Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2016 5:37:14 GMT
At nearly two in the morning, a bed and some sleep didn’t feel like too much to ask. As a Bio-Android, usually things like sleep and food couldn’t be further from her radar, but it had been a very, very long time since she’d had a proper amount or rest to recharge. Instead of sleep, the cameras flashed and house lights went on after her show, but young pop sensation Hannibelle Evensong stared at the note on her phone’s calendar app. Her friend’s surprise birthday bash started several hours ago and Belle’s agent ‘strongly suggested’ she make an appearance. Those kind of suggestions were never actually suggestions, they were demands on her time and if she didn’t go, it was ‘the end of her career.’ Honestly, while her manager tended to be over dramatic, appeasing Tyler Swyft often reaped more rewards than not. Along with Nature Evens, a fellow bio-engineer and Tyler’s wife, the woman not only helped create Belle but also held the most awards on record in the pop industry.
Washcloths soaked in rosewater and then frozen lay in a bowl and Belle reached for one, letting the cold cloth work magic on her heated, flushed, light blue skin. Her cotton candy pink hair up in a high ponytail, she headed for the shower at the back of her trailer and waited for the water to heat. Not the best, and certainly not the worst, these trailers had both niceties and pains. But even with all her grievances, there were others far worse off in the world, so she tried not to complain. Discarding the small hand towel she stripped out of the tight fabrics, unbuckling and unzipping more buckles and zippers than most people wore in a week.
The thigh high heeled boots came off first. Deft, small fingers worked with practiced ease and finally her feet slipped free. The socks, black to match the boots, were next. She didn’t wear white socks with the leather boots if it could be avoided, they always wound up stained from her sweaty feet and the black dyes. So, black socks, because anything else might look bad. After that, the rest slipped off easily. Leather pants, jacket and cotton tank formed a small pile on the floor and then her matching lace bra and thong.
There was something about being naked that felt both vulnerable and freeing at the same time. Alone in her trailer or hotel room, like now, she could finally not worry about how everyone else looked at her. What they thought when she walked by, judging what she wore one way or another. Everything had to be perfect, things had to match. Just once she’d like to go out like a normal girl and wear sweats and not be working out. Even when she did charity work, designers asked to sponsor her in ways of ‘donations’ to her cause. The groups needed the money, so she took the deals more often than not.
Her shower, shorter than she preferred, still helped relax sore and abused muscles. Fame, like a harsh lover, pushes and criticizes you for your own good and if you do what they want you get heavily rewarded for it. Large, plush towels and fuzzy robes and slippers were just a few of aforementioned rewards, but definitely among her favorite. Carter, her pink, stuffed, toy dragon stared up at her longingly from her bed. Maybe that was just her projecting, probably, but she wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and sleep for a week. Only a few weeks into this new tour and Belle set a new, personal, record low when it came to sleep. Traveling, rehearsals, performances, meetings, songwriting - it all took up time and then there were the parties and the charity events and the news shows. If they could see her now without the makeup, would they still believe her beautiful? Would they look into her tired eyes and demand even more? Her manager? Yes, of course. Her fans? Even more so, although they wouldn’t mean it to be mean. They loved her. Well, they loved the idea of her, at the very least. The weight of that felt like a spaceship tethered around her neck that Belle lugged behind her with every step.
Others still believed her to be fake, superficial, ‘artificial.’ An artificial person in an artificial spotlight, position...those were the comments that cut deepest. But Belle learned a long time ago to put on a brave face and let it bounce off of her. Sometimes that sounded easier said than done, but she put her best foot forward. It was all she could do to survive in the cutthroat business. An idol’s job is never easy. They say there’s no rest for the wicked, but there’s none to be found for the good, either.
Bang, bang, bang, on the door and she jumped. “Ms. Evensong, your driver’s here,” Annie called. Her help, someone to ‘handle’ Belle and keep her on task, called through the door.
“I’ll be out in about fifteen minutes…” she said. And then she got to work. The hairdryer came alive at the press of a button and worked on her autonomously while she dressed. A new set of underwear, purple with black lace. Short, little black dress with some biker shorts below that matched. Black tights bedazzled with tiny rhinestones here and there to add a bit of flair, and then she secured her hair up in a net that matched the tights a few minutes later. A touch of blush, some eyeliner and red lipstick and the star looked ready to shine.
She stared at herself in the mirror and tired, jade green eyes stared back. And just like that, a transformation of her features occurred that had nothing to do with magic and all to do with acting. Belle could so, totally do this.
~*~*~
Several hours later, the dream of getting some actual sleep drifted closer to reality.
The posh, slow-moving cruise ship rented out for the night soared in the air, giving the party-goers on and off the deck an aerial tour of Namek’s Maima Region. Sparkling water below reflected lights off the bottom of the ship. Reds, blues and greens arced into the night sky, the depths below on fire, bright and shining and then murky with a light glow, in that order. Every so often the glare from the strobe light turned purple or pink or yellow and the night moved on.
Bodies moved in what each believed rhythmically. Whether true or not was left to speculation and sobriety. “Belle, baby, so glad you could make it.”
She smiled at her old friend and co-worker. Harrison Jameson was a fine specimen of human being, except that sometimes he liked to party too hard and play around too much when it came to women. He said he just hadn’t found the right one yet, but she didn’t think he was the settling type and if that worked for him, that was just fine with her. “Hare,” she said, and the two hugged, a glance of lips meeting cheeks. She’d been there three hours and finally got to see him now. They co-starred across each other in an epic fantasy movie trilogy once. Their agents tried to pair them together off screen, but the two clicked as friends from the start and had none of that nonsense. “Happy birthday!” They raised their glasses and he took a larger sip than she. Knowing Harrison, his schedule looked clear as glass the next day but she had to be up in...less than four hours. Great, another one of those nights.
A few more minutes of catching up, followed by small talk, and Belle mentally checked off her five minutes of ‘necessary time’ from the to-do list. Harrison soon saw someone else he needed to greet or catch up with and with a promise to talk later the girl had no intention of sticking around for, once more Belle found herself left to her own devices.
Despite the late night hour, Bell slipped on her dark, purple sunglasses and headed for the door. Lights flashed the moments it opened, crowded cameras clicking fervidly, their owners avidly trying to catch just a glimpse of whoever went in or out next. The Paparazzi surrounded her like a flock of seagulls hunting for spilled food at the beach. From before she arrived, the gaggle usually stayed well into the next day to catch any stragglers - and there would be stragglers. At five fifteen, a respectable time to leave a Harrison Jameson party, Belle slipped out and past the cameras and into the waiting pod shuttling people to and from the larger ship in the sky. Shutters clicked and lights kept flashing. She smiled for them all like she meant it, but at this hour her lov affair with her shades deepened because the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“When’s your next movie?” “How’s the tour going?” “When are you going back to acting?” “What happened with Jay?” “HANIBELLE I LOVE YOU!”
With a sigh, doors closing never sounded so good as they blocked out the questions and lights completely. Sometimes she stopped, signed a few autographs, answered the questions she could but tonight - no, this morning - all she wanted to do was sleep.
Sleep, the ever elusive will-o-the-wisp she chased through the murky depths of life, still felt much too far for comfort.
Just as she considered napping during the short flight back to Namek’s surface, her phone rang and she sighed. “Good morning, Tyler,” she said when she answered. The woman, back on Earth, seemed to forget time differences existed.
“I’m booking you a few more shows while you’re on Namek.” Belle sighed at the brisk, no-nonsense tone and significant lack of pleasantries. “That low-life’s ship isn’t functional at the moment, shame he still breathes, but in happier news he’s had to cancel his appearances there. They want you to fill the time slots. I'll text you the details and add it to your calendar.”
She had half a mind to argue, to keep her sight-seeing plans intact and her nights to herself to, well, herself. But more shows meant more money for her current charity. But she didn’t. The rivalry between Swyft Records and Yggdrasil records existed long before Belle came into the world, and would continue to do so for a very, very long time, she imagined. despite the difference in genres, the two opposed each other and it the rest of the galaxies knew that secret before she did. Tyler would not take no for an answer on this one.
Tyler correctly took her silence as acceptance. “Great, your schedule is updated you just need to pick the charity for this one.”
That was one argument Belle had won. Half of her ticket sales that went to her, went to a charity of her choice. Between all the tv and movie appearances, interviews and sponsorships, she made more than enough money to live by. Donating half of her check to charity was just one of the ways she gave back. “Endangered species of Namek,” she smiled despite the way her body slumped in the cushioned seat of the pod. “No! I know...Arynx.”
“What. About. Arynx?” Even through the phone, he voice cut like ice; cold, slick and perilous, Belle knew she had to tread cautiously here.
“I just mean with him not having a ship, maybe that could be the charity.” She really did feel bad about Arynx’s predicament. “Half the money raised could go to a fund for him to get a new ship. Nothing extravagant, but we look like the good, generous people that we want the press to believe we are and makes him look even more like a jerk for hating us!” If Tyler could see the sweat on her brow she’d know the words for the lie they were. Hannibelle really did want to help, but if manipulating one of her mothers was the way to do it, she wasn’t above that. Mother Nature was a bit easier to get to agree to things like this, but in the music industry, Tyler’s say was the final and only one that counted.
“Appropriate. How was the party?” Tyler, at last, seemed to remember her manners.
“It was a party…” she stifled a yawn, glad to have the pod to herself. “It was nice to see everyone.”
“Good. Get some beauty sleep and don’t be late for tomorrow.” As briskly as the call began, it ended.
Bell sighed and put the device away. Vaguely, she felt bad for Arynx, travel problems were the worst and sometimes no solution could be found in time to save the tour. Deep down, she hoped he got the chance to reschedule the missed dates although she’d never say it aloud. While she harbored no ill will towards the rock star, the extent of her regard for him ended there because they lived in different figurative worlds and she respected him as an artist. The genre gap was real but they worked hard for what they earned, and that didn’t change no matter which kind of performance art someone did.
~*~*~
About six blocks from her hotel, the hover limo gave a lurch, two pops, and stopped moving. Brock Li, her Saiyan driver, sat behind the wheel of the lopsided car apologizing profusely as if the flat tires were his fault. They weren’t, but Belle felt the inconvenience, nonetheless. “It’s okay, Brock, really...I can walk from here.”
“Oh, no, you couldn’t possibly. Let me…” he fumbled in the glove compartment up ahead. “L-let me c-c-call my boss...it’ll just be a moment.” Despite getting the feeling he’d be in a lot more trouble for letting her walk, she just wanted to go home and get some sleep...was that really too much to ask? At this rate it would be at least half an hour before another car could come and get them and if she walked she’d be there in less than ten minutes.
“It’s no problem, really,” she said. “Walking is good sometimes, helps clear my head. Besides, I can walk off the rest of the alcohol in my system.” She ignored his protestations and got out of the car. Her heels, abandoned the moment she’d gotten in the car, fit in her hand bag. The stockings would be ruined so she took those off, too, and shoved them in the outer, zippered compartment.
Brock was still fumbling up front, undoubtedly searching for his phone while muttering on to himself about...well, Belle really didn’t know or particularly care at the moment. “Ms. E-even-s-s-song, please...it’s d-d-dangerous.” He did pull the car over to the side of the road, though, like a good, responsible driver should - not that many were using the roads at half past five in the morning.
He’d been stuttering since he picked her up like she were his first celebrity guest but Belle doubted that were the case. The company he worked for came very highly recommended and Tyler used it for other clients, Brock was probably just the nervous type. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“N-No, I insist, let m-me -” he cleared his throat and turned off the car. “Allow me to accompany you. It would be quite troublesome if I allowed you to go without escort.”
Her hotel was in the good part of town. Unfortunately, it was about two blocks away from the bad part of town - apparently there wasn’t a whole lot of ‘town’ there, which normally didn’t bother Belle. But now she had to walk through four blocks of the ‘bad’ part of town. “Alright,” she agreed, because it was faster than arguing about it. The singer really could take care of herself...but having a Saiyan around might help deter any thugs with naive ideas of getting in her way and delaying her further.
They got about two and a half blocks before the screaming began and if she’d known just how useless Brock would be in a fight, she’d have declined his offer of accompaniment.
It was a sound to make blood freeze in the veins and trap whoever heard. A woman from the sound of it, pained and terrified. Belle turned towards the alley it came from only to feel a hand grip her wrist. “I wouldn’t interfere if I were you...this is Mandolin’s territory - part of the local Mazoku Clan.” Brock shivered and let go. “Mandolin’s vicious. And let's just say Mandolin hates when people interfere…”
“I have to do something,” she said, and for all the sweetness her voice usually carried now it filled with venom enough to sting. Brock flinched, his masculinity questioned, and she turned her back on him. “I don’t care if you run back to the car with your tail between your legs. I/m helping!” And just like that, her bare feet picked up speed, adrenaline waking and sobering her more thoroughly than sleep could have.
Reaching into her bag she pulled out the small, travel microphone she kept there always. For starters, she’d made some ‘upgrades’ of her own. “Help! Heeelllp!” One thing she’d learned since her first encounter saving another person was that rarely did it sound like it did in the movies. No one said things like ‘somebody, anybody, please help meeeee.’ No, it sounded more like this lady, now. “No, don’t, I-Aaaaah!”
Belle rounded the corner and took in the scene. Four Namekian thugs surrounded one Human woman, and they weren’t treating her in a gentlemanly fashion, to say the least. “Hey! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” she joked. Standing at just above five feet, the Human woman had about five inches on her. Still, sometimes humor in the light of danger helped her get through it and face the next challenge, and the next one after that.
They turned. Two had guns, one a knife and the other a taser. All four were easily a head taller than her or more and probably at least a hundred pounds up on her. “Get out of here!” Belle called to the woman who fled the scene. It was obvious to the pop star why they’d chosen her as their mark: flashy jewelry, expensive shoes and bag...she all but screamed ‘rob me’ if she walked these streets alone. Some people really were clueless, helpless, but that didn’t mean they deserved to get robbed.
“Come on, no reason to ruin our fun. We was just talkin’ to ‘her, that’s all,” Thug One said.
And then Thugs Two and Three opened fire. It was all she could to do to dodge them, spinning left and focusing her Ki. Music started, blasting from her phone. A fast, staccato beat to match her heart rate she began to vibrate with it. It was then she’d noticed Brock had passed out and would be of no further assistance. With a soft ‘pop,’ she split in two. There were just too many of them, outnumbering her four to one - this ought to even the odds a little bit.A neat trick when on stage to harmonize with herself or go back and forth with no actual partner in practice, not many knew it was a real, physical double of Belle that had half her power level and the same attacks she did.
Knife guy got brave and slashed at one of them, the tip tearing at her expensive dress. And then both girls brought the mics up and began to sing, the bottom ends turning into short swords and the two jumped in the same harmony of their synchronized voices. Muscles in toned, blue legs bunched and sprung, pushing them into a movement filled with momentum and each slashed at a Thug with a gun.
Blades flashes silver in the moonlight and then plunged. One took Thug Two in the arm, the other took Three in the abdomen, before they both sprung back to starting positions. Blood dripped from the blades, dark purple splatters on pavement cloaked in shadows of the night. Thug Four dropped his taser and ran, and then the others followed, although they kept their weapons.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with!” one of them called before disappearing into the night. Honestly, she didn’t care. Adrenaline still pumping her veins full of go juice, she hoped she’d be able to sleep at all before she had to get up. Even an hour or two would be better than none, she’d learned that the hard way many times before.
The stench of urine, sweat and blood permeated the air as the Belle’s merged once again. She cleaned the blade on her ruined dress before nudging the fallen Saiyan with the bared toes of her right foot. He groaned and she smiled. Her greatest defender: the only cowardly Saiyan in all the Galaxies and he had to be her driver tonight. “He lives,” she joked, offering him a hand up which he didn’t take.
Brock fidgeted, clearly embarrassed, and looked around. “What happened? Where did they…” he looked at her, surprised.
“I’m scarier than I look. Come on, let me walk you back to your car.” He took her up on the offer and by the time they got there, a new car was waiting to take her home. Well, to her hotel, which was pretty much the same thing on the road.
~*~*~
Belle prided herself in never being surprised at what the world threw at her and always took things in stride. Needless to say, finding a dead Namekian in her closet was not what she expected that Saturday morning. After the fight with the Thugs, the young woman went back to her hotel, stripped, showered to get the blood off, and crashed. In that order. So when she woke two hours later and opened the closet door to pick her outfit for the interview, the body of Thug Three - or was it Two - staring out at her with glassy eyes and slack jaw was an image she’d never be able to unsee.
The fuzzy pink robe she’d fallen asleep in coated her like a thick, second, furry skin and she screamed, suddenly feeling too hot and like she might be sick. One step back followed another until she felt the back of her knees hit the king sized bed and her butt fell onto more than anything else, tears welling in those deep, green eyes of hers. Her hand shook as she reached for the phone and dialed the front desk.
“Front desk, Sax speaking, how can I help you, Ms Evensong?” He sounded far too cheerful as she stared into the dead being's eyes from across the room. The green of his skin was mottled in death, pale, a more sickly color in the dark of the room. “Ms. Evensong? Is everything alright?”
“I, um...no, no, it’s not. Can you call the authorities, please? And I’ll need…” she took a deep breath and nearly gagged, a black pit of hunger opening deep inside of her. Looking at this dead Thug, all she could think to do now was eat it. “Need ...” If there was one thing she’d learned it was that the show must always, always, go on. The thought of canceling the interview never even crossed her mind. Interview, rehearsal, and then Pink Dragon would perform with her Lambs as backup. Pink Dragon was the name of her band, although a lot of people referred to her specifically with that name, and it was only recently that the Lambs joined her tour. The four of them were her dancers and backup singers, and each contributed to the sound in other ways, too. The plushie on her bed was one of the first toys ever made inspired by her in some way and that was why she would treasure it, always. Now, she hugged it close and took small, shallow breaths to help steady herself.
Her heart beat in her chest like as if trying to escape. Belle looked around, when had she moved closer to the body? The phone still in hand, she heard Sax’s voice on the other end. “Nevermind. I’m sorry to bother you...must have had a bad dream and when I woke I thought someone was in the room…”
“Not a problem, Ms. Evensong. Hope you have a good day.” The phone clicked and she hung up her end, and then sat next to the body once more.
Reaching out, her fingers lightly brushed its skin which still retained some of the warmth of the creature’s life. She knew about the Mazoku clans, knew they were all bad people, but the thought that this was somehow her fault tore at her heart. Determining it was Thug Three from the wound in his lower abdomen, she found other wounds not of her causing. Whoever killed him was sending her a message, a message she got loud and clear. Back off or she was next.
The pit in her stomach throbbed but she managed to get rid of the body. Having friends in high places had its benefits in a ‘no questions asked’ job, and the body got ‘left behind’ somewhere it’d be found a couple of days from now. Any evidence or tie to her was erased as though it never happened, aside from the one wound that hadn’t been a mortal one, especially not for a Namekian.
No, with his regenerative abilities he’d have healed up from that in no time. This was the work of something or someone more sinister, like that Mandolin character Brock told her about. A message from the head of the local Mazoku family from him to her: oh, her day just kept getting better and better.
~*~*~
The interview went on. The headlines featured an oddly angled photo of her greeting with Hare the night before, the innocent cheek kisses making it look like the two enjoyed a passionate liplock, and yet her scuffle with the Mazoku Thugs was relegated to a small article towards the back of the paper. Gossip ran rampant no matter where she roamed. Belle laughed it off, the Lambs came out and joined the Dragon for a few songs, and then they headed down to the arena for rehearsal and soundcheck.
One little threat didn’t make the news and the bio-android acted like everything was normal. She made a living from an acting career until recently, this...this was nothing. Acting like everything was fine when it wasn’t was child’s play compared to the actual acting she’d done for money. Love of the art, too, played a role, and she’d go back when she was ready to but for now focusing on her music career felt right. That, and her charity works.
Everyone had hobbies, hers just tended to have a heavier impact on other’s lives than most.
“Testing,” she grinned into the mic, eyes flicking to each of the four girls behind her. Her assistant, Annie, took notes from the side of the room whether or not she could hear, if the bass was too overpowering, and so on and so forth. With each riff and song, drum roll and tune, they synced and came together as a unit. Doors slammed backstage as they finished and Belle grabbed a towel and a bottle of water. The five girls shared a conspiratorial grin as they headed for girl power hour in Belle’s dressing room. It was a longstanding ritual the five of them did before each show now, gathering, getting pumped and psyched about the next show - sometimes they even streamed their shenanigans so their fans to watch. Usually, though, they kept their time to themselves just that. Away from prying eyes it didn’t matter what they said or did or how they acted, with each other they could be themselves.
Annie went ahead and prepped the room, got their outfits out and set out food and drinks of all kinds. Belle would go in next, make small talk with Annie for a bit and she’d make her departure when the other girls showed up. Always welcome to join them, she declined each time to the point Belle figured she just didn’t want to mix business with personal.
Slightly ajar, light filtered through the crack in the doorway and Belle hesitated. Annie never left that open. “Ann, you there?” she called, nudging the door open further with her toe.
A gunshot answered and she flattened herself against the wall, heart rate spiking and breath quickening. The door splintered and shattered into thousands of tiny pieces and Belle frowned, working it out. Head Honcho Thug must have sent more of his goons to get revenge. If she hadn’t been cautious, she could have been seriously injured. True, she was harder to hurt than most, but if she got injured and it showed on her flesh at her next concert or whatever, the questions would literally never stop.
She slipped down into a squat. Being short to begin with, Belle knew enemies tended to aim for chest level. As close to the ground as she was, the next shot was bound to go way over her head. With any luck, she’d get the drop on this Thug and get Annie out. Belle pushed at the remnants of the door and, as predicted, the show went over her head and into the wall across from her. Annie lay sprawled face first across an ottoman and three Thugs surrounded her. If it hadn’t been for the other three Thugs next to the door waiting for her, she might have been able to pull it off.
Something hard hit the back of her head. It seemed ever her body had its limits and she may have just finally pushed it too far. Lack of sleep, over exertion and, yes, a bit of shock to boot, all had wear and tear on the body. The young pop star blinked once, twice, and then the world faded to black.
~*~*~
Belle woke slowly, stiff limbs moving, the burn of rope on her hands as she sat up. Her biological clock told her only fifteen minutes had passed since she’d lost consciousness, but the maddening headache made it feel like she’d been out for decades. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” said Thug Two from the other night, one of the ones with a shotgun. He’d probably been the one blowing up her room.
She spat at his feet and he kicked her, hard. “Arynx sends his regards,” he said and Belle reeled back, a bit in shock. So, they were fans of that punk rock star. It certainly explained animosity towards her now. Ever since they’d been created to rival each other, his existence seemed to make hers hell whether he meant to or not. It wasn’t her fault she’d been created to crush him just as he’d been designed to crush her. But his supporters were beginning to come out of the woodwork, now, and boy did they hate on her. Until this weekend, she hadn’t really paid him much thought at all, and now he was engulfed in so many aspects of her life without even knowing it. "We set that trap for you in the road. We made sure to lure you in by picking a target you could identify with. And we did it all for the love of rock and Arynx!"
Her mind spun with the knowledge but she didn't have time to properly process it. A hand touched her back and cotton candy colored hair flew as she turned too fast to see, her headache worsening in the process. “Annie…”
“Belle?” the human asked, big, blue eyes dilated with whatever drug they’d given her. “Yer pretty…” Annie said and Belle sighed, leaning back to instigate further contact. “I like you, Belle…” Her words slurred, the idol bet she wouldn’t remember any of it later. “I mean….really, you’re so perfect. My pop princess…” Annie giggled and Belle brought her attention back to the room, sizing up her opponents and her bonds. “Princess, princess, there’s something you should knoww...I don’t - I don’t feel so good.”
“I know, Annie. It’s...it’s gonna be okay. Just listen to the sound of my voice, stay with -”
“No!” The hand dug into Belle’s lower back, nails scratching and tearing like she had something to dig for. “I mean something’s really, really wrong. Why aren’t I tied up? I should be tied up! Tie me up,” those blue eyes found a Thug but he only smirked in response.
“Interesting new drug, makes the user aggressive,” one of the Thugs said, watching in the way a spectator will when they expect to see a fight. Green eyes swept the room once more. Four Thugs total, one in each corner of the room. Concrete, damp walls and high, slightly vented windows. Were they in the basement of the very venue her concert was supposed to take place? With only fifteen minutes of travel time, it made sense. “Any minute now and she’ll feel compelled rip into the closest person.” And that was why the guards were all yards away and Belle was tied to a post right next to Crazy.
“Annie, listen to me. You can fight this,” she said and turned to meet her assistant's eyes once more. But those baby blues dilated further, hardly any pupil left at all now, and an animal stared back out of them and looked at Belle as if she were nothing more than a meal.
The idol shifted, reaching into her pocket and inching her slim fingers in. If she could reach her mic she’d be… A sharp pain in her abdomen made her see stars as Annie dug her nails into Belle’s flesh, tearing off her own fingernails in the process. More blood spilled from them than from Belle but the human hardly seemed to notice. Her own fingers brushed the mic and she pulled the small, compact device out. Silver flashed as the blade extended and cut through the ropes that bound.
“Annie, please, don’t make me do this…” she said softly, tears welling in those green eyes not for the first time that day.
But for all intents and purposes, Annie wasn’t home anymore. In her place was a feral monster intent on Hannibelle Evensong’s destruction. The blonde lunged and Belle’s hand turned with the mic, her other finding that head of platinum locks and pulling hard. Maybe she could do enough damage to knock Annie out and let her sleep whatever this was off, or ever get her medical attention.
Belle was lucky they hadn’t grabbed one of the lambs, those girls had more power in their pinky fingers and Annie would ever have in her whole life. Teeth sunk into Belle’s neck and she turned her wrist instinctively, burying the blade to the hilt in Annie’s chest.
Green eyes met blue and Annie returned for a brief moment. “Thank you. I...didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t, did I?” It tore at Belle’s heart like hers had been the one pierced and not Annie’s. Swords had a way of cutting both ways when you least wanted them to.
“No, I...I’m fine. I’m alright, we’re going to be alright.”
“No, I’m not…” One hand cupped Belle’s cheek, fingers racing small, mindless patterns on the soft blue skin. And then Belle watched the life drain from her assistant's eyes.
The pit in her stomach opened again and to her own horror, her abdomen split and a long, snakelike tongue slithered out and opened its fanged mouth. And just like that, Annie was gone and Belle turned to face the Thugs once more. She felt good, she felt powerful, like nothing in the world could stop her. Probably psychosomatic, but her blood rushed and her painted mouth split in a grin, lipstick smeared long ago in the fight. Music blared to life, fast, riveting, and she vibrated with it, splitting in two and then the walls cried purple with the blood of her enemies.
~*~*~
“So sorry for the delay, everyone, thank you so much for sticking around during these...technical setbacks.” The Dragon was on stage, the Lambs behind her, and the last thing she felt like doing was perform. But the show must go on, and so the show would go on. After Namek was Earth. Earth, where she’d have to look Annie’s mother in the eyes and tell her that she’d never see her baby girl again. The details would go unmentioned, as the papers would only say she was a victim of a gang’s hate crime. True and not true. Somehow, she’d absorbed Annie, and that was a memory she honestly wished she could forget.
The venue had a rejuvenation unit that she’d used to heal up before going out onto the stage, only starting her show half an hour late - thank the Gods for opening bands. Her own band started and old favorite, a chart topper, and the crowd went wild.
Washcloths soaked in rosewater and then frozen lay in a bowl and Belle reached for one, letting the cold cloth work magic on her heated, flushed, light blue skin. Her cotton candy pink hair up in a high ponytail, she headed for the shower at the back of her trailer and waited for the water to heat. Not the best, and certainly not the worst, these trailers had both niceties and pains. But even with all her grievances, there were others far worse off in the world, so she tried not to complain. Discarding the small hand towel she stripped out of the tight fabrics, unbuckling and unzipping more buckles and zippers than most people wore in a week.
The thigh high heeled boots came off first. Deft, small fingers worked with practiced ease and finally her feet slipped free. The socks, black to match the boots, were next. She didn’t wear white socks with the leather boots if it could be avoided, they always wound up stained from her sweaty feet and the black dyes. So, black socks, because anything else might look bad. After that, the rest slipped off easily. Leather pants, jacket and cotton tank formed a small pile on the floor and then her matching lace bra and thong.
There was something about being naked that felt both vulnerable and freeing at the same time. Alone in her trailer or hotel room, like now, she could finally not worry about how everyone else looked at her. What they thought when she walked by, judging what she wore one way or another. Everything had to be perfect, things had to match. Just once she’d like to go out like a normal girl and wear sweats and not be working out. Even when she did charity work, designers asked to sponsor her in ways of ‘donations’ to her cause. The groups needed the money, so she took the deals more often than not.
Her shower, shorter than she preferred, still helped relax sore and abused muscles. Fame, like a harsh lover, pushes and criticizes you for your own good and if you do what they want you get heavily rewarded for it. Large, plush towels and fuzzy robes and slippers were just a few of aforementioned rewards, but definitely among her favorite. Carter, her pink, stuffed, toy dragon stared up at her longingly from her bed. Maybe that was just her projecting, probably, but she wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and sleep for a week. Only a few weeks into this new tour and Belle set a new, personal, record low when it came to sleep. Traveling, rehearsals, performances, meetings, songwriting - it all took up time and then there were the parties and the charity events and the news shows. If they could see her now without the makeup, would they still believe her beautiful? Would they look into her tired eyes and demand even more? Her manager? Yes, of course. Her fans? Even more so, although they wouldn’t mean it to be mean. They loved her. Well, they loved the idea of her, at the very least. The weight of that felt like a spaceship tethered around her neck that Belle lugged behind her with every step.
Others still believed her to be fake, superficial, ‘artificial.’ An artificial person in an artificial spotlight, position...those were the comments that cut deepest. But Belle learned a long time ago to put on a brave face and let it bounce off of her. Sometimes that sounded easier said than done, but she put her best foot forward. It was all she could do to survive in the cutthroat business. An idol’s job is never easy. They say there’s no rest for the wicked, but there’s none to be found for the good, either.
Bang, bang, bang, on the door and she jumped. “Ms. Evensong, your driver’s here,” Annie called. Her help, someone to ‘handle’ Belle and keep her on task, called through the door.
“I’ll be out in about fifteen minutes…” she said. And then she got to work. The hairdryer came alive at the press of a button and worked on her autonomously while she dressed. A new set of underwear, purple with black lace. Short, little black dress with some biker shorts below that matched. Black tights bedazzled with tiny rhinestones here and there to add a bit of flair, and then she secured her hair up in a net that matched the tights a few minutes later. A touch of blush, some eyeliner and red lipstick and the star looked ready to shine.
She stared at herself in the mirror and tired, jade green eyes stared back. And just like that, a transformation of her features occurred that had nothing to do with magic and all to do with acting. Belle could so, totally do this.
~*~*~
Several hours later, the dream of getting some actual sleep drifted closer to reality.
The posh, slow-moving cruise ship rented out for the night soared in the air, giving the party-goers on and off the deck an aerial tour of Namek’s Maima Region. Sparkling water below reflected lights off the bottom of the ship. Reds, blues and greens arced into the night sky, the depths below on fire, bright and shining and then murky with a light glow, in that order. Every so often the glare from the strobe light turned purple or pink or yellow and the night moved on.
Bodies moved in what each believed rhythmically. Whether true or not was left to speculation and sobriety. “Belle, baby, so glad you could make it.”
She smiled at her old friend and co-worker. Harrison Jameson was a fine specimen of human being, except that sometimes he liked to party too hard and play around too much when it came to women. He said he just hadn’t found the right one yet, but she didn’t think he was the settling type and if that worked for him, that was just fine with her. “Hare,” she said, and the two hugged, a glance of lips meeting cheeks. She’d been there three hours and finally got to see him now. They co-starred across each other in an epic fantasy movie trilogy once. Their agents tried to pair them together off screen, but the two clicked as friends from the start and had none of that nonsense. “Happy birthday!” They raised their glasses and he took a larger sip than she. Knowing Harrison, his schedule looked clear as glass the next day but she had to be up in...less than four hours. Great, another one of those nights.
A few more minutes of catching up, followed by small talk, and Belle mentally checked off her five minutes of ‘necessary time’ from the to-do list. Harrison soon saw someone else he needed to greet or catch up with and with a promise to talk later the girl had no intention of sticking around for, once more Belle found herself left to her own devices.
Despite the late night hour, Bell slipped on her dark, purple sunglasses and headed for the door. Lights flashed the moments it opened, crowded cameras clicking fervidly, their owners avidly trying to catch just a glimpse of whoever went in or out next. The Paparazzi surrounded her like a flock of seagulls hunting for spilled food at the beach. From before she arrived, the gaggle usually stayed well into the next day to catch any stragglers - and there would be stragglers. At five fifteen, a respectable time to leave a Harrison Jameson party, Belle slipped out and past the cameras and into the waiting pod shuttling people to and from the larger ship in the sky. Shutters clicked and lights kept flashing. She smiled for them all like she meant it, but at this hour her lov affair with her shades deepened because the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“When’s your next movie?” “How’s the tour going?” “When are you going back to acting?” “What happened with Jay?” “HANIBELLE I LOVE YOU!”
With a sigh, doors closing never sounded so good as they blocked out the questions and lights completely. Sometimes she stopped, signed a few autographs, answered the questions she could but tonight - no, this morning - all she wanted to do was sleep.
Sleep, the ever elusive will-o-the-wisp she chased through the murky depths of life, still felt much too far for comfort.
Just as she considered napping during the short flight back to Namek’s surface, her phone rang and she sighed. “Good morning, Tyler,” she said when she answered. The woman, back on Earth, seemed to forget time differences existed.
“I’m booking you a few more shows while you’re on Namek.” Belle sighed at the brisk, no-nonsense tone and significant lack of pleasantries. “That low-life’s ship isn’t functional at the moment, shame he still breathes, but in happier news he’s had to cancel his appearances there. They want you to fill the time slots. I'll text you the details and add it to your calendar.”
She had half a mind to argue, to keep her sight-seeing plans intact and her nights to herself to, well, herself. But more shows meant more money for her current charity. But she didn’t. The rivalry between Swyft Records and Yggdrasil records existed long before Belle came into the world, and would continue to do so for a very, very long time, she imagined. despite the difference in genres, the two opposed each other and it the rest of the galaxies knew that secret before she did. Tyler would not take no for an answer on this one.
Tyler correctly took her silence as acceptance. “Great, your schedule is updated you just need to pick the charity for this one.”
That was one argument Belle had won. Half of her ticket sales that went to her, went to a charity of her choice. Between all the tv and movie appearances, interviews and sponsorships, she made more than enough money to live by. Donating half of her check to charity was just one of the ways she gave back. “Endangered species of Namek,” she smiled despite the way her body slumped in the cushioned seat of the pod. “No! I know...Arynx.”
“What. About. Arynx?” Even through the phone, he voice cut like ice; cold, slick and perilous, Belle knew she had to tread cautiously here.
“I just mean with him not having a ship, maybe that could be the charity.” She really did feel bad about Arynx’s predicament. “Half the money raised could go to a fund for him to get a new ship. Nothing extravagant, but we look like the good, generous people that we want the press to believe we are and makes him look even more like a jerk for hating us!” If Tyler could see the sweat on her brow she’d know the words for the lie they were. Hannibelle really did want to help, but if manipulating one of her mothers was the way to do it, she wasn’t above that. Mother Nature was a bit easier to get to agree to things like this, but in the music industry, Tyler’s say was the final and only one that counted.
“Appropriate. How was the party?” Tyler, at last, seemed to remember her manners.
“It was a party…” she stifled a yawn, glad to have the pod to herself. “It was nice to see everyone.”
“Good. Get some beauty sleep and don’t be late for tomorrow.” As briskly as the call began, it ended.
Bell sighed and put the device away. Vaguely, she felt bad for Arynx, travel problems were the worst and sometimes no solution could be found in time to save the tour. Deep down, she hoped he got the chance to reschedule the missed dates although she’d never say it aloud. While she harbored no ill will towards the rock star, the extent of her regard for him ended there because they lived in different figurative worlds and she respected him as an artist. The genre gap was real but they worked hard for what they earned, and that didn’t change no matter which kind of performance art someone did.
~*~*~
About six blocks from her hotel, the hover limo gave a lurch, two pops, and stopped moving. Brock Li, her Saiyan driver, sat behind the wheel of the lopsided car apologizing profusely as if the flat tires were his fault. They weren’t, but Belle felt the inconvenience, nonetheless. “It’s okay, Brock, really...I can walk from here.”
“Oh, no, you couldn’t possibly. Let me…” he fumbled in the glove compartment up ahead. “L-let me c-c-call my boss...it’ll just be a moment.” Despite getting the feeling he’d be in a lot more trouble for letting her walk, she just wanted to go home and get some sleep...was that really too much to ask? At this rate it would be at least half an hour before another car could come and get them and if she walked she’d be there in less than ten minutes.
“It’s no problem, really,” she said. “Walking is good sometimes, helps clear my head. Besides, I can walk off the rest of the alcohol in my system.” She ignored his protestations and got out of the car. Her heels, abandoned the moment she’d gotten in the car, fit in her hand bag. The stockings would be ruined so she took those off, too, and shoved them in the outer, zippered compartment.
Brock was still fumbling up front, undoubtedly searching for his phone while muttering on to himself about...well, Belle really didn’t know or particularly care at the moment. “Ms. E-even-s-s-song, please...it’s d-d-dangerous.” He did pull the car over to the side of the road, though, like a good, responsible driver should - not that many were using the roads at half past five in the morning.
He’d been stuttering since he picked her up like she were his first celebrity guest but Belle doubted that were the case. The company he worked for came very highly recommended and Tyler used it for other clients, Brock was probably just the nervous type. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“N-No, I insist, let m-me -” he cleared his throat and turned off the car. “Allow me to accompany you. It would be quite troublesome if I allowed you to go without escort.”
Her hotel was in the good part of town. Unfortunately, it was about two blocks away from the bad part of town - apparently there wasn’t a whole lot of ‘town’ there, which normally didn’t bother Belle. But now she had to walk through four blocks of the ‘bad’ part of town. “Alright,” she agreed, because it was faster than arguing about it. The singer really could take care of herself...but having a Saiyan around might help deter any thugs with naive ideas of getting in her way and delaying her further.
They got about two and a half blocks before the screaming began and if she’d known just how useless Brock would be in a fight, she’d have declined his offer of accompaniment.
It was a sound to make blood freeze in the veins and trap whoever heard. A woman from the sound of it, pained and terrified. Belle turned towards the alley it came from only to feel a hand grip her wrist. “I wouldn’t interfere if I were you...this is Mandolin’s territory - part of the local Mazoku Clan.” Brock shivered and let go. “Mandolin’s vicious. And let's just say Mandolin hates when people interfere…”
“I have to do something,” she said, and for all the sweetness her voice usually carried now it filled with venom enough to sting. Brock flinched, his masculinity questioned, and she turned her back on him. “I don’t care if you run back to the car with your tail between your legs. I/m helping!” And just like that, her bare feet picked up speed, adrenaline waking and sobering her more thoroughly than sleep could have.
Reaching into her bag she pulled out the small, travel microphone she kept there always. For starters, she’d made some ‘upgrades’ of her own. “Help! Heeelllp!” One thing she’d learned since her first encounter saving another person was that rarely did it sound like it did in the movies. No one said things like ‘somebody, anybody, please help meeeee.’ No, it sounded more like this lady, now. “No, don’t, I-Aaaaah!”
Belle rounded the corner and took in the scene. Four Namekian thugs surrounded one Human woman, and they weren’t treating her in a gentlemanly fashion, to say the least. “Hey! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” she joked. Standing at just above five feet, the Human woman had about five inches on her. Still, sometimes humor in the light of danger helped her get through it and face the next challenge, and the next one after that.
They turned. Two had guns, one a knife and the other a taser. All four were easily a head taller than her or more and probably at least a hundred pounds up on her. “Get out of here!” Belle called to the woman who fled the scene. It was obvious to the pop star why they’d chosen her as their mark: flashy jewelry, expensive shoes and bag...she all but screamed ‘rob me’ if she walked these streets alone. Some people really were clueless, helpless, but that didn’t mean they deserved to get robbed.
“Come on, no reason to ruin our fun. We was just talkin’ to ‘her, that’s all,” Thug One said.
And then Thugs Two and Three opened fire. It was all she could to do to dodge them, spinning left and focusing her Ki. Music started, blasting from her phone. A fast, staccato beat to match her heart rate she began to vibrate with it. It was then she’d noticed Brock had passed out and would be of no further assistance. With a soft ‘pop,’ she split in two. There were just too many of them, outnumbering her four to one - this ought to even the odds a little bit.A neat trick when on stage to harmonize with herself or go back and forth with no actual partner in practice, not many knew it was a real, physical double of Belle that had half her power level and the same attacks she did.
Knife guy got brave and slashed at one of them, the tip tearing at her expensive dress. And then both girls brought the mics up and began to sing, the bottom ends turning into short swords and the two jumped in the same harmony of their synchronized voices. Muscles in toned, blue legs bunched and sprung, pushing them into a movement filled with momentum and each slashed at a Thug with a gun.
Blades flashes silver in the moonlight and then plunged. One took Thug Two in the arm, the other took Three in the abdomen, before they both sprung back to starting positions. Blood dripped from the blades, dark purple splatters on pavement cloaked in shadows of the night. Thug Four dropped his taser and ran, and then the others followed, although they kept their weapons.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with!” one of them called before disappearing into the night. Honestly, she didn’t care. Adrenaline still pumping her veins full of go juice, she hoped she’d be able to sleep at all before she had to get up. Even an hour or two would be better than none, she’d learned that the hard way many times before.
The stench of urine, sweat and blood permeated the air as the Belle’s merged once again. She cleaned the blade on her ruined dress before nudging the fallen Saiyan with the bared toes of her right foot. He groaned and she smiled. Her greatest defender: the only cowardly Saiyan in all the Galaxies and he had to be her driver tonight. “He lives,” she joked, offering him a hand up which he didn’t take.
Brock fidgeted, clearly embarrassed, and looked around. “What happened? Where did they…” he looked at her, surprised.
“I’m scarier than I look. Come on, let me walk you back to your car.” He took her up on the offer and by the time they got there, a new car was waiting to take her home. Well, to her hotel, which was pretty much the same thing on the road.
~*~*~
Belle prided herself in never being surprised at what the world threw at her and always took things in stride. Needless to say, finding a dead Namekian in her closet was not what she expected that Saturday morning. After the fight with the Thugs, the young woman went back to her hotel, stripped, showered to get the blood off, and crashed. In that order. So when she woke two hours later and opened the closet door to pick her outfit for the interview, the body of Thug Three - or was it Two - staring out at her with glassy eyes and slack jaw was an image she’d never be able to unsee.
The fuzzy pink robe she’d fallen asleep in coated her like a thick, second, furry skin and she screamed, suddenly feeling too hot and like she might be sick. One step back followed another until she felt the back of her knees hit the king sized bed and her butt fell onto more than anything else, tears welling in those deep, green eyes of hers. Her hand shook as she reached for the phone and dialed the front desk.
“Front desk, Sax speaking, how can I help you, Ms Evensong?” He sounded far too cheerful as she stared into the dead being's eyes from across the room. The green of his skin was mottled in death, pale, a more sickly color in the dark of the room. “Ms. Evensong? Is everything alright?”
“I, um...no, no, it’s not. Can you call the authorities, please? And I’ll need…” she took a deep breath and nearly gagged, a black pit of hunger opening deep inside of her. Looking at this dead Thug, all she could think to do now was eat it. “Need ...” If there was one thing she’d learned it was that the show must always, always, go on. The thought of canceling the interview never even crossed her mind. Interview, rehearsal, and then Pink Dragon would perform with her Lambs as backup. Pink Dragon was the name of her band, although a lot of people referred to her specifically with that name, and it was only recently that the Lambs joined her tour. The four of them were her dancers and backup singers, and each contributed to the sound in other ways, too. The plushie on her bed was one of the first toys ever made inspired by her in some way and that was why she would treasure it, always. Now, she hugged it close and took small, shallow breaths to help steady herself.
Her heart beat in her chest like as if trying to escape. Belle looked around, when had she moved closer to the body? The phone still in hand, she heard Sax’s voice on the other end. “Nevermind. I’m sorry to bother you...must have had a bad dream and when I woke I thought someone was in the room…”
“Not a problem, Ms. Evensong. Hope you have a good day.” The phone clicked and she hung up her end, and then sat next to the body once more.
Reaching out, her fingers lightly brushed its skin which still retained some of the warmth of the creature’s life. She knew about the Mazoku clans, knew they were all bad people, but the thought that this was somehow her fault tore at her heart. Determining it was Thug Three from the wound in his lower abdomen, she found other wounds not of her causing. Whoever killed him was sending her a message, a message she got loud and clear. Back off or she was next.
The pit in her stomach throbbed but she managed to get rid of the body. Having friends in high places had its benefits in a ‘no questions asked’ job, and the body got ‘left behind’ somewhere it’d be found a couple of days from now. Any evidence or tie to her was erased as though it never happened, aside from the one wound that hadn’t been a mortal one, especially not for a Namekian.
No, with his regenerative abilities he’d have healed up from that in no time. This was the work of something or someone more sinister, like that Mandolin character Brock told her about. A message from the head of the local Mazoku family from him to her: oh, her day just kept getting better and better.
~*~*~
The interview went on. The headlines featured an oddly angled photo of her greeting with Hare the night before, the innocent cheek kisses making it look like the two enjoyed a passionate liplock, and yet her scuffle with the Mazoku Thugs was relegated to a small article towards the back of the paper. Gossip ran rampant no matter where she roamed. Belle laughed it off, the Lambs came out and joined the Dragon for a few songs, and then they headed down to the arena for rehearsal and soundcheck.
One little threat didn’t make the news and the bio-android acted like everything was normal. She made a living from an acting career until recently, this...this was nothing. Acting like everything was fine when it wasn’t was child’s play compared to the actual acting she’d done for money. Love of the art, too, played a role, and she’d go back when she was ready to but for now focusing on her music career felt right. That, and her charity works.
Everyone had hobbies, hers just tended to have a heavier impact on other’s lives than most.
“Testing,” she grinned into the mic, eyes flicking to each of the four girls behind her. Her assistant, Annie, took notes from the side of the room whether or not she could hear, if the bass was too overpowering, and so on and so forth. With each riff and song, drum roll and tune, they synced and came together as a unit. Doors slammed backstage as they finished and Belle grabbed a towel and a bottle of water. The five girls shared a conspiratorial grin as they headed for girl power hour in Belle’s dressing room. It was a longstanding ritual the five of them did before each show now, gathering, getting pumped and psyched about the next show - sometimes they even streamed their shenanigans so their fans to watch. Usually, though, they kept their time to themselves just that. Away from prying eyes it didn’t matter what they said or did or how they acted, with each other they could be themselves.
Annie went ahead and prepped the room, got their outfits out and set out food and drinks of all kinds. Belle would go in next, make small talk with Annie for a bit and she’d make her departure when the other girls showed up. Always welcome to join them, she declined each time to the point Belle figured she just didn’t want to mix business with personal.
Slightly ajar, light filtered through the crack in the doorway and Belle hesitated. Annie never left that open. “Ann, you there?” she called, nudging the door open further with her toe.
A gunshot answered and she flattened herself against the wall, heart rate spiking and breath quickening. The door splintered and shattered into thousands of tiny pieces and Belle frowned, working it out. Head Honcho Thug must have sent more of his goons to get revenge. If she hadn’t been cautious, she could have been seriously injured. True, she was harder to hurt than most, but if she got injured and it showed on her flesh at her next concert or whatever, the questions would literally never stop.
She slipped down into a squat. Being short to begin with, Belle knew enemies tended to aim for chest level. As close to the ground as she was, the next shot was bound to go way over her head. With any luck, she’d get the drop on this Thug and get Annie out. Belle pushed at the remnants of the door and, as predicted, the show went over her head and into the wall across from her. Annie lay sprawled face first across an ottoman and three Thugs surrounded her. If it hadn’t been for the other three Thugs next to the door waiting for her, she might have been able to pull it off.
Something hard hit the back of her head. It seemed ever her body had its limits and she may have just finally pushed it too far. Lack of sleep, over exertion and, yes, a bit of shock to boot, all had wear and tear on the body. The young pop star blinked once, twice, and then the world faded to black.
~*~*~
Belle woke slowly, stiff limbs moving, the burn of rope on her hands as she sat up. Her biological clock told her only fifteen minutes had passed since she’d lost consciousness, but the maddening headache made it feel like she’d been out for decades. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” said Thug Two from the other night, one of the ones with a shotgun. He’d probably been the one blowing up her room.
She spat at his feet and he kicked her, hard. “Arynx sends his regards,” he said and Belle reeled back, a bit in shock. So, they were fans of that punk rock star. It certainly explained animosity towards her now. Ever since they’d been created to rival each other, his existence seemed to make hers hell whether he meant to or not. It wasn’t her fault she’d been created to crush him just as he’d been designed to crush her. But his supporters were beginning to come out of the woodwork, now, and boy did they hate on her. Until this weekend, she hadn’t really paid him much thought at all, and now he was engulfed in so many aspects of her life without even knowing it. "We set that trap for you in the road. We made sure to lure you in by picking a target you could identify with. And we did it all for the love of rock and Arynx!"
Her mind spun with the knowledge but she didn't have time to properly process it. A hand touched her back and cotton candy colored hair flew as she turned too fast to see, her headache worsening in the process. “Annie…”
“Belle?” the human asked, big, blue eyes dilated with whatever drug they’d given her. “Yer pretty…” Annie said and Belle sighed, leaning back to instigate further contact. “I like you, Belle…” Her words slurred, the idol bet she wouldn’t remember any of it later. “I mean….really, you’re so perfect. My pop princess…” Annie giggled and Belle brought her attention back to the room, sizing up her opponents and her bonds. “Princess, princess, there’s something you should knoww...I don’t - I don’t feel so good.”
“I know, Annie. It’s...it’s gonna be okay. Just listen to the sound of my voice, stay with -”
“No!” The hand dug into Belle’s lower back, nails scratching and tearing like she had something to dig for. “I mean something’s really, really wrong. Why aren’t I tied up? I should be tied up! Tie me up,” those blue eyes found a Thug but he only smirked in response.
“Interesting new drug, makes the user aggressive,” one of the Thugs said, watching in the way a spectator will when they expect to see a fight. Green eyes swept the room once more. Four Thugs total, one in each corner of the room. Concrete, damp walls and high, slightly vented windows. Were they in the basement of the very venue her concert was supposed to take place? With only fifteen minutes of travel time, it made sense. “Any minute now and she’ll feel compelled rip into the closest person.” And that was why the guards were all yards away and Belle was tied to a post right next to Crazy.
“Annie, listen to me. You can fight this,” she said and turned to meet her assistant's eyes once more. But those baby blues dilated further, hardly any pupil left at all now, and an animal stared back out of them and looked at Belle as if she were nothing more than a meal.
The idol shifted, reaching into her pocket and inching her slim fingers in. If she could reach her mic she’d be… A sharp pain in her abdomen made her see stars as Annie dug her nails into Belle’s flesh, tearing off her own fingernails in the process. More blood spilled from them than from Belle but the human hardly seemed to notice. Her own fingers brushed the mic and she pulled the small, compact device out. Silver flashed as the blade extended and cut through the ropes that bound.
“Annie, please, don’t make me do this…” she said softly, tears welling in those green eyes not for the first time that day.
But for all intents and purposes, Annie wasn’t home anymore. In her place was a feral monster intent on Hannibelle Evensong’s destruction. The blonde lunged and Belle’s hand turned with the mic, her other finding that head of platinum locks and pulling hard. Maybe she could do enough damage to knock Annie out and let her sleep whatever this was off, or ever get her medical attention.
Belle was lucky they hadn’t grabbed one of the lambs, those girls had more power in their pinky fingers and Annie would ever have in her whole life. Teeth sunk into Belle’s neck and she turned her wrist instinctively, burying the blade to the hilt in Annie’s chest.
Green eyes met blue and Annie returned for a brief moment. “Thank you. I...didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t, did I?” It tore at Belle’s heart like hers had been the one pierced and not Annie’s. Swords had a way of cutting both ways when you least wanted them to.
“No, I...I’m fine. I’m alright, we’re going to be alright.”
“No, I’m not…” One hand cupped Belle’s cheek, fingers racing small, mindless patterns on the soft blue skin. And then Belle watched the life drain from her assistant's eyes.
The pit in her stomach opened again and to her own horror, her abdomen split and a long, snakelike tongue slithered out and opened its fanged mouth. And just like that, Annie was gone and Belle turned to face the Thugs once more. She felt good, she felt powerful, like nothing in the world could stop her. Probably psychosomatic, but her blood rushed and her painted mouth split in a grin, lipstick smeared long ago in the fight. Music blared to life, fast, riveting, and she vibrated with it, splitting in two and then the walls cried purple with the blood of her enemies.
~*~*~
“So sorry for the delay, everyone, thank you so much for sticking around during these...technical setbacks.” The Dragon was on stage, the Lambs behind her, and the last thing she felt like doing was perform. But the show must go on, and so the show would go on. After Namek was Earth. Earth, where she’d have to look Annie’s mother in the eyes and tell her that she’d never see her baby girl again. The details would go unmentioned, as the papers would only say she was a victim of a gang’s hate crime. True and not true. Somehow, she’d absorbed Annie, and that was a memory she honestly wished she could forget.
The venue had a rejuvenation unit that she’d used to heal up before going out onto the stage, only starting her show half an hour late - thank the Gods for opening bands. Her own band started and old favorite, a chart topper, and the crowd went wild.