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rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
royaldecreemods) wrote in rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
Entry tags:
Welcome to Rosavelle!
INVITATION
You're going about your day when you notice an envelope that most certainly wasn't there before. It's beautiful, if a little old-fashioned: pale pink paper, sealed with a pressed flower instead of wax and your name written in looping cursive that shimmers faintly in the light.
Inside, the letter begins;
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
Inside, the letter begins;
- Dearest friend—
Goodness, I hope that isn't too forward. We've not met, after all. But I have been told that when one writes an invitation, it's important to sound sincere.
My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle. It's a little island kingdom far, far away - so far that it may not exist quite in the same world as yours.
I know this must sound terribly strange, but I'm writing because I need your help. You see, my coronation is approaching soon, and Rosavelle's magic - the Everbloom - responds to the strength of one's heart. It's said that a ruler must understand love to truly awaken it. Not just romance, mind you, but all kinds of love: friendship, kindness, care.
The trouble is… I'm not very good at it. I've read so many books about love, but real people don't seem to follow the same rules the novels do.
That is why I'm writing to you. The Everbloom - our most ancient and wondrous magic - has granted me the means to reach across worlds. I'm inviting a handful of remarkable individuals, like you, to Rosavelle to help me learn. Not only to teach me what love means to you, but to help me see how it can bloom between friends, companions, and strangers alike.
I promise you'll be treated as an honored guest.
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
- If you'll come, I'd be so very grateful. I know this is a strange request, and you owe me nothing - but still, I hope you'll consider it. Rosavelle is beautiful this time of year, and it is my hope that seeing it alongside fresh eyes will allow me to see it more clearly as well.
With all my thanks (and my hopes!)—
Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
ARRIVAL
You arrive in a haze of soft, rosy light. For a moment, everything is weightless - the air around you hums faintly, thick with warmth and the heady scent of flowers. When the haze fades, you find yourself standing beneath a vast glass dome that stretches impossibly high overhead. The light filtering through its pink-tinted panes paints everything in gentle rose and gold and petals drift through the air like drifting snow.
You are standing in the Everbloom's Greenhouse. The walls curve upward in graceful arches, every pane glimmering faintly and the air is warm, fragrant, and shimmering with faint motes of magic. Flowering vines climb the supports, colorful blossoms of all kinds spill from hanging baskets, and everywhere you look there's flowers, flowers, flowers.
At its heart stands the Everbloom, a colossal tree the likes of which you've never seen before. Its smooth trunk is faintly luminous and the canopy stretches so high that you can't see where it ends, vanishing into a haze of golden light and drifting petals. The air around it hums softly with power and for a moment, all you can do is stare up at it in awe.
A moment later, movement stirs: castle attendants glide forward in elegant uniforms, carrying towels, refreshments, and generally doing their best to make sure everyone's arrived safely. After all, you're not alone. Around you, other figures begin to appear - some blinking in wonder, some already steady on their feet. Each seems as out of place as you, drawn from distant worlds and disparate lives but under the rosy light they all seem to come together like flowers gathered into the same bouquet.
Those who stumble are gently guided toward a bench cushioned with flowering moss. Cool towels and drinks infused with rose and mint are offered freely. Eventually, once it seems like everyone's arrived and mostly gotten their bearings, one of the attendants - a lady-in-waiting as you'll eventually find out - speaks up.
"You are most welcome to Rosavelle," she says, dipping into a polite bow. "Their Princess will be hosting a banquet this evening to greet you all properly. Until then, please take your time to get settled and familiar with your surroundings. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."
For now, you're free to mingle. This is your chance to get your bearings, meet your fellow arrivals, and explore your surroundings. Beyond the main atrium, you can glimpse winding paths lined with blooming hedges and fat, colorful blossoms. Somewhere in the distance, you can faintly hear birdsong. You feel a little tug somewhere in your chest and if you follow it, you might just come across a flowerbed somewhere in the Greenhouse that you somehow know as your own.
After some time to mingle and acclimate, the attendants return, clapping their hands gently to draw attention.
"It's nearly time to prepare for the evening banquet! If you'll come with us, we'll see to your attire."
DRESS UP
You're led from the warmth of the greenhouse through a series of winding marble corridors until you're ushered through a set of grand double doors into a suite of guest rooms bustling with motion. Tailors, stylists, and attendants hurry between privacy screens, racks of lavish garments and trays piled high with glittering jewelry. Silks and satins gleam and lace and velvet catch the light in soft waves of color.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
BANQUET
The Azurite Banquet Hall glows with warm candlelight reflected in polished marble floors and the air inside smells of wine and roses. Long tables stretch the length of the hall, each one dressed in embroidered runners and heaped with platters of food that look almost too beautiful to eat and in the corner, a string quartet plays a soft, lilting melody.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
- "Ah - good evening, everyone! I - well, goodness, where does one even begin?
First of all, thank you. Truly, thank you all for coming here - to Rosavelle, and to me. I know this must all seem terribly strange - one moment you were in your own world, and the next you're here. It's strange to me too, you know. I've been imagining this for weeks, and yet somehow it still doesn't feel quite real.
Ah - oh! I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle, soon to be its sovereign, though I admit that still feels a little surreal to say aloud.
I invited you here because - well, I imagine all of you read your invitations. The Everbloom, our kingdom's oldest and most sacred magic, is bound to the heart and mine is… embarrassingly, quite uneducated in such matters. I couldn't imagine anyone in this world I could burden with such a problem and so I thought - perhaps - those who come from other worlds might help me."
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
- "That said, ah - there is a small complication. It is. Um. Frowned upon by most scholars to interfere with the affairs of other worlds, even with the best of intentions and I fear it would cause quite a stir if word got out. So for the time being, we'll need to keep your origins a secret. Please don't worry, though - we've arranged everything you'll need. Over the next month, we'll be teaching you about Rosavelle and all its customs so that when you venture out for the Wilting festival, you'll feel quite at home.
I realize that's rather a lot to ask, and I'm - well, I'm deeply grateful for your patience. I promise to do my best to make this worth your while.
So, once again, thank you. For answering my invitation. For being here, together, tonight.
Now then-"
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
- "To new beginnings, and to the bonds we have yet to form. May they bloom as beautifully as the flowers of Rosavelle... oh, that sounded quite good, didn't it? A toast - to all of you!"
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
HOUSEWARMING
The banquet winds to a gentle close and ne by one, the guests are gathered once more by the castle attendants who lead the way through dimly glowing corridors. The halls are quieter now, the rosy light of evening filtering through stained glass in sleepy shades of pink and gold. Everyone is lead through the castles and out into the grounds, their splendor only a little dulled by the darkness starting to settle over the castle.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
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...which is really hard, but I can at least execute the simple version good enough to pass Master Yanqing's inspection! And I've managed the advanced technique a few times! [Sweatdrop. The more March thinks about it, the less impressive her stint as Yanqing and Yunli's apprentice was.]
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The longer March continued on with her explanation, the more Ranma's veneration starts to waver and simmer down to a let down look at this damp squib. Sweatdrop 2!]
... So askin' you to teach me it's out of the question, is what'cha sayin'.
[Man, and he got so hyped there for a second. Biting back a moue, Ranma looks off to the side. Or. Tries to make it seem like he's staring anywhere but at her sweet stockpile ardently with wanton desire.]
Reminds me of a trick grandmasters back home utilize, where they balance on a small twig to appear like they're standing on water. [Beat, before Ranma scratches his cheek.] Although... The old mummy used a shark instead of a stick.
[... Equally, less or more impressive than a twig?]
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Tell you what, I'll show you AND them how it's done right now! [Grabbing Ranma with one hand and setting down her sweets with the other, March starts dragging him outside. You don't get to say no, Ranma.]
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'Cause most of 'em are. Cons and tricks are just another tool in their arsenal.
[Believe him. Living under one taught him that 'lesson'. Open up a dictionary and look up con, you'll find an ugly panda as the prime example.
The sudden offer startles him more than her accosting his hand. Huh???? Did his story offend/motivate her that much?
Ranma won't say no to learning new technique, and he's picked up plenty from loose descriptions or incomplete parts before.]
Alright, lead the way. But hang on for a second, lemme grab some grub f-- Wait!
[Noooooooo he wanted food! Ranma pathetically reaches out futilely towards to the table, or more accurately, the sweets March's leaving behind!!!
Under normal circumstances, Ranma could pry his hand free from March's grip. But this is clearly setting up a bit, so Ranma'll just have to allow the other girl to drag him outside. Sulking the whole way there, like a kid told no to asking for ice cream.]
no subject
Ranma is led out to the castle garden's pond, where March starts limbering up.]
Now watch and learn, my friend... oh, what's your name, actually? I'm March 7th!
[March squares her stance and screws her eyes shut.]
Azure Dragon... White Tiger... Eating less carbs... [She leaps into the air-] Watch this! [And lands on her feet atop the water.
March doesn't stop there, though. She leaps across the pond, one bound after another, then does an elegant flip on the edge to turn around and make her way back to Ranma. Once she makes her way back to the shore...]
Yeah! I made it the whole way this time! I guess wanting to impress- arghglblbl [Whoops. She wasn't QUITE at the shore, it turns out, and she falls straight into the water with a KER-SPLOOSH- which, of course, splashes water all over Ranma.]
1/3
"Oh, what's your name, actually?"
--yeah, he forgor about why they're out here. Snapping out of his sugar-deprived slump, Ranma scratches the side of his cheek.]
Like the date...? [Unimportant detail to lock in on.] It's Ranma. Ranma Saotome.
[Missing out on snacks for this isn't so bad. Either he learns a new trick to add to his utility belt, or he gets to watch March take a swan dive into the pool. Win-win.
Ranma sits criss-cross on a nearby stone, observing the girl do her warm-ups. Great form, he'll give her that. Then came the actual feat, and...
Woah. Color him impressed. He didn't think she could pull it off after her lackluster anecdotes didn't inspire confidence. During March's acrobatics, Ranma leans forward to better glean her technique. If he can figure out how to, it could save his bacon from free-falling into oceans. Maybe even have a proper rematch against the old granny, without fleeing from her shark.
This wasn't a total bust after all! He could really heeeeeeeeeeeeeey why is she moving like--]
2/3
.... Mmmmmyep. Who could've seen this coming?
Other than the audience?
And Ranma himself.]
3/3
Tell me, was pratfallin' at the end part of the show, or was that improvisation on your part?
[Voice so. Hecking. Dry, in contrast to her. Everything.]
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...
.......
...........is it just me, or do you look a lot cuter all of a sudden?
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[She's got March's 'last step' all over her. Ranma won't hold it against her, this is par for the course for her by now. That, and she would've gotten wet while taking a crack at that Fourth Snowflake Balancing Technique. No biggie.
She extends a hand out for March once more, to pull her out of the pond.]
Nope, it isn't you. [Wdym cuter all of a sudden??? Exsqueeze you, she's the whole package as a guy and a girl!] Magic curse, I change t' this when I'm splashed with cold water.
[In the exact tone of someone who's explained it a bajillion times.]
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[Innocence, thy name is March 7th.]
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Yep. [People here are a lot stranger than how it normally goes back home, being more open to or less adverse to the whole gender flipping dealio. It's almost refreshing to not be gawked at like some odd creature drudged up out of a big. Even so...] It's a literal curse, fell into a cursed spring and everything thanks to a stupid, ugly panda...
[She huffs out, wringing out water from her pigtail.]
Guess that's one positive spin on it, 'cept for the fact... [Ranma raises her arms midway, letting her baggy, drenched sleeves sag] just my body changes. It gets pretty inconvenient, but it wouldn't be a curse if it wasn't, now would it?
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I can buy a panda being stupid, but UGLY? They're super cute! You better explain yourself, miss.
[That's what she takes issue with???]
Hmmm... this place has magic, right? That's right, Bloomcraft! Maybe some of that can solve the tailoring problem?
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Regular pandas are super cute. My old man fell in [translation: got kicked in by Ranma] into a spring that turned him into one. Stupid ugly old fart, stupid ugly ol' panda.
[Ranma could change her tune by drawing a quick sketch of her old man's cursed form... Then March said those twelve magical words. Like flipping a switch, Ranma goes from drowned sewer rat to right as rain beaming a radiant smile, positively glowing. She pounds the side of her fist into her palm with a quaint 'Aha!']
That's it! Why didn't I think of that sooner? Bloomcraftin' up me some better clothes would be a lifesaver.
[Save her from needing to slip out of them, or stopping to readjust them. In fact:]
Actually, why don't I go a step further and see if the magic can't do anything 'bout the curse itself?
[Ranma's grinning ear to ear, delight brimming from her.]
You're a genius, March!
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Super Detective March 7th, at your service~
[Ahem, right, conversation.]
I dunno... getting rid of the curse seems like kind of a pity with how cute you are, but Bloomcraft should definitely at least help you with the clothes problem!
Seriously, though. Is being a girl sometimes really that bad?
cw for ranma being crass oof
why do we have two hands. to praise the march, to hold the march--People've been so accepting of his curse or haven't freaked out or scorned her for it, so he can't be thrown for another loop. That question though... "Is being a girl sometimes really that bad?" Ranma folds her arms behind her head, impassively staring back from whence they came from, the banquet.]
I'm not gonna pretend it's the worse curse I could've gotten. I'll take growing boobs and still kick ass over turnin' into a pig or duck any day! [Her head goes from one shoulder to the other.] Being a girl comes with its own perks and upsides too...
[She's never bore any qualms or reservations about taking advantage of her changed body. In a way, it's become another tool to her.]
I've learnt how to live with it so it doesn't suck as bad as it used to... But I'm s'posed to be a guy hundred percent, not fifty.
sorry for replying to this one first the idea just came to me
Huhhhh, now that I'm thinking about it like that, if you don't feel like being a girl, then that would kinnnnda suck... it just never occurred to me that people wouldn't want to be a girl if the opportunity presented itself like that.
[Said with all the casual-ness of a simple fact of life.]
never apologize ill shovel all your yummy tags into my mouth (1/?)
((ooc: also my turn to say sorry for the incoming inbox spam))You're--?
(2/?)
(3/?)
(4/?)
(5/6 also cw for 80s japan not understanding trans people)
Those pale in comparison to March's laisse-faire avowal; "It's not about what's supposed to happen, it's how you feel, you know?"
No. She can't fathom that idea. How you feel, about your own sex? What's that supposed to mean? Everybody knows at birth what they are, a boy or a girl, don't they? It's like knowing you need to breathe air or need to blink so your eyes don't become dry. For her to say something so ludicrous and be so pococurante about it too...]
(6/6)
In the seventeen years she's spent alive, she's met but two people who could change their gender in real life. Prince(ss) Herb, and herself. Both of them were afflicted with this emasculating curse. Both of them wanted to rid themselves of it. It's only natural for guys in their predicament.
... Or so she thought. Cause here March is, standing in the face of her gender paradigm, contradicting everything ingrained into her head. Going against that any guy/girl would move the heavens to go back to being "normal". Somebody choosing to be what they weren't born as is...
The longer Ranma stands there dumbfounded, the more she's allowed to stew in March's earlier words that ring when she looks at herself. She's a guy. She's always felt like one her whole existence. That extends to the current form she's in. No matter the complications that comes with this new body, the irritations life and people around her throw at her, Ranma never stopped proclaiming she's a man with her whole chest, whether he had pecs or she had mammaries notwithstanding to that belief.
When she thinks like that...]
You're actually okay with that, stayin' a girl when you were...
[There's no malice when she asks that, just pure and honest incredulity.]
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[
Maybe she was the one to win the spa trip in her universe.Her smug demeanor melts slightly, and she offers Ranma a kind smile. March may be a ditz, but with the face journey that Ranma went on, even she can tell there's some internal conflict.]
Look. Of all people, I get that it has to suck not being able to control what bits you have. But... it doesn't seem like you hate being a girl all that much?
Besides, there's someone else like you out there in the galaxy! Firefly's a girl sometimes and a guy sometimes, too, and it seems like she enjoys both. Albeit in, uh. Different ways. [Sometimes, gender euphoria is a rider kick.]
no subject
Suddenly Konatsu's whole deal becomes a lot clearer. Her head nods to March's explanation, slowly accepting it.....
... annnnnnnnd immediately whips to the side when March puts her on blast, lips pursing and cheeks going up like Christmas lights.]
T-Told ya', I learnt to live with it a-after a year! Being a girl sucked less then, it comes in handy now and again...
[Don't hate doesn't mean she enjoys it fully! Sincerely,
quotes the tsundereHer head perks up, eyes wide open. She doesn't know how to feel about the 'like you' comment, but Ranma's facial expression could be compared to the first man to create fire. Discovering an unknown facet of the universe nowhere close to their boxed worldview, one can't help but be in awe and uncertain if it should be embraced or repulsed.]
Huh... And... Nobody think's she's a creep or pervert for it?
(no subject)