The Shape of Your Face
folder
+M to R › Ranma �
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
4,271
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+M to R › Ranma �
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
4,271
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Ranma, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
First Goodbye
DISCLAIMER: Ranma 1/2 ain't mine, worse luck... *mutters*
~thinking~
‘actual thoughts’
*emphasis*
AN: I got a review! Yippee! So this chapter is for Snapped Chopstick!
CHAPTER THREE
When Mousse finally went back to the Nekohanten it was after midnight. The restaurant was locked up tightly, so he climbed the drainpipe and slid in the window that he always left open. ‘Good thing I do, too.’ He thought to himself, irritated at the fact that the women he worked his rear off for had locked up *knowing* he was outside. For the first time he didn’t try to stop the angry thoughts about them. For gods sake, even if he was beneath them, he was *still* a member of the tribe, wasn’t he? Why did they always have to treat him like dirt when he only wanted to please his Beloved?
He sighed and flopped down on his bed, staring around the room like he’d never seen it before. Was it always this small? This dingy? This crowded? Why did he have all this crap in here with him? Weapons - okay, those he understood. A box holding his clothes, okay. A wall covered with pictures of Shampoo? That was just sad. A plastic cup she’d thrown away, chopsticks she’d broken in a fit of anger, an old hairbrush with strands of purple hair still clinging to it - that was just sick. Why had he never realized what an obsessed psychopath he was?
He giggled, too tired to be serious, and started sorting through his things. None of the little ‘Shampoo knicknacks’ - he had decided to make a clean break from his Amazon masters. Most of the weapons he could fit into his clothes, most of his spare clothes he could fit in there, too. He wasn’t a Hidden Weapons expert for nothing, was he? For some reason he couldn’t stop giggling. Maybe he was too tired to do this tonight?
No.
No, he wanted out quick, a quick clean wound hurt much less than a slow tearing cut. He had loved Shampoo - *thought* he loved Shampoo - for so long and so hard that walking away couldn’t help but hurt. He wanted it to hurt as little as possible.
The pictures helped. It was amazing, looking at them with his new eyes, all the little things he saw that he’d never seen before. How narrow the space was between her eyes, how the full lips he’d admired looked selfish and petted. How the clothes he’d thought alluring were really just - well, slutty. No wonder Ranma didn’t want to marry her.
Ranma - he thought again about the tired young face hiding behind that wide grin. “I wonder why he looks so tired and so haunted? I thought he was always enjoying himself, being chased around by so many girls. Weird.” Mousse put the last of his weapons into his right sleeve and started on his clothes. He’d changed into his oldest, plainest clothes, a worn set of clothing that had been black once but had been washed so many times it was a dull gray. It was much different that his usual neat white and blue. He only kept it for really filthy chores and he didn’t think it had been worn outside the café in over a year. When he’d worn it inside it had been for after-hours chores, so he doubted if Shampoo and Cologne even remembered it.
He finished packing away his clothes and a few personal items and then sat down on a rickety chair in front of a cracked mirror. He held a pair of scissors in his hands for a long moment, then reached for his hair. He started to cut - and stopped. Started again. Stopped again.
“Can’t do it.” He whispered. He’d always been proud of his hair, taking extra special care of it. It was long, thick and black and reached nearly to his waist, a waterfall of deep dark silk. He scowled at himself over his weakness, but then his face brightened. He went scrambling through his memorabilia of Shampoo until he came upon a half-used tube of hair dye. The purple-haired girl had once used it to disguise herself when she was stalking Ranma. He snuck down the hall to the bathroom, came out half an hour later with hair a muddy shade of brown, slicked completely back into a tight braid. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. With different hair, his bangs gelled back and the new glasses, he barely recognized himself.
Perfect.
He turned to his secret hiding place, a loose floorboard that was held down firmly by the iron frame of his bed. Shifting the foot of the bed aside as quietly as he could, he lifted the board and pulled out a little sack of coins. He’d been collecting every cent he could get his hands on to buy Shampoo a birthday present *guaranteed* to make her love him. Once he’d explained to Cologne what he was doing - cleverly leaving out the ‘love’ part - she’d allowed him to keep his tips. They’d be going to Shampoo anyway, just in a round-about way. He’d managed to squirrel away a tidy little sum, thinking about expensive perfume or stunning jewelry - now he’d put it to better use.
He took one last look around the drab little room and sighed. So many years spent here, frustrated and yearning for a love he knew now he’d never get. Shampoo wasn’t *capable* of loving anyone. Anyone but herself. One more sigh, and he turned to the window, slipping out, down the drainpipe, and away.
He headed across Nerima to the seedy side of town, away from everyone and everyplace that he was familiar with. The nightlife was active here, he had to avoid more than one person who thought he was prey. He finally found a small, rundown boarding house that offered small rooms and breakfast for a weekly sum. He paid for two weeks and dumped all his belongings in the room, everything except a few knives leaving the wide sleeves. He couldn’t carry all that where he was going next. He slipped out and locked the door, putting the key in his pocket with a feeling of satisfactory security. It was the first time in his life he’d ever had a key to lock anything away.
After tiptoeing down the stairs to avoid being seen by any other residents, he wandered the streets until he found the next thing he was looking for, a tiny little store that offered used clothing at ridiculously low prices. There were a few other people inside rooting through the stacks of wearables and none looked up when he joined them. He looked for clothing as completely different from what he usually wore as possible, found it in several pairs of loose, worn jeans, some baggy old pullover sweaters and faded button-up shirts. He even found a t-shirt or two. One amused him, it was black with a picture of a grey owl wearing large glasses and the words ‘I SEE YOU!’ in large scrawled print. Two pairs of slightly battered sneakers completed his purchases, and he headed back to his new home.
A half hour of struggling with unfamiliar clothes and he was back outside, wearing the jeans, a long sleeved dark blue t-shirt and a faded blue pullover. He left them both untucked, with no idea of how young and vulnerable he looked. It was a struggle getting his knives into the tighter sleeves, but he had gotten the new technique down before leaving. As much as he needed to do the third thing on his list, he wasn’t about to go out unprotected. Not in this part of town.
He wandered again until he saw a small, dingy looking bar with a ‘Help-Wanted’ sign in the window. It couldn’t be that different from waiting on tables in a café - he opened the door and went inside.
~thinking~
‘actual thoughts’
*emphasis*
AN: I got a review! Yippee! So this chapter is for Snapped Chopstick!
CHAPTER THREE
When Mousse finally went back to the Nekohanten it was after midnight. The restaurant was locked up tightly, so he climbed the drainpipe and slid in the window that he always left open. ‘Good thing I do, too.’ He thought to himself, irritated at the fact that the women he worked his rear off for had locked up *knowing* he was outside. For the first time he didn’t try to stop the angry thoughts about them. For gods sake, even if he was beneath them, he was *still* a member of the tribe, wasn’t he? Why did they always have to treat him like dirt when he only wanted to please his Beloved?
He sighed and flopped down on his bed, staring around the room like he’d never seen it before. Was it always this small? This dingy? This crowded? Why did he have all this crap in here with him? Weapons - okay, those he understood. A box holding his clothes, okay. A wall covered with pictures of Shampoo? That was just sad. A plastic cup she’d thrown away, chopsticks she’d broken in a fit of anger, an old hairbrush with strands of purple hair still clinging to it - that was just sick. Why had he never realized what an obsessed psychopath he was?
He giggled, too tired to be serious, and started sorting through his things. None of the little ‘Shampoo knicknacks’ - he had decided to make a clean break from his Amazon masters. Most of the weapons he could fit into his clothes, most of his spare clothes he could fit in there, too. He wasn’t a Hidden Weapons expert for nothing, was he? For some reason he couldn’t stop giggling. Maybe he was too tired to do this tonight?
No.
No, he wanted out quick, a quick clean wound hurt much less than a slow tearing cut. He had loved Shampoo - *thought* he loved Shampoo - for so long and so hard that walking away couldn’t help but hurt. He wanted it to hurt as little as possible.
The pictures helped. It was amazing, looking at them with his new eyes, all the little things he saw that he’d never seen before. How narrow the space was between her eyes, how the full lips he’d admired looked selfish and petted. How the clothes he’d thought alluring were really just - well, slutty. No wonder Ranma didn’t want to marry her.
Ranma - he thought again about the tired young face hiding behind that wide grin. “I wonder why he looks so tired and so haunted? I thought he was always enjoying himself, being chased around by so many girls. Weird.” Mousse put the last of his weapons into his right sleeve and started on his clothes. He’d changed into his oldest, plainest clothes, a worn set of clothing that had been black once but had been washed so many times it was a dull gray. It was much different that his usual neat white and blue. He only kept it for really filthy chores and he didn’t think it had been worn outside the café in over a year. When he’d worn it inside it had been for after-hours chores, so he doubted if Shampoo and Cologne even remembered it.
He finished packing away his clothes and a few personal items and then sat down on a rickety chair in front of a cracked mirror. He held a pair of scissors in his hands for a long moment, then reached for his hair. He started to cut - and stopped. Started again. Stopped again.
“Can’t do it.” He whispered. He’d always been proud of his hair, taking extra special care of it. It was long, thick and black and reached nearly to his waist, a waterfall of deep dark silk. He scowled at himself over his weakness, but then his face brightened. He went scrambling through his memorabilia of Shampoo until he came upon a half-used tube of hair dye. The purple-haired girl had once used it to disguise herself when she was stalking Ranma. He snuck down the hall to the bathroom, came out half an hour later with hair a muddy shade of brown, slicked completely back into a tight braid. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. With different hair, his bangs gelled back and the new glasses, he barely recognized himself.
Perfect.
He turned to his secret hiding place, a loose floorboard that was held down firmly by the iron frame of his bed. Shifting the foot of the bed aside as quietly as he could, he lifted the board and pulled out a little sack of coins. He’d been collecting every cent he could get his hands on to buy Shampoo a birthday present *guaranteed* to make her love him. Once he’d explained to Cologne what he was doing - cleverly leaving out the ‘love’ part - she’d allowed him to keep his tips. They’d be going to Shampoo anyway, just in a round-about way. He’d managed to squirrel away a tidy little sum, thinking about expensive perfume or stunning jewelry - now he’d put it to better use.
He took one last look around the drab little room and sighed. So many years spent here, frustrated and yearning for a love he knew now he’d never get. Shampoo wasn’t *capable* of loving anyone. Anyone but herself. One more sigh, and he turned to the window, slipping out, down the drainpipe, and away.
He headed across Nerima to the seedy side of town, away from everyone and everyplace that he was familiar with. The nightlife was active here, he had to avoid more than one person who thought he was prey. He finally found a small, rundown boarding house that offered small rooms and breakfast for a weekly sum. He paid for two weeks and dumped all his belongings in the room, everything except a few knives leaving the wide sleeves. He couldn’t carry all that where he was going next. He slipped out and locked the door, putting the key in his pocket with a feeling of satisfactory security. It was the first time in his life he’d ever had a key to lock anything away.
After tiptoeing down the stairs to avoid being seen by any other residents, he wandered the streets until he found the next thing he was looking for, a tiny little store that offered used clothing at ridiculously low prices. There were a few other people inside rooting through the stacks of wearables and none looked up when he joined them. He looked for clothing as completely different from what he usually wore as possible, found it in several pairs of loose, worn jeans, some baggy old pullover sweaters and faded button-up shirts. He even found a t-shirt or two. One amused him, it was black with a picture of a grey owl wearing large glasses and the words ‘I SEE YOU!’ in large scrawled print. Two pairs of slightly battered sneakers completed his purchases, and he headed back to his new home.
A half hour of struggling with unfamiliar clothes and he was back outside, wearing the jeans, a long sleeved dark blue t-shirt and a faded blue pullover. He left them both untucked, with no idea of how young and vulnerable he looked. It was a struggle getting his knives into the tighter sleeves, but he had gotten the new technique down before leaving. As much as he needed to do the third thing on his list, he wasn’t about to go out unprotected. Not in this part of town.
He wandered again until he saw a small, dingy looking bar with a ‘Help-Wanted’ sign in the window. It couldn’t be that different from waiting on tables in a café - he opened the door and went inside.