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Oh, the joys of the juvenile judicial system.

Parker tugged at the tight collar of his white button-up, straightening the tie every so often. The black pants could use some lint-rolling, and the matching Converses didn't exactly signal success, or seriousness. The entire outfit was formal, uncomfortable, save the shoes. It wasn't often that he wore this kind of stuff.

Well. Except for work. And school.

Okay so maybe he did dress like a mortician's assistant regularly, but not on his free time, not when he had a choice. It was a Wednesday evening, one of his nights off from GeekSquad. Apparently a night off was too much to ask.

The day before, Parker received his grade on a history paper. It was a zero, an order to do it over, and a mandatory psychology group meeting on youth insubordination at the local Holiday Inn. At first, he protested, but the administration threatened to keep him from graduating. He would be forced to repeat the school year. It wasn't like he had any parents to argue on his behalf, and the idea of spending another year at Hillworth was less desirable than receiving an enema of fire ants.

His hand was forced.

Apparently, his history teacher did not think that comparing the militant prison of Hillworth to Stalin's kulak consolidation encampments historically relevant. Apparently, this meant that Parker was a bad seed. Apparently, he needed to realize the gravity of his accusations.

Either way, Parker had to go to the Holiday Inn to listen to other troubled teens share their stories, probably moderated by some 50-some divorcee with countless cats and too much perfume. He tugged again at his collar and crossed over to the silver doors of the elevator to press the button.

Elevator going up.

There were a lot of people who Parker would hate to share an elevator with, loads of them. They could fill all the elevators of the world with the people who Parker would like to avoid. To his good fortune (shocking, as that was), the person who called after the elevator was someone that he, well, enjoyed: Dylan.

A smirk touched his lips. "Compatriots to the end in the system," he said, raising both eyebrows. "Fräulein History thought my comparison of Hillworth to the Stalinist regime was off color. She used that word: off color. I tried to explain how the word off color was a little off color, and she threatened to keep me from graduating." He shrugged. "So here I am. At the Holiday Inn." There was a song about a Holiday Inn, wasn't there? Parker wasn't up-to-date enough to make the reference. "What about you?" He fixed his eyes on the floor number above the door.

The elevator doors closed, and it started to move, climbing slowly up toward the top floor.

When the elevator lurched to a stop, Parker bounced into the wall, fingers gripping at the metal railing. He'd never understood the need for railing in an elevator, even if it was just a slightly elevated panel from the rest of the wall. Now, he did.

Just as Dylan lit up his iPod, Parker dug into his pockets for his cellphone. Twin bluish glows lit the elevator, bobbing around like fireflies as each boy searched the small car. "I have no service," Parker said. His cellphone illuminated his face in harsh angles. Apparently he was telling the scary story now.

It might not have been wise to move around in a stopped elevator, but Parker saw no other option. He crossed to the wall panel by the buttons. "There should be a bell, or something. Fire phone? It's a Holiday Inn." Beat. "s**t, it's a Holiday Inn..." His voice was meandering, his fingers actively snapping across the metal plate that held the buttons. Parker gripped his cellphone in his mouth to illuminate the panel.

He pressed the siren button. Nothing happened. He pressed the call button. Nothing happened. He pressed the floor buttons. Nothing happened.

"Iff thwis wahs a Fowe Seahsohns--" The elevator car shook. Parker's cellphone fell from his mouth and hit the metal floor of the elevator with a noisy clatter. It illuminated the ceiling.

It illuminated the tiny tremors that rattled the roof of the car as something moved across it. Parker stared up, mouth agape. "What the <********> is that?" he said, hushed. His cellphone flickered off, halving the meager light in the car. Parker made no move to pick it up.

Zoology was not Parker's best subject. He liked dissection, sure, in the same morbid way he liked reading about the worst international aviation disasters and the history of bear attacks in the continental United States on Wikipedia. Limited knowledge of animals or not, Parker knew that frogs did not live in elevator shafts or come in sizes that big. The creature looked more like one of the swollen amphibians from Pan's Labyrinth than anything of this world.

In Destiny City, that meant youma.

Parker squatted instinctively to put more distance between himself and the frog hanging over the hatch. "Frog youma," he said sharply, as if it would make sense to Dylan. Some civilians knew the proper name, others said monsters. Either way, Parker was up s**t creek without a stitch of cover to henshin up in privacy. Even if he knocked Dylan's iPod out of his hands, it would be painfully obvious that Parker was Taranis if one disappeared and the other appeared in his place. <********.

Cerulean eyes found Dylan's. Poor Dylan. Defenseless Dylan. A normal teenager, just like he used to be. He probably didn't know how dangerous the frog could be. So innocent, so in need of protection. Sigh.

Never fear, Sailor Taranis was here!

Parker maneuvered to his knees, trying to suss out the best way to handle this. First step: calm the civilian. "Don't worry, Dylan. I've got this--UNGH!" Parker's (probably inspiring) speech was cut terribly short when the frog youma darted its tongue out to Parker's leg and yanked him unceremoniously up into the air.

He hung there, tie slapping him in the face, dangling like a worm on a hook, and tried very hard not to get dizzy.

The tongue of the youma was slick. A ring of gooey ooze soaked through Parker's pant leg. He grimaced, arms swinging frantically to find a hold. He didn't expect to find Dylan. "Frogs have double eyeli--whoooa!" The frog hulked out and tugged both of them upward. One of Parker's legs went through the opening, the other one slammed into the side.

The frog croaked. It tugged Parker again. His knee slammed into the ceiling. The youma hissed. (Frogs hiss?) Parker rotated in a circle. Apparently the youma was trying to solve a puzzle.

Parker took the time to address his poor civilian companion. Glancing down to the blond boy dangling beneath him, he opened his mouth and then let it hang there. This was not Dylan. This was a boy in a tiara. Parker could sympathize. "Dylan?" Whoever was beneath him, it did not look like Dylan. But it had to be Dylan. It wasn't easy to hide a person in a toilet stall-sized open space.

All the tumblers clicked into place, and Parker looked relieved. At least he would be revealing his identity to another senshi! Then the youma slammed him into the ceiling again and Parker forgot all the pleasant things. "OW. ********. Dylan, I need my arm. I NEED MY ARM." He wrenched it free from the other super-powered teen, reaching into his pocket. The henshin pen was always on hand, and it was a good thing too.

"Taranis Power, Make-Up!"

Ribbon, sparkles, magic music -- Parker was suddenly Sailor Taranis. It would have been nice to have a brofist, but there was little time. "My attack is ranged," he said. "I gotta go up there." Taranis slid his hands away from the unnamed Sailor Dylan, tucked his leg in, and allowed the youma to yank him up into the elevator shaft.

There was a thud, a sound of metal clanging, and a long string of profanity from Taranis upon his departure.

Sailor Taranis was on his back being dragged perilously close the gnashing frog mouth. Sailor Dylan (Senshi of Arrows? Senshi of Archery?) had decided to continue his elevator ride without the aid of the car. Hopefully this was all part of some plan.

Left stranded below, Taranis tugged one leg free and kicked for the frog's eye. It retracted in like a turtle head and then popped back out when the danger was gone. Taranis kicked again, harder this time, but the frog side-stepped in, slamming him against the far wall where the cables climbed. "I have a ranged attack," he shouted, though he couldn't quite see Dylan. "This close, it'll do nothing but make a mess." No clarification given. Let Dylan ponder that one.

Just as Taranis started to contemplate a plan, he found himself also being lifted upward. Hoshit. The same cables that snagged Dylan's cape snatched up Taranis's red ascot, and he too began to ascend at a snail's pace up the wall.

The frog youma seemed a little perplexed too as it was lifted off the ground. The creature withdrew its tongue, fell back to the lid of the car, and stared up at the two dangling starseed-holders. Apparently problem-solving was a bit difficult for the destructive little beast, and it didn't seem sure how to tackle the new element of moving cables.

Wait. Cables were moving. Cables only moved when the elevator was working, right? Oh god. "The elevator is moving!" Taranis shouted in the darkness. "The car. The elevator car is ******** moving." Beneath their dangling feet, metal clanged on metal as the car slowly began to rise.

No time like the present. The more Taranis waited, the closer the youma would get. He'd never tried sending his attack from this position, or in this small of a space, but there was no time to waste. He squared his hands over his tiara, closed his eyes, and said, "Taranis Sand Blast!" The basketball-sized circle of sand appeared at his fingertips, spinning like a top.

Taranis's elbow wobbled unsteadily. Most of his control was based on how strongly he planted his feet. It was a bit hard to do that while airborne. The teetering of his sand blast was only intensified by the sudden halting of the elevator three floors up.

A stop so quick that it broke Taranis's short ascot free of the cables.
Which meant he was falling.
With his sand blast.
In his hand.

Taranis fell two stories to the lid of the elevator. He tried to rocket off his sand blast at the last second, but the spinning ball was wedged between Taranis and the youma as the senshi performed an accidental belly flop. There was an explosion of sand upon impact, coating the youma, Taranis, the elevator lid, and slapping against the walls -- but no youma dust. Alas.

It was a shame Taranis was not immune to his own attack.

Sailor Taranis sat up, coughing out a mouthful of sand and batting it out of his eyes. This was not the first time he accidentally hit himself with his own attack, nor would it probably be the last. Learning to harness his powers was a daily battle, and he'd only been on the job for a month. Taranis considered his improvement to be above average, but then again, he considered most everything he did above average.

Shifting his weight, Taranis tried to push off before the youma could get its bearings, but the frog was quicker to respond than he expected. It used its tongue to flip Taranis on to his back and then landed heavily on his chest. It was hard to breathe, the shaft was still dark, and then something thudded into his thigh.

Hey... you know.
Everything was okay actually.
He was just laying down.
There was nothing to stressed about.
So what, a youma was jumping on his chest to the point of breaking ribs?
Man, you know, some things just weren't worth worrying about.
Nothing mattered, really.
Taranis was just relaxing in some sand with a youma friend.

There was a sound up above him. Taranis looked up, eyes glassy. "What did you say, friend?" he asked, voice as cool and calm as a summer breeze. A voice as un-Parker like as they came. He didn't notice the arrow sticking out of his leg. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't care. Why stress? Better to just be apathetic.

The youma jumped, and Taranis wheezed. That was the only reaction its attempts to kill him got.

Odd.

The bouncing made Sailor Taranis sputter like he was slowly being asphyxiated, but that threat didn't register at all on the senshi of sand's placid features. Each arrow that fell brought a curious gaze from Taranis, no more. No concern. No shouts of outrage. No tremors of success.

When Dylan plunged from the sky, Sailor Taranis grinned from ear to ear and opened his arms wide as if they were about to hug. "Hello, Dylan," he said, voice even and unfaltering. The impact from Sailor Dylan was diffused by the youma, not that Taranis would have minded if it wasn't. Hey! It was like a hug. They had made a youma sandwich! Wasn't that neat? It seemed pretty neat to Sailor Taranis.

Then the arrow came out of his leg.

It was like Taranis had been woken from his sleep to find his hair on fire. Like he was in the middle of the Peter Pan ride at Disney World and the lights flickered on, revealing that - hey - boats really don't fly. If Kore made him feel cuddled in a womb of apathy, then the moment the arrow left his leg was like having all of his skin ripped off and then being thrown into a vat of rock salt. <******** s**t, DYLAN," he shouted. "WHAT THE ******** s**t." It was not a question. It was an explosion of pain, rage, and emotion all flooding back in like the Hoover Dam had just been bulldozed. The pain that had seemed so unimportant before now made his cheeks burn red and his heart pound.

Dylan reached out to move the youma, and this time, Taranis was of right mind to help. He kicked with both legs, throwing the frog into the far wall. It let out a gravely ribbit and then flicked its tongue again. This time Taranis managed to step on it, forcing the lanky appendage into the sand coating the top of the elevator car.

Taranis was pissed, but he was absolutely useless down on the same level as the youma. "My attack is ranged," he said again, clutching his chest. It hurt. It really really hurt. "Keep it the ******** away from me." He looked left. He looked right. There wasn't really anywhere to go but up.

As if on cue, the elevator began to rise upward once more.