Travel powers, hah. Who needs to waste chakra on travel powers when you've got a perfectly good car? I smiled pleasantly to myself as I pulled the car in to the side of the road, just past the foot of the driveway of the nice little green ranch house, and parked. It had been a pleasant enough drive, time enough to think and sort through a few of the more unusual things that had come to mind since the night before... time I'd badly needed.
I'd sat there frozen in shock for about twenty minutes when it happened, staring at the computer screen, watching the questions and comments of those who'd been quicker to recover (or panic) fly across the chat channels. It wasn't just me, or even just people I knew, it was everyone. This is going to get messy, some part of me insisted, and that broke me out of the stupor I'd been in. I don't know whether it was my own natural cynicism, or Misao's ninja training, but it did tell me that I had to do something more than just sit there and stare.
The first step was to take stock of just what I had become. A look in the mirror confirmed my initial suspicion, I'd gone from thirtyish, overweight, and male, to fifteenish, athletic, and female. Not that I objected much. My skin problems were gone, my back problems were gone, hell, even my teeth were fixed. No objections there, I told myself, and given how much Ranma fanfic I'd read - and roleplayed - I was better prepared than some for the idea.
So, what else have we got to work with, I thought, contemplating what being a ninja would entail for me. Misao was only a genin, but still, she'd have had all the basic training. Taijutsu, heck yes. Genjutsu? Stealth was one of her specialties. I paused as a name came floating up through my memory - kagegaidou no jutsu. Okay, stealth was covered. I spent a few minutes experimenting with the basics - henge, kawarimi, bunshin - and confirmed that they all worked as Misao expected. (And took a picture of a couple of bunshins henge'd into Akane and Ranma-chan, but that's in my Private folder, not to be shared....)
By the time I thought to check the computer again, the general consensus was panic. People were afraid that their old identities would be lost. That would definitely suck, I agreed, but I'd already tried henge'ing into my old self and it worked fine. Okay, fingerprints might be a - no, wait... It wasn't too hard to confirm what I suspected. A chunk of sticky-tack I'd been playing with had a nice impression of my left thumbprint in it, and a few moments with some paper, a drop or two of paint, and a henge, left me with no doubt. My prints were unchanged, and I could convincingly apply them while in henge. The only question would be how long I could hold one.
The consensus of the discussion group, by this point, was a meetup at Bob's place in Jersey, which meant a long trip for me and an even longer trip for others. Fortunately, I had the car, I had dad's Mobil card for gas, and I had Misao's rather pleased disregard for general ethics. I grabbed one of my shirts from the closet to cover Misao's fishnet top, tied the now-well-oversized garment around my waist, and added a similarly-too-large jacket over top. A few books in a bag, some CD's to keep me awake on the drive, and my wallet, PDA, and celphone (thank the kamis I'd changed into my sweatpants before sitting down to play!), and I was off.
Several hours and several hysterical news reports on the radio later, I was in Grover's Corners, New Jersey, parking the car. --
"I give you the beautiful... the talented... the tirelessly atomic-powered...
R!
DOROTHY!
WAYNERIGHT!
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.
I'd sat there frozen in shock for about twenty minutes when it happened, staring at the computer screen, watching the questions and comments of those who'd been quicker to recover (or panic) fly across the chat channels. It wasn't just me, or even just people I knew, it was everyone. This is going to get messy, some part of me insisted, and that broke me out of the stupor I'd been in. I don't know whether it was my own natural cynicism, or Misao's ninja training, but it did tell me that I had to do something more than just sit there and stare.
The first step was to take stock of just what I had become. A look in the mirror confirmed my initial suspicion, I'd gone from thirtyish, overweight, and male, to fifteenish, athletic, and female. Not that I objected much. My skin problems were gone, my back problems were gone, hell, even my teeth were fixed. No objections there, I told myself, and given how much Ranma fanfic I'd read - and roleplayed - I was better prepared than some for the idea.
So, what else have we got to work with, I thought, contemplating what being a ninja would entail for me. Misao was only a genin, but still, she'd have had all the basic training. Taijutsu, heck yes. Genjutsu? Stealth was one of her specialties. I paused as a name came floating up through my memory - kagegaidou no jutsu. Okay, stealth was covered. I spent a few minutes experimenting with the basics - henge, kawarimi, bunshin - and confirmed that they all worked as Misao expected. (And took a picture of a couple of bunshins henge'd into Akane and Ranma-chan, but that's in my Private folder, not to be shared....)
By the time I thought to check the computer again, the general consensus was panic. People were afraid that their old identities would be lost. That would definitely suck, I agreed, but I'd already tried henge'ing into my old self and it worked fine. Okay, fingerprints might be a - no, wait... It wasn't too hard to confirm what I suspected. A chunk of sticky-tack I'd been playing with had a nice impression of my left thumbprint in it, and a few moments with some paper, a drop or two of paint, and a henge, left me with no doubt. My prints were unchanged, and I could convincingly apply them while in henge. The only question would be how long I could hold one.
The consensus of the discussion group, by this point, was a meetup at Bob's place in Jersey, which meant a long trip for me and an even longer trip for others. Fortunately, I had the car, I had dad's Mobil card for gas, and I had Misao's rather pleased disregard for general ethics. I grabbed one of my shirts from the closet to cover Misao's fishnet top, tied the now-well-oversized garment around my waist, and added a similarly-too-large jacket over top. A few books in a bag, some CD's to keep me awake on the drive, and my wallet, PDA, and celphone (thank the kamis I'd changed into my sweatpants before sitting down to play!), and I was off.
Several hours and several hysterical news reports on the radio later, I was in Grover's Corners, New Jersey, parking the car. --
"I give you the beautiful... the talented... the tirelessly atomic-powered...
R!
DOROTHY!
WAYNERIGHT!
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.