Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction / Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction / Noir Fan Fiction ❯ Chrysanthemum Blends ❯ Living ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer:

"Ranma ½" is the 1993 copyright of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Inc., and Viz Communications, Inc.

"Noir" is the 2001 copyright of Ryoe Tsukimura, Bee Train, Victor Entertainment, and A. D. Vision, Inc.

"Neon Genesis Evangelion" is the 1997 copyright of GAINAX, Project Eva, TV Tokyo, NAS, and A. D. Vision, Inc.

All characters and settings herein used without permission and no copyright infringements are intended.

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Chrysanthemum Blends

By ToastedPine

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Chapter 2: Living

Bamboo all around her rustled loudly, as if showing their awareness of the disturbance in the grounds which they inhabited. Three men adept in the art of elimination worked together against one teenage girl.

She ran at a steady pace surprised at how easily she handled her precarious situation with reflexes so deeply ingrained they seemed instinct. Her eyes swept around almost of their own accord, looking for the best place to strike. She slid down the grassy slope, not even flinching at being so close to death.

"There!" She slipped into a shallow indentation covered by a particularly dark shadow. With any luck, it would be deep enough to conceal her until she made her move.

Moments later, the hunters slid down in a defensive formation, looking ready to take on anything that could come their way.

Too bad they dropped their guards.

Three shots later, her pursuers fell, unmoving.

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She walked back into her room holding out an ID card.

"Kirika Yuumura." her name, yet somehow not her true one. It didn't matter in the end. Kirika Yuumura was as good a name as any. What was more important at the moment was her identity and how she arrived at where she was. One word had kept going through her mind since the moment she awoke, Noir.

"I . . . am Noir" She stared at her raised hand, wondering how that seemed to explain the terrible things it could do.

Nearing her bed, she saw a neatly folded red Chinese shirt that had caught her attention earlier while searching for clues. She found it hastily concealed underneath a stack of shirts. Nothing else she had remotely matched the article of clothing she held. It was a few sizes too large and mended way too many times to look decent. Maybe it was just trash, but something about it tugged at her. Out of curiosity, she tried slipping it on. Her right arm was about to go in when she noticed some writing on the inside.

Ranma Saotonu . . . or was it Saotome? The penmanship was horrid. She couldn't remember what her handwriting looked like, but she was pretty sure that it wasn't THIS bad.

She was about to put it away when she noticed one of the pockets bulged slightly. Reaching in unearthed yet another clue: a small cloth pouch filled with yellow petals. From their feel, they weren't too old. They had a sweet aroma to them, something . . . familiar.

She quickly stuffed the pouch back. Time enough for idle thoughts later. She needed some rest and some time to say goodbye to the life she once had. With a sigh, she changed out of her clothes. One more week pretending to be a normal girl would be enough . . . then she could move on.

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Misato pushed her way into her humble abode, the cans strewn about in the door's path complained loudly at the rough treatment. "It's a little dirty, don't mind it though."

Ranma held back comment. He could not believe someone like Misato lived in such a bad neighborhood or that he could earn enough to feed himself for a week by taking in the recyclable trash lying around to the nearest recycling center. Kasumi looked even more of a godsend now. His heart tightened, best not to think about them while the wounds were still fresh. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

An arm waved behind some open cupboards, "No problem, from what you told me those guys who are after you mean business. I phoned headquarters on our way here, the entire division is working on this case. You've been assigned under the witness protection program and guess who's protecting you?"

Seconds ticked by while Ranma digested what he had been told, "Look lady, don't you see what you're getting yourself into?!"

Misato tore her eyes away from the foodstuffs and glared, "I know EXACTLY what I'm getting myself into. Don't insult me by thinking I can't do my job."

Her glare had almost made him back off . . . almost. "Dangit, you could get yourself killed!" He walked up and roughly grabbed her by the arms. "I WON'T lose anyone else that matters. Ya hear me stupid?!" His eyes widened in surprise at what he had just said.

Misato looked away. The discomfort caused by Ranma's grip was trivial compared to her own pain at seeing so much genuine concern directed at her in someone else's eyes. "You don't even know me, you shouldn't be so quick to judge . . . or trust." She felt the pressure on her arms suddenly disappear. Regaining her wits, she put on her best smile, "It's been a long day, I'm sure you could use a bath, taking a bath is like doing your life's laundry you know."

Taken aback by the sudden change in mood, Ranma could do nothing but be led towards the washroom. Soon the plastic shutters closed and he found himself alone. "Life's laundry huh?" He had never heard that one before. Maybe a bath really was what he needed, some time to get things together.

Steam wafted from the water as he soaked. His muscles relaxed instantly when they hit the nearly boiling water. After leaning back into a comfortable position, Ranma's thoughts started slowly floating back. Had he really meant what he said? He had only known Misato for less than a day -no, that did not matter. She had been there for him. He felt it in his gut that there was a connection between them. Something in her eyes when he told her she was important . . . the same sense of loss? An understanding?

His head hurt, looking deeply into things had never been his strong point. He usually just let his thoughts out first and cleaned the aftermath up with his fists. Of course, that was what had landed him into this mess. Everyone was dead because he had been careless.

Suddenly, the terrible memories of yesterday flashed in his mind.

His right hand clenched, he killed a man. The very feel of ribs cracking against the force of his fist came back more intense, clearer than before, so much clearer in fact that his stomach threatened to upend its contents once again. He thought it had just been some sick dream, there was no denying it now. He fought down the urge to hurl and tried to focus, the bastard deserved to die. He should not feel any remorse, guys like that were better off dead . . . so why didn't he believe it?

Ranma decided it was time to get up, he did all he could handle in one sitting, doing life's laundry was turning into filling life's cesspool.

He froze abruptly half way out of the water, noticing that something had changed . . .

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Microwaves had a calming effect on one Misato Katsuragi. She gazed at the instant food going around in circles under the hypnotic dull yellow light and wished that life could be more like observing a microwave work its magic.

A loud shout of "The hell!" broke her trance. She dashed over to the bathroom and flung the plastic shutter open. "What's wrong Ran . . .ma." she was stunned by the sight of a completely naked teenager happily lifting a mid-sized bucket of cold water up and down.

"Hey Misato, isn't this great? Some of my strength's back! At least now I can haul a small backpack an' stuff." His lower member jiggled in agreement as he hefted the pail once more. His ki channels had mysteriously widened. He wondered at the cause.

"That's nice Ranma," not quite sure what he was so happy about but grinning as she continued, "now would you like me to leave you alone or would you rather I watched you get dressed?"

"Auuughhh!" Misato blinked. She had not even seen the shutter move.

Behind the safety of a completely non transparent structure Ranma looked for clothes, only to realize that his only outfit was char broiled and unsuitable for any further use. "Err . . . Misato?"

"Yes stud?" answered an amused voice.

"Haha, very funny." He swallowed nervously. "Umm . . . ya have any guy clothes I could borrow?"

Guy clothes, why would he ask for something like that? She then remembered that his only clothes were probably the mounds of ash he had come with. "Sorry Ranma, I have some oversized shirts though. Wait here."

What she came back with was far less than satisfactory. A small twitch developed as he eyed the face of My Little Pony mocking him with its sickeningly cute beady eyes. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

Misato was glad face could not be seen through the plastic. "Whatever do you mean Ranma-kun? I think it suits you."

"Fine I'll wear it, but not like this. I better show you anyhow." The shutter opened to reveal Ranma wearing nothing but a towel.

"Huh what do you-"

*Splash*

Misato fell to her knees slack jawed.

"At least she didn't pass out."

"I can't believe he has nicer tits."

". . ."

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"Go ahead and laugh Chuckles," Ranma grumped, her pout making her look cuter instead of displeased.

"I-I can't help it." Misato's shock had long since gone to be replaced by unbridled mirth.

"It's a curse okay? Cold water turns me into a girl, *splash* an' hot water changes me back." He finished through a face full of warm water. "How'd you know?"

"Nope, I just splashed you with some of my left over instant noodle water to see if you could change into something else." Giggling broke out soon thereafter.

A small glimmer of a smile made its way into Ranma's face only to be quashed ruthlessly. *Splash* "Hmph!" Good thing they were in the kitchen. She would never be able to stand prancing around in such a girly shirt in guy form.

Strays scampering away could be heard outside. "Hmm . . . you should change those boxers. I've got some panties you could-"

"Over my dead body. 'Sides, I turned 'em inside out. They're still good."

Misato wrinkled her nose at that, "Fine keep your smelly boxers, the foods getting cold. Let's eat." They both made their way to the table.

All in all, it hadn't been a half bad meal. There were now enough preservatives running through his body to keep a rotting corpse fresh for the next 80 years, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Ranma tried her best to slow down . . . there was no longer any reason to hurry. She was half way through a box of microwavable takoyaki when Misato excused herself, "I'll be back in a little bit 'kay?"

Her new unwanted guardian came back a few minutes later and the rest of the meal passed silently.

"It's fun eating with others huh?"

"Yeah," agreed the pigtailed girl.

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The clock struck one when Ranma was jolted awake by her danger sense. She snuck towards Misato's room where she lay splayed on the futon.

"Wake up." Ranma nudged. "There's trouble."

At those words Misato came instantly awake. Scrambling over to the closet, she quickly tossed Ranma a pair of loose black dress pants and a white collared shirt. "Wear those, they might not fit though." She said, ignoring her roommate's growl, while squeezing into a pair of denim jeans and a red flight jacket. Taking out a stainless steel security case, she quickly dialed the combination in to reveal a 9mm SIG 228 and two spare magazines which she tucked into her back pocket.

Ranma's eyes widened, how on earth did she get a gun? The way her place was, it looked like she could barely afford to feed herself and here was something she knew must've cost a small fortune to obtain.

"I can outshoot anyone of those macho male cops with one hand tied behind my back. I earned the right to have this despite what anyone else says." The magazine slid into place punctuating her remark.

"I called a friend last night to see if she could get the safe house ready. I don't think they'd mind if we dropped in a little early." She winked. "Car's out back. The kitchen door leads to the fire escape. Move it!"

They ducked and weaved passed the piles of boxes and newspapers on their way to the kitchen. Being a slob did have some benefits after all. Outside, silhouettes moved, some of them casting upon the kitchen window.

Misato paused when she heard the sound of metal clattering from behind as Ranma reached into a drawer, "What are you doing? Hurry up!"

Leaning her back against the wall, she unlocked the kitchen door. Readying herself, Misato took a deep breath and charged forward-only to be greeted by a rain of AK-47 fir from the adjacent building.

"Shit!" She hauled her ass back . . . just in time to see Ranma speed past her, straight into the line of fire.

"Ranma!" No doubt there would be nothing left of the fool hardy martial artist. If only she had been more careful . . . if only that macho freak hadn't been so stupid . . . .

"C'mon!" a teenage voice called. Ranma? But how?

"Look, I ain't got that that many of these to throw." She idly flipped a steak knife up into the air, "havin' a knife through their hands ain't gonna slow 'em down all that long."

They slid down the steel ladders quickly. It seemed like a dead end alley until Misato pushed an old, used cabinet aside to reveal a hole. "Get in."

The other side of the hole proved to be quite roomy. It looked like an old warehouse. Large aluminum containers were stacked against every wall. Ranma followed her companion to one of the containers free of dust.

"Here we go. I kept her here so that she'd be safe and sound." Misato unbolted the front.

Inside was the stuff of dreams. It was a 1967 Ford Mustang GT 500. With a horsepower greater than 335, it was capable of going from zero to sixty in 4.7 seconds. Despite the lousy lighting, the rich blue tone gleamed, offset only by its trademark parallel pair of white stripes . . .

. . . Not that it mattered to a certain ignorant martial artist. Living out in the boonies for most of one's life tends to detract appreciation for such things. What Ranma DID appreciate though, was the sound of hollow metallic clanking that came their way. A grenade! "Watch out!" she tackled Misato to the side.

*BOOM!* The container took most of the blast, saving their lives in the process. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the fleeting dream it carried.

"My car!" Misato lamented her monumental loss. They were surrounded from all sides. Fortunately, this reduced the chances of her shots missing their intended targets. Whipping out her weapon, she instantly gunned three down.

They charged across the warehouse over to the entrance. Ranma covered them by throwing knifes and keeping the ones who got too close busy until Misato could get her sights on them.

"Let's get out of here!" Misato shot the chains holding main gate. They were able to run through just as a black four door 1993 Mercedes 300 sedan stopped in front of them. The driver moved to get out, but Misato was faster. She slid across the hood and struck the man hard enough to break his mask with the butt of her gun before he knew what hit him.

Ranma trailed her close behind, sparks and debris flying as the bullets missed. Desperately dodging, she tossed out the last of her knives at her opponents.

He turned around, about to leap into the passenger side when he noticed the cracked mask and a glint of something metallic.

"Misato!" She pumped her legs faster than she had ever thought possible and fell upon the man in one lightning fast leap. It was over in the blink of an eye. Misato's would be assailant fell lifeless courtesy of a corncob holder through his throat.

Out of breath, Ranma stumbled into the back seats and Misato drove like the dogs of hell were at their heels.

Shaking their pursuers had not been easy as the poor Mercedes could attest. Its rump was perforated with bullets and every surface was scratched beyond repair from passing through narrow pathways no large western built car had any right to attempt.

"We lost them." She heaved a sigh of relief. "We should be there in a couple of hours."

She looked to her passenger, curious at the silence. What she saw made her heart skip a beat. Ranma lay on the backseats, her white shirt long since soaked by the blood seeping out of a gash on her chest.

"Ranma!" The car stopped.

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Four leather chairs were placed around a placid fire tamed by human hands. Well worn, yet strong, their history was as long and complex as that of the men who made use of them generation upon generation. The man in the first chair spoke, "So it has begun."

"Indeed." agreed the second.

"She who held dominion over death sends her word." The third held the letter delivering her missives.

A pregnant pause . . . the fourth neither spoke nor moved as was his custom.

"So long as artena sustains the whole of the garden, we cannot act against her. Our hands are tied." The second clenched his fist.

"But will we stand a chance . . . against the two who may awaken?" asked the third.

"Pardon," interrupted a messenger who quickly spoke with the fourth then left.

"It seems," began a raspy voice, barely identifiable to the fourth, "that all has gone accordingly."

"I was unaware that you'd continued your games." The second laughed.

"Over the centuries the title of Noir has been passed down. They have since their very founding stood by our will, ever loyal to the council of elders. They were to us the hands by which we carried sin. It saddens me that a mere shell of a woman could deprive us of their services."

"That which we lost may now be regained."

"By your childish ploy? We need not the ways of old. By the blood and sweat of we the Soldats, the world does turn; connections and power make the world go round. Artena deludes herself with outdated dreams of the Grand Retour. When the body is poisoned, it is better to severe the poisoned part than risk death."

"Do as you wish, the blessed children will flourish regardless. My 'childish ploy' has succeeded. The thread I have tied has proven strong. I need only to let it reinforce itself." The fourth's lips curved upward into what might have been a smile. "Though of little use at present, an anomaly of possible utility has made itself known."

"Oh?" The second was intrigued.

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Three days after the incident, Hiroshi was throwing out burned pieces of his house when he saw an opportunity.

"Woah check her out. She's nothing compared to the usual fare but she's got whole other kinda cute going." Hiroshi tracked the girl's movement, she seemed uncertain of her actions as if taking time to evaluate what to do next.

Seeing as it was the duty of any self respecting person to lend a helping hand, Hiroshi did his with the utmost dedication. "Hey there miss, you seemed lost. May I be of assistance?"

"Actually. . ." her voice was soft and pleasant not unlike the sounds of a flute to the wind. ". . . I was looking for someone named Ranma Saotome."

The boy's hopes faded to dust. It figured, even while missing, that jerk Ranma still had all the luck.

"Ranma? Oh sure I know him! We were best buds. I'll tell you all about it over some tea if you like." She may be after Ranma but he was not above using a friend's name to spend time with a pretty girl! Ranma owed other guys a service for hogging all the hot ones.

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Kirika stared at separate pictures of a guy and a girl then at Hiroshi with a puzzled expression.

He could barely believe the level of cute the girl was directing at him with her innocent eyes. Nonetheless, Hiroshi was able to pull himself together.

Clearing his throat he began, "The guy's Ranma."

"Y-yes, but why did you provide me with a girls picture?"

"Oh her? You don't have to be worried about her." He smirked. "Let's just say that wherever Ranma is, you can bet she's not far behind." Hiroshi could almost see the mayhem unfold.

"Come to think of it, are you another fiancée?"

"Fiancée?" The question seemed surreal.

"Yeah I figured you weren't one. You just don't look the type. So would you mind telling me why you're looking for him?"

Kirika looked down. Her eyes expressed a longing sadness. "A pilgrimage to the past, Ranma could be the very key to discovering the truth about who I am."

Hiroshi scratched the back of his head, "I don't quite get it but yeah that seems cool. Say, do you want to hear some stories about Ranma?" Damn Ranma, you lucky dog, you better do a good job helping her discover herself.

"Stories?" Kirika made masterful use of her lackluster conversational skills.

"Yeah, I have lots of them for you . . . ." And so Kirika spent hours hearing about the person who may hold everything she desired.

Author's notes:

The SIG P228 was introduced in 1989.

Ranma getting some of his strength back was a sticky issue. Hopefully, I've provided enough so that you guys can guess for yourself until I flat out reveal the reason.

I know I said that I wouldn't add Eva world plotline into this, but Fallacies and I managed to come up with a way to work it in. While the changes aren't in this chapter, they will show up eventually.

My thanks to Hitokiriratosai and Fallacies for helping me hammer the dents out of this story.