#005: THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY
-Come To My Apartment-

Chapter Five of Sailors Knights and Masks is dedicated to Erin Gayle. Flame on, Erin. :)

Farley slumped into her normal booth at the Cest La Vie, clutching a pack of cigarettes from the machine in the lobby. Ripping it open with jittery hands, spilling cigarettes across the table, she stuck one in her mouth, dropped the pack, and dug in her pockets for a lighter. Finding nothing, Farley cursed intensely. Then, suddenly, a flame leaped up in front of her face. She leaned into it desperately, closing her eyes.... It could have been a three-alarm blaze or a sulphurous eruption from the depths of Hades and she wouldn't have cared.... Sucking in the nicotine, Farley leaned back and let the jitters play themselves out.

Finally, she opened her eyes. In the seat across from her sat one of the regulars at the Cest La Vie; a person of long acquaintance. "Thanks." Farley grated, looking down at the table.

"You're welcome." he said, pale fingers closing an engraved silver lighter with a harsh, scraping click. Pale blue-grey eyes the color of smoke raked Farley, taking in her miserable appearance, and he took a long, genteel drag on his own cigarette. Farley winced inwardly; how was it that he did that to her? She stared back at him, smoking carelessly, and brushed the loose cigarettes on the table into her purse with one hand.

She didn't know his name, but she'd always thought of him as Frost. It wasn't just his coloration that had earned him the moniker. She'd heard others call him The Smoker, but had always figured she didn't have a lot of room to talk around that issue. What Farley knew of Frost was that he was cold, bitter cold.

Studying him, Farley realized with a twisted smile that Frost could almost be an inverted copy of Moruda-san. Same hard eyes, hiding something; the same sharp good looks, though Frost's suit was a little more sharply tailored. Altogether, Frost was the more striking of the two. But really, the two couldn't be more different. After all, Moruda was a Tux, and Frost... well.

Frost was evil.

Farley didn't usually report on evil; evil didn't want the love of the public. Evil wasn't quite so flamboyant. And even though it was a fact of life that Tokyo was beseiged by a thousand madmen, mages and overhormonal extraterrestrials, it was also a fact that no one who lived there wanted to hear about it. But Farley knew they were there; queens and generals, aliens and mages, dark lords lurking in the shadows... Just a few more reasons she couldn't afford to play by civilian rules. Farley was no victim.

Perhaps that's why Frost was attracted to her. "So, Farley, how's business?" he asked.

Farley shivered. "Business is business."

"And the new generation?"

She looked up at him sharply. "What? Who wants to hear about them? Nowadays people want to see Sailors who fill out their fukus a little more, if you know what I mean."

"And you think my business is cutthroat." Frost smiled. "But it's going well for me, Farley. One of my colleagues was recently... demoted. I'm moving up in the heirarchy."

Farley smiled easily. "It won't last, you know... When are you going to douse your head and repent?"

"When you stop drinking." he said, a remote edge in his voice.

"No deal. I'm not a part of your equation." Farley shook her head. "It's between you and whichever Sailors Knights and Masks-"

Frost reached across the table and laid his hand, cool and immobile as marble, on Farley's. "You could be part of my equation, Farley. Have you given any thought to my proposal?"

She gritted her teeth. "You were serious about that, then."

"I was."

She hissed a breath through her teeth. "How could I? Like I said, it won't last."

"It'll last longer than anything you know." he said in a low tone. "Evil is the only constant, Farley. Join me, work by my side. I can give you power!" Farley's hand grew colder. She almost couldn't feel her fingers. "With that, plus your spirit, your tenacity, we could-"

"No!" Farley jerked her hand away. "I'm sorry... but no. I can't be a part of this. I can't be involved." Dammit, why did she feel like a liar? She stared down at the table, rubbing her half-frozen hand.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Frost stand. He blew smoke into the air. "One day you will cross the line, Farley. And that day is coming."

She looked up.

He was gone.

Farley flagged down a waitress and ordered a drink.

As she waited for it to arrive, she sighed and pulled out her laptop. Regardles of what she'd told Frost, she she still had to write up the new generation. It'd be good... she didn't have any facts yet, but she could still talk around it, build up some interest. Do Sailor Absolut and Sailo-O-Rama this week, print the teaser next week and sell a lot of papers the week after next. It would work. And maybe she could put Moruda on the new generation. He could earn his keep and stay out of her hair. It would all work out just fine.

Farley worked the morning away, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette and nursing a glass of Scotch. By the time the pack lay crumpled and empty, it was lunchtime, and she was done with her stories. Due to her rather hasty departure from her apartment this morning, she'd left her art supplies at home; well, she'd stop by and pick them up on the way to the curry place. Then she'd lunch with Moruda, get the Hitsuji info, and spend the afternoon sketching Sailors, Knights and Masks. In the evening, she could contact the Moon Shadow Gunman and set up a meeting with Hitsuji's prince, Tuxedo-Farmboy- whatever the hell his name was. Hopefully the Princess would be easy to find; then Tux would be happy and it would be over.

Unaccountably, Farley's conscience nagged at her. And you told Frost you weren't involved. Oh, come on, she responded to herself, it's not as if lying to an evil Overlord is actually lying! Furthermore, it's not like I want to help the farmboy... but then, it's not as if I fought him off with a stick... dammit, dammit, dammit... She chugged the last finger or so of Scotch and slammed her glass down, silencing the voices for a brief moment by virtue of the fire in her throat and gut. Standing, she walked ever-so-steadily to the door.

Someone was in her apartment when she got there; a shivering, slime-covered, bleeding body, huddled in the splintered wreckage of a cheap coffee table. Teeth chattering, a half-unconscious, almost unrecognizable Fatale Beauty of the Nega-Comet shrank away from the sound of Farley shutting her front door.

"Shit-" said Farley, dropping her things. "the bitch is in shock." Not wasting time turning on any lights, she hustled past Fatale into her bathroom, pulling a few large bath towels from underneath her sink. Re-entering the living room, she stared down at the beauty, bleeding green onto her carpet. Something was different... but she couldn't take the time to figure it out now. "Fatale?" Farley said firmly, tossing a few towels over the violet-haired villianess for warmth and modesty's sake, and scrubbing the slime and green blood off her shoulders and back with the rest. Most of the cuts were just shallow scrapes; it didn't look as though she was seriously injured. "Fatale, talk to me. What's going on? Who dumped you here?"

"...who?" Fatale looked up at Farley, her purple eyes unfocused and glassy in the dim light from the living-room window. Her breathing came raggedly in gasps, and she clutched at Farley's arm desperately, pulling herself into a sitting position, into Farley's arms.

Quietly, she began to cry.

"Oh God..." Farley whispered harshly, her arms closing around the towels and the ice-cold Fatale. "Hey, hey... it's all right. It's all right." Farley's body curled against Fatale's, her warmth conveying itself to the stunned villianess, and after an unknowable amount of time, she stopped shivering. The worst of the cold seemed to be gone. Farley sighed deeply, and leaned back slightly. Her face was only a few inches away from Fatale's.

Suddenly, Farley's lips parted involuntarily as she realized just what had escaped her attemtion earlier. Brushing a matted lock of Fatale's hair away from her forehead, she grimaced in sympathetic misery and looked away.

The ebony comet on Fatale's forehead was gone.

Farley stood, and went into her bedroom. When she emerged again, her bloodstained blouse had been replaced by a fresh one, and she was carrying an armful of clothes. Meanwhile, Fatale had seemingly regained her equilibrium, and was standing, a towel wrapped around her.

Farley dropped the layered outfit she'd quickly assembled into the couch. "Put these on." she said. "I'll get you a drink."

Fatale nodded, wobbling slightly.

Her hands slightly slimy (what the hell was that stuff?) Farley went into the kitchen, washed up, and took her time putting a kettle of water on to boil. Fatale probably felt like something stronger than cocoa right now, but it probably wouldn't be too good for her, in her present condition.

Soon, Farley heard rustling, and peeked around the doorway cautiously. Fatale was dressed in Farley's sweatpants and sweatshirt, curled up on the couch using the last of the towels to dry her hair.

Silently, Farley crossed the living room, turning on the light, and sat next to her.

She waited.

"I came here to talk to you." Fatale finally whispered. Delicately; sweetly. It was almost appealing now that there wasn't an amused cruelty behind every word.

"I listen better when people don't break my stuff." Farley gestured to the coffee table.

"It wasn't me." Fatale's lips trembled. "It was Wycked... that bitch. That tramp!" she cried. A few tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her porcelain cheek. "She said... she said I'd gone over, that I didn't deserve to serve Her Darkness, that she could do better." She let out a few harsh sobs. "She won't, of course. I can see that now. No one will." Her face shifted to an expression of fierce pride. "I did as well as anyone. I served Her Darkness as long as I could..." She faltered, her voice breaking off. "...but now what am I going to do?" She let out a wail of pain, burying her face in her hands. "I have nothing! No one... I am no one..."

Farley looked away. What could she possibly say? In the kitchen, the kettle of hot water on the stove whistled. She got up to get it.

She came back out with a cup of cocoa, and handed it to Fatale, who was staring in despair at an empty wall.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" she asked the pale teal-skinned woman.

Fatale curled her hands around the mug, sniffing it cautiously. "You seemed like... like someone who knew what she wanted." She cocked her head. "After that, I watched you... last night and this morning. Even though your life pretty much sucks rocks," she sniffled. "...at least you know what you want. You're not taking orders from anyone."

"Well... neither are you, now." Farley pointed out quietly.

"No." Fatale looked at her bleakly. "I'm not." Tears began to slip from her eyes again, and she raised one hand bewilderedly to her cheek. Moving on instinct, Farley nestled up next to Fatale again, and wrapped her arms around her waist. Fatale felt Farley's warm breath on her ear and neck, and relaxed against her, again taking advantage of her body's warmth.

Trying to keep the tears from her own eyes, Farley breathed in deeply through her nose, enjoying the fragrance of Fatale's damp hair. It carried the perfume of salt water...

Inevitably, her lunchtime Scotch, the adrenaline loss, the dim light and her lack of sleep from the night before all took their toll on Farley. Her own heartbeat was the loudest thing in the room, and as the two entangled bodies drifted off, Farley wondered serenely if she would dream of the ocean...

* * END CHAPTER FIVE * * 

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