Blood on the Moon
By Lydiby
Chapter II
I woke on a divan. The room was draped in dark curtains and the lamp cast a pink glow on the walls like bloody water. Diluted, it seemed to ripple through the air. Dizzily, I lurched to my feet, stumbling toward ornate double doors. Dazedly, I ran my hands over my clothes. What was I wearing? The black heels were what had caused me to stumble. I smoothed my hands over the beaded black satin. I was wearing a shimmering flapper's creation, only gothic. A spiked collar was strapped around my neck, with a teardrop shaped something resting at the hollow of my throat. Black spiked heels with winding belt buckling straps climbed up my calves in a punk mockery of the ribbon ties on toe shoes. Looking past the green tint and bubbles in the ancient heavy gold framed mirror I stared at myself. The teardrop glimmered darkly, I couldn't tell what color it was and thus what type of stone. My eyes flashed in a sinister way as I examined my scandalous ensemble and the seduction of the Gucci-like shoes. If the rock opera version of Dracula was made into a ballet…
What was going on? Was I dreaming? What the hell would posses me to wear something like this, even in a dream? I saw only two options, I could be frightened or…
Furious, I threw the 17th century French doors violently open and stepped through. Inhumanly gorgeous people filled the room, chatting demurely, and sipping drinks. There wasn't one glass that wasn't filled with dark crimson colored liquor, I noticed in detachment.
It was then I noticed my knife was gone.
No one even looked up. An arm linked through mine and with a start, I looked up. Violet eyes met mine with a superior gaze. Her brunette—no, not brunette, ebony hair fell about her shoulders as if to swallow her. Her inhumanly manicured fingers tapped melodically against the crystal glass of white wine as she pressed it into my free hand. Her vicious, yet elegant nails were done in red, but I doubt any woman hand ever worn red the way she did. The world copied her, the world tried desperately to be her, but we could never attain a level that was inhuman. Everything about her was enchanting, as if you hadn't been born until she saw and acknowledged you. It was a harsh feeling, like the painful relief of a first gasping breath after being held underwater for too long.
Evenly, I turned my fiercest look to her patronizing gaze. I wanted answers. Anger mounted into fury as she tipped her head back and flooded the room with her lovely laugh. I ripped my arm out of hers and stalked into another room. To my surprise no one followed. This room was just like the last, and so it went. I was walking about in circles. I was losing my bravado. Finally, I fled out onto an empty terrace and considered taking the three-story jump just to get out of this nightmare.
"Darien," the vixen purred, just inside the room, "how was I to know you had any claim on her? You did not make yourself clear. I can't keep them back now, now can I? They adore her already. What is it to you anyway? You can have her all to yourself once they've grown tired of her."
"If anything happens to her, I will be holding you responsible Rei," he growled.
They were talking about me. I knew it, that's all.
I didn't know what to make of it. The figure stepped out on the terrace towards me. Throwing my untouched drink in his face, I vaulted over the rail. I let my body go slack in hopes of reducing damage. My body didn't hit. Not right away. Someone caught me. Immediately, I rolled out of, his grasp, landing with a—less painful—thud in the grass.
"Not smart Serena." I recognized his voice at once.
"How the hell did you get down here?" I glared up at him, but he didn't answer.
"So grown up, but so naïve," he whispered. His head was angled down, clearly stating he was looking at me, but I felt like he was speaking to himself. Dark hair tossed back and forth as he shook his head.
"I'm taking you home," he said pulling me up. I tore out of his grasp.
"No, you're going to answer me," I growled.
"Usagi," his voice was terse, but I refused to be daunted.
"Answer me! I want to know what the hell is going on!" I yelled, stamping my foot like a six year old. The heel dug into the ground and stuck. Irate, I tore it out with a substantial hunk of grass. I would never have worn shoes like this. What if I sprained my ankle? It would all be over then.
"You obviously aren't ready to know what's going on, child," he hissed in caustic Japanese, "everything is right in front of your eyes. When you're ready to stop denying it start wearing my jacket. I won't be responsible for you when you won't even acknowledge me."
He tightly grasped my forearm and the world disintegrated. When it pulled together again I pitched forward into my bed and knew nothing more.
"Serena? Serena?"
Someone shook my shoulder demanding I wake up. Subliminally, I pulled out one of my pillows and bashed my attacker over the head, hard.
Mornings never had, never would, be my specialty.
"Serena?" this time I noticed panic in the voice. It was Dena, my roommate.
"Whad'ya want Dena?" I moaned.
"You didn't come in last night, but you're here and…what are you wearing?"
"Whad'ya mean?" I pulled myself up. Beaded fringe slide across my thigh.
"Bloody hell!" I shouted.
"Hold still," Dena commanded, holding my chin up. She examined my eyes and then the inside of my arms.
"I'm calling Topaz."
"What?" I wailed. My maniac nightmare was running into daylight.
Topaz examined my pupils.
"Would someone mind tell me what the hell is going on?"
She leaned back on her heels and sighed uncertainly through her teeth.
"You will be safer wearing the jacket as often as possible. I don't know how much I can protect you. How satirical; it seems both of us care about you."
She walked out without another word.
Wrathful and frightened, I stormed out into the world to get caught in the rushing fury that was New York. I got caught in the flood until it outdid me and left me finding my feet in a Westside bookstore. Beads brushed my legs, and my awareness trailed down to the shoes again. Pulling my head out of The Count of Monte Cristo, I looked around me for the first time and wondered where the hell I was. The horror of not knowing was gone, but nothing filled it.
"Hullo."
Bewildered I turned into a dazzling figure.
"So we meet again."
I stared into haunting green eyes.
"What?" I breathed as fragmented memories flashed across my vision.
"Come now, you're a big girl. You can figure it out for yourself," he murmured.
"Met me at Flame at seven."
All afternoon I fidgeted. I fidgeted in the library, I fidgeted in the park, and I fidgeted in the practice room. Going to Flame was stupid. Unthinkably so, but I could not shake the desire to go. Flame was one of those exclusive clubs, with the long waiting lines and beefy bouncers; a waste of time. As defiance I wore jeans and a Columbia shirt, viciously shoving the dress and Gucci shoes back in the wardrobe. My eyes stung as I felt myself preparing to go; I didn't want to. I didn't even have my knife anymore. Frantically, I tore the coat off a hanger in my closet and stomped out of the dorm.
Flame was just a few blocks away when I pulled the jacket on. Inhaling the scent of the ocean stopped me dead in my tracks. Someone slammed into me and I automatically reached for my wallet; still there.
"Watch where you're going!" an angry man yelled.
"Sorry," I muttered. Laughter bubbling inside of me, I turned around to go home. I ducked my head for moment, fighting off a fresh batch of hysterics.
"Going somewhere?" his voice rumbled in his chest as my ear was pressed against it.
"Let go of me."
"Or what?"
"You heard her," the voice of the man I'd originally ran into snapped. My arm was pressed against something hard in the coat pocket, Topaz's knife. I pulled it out.
"Don't make me use this," I warned.
"Feisty," he laughed, mockingly.
"Or have you forgotten," I hissed, lowering myself into a fighter's stance. Memories of the alley swirled angrily in my mind. He had something to do with that freakish fiasco and vengeance was forward on my to-do list presently. He snarled and lunged painfully twisting my other wrist. The presumably homeless guy punched him in the jaw. His dirty blond hair hung in blue eyes that shone with rage, but also street smarts; a sound working knowledge of basic survival skills. He too, held a blade. Devin slammed him through a store window with a casual swat into his chest. Shattering glass filled my ears before a roaring sound as the back of his hand collided with my face. The world began to noticeably spin and then it all fell apart.
"This is better." His breath was cold against my ear. It was too dark to see anything, but I was lying on a couch. His lips against my neck made my skin crawl. The skin broke painfully, but I was too shocked to even react. Dizzily, I raised my hand to beat him off. A scream of pain rose to my lips as I realized it was broken. Engulfed in surrealistic agony my mind shook into pieces.
"Get off her!"
There was a dazzling flash.
Phones were ringing somewhere, far off, but constantly. Then there was a steady beeping and then, "Dr. James, to the ICU, please, Dr. James to the ICU."
Followed by the loathed smell of hospital. Finally my eyes opened, a thornless white rose rested on the blanket in front of me. My hand was folded around it. My other wrist was at my side in a cast. I pressed it to my nose to cover the awful smell. Questions gibbered to be answered.
The police officer was completely nonplussed at my slightly changed account. Standard drug tests had come back negative (of course) and there were plenty of cult freaks to go around.
All I had for answers was a hospital bill, a rose, and two puncture marks on the side of my neck.
Miserable, I pulled the jacket tighter around me. Walking through the slow rain. He was just like Mamoru. The bickering, the hair, but his eyes reminded me of Tuxedo Kamen. My walk slowed to a crawl as I remembered Mina, Luna and Artemis, left behind in Tokyo. My throat tightened painfully and my eyes stung with tears like they hadn't since the last battle with Beryl. When Ami-chan died.
Finding a bench I sat down and huddled into myself, flipping up the collar of the jacket. I hadn't been able to save her. Sailor Venus and Mercury were the only scouts Luna and I had ever found. We knew there were more, but we'd never managed to track them down.
Tuxedo Kamen vanished after the final battle. It hurt that I not only lost Ami-chan, but my hero abandoned me as well. But then we hadn't really needed him after that. Two scouts with two guardians were left; our minute force was reduced, and beyond the incalculable blow of losing a dear friend was the loss of an imperative ally.
Ami was the brilliance, the practicality that kept us grounded in the blackest of situations. We had been through much together. Without the other scouts we could only wonder about, we were horribly out numbered.
Yet after we defeated Beryl, no more enemies had come. The peace was strange, and laced with the pain of price, but gradually it settled. Mina-chan and I could almost live normal lives. Luna always warned us that it wasn't over. With Ami gone we'd been severely disabled, but Mina and I had struggled through it all. Both of us had decided to go to college, but Mina didn't want to leave home. When I got my acceptance form back, we'd created a transport device; if there was another attack, I could return to Tokyo instantly, but it could only be used in emergency.
I turned my eyes to the sky. I couldn't see the moon, but it brought one thought to my mind.
Our princess.
We'd never found her.
It hadn't been the hardest failure to bear. We'd done the best we could, but it hadn't been enough to find her and protect her. Abruptly, I was glad the high-rises and streetlights hid the beautiful satellite that had once been my home. Though I could not remember it, except in wisps of dreams and nightmares that burnt away faster than fog in morning light.
Standing, I punched the crosswalk button. Franticly, I wished I hadn't had to leave Luna behind. I missed them so much.
Sodden hair draped around my face. Now and then I still put it up in odangos, more often a bun, but I hadn't even a brush at the hospital. Listlessly, I walked across the street.
"Watch out!"
A warm force slammed into me and we both rolled across the pavement. The blare of a taxicab horn went doppler as it whizzed by drenching the both of us. I looked up into vibrant emerald eyes that studied me with concern.
"Are you alright? Make sure you watch where you're going, you could have been killed!" she scolded, "Those drivers are psycho!"
"Th-thank you," I stuttered, as I tried not to cry. She pulled me up and wrapped a protective arm around me tightly. Rain drummed gently on her rose patterned umbrella. Soft brown hair wisped out of her ponytail.
"Oh, is that yours?" her voice was low for a young woman, but smooth and pleasant. She bent and handed me the white rose. Its stem was broken, but it still smelled sweet and the petals remained smooth. My eyes flowed to her rose earrings.
"I love roses," her eyes shone with a kindness that reminded me of Ami. How she would always try to cheer Mina and me up when we were down. My depression double-folded.
"Come on now," she squeezed me gently, "why don't you come to my apartment? We'll dry off and I'll make you some tea. We can talk." Her eyes seemed so warm, if only they could warm the way I felt inside.
Kneeling at Makoto's table I was swamped in her soft violet robe. Laughing she rolled the sleeves up. It came down past my ankles.
"What part of Tokyo were you from Makoto?" I asked.
"Oh, I was hardly there long enough to begin calling it home. We lived there when I was very young, so I picked up most of the customs before we began to move. Going back was a sort of whim, but it didn't last long. Not many of my caprices do."
Makoto poured tea out of a beautiful hand painted teapot covered in pink roses. Her little studio was the coziest place I'd seen in a longtime. It was lovely to see Japanese furniture again. African violets and ferns lined the windowsills, along with a miniature pink rosebush. A picture of her parents sat of a small bedside by the futon. A beautiful quilt was draped over the back and a painted screen covered the back wall. It all smelt like roses. Makoto had trimmed the broken stem of my white rose and put it in a short vase.
"Here have some food too. Cooking for one is hard; I always have too much," she insisted. My eyes widened at the stunning array of food she placed in front of me. Rice balls, good noodles, curry, and everything I could only get at home or at super expensive exotic groceries.
We talked for a long time. Makoto never came out and said it, but I knew she was afraid I was suicidal. I reassured her as best I could, I really was only homesick. She even signed the cast on my wrist after blow-drying it, as it had gotten a little damp when she'd tackled me.
When I left she warned me to watch out, and told me to come back again whenever possible. I nodded dutifully and promised to send her tickets to our winter performance. In truth—though grateful—I didn't intend to stay in contact with her; her demeanor reminded me too much of Ami.
