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Girl R	By : Zelmane Category: +M to R > Ranma ½ Views: 10253 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma 1/2, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Pretty Girl
- 1
PREFACE
Well now...
This story has been percolating in my head for a few years now. Last year I began a segment of it meant to detail events leading up to the point this story begins, a portion of which was posted on this fan fiction site. But for a variety of reasons I have decided to table that story for the moment, and instead start my tale from here. This decision, however, has not come with some cost.
This story begins somewhat in the middle. Some of the background of what has happened before is alluded to, and I have done my best to draw hints for which most readers should be able to draw inferences from. If you are reasonably familiar with Ranma ½ and its mythos, most of the background information should be easy to decipher. However, because this story also involves mysteries and their unraveling, and because some of that unraveling is meant to be somewhat shocking, I have decided for the moment NOT to explain everything. For now you will have to trust me; there are reasons why I am deciding to tell this story in the way I am, reasons which should become clearer as the story progresses.
Some notes at the end. As always, I do not own Ranma ½. I apologize in advance to the Princess of Manga, Rumiko Takahashi, for the pure hell I am about to put her characters through. Comments are appreciated; by all means, please tell me what I am doing right and what I am doing wrong. I'm trying something different here, and while I am aware it might not be to everyone's taste, I nevertheless would dearly appreciate the feedback.
-Zelmane

Girl R
Chapter One
"Pretty Girl"
March 7
Somewhere Over the South Pacific
"Its not a bad life." Girl R whispered, in French, as she swept her red hair away from one side of her head. She reached behind one ear, and began pushing the earring post through her piercing. "Its not a bad life at all. Master takes care of me, takes me to the finest restaurants, provides me with the best clothes, and takes me traveling all over the world." The earring now set and dangling from one lobe, she shifted attention to her other ear and repeated the process. "No. Its not a bad life at all." A few seconds more, and the earrings were finished.
She looked at her reflection in the vanity, and briefly studied how the earrings looked on her. Satisfied, she closed the small jewelry chalet case before her, then pulled some lip liner and its corresponding tube of lipstick from her cosmetics carrying bag. She began carefully penciling in the outline of her lips, then filled in the rest with lipstick cautiously applied by a small brush. Once finished she sat back, studied the overall look with a critical eye, used one finger to lightly brush away a slight smudge at the edge of her lips, studied herself again, and then smiled.
"Perfect." she said. "This girl looks... perfect."
The face that stared back at her was beautiful, gorgeous. The lips were a full, well-defined, kissable red; her face smooth and glowing with only a hint of rouge on her cheeks; dark eyeliner, mascara-curled lashes, and smoky taupe eyeshadow framed her blue eyes so they stood out, all beneath a pair of carefully plucked eyebrows in a feminine arch; the silver earrings with small gemstones sparkled beneath her ears; and all surrounded by a mane of carefully brushed red, soft, wavy hair.
"Master will like this." she said with satisfaction.
She stared at her reflection.
Seconds passed. Still, she continued to stare.
And stared some more.
And stared... more.
The gentle smile on her lips faded, but her eyes did not leave her reflection.
"There's not much further to go, is there?' she whispered to herself. But this time, in Japanese.
Her hand reached up to her face and slowly brushed one cheek, then stopped. She brought the hand in front of her and looked at it, examined it, as if amazed at what she were seeing. It was small, dainty, with long fingers tipped by well-manicured ovals lacquered a deep red. Slowly she began to turn it around, examining both sides before trying to clench it into a loose fist. She stopped half way, gave up, and brought the hand down.
Then she stared at her reflection again.
The hair. It was red again. For the first time in over a year, she was a ginger.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
For most of the last year, her hair had been blonde. Her hairstylist, Javier, had of course objected, asking her why she wanted to hide such beautiful red locks. "I'm tired of it." she'd lied to him then, "I just want a change. Something different." So regretfully, he'd complied.
Her first choice had been to go brown. Brunette was out, of course; black hair would have been too much of a reminder of her old life - her old-old life, really - and a nice auburn seemed like a good compromise between wanting a change and keeping at least some of her red. But after a few weeks she'd regretted it, for reasons that she couldn't quite define, and instead went back to Javier determined to ask for as radical a change as could be managed, without resorting to wild colors like pink or aqua. Which of course, by process of elimination, could only mean some shade of blonde.
Several hours later, she'd walked out onto the Boulevard des Capucines with a mane of yellow blonde hair. She was pleasantly surprised by the looks she'd gotten on the walk home. Master, of course, had been very pleased by her choice, more so than the brown, and so the hair had stayed blonde thereafter.
But now it was red again. She'd gone back three weeks before, because... because... because it was time to lure the last one into her trap. Yes, that was it. Lure him into her trap, just as she'd done for the other two before them. And just like them, he'd fallen into it easily. THAT had been two weeks previously. Good. He deserved that. For what they'd done to her, they all deserved their fates. Revenge.
(Funny, there was something about that whole incident pricking at her, like an indistinct, nebulous thought. Something she should remember... huh, its gone. It probably wasn't important, tho. No, it couldn't have been all that important.)
She regarded her hair again, and wondered whether she should go back to the blonde. There was no longer any reason to hold back, she thought. She could even get it braided now; unlike the Island, Master allowed her to braid her hair, so long as it was in the French style. And it would look so nice on her. And once she was back home, Maisie would want to drag her to all the spring fashion shows. Master would want her to look good for that. Maybe if she asked Javier to...
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Stop it, she thought. You're drifting again. You have to watch for that. You always have to watch for that.
Focus, she thought. Don't lose yourself. At least, not anymore than you already have.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes, and stared once more at her reflection. This time they drifted downwards, towards her throat. To the dainty item around her neck.
She regarded it carefully. It looked like a piece of jewelry. A thin chain of silver links, held together by a single golden thread and adorned with a small, gem-encrusted locket that always, always seemed to settle just below the base of her throat, no matter how she moved. It looked delicate and beautiful, a pretty trinket for the pretty girl she was.
Her eyes fixed on it. For a brief moment, she willed her hand to reach up towards it, just to see what would happen. It didn't get far. Half way there it stopped, and no matter how much she concentrated, no matter how much she tried to will her fingers even a few millimeters further, it hovered stubbornly, safely away. With a sigh Girl R gave up and brought her arm back to the table. Not that she had expected a different outcome.
Just as well, she thought. She didn't really want to die.
"Its never coming off now." she whispered to herself. Her voice had switched back to French. "So why not just make the best of it? He's a good Master. He likes you, he cares for you. You make him happy. And when he's happy, you're happy. Both of you can be happy together. And what's wrong with being happy?"
"Its not a bad life." she told herself, reassuringly. "Its not a bad life at all."
She stared once more at her reflection. Then she closed her eyes.
"It isn't a bad life." she finally agreed, with a sigh, as if conceding a point. The words, this time, were in Japanese. "Yes, you're right. It isn't bad at all. It could have been worse. Much worse."
There. Isn't it nice to admit that? Came the rejoinder, but this time in her mind.
"Yes, it is." she whispered. Her eyes opened once more, and the shallow smile returned to her lips.
The room shifted slightly. One side gently lowered itself while the other raised. Instinctively, Girl R grabbed at the items on the table to keep them from sliding.
We're turning., she thought. How long to the Island? She glanced towards the windows, but all she could see were light blue sky and darker blue-gray ocean. She didn't look much closer; the slave collar discouraged its wearers from learning anything that might identify the Island, after all, just as it discouraged many, many other things.
She was finished here, she concluded, and swiveled the chair away from the vanity. She stood and admired herself in the full length mirror on the airplane bulkhead next to her. The light blue bikini she currently wore would probably have looked better on her were she still blonde, Girl R decided, but at the moment it didn't look bad. This was the first time she'd had a chance to wear it; she'd bought it at Galleries Lafayette the day before they'd left, but the late winter/early spring weather at all the places they'd stopped, especially Tokyo, had meant that this was the first practical opportunity for her to wear it.
She bent down to the carry-on bag at her feet, fished out a light blue floral wrap-around beach skirt still with its tag on, pulled off the tag, and began wrapping it around herself. She fiddled with its placement until it hung from her hips just right, then looked herself over in the mirror. There. Master will like this.
Lastly, she pulled out a pair of wedged sandals from the carry-on, but did not immediately put them on; instead, she carried them by their ankle straps. She liked the feel of the carpet on her bare feet. Then she put away the last of her cosmetics into their bag, and stashed it and the jewelry chalet case into the carry-on. The bag she zippered up and finally wheeled into the secure closet behind the bed, where she usually stowed her things.
She glanced briefly at the bed. Master's bed. The bed he shared with her. The sheets were still in a disarray from last night. She gulped, and tried not to think about last night. Too confusing to think about last night.
She left the room. The private room at the back of the plane. Master's private room, on Master's private plane. Almost two years, and the words still sounded odd to her.
She found him in the main cabin, leaning as he often was over his laptop and surrounded by papers, both loose and bound. A pen and pad of lined paper were at his side, upon which various notes were quickly scribbled. Girl R glanced at the pad before looking away; that was another thing the collar discouraged.
She bowed her head in his presence, and kept it faced downwards. "Good morning, Master." she said sweetly, softly. She was now back to speaking French. "Thank you for letting me sleep."
Marcus Rheinhardt looked up from his work, and smiled at her. "Good morning, Girl. My, you look lovely." he said, his voice a smooth baritone. "And you're welcome. After last night, it seemed... appropriate."
Girl R's face reddened. "Thank you, Master. May this girl know, how long before we reach the Island?"
"About two hours." Rheinhardt said pleasantly. With an open-handed gesture, he indicated the couch next to him. "Come, sit. Please, make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you, Master." She sat down on the couch, curling her legs beside her as she settled in.
Rheinhardt, on the other hand, returned attention to his laptop. "Unfortunately, I do have some things I need to take care of. So I'm afraid it will be a rather boring few hours until we reach our destination."
Girl R's smile did not waiver. "This girl understands, Master."
"You may read, if you wish." he said, offhandedly, while still keeping his eyes on the screen. "But I do ask for some quiet right now. I need to... concentrate... on this proposal."
"Thank you, Master." Good, she could read now, she thought. Such a kind and considerate Master she had.
Girl R turned her attention to the small compartment underneath the armrest beneath her elbow, the one where she kept her reading material for times like this.
In her old life, she had never been much of a reader; manga sometimes, but rarely anything else unless it in some way involved martial arts. Simply, she'd had no patience for it, which was probably one of the reasons why her school work had been so dismally bad. But early on after her purchase, Master had suggested reading as a way to help pass the time during those interminable, inevitably long, flights between various destinations, and gradually Girl R had grown an appreciation for it. It afforded her the opportunity of retreat, to shut out the world for a time, if only briefly.
Of course, what was deemed appropriate reading material for her was still subject to Master's approval. Most, but not all, women's magazines were generally deemed acceptable, but beyond that it varied. Arts magazines frequently; beauty, cooking, and home decor certainly; but sports periodicals of most kinds were forbidden, tho Master had relented when it came to one particular yoga fitness publication. Anything related to news and current events were similarly forbidden. She was, in essence, allowed to pick up as many fashion and beauty related periodicals as she wanted, but the latest newspapers were all off limits.
Books were even more severally restricted. At the moment she was only allowed to read romance, tho Master had recently indicated (after wrinkling his nose at the cover of one of the books she'd picked up at Shakespeare & Co.) that he might be willing to let her start on works of a more literary nature. At first she'd been reluctant to read romance, but the shear boredom of twelve hour flights with little else to do had soon dissuaded her of that aversion, and as time dragged on and her life with Master settled into a routine of sorts, she gradually acquired a grudging fondness for them. Even if they were often formulaic and preposterous, at least with them she could take her mind off of... other things. Especially with the historicals; she was surprised at how much she'd begun to enjoy the historical ones.
Inside the little compartment, she found one magazine and three paperbacks. The magazine was the latest issue of Vogue (French edition), while the paperbacks were in English and consisted of two Mills & Boon series books and a Shannon Drake historical. One of the Mills & Boon books she'd already read on the way out, the other had a lavender bookmark inserted just past the half way point. The Shannon Drake was unread. She considered her options. At the moment the Vogue issue wasn't appealing to her; the Shannon Drake was, but she was always reluctant to start a new book when another was unfinished. She reached for the bookmarked paperback instead, and settled in with the book in her lap.
She had just finished it and was contemplating starting the historical novel when the voice of Master's pilot, Manuel, came over the cabin speaker. 'Monsieur Rheinhardt. We will soon be coming in for landing."
Girl R looked up, startled, and shifted her eyes towards the nearest window. The ocean was definitely closer. Funny, she thought, she hadn't even noticed they'd been descending. She put away the paperback, and reached behind and underneath her for a belt to buckle herself into.
Master had already buckled himself in and was then powering down his laptop. When he closed it, he reached for her hand and began a light caress. "How are you feeling?" he asked. His concern seemed genuine. "I know these visits to the Island can be somewhat upsetting for you."
"This girl is fine, Master. Honestly, she is. This girl knows she is with a good Master, now."
Rheinhardt smiled. "That's good to hear. Are you going to visit the Chateau?"
"If it pleases Master, this girl would like to. She still has a few... friends... there."
Rheinhardt considered, then nodded. "I see no reason not to allow this. You may go to the Chateau, if you wish."
"Thank you, Master."
"But please don't stay more than three hours. I do wish us to be in Sydney this evening."
"Thank you, Master. This girl promises she will be no more than three hours at the Chateau."
He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to him. A warm pleasantness flooded her, as it always did at his touch. Girl R felt herself relax, and she leaned her body against his. Her head came to rest on his shoulder.
It felt good to be with Master, she thought.
Yes. Yes, it does, doesn't it?
###############################################
As she exited the hatch, Girl R shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun, and wished she'd remembered to pack a broad brimmed hat. One of those light, straw ones, she thought, like she'd had at Venice Beach. She took a deep breath of the warm, ocean-tinged air, while surreptitious taking in the view from her Learjet-elevated position. She descended the staircase with Master holding one hand to steady her while she navigated the steps in heeled wedges.
At the base of the stairs stood an open-seated golf cart with a candy-striped canopy and a male Indonesian driver at the wheel. She waited until Master was seated before taking a seat beside him. She sat with her head slightly bowed and her hands folded neatly in her lap.
The Island, she thought. She was on the Island again. This was her third visit to the Island since she'd left it, and it still hadn't changed much - but then, she hadn't expected it to.
It probably had a name of some kind, she thought. But if so it was never used around her, or any of the other Girls. The collar discouraged her from finding out, although obviously some people knew where it was (Master, for example, probably did; Manuel the pilot certainly did). Nevertheless, she was familiar enough with it now that she thought she could probably identify it if shown photos.
It was a crescent-shaped atoll of mostly white sand, with a beautiful turquoise, shallow bay nestled inside the arch, and surrounded by a coral reef. Shrub grass of some kind grew abundantly, and palm trees doted the landscape. For the most part it never rose more than a few meters above sea level, except for the middle (and widest) part of the arch, where a small, rocky, palm-tree decorated hill rose perhaps fifteen meters above sea level. It wasn't a very large island, at most six kilometers in length along the shore and less than a half kilometer in width along most of its length, though the widest part was probably a little more than half a kilometer from the outer beach to the inner.
The airfield was at one end of the crescent arch, the southern end. It consisted of a long ribbon of asphalt for a landing strip, beside which lay an expanse of cracked tarmac that was smooth enough for aircraft to park upon but looked as if it needed to be re-paved. A hanger and fuel dump stood next to it. On its northern end stood a number of buildings, all of which could be clearly seen from the airfield but to which the Girls were never allowed to go, so Girl R had no idea what they were used for. In between at the Island's widest part, at the base of the hill, stood the Chateau. A road of packed dirt connected it all.
As the golf cart pulled away, she remembered her first day here. Night, really.
It had been dark. She had had as yet no idea that she was on an island, that escape would have been impossible unless it was of the final, fatal kind. All she knew was that she was bruised, sore, naked, weak, and very, very, so very unimaginably pissed. Her guards had underestimated her. They thought she was just another weak girl, like all the others they'd brought for the Sisters, and they were lazy. Weak as she was, she still surprised them. She could still twist in ways their grips couldn't follow, move in ways their reflexes couldn't match. She took one down with a swift knee to the groin, the other with a foot to a soon-to-be crushed larynx, and broke free. She'd run then, desperate to find somewhere to escape, but as yet unaware that there was no place for her to escape to. They finally cornered her, and she remembered taking one last pursuer down in a pyrrhic victory, before a tranquilizer dart to her shoulder caused everything to go black.
She awoke hours later, a slave-collar on her neck, with Mistress Sybil standing over her and telling her exactly where she was and what she was to become. She'd cost the Sisters dearly in her botched escape attempt, she was told, and the punishment for such misbehavior was severe. And it was.
It would prove to be just a taste of what the next few weeks and months would be like for her.
Girl R also remembered that other day, the other important day for her on the Island. The one where, nine months later, she'd finally left it. Left it more transformed than she had ever thought possible.
That day had been much like the present. On that day, as on this, she had been alluringly dressed, her hair and make-up perfect, her head bowed, and meekly, obediently following across the tarmac - a few steps behind and a little to the right, just as she'd been taught - behind the man who had then just finished paying for her. Who had then just bought her. Who now owned her.
That had been twenty-one months ago. Add in the nine months with the Sisters, and that came to thirty months. Two-and-a-half years as a slave. Two-and-a-half years since she'd heard anyone call her by her given name. (Well, except for that one time, but that almost didn't count) Two-and-a-half years since she'd been... someone else.
Girl R kept her eyes glued to the hands in her lap. They were more pleasant to look at than her surroundings.
The golf cart stopped, and she looked up. They were at the base of the walkway leading up to the Chateau. That had been quick, she thought. But then again, it wasn't a big island.
Her Master turned to her, and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. "Here you are, my Girl. Run along and enjoy yourself. Just remember, no more than three hours."
"This girl will remember, Master." she said as she climbed out of the vehicle. "Thank you again for allowing me this visit."
"You are quite welcome, my dear." He waved her a cheery good-bye as the golf cart began moving. She watched as it sped off down the road in a cloud of fine sand dust, towards the complex at the other island end.
She could feel his presence fade, as the distance between them grew. Not entirely, of course; that never happened, not even when he was whole continents away. But it was always more muted whenever some distance was put between them. That was as close as she could ever get now to being free. Not that it was much of a difference, but at least it was something.
"At least he isn't stopping here to look for a replacement for me." she mused, as she began her walk towards the Chateau. She'd actually felt relieved when Master had told her last night that they were only going to the Island on some business not related to the Chateau. He wouldn't tell her what that business was, not that she expected him to, but whatever it was he had assured her there was "no reason for her to fear". Whatever the Sisters were working on for him, it was not something she should concern herself with.
There was still that whole thing about her marrying this supposed son of his, tho. Which was strange, because so far as she could tell, he had no family of any kind, much less a son. Certainly, not any she'd been introduced to or even heard him talk about until last month. And since his initial pronouncement four weeks ago, he hadn't uttered a thing about this imagined wedding, which was leading her to suspect that it was all part of his particularly odd sense of humor. Probably leading up to a punchline some months hence she was as yet still in the dark about, At this point she expected Master to be the one waiting for her when she walked down the aisle; he certainly hadn't shown her any less interest in the succeeding weeks.
Well, whatever happened, she'd end up accepting it. She'd have no choice. She knew that now, and was becoming increasingly resigned to it.
"It could be worse." she whispered to herself, trying to make herself feel better. Silently, she wished strength for Maisie.
Slowly, she walked up the path around the hill and towards the Chateau. Three hours. She had three hours before she'd feel the compulsion to return to her Master's presence.
The Chateau wasn't actually one building, but three linked together by covered walkways. It had one two-storey central building facing the inner-lagoon beach, and two smaller single-storey buildings on each side. Behind all three loomed the rocky, low hill that formed the highest point of the island, affording it some protection from the storms that occasionally blew in, mostly from the east. Despite the fact that it was called by all the Chateau (mostly because the Girls were only allowed to speak French while "apprenticed" there), its architecture looked to Girl R more Hispanic than French, complete with beige masonry, high arched windows, similarly arched doorways, and curved red tiles on the fringes and roof.
It had probably at one time been an actual resort hotel, before the Sisters had acquired it (however they'd acquired it); it certainly had all the look and feel of a resort. The main building had a lobby, a restaurant-like dining area, and an office area that looked suspiciously like it had once been a front desk. Around the complex there was an outdoor hot tub, a flat paved area with faded tennis court markings but no net, a palm-tree thatched pavilion that currently acted as a detached bar and which was hooked up for running water and electricity, a number of hammocks tied between posts or trees, and a gorgeous view of the beach and lagoon. The kind of place people might have at one time paid to visit, to get away from the world.
People still visited, now. But getting away from the world wasn't what they were coming for.
No one was out or visible, but that didn't surprise her. It was morning, and mornings were usually spent cleaning the grounds and doing laundry. All the Girls were responsible for that. You were expected to keep your room neat and in order, your clothes washed and pressed, and whatever other tasks needed to be done in order to make the Chateau presentable to the Guests and Clients. And if they didn't meet Mistress Delilah's strict standards, punishments were handed out (or even if they did and you hadn't been punished for anything lately, sometimes she'd hand one out just to make sure you understood who was in charge).
Girl R shuttered at the memory of some of the punishments she'd had to endure; those were always overseen by Mistress Sibyl. All of the discipline was overseen by Mistress Sibyl. Girl R hoped she'd never have to endure a punishment session with Mistress Sibyl ever again.
"There are worse things to have to endure than Master." Girl R reassured herself once more.
Girl R arrived at the side entrance, the one reserved exclusively for the Girls. There was a wooden patio before the door, on which to one side was painted a thin white line. Girl R eyed it as she approached. She knelt, making sure her knees were placed squarely on the white line, then placed her arms crossed on her chest, the cross at the wrist and between her breasts, her hands flat against her shoulders. She bowed her head, and waited. And waited.
Five minutes elapsed before she heard the door slide open and footsteps sound on the wood. She did not look up.
From above, she heard a voice. "Is this a Girl who wishes to enter my house?"
Damn, Girl R thought. Mistress Sybil. She'd hoped to avoid her today, but that had probably only been a 50-50 chance at best.
Girl R gulped, but hid it as best she could. "Yes, Mistress. This Girl begs to be allowed to enter your house."
"Hmmm. Has she perhaps grown tired of her Master? Does she perhaps wish me to find her a new Master?"
"No, Mistress. She is happy with her Master now, and does not wish to change. She begs only for the privilege of a visit. Her Master has allowed her time to visit her... friends."
Girl R waited for Mistress Sybil's response. In her mind, Girl R could easily picture Mistress Sybil denying her entry, just because she could. Just, in some small way, to spite Girl R for the trouble she'd caused during her training. It was just like Mistress Sybil to do something like that, to hold a grudge long after it served any real purpose or sense. The seconds seemed to drag on as the other woman considered.
Finally, "Permission is granted, Girl. You may visit my home. Just do not forget whose house you are in."
"No, Mistress. This Girl will not forget."
"You may rise, then."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Girl R rose, keeping her body faced towards the woman who had enslaved her. But she kept her head bowed. She knew better than to lift her head without permission around this woman.
Mistress Sibyl was a tall, thin woman well into middle age, with hair a sallow yellow bordering on white, swept behind her head and bundled into a tight, precise bun. Girl R judged she'd probably been athletic in her youth, but those days were long past (tho as any girl who had had to endure a punishment session with her could tell you, there was still plenty of strength left in those arms). She was dressed casually this morning: jeans, a light blue denim shirt, and white sneakers. A far cry from the black leather corset dress she usually wore when guests or clients were around. She still held the black riding crop in one hand, however, as her badge of office. There was no doubt in anyone's mind who was in charge.
The other woman took Girl R's chin in hand and raised it, then wormed the slave girl's head first one side then the other. Mistress Sibyl wrinkled her nose at what she saw. "Keeping to our standards, I see. I trust your Master is keeping a tight hold on you?"
"Yes, Mistress. He is."
Mistress Sibyl dropped her hand from the slave girl's chin. "Good. I told him he needed to do that when he bought you. You were very hard to train properly."
"This Girl is sorry for that, Mistress. But she is a good slave girl, now."
The older woman looked into Girl R's eyes, as if searching for something. Then, she nodded. "Yeeeees... Yes, I can see that." She furrowed her eyebrows in disdain. "I trust that she will stay that way?"
Girl R bowed her head once more. "This Girl likes being a slave girl now, Mistress. She only wishes to please her Master."
"Good." Mistress Sibyl said. She abruptly turned and entered the doorway. "As it should be. See that she stays that way."
Girl R followed. "Yes, Mistress."
A few more steps, and Girl R was once more in the Chateau. For what she fervently hoped would be her final visit.
As she had expected, the interior was bustling with the activity of morning chores. Several Girls were visible doing their assigned tasks, from dusting and sweeping to watering plants to whatever the Sisters deemed needed doing. Also not unexpected were the outfits they were wearing, often impractical for the task of cleaning, but then again cleaning wasn't the real point of this exercise. The Sisters wasted little time in the training of their Girls.
Girl R watched as one of them, a lithe young woman with long blonde hair and dressed in a sexy French Maid dress, stocking-clad legs teetering on stiletto heels, stepped gingerly to a table in the guest lounge near the front entrance. The young woman bent forward at the waist, her legs and back otherwise straight, and began dusting. Girl R remembered her stints in that outfit, and what would happen if she were caught even a little off-posture; silently, Girl R wished the other young woman luck.
From the hall on the far side of the lounge, another figure emerged. This one was in a skin tight dark blue latex dress, a leather gimp headdress covering her face with dark hair pulled through a hole in the back, a ball gag tightened around her mouth, and trying to walk in a pair of large-buckled black ballet boots. She was carrying a load of laundry in a basket. Slowly, but at that moment she seemed to be coping with both the task and attire.
A punishment outfit, Girl R thought. She'd had to wear that one a few times too. Probably more than just a few times, as a matter of fact.
"I take it you are here to see your former associates?" Mistress Sibyl asked over her shoulder, as they entered the lobby.
"If that is permissible, Mistress."
Mistress Sibyl considered. "You may see Kumiko; she is sufficiently trained now that I doubt you can have much of an undue influence on her. Brittany, on the other hand - yes, that is her name now - Brittany is still in a period of adjustment. She had her first guest last night, and I'm afraid the liaison was somewhat traumatic for her."
Girl R gulped, and felt queasy. Brittany was his... her... name now... and she'd been given to a guest after only two weeks since arriving here. The guest must have requested an untrained girl. That probably meant her first... experience... had probably been somewhat brutal. Girl R told herself it was to be expected, and that Hir... Brittany... deserved it. But suddenly revenge wasn't feeling as fulfilling as she had previously thought it would be.
"This girl understands, Mistress. She will not bother Girl Brittany."
Two girls - one middle-eastern, the other European - passed them. Each were wearing similarly designed corsets and stockings, tho one girl wore white, the other black (Girl R's had been pink, she idly remembered. She still had the outfit, too; she wore it sometimes to please Master). Their current task was not readily apparent, but at the sight of Mistress Sybil they meekly bowed their heads and continued on their way silently. One had a surprised look on her face as she seemed to recognize Girl R, but said nothing. Mistress Sibyl took note of the look as they passed.
"However, there is a price for allowing this visit, Girl."
"Yes, Mistress?"
"You will join us for lunch. In fact, I wish for you to serve it."
Girl R nodded. She had expected to have to do something at the Chateau during her visit, but that particular request caught her by surprise. Nevertheless, she accepted it without question. "Yes, Mistress. This Girl will be happy to serve her Mistress and her... sisters."
Mistress Sibyl gave her a satisfied, superior look. "Good. You may go. You will find Kumiko in her training area, I should think."
Girl R curtsied. "Thank you, Mistress."
Mistress Sibyl said nothing as she merely stepped away, the dismissal self-evident. The older woman's attention now turned towards the Girl in the latex dress, as the first hints of a scowl began to creep across her lips. Girl R scurried to get out of Mistress Sibyl's presence. The less time spent around her, she thought, the better.
She exited the lobby and headed towards the dormitory area.
Girl R passed her old room, Room Six, on the way to the training room she surmised Kumiko was probably ensconced. She had half expected Hir... Brittany's name to be emblazoned on the door, but the name "Yasmin" was there instead. Possibly, she thought, the middle-eastern girl she'd seen moments before, the one in the white corset. She paused outside of the room for a moment before continuing, finally deciding that there was really no reason for her to be reminiscing about events that had happened behind that door two years or so before. Well, perhaps one event.
She found the room at the other end of the hall. The light-brown paper-wall door was closed, but a pair of okobo were neatly placed on the floor next to the entrance, and the gentle notes of a shamisen being played could be heard from inside. Girl R took off her sandals and placed them next to the footwear, then gently rapped on the wooden frame.
The music stopped. "Yes?" came an almost-familiar voice.
Girl R switched to Japanese. "Its me, Kumiko. May... I... come in?" At least with no Masters or Mistresses around, she could use "atashi", tho she sometimes had to remind herself of the option when the situation arose.
There was a pause. Briefly, Girl R wondered what she would do if Kumiko refused her entry. But then, in surprisingly rapid Japanese, "Yes. Come in, please."
Girl R slid the door open, and stepped into a room seemingly transported from the Edo period.
The walls were the same light-brown as the sliding door, but decorated with occasional prints (including at least one Hokusai reproduction) and darker wooden frame. A vase of carefully arranged flowers were visible, beside a paper-and-wood freestanding screen. Two low wooden tables stood at one of the far corners, one with a tea set, the other with paper, ink, and the efforts of calligraphy practice.
On the floor at the far end of the room sat a young woman in a heavy, flowery, red silk kimono. Her face was made up with white face make-up, her lips a perfectly outlined bright red, and her jet black hair pulled back into an elaborate hairdo and held in place by an equally elaborate kanzashi. As Girl R entered, Kumiko was carefully placing the stringed instrument behind her and against the wall.
That the slave collars changed their wearers was self evident. The collars forced the Girls, if necessary, to do things they might never have done any other way, to feel and think things they might never have considered in a normal life. To condition them for the life of submission the Sisters trained them for, whether they wanted to be trained for it or not. But in Kumiko's case, her slave collar had done something far more frightening: It had made her sane. Sane enough, it turned out, to make her realize - probably for the first time in her entire life - just how insane and mentally deranged both she and her family were.
The knowledge had done more to change her than anything the Sisters had made her do. For the first time in her life, Kumiko felt... ashamed... of who she had been.
"Masami!" Kumiko said, in a voice that sounded surprisingly warm. "It is good to see you again!" Kumiko began to rise to meet the other young woman, but Girl R quickly gestured her to stay put; that silk kimono, she knew, was a pain to move around in. Instead, Girl R hurriedly crossed the room, knelt tucking her legs beneath her, and sat opposite Kumiko as the woman placed a table between them. The tea set came next. Surprisingly, there was already a pot of warm, but not hot, tea.
"And you too, Kumiko. But I am no longer Masami. My Master has decided against that name and has asked me not to use it."
"Oh! And may I ask, what name has he chosen for you?"
"Nothing yet." Girl R said, ruefully. "But Master says he will give me one when Master feels the time is right. Which unfortunately, has not happened yet." Girl R sighed. "Master sometimes throws out names like 'Giselle' or 'Monique', but none of them seem to satisfy him."
"So what name do you go by, then?" Kumiko asked curiously. As she did so, she neatly placed two tea cups in the space between them. "Surely not...?" The kimono clad woman waved her hand.
Girl R knew what she meant. "No!" she said, emphatically. "Not that name! Never that name! Master has forbidden me from so much as uttering that name ever again." Girl R shook her head. "No. Mostly, Master just calls me 'Girl'. Back home, if anyone needs to call me anything, I'm usually just called 'Shojo', or sometimes just 'Sho'. I don't think anyone has noticed that's just 'Girl' in Japanese."
Kumiko chuckled into her hand, then began pouring tea for them both. Her motions in doing so were precise, poised. "It is strange, sometimes, what notions our Masters decide are important."
"Yes. It is." Girl R agreed, and casually lifted the tea cup before her. She hesitated, then brought the vessel to her lips. "In speaking of which... I understand you have a Master now." she said carefully, before taking a sip.
Kumiko's face did not so much as waiver. Neither did her voice. "Yes," she confirmed, "Yamamura Hideo has purchased me. I am to be his concubine."
At the sound of the name, the feeling of uneasiness, the same Girl R had felt upon learning Brittany's fate, returned. "Oh." she said. So it was true. Suddenly, all the words that Girl R had thought of, rehearsed for this very moment, escaped her. The only response she could manage was a feeble. "I... see."
"Yes." Kumiko continued, her voice no more casual than if she were discussing the days weather. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, of course. No Girl stays at the Chateau forever."
"No. No, of course not."
Kumiko considered the other woman, then raised her own tea cup to sip. "I understand you had some dealings with Yamamura-san yourself, when you were here." she said, non-chalantly.
Girl R nodded, but somehow couldn't bring herself to look the other woman in the eyes. "Yes, I did. He expressed an interest in me, at the time."
"If I may ask, what happened?"
"I don't know. I guess I wasn't traditional enough for him."
Kumiko nodded understandingly. "So you were never begun in the tayu training?"
"Never." Girl R affirmed. "I was just another yujo to him. A yujo in a high school uniform, as a matter of fact, but just a yujo. Um, you do know he also has a thing for girls in fuku's, don't you?"
"Of course I do." Kumiko confirmed. "It is how I was introduced to him. Just as you were."
"So, um... how are you dealing with it? "
"How else am I to deal with it?" Kumiko responded calmly. There was still no change in her voice.
There was an awkward pause.
"Is that why you came here? To gloat over my fate?" Kumiko asked simply.
Girl R grimaced. "Maybe. I don't know, I guess I just wanted to hear it from you. Maybe find out how you were coping with it... dealing with it..." Her voice trailed off.
Kumiko shrugged. "There is not much to tell. I have been turned into this form, and conditioned for a new role in life. The collar on my neck renders any remorse or emotion that I may feel over that fact pointless." With well practiced motions, she poured more tea for them both. "Sooner or later, it will bend me to its will. As it has already done to you."
"So you've resigned yourself to it?"
"I think it is closer to say that I have accepted what has happened."
"Even tho the Yamamura clan are your family's rivals?"
"Even so." Kumiko confirmed. "Besides, that was generations ago. Our families have been civil towards one another for decades. Well, mostly civil."
Girl R stared at Kumiko, then shook her head. "Does your Master know who you are? Really know?"
"He knows of my family, but that is all. It is that which most piqued his interest in me. I think he originally thought I was my sister, but perhaps now thinks I am an unacknowledged illegitimate daughter. In any case, I do not think he suspects the truth, and like you I am forbidden from talking about it. Which is possibly just as well, considering. Does your Master know who you were before?"
"I think so. Master has never said as much to me, but I think our Mistresses told him. Just... some of the things Master has said, the ways in which Master wants me to act and conduct myself, or forbids me from doing... I think Master probably knows. Not that its changed anything between us."
"Nor," Kumiko said pointedly, "is it ever likely to, now."
"No." Girl R nodded slowly in agreement. "Nor is it ever likely to, now."
The two women stared, silently, into their tea cups.
"I don't blame you, you know. For wanting revenge." Kumiko said quietly. "I know what Mistress Sibyl put you through." Girl R looked up as Kumiko continued, startled. "The Mistresses would sometimes show us Girls the videos of your discipline sessions. As an object lesson of what happened when we resisted the collars. And to show that it didn't matter how much we fought back - they would eventually break us, we would eventually be molded to what they wanted us to become. After all - the Girl who fought back the longest and the hardest... still became a willing slave girl in the end. That is a hard lesson to forget."
So that's why Mistress Sibyl wanted me to serve lunch., Girl R thought. The object lesson continues.
"You did not know this?" Kumiko asked.
"No, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Some of the Girls in the lobby seemed to recognize me, tho I'd never met them. But now I know why."
Kumiko continued. "I mention it as a way to help explain why I have decided to accept my fate. As punishment for what I put you through. It was my old selfishness and arrogance, my fault, which landed you here and destroyed your life. Thus, it is fitting that you should want to repay the gesture. For that and my... other... sins, and those of my family's... I suppose this is as appropriate a punishment as any." Kumiko gave her a surprisingly sincere smile. "My actions have led me to this fate. I believe the English expression is, 'Hoisted by my own petard.'. My only wish now is to atone as much as I can for the wrong I have done you and others."
"It still won't change what's happened to me. Won't change... how I wound up."
"No, it won't." Kumiko agreed, solemnly. "And for that I am truly sorry. But... we both know we cannot change that, now. Even if we were to somehow remove our collars and survive... I think most of the changes it has wrought will still be with us."
Girl R sighed. "No, you're right. I can feel it, too. I'm not the person I was anymore, either, just as you're no longer... who you were." She paused. "Master is planning to marry me soon. The final step, I guess, in Master's quest to make me his perfect little lady." Girl R decided not to mention the whole convoluted tale of her supposed upcoming wedding and simply gloss it over with the basics; it would take too much time to explain. "So I guess I end up the pretty little trophy wife of a reclusive French-German business magnate, you wind up the concubine to the head of your family's bitterest rivals... and we'll both wind up perfectly happy with it despite it all, because the things around our necks will make us."
"Yes, I'm afraid so. And neither of us get what we once truly wanted."
"No." Girl R said, mournfully. "No, I guess we don't."
They talked for almost an hour longer over tea, mostly about inconsequential things. Kumiko asked about Paris and expressed the hope that her new Master might take her there, Girl R asked about the tayu training and Kumiko's recently completed short apprenticeship in Yokohama. Each commiserated about the loss of their former skills (Kumiko in kendo, Girl R in martial arts), but at least each had found permitted substitutes which gave some satisfaction (Kumiko was now practicing a form of tai chi which she insisted cultivated the calmness and serenity of her new vocation; Girl R had resorted to yoga for much the same reason, since all martial arts were now barred her). Other topics as well, many of which neither could have imagined they would one day be discussing so casually only a few years before. ("You wore the FURINKAN girl's uniform to your first session with him?!").
Girl R took her leave of Kumiko as lunch approached. While she was generally confident that she was safe from Mistress Sybil's deprivations while Master was still on the island, she didn't feel the need to test the theory. Thus, she showed up in plenty of time to not only help serve lunch, but set up the dining hall as well.
Some of the other Girls were also tasked with lunch duty that day. They'd obviously been warned that Girl R was to do the serving, so they simply handed that portion of the work over to her. Girl R had done her share of that duty when she'd been there, after all, and it wasn't that much different from waitressing, a job which Girl R had actually mastered long before she'd come to the Chateau (back in the old days when being female had been merely an irregular, temporary condition for her). At lunch time a dozen Girls gathered in the dining hall. She went to each Girl, and offered her a bowl of salad or perhaps their choice of fruit, brought drinks when requested, and in general made herself helpful to the gathered young ladies, most of whom she didn't know, but whom she nevertheless considered as her sisters. But most of all - as Mistress Sybil made certain under that stern, watchful, hawkish gaze - she was there to be seen by all. Seen as the dutiful, submissive, obedient Girl she'd become, despite all her resistance to the contrary.
Girl R felt queasy as she did it, but she did it anyway.
She saw Brittany, but only briefly. The blonde haired young woman simply mumbled "Salad." to her, but nothing else. She did not look at Girl R when she said it, or even lift her eyes from the table in front of her. Perhaps she'd been warned not to talk with Girl R, a suspicion reinforced by the look of disapproval flashed by Mistress Sybil at that moment. Girl R decided to leave her former friend alone, and hurriedly departed. Later, when she found Kumiko (who had in the meantime switched to a pink, floral, less cumbersome kimono, tho her makeup, hair, and kanzashi were still in place), she whispered in her ear a request to look after Brittany, a request which Kumiko accepted with a nearly imperceptible bob of her head.
Finally, the time came for her to depart. She accepted a hug from Kumiko and from some of the other Girls, with whom she'd managed somehow to start an increasingly excited conversation about upcoming Paris fashion shows (it still amazed her how she sometimes did that, and firmly blamed the collar for that particular obsession), and even gave a few back in return.
Then, she presented herself to Mistress Sybil with her head bowed. "Good Mistress, this Girl wishes now to leave your home so that she may rejoin her Master. May she depart?"
"Do you remember what I told you when you entered?"
"Yes, Mistress. I am to stay an obedient Girl to my Master. I promise that I will do so, always."
There was a pause, then Mistress Sybil continued in a voice louder than before. Clearly, she wanted all the Girls present to hear her words. "Good. You have become an exemplar to the Girls of this Chateau. Where once you were stubborn and resistant, willful and rebellious, you are now obedient and attentive. As all good Girls should be to their Masters. You have earned the right to depart, as any good Girl may someday earn that right."
Girl R curtsied. "Thank you, Mistress. I am happy to have earned your trust."
Girl R departed the Chateau without looking behind her. She did not want to see the looks on the others faces at her words. There had been a reason why she'd barely touched her lunch.
###############################################
She took the scenic route back to Master's Learjet, which is to say, Girl R walked the beach. She did so slowly, reliving in her mind the previous few hours.
Kumiko had been right, her original intent had been to gloat. To rub in the other young woman's fate, like she had done to... Brittany... a few weeks earlier. But confronted with the reality of what had been done... it just didn't feel right. Not anymore. So she'd commiserated with Kumiko instead, and had ended up in a light hearted conversation on travel, training, and fashion. Some revenge.
Girl R felt deflated.
"What's the point?" Girl R whispered to herself. In Japanese. "Its not like there's much of the old me left anymore."
She took a deep breath. A part of her knew that it was the slave collar talking to her. But increasingly, she was also aware that she cared less and less over that fact. She was tired, oh so tired, of the effort, of the strain.
Two and a half years. She'd been fighting it for two and half years.
"Its not like I can ever go back to my old life, now. And even if I could find a way to get this thing off, what then?"
Where could she go? Certainly not home, she thought. Thanks to that stupid, careless, accidental run-in with Kasumi she'd had last year, chances are everyone back in Nerima knew - or thought they knew - what had happened to her. And were having a good laugh over it.
"Oh Ranma? She's gone girl now!" "Did you hear? Ranma dresses like a bimbo now!" "Hey, guess what? Ranma has a BOYfriend now!" Well, they probably didn't know about that last bit, but they'd say it all the same. And it wouldn't be too far from the truth.
She could just imagine what her family's reaction was when Kasumi undoubtedly told them of that encounter. Pops was probably furious and ready to disown her. Mom was probably itching to roll out the bamboo mat and unsheathe the sword. And knowing Kasumi, she'd almost certainly have told her family. Mr. Tendou's reaction would probably be like Pop's, Nabiki would laugh and make snide perverted jokes, and Akane? She'd kept calling him a pervert even when he hadn't been; Girl R could just imagine what she'd call her now. The others? Maybe some sympathy from Ukyo, but that was about it. She couldn't imagine any of the others giving a damn anymore, especially now that her martial arts abilities were essentially gone. And probably the only thing Ryoga would be interested about her now was whether she'd be willing to spread her legs for him. Screw that. (Yes, another part of her interjected. Screw that indeed.)
She could explain to them what had happened, of how she'd been kidnapped and conditioned and forced. But her family and the Tendous would insist on her making good the family honor, and... she couldn't. Not any more. Not the way they'd insist.
She sighed. She enjoyed the way she looked now, dressed now. She liked the way it made her feel, the way it attracted attention. Even male attention. Especially male attention. It had made her sick when she realized that was happening, but she'd kept doing it, because it also made her feel so good despite all the bad. And after a time, Master's attentions... didn't seem all that bad, either. Even at night. How long had it been since she'd felt even the least bit ashamed, or even just mildly guilty? Months, she thought. Maybe even a whole year. Hell, last night, she'd been as much a participant as Master was; she'd even asked for the handcuffs.
She wasn't Ranma anymore. She couldn't be that person any more. So... why was she still holding on to him?
"Because... because its who I am."
No. Its who you were.
Girl R looked down at herself. At the bikini she wore, the wedged sandals she carried, the red nail polish on her nails, both finger and toe. This is who you are now.
Its not a bad life., the voice inside insisted. Master takes good care of you. Master likes you. You can be happy with Master.
You know all of that. Little by little, it has changed you. So why do you still continue to cling to the illusion that you can still beat this?
"Because... because... I never lose." Girl R whispered. Even she thought it was a feeble response.
You've already lost. You lost a long time ago. There's no miraculous cure here, no cavalry riding to the rescue. You're a Girl now. You follow the man who bought you all around the world, call him Master, wear the clothes he wants you to wear, conduct yourself the way he wants you to behave, fuck him whenever he wants... and you now love every minute of it. Admit it. Even Kumiko, in her strange way, has seen the truth. She understands. She's given in. She knows where this is heading, and she'd rather meet it on her terms than be dragged along until there were no other option.
Its time to end this. Let it go. You'll be happier.
"No." Girl R whimpered. "Please."
You have no more reason to hang on.
"But... but... honor..."
Fat lot of good its ever done you.
"Family?"
You know they'd reject you now.
Girl R thought desperately. "... Akane?"
You don't even look at girls in that way anymore. What good would she be to you now? To both of you?
She knew it was right. She had changed too much. She wanted to cry at that moment. More proof of how much you have changed.
It wasn't the life she'd wanted, but... it was the life she could have. There were women in the world who would jump at the chance offered her. A rich, powerful, handsome man (Its so nice to admit Master is handsome, isn't it?), who wanted her, cared for her, was willing to give her almost anything she desired (Don't those pretty clothes look nice on a pretty girl like you?). And the only thing he asked in return was her absolute obedience, her willingness to let him mold her however he wanted (Its for your own good. Slavery is Freedom.). It was a small price to pay. Many would sacrifice their freedom for that guarantee. Freedom was just an illusion, after all. (Just an illusion.) She'd have more freedom in the end by giving him what he wanted than she'd ever have had in that ramshackle dojo.
Give in. Make the facade real. You will be happier.
Girl R thought of her family, of the Tendous, of Akane. Thought of Ukyo, of Shampoo, of Ryoga... of the turmoil that life had been... of the never ending confusion and chaos, of the uncertainty, that life had been.
Girl R thought of her Master, of the house he shared with her on the Rue de Balzac. Of Maisie, of Lady Blackwell and her charity balls... of the structure and order, of the certainty, that life offered.
And that she was tired, oh so tired, of fighting it. Of hiding it. Of trying to go along in the hope, distant hope, that some way out might someday present itself.
You have no more reason to hang on.
Girl R closed her eyes...
Two and a half years.
...took a deep breath...
Its been so very, very tiring.
...and whispered, "So be it."
A cool, gentle breeze whistled past her, or so she thought.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Then...
Girl R's eyes popped open. She looked down at herself, at the world around her, almost as if seeing it for the first time. The shallow smile on her lips returned.
But this time, it was genuine.
She breathed in deeply. It felt good, oh so good, now. The burden was gone. Her doubts were all gone. That oppressive, angry weight had utterly disappeared. She felt wonderful, now. Alive. More alive than she'd ever felt in her entire life. And to think she'd delayed this, fought this, for so long. She had been such a fool. Her Mistresses were right. Mistress Sibyl had been right. She loved them now with all her heart, and blessed the day that they had decided to turn her into a Girl.
She thought once more about her old family, her old life. Odd. The memories were all still there, but... they seemed a little different, somehow. Not as important somehow. She thought about them some more.
Girl R giggled. She hoped Akane and Ryoga got together in her absence. Or maybe Ukyo and Ryoga. Both of those options would be acceptable to her. Ryoga would do well with either choice, she thought. A part of her now wished she could go there right now and put them together, but she knew it would be a foolhardy move. Even if her wonderful collar would allow it. Oh well. Maybe someday she'd make polite enquiries from afar, and find out what happened to everyone after she'd left. Just to satisfy her curiosity.
A gentle push feeling reminded her that her time was almost up. She glanced towards the distant tarmac, and resumed her journey.
Her Master was waiting for her.
Ten minutes later, her heels clicking against the hot tarmac, she approached the plane. Manuel the pilot was outside examining the fuselage in his standard pre-flight check. He stopped what he was doing, smiled, and gave her a short wave as she passed. Master had once given her to him for one night as a reward for some good job, and Girl R knew he retained hope for a repeat performance. She returned his smile, and began navigating the stairs up slowly, taking care to sway her hips just a little as she ascended. Oh you little cocktease. she thought mischievously.
In the cabin was her Master, bent once more over his laptop. His back was to her, and he looked a little agitated, but as soon as she entered he looked up and his face brightened. "Good girl!" he said. "You're here, at last."
Girl R bowed her head. "This girl is sorry if she made you wait."
"Oh, no trouble my dear. No trouble. I merely completed my business earlier than I expected. Did you have a good time at the Chateau?" He waved his hand at the cushions beside him. Girl R sat down.
"Yes, Master. This girl had a very good time. This girl visited Kumiko and talked with some of the new Girls. They are all very nice. They will make good Girls someday for their Masters."
Something in Girl R's voice made Marcus Rheinhardt pause. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. Carefully.
"Master?" Girl R asked, suddenly afraid that she had said something inappropriate.
"Nothing wrong, my dear." Rheinhardt said gently. He seemed to be examining her face, especially her eyes. "Did you see your other friend?" he asked, casually.
"Yes, Master. She is called Brittany now. She is... adjusting... but this girl thinks Mistress Sybil will do well with her. Mistress will teach her to become a good Girl."
"Just like you are a good girl?' he asked, his voice still gentle.
"Yes, Master. This girl is a good girl. This girl is Master's girl." Girl R's smile became a wide grin.
A moment stretched, as Rheinhardt seemed to consider something, examine something. Then he slowly reached up to her face with one hand, brushed away a lock of errant crimson hair, and began to gently caress her cheek. "Yes. I can see that. You are indeed my girl now."
The sound of heavy footsteps rushing up stairs echoed in the cabin. "Monsieur," Manuel said as he entered, "we are ready to depart." The plane's uniformed steward, a gaunt older man with short gray hair named Esteban, moved in behind the pilot and began folding up the staircase. They were getting ready to take off.
"Thank you, Manuel." Rheinhardt said absently, but not tearing his eyes away from Girl R. "We may leave when you are ready."
Esteban secured the hatch moments later, and was about to ask his employer if there was anything he needed, but was stopped short by a handwave from Rheinhardt. He too bowed respectfully, recognizing when his employer wanted privacy. "If you need me for anything, Monsieur, I shall be in the cockpit."
When they were alone, Rheinhardt reached behind her with one arm, and leaned in to press his lips on hers. His other hand came to rest on her waist, but it was slowly moving up. "I think it is time," he whispered to her, "that you had a proper name."
Girl R giggled, but said nothing. At last!, she thought. She would accept whatever name he chose for her, she decided. She only wanted him to be happy with her.
She answered his kisses with ones of her own. Hungrier ones of her own. And she simply adored where Master's hand was currently caressing. She wanted that to continue.
So good., Girl R thought. Why did I ever think this feeling was so bad?
Why indeed?, came that other voice inside her mind.
Why indeed.
###############################################
Gears turning, wheels set in motion...
On the island below, two ancient women watched the jet depart.
"Did you talk with him?" Mistress Delilah asked her cohort. "He was quite angry. He demanded to speak with you the entire time."
Sybil snorted. "No, he didn't come. Only his slut came, and that was just to banter with Kumiko. Don't worry, I checked her before I let her near Kumiko. The compulsions were still in place and stronger than ever. There's only a shred of her old self left. She'll be malleable when the time comes."
"She's already quite malleable as it is." Delilah mused. "She was very easy to control this last time. Easier than when we lured the Kuno boy. Much, much easier than that first time."
"He does understand we get one more use out of her, doesn't he? That was the deal."
"Yes, but he wants a greater warning next time. And he doesn't want us to start without him knowing."
"Pfft. He always was a pompous control freak." Sybil grunted. "It couldn't have been helped this last time. We had a small window to snatch the kid, so we took it. End of story. Tell him if he wants to complain, come to me personally. Me. Personally. You don't have to take any of that bullshit. We're the ones doing him the favor, after all. We're not the hired help for him to scream at."
Delilah laughed "I'll let him know." she said. "I expect he'll be contacting me in the next day or so anyway, wanting an update."
"Pompous ass control freak." Sybil reiterated. "Did he at least give you the grimoire?"
"Yes, he did. I paged through it, and it does appear to be quite useful. For all of us. But only some of its in Latin. The rest appears to be Old High German, which means I'm going to have to find a way to absorb that somehow. Maybe a trip to Cologne to find some nice Germanic scholar?" The last was said in a hopeful tone.
"You can probably go to New Zealand to find one of those." Sybil snorted. "Or Australia. Anyway, look it over and decipher what you can. If there's really something in there you need the specialized knowledge for, we'll talk."
"Fine." Delilah said, somewhat disappointedly.
"Did he look at the boy?" Sybil asked.
"Only briefly. He seemed to be satisfied with him. Young and fit, the boy'll come through fine. Makhais should have no trouble with him, when the time comes."
"How long will it take to make him ready?"
"That's why we needed the grimoire, remember? There's only so much I can do without it." Delilah considered. "At a guess... six weeks to build up the specific psychic energy, one week to set up the conveyance matrix... they'll both have to have a complete psychical modelling build-up just before, in order for it all to work... and assuming I can get the ingredients for the spell easily... I'd say eight weeks from now, ten at the most, and we'll be ready to give it a try it."
Sybil nodded. About what she expected. "Keep me updated. And let me know immediately if there are any difficulties. Makhais may be the first, but the time will come when we'll have to follow him. And that may be sooner than either of us may wish." She wrinkled her nose. "I want to know everything we can about executing this spell before we try it."
"Of course." Delilah agreed. "You know me. I am very cautious when it comes to magics."
Delilah frowned, then smiled as a new thought struck her. She dipped her head towards the Chateau, and gestured. "Good thing there's a steady supply for us to choose from, isn't there?"
###############################################
Gears turning, wheels set in motion...
Tianmu, Shilin District, Taipei, Taiwan.
Her name was Amber, but it hadn't always been that way.
She was born Mary Lou Hutchinson, and up until a few years before, had lived most of her life in the city of Louisville, Kentucky.
It had been a mostly happy existence. She was the middle child in a family of five, and the only girl. The whole family had loved each other, in their own ways. Her parents both worked, but still somehow found the time to be with their family for activities and events, helping with homework, playing games, or just simply watching their favorite shows together. Her two brothers were both annoyances, but still looked out for her and even protected her when needed. She had friends, too - Lisa next door, Sarah and Josephine down the street - with whom she loved to hang out with, talk with, have fun with. She had had a crush on Scott Warner, and Lisa kept telling her he liked her too, but neither had ever acted on it. In school she'd been a passable student, but not a terrible one - B's mostly, but some C's. Her mother was always pushing her to improve, telling her constantly that she couldn't get into a good college with the grades she had.
She had one hobby that she enjoyed immensely. She loved cheerleading. It had been her older brothers obsession with football that had drawn her to it, and she never regretted it. She had started in her middle school years, and when she reached high school she joined that squad as soon as she could. She and her teammates were quite good, and in her Junior year she had even helped bring her squad to a second place finish in the state cheerleading finals, missing a trip to Dallas, Texas for the national championship by only a few points. Next year, she had vowed then, they would do better.
It was her cheerleading which attracted the Sisters attention.
One early April afternoon, a week after the state finals, her uniform in her backpack and an application packet for the University of Kentucky in her hand, Mary Lou Hutchinson walked home from school - and disappeared.
His name was Cheng Yung Liu, and he was a billionaire. He had made his first fortune in the tech boom of the previous decade, but diversified with real estate holdings when he sensed the tech bubble was about to burst. The move had not only saved his fortune, but with the building frenzy of the succeeding years, he more than tripled his net worth and was now considered one of the richest and most powerful of the new-wealth tycoons in Asia. Rich and powerful, able to get whatever he wanted. Whatever the cost.
He wanted a cheerleader.
He had a thing for them. Especially American ones. Ever since he'd been an undergrad on a student visa at Southern California, he'd loved them. Lusted after them. Had fantasies about them. Fantasies he would dearly love to fulfill. He'd tried attracting some on his various trips to the United States, but none of those liassons had ever quite worked out. The cheerleading girls he'd tried to pick up were too independent, too unwilling, for what he wanted to do. But when a business associate told him about a super secret, special brothel he knew of, hidden away in the South Pacific, where even the most outlandish request could be accommodated, he decided to give it a try.
He told the Sisters what he wanted, and they simply named a price.
Eight months later, a Girl named Amber began a life of serving her Master.
Years passed.
One day, while returning from a yoga class (her Master had insisted she take up yoga, in order to keep her limber for some of their more "athletic" activities), she was almost run over by a young man on a motorcycle. The Kawasaki and driver continued on, oblivious to the young woman he had almost collided with, oblivious to the fact that said young woman had lost her balance and fallen backwards, oblivious to the yelp of pain she had uttered as her head hit the pavement. After a few disoriented moments she regained her senses, got to her feet, checked in a rear view mirror to make certain the chain around her neck was intact, then returned to her home. Which in this case, were the luxurious penthouse top floors condo she lived with her Master.
Within weeks of the accident, she understood what had happened to her.
That had been a year before.
Now she sat in a room of the condo. The largest room, on the condo's top floor. The room was spacious and wide. Tall windows overlooked the gleaming city below, the setting sun glowing an eerie orange-red on the beige wood floor paneling. Couches and other furniture had been moved to one side, creating a large space in the middle of the floor. Amber sat there, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a sports bra. On her yoga mat, in a lotus position. Her eyes were closed. She was meditating. One arm sat in her lap, palm out, thumb and middle finger touching at the tips in an "o".
The other arm was on her chest, holding a pair of large sharp scissors, resting just below her left shoulder, and angled towards her neck.
It had taken her months to arrive at this point. Months of trial and error. Months of probing, testing. Months of concentration. Months of practice. Months of mapping her route. Months of learning how to think and not to think, of how to misdirect, and of how to wait. Of how to use meditation for what she wanted.
This was her third attempt. So far, it had gone further along than either of the previous attempts. At the moment, she was into her fifth straight hour.
Minutely, the pair of scissors slid higher, then stopped.
Nothing going on, she told herself. I'm just meditating. Its so relaxing. So, so relaxing, isn't it? Master will like that. He likes that I've put so much energy into my yoga. And meditating is a big part of yoga. So relaxing. Finding my center. Master likes that I love yoga so much. He can tie me up in so many interesting ways because of it.
Master was in Shanghai tonight. Poor Master, he won't have me to cuddle with tonight. Oh well, might as well keep practicing my yoga. He'll want me to be extra limber when he returns. All those straps and ropes, it can be quite difficult to twist in them the way Master likes. Might as well keep practicing.
Minutely, the pair of scissors slid higher, then stopped.
My arm? Nothing special. I just like it that way. It feels comfortable. That object over my breast? Oh, its nothing. Just hard metal. I like the feel of hard metal on my skin. It feels good. It feels nice. Why do you think I like the feel of Master's toys against me? Now let me keep meditating.
Om-mani-padme-om.
Minutely, the pair of scissors slid higher, then stopped.
Nothing special going on here. We're just meditating. Nothing special going on here. I just like the way the metal feels against me. Nothing special going on here. Master will love what I am doing. Nothing special going on here. I can't wait for Master to chain me up again. Nothing special going on here. The pain will be so exquisite!
Nothing special going on here.
Oh isn't that strange. The metal has parted slightly. At the tip. But its not very much. Nothing to worry about. It still feels nice. Nice metal. You feel so nice against my skin. Nothing special going on here...
Minutely, the pair of scissors slid higher, then stopped.
With the thin golden thread resting between the pincers.
The critical moment had arrived.
Strictly speaking, the slave collars provided by the Sisters weren't exactly alive, but they weren't entirely unaware either. They could sense when something was threatening it, and were quite good at picking out intent from the myriad of thoughts and brain patterns issuing around them at any given moment, and reacting accordingly. At some point, no matter how one tried, a person intending harm against a slave collar had to make that critical thought, that critical decision, to initiate an act - any act - which the slave collar could deem threatening. And when that thought occurred, the slave collar would move to defend itself, to defend its integrity. No matter what it took. If it had to, it could be quite brutal even to its host. At all costs, the slave collar could not be sundered in any way.
But Amber had discovered its weakness.
It had a response time. A very small one, measured perhaps in thousandths of a second, but a response time nevertheless. It had taken her months of meditation to quantify it, to test it, experiment on it. It was small, tiny, but it was definitely there. When you did something, it took a barely perceptible, but by no means instantaneous, amount of time to respond.
She waited. She had all the time she needed for this.
Om-mani-padme-om. Om-mani-padme-om. Om-mani-padme-om.
Nothing special going on here. Just practicing my meditation. Nothing special going on here. My arm feels comfortable there. Nothing special going on here. Metal feels nice against my skin. Nothing special going on here. Master will be so proud of me when he sees how far I can bend and how much pain I can endure now. Nothing special going on here. Nothing special going on here. Nothing special going...
SQUEEZE!
It was the cleaning lady that found her. She had received a frantic phone call from her employer, begging her to go to his condo to check on the nice young lady who lived with him. She found the young woman in the middle of the room, sitting in a lotus position, her fingers locked in an "o" and her hands resting comfortably in her lap. A pair of large metal scissors lay incongruously at her side. There was a big, joyous smile on her face.
She was quite dead.
Cheng Yung Liu raced home from Shanghai, but arrived too late to stop the police and medical investigations. Too late to prevent them from discovering the closed off room next to his bedroom, or the closet full of curious outfits. While there was nothing illegal in any of the items the authorities found, that didn't prevent the snickers and whispered calls of "pervert" that were said behind his back. Privately, a few of the investigators even planned out how they could make some extra money on the side over this incident, by leaking salacious details and perhaps photos to the ever hungry press.
One of the investigators found the severed gold chain. It was at the base of a wall on the other side of the room in a heap, as if it had been angrily flung as far away as possible. He didn't note its significance at the time, but simply took a picture of where he found it, then put it into an evidence bag. It probably didn't have much bearing on the case at hand, he thought, but his orders were to tag and bag anything out of the ordinary, and this certainly was.
A more important find took place a little later, while police investigators questioned Liu about the American young woman that lived with him, and grew steadily frustrated at the evasive answers he was giving. One of the evidence techs, a young woman, decided to look through the strange closet of uniforms for clues about the girl, when she noticed something. Like Liu she too had attended a United States university, but she'd gone to Texas A&M - a university mad for American football. While she wasn't much of a sports fan, she at least had some understanding what the uniforms in the closet represented. Most of the uniforms were cheerleader outfits, particularly American cheerleader outfits, particularly professional sports teams. But there was one uniform that stood out, one that was not quite like the others. To an evidence tech, that was always a sign of something that might be significant.
The uniform was smaller than the others, and tucked all the way in the back. And it just seemed different, somehow - less sexy, more utilitarian - than the others on the rack.
The front of the uniform said simply "Louisville South H.S.".
On the inside lapel, a name was written in black marker. Mary Lou Hutchinson.
The evidence tech didn't know it. In fact, no one at that time knew it. But the first thread in the unraveling of an international criminal conspiracy had just been plucked.
###############################################
Gears turning, wheels set in motion.
And finally...
Hongo, Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo, Japan
The young woman felt her jaw drop. Her eyes widened in dumbfounded incredulity. Carefully, she set the steaming cup of noodles she was holding down and away; the last thing she wanted was for the liquid to splash over her new laptop. Once it was in a place she felt was secure, she looked back at the LCD screen.
"Well I'll be damned." the woman said.
The web page was in French. She didn't know French, so she copied the URL, opened Google Translate, and pasted it in. The language was immediately recognized, and a Japanese translation appeared.
The woman scrolled back down to the image, and read the caption.
"Marcus Rheinhardt and Guest" was all it said.
The woman scanned the rest of the page. It appeared to be a description about a society event in Paris, France, around last Christmas. Some sort of charity ball. But she could find no other reference to the name, in either the translated Japanese or the original French. She scanned the other images, but aside from a distant, darkened couple in the corner of one image that might be them, she could find no other hints.
She tried doing a Google search on the name, but the only hit she got went right back to the same web page and image.
She pulled the image up and studied it carefully.
"Its him." the woman said, then corrected herself. "Her. Its got to be."
She'd almost missed the image entirely. The young lady in the image was blonde with a jeweled tiara above thin eyebrows, but she wore her hair braided in such a way that it simply tripped something unconscious as the woman quickly passed, prompting a second look. Asian girl with braided hair. The braid draped forward of her shoulder and atop one breast, ending with a light blue bow. The ensemble was vastly different than the woman would have expected of the girl, but the stance and body language were clearly similar.
The face was dead on. Painted with make-up, but clearly her.
The girl wore a blue ball gown with short, laced sleeves. The neckline showed enough cleavage to compliment, but not overly so; the bodice waist appeared trim, waspish - the woman would bet the girl was wearing a corset underneath - while the ruffled skirt puffed out, but not dramatically. Her arms were encased in a pair of white opera gloves that came past her elbow, a thin bracelet gleaming on one wrist. Her face was perfectly made up, with glossy red lips clearly defined. Two necklaces could be seen around her neck, a jewel encrusted large one and a thin silver-gold thread holding a tiny locket just below her throat, while a pair of earrings - obviously a set to the larger necklace - dangled from her lobes. She was smiling.
She was stunningly beautiful.
"Oh. My. God." the woman muttered, not quite believing what she was seeing. "If only you'd have let me dress you up like that, we could have made a fortune on the pictures."
The woman looked at the girl's partner. He was... handsome. No, handsome wasn't quite the right word for him. He was hot.
He looked to be in that nebulous zone some men reach, where they could be anywhere from 30 to 50. He was a head taller than the girl; the top of her head fit below his chin. His face was smooth, his jaw angular, but with cheekbones that seemed unexpectedly high. She couldn't quite tell his eye color from the image, but his hair was a dark brown that was cut short and slightly swept back. He appeared athletic, with broad shoulders, long but muscular limbs, and was clad in a tailless tuxedo cut to emphasize his frame. He stood ramrod straight, but still showed a hint of grace in his stance. One arm was around the girl's waist from behind, his hand resting on her hip; his other hand held one of hers.
They were very obviously a couple.
"Well, well, well." the woman muttered. "Kasumi was right. You did go full girl." She shook her head in disbelief. "Dear god. You could beat even me in a gold digging contest."
The woman went back to the other image she had found, copied it to her hard drive, then enlarged and enhanced the one section as best she could with Photoshop. Her gut feeling told her it was them having a dance on the floor, but really, it was hard to tell. That dress, tho; it was quite distinctive.
She returned to the first image. She stared at it, contemplating what she should do. Finally, she reached for her cell phone and stabbed at one of the images on her contacts list. She hoped her sister would answer.
"Hello?" came the response. Good, the woman thought. It didn't go to voicemail.
"Akane? Its me, Nabiki. Are you at your computer? Good. Hang on a moment, I'm sending you over some pictures and a URL. You have to see this."
The woman turned towards the image on her screen.
"I think I've just found Ranma."
###############################################
Some notes:
1) Just to clarify, the vast majority of the inmates at the Chateau were born female. Girl R was the first Jusenkyo-cursed victim to come through its halls.
2) The story of Girl R's revenge on the person who became Brittany was the subject of the other story I have since tabled. That story was titled "The Strange History of Girl R", and can still be found this website. However, after I wrote and posted that story, I realized some issues with it that don't quite work with what I have planned. I may yet rewrite it and insert it here as a Prologue or flashback, but for now I am leaving it apart. As a word of warning to any who might want to search it out, it is quite Mature in nature.
3) If I've left anything out that you feel needs to be explained immediately, let me know in the comments. Thank you!
4) Just so everyone is clear on this, NO I do not intend to leave Ranma living their life as a 50 Shades of Grey stereotype. Please. Trust me.
-Z
- 1
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