Sailor Moon: Secondary Characters: Twisting
{Jon Carp}
address: jcarp@med.unc.edu



I went bowling with my girlfriend, and of course I whooped her. So
she says, "Does that make you feel like a big man? To beat a girl at
bowling?" "Yes it does," I says. "Yes it does."--Bug-Eyed Earl (Red
Meat)








"We need longer skirts."

The others looked up at Makoto with strange expressions on
their faces. It had been her first speech all day.

"What?"

"We need longer skirts. The ones we've got are way too
short."

Rei blinked a couple of times. "What?"

"Is this hard to figure out?" Makoto almost yelled. "We all
know those things are ridiculous."

"No, I mean, where did that come from? Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm not okay! I don't think I can take any more
being stared at and oggled and fantasized about."

"But I thought that was the point," Rei said. "We
automatically have an advantage over almost any man we go up against."

"Yeah," Minako added. "Besides, you do plenty of staring and
fantasizing, yourself."

"I want mine longer," Makoto said angrily. "I don't care what
you all do."

Nobody could think of a response for a while. Eventually
Minako spoke up. "Sure," she said. "I'll get mine lengthened too.
But something is obviously wrong, Mako-chan. What happened?"

"Nothing happened! I'm just sick and tired of looking like a damn
schoolgirl. We're growing up, guys. Things are changing."

Again, nobody said anything. She knew they knew she was
lying. "I have to go," she said quickly. "I just remembered I have
something to do."

She walked out the door. The others threw goodbyes after her.

"This is the first time I've seen her for a few
days," Ami remarked.

"Yeah, me too," Minako said. "I'm really worried. What
happened?"

Nobody knew, of course.






Being alone made the memories come back, but being with the others hurt like a bad thing.

And so, as soon as she entered the apartment and closed the
door behind her, everything came rushing into her brain despite all
her efforts to block it.

Night. Cold. She sees herself run through the rain down the
alley towards her apartment building.

Somebody's shadow covers me. I turn to see two men
approaching. The farther one is small and unsure, but the other is
smiling. "Hey Babe," he says.

I prepare to defend myself, but only one thought runs through my head.
"My god... he's so cute."







They could never help but notice how attractive her eyes were.
They never acted on it or anything, but it still kind of hurt to see
them so puffy and bloodshot, the dried streaks leading down to her
chin.

She looked suprised to see them. "Haruka...Michiru, what are
you doing here?"

They glanced at each other, but made it subtle enough that
Makoto missed it. "You called us. Remember? You asked us to come."

"Oh yes. Sorry. Come in. Want something to drink? Tea?
Coffee?"

"Coffee," Haruka said.

"Sure." Makoto sniffled. "Have a seat on the couch."

They did, and looked around for more evidence of the Something
Wrong the inners had warned them about.

Makoto took a mug out of a cabinet and poured some coffee into
it. "The place is a whole lot dirtier than I remember it," Michiru
whispered.

"Yeah, and she doesn't look very good, either," Haruka
answered. She looked up and realized Makoto was standing directly in
front of her, offering the mug of coffee and pretending she hadn't
heard a word they'd said.

"Thanks," Haruka said, grinning sheepishly.

Makoto faked a smile and took a seat across from them. "Well,
I suppose you've heard about my plan with the uniforms."

"Yeah," Haruka said. "It's a good idea, just as long as
Michiru doesn't participate. Her skirt is one of my few pleasures in
life."

Michiru giggled, but Makoto did not. "Fine," she said.
"Whatever you decide. But for me and whoever else, you're the best
person I can think of to actually do the alterations."

Haruka blushed slightly. "Well, thank you," she said. "But
I've never done anything like the uniforms before. I'm not even sure
if the magic behind them will let them be changed or poked with a
needle or whatever."

"But you will try," Makoto insisted.

"Sure," Haruka said. "I'll start collecting the materials
today."

Makoto nodded, and forced a smile. "Thanks."

Michiru saw the strange look in the girl's eyes, and decided
that solitude was not helping whatever was wrong. "Any time," she
said. "Listen, we're going over to the track. Setsuna has a race in
an hour. Want to come?"

Makoto stiffened when she heard Setsuna's name. "No," she
said quickly. "I'm busy. Sorry."

"Okay," Haruka said. "Well, bye."

Makoto opened the door for them. "Bye."






Setsuna was on the way to the track, thinking about the only
person she ever thought about, when all of a sudden she stopped short. A smile spread
across her face. Time slowed as things worked themselves out in her
mind. She laughed and disappeared.

Time travel is a truly wonderful thing.







"I think you'd be the best one to do the alterations," Makoto
said.

Setsuna nodded. "If you want, I'll get the materials today,"
she said, trying to make herself sound as kind as she could. It was a
strain.

"Thank you." Makoto forced a smile.

It disturbed Setsuna to see this girl in such obvious pain.
"Listen," she said, doing her best to fake sincerity. "I don't know
what's bothering you, and you don't want to talk about it. But
sitting here by yourself won't help. I think Haruka has a race in
about an hour. Why don't you go down there and try to enjoy
yourself?"

Makoto stiffened when she heard Haruka's name. "No," she said
quickly. "I'm busy here."

Setsuna noticed her reaction. "Or," she said. "Why don't you
head over to Rei's temple? I bet at least some of the other inners
will be there. Maybe Usagi and...Mamoru."

Makoto again tightened her muscles, this time from the sound
of Mamoru's name. "No," she said tensely. "I said I was busy,
Setsuna. I'd appreciate it if you did what you do best, and go off
and mind your own business."

"Very well." Setsuna stood up. "Goodbye."

Makoto opened the door for her. She muttered something that
was probably a goodbye.






Makoto's problems were obviously great, but Setsuna forgot all
about them within five minutes. Her own thoughts were far too
distracting.

She stopped short. A smile spread across her face. Time
slowed as things worked themselves out in her mind. She laughed and
disappeared.

It wasn't going to be the last time that happened.







Dream? It was hard to tell. All the memories seemed like
dreams.

I'm lying on the cement ground; it radiates out coldness and
sucks the strength away from me. My mind doesn't seem to work very
well. I can't even remember what just happened, all I know is the pavement and the strange feeling inside my head and body.

The cute one is standing over me, panting and laughing. His
friend wants to get away.

"Fuck off," the cute one says. "This one's strong. Isn't it cute how she thinks she's so tough?"

He advances again.

Strong, he said that I'm strong. But I'm not... I let him... do whatever he did to me (I can't remember and I don't know why), and I'm letting him do it again. I'm weak.

But my body is insulted by that thought and refuses to accept
it.

"You're not weak," it whispers to me. "You're JUPITER."

Yes. I look up and see him reach down to me. I smile. My mind can't even comprehend the situation, but somehow, magically, my body knows just what to do.








"MEN?" Rei asked incredulously. "Mako-chan?"

"I know how it sounds," Ami said. "But I also know I'm right.
It's definately men she's got a problem with. Just look at her
reaction to your grandfather."

Minako nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I ran into Haruka and
Michiru, and they said that Mako-chan started acting real weird
whenever they mentioned Setsuna." She giggled. "I guess she counts
as a man. But...what could do this to Makoto?"

Ami sighed. "I can't think of a single thing."








He backs away, absolute terror jammed on his face. He tries
to scream, but I, Sailor Jupiter, beat him to it.

Rage feeds the lightning, my most primal attack, and my
voice pushes it forward. The bright tentacles grab him, flow through
him, and the strange feeling inside her does not go away, but it does start to feel good.

He collapses to the cold cement ground, his body and face
scorched and bulging. He is no longer cute.

The other just backs away. "Oh shit," he mutters. "She's a
fucking senshi. Oh shit." He looks up at me. "Please. I...I
didn't do anything. It wasn't me, it was his idea...I..."

I don't let him finish.

I fall back, propping myself against the wall. The momentary elation slowly begins to seep away, leaving me with the strange feeling and something else, something I didn't expect. Not regret, not anger... it's something I couldn't put a name to and still can't. It's dirty and cold, like the pavement I'm lying on somehow got inside of me.
Whatever this feeling is, it's horrible. I don't know what it is, I just know that Usagi's never felt it.

I run away as fast as I can.






Haruka carefully compared her fabric with her skirt. Perfect.
Exactly the same color.

Michiru walked in. "So, I see you're getting started on
that," she said. "You're not thinking of doing it to your own
uniform, are you? You've got the best damn legs of all of us."

Haruka looked up. "Yes, I am thinking of doing it, and no, I
do not have the 'best damn legs of all of us'."

Michiru snorted. "Well fine. I'm just going to have to do it
too."

Haruka snorted too. "You wouldn't--"






Haruka turned on the TV and started surfing for something
good. She found it rather difficult.

Michiru walked in and sat down next to her. "Setsuna's
working on the skirts. You're not thinking of doing it yourself, are
you? I mean, you've got the best damn legs of all of us."

Haruka looked up, grinning. "Well, thank you very much, but
yes, I'm definately going to do it. I never liked that goddamn,
short, feminine thing. I think I'm gonna ask Setsuna to make me some
sailor sweat-pants, or something like that."

Michiru sniffled. "Fine. Just take away one of my few joys
in life."








Makoto jumped at the sound of the buzzer and quickly wiped the
tears off her cheeks. She walked to the kitchen, turned on the water,
and splashed some on her face.

She went to the door and opened it. Minako was on the other
side. "Hi," she said. "Can I come in?"

Makoto nodded, but said nothing.

Minako stepped in and noticed with dismay the fact that the
place hadn't been cleaned for a while.

She went to the living room and sat in a chair. She pointed
to the couch. "Sit down, Makoto."

Her friend took a little offense at being ordered around, but
had a seat anyway.

"Now," Minako said. "The others sent me here to talk to you.
We know something happened."

"Nothing happened!" Makoto insisted. "How many times do I
have to tell you? I just don't want to walk around in that damn
little thing anymore."

"It's not just about the skirts. It's the way you've been
acting." She reached over and put her hand on Makoto's, squeezing it
in a friendly manner. "We're worried about y--"

"Don't touch me!" Makoto pulled her hand back. She took a
deep breath to try to calm herself down. "I'm sorry. I just..." She
trailed off.

Minako was obviously frightened by how her friend was acting.
"Mako-chan, you're not fooling anyone."

Makoto hung her head. She refused to meet her best friend's
gaze. "I...I can't tell you. I can't tell anybody."

Minako stood up and went to her. "Mako-chan..."

"Please go. Please. Just go."

"If it's about something you did that you're ashamed of, I
don't care. Whatever it is, we'd still help you. No matter how bad."

Makoto pulled away and opened the door. "It's not bad,
Minako. It's the worst. The worst thing. Please just leave."

Friendly confusion flashed across Minako's face. "I don't
know what you're talking about," she said after a pause. "There's no
WORST thing." She smiled adorably, giving off one of her "pretty
Minako" faces that everyone, including Makoto, thought it a treat to
see. "Come on, Mako-chan, you're scaring me. Tell me what happened,
okay?"

"I don't want to hurt you," Makoto said finally, staring into
her friend's eyes. "Okay? So, please..."

"What are you talking about, Mako-chan?" Minako interrupted.
"You would never hurt anyone who didn't threaten love and justice,
right? ESPECIALLY not your friends! So stop being silly."

Makoto hung her head, fighting the odd feelings of anger
beginning to creep in. Damn her for caring so much, damn her for
being so much like Usagi.

Minako reached out her hand and placed it on her friend's
shoulder. "Come on, Mako-chan, I don't understand. Please tell me what's wrong."

Her fingers were so soft and delicate and Makoto thought with
a quiet frenzy how easy they would be to break. She continued looking
down at her own feet. "I don't trust myself," she whispered finally.
"I don't trust what I'll do around Mamoru-san or Haruka-san." She
quickly glanced up into Minako's eyes, wide and shocked... which meant
she was finally getting the point. "Or even you. So, please..."

Minako laughed nervously, cutting her off again. "Mako-chan,"
she said slowly, "are you saying... you look at me the way you look at
Mamoru-san or Haruka-san?"

Makoto sighed hopelessly. "I don't trust myself around any of
you anymore. I'm... afraid of what I'll do. So, please..."

She trailed off. Minako had not interrupted her, which was
surprising. "...stay away from me," she finished lamely, after a
pause.

There was another pause, and then Minako suddenly threw her
arms around Makoto's neck and held her tightly. Makoto stiffened in
terror. It was over. Minako would tell everyone, and they would all
know what she was capable of and she'd be alone again, which was
exactly what she deserved.

Minako pulled away and looked at her dear friend with
empathetic eyes. "You really thought we'd hate you because of this?"
she whispered. "We're better friends than that, Mako-chan."

Makoto wiped her eyes dubiously. "How can you say that?" she
murmured. "It's so AWFUL."

"It is not awful," Minako countered forcefully. "Not at all.
I'll admit I'm surprised, of course, I mean, I'd never have expected
it. But I know you wouldn't be telling me like this if you weren't
absolutely sure. Um, Mako-chan, but the thing is, I can't say I'll
ever be the same way. Is that okay, Mako-chan?"

Makoto nodded fervently. "No! I don't want you to be! I
don't want ANYONE to have to be like me! I... I've become what we've
fought against all these years, I've become something horrible!"

"Don't say that!" Minako wailed, alarmed. "That's not TRUE,
Mako-chan! It's not what we've fought against, it's what we've fought
FOR! It's love! And, I guess it's justice too, because you're
finally being true to yourself. How can you think we wouldn't stand
behind you?"

Makoto blinked. "What?"

Minako ignored her. "And I'm, of course, flattered and
everything," she continued, "but I'm just not like that. Don't worry
though, okay? You'll find love with someone else one day. I know you
will."

Makoto stood up and backed away. "No, you don't understand!
I'm not... Minako-chan..."

Minako strode up to her and placed her index finger on
Makoto's lip. "Now, shush," she snapped. "You don't have to be
ashamed, how many times do I have to tell you? It's OKAY."

Makoto backed away more. Whenever she blinked, she could
clearly see Minako's lovely corpse lying on her apartment floor,
charred and twisted and steaming. "You don't understand!" she
whispered. "You don't understand what happened to me! Minako-chan,
last week I... I ran into a couple of men in an alley. It was dark
and... I was alone." There. It was said.

Minako tilted her head sideways and looked at Makoto in
confusion. "So... what does that have to do with anything, Mako-chan?
Did they want to date you, and you said no?"

Makoto's mouth fell open slightly. She could not think of
anything to say.

Minako brightened as a thought struck her. "Oh! I see, they
wanted to date you, and you said no, and that's when you realized
you're not like normal girls, right?"

Makoto would have laughed, had the situation been at all
funny. "Minako-chan... you don't understand. It was dark. I was
alone. And two strange men came, and... something bad happened,
okay?"

Minako stared back at her with an expression of such utter
cluelessness that it was almost painful to look at. "Listen,
Mako-chan, it's NOT BAD. You don't think Harukaandmichiru are bad, do
you?"

Makoto's mouth hung wide open as she gaped at Minako in
disbelief. It seemed incredible someone could be so innocent: even
the worst thing she could think of was another kind of love.

And yet Makoto herself could barely remember not long ago,
when colors were brighter, and love and justice protected young girls
from bogeymen in dark alleys. There was no such thing as a bad thing,
just bright colors, and love, and justice.

Makoto sighed. "No," she muttered, looking at the wall behind
her sparklingly beautiful friend. "You're right. I shouldn't hate
myself anymore."

Minako nodded vigorously. "That's right, you shouldn't!"

Makoto looked up at her and forced a sincere smile. "Yeah.
Thank you, Minako-chan. Everything's better now." She walked
straight up to her friend and placed a hand on her arm softly. "I
think I'd like to spend some time alone now, to think. Okay?"

Minako nodded. "Sure, sure!" She smiled again; the matter
was settled, everyone was happy again; love was going to win in the
end. "I'll come by in the morning and we'll have breakfast, okay?
And then we'll gather everyone at Rei's temple and you can tell them."

Makoto nearly vomited right there on the floor, but she kept
smiling. "Sounds good."

She walked to the door and opened it like a robot, but Minako
was too busy being proud of herself to notice. A brief hug and a
flirty kiss on the cheek later, and she was gone.

Makoto closed the door behind her. She fell back against it
and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. Her head hurt.

It was a strange kind of headache. She'd never felt any kind
of pain like it except as a direct result of youma attack, but now it
came and went for no apparent reason at all, just because sometimes
people hurt.

She leaned her head back against the door and stared at her
boney, trembling hand. For a moment, she could swear she saw tiny
wisps of smoke drifting upwards from her fingers, writhing and
twisting through the air, toward the dingy ceiling.