Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ A Dozen Stories, and One Message ❯ The Odango and the Baka ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: *sigh* I shall never own Sailor Moon, and if you think I do I suggest you stop reading this fanfic right about… now.

Since this is MY fanfic, I can basically do whatever I want to these poor characters, as long as I say that I don't own them. ^.^ As a result, I am going to be changing the story line a bit. *Cackle* Just for the fun of character development! Yay, yay, yay! Fun, fun, fun!

A NOTE: Motoki will most likely be rather OOC. (Out Of Character) Also, this takes place in the first season.

"REI IS GONNA KILL ME!"

Usagi practically flew down the street, panting hard and praying to Kami-sama that the heavens would open up and shoot down a beam that would transport her somewhere closer to the temple- where the senshi meeting that she was gonna be late for was being held.

Can't be late. Can't be late. Can't be late. Can't be late. Can't be late. Can't be-

"Oof! Watch where you're going, odango!"

Was someone Up There howling with laughter at her demise!?!?

She had managed to run into that BAKA- again.

"Shouldn't you be at the arcade, odango atama?" said a very amused-looking Mamoru, with his ANNOYINGLY cool smirk.

'And shouldn't you be lying in a ditch somewhere on the highway, covered with bruises?' she wanted to scream back, but instead she screeched, "Don't call me that, baka!"

"I'm very sorry, I assure you, odango atama!"

"Baka!"

"Odango!"

"Baka!"

"Odango!"

"BAKA!"

"ODANGO!"

"Will both of you please act your ages?" interrupted a weary voice.

"Motoki-kun, he started it!"

He smiled. "Just because he did didn't mean that you had to argue back. Didn't you tell me that you had to meet with Rei and the others after school, yesterday?"

She gasped. "Ah! I'm gonna be laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate!" And once again, the 'rabbit of the moon' sped off, to meet some very annoyed faces.

"Come on, let's go inside the arcade," said Motoki kindly. "I think that you've made fun of the poor girl enough for the day." He led his friend inside, and motioned for him to take a seat as he poured him a cup of coffee. "Do you have to do that to her every single blessed day?"

Mamoru rolled his eyes, as he sipped his drink. "Come on Motoki! She's such a crybaby and a ditz; you can't help but make fun of her. I don't know how you can stand her, even; she's so annoying!"

Motoki leaned in very close, so they were eye to eye. "Now that you've answered that question- do you really mean it?"

"Of course I mean it," replied the young man witheringly. "She always be the same, irresponsible, clumsy, odango atama, no matter what might happen to her."

"Hmm… do you happen to know why this particular odango atama has so many friends?"

"Maybe it's just because they have enough patience-"

"This is a serious question. So give me a serious answer."

"No," said Mamoru sulkily, in a very un-Mamoru-like way.

"Well I do. It's because she's kind, friendly, and a caring person. I KNOW why she has so many friends. It's because she's such a wonderful person, and a wonderful influence."

His voice was now incredulous. "Are you joking?"

"No. And you know what Mamoru?"

"What?"

"You know she's wonderful too, somewhere in your heart. Now all you have to do is convince your head, and hers. Then anything can happen. And-" he gave a small, secretive smile, "-I think it will."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say," said Mamoru carelessly, but inside he was feeling rather uneasy. Was there something in the coffee that was making his friend act this way? He took another sip. Nah, it wasn't the coffee. Must have been something else Motoki ate.

There was no way he could be telling the truth. Like he would ever care for Usagi.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"But Obaasan! That wasn't about the queen!" protested the young Usagi.

"It wasn't? Why not?'

"Well, it was all about the king. And he didn't even love her!"

One of Usagi's uncles laughed out loud. "Actually, he really did love her. He just didn't know about it yet. Remember what his wise best friend hinted?"

"Yes, but…"

"Well, he also could have said that love is sometimes disguised as something other than love."

"Well when did he find out?" asked a little seven-year-old boy, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. "He was all mean to her."

The uncle scratched his head. "Hmm. I'm not really quite sure WHEN he figured out his feelings. But I know a story of how he found out. Obasan?" He looked hopefully at the old lady sitting in the largest armchair, who had told the first story.

"Of course, nephew, you may take the floor."

He clapped his hands together. "All right! Listen everyone! This is going to be a good story, I can assure you that. It takes after Obaasan's story…"