John Thomas—stop laughing, you Blue League bastards—looked on as yet another ‘Supremely Important’ memo was placed on his desk.
He was but an intermediary in the machine that was League bureaucracy. All he did was deal with decisions that were mostly null and void, simply applying the letter of the law where debate was no longer necessary.
A half-competent Bunny-type or even a moderately capable computer program could have done his job. It wasn’t as if one needed higher brain functions to understand ‘if Party B is no longer alive to contest Party A’s lawsuit, then Party A wins’.
Yep, depending on how his day had been going, John was either thankful they did or cursing the stupidity of humanity.
It was one of those moments where one could end up dealing with unsatisfied litigants.
“Oh, he’s dead? Well, all good for him, but how come I have to share evenly the proceeds with the other defendants in the lawsuit?”
The People v Pete Crankcase was one such matter. The man had apparently been killed by his cousin in prison, according to the most recent memo, followed by said cousin being killed by the prison guards as they tried to regain order in the prison. With that, and since the duo had no wills filed with the main bureau and no other living relatives, the property and everything else went to settle their debts.
And boy, did they have debts. The lawsuit alone would eat up nearly all of their capital.
Hmm, seems their property recently was burned down via Team Rocket, he thought, pulling up the file, wishing it wasn’t half an hour before quitting time. It wasn’t as if he was going to get any overtime. And he was already three cases behind what his supervisor insisted was their ‘target work production value’ for their cases dealt with.
Not that John cared, it was just a way for the ass-kissing peon to suck up and get a raise, promotion, or both. The budget-slashing weasel was too busy trying to get the few human women on staff to sleep with him to actually do his own share, which was often then passed on to those like John.
Like he didn’t have enough work to deal with already. Maybe I can get the bastard fired somehow…
Well, maybe later. I better get this case finished. I still got a few more cases to make my quota.
He pulled up the file and compared it to the most recent note. It was obvious that this ‘Ranma Saotome’ would receive a bulk of the profits and the two remaining pokégirls; a CharAmanda named Blowtorch and an Iron Maiden called Viceclamp. He had been the first to file a lawsuit. Moreover, according to several of the ‘dates of incidents’, most of the other lawsuits had elapsed the statute of limitations. As such, their desire for reparations would go unfulfilled. As far as he was concerned, it was just another example of frivolous lawsuits that clouded his desk day in and day out.
That didn’t count the ones who would drop their suits after they learned just whom Pete had been alleged to be running around with.
The fact said lawsuits even made it to his desk, when the limitation was six months and the event had happened five years ago with no reason to consider the original crime ongoing, was not too surprising. Special interests always found a way to keep loopholes open.
Well, those were cases he could now consider closed. In cases like this, the money and property went to the ones who filed their lawsuits on-time. If the others didn’t like it, then they should have filled better paperwork or at least sued earlier.
“Hmm, property burned down, not much of a land boom in Pewtit, which cuts the property value down a bit…
“Pokégirls are in decent shape, no scars or major diseases, no major DNA-tampering… That should raise their value.
“Loss of all equipment due to the fire… Major equity loss…”
“Wow, not much left to even hand over to the first claimant,” muttered John as he looked at the final tally. The requested amount wasn’t even half-satisfied with what remained. Property values weren’t exactly high for a developed property turned into a war zone, the building burned down, a fence wrecked, people dead, pokégirl biological covering it…
Shrugging, he simply filled in the name of the original plaintiff to receive the entire estate, including the two pokégirls. Hopefully the two weren’t that hung up on their old master.
At least the rejection letters to the other complainants would be fun to write. It was always the best part of the job.
That was the truth because he could always use his boss’s name. Let him do his job and deal with the public.
“Thank you, Mr. Saotome,” he said, finishing the file and realizing he still had enough time to at least start on another file. Being bitched at for missing the daily quota by one file was much better than being bitched at for missing it by two.
“Okay then, next case,” he muttered, pulling up the next file.
Bureaucracy waited for no man, especially one who actually did his job.
Closing the door, Nabiki released a breath she had been holding. “Well, that went well,” she muttered, turning back down the hall. This day was not likely to get any better.
She had just finished getting her own bath, not wanting to go to dinner with the possibility of smelling of sex. She realized it didn’t make any sense, but at dinner, she would be much closer to her little sister than she had been for the few minutes upon their return. The less chances they took with things that could possibly set Akane off, the better.
Nabiki took a steadying breath, trying to calm any and all fears her mind was calling up. Akane had a psychic pokégirl with semi-fanatical loyalty to her, if that afternoon’s first meeting was anything to go by. If push came to shove, she knew Ranko the Psidyke—not to be confused with the soon to be famous porn human-actress Ranko Saotome—would not hesitate to mind-scan them for dirty little secrets.
Moreover, if Akane learned about the fact that Ranma was ‘Taming’ more than just pokégirls or even Asrial…
No, they would have to confess soon, hopefully before Akane learned via other sources and while they were in an area too readily recorded to make a body disappear or at the very least where immediate medical attention could be brought.
Time was going to be a factor in many things soon. Ranma’s community service hours, Asrial’s public punishment, the lack of Starter Pokégirls for the Tendo sisters, Akane’s recovery time…
How long before Team Rocket sent someone for payback and possible retrieval of technology? They couldn’t let something that public go unanswered, even if they had other issues to worry about. Sooner or later, they would target the Nerima transplants and another confrontation would occur, and it would be doubtful it would be easy.
If they were lucky—a big if since the world was vaster than before—it might occur in or near a city where they could get help.
“Right,” she snorted quietly. “If they’re as bad as everyone says they are, what are the odds we won’t be hung out to dry by some paid off lackeys?”
Shaking her head, she knocked on the door to her pigtailed lover’s room, wanting to fetch him before dinner—and well before she even considered going to fetch Kasumi, let alone went to pick up Akane. Maybe I just need to have us all sit down together and discuss this. Stressing out won’t do me or anyone else any good.
Besides, we’re all in this together. So it would be best not to have people completely clueless.
And if Kasumi makes a suggestion for a weapon, I’ll know what to fear.
Her thoughts ended as the door opened, a smile growing on her face accompanied by a small blush as it revealed…
“Asrial?” asked Nabiki, blinking her eyes.
“Oh, hey Nabiki,” smiled the Salusian Princess. “Ranma’s just getting dressed.”
“My, he worked quickly,” smirked Nabiki.
“Oh? OH!” replied Asrial, blushing as the accusation. “No, he came to talk to me after meeting with his brother and Kasumi. He just forgot to put on … pants,” she said quietly.
Upon hearing that, Nabiki did what she felt the situation called for.
She laughed.
“Are you okay?” asked Asrial, watching as the middle Tendo sunk to her knees, holding her stomach as she laughed.
“Y-yeah,” snickered Nabiki, trying to reign in her laughter. “Y-you just don’t know h-how much I needed that.” Forcing herself to a standing position, she tried to focus, to move past the humor of Ranma walking down the hallway in a place filled with horny medical pokégirls, either in boxers or nude—boxers more likely as she doubted Kasumi in her current mindset would have walked away from a nude Ranma.
She devolved into a fit of laughter once again as the image reasserted itself in her mind’s eye.
“Glad I can provide that sort of reaction,” grumbled Ranma, fully dressed, as he appeared behind Asrial, swinging the door in a bit wider to allow him an unobstructed view of the laughing Tendo.
“S-sorry,” giggled Nabiki, standing up once again. “But you have to see the humor in it,” she continued. “I’m surprised a NurseJoy hasn’t jumped you for that.”
“Yeah, well, I guess they ain’t gotta,” he replied, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, from what little info we got, I know they’re included in the community I got to service.”
Nabiki blinked before she broke into a fit of giggles once more.
“Are you sure this is the right way, Master?” asked Assrial, as she and Jeremy slowly made their way through the headquarters.
“Do you hear it?”
“… No.”
“Then this is the right way,” quickly replied Jeremy, glad that at least the emergency illumination was a bit better than what had been in the lab.
The duo had been making their way about, trying to find an exit—after of course having found an area to clean up and change clothes. The altered Master Ball was worthless, the circuitry fried from both it escaping and Rocket’s attempt to get around the security protocols that were meant to prevent accidental release. What equipment remained intact or even powered within the labs were useless to create another Master Ball to try to recapture Wall-E.
Not that he had any plans to. Hell no; he wanted to get the hell out of this place, head back home, and beat the shit out of his employer. In fact, should this thing get public, he was going to ensure all information at the lab specifically said the dear Professor was the best to handle it. Jeremy would be busy working on new altered Master Balls in case it ever came after him again.
Well, that or some weapon that would fry the circuitry in it. However, he knew at least using the Ball worked.
“Master, I think I hear something?”
“Oh Thousand Gods,” whined Jeremy.
“No, not that,” replied Assrial, as she approached a closed door. “I think I hear trapped pokégirls.”
Sighing, Jeremy turned towards the door, noting the computer lock. Pulling off the panel with a twist of a small military knife he found, he looked at the wiring. “No real power except the backups,” he murmured, pulling out a small kit he had retrieved from his own gear. Working for a moment, he twisted the final wire into place.
“Okay, I routed some of the backup power to it.”
“But how will we get the code?” asked Assrial.
Smirking, Jeremy pointed to the “RESET” button on the back of the circuit board. “The Professor tended to lock himself out of his labs a lot. I had to learn about this stuff to get him back in.”
Assrial blinked at that. “He … forgot his own security codes.”
“Considering he replaces them with the same code, I always wonder how he forgets them,” said Jeremy, placing the face back on the panel. Pushing a few buttons and swiping a stolen library card from a dead guard, the door slowly opened.
“Please help us!” came a very familiar—dreadfully so—voice from inside, oddly from several directions.
“Ichikoo?” asked the duo.
Looking around in small cells were over a dozen pokégirls, no two the same type, most rare types, on either side of the room. Behind them at the far end was a larger room, the opening shielded by a large door made of translucent plastic, showing that power still existed in that room.
Access was going to be easy considering the small familiar hole in the front of the door, mirroring that from a nearby wall between two cells on their left side.
It had been through there.
“Woah,” said one of the pokégirls that resembled Ichikoo, the style making him think it might be a Pengal, spoke. “Asrial got fat.”
“I’M NOT FAT!” yelled Assrial.
“Hey, does Jeremy look older to you guys?” asked one of the Ichikoo that looked like a Titter.
“Yeah, it looks like the fatty gave him some crow’s feet,” replied a Kunimitsu.
“I did not give him crow’s feet!” yelled Assrial.
“She didn’t deny being a fatty this time,” replied a figure further back, the light dim enough where neither of them could identify which pokégirl she was.
“I’M NOT FAT!”
Jeremy just looked around. Are each of these cells holding a pokégirl Ichikoo? How did Rocket get her? Why would they even clone variants of her?
“Wow, the alien rescues us after getting fat,” muttered one Ichikoo in the back. “And those damn terrorists aged Jeremy in just a few days.”
“Bastards, all of them,” whined another Ichikoo. “First they torture us and then they turn us into animal girls!”
“This wouldn’t have happened if he had just married us and ditched her.”
“What the hell are you bitches talking about!?” yelled Assrial. “You were never supposed to marry Master! You were always working with Rivalsan!”
“… EWWWWWW!” cried the assembled girls at once.
“Master?”
“Wow, never knew Jeremy was into that kinky stuff.”
“Guess I should have brought my play toys over then when I moved.”
“Hey! Those are my toys, not some damned screw-up copy’s!”
“O~kay,” muttered Jeremy, looking around for anything to open the cells with. He didn’t know why Rocket had cloned Ichikoo, why the clones insisted they were supposed to marry him, or why this sudden disgust with Lendo—well, that wasn’t too hard, the time it took was a real surprise.
But they didn’t deserve this, especially with it running around. “Any of you know what’s in the other room?”
“Not really,” said the Pengal as Jeremy worked to open their cells. “Just that every time it opens, one of us would come out.”
Nodding, Jeremy finally found the releases and activated them, hoping that nothing bad would happen.
He was wrong.
Several of the Ichikoo clones tackled him, the ones in the rear of the block had gone to the remaining door, banging on it, trying to rip it open, calling for revenge.
“Hey! Get off my Master!” yelled Assrial.
“Master?”
“Guess she wasn’t joking.”
“Well, that would explain why I never got him.”
“Didn’t I just say that? You copies just don’t listen well, do you?”
“You? I’m the real Ichikoo!”
“No you’re not! I am! Tell them, Jeremy!”
“No, I am!”
“Honey, you need to lose a little weight.”
“Get off him before I fry your asses!” roared Assrial.
“We shouldn’t be yelling!” called Jeremy. “There’s something running around this base killing everyone! Do we really want it coming back!”
“It?”
“You mean that cute little thing?”
“Well, it did go through the walls.”
Assrial blinked. “We just saw that thing turn half a dozen Rocket thugs and grunts into puree and several more in the hallways.”
“Y-Yeah,” muttered Jeremy, as the pokégirl clones moved away enough for him to stand up. “And they fried the only thing that could stop him. So let’s get everyone, stop yelling, and run like hell!”
“Um … guys,” spoke one of the clones in the back, having opened the door enough to look in. “I think everyone is going to want to look at this!”
“AAAAAHHHHH! Kill it! Kill it!”
“NOOOOOOOAARRRGGHHH!”
“It got Kenny!”
“YOU BASTARD!”
The trio of two humans and one pokégirl huddled together, a dresser against the door, a bed overturned to provide them some cover and muffle the sound of gunfire and carnage in the outer hallway.
“Oddly, I feel a little sorry for them,” muttered Ichikoo.
“IT HAS MY LEG! HELP ME! HELP MEARRRRRRRRRCK!”
“Waalllllllll~Eeeeeeeee.”
“What the hell was that?” asked the vulpine pokégirl.
“I don’t think we want to know,” whimpered Jeremy.
The sound of gunfire rang for a few more seconds as another guard was heard yelling, before his yells of anger turned to yells of panic, a squashing and crunching sound was heard before the voice cut off abruptly.
“Waalllllllll~Eeeeeeeee.”
They huddled together closer, not saying a word, not looking at each other, trying to shut out the horror of what they were hearing, hoping that by being silent, whatever had caused the sounds of slaughter would leave them be.
The sound of breaking concrete reached their ears as whatever it was crashed through the wall, making them pull themselves tighter, hoping it would pass, praying to any deity they knew that whatever it was would pass them by without noticing or caring.
Their prayers were answered a few seconds later as it passed through another wall.
They waited another minute until the vulpine clone raised her head. “I … I think he’s gone.”
“He?” asked Ichikoo.
“He, she, it, whatever,” shrugged the pokégirl. “I just know we shouldn’t head the way it went.”
“So we should go into the hallway where the guards were slaughtered?”
“Would you rather go down the path of what slaughtered them?”
“… Point,” said Ichikoo. “Well, what now?”
“We grab what we can, get the hell out of here, and go look for Asrial,” replied Jeremy, adjusting his glasses while trying not to think of anything that might make him throw up.
The dead guards would be enough for that endeavor assuming the smell didn’t so him in first.
“The other DNA samples,” stated Ichikoo. “If that bearded bastard didn’t take them, we need to trash them.”
“Agreed,” said the vulpine pokégirl. “They shouldn’t be allowed to do what they did to me to anyone else.”
“Well, any idea how to get where they did that to you?” asked Jeremy, looking slightly nervous as he examined the holes. How could something so tiny be so deadly and indestructible?
“I-I think so,” said the pokégirl, clearly not wanting to recall such memories.
Nevertheless, by the honor of the Ichinohei clan, she would not let something like this happen to anyone else, or any other clones of her. “Um, out the door, down the hall, second left … I think.”
“And if we see whatever did that?” asked Jeremy, pointing to the hole in the wall and the bloody tracks.
“We run like hell,” replied Ichikoo as she poked her head out. “Um … don’t look right, Jeremy.”
“Let’s just get out of here and find Asrial,” sighed the human male. “What do we do if we run into any guards? From the way Gendo talked, he wouldn’t like us leaving.”
“Assuming they don’t have better things to worry about, just mimic that thing’s cry and hope they are smart enough to run away,” offered Ichikoo.
“Oh right, because these guys were the exception that proved the rule,” growled the pokégirl. “Assholes, got what they deserved and—ewww! I stepped in one!”
“I … I don’t think I ever wanted to hear that,” muttered Jeremy, pulling his shirt above his nose and going through the hole.
“So they failed,” growled Taro. “When do I go to clean up their mistake?” he asked with a smirk.
“You don’t,” stated Gendo from the computer screen. “Because of the scope of their failure, we cannot make any movements at this time. Those we could count on for support would be unable to assist us.”
Taro growled. They failed and he wasn’t going in!? “What the fuck?”
“You would be too high-profile,” stated Gendo. “Your methodology would further endanger our mission.”
“What mission?’ hissed Taro. “Those cunts were sent in to wipe out a storage depot.”
“The depot was destroyed, the technology and weapons discovered. It is already a failure.” Gendo closed his eyes for a moment. “A Level-S group has appeared there, containing individuals that I wish to capture alive and undamaged. Sending you for that would result is a failure, as you lack the subtly to complete the objective.”
Taro flexed his fists, wanting nothing more than to declare that his boss was misinformed. But it was true. Delicate missions like that weren’t his style. His tastes were more towards massive battles and blood spilt. The only thing that made his last mission even palatable was the fact the psychics had been able to give him control of Pete’s cousin so he could stab the fool.
Not as good as being there, but still enjoyable. That look of fear in Pete’s eyes, the moment he knew he was a dead man, the smell of blood in the air…
“So, who are these targets, so I don’t smear them later on?” he asked with a shark-like grin.
“That information is nothing you need to know at the moment,” Gendo replied. Not only did Taro not need to know it, but also the possibility of a pure human analog of someone Taro would gladly break orders to kill… No, that information would be kept secret for as long as possible.
Gendo would rather not kill such an asset if it could be avoided, at least until he had outlived his usefulness.
A blinking light on his display caught his attention. “One moment,” he stated, as the screen went blank.
Taro growled, dropping into his seat and putting his feet on the counter. “Shit, this is boring,” he sighed. Turning his head lightly, he wondered if any of those psychic sluts would put up a good fight; maybe even sense some good competition in the area. He felt the need to kill something, something that would give a good struggle back.
“Taro,” replied Gendo, coming back online. “Proceed immediately to Base 17. I just received an alert from them about an unknown attacker that is slaughtering the personnel.”
The assassin blinked at that. “I thought you were there.”
“I had items to take care at Base 4 that could not be delayed.” Not that the base number told Taro anything. He would only learn base numbers when it was needed.
Taro did not need to know where Base 4 was.
“Get there now, secure the base. Any humans located are to be captured, preferably undamaged, or I shall ensure you suffer for that failure.”
“So I can go rescue these ones but not capture those ones who fucked up the losers?” sneered Taro.
“Because this threat is listed as capable of handling all weapons used on it,” replied Gendo. “I would assume you would enjoy … dealing with it.”
“You heard the Boss, you worthless sluts! Base 17 now or it’ll be your hides!”
Taro continued smiling as he returned to his front seat. The chance to kill something so dangerous…
He never noticed the smile on Gendo’s face as the screen went dark.
The two women sat there, gaping at the now blank screen, having witnessed what they had wanted to see.
Nodoka was smiling in joy, having witnessed only a small sampling of her eldest son’s manly skills. She was glad that he didn’t copy any of his father’s bedroom moves—which meant no girl he ever bedded would be faking it. Hell, she knew some retired Tamers who couldn’t pull moves like that back in their prime.
Oh yes, she would need to watch the rest—for verification purposes, of course. But her son definitely deserved a reward! And if she could get him to take his younger brother under his arm, train him in his ways…
It brought a tear to her eye, the possible legacy that would create.
As Nodoka drifted off on daydreams of her sons both becoming Harem Masters, Tsunade’s mind was on a different tangent.
Despite the age difference, she had once slept with Ranma—as far as the law was concerned, old enough to Tame meant you were an adult in the eyes of the Law. True, she had been somewhat tipsy when said male had wooed her to the rented room, but her mind vividly recalled the events. She recalled every taste, touch, caress, and moan.
Compared to what she had seen on the video, this new Ranma had very little resemblance to his old style. Granted, it seemed to be a massive improvement, given the Peekabu’s reaction, not to mention the Salusian and the human girl’s own reactions. He was definitely fitter than before. She knew some guys who could run marathons, but would be put to shame with what was just displayed. True, both would adapt to the demands of their lovers, but the new Ranma was quicker at it, more skilled.
None of that made sense, given his story. How could he forget so much about his own past, but show such skill with bringing a woman to orgasm?
No, something wasn’t right. Jusenkyo didn’t make people into lovers of that quality.
It made them dead.
But why claim he had been in Jusenkyo? What more, why leave all his gear behind?
And why tell such a story to explain your absence?
Her mind dived into dozens of possibilities. Genma was easy to figure out. He probably owed someone some money, pissed off someone, and simply hoped a trail leading to those cursed grounds would make people think he was dead and gone. The fact Ranma’s pack had been found was a miracle.
Oh well, the fat fuck would probably surface, doing the same damn stuff.
But Ranma? He had been too independent to follow a plan like that. He would have struck out on his own.
So where had he been? Where would he have learned such skills, skills he couldn’t even admit he had gotten.
It couldn’t be, she thought, eyes wide.
A few years back, a rumor had been going about. It had stated that the Hidden Master of Nookie, Master Leep of the Leep School of Proper Lovin’, had been looking for an apprentice, someone to take his position and school over.
Leep was a legend. He was said to be a sexual master, capable of taking any woman or pokégirl to untold heights of pleasure. But he was more than that. He trained human women in the ways of sex, under the rule that they teach any male they had sex with to be somewhat better than before. It cut both ways, as the male would be forced to become a better lover, their ego not tolerating that they had been the first to pass out.
As such, it was why he and his students were despised and loved. It was a challenge to the status quo, a way of women to have power over men.
In fact, it was likely why some arranged marriages insisted the woman be a virgin—a Leep-trained woman would know her new hubby as much skill in the bedroom as a Tomboy in the kitchen—as well as some black-market bounties on his head.
Not that they had been collected. No one knew where he trained these women, how he chose them, or what his training consisted of. The information was removed from their minds, including his face or anything that could identify him. Some even thought it was just a conspiracy; that no real Leep existed. Hell, many ignored the rumor of his looking for a successor, because it always popped up every few years.
But what if the rumor was true? she wondered. What if those years he had been gone, Ranma was being trained by Leep?
It fit the known facts very well. Ranma would have had to abandon his gear, in case it could be tracked. Since no one knew how Leep trained, it could be seen that to make Ranma a future successor, it took that long to train him, perhaps undo some of the bad habits his father tried to instill in him.
But for the mind to be erased of so much? Perhaps Saotome had linked more of what he had known to the training, perhaps even figuring out where Leep was training people.
Maybe Saotome had done something wrong, and the lost memories were punishment for it.
Who could say?
She might inform him of her suspicions later. If people suspected he was a Leep-successor, he’d have more people after him than just Rocket—not just to kill him either. Hell, the Nurse Joys had already began to try and bribe her for a jockeying position on the list for Community Servicing.
Not to mention the other Civic Duty pokégirls trying to secure a top spot. A few were even inquiring about the proper procedures they should go through so that when they became pokéwomen, they could secure a chance to be bred by him.
She squeezed her own thighs together, trying to ignore her own thoughts on such matters—or the right to ‘test’ the Tamer to determine the proper schedule for him. As things stood, she’d be lucky to stand up from her chair without her pants sticking to the seat.
Taking a calming breath, she turned to the console and sent a request for dinner to be delivered there for them.
She did have her research to work on, after all. But so far, two things were certain.
One, his sentence wouldn’t last a month. It’d probably not even take two weeks with his stamina.
Two, those pokégirls were definitely going to leave their turns satisfied.
Akane lay in her bed, waiting for the Nurse Joy to finish her exam.
“Still tender,” I see,” the pokégirl responded sympathetically, checking the area where the cloned tissue met the original. Occasionally, she’d run some tool over the area, consulting a nearby monitor and humming.
“Not as bad as this morning,” Akane admitted.
“Mistress is a fast healer,” Ranko stated with a smile, holding Akane’s hand. Luckily, the male wasn’t there at the moment, allowing her to work herself deeper into Mistress Akane’s heart.
Granted, she was a bit confused by it. The male hadn’t immediately stated he loved Mistress, which made no sense. The lousy gender usually never hesitated to say the L-word, especially when it increased their chances of putting their vile flesh into the sacred temples of anything female.
Empty words; Ranko knew their meaning well, heard plenty of pokégirls bitch about some male saying those words, moaning about such lies.
To hear a male say them? Well, perhaps it was because he was half-girl, which could explain why he seemed to understand such things.
Shaking her head, she returned her attention to her Mistress. The woman had asked that Ranko try and be friends. He did have some small uses.
She’d never had so much food offered to her at a Pokécenter. At this rate, she’d be lucky to have any room for dinner, let alone any ‘extra’ that might happen tonight when her Mistress was bathed—she had already inquired about low-fat whipped cream, a little fruit, and whatever else would make certain that her Mistress would need a good scrubbing afterwards.
And during the night, when her new Mistress was sleeping, maybe Ranko would be able to peek into her mind and learn a few more things to help her quest to woo her away from the Dick-side.
“Well,” the Nurse Joy spoke, “it appears the tissue is integrating nicely, no sign of rejection. Blood-oxygen levels are in the green, kidney seems to be a bit slow, but that’s normal for these types of replacements. It should be up to full potential in a week or two.
“That said, please avoid anything taxing on them for a month. That includes drinking and certain sweet drinks. I’d prefer you have this new kidney running at full strength before even pressing it.
“I’m also recommending the staff start providing you with more liquids that help keep a kidney flushed, when offering you any more meals in here or if you go outside the room again.”
“Thank you,” Akane nodded with a smile. It was always a great relief to hear that it was okay. At times, she was fearful that her second chance, her chance to live her life and stop … worrying, being fearful, nervously letting her embarrassment run her life.
Maybe third chance was a better term. Her second had been after Saffron.
She didn’t want to wonder about how many chances she had left before she had no more.
No, from now on, she wouldn’t let her paranoia, her fear, rule her decisions. She had already taken a grand step forward a while ago, asking Ranma to help bathe her. Akane only hoped her nerves didn’t give out during that event, or that Ranma and Ranko could keep civil throughout the washing.
Luckily, it was still a few hours off; the nurses were giving her a quick checkup before they gathered for a meal.
And then…
“Well, I see no issues with you having a meal in the cafeteria tonight,” the nurse pokégirl finished, putting the equipment away. “Luckily, most of the males who had been here for the tests today already left for their journeys, wanting to get on the road and earn some cash.”
“Well, that’s good, I suppose,” Akane admitted. Hopefully, those that remained wouldn’t be hitting on her. She could still recall a few stares in the testing room, recall Nabiki’s explanations. It made her very glad that Ranma was there to protect them all, and now Ranko as well, to ensure those massive libido-led perverts stayed away.
At least, until she was strong enough to show them why she was the heir of the Tendo School of Anything Goes. There was a reason those hentai at Furinkan only tried to defeat her in the mornings in front of the school, and not the hallways or anywhere else.
“Now then, let’s get you in your chair,” the Nurse Joy said with a smile.
“Can I assist you in this, Mistress?” Ranko asked.
Akane gave her a slightly hooded gaze. “Can you do it without groping me?”
Ranko chuckled lightly. “ Don’t worry, Mistress, I’ll be gentle … mostly.”
Sighing at the response, Akane motioned for them to get ready. She was hungry, after all, and at times like now, she wanted to be closer to those she trusted.
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(Posted Tue, 16 Mar 2010 01:52)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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