Sailormoon: Reloaded Act 2 II

(CONTINUED FROM Act 2, Part I. . . .)


“Well . . . here it is. . . . Wow, is this place huge -- Yeah, definitely a school for rich kids,” Elyon gasped in awe to herself, after having gotten off of the bus and walked the few blocks over until she’d at last arrived at the academy.

She stood, with a bit of intimidation, in front of the large, partially open black gates which were erected at the end of a rather long, slightly winding and equally black roadway. And, at the very top of it, surrounded by a surplus of large palm trees and other such greenery, including plush rosebushes to and fro, was an enormous and brown colored building.

It seemed to stretch on for miles in either direction, with numerous windows to presumable classrooms adorning it, in addition to a four pillared archway and an overabundance of stairs at the front entrance.

“Geez . . . this place looks like a mansion . . . or courthouse, even, more than an actual school,” Elyon thoughtfully whispered to herself, as she took a deep breath in bravery and finished surveying the area. “And Taranee Cook goes here? What a lucky, apparently very rich gal. Now, I kinda wish that I could attend this school, too. . . . Well, here goes nothing.”

With a firm nod in determination, the Portrait High School freshman quickly and carefully slipped through the front gates, and took her first couple of steps onto the campus of Vesta’s Academy for Girls.

After another seven minutes or so, Elyon was at last directly before the front stairs of the school’s entrance.

“. . . . You can do this, Elyon. Just go in there, find where they’re having signups for the tutoring, and then get out,” she reassured herself as she gazed up at the white, closed double doors of the building. Swallowing the saliva she hadn’t before realized had been accumulating within her mouth, she quickly rushed up the stairs and pulled open the unlocked doors before she might have lost her nerve.

The inside of the academy was just as prestigious, pristine, and posh as its outside, which make Elyon gasp in affect at the sight . . . especially after gazing upon several students still lurking about inside, and busy with their own separate affairs, as they walked throughout the elongated and rather spacious halls.

Elyon immediately began to feel her face growing extremely hot the moment she’d realized that nearly every female student within the immediate area had each stopped to stare back at her in wonder.

Oh, God, how embarrassing! I probably look like a total doof, so underdressed like this -- Especially with all of these girls wearing those pretty uniforms, she inwardly groaned, waving awkwardly at a few of the female passersby before she’d begun to shyly walk down the hallway.

It was true. Every last girl the blonde had seen or come across thus far, while within the academy’s halls, were all wearing the same attire: a midnight tinted, nearly black looking blazer, with a beige insignia patch over the left breast, which almost looked like a strange, fiery symbol at first glance; plain white shirt and tie of the same color as the blazer underneath; and waist length, slate gray hued and plaid skirt, along with generic black shoes and knee high, onyx colored stockings.

This most certainly was a private school.

After wandering around aimlessly throughout the halls for a bit, Elyon at last decided to swallow down her nerves even further, in order to ask someone for directions to the tutoring program signups. She had, unfortunately, however, apparently managed to pick a rather discourteous young brunette, as the random girl displayed nothing but uncouthness throughout the entire exchange.

“Ugh. Don’t tell me: Judging by the looks of you, you’re yet another one of the local-yokels who’ve been coming here all week to sign up for a tutor, am I right?” the dark haired academy student inquired within a mocking, harsh tone, after Elyon had gotten her attention when she’d suddenly passed, brown eyes agleam with distinct superiority. “Can’t say that I blame you, though. I mean, our academy is pretty well known and top ranking within the state -- Hell, the country -- as one of the best around. You’re lucky we’re being gracious enough with our precious time to even be bothering to try to educate you public school kids. It’s just a shame that this isn’t a paying program, to make it more worthwhile -- Although, watching some of your faces scrunch up in frustration, while your brain taxes itself to comprehend the lesson you’re being taught will nearly be worth it!”

That was all Elyon could bear, before she’d abruptly turned on her heel and ran back down the hallway and the way she’d came, away from the unhelpful, cruel girl who’d then began to laugh within her wake. The blonde, now profoundly mortified girl began to feel warm, fresh tears building up within her blue eyes, as she continued running, desperate to locate the nearest exit she could find.

Looks like the Grumper Twins were right about the girls who go here -- They are stuck up and coldhearted! Forget getting a tutor here, or at all, in fact! I don’t care how mad Dad gets, or decides to ground me until high school graduation, because it is so not worth this humiliation! Elyon screamed within her head, furiously batting away the few, stray tears which had managed to escape her eye sockets and cascade down onto her reddening cheeks.

She gave a relieved exhale, catching sight of what appeared to be an exit, and immediately pressed all of her body weight against the door as she practically catapulted herself out of them.

“Oof!!” both she and another, female sounding, cried out in affliction, once the blonde’s body had unexpectedly collided with something hard, yet soft at the same time.

Slowly reopening her eyes, as she had promptly closed them in alarm upon impact, Elyon gazed up to see that it was yet another uniformed girl, who stared back at her in perplexity.

Oh, great. Just what I needed. Now she’ll probably tell me to watch where I’m going before throwing in a few quick, verbal jabs my way, she thought deplorably, quickly raising her arms to clear away the rest of her fallen tears with the back of her bare arms, before the other girl could have commented.

However, for whatever reason, Elyon did not honestly sense any sort of malice or ill will manifesting off of the slender, slightly taller and mocha skinned teenager. If anything, the shoulder length and French braided, raven haired girl seemed to be just as taken aback as the blonde, and promptly reached up to readjust her slender and dark framed eyeglasses.

“O-Oh, uh . . . s-s-sorry about that,” Elyon weakly and somehow managed to muster towards the chocolate eyed girl, shyly looking away from her for a few moments, before gathering up enough courage to resume her gaze.

“. . . . It was . . . nothing. Don’t worry about it,” the taller girl quietly responded, seemingly a bit timid, herself, as she, as well, looked away from the blonde. Elyon watched her as she began to shift a bit awkwardly within her place, firmly clutching onto the single strap of her burgundy colored shoulder bag. Suddenly, she looked back up at the blue eyed girl and said, rather hurriedly, “W-Well, I have to go now, so . . . goodbye.”

Caught off guard by the abrupt closing, Elyon quickly blinked a couple of times in surprise (mainly due to the fact that her instincts had apparently been right about the other girl really not being mean hearted, it seemed), before calling after the already retreating young woman.

“Y-Yeah! ‘Bye, then . . . oh! And sorry again!” she called out to her, watching the raven locked student swiftly walking away, as though rather eager to get as far away from Elyon as possible . . . a notion which strangely made her feel a bit sad as a result. “Hmm. . . .”

With a small shrug of her shoulders, Elyon let out a tiny sigh as she decided to move on and let the matter go before heading back home, when she suddenly felt one of her sandaled feet blindly bump into something slightly hard.

At last taking her eyes off of the increasingly small figure of the unknown academy student, who had, at that same moment, just rounded a corner behind another nearby building of the academy, Elyon gazed down to see what appeared to be a white colored daily planner lying upon the ground.

“Huh? Did that girl just drop this? Must’ve somehow fallen out of her bag when I’d bumped into her,” the teenager murmured to herself in wonder, bending over to pick up the discarded booklet and examined it.

Cracking it open in order to see if any names, numbers or even addresses were written somewhere inside, Elyon gasped sharply at what she’d read upon the first page:

Property of Taranee Cook.

“Nooo, way! That was Taranee?? How totally ironic!” the pigtailed girl gushed in affect and widened eyes, promptly closing the planner and looking back towards where the girl apparently now known to have been Taranee had last been seen. “She didn’t seem ‘stuck up ‘or ‘standoffish’ at all! Maybe a bit shy, sure, but who cares?? I’d better go see if I can’t catch up to her to return this!”

And with that, Elyon broke out into a fierce sprint, racing towards the direction Taranee had headed before her.

“H-Hey, Taranee, wa --!” the dishwater blonde started, before abruptly cutting herself off the moment she’d rounded the corner the dark haired girl had vanished behind, and could not see her anywhere. “Huh? Hmm . . . I wonder if she went inside one of these buildings. . . . But there’s no way I’m going back in there! Ugh . . . what do I do, now??”

Biting down onto her soft, pink lips in further thought a moment, a new idea had then suddenly come to her.

“Taranee’s planner! Maybe she’s written down where she might be heading to next!” Elyon said to herself in revelation and a small smile, immediately beginning to flip through the rumored genius’s daily organizer and to the latest written page.

She lightly trailed her index finger down the white colored page, ignoring the various, neatly written entries with timestamps of early morning and afternoon, until at last reaching the entry she was hoping to find:

‘3:00 pm – 4:15 pm: Madame Isadora Daskalov’s School of Dance’

“Yes! Here it is! Where she’s quite possibly headed to next! And it’s . . . two-thirty right now. I bet I can catch up to her if I get going right now,” Elyon squealed in triumph, promptly closing Taranee’s planner and placed it within her own book bag, before running down the nearby hill and towards the closest exit she could find. “I can only hope that those stories about the disappearances over there aren’t true, though, for my own sake. . . .”


~*~


Here I am, finally back again, after being unable to attend due to having the flu the last two weeks. . . . I wonder if the strong, negative vibes I’ve been feeling, especially today, are in conjunction with what’s been going on around here lately, with those rumors of supposed disappearances, the thoughtful and very reserved Taranee Cook silently reflected upon her arrival to the familiar site, Madame Isadora Daskalov’s School of Dance. Perhaps it will be my turn to vanish like the others, then. . . .

The currently somber, African-Asian American fourteen-year-old gave a small wave in goodbye to the departing, black and sleek Rolls Royce and its driver, one of her family’s employees who had just dropped her off to her weekly appointment.

As per usual, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon, from three o’clock until four-fifteen, the naturally slender and blossoming young beauty would leave her private school, Vesta’s Academy for Girls, and head straight over to her dance lesson.

Mondays and Fridays were her tap and jazz sessions, while Wednesdays were specifically dedicated to ballet. And being that today so happened to be a Wednesday, Taranee carried with her all of her appropriate attire and ballet slippers to change into once she’d gone inside.

Next to photography, a bit of classical music and sports, particularly basketball, dancing was the young teenager’s absolute passion. She’d enjoyed it immensely, and had been learning it since she was three-years-old. It was, in truth, one of the only times she could ever truly lose herself within the moment, let her guard down, and simply be herself. . . .

After all, it was nearly everywhere else, wherever she’d go in or around the Florida city of Heatherfield, when Taranee would habitually be made to feel like an outsider, even a freak, by her peers, simply due to her extraordinary and gifted intelligence.

She had been this way for as long as she could remember, and had always attended the best and most private of schools, courtesy of the privileged life both of her parents, the prestigious judge, Theresa, and respected ex-lawyer-turned-psychologist, Lionel, had continually bestowed upon her and including her older brother, Peter.

Nothing had ever been too good or too expensive for their youngest child, it seemed, taking immense pride within their daughter’s phenomenal prowess. And Taranee, never having been one to desire anything more than to continue on making her family proud of her, had always obliged, studying very hard and doing her absolute best in everything she’d pursue.

Lately, however, the raven haired girl had begun to feel herself desiring more than the life she’d always led up to now . . . perhaps even a friend.

I wonder if my parents would treat me differently, or the girls at school would actually talk to me and maybe even like me, if any of them were aware of my façade, Taranee thought solemnly, gently pushing back her dark framed eyeglasses closer to her brilliant, brown eyes, before walking up the slight hill that led to her dancing school.

It was true . . . well, partially, at least, as Taranee had really never ever been quite sure.

While it was true that she was always consistent within earning top scores throughout her academic career, a fact well known throughout the city and perhaps, even the state, there was another tidbit no one was aware of:

Taranee inexplicably possessed psychic abilities.

Or, at least, it’s what she’d decided to label it, anyway, as she had somehow always, since she was a little girl, been able to simply . . . predict, or sense the outcome of an upcoming situation, even to the point of occasionally being able to eerily pick up upon another individual’s thoughts.

For years, the lonely girl had been trying to figure out and understand her ability and, moreover, why it was happening to her, but hadn’t ever really come close to any definite conclusions . . . especially since the occurrences were never honestly steady or controlled, and would simply and suddenly overwhelm her at any random and given time.

It would honestly make her feel as though she were going insane, and leave her wondering, many a time, if the intelligence she wielded was honestly of her own genetic makeup, or perhaps due to her telepathic tendencies.

Taranee would spend many nights, lying awake within her bed while looking at her vast trophy case filled with various, colorful first place ribbons and other awards of the past, and pondered if any of them had been truly earned through her hard work . . . or by having unintentionally read someone else’s mind without having realized.

And even though she now dearly and secretly wished to have a companion, one who was true and wasn’t using her bonafide smarts for personal gain by temporarily befriending her, the mocha skinned girl honestly wondered how it would even be possible -- Or comfortable, even, for either party, due to what she could do with her mind, unconscious or not.

It certainly puts a further damper upon my dating life, as well . . . well, if I even had one, at least, Taranee mused with a sigh as her rapidly changing thoughts continued to shift, tucking a loose strand of her shoulder length and French braided dark hair behind her ear. Any guy I ever find remotely interesting never gives me a chance, because of my ‘celebrity status’ as the ‘resident genius’ in this city. They’re usually all too intimidated by me; it’s always the same. . . .

It was sad, but true. Although still a bit young yet, the bright, young teenager had never had a boyfriend, or a first kiss, for that matter, and it was becoming rather frustrating, indeed. And while she had never ever truly thought of herself as drop dead gorgeous, she was still aware that she was, at the very least, rather pretty, and so was confident that she could attract a boy -- Any boy, if ever they’d look past her vast intellect for long enough.

“Well . . . maybe someday,” Taranee murmured gently to herself in waning self reassurance, gazing down at her shiny and black, school uniform shoes as she continued to walk, before abruptly feeling someone ram into her left shoulder as they passed.

“O-Ow! H-Hey, I --”she started in alarm, before promptly trailing off the moment her eyes landed upon a rather handsome and average height redhead. Taranee felt her naturally dark cheeks grow even darker, within a plum tinted shade, as she began to blush profusely in embarrassment.

The unknown young man, presumably around the same age as the girl, if not slightly older, merely smiled a rather devilishly charming smile at her, deep brown eyes twinkling in intrigue.

“Oooh . . . sorry about that. I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going . . . although, now, I’m kinda glad for it,” he spoke within a suave, obviously flirtatious voice, before winking gaily at Taranee and causing her cheeks to become even more inflamed.

She stammered for a few moments, absolutely speechless over what to say next. This had never happened to her before! A guy was actually flirting with her, and blatantly scoping her out!

Was this a daydream, induced by her previous thoughts of longing for both friends and a boyfriend, or her psychic abilities kicking in, again??

Or, was it simply fate?

Realizing that she had merely been standing there, much like the fool she most certainly was not, by default, at least, Taranee quickly cleared her throat and timidly gazed back at the expectant boy.

“Oh! I-I, um . . . it was . . . no problem?” she began awkwardly, phrasing her reply more so as an honest question rather than a statement, a personal observation which caused her to inwardly kick herself and smile a bit lopsidedly as a result. “T-That is to say, it was as much my fault as it was yours! N-Not that I’m blaming you, or anything, though! I just --”

“-- It’s all right, my lovely. I completely understand,” interrupted the unidentified, smooth talking male, bestowing Taranee with yet another debonair sort of simper, at the same time he’d reached up to run a slightly tanned hand through his medium length and loose locks.

‘My lovely?’ He thinks I’m lovely?? the usually calm and collected female intellect inwardly squealed with delight, her heart now all aflutter as she tried her honest best to maintain her composure . . . if only outwardly, in any case.

“So . . . would it be asking too much to know the name of the angel who’d so graciously bumped straight into my life?” Taranee nearly gasped to hear the male stranger ask, and she immediately smiled shyly and momentarily looked away from him before responding.

“Er . . . Taranee. Taranee Cook,” she said, surprised and yet relieved not to see the unknown teenager react within a negative manner upon learning of her name, as most other males she’d encountered would if they hadn’t already known it or her face by reference.

Instead, the boy merely grinned broadly, his dark brown eyes briefly flashing with a curious expression Taranee could not honestly place, before they relaxed into one of further intrigue.

“. . . .Really, now? A beautiful name, for a beautiful girl,” he complimented without missing a beat, unexpectedly reaching out for the girl’s hand and gently kissed it. “And as for myself, you can call me . . . Nigel. . . . Until we meet again, fair maiden. . . .”

Before Taranee could have said another word, the redhead apparently known as simply Nigel regrettably relinquished her slender, now tingling hand, gave a quick wink within her direction, and continued on down the hill away from her.

Even if she had wanted to (which, of course, she did), the raven haired girl would have been unable to prevent the flirtatious boy from going, as she now found herself utterly trapped within an honest daze of euphoria . . . a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long while.

“. . . . Nigel,” Taranee murmured softly to herself in wondrous longing, looking after the retreating boy until she could no longer see him, before gazing down at the hand he had so chastely kissed. “I wonder when or if I’ll ever see him again. . . .”

Suddenly no longer feeling any sort of previous forlornness over her admittedly lonely life, or the inexplicable, honest dread she had been experiencing for most of that week, Taranee gave a small, genuine smile to herself before turning, and peacefully resumed her walk towards her intended destination.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the currently fantasizing and apparently love struck girl, she really would be seeing the redhead far sooner than she thought . . . and she didn’t even need to her psychic abilities for that, either.

Waiting until he was sure she could no longer see him, Nigel abruptly turned back around and headed into a nearby alleyway. A dark and nearly twisted smile then spread across his lips and marred his previously good looking and seemingly innocent countenance.

“Hm, hm, hm. . . . I can sense a lot of energy within that one. And lucky for me, it seems as though she may be heading towards that dance school nearby, based upon that duffel bag she had with her. Looks like she’ll get to have the prestigious honor of being my latest victim,” he chuckled evilly to himself, raising one of his arms and lightly clenching his fist in effect, before suddenly vanishing within a flash of maroon colored light.


(TO BE CONTINUED IN NEXT PART, Act 2, Part III. . . .)