A.N.: Last chapter, we addressed the Zoicite-as-a-girl issue. This time, it's the "Do you realize that you're using both Japanese and American versions of the Outers' names, you idiot?" thing.
I know that I do this. I know that it's confusing. Unfortunately, I can't help it. In my mind, Uranus is Haruka, Pluto is Setsuna, and Neptune is Michelle. That's just the way it is. Please try to overlook it, because I probably won't be changing that any time soon…though I appreciate the advice.
Oh, and I've nominated a fic by MintChocolate5 for the Annual Sailor Moon Reader's Choice Awards. I'm going to be shameless and ask y'all to check out/vote for her story (http:// awards dot smfanfiction dot net).
And my thanks to whomever nominated "After Everything" for the same contest. One of these days, I'm gonna find out who it was, but until then, just know that I think you're awesome!
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As always, many thanks to my angel of a beta, Destiny'sDarkness! (Credit for the bell comment goes to her, as well.)
Also, thanks to all of you who reviewed. Eighteen reviews for the last chapter! I'm truly overwhelmed.
Okay. Shutting up now. On to the chapter!
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CHAPTER FOUR: Blonde and Buxom...Or Not So Much
She wasn't his type.
He only needed only one glance to realize this, though he refused to acknowledge how shallow that made him. He wasn't shallow, damn it, but he knew what he liked, and this girl wasn't it.
Oh, she was pretty enough—or at least he thought she was; it was hard to tell when he was currently standing at a window two stories above and across the street from her—but he wasn't dismissing her just because she wasn't blonde or eye-poppingly buxom. He wasn't that bad.
He was dismissing her because she wasn't as flashy as his women usually were, and, yes, because she wasn't flaunting herself. He liked women who were bold, confident, willing to go after what—or who—they wanted without shame or hesitance. He didn't know anything about this girl, but he could already see that she wasn't exactly…bold. Even from this distance, the carefully still posture made her seem quiet, contained. Probably complicated, because the quiet ones always were.
He wasn't a big fan of complicated. He wanted women who were transparent, easy to understand if not…well, easy in other ways. Simple women made for simple relationships. No confusion. No commitment.
Lots of fun.
Then again, he later realized, that it was the quietness of her that first caught his attention. She'd been sitting there for so long, doing nothing, speaking to no one, and that made him curious. What was her problem?
Maybe her boyfriend dumped her or something, he thought, smirking just a little. It would explain the vacant staring. Bit pathetic, really.
The hours wore on, and except for the occasional glance out his window to see if she was still there, he tried to push her from his mind. He had a business to run, after all, and one shy, sad little girl could hardly be so fascinating that he couldn't focus on his job, right?
And even if he'd realized just how often he was looking out his window that afternoon, he would never have allowed himself to dwell on it.
Still, though he wasn't looking at her that often—really, he wasn't—he hadn't missed how often her head turned towards the entrance of his building. What was she looking for?
"What are you looking for?"
Zoicite jumped, tried to pretend he hadn't as he turned to face the silver-haired man leaning against the door. From the way Malachite was looking at him, the other man obviously hadn't bought it.
Zoi gave it up as a lost cause. "Gods, Mal," he muttered, "make some noise when you walk, will you? Or tie a bell around your neck or something! You scared the crap out of me."
Mal's answering chuckled was positively sardonic. "You'll be fine, Zoi," the taller man retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "As full of it as you are, I think you can spare some crap."
Zoi started to roll his eyes, stopping only when he realized that he couldn't do that and glare at his friend at the same time. "Don't you have work to do?" he shot back. "A chapter to write? Publishers to terrorize?"
Malachite was smirking openly by then. "I am terrorizing my publisher," he grinned. "And I must say, it's pathetically easy." The tall man pushed himself away from the door, crossed the room to stand beside Zoicite at the window. "Seriously, though, what are you looking at? You were completely zoned out."
The color rising in Zoicite's cheeks couldn't quite be called a blush…mostly because he'd forgotten how to blush back in elementary school and was probably no longer even capable of it. "Nothing."
The word sounded more sullen than it should have, but when Mal glanced over at him, his friend didn't bother to address it. Malachite only turned away from the window, one elegant, silver brow raised in a question he wouldn't voice.
Zoicite cleared his throat, turned back to his desk and began shuffling random papers. "Have you finished that chapter yet?"
If Malachite recognized the deliberate shift in topic, he was too gracious himself to dwell on it. "Almost. I'm having some trouble with the ending, but it'll work itself out. It always does."
Zoicite nodded. However annoying Malachite might be as a friend and person, he'd always been a publisher's dream. He churned out novels like other people did…well, whatever it was that other people churched out.
And, far more importantly, his novels sold. Zoicite loved the man like a brother, but he wasn't ashamed to admit that he loved the money Malachite made him, as well.
Money was always good…mostly because money meant women.
Zoi really liked women.
Just not complicated ones.
He didn't realize that he'd been staring out the window again, or that he'd been silent for far too long. He also didn't notice the strange look Malachite was giving him.
"Who is she?"
If Zoicite had flinched and almost fallen out of his chair before, it was nothing compared to how badly he jumped now. "What?"
Malachite rolled his eyes. "The girl," he began again, speaking slowly in case Zoicite was as mentally retarded as he currently seemed. "Who is she? You've been staring at her for almost five minutes now."
Zoicite began shuffling papers again. At this rate, I'll never find any of the forms I need ever again. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mal."
Malachite would have been grinning if he'd been anyone else. As it was, the corners of his lips were suspiciously turned up. "Right. I believe you. Millions wouldn't, of course, but I do."
Zoi groaned. The only thing more annoying than Malachite was Malachite in one of his sarcastic moods. "I really don't know what you're talking about," he muttered. "I've never met the girl, so why would I be staring at her?"
"Maybe because you want to meet her?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Anyone can see that she's not my type."
"Why, because she's not throwing herself at that waiter like the rest of your women would? Or because it's not immediately obvious that her chest is three times larger than her brain?"
Zoicite rolled his eyes. "That didn't even make sense."
"Sure, it did. And stop trying to change the subject. Why can't you just admit that you're finally attracted to someone who might not be a complete bimbo?"
Note to self: Kill Malachite, then get a new best friend. Preferably in that order, but I'm not picky. "I'm not attracted to her, Mal." He was proud of himself for keeping his voice even.
Malachite was grinning, now. "I believe you," he repeated, laughing openly. "Millions wouldn't, but I—"
"Shut up, Mal."
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She was still there when Zoicite finally called it quits for the day. He dropped his overly-shuffled papers into a drawer, groaning slightly as he threw on his coat and left his office. He hadn't allowed himself to glance out his window since Mal left his office, but he wasn't all that surprised when, after he'd exited the building, he glanced over at the café and found a by-now-familiar girl still slouched over her table.
He paused, watching her with open curiosity. She was reading what appeared to be a magazine, though her face was scrunched up with so much distaste that she might actually have been in pain. From the way her jaw was clenched, he could tell she was grinding her teeth together.
She was reaching for what he assumed was coffee when a young blonde woman detached herself from the crowd of pedestrians and moved to stand over the first girl's table. The blue-haired young woman glanced up at the newcomer, then, after what seemed like an exaggerated pause, suddenly—and violently—shoved the magazine away.
She looked…guilty? Over a magazine? Interesting.
The blue-haired girl—Why in the world would she dye her hair that color? It's kind of pretty, but we're not living in San Francisco—muttered something to her friend, who immediately started…cackling.
No other word for it, not when he could hear it from across the street. Good Lord, the girl sounds like Jed.
Hmmm…maybe I should tell Jed that he apparently sounds like a girl when he laughs? No, better save that one for later.
The girl looked like she wanted nothing more than to find a nice hole to crawl into as the blonde continued laughing hysterically, but she seemed patient enough as she yanked her cackling friend into a chair. Fortunately for them all, the laughter eased as soon as the blonde was sitting, though Blue Hair still seemed embarrassed. And I don't blame her. Was that girl a hyena in her past life? Or maybe she was just Jed's sister. Or his soul mate, but that's too frightening to contemplate, because then they might decide to breed and populate the world with hyena-children.
He blinked, gathering his scattered thoughts and abruptly realizing that he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at two strange girls like some kind of perverted stalker. Now, that just won't do. If I'm going to stalk the girl, I should at least know her name.
Or at least the name of the blonde, because even if she was a hyena, she was lovely even at this distance. I'll just have to keep her from laughing…ever.
And, just like that, he was crossing the street.
Maybe he'd zoned out for longer than he'd thought, because by the time he approached the two, the blue-haired girl was already on her feet, obviously preparing to leave. Her face was still turned away, but as she spun around, he noticed the slender book clutched almost desperately against her chest.
Book worm, he decided, almost disappointed. He didn't particularly like smart women.
He might have given her up, at that, because he really didn't do complicated--and smart almost always meant complicated--but his feet didn't seem to be obeying him. They were still carrying him towards the girl, and he had just enough time to catch her quick farewell to her friend before she crashed into his chest.
He didn't try to catch her. It would have been a horrible cliché, but even so, he was simply too surprised to react in time. It didn't really matter, though, as the blonde was quicker than he could ever have been. She jumped forward, grabbing the other girl's elbows and keeping her from eating pavement.
He was about to play the gentleman and ask the blue-haired girl if she was all right…but his eyes met the blonde's, and all coherent thought left him.
She was beautiful. Not in the flashy, superficial way most of his bimbos were—and yes, he could admit that they were all bimbos now that Mal wasn't around—but in the way that Greek goddesses must have been beautiful. She was flawless, if somewhat intimidating for it, and even with the hyena laugh, he almost asked for her number.
Her glare stopped him.
…the hell?
The blonde's face had gone completely hard, and she was staring at him with so much loathing that he started wondering when he'd killed her best friend or run over her puppy. What mental asylum did this one escape from?
I don't do crazy, either. What's her deal?
Any attraction died.
It was a relief to tear his eyes from her and turn with false concern towards her blue-haired friend. "Are you all right, miss?" He forced a smile to his lips.
The girl with the blue hair looked up.
He heard her breath catch as she stared up at him, but he hadn't really noticed, because both his lungs and his heart had completely stopped working.
Even if the blonde hadn't been crazy, he'd have forgotten her anyway.
She's gorgeous.
Who'd have thought that the insane blonde goddess would have an even more stunning friend?
He couldn't help studying—all right, staring at—her. He still thought that she wasn't flashy—though she should have been, with that hair—but he no longer knew why that was a bad thing. This girl didn't need to flaunt herself to get attention; she probably had every male in a five-mile radius dropping at her feet every time she went out in public. Beside her, even the most attractive of his women seemed…fake.
He'd never seen eyes like hers on anyone. If it hadn't been another cliché, he might have insisted—why would he be insisting, and to whom?—that they sparkled. He looked into them and thought of the ocean, of a cloudless summer sky, of…
He needed to stop before he started drooling. What was wrong with him?
Zoicite took a hasty step back, cleared his throat rather uncomfortably and tried not to notice how both women were gaping at him. Do I have something stuck to my face? The blonde was also still glaring at him, he noted, and if anything, her anger seemed only to have grown in the seconds since he'd first literally bumped into them. He could hear her teeth grinding together, and her fingers were digging so hard into the blue-haired girl's arms that he knew they'd leave bruises.
As for the other girl…
Maybe she was just naturally pale, but even so, nobody should be that white. She didn't have any color at all in her face, and he wondered if she felt as sick as she looked. For a moment, he actually wondered if she was about to puke on him.
Not the way I want her to introduce herself, that's for sure. He took another step back.
The blue-haired girl seemed steady enough on her feet, by now, but she hadn't pulled away from the blonde. She only continued staring up at him, her mouth hanging slightly open.
It should have been unattractive. It wasn't.
Silence stretched out between them.
Awkward much? "I'm terribly sorry about that, miss," he finally muttered, the words sounding forced, even to him. "Are you all right?"
You already asked her that, you moron. At least say something new!
He was acting like a nervous, lovesick teenager with his first serious crush. He mentally shook himself, mustered up his most charming smile and used it to hide his agitation.
She didn't seem to notice the smile. She was still ogling him, though the perfect skin on her forehead was crinkling with her sudden frown. She whispered something, and he thought it might have been his name.
Nah. Couldn't be. I'd have remembered someone like her. And how else could she know me, if we haven't actually met? I'm not famous like Mal.
Infamous, maybe, but that's not the same thing.
"Have we met?"
He felt like a fool for asking, though he hadn't been able to help himself. The blonde was making him positively twitchy, but he'd do anything to prolong his conversation with her friend.
I'm so pathetic, but I don't think I really care right now. Gods, those eyes…
The blonde answered for her, and when she did, her voice was laced with so much venom that he actually took another step back.
"Yes, we've met," she hissed, sparks practically shooting from her blue eyes.
He sent her another mega-watt smile, though it was completely fake. This girl scared him, and nobody could give a sincere smile when faced with that much loathing. "I'm terrible with names," he told her, trying to keep his voice soothing and friendly. "Please forgive me." He held out a hand to the blonde, deciding it would be better to calm this raging psychopath before he spoke to his true interest. "I'm Zachary Taylor."
The blonde rolled her eyes, though he thought something in her face had sharpened, for all that. "Of course you are." The disgust in her voice was palpable.
He raised an eyebrow, forced himself not to react for fear of upsetting the blue-haired beauty. "And you are?"
Blonde Psycho's glare intensified, though he wouldn't have thought that could even be possible. "Not interested."
I wasn't really talking to you, psycho. He knew better than to say it, though he couldn't help glancing over at her friend once more.
The blonde apparently didn't like that, because she sent another glare of disgust his way, then suddenly spun on her heel and began marching in the opposite direction. She hadn't released her friend, however, and the blue-haired girl squeaked in surprise as she was dragged along in Crazy's wake. "Mi—"
The blonde suddenly stiffened, her head whipping around so quickly that he wondered if she'd hurt herself. Her blue eyes had darkened with absolute fury, her full lips pressing into a hard, grim line.
At least she's not glaring at me, this time.
And she wasn't. Her blue-haired friend had taken the brunt of the ire, which must have been why she'd suddenly choked off whatever she'd been about to say.
Blue was looking guilty again, even horrified. Why? Because she almost told me Crazy's name? Why would I care? Why would they care if I knew it?
What was that about?
The anger in the blonde's face hadn't eased in the slightest, but she must have seen the honest chagrin in Blue's expression, because she only sighed and started moving away again. She even released her friend, though the other girl apparently no longer needed to be dragged.
Neither woman looked back before they disappeared into the crowds blocking the sidewalk, but Zoicite wouldn't have chased after them even if they had.
Though, oh, how he wanted to.
He sighed, tearing his eyes away from the last place he'd seen them, instead glanced down. The magazine was still on the table, open to the last page the blue-haired girl had been reading. He moved closer, curiosity getting the better of him.
And then his eyes widened, surprised laughter bubbling from his chest and easing the tension that had inexplicably formed there when the blue-haired girl had left.
25 Ways to Improve Your Sex Life!
So this was what the girl had been reading! He sent another quick look in the direction the two women had gone, but his gaze no longer held anything more than amusement. I think that girl and I need to get better acquainted.
Complicated, indeed.
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Venus Smurf's Quotes for the Day:
Courtesy of MintChocolate5: You're so stupid, your mother asked you to go buy a color television, and you asked, "What color?"
Courtesy of Sassy-Chan: Employee of the month is a good example of how someone can be both a winner and a loser at the same time.
Courtesy of JadesRose: "I have found men who didn't know how to kiss…but I've always found the time to teach them." Mae West
Courtesy of Venus Smurf: It takes forty-six muscles to frown, but only four to flip 'em the bird...