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Broken Promises
8/2011

Once upon a time, Scylla had made a promise to Ares. To the whole Blood Moon Court, really- but the bond that had brought her there was wrapped up in Fallon. She had bled for her oath, watched darkness taint it and still she had tried to believe in it. She had done nothing, hwoever, to protect it. She'd done nothing to stop it. She was certain that Fallon- no, that Ares- would not lead her wrong. The strange feeling in the pit of her belly was strength and power, most certainly not darkness. She had allowed herself to believe that though she would have to harden her heart and stomach, the bending of her personal ‘rules’ would not result in a break. Then she had met Tanzanite, seen her bleed and suffer for her cause- for the things she loved and believed in- and Scylla had realized that the truth was that she knew nothing. Bending? Breaking? Right? Wrong?

The realization had not been simple or easy. Jada’s life was made of fairy-tale castles and beautiful things. Her life was easy breezy (beautiful, Cover Girl.) Her world had revolved around her, and money had made it all happen. Daddy's money, Grandpa's money that was so kindly left. She’d used her senshi powers and she had reveled in the freedom that her abilities granted her without realizing the cost. She had stared at her dead planet, watched it begin to grow, and her yet she had never gotten past the whole thing simply being a video game- one she was good at. Jada liked being good at things.

And then the realization had come and she’d seen the enemy- WolframiteTanzaniteUranophaneDIOPTASEHelicasePrimaseOHGODWHATHADSHEDONE- broken and bleeding, strong and beautiful, unyielding and cold. Just as certain they were right as any Senshi she knew and some more honestly loving and willing to die for their cause than Jada could ever dream of being. She’d realized that she wasn’t as good at this whole masked hero thing as she pretended to be.

She was brittle, and she was going to break if she kept trying to keep all of this up. She expended so much energy on useless things. She had been preachy, and had she ever truly realized what she was preaching about? There was a quote by Alexander Pope, “The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head.” How agonizingly accurate it was, and painful to boot. She had read of so many experiences which she’d not yet had for herself. She had thought she knew so much about life just by listening to her tutors, and living vicariously through fiction.

She didn’t like being wrong about things. She hated it.

“Where is the line between good and evil?” Where was the line between right and wrong, so blurred through the crystal of her palace. Self-indulgence, self-reproach, self-martyrdom to feed her ego.

Two months ago, after a fight with her parents over the direction of her life, she had broken through the walls of her glass castle and found herself truly touching dirt for the first time. It had been an invigorating experience, and frightening. Jada had turned from the feeling of power that Scylla gave her and she had allowed herself to become a liar. She inflicted the same punishment on herself that she'd inflicted on Ares, weakening only one day a week, during which she checked her world, searching for answers to a question she had not yet formed.

Jada had broken promises to Ares, to Fallon, and once upon a time Andromache had broken promises to her people as well. “I'll keep you safe.” the woman had promised them. “I'll fight for you. I'll live for you.” But Scylla had died and Scylla had followed, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Jada had promised Birhan she would be there. She had promised her Court she would be there. The other senshi had taken a step towards bringing back the Blood Moon Court that Scylla had sworn herself to, and Jada had been there only through text messages and hurried calls while she was on her 15-minute breaks at work. School, keeping her rent paid, her cell phone paid, all of these things took precedence over being a leader. Over her promises. Strangely, it reminded her of all of the broken promises her parents had made. Strangely, it made her resent them less and love them all the more.

In Jada's small studio apartment there was one picture of Jada herself, a match to the one she had given Audrey when the bluenette had been in her coma (what had happened to that picture?); A reminder of the promise she hated breaking the most. It sat in a place of honor on top of the cheap $10.00 bookcase that she had gotten at her very first yard sale. In it Jada was pale and wan, she and Fallon sharing a smile while Audrey stuck her tongue out at the photographer. They'd spent the night before hanging out, laughing... It was one of the last times that Jada could remember Fallon being Fallon. Before Ares... Before Scylla was more than a game...

Capture
9/2011 - Warning: Violence

Scylla was in bloom. When the senshi arrived, she was in a small clearing. Huge coral trees arched for the sky, the tips brushing the bottom of one of the slow-moving sky mountains that had lain dormant for so long, and was now rising into the air again. The ground was littered with bones, bleached a strange whitish-grey, some filled with metal studs. The skeleton of a few huts leaned against the trees here, tingling at the edges of her memory. Everything, left where it had fallen. She paused in front of one of the huts, reaching out and stroking her hand over the bent and broken coral. To the north, she could hear water. She needed to...

“I am just going to get more water.” eleven year old Andromache Zografos told her sister. Briseis was twenty, and was the wife of Andromache's third brother. “I will be back in a few moments.” Water was everywhere outside, the small tribe having coveted access to a freshwater area with few enough predators. The redhead nodded towards the sword by the door, focused more on the bloodcurdling screams of her sister as she bore her first child. Andromache nodded, hefting the weapon, sliding two daggers into her ever-present thigh sheaths before opening the door. Her brother Sandros flung himself inward as the door opened, almost foaming at the mouth with the need to be near his love. Andromache poked him in the shin with the edge of the sword, partly tripping him, and he cursed as he backed up into the circle of other tribe members, who laughed to see their μικρό πουλί, their little bird, stab her oldest brother with his own weapon. It took a fool or a comic to have their own weapon bleed them, and their leader was typically neither.

“By the Great One, it has been hours that she has been screaming.” Sandros complained, and Andromache smiled, passing him a bucket.

“The moon hasn't moved, brother.” she told him gently, and handed him his heavy weapon. “Come to get water with me.”

“A woman's chore.” he said derisively, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Your wife would be doing it, not your little sister, but for that you filled Melaina's belly. So when birthing is a man's job, woman will get the water for you during it. Until then, men can help.” He swore at her and she laughed. Other children were playing in the streets, eerily silent as the mimed their swordfighting. The only sound in the village, it seemed, was Melaina's screams. They had tried gagging her, but Sandros had protested the treatment for the birth of his first child. In truth it went against the grain of any Scyllan tribe to allow such noise when their own babes were taught to not cry for fear of giving away their position to the enemy. The women, even Andromache, knew how poorly the birth had been going. Melaina had been screaming for hours, it was true, and inside the hut it stank of blood. Perhaps it was a kindness to Sandros, to let him hear his beloved's voice for their last night. If they were lucky, they could save the child. Men were on guard for predators and invaders, each pretending not to hear the wails of a dying woman and feel pity for the man who loved her. Sandros had taken Melaina as his wife when they took the village over, for she had been the chieftain’s daughter and through her his tribe had claim to the land here. The two had grown together as man and wife, and she had eventually consented to bear his child. It was a woman's right to choose, after all, married or not, husband's wishes be cursed.

Melaina's brother was a king, now, Zarek. His alliance was tenuous at best with his brother, the two having hated each other since long ago. It was part of the tension, perhaps? Andromache pushed her brother in front of her, away from the wails. They passed the first group of soldiers, leaning against the tree line, moving for the water. Thirty feet out was the next ring, and she smiled up at one of the men as she passed. He didn't look familiar, but then, she didn't know all of the people in her tribe. Sandros protected his only sister carefully. When she was 15 she would be sent to join the Nephelai priestesses. For now, Andromache spent most of her time with his wife and the wives of their brothers. The stranger smiled back at her, and caught her as she started to trip over a stone in the darkness. “Be careful now, pretty one.” he told her gently.

Ah! If she grew to out of a pretty child to a pretty woman, she would be lucky in a good marriage, perhaps? Like Melaina, maybe she would find a handsome warrior to love her. A partner, to fight at her side- the Nephelai were allowed to choose their own husbands, after all. “I will. Thank you.” she glanced at her brother's back, disconcerted to see that he had stopped, but not turned. “I apologize for the cries of my brother's wife. It is her first child, and he spoils her.”

His dark eyes looked at her brother's still form, and he looked displeased. “He should not.” he said finally, and she smiled at him again. “He risks much for love of his wife.”

“Come on, Sandros,” she told her brother, and moved forward, to his side, taking his hand. Started to tug him forward. Paused, smelling the familiar scent of blood, and looked up to see the javelin through his chest.

She shrieked the alarm, the sound to warn the village- too late, too late-, and the stranger sprang at her. She flung herself to the ground, rolling, still trilling her cry, dragging the small dagger from its home on her thigh, and throwing it. She was hurried, not as precise as she would be someday, if she survived this. Instead of burying itself in his eye, it struck the man in the throat, and he gurgled something as he stumbled for her. Andromache threw herself away from him, flinging herself for the village, darting around the traps that she knew. If a child got caught in one of the animal traps, they were sometimes... well... It was the duty of the village to make sure their children knew the locations of the traps, and the duty of the children to not be careless. There came answering cry of her people, now alerted to what was happening, and then the crash of metal on metal filled the air. Behind her, one of the traps finished off her gurgling pursuer. The village was bright when she flung herself among the homes. Fire, everywhere, and yet Melaina's screams were still the main sound to be heard, even over the sound of combat. It looked to be tribesman against tribesman, here in the streets. A coup? One of the other women slit the throat of a man like he was a goat, kicking his body to the ground, guarding the door to their home. Outside, Briseis and Cerelia were fighting, one at each corner of Melaina's hut. Still, however bravely her people were fighting, the damage was done. It was too late. Children were being rounded up, shrieking and stabbing at their captors with the small knives they were allowed before adulthood; women and children alike were being shoved to the ground, enemy soldiers holding them down and clamping manacles to their wrists.

Andromache was dragged back to reality by a hand on her arm. She was being lifted! She shrieked her shrill battle cry again, jerking her last small knife from its home and planting it in the thick arm of her captor. Jerking it back out, stabbing again until she hit the ground, the knife falling from nerveless fingers. And then she was rolling again, flying for her home. She shot past Briseis, ducking between the legs of her sister who guarded the door. Melaina lay still now, silent, on sheets soaked with her life. The baby wailed on the sheets, a boy, and the child cut the cord with the knife by the bedside and wrapped him in a blanket. “Stay quiet now,” she whispered, and offered the child her finger to suck. Outside, silence fell.

Briseis was pushed through the door, disarmed, along with Cerelia and Damaris. Eirene- where was Eirene? A man shut the door behind the three, and the sound of a bolt came from outside. Briseis sighed, moving over and drawing the sheet up over Melaina's body. “Andromache,” she murmured finally, and the girl pushed herself up from where she had hidden herself and Melandros- a fitting name, Andromache had decided as she named him, in memory of his parents- behind the chest. “Don't come out.” she murmured.

“Melandros has no food. My finger hurts from him suckling.”

Damaris walked over and lifted the child. She had lost her own, but she knew how to feed them. “Cau milk.” she instructed softly. “They did not take our tinder. They know we are honorable women, who will obey until the conqueror comes to decide our fates. We will not kill ourselves. You warm the milk for the child, using your finger to test the temperature. If it is too hot, it will burn him.” Even as she spoke she was doing it herself.

“They killed my brothers like bottom-feeders.” Andromache's voice began to rise and Briseis shushed her. “And here you sit here talking of honor.”

“You will be a woman soon.” Cerelia's voice was dull. “You will understand.”

“It is hard to understand, at your age.” Briseis said tiredly, and the milk and child were returned to Andromache's arms. “Your mother was not one of us. Your parents raised you to take a place among the Nephelai. Feed the child while we plan how to get you to your people.” It seemed that the night passed slowly, and the two children dozed in their cave behind one of the dressers; Andromache woke at last, and through the kelp-woven curtain, the light was rising. She crept from her corner, ignoring the way her sisters looked at her.

“I need to...” she said finally, and gestured.

“Get back in hiding.” Briseis whispered.

“Why?” she asked. Almost in answer, she heard the bolt being drawn from the front of the door. In the open frame, once opened, stood a man she remembered seeing, once Melaina's brother. Zarek. He ignored all of the living women, moving to the bed and throwing back the sheet to stare into his sister's pale, bloodless face. He turned, and his eyes went over the wives first, then to Andromache. “Little sister,” he said jovially, holding out his arms to the girl, “Come, give me a hug.” his smile did not reach his eyes.

“No.”

The lie was wiped away from his face in an instant. “I am going to kill you, little cross-tribe spawn. I will wait for you to grow, and then I will kill you, as your brother did my sister.” The three older women paled, and Briseis pulled Andromache behind her. Zarek beamed at the three women, black eyes looking them over. The sisters-by-marriage of his only sibling. “You,” he said, pointing to Cerelia, “will be mine.” his eyes were on her golden hair, covetous. Such pale hair was a rare prize indeed, and she would make a lovely slave for his wife. Onward to Damaris, who knelt by the fire with the baby at her breast. “You. And the infant.” he held out his hand for the child, and Damaris hesitated, mousy brown hair covering her face as she bent to look at the child. “Give me my sister's child.” he said softly, and she obeyed. Zarek's eyes were dark as he looked the child over, noting the gender before passing it to a soldier outside the door. “Get rid of it. Find some loyal couple, and give them a child.” Andromache didn't even dare to breathe out her relief. He moved his eyes back to Damaris. “I have no use for one with such a plain face.” he said softly. “Sell her to another tribe. Maybe they can use a workhorse.” there was a snigger, and her cheeks went pale. Damaris spat at him, cursing, and was dragged out the door, screaming obscenities. There were grunts of pain, a battle cry “Death before dishonor!” that made Andromache stiffen, and then the sound of a sword on flesh. The sound of a sword re-sheathing, and a body falling to the ground. The thump was wet, and Cerelia gave a little cry, rocking in place. “As for you, redhead...” his eyes went to Briseis, who bared her teeth at him. “Your defiance is cute. Give me the girl.”

“I will rip off... ahh, I will choke you first, you son of a devilfish. You will not touch this child.” Briseis was shaking, Andromache could feel it, and knew Zarek could see it.

Cerelia made a noise, a pitiful noise, reaching out a hand toward Briseis. “Take them both,” he said finally. “The lovely Briseis, sell her to the men who came here for the Messian stones. And take her sister with her.” He turned to Cerelia, obviously reconsidering, and she quailed. Andromache did not blame her. Cerelia was a beauty, not a warrior. She'd always been weak- Matera had disapproved of her brother's decision to take her as wife. “Torch the village, and prepare to rebuild for our soldiers in the morning.”

The two women struggled, dragged out of the hut that had been their home, already seeing fires starting. Women, children, bodies littered the ground. Only a few remained in chains, the merchandise Zarek planned to shop off-planet. Her brothers had been collected, and Sandros'... she couldn't see, her vision was blurring. Damaris and Eirene lay on either side of the pile, two wives who had followed their husbands to the darkness. The world spun, and Cerelia was sobbing and screaming, and as the chains clapped around her wrists and ankles Andromache gasped for breath. No, this wasn't in the plan. It wasn't...

Jada shuddered, looking around the clearing. If it was the same place, the spike was gone. The corpses were not, surely, from that night. From that bloody memory.

Solo #66: Back to Work
The text message came at noon and Jada Chamberlyn jumped as her cellular buzzed against her chest. It was her father, for the fourth time today. Last weekend he had finally texted to tell her he'd had the chance to review the portfolio she had sent him, and he was pleased by the amount of effort that she was putting into her “hobby.” The message had opened a dialogue between the two of them that had eventually concluded with him arranging to fly down to Destiny City the following weekend and allow her into the storage unit that they had moved her things into when they had planned her move to France without her permission.

Christmas will be in Nice. The text was straight, to the point, and completely unnecessary if he was going to be in here five hours. The jet will collect you on the 23rd and return you on the 26th.

Four days in France? So close to Monte Carlo that she could reach out and touch it? She had adored Monte Carlo when she had been there the year before, however briefly she had been able to indulge. And, of course, it would be lovely to see her family- even though her mother was still reportedly seeking a nice man to give her eldest daughter a title. Michael would be here in less than five hours, and Jada was already plotting out how best to work her wiles on her father. She'd always been good at manipulating him, and she was so tired of being poor. Incidentally, Michael had a suite on the 30th floor of a certain downtown hotel that Jada had sworn just days before to never step foot in again.

Breaking oaths already? It had to be a new record.

Four days in Szelem's house. That was a bit scarier a thought than four days in which she could play in Monaco, or on the lovely beaches. It would be a lovely chance to see Giulia and Aidan, whose paternity went still unknown in the circus of Szelem's pre-divorce lovers and her constant parade of fresh meat. Zora would be friendly, excited, a sight for sore eyes. Puberty was rumored to be hitting little Lucas shockingly hard, between the discovery of women as something other than boys who got a different bathroom and the death of Kinjo. And as for Kayley? Well, she had been increasingly hostile to the competitors- both Zora and Jada. The irony was that neither sister wanted to be Kayley's competitors- if she wanted to be their mother's zombie, she could have the role.

This morning the heiress had chosen to dress carefully, knowing that her father was coming. Well that, and knowing where he was staying. She couldn't help it. It was habit! It was a charcoal grey suit, the clingy pencil skirt ending right above her knees. The jacket had only a single button and a deep V-cut, so she paired it with a gauzy powder blue ruffled shirt that she had picked up at Fizz's boutique. The pumps weren't unusual- 4” nude heels, to give her the illusion of height. She needed it, if she were going to face her father.

As of late, Jada had not exactly been a responsible employee. She had been skipping work, missing almost six days in as many weeks. Cherise was worrying over her, Geoff was getting angry, and modeling didn't pay enough to make the monthly rent. Thank gd it was Friday- she was going to explode. Unfortunately, her father's presence meant this would be a completely wasted weekend, because there would be no time for patrol and no time to see the club, with a grouchy parental divorcee around. … Well... No. Going to a club with her father would be very awkward, and she wouldn't be able to drink.

Crap. What if he went home and saw his empty booze cabinet?

“Is there something enthralling on your phone, Jada, that you'd like to share with the rest of us? Or are we just boring you?” Oh hell, she'd made him mad- Geoff's British accent was stronger than she had ever heard it before.

Her dark head jerked up and she tried very hard not to look guilty. “I'm sorry Geoff, it was my father. He is coming into town tonight and he wanted to confirm our dinner plans for this evening.” she slid her cell phone, crossing her ankles neatly. “My apologies.”

“Your mind has been everywhere but work lately. You're an excellent secretary, but your brain has been everywhere but in your head.” Great- she was being publicly chastised. Her second 'job' had been the first irritation to him- he just didn't like seeing one of his employees in shiny denim jeans, making eyes at a camera. He didn't like her no longer at his beck and call except when a test was coming up. The senshi had been hoping he would get over it, but as of yet no such luck.

“It won't happen again.”

“You won't like it if it does.” The words fell like a stone and faces froze. “Now. The Farris divorce. Mr wants Mrs to...” What was with men and threats? Were they all jerks? Was it related to- you know, never mind. Jada instead chose to look like she was actually paying attention to the babble going on around her and take the occasional note, doodling in her notebook. Curliques, some flowers, raindrops falling on a diamond ring, and a clown face. Another twenty minutes, and her hell was over. Jada stood, starting to file out the door with the others when- “Jada. Stay.” Her violet eyes caught Cherise's. “Sit.”

After the door had closed behind the last fellow employee, Jada did so, primly, seeing her evening crumbling in vivid detail. 'So daddy, your friend-'

“Your outfit is completely inappropriate.” Jada paused, blinked, glanced down at herself. Her neckline was demure, her skirt brushed the tops of her knees, no one should be able to even tell that she was wearing thigh-highs, her shoes were closed-toe, and even her neckline was demure! Father-meeting modest, damnit! “Don't wear anything like this to work again. This is a business, and your colors of choice should reflect that.”

“Powder blue and-”

“You're excused.”

She could be mad. Or she could just... “Sir.”

“And Jada? Third strike, you are out. Two days with no news from you during a workweek is completely unacceptable.”

Three strikes. ********>

Dinner had been a mostly silent affair, farther and daughter each glancing at each other surreptitiously throughout the meal. There were words to be said, words that danced on the tips of their tongues and yet strangled themselves before they could pass lips. Once Michael might have felt comfortable saying something to his daughter, but now she was a stranger, someone he hardly knew. His awkward little girl was a woman, with Audrey Hepburn eyes and her mother's charms. He knew what would attract someone to Jada all too well, and thanked god that his other two daughters wouldn't be quite as heart-wrenching. Zora had some of her appeal, tempered by a playfulness Szelem had beaten out of her eldest, and Kayley was her mother's spawn completely now. Her innocence was gone, taken by Swiss boarding school and her mother's machinations.

He was a doomed father. The world was simply too cruel- three daughters, and each of them a man-eater. Or would be.

"I don't like your friend." he said at last, stabbing his lamb fiercely. "He seems..."

"but he is a good kisser." her tone was mild. Which one didn't he like? Marlo? Brandon? She wouldn't be much surprised if it was Brandon- she didn't much like him either. One date, however, was not a lifetime commitment and maybe he did have layers. Like an ogre. As for Xanis, he was a turkey. And her feelings for him were deep- mostly, however, soreness from where he had emotionally declared that this was SPARTA and kicked her in che chest.

Michael raised his eyebrow at his daughter. "He looks a little greedy."

Well, that answered that question. Jada took a sip of her wine, and said- "You should smell him." Sometimes he stank of cheap cologne and bitterness, something sharp and uncomfortable. And not that kissing was going to get him more than the one date she had agreed to, but he did have that redeeming factor. It wasn't going to win him the coveted 'boyfriend' title, however. She watched her father straighten his spine, clearing his throat, and she knew what was coming yet.

"He probably smells like shame and poverty." It was a wicked impression of her mother, and Jada covered her chortle. "Look, Jada, he isn't-"

"Daddy, it is fine. I am mature enough to not get sucked into anything by someone like him." Another statement that could belong to either of the two troublemakers in her life. One of them was sleazy, and the other was-

"Good. We all worry about you, sweetheart. You are so very much like your mother was at your age. Passionate, determined, and naive about the world." Jada ws going to smile at her father, but it turned into a scowl at his last words. "We just want the best for you. In fact, I'd like to see your apartment."

"Noooo you wouldn't."

"No?"

"Oh no." she confirmed. Her home was a hovel. It smelled- and not just of poverty. It stank of cigarettes from her neighbors. It smelled of smoke, from when she had set her microwave on fire.

"Yes." He watched his daughter cringe and hid a frown. Maybe she wasn't doing so well on her own as she tried to make it seem? "geoff Springs told me your work is good but that your modeling hobby is affecting your attendance." He said it mildly. "He doesn't approve."

"I'm looking for something more than a lifetime of seeking Geoff's approval, Daddy."

"You know, if you would just be willing to leave the city, you would already have more."

"Daddy." When had his baby girl grown up enough to be looking at him, with that parental cross between love and exasperation? “I'm nineteen years old. I understand how you and mother feel, I do. But I'm not ready to leave.”

“You'll leave in a casket.” he refused to choke on the thought of his daughter, pale and stiff. He'd seen her hospitalized three times in a year and a half. Three. “You can't.” She was quiet, watching him across the table. Her plate was pushed to the side and she held out her hands. He grasped them, drowning. When had her grip gotten so strong?Her hand wasn't the one shaking- that was his.

In his mind, his little Jada was four, in a white dress, making daisy wreaths outside their small two-bedroom house. It was before Szelem's father had forgiven them, before they'd had wealth again, before he'd had to work long days for a company that didn't care about family. “Maybe I will.” she said finally, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “The eyes are not here/There are no eyes here/In this valley of dying stars/In this hollow valley/This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms.” Michael's brows drew together in confusion and Jada squeezed his hand. “What will be will be.”

Whether she died here, or even if she fled- when the last haven here was corrupted, her starseed was going to be ripped out of her chest and devoured by either Chaos or a hungry mouth.

“I can't agree with that when it is my daughter.” he took the check, pulling away from Jada's hands. “I won't.”

Money made everything in life easier. Jada had almost forgotten the joys of creature comforts, and how people would grovel if enough money was involved. Her father, the heiress was well aware, was deliberately reminding the heiress of the joys of wealth, making sure she could remember every last, luscious detail. Breakfast had been perfection, the water and juices served in crystal clear goblets as she and Michael looked out over the golf course; Then at 9:00 a realtor had met them to plan a temporary place for Jada to stay.

“Why can't I move into my old house?” she asked, referring to the four-bedroom house she'd been given for her 18th birthday. Michael shook his head, and a scowl marred the teenager's pretty face. “Oh right. You sold my house.” how mildly said. “Why not the mansion? It would save us money.”

“Save me money. And your mother gets the final say on this.”

“It's mine at 21 anyway.” She would have no place to live, if he changed his mind right now, yet she didn't seem to mind. She took another drink, schooling her expression.

“Come 21, everything is yours.” Her grandfather might have reworded his will a little more carefully if he'd known about the other children that he and Szelem would have, but Lucian had died too soon, and in his bitterness, Jada had been his sole heiress.

“A lot of it should have come my way at 18.”

“But mummy and daddy are terribly mean. Focus on the realtor, sweetie.”

“I want a place with room for my big bed from the old house. Second floor or higher, though there can be multiple floors. I want a balcony with a view. Maybe still close to downtown?”

“You're not picky.” Michael said dryly, “Close to downtown the mansion is not.”

“I'll trade convenience for opulence and privacy.” she reached out, patting her father's arm. He smelled good- like Old Spice, which he had worn since she was a child. He could afford better, but he'd been wearing it so long it was habit as much as anything. It was... a daddy smell. Jada couldn't date a guy who wore it, but she could sniff him. However weird that sounded.

“What would you even do with the house?” curious, Michael met his daughter's gaze. “And how would you pay the staff?”

“You would!”

Her father's arm reached out, wrapping around her neck and Jada squalled as he mock-choked her. “I'm not a charity!”

“You're Daddy!”

He let her go, and she brushed her hair out of her face. “And you are my disobedient daughter.” he loved her, but oh how he wished he could beat her to death with a stick. No, not death. Just unconscious enough that he could be her parent again, and protect her from whatever self-destructive path it was that she was on.

“Are we looking at a one bedroom?” The realtor must have lost her patience, but her tone was chipper enough.

Jada's response was immediate. “Two or more.” Michael raised an eyebrow at her, and she raised her chin defensively. “in case of company!”

“Short term lease. Month to month.” What else could he say?

“I still want the mansion. And a chandelier.”

“Can we just look at some nice, basic lofts?”

She frowned at him, a pout more than anything else. “Of course, Daddy.”

Still, Jada would be hounding him the whole day about what she wanted.

Spoiled little rich girl.

Solo #72: First Dates
At nineteen years old, Jada Chamberlyn went on her first date. Well, the first date she had ever been on with a man of her own choosing, anyway. She had been on plenty of dates with old perverts that her mother had chosen for her. And if she were telling the truth- as she would to Daphne later, in great detail- it was an unmitigated disaster.

Jada had arranged to meet Brandon at a small cafe at 6:30, one she knew intimately. Great strawberry shortcake, sexy as sin waiter, nice and casual, unassuming. A cafe. A casual first date for going out with someone she wasn't really interested in like that. Instead, the hotel clerk had shown up in front of her new apartment at 6:00, throwing all of her careful planning for the evening down the drain. The cafe would have been nice and casual, jeans and a nice top, a pair of sexy heels. Yet her wannabe man-friend had shown up in a shirt and tie, obviously not intending for the cafe to be their destination. “We're doing French.” he told her, beaming.

She should have just tossed him on his a** right there. However, it was hindsight that was 20/20, not foresight.

Instead, having half of neither brain nor backbone, she had opened her mouth dumbly and he had started babbling. And she was just SO tired of men. Obligingly, she had changed into a nice black dress, fixed her makeup. Let him escort her out to his newly cleaned car, and glared tiredly at the picnic basket in the backseat. “Neither cafe nor French,” she informed him as he slid into the drivers seat, “Involve a picnic basket. So why is there one in your backseat?”

“For later!” he said cheerfully, zooming off into traffic.

“I agreed to a movie and dinner at the cafe, not French food and a damn picnic.”

“We can go right for the pic-”

“Just drive.” Her mood might have been sour, but he sure seemed happy enough. He drove past the hotel he worked at, waving to a coworker. Deliberately. Great. It was an almost constant battle to keep his hand off her leg, and he had the conversation skills of a boor. Odd how she hadn't noticed that when she was making out with him.

The meal itself was delicious, though the fact that he loitered before picking up the check was a major irritation- so she told the waiter they were going Dutch. Even though he had chosen her meal, without even asking if she liked foie gras... or escargot... or shrimp and salmon quiche. (She had only taken a few bites of the foie gras, though the quiche had gone over quite well.)

Then his card had been declined. She'd had to pay for not only her unplanned expense, but his. It was mortifying, and it wasn't even her card.

By the time they got out of the restaurant and into the car, Jada was in a fine fury. “Take me home.”

“What about the pic-”

“HOME!” It was a strangled sound, mostly a shriek, but it had gotten her point across. It was heavy, clinging to the silence that followed. “This entire night was not what we agreed to, and I don't appreciate surprises. Our meal was not what I wanted, not what I agreed to, not dutch, and entirely out of my price range. Full of you telling me about ex-girlfriends, and hookups. You're like a nightmare, or a horror story, but I am living you. You're boring, and vile, frankly a bad kisser when it comes down to it, and I want to go home.”

Naturally, her candor had gotten her called some very crude names and kicked out of his car. Not that she didn't deserve the latter.

“I am not frigid!” was her parting yell, as her purse thumped off his back window and spilled all over the pavement. And gotten run over by the car following. Her henshin pen was miraculously avoided, but her lipstick was little more than a smear. She collected the remnants of her wallet, her cell phone- great, the case was cracked- and left behind the mangled bag.

She was not frigid. He was just a jerk. Of course his bad attitude wasn't going to make him appealing. He was stupid. Stupid.

Why wasn't Jada a lesbian? Why?

It would be a twenty minute jog home in sneakers, and she was not wearing sneakers. Gripping her henshin pen, Jada slipped into a nice, private alley, and emerged onto Destiny City rooftops as Sailor Scylla.

She rather felt like Godzilla, stomping on some rather pitiful youma in Destiny Tokyo.

“See, I picked Brandon.” she told Castor as they flopped into bed. “My taste in men is not to be trusted.”

“Mew?”

“You are a notable exception.” she assured him.