The second installment of this series gave me a touch of writer’s block (it hurts like bloody hell, doesn’t it?) but I think it turned out nicely. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it. I’d really like your feedback, so please e-mail me at gramarye@rochester.rr.com. Just a few notes: Sorry about the spelling changes from the title page to the story itself. I will always use the Japanese names unless I specifically say so. In this case, Japanese names only! I spent a long time researching fencing to write this story, but you don’t have to be an expert in this martial art to enjoy the story. A few terms: a foil is a special flexible sword used for fencing, “en garde” is literally “On guard” and it signals the beginning of a fight, “touche” means “touch” and is said to inform the loser that they have been hit by a blow of the foil. Most of fencing terminology is in French, if you hadn’t already guessed. On a related note, those of you who have seen the DIC dub and probably most of you who haven’t will absolutely DESPISE me for the last line of the story. All I have to say is lighten up a bit, folks. Like it or lump it, I think I did a pretty good job. And don’t go skipping to the end to read it—it won’t make sense unless you read the entire thing. And as for flames—in the immortal words from Annie, Get Your Gun: (I think) “Anything you can do, I can do better.” Nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah. As always, Sailor Moon was created by Naoko Takeuchi (please tell me I spelled that right) and was brought to North America by the soulless machines at DIC. The royalties alone would put me on Easy Street for the rest of my life, but alas they are not mine. That’s what dreams are for. The First Time I Saw Her... By: Gramarye ------------------------------------------------------------------- Some day you came And I knew you were the one You were the rain, you were the sun But I needed both, ‘cause I needed you You were the one I was dreaming of all my life When it’s dark you are my light But don’t forget Who’s always our guide It is the child in us --Enigma “The Child in Us” The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains -- “What the Thunder Said” T. S. Eliot ------------------------------------------------------------------- Meetings 2: Nephrite and Makoto I have always been a firm believer in the power of fate. While some people may say that we create our own lives by the choices we make and the things we do, I prefer the other version. We are guided to our choices by a destiny that is shaped for us, a destiny that controls our movements and our feelings. The future should never be too random—just enough to keep us alert and on our toes. Maybe I think that way because of my passion for stargazing. Looking up at the heavens, feeling your body dwindling down to an insignificant speck under the cold and impersonal light of the stars...well, I believe that the stars control everything. People always speak of “star-crossed lovers” without stopping to think that perhaps the stars do cross somehow, to prevent what should not be from occurring. Nevertheless, there comes a time in everyone’s life when he or she catches a glimpse of destiny, a sudden insight into a fate that is too often hidden. My time came rather unexpectedly. One day, the notion came into my mind to test myself. No, that’s not the right word...I had to prove myself for some unknown reason. Fencing was my best option. I knew that the martial art would demonstrate that I had the necessary combination of concentration, intelligence, tactics, drive, agility, speed, and strength to excel. (Please excuse my lack of modesty, but I think that the knowledge of one’s self-worth far outweighs the need to be hypocritical by brushing off compliments.) Anyway, I headed for one of the large exercise rooms in the palace on the Earth. I passed by several of my fellow soldiers, most of whom were training in mock fights with staffs and swords. I found a foil and a set of protective clothing, and hurried to change my uniform for the traditional white outfit worn to prevent injury to the participant’s body. By the time I had finished changing, I was filled with a sudden urgency, a drive to hurry and find somewhere to compete. Unfortunately, all of the practice rooms were occupied. I wandered around aimlessly for a few moments. I didn’t want to just barge into a room and demand that its occupants leave, although I had the authority to do so. Besides, you can’t fence alone. I would simply have to find someone else, another fencer who would let me share the room and hopefully give me a good duel. The rooms in the designated exercise area of the Earth palace had small oval windows in the side to let others see if the room in question was free to use. I peered into the closest window. A tall person in full fencing dress was staring into a mirror, entirely engrossed in practicing proper posture. The mesh mask covered his face and head entirely. Perfect. I had found myself a partner. I rapped on the window and the person inside jumped. He whirled around, foil displayed in an attack position, but relaxed when he saw my face in the window. I pointed to my foil, then to him, and grinned. He nodded once, briefly. I pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. The room was painted a blinding shade of white, most likely to get rid of any distractions that would throw a player’s concentration. One wall was entirely paneled with mirrors that could be covered up to protect the fragile surface. The room’s occupant was doing just that, draping white cloths over the reflective glass. “Please forgive my intrusion,” I said in my most polite voice. “I hope I didn’t disturb your practice.” The figure made some sort of ambiguous gesture that I took to mean ‘not at all’. “Would you like to practice with me? That is, if you wouldn’t mind.” I was surprised at the quiet insistence in my voice. After all, did it really matter if I fought a complete stranger? The fencer saluted, almost in jest. I grinned and pulled my long hair back so I could don my mesh mask. I felt like a caged animal as I peered through the tiny holes in the mask. We began the ritual moves with slow and careful motions, almost like a dance. There is less martial and more art in fencing than in most other sports. A perfunctory “En garde” was all we needed. For some time there were no sounds but the shuffling of our feet on the floor and the clashes of our foils as they struck. I had expected a decent fight, yet I found I was in over my head. My opponent was not only strong but swift and agile as well. As soon as I had countered a blow I found others raining down on me from all sides. My opponent made a curious turn of the wrist and a sharp thrust, and I found the point of his foil firmly planted in the center of my chest plate. “Touche,” he said in a rather muffled voice. We stepped back a few paces, stretched a bit, then began again. I took a more aggressive stance, and did not let up. The slithery sound of metal glancing off metal filled my ears as we circled round and round. Suddenly, my opponent lost his footing and staggered, dropping his defenses. I pressed the advantage and managed to hit his left shoulder with a minimum of difficulty. “Touche,” I said, unable to keep a hint of smugness from my tone. My opponent nodded, then immediately stepped back and prepared to fight. I hastily did the same, and with no formalities we started. This time it was a no-holds-barred kind of match; neither of us wanted to give the other a chance to win. Sweat dripped into my eyes, making them burn. This was fencing at its most brutal, a martial art that demanded every ounce of ability the participators had available. For what seemed like hours we circled, an agonizing contest of wills. Finally, I had had enough, and thought to use brute force to drive my opponent to his knees. I blindly leapt forward, and in doing so foolishly turned my ankle. I slipped, skidded, and nearly fell. My opponent, ever ready, quickly jabbed me with his weapon in the upper chest. It was enough to send me tumbling to the ground. I lay there, panting, my ankle throbbing. My opponent stood over me, apparently waiting for me to get up. When I didn’t do so, he hurried over, flipping off his mask as he ran. I nearly had a heart attack. My opponent was not a man, but a young woman who barely looked fifteen. Her face was flushed with the heat of battle (as well as the heat of wearing the stifling mesh mask.) It gave her a fresh, spirited color that I was unaccustomed to in this era when women were supposed to be fragile and dainty. Her chocolate-colored hair was pulled away from her face in a high ponytail. A few loose strands trailed down her cheeks, framing her powerful features. Concerned brown eyes scanned me from top to toe; her gaze briefly resting on my ankle which was now burning. When they stared into mine, my heart leapt forward in my chest so violently that I felt my chest plate shake from its force. This girl, no, lady, was different. She was a true Amazon, a warrior goddess who found amusement by challenging mere mortals to contests they had no hope of winning. And for some reason I didn’t mind it a bit. I think that, at that time, I was hit by the powerful force known to the French as the coup du foudre. It literally translates to “hit by thunder”. Looking at the lady’s face, I immediately realized why the phenomenon called “love at first sight” is often called the “thunderbolt.” “Are you hurt, sir?” she asked, startling me and disrupting my thought process. Her voice was rich; it made the small room echo like a gong. “I-I’m fine, miss. I just...twisted my ankle a bit, it’s nothing.” Like a typical male, I didn’t want to show pain in front of a beautiful lady. Especially not one who had just defeated me. “That doesn’t look like nothing to me, sir. You need some medical attention. I’ll take you to my friend Ami-chan——she’s good at treating the injured. She should be in her rooms.” I was confused. “Who is this ‘Ami-chan’, miss? The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.” “There’s no time to talk now. After she sees you, then we’ll talk.” I allowed myself to be helped to my feet with only a few half- hearted protests. She draped one of my arms over her shoulders, and we began to move slowly out of the room. At first I was afraid to hurt her by using her as a crutch, but the grating pain in my ankle soon won over my pride and I gratefully surrendered to her aid. Her strength shouldn’t have startled me, but it did. Fortunately for my bruised ego, no one was in the Palace halls. The residents and guests were all dressing for an extremely formal state dinner, one that I feared I would be unable to attend. All of the servants were in the banquet hall, the kitchens, or the reception rooms getting everything ready. We were a strange sight...two people in white fencing dress making our way at a snail’s pace through the halls. With my companion’s help, I hobbled through these silent corridors for what felt like an eternity, until she abruptly halted and I nearly fell for a third time. “Here we are,” she said brightly. We were standing in front of a richly carved pair of doors in the hall reserved for visiting dignitaries. My ministering angel (now where had that sobriquet come from?) rapped lightly on the door, and a voice from within called out, “Yes, come in.” She pushed open the doors, and half-dragged, half-pushed me into the plush room. It appeared to be a large sitting room, with a balcony that opened out onto the gardens of the palace. Books were stacked on every available table. Filmy draperies hung in front of an exit which I assumed led to the occupant’s private quarters. I collapsed inelegantly into a soft chair in the center of the room. My ministering angel looked around, then called out: “Ami-chan, I need your help.” With a soft swish of gauzy fabric, the draperies that concealed the inner room from the outer room floated aside. A young lady in a deep blue evening gown breezed into the room. I knew her instantly— she was the young Princess of Mercury. The short blue hair was a dead giveaway. She was smiling at first, until she saw me. “Mako-chan! What happened?” she cried. My ministering angel (Mako-chan? What kind of name was that?) grinned sheepishly. “We were fencing, and...well...” “No, don’t tell me.” The Princess Mercury walked over to me, infinite compassion in her sad blue eyes. “It’s General Nephrite, ne?” My sense of machismo picked a simply wonderful time to reassert itself. “Yes, my lady. I don’t wish to trouble you over what is only a slight injury, but— ” “That is not a ‘slight injury’, General. Your ankle is badly sprained, if not broken. Mako-chan doesn’t know her own strength sometimes.” She sighed, and lightly ran her hand over my tender foot. “I don’t think it is broken. You’ll have to tie it up tightly to be able to walk on it, however.” “My lady—” She ignored me. “Mako-chan, grab a sheet from the linen chest in my boudoir and tear it into strips. I can fashion a make-shift bandage that will suffice for the time being.” When the other girl had left, the Princess of Mercury sat down on the floor beside my chair. She took my wounded ankle in her small white hands. “You mustn’t be ashamed, General,” she said quietly. “I have had to bandage up at least five of her opponents, all from different sports. She used to complain that back on Jupiter no one would compete with her. Not out of fear that they would hurt one of royal blood, but that they would be hurt by one of royal blood.” She must have noticed my shocked expression, for I faintly heard her ask, “General? Is something wrong?” I wasn’t listening. I had just begun to comprehend what she had said. My ministering angel was a Princess, with a capital P. I had fought the Princess of Jupiter, one of the four protectors of the Moon Princess. The Moon Princess was briefly visiting the palace on a “goodwill embassy” with her companions. To make matters worse, I suddenly remembered that at tonight’s state banquet I was supposed be the escort of...you guessed it. The Princess Jupiter. Of all the ways the stars could shape my destiny—— “Here you are, Ami-chan.” My ministering angel had returned, strips of a white bed sheet draped over her right arm. In her left hand she carried a silver bucket filled with ice. “I found some ice, too. You used some on that nice man from Neptune, I remember. What happened then? You never told me.” “Mako-chan, you nearly fractured the poor man’s wrist.” “Well, it was his own fault. If he hadn’t lifted his elbow off the table, I wouldn’t have slammed his arm down so hard. The man didn’t know how to arm wrestle in the first place.” The Princess Jupiter was indignant. She turned to me with a scowl. “And don’t you start saying it’s my fault for hurting you. You shouldn’t have tried that idiotic feint.” I was too bewildered too reply. The Princess Mercury took one of the bandages and began to wrap it around my ankle. Her deft hands made short work of the job. When she had finished, she sat back on her heels and flexed her fingers. “Mako-chan, I want you to ice the General’s ankle. Keep it elevated and don’t let the ice come in contact with the bare skin. He doesn’t need frostbite on top of everything else.” She stood up. “I’ll find Rei-chan and Mina-chan and tell them where you are.” With that, the Princess Mercury strode out of the room. The Princess Jupiter muttered a few choice words, then put some ice in a small square of the bed sheet and placed it on my ankle. She held it there with a touch that was surprisingly gentle. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly, General. Ami-chan is right. I don’t know my own strength,” she said sadly. “My lady...” I began. “Stop that nonsense, General. I hate being formal. Makoto will do. After all, it is my name.” “If you wish, my...I mean, Makoto. Believe me, I will be fine. My ankle doesn’t even hurt anymore.” All right, so I lied through my teeth. It did hurt. Yet with my ministering angel there, the pain was lessening rapidly. “You are a very bad liar, General.” Great—I was an idiot and a liar. “If I can call a princess by her given name, then surely she can use my name. Please call me Nephrite.” “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nephrite.” “The pleasure is all mine, Makoto.” We sat together in a comfortable silence for several minutes. The ice was numbing my ankle nicely; the pain was nearly gone. The stars work in mysterious ways—pain may bring pleasure, love can follow suffering. If a sprained ankle was all I needed to meet this heavenly woman, I would accept the pain. Gladly. “A penny for your thoughts, Nephrite.” “Hmm?” My mind swam out of its reverie. Makoto’s smirk was sarcastically serious. “You appear to be in deep thought. Might I inquire what fascinating subject you are presently contemplating?” “I was trying to come up with a word to describe you, Makoto.” I immediately bit my tongue. Surprise washed over her face, followed by a brief anger and confusion, and then relaxed into her naturally amiable expression. “Only one word, Nephrite? That must be very difficult.” We were actually flirting. I couldn’t believe it. “Not as difficult as you might think. In fact, I already have a word.” “And what would that be, Nephrite?” My mind raced frantically. I had made it this far by bluff alone, and she had challenged my hand. I’m not entirely sure how the word popped into my head, but I can only thank the stars for the inspiration. Taking a deep breath, I began. “French is the language of fencing—touche, en garde, and so on. It is also the language of love. To describe you, my lady, it is only fitting that I must use French. One word. Une bon mot. ” I paused, unsure of whether to continue. She smiled, and I felt myself melt like a sticky sweet in the heat of the sun. “Pray tell me.” “You are perfect, my lady. In French——Parfait.” (Don’t you just HATE me? – Gramarye)