Disclaimer: I do not
own the rights to and did not create Priss or any other components of the
series Bubblegum Crisis 2040. I
actually didn't create anything I refer to here…just manipulating it in my own
artistic way, I guess.
This fic takes place
sometime during episode two of the series.
Priss stepped outside of
her run down Tokyo home, and stretched her arms above her, yawning and exposing
her midriff because of her short shirt. She surveyed the area through sleepy eyes. It was a day off, without a show to perform, but she felt she
needed to wake up and live life, instead of snooze the day away as she usually
did on these rare coming days without obligations.
She went inside for a brief moment to grab her helmet, and
went back outside to slide it on. Priss
then straddled her motorbike and revved it up, scooping out the road in front
of her and the greatest city in the world before her. If it's so great, she thought, why can't I get a decent
paycheck for singing my ass off every night?
She put her feet on the pedals, revved once more, switched
gears, and went speeding down the cracked street. The cold wind whipped what little of her face was exposed through
the helmet, but woke her up just the same. For once, she didn't think of singing. She didn't think of the mad boomers and the life she lived in secret,
but she almost never did nowadays. It
had been years since her love had been killed, and whatever revenge she felt
was very deep rooted and innate; it wasn't anything she ever swore by anymore,
let alone on a regular basis.
She passed by a poster advertising her and her band doing
a string of shows at a local bar, and didn't pay any heed to it. Those things were plastered all over Tokyo
nowadays; it was nothing to get excited about. Her thoughts drifted to the previous night's show though…that girl.
She had stood there, like a starstruck fan. For a while, Priss had thought that she was
one. The bandmates cracked the usual
gay joke about her, which always pissed her off a bit, even though she was a
closet bisexual.
The band left, and Priss stood there, sizing up the
girl. She seemed familiar…then it came
to her. She was the one who had chased
her earlier when Priss had accidentally knocked her over. She had run into her again when her life was
threatened by a mad Boomer. This girl
seemed a lot like a stalker…she just turned up everywhere Priss was.
The girl had asked to be a Knight Saber. Ha, Priss had thought. A Knight Saber? A weak and naïve girl like her? You must be kidding me. So
Priss had slipped her helmet on, mounted the bike, and sped off into the wind,
as she now did.
Her bike then entered the heart of the city, where the
landscape was beautiful to her, but the traffic was the worst. She sped quickly into a parking garage and
made her way through the labyrinth, up the ramps, and onto the roof. She brought the bike to a slow halt in the
middle where there was an open spot, and dismounted. She pulled her helmet off, placed it on the seat, and shook her
head to make her grungy, mid-length auburn hair fall roughly back into place.
She strode to the edge of the structure, her boots
clicking against the hard concrete and her hands in her back pockets. Priss's head was leaned sown and slightly
forward, looking at the ground before her. As she reached the short wall separating her and the open air, Priss
tilted her neck and craned her head up, and surveyed the skyline surrounding
her. Brilliant, she
thought. If my house is a dump, my
city may as well be magnificent.
Priss crouched down and
swung her legs over the wall to sit precariously over the metropolis. She put her hands on her thighs for support
and leaned forward a bit. It was a long
way down, but she didn't care. There
was a fistfight down the street. She
cheered silently for the guy in the black shirt. There was a car accident on another road. She squinted to see if she could make out
any dead bodies. This was what she did
to enjoy herself. This was Priss.