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 Posted: Thu Oct 15, 2009 9:52 am
Somehow -- God only knew how -- this was suitable reassurance, or maybe Char was simply the sort of person whose pride was stung if he pussyfooted about things too long.
"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, talking cat who doesn't have the good manners to introduce itself." (He had not worked out for certain whether the talking cat with the magical powers was male or female.)
Charlie hopped carefully on one foot over to the curtain, stuck his head around the side, and investigated to make sure no one was around. No one was around. So much for the nurse's motherly bedside manner. He came back, and held the pen out, away from himself like it was a cobra he'd gotten by the neck and was trying to keep away from his face.
"Thuban Power," he said with something very distant from enthusiasm, "Make-Up."
Apparently enthusiasm was not part of the criteria for a sailor senshi transformation, which involved sparkleshowers of glitter, dazzling laser light effects, and lots of magical glossy ribbon. It would seem the world's foremost magical heroes had been brought into existence with Lisa Frank as their fashion consultant.
"I take it stealth is not a priority," Sailor Thuban assessed disapprovingly.
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Posted: Thu Oct 15, 2009 5:03 pm
Charys looked at Sailor Thuban. She looked at the long length of fabric dropping back from his collar; she looked at the headpiece that was last made fashionable by Frédéric Bartholdi a la the Statue of Liberty; she looked mostly in specific at the kilt, which gave the world a pretty good peek at Charlemagne Boyle's thighs. Then she burst out laughing, which was pretty unkind.
"Holy s**t!" she said. (Then she kept on laughing.)
"Stealth is not your priority," said Astraea sourly. "Duty is your priority -- shut up, Charys -- duty, which is apparently a foreign concept to everyone here -- determination -- shut up, Charys. Let me get this clear with you, Thuban. I expect a lot from you because I really don't expect a lot from everyone else. You're here to fight the forces of evil -- "
" -- just not in an updraft, am I right," said Charys.
" -- that have invaded Destiny City -- "
" -- dude, if you wore a skirt that short on Prom Night I'd say you were asking for it," said Charys.
" -- and are threatening the shut up, Charys."
"Sorry," said Charys, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Sorry. I'm an a*****e. Sorry, Chaz -- Thuban. Sorry. Seriously."
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Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2009 7:16 am
"Have you got a mirror," Sailor Thuban sighed with grim expectation.
He sat back down on the bed, and swung his legs experimentally. "Well, my foot hurts less, so that's -- well, it's convenient, at least." Charlie reached down to lift up his injured foot and inspect it. He plucked at the rust-green leather of his new sandals, curious.
Wrapped up in this business of new shoes, it took him a few more seconds to remember that there were things a person just shouldn't do in a kilt -- such as sit in a position that might offer too much information about the standard-issue color of sailor senshi underwear.
Thuban dropped his foot back to the floor rather quickly. He shoved both hands through his hair, the sides of his arms failing to fully hide that he was now considerably red in the face.
"This is a lot to take in," he said to Astraea, muffledly. "I mean, what do you even want me to do? Do I get some weapons, maybe a magical laser beam?" He sighed again -- a long, slow, dramatic one. The important thing, however, was that he hadn't said 'no' to the prospect of fighting the forces of evil and protecting Destiny City (in a star-spangled toga). The option of 'no' did not seem to have occured to him at all.
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Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2009 7:46 pm
"You'll get your attacks in time from me," said the cat, admittedly a bit starchily. "I can't hang around and play Yoda at the moment. And although I really don't want to have to leave the explaining up to Charys, I'm in more danger than I can say."
She didn't seem anything other than exasperated (or even in the mood to comment on Thuban's underwear), but just briskly jumped off the bed and wended her way underneath the curtain. Charys watched her go. "Astraea's kind of an a*****e," she was saying, tucking a stray lock of bluenette hair behind one ear. "Eh."
She had whipped out her cellphone and, before Charlie could make any protests about her mobile cellular or express doubts that the cellphone would steal his soul, had taken a picture. In reality, Charys was also an a*****e. "Just think about going back to Chaz and you'll reform back," she was saying, thumb callous tapping on the tiny keyboard in order to place the photo in CHARYS' BLACKMAIL or whatever. "Then let's go get a burger and I'll tell you what's the haps, okay?"
Then she added, "Damn, son, you have thighs like tree trunks."
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Posted: Mon Oct 19, 2009 6:56 am
"And now that I'm grown I eat five dozen eggs," he griped back at her, "and use antlers in all of my decorating."
For all intents and purposes, thinking about not being in his sailor skirt was the easiest thing in the world for Charlemagne Boyle: with a snap like a measuring tape retracting, his toga-wear dissolved back into ribbons which, in turn, dissolved back into air. When they were gone, all that was left was Charlie, Charlie's gym clothes (which, mercifully, were on Charlie), and the ugliest pen in the history of the world. He held it in his hand for a while, wondering how to disguise it as something else. Nothing came to mind.
"Alright, let's get cheeseburgers," he resolved like it was his last meal before the electric chair: roll on two. "Nothing will make me feel better right now except saturated fat and tons of carbs."
And they went.
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