[After our two-hour season opener, we have:] A cream-pale hand brushes dark blue-black hair, dark brown eyes watching critically in the mirror. With a last sigh, she puts her brush down, dabs a tiny bit more powder on her nose, and stands, the brilliant woodland-camo silk of her dress slithering over her body as she moves. She checks the contents of her purse, opens the magazine pouch, pulls both parkerized magazines out, presses on the top round in each, then puts them back. She velcros it to her right thigh, just above the knee, wide elastic straps taking most of the load, and clicks the little fastek buckles to secure it a little better. She twirls, frowns a little at the lump of it just below the hem of her skirt, and checks that she can easily reach her mag pouch. She picks up her emerald-green metalflake M3 subgun, ejects her matching magazine, presses on the top round, then sets it on the counter. Ejection port cover open, frown at seeing the bolt forward, draw the bolt to the rear, making sure it locks, pull the trigger, bolt drops, hold trigger, slap the bolt back and it slaps back forward, release the trigger, slap the bolt back again, close the ejection port cover, and load the magazine. Sling the bright green strap over her head, so it hangs down her back near her right hand. Check in the mirror, and the strap doesn't clash too badly with her dress; the gun itself matches her dress almost perfectly. `Betsy will love it, Mariko,' she tells herself, `Or I've been reading her entirely wrong.' * The sky is grey, and a tall red-haired woman is helping Mariko haul her luggage from the trunk of a '62 Beetle. Mariko sets the last of three cases down, and pulls the taller woman in for a hug, a kiss, and a grope on her skirted rear. `I'll miss you, Betsy,' Mariko says. `Not if you keep doing that,' Betsy says, a smile on her face. `Why?' `Because I'll have to take you home with me, and never let you leave.' `Never?' `Well, only when you'll come back quickly.' `That would be fine, but I should get back, because it's the middle of the school year, and classes start again next week. The kids'll miss me, and my principal would be,' she pauses, thinking, `inconvienienced if I didn't make it back in time.' `You'll come back?' `Or you could come visit?' Mariko asks hopefully, stepping back a little. `If you'd like,' Betsy says diffidently, reaching out to touch Mariko's cheek. Mariko's cream-pale cheek is cafe-au-lait in contrast to Betsy's pale pink hand. `I'd like,' Mariko sags against Betsy, and they stand there for a while, hands slowly rubbing over backs. `It's almost seven.' `Fuck!' Mariko says. Betsy laughs, and helps her haul her luggage inside. * ]The next morning started normal enough[ Ranma opens her eyes, and the camera pulls back a bit more, showing Buffy curled against her. Ranma's in a tank top and boxers, Buffy in a somewhat slinky nightgown. The camera pulls back a little further, showing that they are on Buffy's bed, Ranma's sword leaned up against the headboard, her LBV hung on the corner, and her pistol-belt half under the pillow, holstered .45 out of sight underneath it. `Time to get up,' she says, and sits up, pulling Buffy so she's curled into her lap. Buffy whines, and cuddles against Ranma's chest. Ranma smiles, and pulls her LBV off the bedpost, making Buffy whine further, `I'm going to keep dressing. When I have enough clothes on to train in, I'm going to take you outside and wake you up if you aren't.' `Wake me up?' Buffy mumbles sleepily. `You don't have a pond, so I'll have to use a hose.' `I'm moving,' Buffy says, and rolls off Ranma's lap, then cuddles against the pillow. Ranma clicks the top buckle of her LBV shut, `I'll take you outside, set you next to the table, and turn the hose on.' Buffy makes a non-commital noise. Ranma clicks another buckle, `Then, once you are awake, we'll train. If you wake up now, it will go easier on you.' No answer. Ranma sighs, rolls out of the bed, and grabs her shirt, shrugging it over her shoulders. She steps around to the other side, and rolls Buffy out of the bed. *Thump* {insert OP here} * The departure board flickers, DKAL 73 to LAX, on schedule. A pretty asian woman runs up, black braid bouncing with each step, and the pretty youma man behind the counter smiles sadly at her, `Nakayama-san?' The woman nods, `How much too late am I?' `The doors are closed already.' Mariko hangs her head, hands on the counter, `Anything else going to LA?' `Do you have your Air Marshal card?' `Of course.' `Then I can get you a seat on United Airlines Flight 175, which leaves in twenty minutes.' `That would be fine.' `We'll promote you to first class, but you will be on call for anything that happens.' `Meaning no alcohol, and keep the M3 ready?' `Not quite at the ready, but don't put it in the upper bin, either.' `Right,' she smiles, `Thank you very much, you've saved me a lot of hassle.' `Your luggage is being transfered as we speak.' `Thank you!' `Have a nice flight.' * ]I finally got Buffy moving. Didn't even have to put the hose on her.[ `I was wrong,' Buffy says, pouting, shaking a fist. `Oh?' Ranma asks, relaxed and smiling. `You aren't soft at all,' Buffy tries a kick, which Ranma dodges seemingly without effort, and a kick, which Ranma blocks with an open palm. `I'm very soft,' Ranma says, and slaps her belly, resulting in a noise much like slapping a railroad tie. Buffy blushes horribly. `What?' Ranma asks. * Mariko blinks as one of the three men who'd walked up from further back in the plane pulls at the door to the cockpit. A glint of metal, and she reaches into the bag at her feet with both hands, pulling her M3 into her lap with her left, and a magazine in her right. She loads the magazine, pulls the ejection port cover open and glances in to make sure the bolt is back before she puts her right hand on the grip, the whole process taking barely two seconds. She brings the gun up, and someone screams as two of the men rush into the cockpit. She shoots the third, who is standing, box cutter in hand, watching the main cabin, the *BLAM* of a single .45 ACP round loud in the confined space. She climbs out of her seat, tumbling over the cowering woman in the aisle seat, and struggles to her feet, rushing to the open cockpit door. The man she'd shot groans and reaches, so she shoots him again, bringing the gun up onto one of the first two men. *BLAM* He drops, and his partner turns, little knife red, his white shirt spattered with it. The pilot is clutching his chest, where a long slash drips fitfully. *BLAM* The last of the hijackers clutches his chest, and collapses. A male voice yells from the back, and Mariko turns. A fourth man has one of the flight attendants, one hand with a little knife at her neck, and the other clutching something. Mariko brings her subgun to her shoulder, aims quickly, and taps the trigger before the man has time to do more than yell `I have a bom-' *BLAM* The highjacker's head jerks back, and his knife cuts the woman in his arms as he falls to the ground. Someone has the presence of mind to wrap their hand about his before he lets the device in his left hand go. Mariko rushes up, and slaps her hand on the flight attendent's neck, applying pressure to the rapid, steady gush of blood, `Get my bag!' she yells, `Are there any more?' Stunned panic reigns for a moment, then someone plops her bag next to her. She slaps the ejection port cover closed, safing the subgun, and pulls out a field dressing and a bottle of coagulant powder. She opens it with her teeth, removes her other hand, and pours a good bit of it over the wound, then slaps the field dressing over it, and ties it. From the front, one of the attendants calls, `The co-pilot's dead, and the pilot's bleeding pretty bad.' `I'll be right there,' Mariko says, then, to the young, white-faced man holding the deadman switch, `I'll be back in just a moment. Don't let go yet.' `Right,' he says shakily. `Is anyone here CLS?' She yells, and gets a bunch of blank looks. `Can anyone here do an IV?' One of the other flight attendants steps up. She takes the bag of saline, the other one of tubing, and the little plastic pouch for the needle with shaking hands. Mariko grabs her hand, and squeezes it, `Can you do this?' The woman nods. Mariko stands, grabs her bag, and heads to the cockpit. * ]And things got surprisingly more difficult in some ways, and easier in others[ `No,' Willow says, and clutches Tara to her as the footage plays again, the jetliner arrowing across the frame into the north tower of the World Trade Center in New York. The news turns back to the newscaster, `United Airlines flight 175 just landed in Chicago after an attempted hijacking. Three dead, four injured, three critically. Two of the dead and two of the injured are the accused hijackers, the others are the pilot, co-pilot, and a flight attendant. Names are being withheld until family can be notified.' The camera cuts to Mariko, in front of a number of microphones, hands and face still bloody, looking even smaller than normal, `I just did as I was trained. I'm glad there weren't any more of them, 'cause I rather lost it when that woman got cut,' she shakes her head, `I'm not gonna talk anymore now.' A few more questions are shouted, but she stays true to her word. * `Look, I'm a schoolteacher. I teach fourth grade. I have my Air Marshall's card because it is the only way I can legally fly,' she glares at the FBI interrogator, `As you well know.' A swirl of white sparkly light appears, and vanishes, leaving four short skirted figures behind. One of them turns the room lights on, and the others place themselves around the room. The one in blue walks back from the light switch, stopping beside the table. Sailor Moon reaches back with her right hand, and draws an M1911a1 from behind her neck, and hands it to Mariko. Mariko draws the slide a little, checking the round in the chamber, makes sure the safety is on, then tucks it into her waistband with a faint sigh of relief. The FBI man looks to protest, but Sailor Mercury intervenes, `You know the SOFA, right?' (SOFA is Status Of Forces Agreement, and covers, among other things, who has jurisdiction in case of altercations/legal problems between two powers' armed forces and civilian authorities) `She's a schoolteacher.' `She's a member of the Dark Kingdom Militia, in good standing. That means that you may not request she surrender her weapons without providing a secure location, which we have, and at least two Dark Kingdom MPs to protect her from . . . accidents,' Sailor Moon says. `We wouldn't . . . ' the interrogator starts. `What's his name, and badge number?' `I don't know, he wouldn't tell me.' `You were saying,' Sailor Mars turns to the interrogator. Sailor Venus scowls from the back corner. `Sailor Moon,' a female voice says. `Megumi?' `Sailor Saturn says one of the terrorists is well enough to talk now, and the flight attendant will live.' `Good.' `We'll take Mariko now, if that's OK?' Sailor Venus says, placing a hand on Mariko's shoulder as she looks at the interrogator. `I suppose,' the FBI man says, his eyes drifting to the M1996C slung over Sailor Venus's shoulder. `Good.' Everyone stands, and it becomes even more apparent how short the Sailors are. Moon is barely an inch taller than Mariko. * `Yes, I am Al-Qaieda. I trained in Afganistan,' the wounded man says in Arabic, and Jupiter translates. Mercury nods. `What was the point of this operation?' `To strike a decisive blow against the Infidel.' `Then why did you go after the US?' `They are a softer target.' `Oh? Why?' `Because they are always unarmed, meek, unresisting. That is why we would have succeeded, had your demon not interfered.' `Demon?' Mariko asks with a little smile, `Djinn? Efreet? Something else?' `He used Afrit,' Mercury clarifies. `Cool.' * `All personnel, I repeat, all personnel of the Second Rapid Strike Brigade prepare for deployment to Afganistan. Second RSB, prepare for combat operations in Afganistan,' the speakers relay, first in Japanese, then Chinese. `What? How long?' PV2 Lee asks, staring around at the chaos surrounding her. `We've got until the Sailors show up to get ready. Is your mountain ops bag packed?' her squad leader asks. She nods. `Weapon loaded?' She draws the bolt back a little on her M14, then nods. `Then get your LBV on, ruck up, and wait,' SSG Vail says, and settles back onto his ruck. `All personnel,' the speakers continue in the background, in Korean this time. * `Do you want us to drop you in Dalian? That's about as close as we'll get to your home. We'll arrange for tickets to get you the rest of the way.' `Not if it's out of your way. Port Arthur would be fine.' `How about Fort Archimedes?' Mercury asks. `Can I get home in time to change for work on Sweetmorn?' `Yes.' `Please.' * `OK, Fourth Squad, we've got our battle orders. We ring up with the Brigade in an hour. We'll be teleporting onto this hill, about two miles from this Al-Qaieda training camp. We have intel stating that Osama Bin Laden,' a hiss rises from the squad, `Is in this camp. It may or may not be true. We want to capture him alive if he is there, for interogation. `Other than that, it's standard ROE. Any questions?' SSG Vail finishes. `What if they pretend to surrender?' `Best judgment, but don't second-guess yourselves.' `Rodger, chief.' * `Warriors of the Dark Kingdom,' Sailor Moon calls, her unamplified voice cutting through the chatter, `We go today to fullfill a promise we made to the world, Afganistan, and ourselves. We told them one more strike, and they took it. We have confirmation from our surviving terrorist that these attacks were Al-Qaieda, and that they were trained in Afganistan. First RSB will take Kabul, and Second RSB will help annihilate the Al-Qaieda training camps in south-west Afganistan. First RSB will teleport in ten minutes. Second RSB will teleport fifteen minutes later. `Any questions?' `NO!' roars the eight thousand warriors massed on the main parade field. `First RSB!' yells the Brigade commander, a short man acquired with the PRC's Manchurian units, but well-liked despite that, `Stand up!' Four thousand warriors struggle to their feet, weighed down by over a hundred kilos of gear and ammunition each. `Ring up!' They shift the few feet needed to get into position. The six Sailors step into place, sixty degrees apart around the circle. `Join hands!' Four thousand warriors join hands. `SAILOR,' yells Sailor Moon, drawing the word out, pausing a little. `TELEPORT!' tears from four thousand throats, and in a swirl of light and crackle of breaking asphault they vanish. * `It's begun. Try to keep a low profile for a little bit,' Megumi's voice says, softly. `What's up, Chief?' Ranma says, sitting on the steps into the basement, watching Buffy go after the pipe with a wrench. `We've started our assault on Kabul. Second RSB is teleporting in in about fifteen minutes, and our airborne forces will be on the ground in another five hours. Main ground forces will be arriving shortly after that.' `Fuck,' Ranma says firmly. `What?' Buffy says, not giving the pipe another twist. `The Dark Kindom is making good on its promise.' `What do you mean?' Buffy slings the wrench over her shoulder, and walks up to the smaller woman. `We're invading Afganistan as we speak. The country will fall within hours.' `How can you be so sure?' `Have you seen the Afgan army? 'Specially since the Taliban took over? They weren't the hottest thing since sliced bread, but they're not up to fighting a modern high mobility force.' `Didn't they chase out the Soviets?' `With US backing. That's part of the reason they're such a problem right now. We will crush their regular forces handily, but unless we do something special, we're going to end up in the same place as the Soviets before too long.' `Special? Like what?' `Assimilate them. Make them into good little Dark Kingdom Warriors.' `And that's bad because?' `It isn't, but it will piss off the US no end, particularly with Baby Bush in charge.' `Baby Bush?' Buffy asks, then snorts, then laughs, clutching the redheaded Japanese woman to her busom. Ranma wraps her arms around her and holds her tight. * `Buffy?' Willow says, `I'd prefer not to bother you about this, but.' `What is it?' `Money,' Anya says, `You don't have any.' `What?' Buffy says, `Didn't Mom . . . ' she trails off. Ranma pulls her into her lap, settling the katana accross Buffy's thighs. `Your mother prepared well,' Willow starts. `With insurance and everything,' Tara continues. Buffy tenses in Ranma's lap. Ranma strokes her side as Buffy clutches her right hand about Ranma's, `But.' `The hospital bills,' Xander says. `And the house,' Anya says, `Ate most of it up.' `Then don't bother her about it. Or Ranma either. I'm the watcher, so it's my job to deal with all of this real-world crap, so they can make sure it keeps happening,' Cologne says firmly, from the doorway. Buffy gives her the most pathetically grateful look. Ranma smiles at her watcher, `No more making your son-in-law work, huh?' `Nope. She did say that you don't have to go out of your way about the Special Agent stuff.' `I took the oath, so I'll do the work.' `Don't work too hard.' `I won't,' Ranma says, and snuggles close to Buffy. * A striking demon barges into the bank, elegant little spikes at his elbows and extending back in a little crown around his head, and starts to throw the customers around. The security guard shoots at him a couple times, and the demon throws him out the door. After a few minutes he leaves, following the three men in ski-masks who'd just robbed the place. The manager on duty crawls out from under his desk as the emergency services personnel start to show up. * `Come,' Cologne says to Willow, `We're going to go do a tracking spell.' `What are we going to track? A demon? That guy who was on the news, Bin Laden?' `Some money. The bank robbers took advantage of a demon throwing things around to rob the place, so we're, you're, going to use a little simple, sympathetic magic to trace the rest of the money with some of the money that wasn't stolen.' `Oh. Why?' `Because it feels like a set-up. The demon was too convinient.' `Oh,' Willow runs to the kitchen, `Tara, Cologne is taking me to do a tracking spell, OK?' `Cologne?' Tara appears in the doorway, drying her hands, `I,' she pauses, `I want to come too.' `Good,' Cologne nods, and leads the way out the door. * `But that's so slow,' Willow whines, glaring at the pattern they are drawing. `No it isn't. You're just lazy,' Cologne says. Willow glares at the old woman, `I am not --' `You are,' Tara says softly, `At least when it comes to magic. You like running without any safeties.' `Safeties are for people who'll make mistakes.' `Safeties are for people who want to live,' Cologne says, `People who do magic without them tend to end up dead much earlier than other people.' `Why?' Willow asks. `Suicide,' Cologne says, `Or they attempt something beyond their ability to control, and get killed in any of a number of very messy ways.' `W-Why suicide?' Tara asks. `They annoy or damage their friends, family, significant others beyond their ability to apologize, and they leave or die.' `What?' Willow says, staring horrified at the old woman. `I've lost three friends that way. It's sad, for a while.' `After a while, you get over it?' `No, you file it away out of sight somewhere, and try to forget about it.' * `Here's the security camera footage of the demon,' Ranma says, hooking her phone to her slate, then typing in a few commands to play the data, `He wasn't trying to hurt anyone, well, except the guard, just scare them and keep them distracted. These three,' she points to shadowy figures in the background, `Are raiding the registers.' *Ring*Ring* Ranma pulls out her phone, glances at it, opens it, `Obaba?' `Ranma. We've found some of the money, and the demon.' `Good. Where are you?' `Eighteenth and Galbraith, south-east corner.' `I'll be there in a moment.' `I'm coming with,' Buffy says. `Are you sure?' `I need to kill something.' `Just don't get hurt yourself, OK?' Ranma brushes a lock of Buffy's hair back, ducking to look into her eyes. `Right. Look after Dawn,' Buffy tells Xander and Anya. `Of course,' Anya says. * `Lee, Jones, Hayami, to the left, Harker, Van Helsing, Gruit, to the right. Wait for the flare.' SSG Vail gets five raised thumbs and a raised middle finger in acknowledgement. `Cute,' he tells SGT Jones. SGT Jones smiles, twisting the scars covering his face, `Aren't I, though?' `Just like an active volcano, only a little less red,' CPL Hayami says, smiling, his pretty cheek dimpling. `Stop flirting,' PFC Harker says, her lips twitching upward, `Just for a little while, OK, Hayami?' `That's Corporal Hayami to you, Private.' `Shut it,' SSG Vail says. Hayami makes a show of zipping his lips. * `Here we are,' Ranma says, then draws the .45 from her waist, checks quickly to make sure she has a round in the chamber, and smiles at the taller woman. Buffy hefts her ax, `You know those just make things worse, right?' `Depends on the ammo,' Ranma says, `Solid copper hollowpoints, stuffed with Obaba's special mix of oils, sawdust, eleven herbs and spices. Works against vampires and most demons.' `Oh,' Buffy says, `I want to kill it, so.' `Let me have first go at it, OK?' Buffy slumps a little, `OK.' `Thanks,' Ranma says, then bounces up and kisses Buffy on the lips, left hand on her shoulder, right keeping the gun pointed at the ground. `Welcome,' Buffy says, smiling again. Ranma gives her shoulder a squeeze, then saunters out, `Hey, M'brek!' `Yeah?' the demon turns towards her. `What are you doing in this podunk little town?' `Had a job, what's it to you?' `I'm a slayer, so It's kinda my job to keep an eye on you.' `I thought it was your job to try to kill me?' `Only if you're being horrible. You gonna behave, or am I gonna hav'ta wax your ass?' `I think you're gonna die, slayer.' `Why's that?' `'Cause I'm gonna kill you.' `Oh. You don't have to.' `But I want to.' `Buffy?' *Thwock* That nice spikey head separates from the pleasantly scaled shoulders, and falls to the ground *thump* `Sigh,' Ranma says, then checks the safety before she holsters her pistol, snapping the thumb-break over the back of the slide, in front of the hammer. `Why'd you do that?' Buffy asked. `Do what?' `You've got the wiggly bit,' `Wiggly bit?' `The one that sticks out the back.' `The hammer?' `Yeah. You've got it back still, but you had it forward before.' `I was thinking about it, and it's probably safer in condition one.' `Which means, precisely, what?' Buffy asks, smiling, wrapping her fingers in the smaller woman's. `Condition zero is safety off, magazine loaded, round in the chamber, hammer back, ready to fire. Contition one is safety on, magazine loaded, round in the chamber, hammer back. Condition two is safety on, magazine loaded, round in the chamber, hammer forward. Condition three is magazine loaded, no round in the chamber, and condition four is magazine out' Ranma says seriously, looking up a little into Buffy's face as they walk. `OK, so why does one use one or another?' Buffy swings their hands out of the way, and taps Ranma with her hip. `Condition one is generally regarded as best for carrying, since all you have to do to fire is press the safety down and pull the trigger. I was carrying in condtion two because that adds the step of drawing the hammer back, which can give you a little more time if someone takes your gun, particularly if they're an idiot,' Ranma shrugs. ]Yes, that was "I'm going to protect you."[ --- log: 3170/Discord/63: Started 3170/Discord/65: Continued/editted/put up for the first time 3170/confusion/61: Continued