*Story inserted here*
As a result of a recent attack of mixed cynicism,
flippancy, and sadistic tendencies, I felt the urge to write a story that
was gruesome, disgusting, and very not nice. Admittedly, it’s a deviation
from my usual plots; but then again I never promised that I would be a
good child. If you, the reader, happen to be turned off by gratuitous
violence, a few nasty
words, general apathy, and cruel, malicious perversion of an anime series aimed at the young audience, then you should probably click your browser’s back button right about now. If not, I can’t promise much but I will say that if you leave a hefty chunk of liver in a frying pan on high heat for too long, it will end up having the consistency of a radial snow tire—not
that that has any-thing to do with my story.
I apologize here and now for offending anyone, any time, in any way. I don’t have a vendetta against any of the characters. Heck, I don’t even have a vendetta against DiC, which may surprise the readers of this story. So, minna, just consider this story my method of venting all of my grievances about assorted aspects of the North American Sailor Moon universe and shamelessly rehashing all of the traditional clichés (DiC and otherwise) we have grown to heartily despise.
Disclaimer: Sailormoon isn’t mine. So send
your therapy bills elsewhere.
(or, Amy Anderson and the Division Dilemma)
This is certainly a misunderstanding, and it is destroying us.
-- Franz Kafka
“If you *must* be Sherlock Holmes...I’ll get you a nice little syringe
bottle labeled Cocaine, but for God’s sake leave that violin alone.”
-- Agatha Christie, Partners in Crime
It took a full hour to scrape Darien off the living room ceiling.
Now don’t get me wrong, that’s not exactly how our day was supposed to end up. Young ladies generally don’t spend their free time causing grievous bodily harm to healthy, defenseless young men. Of course, most young ladies don’t have the ability to transform into su-perheroines in scandalously short skirts and go about saving this pa-thetic excuse for a planet time and time again. But that’s beside the point.
The whole situation started when Lita invited Serena, Amy, Raye, Rini, and me over to her apartment to eat a seven-course meal that she had prepared in relatively little time. I think Lita was just desperate for company, because I clearly saw the remains of several Indian take-out boxes in the garbage can. I don’t know where she gets the money to spend on enough food to throw into the bottomless pit that Serena calls a stomach. Her parents must have had either a great life insurance policy or cash hidden under their mattress. Maybe I should offer to help Lita clean up after the others leave.
Surprisingly, Serena dragged Darien over with her. Or maybe that’s not so surprising. After all, they’ve finally made up, he’s not brainwashed, he doesn’t have amnesia, Rini isn’t hanging all over him at the moment, and he isn’t wearing that godawful black turtleneck (don’t get me STARTED about his fashion sense). She was probably internally rejoicing over this incredible stroke of good fortune.
Well, there we were, the seven of us crowded into Lita’s apart-ment. Serena and Rini, ever thoughtful, were arguing over who should sit on Darien’s lap. Serena claimed that since Rini took up the least amount of floor space, it would be only logical for the larger one to share space with “Muffin”. This prompted a few unnecessary comments from Rini about Serena’s size and weight. Serena then launched into a tirade about how Rini should be thankful that she was even invited at all. Names were freely exchanged, along with an airborne object or two. Fortunately, before they turned each other into piles of shredded or ground (your personal preference) meatball, Lita announced that the meal was ready.
I had already had my customary bottled air and fat-free, sugar-free wafer, so I wasn’t hungry. I decided to go sit by the television and admire my perfectly painted nails. Sparkle glitter sparkle, ooh, see, it’s pretty! And Artemis says I have a limited attention span. What does he know? And while we’re on the subject, where is he from? Magical moon kingdom or not, I still don’t know why Her Late Beatific Majesty Queen Serenity chose TALKING CATS as her advisors. But I digress.
Amy, whose job description when we weren’t fighting was basically to make sure that none of us placed our hands on red-hot stoves or drank expired milk, grabbed plates and napkins and set them on the kitchen counter in a precise geometric pattern. She then whipped out a ruler and proceeded to ensure that each plate was six inches away from the counter, and each napkin was two inches away to the left of the plate. Or something like that.
Raye was pretending to be a hot plate by using her pyro powers to heat up what looked like congealed mulligatawny soup. She only succeeded in scorching the kitchen counter and setting off the smoke detector.
Lita, regrettably, had been completely distracted by the floor lamp that was placed in a corner of the living room. Apparently, she had discovered that the lamp looked remarkably like, and I quote, “her old boyfriend Freddy”, and was trying to flirt with it——to no avail.
Once everything had calmed down slightly, we began (I should say, the others began) to eat our Madras beef curry, vindaloo of eggs, and hot chili fish.
Suddenly, Darien cleared his throat.
“Serena,” he said sadly, “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to break up with you.”
Silence. General sweatdrops all around. We all held our breath, waiting for the wails and tears to begin. To my surprise, that didn’t happen.
Serena stood up and took a few steps away from the sofa. She turned around, planted both hands firmly on her hips, and gave her in-constant lover an icy glare.
“Because,” Darien sighed, as if patiently explaining his actions to a very simple child, “I want to see other women.”
“Really.” It was a statement, not a question, and phrased in a voice that was ominously soft. Something in its tone made me back away ever so slightly. Darien, as usual, was oblivious.
“Yep. You’re cute, and all, but this destiny stuff is getting on my nerves again. Besides, I haven’t been AWOL from you in at least two days now, and the continuity people would jump all over me if this keeps up much longer.”
“Darien, now that you aren’t dating Serena, will you go out with me?” asked Rini, dripping saccharine sweetness from every pore.
“Ew! Gross!” Lita shouted, her ample, er, *talent* bouncing uncontrollably.
“No! I had him first, and I should get first choice!” Raye yelled out, making the silverware rattle on the table.
“No way! You already have a boyfriend, that...Chad or something...or whatever he is. Darien’s such a hunkmeister, much better than Freddy and Ken put together. I want to actually HAVE A PART IN THIS SERIES!” Lita’s fists were balled, and she was ready for the kill.
I idly wondered whatever possessed me to give up my first job as a well-franchised if underdeveloped fantasy crime fighter for this.
“Well, I have no time for a boyfriend, what with computer class, regular school, Scout duties, the novel I am writing, and the hydrogen bomb I am attempting to build in my spare time out of old refrigerator parts. Darien IS relatively low maintenance, after all, since he only appears for approximately two minutes and forty-seven seconds each episode. It is only logical that he should be mine.” Amy smiled brightly, and ducked to avoid the assorted objects thrown at her by Raye, Lita, and Rini.
I wasn’t too interested in Darien. There was no reason for me to be tied up with a boyfriend when promiscuity offered more options. Besides, it was almost time for my monthly trip into the rosy colored world of my insanity...not what you are thinking, you pervert. Not THAT monthly trip.
But anyway, back to the argument, which had progressed into something like this:
“I’ll fry you alive, spore!”
“I’d like to see you try, you old bag!”
“Rini, you really should see a psychiatrist about your Electra complex.”
“Darien doesn’t want YOU, pyro. He wants someone who’s just TOO cute and sweet for words!”
“Are you looking to be roasted like a cute and sweet marshmallow, little girl?”
“I can divide by zero!”
The last was whispered, but it managed to halt the heated discussion. In a strangely synchronized movement, we all turned to stare at the person who had spoken.
It was Serena. But somehow, something was different about her...oh! That was it!
Serena’s eyes had turned red.
I’m not saying that she was teary-eyed over Darien. I’m saying that the irises of her eyes, which had once been a peaceful cerulean blue, were now bright, bloody, crimson pools of RED. She looked like a grown-up and extremely pissed off version of Rini. Slowly, very slowly, she extended a thin, pale arm and pointed a long finger at Darien.
I don’t really know what happened next. I just remember this extremely bright light filling the room, then a really loud noise. Maybe I flung up my hands to protect my face. Maybe Raye shouted something. Maybe Rini screamed. Whatever we did, it didn’t amount to much.
When I was finally able to open my eyes, I discovered that Amy was sprawled face-down five feet away from where she had been sitting; Raye was draped over the hissing, smoking, charred remains of Lita’s television; Lita was vainly trying to extricate herself from the mass of pots and pans that had fallen on her; Rini had been flung clear across the room and was covered with dirt from one of Lita’s large potted plants; I was bleeding profusely from my nose and was pinned to the floor by a large piece of what had once been the sofa; there was tandoori chicken splattered everywhere; and Serena was spread-eagled against the wall on the opposite side of the room.
As for Darien...
Well, as I said before, it took a full hour to scrape Darien off the living room ceiling.
And the Lord did grin, and there was much rejoicing throughout the land.