A Musing
By Esse
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Disclaimer: The characters of Ranma 1/2 belong to Rumiko Takahashi, and those she has deemed worthy of selling their rights to, amongst whose august company I find myself excluded. They are the ones profiting from her genius, not me.

Notes: I can't believe I finished this, and I don't know why I did. The title refers not to the story, but to a conversation I had with a friend some time ago. It seemed interesting at the time; I'm not so sure if it still is. Oh, and you may see the word Kame-sama from time to time. Please believe me, it's not a misspelling. Really.

Summary:Kuno's thoughts over a period of four days.

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Good Intentions
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I curse whatever foul whim encouraged my beloved to do the laundry last night. Such a menial task, it is what we have servants for, is it not? They could have finished the task not only swiftly, but also with no harm done. Yet last night, for no apparent reason, my love absconded to the basement, eyes dancing with mischief, and washed a week's build-up of dirtied clothes. I must remember to question the help about that, there shouldn't have been a build-up; laundry is to be done as needed, even if it is several times a day.

It is Kame-sama mocking me, to put across my path an opponent today of all days. I can scarcely uphold my family's good name dressed as I am. Not that I had any choice in my apparel. The shopping trip after school is going to be talked about for months to come; there is so much I need to replace. Perhaps I'll also buy that beautiful sea-green hat I've been perusing so often. I'm sure it will look absolutely devastating on such a rare bloom as my dearest is.

The arrogant youth in front of me needs to be taught a lesson; the knave, he was staring at my most cherished blossom, no doubt thinking crude, lustful thoughts. Well, the wrath of heaven shall be swift today; he shall rue stepping onto the school grounds. I can tell he thinks highly of himself; cad, he obviously has not studied the student roster. Even I, a rank amateur when compared to other attending students, though I loathe to admit it, can tell he is no match for even the feeblest scholar, namely Gosunkugi. Oh, I must remember to pick up those pictures he took; they're not as good as Nabiki's, but seeing as how she refuses to take snapshots anymore...I must see what I can do to remedy the situation.

Ah, he has taken an offensive stance; now the fight shall start in earnest. I raise my bokken threateningly, then remember. I have not introduced myself yet. No matter, there is time. If it were at all possible, I would forgo this part; subtle alterations will have to be made to my introduction. If only my truest love had stayed with me last night; I had planned an evening of dancing and music we both would have enjoyed.

Where was I? I need to learn to pay more attention while preparing to thrash impudent rapscallions. I look over my challenger's head to catch my love blowing me kisses, how sweet! I can scarcely credit my good fortune; winning that one's affections had been a monumental effort. Oh yes, I remember now.

"My name is Upperclassman Kuno. Junior. Group E. Captain of the Kendo club. And while I may no longer be undefeated, for there is one who has conquered me utterly, I am still the new star of the high school fencing world." Hmm, that sounds a bit dated; I think I shall work on a new preamble this weekend. "But my peers, of whom you are not counted, call me...the Pale Pink and Purple Thunder of Furinkan High!"

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Down Time
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Lunchtime is always so hectic; people do not show me the respect I deserve, but can I blame them? I have been remiss in teaching them better. I've had other things on my mind. I catch the eyes of my darling; he's sitting at another table, no doubt gossiping with his friends. One day I must ask him how he manages to keep the insides of his sleeves so blindingly white; considering the way he does laundry, they should be as festively pink as my own shirts.

At least I need not worry over that bore from this morning; justice can be misled, but never stopped. The fool had a fatal asthma attack brought on by his uncontrollable laughing. Even now, I can hear snickers coming from around me; perhaps I'll go see that madman of a father of mine and request permission to leave class early. The sooner I go shopping for new clothes, the better.

Come to think of it, how is it that my beloved gets away with wearing something so clearly against regulations? I have an excuse, after all; the principal is my father. Now there is a nasty thought; does that lunatic find my perfect rose as lovely in his gaily-colored silk shirts as I do? What a sickening thought. I'll have to watch the pervert; I'll not let him ruin this relationship. Thankfully, he doesn't reside at the Kuno residence. Mother's restraining order still stands after all these years, or perhaps he's afraid of being haunted by her ghost. No matter.

I give my soulmate a smile which I hope conveys my feelings for him; my love, my gratitude, my admiration. And I hope he doesn't pick up my need for retaliation. Surely he doesn't think he can get away with this prank? I'll need to think up a suitable revenge. I allow my grin to grow wider at his innocent, acknowledging wave. Tonight should prove very interesting indeed.

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Fashion Blindness
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Oh why did I ever invite him to go shopping with me? This should have been a simple trip of a few hours at most, yet here we still are, loitering about-- of all places-- a discount shoe store. A Kuno does not stoop so low as to buy marked down merchandise. Yet here he approaches, armed only with that devastating grin of his and a pair of hightop sneakers made by some company called Reerox. In bright orange. With olive green laces, all three sets of them. The family scrolls will recall this day in shame; I can't face down his grin and those *horrible* shoes at the same time. It is said discretion is the better part of valor, but how can I hold my tongue when confronted with tackiness of this stature?

"Darling? I don't think they're my size." That was good; what are the chances they have more than one pair of the monstrosities on the premises? Apparently fairly high, for my love, with one of those dramatic flourishes he's so very good at, brings forth another pair from behind his back. Kame-sama, why won't you let my torture end quickly?

"Tacchi, you big silly! Look, we can be twins. What do you think?" My sweetling tilts his head at that endearing angle that invites thoughts of nuzzling. Later, I promise myself. Much later.

"I think you've been into sister dearest's herb garden again. Have you by any chance noticed what color those, those *things* are?" His hands, which were moments before displaying their prizes proudly now hang listlessly at his sides. His beautiful broad shoulders slump, and I'm sure I can see the shimmering of a tear at the corner of one cornflower blue eye. Why does he make this so hard on me? I don't like bursting bubbles, his or anyone else's. But as the kami are my witness, I will not wear those shoes. "Perhaps there is some other pair that caught your eye?"

His shoulders start to shake, and my resolve trembles with them. I should have been a bigger man; so what if the sneakers look stupid? If it would have made him happy, the ridicule would have been worth it. I fear it is too late to change my decision, though. Perhaps I can still make amends. "Sweetheart, please, I'm sure they are perfectly lovely shoes, it's just that they're not quite my style. I can still get you a pair if you want."

I hold my breath as he appears to think my offer over. He raises his head ever so slowly, and his eyes, which had previously been obstructed by wild black bangs, come into view. The look dwelling in their crystal depths stuns me. He's laughing! He must see the look of understanding cross my visage, for he no longer bothers to keep his chuckling silent. The chiming giggles echo around the dingy discount store, and I can't help but smile in response.

"Oh Tacchi, you're a treasure, you really are. To think you actually thought I wanted these," he pauses, thinking over his next choice of words. "How would you say it? Maybe 'these maleficently hued paradigms of disreputableness?' Give me more credit." He smirks at me, and I find myself powerless to retaliate. I must remember what I have planned for tonight. I've been one-upped enough for one day.

"More credit it is, my love. Just remember that payment comes sooner than you think, and interest can be devastating."

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Samurai in Search of an Introduction
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"Well, how about Silver Katana?"

My tender rose bud gives me a look that promises much but delivers little. He makes a small moue, and flits one well-shaped hand in the air. "That would go over real well. 'I am the undisputed champion of Furinkan's kendo club, protector of the meek, punisher of the wicked. Those that I deem worthy know me as the Silver Katana. I am Tatewaki Kuno; tremble in fear before my magnificence!' How many more challengers do you want to defeat by asphyxiation? It's enough to make me keel over in laughter." He turns his attention back to his cards before I can comment. "Got any sixes?"

"Go fish." While he makes a rather amusing production of picking through the cards tumbled facedown on the table, I give serious consideration to his comments. "A bit pompous?"

"A wee bit." He glances at the card he's chosen, and frowns charmingly. "Drat. Just what I didn't need. Okay, let me get this straight. You wanted something a little more toned down, that would inspire respect, yet not make you sound like a blathering lunatic that should have been institutionalized years ago, correct?"

"You needn't put it quite that way," I temporize, while giving my own cards close scrutiny, "but that is the basic gist of it, yes." How he talked me into sitting down and playing this inane card game is beyond even my considerable comprehension. Or perhaps it isn't; he offered me two choices, after all. It was either this, or he would get up and do my laundry again. I'm afraid to admit that the idea of once again shopping for a new wardrobe instills such a feeling of dread that I would do almost anything to avoid the experience. "Have you any jacks?"

I take time to reflect on the fact that his pout is even cuter than his frown. "Did you peek?"

"A Kuno does not resort to cheating!" Well, not for stupid parlor games. Love, on the other hand.... He hands over his jack grudgingly, and I take care not to gloat as I set the pair down. "So what do you suggest?"

"I guess a simple 'I am Tatewaki Kuno, prepare yourself' is out of the question?" He has the nerve to ask that? I admit that unadorned speech has its place, but that place is not on the field of battle. "'Sokay. What about 'I am Upperclassman Kuno, captain of the Furinkan kendo club, and supporter of causes both righteous and charitable. However, my peers amongst the competition circuit know me as the Gold Nova'? Two's?"

"Go fish." His suggestion has merit, although it is a bit rough about the edges. My speechwriters might be able to do something with it. I wave off an approaching maid; desert can wait for a few more minutes. "Gold Nova?" I inquire, well, inquisitively. It has a certain ring to it, but I'm not sure if it's over the top. "Any reason you chose that one in particular?"

He waves his newly selected card in the air, and grandly lays it on the table next to its partner. A pair of deuces, how apt. He bats his lashes at me, and I find myself once more lost in his hypnotically blue gaze. "Yeah, there's a reason," he responds throatily. I wonder if I have enough control to make it through desert. "You make me see them every night." I feel a blush rising to my cheeks, and I wonder briefly how it is possible, considering the fact that my entire blood supply has quickly rushed to another place entirely.

"Gold Nova it is then." I give him my best sultry look, and in return, he kicks my shins from underneath the table. Ah, the course of true love. "Have you any nines?"

The temperature of the room seems to have increased by several degrees, and the cups of sherbet I had so easily dismissed a moment ago would have been extremely welcome. "Go fish," he purrs at me. Trapped in his gaze, I fumble blindly through the pile of cards, grabbing one completely at random.

Using almost superhuman strength, I manage to turn my eyes away from his. I focus them instead on the sanctuary the new card offers. It takes a few seconds for the knowledge of what I am seeing to sink in. Newly fortified, I risk glancing at my heart's desire in mild admonishment. To the best of my knowledge, there are no Old Maids in the game Go Fish. Tonight's revenge will be most sweet.

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Gestures Betokening Romance
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I have never been a morning personality. And with my truest rose snuggled so warmly up against my side, I see no reason why I should start now. I fondly recall last night, and the retribution I lavished upon my soul's completion for his little pranks of the day before. Or could it be he made his apologies? It matters not, this morning after, with our legs still entwined and his head resting so peacefully against my shoulder, his breath making soft shurring noises only a complete fool would call snoring. He is perfect, and he's mine.

He mumbles something incoherent in his sleep, and shifts away from me, leaving an aching feeling of absence where once there was completion. I yearn to turn with him, and take him once more in my arms, when I remember why I am up at such an abysmal hour to begin with. The club has an early practice today, and then I have a meeting with that Hawaiian lunatic over the family's businesses. Reluctantly I work my way out of the sheets, taking care not to awaken my dearest.

With a skill born of long practice, I make my way across the floor without the slightest hint of a footfall to mar the morning's peace. While passing by the window, I observe that my elderly neighbor is once again up early watering her rock garden. I wave regally at her, and she bobs her head in acknowledgment. My lips quirk as I once again observe the fact that her early morning chores increased exponentially the very week I stopped wearing pajamas to bed. My sister suggested that the wisest course of action may have been to close the draperies. She's turned into such a prude; where's the fun in that?

I make my way to the dresser, and open up the top drawer, where I keep my common, every day boxers. I pull a pair out, then gape at them in astonishment. Hurling them to the floor, I pull out another pair, only to see in the milky morning light the same hideous defilement. I burrow through them desperately, seeking for at least one pair that might have escaped the night's tragedy, but it is hopeless. All of those new boxers I had bought yesterday are ruined, unless I want to smell like a bleach spill. I slump to the floor surrounded by my mishandled underwear. "Oh Kame-sama, why?" I moan, somewhat piteously to be sure.

"You called?" my cherished angel asks, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. It is a testament to his skill that I hadn't had the slightest warning of his approach.

"How could you?" It is a deeper question than what it seems. I had not felt him leave the bed the entire night, and for such a light sleeper as I've had to learn to be, that is a very troubling thing. "I just got them yesterday. Couldn't you have given me the chance to wear them at least once?"

He leans over, and I wrench my even-now lustful gaze to his lowered face. With surprising gentleness he kisses me on the forehead while giving my shoulder a fleeting squeeze. "I wanted a remembrance, Tacchi. And now, whenever you're wearing them, you'll think of me." He straightens, and walks languorously over to the bathroom, pausing briefly at the doorway. "And after all," he called back, "it's the color of romance."

Soon I hear the sound of running water, and I decide. I'll keep these wretched boxers, and I'll wear them. Sometimes I think I'm a complete sap, but I want so much to please him, and the things he ask for are so insignificant in the long run. With a sigh, I set about to the task of refolding the dozen pairs of shockingly pink underwear.

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Lucky Charms
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I am coming to dread opening up my underwear drawer. Two days ago it was to find it full of formerly white boxers dyed interesting shades of pink. Yesterday I found them with small notes that read 'rub here and make wish' pinned across the crotches. Now this. If I were the swearing type, today's offering would have me blistering the paint off of my walls. I need to ask the staff if there is anyway of locking my drawers shut.

My little piece of heaven prances out of the bathroom, having finished his shower, and the sight of him, damp and flushed and jiggling in the most fascinating places, is almost enough to make me forget my ire. Almost. I wave one of the offending pairs of underwear at him and ask peevishly, "What is the meaning of this?"

His eyes grow round, and he places one finger appealingly along his cheek. "Why, I think the meaning would be obvious my Tacchi snookums." I am not, nor will I ever be, a *snookums*. His honeybear, yes. His cuddlebunny, maybe. And if he were to get me smashingly drunk, I might even allow myself to be his fluffy whumpkins. But with snookums, he's gone too far. I open my mouth for a blistering retort. He bounces delightfully on the balls of his feet. I close my mouth to prevent the drool from escaping. My darling doesn't play fair at all.

"I'm a little *distracted* this morning. Would you mind explaining it to me?" I finger the offending garment in distaste, and ponder the wisdom of caving into my beloved yet again. A Kuno will do anything for love, but a Kuno also has pride. Methinks the object of my adoration may be forgeting that.

"I just figured that having a reminder of me constantly with you wasn't enough. I wanted you to know how much I loved you, and this was the best way I could think of. Don't you like them?" Like them? Perhaps in the same way a general likes to watch the gradual advance of the army that he knows will defeat his best troops? Hardly. I try to remain stern, but it is cruelly hard to do while he is standing there, eyes pleading, with nary a stich of clothing on him.

Grunting in consternation, I toss the boxers over to him. Catching them with ease, he stares at me curiously. "Aren't you going to wear them?"

"I don't believe so. I think, instead, that you should wear them. Then you can think of me all day long, and reminisce on how much *I* love *you*."

"Oh, that would never work." He slinks forward to where I am standing, and hands the undergarment back to me. "You're such a big, strong fellow. I'm afraid that your clothes would never fit me. I'd look ridiculous with your boxers puddled around my ankles." Delicious image, that, and I must try to remember it for the future. He's trying to distract me, and so far, he's succeeded admirably.

"Kame-sama," I grumble, and pull on the boxers, grimacing as I catch my reflection in the full-length closet mirrors, "the things I do for you. I almost think it would be worth it to go without them."

"Dear me Tacchi, what a terrible thing to think." He hugs me hard, and I marvel, not for the first time, at how well he fits me, and I, him. People get so few chances for true love, and I am daily grateful for the twist of fate that won my soulmate to my side. There are those that don't approve, and those that wish to be in my place, and those that hold grudges for reasons real and imagined. But I gladly face them all, accepting it as the price of love.

My lover starts giggling, and my embrace quickly changes to support. "What's so funny?" Although I do have an idea; I'm not nearly as dense as my detractors would have the world believe.

He points at our joined reflections in the mirror. I philosophically accept what he's done to my boxers; once I have my clothes on, no one will be able to tell that my pink underwear are now adorned with vibrant red hearts. My truest leans harder against me while trying to calm his laughter. I hold him until he can balance on his own. I suppose it is my look of bewilderment that almost sets him off again. Cornflower blue eyes twinkling merrily, he tells me his thoughts. "If I were you, I'd stick with wearing the underwear. It's safer that way. People almost expect red hearts, but explaining away yellow moons is another matter entirely!"

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A Guy Worth Fighting For
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I used to hate walking to school; before I met the most ethereal of creatures, I would have the chauffeur drive me there and back. When my love entered my life, my opinion changed. What used to be a boring task suddenly became a wonderful, entertaining adventure. We would talk, and sometimes hold hands, and the entire day would seem brighter for his company. It's that way now.

While I plod along the street, he tiptoes beside me atop the wire fence. Teasingly I shake the top pole, and he smugly keeps his balance with a finesse I can never hope to achieve. Someday, I hope to join him up there. Today should be a fairly mundane undertaking; I have no duels scheduled, and my father is taking a much-needed vacation at the sanitarium. I can't believe how much it cost to find one that would take him in. However, there are times to be frugal, and then there are times to be a spendthrift. It's taken me a while, but I've learned that lesson well.

I'm preparing to wiggle the next post when a shout interrupts me. "Tatewaki Kuno, prepare to die!" Drat! A thousand curses upon whomever's responsible for Ryoga Hibiki's sense of direction. He should have been lost for another two weeks. A soft thump by my side informs me that my truest has taken a defensive position beside me; a thoughtful gesture, but one I wish he wouldn't do. It's unseemly for the prize to fight for itself, though I'd never phrase it that way to him.

"What can I do for you Hibiki?" I ask icily, the politeness forced and the tone insincere. I hate his appearances; I don't know how to handle them. I'm so used to defeating my foes in open combat, but Hibiki has a delicate sense of honor that can't withstand the humiliation of being defeated in public.

He strides forward, hate rolling off him in visible waves. "You could die, but I don't think you'd be very obliging."

"How crass." My soulmate tilts his head back arrogantly, and looks at Hibiki through his thick lashes. "Why do you keep showing up? Haven't you gotten it yet? I don't love you. I don't even like you much. Stop bothering Tacchi and me already."

I'm starting to get worried about the feverish gleam in Hibiki's eyes. They are wild, and he's certainly not thinking clearly. "You truly don't want to fight me again. The conclusion of any such bout is foregone."

"Not this time, it isn't. I know your tricks Kuno, and this time they won't work." He reaches out and grabs my lover's hand, pulling my lifemate away from my side.

"Let him go!" I snarl, wishing I had my katana, my bokken, anything other than my bare hands.

Hibiki barks out a raucous laugh. "Because of you, I've seen hell. Well, I've come to return the favor. Hope you enjoy the flipside!" With a quick twist of his free hand, he throws something at me. I catch it easily. It's a small round crystal of an odd, off hue, cracked a third of the way through. I quickly look up, silently cursing my momentary lapse in attention. I blink to clear my eyes, then rub at them in disbelief. The street is totally empty.

I spin around, but of Hibiki and my precious gem, there is no sign. I can feel the fear trying to claw its way inside my heart, but I have no time for it now. I must find them before they've gone too far. Who knows what that unbalanced person is capable of doing?

My search eventually leads me to the school grounds, where the vague stirrings of unease I have been feeling for some time finally coalesce. The school is in disrepair. The same had been true of the nearby neighborhoods I had been searching. Yet much of the damage looks old, which can not be. What was happening?

I spot a familiar face in the crowd of students milling about the entrance to Furinkan. What luck; he of all people should have some idea of where my dearest was taken. I walk towards him hurriedly; I know that as an upperclassman I should set a good example, but the situation is desperate. "Ranma," I call out, "a word with you."

He turns towards me, but instead of the normal welcome, he greets me with a bored sounding, "What is it Kuno?" Since when has he called me Kuno? He's been calling me Tatewaki since he was five. I'm starting to panic, but that doesn't do anyone any good.

Urgently I ask him, "Have you seen your brother?"

Ranma stares at me vacantly. "Gee Kuno, I must of hit you harder than I thought. I don't have a brother."

What's that he's saying? "Of course you have a brother. Kame, remember? He's a year older than you; your father took him on an eleven year training trip-- just tell me where he is. I know Ryoga would have told you something." I grab the younger man's arm in desperation. "Please, this is serious."

He easily shrugs out of my grip, and glares at me despisingly. "Stop fooling around Kuno. I told ya, I ain't got no brother. Now, unless ya wanna fight, leave me alone."

I'm about to try again when Ranma is splashed from behind with a bucket of water. Where once the brother of my beloved had stood, there is now a young woman, soaking wet and blazingly mad. She turns around and screams at the students standing behind her. "What did you do that for? You *jerks*, just ya wait."

I stumble backwards in shock, hand reaching automatically for the small crystal I had put in my pants' pocket. It was true. Somehow, Hibiki had managed to send me to hell. I watch numbly as a tall youth makes his way towards the now female Ranma, bokken in hand and a swagger to his steps.

"Come to me, my love!" he calls out, and dashes forward to sweep the wet Ranma into an embarrassingly intimate embrace.

"Let go of me, you pervert," the understandably upset Ranma cries out, and punches the ardent youth in the head. He drops the wet girl gently to the ground, but otherwise seems unfazed by the strike. Ranma punches him again. "What is with you today Kuno? First you go on about some brother I don't have, and now you're back to this. Give it a rest!" Ranma seems prepared to strike out a third time, when the particulars of the situation finally hit him, err, her. She turns around and goggles at me, then looks back at the other man. *Oh* my. Not just any other man.

That's me.

I run from the school, not caring much where I am headed. Somehow, Hibiki has managed to send me someplace else. Another dimension, another reality-- the mechanics of it do not matter that much. All I know for certain is that my beloved, the other half of my soul, my Kame-sama, doesn't exist in this world. And that my duplicate here is a cretin. I must find a way back to my own place. I have to. What else can I do?