Sailor Moon: Tacky Yellow No Name
                            - 3 -     

     Malachite whistled cheerfully as he trekked home that evening.
The day couldn't have been a better one for the ex-general (except
for that minor fight with Zoisite) and he was in the mood for a 
small celebration. He walked jauntily down the sidewalk, even skipping
a little bit when no one was looking. He couldn't wait to return home
and share the good news with Zoisite and his cape.
     The day had been remarkably good from the very beginning.
Zoisite had slept late that morning leaving the shower (and the hot
water!) for him to enjoy. Not even Malachite's shout of "Woah, yes!
Good hair day!" had managed to awaken him. That in itself was
enough for Malachite to consider it a good day.  The little episode at
lunch with the maxed credit cards had been a bit trying, but the best
was yet to come, for it was that day that Malachite had found an
opportunity for advancement in the Wal-Mart hierarchy.
     Thinking back, Malachite grinned to himself. He couldn't have
had a better opportunity if he had planned it down to the tiniest
detail. He swung around a lamp post and clicked his heels with glee
at the memory. Malachite had been getting ready for his coffee
break when he noticed Eddie Krabsek heading for his office...
...alone. He had swiftly grabbed the opportunity to strengthen 
his position in retail.  Needless to say, Eddie hadn't put up much 
of a fight and Malachite had acquired the job of his ex-manager 
before his fifteen minute coffee break was up. Eddie, it
seemed, had opted for a nice long rest and a highly recommended
psychiatrist after his little "encounter" with the silver-haired
clerk from checkout four. Malachite had assured him that it was
nothing personal ("In spite of the fact that that overbearing
little snot kept calling me Malcolm!").  It was, quite simply, a
matter of life and death. If he didn't get a higher paying job,
Zoisite would kill him.
     Malachite gave a semi-maniacal chuckle, not wishing to attract
a large amount of attention to himself. With the raise in pay that
came with Eddie's job he would be able to pay off Zoisite's bills
and still have a little left over for himself. That, combined with
the one million dollars that he already may have won (according to
Ed), and the fact that he had snitched his credit cards from
Zoisite's wallet during lunch, would hopefully be enough to keep
the credit people from breaking down his door and hauling his butt
off to jail.
     Overly pleased with himself, Malachite continued to make his
cheerful way home. When he turned down his street, however, some of
the bounce went out of his step. The expression on his face began
to change as he moved closer and closer to the house which he was
learning to call home. Within a few minutes, he stood just outside
his front door and the smile had vanished from his face. He could
not believe the sight which met his eyes.
     From the outside, the house appeared to be a giant
jack-o-lantern. Multicoloured lights flashed in dizzying patterns
and it took Malachite's eyes several minutes to adjust. The rest of
him, however, took a little bit longer and he simply gaped at the
scene before him.
     The entire lawn was covered with cars which had crushed his
humble, but painstakingly constructed, rock garden and had torn up
the grass which Zoisite had forced him to mow the other day. A
large number of people, possibly the owners of the vehicles, were
lounging on the front porch smoking cigarettes and tossing back
large amounts of beer, coolers and other adult beverages.
     "Hey man!" Malachite turned at the sound of a voice and
connected it to a rather unkempt (and rather drunk) young man of
about twenty-five. "Hey, are you here for the party?" Malachite
looked at him blankly, still in shock.
     "Uh, no......I live here...."
     "You do?" The young man gave Malachite a closer look. "Oh, you
must be Malachite. Zoi told me about you. Cool!"
     "Uh, yeah....." Malachite said, unsure as to why he was being
deemed "cool" by a complete stranger.
     "Zoi's inside. He said you'd be home pretty soon."
     "Mmm....thanks...," he mumbled as he headed towards the front
door. He turned the knob tentatively, uncertain what to expect from
the loud and garish place that he had called home only that
morning.
     Immediately upon opening the front door, Malachite was
assaulted by a sonic blast composed of voices, laughter, breaking
glass and extremely loud music. He stood in the doorway, frozen
like a deer in headlights. He didn't know what to make of the
scene in front of him but he couldn't turn away. A sea of bodies
filled his living room, jostling, shoving and pushing their own,
individual ways in a manner which could only be described as
chaotic. The flashing multicoloured lights were being controlled by
a mousey looking young man in the corner. As he manipulated the
panel in front of him the lights went from solid, to flashing, to
strobe and back again. On the other side of the room there was a
table with enough food to feed twice as many people and, as he
watched, a tall blonde woman emerged from the kitchen with another
pile of food to add to the smorgasbord. In front of the television
(another one of Zoisite's purchases) sat a group of young men,
feeding on microwave popcorn, watching a hockey game and amusing
themselves during the ads with a belching contest. A very familiar
laugh was audible over the music: in the middle of all this was
Zoisite, holding a diet Pepsi and doing "the Macarena". He noticed 
Malachite, slack-jawed, at the front door and ran over, depositing 
his (miraculously unspilled) drink on the coffee table.
     "Malachite! Welcome home!"
     Malachite's mouth worked for a few seconds before any words
could come out. "What?......why?.......how?...."
     "Oh, this? Just a little housewarming party.....meet the
neighbours...that type of thing."  
     "Little?" 
     "Oh sure. This is about half the number I was going to
invite." 
     "H...h...how...?"
     "Uh, say that again, dear. You're hyperventilating." 
     Malachite tried again, this time successfully getting the
words through his constricted windpipe. "H-how d-d-d-did you
p-p-pay?"
     Zoisite looked at him oddly.  "Plastic. How else?" These words
finally allowed Malachite to gain some control over his speaking
abilities.
     "What??!!!?? But I took my credit cards out of your wallet
this morning!!!!!"
     Zoisite grinned at him mischievously.  "You forgot about the
American Express, dear. It was in my jacket pocket. Now come on, I
want you to meet some people." Zoisite grabbed Malachite's arm and
dragged him toward a group of people who were hovering around the
punch bowl.
     Notoobrite watched as Zoisite drew the very stunned Malachite
across the room and chuckled to herself.
     'That fool Zoisite is becoming no better than a pathetic human
and he's dragging Malachite along with him,' she thought. She
caught the eyes of Saabbite and Litebrite, who were on the other
side of the room, and exchanged an evil grin with the two. 'This is
going to be easier than we thought.'

****

     Raye, safe with the others in their temporary hiding place at
the temple, suddenly stiffened.
     "What is it, Raye?" asked Ami, ever-observant.  Mina, cheated
of a line, glowered.
     Raye frowned.  "I'm *sure* I just felt evil grins being
exchanged.  There are bad vibes somewhere in the city!"
     Lita blinked.  "Um...could you be a bit more specific?"
     "We'll have to go out and look for it!" said Raye decisively. 
Ami and Lita groaned.
     "But it's really *late*! And Reeny's out there somewhere!"
     "Come on, guys," sighed Mina, taking a moment to run her
fingers through her hair for extra dramatic effect (it was
unnoticed by the other three, who had shifted their attention to
the pair in the corner).
     Serena and Darien were making an effort to talk quietly, but
their sharp gestures made it obvious that they were having some
sort of argument.
     "Uh, Serena?" ventured Ami finally, "Scout business. We gotta 
go!"
     Serena glanced back over her shoulder, keeping one ear tuned
to Darien's ranting.  "LOOK," he shouted finally, a tad louder than
he'd intended, "I don't care what anyone says - she's not MINE! I
don't know *what* you get up to in the future, but -"
     Suddenly noticing the stares of the four Scouts, Darien
abruptly cut off his sentence and blushed.  Large sweat drops
suddenly appeared all over the room.
     "Um..."
     "You were saying, Ami?" asked Serena quickly, wearing her
"that-didn't-really-just-happen" expression.
     "Raye felt some evil vibes - we gotta go out and help her look
for the source," replied the blue-haired girl, grateful for the
distraction.
     "Oh, MAN," sighed Serena, "not the evil-divining bit again?"
     Raye nodded grimly.  "I think the time has come."
     Darien looked confused.  

****

     "Goodnight!" waved Zoisite cheerfully as yet another drunken
reveler stumbled out the door.
     "G'nigh..." muttered Malachite from the depths of his Pepsi-
stained couch.  He had to put a good face on things, or risk the
wrath of Zoisite to make his evening even worse.  He held his cape
like a talisman in front of him, its bundled length resting on his
lap (the edges tucked securely away from anything that might stain
it.  Just because it was Wash'n Wear, didn't mean he wanted to take
any chances).  
     He surveyed the wreck of their living room gloomily.  The TV
had been smashed a couple of hours before, to match the condition
of its audience.  The carpeting was stained with Pepsi, beer and
even less desirable substances; several people lay on the floor in
various stages of consciousness.  The wall looked like something
out of the modern art section of the local museum.  The scattered
holes in the plaster made him worry about the structural integrity
of the room; the trail of garbage leading to the kitchen made him
worry even more about the condition of the rest of the house.  But
he couldn't get up the energy to go look - what would be the point?
     Sullenly, he held his cape closer and longed for easier times,
when he'd only had to deal with the psychotic and unpredictable
Beryl.
     Just around the corner, hidden in the coatroom formerly known
as the bedroom, three figures stood and smirked in anticipation.

****

     "A little to the left," ordered Raye imperiously.
     The Scouts grunted with effort, swerving as they made their
awkward way down the dark street.
     "Is this absolutely necessary?" grunted Darien breathlessly
from where he held Raye around the waist.
     "Hush up!" said Raye.  "This is an ancient ceremony, and you
should be respecting it!  Incidentally, move your hand down a
little further, Darien."
     "HEY!" said Serena indignantly, pinching Raye's ankle.
     "Ouch! Well - you gotta admit, it was worth a try.  To the
right now, and keep walking!"
     "You think this is bad?" muttered Lita to Darien,  "Most times
we don't even have you to help!"
     The six made a strange sight indeed.  Holding Raye above their
heads like some sort of strange sacrifice, they proceeded down the
street.  Raye's arms were stretched out at an angle above her head;
Lita held one and Ami the other.  This could have possibly been
better planned, since Lita was the tallest girl and poor Ami was
running along on her tip-toes.  But who were they to question
ancient rituals? (Raye, unseen, grinned sadistically.)  Darien held
her waist while Serena supported her feet; the fifth girl held Raye
by the shoulders.
     The black-haired girl had become a giant divining rod, pointed
feet-first down the street.
     "A little to the right!" she shouted.  "And run! Run, damn
you! Don't be so lazy! There's EVIL out there, I tell you!"
     There were groans from all around.

****

     The last of the "guests" finally wandered out the door,
pulling his car out of the muddy mess that had formerly been
Malachite's well-kept lawn.
     "Great party, huh?" squealed Zoisite exhuberantly, hurling
himself down on the couch next to his semi-comatose partner.
     Malachite, rudely awakened, started up with a gasp and
clutched his cape, removing his thumb from his mouth.  Zoisite was
disappointed; for a moment, Malachite had reminded him of that cute
Linus character from "Peanuts".
     Shaking green hair from his blurry eyes, Malachite yawned. 
"Er...yeah.  Great," he mumbled, trying to keep his vision from
focusing on the ruined house around him.  Maybe he should try for
district manager of Wal-Mart?  Examining the pruned quality of his
thumb, he frowned.  He really had to stop that habit.
     "It's going to get even better!" crowed a triumphant female
voice from the direction of the hallway.
     Zoisite turned halfway around.  "You're a little late for the
party - the chow's all gone and so are all the other guests.  How
'bout we make it next time?" he said casually.  As much as he loved
parties, this one had gone on for long enough - he'd been hoping
for some snuggle time with Malachite.
     Malachite was less diplomatic.  "For pete's sake," he moaned,
"GO AWAY!!"
     "I don't think so."  A male voice this time, deep and
obscurely threatening.  "I see you've kept my darling safe for me,
Malachite!"
     Suddenly alarmed, the two ex-generals whirled to face the
three standing in the hallway entrance.  
     The black-haired man with fiery eyes.
     The slender woman with the navy braid.
     The small and nondescript man in brown.
     The three grinned evilly.
     "Oh," said Zoisite, "it's you."
     Saabbite blinked. "Huh?"
     Malachite sighed.  "Really, what *were* you three thinking? 
Did you really think you could just waltz in here and not get
killed?"
     Notoobrite smirked, the same I-know-something-you-don't-know
expression that had annoyed Saabbite earlier.  "Maybe you should
study your story regulations a little more carefully."
     Annoyed, Zoisite rose and moved around the couch, flipping
brown hair back over his shoulders as he approached his erstwhile
foes.  "Look, people, we're tired and Malachite has a long day
tomorrow.  Don't make me hurt you."  Holding his hands out, he
flicked his fingers.  "Shoo!"
     Litebrite fidgeted nervously.
     Glancing over, Notoobrite smirked.  "Don't worry, Litebrite.
Remember what we discussed? I can't be wrong about this!"  With an
evil laugh, she stepped forward.  "Let's rumble, pretty boy!"
     A slender and wickedly tipped crystal appeared in Zoisite's
hand.  "We're just trying to live a normal life!  Leave now!"
     Notoobrite shrugged.  "Like your happiness is a big concern of
mine.  Go ahead, you hussy!"
     Snarling at the insult, Zoisite hurled his crystal straight
for the black-uniformed woman's throat.
     Litebrite's fingers moved even faster than the crystal. 
'GASP!'.
     Whipping up a hand, Notoobrite caught the thing in mid-flight
and crushed it to a fine powder in her fist.
     Zoisite's eyes widened.  "Uh...Malachite? Honeybunch?  Would
you take care of this for me?"
     With a groan, Malachite heaved himself off the couch.  Holding
his cape safely in one hand, he hurled an absentminded purple
boomerang with the other.
     With a single move, Saabbite deflected the thing into the 
wall.
     "Um.." said Malachite.
     "HaHAHAHAhahahaHAHAH!!!" cackled Notoobrite.  Flinging her
hands out in front of her, she rained a trail of sparkling meteors
down on the two ex-generals.  Malachite swore and ducked down to
protect his cape; Zoisite brushed ineffectually at his smoking
hair. 
     "Hey! Watch that!"
     A blast of force from Saabbite knocked them both into the
wall; fortunately for Zoisite, he was cushioned by Malachite's
stomach.  (This was, however, not so fortunate for Malachite.  He
might have been peeved, if the couch slamming into his head hadn't
provided a greater distraction.)
     "It's TRUE!" crowed Saabbite gleefully.  "We're winning!"
     With a grimace of pure rage, Litebrite raised his hands above
his head; his fingers glowed with multi-coloured power.  The other
two grinned evilly.
     Just then, the door burst in with a thundering crash.  
     "OUCH!" screamed a voice, "I'm a divining rod, NOT a battering
ram!!"  
     "Wait for me!" shrieked another, smaller voice; the sheer
sugary sound of it sent shivers down the spines of the combatants. 
(The author pauses to admire her use of alliteration.)
     A tumble of girls in short skirts lay on the floor; Saabbite
and Litebrite paused for a moment to admire the view presented by
a few of them.
     The door was a broken mess; sawdust floated through the air.
A pink blur flew through the entrance, revealing itself to be a
smaller girl in yet another skirt; she ignored the generals and
started digging through the pile of teens, throwing them aside with
remarkable strength.
     "Tuxedo Mask, where ARE you?" she whined.
     One of the girls, a brunette in a green skirt, struggled to
her feet and, ignoring the pink spore, regarded the three generals
with a sort of hostile curiosity.  "Who the hell are you?  And what
are you doing, beating up on..."  Here she paused, glancing around
at the now-empty living room.  "Um...I could've sworn I heard a
fight in here..."
     Notoobrite cursed - in the distraction, Malachite and Zoisite
had escaped!  However, their lack of presence provided her with a
good excuse to avoid fighting the Sailor Scouts - they hadn't been
prepared for this!
     "Erm..." she paused, thinking back to all the skills she'd
learned in high school improv.  "Um..."
     With effort, Saabbite tore his gaze away from the white behind
of the red-skirted Scout.  (From the depths of the pile, Mars
groaned.  "Why do *I* always have to do the panty shots??") "What
fight?" he said innocently.  "We were just having a nice party!"
     Raising her head - and hiking down her skirt - Mars glared at
the three generals (a glare that was somewhat impeded by Sailor
Chibi-Moon's arm smacking her in the face).  "I distinctly felt
evil grins emanating from this place!"
     "Oh, *right*," groaned Tuxedo Mask as Chibi-Moon finally
unearthed him from where he'd lain beneath the Scouts.  "And your
aim is *so* good, too.  That's why we're stuck with *her* again!"
Shaking his arm in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge the pink
fuzzball, he sighed.
     "Hey," snapped Mars, "how was *I* to know she'd be giving off
so much evil?"
     The blonde Scout with strange pompoms on her head finally rose
with a grimace.  "Hey, sleezebuckets! I am Sailor Moon, and you
can't just....um...." Looking lost, she glanced over at Mars. 
"Exactly what *are* we supposed to be punishing them for?"
     "We weren't doing anything," protested Saabbite with an
innocent look.  "And I'm very hurt by your snap judgement of me as
a sleezebucket! What have I ever done to you?"  His eyes began to
vibrate, denoting stress and anxiety; a single tear made its way
down his handsome features.
     ("Ohmigod," whispered Jupiter to Mercury, "he looks *just*
like -"  Mercury sighed.  "Shut up.")
     Waves of guilt assailed Sailor Moon; a large sweat drop
appeared on her head.  "Gee," she apologized, "I'm really sorry, I
didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything..."
     Notoobrite, getting into the act, let out a small sniffle. 
Litebrite adopted a doleful expression.
     Saabbite began to bawl.
     Sailor Moon frowned - he was stealing her schtick!  Quickly,
before her character trademark could be infringed upon any further,
she turned to the other Scouts and hustled them out.  "C'mon,
guys...there's obviously nothing going on here..."
     Hurling one last apology over their collective shoulders, the
Scouts disappeared outside.  The sounds of arguing could clearly be
heard as they retreated....
     "Good one, Mars!"
     "Hey, it wasn't *my* fault! Ami must've been holding my arm
too low!"
     "Maybe you wanted me to wear stilts??"
     "I want a piggy-back ride, Tuxedo Mask!"
     "ARGH!"
     "Hey! I didn't even get *mentioned* in that scene!"
     "So, where *is* the evil?"
     "Who cares? As far as I'm conc..."
     As the Scouts moved out of audio range, Saabbite snarled. 
"Where the hell did they go?"
     Litebrite shrugged.
     Notoobrite smiled grimly.  "Don't worry - they'll show up
somewhere.  Remember the regulations!"  Remembering the presence of
Sailor Mars nearby, she quickly wiped the grin from her face. 
"Ack! We don't want those guys back...come on...think happy
thoughts...think happy thoughts..."
     With artificial smiles plastered to their features, the three
generals marched out the door and back to their waiting car, a
stylish blue Volkswagen Beetle. It was a little cramped for
Saabbite's taste (and legs), but Litebrite had, in a stubborn
moment, insisted on cuteness over utility.  Notoobrite, after
noting that many people seemed to hit each other as they drove by,
was all for the idea. 
     (The author wonders what her point was.  Oh, yeah.)  The three
generals hopped into their car and drove away.


****

     "Oh, *man*," sighed Zoisite, "this is just *great*."  He
shivered slightly in the chill of the night air.  He and Malachite
sat huddled on a bench in "The Park", that infamous place where
events in so many fanfics seemed to happen.  "Say," he muttered
finally, glancing around, "didn't your sis- "
     "Stop that! We will have *no* cheap plugs in this fanfic!"
     "Oh..." Zoisite hung his head. "Sorry!"
     Malachite snarled.  "I don't get it - how could they possibly
stand against us?  Those guys were the worst!"
     "Well, Saabbite -" Zoisite paused to snicker for no apparent
reason, "used to be able to hold his own...but Notoobrite? Actually
stopping one of my crystals? Something is really wrong here!" 
Shivering again, he eyed Malachite's cape.
     "Don't even think about it."  Malachite drew the white cloak
possessively over his own shoulders, nice and toasty-warm.
     Zoisite pouted.
     A small sweat drop appeared on Malachite's head.
     Zoisite's eyes began to vibrate ever so slightly.
     Malachite sighed;  he knew where this was leading.
     "You don't love me any more!" sniffed Zoisite.
     "Oh, FINE.  Here - you can *share* the cape.  But don't you
dare get hair gel on it like last time!"
     "It's OK, sweetie - I switched brands!"   Eagerly, Zoisite
scrambled under the cape and cuddled up to Malachite, now secure
against the chill of the night air.  With his mind now free to
concentrate on things besides being cold, he turned his thoughts to
the problem at hand.  "What did she mean, we should 'study the
story regulations'?"
     Malachite frowned.  "I'm not quite sure."
     "Psst!"  A figure cloaked in black suddenly appeared.
     Malachite and Zoisite both jumped.  "GLAA!!"
     "Take this!"  Hurling a thick book of papers at them, the
figure vanished.
     "Um...."  Malachite stared suspiciously at the stack of
papers, held together by several staples along the side. Something
about the cloaked figure had seemed alarmingly familiar.
     On the front page of the booklet, the words "FANFIC
REGULATIONS" were written in large black letters.
     "Oh, don't be such a wuss!"  Picking up the book, Zoisite
flipped through it.  "This thing is huge - we'll never get anything
out of it!  What's the point?"
     From out of nowhere, a pronounced sigh was heard.  As if by
magic, a large red bookmark appeared somewhere near the middle of
the book.
     Zoisite almost dropped it.  "Ack!  Here, Malachite, you read
it!"  
     Gingerly taking the book from Zoisite, Malachite flipped to
the bookmark, noting absently that it read "IS THIS GOOD ENOUGH FOR
YOU, LAZY?" and had a rather unflattering picture of Zoisite before
his morning coffee.  Removing it from the page, he began to read:
     "Character creation in Sailor Moon fanfics.  All characters in
Sailor Moon fall within four categories.  Class A, the heroes,
fight wrongs and triumph over evil, although they must occasionally
make sacrifices and suffer temporary losses.  Most heroes...yadah
yadah...."
     Zoisite frowned. "Well, that's certainly not us!" 
     "Class B," continued Malachite, skipping ahead, "are the
villains.  This group often consists of one leader and various
henchmen, most of whom are abused and suffer from various mental
disorders.  Egomania is prevalent.  This group is always destined
to lose, although none of them will ever believe it.  Often,
their characters have the best hair." 
     "Well...." Zoisite pondered a moment.  "I guess that's not
really us anymore either, is it?  Although we do, of course, have
great hair."
     "*I* have great hair," muttered Malachite.
     "What?"
     "Nothing, dear. You're right.  We haven't done anything really
evil in quite a while now."  Malachite wondered if his "promotion"
at Wal-Mart counted, but then decided his actions had hardly been
out of place in that cut-throat establishment.
     "Go on," said Zoisite impatiently.  "What's the point of all
this?"
     "Class C are the wise mentors, who have phenomenal power but
are always constrained from using it for one reason or another. 
They stay on the sidelines, periodically spouting poetry or wise
and encouraging things."
     Zoisite snickered. "Yeah, *right*.  What's with that Queen
Serenity chick, anyway?"
     Malachite, reading ahead, ignored Zoisite.  His face had
suddenly gone pasty white, matching his hair perfectly.
     "Um...Mal?  Something wrong?"
     "C-Class D," continued Malachite finally, licking his lips
nervously, "are the....innocent bystanders.  Any character...who
doesn't fit into the above 3 categories...is an innocent bystander,
and is available for Class B (evil) characters to kick around at
any time."
     Zoisite gulped.  "Um...isn't there another class in there
somewhere?"
     Mutely, the blue-haired ex-general shook his head.
     "We can't be innocent bystanders! We were the best in the
Negaverse!" raged Zoisite.
     "*Who* was the best?" asked Malachite, mildly irritated.
     Zoisite frowned. "Hey...I was getting better....really..."
     Malachite sighed and shrugged, suddenly deciding that the
argument wasn't worth pursuing.  "It doesn't matter now.  Since
we're not evil anymore, who cares?"
     "Do you want to be evil again?" asked Zoisite finally.  "You
could wear your cape..."
     Stroking the flowing white fabric, Malachite smiled
nostalgically.  "Those were great days, weren't they?  But...now
that I'm not really evil, I also realize that if we went back to
being Class B, we *would* be destined to fail.  What's the fun in
that?"
     "But we can't be Class C, we're not wise or powerful enough!"
said Zoisite, growing alarmed.
     Malachite nodded.  "We don't have a lot of choice left to
us."
     "You mean....?"
     "I'm afraid I do."
     From out of nowhere, dramatic music began to play.  "Duhn-
duhn-duhn-DUUUUUUUUHNNNNN....."

****