Cross Posted from AO3, back into the world of Mortal Kombat fanfiction, this plot bunny would not leave my mind, so I had to write.
A few words here, there's a few OC characters you'll meet, and other supporting characters, too. I'll be using MK1 designs for all the characters except for Stryker and Kabal, who are in their MK9 and MK11 designs, respectively. Czech is not a language I'm familiar with, so I'm using google for most of these, if I get anything wrong, please feel free to correct me. Also, I am writing Smoke/Tomáš Vrbada with a Czech accent, so that's what I'm hoping you'll be hearing him with in this fic, but if you choose to read his dialogue with Yuri's voice, too, that's fine.
Oh and there's tons of Sailor Moon references in this fic, my OC, Hesperia, is a big fan. Any references to Tuxedo Mask is about her, not the Sailor Moon character.
Anyway, let's party.
Chapter 1: Hesperia, The Evening Star
Chapter Text
Appenzell Village, Switzerland, 8am
Sleep does not come easily. A woman of the night, she returns from a performance and lays face down on her bed in a quaint village in Appenzell, Switzerland. A cool breeze flies through her open windows, it's calming, floating her hair around her.
She recently cut it; hair gets too long when you're dancing. The length of stops at the middle of her neck, a plum maroon, it's cold, but she doesn't regret it. A change is always good, her record label tells her, any shorter and you'd be unrecognizable.
Unrecognizable, hah.
As if no one knows who she is. Tuxedo Mask, she calls her stage name, people get the reference, she throws roses into the crowd during her performances in the clubs. She sings about rabbits on the moon who fell in love with mortal men, about warrior goddesses who forgo love to protect their liege, and how when evil forces stepped into that relationship, the prince and princess were killed.
Jealousy, love, everything in between, what a life, she thought.
"That's why they're in anime and not real life. Falling in love, that ain't for me."
She mumbles this before sleep, a mantra, if she will. It was a silly thought; he went his way, and she went hers. She calls him J. Whatever. At least gives her experience to sing from. He comes to her shows when he's in the area, they're not unfriendly.
But..eh.
With heavy dance beats in the background, who cares about lyrics. When she moves and dances, who cares what she's saying.
There are colorful lights around her, she's on stage, singing and dancing her heart out, legs and hair and fabrics, she spins on the pole, she dances with her background dancers in pretty outfits, pink, teal, white, orange, green, and every night, a girl in the crowd gets her hat.
When she's home, she's her.
Hesperia Sverre.
Originally from Telemark, Norway, she prefers the coldness and quiet serenity of Appenzell, where she landed when she was twelve. Bloodshed and violence have been replaced by the warm lights and dance beats in the nightclub, but experience...
Well, you can't make a top 40 hit about decapitations, that wouldn't go well with the crowd.
She smiles, finally allowing sleep to hit her. Ironic, it's the mayhem that brings about rest.
Sometimes, the memories wake her from her sleep. Sometimes, she hears her own screams in her ears, often, she finds the knife under her pillow attached to the wall, throwing it in her sleep at imaginary ghosts. She remembers his beard, his cackling laugh, the smell of beer and piss...years separated from all this, but it's this in her memories, not the shows.
But today, she sleeps peacefully.
For a few hours at least, until her phone rings. She'd like to ignore it, but she's a working girl. No rest for the wicked, they call it.
"Get yourself ready, Tuxedo Mask, you're on a new mission."
Already dressed in her tux, she smiles and stands on her balcony. A cold breeze flies past her, a memory of what she has now and what she strives to protect.
No one knows the difference between Hesperia and Tuxedo Mask, best to keep it that way when she flies off her balcony and into wind.
Hidden by the darkness, she traverses the Alps where there's a helicopter waiting for her.
Her associates want to talk, but she holds up a gloved hand. As always, her rose daggers are under her sleeves, her associates never steer her wrong, but it's a percentage greater than zero, always be prepared.
Where to today, she asks herself, getting into the helicopter. She has a license, if she needs to take over, she will. But for now, her associates are on the point.
A piece of paper flies through the air in the helicopter and lands in her hand. A tour itinerary, she says, upon looking at it.
Prague, Czech Republic.
She smiles.
Onward to battle.