alexander,
before being quickly dismissed.

The man cleared his throat, and spoke, out loud, "I do wonder if they
speak Greek. It would be a terrible shame if they did not."

"A terrible shame, my King," Artabazus silently hoped they only spoke
Persian. If so, he'd be able to translate, and dictate some measure of
the conversation. The great, and last, Persian King, Darius, had kept
one in his court in Persephone, but this was something else entirely.

The clatter of hooves heralded their approach, and out of the hazy
illumination of the many great campfires, they appeared. These that
led their host were obviously warriors, bedecked in fine scale and
splint armor, similar to that of Alexander's own Cataphract Cavalry.
Their expressions were hard, and their eyes invisible, under the
darkness of their helmets. In pairs, they dismounted, and formed an
honor guard.

It was the next set, however: the archers (though they wisely kept
their bows strapped behind them) that drove home just who and what
they were. A hundred of them, eventually, all horse mounted, lined up
as the walls of infantrymen slowly backed up to give them room, and
yet just enough room that their spears could drop, and in so doing,
have the visitors dashed to pieces in a single maneuver. The archer
women, and they were obviously women, both from their long flowing
hair, of exotic colors and shades, and from their exposed left
breasts, stood behind their honor guard, until a chariot, not of
Scythian or Egyptian design, moved forward and came to a stop. Three
women stepped from it, and walked forward.

Their leader - decked in gold dress and smelling of orange blossoms,
was a tall, lithe woman, with bare arms hiding wiry and firm muscle
beneath soft skin. Her high cheekbones, and bright eyes, gave her an
exotic look; different than any the men had seen before. She was
strikingly beautiful. She was Thalestris, Queen of the Amazons,
hailing from the 'Kingdom' of Themiskyra, a fair distance to the
northeast. Alexander had corresponded with her twice, via letters,
over last year, demanding passage, recognition, and tribute. The first
was refused, but the Queen had supposedly given in to the last two,
and been desirous of a meeting between them.

Alexander's Generals were, Artabazus knew without looking, suspicious
and wary of any forward plots or schemes from these warrior women.
Several hundred years prior, they had, under their young Queen
Penthesileia, participated in the Trojan War, on behalf of Troy and
King Priam. The Amazon outposts in the area had suffered as a result
of the fall of Troy, at the hands of the Greeks, and they had never
again set foot in Cappadocia, instead falling back to Arminia, where
repeated raids from the north convinced them to retreat ever further
east - in almost seven hundred years, Greek eyes had not seen the
legendary Amazon women as they passed from fact to fancy.

Among the Persians, Thalestris was known as a great conqueror in the
eastern land of Massagetes and beyond. She was reputedly fearless of
any man, decisive in battle, strong of sword arm, and very attractive.
...And, supposedly, also a Virgin Queen. Artabazus crossed his arms,
frowning, as the beautiful woman bowed politely to Alexander, just
enough to be dignified and show respect, and yet far short of the
submission required of all those who would stand before the Great
Macedonian.

"I am Thalestris, Queen of the Amazons, Sovereign of Themiskyra," she
stood slightly taller than Alexander, but he didn't seem to show any
discomfort over it.

"You stand before Alexander the Third of Macedon, King of All Greece,
Pharaoh of Ancient Egypt, Lord of Persia, Lord of Babylon, child of
Phillip the Second, and Son of Zeus," Alexander grinned, mysteriously,
and for an instant, the warrior woman balked. In naming so many
titles, was he being sarcastic, contemptuous, serious...?

"Your tribute," she quickly decided to avoid taking the chance of not
taking what he had said seriously, and skipped straight to the first,
but probably least important, order of business. She waved her hand at
her entourage, and four of the armored female warriors brought forward
a large wooden chest of gold. Laying it before the Great, they opened
it, revealing three stacks of golden plates, unmarked, but pure. It
was no small amount of gold that Alexander had demanded of them, but
it was a tiny pittance compared to the horde that had been taken after
the sacking of the Persian capital and taken from the vast Persian
treasury. It represented more the fact that they had to pay tribute to
him, rather than any amount of riches he was desirous of.

"It pleases me to see that your people are not so proud, or foolish,
as to challenge my ...entreatments," he dismissed the tribute with a
gesture. He alone had been given 'permission' to enter Amazon lands,
the women had steadfastly refused to let any of his explorers,
representatives, or men anywhere near their lands. Still, for the
moment, he was willing to overlook their stubbornness in this respect.
Themiskyra was still far from his reach, presently, unless he went out
of his way to subdue it, in which case Queen Thalestris had assured
him that they would fight to the last warrior.

There would, indeed, come a time when Themiskyra bowed before him, but
until then, there were more important, richer, and more populous
targets for expansion. Which was his second concern in this meeting.
Thalestris supposedly had extensive maps of the east, maps and
information that Alexander both wanted out of curiosity, out of a
sense of destiny, and out of simply practicality. From what he had
heard, there was far more land to the east of Persia than he had been
taught and led to believe.

"Great Alexander, I would ask for a personal meeting between
ourselves," Thalestris spoke slowly, measuring every word, "After
which, you may ask of the Amazon people would you would."

"A personal meeting?" the man seemed to consider it only half
heartedly, before nodding in approval, "Of what nature?"

"My reasons for visiting were not purely rooted in my desire to cement
a relationship between yourself and my people," she followed him as he
walked, alone, past his Generals and to a large tent, from which came
a soft glow. Her two servants kept behind as well, entertaining
themselves in conversation with Alexander's generals, while her troops
stayed as they were. Pushing aside the flap of the tent, and into its
lavish interior, the Macedonian King walked inside, though his eyes
never left her.

She recognized his wariness.

"I have heard many things about your people, Queen Thalestris," he
began, "Your history with my people has not been healthy one. Why come
to me now, rather than wait for my armies to turn your way? Do you
hope to find yourself in my good graces so easily?"

Thalestris seemed surprised by the coldness of his voice, "What
occurred in the past, occurred in the distant past. When word came
that the Gordian Knot had been undone, and that a single man, leading
an army out of Greece, dared to challenge the might of All Persia, I
prepared myself."

"You spied on me?" his voice betrayed equal measures shock,
admiration, and anger.

"I knew of you, and watched your progress," Thalestris clarified, "I,
too, am known as somewhat of a conqueror. The life of my people is not
an easy one, beset on many sides by many powerful enemies. We are...
being constricted, as if by some great serpent."

"And this concerns me, how?"

"The lands far to the east are vast and hostile, even as its former
kingdom is scattered and in disarray. Even a man of your ability will
not be able to subdue it easily, or... possibly in one lifetime," she
rubbed her hands together, and seemed to glide over to one of the
drapes of Persian finery, testing the material delicately between her
fingers, "The Amazons will never again bow to a man, Alexander of
Macedon. Not even you. But... they can be made to serve you, and aid
you, and in so doing, aid and strengthen themselves."

The man's brow furrowed in thought, "And how would I be secure in your
loyalty? What do I have, save the word of an Amazon?"

"That," Thalestris reached up, to the hem of her dress, and Alexander
caught sight of a flash of steel, hidden amid other, less dangerous
things, "Remains to be seen!"

She lunged, dagger flashing in the half-light. Alexander's blue eyes
widened in surprise, then darkened drastically in rage, as his sword
flashed out, and struck the weapon, knocking it aside. The King was no
slouch in combat - he had been trained to fight since his youth, and
he rushed into combat, leading his elite cavalry personally, not
simply because it was good for morale, but because he enjoyed it. This
Amazon woman would challenge him?

He silently accepted.

Hercules had bested many of them, in his time; surely another Son of
Zeus could repeat the minor feat with but one, Queen or not. He
brought his sword arm back, and Thalestris caught him at the wrist.
Amazed by her strength in holding his arm at bay, and keeping the
muscles from drawing it back into a position to strike, he felt the
flat of her foot hook at his hamstring. Making a quick decision, he
let go of his sword, twisted, and seized her wrist in his now open
hand.

They hit the ground at nearly the same time.

A tiger strike to the sternum surprised him, and stunned the
Macedonian for all of a half second, which the Amazon Queen used to
break free of his partial grapple, and get back on her feet.
Alexander, however, was almost on his feet himself, having tucked and
rolled back, his light bronze armor flexible and well designed. He
faced her, and saw her take up some form of fighting stance. Out of
the corner of his eye, he saw his sword lying amid the remains of a
smashed jug, water collecting on the edge.

Setting himself, Alexander focused on the woman, deciding only to make
a grab for the weapon if the opportunity arose. He was skilled in the
art of Pankration, in truth, one of the best, and if this Amazon woman
thought that disarming of his blade was any great advantage, she was
sorely mistaken. He could already feel the rising power of his pneuma,
feeding into his body and mind, focusing him on this single task.
Already, the woman was attacking, with animal-like jabs, growing
rapidly in speed and ferocity.

Where, he wondered, had she learned to fight?

She was good, regardless. Faster by a good margin than anyone he could
remember seeing or fighting personally, and incredibly strong for a
female of her frame. Still, even aside from her impressive physical
attributes, her fighting technique itself puzzled him. It was
obviously some form of animal-mockery, he could tell, but while he had
observed martial fighting styles from across the known world, he had
never seen anything like what this Amazon was doing, while whittling
away at his crossed arms, and toughened torso. Amending that, it did
vaguely remind him of something he had seen when he was in Egypt, in
the Oasis of Siwa...

Thalestris lunged, fast as a cobra, and fingers like talons. Alexander
was just as fast, however, and seeing opportunity, slipped past her
attack, counterattacking with a heel kick to her left calf. The Amazon
grunted from the blow, and tried to flip the man off his feet. It was
a mistake. Pankration was, primarily, a grappling style of fighting,
focusing first on getting an opponent prone or on the ground, and then
taking advantage of that fact through the use of submission attacks or
blows to the upper body. Her initiating a grappling maneuver with him
was the worst thing she could have done.

Muscles straining, he pivoted and crouched, pulling back and kneeing
her in the small of the back. Without hesitation he pulled her down
completely off her feet. Hooking her legs, to avoid being kicked, he
pinned her down with the weight of his body and bronze scale mail
armor, locking her hands above her head. She struggled for only a
moment, before relaxing, and appearing to give up attempting escape.

"You beat Thalestris," she said. Or maybe asked. He wasn't sure. Her
Greek was starting to slur.

"Of course," he replied, calmly, when her head moved. For an instant,
he thought she was going to try and head butt him, but instead, her
lips caught his own, ferociously. The Great Conqueror's eyes bugged
out, and the Amazon forced her tongue past his slack mouth and licked
over his teeth, silently thankful she didn't feel any fangs. Then,
just as quickly, it was over.

"What...?" he started, his grip on her still strong, but now his voice
was obviously confused. Rose highlighting her cheeks, Thalestris
licked her lips.

"Is Amazon tradition."

"Really?" he smiled, "How quaint."

"I have a proposal for you, Alexander of Macedon," she looked up at
him, eyes dark and wide, her voice returning to well spoken Greek, "I
wish a union... the blood of Artemis, and the blood of Zeus. The child
of Amazon and Alexander... would it not be glorious? A glorious
heritage for us both, a new Dynasty from which to rule over the entire
world!"

"A worthy heir for you, and a girl child for me," she interrupted what
she sensed as hesitation, "I ask no more, Great Alexander, than your
seed, from which to grow a new future. ...None others are worthy."

His eyes closed, and when they opened again, the blue orbs shone
brightly.

"How long will you be my guest here?"

"Thirteen Days," she answered, knowing that beforehand. The number was
sacred to them, and if she could not seduce him into an Amazon
marriage by the first day, it was unlikely he would relent anytime
after that. Then there was the possibility that he would simply have
them executed if she attacked him, as she would have to before they
could conceive a child. Either way, rejection would be the death knell
for the Amazon people, whether she died with a spear in her heart, or
sentenced to rot of old age, her pride and her strength dooming her
family line and her world.

"Thirteen Days," his features settled into a smirk, "And any male
child will be brought to me?"

"Yes," she answered, huskily, "Thalestris... I will return, in such a
case, until I get the girl child I need as my own heir."

He leaned in, his body pressing harder against hers, until their lips
were almost touching, "Your people may not see fit to bow before me as
their King... proud Amazon, but you will do this: You will call me
King, and I will gift you with what you desire."

"Then..." she hesitated, for only a second, "I will call you King."

'If not Husband,' her mind added, but soon enough, it found itself too
preoccupied to care.
***

502 CE

Liang Dynasty China

"You've traveled far, honored guest. I trust the delay was not caused
by any terrible inconvenience?"

The dusty traveler brushed himself off, his well-worn cloak a dark
brown when once it had been a light ochre. Pulling back his hood, he
looked over his shoulder, and down the flight of steps that led up to
the mountain keep. The stairs had appeared, slowly, out of the ground,
almost a mile back, from the lowlands below. The winding path had made
its way here, to a mortar less stone building of high walls, and a sky
white pagoda, invisible to those below, and nestled securely in the
peaks around it. It was secluded to an extreme, but the cloaked man
had known the way and recognized the signs miles back.

"There was some, but it was of little consequence once out of the
Arablands," the stranger slipped off his traveling sandals, and got a
good look at the one who had let him inside. He was a large warrior,
at least six and a half feet tall, wearing a thick fur tunic, and
baggy, loose pants.

"The Arablands," the man got a far away look, "I went... once. Years
ago. How are they now?"

"The Silk Road is nearly non existent, and it seems half the people
one meets are bandits," the guest noted that his host had closed the
massive metal framed wooden doors with little effort.

"I'm sure you enjoyed the exercise," the mammoth man gave a polite
bow, "I'm afraid I won't be able to show you around..."

"Bear blood?"

The man nodded.

"Think nothing of it," he waved the larger Musk warrior off. Walking
down the long hall, he stopped at a gleaming polished bronze shield,
and checked his reflection in it. He could make out his features
nicely in the metal surface, the high, prominent ears, slightly
pointed, the slightly exaggerated nose and shallow chin. It was all
perhaps a bit much, really - he had taken a bit more from his animal
mother than he'd have liked, but the blood of the Jackal had always
been a strong and dominant one.

"Ah... you must be Anun," another Musk came up to him, a spry
individual of slightly light build, with somewhat dark orange hair. He
smiled broadly, displaying prominent canines.

"I am," Anun gave a small bow, "And you are...?"

"Bah'zel," he bowed back, "Blood of the Fox, obviously. Your grasp of
our language here is impressive. I'm afraid my Egyptian is quite
rusty. Most of the old languages are a bit rusty... no practice, you
see. I can say 'Thank you' 'kill that man' and a bunch of other
things, but a real conversation, I wish!"

"Surprising. You talk a great deal," Anun coughed, softly, "Are
you...?"

"The Scribe for Lord Haabu? None other," Bah'zel didn't seem to mind
having his talkativeness pointed out, "I write a lot, so I guess its
only natural I talk a lot, too."

"Yes, well. Setu prefers his Scribes to be the silent type in his
Court," Anun walked alongside the other Musk, keeping mental note of
the place, in case he had to make another visit. It was quite lavishly
decorated, though the ceilings were lower than he was accustomed to,
and the general architecture not as... lofty or large in scale.

"Not very progressive. Silence is golden, but advancement comes
through communication."

"Perhaps. But stability is not made through revolutions as the people
here in Chi'in Ha seem to fond of."

"At least the land here hasn't been taken over by half a dozen
different foreigners," Bah'zel seemed to get a small laugh out of
that. Anun just frowned.

"That's like the village mule - everybody's had a ride...!"

"I get the point," Anun cut his Asian counterpart off, "Is my lateness
a problem?"

"Oh, no," Bah'zel shook his head, and fixed his hands behind his neck
in a leisurely way, "Haabu had no problem postponing it for a few more
days. We just kept the girl locked up a bit. Some of the warriors were
put off with the delay, though. Having to subdue their future wives
again without bruising them too much..."

Anun nodded slowly, "Understandable."

"In a way, you have to admit, its sort of archaic."

"What?"

"You know... needing a witness from one of the other Musk Tribes to
record the event. Its not like we don't have some semi-regular contact
between everyone. And you know how much of a pain it is to get to the
Musk in the Far East."

"Far West," Anun corrected.

"Far East, Far West... whatever. You get the general idea, though. I
know its an important occasion and all, and its good to keep
comprehensive records of all the Springs, new and old, but I don't see
why the other Scribe has to be there in person, when the information
can be sent via courier," Bah'zel stopped in front of an open gate,
where a Musk Warrior stood at attention.

"Scribe?" the guard asked.

"Get the girl. Tell King Haabu that the Setu Scribe is here and we're
ready for the ceremony to begin," the fox-blood Musk paused, and faced
his guest, "Unless you'd rather eat first?"

"No," Anun politely declined, "I'd rather get the ceremony over with
first."

"Sounds good. Go get 'em," the other Musk motioned down the corridor,
and the Musk warrior went off. Together, the two Scribes went up a
flight of stairs, and into an open area, with large pillars reaching
up to the sky. Anun noted them, and sensed some familiarity.

"Greek?" he asked, "They certainly appear to be at least inspired in
design."

"Part of a temple," Bah'zel sighed, "Way back when we brought some
Greek warriors into the Tribe. It collapsed in a landslide a little
over four hundred years ago, though, and was never rebuilt. We kept
the pillars, though, and used them to sort of flank the path we're on.
Which reminds me... you've been to Alexandria, right? I heard there
was a fire... I was wondering how much of the library had been
salvaged by the Setu Tribe."

"We were able to restore very little, I'm afraid. The whole of the
land seems to have been overrun by these barbarian Christians, who
while uneducated and good for only taking up space in our ancient
lands, at least seem to have perfect the art of setting things to the
torch. I was there... I saw what was left. We could not react in time
to save anything of significance. Truthfully, we avoid most cities,
now... the political atmosphere not what it used to be," Anun's face
was impassive, but his voice betrayed his feelings in the matter.

Walking down the stone path, there was a moment of silence.

"I guess that's why we make backups," Bah'zel finally said.

"It is always prudent," Anun looked around, and felt a cool breeze
move in from the west, "This is quite nice, actually. A pleasant
change of pace from the desert, and the sand... and the crowds I
passed through on my trip here."

"It's a beautiful country," the Fox-Musk agreed, "The low areas are
all right, too. Most people don't give much trouble..."

"Amazons?"

"Yeah. A bunch of the witches," Bah'zel shrugged, "They're not a big
concern, though. Usually pretty quiet, actually. Especially compared
to the problems I hear your Tribe has."

"Yes... every time we try and deal with the Amazon problem to the
west, particularly around the ruins of Carthage, it seems they just
move and pop up somewhere else. Lately, they've settled themselves
deep in the jungle. It simply isn't worth the effort to go in and
drive them out anymore," Anun realized he'd been getting angry, and
calmed down, "Its very vexing, as you can imagine."

"Oh, I can. And here we are... Chouchuanshan."

"Large," was the first word that came to mind. Anun leaned forward a
bit, looking over the collection of cursed and uncursed springs. There
looked to be over a hundred in all, some covered, but most open-air.
It was the reason Bah'zel's tribe of Musk had settled where they did,
overlooking the valley of springs. Every ten generations, the
bloodlines of Musk needed to be refreshed by taking animal brides made
into human form through the magic of a cursed spring.

The springs were a natural phenomenon, occurring cross the world, and
it was believed that most had been mapped out long ago by the Musk
Tribes, when they started to scatter and wander, searching to expand,
to avoid putting 'all their bread in one basket' so to speak. Around
the small springs, the Musk made small outposts, to keep watch over
the area, and near the largest sets of springs, the Musk settled and
built their homes and fortresses from which to perfect their Art and
their Existence. This set, however, was the largest Anun had ever
seen, though he had heard of similar sized ones found by the Quasil
Musk in the Far West.

 "Yep. Pretty impressive," Bah'zel nodded, contently.

"Very impressive," Anun corrected, "How many actually have curses?"

"Oh... about half have recorded curses. Maybe a little more. Some of
the smaller ones come and go every couple years. You know how it is...
it's the same thing that happened to our old Woman Spring. One day, it
just started draining away," the orange haired Musk Scribe started
down the path, cut so it descended slowly and leisurely into the
valley. Anun followed, listening to the different pools of drowned
creatures they had down below. Some were reoccurring themes, world
wide, like drowned birds and the like, but a few were exotic and
unique to the region. There was a pool of drowned 'panda' which was
some sort of vegetarian bear, in both a 'giant' and 'red' version...
there was also a pool of drowned tiger, which wasn't a natural spring
- a warrior had dragged a tiger from India to the springs, and drowned
it, at the behest of the current Lord Haabu's grandfather.

There was also a very old spring, 'The Spring of Drowned Asura,' in
which a statue of the Hindu goddess had fallen in. This was quite
unusual, in that the statue hadn't been 'alive,' and cursed springs
had never, to Anun's knowledge, 'bonded' to anything without a life
force to it. Bah'zel himself had an interest in it for similar
reasons, but its power and danger meant that he had to work under
tight restrictions. There was also a spring of drowned octopus, and no
one was really sure how that had happened. Another unusual spring was
the spring of 'yeti-riding-ox-while-carrying-eel-and-crane.' When
asked if they had any Yeti-men nearby, Bah'zel shook his head,
indicating that they had been wiped out over five centuries ago.

While they were talking, and the local Scribe was busy pointing out
some of the more notable springs and geological features, Anun felt an
advancing presence. Looking up at the path they had followed down, he
saw a small group of Musk, lead by a tall figure in a white cloak, and
dragonscale armor. Noticing that Anun's attention had shifted, Bah'zel
quickly saw the same, and bowed down on a single knee as the dragon
monarch approached. As he got closer, they could feel the tingle of
the man's ki on their own subdued auras - mentally, Anun compared him
to Setu, and wondered which was more powerful. A battle between the
blood brothers would be, in a word, breathtaking.

"My lord," Bah'zel prompted.

"You may rise," King Haabu motioned for them to take to their feet,
and they did. He faced the jackal blooded Musk, "You must be Anun, one
of Setu's Scribes."

"Yes, King Haabu. It is an honor to visit your domain."

"Think nothing of it," the dragon king gave a short laugh, "When this
business is concluded, you must share tales of your travels, as well
as news of my blood brother. I have not heard directly from the
Egyptian Court in some time."

"It would be a pleasure, Lord," Anun gave a deep bow, "Are we ready to
begin?"

"Yes. I think we are," Haabu turned slightly, to the guards behind
him, "Bring the girl forward."

Two mid sized Musk warriors walked up to the Scribes, holding steady a
naked woman. To Anun, she was obviously Asian or near Asian, though
not Indian. She was fair of size, and fine of build - a good choice,
overall. A very good choice, actually, though he wondered where she
had come across natural blonde hair in this region. She seemed to have
already exhausted herself struggling against the two guards, and
collapsed into a sort of semi-consciousness. Her eyes were half
closed, and had a distant quality to them.

"Not a bad looker, is she?" Bah'zel seemed to have been thinking
something similar, ribbing the Egyptian Musk rudely.

"She's quite suitable," Anun quickly agreed, and kept it at that.

"All right. This way," the Fox-Musk clapped his hands together, and
took them down a short set of wooden steps and into the actual springs
area itself. The ground was lose, wet and slippery, but a series of
slightly raised wooden planks and platforms crisscrossed the area,
allowing visitors to walk around without risking slipping and falling
into one of the cursed springs. He led the two guards and Anun a short
distance, to a large nearby pool within easy access to the shore. King
Haabu seemed content to watch from a distance.

Suddenly, the woman came to life, and started kicking and howling,
like a mad animal. The guard held her easily, and after only a few
seconds of furious struggle, she collapsed and became limp again. Only
her mouth moved, in ragged gasps.

"No... no please. Please," as they approached the spring, her voice
became louder, "No please! Please don't! Lord Haabu! I have done you
do wrong! No injustice! Spare me! Spare me, please! Oh please, I beg
of you! Please please please pleaseplease..."

Bah'zel looked from the panicked girl, from where she was held by the
two guards, kneeling at the edge of the spring, to his King. Haabu
merely nodded, and the Fox-Musk faced the two guards.

"Do it," he said, simply.

The girl took in a great gasp of air, before the two Musk guards
plunged her head below the water. To her credit, she held her breath
for some time, as if delaying the inevitable for even a minute was of
some great importance. When her air began to run out, however, the
struggling began anew. Her legs kicked out, wildly, and her hands
clenched and unclenched, trying to find purchase in something...
anything. Bubbles rose from the water, as she breathlessly screamed.

In a few seconds, it was over.

Anun looked away, and saw that Haabu had already headed inside.
Turning back to the lifeless corpse, its head still in the water, its
body on dry land, he saw Bah'zel lean down and check for a pulse,
making sure that she was dead. Standing, the local Scribe crossed his
arms, "Well... she looks dead. Leave the body there for... an hour or
two. No point taking chances with the spring not accepting the curse
because we took the body out too early. Then have it disposed of in
the low country somewhere."

"Problems?" Anun asked, when Bah'zel walked past him.

"Minor problems..." he trailed off after that, and clasped the other
man's shoulder. "Let's get back inside. All that kicking and yelling
kinda made me hungry."

***

1951 CE

Korea

Hsing Kung wrung the water from his hat, and looked up with a mixture
of disgust and annoyance. It wasn't even a pleasant, cooling rain,
like after a long day's work - it was a cold, depressing rain that
only served to make an already bad day worse. Wiping his forehead, he
questioned, not for the first time, whether it was wise to have gotten
so worked up about marching into Korea for the 'good of the people.'
True, he'd been excited by the idea of going anywhere remotely
different from his village, he always had, but it was starting to get
tedious... and dangerous.

Luckily, he hadn't been pushed to the front to fight any of the United
Nations and American troops. Instead, they'd kept him in the rear,
shuffled from one minor position to another, in half a dozen units. He
just hadn't fitted in anywhere - how could he? The last thing he
wanted was to be put into a position where he had to kill or even
wound another person. Hsing suspected that if push came to shove, he'd
probably run.

Shouldering his rifle, he pushed forward a little faster, the muck at
his feet kicking up onto his pants. They were already dirty and wet,
though, so it hardly mattered. To his side, he saw that the other
soldiers he'd been stationed with were similarly uncomfortable, and
looking to stop for at least a few minutes, but none of them were in
charge. Leading them from almost in front was a foreigner: a Russian
man, and a 'military advisor' from the U.S.S.R. He seemed fairly
young, defiantly no older than Hsing himself, but he was obviously
more athletic. A large man, though not husky, he was tall, and had
kept up a constant pace for hours.

Sighing to himself, Hsing almost got up the courage to try and ask the
man for some sort of pit stop, but chickened out at the last second.
The man was almost always scowling or brooding about something, and
didn't look like the kind of person to argue with. Instead, Hsing
occupied himself by thinking back to his little village, where he'd
been born and raised. A family of farmers, he'd had a younger brother
and four sisters. He'd never really felt that close to them, except
for his youngest sister, Shih, but now he felt like he missed them
terribly. The constant bickering behind their father's back was far
preferable to the sound of gunfire in the distance, and roar of jets
and helicopters, and the deafening roar of artillery.

Which was itself quite odd.

Hsing had never felt any real fondness for the life he'd been born
into. He'd been listless and feeling cooped up at home more often than
not, and the only escape he'd found was in reading about the rest of
China, and then the rest of the world. Self taught, he'd hoped,
eventually, to get a job in a city somewhere, and maybe travel someday
- India perhaps. Someplace with a rich history he could get lost in,
and secluded places where he could just sit and think. Eventually,
maybe, he'd write a book.

A wet leaf smacked Hsing in the face, and he took a moment to swat it
away.

He'd been called up, and instead of running for it, had decided that
it was a great opportunity to get out, and see some different places,
maybe meet different and exciting people... He'd heard legends of
great martial artists, ancient places forgotten by most men, and
sights of natural beauty. He wanted to see them before he died. He
wanted to experience them, and through them, feel unique and special.
So he'd packed up what little personal items he'd hoarded over his
twenty years of life, and headed off to fight in Korea, for the good
of Communism everywhere.

Or something like that.

Truthfully, Hsing doubted that was the reason he and countless others
had been sent into North Korea. From what he'd heard, and put
together, the war had been going on for some time before they were
sent in, with the North Koreans driving the Europeans defending the
corrupt government in the south almost to the sea. Then there'd been a
big turnabout, and the Northern troops had been routed by the American
General Macarthur, and when they were pushed to the Chinese border,
Chinese troops were finally sent to bail them out.

Some cause it turned out to be: shoring up a buffer state. Not that it
mattered, the cause hadn't really factored into him deciding to come.
He'd just wanted to get away. Now, he just wanted to go back. ...Or
did he? What did he have to look forward to at home? Becoming a farmer
to a tiny plot of land... not even that - becoming a tenant farmer to
a tiny plot of communal land, nothing to his name, no legacy and no
future.

He could read and write, though, and though he'd taught himself most
of the outside knowledge he had, there was no guarantee at all that
he'd be able to get more of an education, or if he were lucky, go to a
college somewhere. He might just end up stuck in the military machine,
then. Or maybe blown up or shot. Not that it'd be anti-climactic, he
started to think... ironically, being caught in some huge explosion
would actually be the high point of his life. Not exactly something to
tell the grandkids, unless he survived as a broken, crippled, bitter
old man, but still...

Suddenly, Hsing felt something chill run down his spine.

Gathering his courage, he decided to ask their leader for a break,
"Sir?"

"What?" the man asked, curly, in very passable Chinese.

"I was wondering if we could stop for a few moments."

"No," he almost snarled, and kept walking, slightly faster than
before.

"But..." Hsing pressed.

"NO," the man repeated, louder this time.

Hsing balked, and let it drop. For a few seconds, light shone down
through the trees above, and he felt like enjoying it. The moment
lasted only a second, before a tremendous howl split the air, and it
seemed like from every angle, fire lapped up at him. He heard people
yelling, softly, in a way - nearly silent compared to the explosion
they'd been caught in. Instantly, Hsing threw himself to the ground,
without even thinking, his mind instantly focused on recanting his
earlier thoughts that being blown to bits would be the 'high point' of
his life.

He wanted to live!

Even if it meant being a farmer in a rice patty, or a guard patrolling
some tiny outpost in the middle of nowhere, he wanted to live! Then,
as soon as it had happened, it seemed to be over, and a heartbeat
later, the air was filled with the sound of gunfire. He looked up,
through the smoke, and saw someone, another soldier, running around,
his gun pointed into the air, firing on full automatic. Shaking the
stars from his vision, Hsing quickly patted himself down, checking to
make sure he was whole and functioning, even as the adrenalin shot to
his brain, flooding any attempt at logic with fight or flight
instincts.

Then he saw someone lying on the ground, clutching their arm, smoke
rising from his body. It was their leader, and through the blasted
bits of dirt, Hsing could see the man's grimace of pain where he lay,
curled up in obvious agony. The sound of some sort of machinegun, and
tufts of the ground spitting up into the air almost deterred him,
almost sent him running.

Almost.

Running through the downpour of fire, Hsing leapt and quickly dragged
the man to the safety of the brush, behind a large and sturdy looking
tree. Looking down at the soldier he'd saved, Hsing saw the man's left
hand clenched tightly, a shard of metal imbedded in the palm, and
sticking out the back. Hsing was tempted to try and pull it out, but
the other man stopped him.

"Leave... leave it in. Can't... lose blood," he said, between gritted
teeth.

Hsing only nodded, somewhat dumbly. Getting slowly to his feet, and
holding what seemed to be a broken rib or two, the larger man
swallowed, hard, and motioned for them to fall back. Above, the sound
of gunfire had diminished to nothing, and whatever had fired down at
them, most likely a helicopter, or maybe a plane, was gone. Not that
they could have done much against it anyway.

"What about..." Hsing looked around, quickly, for any more wounded.

"Probably already gone," he took Hsing's shoulder with his good hand,
"Come on. Follow me."

"But..." he hesitated, before giving in and following the guy they'd
been assigned to 'escort' to wherever he had been headed, wherever
they were.

"You saved my life," the Russian man, or perhaps half Russian, now
that Hsing got a good look at him, looked down at his bloody left
hand, prompted "What's your name?"

"Hsing... Hsing Kung," he made a quick salute, more out of nervous
habit than anything else.

"Hsing," the man repeated, as they walked at a quick pace, "I'll
remember that. Bishop Verikov never forgets a favor."


***

1999 CE

China.

Mousse wiped a hint of perspiration from his brow with his sleeve as
the village came into view. He'd been building himself up for a visit
home since he'd won the Onsen 'Hot Springs Obstacle' Race, back in
Japan. Still, he found the surge of memories and the hesitation of
returning stronger than he had assumed it would be.

"Something wrong?"

"No," Mousse answered, quickly, picking up his pace.

Tso Pu didn't pry, and the group moved towards the village walls in
silence. The main gate was open, like he had always remembered it
being, and found his thoughts returning to Herb, the Musk Prince.
Mousse had heard of him, though only in passing. Actual information on
the ancient enemies of the Joketsuzoku Amazons was rare to come by.

All he'd learnt, as a boy, was that the Musk were like animals -
fierce, brutal, xenophobic, and worst of all in the eyes of the
Amazons: patriarchal. Their Prince had certainly acted the part,
blasting Mousse without warning with some sort of ki energy, and
kidnapping Ukyou - his friend.

His close friend.

Inside the walls, Mousse watched silently as the three women that had
'escorted' him back from Jyusenkyou went their own way. Mouse had half
expected Tso Pu to say something in parting, perhaps to remind him of
their deal not to mention that they had been in the forbidden valley
of Jyusenkyou, or something else to try and get him in her pocket.
Sure enough, the tall sister of Shan Pu paused, for a moment, looking
at him over her shoulder.

But she seemed to think twice, and kept walking.

Emboldened, by their leader's lack of parting words, Plun opened her
ugly maw, "You go back to male friends, Moo. Don't play the warrior
you know you're not."

"Of course," Mousse smiled, warmly, before switching to Japanese, "I
won't bother you anymore, you walking sack of garbage."

Plun grimaced, not understanding.

Waving, Mouse spun on his heel, and stalked into the heart of the male
quarter. He hated the place, more than any other, which was exactly
why he made sure to see it, and to keep it burnt into his memory. The
male quarter of the Joketsuzoku village consisted of three longhouse
type buildings, mud brick, with thatched roofs. These were the
bachelor houses, where the unattached male Amazons stayed, and worked
away their menial lives, doing chores the rest of the village would
shun.

And shun they did, those who did the jobs, if not the jobs themselves.

He watched, as three of them noticed him, and stopped cleaning the
large rug they'd obviously been assigned to deal with. They were
pathetic, really - beaten mentally, if not physically, and subservient
to all women, and even married men. These men and boys, though none
present were younger than fifteen, had not been picked by any female
Amazons for marriage, and as such were homeless. Kicked out when they
came of age by their families, and unwanted or unwelcome by any single
women, because of their health, appearance, or any number of unknown
things, they congregated together in their hovels.

Mousse had been one of them once, though that seemed an eternity ago.

He spread his arms, and one of the three came forward, blinking his
eyes as if seeing a mirage. He was a thin man, a year or so Mousse'
senior, with thick braided black hair. They were almost the exact same
height, though, and Mousse openly embraced the man, clasping his
shoulders firmly.

"I can't believe you came back, Mu Tzu," the man smiled, a thin
moustache clinging to his upper lip.

"Had to sooner or later. At least until they finally kick me out. How
you holding up, Rho Bu?" Mousse let go of the guy's shoulders, and
crossed his arms.

"Not so great, Mu. You know how it is..."

"What about Lo Shin?"

 Rho shook his head, "Didn't work out. She is still single, though.
Just didn't pick me."

"Sorry to hear that," Mousse meant it - Robe had been dedicated to the
male Amazon lifestyle, and he was a good, honest, hard worker. Mousse
still found him spineless, like all Amazon males, but he was an all
right person, and deserved some measure of happiness.

"You'll..."

"I'll find a woman, yet?" Rho sighed, "Was that what you were about to
say, Mu? I'm not getting any younger."

Mousse nodded, understanding. After twenty-five, it was almost
impossible for a male Amazon to get picked by a female, especially
with the 'option' of finding a strong outsider male instead of a
domestic native one. It was the hypocrisy that Mousse had always most
abhorred, and part of the reason he so disliked Ranma Saotome. Amazons
found, in a strong outsider male, a good mate, and yet in an Amazon
male, expected servitude and weakness. It was a double standard, and
Mousse had personified breaking it. Like all Amazon men, he had the
domestic skills they had been taught since their youth, and yet he had
learned to fight, and hunt, and explore.

What was he, now?

He could see that Rho was asking himself that same question, just
looking at Mousse. They had grown up together, and though they had
never been close, Mousse had gotten along better with Robe than the
other men. And still, he didn't know what his childhood acquaintance
was: Amazon male, or self made Outsider? Mousse had always hoped to be
a mixture of both, to be caring and emotional and supportive, though
not subservient, and yet strong and respected. Always respected.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Hey. You must be hungry," Robe motioned for him to follow, and yelled
to the other bachelor Amazon men to finish up. They didn't say a word,
and seemed to prefer on focusing on their 'work' than the outsider
Amazon that was once again among them.

"I am a bit," Mousse admitted. He hadn't eaten in over a day.

"I'll cook up something," Rho Bu offered, "You can pay me back by
telling me about Japan, and all the adventures you've had there."

"Not too much to tell," Mousse mentally noted what he would say over
dinner, and what he would keep to himself. Certainly, he could say
things about Japan, and what he'd seen there - tourist stuff, mostly,
but the other things, there were things he wanted to keep to himself
for the moment. Information was power, and the more mysterious he
could keep himself, the more invincible he became.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something interesting. ...Mousse, are
you planning on seeing your mother?"

Mousse frowned, "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

Robe said nothing more.

Mousse was glad he didn't. The matter of his mother was a sensitive
one. Mu Tzu, unlike the vast majority of male Amazons, had never known
his father. He had been an outsider, a man passing through, who had
made gotten engaged in typical fashion, and died a year after Mousse
had been born. They had no pictures of him, and Mousse mother couldn't
even accurately describe him anymore, not that she had ever gotten a
good look at him, he suspected, given her sub par vision, and habit of
not keeping on her glasses.

Following custom, she had raised him as a child, before he was handed
over for training in the 'male arts.' At which point, he had drifted
apart from her, and never really sealed up the rift. She had shown
cursory interest in his attempted flirting with Shampoo, and she had
never treated him poorly, but they had always kept at arm's reach.
Still, he loved her dearly - she had been as supportive and caring as
a mother could, under the circumstances.

Robe led Mousse to the closest of the communal houses. There were a
few other bachelors about, and three old men hunched over a table,
playing some sort of game. Unlike the matriarchs, who were respected
for their age and wisdom, and even power in a few cases, elderly males
had little to live for. Those three, Mousse recognized. They had
always been bachelors, and had long since given up ever being picked,
even by one of the widowed elders, who preferred to 'pick up' younger
males.

Mousse shook his head, and sat down on one of the cot like beds
provided for the bachelors. Robe leaned over the cooking fire in the
middle of the place, and started quickly making something warm to eat.
As he did, he spoke up, "So, Mu Tzu, what made you come back?"

"I... promised to show someone around. A good friend of mine."

"From Japan?"

"From Japan, yes. ...He had heard about the area, and wanted to give
it a look. I spoke the language, and agreed to go along. We stayed on
the coast for a bit... saw Beijing."

"Really?" Rboe perked up at that, "What's it like?"

"Big. You'd be surprised how large these cities get. Beijing...
Tokyo... Kyoto," Mousse aged that last one, remembering what Ukyou had
told him of her home city, "There are buildings that go so high that
they're like mountains of glass and iron."

"Wow," Robe sat down in front of the fire, looking up while rapidly
cutting an onion with a small knife, "You didn't bring any pictures
did you?"

"Pictures?" Mousse licked his lips, "Well... Yeah, I guess I've got a
few."

"Can I see them?" Robe put the nearly diced onions into some sort of
sauce, in a pan over the fire.

"Ah..." Mousse hesitated.

"Please?" Robe stirred the pan a bit, got up, and walked over, "Come
on, Mousse! We all can't actually leave the village, you know."

  "All right. All right... why not?" Mousse flexed his wrists,
searching through his robe for a second before finding what he was
looking for.

"What's that?" Robe asked, seeing what Mousse brought out.

"It's a wallet," Mousse opened the leather case. He had some yen with
him still, though not a lot, given how antsy The People's Republic was
about foreign currency in their borders, and a larger chunk of yuan,
that he and Ukyou had converted when they came into the country.
Looking in one of the side pockets, he took out a small handful of
color pictures.

"That's me in front of Tokyo Tower," Mousse showed Robe the picture.
It was one of the first pictures he'd taken in Japan, and it showed.
He'd given the camera to a teenage kid, and a bit of his thumb was
showing in the upper side of the picture. Still, it showed him, in his
usual robes, in front of the busy metal structure.

"Look," Mousse took out another one; "This is me in the Ginza shopping
district."

"Who are all those other people?"

"Well... that's Tendo Kasumi, Nabiki, and Akane... their father, Soun,
took this picture," he pointed to the boy next to Nabiki, "That's
Hibiki Ryouga. Between him and me is a girl named Kuonji Ukyou."

"Why is she dressed like a man?"

"Its... a long story," Mousse hurried to continue, "Anyway, you can
see that its really crowded. When the Tendos learnt that I really
hadn't seen much of Tokyo, they offered to take me to Ginza. I didn't
buy anything... because I couldn't afford much, but Ryouga and I ended
up carrying a lot. Akane and Nabiki wanted clothes, and Kasumi wanted
some new stuff for the kitchen..."

"Why would she want new stuff for the kitchen?"

"She does all the cooking. Akane can't tell bread from paper, from
what I've heard, I don't know about Nabiki, and I doubt that old man
Tendo is of any use in the kitchen. So she does all the cooking.
...She's good, too. Better than me, certainly."

"You could never cook anyway," Robe laughed, and went over to the
fire, checking on whatever he was making. After getting some stuff, he
came back, "Ok, what's next?"

"I can cook you know," Mousse frowned, "Just because I don't make a
living out of it..."

"Of course. Of course," Robe held his hands up, relenting.

"Anyway... ok, look at this. This is a nightclub Ukyou and I went to
just before we came to China. Nabiki, Ryouga, Akane and... someone
else were supposed to come too, but they had to cancel at the last
minute."

"What's this 'nightclub?'"

"Well... it's a crowded place. I couldn't really wear my robe," Mousse
almost blushed at the thought. He'd felt almost naked without his robe
and his weapons, but Ukyou had insisted they go as 'semi-normal' as
possible, and had even left her minispatulas and megaspatula at her
restaurant. "Everyone there gets together and there's lots of music
and dancing."

"You mean like a festival?"

"Not the festivals here, that's for sure. Its kind of hard to
explain."

"Ah... I guess I get the idea. What's next?"

"This... is a picture of Shan Pu," Mousse paused, and got a good look
at it himself. It was a picture he'd purchased from Nabiki, of Shampoo
in her waitress outfit, smiling pleasantly. Most likely, it had been
taken moments before she tried to glomp onto Ranma, though Mousse
wasn't really sure. She looked beautiful, she always looked beautiful
to him, but she looked positively vibrant and independent in this
picture - capturing everything he associated and loved about her.

Oddly, he realized it was the only picture he had of her.

"She looks well," Robe looked at the picture, but didn't linger on it.


Why would he? He didn't really care for her.

He didn't care *about* her.

"She's well," Mousse echoed, and moved onto the next picture, "This is
Ukyou and me. The guy on the ground with hair shears in his hand is
the head of the school where Ukyou goes, Furinkan High school. It's a
really good picture. Nabiki took this one a while ago... maybe two
months or so. I don't really remember. We beat up that guy dozens of
times."

"You beat up your teacher?"

"Not my teacher. Only Ukyou, Nabiki and Akane went to school there.
And this guy was totally insane... he had it all coming. We were
acting in self defense."

"If ...you say so."

"And this last one," Mousse examined it for a few seconds, "These is
Ukyou again, and Hibiki Ryouga. I took this of them in a park
somewhere - I'm not sure where. Ryouga was kind of lost at the time."

"Looks like you've got quite a few new friends in Japan. Was it one of
them that you came here with, or someone else?" Rho Bu went back to
the food, while Mousse put the pictures away, and the wallet back into
his robes. Mousse mentally debated whether or not to answer honestly,
before making a decision.

"Kuonji Ukyou," he finally said, his voice firm, "I came with her. And
I'll leave with her."

Robe handed him a copper plate, with the stir-fry in it, not
commenting on what Mousse had said with such intensity. They ate in
silence, and Mousse couldn't help but realize that his Joketsuzoku
acquaintance was, indeed, a far better cook than he was. They parted
on good terms, and as the sky was starting to darken, Mousse blended
into the night. He had work to see to, and things to do, and it
wouldn't be prudent to involve anyone else in them.

***

Mouse moved swiftly and silently, his long sleeves catching an updraft
of wind as he jumped, before landing soundlessly on the roof of the
building. He was deep in the matriarch quarter, now, where males
seldom visited, and never stayed. Adjusting his glasses slightly, he
followed the movement of the two female guards below, both armed with
a long spear and bow. They looked around forty, middle aged - proven
veteran fighters, though veterans of what, Mousse couldn't say. The
Amazons hadn't gotten involved in a serious fight in generations.
Still, this was the matriarchal quarter, and as such, it was populated
and primarily guarded by older women.

Women who had proven their loyalty to the Council of Elders.

He was tempted to take them out, quickly, but quickly realized that
would cause more problems than solutions. So Mousse waited, nearly
motionless, while the two stood on guard in front of the door below
him. He entered a minor meditative trance, to pass the time, and to
hone his body... to attenuate it into the background ki of the world
and the village. Compared to the vast majority of the world, and even
crowded places like Tokyo, the village had a good deal higher ambient
amount of ki as a backdrop. It made it much easier to hide, and avoid
setting off any of the more experienced fighter's danger senses.

Hours passed, before the two weary guards below yawned, and stirred in
preparation for the next shift to take their place. Mousse heard more
than saw their replacements, some way off, heading towards the
windowless building. He waited for the near morning duo to take their
places, and wave off their elders, before carefully sprinkling a small
handful of dust above them, while the wind was almost non-existent. It
was a relatively tiny application of sleeping powder, but it had the
desired effect after a few minutes.

With the guards asleep, Mousse landed between them, and shook the
kinks out of his arms and neck. For the seemingly hundredth time, he
looked around and made sure no one was around or aware of him. The
last thing he needed was one of the Elders, like Pas Tu, finding out
what he was about to do, or even seeing him about to do it. But Mousse
doubted they would know. Only a few bachelor males, and Soap, Plunger,
and Mirror knew he was even in the village. Soap and her cronies
wouldn't say anything that would lead to questions as to where they
had been, and where he had found them, exploring the Forbidden area of
Jyusenkyou, and no self respecting female Amazon would care less what
the bachelor males think or say.

No, he would have free reign, at least for the moment.

After dragging the two unconscious women to the side of the building,
and out of sight, he appraised the situation. From behind his left
ear, the Master of Hidden Weapons drew out a small lock pick, and went
to work on the hefty iron mechanism. It only took a few moments for
his practiced fingers to open it, and then he cracked the heavy wooden
doors ajar. Covering his handiwork with a black bit of cloth, to avoid
casual eyes noticing anything unusual, he entered, closing the door
behind him.

Finally, breaking out a small pocket flashlight, he allowed himself a
quick smile of nervous appreciation. He had done it, and quite easily,
too - broken into the Joketsuzoku Library. Inside the sturdily crafted
stonewalls, thanks to his own illumination, Mousse could see a long
shelf of tomes, scrolls, and books. Shifting his point of study, he
saw a few weapons and other artifacts, though not nearly as many as he
had expected to find. True, Happosai had stolen a goodly number of
them almost three centuries ago, and Cologne had taken more than a few
with her to Japan, more than a year ago, but he'd still expected much
more from what he'd heard, off hand.

Then again, only the Elders ever actually entered the library.

The Elders, and now, him: a lowborn, outcast bachelor male.

The thought made him grin widely, before he caught himself and focused
on the task at hand. He was here for something specific, and he found
it on the wall across from the shelves of books. Standing before the
large map, etched into a thick sheet of old paper, Mousse scanned it
from top to bottom, and making sure it was what he was looking for.
Smiling, he saw the tiny seal of the Jakou-Maneki... the Musk Dynasty.

It was the map.

The Joketsuzoku had kept conspicuous records of their engagements with
the Musk, and the territorial claims of the other groups in the
region, as well as information on their fortifications, outposts, and
holdings... Quickly taking out a three large sheets of drafting paper,
Mousse started copying, and getting down as much as he could. Most of
his effort was directed at the area mapping out the territories of the
Musk and the area of Jyusenkyou, but he made sure to get less accurate
cursory information on other areas, like that of the Seven Lucky Gods,
just in case it became necessary.

Rolling the copies up, and putting them away, Mousse hesitated on his
way out. He'd always dreamt of sneaking into the Library and finally
finding out all that had been held back from him, and everyone, for
all these years. Checking the time on his watch, he quickly looked
through the different groupings that the scrolls were in. Stopping at
the genealogy scrolls, he found Shampoo's, and on a lark, carefully
opened it. It wasn't as old as he thought it would be, and then
figured it had likely been copied from an older document a few hundred
years ago.

On the bottom, in relatively fresh looking ink, he saw Shan Pu and Tso
Pu, but neither were the reason he'd decided to look at this
particular scroll. Looking up through the generations, he passed the
name of Khu Lon and kept going. Mousse had heard that Shampoo was
descended from the Forgotten King; the one figure in Amazon history
Mousse had ever felt anything approaching respect... or maybe
understanding, for. He'd first heard the legend told among the older
boys, when he was young. Nothing might have come of it, had he not
asked his mother, and had not she, in turn, told him more... etching
the story into his mind, forever.

It was told that, in a time of great wars, across the world, and in a
time of great crisis for the Amazon tribes, a male Amazon appeared,
almost from nowhere. He had been exiled as a boy, and returned a man.
In this time, the Three Dynasties of the Musk had been growing strong
and influential, and in Asia the Amazons had been reduced to a
nomadic, leaderless existence. They were broken spiritually and
physically, and hounded by their enemies.

This man came to them, and gathered together his brothers and sisters
- treating each equally, and needing them both to work together to
survive. He battled where others challenged him, and no woman could
defeat him, and to those that desired his fall, he felled them in
turn. Merciless to his enemies, he reorganized the Amazons of Asia,
and led them from the arid plains where they had been kept moving and
starving and homeless, and drove boldly into the Musk and the Chinese
Kingdoms that opposed them. He cut them down, and for the first time,
brought the Musk to the hearth fire, where they brokered an agreement,
and an end to the fighting.

The Amazons settled, and the Joketsuzoku was born.

But, in time, the old ways returned, and the Forgotten King was slain,
some say by his wife, while he slept, when their daughter came of age.
His name was burned from the scrolls that had recorded it, and never
again did a male rise from within the Amazons to question the status
quo. Mousse finally reached the top of the page, nearly breathless in
anticipation, but knowing he would not find what he desired.

The Forgotten King's name was gone, never recovered. Never again
spoken.

Replaced by a scorch of black ash on paper.

But his blood survived. It survived through Xanthe, in Khu Lon, in Tso
Pu, and in Shan Pu. Putting the scroll away, he moved down slightly,
looking for a section dealing with the Musk. Finding the three rolled
parchments easily enough, he took out the smaller looking one, and
opened it.

"What the hell?" he blinked in surprise.

It was blank.

"Odd."

He put it away, and tried the next one. It, like the one before it,
looked somewhat old and wrinkled, but it was blank, too. Annoyed, and
more than a little confused, he tried the last one and found that it,
too, was a phony. It only took a moment for him to see what had
happened - someone had stolen the real scrolls... it was impossible to
think that the Joketsuzoku had no information whatsoever on the Musk,
after so many centuries, even counting Happosai's thievery so long
ago.

"So... there's a wolf among the sheep, eh?" Mousse scoffed, and put
the last scroll back. The pieces came together perfectly...

Herb was standing watch over Jyusenkyou, where the Musk had not been
seen since Cologne's time. The obvious cooperation and consent of the
Jyusenkyou Guide at the scene. Missing Musk records in the Amazon
Library. After hundreds of years, the Musk Dynasty must again be on
the move, not just against the Pheonix Tribe, as they always were and
always had been, but against the Joketsuzoku. And the Amazons had a
traitor... or a conspiracy of traitors, living under their noses.

But why hadn't one of the Elders... people who would never ally with
the Musk, people who hate the Musk and what they stand for, why
wouldn't one of them have noticed that the records were gone? The
scrolls looked very convincing, yes, but they were still empty. Could
it be that no one even checked them anymore? Or, alternatively, had
the theft occurred recently? Perhaps even very recently?

"Damn it. I better get out of here," Mousse hissed under his breath,
and headed for the door.

Only to have it open out on him before he could touch the handle.

"You lost, Moo?"

"Yeah," Mousse stepped back, flashlight between his teeth, as he
reached into his robes casually, "Is this the little Amazon's room?"

"Nope," Plun Gu's steel mace caught a bit of light from the
flashlight, as shapes moved outside the doorway behind her.

"Ah. My mistake. I'll just be leaving then," Mousse spoke despite the
light in his mouth, and stepped forward, his hands inside his sleeves
finding the grips of well-concealed weapons.

"You'll be...." She looked about to strike, when another voice called
out, stopping her. Mousse recognized her instantly, even just by her
tone, even before his flashlight passed by her features -a wealth of
light brown hair obscuring her left eye, her right one dark and
uncompromising. The fact that she was wearing her iron-coil bracers,
replete with backwards-swept blades, meant she had come prepared.

"You'll be putting down those weapons in your sleeves, Mu Tzu," Tso Pu
stepped forward, a torch in one hand, her other empty. Her spear,
however, was still strapped to her back and ready to be drawn.

Mousse's eyes narrowed.

"What're you going to do, Tso? Bring me in?"

Her eyes moved like vipers, from him to the shelf of books.

"You're not supposed to be here, Mu Tzu."

"Yeah, well, one place I'm defiantly not going to be in is some cage
waiting to be put on trail. No, no, no, no..." Mousse shook his head,
"I'm not going anywhere, except out of here."

"Don't make us fight you, Mu Tzu. What would your mother think?"

Mousse smiled, "What would your father think?"

"Enough talk!" Plun's hot temper got the better of her, and quick as
lightning, she lunged, weapon aimed to break the Chinese boy's
shoulder. She covered half the distance, before there was a sweeping
wave of blinding white cloth, and the sound of a heavy weapon hitting
the ground.

"Such haste," Mousse tightened his grip around her right wrist, while
the muscles of his other arm pressed on Plunger's windpipe. In a
single motion, he had immobilized her, disarmed her, and now held her
soundly. Plun let out a sound part whimper and part snarl, but nothing
that could be interpreted as words.

"Now I've got a hostage," Mousse said, voice calm, "Just what I
wanted, too. Step back, Tso."

"Or?"

"Or what do you think? ...Make your decision quickly now. I don't
think bat face here can hold her breath too long."

Mousse was desperate now, and though his voice didn't show it, he was
like a cornered animal - dangerous. Plun Gu let out another angry
gasp. Tso Pu didn't move. She was calling his bluff, and didn't seem
to care whether Plunger lived or died. Frowning, she called over her
shoulder, "Mir Ru! Get one of the Elders! Now!"

"But..." a voice from outside protested.

"GO!" Soap shouted, and the other girl was off instantly.

"You see, what I'd like to know is how you can just watch this friend
of yours die? Especially at the hands of an outcast single Amazon male
like myself."

"Your no killer, Mu Tzu."

"You think so?" Mousse's glasses glinted dangerously.

"I know so. I've met killers, Mu Tzu. I know them, and I know you,"
Tso made a half smile as she talked, "You're running out of time. Any
second now, the whole damn village will be up and awake, and looking
for you. You want to add murder to trespassing, you go right ahead."

Plunger let out another choked sob.

Mousse's shoulder trembled, for half a second, before he moved. Like a
tornado, he spun, throwing Plunger to the side, and against the hard
stonewall, knocking her out. Both hands reached into his sleeves, just
as Soap drew her spear. They clashed, Mousse leaning forward, Mandarin
Duck Axes parried by the solid wood of a torch and the metal blade-
base of Soap's spear. Mousse scowled, and broke the lock, forcing Soap
to the side as he locked again with her weapons. With a hard flick of
the wrist, he sawed through the wood of the torch, and as the two
pieces fell to the ground, Soap's other hand found the spear, and
pulled back.

Mousse's feet left the ground to avoid the sweep, and he had to lean
back almost to the point of snapping his spine to avoid the following
trust with the tip. He locked again, with his right weapon, and
advanced with the left, forcing Soap back and to the side. In the dim
light of the dying torch, lying on the ground at their feet, the two
Amazons danced.

Soap was good, Mousse had to admit. Far less heavy handed than
Shampoo, and defiantly not as physically overpowering or strong, she
concentrated on counters and ultra quick moves. Mousse didn't doubt
that, if pressed, and given the opportunity, she could strike with her
spear at Amaguriken speeds. Of course, he knew better than to give her
that opportunity.

 "You're much better than I thought, Mu," Soap's back hit the wall,
and her hand had to leave her spear to catch his at the wrist, before
his blade could strike. They were at a minor impasse, with him
possessing the slight advantage in situation and strength.

"You should have let me go," he snarled.

"Sorry, Mu... this was too good an opportunity to get up," she saw the
confusion on his face, "You're in way over your head. Messing with
things you don't even understand."

"...You?!"

"Not what you think," she held his striking hand at bay, as a
momentary surge of anger granted him extra strength.

"You're setting me up!"

"You broke in here Mu... you're a big boy. You're responsible for what
you do, whether you get caught or not," Soap shook her head, "For what
its worth..."

"Save it!" Mousse broke off from their grapple, and quickly composed
himself, or tried to. Scoffing, he looked away from her, "Well, looks
like you finally get to play hero for real, Tso."

He gave her one last hard stare, loaded with a full clip of
accusation, and bolted out the door. He'd been defeated, even if she
hadn't physically brought him in. Even if she wasn't sure whether she
actually wanted to or not. In the darkness, Soap watched him go.
Almost casually, she wiped her index finger under her right eye, to
make sure it was dry.

"Another time then, Mu Tzu."

It wasn't.

***

Japan.

"I've brought you your paper, papa."

"Er... Thank you."

"I made you some nice tea, papa."

"That's... so considerate."

"Your lunch is ready, father."

"Be right there..."

"I bought you some nice bean filled rice cakes for a snack, papa."

"Uh... you're too kind."

    Soun Tendo rubbed the base of his nose, as the steam rose around
him. The water was more than a little on the hot side, and it served
its purpose well, boiling the knots in his neck and shoulders away
almost completely. If only for a while, the situation outside the furo
seemed far away and someone else' problem.

"I tell you, Saotome," Soun sighed, letting out a deep groan, "... I
just can't take it anymore."

"Hey, Tendo," Gemna paused, as if considering whether to broach the
subject further, before deciding it would end up coming up sooner or
later anyway, "Are you sure you didn't do it?"

"Saotome, what do you take me for? I'm very high strung... How could I
possibly...?"

"Father!"

"Saotome-san!"

Genma saw them coming first, or perhaps his better-honed senses simply
heard the door opening first. Regardless, Soun was not far behind,
when the two girls' voices indicated their barely existing hesitation
to enter the room. With a splash appropriate to and amount of aging
martial artist suddenly displacing it, the two were underwater.

Soun rose out of the water, and opened his eyes to see the older one -
Natsume, with her long samurai bob of dark brown hair, leaning over
the edge of the bath. She didn't even have any of his features, though
he hadn't come out and said so. Why did a little scrap of paper mean
more than his own word, in his own house?

"OH, father, let me wash your back!" she said in a remarkably hero-
worship way that thoroughly unnerved him. His own daughters had never
acted this way, why would these... psuedo-Tendos act like he was the
new center of their universe?

Kasumi had never acted this way. She had always been obedient, and
kind, and helpful and eager... so much like her mother, but her idol
had always been just that - her mother. And she found purpose in
honoring that memory, and keeping true to it. Nabiki had certainly
never really respected him, he had always known. He did truly love his
middle daughter, even as they drifted further apart, and even as
Nabiki found her role in life by being what her sisters weren't. And
heavens forbid, Akane hadn't acted like these two since she was half
the age she was now, not after he taught her all she ...had to know
about the Family School.

"No!" Soun put forward his sternest sounding voice, "Absolutely not!
Young girls have no business in the..."

"Oh, your back is so nice and big, Saotome-san."

"What a nice thing to say."

Soun turned, eyes half lidded, at the sight of his oldest friend and
compatriot getting his back washed by the younger of the two, Kurumi,
with her light brown hair tied up with that curious weapon-bow. It was
something he'd have to talk to the Hibiki boy about, given that Soun's
own knowledge in respect to Iron Cloth techniques and Martial Arts
Gymnastics was more than slightly limited.

Genma seemed quite content, however, and totally oblivious to the
expression of his old buddy. Giving up, Soun returned to the water
from whence he came, dearly hoping he could simply blot out the world
around him, and let the hot water do its job. It was truly a fool's
dream.

  Things were destined to get worse.

"Come on! Don't you think they're overdoing it?! Dad and Mr. Saotome
are acting like a couple of idiots!" Akane's face turned from an angry
red to a 'I-could-destroy-Pompeii' purple before Nabiki's eyes.

She then went on to state the obvious, "OOHH! They made me so mad I
can hardly stand it!"

It had been two days since they got back from their little adventure
with the amazing transforming monster with a name problem. For a scant
few seconds, apparently, things had looked good - maybe a few days of
total leisure and doing absolutely nothing and thinking about even
less, when something new got thrown in their faces. She'd woken up
that day on the couch next to Ryouga, who had fallen asleep with both
brows furrowed, an obvious frown on his features.

She still wasn't sure whether it was there because of what he thought
he'd done at the Temple of the Watery Grave, or because he'd walked
back into a situation where he had no hope of fighting his way out to
any sort of conclusion. He and Ranma had largely retreated to the
dojo. They weren't fighting, which was a good thing, but the whole
situation seemed to draw them to another place where they didn't have
to worry about anyone except themselves and their fists, not words.

Then there was the fact that everyone, herself included, had pinned
this on the lost boy for giving the Lost Tendo girls their general
address. Natsume had happily pointed out that they'd run into each
other in the woods, and that Ryouga had been kind enough to point them
in the direction of Nerima. How sorry Ryouga was for what he'd done,
she wasn't sure. He'd cringed visibly, more than she'd ever seen him
cringe from a physical blow, when she and Akane had stared him down
right after finding out he'd led total strangers to their home, and
gotten them a pair of supposedly illegitimate sisters.

He'd subsequently mumbled something, and kept quiet the last few days.

It was stupid, and the more Nabiki thought about it, the less terrible
it seemed. Really, what did it matter of their father had an affair
all those years ago, beyond the little emotional problems with him
cheating on their mother, which were, from a practical point of view,
moot at this point anyway? Akane seemed to take it the wrong way,
certainly, not believing that it could have happened, and that Soun's
new daughters were acting the part far better than any of them every
really did. Kasumi seemed herself, but Nabiki suspected there was a
tension to the situation that her older sister kept well hidden.

"Hey, I think its great! Now they won't be a burden on us in their old
age," she leaned back a bit as she spoke, waving the pen in her right
hand around.

"We should be nice to them," Kasumi spoke up before Akane could say
anything, "Think about it. Those two have never had a family of their
own. It wouldn't hurt to show them a little kindness, Akane."

She seemed to wrestle with the idea, but coming from Kasumi, who could
refuse?

"Oh, all right," Akane looked away, at the floor. She wasn't happy
about things at all, but putting on a pretense of civility couldn't
hurt.

It probably wouldn't do any good, though.

"Father... Saotome-san... have some beer," Natsume walked in with a
tray of tall glasses, setting them on the table. Kurumi was still busy
fanning the two.

"Ahhh, Tendo," Genma lazily reached over, and raised a glass to his
friend, noting his forlorn face, "Not many parents have such obedient
children, you know. Take me for example. All I have is that ingrate
son of mine..."

Soun's expression didn't change.

"Ohh, you're so lucky!" he leaned over, conspiratorially, his voice
low, "If you were smart, Tendo, you'd let those two carry on the dojo.
Then we could just sit back and enjoy the good..."

A metal canister of beer to the back of the head cut him off rudely.

"Please don't give my dad any dumb ideas, Mr. Saotome!" Akane crossed
her arms.

But the thought lingered.

"But Akane," Natsume broached from where she sat, "You may not
understand... but what he says is right."

"What did you say?!" Akane felt her voice threatening to break as the
anger rose at being contradicted, especially by this of all people.

"The dojo should go to the School's strongest fighter. The right to
pass on the techniques of the Musabetsu Kakutou Tendo-Ryu belongs to
that person... I believe my sister and I are a more logical choice to
inherit the training hall," the older girl spoke levelly, as if
stating the weather. Something about it ticked Akane off even more.

"Natsume..." Kurumi warned, but it was too late.

"Ohhh, I see!" Akane's hands turned to fists, "You're saying that
you're stronger than me, is that it?!"

"Shall we find out?" the dark haired girl didn't seem about to back
down.

"I'm ready whenever you are!"

"Now... now stop that you two," Soun gritted his teeth, and decided to
intervene. The two girls who thought they were his daughters would
back down if he told them that a fight would not decide it - that he
alone had the right and obligation to name an heir to the School.
Akane he could barely restrain anymore, but if the others would back
down it would have the same effect. The last thing he, or the family,
needed was this sort of internecine conflict. Even if he couldn't
solve the conflict, for the moment, he could put it off for a few
days, maybe weeks, until a genetic test proved he wasn't their father.

"Hold it right there!" a familiar voice interrupted the Tendo
patriarch, and the screen doors were pushed aside by a certain busty
redhead, "I, Saotome Ranma, except that challenge!"

"Ranma!?" Soun faced the boy turned girl, "Don't you dare make this
any worse than it already is!"

"That's right!" Akane chimed in, though she hardly agreed with her
father's intent on the matter, "This one is my fight!"

"I really don't care... I don't know who you are, where you came from,
or why you have that name... but we two sisters will fight the both of
you," Natsume's voice was firm, unyielding, "The winner shall have the
right to carry on the Tendo Dojo!"

Ryouga was sulking.

Or, to be more exact, he was being 'wistful.'

No... really, he was just sulking.

Letting out a deep sigh, he focused on his internal ki equilibrium, as
the slow music from the (Nabiki's) CD player next to him started on
the next piece. It was a focusing exercise, meant to better control
his body and spirit, and most importantly, calm his mind and organize
his thoughts. His primary concern was getting his things together
discretely, and making mental preparations for his little 'training
trip.' Oddly, he found himself debating whether or not to take Ranma
along.

The pigtailed martial artist was still a major annoyance, but he was,
in a way, a familiar annoyance. Perhaps, away from the eyes and
opinions of others, the two of them could come to some sort of mutual
agreement, a true peace to cement the cease-fire. Besides, if he was
doing any actual training on the trip, it would... it could be helpful
to have his only sparring partner along. He'd been thinking of an
initial set of exercises and regimens, as well as a few special
techniques to develop and refine, and having Ranma around for input
and 'testing' would be a boon. On the flipside, nothing really beat
the look of surprise on his rival's face when he came up with
something new, and kicked up the bar a notch or two, forcing Ranma to
catch up. That would be more difficult, or at the least, less exciting
than training with his opponent.

Train with Ranma?

Train against Ranma?

He found indecision plaguing him, as it always seemed to do. Ryouga
was well aware that his indecision was one of his greatest faults, and
the cause of many failings. Nabiki had pointed it out enough times,
when they went out, and he couldn't decide where to go, or what to do,
or even what to eat, so loathe was he to commit totally to anything...


Which led into his next, worst, problem.

Getting a break from his relationship with Nabiki; or maybe just
getting away from the normalcy and pleasant complacency of it all.
He'd always dreamed of what he had in her - she was smart, beautiful,
and understanding, and even ruthless and willing to do what he himself
would hesitate to do, even if he knew it needed to be done, or wanted
to be done. But something was missing... some element of danger,
uncertainty, and yes, a hint of terror. Maybe, truly, he was mad -
mentally unbalanced in some way.

It was something Ryouga had secretly always considered.

Too many years lost, alone, in the middle of nowhere.

Too many years driven by rage and anger.

Too many years dreaming of what he knew, or even hoped, he could never
have.

Too many years being more an animal than a man.

Like Taro, but worse. Ryouga hid his bestial side within, behind a
curtain of blind aggression and blame. The more he thought about it,
the more likely it seemed that, sooner or later, the beast would break
out, and cause more damage than he liked to think about.

Taro was dead.

At his hand.

Whether he deserved it or not, Ryouga didn't care, not from a moral
point of view. He had killed a man, and at the time, not only had he
not cared that he was extinguishing a human life; he had enjoyed it...
he had reveled in the revenge, and the passion of the moment. The
times he'd tried to kill Ranma sprung to mind immediately, and passed
through his thoughts like a cereal of photographs. Had he been beast
or man when he'd done that... the lost boy wasn't sure.

Eighteen years old, and already a killer.

A killer... how deserving of happiness, of Nabiki, was an animal like
himself? Really, who could ever want to be around him? He was
dangerous, brooding, depressed, angry, lacked common sense, lacked a
direction, had no close family, and he was a freak who turned into a
pig when he got wet. A normal life? Who was he kidding? And yet... he
wasn't always angry, or depressed or brooding - precious moments of
happiness, of closeness and warmth. An alien feeling of caring, actual
mutual caring, every time unexpected, and every time a small miracle
in and of itself.

"I need time to think," he whispered to himself, and noticed the dojo
door open with some suspicion.

"...Don't worry," Ranma spoke up, as he and Soun entered the room,
"There's no way I'm going to lose!"

"Something going on?" Ryouga stood up, and noticed Natsume and Kurumi
filing in, and a fuming Akane Tendo, barely holding her personal
demons at bay.

"A challenge," Genma walked up to the lost boy and crossed his arms,
saying no more. Ryouga had mixed feelings towards the father of his
rival, none of them good. But there was a measure of respect, too -
Ranma had learnt at least some of an Art called the Umisenken from
watching his father, a while back. While not particularly powerful, in
Ryouga's opinion, it was very interesting in premise, and given the
specialization in it, both youths were fairly certain that it had an
as yet unrevealed counterpart, which could potentially be far more
powerful, relying on active techniques and not passive ones.

Ryouga had even sparred with the elder Saotome a few times, and come
away silently impressed. Genma was slower than Ranma, defiantly, but a
fraction stronger, and more experienced. And while he was easily
distracted, and cowardly enough to shy away from being hit or roughed
up, he wasn't nearly as flabby or out of shape as he looked. If he
really got serious, he could be dangerous. Fortunately, Genma seemed
to have left his fighting behind him, preferring the comfort of
Kasumi's cooking and a warm bed to a tough bout of training.

"Hey," Akane turned to Ranma-chan as they took their positions, "Why
aren't you fighting as a boy?"

"You can't expect me to fight a couple girls as a guy!" Ranma-chan
thumbed her nose as the mere thought of it.

"Don't hold back, Kurumi," Natsume warned, getting into a ready
stance, her hand ready to reach for the rug beater holstered on her
back. Kurumi just nodded, obviously not too happy with the situation.

"Oh," Soun wailed, his face looking very wet at the moment, "Why is
this happening?"

"There's no fighting fate," Genma nodded slowly, approvingly, his arms
crossed.

"Don't hurt each other," Kasumi added in.

"Hey, Ranma!" Ryouga called out from where he stood, leaning against
the wall.

"Yeah, what?" Ranma-chan returned, impatiently.

"How about some fight music? I've got a good track all lined up and
everything. I wouldn't underestimate Natsume and Kurumi... three
hundred yen says you don't beat 'em until it's half over."

"Really?" Nabiki reevaluated the two girls, "I'll take that bet... at
one hundred yen."

"Chicken?" Ryouga asked, sidelong.

"No. I just don't know what the song is."

"One fifty."

Nabiki pursed her lips, "One fifty it is. This better not be something
really short, though, Hibiki."

"Oh no. This is good fight music," Ryouga smiled, "Natsume, Kurumi!
Don't hold back! And Akane-san, be careful!"

"This isn't a game, you know!!" the youngest Tendo yelled at the two.
Nabiki didn't seem to care, but Ryouga cringed a bit.

"Play it," Nabiki nodded to the lost boy, and Ryouga started the CD
player, "All right! Begin!"

The match began with Ranma-chan making a leaping attack, aiming for
Natsume, while Akane moved in more slowly, but recklessly, charging
towards Kurumi.

'Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me,'
'I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed...'

Kurumi's bow quickly unfurled into a ribbon whip, and with precision
belying her age, and circled the weapon and shielded her older sister
from attack. Ranma-chan tucked in as it hit, having underestimated the
speed of her opponents, and unable to compensate in midair. The ribbon
was hot, almost burning hot, but Ranma-chan recovered from the shock
of it and landed on her feet; none the worse for wear.

'She was lookin' kinda dumb with her finger and her thumb,'
'In the shape of an "L" on her forehead...'

    Akane similarly ran into trouble, in the form of Natsume's rug
beater. The older girl had her weapon in hand with the casual speed
and ease that comes only from years of practice in a weapon, raising
its use to the point of near instinct. More importantly, she was quick
to charge it with ki, a cold harsh ki. A trio of swipes gave birth to
a trio of freezing cold gusts of wind that stung Akane, and forced her
back, grimacing from the pain and surprise of the attack.

'Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming,'
'Head to the rules and I hit the ground running,'
'Didn't make sense not to live for fun,'
'Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb...'

"What's with that ribbon... it felt... hot," Ranma-chan stood, rubbing
her arms.

"And Natsume's attack felt cold... like a razor sharp wind," Akane
balled her fists, "Again!"

"You have odd choice in music, you know," Nabiki rose an eyebrow at
the lost boy, but he seemed to be concentrating on the fight. Still,
at least he didn't pick "Why Can't We Be Friends?' - that would have
just been silly.

 In the middle of the dojo, meanwhile, Natsume stepped forward.

"Time to finish this!" she spun, three times, her rug beater literally
crackling with infused ki. With a final motion, she flung the wind
attack out, in the form of a chill tornado, kicking up the wooden
ground where it passed. For a moment, Akane saw it coming, and froze
up. Crossing her arms in front of her face, desperately, she braced to
take the attack... when Ranma-chan moved, like a blur, and tackled her
to the ground.

"Idiot! Don't just stand there!" Ranma-chan quickly jumped back to her
feet.

"Leave me alone!" Akane shot back, getting to her feet, "I'm a martial
artist, too, you know!"

"This isn't about your stupid ego!" Ranma-chan growled and faced the
pair, "Just let me handle this!"

"Its my duty to win this fight!"

'So much to do so much to see,'
'So what's wrong with takin' the backstreets,'
'You'll never know if you don't go,'
'You'll never shine if you don't glow...'

Soun's hair stood on edge, watching the disaster unfurl. Nabiki just
sighed to herself, "This is no time for an argument, you idiots."

 "Kurumi!" Natsume commanded, turning to her younger sister, "Do it!"

"Okay..." she agreed, reluctantly, and her ribbon lanced out in a
great spiral. Ranma and Ryouga recognized what was going to happen
almost instantly.

"What's that...?" Akane looked around the whipping ribbon, looking for
a point to attack or defend. She was looking in the wrong place - the
attack was coming through the middle.

'Hey now, you're an All Star, get your game on, go play,'
'Hey now, you're a Rock Star, get the show on, get paid...'

"Musabetsu Kakutou Hiryu Carimbou!!" Natsume yelled, and a column of
cold ki spiraled through the hot of Kurumi's ribbon, funneled and
directed by the clash of temperatures. Akane's eyes widened in obvious
panic, but Ranma-chan simply took a step forward and to the side,
before setting her feet, and bringing her arms to the side.

'And all that glitters is gold,'
'Only shootin' stars, break the mold,'

"Hiryu..."

Cold and hot danced between Ranma-chan's hands.

"Shoten..."

With a crack of thunder that left the air smelling of ozone, Ranma-
chan's hands twisted in a small spiral in front of her, before her
right palm shot forward.

"HAAA!!!"

'It's a cool place, and they say it gets colder,'
'You're bundled up now, wait till you get older...'

For a moment, the two forces clashed, all constrained within Kurumi's
ribbon, before the latter snapped out, and the built up heat and cold
mixed and diffused into the air. The resulting blast of displaced air
knocked Kasumi and Nabiki off their feet, but Ryouga quickly shot his
arms up to catch them before they hit the wall.

'But the media men beg to differ...'

"Again, Kurumi!" Natsume snarled, obviously worried now, "Full power!
Hold nothing back!!"

"But..."

"But nothing!" she narrowed her eyes, "We can't lose!"

Wordlessly, Kurumi's ribbon glowed, and whipped out again, into a
great spiral. As Natsume went through her movements, her rug beater
blazing with a blue aura of its own, Ranma-chan was already, more
slowly and deliberately now, building up for another Hiryu Shoten Ha.
Ryouga watched, amazed, as she funneled hot and cold ki from around
her, from the air, and from the last attack... recycling it into her
aura and into her hands. He'd never say it to him, but Ranma was damn
good when he set his mind to it.

Damn good.

'Judging by the hole in the satellite picture,'
'The ice we skate is getting' pretty thin,'
'The water's getting' warm so you might as well swim...'

"Musabetsu Kakutou Hiryu Carimbou... Full POWER!!!"

'My world's on fire, how about yours?'

"Hiryu Shoten HA... PERFECT!!"

'Cuz that's the way I like it and I never get bored...'

Natsume and Kurumi's attack roared as it struck, like a solid pillar
of glowing ki, and impressing the lost boy at least, Kurumi maintained
enough control over her weapon and her ki to narrow the beam, and
further focus its energies. They were a formidable duo indeed, but
badly outclassed against their pigtailed foe. It was the reason Ryouga
hadn't been too worried about Akane getting involved - there was no
way Ranma would let her get hurt, and he was easily fast, strong, and
powerful enough to simply overwhelm Natsume and Kurumi, both of which
Ryouga knew were tough in and of themselves, given that they were,
after all, just women. And while Ryouga knew many very strong women,
Ukyou and Shampoo most notably, and Cologne at an extreme end of the
spectrum, he, like Ranma, didn't have quite as much respect for the
opposite sex as he should have.

Worldly, he wasn't.

Ranma-chan's right palm again thrust forward, and the spiral of her
Hiryu Shoten Ha clashed with the adopted Tendo girls' beam almost
instantly. For a moment spanning the blink of an eye, they seemed
even, and then the insidious nature of Ranma's attack became obvious.
The Hiryu Shoten Ha's spiral became like a corkscrew, and cut a swatch
through the Tendo girls' attack. In what seemed like slow motion,
Kurumi's ribbon unraveled, bit by bit, releasing gusts of cold air, as
Ranma's blast tore through it, and eventually, into Natsume and Kurumi
themselves, who dove for cover just as it hit.

'Hey now, you're an All Star, get your game on, go play,'
'Hey now, you're a Rock Star, get the show on, get paid,'
'And all that glitters is gold,'
'Only shootin' stars, break the mold...'

"I'd say that's the end of that," Ryouga looked from where Ranma-chan
stood, hands on her hips, breathing slightly heavily, in front of
Akane, to where Kurumi and Natsume lay, barely getting to their feet.

"Is it?" Nabiki asked the two girls. Luckily, the Hiryu Shoten Ha had
obviously lost power as it tore through their attack, or else it would
have gone right into the house and torn half the structure up. Still,
the good fortune of it didn't dampen the harshness in her voice at the
two, which was really directed at all four of them. A lot of good
'winning' the dojo would be if they had to sleep in a destroyed house.

Looking up at her, Natsume seemed tempted to go another round,
exhausted though she already was. Kurumi, however, held up her hands,
and dropped her ribbon. She sighed, and turned to Ranma and Akane, "We
give up. Don't we, Natsume?"

The older girl hesitated for a few seconds, apparently considering
going another round, but eventually gave in.

"Yes... we do."

"Ha! I told you I'd win!" Ranma gave Soun, whose hysterics had died
down somewhat, a thumbs up.

"I'd say I won, too," Ryouga smirked, "You owe me..."

"Ah," Nabiki cut him off with a smile, "But we didn't discuss or agree
on any payment plans, Ryo-kun. I think I'll pay mine in one hundred
and fifty monthly installments over the next twelve and a half years."

"Unbelievable," Ryouga shook his head, leaning heavily on the wall for
support.

'Somebody once asked could I spare some change for gas,'
'I need to get myself away from this place,'
'I said yep, what a concept, I could use a little fuel myself,'
'And we could all use a little change..."

"Off you go," he put the player on 'stop' and looked around. Natsume
was fuming, and so was Akane, who really hadn't played a part in
Ranma's victory at all, Kurumi looked anxious (and hungry, but she
always looked hungry), and Ranma-chan was bragging to a slowly weeping
Soun and proud looking Genma. Nabiki was thinking about something, he
couldn't tell what, and Kasumi was looking worriedly at the mess in
the dojo, her lips barely moving and obviously mentally going over all
the work she'd have in store for her in the immediate future. It
suddenly occurred to the lost boy that nothing had been resolved at
all over the last few minutes.

"Nothing at all," he mouthed, and locked eyes with Nabiki. By her
expression, she had obviously realized the same thing.

Wonderful.

    Getting away never seemed like a better idea.

***

Cologne was not oblivious to the world around her.

Not hardly.

She was aware.

More importantly, she was amused. Watching Shampoo take care of the
restaurant, and a lull in the cooking freeing up some time, allowed
her a moment to sit back and muse. Her time in Japan was moving ever
closer to running out - there had never been an intention to move
here, only for a year or two. ...Only as long as it took to deal with
things.

Like Shan Pu, and her disgrace.

When she had returned, the girl had been wise enough to keep her story
to herself and go straight to her matriarch, and together they had
easily kept it under wraps. When Cologne had heard her story, she had
been more surprised than anything. That Shampoo hadn't even realized
her quarry was actually a man until it was too late was vexing, as was
the fact that she was so martially outclassed. The latter had been
more vexing, really, given Shampoo's projected future status in the
tribe as one of their 'preferred daughters.'

It had also complicated matters.

An outsider male hadn't been brought into the tribe in well over a
decade, and hadn't stayed with the tribe in over twice as long. The
current crop of Amazon males had been more disappointing than ever
before, and Amazon leadership had been obviously stagnating in their
isolation and apathy. It was a good opportunity to both evaluate the
outsider male as an addition to the tribe, get to see Japan, which she
hadn't been to before, disappointingly enough, and be away from the
whining Elders of the Joketsuzoku, her infuriating rivals, and the
multitudes of unworthy children mobbing her for training.

So she had come to Japan.

Within months, she had gotten a good look at Saotome Ranma - he was an
unusually strong male, in more ways than one, and he also wasn't very
cooperative, and while easy enough to trick and deceive, he was
altogether impossible to *mold.*  While it would, indeed, have been
nice if he joined the tribe as Shampoo's groom, it was not of
paramount importance. He was far too interested in the perfection of
his Art, and in being manly... he was too Japanese, and too set in his
ways to mesh with Amazon life, even if no one would have expected him
to conform to Amazon male norms.

But he brought an element of ...fun to the world that Cologne hadn't
seen in some time. Dealing with him, and the situations in Nerima, was
a constant form of entertainment, and at her age, entertainment was
more precious than jewels. Additionally, there was the prospect that
he could keep Happosai busy enough for her to get back some of the
more important Amazon treasures he had in his perverted possession.

Then she ran across Ranma's rival, one Hibiki Ryouga. He was, in many
ways, Ranma's complete opposite. Lonely and starved for affection, not
only was he easy to trick and deceive, but he could be well molded.
He, like Ranma, was obsessed by the Art, and being 'the best,' or more
accurately, simply beating Ranma... he was a far better choice for
Shampoo, and for life among the Joketsuzoku Amazons. Physically, he
was impressive as well, though the direction problem was a major
one... he had been looking perfect for the part, until she looked more
deeply into his family history, improving what she had heard of the
Hibikis, with what was documented and rumored.

It had changed her mind quickly enough.

If Shampoo had married him, and brought him back, the potential uproar
and split among the Amazons could have been the most devastating thing
centuries. Plus, he was far less entertaining, she found, and had
apparently settled in with the middle Tendo girl, an intelligent,
though somewhat humdrum, prospect. Cologne really wondered if it would
work out in the long term - Hibiki was a wanderer, his family and his
nature wasn't one to be tied down. Then there were the consequences of
being involved with him...

Shaking her head, Cologne sighed, and saw someone new opened the door
and walk in - a young girl, around Shampoo's age, but no one she knew.
For a moment Cologne imagined she was a martial artist, and a good
fight might break out, but the girl was no martial artist, though she
was obviously fit and athletic. No longer really interested, she moved
onto something new, knowing that a new order would be needed soon
enough.

Why was she here, aside from her own amusement, and as a well deserved
and well earned vacation? She had already found a rival for Shampoo,
in Ukyou, and shown her that she was far from the best that she could
be... which had always been one of her goals, and she had introduced
Shampoo to taking the initiative in trying to 'catch' Ranma, and given
her the opportunity to try the same with Ryouga, though apparently
Shampoo never got up the nerve to break the only true friendship she
ever had with a male besides, in a way, Mousse.

Cologne now knew that was for the best - a casual friendship with the
Hibiki boy, and by extension, his family line, could be beneficial.
The fact that Shampoo's 'marriage claim' to being beaten by Ranma
could easily be contested and shot down in an Amazon Court, if need
be, meant that she could avoid disgrace when the young man was finally
cured, and the pigtailed girl no longer 'existed.' They would then
return home, Cologne more relaxed, and Shampoo wiser... and with a
handful of recovered Amazon artifacts, and outside contacts and
allies, the perfect thing to catapult her great granddaughter's
position within the tribe from being simply a great warrior, to a true
leader.

"Why is she smiling?" Shampoo thought to herself, noticing Cologne
wore an unusual smile, before turning to her new customer, "Nihao!
Welcome to Nekohanten! My name is Shampoo, what can ...I get for you?"

Better. That sounded much better. Her practice and study was obviously
paying off. The young woman looked at her menu, and for a moment, her
nose wrinkled up.

"There problem?" The Amazon prompted, her language skills slipping a
bit.

"Oh... no, just looked over some ...pork selections."

"You no... you don't like pork?"

"I'd never eat it, no," the girl tucked a few strands of bright pink
hair behind her left ear, "The Vegetarian Ramen looks real nice. I
think I'll have that. And a cold water... with lemon."

"Okay!" Shampoo beamed, putting on her best customer-face, "I'll be
back with your food very soon!"

"Thanks," Unryu Akari watched her go, before leaning forward and
resuming her depression, on cue. She thought back to her aging
grandfather, and wondered whether following his advice was really the
best course of action. It had been fun, really, for a while, but also
very depressing in and of itself. Katsunishiki was unusually powerful,
and for the last few months, she had nearly given up on finding a
human fighter good enough to beat him in fair combat.

Then, she'd read a short story in the newspaper about Nerima, and a
large 'martial arts duel' that apparently did a good deal of damage to
the area. It was only a hunch, really, from a small article, but it
was the best lead she'd had on someone good enough to beat
Katsunishiki, so she went for it. Furinkan High School seemed the best
place to start, unless she ended up having to resort to finding a much
older man. Unfortunately, Katsunishiki had made quick work of several
groups of students, before a girl there set her up with a name and a
phone number.

She'd ended up talking to someone named Tendo Nabiki, who had the real
information on all the local Martial Artists. It'd been expensive,
really, paying through middlemen (middlewomen, actually), but the
information had been a great boon and a timesaver. Looking down at the
table, she slowly opened a small letter, and read it over for the
hundredth time.

"Dear Sir, I love you. Please go out with me. It's love at first
sight," she shook her head as she read. It was far too corny to ever
work. Still, information in hand, she decided to systematically go
through the list of available Nerima martial artists until someone
beat Katsunishiki. It seemed like a real good idea at the time.

First had been a guy names 'Mu Tzu' or 'Mousse' who was supposedly
very good, and not seriously seeing anyone anymore (though that was
sort of iffy). She also remembered the name, because he'd dropped by
her farm a while back and purchased a small piglet for someone. But he
wasn't forecasted to be back from China anytime in the indefinite
future, so she decided to keep trying for those actually around. There
was a slightly older man, one 'Dr. Tofu Ono' who worked at a local
Clinic, and skilled in Shiatsu and a number of similar things. There
was also another guy, from another school, named Sanzenin Midako, and
another person named Picolet Chardin the Second. She managed to find
both of them, but unfortunately (or fortunately) Katsunishiki dealt
with both of them fairly soundly. Another guy names Tsubasa had
actually attacked Katsunishiki, and subsequently gotten beat down
pretty badly. Next had been one Kuno Tatewaki ...

Akari groaned, and didn't even notice Shampoo come with the food.

"That was fast," she checked the clock on the wall opposite her, "Very
fast."

"Great grandmother cook very fast," Shampoo put the steaming bowl of
Ramen down with a cold glass of ice water, coupled with a single slice
of lemon.

"She's your great grandmother?" Akari looked at the old woman at the
counter, "How old is she?"

"Great grandmother is... three hundred and something. I'm not too sure
how old she is," Shampoo barely caught herself from reverting back to
third person.

"Are you serious? Over three hundred years old?"

"Great grandmother powerful Amazon. Very strong," Shampoo beamed with
pride.

"Amazons... you mean like er... Mousse?"

"You know stupid Mousse?"

"Well, I heard a little about him," Akari blushed a bit, "I, uh...
kind of came to Nerima looking for a... er... boyfriend."

"Many boys in Nerima... many boys everywhere."

"Yes, but I need one that can beat Katsunishiki in combat. He's my
family's fourteenth generation champion Sumo Pig."

"Sumo Pig?" Shampoo seemed incredulous, and looked around, making sure
there weren't any new or demanding customers (there weren't too many
in at the moment anyway) before sitting down for a bit.

"Sumo Pig," Akari nodded gravely, "About two meters tall at the
shoulder, maybe four and a half meters from snout to tail... last time
we weighted him, he was about three thousand five hundred kilos."

Shampoo's eyes were a fair bit larger than before.

"Three thousand five hundred kilograms?!" she whispered, in awe.
That's as large as a small elephant!

"Yep. He's big, even for a champion Sumo Pig."

"So... if strong man beat Pig, then you he become your groom?"

"Basically," Akari took a quick sip of the ice water, and savored the
relaxing chill of it.

"Shampoo... My village has a similar tradition. If one of our warrior
women is beaten in combat by a man, she much give him a Kiss of
Marriage, and make him her groom."

"Well?" Akari probed, curious, "Were you beaten?"

Shampoo was a little slow to answer, "Yes... there many very strong
men here. Two of them beat Shampoo."

"Which ones?" Akari asked, wondering whether she had missed a few on
the list that Tendo girl had given her.

"One named Saotome Ranma. Other one named Hibiki Ryouga. Two strongest
males... men in Nerima."

"Really? Are they...?"

"Tendo girls have them," Shampoo almost growled, but it was enough for
Akari to pick up.

"Tendos? That would explain why..." she trailed off, "Do you know
someone named Kuno Tatewaki?"

"Stupid stick boy?"

"Er... yeah. You could call him that. Delusional arrogant stick boy
would work, too," Akari sighed, "Looks like your Great grandmother
wants to talk to you, Shampoo."

"Huh?" the Chinese girl turned around, and saw Cologne right next to
their booth, perfectly balanced on her cane as always.

"We have to discuss something," the old (ancient) woman scowled, her
tone leaving no room for argument. Shampoo nodded and got up,
following her to the back of the restaurant.

"Thanks!" Akari called out, and Shampoo looked over her shoulder
quickly, acknowledging that she'd heard her. Turning back to the food,
Unryu Akari smiled. In the back, Cologne faced her great
granddaughter.

"Am I in...?"

"No," Cologne cut her off, "And yes. I just got a call from the
village."

"Mousse?" Shampoo guessed.

Cologne nodded, slowly, "It seems... they need someone to track him
down. The Elders want you to do it, and I agreed."

Shampoo scoffed, "Why would anyone want to find Mousse?"

"Because," Cologne seemed to search for the words, "Because..."

***

"There's our little spy! You look a little worse for wear, too."

The cloaked man threw back his hood, revealing a broad smile and two
prominent canine teeth. In the cold wind, his ponytail whipped up
wildly. He clasped his newly met companion on the shoulder, and gave
him a vigorous shake.

"Yes, well," Pantyhose Taro shrugged off the man's hand, his arms
defiantly crossed, "I had a little... run in with some people."

"Military?"

Taro laughed, "Not at all! Just some losers."

"Yeah, well, it looks like one of those losers tagged you pretty
badly."

Sumac reached up and pointed to the side of his face. Taro scowled,
and ran his own hand down the side of his face, along the jagged scar
that ran from just above the side of his right temple, past the side
of his eye, and down his cheek. He then snarled, and pulled his hand
back.

"I let my guard down," Taro said no more on the subject, "It was
personal business anyway, of no real concern to you, or anyone else."

"You did, I trust, find what you were sent for?"

"The artifacts are where they're supposed to be. I've got the list
tucked away safe and sound."

"Where?"

"In here," Taro tapped the side of his head, "Photographic memory,
remember?"

"Yes, yes," Sumac chuckled, "We're all very impressed."

"You should be," Taro grumbled, and then spoke up a bit more, "Things
are progressing...?"

"On schedule. All you need to do is play your part in things," Sumac
closed his eyes briefly as they walked up the path, "Lord Herb seems
quite anxious to hear your report on the Joketsuzoku and the outside
world."

"Well... my beloved half brother will have to wait," Taro snorted, "I
intent to eat first, and talk later."

"Your choice. I wouldn't keep him waiting too long, though. His new
pet woman has been frustrating him of late... and when he is
frustrated, Lord Herb gets... edgy."

"Che," Taro tone dismissed the threat, "As if I care... wait. Pet
woman? When was this?"

Sumac frowned and looked into the distance, "A minor thing. She won't
get in the way."

"She had best not," Taro smiled after a few seconds.

"Lychee is keeping her occupied, among others."

"Lychee!" Taro gasped in recognition, "I almost forgot about the
meeting! How did it go?"

"Quite well, from what I heard. Plans are already underway, the
armories have been opened, and the Smithing fires stoked... Togenkyou
is soon to be in the process of shipping men and material, handled by
The Society, of course, while at least a few, if not all, of the Lucky
Gods will be participating as well."

"A few? Prince Kirin cannot be allowed to sit on the sidelines! Wasn't
Lychee...?"

"Let the woman work, Pantyhose. She knows her job."

 "Don't call me that, Sumac. I'm warning you..."

The Wolf Musk held up his hands innocently.

"I had to say it. At least once."

Taro's frown returned in force, "Its bad enough I have to take abuse
from Herb, I don't need it from you, too."

The two men d trekked up the mountain, through a pass, and progressed
up the slope, as it steady defined into steps, until they came to the
heavy wood and iron doors of the Musk fortress. Pausing at it, Taro
looked up and around the great keep, some obvious anxiousness holding
him at bay. Putting his hand to the door, and knocking soundly, he
turned to his companion.

"You and your friends had better not be double crossing me, Sumac."

"Really, Taro... you should know better," the man smiled back,
amiably, "If you can't trust us, who can you?"

"Sumac... you don't want me as an enemy..."

"Taro... Taro! Put your mind at ease," The Musk warrior leaned in
closer, "Everything is going... flawlessly. In a few weeks time, the
Phoenix Tribe will be broken and beaten beyond recovery, the
Joketsuzoku will be nothing more than a smoldering ash pile of a
village, its people finally dealt with... We'll be top dogs again,
Taro. Think about that."

"My name..." he insisted.

"Such a little thing," Sumac 'hmfed,' "But that too."

The great doors opened, and the two entered.





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