(this solo predates March 26th, 2024)
(follows Holding on for Tonight)


Patrols by himself had felt risky since that general had reached into his chest. Perhaps coming out without any support was foolish, and that was why he had started going out more frequently with people like Pendour and Stromboli. More often was not always, though. If he was always a unit, it was harder to take the approach of intentionally pulling off to the side and playing his saxophone in interesting places until he managed to pull someone in for conversation.

What he didn’t expect to pull in was a man with vines growing out of his head.

As he came to a break in his theoretical busking set, he lowered his saxophone from his lips and swung it around his shoulder. “Hey! I’m Abzu, Squire of Neptune. Yourself?”

It seemed it was taking a moment for the alien to respond to him. Abzu waited patiently and wondered if English was even familiar – s**t, could he ask one of those Velencians for a translation device? – but after a few moments, a thick accent answered that this alien did understand the language of Destiny City, at least. “The bards do not usually ask me for my name themselves.”

Alright. Maybe this would be a bit of a harder conversation. “Would you like me to go back to–”

“Yes.”

Abzu didn’t need to be asked twice. He swung the saxophone back to his front, closed his eyes, and brought it up to his lips for another song. This time, he opted for something softer, not intending to charm this senshi himself but to relax him. As he popped an eye open, he was able to at least tell it was working. The senshi didn’t leave, and in fact, leaned against the nearby pole to listen. Good.

“What dost thou call that piece?” The next question was asked of him before he got a chance to ask for the alien’s name again.

Not that the alien would have context for it, but Abzu responded easily, “I Hope You Dance. It’s originally by Lee Ann Wommack.”

He would keep in this pattern as long as it would take for his question to be addressed. If this was one of the aliens, it would probably be best to get him as many connections as possible as quickly as he could. The questions wound in and out, from the seemingly mundane to the ones that seemed a bit deeper.

“Where am I?”

“Destiny City. It’s a city on the east coast of the United States of America.” The way the alien squinted at him told him he needed to give a bit more detail than that. Would he even know what the United States of America was? Did he even know what an America was at all? “It’s on a continent in the Western Hemisphere on Earth.”

“Earth.”

“Yes.”

“Is Neptune a living planet?”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“Are there still beings on the surface of Neptune, Abzu?”

“... No. There are the occasional ghosts, though.”

“Can thou introduce me to one of these ghosts?”

“Me? No. I’m a reincarnation, so there isn’t a ghost on my wonder. I do know people with ghosts on theirs, though, if you want to meet one.”

“That song thou just played was rather moving. Dost thou know loss, Abzu?”

“I mean,” Abzu’s brows knit, “I’ve lost friends before. This war is harsh.” He hadn’t even lost them to the war, but he swallowed that, anyway. Something seemed to shift in his audience’s expression, and he didn’t press any further than that, letting Abzu proceed in his next song. Perhaps he was getting somewhere. Perhaps he wasn’t. He would find out, he supposed.

After the next song, Abzu gave a moment for the senshi in front of him to gather himself and ask yet another one in his onslaught of questions, but when one didn’t come, it finally gave Abzu a chance to ask another one of his own. “I’ve given you my name and we’ve talked a bit. Are you willing to share your name now?”

The senshi in front of him regarded him, and seemed to think to move closer before it seemed something suddenly caught him off-balance and he leaned back on the pole. Abzu squinted, but the senshi didn’t quite give him time to question him on it. “Thou may call me Dorian.”

“Sailor Dorian?”

“No,” the alien he faced laughed. “That is a separate name. If thou must, that is Sailor Ibirapitá.”

Okay. That gave him a starting point. Dorian must have been what he went by when he dropped the senshi guise. “You can’t go by that name when you’re powered. The chaos on this planet will find and kill you if they can trace your civilian side.”

Something about Ibirapitá’s expression changed when Abzu chose the phrase kill you, and he quickly wondered if he had made a mistake. “Are we done here?” He had definitely made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn’t have opted for something so harsh. Would unalive have been better– “I simply wished to engage with thy music, not be reminded of reality.”

Abzu wasn’t sure if the answer should be yes or no. How long had this guy been here? Was he just out and about trying to get adjusted or was he legitimately new? He had to be, right? What guide wouldn’t have warned him of the name issue– “No.” Well, maybe the answer was an easy one. Something seemed off, and it felt like something he was a bit more familiar with. While the man had stayed with him through several songs, and swayed with the music as he should in the rhythm, he seemed unable to balance. Abzu had been originally entranced by his glowing eyes, but as he looked at those glowing eyes longer, he realized the glow kept fluctuating at uneven rates.

“Ah, piss off, would thee? The job of a bard is to provide music, not provide lances.”

Michelangelo had dealt with drunks before.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced over the man with vine hair and rosy cheeks. He knew that this man was alien to the planet from his own questions. Even not considering the green vines in his hair, his eyes were glowing. Perhaps this was just how these aliens were. Perhaps the way it looked like he was swaying in place just slightly was normal.

He doubted that. An entire people whose standard was drunk seemed questionable at best.

“Are you inebriated?”

Sailor Ibirapitá seemed to regard him with disdain. “Does it matter if I am?”

Yes. It did. Even if it felt like he was trying to challenge something entirely beyond him. “If this place is completely new to you, might be easier to figure out how to adjust if you weren’t sloshed.”

Ibirapitá returned the squinted expression. His head tilted. “Abzu of Neptune, if thee would not mind, could thou approach?”

Abzu sighed heavily. He pulled the saxophone far from his lips, pushing it to his side as he had before. This felt like a mistake.

He did anyway.

While he had figured it was unlikely someone this tipsy could do much damage, he had not quite estimated for the strength of a determined, angry drunk as Ibirapitá’s hand found his bowtie and yanked him just a bit closer. His head was tilted up. This close, Abzu could tell his estimations had been right. Alien or not, foreign substances or not, there was not quite any mistaking the rank smell of alcohol on someone’s breath. “Abzu of Neptune, thou live on a thriving world. That is fortunate for thee and everyone else who claims residence here.” He yanked harder, pulling Abzu flush to his body. Abzu gave no resistance. What was the point? “I, Neptunian of the Sol System, have lived alone for more cycles than imagined. My world is more dead than the Neptune of which thou spoke.”

Abzu cleared his throat. Around the way the bowtie being yanked put pressure on his throat, it wasn’t effective. “I’m sorry. I understand–”

“Dost thou?” That smile was snide. “Dost thou, truly?”

… At that moment, Abzu had to appreciate that no, he didn’t. No, he couldn’t. No, he couldn’t quite understand the unimaginable loss of living by himself for what he figured was longer than he had been alive. No, he couldn’t quite understand that lasting for more cycles than could be imagined. Were those months? Years? Centuries? He was certain that something was being lost in translation, and while Abzu scrambled to find something comparable in his head, he also felt that there was something to simply admitting, “No, I do not.”

Ibirapitá dropped his bowtie, and Abzu found himself relieved that this alien wasn’t much taller than him. Abzu coughed as he tried to capture his breath once more. Ibirapitá seemed disinclined to care, glancing to someplace over his head and altogether not on this planet. “I will drink as much as necessary, Abzu. In the name of that, could thou show me the nearest tavern?”

… Tavern.

He understood that this glowing-eyed drunkard had never been on Earth. Ibirapitá here would stick out like a sore thumb. How did he explain that he couldn’t just bring him to a random tavern at all, never mind in his state? “There are no taverns here.”

“No taverns?” Ibirapitá’s laugh was lilting in a way that felt like it was mocking him as much as it was mocking himself. “Art thou a pillock?”

Pillock. The ******** did that mean? Abzu squinted up at Ibirapitá as he tried to quickly comb through in his mind what that could translate to. He managed to guess it as Ibirapitá rolled his eyes impatiently. “A place where I may gather and make merry, Abzu.” Right, Ibirapitá was calling him an idiot.

In any case, he had a good excuse for that. “We call them bars, here, but most of them won’t be the places you’re thinking of.” His brows knit. “Anyway, if they notice you’re inebriated, they won’t serve you.”

“Art thy barkeeps pillocks too?” Ibirapitá snorted. “Who refuses payment from someone willing to pay?”

Abzu thought, for a moment, to ask what Ibirapitá would even be using to pay. He opted to keep that to himself, knowing that it wouldn’t get him anywhere. What he did know might get him somewhere, though? This guy needed a place to go, and if he could offer a safe place, at least for now, it would give him time to evaluate what options he could pursue. He knew the Bells had housed several aliens at this point. Maybe Luke had some thoughts… “It isn’t legal to give more alcohol to someone who is already clearly drunk.”

There was a thought that ghosted through Ibirapitá’s mind about the utility of such a rule, and it gave him pause for a moment, and then another, as his shoulders deflated. Abzu’s brows rose. Was that good enough– “The people here have some wisdom. Limited, but,” he swatted at the air, but there was enough in his system that the act of that was enough to send him off-balance. Abzu’s hands shot out to catch him, and he didn’t fall any further, at least. Within a few moments, he had caught his balance again, and he brushed himself off as if it would fix things. “An inn, then. Show me to a place where I may sleep this off.”

That, Abzu could work with.

“I have an inn.” To call his mansion an inn wasn’t quite right, but it was close enough. Honestly, Abzu would make the argument that it was better than an inn. “I can take you there. You will just need to do me a favour and drop your magic.”

Abzu hadn’t needed to ask more than once. The teleportation across space had pulled him back into a form he had abandoned. It felt better to drop it and stand in front of Abzu as Dorian. Abzu granted Dorian the same, and he stood in front of him as Michelangelo. “I’m Michelangelo like this. Let me take you to my inn, alright?”

Dorian’s gaze drifted to somewhere else.

Someone else, perhaps.

“If thou must.”