Say "Make-Up" to Reunite! The Model of Ill-Will
The day kept getting more and more interesting.
In a fit of boredom, Kohaku had decided to use her day off to go shopping. Already, three boys had flirted with her, she'd found a shop with clothes her size and the cutest pink pleather pumps with cocoa brown ribbons. Now, she seemed to have stumbled upon a photo shoot, involving people in underwear.
What could it hurt to watch? Kohaku found a nearby bus bench to park herself on with her coffee and grinned wickedly at a passing pair of manly buns.
The fashion show was open to the public, which was fine in some ways and annoying in others. It made it difficult to concentrate on "the walk" with all sorts of people screaming your name in the background. Still...it was the most wonderful feeling. I adore being adored. In fact, Suzuki Kurayami, known more commonly as Kura, soaked up the attention so well it was hard to tell he was an attention whore. At least until someone took his spotlight away. Then there would be problems, as many of the other women and men who worked with him found out. Some of them just seemed to have mysteriously...disappeared. He smiled at a young woman with garnet-red hair pulled back in a bun and winked before entering the convention center.
"Suzuki-san, your fans are being rather troublesome..."
"Then have them seated further back. I do not want to deny my public and you know they could cause a riot if you anger them."
The power of stupid people in large groups surprises me sometimes. He made his way further back to the dressing room area and immediately went to "his" mirror and settled down. Short black hair that was cut in a rather dramatic way emphasized his crimson eyes. His managers had insisted on gold contacts, and it had skyrocketed his popularity...so he allowed the change. Kura began to get to work on his makeup, glad that there was no annoying makeup person hovering over him. While he was known for being popular, he was also infamous as a diva of the highest degree. People tended to avoid Kura, especially when he was in fits. Sometimes people can be smart...he thought as he inserted his gold contacts.
"I wonder if I could convince them to let me change my hair..."
For Ichidaikiu Chiyoko, the best place to be in a crowd was somewhere where nobody would notice you. However, there was also no point in being there if you could not see over the terrible press of people and it was terrible being in that press anyway so she might as well look, so she skulked over the side and tried to peer in-between the shortest heads; she had been worrying about hips, lately, the flexion of extension from the spine onto the thigh, the lateral rotation of the pelvis. What were catwalks for, other than to show these things?
Some people would argue clothes. For Chichi, whose jumper reached nearly to her knees and sleeves crept over her fingers, this was totally lost on her. The baggiest beret in Harajuku completed this look, and she would have been jeered at by the most homely of the orange-skin white-hair set for anybody's money. Her sketchpad was out as she waited patiently: and as she could not wait incredibly patiently, not with the dull buzz of conversation and laughter that went all the way into her spine and made her wish for a convenient table to hide under, she had pulled out her Gameboy and had dived straight into the lost art of clam collecting in Legend Of The River King.
Once she saw enough and drawn enough she could go home right away and work on mechanised circumduction, which cheered her up no end.
The model with the nice butt had winked at Kohaku. She gave him her most becoming "girlish giggle", covering her mouth with her fingers and tilting her head. It was affected of her, but she was a good enough actress that the gesture looked natural.
"I'm so sorry, Miss." The young man in black dashed up holding a clipboard. "We have to ask you to move. The models are distracted."
"Oh!" said Kohaku, thinking to herself, Balloonjuice! She rose and edged back into the growing crowd, accidentally knocking into a girl with a Gameboy.
"Oops! I'm sorry!" she said absently, edging behind the girl to watch the shoot.
The girl she knocked into squeaked; it wasn't a loud noise, but it was a plantive one, and she did a slightly lame hand-juggle in an attempt to keep her gameboy stationary due to the knocking. She immediately shifted down to crouch on her heels, as if this would make her gaming system feel better about being up so high and in danger. She had to breathe through her nose for a little while; the look that she threw Kohaku was not baleful, but terrified, as if it was her fault entirely that she had been knocked into.
"Sorry," she said, and it might have been to the Gameboy more than the other girl, "sorry, sorry."
"Really, its--oh." Kohaku had turned to calm the panicking girl behind her, only to realize she was trying to comfort the Gameboy. She tried to turn back to ogling the models, but something about the girl at her elbow stirred her thoughts. Thoughts of the Princess, lost and in a morgue, while some cold, efficient individual--!
She shook the thought aside. She needed to keep her head together. She was supposed to be taking a day off! She popped a chocolate mint into her mouth and sucked furiously on it to calm her nerves.
Lousy day, lousy week, but it was much better now, surrounded by things that were familiar even in this other world. Serenity was dead and the other senshi Chronos-only-knew-where, and it sucked, but she'd had her panic fit earlier, and that meant she should be okay for the next few hours. At that point, she could start trying to come up with what to do (or, more likely, freak out some more).
But right now, she was much more interested in figuring out what the girl in front of her was wearing. At least, she thought it was a girl -- it was hard to tell sometimes here. She didn't care what it was, because the dress was awesome, a little bit kimono and a little bit frilly Loli and a whole lot of shiny, some PVC and chirimen and what looked like metal mesh but moved like silk gauze, and oh, she wanted a closer look at it!
Intent on studying the skirt hem (decorated with what looked like hand-dyed silk ribbon and EL wire), Tamaki didn't even notice she'd turned from the tangle of shops out into a park. She didn't notice, that was, until she bumped into a sign that had sprung up to block her view. Her whine of protest died a-borning as she read the words lettered before her, bright and inviting, an indisputable siren call to the girl:
FASHION SHOW.
"Oooooh!" the whine became a squeal. "Ooh, awesome!"
And maybe the person wearing that outfit would be there, and she could get a better look! Either way, it'd be a chance to see what fashion looked like here -- and maybe (the wheels of rationale spun faster and faster) she'd find one of the others. She hadn't seen Misa-nee at the ice rink, nor Kyo-nee at the fishmarket, nor any of the others, so maybe they were looking for her, and they'd know she'd be in a place like this.
Fluttering pang of conscience satisfied, Tamaki tossed her hair, shook her hips to settle her own petticoats, and made for the doors.
"I could wear that...I'd fall out of that...Ick, who'd want to wear that?" Kohaku continued to mutter under her breath as slim, dainty models trotted past in little more than sequins, ribbon and scotch tape. Despite her attempts to stay focused on the models, her eyes kept flicking back to the twitchy girl at her elbow.
What's wrong with me? thought Kohaku angrily, This is ridiculous! Snap out of it! She pinched her arm as a punishment. Maybe it was time to leave...
She stopped mid-turn. A face in the crowd, near the back, caught her attention. Gamer Chick, Models, Goth-Loli boys all faded as her past caught up with her. Gray-green eyes, silvery blond hair...
"Tamaki-chan..." she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. She began to push through the crowd, mumbling apologies and trying to get close enough to call out, praying it was Tamaki, one familiar face in a sea of strangers, someone who could tell her something.
The fashion show was going off without a hitch so far. It was about time for the female models to be done and for the males to begin. Talc was wearing a very fashionable outfit consisting of leather, chains, and silk. It was going for a "punk" look while mixing it with elegance. And to top it all off, he was wearing a long coat. But it wasn't a trench coat, unfortunately.
"All right Kura, you're up soon!"
"Of course..."
And with that, the music changed, as the announcer proclaimed this was to be the latest in men's fashions by the designer Akira Yokomora. Many of the girls started cheering in the audience, shouting "Suzuki-san!" "Kura-chan, look this way!" And needless to say, Talc soaked it up like a sponge as the first of the models came out, strutting down the runway and trying to look as sexy as he was. Good luck, bitches. When he was finally announced, Talc moved onto the runway.
This was what it was all about. The flashing lights, the screaming fangirls (as long as they stayed far away from him), the glamor, the glitter, the fame...the ATTENTION! Talc was smirking that little "devil may care" look that had made him so famous and he winked at some of his fangirls before turning on his heel and starting down the runway once again. But that's when he noticed that something...wasn't quite right. He was getting an odd feeling. One that almost threw off his rhythm as he made his way back behind the scenes to change.
If I wasn't so sure they weren't here...I could have sworn I felt the presence of the Negaverse Senshi...he thought as he began to change. Impossible. I'm just imagining things.
One geta-shod foot beat a rapid tattoo against the wall -- quite out of sync with the heavy beats of the music -- as Tamaki watched the parade of models strut down the runway. The screams of the fans seemed to roll over her as she chewed on her lower lip, considering. "Hn. Decent, decent, decent, not bad, seen it, decent -- ugh, who thought that was a good idea?" All menswear right now, and while some of it made her brain hum with possibilities (there'd been a particularly lovely tooled-leather coat that she was wondering if she could mimic in fabric; she'd particularly liked the flare when the model had turned), for the most part, she was bored. And she still hadn't found the girl with the awesome skirt.
Plus, the fangirls were getting really noisy (screaming some model's name -- who cared about the models, anyway, when the clothes were really what mattered?). Maybe ... maybe if the girl was one of the models, or even a designer herself, she'd be backstage. And maybe, if she wheedled her way just right, she'd be able to get back there herself. Now wouldn't that be something!
She pushed away from the wall, all but skipping towards the exit.
Kohaku squeezed through a clot of girls squeeling and waving at the model she'd been flirting with. She watched despairingly as Tamaki got up as if to leave.
"TAMAKI!" she tried to shout over the crowd, but it was no use. Her voice was lost in the din. Where the heck were a pair of ravens when you needed them?
"TAMAKI, WAIT!" she screamed. Throwing civility to the wind, she began to shove angrily through crush, still shouting Tamaki's name.
Kohaku's impatience and anxiousness meant that the crowd in front of her was easily bowled out of her way; she flew back the way she had come before, where a deeply unfortunate girl was still sitting on her heels and sympathizing with her Gameboy SP about how difficult it was being out in crowds. "I'm very sorry, SP-tan," Chiyoko apologised for the fiftieth time: "but your reinforcing means you were all right... I made sure your battery casing wouldn't even come off, see? Oh, no, I know you don't have any batteries, but you shouldn't lose your casing!"
An unfortunate problem with SP-tan was that Chiyoko had covered him carefully in a fabric-attractive covering solution so that she could pop him on her front or on the side of her trousers when she had to have both hands free: she had invented it all by herself after examining velcro carefully. SP-tan clung like anything to a number of fabric surfaces. Unfortunately, as Kohaku ran past again, the angle of the gameboy meant that it was stolen from Chiyoko's nervous little hands and attached firmly to the tall girl's leg.
The smaller girl got to her feet immediately, hands over her mouth to hide her immediate terror and surprise, watching Kohaku's head as she bustled through the crowds calling for another. Chiyoko began to breathe very fast: she called out "SP-tan!" and then was embarrassed for calling out, clutching her hands to her mouth again. In the tiniest voice ever, she said, "Excuse me! I'm sorry! Excuse me!" and rushed into the path left in Kohaku's wake, desperate to retrieve her kidnapped system.
Enraptured by her surroundings, Tamaki moved on, utterly oblivious to Kohaku's voice calling out after her. If something had prickled the edges of her awareness, it was lost in the sheer glee of this all. She hurried, troubles momentarily forgotten, out the side door, slipping through the clusters of people gathered in the halls. Animated chatter surrounded her, discussions of the clothes and the designers and (more and more, the closer she got to the backstage area) the models, particularly one, so good looking --
"But Kura-sama's the best!" one girl proclaimed, tossing her elaborately curled and beribboned hair over her shoulder. "No one walks like that, and -- mmm, he's so pretty." When her friend opened her mouth (presumably to protest), the speaker whirled upon Tamaki, as the nearest uninvolved party, and demanded, "Isn't he?"
The diminutive girl blinked, tilting her head a little in consideration (as she tried to remember who the model they were talking about was -- she'd hardly noticed the screams around her). "Oh. That one." An expressive shrug. "I thought the clothes were pretty boring. Isn't that the point of this, anyway -- the clothes, I mean, not the person wearing them?"
Judging from the brunette's fierce expression, that was hardly the point, but Tamaki was saved any further awkwardness when a rather harried-looking stage hand rushing up, grabbing her arm and babbling something about how she was late, and and she needed to go change now because Ando-san's collection was up next, and this was no time to be getting into an argument --
And when he was all but dragging her towards the backstage area, Tamaki wasn't about to argue. She let herself be shepherded along, pushed into a corner by the stage hand, who pointed at the rack of clothes there and left with an admonishment to Get On With It.
Ooh. This could be fun!
She pulled the bag off the hanger marked with a large one, letting the sounds of backstage wash over her.
Panting, Kohaku stopped as her quarry was herded backstage. No. It couldn't be Tamaki. She hung her head sadly--.
And spotted a Game Boy affixed to her pinstripe jeans. She pried it off and found it surprisingly non-sticky, which was what she'd expected. In fact, it felt like the scratchy, prickly side of velcro. She tested it on her blazer. It only stuck to clothing.
A theory sprang into Kohaku's head. She held the Game Boy at arm's length. What if it was a bomb? She didn't dare drop it, in case impact triggered it, but wasn't sure what to do. Screaming "BOMB" would also be a bad idea, because a panic in this crowd was likely to become either a riot or a death trap.
Now what?
Before SP-tan could be retrieved by any bomb squad or disposed of safely by Kohaku, a girl struggled through the crowd; it was the small, pale-haired person that she had bumped into before, and she was obviously hot and bothered and breathing hard with exertion or stress. The sleeves of her too-big sweater fell over nearly to her fingertips as she bowed: she folded in half nearly, the picture of anxiousness.
For the first few seconds, all she could make were stammering noises. Then she said, tangerine eyes wide: "Please excuse my Gameboy! The attachment was accidental! Please! I am very sorry on its behalf!"
Kohaku blinked. Either this was the best enemy plot she'd ever seen...Or this child was out of her head.
"This...Is yours?" Kohaku held out the item like a peace offering.
"Oh, thank you... thank you so much." The girl looked so grateful that there were actual, genuine tears in the corners of her eyes; she pulled the gameboy fiercely close, hugging it briefly before flipping an SP-gamecase out of the satchel on her back. She made room next to a sketchpad before dropping the SP in the case and zipping it up firmly; it too disappeared into the satchel. "I am very sorry; are your trousers all right? Did my SP-tan pull any threads? I'm really sorry... so sorry."
"No, no, really, I'm alright, as are my pants," said Kohaku, "but you should be more careful. How did you get it to do that? Is it a b--I mean, is it velcro?"
She could feel something strange from this girl. The familiar sense of being in the presence of an equal, of someone who had a potent destiny. But, she knew she'd never seen this girl before. "I'm..." She regretted doing this, but maybe she could test the girl. Her necklace was hidden under her collar, so there was little chance of being caught.
"...Kaede. Tachibana Kaede." She held out her hand.
The girl reached out to grasp it; her fingers were small and white in Kohaku's own, a little chill from the cold, and they were surprisingly calloused and scarred for such a shy violet - they were the hands of somebody who worked, down to the neat short nails. She bowed over their hands again. "Ichidaikiu Chiyoko," she said, high and fluttery. "I, it's - it's not quite velcro - the principle is the same, only - oh, I won't bore you with it, I'm just, I'm grateful to have it back..."
She took Kohaku's assumed name as total and gospel truth.
"I apologize for the mix-up," said Kohaku, "I...thought I saw an old friend." She looked the girl over. "Are you a designer?"
Not that Kohaku believed it for a minute, the way she dressed, but you never know.
"No, no!" said the other girl, a little mortified; her sleeves crept even further over her fingertips, and she swallowed a few times. Her eyes were big and round as though Kohaku were the lights of a motor vehicle, and her smile had a slight rictus stillness to it. "Oh no, I'm just - here - movement," she finished, trailing off lamely.
Quite close to both of them, there was a sudden scream: definite Model Scream, a cry of infinite horror and fear. Chiyoko nearly jumped out of her skin.
Kohaku cursed. "Nice meeting you!" she called back absently as she bounded towards backstage.
She'd barely gotten to the curtain when a security guard stopped her.
"I'm sorry, miss, you can't go back there," he said, trying to block her way. Kohaku's Senshi instinct was to trick him into going away, however, her heiress instinct won out.
"What's your name?" Kohaku snapped, her face a study in entitled rage.
"It's--um--!"
"Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Well, no..."
"Good!" She shoved past him.
Talc had been searching for someone with a bright soul all afternoon. Or at least someone with a semi-bright soul. He'd been interrupted several times by one of his "co-workers", a model named Reiko, and it was starting to get on his nerves. She trailed him like a hyena dressed in red, going after the kill. Talc was never a patient man and so he merely smiled at Reiko and led her backstage. Iblis will just have to be happy with her soul for now, he thought with a growl as they moved behind a curtain.
"Kura-sama, where are you taking me?" she purred. "Is this some sort of ploy to get us to be alone together?"
As if. Vapid bitch. I'll be killing two birds with one stone though. Getting a soul and getting rid of competition. What a glorious day. When they were far enough away that they wouldn't be seen, "Kurayami" stepped behind a curtain and when Reiko giggled to chase after him, she was face-to-face with Talc, the Shitennou of Poison and Vanity. She screamed just as Talc thrust his fist into her chest and withdrew a shining orb that was the young woman's soul.
"Sarin."
Talc's youma appeared at his command and he turned to him with the soul in his palm. The peacock-like creature bowed deeply to its master.
"You summoned me, Master Talc?"
"Yes. Take this soul to Iblis and quickly. I must be getting back to work soon after all," and he handed the orb off to his youma.
Oh.
OH.
Someone was screaming.
And, Tamaki realised, frowning distractedly around one corset lace (the other was in her hand, but she'd put one in her mouth to hold it taut), it was the bad kind of a scream.
"Aw, nuts," she muttered, reaching for the pile of clothing she'd dropped beside the rack. They'd known there was something bad in this reality, since they'd had to warn the Crisis Senshi about something, but she hadn't exactly expected to run into whatever 'it' was. And, judging by the scream that followed up the first, it was here -- and she was going to run into it.
There was no one in earshot, the models nearest having been rushed out onto the catwalk or gone outside for coffee or cigarettes. That meant there was no one to see as Tamaki's fingers closed around her henshin wand, nor to witness the flares of light and shadow that left Sailor Pluto in their wake. The excitement of before was gone now; that young face looked older, grimmer, while her hands held the Time Staff like a weapon.
No hesitation. Pluto raced out from behind the clothing rack and in the direction of that scream.
Chichi had followed Kohaku more out of blind fear than out of any other desire: Kohaku was like a well-dressed, flaming-haired Amazon, and for some reason the pale-haired girl had the idea that Kohaku would be getting away from trouble rather than following it. This would later turn out to be a horribly bad idea. "Excuse us!" she said to the security guard, in her usual teeny-tiny tones.
The screams got louder as Kohaku made her way back to the half-dressed models. The screams also got more articulate, and the source of the terrible fear and loathing made itself clear:
"IT'S A MOUSE!"
"Oh my GOD," said one of the models. Another one was making arresting heaving noises: a great many of them were standing on chairs or dressing-tables, most in disarray with clothes only half-on or makeup in peculiar stages. "Oh GOD, get it out of here, PLEASE, I am deathly allergic!"
Kohaku blinked and stared at the woman, then at the mouse. "You're not serious," she said flatly, "It's a mouse, it's probably more afraid of you! You're bloody GOJIRA to it!" This, Kohaku told herself, was why she would never be thin. She was convinced the obsessive dieting eventually destroyed brain cells. If the theory had any credit, this child had all the intelligence of a cube of tofu and half the imagination.
She started to crouch down to catch it, but her pants had other ideas. They must have shrunk in the wash.
Despite Kohaku's words of wisdom, it did not inspire the other models to stop their shrill, soft cries of panic that the mouse would maybe scurry up their legs. The mouse made itself visible; it ran across the floor of the changing-room, prompting even more screams and a barrage of make-up thrown at it, and Chiyoko peeked out from underneath Kohaku's arm at the tiny intruder.
"Oh no," she said, startled into non-stuttery speech. "It must be somebody's friend... it's a white, a, an albino mouse, they don't run wild." (She looked a little like an albino mouse herself.)
"Just CATCH IT," another model wailed. "Get the manager!"
The mouse ran around in a circle, and dodged a tube of lipstick flung at it from another model; it dived straight at Kohaku and Chiyoko, and the smaller girl crouched down where Kohaku couldn't and scooped it up in her hands. The relief was palpable from the skinny girls ringed all around them, but they didn't feel safe yet. It was nearly a chorus cry: "Now get it out!"
Chiyo, fat mouse safely in her hands, trailed out after Kohaku as both were pushed in the direction of a back door. It was a little backstage area, and the strong smell of nicotine labelled it as somewhere the models probably went to have a smoke. It was abandoned, anyway, with no models to shrill and try to kick the poor creature away.
"Poor little mouse," said Chiyoko.
The poor little mouse sat up in her hands on its haunches; for a small thing that had just been causing havoc around a bunch of skinny girls, it looked fairly calm and not at all disoriented as it eyed up Kohaku and Chiyoko. It proved this by saying, "Oho!"
When no answer to this was forthcoming, he tried again: he cleared his throat, and said with a little more emphasis, "Oho!"
Kohaku wasn't at all surprised. Well, for a moment she was. Cats talking? Most of them were sure they were human, anyway. Birds? Getting them to shut up was the trick. But, Mice were a new one. Funny, Chiyoko and the mouse could have come from the same family tre--!
Oh.
Oh, nuts.
Oh, Explicatives!
Now, Kohaku understood the feeling she'd had and everything made sense. She'd always been good at sniffing out new Senshi. It was the explaining part that got tricky. That was Princess' job.
"Well, I assume you aren't interested in the buffet table's fine selection of cheeses, then." Kohaku held out a finger for a shake. "I had better not be hallucinating."
"Ho ho ho," said the - rather portly; possibly he would be interested in the buffet's fine selection of cheeses -mouse, "not quite, not quite! Now, you'll understand I'm not here for you, young lady! Ha ha! Maybe if I was twenty years younger!" (Both were treated to the sight of a mouse trying to wink. He shook Kokaku's hand with all the dignity of a university professor.) "I am here, of course, for one of the Crisis Senshi, you understand, the Sailor of Technology. There were rather a lot of young ladies in there: rather difficult a field of war! Thank you for the assistance! You'll understand, ma'am. Now, Sailor Epsilon, you'll immediately accept the gravitas of this, won't you?"
'Sailor Epsilon' did not accept any gravitas. She stared at the mouse in her hands with wide eyes and a trembling upper lip, looking from Kohaku to the talking animal to Kohaku again. The mouse gave a puffy sound of annoyance when she turned him over and examined his fat white belly; she peered into his eyes and very gently rotated one of his little legs. "Tachibana-san," she said, and there was a great deal of shaky inquiry in her voice.
The idea hit her, then, and the mouse looked pleased as she went from ghost-white to two spots of colour in her cheeks, and she gasped out:
"You are both were-mice!"
"Wha--NO!" Kohaku said, "I--are you--do you read shojo manga, by any chance?"
Kohaku realized how stupid that sounded. "Look," she tried, "How much do you know about...Sailor Moon?" She was ready for the worst, as she'd actually read a bit of the manga that Maiko-chan had left lying around. It was like a horror story, where some brunette tart with no cleavage or class had stolen her job.
Logos somehow managed to look totally unconcerned as Chiyoko bowed down very low, very fast, a number of times: as if her using Kohaku's alternate identity was her mistake and not Kohaku's subterfuge in the first place. ("Excuse me! Excuse me! Um, I will strive harder to be a better comrade!") "You're right to be wary, Sailor Mars," he chortled. "I sense a strange energy at this lady council. There's somebody here - but who? With all the outlandish outfits, I doubt anyone will notice two senshi in full fuku doing a little reconnaissance..."
"I would never put a viper in your underwear drawer," said Chiyoko fervently to Kohaku, as if still fixed on her previous words.
Kohaku suddenly pressed her ear to the door.
"I think, Chiyoko-chan, it would be best if you tested your henshin stick out about now. I think someone needs our help."
Kohaku produced her own henshin pen and stared at it for a few seconds. I hope it still works.
"Mars Crystal Power, Make Up!" There was a swirl of fire and pink glitter and stately, arrogant Kohaku was miraculously replaced by stately, arrogant Sailor Mars.
"Your turn. Epsilon." It was an honorific now. They were equals, no matter how different they were.
Talc glanced back as his youma, Sarin, ran for the exit with his soul. 'Mission accomplished and not a Senshi in sight. This is turning out to be a better day than I thought.' He knew he had to hurry and change back to Kurayami, but that's when he heard Sarin growl.
"Sailor Senshi!"
"Oh damn, do they have to follow us everywhere?" he moaned and went after his youma.
Normally, politeness would have called for introductions. Normally, Pluto would've given the enemy that much courtesy.
Today was anything but normal. In fact, now that she stopped to think about it, it'd been downright lousy, and the situation she'd just fetched up in was only making it worse. On the other hand, at least it gave her something to take her aggression on.
"Ugly," she commented, and swung the Garnet Rod out with surprising speed, sweeping at the creature's legs.
The Devil's Trill echoed across the room at an inhuman pace as Talc appeared on the battlefield, his coppery eyes flashing as Sarin barely managed to jump over the Rod.
"I am not ugly!" Sarin screeched. "I am a peacock, the prettiest of all-"
"Oh shut up Sarin and get the hell out of here. I'll deal with her," and Talc stepped up, his boots clicking on the floor. "Sailor Pluto...what, the universe finally decided it didn't need anymore paradoxes to implode itself on?"
A quick swipe followed up the first pass as the pale-haired senshi spun to one side, a jab catching Sarin on the shoulder. "Ugly," she repeated, then grinned insouciantly at Talc. "Though maybe I shouldn't be surprised, if you're with him, and he's wearing that horrid colour combination. Ew." The staff sprang back around, momentum from the blow lashing it out towards Talc, followed by a kick aimed at the knee.
"I'd say you've got me at a disadvantage, but I'm not sure I want to be acquainted with you."
Sarin yelped as his shoulder was hit, but he kept a firm grip on the soul. Talc waved Sarin on, stepping forward and pulling out a vial from his pouch.
"My, my, my, the midget actually thinks she knows something about fashion. Shall I applaud now? Oh wait, perhaps not...after all, who would dye their hair such an ugly color and match it with that ensemble? Don't you know mini-skirts were out two weeks ago?"
"Maybe in your corner of the Universe -- though really, after that travesty of what whats-her-name wore, I'm not sure any of you has a right to give fashion advice. Puh-leeze. If you'd kept up with things, you'd know miniskirts never go out of style, if you know how to wear them properly." A withering glance raked him. "Not that you'd know, if you can't spot a dye job at this distance."
Despite the words, a good chunk of her attention was focussed on the youma. She'd noticed what it was holding -- no fool, Pluto, for all the apparent flippancy -- and meant to see that neither of the duo got away with it.
"So which hunk of rock did they name you after, ahou?"
"The name is Talc, shrimp, and you're hardly one to be giving fashion advice either. After all, I don't see Sailor Senshi gracing the covers of magazines."
He was discreetly removing his glove as Sarin tried to make a run for it.
Pluto laughed. Threw her head back and chortled, apparently finding this comment the funniest thing she'd heard in an age. But then, just as suddenly as she'd started laughing, she stopped -- and moved, once again surprisingly quickly, putting herself between the youma and the exit. A vicious jab with the butt end of the Garnet Rod lashed out at the creature's stomach, intent on driving it back into its master. "Ugly," she chanted gleefully, "ugly ugly ugly. "Jab. "Though it makes sense." Jab. "I mean, that's a pair of you."
Sarin stumbled back and Talc managed to catch him and propel his youma back as Sarin began to make a run for it. His glove was off, now all he had to do was wait until she was close enough.
"Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black. I notice you're not exactly a looker yourself. The mighty Sailor Pluto...a shrimp on two legs with an underdeveloped body. So sad."
"Yeah, well, 'least I won't be stuck for the rest of my life looking like /that/." Pluto shifted her weight a little, spun the Garnet Rod into one hand, feinted at Talc. "And the universe isn't going to implode. Just think how messy that'd be." She shifted slightly to one side, watching his reactions carefully. "Really. Have you ever seen it happen? So much trouble."
Talc dodged a little and snickered. "That must be why you were fired as Time Guardian. Couldn't stop it from happening, could you?"
'Just a little closer.' He had to make sure to get skin on skin contact. It was the only way the attack would work. Sarin had already raced to the door, so hopefully his youma would get away with the soul.
"Fired? Fired?" A helpless little giggle escaped Pluto. "You don't get fired from my job! What back of beyond have you been living in -- oh, wait, right, not much of a news feed out to the dark and the dank, is there? Short version, darling: there's only one of me, and even if they could figure out how to fire me, it'd just be me taking my job over from me again. There's your paradox."
The youma was getting away, and she couldn't let that happen. At the same time, she wasn't quite sure what Talc was up to, but she didn't like it. And so she moved again, foward this time, the Garnet Rod lashing out at Talc -- head, feet, shoulders, pelvis, knees -- a sequence of blows that, if none connected, would hopefully throw him off balance.
Talc leapt and dodged the blows, growling under his breath. He didn't have time to deal with this little pipsqueak and he finally decided it was now or never.
"Honestly Sailor Pluto, you should," he grinned, "Be Careful, I'm Toxic."
And his hand started to glow with yellow light as he moved in, intent on touching bare skin so he could paralyze her. The Garnet Rod was an annoyance, but one he hoped he could dodge long enough to stop her in her tracks.
On another day Chiyoko would have nearly swooned away dead at being addressed in that way; but she had heard the loud noise just as well as Mars did, and the sudden realisation of being an actual soldier had a dark downside to it. She was about to make teeny-tiny protests that she wasn't actually going to be very good at that kind of thing at all and, um, um, but there was Logos joining in:
"Henshin, Sailor Epsilon!"
If the power to transform had been based solely on confidence, she never would have managed it: very tentatively Chichi held out her pen, as Logos scampered down from her arm and ran down her leg with his little mice feet. "Um... er... um, Epsilon Crisis Power... Make Up?"
There was the impression of bright teal geometric shapes and lines, and suddenly Chiyoko was replaced with her sailor incarnation: Sailor Epsilon, Sailor Skirted Soldier of apparently Worry and Nerves, gloved hands clasped together as she peered out at the world through her orange scanner lens. "Thank you, Mars-senpai," she said. The noises were getting a lot louder.
Just as Epsilon transformed, Sarin came barreling through the door, the soul clutched in his hands. When he saw the two Sailor Senshi, he snarled.
"Sailor Senshi! Always getting in my way!"
And he ran right for the little one that seemed to be the Senshi of Nerves and Worry. Since this was a mutated peacock at about seven or eight feet tall, this would present a problem for the newly-awakened Sailor Epsilon. Talc, meanwhile, was upset because his attack window was getting less...so he decided to run for it and headed straight for Sailor Mars, his hand still glowing yellow.
"Oh, if it isn't a cow in a skirt," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Three words for you: low-carb diet."
"Cow? COW!? You cad!"Mars shrieked, "Fiery..." She twirled and produced two fireballs. "Strike!"
She hurled the pair all at once at Talc, still seething. "I will BARBECUE you, you scrawny, effete man-whore!"
"Hey, I resent that whole 'scrawny' remark, you sow in Senshi's clothing!" he snapped back and his hand came in contact with her elbow.
Unfortunately, the effects of his attack had worn off and he cursed. Damn, that was my one chance to use that attack! So he settled for just aiming a punch at her and taking off after Sarin as he slid his glove back on.
"Ugh! I'm going to need a deep cleansing body wash after coming in contact with that," and he laughed as he headed for the door.
Pluto lunged.
She'd seen an opening as Talc turned and wasn't about to let it be squandered. As she swept in, intent on taking advantage of even that minute slip in the tall man's guard, she called out, "Mars! Don't you guys let featherbrain get away -- it has someone's soul!"
Serious mien gone as swiftly as it had come, though her face was still grimly set as she drove blow after blow at Talc, she caroled, "And it's u~gly, too!"
Epsilon had made her entrance fairly pathetically: the large mutant peacock-feathered youma had steamrolled her entirely out the way, where she had bounced off the concrete like an adorable little puppydog punted over a goalboard. Pluto and Mars, on the other hand, were fighting and parrying blows effortlessly, as though they had been trained to do it their whole lives - and maybe they had - and all Epsilon could do was pull herself back up and watch the whole thing with wide huge eyes.
"Epsilon! Don't just stand there!" Logos barked, not quite as sleepy now. "Cut off the youma!"
" - but - "
"Epsilon! Use your attack! Predictive Analysis!"
"Yes! Going! Yes! Please excuse me! I am so sorry! I am so sorry my regret is as large as a mountain!" Not quite the picture of sailor senshidom, Epsilon raised trembling pale fingers up to tap on her orange scanner, having to do it twice after one too-tentative pat. "Predictive Analysis: Subject youma!"
At first she was heartened by the pencil-thin laser beam that immediately locked on to the seven-foot-tall peacock man: but nothing much actually happened, so she scrambled on her little thin legs (Sailor Mars and Sailor Pluto both filled out the fuku with about nine thousand more times verve and pizzazz) for the exit that both Talc and the youma were headed. Both the other senshi were fighting tooth and nail, a dizzying Streetfighter array of the type of fighting moves that generally made Chichi so nervous she couldn't even play that game in the arcade, and - terrified - she found herself the only thing barring the way between the door and the youma.
Then her little scanner screen read: Data completed!
Even less happened than before. Epsilon's heart sunk somewhere deep down into her boots.
Talc yelped as he was assaulted by Pluto over and over again. Damn! I have to get Sarin out of here now!
"Sarin, make for the exit and return to the base! Now!"
But something was wrong with his youma. It tried to barrel past Sailor Epsilon, as he had done before, but this time he was bounced back and hit the floor, losing his grip on the soul.
"Oh you featherbrained idiot!" Talc finally leaped up, used Sailor Pluto's Garnet Rod as a kick start, and dove for the soul, clutching it in his hands.
He had to get out. He was seriously outnumbered and his youma wasn't being any help whatsoever. I'll kill them all once I get the chance! And now he started to make his way for the exit. There was no way he was going back to Iblis without the soul.
There was no way she was letting him get away with that soul.
Pluto's face twisted in a scowl as she glared after Talc. No way, no way in any one of the hells, was she losing to that punk. Her fingers tightened around the staff. "Mars," she murmured, a request she hoped the other senshi would understand, because there was no time for explanations now.
Her eyes closed as she held the staff out before her, parallel to the ground. A slow sweep brought it vertical, trailing wisps of something between fog and smoke and altogether unsettling, as the senshi's eyes opened. Hardly more than a whisper, all too audible in the sudden silence, Pluto intoned, "I call upon the restless shades."
The Orb flared, shadowy power, and -- something, almost human and yet wholly intangible, darted at Talc. And another. And two more.
"Get back here, ya little twig!" shrieked Mars, diving for his ankles in an attempt to both avenge her wounded pride and dodge the shades.
"I'm going to make you squeal like a little girl staring at Gackt's naked butt," she swore, grabbing hold of a heel with both hands. If she couldn't make him hurt, she could at least make him look like an idiot.
"Better a twig than a lard-ass!"
That was Talc's brilliant retort before he was not only dropped to the ground (which resulted in him losing the soul), but also getting attacked by the shades. He kicked at Mars to make her let go as he struggled to find the soul, but it had gone missing in the confusion. Not only that, but Sarin was unable to make an escape, he was outnumbered and outgunned, so Talc was going to do the one thing he did best: save his own ass.
"Sailor Mars, honestly, You're Stuck on You."
And he smashed the vial of poison he grabbed from his pouch and while the red cloud of smoke erupted, he kicked himself free and made a run for it, grabbing Sarin as he went. Iblis is going to kill me for this, but I don't care. I'm not damaging my face, it's my livelihood, and I'm not getting killed by those brats in mini skirts. When the red smoke cleared...Talc was gone.
Sailor Epsilon had pretty much nearly fainted on the spot when Talc had come and taken the youma fighting with her - actually fighting! For some unknown, totally baffling reason, her body had taken control of itself, leaning out the way of Sarin's blows and her arms and legs connected to a source that wasn't quite her own adrenaline. She ran back to Mars and Pluto as fast as her shod feet could carry her, and placed her hands on her knees in order to wheeze her post-battle distress at them.
"Deport!" she said unintelligibly, then, "circumvection!" Finally, she wheezed the last word, which made a little more sense: "Escaped!"
"Epsilon," said Mars, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder, "Breathe into your nose, down to your diaphragm, out through your mouth. Yes, he got away, they usually do. I'll saute his starved little butt later. I'm not a lard-ass." She began grumbling to herself mostly at this point. "I just appreciate the intricacies of foreign food! Pencil-necked git."
Pluto, meanwhile, was looking at the cloudy sphere that had rolled to a stop just short of her. As Mars tried to calm Epsilon down, the pale-haired girl bent to pick it up. It was warm in her hand, and if she thought in just the right sort of twisty-turny way, she could almost believe it was pulsing in her hand, echoing a heartbeat.
"At least he didn't get away with this," she said, in a moment of silence. "I think it wants to go home."
"Then send it back," snapped Mars, "You and me need to talk!"
She turned her attention back to Epsilon. "I know this must be frightening," she murmured, "I was scared in my first battle, too. But, you're a warrior, understand. You need to calm down. You can handle this."
Epsilon wanted to say something brave or impressive, or at least something to show Sailor Mars and Sailor Pluto both that she was ready and willing - well - sort of ready and willing - not quite ready, or willing - but something: instead, what came out of her mouth was a sort of sad, high-pitched "Skeeeeeeeee" sound like a deflating balloon. She put her hands over her mouth, which seemed like a good idea and at least stopped the skeeeeee.
"Oh," said Pluto, and it seemed as if for the first time she realised who -- or what -- the senshi with Mars was, "oh, oh, oh. I'm sorry!" A huge grin split her face as she hurried over, suddenly a fourteen year old girl once more, and not the ageless soldier of time. "You're a Crisis Senshi! Oh, that's great, we've been looking for you -- I'm Pluto, and -- oh, just a moment, I'll be right back!"
And, with a quick impulsive hug for Epsilon (and another, absently, for Mars), she scurried off to the far side of the backstage area.
"Oh! And we should probably change back quickly, I mean, someone's bound to be coming in here soon wondering what's going on, and with how models gossip, if any one of them sees us, we'll never hear the end of it, and -- there she is, hurry, hurry!"
"Oh!" She reverted back to Kohaku and turned back to Epsilon. "You have to calm down enough to change back! You can freak out later, I promise! Tamaki-chan, is our starved little friend okay?"
Epsilon gave a few fluttery breaths - all of them high-pitched and hysterical - before Logos ran up her leg again, safely beaching himself on her shoulder. "BE AT PEACE, Sailor Epsilon!" he boomed. "You're safe now!"
At this order, she melted back into baggy-clothed Chiyoko, hands once more disappearing into the folds of her jumper. "The girl will be fine," Logos boomed on. "Once her soul returns to her, she will think she only momentarily fainted! Leaving us to make our escape! Ho ho!"
"She's fine, she's fine! She's -- damn it -- Kohaku-nee, do me a gigantic favour and grab my clothes? I left 'em by the rack on the other side, and I don't have the time to -- oh, drat -- get out of these. We haven't got long!" Mild chaos from the far side of the backstage area heralded Tamaki's return, arms contorted behind her as she fought to tie the corset-laces she'd left undone earlier at the same time as running (an uncomfortable situation, to say the least). Finally successful, she tucked her henshin wand into the front and cast a worried look at the stage door.
"Um. Also." She looked at Chiyoko -- or more accurately, the girl's shoulder, "You might want to be a little more quiet. I don't think, um, whatshername can pitch her voice like that. Oh, and I'm Tamaki -- but we'll have time to do this all properly once we get out of here. Kohaku-nee~!"
"Oh, here! Take your clothes and gimme the laces!" Kohaku dove behind Tamaki managed to undo the laces quickly with only a few rugburns on either side. "Quick, now, go change!"
Kohaku sagged into a seat and rubbed her forehead. "Chiyoko-san, if anyone asks, we're wardrobe help. If they try to kick us out, let me handle them." There was a growl in her voice.
"Yes, Ma - Shinzuirori-san!" squeaked the orange-eyed girl, who looked least like wardrobe help than anyone who had ever existed, possibly ever. She stood very pathetic guard by the door, with Logos still making ho ho ho! noises every so often from her shoulder. This thankfully ended when he dove into her pocket and obviously decided to have a nap.
This was obviously all a very dignified start to her senshi career.