*yawn*
Another day, another ficlet. My post-fic posting vacation continues. Woo~!
An eight-year old Ranma Saotome currently stared at his
father with wide, unwavering eyes. To the young lad, the
man was a veritable bear of a man who easily towered over
him, and also possessed strength that the frame of the
smaller youth could yet match or overcome. Yet for all
that, his fear borne respect had taken quite a dent this
day, which would see a dramatic shift in their
relationship.
"Ranma..." the older man growled out through persued lips.
Getting no response, he tried again more loudly.
"Hmm?" Ranma finally said, looking up into the angry visage
of his father.
"Why haven't you gone to get a doctor yet?!?" Genma
shouted.
"Dunno," he answered with an indifferent shrug. He was
currently absorbed in jabbing Genma with a stick. Each stab
sent a twitch, which exasperated the man's condition.
On the ground, scrunched up and locked in a ridiculous pose
-- like that of a raccoon readying to pounce -- was one
Genma Saotome. Resident martial arts expert, father, and
middle aged man clearly showing his age with a bad back.
When the injury first occured, he initially tried to pass
it off as an attempt to create a new martial art form.
Ranma had asked in his childish innocence if he was
supposed to be a dead turtle or a cockroach.
That was two days ago.
The man whimpered as the tears flowed freely.
"I thought you said 'real men don't cry?'" Ranma pointed
out.
Genma bit his tongue, knowing that were he to lash out now,
Ranma wouldn't be so willing to do as he was told.
"Now, son, I need you to do daddy a favor and go get a
doctor," he asked; the fifth time now in the last hour.
"Uh huh," Ranma said, non-comitally, staring in curious
interest as a line of ants marched towards his father.
He was doomed.
An eight-year old Ranma Saotome currently stared at his
father with wide, unwavering eyes. To the young lad, the
man was a veritable bear of a man who easily towered over
him, and also possessed strength that the frame of the
smaller youth could yet match or overcome. Yet for all
that, his fear borne respect had taken quite a dent this
day, which would see a dramatic shift in their
relationship.
"Ranma..." the older man growled out through persued lips.
Getting no response, he tried again more loudly.
"Hmm?" Ranma finally said, looking up into the angry visage
of his father.
"Why haven't you gone to get a doctor yet?!?" Genma
shouted.
"Dunno," he answered with an indifferent shrug. He was
currently absorbed in jabbing Genma with a stick. Each stab
sent a twitch, which exasperated the man's condition.
On the ground, scrunched up and locked in a ridiculous pose
-- like that of a raccoon readying to pounce -- was one
Genma Saotome. Resident martial arts expert, father, and
middle aged man clearly showing his age with a bad back.
When the injury first occured, he initially tried to pass
it off as an attempt to create a new martial art form.
Ranma had asked in his childish innocence if he was
supposed to be a dead turtle or a cockroach.
That was two days ago.
The man whimpered as the tears flowed freely.
"I thought you said 'real men don't cry?'" Ranma pointed
out.
Genma bit his tongue, knowing that were he to lash out now,
Ranma wouldn't be so willing to do as he was told.
"Now, son, I need you to do daddy a favor and go get a
doctor," he asked; the fifth time now in the last hour.
"Uh huh," Ranma said, non-comitally, staring in curious
interest as a line of ants marched towards his father.
He was doomed.