Disclaimer: All characters and locations belong to their respective owners.

9.
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
(Our Troubles Are All the Same)

Mamoru nearly tripped over his feet. What did she just say?

What do you mean 'repeat offender'? He forced his legs to continue their motion as they guided him toward a bar sectioned off with rope dividers at the back of the arcade. He steadied his smile's trembling. I'm talking to you!

No response.

Answer me!

Nothing. The voice, Sakura Kyouko's voice, had receded.

His fists clenched in his pockets. Get a hold of yourself, Mamoru! That couldn't have been her! It's just your imagination, that's it! And stress! Boy howdy, how can you not forget about the stress, you daft worrywart? He took a seat at the counter, and forgoing proper etiquette slouched forward and rested his elbows on the surface; he didn't feel like being the calm, collected senpai/onii-chan people looked up to. "I need a drink," he told Motoki.

"What would you like?"

"Here." He dug around and dropped a couple wrinkled bills. "Give me some scotch, cask edition."

Motoki grimaced. "We don't sell hard liquor here."

"What about that bottle of Zinfandel? The one you opened on Golden Week, you still got that?"

"Yeah, but it's not much. There's only enough for a small glass."

"Hit me. And keep the change."

Motoki snatched the cash and slipped them into the register. He took the key hanging round his neck, bent low, and opened a cabinet that was under the counter. He came back up with the bottle of sparkling red wine in one hand and a chute glass in the other. "So," Motoki began warily, "what's on your mind? What did you see with this psychometry?" He offered the filled glass as one would hold a stick over a dead body.

"I don't think even you would make sense of it," said Mamoru as he accepted the object.

"Well we won't know 'til we try, right? Who knows, I might be able to help."

A sigh. "I suppose you're right." He took a sip and smacked his lips. "Stop me if I'm going too fast."

So he recounted to his friend the visions he had witnessed, of the girls who were at one moment enjoying themselves at an arcade center and in the next coiled in suffocating tension in a dank, shadowed alley. He told Motoki of Sakura Kyouko, the girl who he saw through her eyes the world, how her speaking to the cat-thing galvanized her to repeatedly smash it against the brick wall until its skull cracked and blood and spinal fluid caked her callused hand that she displayed to those same girls as if it were a trophy.

"And get this," Mamoru added, and leaning forward he tacked on in a hushed, conspiratorially voice, "She said she was a 'repeat offender'. Can you believe the gall she has to say such a thing? She could be the person who attacked Usako, and no one but us is aware of it!"

"I don't know," Motoki said. "It all sounds very farfetched. If you were a writer for Sunrise, you could opt to write a grim-dark version of Lyrical Nanoha and it would be an instant hit."

"Ha, ha, ha. No really, what do you think? Is she"— he glanced around, wondering if the place was still empty (it was), then continued with, "the one we're looking for? She did say she was a repeat offender."

Motoki shuffled from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. "Well if that's the case, then we've got a problem. Where exactly were these events taking place at?"

"I couldn't tell you. I didn't recognize the area, but the buildings are much larger than they are here. I even saw a couple wind turbines."

"Wind turbines, huh. There aren't many places around here that use them." Motoki scratched absently at the stubble-flecked chin. "Let me think...wait, there is one city. It's in the northeast, a little ways out from here. What was it called again…?"

Tell him Mitakihara.

Mamoru nearly spat wine all over the countertop. What—

Tell the Canadian it's Mitakihara.

Motoki's not Canadian! He scolded, brow twitching. He swallowed and felt the wine dribble down his throat.

"…It's on the tip of my tongue," Motoki was mumbling under his breath.

"Do you mean Mitakihara?" Mamoru suggested.

Motoki snapped his fingers. "There we go! Good ole Mitakihara, leading city of the most up-to-date technology and latest pop culture trends! I almost gave up trying to conjure the name. It's a good thing you're here, Mamoru!"

Yes. Yes it is. You're a good boy, Chiba Mamoru. I should like to give you a treat.

Oh, shut up. He rolled his eyes. I'm not a dog.

What would you like? Do you like taiyaki?

It's okay, I guess.

Well, do you or don't you?

I've only had it a couple times. I don't eat snacks very often.

Then ask for pocky. Chocolate pocky.

I'm not hungry.

Ask him anyway.

And I should ask him, why?

Because it's my favorite and because I said so. Or would you rather I show you another time I killed that 'poor, defenseless' putty-tat?

Another time? Good Gods, he didn't want to go through it again. She could annoy him all she wanted, she could do anything. (I'll do whatever you say, Just don't make me watch it over and over and—)

Ask for some pocky. Go on. I'm not going to trick you. I promise.

Are you sure?

Just ask for it.

Okay okay, don't be so testy. "I'll take some pocky, Motoki. Make it chocolate." He fetched out the yen and a moment later the box was in front of him. "Thanks, man."

Yeah, thanks a million. Now go ahead and put it away, Mamoru. Let's save it for later. Mamoru stared down at the box, uncertain. It's a box of pocky, man. It won't bite. Pick it up. He stared at it some more, then with great reluctance put his palm on top of it. Nothing happened.

See, what did I tell you? I kept my word.

You're just playing nice.

And you're being paranoid.

Because I know what you are, and as soon as I see your face on the streets I'm calling the police.

Motoki recognized the faraway glaze in his friend's eyes. "Mamoru, what's wrong—"

Mamoru made a shushing sound and put a finger to his lips. Then he listened.

A derisive bark of laughter resounded. Call the police? On me? Where are you gonna find me, huh? Where would you look? Don't say shit when you have nothing to back it up!

They will find you. And if they don't, then rest assured, Sakura Kyouko, I will. His grip tightened round the glass, knuckles flaring white-hot.

You're such a dumbass, the voice grumbled. For a guy studying to get a PhD, you're not very smart.

What did you say?

Screw that head of yours back on and wake up! You're so worked up about your girlfriend's condition you can't even think straight! Hell, you're so damn set on locking my ass behind bars when you don't even know who I am!

But you said you're a repeat offender, so that must mean—

I am not a criminal. I've stolen food, stolen money, and beaten the crap out of people for saying the wrong things, but I am far from it. I would never stoop to that level.

Then if you're not a criminal, what are you?

I told you, I'm a repeat offender. And, if I go by what I'm reading, so are you.

The frown on Mamoru's brow steepened. What the hell was she talking about? She didn't know him like he didn't know—

A wave of cold, undiluted dread stole at his breath. No…she didn't mean….

You're just like me, she whispered in awe. No, that's not true. You're like us. All of you. A tiny, mirthless giggle. You even have similar contractors. It's as though the Fates have brought us together. Except….

Except…? She did not respond. Except what, Kyouko? No answer. His mind was eerily quiet. He expelled a noiseless breath. "She's gone."

"What did she say?" Motoki asked quietly.

"She said" he peered into the chute glass, studying the befuddled countenance staring back "she said she's a repeat offender but at the same time not a criminal." He looked at his friend curiously. "How does that make sense?"

Motoki shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. The way you – she – put it is like a gambler saying he's not addicted when it's clear to those who know him tell him otherwise. Maybe this Kyouko person is in denial."

Mamoru nodded. "Maybe. Or…maybe she's telling the truth. I don't know her, and I never met her in person." He finished off the wine and pushed the glass toward Motoki. "We can't prove she attacked Usagi. 'If there isn't a body, then there is no proof the person is dead', so the saying goes."

"That's not always the case. Look at that one trial in America not too far back, of that one mother accused of killing her little girl. The jury found her not guilty, but almost everyone nationwide believed otherwise. They didn't need the defense telling them the child accidently drowned in the pool or the grandfather having allegedly played a part in hiding the body. They connected Dot A with Dot B and agreed upon the conclusion the prosecution arrived at, even if some of us are aware that the real story may never be told."

"Do you think we'll ever learn what went on between Usagi and her assailant?" Why it hadto be Usagi? If this person was a new enemy taking a page or two from Galaxia when she had him hunted down for his Golden Star Seed?

"At the rate things are going? Honestly, it's very hard to say. You'd think a lot would happen in nine, ten days."

"Well we can't just start point fingers at the police and blame them for not trying. Azabu Juuban is only one city in a jurisdiction of other cities. Teguchi and Kenba and the rest of them" and here Mamoru swallowed back the bitter taste accumulating on his tongue "they're all we've got." And if they can't do it, what good are the chances if I and the Sailor Senshi take it upon ourselves?

"Point taken," Motoki snorted. "But not everyone is going to think the same thing. Even if Usagi's case doesn't become high-profile, people are going to be watching the police like hawks. The longer it draws out, the less amount of knowledge they can procure, the more impatient folk will get. And when that happens…."

He let it linger, but Mamoru understood the implications. The trial in the States had pissed everyone off so much they thirsted for blood and iron-fisted justice, and that had taken three years for the emotional dam to burst. How long would it take for the fuse in Usagi's family to diminish before they communicated with thinly veiled threats and fisticuffs?

Probably much sooner than anyone can anticipate.

He drained the remaining contents and licked his lips. He stared at the counter for a few seconds, then looked at Motoki and said, "You got another bottle back there?"

"No, man. That was all I had."

"Damn." He set the glass down and slid it forward into Motoki's waiting hands. "I hope I didn't take too much of your time."

"Nah, it's cool. The head honcho's not coming in 'til noon, so I've got the run of the place until then."

"Still got work to do, I bet."

"Yeah," Motoki sighed dramatically. "Oh well, the paycheck will be impressive." He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

Mamoru smirked. "When has it never?"

"Aha, there he is!" Motoki applauded, smiling widely. "There's the Mamo-chan I know and love!"

"Dear Gods, man, don't call me that. It's cute when Usagi says it, but coming from you it's just creepy."

Motoki busted out laughing. "I figured you'd say that." He held a fist up to Mamoru. "Put 'er there, tiger. If you're ever in trouble, you can count on me. Friends gotta stick together no matter what, am I right?"

Mamoru chuckled. "Too right." He made his hand into a fist, and both men bumped knuckles. "I know this doesn't change the things going on…but I feel a little better. Thanks, Motoki."

"No problem. Ah, here come our first customers. You'll have to excuse me, Mamoru. Duty calls." He deposited the wine bottle and glass and slid from behind the counter into the lobby.

Mamoru waved a dismissive hand. "It's still early. I think I'll stick around for a while. You know, to catch my bearings on everything."

"You can stay as long as you like; you and the rest of the girls. My doors are always open to you."

"I'll make sure I pass the word on when I see them." By then Motoki was already engaged in conversation with the customers, gesticulating as if he were giving a lecture at a school auditorium. That was fine with Mamoru. He had other, more important things on his plate.

Like Sakura Kyouko and her 'repeat offender' comment. Did that make her a post-rebirth earthling? She had mentioned the Senshi shared contractors similar to one she was in connection to. If indeed the Fates had brought all of them together, did that make her a Sailor Soldier as well? And who was her contractor? Mamoru was aware the felines from the planet Mau were renowned druids and shamans who made pacts with elementals and ancestral spirits, but he had never encountered any other Mau-cat aside from Luna, Artemis, and their future daughter Diana in this life or in the previous.

Then again, the Moon was a melting pot of alien races both sentient and sapient: cultures that became one with the earth and the stars, cultures that carved totems from trees grown and nurtured from mana, cultures that offered sacrifices of flesh and blood to shape-shift into primordial, animal forms. These were things Mamoru recalled in phantom wisps, borne from dreams – memories – of a time ancient and forgotten, when the Kingdom was in its Golden Age and its alliance with Earth was not fractured by suspicion, prejudice, and, ultimately, war.

So what did this all mean? Since she had a contractor and was already in the know about all there was to learn about Chiba Mamoru and his friends, what did that make her? A friend? An enemy? Or a bystander waiting for the perfect moment to step onto the center stage?

Mamoru drummed his fingers. Except, she had said. Except what? What was different about her than him and the girls?

He hummed low in his throat. He reached down and patted the box of chocolate pocky still sitting on the counter.

No images, no voices, no sound. Nothing.

He sighed. Maybe if he hadn't been such an ass to her…but he had the feeling she wasn't going to tell him anytime soon, regardless of his behavior. She sounded like that kind of girl.

True to his word, Mamoru stayed at Crown Arcade a couple hours, having small-talk with Motoki and customers young and old; and all the while he wondered how things would play out in the days to come.