Home. Now there was a word that had, in the past several days, taken on a much different meaning. Home was where her family lived. Home was the residence of her fiancé and his idiot father. And home was, by honor, the place where she would one day start her own family, with Ranma Saotome as her husband.
It didn’t feel like a home, though. In some ways, it felt like a museum. Her father, by not teaching classes and by not recovering emotionally from her mother’s death, was stuck in the past. Her elder sister, by taking over her mother’s place and forgoing her childhood, was caught in the past as well. And her younger sister, by never letting go of her anger, was another victim of the past: she seemed caught in a time when her temper might have been acceptable, as a child’s moodiness.
Even her fiancé’s father got in on the act, as he and her own father had spent most of their time on the porch, reminiscing about their training days, years ago.
Ranma himself was the only one who didn’t seem to follow the trend. He was definitely a man (or woman) of the moment. Nabiki found it strangely comforting.
Her associates, this morning, had questioned her about just whom the handsome boy she’d walked in with was. When she’d revealed that he was her fiancé, they immediately feigned disinterest. Nabiki knew this was only an act; she could tell that her two friends and partners were quite jealous. But once she’d explained the circumstances, it had mostly vanished. Nabiki knew that at least some of it would linger for a long while, perhaps for good.
As she thought about her fiancé, her thoughts naturally turned to the other Ranma. She’d been surprised that her Ranma had already known him; that was something she had not expected. The other Ranma...Yagami, she remembered...was an interesting character.
She’d gone to the library immediately after school, and did a net search on his name. What she’d found had disturbed her. The Yagami clan was feared and hated all over the country, and in fact the world. Ranma’s apparent father, Iori Yagami, was regarded as a madman and was also, according to records, the same man who had murdered at least a dozen innocent spectators at a martial arts tournament almost twenty years before. According to the newspaper accounts, Iori Yagami was not truly responsible for the killings, even though he did commit them. He had been driven into a possessed frenzy known as the Riot of the Blood. It was, apparently, something all members of his clan were susceptible to.
The entire history of the Yagami clan, she’d found, had been checkered by madness, hatred, grief, and death. The clan had few living members, as it had been engaged in a blood feud with the Kusanagi clan for many hundreds of years, well over a millennium in fact, according to some records. Iori Yagami was the current clan leader, which logically made Ranma Yagami the heir.
Kusanagi...now that name did ring a few bells. Could it be?
Nabiki decided against it. It was entirely too coincidental to be believable.
~_~
Dark clouds drifted across the sky. An angry, burning energy shifted and writhed; it was making its call, and when the energy called, it was **always** promptly answered.
~_~
The possessor of that energy forced himself to calm as he made his way up a different street altogether from Nabiki Tendou. Iori Yagami was a man seeking answers.
Contrary to widespread perception, Iori Yagami was not a man who threw himself forward solely with reckless abandon. There were times when planning was best and at those times, he kept back. Some situations were better handled with a bit of care.
He suspected this would be just such an example, as much as his instincts and his old self burned for the charge. If he could get out of this without killing anyone, at the very least, Ranma would be happier.
He found he had no anger at the thought. Years ago, before adopting the boy, he would have laughed like a madman at the thought of a child’s wishes causing him to temper his actions. Then he adopted Ranma, and began raising him in a way almost completely opposite, yet eerily familiar, to the way he had been. Where his father had “taught” him aggression, hatred, and rage; he had taught Ranma caution, emotional neutrality, and control. And for the most part Ranma had learned the lessons well. He was still a demon in battle - his blood ensured nothing less - but only when faced with an opponent who could take it. For people who couldn’t, he’d taught the boy - and in a way, himself - to throttle back.
Years ago, Iori would have had only hatred for this purpose, but now...he felt much closer to calm. Part of him still burned...but with any luck, he could keep it under control.
~_~
At a dojo across town, the dojo master stood as he finished his meditation. Years ago, he’d never have bothered, but time had worn on him also.
He’d long known things would eventually come to a head. It was an easy thing to anticipate; the question was when.
He felt the familiar approach with ease; his ki senses were acute and this signature was very distinctive.
With a casual ease that spoke of decades experience, the dojo master left the dojo and walked back to the house. He walked through the back door, and walked to the front. He opened the front door and walked out, to stand in the courtyard.
He thought about the nearly two decades since he last saw his imminent “special guest”. He wondered idly if there was any chance of this not being a war, and then laughed at the thought.
He surveyed the sky as he slowly moved ki through his body. It probably wouldn’t help him, but he wouldn’t go without at least **some** fight.
If he was to die this afternoon, and he suspected nothing less, he would do so on his own terms.
~_~
Iori Yagami quickened his pace, just slightly, as he crossed into the last mile. He felt a familiar twinge as ki gathered and cycled. Someone powerful was at the end of the mile, and quite obviously, his approach was expected.
As he rounded the bend at the end of the mile, and stepped onto the street that would lead up to the cul-de-sac, and the residence on its other side, he smiled as he recognized the ki signature. What he had heard was true.
He walked up to the cul-de-sac, and crossed over the paved street. He stopped about ten feet in front of the man, and stood.
For a few timeless moments, nothing moved.
The other man, his target of sorts, bowed formally. “Yagami. It has been a long time.”
Iori Yagami nodded. He would not normally have expected the bow, but he decided he liked the gesture, and thus duplicated it, before standing straight again. “That it has, Kusanagi.” He paused for a moment to breathe deeply. “That it has.”
And so two of the strongest warriors in all of Japan, two of the strongest in the world at that, watched each other without movement and tried to ready their minds for whatever end would come.
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(Posted Tue, 09 Mar 2004 17:02)
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