Phoenix: Reignited Edition

As the sun rose on the first day of 1990, the young singer-in-residence of the Phoenix swayed behind the service bar humming an upbeat Japanese pop song. She made quick work of arranging the Collins glasses she extracted from the dishwasher onto the back bar behind her, readying them to be filled with the mojitos and Dragonfire cocktails of a Wednesday night service shift. The last week-plus since the Christmas concert had been a blur for her, a whirlwind of family activities, shopping, and work. Her throat was still a little scratchy after spending most of the previous night's New Year's Eve celebration on stage, though the performance had been nowhere near on the scale of the twin Christmas shows that had saved the little dive bar she called home from financial ruin. Must be the cold weather getting to me, she thought with a shiver.

Perhaps the biggest reason the days had run together since the Christmas show was that she hadn't seen Akane since the morning after it, and Ranko missed her something terribly. She hadn't even had a chance to give her girlfriend her Christmas gift yet. Ranko had never been anyone's girlfriend before - despite all the boys who'd tried to claim her as such since her fateful trip to Jusenkyo - but she was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to feel as lonely as it seemed to. She closed her eyes, remembering the kiss she and Akane had shared in her bed that morning, and her left foot involuntarily kicked off the floor and rose behind her backside as she set about wiping down the bar counter with a light blue rag. 

It sucks that she hasn't been able to get back here to see me, Ranko thought, her brow furrowing as she set about scrubbing out the steel sink basin behind the service bar. I hope I didn't freak her out, and now she's just hiding from me. I guess her dad might have just been running her ragged with holiday stuff too. I wonder if they had a big party again this year. I wonder what she wore. I wonder if anybody there missed me. I wonder if Akane… 

She sighed, shaking the intrusive thoughts from her head. Thinking that kinda stuff isn't gonna do me any good. Still, I wish I could at least call her. Just to hear her voice, and have her tell me I'm being stupid thinking stuff like this. But, if I call the house, her dad and Kasumi and Pop will know where I am, and… that's the freakin' last thing I need, them making shit weird when I'm finally feeling like I've got a good thing going here. 

Ranko had still not told any of the bar staff about the kiss she and Akane had shared, but from the incessant teasing, she knew that both Yui and Ayako at least expected as much. Hell, I think Aya thinks we're doing a lot more than kissing, based on her reaction when I freaked out that mall Santa, she mused with a devious smirk in the dark. But, I mean, she said, "Ask for something impossible that you really want." Not my fault if Father Christmas hasn't been asked to make a teenager start liking girls before. If you're so magic, figure that shit out, buddy.

Ranko grinned as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall behind the service bar. She wore a burnt orange cable-knit sweater and a long blue denim skirt, her hair dangling over her shoulder in a loose ponytail. The skirt had been a Christmas gift from Mei, and the sweater one from Hana. She had definitely received far more gifts than she had given, but she suspected her new family had used the holiday as an excuse to help her expand her wardrobe and fill in some of the missing sundries in her little upstairs apartment without bruising her pride.

Her morning tasks done, Ranko pushed through the slatted blue door leading into the back rooms of the Phoenix with a sprint in her step. She glanced into her adoptive mother's office through the open door, beaming at the framed painting of a phoenix alighting from its perch. Aya was right, it looks better over the couch, she thought. She winced slightly at the sight of a pile of opened envelopes on the corner of Hana's cluttered desk. Crap. Forgot to go get the mail.

Reaching the prep counter island, she tentatively touched the back of her hand to the Styrofoam to-go cup she'd left on the steel work surface. Finding that it had cooled enough to be only lukewarm, she picked up the cup and took a sip of her tea. 

After walking back through the front room of the bar, she pushed through the glass double doors and stepped outside. Brrr! Shoulda got my coat. It's fucking cold out here! Ranko lifted the flap of the cast iron mailbox mounted to the red brick wall next to the front door, slipping her slender hand in and extracting a pile of mail. There was the usual stack of ads and a few envelopes - thankfully none stamped with the telltale red ink indicating they were past due bills. 

Slipping back through the front door of the bar, Ranko flipped through the envelopes as she walked back to the service bar. She reached under it, pulling out the steel trash can stowed under the counter. Let's see. Junk. She tossed a promotional flyer for a pest control company in the wastebasket atop a few bruised lemons she'd rejected during morning prep. Junk. Bill. Junk. Junk. Junk. Bill. Bi… wait, what the…?

The second-to-last envelope had caught her eye, because it was addressed to her. She didn't recognize the return address.

Who the heck would send mail to me here? Who even knows I'm here? Collecting a paring knife from the aluminum tray behind the main bar, she slit the envelope open, dumping its contents onto the wooden bartop. There was a sheet of paper with some sort of rigid card folded inside. She carefully unfolded the paper, and as she caught a glimpse of the card within, her breath caught in her throat.

Stuck to the center of the paper with a little glue dot was a provisional Tokyo Metropolis government identification card featuring her photograph, wearing the blue blazer and ivory blouse she'd borrowed from Izumi the day Hana took her to the library. It listed her address as that of the bar, and the correct birthdate - November 25, 1971 - but that was of little consequence. The card listed her name as Ranko Tendo, and her sex as female.

Her legs buckled. 

For several long moments, she remained on her knees behind the bar counter, staring at the little card and trying to wrap her mind around how earth-shatteringly significant the little piece of plastic truly was. 

I'm… a woman. Legally. Officially. My name is Ranko Tendo. I… live here. She looked around at her surroundings, though she could see little but the ceiling and the edges of the counter from her knees. It's… it's not a lie anymore. It's not an act. It's just… me. 

I don't have to feel like a fraud or a pervert if I use my name or wear a dress. I'm a girl. A real one. 

Ranma Saotome is dead, she thought with a grin as she glanced down at the silver dragon coiled around her left wrist, concealing the scar left by her masculine form's mortal wound. For good.

My name is Ranko Tendo. I have a home. I have a family. 

I am wanted. I have worth. I have people who care about me. 

I exist.

She rocked back on the balls of her feet and propelled herself up to a standing position. Leaving the knife and the empty envelope sitting on the counter, she darted through the saloon door, her puffy white boots making nearly no sound as she hurried to the stairwell. Ranko ran upstairs to fetch her little purse, slipping the card into a small credit card pocket inside and closing the bag securely. She clutched the bag to herself with an exhilarated smile, squeezing it tight against her chest. Now, it's safe, she thought. Now, I'm safe. 

Ever since she'd abandoned her former identity, she had felt, for all intents and purposes, like a ghost. A non-person. Every time she so much as introduced herself to someone or was announced as she came on stage, she was adopting a persona, putting on a mask to hide the fact that the person underneath it no longer existed. She'd been constantly forced to dredge up the whole story, remember all the pain and hardship, and weave another layer into the incredibly elaborate falsehood that was her life. She felt a pang of guilt and shame every time someone addressed her by name. But now? No guilt. No questions. No stares. No pity. Just normalcy.

Now, it was real. She was just a girl. Less than four months prior, the thought had been enough to drive her to the brink of self-harm. But, at that moment, Ranko couldn't have wished for anything else. Ranko Tendo was no longer the stage name she used in the constant performance she'd been living for months. Now, it was just… her. An identity of her own making. 

And no one can ever take it from me, she thought with a victorious grin as she flopped onto her as-yet-unmade twin bed with a happy sigh. 

Ranko laid on her bed for a moment, allowing herself to daydream. I'm a Tendo. Just like Akane. I mean, it's gonna be weird when I introduce people to my girlfriend and she has the same last name as me, but Tendo's a fairly common name, so it should be okay. I mean, it's not like me and her can ever get married or anything, since we're both girls, but… She kicked her feet in excitement, her fur-lined ankles still dangling off the edge of her mattress. I'm so glad I panicked and picked that name when Hana asked me. It's like a promise I made to Akane, that I wanna be a part of her life. Now, it'll feel like me and Akane are… She giggled at the thought. 

I've gotta get out of here and do something, she thought excitedly. Show somebody. Mama and the girls will never know what a big deal this is for me; to them, they think I just lost my identification card when my purse got stolen or something. I don't give a damn if it's buying a subway pass, or a sub sandwich, for that matter. I just want an excuse to give somebody, anybody, my name and not feel like it's something I stole. 

Ranko bounced to her feet, looking herself over in the full-length mirror mounted to the back of her open closet door. Looks like a girl to me, she resolved with a million-watt smile as she shot her reflection a knowing wink and scooped her purse back up off of the bed. She ran down the steps, strapping her bag across her body and slipping her white peacoat on as she descended. 

Better not make anybody worry, she thought, ducking behind the service bar for one of the yellow notepads she used to record drink orders. On it, she scribbled a note in hurried, informal script: 

Went out for a bit. Back in time for opening. 

The teen hesitated, a grin cracking her cheeks again as she eyed the somewhat sloppy note. Picking the ballpoint pen up again, she finished the note in slower, deliberate strokes, putting more effort into making her penmanship look as neat and feminine as possible.

Love, Ranko ♡

Leaving the pad on the end of the bar counter where Yui normally dropped her purse upon arrival to work, she slipped out between the glass double doors. Her smile widened even more as she locked the doors behind her with her key. Of course I have a key. It's my home. Even the government says so. Shouldering her purse again after returning her key ring to it, she practically skipped her way onto the sidewalk before choosing a direction at random and starting to walk.

A few blocks to the east of the Phoenix, she found a little coffee cart near the harbor. The line wasn't too long, and the smell emanating from it was warm and welcoming. Ranko rarely shopped there - the prices were a bit high for her usual budget. It's a special occasion, she thought. She strode confidently up to the counter, and after the elderly woman in front of her had finished requesting a green tea, Ranko placed an order for a small cappuccino. 

Four minutes later, when the barista called out, "Order for Ranko!" she rocketed to her feet from a weathered wooden bench overlooking the water and waved enthusiastically. "That's ME!" 

And, for the first time, it really was.

She strolled down the street, back in the direction of the bar, letting the hot liquid in the Styrofoam cup in her hand cool for a few minutes before daring to sip at it. Can't get too crazy, she thought. I might be Ranko forever, but the Cat's Tongue is still definitely a thing. And besides… 

The teenager chuckled to herself, thinking back to the fateful event that had begun her journey into womanhood, years ago. In her mind, Ranko inverted the circumstances that had changed her life, almost hearing it in the heavy Chinese accent of the guide assigned to the Cursed Spring of Jusenkyo. You have a very tragic curse. Hot water will turn you into a boy. Don't worry, though! Cold water will change you right back! Now, the shapely redheaded girl with the singing voice everybody loved? That Akane thought was cute? That had a mother and four sisters who loved her? That was her true form. Even the government of Tokyo said so, and the proof was in her purse. 

She scanned the businesses on the street as she walked, looking for any further opportunity to introduce herself. Discount store? No, nobody there would ask for my name. Hardware store? Ranko paused for a moment, shaking her head and continuing to walk. I mean, Goji in there knows my name, but… I dunno. I don't like the way he looks at me when I go in there by myself. Gives me the mad Kuno vibes. 

Ranko chuckled as her eyes fell on the dojo she'd fought at on the day she met Hana. The day her life as she knew it truly began. Man, good thing that guy kicked my ass and made me look for a different job, she thought with a quiet scoff. Most grateful I've ever been for a black eye. Well, maybe second-most, after the first time Akane met me and clobbered me with her dad's dining room table. 

She thought back to Sensei Fukui's mocking dismissal, after the Cat's Tongue had brought her to her knees. The brutish martial arts master had suggested she join his intermediate girls' class, and for a split second, she considered doing it, just so she could write her true name on the application form. 

I still can't believe that clown beat me, she fumed as she passed the frosted glass storefront of the kempo dojo. I mean, I wasn't exactly at my best, I guess. Hadn't slept or eaten worth a damn in nearly a week. Still, though. Before the Cat's Tongue, I'd have eaten that dude for breakfast. Ranko shook her head as she recalled the encounter. What a fucking idiot. All I wanted was a job, and that dipshit thought I was challenging his fucking dojo. 

She cringed, remembering all the sensei's young students laughing at her as she retreated. It felt just like the match with… Ranko shook her head hard, as if trying to forcibly eject the intrusive thoughts from her mind. She looked down at her reflection in the glass of a newspaper vending machine, taking a moment to mentally steady herself. Nice try, Mikado. Not even you can fuck up this day for me. Not today.

Ranko took a few more steps, wondering if the nail salon next door to the dojo would ask for her name if she walked in. I mean, I guess I could use a fresh paint job, she mused, glancing down at her fingernails. The glitter stuff Izzi used for Christmas didn't hold up as well as the professional shit they used at the mall. Oh, what the hell. I get paid on Friday, and I can eat bar food for a couple days until then. 

Her hand was still on the door handle, and the smell of the acetone on the air in the little beauty parlor had only just begun accosting her nostrils, when Ranko froze suddenly. Her jaw fell slack, a thunderstruck expression in her ice-blue eyes. Oh my fucking gods! That… that's it! Well, part of it, anyway! She gasped and turned, tossing away her half-full beverage in the tiny trash can just inside the door of the salon. 

"Hey, wait! Come back! We're having a sale!" a middle-aged stylist called after her, but Ranko was already halfway across the street before the woman's words reached her ears. 

She rushed down the sidewalk, her hands shaking as she fumbled in her bag for her keys at the front door of the Phoenix. How the fuck didn't I think of it before?! Stupid, Ranko! Stupid! Crashing through the pair of doors, the young redhead tossed her purse on the small wooden podium that served as the bar's hostess stand. Her mind raced as she began pacing circles in the empty barroom as fast as her legs would carry her. 

Holy fucking shit. If we can do this, Ranko thought hopefully, maybe me and Akane can be together after all! Well, it's one problem down out of about a thousand, anyway, but it's a start!

Again, her eyes fell on her reflection in the mirror behind the service bar. She sighed, willing her heart to stop pounding as she pulled the white elastic from her ponytail and ran her fingers through her hair. She clenched her hands into fists, pulling her hair with a groan until the tension on her ever-sensitive scalp became too much to bear.

"Come on, now, think, Ranko!" she mumbled as she frantically searched her own eyes for answers in the mirror.  

"How in the actual fuck are we gonna pull this one off?!"