1
November 14, 1997
5:33 AM
Some would call it evil.
Some would call it a lot of names, as a matter of fact. The most frequently used, when
directed at it, would be either "Aaah!" or "Aaaah!", or an occasional, full-fledged,
"Aaaaaaaaaah!" The pitch and length of the "-a" usually conveyed the amount of fear
and disgust it struck into the hearts of the humans who sighted it. Never mind that all it
ever wanted was a little nourishment and a place to rest.
Had it been able to think in human terms and realize that its kind had been loathed and
hunted down by the humans throughout history, it would have laughed. Screw you, it
would have said, and your momma too. My kind has survived the ice-age while your
ancestors were still hanging off tree-limbs and didn't know what to do with a banana
other than to eat it. Not that it would have done any different, mind you; about the
banana, that is.
Tonight, however, it had only thoughts for one thing - namely, a place to rest. Preferably
somewhere dark, and slightly damp. It moved.
Distance, of course, was never an issue; nor was height. There was only forward and
backward, and sometimes left and right. All objects were either flat or mostly-flat, and
the only differences lay in the wetness, softness, and the amount of heat they produced.
It had just traversed a vast terrain of cold-dry-flat-hard, through another part of cold-dry-
flat-hard, and was now on something completely different: cool-dry-mostly-flat-soft.
And there was a fragrance in the air nearby, an enticing scent that it had never
encountered before. It decided to investigate.
The surface underneath its feet shifted, then shifted some more. It didn't matter in the
slightest. It pressed onward, onward, onward, and finally hit the jackpot: lukewarm-
slightly-damp-mostly-flat-pretty-soft. Not its usual type of resting place, but it wasn't all
that picky about having a change in habitat. It tucked its feet inward and nestled its head
against this lukewarm-slightly-damp-mostly-flat-pretty-soft.
Had it been able to appreciate the glorious view laid out before its eyes, it would have
thought: Lo, and it was pink.
What it thought was: Sleep.
What a waste.
.
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2
November 14, 1997
5:34 AM
Having unsightly sleeping postures was a peculiarity of sorts that Meiou Setsuna
inherited along with her particular senshi title. Something about the gravitational field
and the rotational difference of the planet, no doubt, caused all the Sailor Plutos to twist
and turn their bodies excessively but in a periodical and orderly fashion while they were
sleeping on Earth.
A quick study would show that at least twenty-five days out of an average month on
Earth, the position of Setsuna's body in relation to the head of the bed followed a pattern
(based on an eight-hour-average sleeping time) detailed as below. Observe:
Two hours into sleep: Setsuna's upper body would bend roughly ninety-degrees to her
right, feet pointing to the foot of the bed.
Four hours into sleep: Setsuna's body would present a generally linear posture, but her
head would now be pointing to the foot of the bed, and vice-versa.
Six hours into sleep: Setsuna's upper body would bend roughly ninety-degrees to her
right, feet pointing to the head of the bed.
Eight hours into sleep: Setsuna would find herself awake in nearly the same position in
which she went to sleep without realizing that she had, once again, drawn a full circle
around the bed with her body.
Almost like the hands of a clock, but running in reverse direction. The precision,
however, like everything else Sailor Pluto did, was uncannily and inexorably perfect.
In the hour before dawn, Setsuna slept soundly on her bed, her lithe figure a contour
made visible in the dark by the silk burgundy nightgown she wore.
As she went to bed at approximately 11:30 PM last night, she had just gone past the
designated sixth-hour spot and was currently on her way to realign her body back to the
zero-hour position. The sheets dragged and slipped haphazardly against the silk as she
moaned and softly lifted a leg, her milk-colored thighs all the more prominent on the
canvas of red.
She stretched softly, arching her back into the air for a tiniest instant as a small tremor
danced across her pale skin, before she fell back into the yielding warmth of the mattress.
An arm languidly made its way across her stomach, up over her head, and in the end
found itself buried under the mass of disheveled emerald tresses. A chancy deep breath
made the kinks across the plunging v-line on her nightgown wink out for a brief moment.
Then, before she let out the breath she was holding, she felt it.
Small, feathery taps along the inside of her left leg.
Still in the ethereal state between dreaming and waking, Setsuna shrugged it off, let out
the breath, and continued to sleep. Besides, the feeling was actually somewhat pleasant,
the waking part of her mind decided; not unlike the smooth fingers of a gentle lover
leisurely caressing her skin. She snored softly.
The taps continued. And began to climb up her leg.
She obliged.
The taps went higher, past the curve of her knee and up against her thigh. It was starting
to tickle.
The soft snoring stopped.
Somewhat alert now, Setsuna's mind tried to collect itself from slumber and produce a
coherent thought. The velvety touches continued, not unlike the smooth fingers –
Saotome-san?
of a gentle lover –
Wait a minute…
leisurely –
That, that's too high…
caressing her skin –
Stop it; hold on a second…
and resting against –
You've got a fiancée!
the secret –
…And we've only known each other for two weeks! Stop! Saotome-san!
Setsuna shot up, scrunching her legs against her chest in reflex as she curled herself into a
ball, hands covering the area between her legs protectively. A scarlet blush matching her
gown bloomed across her cheeks as she looked wildly about, drawing in rugged deep
breaths all the while. Strange, though, there was no Saotome-san. It was only her, sitting
in the middle of the mattress in the dark, her hair a mess like the crumpled bed-sheets
underneath her. She sighed in relief. Then her mind immediately fired the unanswered
question:
Well, if it wasn't Saotome-san, then what the hell was that crawling up my…
Uncomprehending, curious, and slightly apprehensive, she lifted her nightgown up past
her hips.
x x x
Red eyes stared at a pair of antennae.
Antennae waved: This is my turf, lady.
Red eyes flew wide open.
.
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3
November 14, 1997
5:37 AM
The other residents in the apartment building got an early wake-up call that day.
Those who were already up and about, however, plugged their ears with their fingers
quickly, took note of the vibrating windows, and told the couple on the third floor to just
skip the hotel and go straight to a bomb shelter.
x x x
"-the hell?" Ranma leapt out of his room and flipped the light switch outside the door,
instantly alert from years of vigorous training in the past and scanning the apartment for
danger signs. He got a full-contact glomp by a shaking mass of feminine flesh barely
concealed under a flimsy red nightgown.
"C – Co – Cockroach!" Setsuna sobbed, pointing a shaky finger at her room. Sure
enough, the culprit slowly emerged from under her door and leisurely strolled into the
living room.
"You woke everybody in the building up over a damned cockroach?"
"You've got to kill it!"
What is it with girls and cockroaches? He thought in vexation. And didn't she just get
over her run-in with those killer doves? Suddenly, an evil grin made its way onto his
face. This was the perfect chance for him to get back at all the trouble she'd caused him.
"Why should I? It was in your room," he said, trying to sound completely indifferent.
"You go kill it."
Setsuna gaped at him in horror. Ranma smiled back beatifically.
Abandoning the glomp in the interest of self-preservation, Setsuna dashed across the
living room floor heroically, jumped over the glass table and dived into the couch on the
far side. The purse that she left there overnight was snatched up and upended in an
instant, and the contents inside spilled onto the sofa. No matter, however; her hand had
found her ace.
Forcing her heart back down her throat, Setsuna took a deep breath and blew as loudly as
she could into the safety whistle.
x x x
This time, lights in the adjacent buildings down the block came on as one.
The cockroach advanced.
.
.
4
November 14, 1997
5:39 AM
"DON'T YOU THINK THAT'S A BIT MUCH?" Ranma yelled as he followed
Setsuna's fleeing figure out to the staircase, hands cupped over his ears.
"You forced my hand," she managed in between gasps. Then, realizing that he couldn't
hear her, she repeated more loudly again. "I SAID, 'YOU FORCED MY HAND!'"
"OH!" He considered her reply and nodded. Then, seeing that the cockroach had just
wandered out of the apartment as well, he gave it a gentle nudge in the right direction
with a bare foot. Setsuna's eyes widened and desperately darted about, looking for
anything that she could use to fend off the bane of her existence.
"So," Having some time to clear the ringing in his head, he said more calmly this time,
"What are you gonna do about it?"
She pulled the fire alarm.
.
.
.
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TIMED VACATION
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Chapter Three
.
Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)
Composed by: CAGNET
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5
November 14, 1997
8:48 AM
"Ah. Tchaikovsky." A voice announced from the other side of the room as his hands
lowered to his sides. "Piano Concerto, number one, B-flat minor. Flawless as usual,
Saotome-san."
Ranma looked up from the bench. "Oh, sensei." He paused to scratch the pigtail. "Sorry
about that. Didn't think anyone was going to be using the spare practice room."
The other man waved it off. "No, it's perfectly fine. That's what this place is for
anyway." He said, a few etched lines forming by the corner of his mouth as he smiled
benignly. "You've come a long way in such a short time, Saotome-san. I've never seen
anyone with hands as deft as yours, not to mention the way you memorize the pieces."
"Ahh. It's nothing," Ranma replied, trying to sound embarrassed despite his mounting
ego. "By the way, sensei, about the contest last month…"
"Oh, that..." The older man trailed off, pushing a pair of glasses higher up the bridge of
his nose. He shrugged uncomfortably.
The hopeful expression on Ranma's face fell. "I see…"
"The judges thought that while your skill was very remarkable, they just couldn't sense
enough feelings in your performance."
Disappointment gave way to puzzlement. "Feeling?"
"Yes. While the other finalist was not quite able to match you in technique alone, the
panel ruled in favor of her because she played with a tremendous amount of emotion."
Pulling up a chair from nearby, the professor slowly sat down next to his student. "Tell
me, Saotome-san. What do you feel when you're playing the piano?"
Ranma regarded his teacher. The middle-aged man looked relaxed in the folding chair,
hands resting on knees, waiting patiently. He scratched his chin with a finger reflexively
as he tried to muster an answer. "Um, actually," Ranma replied hesitantly, "I don't think
I feel anything when I play. It's always like… like I'm fighting against the piano. So, I
guess if you want to, you can say that I feel like I'm in some kind of battle whenever I
play."
The other man closed his eyes and nodded. "Mmm, I see."
"Is that… wrong?"
Lips pursing, the professor was silent for nearly a full minute before he answered. "It's
not wrong, per se," said the man, "but the piano – or any other instrument, as a matter of
fact – becomes a conduit between the performer and the audience at very high levels.
Sometimes, if you listen closely enough, it's almost as if you can understand what exactly
the person behind the instrument is thinking through the music."
Ranma thought about that. "I'm not getting it," he admitted at last with a small frown.
"How can you tell what someone is feeling or thinking just by listening to a song?"
The professor smiled back. "Someday you will, Saotome-san. Someday you will."
.
.
6
November 14, 1997
9:34 AM
My back's killing me, thought Setsuna. She was sitting so stiffly in her chair that, taking
into account of her grass-green blouse, the matching light-green jacket, and the pair of
plaid pants with green undertones that she chose to wear today, you'd have thought that
she was trying to imitate a chameleon in the wild, attempting to learn how to camouflage.
If she was trying to hide, however, she was not succeeding. The newspaper Setsuna held
out in front of her was only nearly enough to hide her face completely from the girl
sitting next to her. She moved it higher.
"So you're the reason why the westbound traffic into town was paralyzed for half an hour
this morning? Ahahahaha!" That was Momoko, the one person from work who stood
out in her memories when she suddenly found herself working as a model a little over a
year ago. They had grown quite close over the past year, which was why Setsuna
endured without a word when the younger woman insisted on calling her "Senpai". Like
now.
"Senpai," Momoko continued, convulsing every few seconds from the effort of trying not
to erupt into full-blown laughter, "you're… you're simply the best. I mean, who
would've thought of trying to scare away a cockroach with an emergency whistle?"
Setsuna glared at her friend. "Cockroaches and I will not coexist under the same roof,"
she declared between clenched teeth. "Besides," she added defensively after a moment,
"the whistle did work on those damned birds."
"But… pulling a fire alarm?" Unable to contain herself any further, the young girl
guffawed, slapping a hand on her desk several times as she did so.
"I don't see why you think it's funny," said the green-haired woman stonily behind the
thin wall of newspaper she recently erected between the two of them. "Do you know
how big a fine I have to pay for this? And how I had to bow and apologize to just about
everybody who lives within three blocks, plus all the firefighters and the police who
came?" She finished testily, temporarily taking a hand away from the newspaper to
massage her sore back. She winced.
Seeing this, a fresh gale of laughter broke out from the seat next to her. Momoko, as
Setsuna realized when the two first met, had a peach-shaped face true to her namesake,
framed by a head of curly brown hair that went down to the shoulders. Her beige-colored
blouse, red leather skirt and knee-high boots ensemble today could be called conservative
at best for people who knew her well.
Right now, however, Setsuna only took stock of her friend's visage. Flushing with
uncontrollable amusement, the young girl's face looked even more like a ripe, succulent
peach than usual. Setsuna briefly flirted with the idea of shooting an arrow through it,
like the way that English guy William Tell did to the apples. She amused herself with
picturing how much juice would leak out from the entry and exit points of the arrow all
the way until Momoko's laughter had run dry at last.
It took quite a while.
x x x
"So, Senpai," Momoko said at last after her mirth had wound down to only an occasional
giggle, "you actually moved in with that Sao… something guy? You know, the one that
plays the piano?"
Setsuna put the paper down on her desk and looked squarely at her friend for a moment.
She sighed quietly. "Yeah. His name's Saotome."
"Ohhh. Sa-o-to-me-san…" The younger girl punctuated each syllable with a nod, eyes
peering to the sides in thought. Suddenly, she inched closer to Setsuna. "How's he in
bed?"
Caught completely off-guard by the question, it took the older woman quite a while to
produce an intelligible reply. "…Hah?"
"Don't tell me you guys haven't even…"
"Of course not!" Setsuna denied hotly. "Saotome-san and I have barely talked. Most of
the time, he's kept to himself pretty much, and the only things he'd say were "I'm
home!" or "Good-night!" We've chatted maybe once or twice during the whole time."
"But, how come you never tried to find out more about the guy? Didn't you say he's cute
and young and single? He's like–" Momoko groped for the description, then found it. "–
like the perfect rebound candidate!"
"Who said I'm looking to rebound?" Setsuna asked archly. "Besides, he's not my type.
And it's not like I haven't tried to talk to him…" –it was just next to impossible to pry
any information out of that guy, her thought finished. Two weeks, and all she knew
about him was that he has a fiancée, that he used to live in Nerima, and that he's on the
black list of every all-you-can-eat restaurant this side of Tokyo, a fact that she found out
too late when she tried to treat him to one last week, only to get thrown out the door
immediately. They ended up at a Ramen shop that night instead.
In any event, it was just much easier – and safer – to leave her curiosity alone. She did
not want a repeat of that argument on the day she moved in. "Anyway," Setsuna said,
"this is not what you think it is, Momoko-chan."
"But," Momoko protested, fingers intertwined as she clasped her hands in front of her,
"but it's so romantic! How can you pass this up? I mean, you're, like, practically living
with Elton John!"
"I don't like Elton John," Setsuna deadpanned. She took a few seconds to compose
herself, then finally turned back to the younger girl. "Momoko-chan," she said in a
lecturing tone, "it's not always that easy. People like Saotome-san… you see them in
concerts, you see them on TV; you see pictures of their faces on albums in music stores.
But there's a lot of difference between what you see and reality. It's not like I'm eating
fine French cuisine by candlelight every night, and he's there to play the piano to help me
digest the food. You may not want to think about it, but pianists have to eat too, and they
have to sleep. They use toilets like we do, and sometimes forget to flush." Good thing
Saotome-san's not like that, Setsuna thought as she paused momentarily and gave silent
thanks to whatever kami that might be listening.
She continued. "And it's often harder to live with those people, because a lot of times all
they think about is their art and their music, and everything else they just push to the
side." Not quite so in Haruka and Michiru's case, a distant thought reminded her; but
that was part of the reason why she had enjoyed living with them. "It's really not the
romantic fairy-tale thing that you made it out to be. So," Setsuna wrapped up the topic
neatly without emotion, looking at her young friend with half-lidded eyes, "can we end
this discussion now?"
Momoko took on the expression of a junior-high schoolgirl who was just informed that
her favorite shoujo series was slashed from the air to make room for Pokemon. "I
guess…" she said, utterly disappointed.
"Good," the green-haired woman stood up and dragged her friend out of her chair by the
hand. "Let's go, Momoko-chan; I want to check the bulletin board and see what kind of
work we've got for today."
x x x
Two plastic-looking cups attached through a hose to some sort of an engine trembled and
danced across the table in front of Setsuna. She was busy reading the attached flyer.
"Introducing the 'T-Rex'? A Mammoth Innovation of Epic Proportions and Historical
Importance?" She raised an eyebrow, and turned to the machine.
"No." Setsuna took exactly one look at the pulsating device squirming around on her
boss's table and flatly refused. "I'm not taking this one."
"But, but, Setsuna-chan!" pleaded her boss, a balding middle-aged man with pudgy,
stump-like limbs, and a belly that threatened to burst through the extra-large oxford shirt
he wore whenever he inhaled. "You can be on television! Aren't you always saying that
you need a big break?"
"By doing a breast pump commercial?" Setsuna knew better than to flare her temper at
her boss, but she nearly did so this time anyway.
"It's only going to be aired during the AV blocks late at night!"
"That's even worse! I'm not going to be known across Japan as the Midnight Milkmaid
whose commercials only come on between bad blow-job scenes … and turn that thing
off, Momoko-chan!" She barked. "It's really distracting."
Momoko picked up the buzzing, semi-transparent device and examined it thoroughly like
a kid at the science fair. She looked through the thing, squeezed the gel cups, held it to
her ears and tried to see if it makes wave sounds like seashells. Finally, she placed the
still-vibrating cups onto her chest. "Hmm… do men really find big breasts attractive? I
wonder what Kyo-chan would think…" she turned the dial up. "Ooh, this feels nice…"
At last finding a supporter in the cause, Setsuna's boss hurried over to her friend's side.
"See? I tell you, this is a nifty gadget. There's a suction mode, a massage mode, and an
undulation mode, plus you can set it on timers too! Momoko-chan, the guys at the
company say that they'll even send you ten sets of these T-Rex breast sculpture modules
for free if you'd just do this thirty-second-segment…"
Setsuna held one hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and tried to ignore the two "T-
Rex" enthusiasts behind her.
"Oh, Senpai!" Momoko called out in wonder. "Look… if you turn the dial up, and put
the engine in reverse mode, you can even make this into an oxygen mask!" The curly
brunette demonstrated cheerfully. On the fourth breath, Setsuna turned around in disgust
and stomped back to her desk. It was all she could do to maintain her calm exterior at
this point and keep her boiling anger contained. Thinking back to the one culprit and its
accomplice who toyed with her and helped to foul her day completely, she smiled thinly.
By the time she got back home, she figured that the simmering rage within her should
have been cooked to a delectable perfection.
This time, Setsuna thought, it's really an all-you-can-eat. And she'd make him choke
down every piece.
.
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7
November 14, 1997
5:46 PM
She stormed up the stairs, her high heels clicking furiously on the steps. A nylon string
dangled out of her left pant pocket; fortunately, she hadn't needed the whistle to deal with
the killer birds today either. However, just the mere thought of the matter irritated her
even further, and by the time she reached the third floor and recalled once again the
atrocities that Saotome had committed against her at that very spot earlier in the morning,
she was practically shaking with rage. So, he thinks that being scared of cockroaches is
funny, does he?
Well, she had a full day of stress that she could unload now. Damned cockroach,
damned birds, damned pervert boss and pervert friend… and damned that Saotome!
Setsuna paused in front of the door, jamming her fingers into her purse to search for her
keys.
I'll show him funny, she thought darkly.
x x x
Sitting on the bench, Ranma stared at the ivory and ebony keys laid out before his eyes.
They stared back at him, cold and unyielding as usual, waiting to be conquered by his
hands. Emotions, huh?
He fired a key like a warning shot. The hammer fell. The note rang true, and was flung
skyward like a catapult straight through the open window. Feelings, huh?
With a look of determination in his eyes, he gleefully joined the battle.
x x x
Leaning against the wall next to the door, her keys in one hand, Setsuna had only one
thought as she listened to the music coming from within:
This is so unfair.
Here she was, ready to come back home and give him an uncompromised and unabridged
edition of her thoughts on the events that transpired earlier today, and he had to go and
play that damned piano. Worse, he had to go and play that damned song.
It sounds kind of different this time, she noted; harsher at times, and more soothing at
others. On the whole, the song seemed dichotomously laden and spontaneous, and
neither of these were feelings that it evoked in her the first time she heard it. I wonder
what happened to him today, Setsuna thought, before she shook her head to clear the
thought away. Too late; she was dismayed to find that somewhere during the song, her
blazing anger had betrayed her once more and died down into merely a slow burn.
This sucks, Setsuna decided, absently tapping the keys in her hand against the wall as she
tried to lean further into it.
The song halted midway through. The door opened.
"Meiou-san?" Ranma regarded her in surprise. "I just heard the sound of the keys…
Why didn't you come in? How long have you been standing there?"
"Didn't want to interrupt." Setsuna pushed herself off the wall and drifted inside. "It's a
beautiful song," she said with a non-committal shrug.
"Thanks." A hand came up to his head, hesitated, then scratched the pigtail anyway.
Then, perceiving the sour note in her voice, Ranma made the connection that she was still
likely angry at him with his earlier stunt. He could have taunted like he used to, and twist
that knife deeper into her wound. Or, he could have ignored it, like he used to, and let
her simmer. "I'm, uh… I'm sorry about earlier," he said instead. "You had a really bad
day, huh?"
Setsuna slowly turned to look at him. "You have no idea," she finally said, before
marching across the room to plop herself down onto her couch.
x x x
"Say, Saotome-san?" Setsuna said, lifting her head from the sofa, but not looking at him
either. She had her knees drawn high up onto the cushion, arms encircling her legs.
"Yes?" From his bench, Ranma fought a short struggle before he finally declined to
further investigate whether the kinks at the underside of her plaid pants were in fact panty
lines. He went back to investigating the keys of his piano instead.
Unaware of the brief attention she just received, Setsuna continued, a little wistfully,
"Say, have you ever felt on some days that your life is turning into a total waste?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't mean it literally." A hand came up from her side, hung in the air for a few
seconds, then waved anyway. "It's just that today, I just realized I've gotten no further
than where I was one year ago. I'm still only getting cheesy jobs at work, doing small
ads and what not, and my boss thinks that doing a commercial for the AV blocks is going
to be a big break for me. I mean, how low can you get?" Setsuna kicked her legs into the
air and turned onto her back, pressing her whole weight into the cushions. She examined
her nails. "On top of that, Yamaguchi's gone too, and I just feel a little… tired, you
know? Like I've gone around a circle and found myself back at the beginning."
There was a long moment of silence in the room. "Meiou-san," at length, Ranma looked
up from the piano and called out.
"Hmm?" She stretched.
"Look at it this way," he deliberated as he spoke, "Think of it… think of it as a vacation.
A really, really long vacation."
Setsuna sat up and mussed her hair a little with one hand. "A… vacation?"
Ranma flipped the lid over the keyboard. "You don't always have to give it your all, or
try your best at every moment, you know? Everybody has days when they're down and
tired." He stood up slowly, walked across the small living room, and set himself down
squarely on the other couch. "It's probably a weird way to think of it," he continued,
fixing his eyes on her. "But, at times like this, I take it as a sign from some passing kami
telling me to take a break. That way, I don't have to try as hard or push myself to the
limit every single moment, you know? I can just… relax for a while."
"And then?"
"And then things will get better." He said confidently.
"…really?" She asked, feeling slightly better now.
"Probably," he laughed a little and amended.
"…Probably?" She rounded on him, slight incredulity in her voice. Probably? That was
his conclusion of a pep-talk? She snorted, but a trace of a smile made its way onto her
face anyway. "Say, Saotome-san?"
"Hmm?"
She made as if to say something, but fell silent again. "Oh, don't worry about it," she
said at last. Ranma raised an eyebrow at that, but decided not to make an issue of it.
"It's nothing."
"Vacation, huh…" Setsuna murmured to herself, falling back into the couch.
.
.
8
November 17, 1997
8:35 AM
Monday came, and Setsuna stepped into the office with unusually high spirits. Not that
normal people could tell from a glance, but the little spring in her step was immediately
noticeable to all those who had been working with her long enough. She was on her way
to her desk, but changed course to make a stop at her boss's office. Perhaps things would
be better today, like Saotome-san had suggested. Either way, though, she was
determined to stop worrying and simply go with the flow.
The balding man took note of the smile on her face, and picked up on her mood with a
surprising acumen that she did not expect. "Setsuna-chan! You're looking marvelously
happy today."
Instead of nodding as usual, she answered him by making a half twirl, showcasing the
red, floor-length dress with zip-off sleeves that she had chosen to wear today under her
favorite white jacket, before striking an alluring pose that looked all the more memorable
by the effortless and almost casual way she presented it. The eye-candy was a rare and
delicious treat, and her boss gobbled it up eagerly. "So, what's for work?"
The eagerness in the man's face slowly vanished. "Um, boss?"
"Well, that is," he cleared his throat for a few seconds too long, then finally said in a
patronizing manner that Setsuna definitely did not like, "Setsuna-chan…" he trailed off
again.
"Yes?"
The man was looking more and more uncomfortable as he continued. "See, there haven't
been too many advertisement opportunities lately, and what was left had already been
assigned to our younger models because the higher-ups wanted to shift the focus of our
firm to a more exuberant and energetic presentation in order to attract the teenagers
today…"
Completely disliking what she was hearing now, Setsuna stared at her boss and asked in
an even tone, "What exactly are you saying?"
"I'm saying that your schedule's going to be looking kind of empty for a short while," he
admitted. Before she could raise her objection, however, he added, "But not to worry,
Setsuna-chan; you've just demonstrated how much, um, experience you have under your
belt as a model, so I'm going to pull some strings and place one of our upcoming new
stars under your direct guidance."
It took all of two seconds for her to digest the information. "You want me to be a
manager?" Is he serious? "I'm supposed to be a model – no, scratch that, I'm supposed
to be a fashion designer, damnit! If you can't find work for me, the least you can do is to
talk with the guys at the production department and get me a place–"
"Wait, wait, Setsuna-chan! Don't be so angry." The man said in a placating manner.
"You found out what those guys really want the first time you went there. Besides, the
girl we're trying to promote is a very sweet gal; I'm sure you'll like her a lot. She just
came from England not too long ago, as a matter of fact, but she speaks Japanese well
enough that language barrier is not going to cause a problem. Here, let me call her in –
Minako-chan!"
"Absolutely not," Setsuna said emphatically, finally fed up with the ridiculousness of the
situation. To think, she was actually looking for good things to happen for a change…
what a joke. "Listen, if you're not going to find something to fill my schedule, then I'm
going to submit my resignation letter as of this–" she paused. She was positive she didn't
just hear that right. Minako-chan?
"Coming!" A syrupy voice announced, and a teenage girl sauntered into the small office,
humming a random pop tune to herself all the while.
Setsuna paled. Oh, hell, no.
Slightly over five foot with a generally lithe and athletic figure. Check. Long blond hair,
with a trademark red bow in the center. Check. Disgustingly large and sparkling blue
eyes that are just a shade paler to Usagi's, check. A smile that was just as disturbingly
vapid as Usagi's, check. Singing a pop song that was missing notes by a mile, check…
and mate.
"Hello! My name is Aino Minako!" She bowed politely and said in an all-too-familiar
saccharine voice. "Nice to meet you. My birthday is October twenty-second, my blood-
type is B, and I like idols, gyoza, and physical education! My dream is to, erm, become
an idol myself!" Then, to the side, she added to the man in a whisper, "is that good
enough?" Behind Setsuna's back, the man nodded furiously in confirmation.
More than good enough, Minako-chan, Setsuna came to the same conclusion
independently at nearly the same time. She held a hand to her face and sighed. You get a
cookie for the effort.
Then, to herself, she thought in complete dismay: This is not happening.
.
.
(END CHAPTER)
.
.
Once again, much thanks to Figment for the pre-reading on the chapter.
.
- ukie
.
p.s. Before you ask, Setsuna's reaction to the cockroach, while extreme, was not wholly
unjustified. Her Bios read something along the line of "complete dislike / fears:
cockroaches". I just tweaked it up a bit. :)
November 14, 1997
5:33 AM
Some would call it evil.
Some would call it a lot of names, as a matter of fact. The most frequently used, when
directed at it, would be either "Aaah!" or "Aaaah!", or an occasional, full-fledged,
"Aaaaaaaaaah!" The pitch and length of the "-a" usually conveyed the amount of fear
and disgust it struck into the hearts of the humans who sighted it. Never mind that all it
ever wanted was a little nourishment and a place to rest.
Had it been able to think in human terms and realize that its kind had been loathed and
hunted down by the humans throughout history, it would have laughed. Screw you, it
would have said, and your momma too. My kind has survived the ice-age while your
ancestors were still hanging off tree-limbs and didn't know what to do with a banana
other than to eat it. Not that it would have done any different, mind you; about the
banana, that is.
Tonight, however, it had only thoughts for one thing - namely, a place to rest. Preferably
somewhere dark, and slightly damp. It moved.
Distance, of course, was never an issue; nor was height. There was only forward and
backward, and sometimes left and right. All objects were either flat or mostly-flat, and
the only differences lay in the wetness, softness, and the amount of heat they produced.
It had just traversed a vast terrain of cold-dry-flat-hard, through another part of cold-dry-
flat-hard, and was now on something completely different: cool-dry-mostly-flat-soft.
And there was a fragrance in the air nearby, an enticing scent that it had never
encountered before. It decided to investigate.
The surface underneath its feet shifted, then shifted some more. It didn't matter in the
slightest. It pressed onward, onward, onward, and finally hit the jackpot: lukewarm-
slightly-damp-mostly-flat-pretty-soft. Not its usual type of resting place, but it wasn't all
that picky about having a change in habitat. It tucked its feet inward and nestled its head
against this lukewarm-slightly-damp-mostly-flat-pretty-soft.
Had it been able to appreciate the glorious view laid out before its eyes, it would have
thought: Lo, and it was pink.
What it thought was: Sleep.
What a waste.
.
.
2
November 14, 1997
5:34 AM
Having unsightly sleeping postures was a peculiarity of sorts that Meiou Setsuna
inherited along with her particular senshi title. Something about the gravitational field
and the rotational difference of the planet, no doubt, caused all the Sailor Plutos to twist
and turn their bodies excessively but in a periodical and orderly fashion while they were
sleeping on Earth.
A quick study would show that at least twenty-five days out of an average month on
Earth, the position of Setsuna's body in relation to the head of the bed followed a pattern
(based on an eight-hour-average sleeping time) detailed as below. Observe:
Two hours into sleep: Setsuna's upper body would bend roughly ninety-degrees to her
right, feet pointing to the foot of the bed.
Four hours into sleep: Setsuna's body would present a generally linear posture, but her
head would now be pointing to the foot of the bed, and vice-versa.
Six hours into sleep: Setsuna's upper body would bend roughly ninety-degrees to her
right, feet pointing to the head of the bed.
Eight hours into sleep: Setsuna would find herself awake in nearly the same position in
which she went to sleep without realizing that she had, once again, drawn a full circle
around the bed with her body.
Almost like the hands of a clock, but running in reverse direction. The precision,
however, like everything else Sailor Pluto did, was uncannily and inexorably perfect.
In the hour before dawn, Setsuna slept soundly on her bed, her lithe figure a contour
made visible in the dark by the silk burgundy nightgown she wore.
As she went to bed at approximately 11:30 PM last night, she had just gone past the
designated sixth-hour spot and was currently on her way to realign her body back to the
zero-hour position. The sheets dragged and slipped haphazardly against the silk as she
moaned and softly lifted a leg, her milk-colored thighs all the more prominent on the
canvas of red.
She stretched softly, arching her back into the air for a tiniest instant as a small tremor
danced across her pale skin, before she fell back into the yielding warmth of the mattress.
An arm languidly made its way across her stomach, up over her head, and in the end
found itself buried under the mass of disheveled emerald tresses. A chancy deep breath
made the kinks across the plunging v-line on her nightgown wink out for a brief moment.
Then, before she let out the breath she was holding, she felt it.
Small, feathery taps along the inside of her left leg.
Still in the ethereal state between dreaming and waking, Setsuna shrugged it off, let out
the breath, and continued to sleep. Besides, the feeling was actually somewhat pleasant,
the waking part of her mind decided; not unlike the smooth fingers of a gentle lover
leisurely caressing her skin. She snored softly.
The taps continued. And began to climb up her leg.
She obliged.
The taps went higher, past the curve of her knee and up against her thigh. It was starting
to tickle.
The soft snoring stopped.
Somewhat alert now, Setsuna's mind tried to collect itself from slumber and produce a
coherent thought. The velvety touches continued, not unlike the smooth fingers –
Saotome-san?
of a gentle lover –
Wait a minute…
leisurely –
That, that's too high…
caressing her skin –
Stop it; hold on a second…
and resting against –
You've got a fiancée!
the secret –
…And we've only known each other for two weeks! Stop! Saotome-san!
Setsuna shot up, scrunching her legs against her chest in reflex as she curled herself into a
ball, hands covering the area between her legs protectively. A scarlet blush matching her
gown bloomed across her cheeks as she looked wildly about, drawing in rugged deep
breaths all the while. Strange, though, there was no Saotome-san. It was only her, sitting
in the middle of the mattress in the dark, her hair a mess like the crumpled bed-sheets
underneath her. She sighed in relief. Then her mind immediately fired the unanswered
question:
Well, if it wasn't Saotome-san, then what the hell was that crawling up my…
Uncomprehending, curious, and slightly apprehensive, she lifted her nightgown up past
her hips.
x x x
Red eyes stared at a pair of antennae.
Antennae waved: This is my turf, lady.
Red eyes flew wide open.
.
.
3
November 14, 1997
5:37 AM
The other residents in the apartment building got an early wake-up call that day.
Those who were already up and about, however, plugged their ears with their fingers
quickly, took note of the vibrating windows, and told the couple on the third floor to just
skip the hotel and go straight to a bomb shelter.
x x x
"-the hell?" Ranma leapt out of his room and flipped the light switch outside the door,
instantly alert from years of vigorous training in the past and scanning the apartment for
danger signs. He got a full-contact glomp by a shaking mass of feminine flesh barely
concealed under a flimsy red nightgown.
"C – Co – Cockroach!" Setsuna sobbed, pointing a shaky finger at her room. Sure
enough, the culprit slowly emerged from under her door and leisurely strolled into the
living room.
"You woke everybody in the building up over a damned cockroach?"
"You've got to kill it!"
What is it with girls and cockroaches? He thought in vexation. And didn't she just get
over her run-in with those killer doves? Suddenly, an evil grin made its way onto his
face. This was the perfect chance for him to get back at all the trouble she'd caused him.
"Why should I? It was in your room," he said, trying to sound completely indifferent.
"You go kill it."
Setsuna gaped at him in horror. Ranma smiled back beatifically.
Abandoning the glomp in the interest of self-preservation, Setsuna dashed across the
living room floor heroically, jumped over the glass table and dived into the couch on the
far side. The purse that she left there overnight was snatched up and upended in an
instant, and the contents inside spilled onto the sofa. No matter, however; her hand had
found her ace.
Forcing her heart back down her throat, Setsuna took a deep breath and blew as loudly as
she could into the safety whistle.
x x x
This time, lights in the adjacent buildings down the block came on as one.
The cockroach advanced.
.
.
4
November 14, 1997
5:39 AM
"DON'T YOU THINK THAT'S A BIT MUCH?" Ranma yelled as he followed
Setsuna's fleeing figure out to the staircase, hands cupped over his ears.
"You forced my hand," she managed in between gasps. Then, realizing that he couldn't
hear her, she repeated more loudly again. "I SAID, 'YOU FORCED MY HAND!'"
"OH!" He considered her reply and nodded. Then, seeing that the cockroach had just
wandered out of the apartment as well, he gave it a gentle nudge in the right direction
with a bare foot. Setsuna's eyes widened and desperately darted about, looking for
anything that she could use to fend off the bane of her existence.
"So," Having some time to clear the ringing in his head, he said more calmly this time,
"What are you gonna do about it?"
She pulled the fire alarm.
.
.
.
.
TIMED VACATION
.
.
Chapter Three
.
Opening Theme: Close to You (Instrumental)
Composed by: CAGNET
.
.
5
November 14, 1997
8:48 AM
"Ah. Tchaikovsky." A voice announced from the other side of the room as his hands
lowered to his sides. "Piano Concerto, number one, B-flat minor. Flawless as usual,
Saotome-san."
Ranma looked up from the bench. "Oh, sensei." He paused to scratch the pigtail. "Sorry
about that. Didn't think anyone was going to be using the spare practice room."
The other man waved it off. "No, it's perfectly fine. That's what this place is for
anyway." He said, a few etched lines forming by the corner of his mouth as he smiled
benignly. "You've come a long way in such a short time, Saotome-san. I've never seen
anyone with hands as deft as yours, not to mention the way you memorize the pieces."
"Ahh. It's nothing," Ranma replied, trying to sound embarrassed despite his mounting
ego. "By the way, sensei, about the contest last month…"
"Oh, that..." The older man trailed off, pushing a pair of glasses higher up the bridge of
his nose. He shrugged uncomfortably.
The hopeful expression on Ranma's face fell. "I see…"
"The judges thought that while your skill was very remarkable, they just couldn't sense
enough feelings in your performance."
Disappointment gave way to puzzlement. "Feeling?"
"Yes. While the other finalist was not quite able to match you in technique alone, the
panel ruled in favor of her because she played with a tremendous amount of emotion."
Pulling up a chair from nearby, the professor slowly sat down next to his student. "Tell
me, Saotome-san. What do you feel when you're playing the piano?"
Ranma regarded his teacher. The middle-aged man looked relaxed in the folding chair,
hands resting on knees, waiting patiently. He scratched his chin with a finger reflexively
as he tried to muster an answer. "Um, actually," Ranma replied hesitantly, "I don't think
I feel anything when I play. It's always like… like I'm fighting against the piano. So, I
guess if you want to, you can say that I feel like I'm in some kind of battle whenever I
play."
The other man closed his eyes and nodded. "Mmm, I see."
"Is that… wrong?"
Lips pursing, the professor was silent for nearly a full minute before he answered. "It's
not wrong, per se," said the man, "but the piano – or any other instrument, as a matter of
fact – becomes a conduit between the performer and the audience at very high levels.
Sometimes, if you listen closely enough, it's almost as if you can understand what exactly
the person behind the instrument is thinking through the music."
Ranma thought about that. "I'm not getting it," he admitted at last with a small frown.
"How can you tell what someone is feeling or thinking just by listening to a song?"
The professor smiled back. "Someday you will, Saotome-san. Someday you will."
.
.
6
November 14, 1997
9:34 AM
My back's killing me, thought Setsuna. She was sitting so stiffly in her chair that, taking
into account of her grass-green blouse, the matching light-green jacket, and the pair of
plaid pants with green undertones that she chose to wear today, you'd have thought that
she was trying to imitate a chameleon in the wild, attempting to learn how to camouflage.
If she was trying to hide, however, she was not succeeding. The newspaper Setsuna held
out in front of her was only nearly enough to hide her face completely from the girl
sitting next to her. She moved it higher.
"So you're the reason why the westbound traffic into town was paralyzed for half an hour
this morning? Ahahahaha!" That was Momoko, the one person from work who stood
out in her memories when she suddenly found herself working as a model a little over a
year ago. They had grown quite close over the past year, which was why Setsuna
endured without a word when the younger woman insisted on calling her "Senpai". Like
now.
"Senpai," Momoko continued, convulsing every few seconds from the effort of trying not
to erupt into full-blown laughter, "you're… you're simply the best. I mean, who
would've thought of trying to scare away a cockroach with an emergency whistle?"
Setsuna glared at her friend. "Cockroaches and I will not coexist under the same roof,"
she declared between clenched teeth. "Besides," she added defensively after a moment,
"the whistle did work on those damned birds."
"But… pulling a fire alarm?" Unable to contain herself any further, the young girl
guffawed, slapping a hand on her desk several times as she did so.
"I don't see why you think it's funny," said the green-haired woman stonily behind the
thin wall of newspaper she recently erected between the two of them. "Do you know
how big a fine I have to pay for this? And how I had to bow and apologize to just about
everybody who lives within three blocks, plus all the firefighters and the police who
came?" She finished testily, temporarily taking a hand away from the newspaper to
massage her sore back. She winced.
Seeing this, a fresh gale of laughter broke out from the seat next to her. Momoko, as
Setsuna realized when the two first met, had a peach-shaped face true to her namesake,
framed by a head of curly brown hair that went down to the shoulders. Her beige-colored
blouse, red leather skirt and knee-high boots ensemble today could be called conservative
at best for people who knew her well.
Right now, however, Setsuna only took stock of her friend's visage. Flushing with
uncontrollable amusement, the young girl's face looked even more like a ripe, succulent
peach than usual. Setsuna briefly flirted with the idea of shooting an arrow through it,
like the way that English guy William Tell did to the apples. She amused herself with
picturing how much juice would leak out from the entry and exit points of the arrow all
the way until Momoko's laughter had run dry at last.
It took quite a while.
x x x
"So, Senpai," Momoko said at last after her mirth had wound down to only an occasional
giggle, "you actually moved in with that Sao… something guy? You know, the one that
plays the piano?"
Setsuna put the paper down on her desk and looked squarely at her friend for a moment.
She sighed quietly. "Yeah. His name's Saotome."
"Ohhh. Sa-o-to-me-san…" The younger girl punctuated each syllable with a nod, eyes
peering to the sides in thought. Suddenly, she inched closer to Setsuna. "How's he in
bed?"
Caught completely off-guard by the question, it took the older woman quite a while to
produce an intelligible reply. "…Hah?"
"Don't tell me you guys haven't even…"
"Of course not!" Setsuna denied hotly. "Saotome-san and I have barely talked. Most of
the time, he's kept to himself pretty much, and the only things he'd say were "I'm
home!" or "Good-night!" We've chatted maybe once or twice during the whole time."
"But, how come you never tried to find out more about the guy? Didn't you say he's cute
and young and single? He's like–" Momoko groped for the description, then found it. "–
like the perfect rebound candidate!"
"Who said I'm looking to rebound?" Setsuna asked archly. "Besides, he's not my type.
And it's not like I haven't tried to talk to him…" –it was just next to impossible to pry
any information out of that guy, her thought finished. Two weeks, and all she knew
about him was that he has a fiancée, that he used to live in Nerima, and that he's on the
black list of every all-you-can-eat restaurant this side of Tokyo, a fact that she found out
too late when she tried to treat him to one last week, only to get thrown out the door
immediately. They ended up at a Ramen shop that night instead.
In any event, it was just much easier – and safer – to leave her curiosity alone. She did
not want a repeat of that argument on the day she moved in. "Anyway," Setsuna said,
"this is not what you think it is, Momoko-chan."
"But," Momoko protested, fingers intertwined as she clasped her hands in front of her,
"but it's so romantic! How can you pass this up? I mean, you're, like, practically living
with Elton John!"
"I don't like Elton John," Setsuna deadpanned. She took a few seconds to compose
herself, then finally turned back to the younger girl. "Momoko-chan," she said in a
lecturing tone, "it's not always that easy. People like Saotome-san… you see them in
concerts, you see them on TV; you see pictures of their faces on albums in music stores.
But there's a lot of difference between what you see and reality. It's not like I'm eating
fine French cuisine by candlelight every night, and he's there to play the piano to help me
digest the food. You may not want to think about it, but pianists have to eat too, and they
have to sleep. They use toilets like we do, and sometimes forget to flush." Good thing
Saotome-san's not like that, Setsuna thought as she paused momentarily and gave silent
thanks to whatever kami that might be listening.
She continued. "And it's often harder to live with those people, because a lot of times all
they think about is their art and their music, and everything else they just push to the
side." Not quite so in Haruka and Michiru's case, a distant thought reminded her; but
that was part of the reason why she had enjoyed living with them. "It's really not the
romantic fairy-tale thing that you made it out to be. So," Setsuna wrapped up the topic
neatly without emotion, looking at her young friend with half-lidded eyes, "can we end
this discussion now?"
Momoko took on the expression of a junior-high schoolgirl who was just informed that
her favorite shoujo series was slashed from the air to make room for Pokemon. "I
guess…" she said, utterly disappointed.
"Good," the green-haired woman stood up and dragged her friend out of her chair by the
hand. "Let's go, Momoko-chan; I want to check the bulletin board and see what kind of
work we've got for today."
x x x
Two plastic-looking cups attached through a hose to some sort of an engine trembled and
danced across the table in front of Setsuna. She was busy reading the attached flyer.
"Introducing the 'T-Rex'? A Mammoth Innovation of Epic Proportions and Historical
Importance?" She raised an eyebrow, and turned to the machine.
"No." Setsuna took exactly one look at the pulsating device squirming around on her
boss's table and flatly refused. "I'm not taking this one."
"But, but, Setsuna-chan!" pleaded her boss, a balding middle-aged man with pudgy,
stump-like limbs, and a belly that threatened to burst through the extra-large oxford shirt
he wore whenever he inhaled. "You can be on television! Aren't you always saying that
you need a big break?"
"By doing a breast pump commercial?" Setsuna knew better than to flare her temper at
her boss, but she nearly did so this time anyway.
"It's only going to be aired during the AV blocks late at night!"
"That's even worse! I'm not going to be known across Japan as the Midnight Milkmaid
whose commercials only come on between bad blow-job scenes … and turn that thing
off, Momoko-chan!" She barked. "It's really distracting."
Momoko picked up the buzzing, semi-transparent device and examined it thoroughly like
a kid at the science fair. She looked through the thing, squeezed the gel cups, held it to
her ears and tried to see if it makes wave sounds like seashells. Finally, she placed the
still-vibrating cups onto her chest. "Hmm… do men really find big breasts attractive? I
wonder what Kyo-chan would think…" she turned the dial up. "Ooh, this feels nice…"
At last finding a supporter in the cause, Setsuna's boss hurried over to her friend's side.
"See? I tell you, this is a nifty gadget. There's a suction mode, a massage mode, and an
undulation mode, plus you can set it on timers too! Momoko-chan, the guys at the
company say that they'll even send you ten sets of these T-Rex breast sculpture modules
for free if you'd just do this thirty-second-segment…"
Setsuna held one hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and tried to ignore the two "T-
Rex" enthusiasts behind her.
"Oh, Senpai!" Momoko called out in wonder. "Look… if you turn the dial up, and put
the engine in reverse mode, you can even make this into an oxygen mask!" The curly
brunette demonstrated cheerfully. On the fourth breath, Setsuna turned around in disgust
and stomped back to her desk. It was all she could do to maintain her calm exterior at
this point and keep her boiling anger contained. Thinking back to the one culprit and its
accomplice who toyed with her and helped to foul her day completely, she smiled thinly.
By the time she got back home, she figured that the simmering rage within her should
have been cooked to a delectable perfection.
This time, Setsuna thought, it's really an all-you-can-eat. And she'd make him choke
down every piece.
.
.
7
November 14, 1997
5:46 PM
She stormed up the stairs, her high heels clicking furiously on the steps. A nylon string
dangled out of her left pant pocket; fortunately, she hadn't needed the whistle to deal with
the killer birds today either. However, just the mere thought of the matter irritated her
even further, and by the time she reached the third floor and recalled once again the
atrocities that Saotome had committed against her at that very spot earlier in the morning,
she was practically shaking with rage. So, he thinks that being scared of cockroaches is
funny, does he?
Well, she had a full day of stress that she could unload now. Damned cockroach,
damned birds, damned pervert boss and pervert friend… and damned that Saotome!
Setsuna paused in front of the door, jamming her fingers into her purse to search for her
keys.
I'll show him funny, she thought darkly.
x x x
Sitting on the bench, Ranma stared at the ivory and ebony keys laid out before his eyes.
They stared back at him, cold and unyielding as usual, waiting to be conquered by his
hands. Emotions, huh?
He fired a key like a warning shot. The hammer fell. The note rang true, and was flung
skyward like a catapult straight through the open window. Feelings, huh?
With a look of determination in his eyes, he gleefully joined the battle.
x x x
Leaning against the wall next to the door, her keys in one hand, Setsuna had only one
thought as she listened to the music coming from within:
This is so unfair.
Here she was, ready to come back home and give him an uncompromised and unabridged
edition of her thoughts on the events that transpired earlier today, and he had to go and
play that damned piano. Worse, he had to go and play that damned song.
It sounds kind of different this time, she noted; harsher at times, and more soothing at
others. On the whole, the song seemed dichotomously laden and spontaneous, and
neither of these were feelings that it evoked in her the first time she heard it. I wonder
what happened to him today, Setsuna thought, before she shook her head to clear the
thought away. Too late; she was dismayed to find that somewhere during the song, her
blazing anger had betrayed her once more and died down into merely a slow burn.
This sucks, Setsuna decided, absently tapping the keys in her hand against the wall as she
tried to lean further into it.
The song halted midway through. The door opened.
"Meiou-san?" Ranma regarded her in surprise. "I just heard the sound of the keys…
Why didn't you come in? How long have you been standing there?"
"Didn't want to interrupt." Setsuna pushed herself off the wall and drifted inside. "It's a
beautiful song," she said with a non-committal shrug.
"Thanks." A hand came up to his head, hesitated, then scratched the pigtail anyway.
Then, perceiving the sour note in her voice, Ranma made the connection that she was still
likely angry at him with his earlier stunt. He could have taunted like he used to, and twist
that knife deeper into her wound. Or, he could have ignored it, like he used to, and let
her simmer. "I'm, uh… I'm sorry about earlier," he said instead. "You had a really bad
day, huh?"
Setsuna slowly turned to look at him. "You have no idea," she finally said, before
marching across the room to plop herself down onto her couch.
x x x
"Say, Saotome-san?" Setsuna said, lifting her head from the sofa, but not looking at him
either. She had her knees drawn high up onto the cushion, arms encircling her legs.
"Yes?" From his bench, Ranma fought a short struggle before he finally declined to
further investigate whether the kinks at the underside of her plaid pants were in fact panty
lines. He went back to investigating the keys of his piano instead.
Unaware of the brief attention she just received, Setsuna continued, a little wistfully,
"Say, have you ever felt on some days that your life is turning into a total waste?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't mean it literally." A hand came up from her side, hung in the air for a few
seconds, then waved anyway. "It's just that today, I just realized I've gotten no further
than where I was one year ago. I'm still only getting cheesy jobs at work, doing small
ads and what not, and my boss thinks that doing a commercial for the AV blocks is going
to be a big break for me. I mean, how low can you get?" Setsuna kicked her legs into the
air and turned onto her back, pressing her whole weight into the cushions. She examined
her nails. "On top of that, Yamaguchi's gone too, and I just feel a little… tired, you
know? Like I've gone around a circle and found myself back at the beginning."
There was a long moment of silence in the room. "Meiou-san," at length, Ranma looked
up from the piano and called out.
"Hmm?" She stretched.
"Look at it this way," he deliberated as he spoke, "Think of it… think of it as a vacation.
A really, really long vacation."
Setsuna sat up and mussed her hair a little with one hand. "A… vacation?"
Ranma flipped the lid over the keyboard. "You don't always have to give it your all, or
try your best at every moment, you know? Everybody has days when they're down and
tired." He stood up slowly, walked across the small living room, and set himself down
squarely on the other couch. "It's probably a weird way to think of it," he continued,
fixing his eyes on her. "But, at times like this, I take it as a sign from some passing kami
telling me to take a break. That way, I don't have to try as hard or push myself to the
limit every single moment, you know? I can just… relax for a while."
"And then?"
"And then things will get better." He said confidently.
"…really?" She asked, feeling slightly better now.
"Probably," he laughed a little and amended.
"…Probably?" She rounded on him, slight incredulity in her voice. Probably? That was
his conclusion of a pep-talk? She snorted, but a trace of a smile made its way onto her
face anyway. "Say, Saotome-san?"
"Hmm?"
She made as if to say something, but fell silent again. "Oh, don't worry about it," she
said at last. Ranma raised an eyebrow at that, but decided not to make an issue of it.
"It's nothing."
"Vacation, huh…" Setsuna murmured to herself, falling back into the couch.
.
.
8
November 17, 1997
8:35 AM
Monday came, and Setsuna stepped into the office with unusually high spirits. Not that
normal people could tell from a glance, but the little spring in her step was immediately
noticeable to all those who had been working with her long enough. She was on her way
to her desk, but changed course to make a stop at her boss's office. Perhaps things would
be better today, like Saotome-san had suggested. Either way, though, she was
determined to stop worrying and simply go with the flow.
The balding man took note of the smile on her face, and picked up on her mood with a
surprising acumen that she did not expect. "Setsuna-chan! You're looking marvelously
happy today."
Instead of nodding as usual, she answered him by making a half twirl, showcasing the
red, floor-length dress with zip-off sleeves that she had chosen to wear today under her
favorite white jacket, before striking an alluring pose that looked all the more memorable
by the effortless and almost casual way she presented it. The eye-candy was a rare and
delicious treat, and her boss gobbled it up eagerly. "So, what's for work?"
The eagerness in the man's face slowly vanished. "Um, boss?"
"Well, that is," he cleared his throat for a few seconds too long, then finally said in a
patronizing manner that Setsuna definitely did not like, "Setsuna-chan…" he trailed off
again.
"Yes?"
The man was looking more and more uncomfortable as he continued. "See, there haven't
been too many advertisement opportunities lately, and what was left had already been
assigned to our younger models because the higher-ups wanted to shift the focus of our
firm to a more exuberant and energetic presentation in order to attract the teenagers
today…"
Completely disliking what she was hearing now, Setsuna stared at her boss and asked in
an even tone, "What exactly are you saying?"
"I'm saying that your schedule's going to be looking kind of empty for a short while," he
admitted. Before she could raise her objection, however, he added, "But not to worry,
Setsuna-chan; you've just demonstrated how much, um, experience you have under your
belt as a model, so I'm going to pull some strings and place one of our upcoming new
stars under your direct guidance."
It took all of two seconds for her to digest the information. "You want me to be a
manager?" Is he serious? "I'm supposed to be a model – no, scratch that, I'm supposed
to be a fashion designer, damnit! If you can't find work for me, the least you can do is to
talk with the guys at the production department and get me a place–"
"Wait, wait, Setsuna-chan! Don't be so angry." The man said in a placating manner.
"You found out what those guys really want the first time you went there. Besides, the
girl we're trying to promote is a very sweet gal; I'm sure you'll like her a lot. She just
came from England not too long ago, as a matter of fact, but she speaks Japanese well
enough that language barrier is not going to cause a problem. Here, let me call her in –
Minako-chan!"
"Absolutely not," Setsuna said emphatically, finally fed up with the ridiculousness of the
situation. To think, she was actually looking for good things to happen for a change…
what a joke. "Listen, if you're not going to find something to fill my schedule, then I'm
going to submit my resignation letter as of this–" she paused. She was positive she didn't
just hear that right. Minako-chan?
"Coming!" A syrupy voice announced, and a teenage girl sauntered into the small office,
humming a random pop tune to herself all the while.
Setsuna paled. Oh, hell, no.
Slightly over five foot with a generally lithe and athletic figure. Check. Long blond hair,
with a trademark red bow in the center. Check. Disgustingly large and sparkling blue
eyes that are just a shade paler to Usagi's, check. A smile that was just as disturbingly
vapid as Usagi's, check. Singing a pop song that was missing notes by a mile, check…
and mate.
"Hello! My name is Aino Minako!" She bowed politely and said in an all-too-familiar
saccharine voice. "Nice to meet you. My birthday is October twenty-second, my blood-
type is B, and I like idols, gyoza, and physical education! My dream is to, erm, become
an idol myself!" Then, to the side, she added to the man in a whisper, "is that good
enough?" Behind Setsuna's back, the man nodded furiously in confirmation.
More than good enough, Minako-chan, Setsuna came to the same conclusion
independently at nearly the same time. She held a hand to her face and sighed. You get a
cookie for the effort.
Then, to herself, she thought in complete dismay: This is not happening.
.
.
(END CHAPTER)
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Once again, much thanks to Figment for the pre-reading on the chapter.
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- ukie
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p.s. Before you ask, Setsuna's reaction to the cockroach, while extreme, was not wholly
unjustified. Her Bios read something along the line of "complete dislike / fears:
cockroaches". I just tweaked it up a bit. :)