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That encounter with the overly casual, blue-haired senshi had been one of the most disappointing experiences of Janice Fitzpatrick's young life. The graveyard hours saw her mind abuzz with unanswered questions and repeated personal griping about it, poring over notes, jotting down questions, scribbling in postulations and repeating the whole process ad nauseam.

Sometimes she talked to Franz about it, on the phone. They had a long list of subjects to cover, both for the Sound and for their own amusement, but it seemed some days that their chattering over who was the most influential rock band of the 80's, or, once over a game of Candy Land, what kind of monarch Queen Frostine was, was just a diversion, a futile distraction from the real issue they wanted to sink their teeth into. That senshi. That tiny peek into the secrets of Destiny City had left both of them craving for more, like accepting a free sample of ice cream while fully knowing that tiny spoonful just wasn't going to be enough. And they both had a stomach for a five-gallon bucket of french vanilla.

"We need more data," Janice had breathed into the phone at 2:15 one morning, ablaze with the insatiability of her curiosity. "Keystone and Cobbler. Code word: tetracycline. I expect you here in twenty, St. Germaine."

Eighteen minutes later Franz had joined Janice at the corner of Keystone and Cobbler. It was an exact replica of their last attempt, right down to the spy beatnik look, the code word was exchanged with a brief handshake. Janice produced another package of Pop Tarts; the flavor of the evening was strawberry milkshake-- which her accomplice had correctly guessed before the foil was even ripped open.

There they stood, silent save for the crunching of their toaster pastries, waiting.

Really, there was a secret that everyone and God knew: part of why Franz liked being out with Janice at night waiting for senshi to crop up and follow like rogue paparazzi was that it gave him time for his two loves. His first love was Truth. Franz loved the truth; the Truth was a living, breathing being that was melodramatically gagged in the prisons of Destiny City; the truth was God and President.

And his second love, which was Janice Fitzpatrick, which was also the secret that everyone knew. Everyone except Janice.

He had just swallowed his last morsel of strawberry milkshake when they'd been approached -- not by a senshi, but by a civvie, which Franz regarded with the same kind of trust he regarded anyone with who was out in the middle of the night: obviously a kindred spirit. A kindred bogan spirit who appeared to be the kind of guy who still thought that Metallica was the only music worth listening to, ever, but that was also a good descriptor for a lot of the Hillworth boys. In fact, he looked kind of familiar --

"Khaldun?" said Franz, who never forgot a name. "Cilentani, right? You snuck out too? Damn, son! More power to the people."

Except he'd said, "Jan."

"You two know each other? Serendipitous." He added, sotto voce: "Triple word score, Emma Goldman."

"Franz? Man, what are you doing out here so late?" And, if he may be so bold as to ask, was it at all illegal? Sometimes one had to roll up their proverbial sleeves and dig up the metaphorical dirt by hand. Blackmail didn't extort itself, and he'd yet to try shaking down Franz St. Germaine. Maybe Khaldun never would - the Hillworth Sound, Franz's newspaper of ill repute and madness-inducing conspiracy, was one of the greatest human endeavors Khal knew of, after the Negaverse and lovingly hand-crafted retribution. But it never hurt not to know things about people he dealt with on a regular basis. Franz was in a handful of Khaldun's classes, and was... difficult to forget. "Would you believe me if I told you I thought you were both a couple of Sailor Senshi? Thought I was going to get jumped. You must have seen the news lately."

And there was a little publicity for Sailor Nea, too. Spreading rumors was at least less effort than dressing in a ridiculous frilly costume to start them.

Khaldun stood silently for a moment, save the jangling of chains that twined between belt loops on his jeans. Janice's presence had all but vanquished the worries he had over his senshi-hunting mission. Addressed by Janice, he gave her his full and somewhat over-eager attention. Women were the key weakness to his otherwise strategic mind - he couldn't even remember the hazards of the smile that had crossed the girl's face.

"Hey, you can just call me Khaldun." Was it ever 'the look' he was giving her. This was only the second time he'd met Janice - there was no reason to give up so early. She was just playing hard-to-get, it was simple! He followed her gaze to the splinted finger, letting his eyes crawl over the injury while he attempted to make something of it. And did he ever.

"Oh, this? Don't worry about it. People do things in the heat of passion." He held up his hand as if admiring a ring and not the slow healing of a broken finger bone. Janice would be very lucky if he was joking. The look on his face, a sort of knowing smile, made it hard to tell. "A lot can happen in a short time."

When Khaldun took Janice's words and bound then right into her face, the way the response struck her was the same as if he'd chucked a clot of dirt at her. Her features flattened into a look of pure disgust, baffled and annoyed -- dammit, that was supposed to be a threat! -- but he'd done something unexpected with it, twisting it into another pass at her. She really should have seen that coming, given what her all of five minutes of interaction with the guy had told her about him. He was tactless, unreasonably persistent and most of the nerve signals to his brain were fueled by testosterone.

Janice Fitzpatrick was just simply not used to pickup lines and amorous tones being used in her direction. Those her knew her well would have no difficulty in saying that she had all the passions of a slab of granite - that was to say, she was not interested in anyone, ever, and had no intent on getting romantically involved with anyone. Ever. She was about as interested in romance as she was in being infected by lung flukes, and at least being infected by lung flukes would be an interesting learning experience.

Her accomplice's sudden change in behavior, needless to say, flew right over her muddy-plum head. The girl figured she was just witnessing a slice of typical Hillworth culture.

"And sometimes nothing happens, as much as you'd like to think something did," she added, tone bleeding through with the colors of a coral snake. Part of her just wanted to lash out and grab the b*****d, undo all of that healing he had managed under that splint, make the injury even worse, hear him scream and curse into the empty streets. Give him a lopsided finger for the rest of his pathetic life; wouldn't that be something?

It seemed like Franz wanted to keep the idiot along, though. Janice would just have to bear with him for now, or otherwise forsake their research before it had even truly started.