Sailor Moon and the Sailor Senshi

And

The Tokyo Mew Mews

In

They Are Teenaged Girls

This story is a sequel to "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished," which is itself a sequel to "The Mew War." While it is very helpful to have read "The Mew War" to understand "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished," it is possible to read the second story without the first one. However, it is even more important to have read "No Good Deed" to understand this story. There are too many references in this story to the previous one, and too many characters that are carried through from "No Good Deed" to this one. So I strongly recommend that you read the second story before this, the third; or, if you start reading this one and get mystified as to what is going on, you go back and read the second story before finishing. I promise things will make a lot more sense if you do.

At the time of the previous story, Sailor Moon and her Senshi were about 16 years old. The Mew Mews were mostly about a year younger than that, except that Zakuro was about five years older than the other Mews, and Pudding was about five years younger. Thus Fujiwara Zakuro was about 20 in the previous story and for this story is about 22, and Sailor Moon and the Senshi are about four years younger than that, or about one year older than Mew Ichigo.

Chapter 1

Too Old

Fujiwara Zakuro sat quietly, waiting for the meeting to begin. All around her the people were talking noisily, but she sat in her own little world. She hated these meetings, but they were necessary, and so she always attended them. They were organizing the filming of one more installment to the "Samurai's Kiss" series, the third such episode now. Since they were already referring to this one as the "Samurai's last kiss," she was quite sure that there would be no more of these for her. And that was good for her career, she thought. She knew that at her age she should be looking for more serious roles than playing a princess in a fluffy fantasy tale that was really as much as anything a fanservice extravaganza.

But the series had been so good to her. The first two episodes had both made huge amounts of money, and had generated clothes and toy sales far beyond what had been expected. And Zakuro had made a huge amount of money for herself out of all of that, given the percentage of the profits that her contract had guaranteed her. She had so much money now that she had even considered buying into the ownership of the current movie, but had decided against it; movie production and ownership was one pond quite different than the ones she was used to swimming in, so she had given up the idea. Maybe the next movie she acted in would be different.

Her dark sapphire eyes swept over the gathered people. Ota Hideki was there; he would again play the male lead of this movie. And that was needed, Zakuro thought. She didn't like Ota much, because more-than-handsome, smooth-talking Ota constantly attempted to seduce every attractive woman that came within his reach, and he had hit on Zakuro countless times. He had never succeeded in seducing her; but he was very frustrated with her endless "No's," and she was very frustrated with his endless advances. But Zakuro knew that his fangirls – whose numbers were nearly countless – formed a great part of the audience for these movies, so he was needed. Talking to him was the director, Ohara Saburo. To put it very mildly, Ohara did not like Zakuro, and the feeling was very mutual. She had always resisted his efforts to turn the films into what he called "art" – and Zakuro called "hentai." These disputes between the two were serious and long-lasting, and Zakuro had long since made up her mind that once these "Samurai's Kiss" movies were done, she would not work under his direction ever again. But this last installment to the Samurai's Kiss franchise would be something she could put up with, she thought; especially since they made so much money.

Her eyes caught some movement by the door, and she saw that Kino Makoto had come in. Zakuro had just turned twenty-two, and Makoto was just over four years younger. When Zakuro, with great difficulty, had recruited Makoto to play in the first Samurai's Kiss two years before, she had already been mightily attractive; but now she was into the fullness of her beauty, and Zakuro, famous idol that she was, could not but feel some envy over her stunning looks. She had those legs, Zakuro thought. Zakuro was known for her height, but Makoto was even taller, and it was all in those magnificent, shapely legs. Then there was her hair, in that wonderful auburn color and with all that wonderful body in it, so that her trademark high ponytail bounced so saucily when she moved. She had those nice strong shoulders, and as for her chest – Zakuro was truly envious about that, because there was so much of it, and it was all so perfectly formed. In fact, Zakuro would have called her top-heavy, except that her large chest was exquisitely balanced by a perfectly-formed butt. Zakuro shook her head slightly as she watched Makoto step across the room and take her seat near the far end of the table. It embarrassed Zakuro at times like this how petty and envious she could be. But she knew that women watched women as much as men did, though for other reasons; for women looked upon other women as rivals, and Makoto would be her rival in the movie, as well, to a certain extent, in real life.

The memory of the real-life rivalry was painful for Zakuro. After finishing the first movie, she and Makoto had been involved in a horrible fight, a fight that nearly resulted in death for both of them. They had made up in the end, but the warm, easy friendship they had felt before the fight was gone for good. Part of that was just a carry-over from the fight, as they could not quite fully trust each other ever again. But part of it was because Makoto had come into the movies as Zakuro's protégé; Zakuro had brought her in, taught her to act, guided her through everything, and protected her when she needed that. And now, Zakuro thought ruefully, Makoto did not need her any more. Makoto was a famous actress, an idol in her own right; and that left an empty space in Zakuro's heart, because Makoto did not need her any more. Zakuro sighed. She was in her 20's now, and her mother instinct was cranking up, and she felt the need to be needed.

She took her eyes off of her co-actress and rival and looked down the line of the financial people on the other side of the table. There was a face missing there: fat old Fuso Tamiechi was gone. He had died of a massive heart attack three months before. Zakuro did not like him. No one did; nor, apparently, did he like anyone else. His one interest was money, and he had made a huge pile of it with the first two Samurai's Kiss movies. But he had been Zakuro's defender and patron, not because he liked her, but because he was convinced that having her play the lead in the movie guaranteed profits. And she had not let him down. The movies had been profitable far beyond expectations, so they were planning to make one more. It was a shame in a way, thought Zakuro, that he couldn't have been present for this last installment in the franchise, so he could make one more big profit before checking out of this world. But he was gone.

Finally everyone had been seated at the long table, and it was time for the meeting to begin. With Fuso Tamiechi gone, and with no other investor holding nearly the clout he wielded, director Ohara would run the meeting. It would not be long, Zakuro thought. Agree to do the movie, pick a screenwriter, and maybe brainstorm on a general plot line, and they would be done. And she could be out of that stuffy meeting and have a little time to enjoy herself.

Ohara the director began with an oration about how well the first two movies had done – he called them "films," of course, as people who pretended to have class would call them. He rattled on, claiming far too much credit for himself. And then he stopped, suddenly, and looked at Zakuro.

"Ah, Fujiwara-san. Were you invited to this meeting?" he queried, all innocently.

Zakuro stared at him. What did he mean? She was silent for a second, and then spoke slowly. "I heard about the meeting. I came," she said.

A strange half-smile twisted the director's lips. "Ah, Fujiwara-san, you are not slated to be cast in this film."

The words slammed into Zakuro like a brick between the eyes. She was not going to be cast? Did she really hear those words? Her words came, slowly. "Ohara… san… May I ask why I am not being cast in this… film?"

Ohara's mouth twisted even more as he spoke. "Fujiwara-san, you cost… a lot of yen to hire. You cut into our profits severely."

"You made plenty of profits on the first two… films," Zakuro came back. "Even old Fuso was happy with the profits."

"True… he was," Ohara answered. "But there's more involved here." He took a breath and continued, "Fujiwara, you're not needed any more. You're basically… too old, over the hill. We've got Kino Makoto now, she's the future. Old Fuso was living in the past when he thought he needed you to bring in the audience. But we've been following closely the hits on the website, and… Kino is far ahead of you, and getting always farther ahead. She's the real idol now, the one we need to sell this film. As an idol… Fujiwara, you're over the hill, washed up. You still can act, but… you're not needed for this film. That's why…." He stared right at her, into her eyes. "That's why you weren't invited to this meeting."

Zakuro had the feeling of falling, falling far with nothing to catch her. Too old? She was twenty-two! And she looked as young as she had looked five years before! She was sure of that! Too old? She had carried those first two movies! Too old?

She lowered her face as she got up from the table. She did not know if she would explode in anger or burst into tears, but something was going to come out, very quickly and very violently. She didn't know if her face was flushed with red, or if she was pale as a ghost. But she knew she should get out of there before something ugly happened. She stood a bit too quickly, and forced herself to look at the others in the meeting. The financial people looked stunned. Kino Makoto's face was turning beet-red very quickly. Ohara's face still had the twisted half-smile, and actor Ota would not even look up at her; his face was down. There would be a very ugly scene played out in that room very quickly, if Zakuro stayed.

But Zakuro had always been the professional, never the spoiled, temperamental star. She valued that reputation, and she wanted to continue her acting career, even if she couldn't do this movie. So she took a deep breath, and forced herself to speak slowly and not scream. "I am… sorry," she said, with a very thick throat. "I should never have… assumed… that I would be cast in this… film." Then she made a quick bow, and turned to leave. She strode out quite quickly, because before she reached the door of the room, the tears were flowing, and she did not want them to see those tears, or hear any sobs that might come with them.

She hurried to her dressing room to gather her things. They would take that room from her now, she knew. She didn't work at that studio any more, and they would need the room for the new actress who would take her role in the movie. Take her role! she thought bitterly. That was her role, she thought. She had made the character live, live in the minds of the first two movies' many fans. And now, someone else would take the role, take HER role. Because she was too old, washed up, over the hill! She stared into the mirror in the dressing room, to see if she looked older. But all she saw was red eyes and a flushed face that was quickly losing that color and turning pale. She threw a few valuable things into a paper bag and then left the room as quickly as she could. She knew that if she stayed any longer, she would collapse and start bawling. And she would never let them see that!

She closed the door behind her, painfully aware that it was the last time she would do so. Anything larger that she had left there the studio people would gather up and send to her anyway. She took another deep breath to try to calm herself, and then began hurrying down the hall past the other dressing rooms. But even as she hurried, she heard steps coming up behind her, someone running. She did not want to face anyone at that moment, not in the mood she was in. But she had to stop and turn and acknowledge the other's presence. She looked; it was Kino Makoto.

"Zakuro-san!" the big girl was calling, a bit too loudly. She came up, a bit out of breath; Zakuro knew that Makoto kept herself in fine shape, and so she must have been running long and quickly. Then Zakuro answered her: "Kino-san."

The big girl shook her head. "Zakuro, are you all right? That was… so cruel, the way they did it!"

Zakuro merely nodded. She still did not want to talk for fear of losing control of her anger.

"Zakuro…" The big girl kept using Zakuro's given name as if they were close friends. "Zakuro… Don't hate me! I had nothing to do with it, I didn't know… You have to believe me!"

Zakuro looked into the green eyes of the younger girl. Those eyes hid nothing from Zakuro or anyone else, and there was nothing there now but sincerity – sincerity, and panic. So Zakuro spoke slowly, "Kino-san… Makoto… I never thought you were a part of this. I'm sure it was Ohara and Ota. Neither likes me, and both want to get back at me… for a bunch of things. Don't worry, the movie will do just fine, and I have a lot of other things to do. And I have a ton of money put away just in case…"

Makoto spoke slowly and painfully now. "Zakuro… do you hate me now? I mean, it's sort of like I took your place…"

With great sadness Zakuro shook her head. "No, I don't hate you, Kino Makoto… my… friend." She emphasized the last word, and when she did, she saw the tears start to flow in Makoto's eyes, too. So she turned away. "Good-by, Kino Makoto. Good…by." She choked a little on the last words, and she started stepping away.

But the other girl's voice stopped her. "Zakuro…san, is there anything I could do? I mean, I could threaten to quit, demand they take you back!"

Zakuro turned back, and shook her head slowly. In her heart she would have loved it if Makoto would quit on them. But she knew how ugly was this movie business, and so the said, slowly, quietly: "They could replace you… as easily as they replaced me." Actually, much more easily, she thought. "It would do no good." Then something quickly crossed her mind. "And – by chance – have you already signed a contract for the new movie?"

Makoto nodded slowly, and Zakuro went on, "I guarantee you, that, in the fine print, there's a huge penalty you'll have to pay if back out of the contract. It could wipe out everything you made on the first two movies." She watched Makoto's mouth drop open, and then went on, "Makoto, it's an ugly business, but you don't have to be ugly. Be professional, do your role, do the best you can. Your career should go a long way from here, so don't let petty fools like Ohara and Ota ruin things for you. Some day, you might be the greatest, most popular idol in Japan!" She watched the younger girl almost smile for a second, and then she continued, "And… Kino Makoto, could you do me a favor?"

The big girl gasped a few times, and then managed to croak, "What…?"

"Kino… Makoto… you are maturing, and that always means change. But this business… can do horrible things to people, make monsters of them, make arrogant fools of them. Don't let this business… do that to you. Remember… never forget… that good-hearted young girl who once stood in a hospital room over her archenemy, and… kissed her cheek. Never let them take that from you. Never… change… from that girl…"

The tears were pouring freely from Makoto's eyes now, and she could say nothing. So Zakuro said with a choked voice, "Just one more thing. Please… never forget… Fujiwara Zakuro, and the Samurai's Kiss."

Makoto gasped and began sobbing openly. And Zakuro knew she would do the same, but her pride would not allow it. So she began turning away again, and she half-whispered, "Good-by, Kino Makoto." And then, though she doubted the big girl knew any Spanish, she whispered, "Vaya con Dios." Then she hurried up that hall, past the last of the dressing rooms, and she heard nothing behind her but the choking sobs of the friend she was sure she would never see again. She left a trail of tears dropped on the floor behind her.