Well, this looks like a promising start. I can't wait to see where it goes from here.

Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and get cannonized!

As I've said before, I have no illusions as to what status this story may attain in regards to Omoi canon. I'll keep my hopes grounded until it's finished. It's just nice to see there are some people out there who enjoy reading my fanboy drivel.

Chapter 2 will begin as soon as I get over this headache.

[sigh] I hate having to double post.


~ Chapter 2 ~ Scene 1 ~

Walking. That's what he was doing; walking. Bend your knee, rotate your hip, lift your foot, stick it out front, lean forward and catch yourself with it, then do it again. Animals are born with the knowledge to walk. When "eat or be eaten" is the law of the land, you get up and move. A complex mechanical action made easy through millennia of instinct.

It is this simple, repetitive motion that is the focus of his attention. He couldn't possibly think of anything else right now. His brain felt numb and his senses were dulled. It was like waking up from a deep sleep and this man was most definitely not a ?morning person'. But even in this semi-conscious state, every instinct he inherited told him to keep moving. Inactivity meant weakness and weakness meant death.

Gradually becoming aware of his surroundings, the man found himself ill-prepared to cope with the chaotic environment in which he found himself. Through hazy vision he saw flashing lights, bustling shadows, the gleam of metal and glass. It was loud too. A din of honks and bangs and sizzles and clattering. Mixed into that were people, hundreds of voices, chatting with and yelling at each other in some foreign tongue. This sea of humanity swarmed around him and sometimes crashed against him like a stormy wave. It was a much busier place than a country boy was accustomed to.

What amazed him the most were the smells. Oh, the smells! Food of all kinds, cooked and raw, not to mention the bittersweet odor of spirits. Smoke and perfume hung in the hair like a miasma. But neither could mask the underlying stink of blood, sweat, and--if he was not mistaken--vomit. Perhaps most interestingly of all was the scent of lust. The raw, primal musk and pheromones of men and women who yearned to be touched. In some places, it was suppressed and disguised. In others, it was openly revealed and with such strength that it nearly overpowered him. Either way, it was a fragrance so familiar to this man that it could not be hidden from his keen nose.

Smelling sex in the morning was not wholly unpleasant, he mused. When life spans worlds and ages, it was comforting to know at least some things never changed.

Eventually, this aimless trek took him someplace different. It was dark and dank and cold. This place smelled of dirt and decay. Was it a grave or a garbage pit? No, they were very much the same. He also got a sense of narrowness and confinement that made his instincts cry out, demanding open space. He squashed those feelings. What mattered was the silence and solitude. In this place, the roar outside was muted and more easily ignored by a tired mind.

Giving himself up to unconsciousness once again, the man slumped against a wall of precisely cut stone. It was coarse and clung to his clothes as he slid down its face. He was asleep before his butt hit the ground. But this time, the slumber was not as deep, not as sound. His senses remained alert and his mind was restless. Images came to him, then emotions, and finally memories.

In his dreams, he was crying.

Hat Trick!

Please, folks, don't make me beg for feedback.


~ Chapter 2 ~ Scene 2 ~

Luna found herself wandering the halls of the executive apartments, bored out of her little kitty skull. Construction on a new royal palace was already underway, but during the interim, the Senshi were set up with extravagant accommodations at the Imperial Hotel. As a pet of the Senshi, Luna was given free-reign of the general premises, but therein lied the problem. She was considered to be nothing more than a pet.

The government staff simply weren't ready to accept the reality of a talking mooncat, so Luna was unable to give advice or instruction when the situation arose. It was a terrible waste of her administrative experience, accumulated while serving several generations of Moon Kingdom royalty. With Beavis away and Artemis sleeping in--the lazy bum--Luna had nothing to do and nowhere to be.

She was already feeling down in the dumps, but the most bothersome part was that she seemed to be forgetting something. It felt very important too, like leaving the house with the oven on. Was it an object? An event? No matter how Luna racked her brain, the elusive memory always managed to slip out of her mental grasp. Whatever it may be, she trusted if it were really important, she would remember in time. That didn't stop her from worrying about it, though.

*BASHI!*

The mooncat's ears pricked up, hearing a sound from the exercise hall. Wondering who it could be this early in the morning, Luna navigated various rooms and furniture to investigate.

*BA-BA-BASHI!* That sound again, in rapid succession.

The door to the hall was ajar, barely, and Luna slipped through with natural feline flexibility. Filling the hall were any number of state-of-the-art exercise equipment guaranteed to have so many functions and features that just learning how to use them was a workout in itself. All of that, and the hall's lone occupant was in the back corner, engrossed in punishing a simple heavy bag.

*WU-BASHI* was the sound of Makoto's kick as it cut through the air and struck the side of the bag. At a time when most people haven't gotten out of bed yet, Miss Kino had already worked up a sweat.

Luna hopped up onto the handlebars of a stationary bike. "What are you doing here so early, Makoto?" she asked.

The tall brunette nearly jumped out of her skin at the interruption and whirled around, fists raised. "Dammit, Luna! Give a girl some warning first!" she gasped.

"Sorry about that, but there's not much I could have done. We cats are natural stalkers," she explained, raising one paw.

"Oh. Right," the young woman replied lamely. Makoto wiped her face and neck with a towel, then turned back to the heavy bag. "I'm just working off some extra energy. Maury's gone and...well, you know..."

Even though she couldn't see the tall girl's face, Luna knew she was blushing. "Ah yes, to be young again."

*BA-BASHI!* A one-two punch. "Just how hold are you, Luna?"

"You know I won't answer that," the mooncat said reprovingly.

"Ha, sorry." *BASHI!*

Even though their banter was light-hearted, Luna could tell Makoto had lost her rhythm. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me why you're really here this early?"

*WU-BASHI!* "Is it that obvious?" Makoto stopped and let the heavy bag swing to a stop. Its creaky chain sounded very loud in the otherwise empty exercise hall. "I'm trying to keep my edge."

"You think you're not already an excellent figher?"

"I know I'm good, but...not good enough."

"Now, wait just one minute--"

"It's okay," interrupted the brunette. "I'm not getting all depressed and stuff. Just have to face facts: When I fought Tumbler, I was helpless. I'm not used to feeling so weak."

Makoto looked over her shoulder and now Luna saw the intensity in her emerald eyes. By the determined set of the young woman's face, the mooncat knew she meant every word of it.

Drawing back her fist, the lean muscles of Makoto's arm tensed up. The haymaker she delivered was a blur, blasting back the heavy bag with the sound of a thunderclap. Luna watched in awe as the 45 kilo bag was ripped loose from the frame to crash into the wall. The depression of Makoto's punch remained and the leather smoldered.

"I want my friends to be able to rely on me," Makoto announced. The brunette's fist still crackled with ambient electricity. "That's why I won't be weak ever again."

"Just don't forget," began Luna. "You're part of a team. You don't have to carry the weight yourself. You're true strength comes from working together."

Makoto smiled. "Yeah, I know. It's sure better than fighting alone." She took off her practice gloves and made a show of examining the raw skin around her knuckles. "Besides, this helps build up my stamina."

Luna's response was somewhere between a chuckle and a purr. She bade the tall Senshi a good day and exited the hall, happy that her own blush wasn't very evident through the black fur. Kids these days, the mooncat thought. And on a deeper level, Luna now felt secure in the knowledge that at least some people still needed her.

Her worries forgotten, Luna decided she would go pester the Senshi's personal cook for an early breakfast.

Woohoo! Gratuitous talking mooncat chapter. Luna was always one of my favorite characters, so I'm glad you tried to delve a little into her psyche.

Cool. Well, I do like the dynamics that you're working on here. It seems to be flowing pretty smoothly so far. The main reason that I personally have been waiting on the critcism and reviewing is that I like to see completed works. I'm pretty good a judging where there are plot holes and things like that, but I tend not to be as good at the day to day stuff.

Sorry if that sounds discouraging, but I am still very interested in this story. I'm just not used to R and R. I'll try to be more regular about it.




BTW, I do like covering the talking moon cats. They don't get enough air time.

SG, what can I say...this is great stuff. I sense something building here. Keep up the good work!

I'm too meticulous to allow plot holes to sneak in. What I worry about is characterization and setting details. I'm usually pretty good at narration and action, but does someone seem out of character? Does the dialogue sound too awkward? Did I forget some canon info? Sometimes it seems like I do more research than actual writing.

That reminds me, I have to go back and read AR to get all the Senshi's upgraded special techniques.

~ Chapter 2 ~ Scene 3 ~

"Are you sure this is such a good idea, boss?" Gennai asked for what seemed like the twentieth time.

"Why do you keep asking me that?" replied Amano. He took a sip of his beer. The cheap stuff tasted like piss, but the low-rung yakuza boss was in such good humor lately, he didn't mind.

"I guess I jes don't get why we're doin' this, ya know? What's the point in gettin' the blue collar types all riled up?"

"Revolution, my thick-headed compatriot." Amano set down his foul-tasting beer and turned around on his stool to observe the crowd.

This was a large bar filled with rowdy laborers. They gathered after work and tried to forget how miserable their lives were with some drink, some songs, and some games. But a trained eye could spot the undercurrent of depression and Amano savored it like the fine wine his beverage most certainly was not.

"These people are sheep. They want their lives to be simple and carefree. Instead, they find themselves caught in a revolution that's sweeping the entire world. I'm merely providing the incentive to fight back."

"Fight back against what, boss?"

"Magic! Or haven't you noticed? It's in the very air around us. Magic is permeating every person, every place, and everything. Life as we know it is transforming into something else. We're all flying in uncharted territory and the turbulence has not yet begun."

"Quit yankin' my crank, boss. You know I don't believe in none of that ?paparapa' junk." Gennai zipped open the front of his patented track suit--today, made of tacky red velour--and the sparkle of polished gold caught Amano's eye. "That still don't make sense, tho'. Why go ta all this trouble?"

"Have you been watching ?The Sopranos' again?" the yakuza boss demanded.

Gennai coughed into one large hamfist. "Don't change the subject, boss," he responded uncomfortably.

"Remind me to take away your satellite TV access. To answer your question: These ?Sailor Senshi' are rearranging the government and they might just get it right. But I like the inept bureaucracy and political morass that we already have in place. A messy government makes it easier for people like us to operate freely. We come to these sleazy dives to stir up resentment. Angry people riot and rioting makes it harder for the government to maintain order."

"Right, right. I get that, sorta," the elder Mori brother said. Then he scratched his chin and frowned. "But rioting people also break stuff, so why're we doing this on The Snake's turf?"

The boss sighed exasperatedly. "Nara is Oyabun's favorite son. But favor is just as easily lost as debt can be gained. Nara is ?protecting' many businesses in this area and if they start demanding compensation for damaged property, his profit margin will slip."

"And if The Snake ain't doin' so good, maybe you can get outta this mess with your head in place," finished the muscle-bound bodyguard. "Wow! You sure got smart, boss!"

"How good of you to notice," Amano replied dryly. He glanced back at the bar television. The news was showing some report about the previous night's mysterious phenomenon. Nobody seemed to be paying attention, so the yakuza discreetly reached back and changed the channel.

The junior Mori brother approached where Amano and Gennai sat at the bar. Toyozo was more subdued than his older sibling, both in manner and dress. He asked few questions, always remained inconspicuous, and was brutally efficient in his work.

"I did what you said to, sir," reported Toyozo. "I payed those girls to flirt with the Tsukiji workers."

"What's that gonna accomplish, boss?" Gennai queried.

"Men that think they're popular with the ladies act very brashly," explained Amano. He was trying very hard to keep his cool. "As they get drunk, they'll start to feel invincible. Then we'll insert some grumblings about the Senshi and watch the sparks fly. I trust you can take care of that, Toyozo?"

"Yes, sir," he replied crisply.

"Good. Pay the tab, Gennai, we're leaving." Amano rose from his stool and walked down the bar to the exit. He passed a dejected looking fellow and stopped.

Unlike the blue collar workers that frequented this bar, the man beside Amano was a balding stuffed-shirt still in his business suit. The man's shoulders were slumped and one hand clung impotently to a barely sipped beer. His face was drawn and pale, with a desperate madness visible just beneath his eyes. Amano savored the aura of hopelessness.

Hasegawa took a roll of money from his jacket pocket and counted out a hundred thousand yen, then laid the bills in depressed man's unoccupied hand, which rested limply on the bar. "It you're going to kill yourself, do it in style," Amano suggested. His hand drifted to the surprised man's shoulder and a tiny spark, like a static shock, passed between them. "There's a nice little soap land four blocks south. Go get your brains fucked out, on me."

"What was that all about, boss?" Gennai asked when he caught up to Amano's quick stride, but his question was waved off.

It was almost too easy to plant the seed, thought the yakuza boss. Humans were so eager to accept tragedy without contest that they were natural vessels for negative energy. People experiencing rage and anguish were easy to influence and manipulate, and that would grant Amano power. All that mattered was more power. Infiltrate, habitate, dominate, and propagate. Four easy steps to conquering the world.

The second they stepped outside, Amano clutched his arm. He felt a sharp pang in his chest that made him fear a heart attack. But after a moment, a creeping sensation in his muscles made him think otherwise. He watched as something black seeped through the veins of his left palm like a swarm of parasites. Amano's hand twitched involuntarily, but it was no longer a painful sensation. In fact, that detached feeling of strength returned greater than before.

Hasegawa jammed the spastic appendage into his pocket to hide it from his curious subordinate. It was nothing to be concerned about, he decided. "Let's go raise some more hell," suggested the yakuza.

Boss and bodyguard disappeared into the chaotic nightlife of Roppongi.

~~~~~

I may be crossing my stereotypes, but I like the way Gennai talks. And hopefully, I'm not revealing as much about Amano's plan as it seems.

Hehe...I like that. Bit of drama, bit of humour...good balance is the key to a great fic. Good job! Keep it up!

(Oh, and is Amano's POV changing between the being and the original man? If so, you're handling the narrative transition well.)

Thank you, but I'm leaving that up in the air for now. Is the being merely inhabiting the man? Is the being controlling the man? Or is it a blend of the two? You'll have to wait and see.

This one is quite a bit longer than the previous scenes.

~ Chapter 2 ~ Scene 4 ~

It was the whiskers that woke him up. At some point during the night, he'd rolled onto his side and now awoke at eye level with a stray cat. The tom was old and scrawny with a patchy coat of brown fur. He was sniffing at the man's clothes, perhaps looking for food to scavenge. A low growl issued from the man's throat and the cat responded with a hiss of its own. Back arched, the tom's face twisted into a feline grimace. The man didn't like cats and it was clear today was already starting out on the wrong foot.

His hand snapped up quicker than the stray could react and caught it around the neck. Screeching, the cat bit his fingers and clawed at his arm, but the man's vice-like grip only tightened. With a loud snap, the tom's neck broke and it went limp.

The man growled again, but this time, the sound came from a lower point in his torso. Sleeping for a few hours helped clear his head, but now his stomach demanded attention. The very thought of eating a cat made him nauseous and this one in particular didn't look especially appetizing. He wondered if he could track down something edible in the previous place with all the people and smells.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," came a rusty old voice from the shadows. An old man dressed in tatters approached, walking with a noticeable limp. "I've got some things that should fill you up right enough," he continued, talking through a thick black beard. "If you don't mind a breakfast companion, that is."

The younger man cocked his head to the side, not so much in confusion as concentration. He couldn't understand the language last night, but this elderly fellow spoke slowly and clearly enough that he could make out some words. The man had a good ear and he realized it was some dialect of the interplanetary language.

"Well, what do you say, boy?" the senior asked.

The man's reply was to nod and rise to his feet, towering over the squat tramp. Satisfied, the old man led the way deeper into the alley, where there was a small cooking fire and some modest shelter constructed of scrap wood.

"I'm Itchy. Ichiro, actually, but everyone who knows me calls me Itchy. What do I call you?" No response. "You got a name?" the tramp repeated.

"Isei," the taller man answered. He crouched down by the fire, appreciating its warmth in the crisp morning air. It wasn't nearly as cold as the climate Isei was accustomed to, but he was still getting adjusted to the heavier atmosphere.

"Ah! That's a fine, old-fashioned name you got there."

Isei nodded again. He was getting a better handle on the dialect the more this old tramp chatted. "I've been around," he replied, his voice even. No point going into the details, since he didn't quite know how much time had passed. He never was good with numbers.

"I dunno, you look pretty young to me," Itchy said doubtfully. He handed the younger man an instant ramen cup--made somewhat less so by the lack of a microwave--that was sitting over the fire on some bent wire mesh. ?Sides from the gray hair, anyway."

Lacking a reply, Isei accepted the cup and sniffed its contents. He could smell the noodles and some kind of fowl, with assorted unidentifiable seasonings. The words on the packaging meant nothing to him, so he scooped up some hot ramen with his fingers and stuck it in his mouth. Good enough, he decided, and continued eating in earnest.

While Isei enjoyed his first experience with Japanese ?convenience food', Ichiro took the opportunity to examine his new acquaintance. Isei was tall, yes, but his height came from length of limb rather than breadth of body. Indeed, he had an athletic build and a self-confident posture. His face was one that you aren't likely to forget: A narrow, serious face; golden-hued eyes that were sharp and alert; hair like a ragged storm cloud, but touched with a silver lining. The young man had some kind of animal pelt sewn onto his clothes, which seemed to compose mostly of rawhide and woven leather.

"Where are you from, dressed like that?" Itchy asked, sitting down with his own ramen cup.

"Vulcan," was Isei's reply from between mouth-fulls of noodles.

"Is that right? Well, live long and prosper," the tramp offered, raising one hand with his fingers split in a ?V'. Isei suspected the old man was making a joke, but he just didn't get it. "Don't worry, I won't pry if you want to keep your business private. But I DO think we should get you some new clothes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Isei demanded. Attendants from Serenity's court had often made the same suggestion, much to his annoyance.

"Easy there, friend. You just happen to bey very, shall we say, conspicuous. One thing I've learned on the streets is if you don't make trouble, the police won't bother you. Nothing stands out in this city like a foreigner and you sure do look plenty foreign." Itchy ducked into his wooden shack and started rummaging through some plastic bags.

Isei didn't completely understand the explanation, but he did appreciate the need to camouflage while hunting. So he put up with the old tramp's muttering and garment waving. They eventually settled on some ripped blue jeans, a long sleeve shirt with some random Engrish that neither man understood, and a white-and-red leather jacket that went in and out of fashion before it saw much wear.

"Not too shabby, if I say so myself," Ichiro said while straightening out the jacket sleeves. Remembering the cuts on Isei's arm, Itchy rolled up the young man's sleeve. "Here, let me bandage that up."

"I'll be fine," Isei said.

"No no, I insist. Strays cart around some nasty diseases. Living on the streets is hard enough as it is without being sick." The tramp took out a ragged tank top that wasn't worth wearing and tore it into strips, then carefully wrapped up the younger man's forearm and the fingers which had deeper bites.

Isei flexed his arm. "That's a good field dressing," he said approvingly.

"You pick things up here and there," the old man replied modestly. "You a military man?"

"That's one way of putting it," the younger fellow answered, not intending to sound so evasive.

Itchy settled down on a plastic crate and started to patch a tear in his own long coat with a bit of twine. "I don't get much companionship, Isei, so you're welcome to stay for a while. But I?d sure like to get to know my new roomie better. Is there anything you can tell me about yourself? How'd you come to be here?"

"I'm not sure," Isei replied honestly. "I was just let go. No reason or explanation."

"Let go? From what?"

"Imprisonment," Isei responded matter-of-factly.

"Y-you didn't kill nobody, didja?" Itchy recognized the easy strength in the man's bearing and he recalled how cooly he'd dispatched that nasty stray cat. The tramp began to wonder if maybe a bit more discretion had been in order.

"Quite a few people, over the years." Isei smelled the old man was sweating more and noticed his discomfort. "But not without good reason," he amended. "You know how war is."

"Not first-hand, fortunately," said Ichiro, with an audible sigh of relief. "I guess you've had a hard life."

"Sometimes, yeah."

Isei leaned on his knees and let his chin drop to his chest. As their conversation progressed, the reality of the situation sank in more and more. He was alone in an alien world, his previous life was left in the dust of time. Isei literally had nothing but the clothes on his back. He still had this lingering sense of being able to walk back home and be greeted by the strong, proud faces of his clan. But Isei knew that would never happen again.

To his credit, Itchy placed a fatherly hand on the younger man's arm. "What will you do now? There's a certain amount of freedom in being homeless."

Quiet and bitter, "Not for me."

This gets better and better...

~ Chapter 3 ~ Scene 2 ~

Ami Mizuno stuck a finger in her mouth and nursed a paper cut.

Also known as Sailor Mercury, she was the most rational, the most logical, the most intelligent, and the most patient of the Inner Senshi. Therefore, she was also the most obvious candidate for dealing with all the various catalogues of paperwork and red tape that came bundled with the intricacies of bureaucracy. Forms and proposals, reports and files, memos and pamphlets cluttered her desk.

Parts of Japan's government were being eliminated and others were being created, all of which was going on in addition to business as normal. While the Senshi were being given principle authority in most affairs, they would never be left to fend for themselves completely. The entire process was estimated to take five to seven years. And that meant lots more paperwork. It was truly endless and there was little sense of accomplishment when you knew there would always be more work to do. But Ami knew and accepted the responsibilities before her. She just couldn't help feeling like she was getting the short end of the stick.

The other Senshi seemed to be adapting to their new lives well enough, though none of them faced the sheer tediousness of Miss Mizuno's job. Unfortunately, there was little time in their assorted schedules for get-togethers. The blue-haired young woman was definitely feeling a certain emptiness without her dear friends.

A studious childhood had made Ami very lonely and now she suspected all that hard work had only turned her into a mere paper-pusher. So much for medicine. Life as a Senshi had opened her up to new experiences, including the one of having close, loving friends. Even if it meant fighting extra-dimensional monsters and facing death every day, Ami missed the time spent with her teammates.

It were these melancholy thoughts that occupied Sailor Mercury's mind when another of the Inner Senshi opened the door to her office.

"Space out already, Ami-chan?" asked Minako Aino, a.k.a. Sailor Venus.

"Wha'ar yew chalkin abow?" Ami replied. The she remembered to take the finger out of her mouth and repeated herself: "What are you talking about?"

The young Miss Aino plopped herself into a rigid chair opposite Ami's desk. "You had that glaze of boredom in your eyes. I would have thought you'd be the last to succumb." Minako squirmed in her seat. "These really aren't very comfortable," she muttered.

"Oh, it's not that, Mina-chan," Ami replied. She was definitely grateful for the interruption. "I was just reminiscing."

"Just don't start saying ?the good ol' days'," the blond warned jokingly. "That'll make me feel old. But I admit, being a celebrity was easier when I didn't have to sign my autograph a thousand times a day."

Ami smiled wryly. "On an official document, it's called a signature."

"I call it premature carpal tunnel syndrome," Minako retorted, shaking out her hand.

"So what you brings you around here?" The Senshi of Mercury leaned back in her ergonomically cushioned executive chair, which was surely more comfortable than the one Sailor Venus occupied. Ami took a certain amount of guilty satisfaction in that.

Minako waved a copy of the Japan Times that she'd kept folded under her arm. "Staying abreast of current events. Riots are happening more often and there are hints of a genuine criminal element getting involved. I want to know what the justice department is doing to investigate."

"I can't say I've seen many reports about that," Ami said. She gave the paperwork on her desk a perfunctory shuffle, not really expecting to find anything. "We Senshi didn't earn many fans among the police with our ?vigilantism'. Professional pride, I suppose. They might just be keeping these things to themselves."

"That figures," the blond replied with a flip of her hand. "I might not mind the inter-departmental politicking if there were some hunks in all these suits."

Ami stifled a snort. "Don't you already have a boyfriend?"

"Don't get me wrong; I love Dave. But there's nothing wrong with a little playful flirting between coworkers," Minako added with a wink. She hauled herself out of the chair and backed up toward the door. "Back to the rat race."

"No rest for the weary," Ami agreed.

"I'll catch up with you later, Ami-chan. Keep an eye out for me?"

"Whenever I can spare one. We're definitely going to clean things up around here, Mina-chan. Even if we have to tear the whole system apart and start from scratch."

Nice. Tell me, did you read Hotwire's SM Omoi stuff? I was just wondering, because Ami brought it to my attention. Anyhow. Good work, and keep it up.

Your conversations are quite good. The dialogue flows well and doesn't sound forced. Second, the descriptions are pretty good too, although your word choice for some of them isn't quite what I'd have done.

Example.



Now this is some powerful prose, don't get me wrong, but I think that it's harder for the reader to get an idea of his looks. Does he have silver hair, or is his hair just greying from some other color? Also, while I do get an impressoin of the cut of his hair, I'm not quite certain what it is. Is it wavy or spikey? (shrugs)

It's these little things that help the readers come to a visualization of your characters. If you don't get it just right, the being that you see in your head, won't quite be the being in theirs.

But that's just nitpicky stuff. No major revisions are needed that I can see.

Just some stuff for you to think on.

And keep writing!

I can't say that sounds familiar. But now that you've brought it to my attention, maybe I'll look into it. What exactly made you ask that?


Yeah, I've got a wierd style. I guess "obtuse" would be a proper word. Sometimes I forget that not everyone can see into my head.


I see how that could be confusing, though I did chose those words very carefully. When I refer to a storm cloud, I mean that exact dark gray. But like a cloud, it's also not a solid color; more like varying hues. His hair looks light and feathered, but it's still thick and coarse, like fur. The silver appears at the tips where you're looking through the thinest part. And it is most definitely not DBZ-style spikey. Does that explain it?

I didn't want to spend too many lines defining his appearance, especially this early in the story. I want the reader to form their own image of Isei, which might sound odd, since he's in a fanfiction based on characters from a clearly defined visual medium. But despite that, I'll be drawing a picture of him eventually.

Oh okay, well that works for me, just wondering. It makes sense that you would want the readers to form their own impressions. Often people can do with their imagination a far better job than you can with words...

It's just a different style than the one I use is all.

Oh, and the reason I ask is that I think about the same time that your fic is happening, Ami wandered over to the U.S. for about three to four months.

see http://www.chainlightningstudios.com for the stories. They're under Hotwire's SM Omoi thing. I think that they might even be canon, though I'm not a hundred percent sure on that .

(shrugs)

Oh well, I happen to be using characters from both sets of stories in the Inquisition Series, mostly because I think that the character of Lee Ward will be a fun one to use. Anyhow, go and check it out and tell me what you think.

SG, I've said it before, but I'll say it again - this is some primo stuff you're writing here.

Keep it up!

Hm, that's interesting. Like I said, I've never heard of it before, so the only thing I'm basing my story on is Fiss' Omoi.

It's semi-canon. Basically, we're trying not to tread on each other's 'chunks' of the universe, as they probably aren't 100% compatable anyway. ^_^ Missionaries will start to hint at better support for Omoi side stories as I see fit, but the actual stories will usually focus on a set of specific characters and events, so to leave lots of possibilties open.

Hotwire has been wonderful to work with, even when I would have nothing to complain about he always says: "Here, check it out first" and I always love what I read. He has a style that is AR-ish, but I personally think he's better at it. ^_^ I'm glad, too. Self-insert fics are a hard act to love, but he maintains the spirit of character over Mary-Sueizm.

If you haven't read his stuff, take a peek.

If anyone has an actual canon/universe questions or ideas, though, let me know and I can help out best I can.

The only type of SI story I can write up is usually humour. I don't know if I can write a serious SI story and not end up having a case of Mary Sue.

I tried to do a SI series (in the AR universe) - twice. After the second attempt guttered out, I decided that the Universe was trying to tell me something, namely, that perhaps I'd be better off if I tried writing stuff unconnected to anyone else's. Not that I'm saying spin-offs of spin-offs aren't possible; I mean, I've enjoyed Hotwire's stuff a great deal.

I avoid writing SIs like the plague. I'm not terribly interesting and any attempt to make myself interesting would be totally fake. Whenever I create an original character, they usually end up having a piece of me, but I do make a conscious effort to create a personality that doesn't completely mesh with mine. I find it easier to write for a character that isn't like me.

I've got some typing to do, but there should be a new scene later today.

Chronologically, this scene should come before the Ami/Mina one. I'll fix that in the final version. It's a little shorter than usual, but you get to learn some more about Isei.


~ Chapter 3 ~ Scene 1 ~

The next morning, Itchy decided to make his very special secret recipe for breakfest. The tramp called it "hobo stew"; apparently some foreign dish he learned to make from a traveling friend. Isei couldn't identify the contents any more readily than the previous evening's pre-packaged meal, but it was surprisingly satisfying. The old man's mealtime conversation left something to be desired, however, and the constant questioning was beginning to wear on Isei's nerves. He'd already decided to put the past behind him and would answer nothing, causing Ichiro to act a bit sullen. That, combined with the closeness of the alley's brick walls, made him feel just a tad stir-crazy.

"Don't wait up. I might come back, or not," Isei had said when he left. With Itchy's best wishes, the younger man took his first steps out of the alley and into the new world that awaited him.

The first thing that struck him was how bright it was during the day. Isei knew Earth was closer to the sun than his home planet--he remembered that from his trip to the Moon Kingdom--but it was still very jarring. It didn't help that the carriages of metal and glass barreling through the streets reflected light in sudden, blinding flashes. The young man willed his eyes to adjust until he could see properly.

The second thing that struck Isei was a gangly, scar-faced man on a cell phone. "Watch it, buddy!" the man barked at him. The rude fellow then apologized profusely into his phone in order to head off a misunderstanding.

Isei once killed a man for less than that, but he was in no mood to care right now. When his vision returned, he found himself entranced by the sight before him. Roppongi was already a bustling center of commerce at this time of day and the sheer multitude of humanity was staggering. Isei had never seen this many people in one place before and the number of pedestrians on this block alone might have outnumber his own clan. To think that so many people could be crammed into one city, which was one among countless more across the globe, was a strange new reality for Isei.

He was head-and-shoulders taller than most of the people around him and he couldn't possibly count the number of raven-haired heads that walked past. It reminded him of the fields of flowers that grew outside his clan's den. Encouraged by the heat of Etna, which held off Vulcan's normally frigid climate, the flowers pushed their way through the snow to look skyward with faces of sooty velvet petals. He remembered playing in those fields with his sister...

No! That's enough of that. The past can't be changed, so there was no sense in pining for the days of his youth. The heat that surrounded Isei now was from hundreds, thousands, millions of strangers who'd never heard of this gray-haired warrior from a remote planet in the Silver Millennium.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Isei inserted himself into the flow of pedestrians.

Coooool....