Hello hello! This is your author speaking! Please put your computer chair in its upright position, put all dinner trays back, and turn off all electronics (except your computer, of course!). Fasten your seatbelts according to the instructions of our lovely steward, Mamo- chan, wearing only a loincloth. Isn't he lovely (ready to join the mile-high club yet?)? We know you had a selection of stories you could have read today, and we thank you for choosing "Requiem." Sit back, relax, and let the TAFF-fest ensue. Special thanks to Loralei Fairhill, who tireless editing efforts whipped this bad boy into shape. You've done wonders for me, babe. * * * * * * * * "When I think of all the things he did because he loved me-what people visit on each other out of something like love. It's enough for all the world's woe. You don't even need hate to have a perfectly miserable time." --Richard Bausch Mr. Field's Daughter (Quote taken from Elizabeth Wurtzel's Prozac Nation-I highly recommend) * * * * * * * * Requiem for a Soldier Part I: Requiem Aeternum/Kyrie Eleison (Eternal Rest) Author: Ai E-mail: tennyo@attbi.com Disclaimer: Sailormoon does not belong to me. It was quiet for once in Tokyo; the dull roar of the city seemed no more than an insolent drone. A cold gale blew harshly around the young girl, chilling her to the bone. Everything around her was old, worn. Even the sky seemed tired and dim. She saw the blood red leaves fall from the maple trees around her. Her long pigtails blew aimlessly around her face. Time passes, seasons change. Everything dies, only to blossom again next Spring. Ami once told her the story of Hades and Persephone: how Demeter refused to let the earth bear fruit because her daughter had been stolen away, how her precious child was bound to return to the dark underworld because Hades had tricked her into eating the food of the dead. In Spring, when Persephone came home, everything was beautiful again. A nice enough story. Creepy, but nice. And once in a while she dared to wonder if Persephone hated the underworld, if she had been really kidnapped, or maybe. . . just maybe . . . but that wasn't the point. Persephone was kidnapped. That was all there was to it. So with a heavy sigh, she pulled out her star locket and opened it. She kept it with her these days, as if to remind her . . . of something. The soft, tinkling music pervaded her ears. Funny how it used to bring her such comfort. Funny how things change. With an infuriated gesture, she snapped it shut, rapidly cutting the soothing music off. He'd been so distant since he'd returned from America. Cold, even. And yet she couldn't exactly put her finger on what it was that had come between them. Maybe she'd changed, but if she knew anything, it was that she would always be Usagi, for better or for worse. He never answered his phone, even when she knew he was home, and he concentrated on his schoolwork with an almost frightening intensity. That was the thing about Chiba Mamoru; with him, you were everything or nothing at all. Except . . . Usagi never knew what she meant to him. Right now, however, it was leaning towards nothing. For a while, she'd even wondered if he'd found someone else, but when she approached him he denied it feverishly, frantically swore that she was the only one for him. But if that were true, why wouldn't he touch her? Why wouldn't he look her in the eye? With quick, jerky movements, she pulled her coat around her. It was so cold. It made her wonder if he had somehow caused it. Usagi pushed roughly through the silent crowds. And crashed smack-dab into someone. She looked up and blushed. Mamoru's lanky form towered above her, gazing at her listlessly. Figured. "Good afternoon, Usa-ko." Usa-ko. What a joke. "Hey, Mamoru," Usagi didn't notice him wince, "how're you?" "Fine," he said, staring intently at her. He made no move towards her, simply clutched the book he was holding a little harder. Normally she loved those deep blue eyes, but the feel of them staring so formidably at her, full of passion but completely unreadable, was beginning to make her a little angry. She remembered it, three nights ago, in a restaurant that charged as much as a new manga for a mere soda. The way she'd yelled at him while he simply sat there, staring at her in that exact same way. He finally looked down. "Still angry?" His face was drawn, pale. "You bet I am," she bit back saucily. If he could just . . . if he would. . . "If you'd just talk to me, Mamo-chan--" Mamoru turned away from her abruptly. "I have a class, Usa-ko. We'll talk about this later." It took everything he had not to run, but she didn't know that. He didn't expect her to know, much less understand. "NO WE WON'T!" she screamed at the retreating figure. "BECAUSE YOU WON'T TALK TO ME AT ALL!" He didn't even look back. Damn him. The wind blew harder and the clouds rolled in. A hot, fat drop slipped down her face--at first, she thought it was the rain. Swiping furiously at her cheek, she started to sprint away, longing to be anywhere but here, anyone but herself right now . . . And she crashed into someone else. "Still can't seem to go anywhere without crashing into people, ne, neko-chan?" She looked up. "Haruka-san?" The slim, boyish blonde smiled and ruffled Usagi's hair. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" "Mm-hmm," Usagi said softly, trying to sound cool and composed. The Outers had always seemed the epitome of inner poise to her; Usagi desperately wished she could have Haruka's relentless confidence or Michiru's cool elegance. Maybe then Mamoru wouldn't be drifting away from her . . . "Is something the matter, neko-chan? You look sad." She pulled her chin up and plastered on a smile. "I'm fine, Haruka- san." Haruka smirked. "Nice try, neko-chan, but you're a terrible liar. God, it's cold out here! How about we go some place and warm up?" With a real smile, Usagi allowed Haruka to lead her to the parking garage. * * * * * * * * "Chamomile?" "Sounds yummy." Usagi drank the tea Michiru had poured for her in three gulps. She'd never been to Haruka and Michiru's home, the stately mansion by the sea decorated in soft, cool colors expertly chosen to augment each room's best features yet still seem unified--undoubtedly the artistic Michiru's work. Her paintings dotted the walls. Opulent, no doubt, but there was something about the house that still seemed cozy. It felt like a real home. Usagi remembered how Mamoru's apartment never really felt like a home, more like a hotel room. As if he--and she--were merely strangers passing through by chance. "Something on your mind, Usagi-chan?" Michiru smiled kindly. "You look distracted." "I've never been here before," Usagi said very solemnly, still staring at the walls. "You haven't?" Haruka was sprawled on the couch, her head hanging down to the floor. "I thought you'd been to our little cottage by the sea, as Michiru likes to put it." "Iie." Usagi stood up and stared out the glass doors. The sea was churning viciously that afternoon; it was stormy, like the sky. "It's so . . . homey." "Home is where the heart is," Michiru shrugged, blushing at her corny statement. "And the bedroom," Haruka added wickedly, winking at Michiru. Her partner turned red; Usagi giggled. As she'd gotten older, she'd come to terms with the nature of Haruka and Michiru's relationship. Minako had once told her she was more mature than any of the others for her unconditional acceptance, and the couple seemed truly grateful that their Princess accepted them so fully. Right now, she sensed Michiru sit down next to Haruka and start bantering with her partner. Despite the argumentative tone, Usagi could almost hear the love in her voice . . . almost like something she could reach out and touch. Usagi turned around. "How do you two do it?" she asked, staring at her shoes. "Do what?" the two Outers asked simultaneously. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I guess . . . how are you so right for each other?" "Right for each other?" "It's so easy for you," she muttered at them, flopping onto the couch. "You just . . . love each other. There's nothing *difficult* about it." Michiru looked at Haruka and little light bulbs went off over their heads. "Usagi-chan, are you having problems with Mamoru-san?" "I don't even know," she whispered sadly. "It's like I'm reaching out but he's still too far away." "He loves you, you know," Haruka said very seriously. "Even if he isn't really comfortable with it." She turned right side up and muttered something about a head rush. Michiru patted her lover's woozy skull and smirked. "Comfortable?" Usagi was too perplexed to pay attention. Michiru sat next to Usagi and wrapped an arm around the smaller girl. "He's not exactly an open book, Usagi-chan, but I don't think Mamoru- san likes the idea that he needs someone else as much as he really does. Try to be patient with him." "I DO try!" Usagi cried, bounding up from the sofa. "Why does he always pull away from me? The first thing he did after he came back from the dead was call Harvard and see if they'd still take him! He stayed an extra seven months, and . . . and ever since he got back . . . he won't talk to me, won't touch me, he's always so . . . so. . . ." Usagi flopped next to the dangling Haruka. When she sat down, the star locket fell out of her coat and opened, playing its soft melody for the two elder senshi. Michiru's ears pricked like a rabbit's as she listened intently to the small tune. "Lousy thing," Usagi muttered, snapping it shut. "Wait a minute!" Michiru cried. "What was that?" "This . . .? My star locket. It's from the Moon Kingdom. I gave it to Endymion before I died, and Tuxedo Kamen gave it to me." "I recognize it," Michiru said impatiently, "but what was that song?" Haruka put a hand to her forehead. "Oh God, here we go again..." "Well excuse me for seeking immortality, Ten'oh Haruka!" "What?" Usagi was decidedly confused. "Michiru's decided that being the best violin AND cello player in the free world isn't enough for her," Haruka groaned. "So she started composing. But there's a problem." "What's that?" Usagi asked. "Composer's block," Haruka said with a smirk. Usagi stared at Michiru. "Composer's block?" "In other words, I can't write a damn note," Michiru scowled and threw a pillow at Haruka. Usagi realized that it must be bad if Michiru had been reduced to cursing and hurling projectiles through the air. Haruka easily caught the pillow and shook her head. "Maybe you're just not cut out for immortality, Michi." "With an attitude like that, *Ruka*," she hissed, "I probably won't ever write a note." "That's what you get for aiming to high," Haruka said smoothly. "What did the Greeks call it? Hubris?" "So maybe trying to write an entire Requiem was a little ambitious, but your condescending remarks don't help me, Haruka!" "Re-kii-em?" Michiru and Haruka stopped arguing. "A death mass," Haruka explained flatly. "It's an old Catholic prayer that a bunch of composers have set to music. Mostly dead white guys." "That's morbid," Usagi said seriously, staring at Michiru. "No, it's not," Michiru sighed. "And that brings me back to the reason all this started. May I hear the song the locket plays?" Usagi reluctantly opened the locket, which played for the trio. Michiru was enraptured, Haruka was bored but a little curious, and Usagi just wanted the damn thing to shut up. "Ne, Usagi-chan, is the music upsetting you?" Haruka, for once, had lost her trademark sarcastic smirk and looked genuinely concerned for the little odango-haired girl. "I guess it is," Usagi admitted softly, closing the locket. "The music only plays for true lovers," she explained. "But now it's just mocking me." "It's beautiful," Michiru whispered excitedly. "My misery?" Usagi asked in confusion. "Not exactly," Haruka rolled her eyes. Michiru hurriedly sat down at the chestnut Steinway in the corner. With graceful motions, she began to play the locket's song. Yet as she went along, Usagi noticed the notes were somewhat changed, created a different, equally beautiful harmony, much poignant than the locket's. She stopped abruptly and starting writing eagerly on a blank page with several music bars printed on it, grinning wildly all the while. Haruka stared at her lover as if the girl had just grown a third eye. "That's sick, Michiru-san, and I'll bet Usagi-chan wouldn't appreciate it, either." "Baka," Michiru growled at her lover without even looking up, "it's not like I'm setting the words to the exact tune. It's just a starting point. Inspiration." "What is she doing?" Usagi asked Haruka nervously. "She's using your 'true love song' to write her Requiem." "MICHIRU!" Usagi screamed in horror. Michiru snapped to attention. "Stop it RIGHT NOW!" Michiru looked at the notes she'd scribbled. "Usagi-chan," she said quietly, very resolutely, "I want to make beautiful music. Shouldn't you be happy that your love inspires me to write?" "I-I guess . . ." Usagi conceded reluctantly. "If you were writing a 'Gloria' or something I'd be behind this one hundred percent," Haruka said icily, arms crossed in front of her chest, "but this is warped, Michiru. You're so intent on 'achieving immortality' that you'd actually take a symbol of Usagi's love and distort it like that. . . " "It's not like that," Michiru said quietly, wringing her hands. She looked up, her gaze watery. "Not like that at all." "Then what IS it, Michiru?" Haruka demanded. "You know I support your music, but neko-chan's song. . . ." Michiru smiled faintly and pulled a folder from a cabinet under her seat. "She used to compose the most beautiful music. . . ." "Who?" Haruka raised an eyebrow. "What is that?" "I'm breaking the code of silence." Usagi finally interjected with, "What code of silence?" Haruka hesitated. "We, ah, try not to talk about our lives before we met," she said slowly. "Painful memories. A lot of baggage and all. Michiru and I decided to leave our old lives behind . . . then again," Haruka smiled wistfully and stared out the window towards her car, "I guess it's not that simple." Ditzy as she may have been, Usagi understood things about her loved ones most people could barely fathom. She could sense the 'code of silence' had long since worn out its welcome. Michiru, meanwhile, opened at the folder and gazed bleakly at the papers, a sad smile lingering on her lips. Usagi looked over her shoulder to see bars of handwritten notes written in a handwriting that was similar but not exactly Michiru's. The lovely aqua-haired senshi took a pained breath and opened her mouth, but no words came out. The odango-haired blonde beamed. Usagi's smile was so bright it nearly blinded the older senshi. "You don't have to tell me," she whispered. "I can see how much this means to you now." "What?" Haruka stood up and stared at the pages. "Did I miss something?" Usagi placed the locket on top of the folder. "Make your music. And when you're all done with it, maybe then you'll be able to break the code of silence." Michiru looked at her with shining eyes. "I . . . I. . . " "Make your beautiful music," Usagi repeated. She looked at the clock. "It's getting late." "I'll give you a ride, neko-chan," Haruka said, leading Usagi out the door. The girl looked up one last time. "Usagi-chan?" "Yes?" "You have no idea what this means to me." "You'd be surprised." Usagi winked and practically danced out the door. * * * * * * * * Haruka waited until she was about a mile away from the house to finally ask questions. "So why did you let her use the song?" she asked, staring out at the road. "Because she was writing the music for someone she loved." A slender neck snapped around. "Who?" she asked suspiciously. "Her mother." "Her . . . mother . . . but how did you . . . why would you. . . ." "I just knew," Usagi shrugged. Haruka let out a low whistle and turned back to the road. When they finally arrived at Usagi's house, the clouds had rolled out and the sky was pink as the last beams of sunlight faded away. Haruka opened Usagi's door and stared at the sunset. "It's pretty," Haruka said carefully, struggling to say what had been on her mind since she'd watched Usagi and Mamoru argue that afternoon. "Haruka-san . . . ?" "Let me tell you something, Usa-chan," Haruka said seriously. "The sun sets, but it'll rise tomorrow morning. Things change. Nothing ever stays the same." She knew Haruka was talking about Usagi's relationship with Mamoru. "What do you mean, Haruka-san?" The girl got back into the car and started the ignition. "I guess what I'm trying to say," Haruka said slowly, "is that the only things that last forever are the things you can't see with your eyes or touch with your hands." And she drove off into the sunset. Something smiled in the darkness. * * * * * * * * Comments, complaints, criticisms can go to tennyo@attbi.com, but flamers will be treated with appropriate mocking condescension. Look forward to hearing from you!