Chapter Text
Ryoga knew something was wrong, ever since that strange girl had crashed into him and left him sopping wet. He was stumbling through the thick mountain foliage trying to track down the training ground he had been following that coward Saotome towards. It's been weeks, occasionally hearing tale of two foreign crooks that could only be the father and son he pursued. He knew he was close, but he kept slamming his head into branches that he felt he should have easily cleared.
All at once he stumbled into a rowdy village. He must have gotten turned around and headed back down the mountain, though he could have sworn he was going uphill this whole way. There was some kind of fight going on in the center of the village, probably some kind of party given the feast laid out near the fight.
Two women were standing atop a log, wailing on each other with blunted swords. They seemed evenly matched for a minute or so, but then the taller woman landed a concussive hit upon the other woman's temple. The blow would have felled most warriors, but the smaller woman simply took the force of the blast and bulled forward in a full-body charge. She slammed into her opponent and with a great heave tossed her off the log where they battled.
Ryoga cheered for the small warrior woman. That was a true fighter, taking a solid hit from your opponent's full strength and dishing out even greater punishment in return. A battle of force and of will, unlike the pathetic doges and evasions of a fleeing coward like Saotome.
"Foreign girl like fighting, yes?"
"Huh?" Ryoga looked around to see if there was another outsider observing the battle. Before he found whoever the voice was referring to, he turned to face a girl around his age. Unfortunately for him, the angle at which he looked, he got a generous view of the ample cleavage of a woman in a skin-tight silk dress. A mumbled "oops..." escaped his lips as he went into a dead faint with a heavy blush and severe nosebleed.
Ryoga woke to the incomprehensible background noise of an upbeat but quiet conversation. He couldn't quite tell if it was the speed of the talking making it difficult to understand, or if these women spoke some local dialect he was unfamiliar with, but his Mandarin failed to garner him any knowledge of their discussion. Or he could just have a concussion, he didn't remember falling asleep, and his head ached something vicious. Hell he could barely remember the last time he had lain in a real bed. He let out a quiet groan as the dizzy sensation from levering himself into a sitting position. That was the cue to end the conversation as an ancient woman approached.
"Do you speak Mandarin child? Or would you prefer Japanese?" He barely caught the first half of the question, but let out a sigh of relief at familiar sound of Japanese. Speaking Mandarin in his current state sounded miserable and he was glad for the chance to speak his own tongue.
"Japanese, thank you very much ma'am. My Mandarin isn't as good as I'd like." His voice sounded off, but he didn't seem to feel hoarse. Something to worry over later, I guess. "If you could be so kind as to tell me where we are and who I'm speaking with, I'd be grateful. My name is Hibiki Ryoga."
"You may call me Elder Ke Lun, young one. And this is Joketsuzuko. You are currently in my home as you collapsed while speaking with my great grandaughter, Shan Pu." The old woman gestured to the approaching figure who held out a glass of water for him, which he happily took and downed in a single gulp, trying to hide the blush spreading across his face as he was confronted with the memory of his prior meeting, and the cause of his current predicament. "Nice to meet you both," he stammered through his embarassment.
"See grandmother, is same-love-sister, yes? Too too bashful." The buxom girl cast an appraising look at him and continued, "Good muscle, strong fighter, Shan Pu think. Maybe Hibiki like cousin Lo Shun, yes?"
"Shan Pu, behave," the older woman admonished, with no real heat behind her rebuke. "Hibiki dear, you're quite welcome to stay for a time in our village. Joketsuzoku is always open to young women who have nowhere else to go, especially young fighters like yourself who may wish to join our family."
"Um... I think there's been a rather large misunderstanding here ma'am. I'm a guy," Ryoga responded with no small amount of confusion in his tone.
"Silly Hibiki. Is okay to be strong girl. No has boy parts," Shan Pu giggled at the odd foreign girl.
Ryoga's confusion began to shift to panic, as he frantically patted his chest. A momentary sigh of relief at his toned, yet blessedly flat chest. Before he could properly settle into that relief though, all the strange disproportionate feelings that had been bothering him all day crashed to the forefront of his awareness. In a blind panic he reached down to his boxers, too frightened to be embarrassed by the blatantly rude gesture. He grabbed at his own crotch and realized what was missing. "What the fu..." he rasped out as he blacked out for the second time that day.
It's obvious from his stiff joints even before he opens his eyes to the dark room that he's been out even longer than before this go round. He forces himself to ignore the pervasive wrongness of his body and forces himself to stand up and stretch. Just because this isn't his proper form doesn't mean he shouldn't take care of himself. For all he knows he could end up stuck like this. He shivers at that unwelcome thought.
It's properly dark and quiet now, the late afternoon had turned to night while he was passed out. He takes a moment to breathe deeply and center himself. You're alive man. And still human. Magic is obviously real. Things could be so much worse idiot. So, you're a girl, you still have thumbs, you can still walk, you can talk, you'll be fine. He didn't quite believe his own thoughts, but it helped him distance himself from his earlier terror. He finds his first real hint of comfort when he bites his lip and feels his sharp fangs draw a hint of blood. The fangs in his mouth his first reassurance that he's still himself, even if he is her right now.
He lets out a shaky breath and is startled by the strength of his need to see the night sky. So, he begins the exasperating effort to find his way out of the strange home. The first door leads him to an empty bedroom, the next to a toilet, and then another bedroom. Just as he's beginning to grow frustrated with himself he stumbles upon Ke Lun sitting at a table with a pot of strongly-scented herbal tea. Well, he found the kitchen at least. The old woman was sipping on a cup of tea and gestured to an open chair across from her.
"Sit, child." She poured another cup of the tea, the sweet aroma filling the room anew, and nudged it in front of him with her cane as he reluctantly sat down. He picks up the drink, but only for something to do with his hands. It smells palatable enough, and he would never be so rude as to refuse the woman's hospitality outright. But, everything is so wrong and he's suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of home, of Checkers, and even his mother. Tears prick at his eyes for the first time in years. He forces back the edge of a sob he can feel building in his throat."
"Let it out child. You've had a trying day and the tears are no enemy." Her voice takes the edge off his emotions for a moment. "Drink the tea and let the tears flow. They'll both do you good and help you to rest later." To avoid the more unpleasant side of the woman's advice, he let's himself sip at the tea. It's quite good actually, and as he's about to thank the elder, the dam breaks loose. His fury at his friend for running off to China, his constant frustration at his cursed sense of direction, the months it's been since he's even seen his home, let alone his mother, and his indignation at the magic that has stolen his manhood and likely ruined his life. He can't hold back the tears, or even the sobs. He feels like a pathetic child as his grip tightens on the warm cup in his hands.
Ke Lun is very briefly startled by the impressive weight of the Ki bearing down on the room. A deep throbbing aura of lament rests on the young shoulders. It's proof both of the child's fighting spirit and hurt suffered. Training will be needed to refine control. The weight pricks at an old memory of a young man who had lashed out in despair and anger in her youth, letting loose a mighty implosion of Ki. It hadn't hurt the young warrior directly, but the landslide it had set off was enough to kill him and a half dozen others in their prime. Yes, he'll need training, but more immediately she's surprised to recall an old legend about a cursed spring that transforms unwary travellers. She pursues the recollection and is reminded of her village's old enemy in the Musk dynasty. The foul group had died off before she was born, but perhaps with a little digging, she could uncover some way to help the child in front of her.