trouble brewing

[ANASTASIA LAZAREVA]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true] Empires fall every day I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px #CD5555 solid;] words 377 tags youma notes ------ Made by Amb. Tanz of PRE & BTN & OTE [/style] Ana didn't mind closing so much. She could play whatever music she wanted and there was a certain sense of accomplishment in getting the whole shop clean. What she didn't like was the fact that right until the moment when she closed the door and turned off the lights, there was always the chance a customer would waltz in and expect to be served. Never mind that all the chairs were up on the tables and she was wiping down the counter. When she heard the bell on the door jangle, Ana didn't even bother looking up from the back sink. "I'm sorry," she called. "We're about to close and all I've got left is some stale French Roast." It wasn't like she was obligated to be more polite than that at eleven o'clock. To tell the truth, the pot of French Roast was halfway between the burner and the sink, so even that hardly counted. When the customer didn't say anything, she added, "The Starbucks at Bond is probably still open." It wasn't even like this person would probably care. Anyone who came into a coffee shop at 11 PM at night was probably a tourist. "Really, we're closed," said Ana, dumping the stale French Roast for emphasis. When this still didn't get any kind of response from the lingering guest (besides, well, heavy breathing), she lowered the caraffe into the sink and turned around. "Seriously, go to Starbu-" There was something off about this guy - ridiculously tall and built like a linebacker, wearing a bulky hoodie despite the clear, warm weather. Not to mention his face was absolutely not right and he appeared to be some kind of albino. Ana crossed her arms across her chest and pulled herself up to all five feet, two inches of height. "We don't have anything left for the day," she said, but her mind was flashing back to a standup comedy routine she'd seen a few weeks prior. It's eleven o'clock at night and you're working in an out-of-the-way hole-in-the-wall. Heeeere's your rape! Ana frowned at the guest and reached into her apron for the can of mace she didn't officially own.

[YOUMA]

Closed, French Roast, and Starbucks were all concepts the impossibly tall linebacker-like being had left behind at some point when a dark-haired woman in a black uniform had reached into its chest and twisted something very important. In a way, it had given him everything it'd ever wanted--the strength it needed to be respected, the hard heart to not care about the harm it'd do--but had taken everything that it'd needed to want it in the first place. Maybe it had once been a regular, but not any longer. Now it was just… empty.

But intelligent enough to know that this situation was advantageous to a ten-foot-tall monster. The victim was half its height, had no muscle definition--her eyes might be forward-set like a predator but she wasn't going to succeed at overcoming the monster. It wouldn't let her. Its eyes were black and blank and cold as it stared at the red haired girl and it couldn't say why it hated her so much, only that it did.

"We're about to close," it parroted in a voice that was too deep to be human, almost too deep for the human ear to hear. Then it lunged over the counter, enormous hands grasping with splayed fingers for her throat.

[ANASTASIA LAZAREVA]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true] Empires fall every day I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px #CD5555 solid;] words 298 tags youma notes ------ Made by Amb. Tanz of PRE & BTN & OTE [/style] Ana swung the mace forward like she'd practiced a thousand times and pressed, loosing a spray into her attacker's eyes. "Stay back!" she shrieked, diving out of the way. Ana was thankful for three years of judo training - but not for the mess that had just been made of the back bar. With the Creepy Dude (tm) now back behind the counter with her, Ana was rapidly running out of options. The mace-to-the-face hadn't done much besides make the guy angry (of course it hadn't done anything besides make him angry, it was mace) and Ana wasn't entirely sure what to do next. Throw something? Well, okay. Scrabbling around on the floor, Ana grabbed the first suitable object her hands came upon and chucked it at her attacker. It was a bottle of simple syrup, and she prayed that it might shatter on impact. It did not, because it was made of thick safety glass, and also because fuck you, Anastasia Lazareva, you are going to die. Which was not a very appetizing prospect for a Wednesday night, she had to admit. But with her back against the brick back wall of the shop and nothing else to throw, Ana just didn't see any other options besides dying. "Crap," she realized, rather detachedly."Who's going to feed Leonard Nimoy if I die here?" With her dog's fate suddenly at stake, Ana made a desperate grab for an empty coffee pot and chucked it at the man. This time it shattered on impact, and she hoped that might deter her attacker, or that the noise would attract attention from outside, or pretty much anything that might save her at this point. An armed rescuer would be really nice right about now. I am so getting fired for this.

[the starveling cat]

"Presumably Leonard Nimoy will be fine," sniped the skinny ginger tabby as it scampered around the counter. Balanced on the back of its neck was a green-and-gold pen with a strange symbol like a four on the head; it hopped oddly so the object would roll to hand. "He is rather famous. Moon, hurry up! And you--say 'Jupiter Power, make up!'"

[LUNE DUPONT]

Lune had not gotten as used to the transformation process as she might have liked. So once she had wormed her way out of her home and ended up a block away from the coffee shop in question, with her pen in hand, she was again, taken by surprise by the sudden shift. She took a breath, taking a moment to steady herself, and bolted forward.

And of course, a nightmare like youma was awaiting her inside. She burst inside of the building, not quite as eloquently as she may have hoped, but her sudden presence managed to catch the Youma's attention momentarily. She stood there stupidly, not quite sure what to do, until she blurted out, "In the name of the moon, I will punish you!"

She felt ridiculous, and she knew she looked it, too. A small girl, running into a coffee shop, screaming about justice while dressed in knee high boots and a color coordinated sailor fuku. She felt herself blush, even in the presence of the Youma, and almost apologized.

She sprung into action once more though, utilizing an attack she had recently discovered after retreating into her instincts during a youma fight. Getting a running jump, she suddenly flew into the air, yelling all the while, before finally landing a powerful kick on the Youma, causing it to topple over in surprise.

She turned to face the girl and the cat. "Well!?" She blurted out, knowing full well that her kick wouldn't have as much of an effect on the youmas as she may have liked.

[ANASTASIA LAZAREVA]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true] Empires fall every day I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px #CD5555 solid;] words 326 tags youma, starveling, moon notes ------ Made by Amb. Tanz of PRE & BTN & OTE [/style] When Ana prayed for salvation, she'd had something different in mind from a talking cat and a teenaged girl in a frilly costume. Namely, her mental image had involved a) cops b) knights in shining armor c) significantly more guns. However, seeing as none of those things were on offer and she was basically dead anyway... beggars were in no position to be choosers. She grabbed the magical relay baton the cat dropped. "Jupiter power, make up!" yelled Ana, seriously doubting that this was going to do any good. However, if she was going to die, then at least her final moments were going to be completely ridiculous. For some reason, that was oddly comforting. Like, she wasn't going to die in her sleep at age eighty-five. Death was right here and right now and it had found her standing up and wide awake. It had even dressed for the occasion. What happened next took Ana completely by surprise. Rather than being pounded flat into the wall as one might expect to be when facing an angry former linebacker who you'd just maced, a crackle of lightning arched across Ana's field of vision. From there on in, she couldn't even string a coherent thought together (which was something she hated, later, when the sparks had cleared). The feeling was akin to sticking your finger in a light socket. Assuming that sticking your finger in a light socket could lead to ball lightning, magical ribbons, and really bright green lights. When it was all over, she gave her rescuer a serious look. Well? Well. "Leonard Nimoy is my dog," said Sailor Jupiter, feeling the electricity retreating from her extremities. It didn't fade completely, though. She could still sense it - potential energy and forward momentum. As the youma rose to its feet, she sprang forward and flipped him fiercely back over the counter. "And stay out," she grunted, staring down at the prone form on the terrazzo.

[the starveling cat]

"As catchphrases go, I think you could do better," said the cat.

The monster, meanwhile, was laying on the floor, stunned; but not for long. When it began to move again, the cat hissed and bared its teeth--the first truly catlike thing it had done beyond simply being a cat. "If I were you, I'd destroy that thing!"

Orders squawked, it hopped up onto the counter and loped out of sight.

[ANASTASIA LAZAREVA]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true] Empires fall every day I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px #CD5555 solid;] words 321 tags Moon notes ------ Made by Amb. Tanz of PRE & BTN & OTE [/style] A better catchphrase? Jupiter made a face at the cat. She hadn't really even been thinking about that. She was more focused on climbing up on top of the counter like the goddamn Batman. "Finish him off, huh?" she asked, staring down at the youma. "How do I do that?" Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. The crackling energy at the edge of her consciousness helpfully supplied the solution. Jupiter nodded curtly. "Right," she said, not totally sure she believed this was going to work - but if she'd already taken everything else tonight seriously then it behooved her to do this as well. "You might wanna get back," she called to the other girl - Moon, was it? At any rate, her vague sense of potential energy was telling her this was going to be explosive and she wasn't sure she could be blamed for the results. (It wasn't as if the shop could possibly get any more trashed at this point, at least.) Focusing on the figure on the floor once more, Jupiter cried out - "SUPREME THUNDER!" 'Explosive' was almost inadequate as a description. Lightning arced through the air towards the youma, leaving the faint smell of ozone in its wake. Jupiter wasn't sure how she'd done it - just that she'd shot bolts of energy from somewhere in the vicinity of her forehead, and the only thing that it made sense to follow up with was a kick to the monster's solar plexus. She leapt from the counter, felt his sternum crack beneath her heel - and then it just disintegrated. The newly-awakened scout landed in a pile of dust and turned to the younger girl. "The cat said your name was Moon?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. But, then again, she was apparently Jupiter, so there seemed to be some kind of theme going on here. "What are we, the Planeteers?"

[LUNE DUPONT]

After heading the warning issued by Jupiter, Lune jumped back, hiding herself from the heat of the lightning as best as she could, curling into a ball and covering her head with her arms. The smell in the air burned her nostrils, literally, and once the roar died down, Moon looked up.The Youma had disintegrated, violently so, and Lune stared in shock. The amount of power in the one attack astounded her, and she suddenly felt much weaker than she actually was. Standing up (and fighting for her balance as she did), she took a deep breath. She would never become used to this.

And now for the questions, though she wasn't exactly sure what she was capable of answering.

"Yes, Sailor Moon" she shifted uncomfortably, taking a few steps towards the Senshi that was still standing in the dust of the Youma. "And you're Sailor Jupiter." She crossed her arms. "But, I don't think that's the right term for what we are collectively." She laughed while shaking her head. "Senshi is the word, and those things," she motioned to the remains of the monster. "Are what we have to get rid of."

Those few words seemed to sum up what she knew of their current situation. She knew she looked confused, and she knew that her explanation probably wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. She was silent for a moment. "My name is Lune, by the way, and I'm not quite sure what that cat's name is." She smiled, holding a hand out for the other girl to shake.

[ANASTASIA LAZAREVA]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true] Empires fall every day I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian

[STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; border: 5px #CD5555 solid;] words 382 tags Lune notes ------ Made by Amb. Tanz of PRE & BTN & OTE [/style] "Senshi," repeated Jupiter, turning the word over in her mouth as she went to get the broom. She supposed she'd clean this up the best she could, come up with an excuse for the broken coffee pot, so on and so forth. With any luck, maybe she'd have all this fixed by the time the morning shift came in. Senshi, though, was a weird word. "That's not English, is it?" Not Russian, either, or included in the scant bit of French she knew. With a shrug, she dragged the broom and dustpan back to the center of the room and started working on the monster remains. "Does this job at least come with benefits?" she asked. "Like, super powers and what else? Do we get, like, a secret base or a private island or...?" Even if they weren't the Planeteers, all good superheroes had some kind of hideout. Ana wasn't even expecting a skyscraper or a flying aircraft carrier - she'd settle for a rented loft in Brooklyn with a few couches and a supercomputer. The dust pile mostly taken care of, she emptied the dustpan into the nearest trash can and started on the broken glass behind the counter. "Lune?" she asked, the irony not lost on her. "Oh. I'm Ana. Anastasia." Said the Russian way, with every vowel individually emphasized, with the word See embedded in it. "Ana, really. Not Anya, though. I try to distance myself from historically-inaccurate Don Bluth movies." She rattled through the introduction, mostly because it was pretty standard. You didn't grow up with the same name as a famous dead princess and not learn to deal with it. "I guess this job doesn't come with magical cleaning elves who pick up after our fights, huh?" she added, bagging up the broken glass. That would probably just be too much to ask for. At least the furniture was mostly intact - besides straightening up supplies and cleaning up broken glass, there wasn't too much left to be done. The youma had thankfully not gone after the display case at the other end of the counter. "Or, like, a supplies budget? Coffee pots don't come cheap." Sighing, she leaned against the broom. "So, uh, Lune. How long have you been doing this whole Interstellar Justice League thing?"