Sailor Pomona had finally worked up the nerve to go exploring some of the buildings in the main town on her planet. She naturally chose the largest building, locating in the center of the town, and after a couple of pulls, finally managed to yank the double door open. The sight that greeted her was unexpected.

The room was large and open, a low platform like a sort of stage on one end. Wooden chairs were scattered throughout the room, all of them knocked over, smashed, or splintered. The floor was covered in scuff marks, scratches, and yellowed papers who’s writing had long since faded. Nothing Pomona had seen on her planet thus far quite compared to this. This room wasn’t simply empty, abandoned, or picked clean. No, something had happened here, something seemingly less than peaceful. But what? What was this room? A concert hall?

Pomona explored the room slowly, feet stirring up small clouds of dust as she moved. As she approached the stage, she started hearing muffled sounds, an indication of an oncoming memory; excellent timing.

…

“-lmen. I will take over from here.”

A pudgy man in the center of the room – a councilman - bowed and exited, leaving Sailor Pomona, the concerned parties, and one of the Chipson lads, meant to supply muscle if necessary (it never was). Sailor Pomona eyed the gathered complainants, sighed, and crossed her arms.

“ Alright Thornberry, let’s hear it. What did you do this time?”

Thresher Thornberry was a young man with too much fondness for drinking and quarreling. His handsome face meant he got away with more then he should, but he was still a troublemaker, and one of the few people on Planet Pomona that could be classified as a delinquent. If Sailor Pomona wasn’t as familiar with his character as she was, she might believe the innocent face he was trying to give her.

“ Me? I didn’t do nothing! I’m innocent this time, I swear.”

“ Oh yeah Thresher, you innocent; innocent as a goat in a garden.” Was the sarcastic response from one of the two angry girls flanking Chipson; Ivyana Greenroot, if she remembered.

“ You leave Thresh alone!” Screeched the other girl, Lilia Claypot.

“ Stuff it, you dirtbrained twit! That Thornberry put a mangy goat in my prized pepper patch!”

“ Buttercup ain’t mangy!” The Claypot girl said, indignant, before her eyes widened as she realized her slip. Sailor Pomona just sat and silently watched the byplay.

“ Buttercup? Buttercup?! That old goat was your’s? You dirty little rat! Yo-”

“ You called me a rabbit!” A Pomonian term for “slut.”

“ Because you kissed Thresh!” Ivyana looked close to strangling the other girl.

“ Because he's my boyfriend.” Lilia said in a tone that obviously questioned Ivyana’s intelligence.

“ He was my boyfriend.” Ivyana seethed.

The two girls took a break in their hissing and yowling to glare at each other and then, as if communicating telepathically, turned to glare at Thresher. Thresher looked pleadingly at Sailor Pomona, but he’d get no help from that quarter; she was too busy supporting her face with her palms. The fighting began again, the two girls alternating between insulting each other and ganging up on Thresher, various references to stupidity, promiscuity, and dung-faces being thrown about. It was only when Ivyana moved to claw at Lilia that Sailor Pomona stepped in.

“ SHUT UP!” The three stopped in shock, staring at their planet’s normally affable Senshi.

“ Greenroot. You will repair the damages done by the goat; not your father, not your siblings, you. Claypot, you’re paying Greenroot for your goat’s damages. You’ll also personally see to it that Greenroot receives Buttercup’s dung to use for fertilizer.” Lilia looked ready to protest, but a glare from Pomona shut her up.

“ Thornberry, since you’re ultimately the reason for all this, and thus for my headache, you can help me harvest and deseed the next batch of Fire Peppers.”

The three stood there, staring dumbly after the pronouncement of their punishments. Pomona sighed.

“ Well? Get out of here! And don’t waste my time like this again!”

…

… the hell? In the present, Sailor Pomona blinked as she emerged from the memory, staring at the now-familiar table on the raised platform. So she’d been a mediator in the past? Why? Surely she’d had better things to do then mediate teenage drama? Harvesting Fire Peppers, for example. That sounded promising, even if she didn’t remember what exactly a Fire Pepper was. All she’d really remembered was that “rabbit” was an insult, Fire Peppers were scary, and that teenagers were the same everywhere.