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So far Micah had learned more about this town than she had wanted. Scantily clad aliens… or were they terrorists? Opposite them were the militant villains… or saviors? Those with magical beats on their sides. The whole town was nuts, Micah had decided. A city full of crazies, and her parents had landed her here. Were they the only normal family in all of Destiny City? If they were, would they be assimilated next? Like the Stepford Wives, would the Driscols soon be raving about beskirted women fighting monsters in outrageous heels? Would they be cheering on the men in military coats or the men with the bow in their backs? What sort of mind washing would this city use? Propoganda? Drugs? Micah shuddered at the idea of it all. It’s not like her parents would move. The town has a quirk, like every other town. Remember the urban legend back home? Micah didn’t like the idea of an englongated man in a suit any more than she liked this, by the way.

Micah didn’t notice the pavement beneath her feet as she strolled the down town of Destiny City. She only noticed the people around her, and wondered why they believed what they did. A cult, maybe? No. Not on this scale. Someone bumped into Micah when she wasn’t paying attention. She spun out, hitting a window display, cracking her head against it. She winced gently as she rubbed the back of her scalp, reorienting herself. Whoever had hit her was long gone, immune to her rage. Fine. She smoothed back her wild curls and continued on her way. She had more important things to be doing anyway. Like what wandering. And reflecting. And poking things.

So interested was she in this path of life that, once again, Micah was not paying attention to where she was going. Many back alleys later Micah looked around her bricked surroundings in alarm. s**t. Now what was she supposed to do? The only thing she would think of to do was kick a wall… which the immediately regretted. She had to lean against a wall to rub her toe. With that show of aggression out of the way, Micah was now ready to move onto the next phase, pin pointing her location. This was harder said than done, seeing as how she had not paid attention to where she was going in the first place. This feat was made harder still by the constant scratching she kept hearing in front of her. How was she supposed to concentrate with that racket? Having not learned her lesson, Micah kicked the dumpster, hissing at the pain that shot up her foot. The dumpster hissed back.

No… not the dumpster. The first thing Micah saw were a pair of huge yellow eyes, set close together on a furry face. Cat? No, something was wrong with this cat. Micah could feel it in her bones. Small, hand-ling claws were the next thing she saw as it used it’s lanky arms to climb up over the dumpster and sit, unblinkingly staring. Micah could only stare back as it’s teeth, wickedly sharp and pointed bore themselves as the creatures lips slid back into a smile wider than should have been. A huge, bushy tail flicked behind it, like a raccoon’s tail, complete with stripes, and curled around him to rest on his fore feet. As Micah took a step back, it stood. Another step back and it stepped forward. Oh god. Micah could not break into a dead run fast enough. And as she heard the strange, small claws on the brick and concrete behind her, she knew she would have to run faster to survive.

If Micah had had the presence of mind, she would have pointed out to the cat that her name was not "girl" and that it was, in fact, "Micah". Of course, if she had the presence of mind, she would have also noted that she was being talked to by a cat. And that said cat had a very feral quality about her. And that said cat had a golden star seemingly embedded into her forehead. As it stood, however, her mind was not in working order, and she could do nothing else but follow this talking, seemingly celestial cat to wherever she was heading. Anywhere had to be better than here, right?

Fear blocked her senses. Now, when she needed it most, the grace of her running failed her. Fast, yes, she was fast, but just because of the power in her legs. Micah continued to run into things, hitting her shoulder and knees on bins. She spun out once or twice, turning to see that monster running towards her, gurgling and hissing. She might have screamed. She wasn't sure. She did know that she cursed when a small clawed hand closed around her ******** off!" Micah grabbed the closest possible object and swung. Did ti make contact? No time to check, just run. And run she did.

Cell phone... pen... right! Micah snatched them as she was told and held them up like weapons. Now what. She realized what she had done and cocked her head, resting her weight on one hip in thought. Wait... wait what? She turned back to the cat with an eye brow raised, wits having officially caught up with her when she realized that she had just tried to fight with a cell phone and a pen.

"And with these I'm meant to what? Write the thing a copy of Byron? Scribble it a Dickinson poem? And the cell phone, what garbage is this?" She wave the purple and grey phone in the cats face and scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. "Right... I'm talking to a cat. At the end of an alley. With a monster chasing us both. And all I have are these." She stared at the objects in her hands as though they had personally offended her. The cell phone didn't register. It was a cell phone. She tucked that into her pocket and turned her attention to the pen.

No... not a pen. It quivered with power in her hand. Entranced with some strange magic she lifted the pen into the light to get a better look at it. The same purple and grey as the phone. A top the instrument was a silver ball, engraved with a curved claw, a symbol from her childhood. It was ringed in the same silver metal. The words came to Micah easily. Far too easily for her own comfort. As her fingers gripped the pen she’d been given by the speaking cat, the words jumped from Micah’s lips into existence. “Acubens Power, Make Up!” And as the command tumbled unbidden from her tongue, Micah’s hand rose with the pen, swooping down in a slash. The pen sliced through the air and created a gash before her. As the light faded, Micah could hear the screeching of the animal she at once feared and loved. A great raptor crafted of light and magic rose from behind Micah and enveloped her in electric warmth that she was not sure she disliked. The heat covered her legs with blue grey chaps, and her torso with a white leotard. On her head the light drew her tiara, a pinpoint forming giving way in the center to the stone. It was at that moment she knew what she was. As the air around her settled, and her tattered skirt fluttered around her legs, Micah leveled her vision. She was Sailor Acubens, Sailor Senshi of Velociraptors.

"Prepare to meet a real predator," she warned the thing as it closed in, lowering her body into a stance she didn't know she knew. Crossing ehr arms across her chest she said, with the same terrifying ease, "Velociraptor Dash!" The power that surged through Micah's legs was far more exquisite than that which she demanded of her body normally. She powered forward at break neck speeds, far faster than she had ever gone. From a dumpster she snatched a pipe, and held it like a bat. As she closed in, Micah used to forward momentum to swing at the beast, running into it after she'd smacked it, sliding five feet to a stop, huffing heavily. Had she beaten it?

Better question, what had just happened? Micah looked down at herself. Tattered violet skirt over blue grey leggings, the same colors as the phone and pen. Metal bracers, lined with feathers were fingered lightly, inspected by the flustered red head. "What am I?"

Micah was going to retort when the cat spoke again. "Huh?" She looked back at the monster and picked her pipe back up. "Oh, right." As the thing writhed in the pain from Micah's last blow she whacked at it again. He gurgled and fizzled out of existence with a very unsatisfying hiss. Micah carefully inspected the pipping, looking for some trace of leakage. Nothing. That was strange. Hold on, that was strange? Micah looked back at Laoise with narrowed eyes and stalked back to her. Leaning down, her unruly curls falling into her face, Micah inspected the cat thoroughly.

"Star, huh?" Micah poked the marking on her forehead. "What are you, some kind of space cat?" She stood again, inspecting the broach on her chest. Who knew a child hood obsession would become this. "So my name is now... Acubens? And a warrior for what now? Against what?" All too much. She crossed her arms, temper flaring at the sudden onslaught of information that she could not decode. The bracers were colder than she'd expected, and caused her to shiver.

"So you show up out of no where, just like that... thing... and give me a pen and a cell phone. Suddenly I'm Acubens? Whoever that is..." She pulled at a feather on her bracer. "And chaos? Why? What's my... motivation?"

Micah listened; of course she listened. She was, after all, genuinely curious. Still, she remained unimpressed, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips. Because everyone fought? That seemed like a lame reason. And she was supposed to believe this because a cat told her. Micah moved her eyes from the cat to the wall and let her gaze linger there.

You fight because there is no one else to fight. The reason drifted through Micah's mind, voice warped slightly in thought, but message the same. Except that there was. Whole legions of those mysterious aliens the city was so a buzz about were fighting. What good would Micah do, especially when she didn't really want to. When she wasn't motivated, she did a half assed job, if she did anything at all.

You fight because they will fight you. The cat's second reason followed hot on the heels of the first. They? Who were they? The militant agents of what they called chaos? They fought the teenage aliens. If Micah never chose this path they would leave her unscathed. They should, anyway. After all, what use would they have for a girl who didn't have any powers?

You fight because they hurt people. This reason she had to take at the word of a talking cat. A cat she didn't know, who, judging by the powers she'd already employed, could be as dangerous as the monster from before. How was Micah to believe this cat was on her side? She didn't even know her name.

"No." She finally said, turning half way away. "No, I don't think those reasons are good enough. At least not for me. All I have to go on for these things is your word. A talking... cat." Micah leveled her gaze with Laoise, temper beginning to flare. "How do I know you're not lying to me," she asked darkly after a short pause. "I hate being lied to. I hate even the possibility of being lied to." Micah turned back to Laoise and stalked back to her original place in front of her, leaning down to meet her eye level. "How do I know you're not like that monster? How do I know you haven't made me into one of them, more over? Worse, how do I know this isn't some elabotate plot?" Micah shook her head again, looking the cat over from head to toe. "Just some mangy puss," she grumbled, pulling off the thin silver tiara, inspecting the purple stone set in the middle. "And some tattered dress. That's all I have to go by." She tossed the tiara on the ground. "No."

Micah was scared by a lot of things. Clown, bigger people, and heights to name a few. Cats, however, were not one of them. She raised an eyebrow at Laoise and set her lips in a thin line. Still, this cat was trying to intimidate her and Micah never really did respond well to that sort of thing. She set her hips firmly above her feet and crossed her arms.

"Better to be a selfish child living my own life than a fool who died for a fight I know nothing about." She looked down at the tiara again, temper ratcheting higher and higher. The color must have been growing in her face. It felt all too hot for it to remains at its normal pallor.

Another bout of intimidation sent Micah temper rising another ten degrees. Still, she smiled wickedly and stooped, eyes glued to the furious cat. Her fingers closed around the silver tiara, tingling at the sensation of cold metal. She slowly rose and extended her arm over the nearest dumpster. The tiara fell into it with a sad clink.

"I will not be a pawn in a war I am not a part of."

Leaving? Micah had expect more of a fight. She was actually... disappointing that the cat hadn't stayed to convince her. She peered at the dumpster where she'd dumped her tiara. It'd be back next time she powered up. The symbolism did not escape her. So she could not escape this fate, then? Her temper flared to it highest, making her tremble angrily and her face turn burgundy. A scream ripped at her throat which she was forced to contain. As her vision sunk into darkness Micah's temper peaked and then dissipated. Just like always she was left with vision that was too clear and a body that was too weak.

With the temper that had guarded Micah up until now gone, the reality hit her like a ton of bricks slamming down onto her shoulders. Micah lost the use of her lungs. Wait a second... she looked at her bracers, her skirt, her boots... these were not her things. She owned nothing like them. They had come from a magical pen given to her by a talking cat who called her by a name that was not her own.

Her knees turned to liquid and she fell hard on the concrete. She was already so unsure of herself, defending her fragile self with a dangerous temper. Now... now she found this out. That she may not be herself at all. Her voice came out before she even formulated the words at all. That same frightening ease; the irony made her chafe.

"Wait don't leave me!" The words were too fast, as unbidden as they were. Her arms had curled around her chest as she knelt on the ground, hunched over in a pain she knew she imagined but could not will away. "Don't leave me like this..."

"How the hell am I supposed to know what I want?" Her voice was too loud for her ears, though she may have only muttered the words. Her heart had not yet slowed it's beating, but she was now able to breath. The air filled her lungs if deep gasps, making the blood flow faster and her vision blur. She wanted her temper back. She wanted her brain to be less fuzzy as it rebooted itself. She wanted to be normal. That's all she ever wanted, normalcy.

"How the hell am I supposed to know..." her voice sounded less foreign in her ears this time. She repeated the phrase to herself, a mantra as her mind came back to her, clear again from the reboot forced by the peaking of her temper. With her thoughts now clear to her Micah could say something more intelligent. Maybe even form an argument. Maybe. If her temper didn't get a hold of her again.

"I'm just a child," she defended, pulling her back straight, but remaining on the ground. "I'm just a child and you had no right -- no right to turn me into something else." Her eyes lifted to the cat and her temper bit at her stomach, familiar and keen. What right did that cat have to look down on her like that? She huffed through her nose and clenched her fists. "Tossing me, when I don't even know you, into the jaws of danger for something you yourself can't even identify. I have to fight because everyone else is. Because other will die in my place if I do not. But why should I fight. Give me a good... real reason and I will. But I need that reason."