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Sidra had been left as the metaphorical saloon door of Charys Murphy's assholishness swung behind her, tipping her cowboy hat to the no-legged horse of her getaway car, mangling the metaphor long past it should have been mangled. Something inside Charys had flaked over and died a little, and she didn't know what; didn't know whether it had always been flaked over and dead. It was possible she'd been born that way.

Charys had always liked herself. It had helped. She had always known exactly who Charys Murphy was, and liked what she saw; never doubted herself, never questioned herself. Never ripped on herself. Never got too hard on herself. Never jumped on herself when she was not in the mood.

Never bitterly flayed herself with self-recrimination -- hell no, get off at this stop, Charys wants to stop riding the ride.

She wandered the streets as Sailor Nerissa -- eating way more than the recommended packs of Hubba Bubba, standing on the street corners blowing bubbles, avoiding the cop cars, once memorably mistaken as a hooker and giving the middle fingers to that very mistaken john -- she just wandered the streets, kicking a can, whistling Dixie, careless. Carefree.

Careless.

She'd been building-jumping the one day -- streetcrawling had been a bad idea that night, not with the cops around -- and she liked the adrenaline rush of Mirror's Edge hopping from rooftop to rooftop, senshi energy bunching her muscles and making the jump beautiful and easy and gliding, landing easily without turning a heel. She'd recovered, pretty much, from the serious beating that Obsidian had given her; and that was why when she leapt from the top of the post office to the flat top of a business building she just cocked her head and stared at the man who'd just leapt on it from the opposite direction.

Red hair.

Wooden sword.

Aww s**t.

"Okay, so," she said, starting to walk backwards, spitting out her Hubba Bubba and once again contributing to Global Warming or at the very least Not Keeping Destiny City Beautiful, "I actually have something in the oven -- bad a** seeing you; keep it real, yo, have a nice night -- "

Nerissa immediately turned tail and jumped, back to the post office building, rounding again and walking backwards just in case he was right there. He was advancing. There was no hope whatsoever that he was going to call a rain check on this.

He had her chain -- he had her chain.

That was nasty.

"Sweetie, I have to tell you," she was saying, edging backwards, looking over her shoulder as she motored herself backwards. She was backtracking so quickly that there was nearly chase music. "I think it's over between us -- I mean, ********, it's not working out. I think we have to see other people."

She misstepped a little. She stumbled back. Righted herself. "I mean you know how it goes," she said. "Two people meet. We were both young when I first saw you. Your daddy said, stay away from Juliet. -- I'll always remember you -- "

He lunged again. Sailor Nerissa tossed herself to one side, somersaulting roughly (and inexpertly) over into the concrete, coming down and lunging off again as he sliced down with his big wooden p***s extension. It cut through the air with a sharp whistle -- she flipped backwards again, looking for something, anything, and then just tossed herself down into the alley.

He was hot on her heels. She grabbed a metal lid off a trash can to block his blow -- and the wooden sword actually broke it, her wrists gave as she was left holding two crumpled pieces of the shitty alumnium trash can lid and blinking. Nerissa ran.

His flight proved one thing: that somebody sick designed the senshi uniforms, because he grabbed at her bow and immediately she ricocheted back. It was a comedy pratfall. She completely fell on her a** as the huge buttbow unravelled at the back of her costume, as he pulled on it as though he was undoing a present.

She rolled out of the way as he brought his sword down -- it banged off the street with a bright wooden thwok! At this point they were tussling on the pavement like a hobofight, and it was fight or die: Sailor Nerissa was lazy, but she wasn't into die. You couldn't watch back-episodes of Grey's Anatomy on Youtube if you died. You couldn't --

It was worse, this time around, knowing exactly what he was capable of. More urgent. She tackled him around the waist and they went down in a flurry, the enormous sword useless in that kind of melee, and she window-washed his face: grabbed her hand and scrubbed it hilariously hard over vulnerable nose, eyelids, mouth.

"This is your restraining order, man."

Why did he always have to laugh? It was like trying to take down the Joker.

He bit on her fingers really ******** hard, and she snatched them away with a bitten-off yell -- his hand was around her throat, her hand was around his throat, they were now in the position where their legs were wrapped around each other and they were mid-strangle. It was like one of Sidra's baffling ******** posters. Never give up.

"How much do I have to tell you, baby," she rasped, face going red, her own fingers squeezing down on his excited pulsepoint -- "I don't scarf wang."

She was banging her heel down on his calf, scrunching herself against him, and then she was the one who choked first: pulled her hand back, and suckerpunched him straight in the face.

Her fist was slammed unerringly into his face again. Thwok. "Holy s**t," said Nerissa, a little thickly from all the blood in her mouth. "You're actually trying to touch my tits." Thwok. "And for." Thwok. "A shitty little whirlpool." Thwok. "It got you pretty -- "

He belted her this time, an incredible backhand. She felt her nose do that sickening crunch thing, the pain of feeling the fact that it was literally and completely broken, blood spurting from it like a little fountain or Old Faithful. "Holy ******** gods," said Nerissa.

Boots crunched.

Boots crunched behind him.

For a moment she had the feeling that it was Thuban, thank God for T-Bird, if God owned a car it was a silver thunderbird and she was going to buy him so many faggy a** sports drinks with electrolytes in that he'd be pissing pink for a month. But it wasn't. The boots were black, and there was a cloak brushing the concrete next to the Lieutenant tussling with her.

Then Charonite said: "Keep going, Lieutenant."

At this point Nerissa did, in fact, freak out.

She was trying to get away now -- squirming her head from side to side as he punched her, the blows landing on her cheekbones and on the side of her head, stunning her for a moment. Then she opened her mouth, and before she could even round around Tid -- he shut it for her with another blow. Nerissa was kicking and punching to the point of flailing, until the General-King reached out and placed his booted foot down on her wrist.

That crunched too. This time she screamed like she was trying to break a world record, then screamed again. And kept screaming.

"Lieutenant," said Charonite. "Put your fingers around the star seed -- gently. Don't pull at it. Just get your ******** hand around it. Don't you DARE ******** this up."

Sailor Nerissa went the colour of paper; she was still thrashing, but the movements were getting less. She was jerking up as though in the throes of an epileptic seizure, as though Obsidian had her on the end of an electropad. A senshi starseed felt -- different; it sparkled on the end of his fingers, sent a pleasant buzz all the way through him down to his toes, was tethered inside her. She was breathing through her mouth, loudly, hyperventilating, blood still pouring down her face.

"Don't yank it out," said the General-King, whose foot was still casually on Nerissa's wrist. "Hold it down in there. Make sure you have a good grip. You're not forking this one out. Plan's changed, Lieutenant. Just keep on holding it and do ******** everything I say -- "

What General-King Charonite had been about to say was rudely interrupted.

There was barely enough time to register what Charonite was telling him; the star seed seemed to send jolts of electricity rippling straight down the base of his spine, made him feel good, better than good when he watched her face. Her agony was mesmerizing, and christ, he wanted to tear out the seed so ******** badly, but he wouldn't twitch a muscle.

Why, though? Why weren't they going through with it, they had her, finally! And then the General King himself was cut off, and Obsidian snapped his head up to take in yet another senshi. He vaguely remembered being told about the two 'supers', whatever the ******** that meant, and for once, the man was without a witty, scathing retort. He only licked dried lips and waited, waited to be told what to do, and when to do it.

He'd already figured this out, of course. This was now a hostage situation--but what were they bargaining for?