look to the east

“Do you know much about Nemesis?” 

Jadeite is leaning against the door to Sailor Pluto’s oh so scary hall of time (door of time? whatever). His eyes are curious, his blond hair tugged back in a truly terrible attempt at a ponytail. 

So, as soon as she gets a moment at her sacred ground where no one else should be snooping around, she hears that voice which she recognized quickly.

His grin is unrepentant, now that Sailor Pluto is here, a shade impudent.

“Do you know much about Nemesis?” 

Jadeite is leaning against the door to Sailor Pluto’s oh so scary hall of time (door of time? whatever). His eyes are curious, his blond hair tugged back in a truly terrible attempt at a ponytail. 

So, as soon as she gets a moment at her sacred ground where no one else should be snooping around, she hears that voice which she recognized quickly.

His grin is unrepentant, now that Sailor Pluto is here, a shade impudent.

Jadeite didn’t understand the opposition, but he was going to. That was his job  as a spy, as an infiltrator, as a diplomat, an ambassador, etc, etc, all the pretty names and ugly ones, at the end of the day that was what he always did. He got to know what the other side wanted, whoever the other side was, so he could take that back to his leaders and they could use it to get rid of the opposition. 

Of course, he didn’t really remember much about the fact that he’d done all this before - like everyone else who’d been purified, he didn’t remember any life but this one - but he’d heard about it, from the few records that were around, and it fit with his skills. 

Those at least didn’t rely on memories.

This did. Infiltration, and investigation, he needed memories - not his, but those from Nemesis. How could he understand if he didn’t hear what motivated the people?

His hair is black, dull and nondescript dyed instead of magic’d, cut in a bland, average cut, his eyes still blue but dull, his features made bland, nose a little busted, lips a little chapped, brows bushy - nothing about him is fancy, but he also isn’t too perfectly average. Just a regular person, a little hard to pick out of a crowd. His clothes are overlarge and patched, and his hood is tucked over his head - fitted to the people who sat in bars on Crystal Tokyo - and who scrabbled over supplies in Nemesis, according to rumor.

That’s where he was. Nemesis, shipped hidden with a garbage truck, stranded for the next round of days, to collect information before he headed back to Earth to report. 

And unfortunately, in a country striken by so much horror and scarcity, a person would survive and thrive only by force. But force doesn’t necessarily mean physical muscles, but also wisdom and relying on one’s skills.

If what they needed at this point was someone reliable and relatively honest to ensure no suspect contraband arrived within the planet - there was always contraband, and that she understood, but she needed to keep tabs on that too. Berthier would take charge of that. She went over the items carefully, asking for detailed information and taking detailed notes of everything. She even confiscated a small container of illegal make up. Good. She had been in need of that.

Because Nemesis didn’t have many options on who to trade with, even though Crystal Tokyo and the planet had begin opening borders to one another, her dull job only took a few hours. But instead of teleporting back to her base, she decided to walk back – it had been a long while since she spent any longer than necessary in the streets.

The streets of Nemesis weren’t safe, even for someone as high rank as her, but she didn’t fear civilians as much as she feared the changes that were happening so fast.

Of course it was every Nemesian’s dream to have respect from the rest of the Universe, and access to resources too. But she didn’t approve of such a close relationship with Earth. And in days, she’d be going there. To Earth. To Crystal Tokyo.

On Earth, he would offer an impish grin, a flick of the eyes, and then disappear, to see if this pretty lady would follow after him. On Earth, he would scowl and duck, disappear through the nearest door and dare anyone to keep track. 

On Nemesis, either choice could be suspicious. He’s already seen that. There’s no casual, easy joy on Nemesis, not out in the open at least. It’s a grim and dismal place and he can easily say he hates it already, but most people don’t just duck away from eyes either - that was weakness, and so far it seemed like people relied on force to get things done, here in Nemesis. 

He needed some force of his own - or at least, some grit. He cocks his head and keeps looking, raising a brow as if to say, ‘what? is there a problem?’.

He pours the coffee into a mug. And then pours some into another mug.

Jadeite didn’t understand the opposition, but he was going to. That was his job  as a spy, as an infiltrator, as a diplomat, an ambassador, etc, etc, all the pretty names and ugly ones, at the end of the day that was what he always did. He got to know what the other side wanted, whoever the other side was, so he could take that back to his leaders and they could use it to get rid of the opposition. 

Of course, he didn’t really remember much about the fact that he’d done all this before - like everyone else who’d been purified, he didn’t remember any life but this one - but he’d heard about it, from the few records that were around, and it fit with his skills. 

Those at least didn’t rely on memories.

This did. Infiltration, and investigation, he needed memories - not his, but those from Nemesis. How could he understand if he didn’t hear what motivated the people?

His hair is black, dull and nondescript dyed instead of magic’d, cut in a bland, average cut, his eyes still blue but dull, his features made bland, nose a little busted, lips a little chapped, brows bushy - nothing about him is fancy, but he also isn’t too perfectly average. Just a regular person, a little hard to pick out of a crowd. His clothes are overlarge and patched, and his hood is tucked over his head - fitted to the people who sat in bars on Crystal Tokyo - and who scrabbled over supplies in Nemesis, according to rumor.

That’s where he was. Nemesis, shipped hidden with a garbage truck, stranded for the next round of days, to collect information before he headed back to Earth to report. 

And unfortunately, in a country striken by so much horror and scarcity, a person would survive and thrive only by force. But force doesn’t necessarily mean physical muscles, but also wisdom and relying on one’s skills.

If what they needed at this point was someone reliable and relatively honest to ensure no suspect contraband arrived within the planet - there was always contraband, and that she understood, but she needed to keep tabs on that too. Berthier would take charge of that. She went over the items carefully, asking for detailed information and taking detailed notes of everything. She even confiscated a small container of illegal make up. Good. She had been in need of that.

Because Nemesis didn’t have many options on who to trade with, even though Crystal Tokyo and the planet had begin opening borders to one another, her dull job only took a few hours. But instead of teleporting back to her base, she decided to walk back – it had been a long while since she spent any longer than necessary in the streets.

The streets of Nemesis weren’t safe, even for someone as high rank as her, but she didn’t fear civilians as much as she feared the changes that were happening so fast.

Of course it was every Nemesian’s dream to have respect from the rest of the Universe, and access to resources too. But she didn’t approve of such a close relationship with Earth. And in days, she’d be going there. To Earth. To Crystal Tokyo.

On Earth, he would offer an impish grin, a flick of the eyes, and then disappear, to see if this pretty lady would follow after him. On Earth, he would scowl and duck, disappear through the nearest door and dare anyone to keep track. 

On Nemesis, either choice could be suspicious. He’s already seen that. There’s no casual, easy joy on Nemesis, not out in the open at least. It’s a grim and dismal place and he can easily say he hates it already, but most people don’t just duck away from eyes either - that was weakness, and so far it seemed like people relied on force to get things done, here in Nemesis. 

He needed some force of his own - or at least, some grit. He cocks his head and keeps looking, raising a brow as if to say, ‘what? is there a problem?’.

Setsuna didn’t mind acting in secrecy, as long as there were clear benefits to it. Not embarrassing herself in front of her friends, family members and colleagues seemed like the best reason as to keep her ambitions to herself. 

Some of them knew about her hobby of creating garments, especially Haruka and Michiru. But not many people knew of her secret dream of owning her own brand, and perhaps one day opening her store.

It all seemed unattainable if she thought about it hard enough. There were far too many rules to break into this industry, and for all it’s worth, she was starting later than her competition. However, at this point in time and space, she knew it’d probably be her last chance of making anything out of it.

She never had experience running a business, however. It took her time, but she found the perfect opportunity to learn how to develop it all with a night time business lesson offered by a respected business woman. She had bene successful starting from the ground up which is what Setsuna needed.

First day of school, and her mind was already filled with questions. Brand identity, marketing plan, market place research. She could feel her anxiety rising during class but she didn’t dare to admit it. As long as she could fight for her dream, she would.

Her eyes fell on one of the few people who seemed as eager as her. She could almost recognize him, but couldn’t place that face. Setsuna focused her attention again at the professor and took all the notes necessary.

Setsuna didn’t mind acting in secrecy, as long as there were clear benefits to it. Not embarrassing herself in front of her friends, family members and colleagues seemed like the best reason as to keep her ambitions to herself. 

Some of them knew about her hobby of creating garments, especially Haruka and Michiru. But not many people knew of her secret dream of owning her own brand, and perhaps one day opening her store.

It all seemed unattainable if she thought about it hard enough. There were far too many rules to break into this industry, and for all it’s worth, she was starting later than her competition. However, at this point in time and space, she knew it’d probably be her last chance of making anything out of it.

She never had experience running a business, however. It took her time, but she found the perfect opportunity to learn how to develop it all with a night time business lesson offered by a respected business woman. She had bene successful starting from the ground up which is what Setsuna needed.

First day of school, and her mind was already filled with questions. Brand identity, marketing plan, market place research. She could feel her anxiety rising during class but she didn’t dare to admit it. As long as she could fight for her dream, she would.

Her eyes fell on one of the few people who seemed as eager as her. She could almost recognize him, but couldn’t place that face. Setsuna focused her attention again at the professor and took all the notes necessary.

Setsuna didn’t mind acting in secrecy, as long as there were clear benefits to it. Not embarrassing herself in front of her friends, family members and colleagues seemed like the best reason as to keep her ambitions to herself. 

Some of them knew about her hobby of creating garments, especially Haruka and Michiru. But not many people knew of her secret dream of owning her own brand, and perhaps one day opening her store.

It all seemed unattainable if she thought about it hard enough. There were far too many rules to break into this industry, and for all it’s worth, she was starting later than her competition. However, at this point in time and space, she knew it’d probably be her last chance of making anything out of it.

She never had experience running a business, however. It took her time, but she found the perfect opportunity to learn how to develop it all with a night time business lesson offered by a respected business woman. She had bene successful starting from the ground up which is what Setsuna needed.

First day of school, and her mind was already filled with questions. Brand identity, marketing plan, market place research. She could feel her anxiety rising during class but she didn’t dare to admit it. As long as she could fight for her dream, she would.

Her eyes fell on one of the few people who seemed as eager as her. She could almost recognize him, but couldn’t place that face. Setsuna focused her attention again at the professor and took all the notes necessary.

Particularly when the class was as good as this one, taught by an actual businesswoman who knew how to explain her success in practical ways, and was more than willing to give them the tools to replicate it. He took notes, copious amounts of them, scribbling down doodles of the diagrams as well, in the hope of remembering how it all pieced together later.

There was so much to know and the challenge of putting it altogether was almost frightening. (Almost.)

Eventually the class ended, with time left for a few more questions, and Kasumi started putting away his things, gradually realizing that there were just a handful of students who hadn’t been either falling asleep or tripping over themselves to get out, and one of them was someone who looked….vaguely familiar.

Huh.

Well, there was really just one thing to do about it -

“I’m Kasumi. What harebrained scheme got you to come to night classes?”

“You caught me. I’m hoping to run an underground business no one can know about. I even have a secret identity in order to do so.” She spoke in such a natural tone that it could easily be true. Perhaps she should come up with an alias. That was a great idea.

But now thinking on it, perhaps she should start her brand under a pseudonym, something no one could guess was hers. She pondered for a while.

Certainly not him! Certainly not him who was maybe yes or maybe no on dealing with any of his myriad of past life issues.