Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Phoenix: Reignited Edition ❯ 1.05: A Long Night's Dawn ( Chapter 5 )

Ranma sat up, stretching. She hadn’t slept that soundly in ages, and it felt good. She dared not to guess what time it was; she and Yui had stayed up talking until at least four or five in the morning. As long as she wasn’t late for work, though, she didn’t mind - she had nowhere else to be. She slid out from under the purple comforter, pulling it back into place, and headed for the narrow bathroom. It was a closet of a space decorated all in light blue, with a combination shower stall and bathtub and a toilet crammed in a narrow space between it and the countertop. Ranma looked at her face in the mirror mounted over the ivory sink, cringing slightly. The purple welt surrounding her right eye showed no signs of dissipating. 

She looked over the shower nervously. She hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks; the water in the public baths was far too hot for her Cat’s Tongue-sensitive skin to handle. Cautiously, she turned the knob below the shower head, spinning it all the way to the left and jumping back quickly to avoid being burned. Using her palm to test the temperature of the air, she slowly approached the stream of water raining from the shower head until she was confident it was cold enough to be safe. Tossing the blue silk shirt and black gi pants she’d worn to work the day before to the floor, she tentatively stuck her hand in the shower. A quiet little yelp escaped her, much though she tried to stifle it. It was uncomfortably cold, but it beat being burned. She stepped over the porcelain edge and into the bathtub, wrapping her arms around her body and shivering for a few moments until her body adjusted to the temperature - at least, as well as it was going to - and began to get herself clean.

A few moments later, the frigid water incentivizing her to be quick, Ranma stepped out of the bathtub and wrapped herself in a soft blue towel. However awful most sensations were on her skin of late, the good sensations were amplified too, and the soft cotton enveloped her in a sense of comfort and warmth. Toweling herself off, she walked out into the main room of the little apartment and unzipped her backpack. Pulling out her red-and-black outfit and her totally-not-pink overalls, she grimaced. She could dress like a child, or she could wear the same clothes she had on for her interview two days ago. It was clear that the women she worked with understood her situation by now, but still, she didn’t want to present herself as too much of a pity case. As she vacillated on a decision, she remembered Yui’s offer of the clothes in the closet. 

Pulling the narrow door open, Ranma surveyed the contents of the little closet. It was clear that what Yui said was true; the disparate sizes and styles made it obvious that the clothing belonged to no fewer than three of the four women. Ranma knew immediately that Hana’s clothes would be far too big for her, and Mei’s far too small, and that left a handful of articles that could have belonged to Yui or Izumi. Of course, she thought. They were the two with the girliest preferences in clothes - at least, as far as she’d seen. To her dismay, no pants were to be found among the outfits she’d fit in; she could always wear her gi pants with one of the shirts, though. 

After a few moments of consternation, she settled on a greenish-gray casual polyester dress with long sleeves. It was a bit more conservative than the others, making Ranma think it was probably Yui’s, but the hemline would have left much less to the imagination on the taller woman than it did on her. She looked herself over in the full-length mirror mounted to the back of the closet door. Not great, but not bad, she thought to herself. At least, not as dresses go. She turned her head to face the mirror more directly, but when her blackened eye came into view, she cringed and inhaled through her teeth. “Maybe not so much from that angle,” she mumbled quietly to herself as she turned her head back to a more flattering position that hid the evidence of her defeat at the kempo dojo across the street.

Slipping on her shoes, she quietly crept downstairs. The bar was empty, of course; it would still be a few hours before Hana and the others arrived. It was a little surreal, the lingering silence and stillness in a place that had been so replete with music and revelry just a few hours before. She slipped into one of the empty booths, just looking around the place. As she did, she felt a sense of purpose and, dare she say, pride, that she hadn’t really experienced since the Tendo dojo. Shortly after arriving at Mr. Tendo’s home, she had mentally shouldered the responsibility to look after the place that had taken her in. She expected that she would come to feel that way at the Phoenix as well, and was in fact already starting to. 

She lost track of how long she’d soaked in the peaceful quiet and serene solitude when she heard the click of a key in the glass front door. She turned, expecting to see Hana, but Izumi entered instead, carrying a white plastic bag as well as her purse. “Oh hi! Morning, Ranko!” She waved, smiling brightly. 

“Hey there,” Ranma replied as she returned her coworker’s wave. 

Izumi made her way to Ranma’s booth, her yellow platform heels echoing loudly in the empty space as they struck the hardwood floor. She straightened the gold-colored skirt of her dress and slid into the bench opposite Ranma. “How’d you sleep?” 

Ranma blushed. “Like a rock. I never knew this kind of work was so exhausting!” 

Izumi laughed. “Yeah, Mama must have seen something special in you. Starting you on a Saturday night? Talk about trial by fire! You did great, though.”

The redhead’s blush deepened. “Well, thanks.” She smiled a little coyly, and looked down at the table. When she did, the bruising around her eye came into clear view. 

Izumi recoiled a little, and gestured to Ranma’s face. “Does it hurt?” 

Ranma shrugged, turning her face away. “A little. Nothing I’m not used to.” 

The older girl shook her head and took Ranma’s hand, almost forcefully. “No. You listen to me. This is not the kind of thing you’re supposed to get used to, okay?! You trust me on this.”

Ranma wanted to tell her that she’d been getting in fights since she was six, and also wanted to ask what had happened to Izumi to cause her emphatic reaction, but decided neither was appropriate at the moment. Instead, she just nodded in appreciation of her coworker’s sentiment. 

Izumi stood from the booth and walked to the closest freestanding table, pulling out a chair but not sitting in it. “C’mere a second.” 

Wondering what was wrong with the seat she already had, Ranma complied. Izumi set her little black clutch on the table and opened it. “Let’s see what we can do about this, huh?” 

Ranma looked up at her, confused. “About what?” 

Without answering, Izumi slipped her hand into her purse, withdrawing a small tan bottle with a silver cap and twisting it open. She dabbed a little of its milky contents onto a cotton ball and, ever so gently, touched it to the darkened skin surrounding Ranma’s right eye. Izumi’s repeated dabs felt like punches in their own right on Ranma’s sensitive and wounded cheek, but she did her best to hide it, focusing instead on holding still while Izumi finished her work. 

“Well, it’s not perfect, but it’s better, anyway.” Izumi handed her a round compact mirror and Ranma gazed into it. While true, you could still tell that the injury was there, it was no longer obvious; she had to look for it to see it. Ranma blushed furiously at the thought of wearing makeup, and even more so at the thought of having had it applied by another girl. She’d only done it once before, when Akane and Ranma had their skating match. She shuddered, remembering everything else that had happened that day. She could still feel the viscous concealer’s presence on her skin, but she refused to let it make her self-conscious; indeed, the whole reason Izumi had put it there was so that she could be less so. 

With a disarming smile, Izumi took Ranma’s braided pigtail in her fingers. “May I?” Ranma just shrugged. She didn’t know what her new stylist had in mind, but she’d already come this far, she guessed. “Long hair is a girl’s secret weapon, you know.” She pulled at the string restraining the cord of still-damp crimson hair until it began to give way. With her fingers, she shook the braids loose, taming down the wilder strands that had fled in random directions to escape their long bondage. She carefully coaxed Ranma’s wavy red hair toward her cheek, further obscuring the right side of her face. “There. Good as new.” 

Ranma glanced in the mirror again, and needed a double take. Her injury was now completely concealed, but beyond that, she was surprised to see that she actually looked… kind of cute. A muted “wow” was all Ranma could muster. 

Izumi smirked with satisfaction at a job done well, snapping the compact mirror closed emphatically with a loud clack. “My work here is done.” Ranma tittered involuntarily at her mannerisms, and gave her a playful little clap of appreciation.

Izumi grinned impishly, leaning into the moment. “Ah, my public adores me,” she affected with an exaggerated posh accent. She rested her chin on her middle fingernail, framing her cheek with her thumb and index finger in a mock model pose, but could only hold it for a few seconds before bursting out in laughter. 

Both girls were still giggling when the front door swung open, and they looked up to see Yui and Mei entering the bar. Mei seemed surprised to see them there so early, but Yui grinned broadly. “Well, it looks like somebody’s having fun! Morning, girls!” 

Izumi waved as Mei headed for the back room to set down her things, and Yui strode to the table to join the other girls. She was wearing a shiny silver shirt with long sleeves, the first three buttons left undone, and a pair of black nylon slacks. A matching silver headband kept her blonde hair out of her eyes. She slowly walked around Ranma’s chair, inspecting her almost proudly. “You clean up good, kiddo.” 

Ranma blushed, gesturing to Izumi. “I’m just the canvas; she’s the artist.”

Izumi waved her off with the back of her hand. “On the contrary. The masterpiece was already there; I merely helped to reveal it.” 

Yui shook her head and rolled her eyes with a grin. “Alright there, Michelangelo.” She turned her head back to Ranma. “That dress looks great on you. You like it?” 

Ranma shrugged a bit and nodded. She guessed it actually was pretty okay. It didn’t scratch at her skin quite so much, and she didn’t feel half-naked in it. 

Yui smiled. “I’m glad. Keep it, then. Never really liked how it fit me anyway.” 

Ranma’s face flushed, but she bobbed her head in assent. “Thanks, Yui.”

The four young women set about their tasks, Ranma mostly following the instructions she had been given the day before. They were halfway finished with their prep work already, far ahead of schedule, by the time Hana showed up. She wore dark sunglasses that pinned back her long black hair, and for a moment she seemed like she was fretting about something, but whatever it was melted from her face when she looked up and saw the girls laughing and working together. She walked in quietly, observing them for as long as she could without being noticed. 

“Morning, Mama,” Mei finally announced in a singsong voice. Izumi, still chewing the last bite of a bagel as she refilled a salt shaker, waved to her with her fingertips. Yui walked out of the back room, smiling at the older woman, and silently gestured with her neck toward the swinging door she’d just exited. She knew who Hana was looking for on that particular morning.

She found Ranma stacking plastic appetizer baskets near the prep line, a little bit of a skip in her step as she hummed a song quietly to herself. In every way, from her outfit and hair to her mannerisms and the erasure of the bruise that yesterday covered half her face, she looked like a completely different person from the one she met not forty-eight hours ago. And that’s why I do this, she thought to herself proudly. “Good morning, Ranko!” 

Ranma’s back was turned to the door when she spoke, and she whirled around with a thousand-watt smile at the sound. “Good morning, miss Hana!” 

Hana stepped further into the kitchen, looking around at her immaculate surroundings. They weren’t set to open the doors for another two hours, but Hana thought they could probably start service right at that moment if they’d wanted to. “Well, if the four of you keep this up, I can retire.” 

Yui’s voice echoed between the white tiled walls in the hallway behind her. “Don’t you dare, Mama! You know we can’t run this joint without you.” 

Hana chuckled and held up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I guess I’ll stay. So, Ranko, how was last night? Settling in okay? Do you need anything?” 

Ranma smiled gratefully. She hadn’t decided whether she was going to stay upstairs beyond the one night, but she was getting closer and closer to it as the day went on. “I’m just fine. Thank you again, for everything. Really.” She offered a quick bow. 

Izumi bustled into the kitchen, placing her hand on Hana’s shoulder to warn her she was about to pass her in the narrow doorway. “Scuse me, Mama, I don’t mean to interrupt, I just need some cherry juice from the fridge.” 

Ranma looked up. Huh. Everyone calls her that, not just Yui. She gestured to Izumi with an open palm, but her questioning eyes faced Hana. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to…” 

She trailed off, but the elder woman understood what she meant, and shook her head. “No, honey. These girls have been with me for years, and I suppose we’ve become something of a little family now. Of course you don’t have to say that if you don’t want to. That said, if you ever feel like you want to, you’re more than welcome to.” 

Mei, pushing through the saloon door with an armload of tequila bottles, giggled playfully. “Aww, I’ve always wanted a little sister.” 

Yui rolled her eyes and held the door for her. “You are the little sister, blockhead!” 

Ranma smiled, returning her focus to her task. As she worked, she wondered if Akane, Nabiki and Kasumi had ever been like this, before their mother had died. She hoped so. It was nice.