In the dark, a match can be a horrible thing.

The grating as the match is lit comes as a surprise. With a guttering sound, the light flares into being; it is insufficient to dispel the darkness. Instead, with a barely audible hiss, it struggles to hold the darkness back from a tiny little circle, its flickering existence only sufficient to illuminate the hand which holds it, and the sheaf of papers held above it. And even when the dull silence is broken by a women's sobs, still the hissing of that struggle persists.

"Please." The woman's voice is unsteady, hiccuping. It is the voice of a person well into adulthood, who has seen more than her share of joy, and is now tasting new depths of despair.

"So you'll do it?" This voice is that of a man, nasal, dull in tone. It is the voice of a person to fear, because for him, reality has passed into the irrelevant.

The sobs intensify, and as they rise, so too does the match. The crying breaks off in a sharp inhalation, and then resume with even greater force. "No, please! That's the culmination of my life's work! You can't...."

"I can." The interruption is delivered in the same monotone. "I will. You know the only thing that will stop me."

The crying resumes for long minutes, uninterrupted. When they trail off into ragged sniffles, the woman musters the strength to speak again. "You win. I'll do it."

"It's on your desk."

There is a rustle, and the match moves away from the sheaf of papers to hover above the neatly-ordered piles on the drawing desk. A new pair of hands is now seen, delicate and graceful, with the signs of age only showing in finely lined knuckles and the hints of pale brown liver spots. Trembling, they press a single piece of paper flat, and then reach for a stamp. There is a long pause, and then the final thud as the document is sealed.

The man's hand reappears, setting down the stack it has been holding. The passionate and reciprocated romancing of a shifty-eyed schoolboy by a dog-eared half-demon is briefly illuminated before the art is dropped and the notarized declaration is quickly removed from the woman's reach.

The match, held high, reflects off the mirror-like glasses of the man and reveals the woman, who is tenderly caressing her masterpiece as quiet tears run down her face. And then she is lost to the darkness, as the man turns and heads to the door.

The door is open, and the hall is dimly lit by starlight. There is not enough light to ease the match's struggle, but just enough to outline the doorway, and give the barest hints as to the nature of the figure standing there.

"You've got it?" This is a new voice, a rapid machine-gun of a voice chattering the words like confident bullets.

The match-holder does not speak, but instead holds out the tear-stained sheet. As the man in the doorway reaches out to take it, the dying light glints off his massive afro. Impatiently, he gestures, and after a short pause, the match is also passed over.

These are the last few breaths of the match's struggles, and the darkness, seeing advantage, surges in. But its last, dying throes are just enough for us to read, stamped with red seals, and written in bold, authoritative characters, the prophetic words:

"I, Takahashi Rumiko, hereby give permission to Rikudo Koshi to make this episode of Excel Saga into a Ranma 1/2 cross-over."

The afroed man's teeth gleam, and he whispers, "Excellent." And then all noise is swallowed up as the match, with a sigh, is extinguished.

And Nabeshin pronounces, "Shit. I burnt my fingers."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across Honour

an Excel Saga / Ranma 1/2 Cross-over
by Bjorn Christianson (bjorn@etho.caltech.edu)

Ranma 1/2 is copyright Takahashi Rumiko. Excel Saga is copyright Rikudo Koshi and J.C. Staff. This work is not intended to infringe those rights, and is done without knowledge or consent of the rights holders.

That wasn't Takahashi in the prologue, just an unauthorized stunt double. After all, everyone knows that Takahashi's masterpiece is not a passionate romance between Ataru and Inu-Yasha; it is a Akane/Sister Angela bondage special.

Comments and criticism can be sent to bjorn@etho.caltech.edu and will be greatly appreciated. You can find copies of all my stories at http://www.its.caltech.edu/~bjorn/fanfic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~