One small foot before the other, in a straight line. The deafening silence bothered her, of course -- she was used to performing amidst laughter, shouts of annoyance, the sound of explosions and breaking glass, anything but absolutely nothing.
The balance beam's rough surface was cold beneath her bare feet; she stared straight ahead, so as not to be dazzled (and distracted) by the gleam of her leotard or the light swish of her short skirt, both dusted in gold glitter. She knew her friends were waiting in the stands, holding their breath, four girls that had moved beyond her seventeen years into adulthood -- one held a curiously silent child of only a few years with a shock of deep red hair and soft brown eyes. The child also peered intently at the spectacle before her, without the aid of a pacifier. (They suspected the little girl took more after her father.)
Three more steps, and she stood in the middle of the beam, turning to face the crowd slowly. She closed her eyes, and bowed her head.
"I can do this. I can do this." Not as if she really had any doubt.
Music exploded from above her, and Pudding lifted her head, swinging into action: a complicated routine of somersaults, impossible looking flips, and twirling, so swiftly that she wondered whether the flashing cameras would be able to catch anything more than a yellowish blur. The silence broke the moment the girl jerked into motion, shouts of encouragement and cheers ringing out from all around her, egging her on. Loudest of all, however, was the thumping of her own heart, which seemed to have risen into her throat.
She lived for this, the recognition, the cheering crowds, the limelight; she lived for dancing in the spotlight. All the world was a stage, and Pudding Fong loved nothing more than being front and center.
She loved it even more when she was free to just move; unencumbered by the thought of financial gain. Without having to worry about a misstep costing her a handful of yen, she could simply do what she was born to do -- move. Pudding never stopped moving if she had to.
Perhpas the golden lion tamarin DNA that snaked along hers had been lurking there all along, waiting for Ryou's 'mistake' to set it free.
Heels over head, palms placed flat against the surface of the beam, she pulled off a mobile handstand, moving to one end of the beam and then kicking off into another flip that took her back to where she'd started, landing with on both feet with the agility of her Mew Mew namesake and sliding into her closing position -- balancing on her right foot with the other raised to touch her right knee (a play on a ballet move she'd seen Mint perform many, many times over the years) and her hands pressed together before her, as if she were praying.
Pudding Fong bowed her head once more, smiling, and her audience went wild.
--
"You were great!!" Ichigo gushed; the years had done absolutely nothing to change her effervescent personality, even after granting her and Masaya the little girl who clung to her neck, Sumomo Aoyama. Sumomo also smiled at Pudding, the tiny bells on the pink ribbons holding her hair in two pigtails jingling.
After the meet, Pudding had of course been assaulted by her teammates, a crowd of adoring fans (quite a few of them male), and a small handful of local reporters (unkindly referred to as blatant paparazzi by Mint) wanting to get shots of Pudding and the rest of the Joshibi School of Fine Arts' artistic gymnastics team (some of which were rumored to be Olympic material). It had taken half an hour to finish signing autographs, smiling for the camera, and posing for group photographs before she could push her way through to where her friends stood, all grown up and yet somehow unchanged.
Ichigo had of course gone the route everyone had expected her to: once she and Masaya finished college two years ago, both studying biology (Masaya's courses having an environmental slant to them), they'd tied the knot in a beautiful ceremony that all of the girls had wept at in their respectively colored bridesmaid gowns (Pudding and Lettuce were both willing to deck themselves out in pink but Mint had utterly refused). More surprising was the appearance of two old friends with pointed ears and a disdain for socially acceptable clothing.
Over the years, the Mew Mews, Ryou and Keiichiro had managed to stay in touch with their former enemies, albeit spotty; the girls were glad to hear that, with a little help on the technology end from their former employers (well, Pudding and Lettuce still worked at the café, at least) and the Mew Aqua they'd liberated from Earth, the aliens were working at making their own planet habitable -- and succeeding. Ichigo's wedding was the first time they'd seen them in around 8 years, however, and it was strange for all of them -- especially Kish, seeing Ichigo clad in her bridal finery, despite the fact that he himself had supposedly married a couple of years beforehand. The girls could tell that he was not completely over her, even then, and probably never would be. You never forgot your first love.
However, they were relieved to see that nothing beyond the usual chaos occurred (Mint having a little too much to drink and getting into a perfectly normal shouting match with the blushing bride, who'd also had a little too much to drink; Lettuce breaking an ice sculpture and few wine glasses, that sort of thing), and Pudding had been absolutely thrilled to see Tart after so long.
Speaking of Mint, Pudding was surprised to see that she and Zakuro had managed to make it to her meet. She always received postcards from Brazil or New York or whatever glittering, exciting place Zakuro's modeling career and Mint's dancing carried them. They never bothered to define their relationship, nor did it need defining: clearly, Mint loved Zakuro, far beyond idolization, and Zakuro, whether she loved Mint or not, tolerated the girl's constant presence with little to no complaint. They lived together, darting back and forth between Mint's estate and Zakuro's mansion, doing whatever it was that rich and famous people did between appearing in commercials and magazines. Pudding suspected Mint owed part of her popularity to Zakuro's. She didn't see them as much as Ichigo and Lettuce, who'd remained local, but they stayed in touch, Mint's glowing emails, postcards and letters punctuated with a few words from Zakuro.
Lettuce was the real surprise. After graduating from high school, Pudding and the rest of her friends had expected the shy, green-tressed girl to go on to university, probably studying English, being an avid reader. Instead, she still worked at the café, alternating between helping Ryou with his research and working on a large collection of poetry and short stories, some of which made it into various magazines. It was clear that a deep relationship existed between her and her employer, although they both abstained from public displays of affection (probably for Lettuce's benefit only, Ryou had no reason to abstain from anything.) Still, Ryou never hosted or attended a benefit or conference without Lettuce by his side, holding on to his arm; partially for balance and partially as a silent yet firm warning to the high society women whose eyes lingered on the young geneticist for too long.
Her friends crowded around her now, Ichigo (now Ichigo Aoyama), Mint, Zakuro, and Lettuce, all four with small gifts in tow, beaming at their youngest member with pride.
Pudding only wished that Tart could've been there among them, smiling mischievously with his fangs gleaming in the light.
--
Tart was not an early riser.
He never had been, years ago during their failed attempt at reforming Earth, and nine years later, he still wasn't -- despite the fact that technically his lessons began at daybreak.
It was nearly midday, and he still slumbered, draped halfway out of his bed, snoring uproariously. It wasn't until Pie arrived, clearly irritated by his comrade's lack of dedication to his studies, that he awoke with a start -- and only after ten straight minutes of the older alien (and now respected leader of his tribe) ordering him to 'rouse himself'.
Naturally, he awoke in a vile mood. Tart bolted upright, eyes pink with sleep and hair a complete mess. "What are you doing here?" he groused. Pie's response was to lay about him with a rolled up scroll, glaring at him.
"Do you know what time it is? Master Ambrosia has been waiting for you in the garden for THREE HOURS."
Tart shrugged. "It's your fault for scheduling this stuff so early in the morning," he grumbled, yawning.
Pie was known for his ability to remain cool and collected, even while under duress; the reddish hue rising in his cheeks gave away his anger. "Don't you understand what an opportunity this is? Master Ambrosia is-"
"I know, I know," Tart rolled his eyes. "One of the most talented natural mediums among us. You told me all of this yesterday, remember?"
Pie threw up his hands in exasperation. "Can't you take anything seriously?"
"I take things seriously!" Tart snapped defensively.
Pie narrowed his eyes at him. Tart looked confused, unsure what he was expecting. "What?"
"Well?" Pie said airily, folding his arms across his chest.
"Um..." Tart inwardly cursed at himself, drawing a blank. "...eating...I take that pretty seriously. Sleeping, too. Oh, oh, and...um..."
"Playing pranks on people and besmirching the honor and dignity of the imperial house of Eudora?" Pie chimed in. Tart's face brightened. "Yes! I take that pretty seriously too."
The dark look Pie shot at the young alien effectively silenced him. Tart clamped his mouth shut, grimacing. 'Yeah, that was stupid.'
Pie signed wearily. "Tart, I know you don't consider any of this important, but it's absolutely vital that attend these lessons so that you can learn the history of our people and take your place as a productive member of society. You have a talent for speaking with the flora and fauna of our world, you know that. You just need to let it develop."
Tart extended a hand, waving it towards a small plant growing on the table behind Pie. The plant responded readily, sprouting and extending it's twisted vines to poke at Pie's back. Pie turned to shoo the plant away -- it ignored him and continued to prod at him irritatingly. Pie glared over his shoulder at Tart, who laughed. "Fine, fine." He dropped his hand, and the plant withdrew, creeping back to it's holder guiltily.
"Sorry, I'll try to take things more seriously," he said insincerely, rising from his bed and floating into his washroom disdainfully, the door slamming behind him.
Pie stared after his charge, massaging the bridge of his nose with a groan. He wouldn't allow himself to admit it out loud, but he couldn't stand teenagers.
--
Tart examined his face in the mirror, splashing cold water from the basin carved into the white stone wall on it. It didn't make him look any less exhausted, or any more interested in meeting with the 'Master Ambrosia' Pie was obsessing over.
Adolescence hadn't been as kind to Tart as he'd hoped, at least in terms of height. He was still somewhat short for his race, although he certainly had gained a foot or two over the years. It had, however, granted him a few more blessings -- his hair had lengthened beyond his shoulders, tied into a ponytail that swished behind him whenever he forewent actually walking and tumbled through the air gracefully; years of vigorous physical activity (usually in the form running away after doing something rude or partially illegal) had granted him quite a bit of muscle and kept his figure lean (unlike Pie -- living in the center of political and religious debate had left him with a slight pudginess around his midsection.) As one of the original pioneers that had worked to usher in the Age of Peace, he retained a devoted female following, something Kish would've taken advantage of in his position, and had, years earlier before settling down. Tart wasn't nearly as interested in girls as his friend had been at his age, though some of them were pretty attractive.
None of them had that spark that illuminated the first girl he'd ever admitting to being interested in, a million years ago and a million miles away. A smile crept onto Tart's face at that thought, though he quickly shook it away. It wasn't as if he wasn't fully aware of how he felt about the monkey girl (though he'd begun to use her name in the later years, after they'd left childhood behind); he just wasn't comfortable with the way the emotion took hold of him, clouding his mind at odd moments and causing him to grin like a maniac. Pudding crept into his dreams -- not the childish, squealing Pudding of his first visit to Earth, but the young woman she'd grown up into, the one he'd reunited with two years ago at Ichigo's wedding. And, thinking about THAT caused an uncomfortable flutter in the pit of his stomach. Tart squeezed his eyes shut. Sometimes, he really, really hated both his age and his gender.
---
"Tart!!" Pudding ran down the aisle to where Tart and Kish had made their appearace the day before the wedding, not dressed for a church (or most of society, for that matter). Tart was surprised to see that she'd gotten so much taller...and curvier. As she threw her arms around him excitedly, it became even more apparent that Pudding was no longer 8 years old.
"You came!!" Pudding cried in his ear, her soft blonde hair brushing against her old friend's face. "Keiichiro told me he invited you guys, but I didn't think you'd be able to make it!! I'm so happy!"
"I can tell," Tart sighed, feigning apathy, although the toothy grin on his face gave away that he was just as excited as she was. Kish had left his side to greet Ichigo and Masaya, a little stiffly at first, and he and Pudding were left alone, embracing. The other girls were chatting among themselves, alongside Keiichiro and Ryou (Ichigo's parents had left earlier to get the restaurant the rehearsal dinner was being held at ready). "Hey, monke...Pudding, when's the last time you-"
"Flew?" Pudding smiled back, hugging him tightly again. "Not since you left."
Tart's only response was to swing the still lightweight, giggling girl into his arms and glide towards the skylight, his heart racing against his will.
---
In his washroom, two years after discovering that girls were, contrary to his previous stance on the matter, very interesting for a variety of reasons, Tart dashed more cold water into his face, finally just ducking his entire head into the basin. That, too, did absolutely nothing to calm the wave of emotion causing his face to grow a duller red by the second. "Stupid girl," he muttered, wiping his face on a towel and deciding to leave by the door for once. Maybe the long walk to the gardens would take care of it -- he definitely wouldn't be able to concentrate with Pudding on the brain.
AN: I'm sorry this took so long. I became somewhat dubious about my writing ability, and was worried about continuing the story. But since quite a few of you asked, here's Long Distance Relationship -- hopefully it won't take me 4 years to write it this time! I definitely need beta-readers, if anyone would like to volunteer I'd be much obliged! And I hope it lives up to the same standards as Denial, as I haven't written any fanfiction in years. : )
Also, I apologize if any of the characters strike you as OOC. The story is supposed to take place 9 years after the departure of the aliens at the end of TMM (we're completely ignoring A La Mode, I'm sorry); Pudding is 17 and the other Mew Mews are considerably older, as are Kish, Pie, and Tart. The school mentioned at the beginning is a combination of two private academies in Japan I researched; Eudora is the name I chose for the aliens' planet as it is never given one, nor is much backstory divulged concerning it; and I'll cover exactly how the aliens managed to stay in touch with Ryou, Keiichiro, and the Mew Mews in a later chapter. But yes, it'll be a bit of a challenge retaining their personalities exactly, as growing up will alter anyone's behaviour to a degree, fictional or not. But I am going to work to keep them as similar to their adolescent counterparts as logically possible! Let me know what you guys think! Commentary is always appreciated! :D
Oh, yes -- as always, hates my spacing, hence the little '-' markers.
It's good to be back.