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Solo #66: Back to Work
Nov 06, 2011
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
Nov 23, 2011
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.

Solo #73: Halloween Hangovers
Nov 23, 2011
What did she remember about Halloween? Other than getting completely knockered on Everclear and “blood”, losing the eating contest to skinny-a**-Kess and then kissing Kess and yelling at Marlo for being an evil soul-sucker...

Not much.

So it didn't do much to explain why she was waking up in Marlo's guest room in a Tee-shirt and a pair of half-on-half-off pajama pants. How in the hell had she gotten here? And why wasn't she still bloody and goopy- cleaning sheets was what he had maids for, wasn't it?

Oh. Wait-

She hadn't remembered the way to her new apartment, and she hadn't texted him her new address. “Yer not trusty.” she'd told him, and pointed at her little wooden treasure chest. “You want to pirate my booty.” So when she had finally given up on finding her house, and he had looked about to strangle her, he had instead taken her home, given her refuge for the night.

She'd kissed him.

How exactly the shirt and pants came into play was yet to be determined. Her hair was still damp and she was faux-blood-free, so she must have showered. Stumbling into his living room, her pirate hat was on top of a lamp shade, and her boots were next to his patio door. Her pirate dress was a heap on his guest room floor, fake blood seeping into his white ******** a DUCK.

Ugh, she was going to puke. She bolted for the bathroom, making it just in time. She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach. Everclear was evil, much more evil than she had dubbed Marlo Xanis. It took about fifteen minutes before she stumbled to her feet, washed out her mouth. She could either steal his clothes, or she could put back on that nasty, blood-crusted pirate dress.

Did he at least have a nicer shirt? She crept across the living room, testing his doorknob. Unlocked- haHA! She pushed it open, moved to his closet as quietly as a hung-over person could creep, and cursed as she stubbed her toe. If she woke him, he didn't say anything, so she robbed him quickly of a nice- ugh, pink- shirt and crept back out of his room, leaving his closet open, but closing his door.

Okay. Black pajama pants and a pink dress shirt. That was going to be fun, getting home in this, carrying her costume. She shoved her feet into her pirate boots, stumbled out his door, hearing it click behind her. Oh fudgeamonkey! She'd left her treasure chest on his couch. And her hat was still his lamp shade.

It was 8:32 when she stumbled into work, dressed for the day in a pair of nice black slacks and a grey silk top. Only half an hour late. Geoff glared, but she was on top of the-

Oh, porcelain gods, her head hurt.

Solo #74: ME-OW!
Nov 23, 2011
One thing that Eternal Sailor Scylla had not been expecting when she was getting ready to go home and get ready for the day- was finding herself on all fours. Not that Jada ever planned to find herself on all fours, not that she ever usually did but-

Obviously the fall had scrambled her brains.

It was actually very sudden. She had just finished fighting a youma, such an annoyance in the morning, and then there was a blast of something; She had started to move forward, but her legs wouldn't work right. She went to stare at her hands, wondering when she had fallen... And she was no longer tan-colored, but she was... black? And blue, with little gold bands around an upper arm that was suddenly far too short. Her entire body was tingling, too, and she- she had the urge to groom herself.

What the flying effing effamabob?



She screeched, jumping straight into the air, landing on all fours and chasing her tail in a circle, terrified to see that it was- she was- a cat? She knew what happened to cats in her neighborhood. It wasn't pretty. Especially the little cats, and she was a little cat. Big cats were not this low to the ground.

In the silver of a trash can lid, Scylla could see herself. A nice body, firm legs, head tilted high and proud. She had a well-formed rump, too, and a nice skinny neck. Intelligent eyes. Perky ears. And such an adorable, kissable black nose. Surely someone would take her home and not leave her to the mercy of animal control? It also looked like she had a star on her forehe- a star? She pawed at it, squinting into the trash can lid. No way.

At least, Jada thought to herself, she had a nice, fluffy tail. It was a consolation, as she had to deal with being on four legs. And having a target on her forehead and all. She nervously licked a paw, then realized what she was doing and flung the offender to the ground with a soft thump. Something darted across her vision and she froze, staring after it. She wanted to chase it, kind of. She didn't want to chase it. Chasing things was for stupid cats, who liked to chase laser pointers. Stupid cats, like Castor.

A horn honked, and Scylla darted for the few shadows that this alleyway had to offer in the early morning light. She couldn't be SEEN like this.

It would go away. It was like Tartaros. A giant nightmare. She was having a nightmare. She would wake up, soon. But why was she having a nightmare about her morning? She normally loved her mornings.

It was the youma's fault. It was-

A dog? Stepping out of the shadows, head down and teeth bared.

Shrieking, Eternal Sailor Scylla fled the feral chihuahua.