“Well,” said Keitaro, “I believe this is a first.”
“How d’ya mean?” asked Sarah.
“Do you recall a previous instance where Su and Shinobu teleported, leaving behind a martial artist who’s staying here until he gets over his gender-changing hiccups?”
The American girl considered this. “Not the part with the hiccups. At least, not off the top of my head.”
“I’m so glad I’m not borin’ ya.” The aforementioned martial artist sighed, hiccupped, and readjusted his suddenly larger frame on the chair. “Y’ sure y’ve tried every hiccup cure y’ could think of, Keitaro-san?”
“Well, everything except one of Motoko’s more esoteric concoctions or one of Su’s inventions.” The landlord shuddered a bit. “Believe me, you’re better off without them.”
“Yeah, well—” Ranma’s reply was cut short by a loud thump from above. “Th’ crap was that!?”
Keitaro blanched. “One of the girls… Come on!” He dashed towards the sound, Ranma following. Sarah shrugged and tagged along.
The sound was quickly determined to have come from Kitsune’s room. ‘This can’t be good,’ Keitaro thought nervously. ‘She’s been locked in there for hours. She’s either passed out from alcohol poisoning, or she just woke up to a nasty growing hangover.’ Prepared for the worst, the ex-ronin unlocked and slid open the door.
He was promptly trampled by a wild-eyed Konatsu, who was looking significantly worse for the wear. The disheveled ninja saw Ranma and promptly hid behind him. “Ranma-sama!” he cried, “Protect me from this insatiable succubus!”
Ranma’s reply was a hiccup. Konatsu paused briefly to process this new turn of events and came to what he felt was a reasonable conclusion. “I’m doomed!” The male kunoichi leapt over the second floor guardrail and vanished into the night.
There was a brief silence, broken by Sarah. “OK…What the hell was that?”
“I think it was one of my friend,” Ranma replied hesitantly.
The two girls considered this. “We should probably go check on Kitsune,” decided the small blonde.
Ranma was quick to agree. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best."
Eris smirked as she worked the scrying pool. “I can’t believe no one’s noticed this yet,” she gushed. “Well, I’m certainly not going to ignore an opportunity like this.” The image focused on an old, ornate, and rather dilapidated building. “Time to liven things up a little.” The Senshi of Chaos chuckled ominously as she vanished from the pocket dimension.
Several time zones away and hours after Konatsu’s flight from the Hinata Sou, Haruka (Ten’ou) looked about her surroundings. “So this is the Smithsonian.” There was a brief pause. “I’m bored. Anyone else bored?”
“No,” responded Ami, examining ancient healing talismans.
“No,” said Setsuna, smirking at dating inaccuracies only she knew about.
“No,” answered Hotaru from in front of a calendar wheel three times her height.
“No,” breathed Michiru, enraptured by the legacies of long dead goldsmiths.
There was distinct lack of a fifth no. “Where’s Motoko?”
“She fell behind in that Japanese arms and armor exhibit,” Setsuna replied absently, fighting the urge to take a Sharpie to a particularly flagrant inaccuracy.
“Well I’m getting her and finding the Amulet,” declared the Senshi of Uranus. “Coming, Michiru?”
“Eh?” The baubles still held the turquoise-coifed woman’s gaze.
Dreading the potential consequences of a disgruntled Haruka left alone in a museum filled with expensive, irreplaceable artifacts, Hotaru piped up. “I’ll go with you-, Haruka-papa.”
The blonde grinned and ruffled her adopted daughter's hair. “Well, good to see someone here loves me.” The two Outers made for the Japanese exhibit.
Meanwhile, the occasional squeak of ink-soaked felt on acrylic could be heard near Setsuna.
Ukyo sighed. She felt like she’d been everywhere in this stupid town but the one place she actually wanted to be. Who was she, Ryoga? She was beginning to consider the possibility of maybe giving up at some point when her cell rang. “Moshi-moshi.”
The chef winced as she held the phone out at arm’s length. She’d been fairly certain the speaker wasn’t on. “Konatsu? Where have you been?”
“In the den of a beast most foul, Ukyo-sama. I…I fear I shall never feel truly clean ever again.”
Ukyo considered her employee’s relatives. Anything that could skeeze out someone who’d lived with those gorgons for so long would likely leave mile-long mental scars on lesser minds. “What was it?”
Konatsu condensed several hours spent with an inebriated, amorous Konno Mitsune in a single, entirely accurate word: “Unspeakable.” He continued, “I am retreating to the Ucchan’s. I entreat you to follow suit, Ukyo-sama.”
“Was Ranma there?”
“Please, Ukyo-sama.” Even over the phone, Konatsu sounded on the verge of tears. “Ranma-sama can be attained at other times, by other means. To subject your august personage to—”
“Konatsu. Was. Ranma. There?”
Despite his attitude and attire, Konatsu was still male. The tone of voice Ukyo used grabbed the unfortunate cross-dresser by the gonads and the midbrain and made it perfectly clear that his only option was compliance. “Y-yes, Ukyo-sama.”
“That’s all I need to know.”
Konatsu waited. The dial tone was soon audible. He hung up. “May the gods forgive me.”
“Phreeow.” Sarah held her nose to ward off the pervasive smell of alcohol that oozed out of the room.
Ranma had his back to the miasmic chamber, not out of any symbolic display of disgust, but because Kitsune was sprawled on the floor, clothed only in an open robe.
Keitaro, who’d rapidly recovered from his earlier trampling, closed said robe and carried Kitsune to her futon in as tactful, courteous, and Platonic a manner as was possible. As he shut the door, he shook his head. “I have to apologize for Kitsune. Normally she isn’t at all like this anymore, but lately she has a tendency to overdo it every time she drinks.”
Ranma waved off the apology. “Don’ worry ‘bout it. ‘s not like it’s the first time I saw someone who overdid it.” Though the thought of Oyagi spread-eagled like that… The gir“hic”boy shuddered.
“Well, I dunno about you two, but I’m going to bed,” proclaimed Sarah. “G’night.”
“I guess it is getting’ kinda late,” Ranma conceded. “I should prob’ly find somewhere ta camp.”
Keitaro briefly considered offering Naru’s room, but quickly cut off that line of thought. Knowing his luck and his fiancée, Naru would return unannounced, discover a young, buxom redhead in her bed, and proceed to beat the crap out of the one she believed to be responsible, i.e., him. “You can stay in Motoko’s room tonight,” decided the landlord.
“Y’ sure it won’t be a problem?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Keitaro said reassuringly. “Consider my thanks for all you’ve done for us.”
Ranma bowed deeply. “Domo arigato, Urashima-san.” The effect was spoiled a bit by the hiccup in the middle.
The ex-ronin sighed. Well, that seemed to be taken care of. Now to run down his mental nightly to-do list for closing up the dorm. He wandered back to the foyer as he did so, the presence of another slowly dawning on him. “Oh, hello sir. How may I—”
A handful of throwing spatulas pinned him to a wall. Understandably, this cut short his greeting. A similar, scaled-up cooking implement was pressed against his throat. The wielder of said battle spat barked out, “Where is Ranma Saotome?”
“What the hell are you—” The protest was cut off as the razor edge of the larger spatula was pressed into the landlord’s neck. A thin line of blood began to run.
“I’m asking the questions,” said the captor. “Now, are you going to tell me where the man I’m looking for is, or am I going to have to tear this place apart until I find him?”
Keitaro wasn’t certain if his nigh-invulnerability would allow him to survive decapitation, and he was in no mood to find out. “Room 302,” he croaked.
His assailant nodded and withdrew the massive utensil. “Smart man.” The weapon was holstered and Keitaro was left to his own devices.
He sighed as he pulled his arms through his shirt and began undoing the buttons from inside. Really, why did these people have to nail him to walls? All it did was ruin his clothes and the drywall. If they wanted to keep him immobile, they could at least take the time and consideration to tie him up.
Back at the Urashima family confectionary, Kanako sneezed.
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(Posted Fri, 22 Feb 2008 05:43)
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