Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon. Sailor Moon belongs to the
almighty Naoko Takeuchi.

***

Rule #1: Beware of overzealous delivery men bearing good food.

***

Rules of Conduct : Part I
by mizu
e-mail: tokiya_ensui@yahoo.com

***

I wriggled contentedly in the plush chair, ignoring the fat raindrops
pelting down the once-clear window. I found it odd that I was basking
in the warmth of the flickering fireplace, a mug-full of mocha held
near to my chest. All my life, I had never known peace such as this;
had never realized the true beauty of simplicity.

I remember the days when I used to wake up abruptly, feeling the bitter
chill of the night air creeping against my vulnerable spine. I'd
shiver involuntarily, as if to shake away the fears that brewed within
my subconscious. I was usually tolerant of such issues, for deep down,
I knew that I had complete control over my life and my mind. At that
moment, I chose to trust my logic, not some frivolous, nonsense message
that arose from my mind during the deepest of slumbers.

I sighed, re-looking upon my past self. Everyday, I would ignore that
gaunt face that stared back at me in the bathroom. I did not notice
the shadows creeping over my face, taking hold of my soul with a death
grip. My soul, however, belonged to no one but to it's rightful owner.

And so, it begins...

---

I was quite anxious, seeing that this was the first day of the
merger negotiations. Conferences were quite bothersome, however, in
this case, holding the event nearer to home base in Tokyo city was
quite rewarding.

The city was full of bustling busy bodies, each clambering to
their appointed destinations during the dim morning hours. Every
morning, I woke up, watching the mist part to let some of the fickle
rays to shine forth. As the minutes past, a quick peek out the window
would portray a sea of people, dressed in a variety of colors. From
sea-green, cloaked individuals, to conservatively dressed gray workers,
I weaved past each of them effectively.

At that time, I solely believed that the city was the ONLY place
for me. The rich colors of the marketplaces, the availability of any
utility, interested me, and quickly found their ways into my hectic
life.

I grew up in the quiet areas of Juuban alone, not remembering a
single ounce of my past. Unknown betrayal would sometimes grapple at
my insides, but not knowing the source often bothered me. It was best
to forget, I agreed, and leave the past to itself.

The best way, and the most cliched way, was to work. Working
brought a sense of freedom to me. Many people either gaped at me
questioningly at me or laughed outright in my face when I spoke my mind
in that manner. They didn't think trivial things would bother me,
they'd claim, either raising their eyebrows or holding their
midsection's in mirth. I didn't find it funny.

Actually, it made much more sense than to frolic around aimlessly
in smoke-fogged bars and crowding malls. After all, I wasn't a
flippant youth. Had I succumbed to such frivolities, my hard-earned
foundation would have crumbled beneath my very feet.

Working brought order to my mind, setting it free of useless
anxieties that I wished to abandon. That, I realized early in my
youth, was true freedom. It wasn't that work didn't have its rewards
besides my much needed freedom. Over the years, I have been promoted
to the board of directors, becoming chief industrial engineer. The
field, in itself, had never appealed to me. Being an industrial
engineer required one to commit themselves to learn about simple,
effective solutions. It involved acquainting oneself with the mindless
thoughts that floated flippantly in one's persona, and ultimately,
their psychology. I was a solver of problems, and my trusty logic
rarely failed me.

Sure, life had it's quirks. Surprises weren't the top of my
"best liked" list. In fact, it drew very close to the border of pet
peeves. Order was what I craved, and consequently, freedom.

"Good morning, Ms. Tsukino," my secretary sauntered through the
door with a tea cup held firmly in her hand, and a fresh copy of the
newspaper tucked under one arm. 9:01 AM. She was right on time. She
was quite consistent. She knew that I got to the offices on the
twenty-fourth floor exactly at nine. A minute later, I'd be settled
conformably in my leather swivel chair, opening the mail piled in order
of importance.

"Your meetings with Mr. Kamizawa, Mr. Soujiro, and Dr. Richmond,
have been cancelled," she said oddly serene, snapping the organizer
shut with an audible click. "I've cancelled all other appointments for
the rest of the week as well." She smiled calmly, unruffled by the
increasing rage I was desperately trying to bridle.

Order, Tsukino, *Order*...

"What?" I seethed, then forced myself to be satisfied with a
mere smile that seemed plastic upon my lips. She mirrored me, face
lips creasing upwards in cold, cordial demeanor. The ebony hair pulled
behind in a pinned bun made her face seem all the more stark.

Damn. I had taught her well...

I had a short temper in my younger days. It seems that even my
cool demeanor couldn't be restrained with the thought that my obedient,
efficient little secretary had obstructed my peace.

Smiling once again, my secretary left from the confines of my
vast office, closing the door calmly behind her. I glared at the spot
she stood on this morning, and listened to the sound of receding
footsteps.

An hour later, I was suitably calm, typing a mile a minute on my
desktop PC. It was a lovely thing, sleek and black. Best of all, it
kept all her folders in order.

It was midday by the time I decided to do some stretching
exercises and flop onto the couch placed strategically on one side of
the office just for occasions such as these. Reaching of the black
lacquered telephone, I dialed the number to my favorite delivering
restaurant.

Within the span of fifteen minutes, a knock came to the office
door. I figured it was the delivery man. Knowing my secretary, she
had dropped the custom of knocking long ago when I told her it was too
tedious to shout, "come in!" across a room during hectic months.
Nevertheless, I voiced the same command across the room from my couch,
not bothering to open my eyes.

"Money's on the counter. Keep the change," I murmured drowsily,
slowly being reawakened by the scent of fresh food.

"That's all?!" A masculine voice sputtered in outrage. It was a
voice that seemed vaguely familiar, as it resonated into my memory.

"That's more than enough! It's five times the amount set by the
standard quotas in the re--" I shot back, turning to meet the
obviously unsatisfied delivery man. He picked a terrible day to toy
with me. The words left my mind when I caught site of the
conservatively-dressed male lounging on the aforementioned counter.

"Hello Usagi," he grinned impishly; a grin that I knew all too
well from throughout my childhood and transitional years. He had his
legs and arms crossed, the black fabric of his jacket straining lightly
at the elbows. He looked very...reformed since the last time I saw
him. I gave him the usual critical look I usually gave him when I saw
him.

"Suddenly turn decent, Chiba?" I arched an elegantly shaped
eyebrow. "What happened to the delivery man?" I asked him, walking in
the direction that my stomach demanded. It rumbled agreeably in
response as I drew nearer to the paper bag. Udon noodles, fried to
perfection. Yummy.

Grabbing a pair of disposable chopsticks, I sampled the food in
the container. Still warm. I closed my eyes contentedly, savoring the
explosions of flavor bursting within the confines of my mouth.

"Ah, Usagi? Sorry to interrupt the intimate moment you're having
with your food, but you know, I'm still here," the Chiba Mamoru
interrupted - and enjoying the disruption he was causing as well.

"Unfortunately..." I mumbled between bites, turning my attention
back at my lunch.

That was Chiba Mamoru for you. He was, and still is, might I
add, an arrogant, freelance, reckless, carefree, and mocking little
creature. Come to think of it, he's towered over me, despite the
expensive pumps, so 'little' isn't quite the correct terminology to
use. He always jumped at the chance to poke around my personal life,
attempt to change my orderly habits and 'reform me', as he'd say it.
I'd snort in the most unladylike manner I could manage and turn back to
my computer. However, despite all these many faults that riddled
through his personality, he was (and always will be) my best friend.


"So, what are you doing here?" I leaned back against the chalk
white walls, fiddling with the hemming of my cream colored silk jacket.
A smile would be too awkward in this case, so Chiba would just have to
settle for an arched expression.

"After all this time, and *that* is all you can say to me?" He
mirrored my expression annoyingly. "I've been promoted and
transferred." He answered the question straight-forwardly. He rotated
around for my inspection. "How do I look?"

"Not too shabby," I admitted truthfully. He actually
looked...nice in a suit. Last, I had seen him with those accursed
bombers and sports jackets. Ugly things, I had always thought. I also
spoke my mind.

"Guess what?" He tilted his head childishly sideways, expression
oddly bright, but not uncommon.

"Chiba, no jokes, no games," I sighed heavily, chest heaving on
finality. I told you, surprises weren't exactly one of my likes.

"Tsk tsk, Usagi. Still that *serious*?" He grinned lightly,
jumping off the counter and walking toward me. He came within
hairsbreadth distance from my face, peering intently in my eyes, as if
searching for some lost treasure. "I thought so," he remarked glumly,
stuffing his hands into his pockets. He began pacing around the space
in front of me, occasionally scuffing a foot on the thin beige carpet
that matched the decor.

"I got promoted," he began in a quiet voice.

"To what?" I prompted, curiosity peeking at the edges of my
voice. Have I told you how much I hated surprises?

I thought so.

"Chief Mech Engineer."

I gaped, lips parted slightly. This means that...

"I'm in the same rank as you are!" He beamed childishly,
grabbing my arms and dancing away happily. I flopped
uncharacteristically, unswerved by erratic dance steps he was
concocting from his artistic side.

"You're going to be in this building, aren't you?" I noted slyly
at him. It wasn't much of a question, since I'd already accepted a
fact like this. After all, Mamoru was a hard worker. We had rivaled
each other in university. After the first year, he veered off into the
mechanical field. I was temporarily saddened by that fact during that
time, but as always, I adapted. With enough work, I forgot that
sadness and accepted what would be.

"You'll deal with what people want and I'll build those little
gadgets to assess their needs. How's it sound?" He danced about
merrily, still choreographing his own patterns. I somehow managed to
escape his wild jig, letting the information he'd just dumped on me.

"Do I have a choice in the matter?" I sighed heavily, voicing my
question sarcastically.

He shook his head, light dancing on his gelled, glossy raven
locks. "Nope." He gave me a winning grin - just to irritate me.

I told you he was annoying...

---