hey all, i haven't posted in a while, and this just came to me last
night, short and sweet. =) All commentary welcome. =) DISCLAIMER:
Ranma 1/2 is property of Rumiko Takahashi. No profit is being made
from its use in this work of fiction, and no infringement is 
intended.

ARCHIVE: Phu, Reddeath, and Rakhal have my express permission.
Everyone else please ask (echonymph@msn.com).

RATING: G (wow, I think it's my first one!)

SUMMARY: introspection and water

=====

There are little things sometimes that surprise me. Hints of 
affection and odd bits of kindness that startle me out of my careless
reverie. And in those moments, it's very hard to bite back the 
curiosity that seizes me each time those mercurial blue eyes glimmer
in friendliness.

But it's okay, it doesn't happen very much. The temptation fades,
as does the low ache in my heart, it all goes away, with time.

Do I love him? Not yet.

But am I fascinated? Very.

It would be nice if I had the opportunity to find out more about him,
to share with him more than simple day-to-day pleasantries.
Sometimes, I'm tempted to sit down at his side and just incite a 
long, lazy conversation, to see where it leads us. He has the perfect
voice and perfect disposition for lengthy, rambling talks. The type
of inane chatter that you share with a close friend when both of you
are in a good mood. The type of chatter that leads to laughter
and carefree idiocy, the type of chatter for which everyone that has
ever been lonely yearns. He must have so many stories, so many things
that he could talk about. He's been everywhere, seen everything.

I'm certain he wouldn't be adverse to it, sometimes, it seems like
he stops himself short of starting one of these conversations
himself.

I think we both know that we can't be friends.

Not friends like that.

Personalities are strange. I was once told that I was like a brook,
soft, liquid, smooth. When I face adversity, I merely flow over and
around it, slowly wearing the sharp points away until nothing but a 
rounded, yielding curve is left. Ranma has always been characterized
as whitewater, rapid, forceful, overwhelming. When he faces a 
problem, he fights it every step of the way, blowing his opponents
out of the water.

I have always thought that it was symbolic that brooks often flow 
into whitewater, and that whitewater often flows back into brooks.
They're both made of the same material, same composition, but they
react so differently to the world.

And when I let myself think about it more deeply, I realized that 
when one mixed whitewater and brook, one created eddies, small swirls
of concentrated force, and fast river. Should Ranma and I ever 
interact, should we ever mix and meld and fall, we'd make an exciting
body of water indeed, possessing both the pace and peace that any of
a million people desires.

But both brooks and whitewater are still bound to the earth, the 
lumbering, immovable structure of loam and stone. We're still 
directed by the way that ground is shaped, made wider or thinner
based on how long the Earth tolerates our existence.

Akane is our earth.

I love her; she's a wonderful girl. Bright and kind and funny and 
warm, perhaps a tad *too* vivacious for Ranma's well being, but she
never means it.

Akane and I have an agreement, she lets me flow where I will, as long
as I take my time carving my path. We are comfortable with each 
other, familiar. 

My actions are age-old, the same they as are today and tomorrow
as they were when she was six years old. I will always be Kasumi;
I will always be her kind and loving older sister. I will always
smile at her, regardless of what she's done.

But Ranma -

Ranma fights.

He is not used to being confined, to having someone control or care
about his actions. His furious waves and incredible speed keep 
slamming against the rocks that Akane has so carefully placed about
his boundaries, angry and confounded that someone would try to 
contain him. He wants to run; he wants to be free; he wants to tease
and jeer and yell, but he also wants the earth to nourish him. He has
not learned to bend, he has not learned to accept, and he has not 
learned to be gentle.

And I fear he never will.

But for the time being - the earth still loves him. Still cares for
him, is still as possessive as always, cutting two clear and 
divergent paths for my brook and his wild water.

"Here you go, Ranma-kun. Please, have some tea," I say.

Maybe one day Akane will learn that wild water is not made to be 
tamed, that Ranma will not be the Ranma that she is fond of if his 
crashing waves are broken to tiny ripples. Maybe one day Akane will
see that she cannot care for him the way that she wants to, not 
without crushing his spirit.

Maybe one day Akane will let the brook and the whitewater come to a 
delta together, and maybe she will forgive them if they create eddies
and fast rivers.

He smiles at me, blue eyes flashing and the corners of his mouth 
turned up in a grin. "Thank you, Kasumi."

But until then, the brook will just cut a different course around
it, saying, "Please," and the whitewater will keep rushing, a smirk
on its face, always whispering, "Thank you."

=====

Notes:

Wow, this one was short. Amazingly short. I don't know where the 
inspiration came from (but if I was to hazard a guess, I would have
to blame this story on siaru *cough*oott*cough* < inside joke, don't
worry about it ^_^). I do, however, remember that the reason I 
started writing this story was that I couldn't get the words "please"
and "thank you" out of my mind.

That politeness, it's a killer.

Also, I find that music obviously doesn't affect my mood at all 
because while writing this I had the B52's "Love Shack" on repeat
on winamp. *lol*