Codename M for Marie
Notes: This one-shot story corresponds to Rise of the Satellites, my other Sailor Moon fic. Though Hotaru is younger than the others, her daughter is younger than the Satellite girls, so this story takes place a few years later. And this is peppered with references to V for Vendetta, which is an awesome, awesome movie.
Part One
"Talking Points fervently believes that these men, these men who dare speak out against the country they live in, should probably just move to Cuba or China if they don't like it here. Why should they? They clearly hate our freedom…"
"That's quite enough of that, thank you very much," I said with obvious agitation, flipping through the channels until I found The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I don't even know why I was watching Bill O'Reilly before. He just spews vitriol with everything he has. I swooped a generous layer of lip gloss onto my lips and pressed them together to ensure full coverage before backing up from my mirror to look at myself. I was, I must say, well-dressed for a punk show. I was sporting a purple tank top over a black-and-white striped long-sleeved shirt, a purple plaid skirt, purple stockings, and black boots. In addition, I ringed my eyes with kohl eyeliner and wore lip gloss.
I picked up my worn purple backpack, which was filled with essentials from my wallet to emergency rations (Goldfish crackers), and threw it over my shoulder as I turned my TV off and walked into the living room, where Mom and Dad were watching the exact same show. Mom was laughing her idiosyncratic Japanese-girl laugh. You know, that cute little giggle accompanied by the covering of the mouth. Dad was guffawing away like a hyena.
"Mom, Dad, I'm going now," I said.
"Okay, Marie, have a good time," Dad said between laughs.
"See you later, Marie," Mom said, smiling. I nodded, took my keys from the table near our front door, and left the house. It was a quiet November's night in Atlanta. My feet crunched multitudes of leaves with every step. I suddenly forgot what day it was, so I looked at my purple watch to tell me. Oh, that's right, it's November 5th.
Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot.
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.
That's grammatically incorrect! It should be 'forgotten'! Ah, I'll forgive it this time. I trudged out to my car, a 1991 Honda Civic that has surely seen better days, and manually unlocked the driver's side door. I threw my backpack into the back, leaving the passenger seat open for Sarah, my best friend, to occupy once I picked her up. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled at it before turning my key in the ignition.
I should probably describe myself now, shouldn't I? It would be the nice thing to do. My name's Marie Davidson. I'm 17 years old and I live in Atlanta with my mom and dad. My mom's full-blooded Japanese and my dad's a mix of Irish and Scottish, so I'm a combination of both. My eyes are almond-shaped, but they're blue, and I have fairly pale skin.
When I was about 14, Mom told me about some weird magical powers that she had that I probably have, too. She's a genetic biologist at the CDC. That's the Centers for Disease Control. You've probably heard of it before in the news because that's where they keep the anthrax, bird flu, and all those other terrible diseases. Those are kept underground. Anyway, Mom gave me what appeared to be a little stick-shaped toy and told me that I would know what to do with it when the time was right. I used that stick one time, I shouted out a phrase (Mimas Satellite Power, Make Up), and I transformed. My outfit changed and I gained these cool abilities. I haven't needed to use the stick since, but I carry it around with me because Mom told me to for safety.
Okay, I used the stick just once since then. It was the day that I was getting my stuff back from my ex. I went into his room, that toxic wasteland, and I hid in his closet to transform. When he came in to look for me, I jumped out and triple-slapped him! It was so cool. I just slapped him once, but the powers I had amplified the slap and I did it three times. I triple-slapped both his cheeks and then I kicked him where it really, really hurts on a guy.
I pulled up in front of Sarah's house, which is a charming little 1920s brick house kind of like mine, and got out of my car, walking up the path to her porch and front door. I pushed the doorbell three times, which is our official doorbell greeting for one another, and I heard her run down the stairs before throwing the door open. She was positively beaming with excitement about this show, from her pink-haired head down to her pink-booted toes.
"You look so cute!" I gushed.
"Same to you!" Sarah replied, snatching up a small purse and putting it over her shoulder. "I'm going now, Mom!" she shouted into the house before jumping onto the porch. "Hey, Marie. Ready to go?"
"You bet." I smiled and nodded, turning on my heel and walking back to my car. I automatically opened the passenger door first so Sarah could get in, and then I looped around the back of my car and jumped in the driver's seat. I turned my key again and Sarah immediately drew a confused look about my choice of music, the soundtrack to V for Vendetta.
"Dude," she began. "We're going to a punk rock show, not a V for Vendetta showing," she told me as she turned the CD off and started flipping through radio stations.
"You won't find any punk stations there," I said gravely.
"I know, so I'll get the next best thing." Sarah settled on a rap station that was currently playing a fairly old song by Outkast.
"Bombs over Baghdad?" I queried. Sarah nodded and began to dance, which was mainly just bobbing up and down in time to the music. "You're crazy."
"And that's why you're my friend," Sarah replied with a smile on her face as I negotiated a turn to put us on our way to the Masquerade.