Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Phoenix: Reignited Edition ❯ 1.14: Finishing Touches ( Chapter 14 )

“N… No thank you!” Ranko glared at the wand in the blonde woman’s hand. “I’m good!” 

The stylist, a svelte woman in her mid-twenties wearing a green dress and a thick pair of glasses, gave a little tsk at the fidgeting girl in her chair. “It’s just a curling iron, for heaven’s sakes! I just want to put a little more wave in it!” She’d already trimmed the split ends and evened out the lengths of the teen’s crimson hair.

Hot! Hot-hot-hot! Get it away! “I’m fine! Really!” The young redhead sat back in the reclining salon chair as far as she could, gripping its armrests with white knuckles and staring at the warm rod as if it were a venomous snake.

“Alright, alright! Sheesh!” The stylist shook her head, turning off the curling iron and tossing it to the mauve countertop of her workstation. “I guess you’re done, then.”

Ranko looked down, deep shame in her eyes. “Thank you. I’m… sorry.” She slinked out of the chair slowly, removing the black nylon cape from around her neck and leaving it in the seat. She hung her head as Izumi watched her, a combination of concern and intrigue in her eyes as she dug in her purse for her wallet to pay the receptionist of her favorite hair salon.

“Really didn’t want curly hair, huh?” Izumi chuckled as she opened the salon door and led her companion out into the main mall area. “It would probably be pretty cute on you.”

“I just… like it the way it is, I guess. I’m sorry if that’s bad.” Ranko’s eyes did not leave her feet as she walked. She’s trying to do nice stuff for me, and it keeps just being harder than I expected, she thought with no small measure of disquiet in her eyes. I feel like a total ingrate and a jerk. I really am doing the best I can, but, like, every single experience today has been new and weird. It has certainly been one of my more interesting birthdays. 

Ranko supposed that her realization made sense, considering it was, technically, Ranko’s first birthday. Neither Hana nor Izumi had mentioned the significance of the day, and it felt kind of selfish to Ranko to bring it up herself, so she limited herself to a silent chuckle at the thought. Sipping on the mango smoothie in her hand through a thick straw, she trailed alongside Izumi, wondering where the roller coaster that had become her life would stop next. 

“It’s not bad, Ranko. If you like it, you keep it.” Izumi motioned to the array of stores dotting the indoor mall’s center aisle. “See anything that catches your eye?” She watched the redhead analytically as the pair walked down the center aisle of the mall. She looks so nervous and timid. Poor thing. She eats like she thinks her plate’s gonna be taken from her, she doesn’t know how to react to a gift, and she had to be shown, at her age, how to put on a bra. She’s practically feral. I thought she was gonna freaking bite Sango back at the salon. And yet, she’s so sweet. It’s almost like she’s… afraid to get her hopes up that any of this is real. It’s heartbreaking to watch. Then again, I remember my first few days. I guess sometimes I forget how overwhelming it was at first to have somebody care about you all of a sudden.

As Ranko shook her head and raised her hand to bring her straw back to her lips, Izumi looked at it quizzically. “You bite your fingernails, don’t you?”

Ranko nodded, a bit sheepishly. “Didn’t exactly pack a trimmer.” Shit, that’s bad too? Is there anything about being a girl I do right?!

Izumi gave her a little tsk. “Come here, you, let’s take care of that.” She pulled Ranko into an open stall with several small desks, each with a chair on each side. Rows of small colored vials lined the entire length of the room’s walls, and the whole place smelled of paint thinner.

A very short woman in her late forties, with gray flecks starting to invade her rail-straight black hair, approached the sisters, peering over her thick-rimmed glasses. “Can I help you girls?”

Izumi nudged her companion forward as if to present her for inspection. “My sister here is in dire need of some acrylics.”

The redhead turned to face her, confused. “Acrylics? What? You mean, like, spray paint or something?”

Izumi giggled. “Not exactly. Go sit down over there, at one of the desks. I just had my nails done last week, so I’m good. I’ll just chill over here and wait for you. Get whatever you want; this is on me.”

Ranko swallowed hard, following the shop employee to a small white particle board desk. As instructed, Ranko took the seat in front of the desk, leaving the technician to perch on a small, mauve vinyl wheeled stool between the desk and the wall of the little salon. 

“Okay, are you ready?” The technician gave a reassuring smile, perhaps sensing the nervousness painted across the birthday girl’s face. 

Ranko’s eyes darted around the room as if expecting the thousands of vials on the wire racks lining the walls to rain down her head at any moment and dump acid on her back. She shrugged, an unsure grimace forming in her bared teeth.. “I… guess?”

First, the attendant withdrew a small metal tool from a black leather folio on the desk. To Ranko’s eye, it looked like a miniature spear, with a flattened end like a spade. She took Ranko’s right hand gently in her left, and began dragging the tool across the nail of her index finger, pushing the overgrown cuticles back away from the nail itself toward her knuckle. It stung a bit whenever the tool reached the base of her fingers, but Ranko bit her lip and tried not to let it show. She isn’t acting like she expects it to hurt, so it’s probably just the Cat’s Tongue at work. 

After finishing all ten of the squirming redhead’s cuticles, the woman picked up what looked like a popsicle stick wrapped in sandpaper. Again, she took Ranko’s left hand in her own, and began to drag the stick over her fingernails. She used the grittier side of the emery board to rough up the surface of the nails somewhat, as well as file down some of the larger ridges left from the peeled-back cuticles. 

Man, being a girl sure involves letting a lot of people fidget with you, Ranko thought. This is so freaking weird, being fawned over like this.

After repeating the filing process on Ranko’s right hand, the attendant opened a small plastic package, dumping a small pile of what looked like fingernails out of it onto the glossy white particle board surface. She picked up one of the larger bits and jammed it onto the end of the fingernail on Ranko’s left thumb, extending it several centimeters past the end of her finger into a squared-off edge. 

How the hell am I supposed to do anything with these? I won’t even be able to get my fingers close enough to stuff to freakin’ touch it! Ranko opened her mouth to protest, but before she could inhale, the practiced technician had fitted extension tips to most of the other fingers on her left hand. Deciding to be patient for a moment, Ranko watched as the woman collected a small pair of scissors from her folio and began trimming the false fingernails to a more reasonable length and shape. 

Oh, thank the gods, Ranko thought as she saw her nails reduced to something she thought she could maintain some shred of manual dexterity in. She did her best not to fidget overmuch as the woman used the emery board to shape the edges of the nail, rounding them until they looked more like the natural shape of a fingertip. As Ranko watched in some combination of embarrassment and morbid curiosity, she repeated the process on the other nine fingers, resulting in what appeared to be a fairly perfect set of feminine fingernails. “Is that it? They just… stay on like that?”

The older woman laughed, shaking her head. “No, honey. That’s what this stuff is for.” She opened a small white jar containing a white powder, and another glass bottle containing a pinkish liquid. With what looked like a small calligraphy brush, she first gathered some of the pink liquid and then dunked the brush into the powder. The combined substances created a viscous white substance that was spread across the whole of Ranko’s fingernail. As Ranko watched, the technician applied the thick goo across each of her nails, shaping it until it formed a coat that was slightly thicker in the middle and thinner at the tip and cuticle. It hardened almost instantly, and once it had, the technician used her file on the top of the nails until the seams between Ranko’s natural fingernails and the extended tips had entirely disappeared. 

“How you doin’, hon?” Izumi looked up from the outdated fashion magazine she was reading in the lobby, craning her neck toward her young sister.

“Okay, I guess?” Ranko blushed as an oily chemical of some sort was applied over each of her fingernails. “This stuff smells funny. Will that last?”

Izumi shook her head. “Naaah. It fades after a few minutes.”

The diminutive technician began to screw the lids back onto the various containers. “Want to go wash your hands for me in that sink back there, and then pick a color?”

Ranko looked up at the stylist with confusion. “Huh?”

The nail tech motioned to the array of glass bottles lining numerous wire racks along the walls of the salon. “For your nail polish, silly.”

Oh. That. Of course. Duh. Ranko blushed at her foolishness, standing and beginning to walk toward the back of the salon, where a white basin sink awaited. Cautiously, she turned the single knob over the faucet, letting the water run for a moment to ensure its temperature had stabilized. She waved her hand near enough to the stream flowing from the faucet to assure herself it was cold, shivering as she finally let her fingers break the surface tension of the liquid column. 

Drying her hands with a white paper towel, Ranko began to walk a lap around the little shop, her eyes scanning the thousands of bottles in rows along both walls. She looked to Izumi, who was still sitting in her chair reading her magazine, for help, but Izumi gave her a smile and a run along and play gesture with the back of her hand. Having no idea what she was looking for, or how women normally decided on such a thing, she scanned the rows of small vials several times before eventually settling on a pastel pink bottle that she thought was a pretty good match for her new underthings. Not that anybody’s gonna see those, she assured herself. It seemed appropriately feminine, but also neutral - at least, less the silver flecks that floated around in the bottle as it moved in her hand - and Izumi had already picked that color for her once. She held it up for her mentor, who nodded approval, and returned it to the stylist who took it from her hand.

SItting back at the desk, Ranko offered her hand. She smiled nervously at her tormentor. I feel like a freakin’ Barbie doll being messed with like this. 

The stylist went to work uncapping a bottle of thick clear liquid, drawing the thin brush affixed to the inside of the cap out of it. She deftly applied a coat of the clear polish to all ten of Ranko’s fingers, resting the brush back in the bottle without screwing the cap back into place. Next, two coats of the pink polish were added. “There, how’s that look, sweetheart,” the salon technician asked in a bright tone of voice.

“I thought it would be shinier,” Ranko said, looking at the side of the bottle of polish she’d chosen interrogatively. 

The elder woman nodded, smiling softly. “Oh, it will be, honey. That’s why we put another layer of the clear on.” She closed the pink polish, picking up the clear bottle again and withdrawing the brush. In a few moments, she had finished the fourth coat of polish. “Okay. Now we just need to get these dry for you, and you’ll be all set.” 

The redhead winced. “Is that gonna take a long time? It’s just that my fr… sister is waiting…” 

Ranko was led to another seat by the kindly old woman, and instructed to place her hands under an orange lamp. The heat from the lamp on her skin was quite uncomfortable, but bearable, and she squirmed in her chair, looking away from her hands with a pronounced grimace.

“Nah! Just relax for a couple of minutes, and then we’ll get you out of here.” 

 * * *

“Looks like you’re all set, sis! Try to be careful with your fingers for the next hour or so until everything has a chance to fully set. Let me get the doors and stuff.” 

Ranko blushed for probably the millionth time that day at Izumi’s words. I half-expect to be taught to curtsey like a maid by day’s end at this rate. This is fucking ridiculous.

Izumi checked her watch, seeming a little concerned but not mentioning anything about it to her young companion. “Okay.” Gotta kill about another hour. C’mon, one more thing, one more thing… She craned her neck, scanning the nearby stores for ideas. “We can probably hold off on too much in the way of clothes for now; it’s going to take you a while to figure out what sort of styles you want to branch out into anyway. Shoes? I think you’d be hot as hell in heels, but you probably don’t have a lot of practice wearing them.” 

Ranko smirked confidently, saying nothing. While most elements of femininity eluded her entirely, if she could run at full speed atop a chain link fence, she could probably handle balancing on stilettos, she presumed. She brushed her freshly-styled hair away from the left side of her face, getting it out of the way of her mouth to make way for her straw. 

As she did, Izumi’s eyes lit up with a realization. “Got it! C’mere!” Not taking her hand for fear of mussing her nails, Izumi led her charge to a small store across the mall that was absolutely jam-packed, ceiling to floor, with hair bows and clips, headbands, plastic costume jewelry, and other assorted accessories. Basically everything in the store was pink, covered in sequins, or both. Izumi motioned to a bar-height canvas chair in the corner by the front window. “Sit over there a second.”

Aw, hell, she’s gonna make me pick out all kinds of hair shit too, isn’t she? Ranko blushed yet again as she took the indicated seat, remembering that there was already a white lace bow clipped into her hair. Something tells me this girl didn’t have enough dolls to play with growing up, and she’s making up for lost time. And I’m the guinea pig. Just freakin’ great. 

A few moments later, Izumi returned with a store employee in tow. The young blonde clerk was wielding a strange-looking object shaped like a gun. What, she’s putting price labels on shit? Izumi, you shouldn’t have interrupted her. She’s gonna lose her spot and have to start over.

The teenager, who might have even been a year younger than Ranko, brushed the nervous girl’s newly-styled hair to the side with her fingers and smiled. “Oh! Your first time, huh?”

Ranko shrugged. “I… guess so?” She was beginning to worry a little bit. This seems like a lot of production just to pick out a new bow for my hair. What the heck are you up to, Izzi?

Her mentor in femininity leaned on the arm of the chair. “Okay, hold still. This is going to sting for a few minutes, but it’ll be okay after that, I promise.” 

Ranko looked up at her with terror in her eyes, gripping the arms of her chair tightly. “What are we going to do?”

Izumi smirked deviously. “You’ll see. Trust me.”

The employee tore open a little packet, pulling out a folded sheet of paper that smelled like alcohol. She tilted Ranko’s head to the side with her hand, beginning to wipe down the bottom of her earlobe with the cloth. 

Ranko looked over at the gun on the table, and the realization struck her. Oh. Oh shit! This is happening? She’s gonna… Wait! No-no-no-no… Her panicked eyes darted up to Izumi, but before she could get out more than an audible gasp, she heard a loud kachunk from the surgical steel weapon clamped around her earlobe.

The sudden impalement from the piercing gun felt like she’d been injected with napalm, radiating through her ear, across her face and halfway down her neck. As the throbbing pain spread to every corner of her hypersensitive nerves, she shrieked as if she’d just had her leg torn off, tears welling in her eyes. She clutched the arms of the chair with muscles so tense, she heard the wood frame creaking with the strain over her wails. 

The teen wielding the piercing gun chuckled, rolling her eyes at her client’s display as she began to reset the device. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. Don’t be such a big baby.”

Easy for you to say, kid, Ranko thought, glaring hatefully up at her even as she shrank back from the raised piercing gun. Let’s see you last ten minutes with this Cat’s Tongue nonsense.

Izumi squeezed her new sister’s hand gently, even as it had yet to release its death grip on the wooden armrest of the folding canvas director’s chair. “C’mon, Ranko. You got this. We’re halfway done now. Let’s go, other side.” 

I don’t want to! It hurts! It hurts so fucking much! She turned her pleading eyes to Izumi. “Do… do we have to?”

The brunette chuckled, waving off the redhead’s concern with the back of her hand. “Well, I mean, you would look kind of weird having one side done and not the other, don’t you think?”

Fuck. She’s right. Ranko nodded defeatedly and turned her head, barely believing that she was volunteering herself up to experience the agonizing sensation a second time. The last thing I want is to look stupid, and now that she’s sneak attacked me with this shit, I don’t have a lot of choice.

“Okay, here we go.” The girl brought the gun to her ear. “On three, ready? One…” Kachunk. 

Ranko cried loudly, both in pain and surprise. She nearly jumped out of the chair at the nonplussed blonde. “What the fuck?!”

“Sorry. People tell us it’s easier when they don’t know exactly when it’s coming. But, hey, it’s all done!” She picked up a small white packet from her tool kit, tearing it open and beginning to unfold an alcohol wipe. “Let me see, so I can get them cleaned? We don’t want them getting infected, after all.” After a long moment spent angrily glaring at the girl, Ranko acquiesced and tilted her head. The shop girl wiped over both piercing sites with the damp, acrid cloth and pressed a back onto each of the thin metal studs. The young clerk did her best to smile as she handed Ranko a small pink handheld mirror, even though the redhead in her chair glared at her like she was contemplating which display of frilly hair bands and pastel stuffed animals to hide her dismembered body in.

With tears still gently running down her cheek, Ranko pulled her hair back to inspect the damage. As she looked at herself, the hate in her eyes began to give way to… something softer. Her earlobes were an angry red, still reacting to their sudden injury. At the center of each earlobe, a dainty little golden heart now glittered. Wow. That actually looks…

“Super cute, huh?” Izumi grinned down at her. “You’ll have to keep the starter studs in for a few weeks until your ears heal, but after that we can get you some different ones to play with.” 

Ranko was more than a little miffed that she hadn’t been warned before being… permanently modified without her consent, but as she looked at herself in the mirror, she agreed that her feminine face did look more natural with them. While she wasn’t sure she would have agreed to brave the gun given the Full-Body Cat’s Tongue if she had known what Izumi was planning, she didn’t hate it now that it was done. The radiant pain still dominated her senses, but she tried to tune it out. I don’t think she was trying to be mean or anything. I shouldn’t be mad at her. She’s been trying so hard to help all day.

Izumi paid the clerk, taking a small packet of information about how to care for a new piercing and slipping it into the bag with Ranko’s previously-purchased new undergarments. She checked her watch again, smiling softly. “So, I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be at seven tonight. How do you feel about heading back to the bar?”

Ranko nodded, managing a sincere smile even though her ears still felt like they were on fire from being impaled. “Sure. Hey, thanks again… for everything today.” It’s been an adventure, for damn sure.

The brunette waved off her new young sister’s comment with the back of her hand as they walked toward the mall’s exit doors. “For the most part, Mama paid; I was just the tour guide.” There was a disquiet in her eyes that hadn’t been there a few moments before.

Shit. I must’ve done something else wrong. Tentatively, Ranko reached for Izumi’s hand, blushing as she remembered to be careful of her fingernails. “No. Seriously, Izumi. Thank you. For your help… and your patience.” She smiled, far more genuinely than before. Hoshi’s lucky; from the way Izumi’s been looking out for me all day, I bet she’s a great mom. A girl could do a hell of a lot worse than to have her as a mentor.

Izumi’s frown faded somewhat, and she released the smaller girl’s hand, putting her arm around Ranko’s shoulder. She was extremely careful not to get her hand anywhere near the birthday girl’s bright-red earlobes. “You’re welcome, honey. And you really have been a great sport about all this. I could tell it wasn’t easy for you. I’m so proud of you.”

Almost fourteen years of martial arts, and Pop’s never said that once. It took Izumi less than a week. And all it took was dressing up like a girl. 

Ranko caught her reflection in a shop window, stopping for just a moment to admire herself. She couldn’t help but smile in her own eyes as she quickly corrected herself.

All it took was becoming a woman.