Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Memoirs of being in the Saddle ❯ The preparation ( Chapter 20 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

-=-=-=-

 

I hashed out the terms of the arrangement in front of her. How much debt was coming off (twice the cleaner's rate, half-hour increments), when and how often we'd do this (Only when there was no other work), and other things.

 

Things like this: "What happens if hot water hits me?"

- "Hmm, you're still Girl, and it's your problem. I'll carry a thermos, but you better have one too."

 

And: "Whaddya mean I can't wear this?" She gestured at her Classic Chinese ensemble. "What do I wear then?"

- "Those are Ranma's clothes, and you won't be Ranma after all. As for what, you said you had 'Girly' stuff right?" She nodded. "Well bring it all and sort it into two piles, what you will and won't wear. I'll pick something out." And collect the Won't side and see about sneaking bits of it in. Accidentally of course.

 

Naturally that lead to: "Whaddya mean you choose what I'll wear?" 

-"I'll put something together in a box and place it in the bathroom. You either wear it, or you come out as Ranma." My tone was adamant. "I told you that finding the boundaries will be hard. Once you've worn something once, we'll put it away and try the next and the next until we're out."

 

What she didn't ask: "What happens after I've gone through the things I'm willing to wear?"

She really should have asked that. 

I would have said. "Then I'm sure I'll find something else somewhere..."

 

-=-=-=-

 

Our trial run would be in a week. She brought things over in fits and spurts. I'd find little bundles inside the house by the back door.

 

All assembled it was quite a sight.

 

Ranma had many caches scattered around town in odd spots. Sometimes money, sometimes food, and often it was clothes. Girls clothes. 

 

I had wondered how Ranma was able to have a disguise set up so quickly when she needed it. And on such a lean budget. On a rooftop no less.

 

Spare clothes, makeup salvaged from the things that the Tendo's tossed out as well as around the school, nearly empty bottles of perfume, Ranma was a packrat. 

There was the "Yoiko's set", in a bag sloppily labeled as such; stockings, hair ties, girlish overalls, a striped shirt. Teeny plastic fangs snipped off what I think was a plastic Vampire Halloween mouthpiece. From the stories he had told me, this was what she wore when pretending to be Ryoga's little sister.

 

And there were so many other outfits. 

 

Both white and black matching miniskirts and halter tops was a surprise. That's waiting for a guy on a date stuff right there. On a street corner.

 

Only one bathing suit, aptly with 'Boy' written across it in English. I wasn't sure if she had more, or, that this was what she was willing to leave here.

 

Her outfit she wore in her figure skating fight, the pink leotard she wore against Kodachi, and then another one, and another, and soon I had everything she was willing to bring.

 

I took dumped everything into a large pile and I pointed to two large cardboard boxes. WILL on one, WON'T on the other in English. Pretty obvious. 

 

And I left her to that.

 

Half an hour later, Ranma was done. As I suspected, she didn't bring much for the Won't pile. On purpose, or had she already discarded everything deemed unsuitable?

No matter, I'd find things to fill it.

 

"Saturday?" I asked, aiming for two days away. "I have a half day scheduled, so in the evening."

 

"Yeah." She said, looking at the boxes, probably with the odd realization of what she had set in motion. "Saturday evening is fine."

 

Two days away.

 

-=-=-=-

 

Again, I must point out that I am glossing over a lot. There was times when Ranma was busy, or I was, and a week or two would pass without a meeting.

 

I still watched the daily Furinkan Battles, I still sat on the bench, even on the many days that Ranma wouldn't be there, I still listened to the gossip that the neighborhood shared, tallied the jobs they wanted done, and I still spent at least two nights a week either in the morning or the evening in the room across from the Tendos. 

 

And I had work. 

And I had people to destroy.

 

Apparently a 3 on the Jin scale meant a gentle banishment. Daisuke's dad got a promotion and had to move to a satellite branch of the business. It was to a little town, far to the north, where the snows can literally be measured by the yard. A little town called Monbetsu.

 

It was in fact a punishment, a punishment for a mistake he likely didn't do. It was a job that he had no way to leave, be promoted, and was only open because the last fellow hanged himself.

 

Bye Daisuke, I hope you like the snow. You'll make new friends, have a new life.

 

Hiroshi I took care of personally. 

Use my work like that? 

Grope my Ranma will you?

 

This was before the internet made seeing tits easy.

In those olden days a teenager with 'porn' was a kid with a few scavenged magazines, maybe an idol swimsuit video where she almost shows a nipple. 

Hiroshi had far more than that.

The teenager with access to multiple videos of mine meant there was a man with a collection and either a lenient hand or a lazy hiding place.

 

And that meant he had a rolemodel.

 

It took a bit, but I had eventually tracked Hiroshi's father to his workplace.

Then after a few tries, to the Love Hotel he took his fairly pretty coworkers to. 

The cheeky bastard was using a company card no less for the discount.

 

My photo skills were still sharp, and an envelope filled with pretty damning evidence of multiple affairs was dropped off in their mailbox for Hiroshi's mother to find.

 

A quick divorce followed, and she soon left, taking Hiroshi with her. 

 

Let that be a lesson to you little man, don't try to be like your father and go after women you can exploit. 

 

I doubt he'll learn, but hey, he at least stayed in Tokyo. The other side of Tokyo, in a different school far, far from Ranma, or his friends. Or his father.

 

As for Nabiki, I had a scheme in place, but I could only really do it once, and it'd take Ranma's cooperation to do it.

 

Speaking of the girl, I had been paying attention to her interactions with Ranma. I think she finally realized that he regarded her not as his fiancée's sister, but in fact as an enemy. Her own efforts to find out how Ranma gotten the money and paid back the boys had been stymied on several fronts. The boys feared Ranma more than her, plus she really didn't have anything she could use to blackmail them without revealing to Ranma her own actions. If it got to the household, I'm sure that it'd do serious damage.

Akane would be at the very least beyond livid, and Kasumi, well, who can say with that girl. 

 

Ranma himself gave nothing away aside of the agreed upon information he gave to Akane, which meant Nabiki got it quickly one way or another. It didn't help her.

 

"The money Akane? Jeez you sound like Nabs yaknow?" He shrugged. "Well, if you promise you won't tell her..." He leaned closer to her. "I've been doing odd jobs around the neighborhood. I put a fence up a couple weeks ago, tiles on a roof. Stuff like that."

 

He even showed her how to push a nail into a board with only his fingers. Training, he called it. That Nabiki also saw it was intended, he knew she was there, listening. A slight warning, this is what my hands can do if you cross the line, that sort of thing.

 

She was entirely too confident in the fact Ranma wouldn't hurt her.

 

Nabiki, came from a family of martial artists, but she didn't understand.

 

It wasn't that Ranma doesn't hit girls, Ranma's fought many. Shampoo, Cologne (A really, really old girl), Other amazons, Rouge, Kodachi, the list goes on.

 

And it meant that he didn't have to help.

 

That would be critically important later.

 

-=-=-=-

 

Saturday arrived, and work was brisk. My other job ended up needing an extra reshoot, one of the girls showed up... not in the best condition, and while we waited for her to sober up, I took a trip down to the basement.

 

The Spider's Lair. 

 

Cool sounding, isn't it? It had a sign and everything.

 

スパイダーレア

Supaidārea

 

Yuri Kumoken was brilliant young man who had wanted to be a fashion star since he was very little.

Sadly, the world wasn't ready for his more esoteric designs.

But he found a home where I worked, and he didn't mind that most of his experimental works were torn off the ladies in the BDSM videos, or worn by the ones doing the tearing. After all, there was aways more fabric, and he was collecting enough requests from interested buyers that he might be able to open a store in a few years.

 

As the little metal spider door-chime jingled he looked up from his sketchpad and saw me.

 

"Nemo-san!"

 

-=-=-=-

 

No that isn't my name, it's just that this is the first time I've needed to put an alias up.

 

Yes, it means nobody. Congrats, you read a book, or, in this modern time, searched for the name on the internet. Go you.

-=-=-=-

 

"Nemo-san, it's been a while." I didn't have time to come down here much, mostly as a certain hobby took over much of my free time.

 

"Indeed Kumo, indeed." Yes, his nickname is spider, he had a whole theme going on.

 

I shook his hand and took a look around the basement's wardrobe. It held the props, outfits, and other errata that a den of pornography needed to run.

 

"If you're looking for the outfit for the 'Kneeling Pig-Bitch Omake', it's in the corner." He gestured with his free hand before hesitating and glancing at me. "Did you want me to help you with carrying it?"

 

Now Yuri, sorry 'Kumo' is maybe 115 pounds, and skinny like a rail. I could carry him on my shoulder if I didn't mind listening to my prosthesis squeak. I've hauled heavier camera gear up massive flights of temple steps.

And then back down, which is twice as bad.

 

But then he, like so many, saw only a cripple that was good with a camera.

"No, I'm not here for that." I fished out a thick folded over pile of papers. "I've got a commission for you."

 

"A big one, from the looks of that". He took the papers from me, unfolded them, and got reading.

 

"Lesse here, a cheong-sam, a mini-skirt 'long angle' cut, leathers, a rubber suit..." he trailed off for a moment before he started flicking through the pages. "Dude there's like thirty bits of lingerie in here alone." 

 

"There will be more." I assured him.

 

He looked up at me. "I mean, we have some stuff you can take now, if you need some simple adjustments..." He trailed off as I wiggled a measurement card in front of him.

 

Taking that and tucking the papers in his armpit, he started muttering the numbers under his breath as his fingers began to twitch. His fingers were very long, and twitched like his namesake.

He was already stitching in his mind.

 

"Bullshit!" Been a while since I heard him swear.

 

"I assure you the numbers are accurate."

 

"With numbers like these she'd be what," He waved hands in eerily accurate dimensions. "This tall, and a chest out to here?"

He frowned suddenly. "She's not one of ours is she?"

 

Kumo couldn't remember a face to save his life, but give him the dimensions of someone, anyone, and he could practically give you the date he did the work. And how many cross-stitches he did on their lapel. 

 

"Nope." Ranma do porn? That unpossible.

 

"Where'd she get her work done, she's a bit short to have implants like that."

 

"She's had no work done." Magic springs didn't count did they?

 

Kumo trembled briefly. "Okay, if those are natural then she'll need extra support and-"

 

"She doesn't sag anywhere." My voice was calm but held an undercurrent of my glee. "They point straight ahead too."

 

"She's impossible." the trembling was getting worse.

 

"She's perfect." I corrected. "And no, she's not one of ours."

 

"I have to see her." He was shaking now. "The things I could make for her..."

 

"She's mine." I shook my head. "And I'm not bringing her here."

 

"Please." There were tears in his eyes as he envisioned what I had waiting for me tonight. "I'll go to her, I'll pack everything I need."

 

"No." And immediately I felt bad. More than anything, Kumo loved the impossible figures that many of the professional stars got made into. 

The more extreme, the better.

And here I was with a pure natural impossibility, as rare as a diamond in a field of rice. 

As if by magic one might say.

 

On the other hand, bring Ranma here? Yeah... No. 

Still...

 

"But I'll tell you what. After you get me these, I'll see if I can talk her into posing in one thing you provide. It'll be up to her but-" I got no further.

 

Kumo grabbed my hands and shook them both rapidly. "Thank you! Thank you! Even the chance will be worth it."

Man a tailor's grip was something.

 

"I can pay either up front, or, as you finish. Up to you. Let me know when you have anything ready." He nodded, already flipping through my requests. 

 

I turned to head back to the elevator. 

 

"Hey!" He called as I was halfway out the door. 

 

"For the inlaying and the fine stitch work, two questions." He waited for my nod. "What color are her nipples, and what color is her hair?"

 

I smiled. "Rich pink, and red."