When he hit the dirt the first time, Jadeite thought she had landed a single lucky hit. Even the Princess managed the odd good shot with that wand-staff thing; Nephrite looked like he’d gone one-on-one with a pinecone.
The second time he hit the dirt, he hurled himself back to his feet and reprimanded himself mentally for letting his guard down – a mental voice that sounded suspiciously like Kunzite’s, he had noticed.
The third time, he realized he had misjudged her. He also had the sneaking suspicion that she was enjoying this more than he thought the terms of their truce should have allowed.
She’d looked easy. That’s why he picked her.
Not the older one with the strange eyes that always looked like she knew exactly what morally depraved things he’d just been thinking about Mars’ legs – and the staff that she could whip around like some crazy staff-whipping person.
Not the kid with the blade, either. He didn’t want to provoke the others if he hurt the child, and he didn’t want to find himself on the end of that glorified tin opener, either.
And then there was the blonde with the sword, who would have lunged at them if it hadn’t been for one very well-timed blockade in the form of the princess and the aqua-haired girl who was the reason he was still face-down in the dirt.
The aqua-haired one – Neptune – looked like a push-over. Stupid princess shoes with heels and ribbons that no normal person could possibly stay upright on let alone dive around a battle ground. That disturbing smile that gave away nothing. The way she always planted herself off to the sidelines, providing the distraction rather than any sort of offensive.
And that god-damned mirror.
Before now, Jadeite’s fondest wishes had to do with Mars and her legs – maybe with some chocolate - and those had been good wishes. Now, he wanted nothing better than the grind that damn mirror into dust under his feet. The ridiculous thing managed to call up tsunamis with the flick of its mistress’s wrist, its aim shaming the most practiced archer.
Hurling himself back to his feet, and scrambling for his knives, he could hear Uranus sniggering to herself; little Saturn and little Moon cheering for the irritatingly composed Neptune.
“Again, General?” Her voice calm, pleasant but the look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. The Princess might have ordered peace between the Outer Guardians and the Shitennou, this training might be all in good fun but to Neptune – and thus Uranus, Saturn and Pluto – the current state of play was closer to a Cold War.
And if pretty, accessory-wielding Neptune could bring him to his knees with little more than a spoken command, what could the other three do? Was she equal to them? Better, worse? Uranus was famous in any incarnation for her temper; Pluto had millennia of training that he couldn’t begin to comprehend and Saturn… well, Saturn’s reputation said all that needed to be said.
He met her gaze lazily. “Of course, Sailor Neptune,” his reply only tinged with the slightest sarcasm.
He had his own message for her. He knew. What she could do; what they could do, what they would do. And now he knew, he wouldn’t make the same mistake a second time.
He never made the same mistake twice.
