Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ The Revolution ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from any anime series found within this Ranma 1/2 - Mystery crossover. Ranma and the other series (you'll find out what it is in the next chapter) both are licensed by Viz Media in America and are copyright their respective owners.

 

The Revolution

Chapter Three

By Dr. Suekeiichi Kaiton

 

It started raining once she walked out of the train station, a heavy drenching rain, cold and sharp, that cut through her clothing and stun the skin. She'd neglected to bring an umbrella so she had little choice but to walk home in the rain. It really wasn't all that bad, inconvenient sure, but bad? No, it was just water…just water. Somehow, water always reminded her of death. Not the dark figure with a cloak and scythe, but the true face of random death: oblivion. The rain made her shirt cling to her skin, tracing the raised disks of her aureoles against the dark purple stripes of the fabric. She didn't care.

 

Passing vendors and stores she entered her apartment building through the back and walked up the rickety stairs to the second floor. The stairs were worn in the middle despite being made of metal, and creaked with her weight with a chorus of rusted bolts and loose screws. A smell of curry and chicken drifted up from the Indian restaurant below, filling the air with a thick stench that seemed visible in the dim flickering light of the hall. It was really smoke coming from the apartment next door but who was she to tell the guy his cigars were cheaper than a 100-yen hooker? It wasn't like she even spent that much time at the place anyway.

 

The lock stuck and she'd already lost three keys to the faulty tumbler so it was with extreme caution that she inserted her key and pressed gingerly against the pins. Luckily the lock turned and her metal door opened with the cry of the un-oiled. She ignored the rising pile of advertisements littering her foyer and unlaced her boots. It was noon and she was due in at one-thirty. Plenty of time to bathe and get dressed.

 

She stripped like one who was alone, without concern for modesty or where her clothes fell, just with a desire to be nude and in the furo. The place was a dump with empty cartons of takeout and scummy used condoms littering the floor from the last time she and Ranma had slept there. The futon was exactly as they'd left it nearly a month ago, the sheet stained with a smear of her menstrual blood and the bloody condom wrapped haphazardly in a white tissue. She really didn't understand why she hadn't insisted he leave, she knew she was due to start her period but she just couldn't tell him to beat it, literally, and so ended up knowing that the slickness of the condom was more than just her excitement. The sight of her own blood sickened her. She couldn't stand it when she bled, it was the reason why she refused to see him during her time of the month, she knew that he'd just except her fear and try to help her but she didn't want help, she wanted to fear and hate her monthlies.

 

As much as she enjoyed Ranma's company she knew she didn't deserve his love and devotion. At least not in the way he expressed it, no, she needed to stay alone and aloof - she didn't want commitment, she just wanted occasional warmth. Of course their relationship had, like all relationships, moved in unexpected directions and she genuinely felt for Ranma.

 

Collecting her bath supplies she entered the bathroom and pulled a towel from the rack. Sitting on the rubbery plastic stool she shampooed and conditioned before rinsing with cold water. She smiled at the thought of Ranma changing. It was kind of their unspoken agreement that he wouldn't ask about her scars and she wouldn't ask about his curse. It really wasn't all that spectacular a magic effect after all, she'd seen better, it was just a change in gross anatomy; it didn't change how he felt or thought.

 

Ena sunk into the furo and sighed as the warm water eased her sore thighs. She really didn't understand why she'd reacted so violently to Ranma's overtures, it was only a rose - it wasn't a ring or anything…

 

A rose…

 

She shook her head and ran her hands through her short hair. It was beginning to get a bit too long in the back; maybe she'd have Ranma cut it for her. Why was she so afraid of a little understanding? Why was she afraid of roses? Well, she knew the reasons but she didn't understand why the reactions hadn't lessened with time - everything seemed so fresh just like it'd happened yesterday. Roses brought pain, or so her body thought since she couldn't see a rose without feeling the slightest pinch deep within her soul. She idly traced the latticework of scars with a finger, running from a slit across her collarbone down to her navel. She was a shattered porcelain doll haphazardly glued back together.

 

Next door she could hear the overweight otaku screwing his blowup doll. His hoarse groans punctuated by the high-pitched squeaks of rubber. Pathetic, how had she ended up living in such a squalid, filthy place? She deserved better, why, she deserved to be nobility! She - Ena shook her head free of such thoughts and wiped her brow with a facecloth. The otaku cried out in a painful-sounding orgasm simultaneously with a particularly long squeak of the doll.

 

She rose from the furo and dried, wrapping the towel around her waist as she walked to the dresser and pulled out a clean pair of panties. She looked down at the abstract pattern created by scar-tissue running through her trimmed strip of pubic hair; it formed a leaning `T' against her pink hairs with a perpendicular vertical line running to the top of her sheath. She was thankful she couldn't remember the pain. Not anymore.

 

Black slacks and a turtleneck sweater later she was ready to head out. Sitting by the door and lacing her boots she read the errant adverts strewn across her floor. Nails, hair, a second-hand boutique, cram schools, escorts, dial-a-dates, and one oddly colored blue flyer which simply said `Floral Arrangements by A' followed by a number. Shaking her head at the odd note she grabbed her wallet and cell phone before leaving.

 

Outside, the otaku was putting out a small opaque white plastic rubbish bag while wiping his hands on his already stained jeans. She ignored his lecherous greeting and galloped down the stairs hoping against hope she could make it out the door before the landlord heard the sound of her platforms on the metal steps.

 

“Miss Ena!” The landlord was an older man, bald, who had a fat wife and an even fatter son. Ena didn't like him and he didn't like her but the rent was cheap and she always paid on time. Personally, she thought he didn't like her because she was only sixteen and living alone. “Miss Ena what have I told you about playing your music too loud?”

 

“I haven't even been here the past few days, Narita-san, ask Dumbo next door.” `Dumbo' was the otaku's nickname around the building since he had larger than average ears and a long droopy nose.

 

“I could have sworn I heard it coming from your apartment, young lady.”

 

Ena smiled and started moving past him. “Got the wrong guy, Narita-san, gotta go!”

 

The walk to the store was uneventful. The rain had stopped at some point during her bath and left the air clammy and cold. Dark Designs was open when she arrived, Sara having put out Ai's latest creations and was in the process of cleaning the display cases when Ena walked in the door.

 

“Good afternoon, sempai.”

 

“Hi, Sara, how has it been so far?” She hung her coat in back and stamped the flecks of leaf and sand from the bottom of her boots.

 

“Slow as usual.” Sara brushed back her blonde hair and put the bottle of glass cleaner back under the counter.

 

“Not what I want to hear but okay. You can go now.” Ena pulled on an apron and tied the cord behind her back while Sara pulled hers off over her head. “Are you working tomorrow?”

 

“No, Saturday though after cram school.” She collected her purse from the backroom and waved goodbye. Ena waved back and took her place behind the counter.

 

It was going to be another boring day.