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Kaatje's older cousin did not like it when she went out alone after dark. He told her it was dangerous, what with all the psychopaths running about, and then he dissolved into German that, as best she understood it, boiled down to her being a stupid, spoiled little girl and if she were his he'd turn her over one knee so fast her children's heads would spin. (Then she reminded him that the person he proclaimed as love of his life was male. He wouldn't be having kids any time soon, so he could never prove it. He sulked for the rest of the evening.)

Anyway, she was very explicitly out after dark; it was getting on eleven and she wasn't even patrolling. She had actually been out at a concert--the one that had been cancelled and rescheduled the night she'd met Themis. There was definitely a reason she'd decided that her favorite outside-of-battle music involved pianos; the sound was ******** gorgeous in an auditorium.

Headphones over her ears, she didn't recognize that someone else was walking through the park in front of her. It was definitely a man, she thought when she looked up. But he was dressed so oddly--it was definitely military, and that guy was definitely carrying a weapon. Alarm bells were going off in the back of her head--from the Apocalyptica in her head, but it was also appropriate for the feeling of apprehension that flowed over her like water down her back.

She dashed forward, hand in her purse, fingers in the pocket with her henshin pen. The redheaded girl grabbed at the man's jacket... cape... thing, yanked him around to face her. "Are you a Negaverser," she asked, as if she hadn't yet realized she was still in civilian form.

Behind her--she couldn't hear, the music too loud in her ears--there was a rising, pained moan, and the sound of someone staggering through the brush.

Her true-blue eyes were very narrow as she looked down to the rapier, up to the gray-eyed man. He was staring over her shoulder, and if she hadn't been so convinced he was evil she would have turned to look. It was a ploy, it had to be a ploy. Someone with an actual, useful weapon, they had to be powerful. More powerful than she was, anyway.

"Oh, very funny," she snapped. "Yeah, sure, you promise." It hadn't slipped past her that he hadn't confirmed or denied the fact that he was a Negaverser.

...But something was weird, something was off here. The source of the evil energy wasn't in front of her; in fact, it was... behind her?...

She clutched the henshin pen, drew it out a little. No way was she going to throw herself at the mercy of this strange, powered individual with a hand on his sword. "Take your hand off your sword and maybe I will."

Behind her, a man-shaped figure was winding its way closer. It was certainly a monster, but it looked to be hurt, clinging to the trees as it slowly approached.

Oh god, was he whining. Kaatje was starting to reconsider him as a threat to her, almost let go of the henshin pen to lose it to the depths of her purse. But the weird, evil aura was getting closer, and when his hands were off his sword, held up before him, she turned to look.

It was close enough that they could see viscera rippling in the moonlight, the sickly white gleam of old bone. The eyes were a sickly, inhuman, pupilless yellow; it resembled a man, a sick and broken man. Maybe he'd been handsome, maybe he would have been, if he had a nose, and ears, and eyelids; when he'd had human eyes and lips. Now he was an animated skeleton with flexing sinew, and in one hand was a wicked-looking hunting knife.

No. That was wrong. He wasn't holding a hunting knife; the arm was the hunting knife, the blade wickedly curved. If they got cut by it, it'd be more than just a clean cut; their flesh would be ripped to pieces. That, and the black ichor seeping out from between his teeth sealed it for Kaatje. "Youma," she breathed, and then the henshin pen was out, held over her head with a breathless shout of her henshin phrase.

The fire of her transformation was more focused now that she was a Super; it wasn't spinning flames, but a column shooting up into the sky, her form a silhouette inside it. When it cleared, she was Sailor Gunn, and she was all too aware of the midnight silence of the park. "If you're not a Negaverser, prove it," was her only order before she leapt forward, grabbing the human arm to kick the monster towards the stranger.

"You're armed," she shouted at him, offended over the fact that he was bitching about her agreeing to help at all. Damnit, she felt jittery--not like the smoothly-oiled youma destruction machine she tried to embody normally, with the beat of music in her ears. Now that the youma was out of the tree cover, though, she could leap towards the purse she'd dropped and rifle through it.

Meanwhile, the monster was inching forward--not attacking with the blade arm, but reaching out to try and grasp the man, to hold him still. For what? The jointed arm lifted high, slashed downwards towards Laocoon, but it was ponderously slow. The rapier's strike drew a pained, inhuman howl from the monster's bare teeth--the larynx visibly working to produce it.

By then, Gunn had surfaced from her bag. In her hand was... a book of matches? It was slim, opened between gloved fingers, but Laocoon was too close; so she took a few uncertain steps forward. "Hey, back off from it!" He'd bought her time--now she just needed a few extra moments and good luck, good aim. The night was cool and clear... bonfire weather. It was just lucky that the monster seemed focused on the enemy with the pricking, slashing sword instead of her.

It was going to be one of those battles, she thought, where she had to think, and she wasn't good at thinking when everything was so silent. The monster looked wet, she thought, and then she heard it moan and the train of thought fractured. Did blood burn?

At least there weren't any other sources of fire here. She could use her basic attack instead of the more complex Voracious Propagation.

...Did she have hairspray?

The monster had, by now, noticed that it wasn't such a great idea to pursue the man with the sword; it made one more token slash, and then turned, dragging the bladed arm behind it. Gunn was crouched now, her red-orange hair a curtain between her and the youma as she dug through her purse. No hairspray, but there was an old can of pepperspray...

It would have to be good enough. She couldn't think of anything better to do. So up came the pepperspray, she grabbed a group of the matches and struck them, then sent a torrent of fire at the youma-monster.

"Stay back," she said, tersely; she dropped the empty can of pepperspray, the matchbook too. Her glance at Laocoon was deadly serious, the kind of look that did not brook argument. The reasoning was very simple, because she had a simple lack of plans. She didn't need plans. The youma was on fire.

If she had thought about it, she would have questioned the wisdom of using her attack on something as large as a man. She wouldn't have done it, simply; it wasn't wise, with trees overhead and someone without her elemental resistances nearby.

But it was so quiet.

She lifted her hand, pointed to the flames, and intoned, "Gunn Wildfire Propagation." The youma howled, a column of flame extending upwards and outwards. It faded as the monster's scream cut off with a gurgle. Gunn's face had not moved. Her position had not changed. But the youma had fallen to a pile of dust around their feet, and was blown away by a gust of wind. "Thanks for the assist," she said, fluffing her curls.

Gunn looked up towards the canopy of trees, scowling over the crisped leaves. At least no major fires remained, and if any started, they weren't really her fault, were they? ... Yes, she concluded, they were her fault, the same way an accidental fire would be her fault if she'd been the one to leave the candle burning. But she also couldn't stop the fires, except to not use any of her attacks in the area for now. Or ever.

It had been, she thought, a terrible idea to henshin up in a park.

"I actually--" but looking at that expression, did she really want to explain it? Gunn crouched to pick up the half-consumed matchbook, shook it to put out any remaining flames. "Then what are you," she asked, straightening up and tapping the matchbook against the meat of her arm. "I'm Sailor Gunn, Super Senshi of Wildfire."

"That is," she said, "as clear as mud. Please, continue to be so clear, I will gladly, gladly play along." But hadn't there been mention of it at that meeting? It had been so long ago, and she'd been so unsettled by the noise and the monster after meeting Ares she hadn't thought of it... but hadn't there been...

She was squinting at him, picking up her bag to put the matchbook away. The can of pepper spray received a disconsolate kick; she left it there to hoist her bag onto her shoulder. "I've seen you before, I think," she said. "A meeting..." Queen Nehelenia... cavaliers...? Supposedly they were aligned with whatever faction she was of. Her eyes widened a bit, made the connections that had been previously ignored.

Whatever. She was probably wrong, it was so quiet and she couldn't think. "No milkshakes," she said, dropping her transformation. "I am on such a strict diet you don't even know. But if we go to like, a Wendy's, you can get a frostie and I'll get a salad--I'll even pay. Consider it an apology for calling you a Negaverser." Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out her cell phone and decided, looking at the screen, what the hell. Might as well ask.

"By any chance, can you... walk through mirrors?"