Try being a book. Try waiting untold eons and then getting bored... Until you find yourself in a universe with potential. Try making a pretty sweet deal. Try waiting for a few more millennia with nothing to do but read yourself and, oh yes, wait. And wait. And <i>wait</i>. Then, out of the blue, as the world has changed around you, here comes the contractee and it looks like things are about to get interesting, but all she can do is fret about how she's actually stolen you when she could steal so, so much more and get away with it.
Needless to say. This was not how things were supposed to go. Had there been hands or a forehead to rub, that was what they'd be doing. Beryl was supposed to help her take over the world or - Something? It was a little difficult to remember. Time has a way of playing with memories, but the book felt great confidence that they would somehow muddle through.
"Oh, Mom's going to kill me if she finds out! I mean, she's dead and all but she'll find a way, and she will find out because she always finds out! She always knew whenever I peeked at the birthday gifts no matter how carefully I did it, she always knew if I hadn't done homework the night it was assigned. No, no, Beryl! You should not put it off, do it as soon as you get it, she'd say. My daughter will not become a thief of time, not under my watch..."
Somehow they'd manage it. Somehow.
"There must be some way I can return the talking book which isn't really talking because it's all in my head," Beryl ranted while pacing back and forth around her apartment. "There's no way I can show my face in there again, and if I tell my friends they'll rib me forever!"
A chance appeared!
<b>"You could always go in disguise."</b>
"With my complexion? With my hair and my eyes?" Beryl complained, gesturing to her pale face, tossing her bright red hair and pointing directly at her equally red eyes one after the other. "They'll spot me in a jiffy, from a mile away. What is a jiffy anyway? I've always heard the phrase by never really thought about it -"
<b>"Then you could try casting a spell to change your appearance."</b> The book flipped open. <b>"Read from my pages. I am a spellbook. Use me to craft a disguise for yourself."</b>
Not exactly how this was supposed to go, but under the circumstances it seemed to be the best option on offer. Beryl calmed down, which was something. She picked up the book again and started flipping through it, which was something else.
"I can't become any of these," she complained. "I think people would notice if a sexy parody of a monster started walking down the street."
<b>"I see there is a word in your world that can be used to justify this abnormality: Cosplay. Claim to be cosplaying, and all shall be well, my daughter.</b>
"E-Even so..." Beryl stammered and blushed. Blushed! This would not do. She was in desperate need of greater confidence if they were to... Do... The thing they were going to do. "This is crazy! A magic book that speaks and teleports people and tries to tempt people into casting spells on themselves - I'm having a nightmare, or maybe one of my neighbours slipped something into my morning coffee and this is all a bad acid trip. Wouldn't put it past them."
Books aren't supposed to get migraines. They lack the nerves that can be irritated or infected or whatever it is that causes them. Then again books aren't supposed to be able to talk or bargain or feel excruciating frustration with someone that should be far more amenable to temptation than this.
<b>"I assure you that this is real. I am indeed a talking book, you were indeed teleported away from your apartment. You have not imbibed illicit chemicals. You are fully conscious. Magic is real. You may prove this simply: Make use of the magics contained within these pages. I promise you, none shall come to harm from this act unless you will it so. These spells exist for the sake of improvement -"</b>
But it seemed as though Beryl had had quite enough temptation for the day. With her hands pressed tightly over her ears she marched right out of the apartment and locked the door behind her.
<b>"That really could have gone so much better."</b>
<hr>
Beryl was not stupid. She was panicky, a bit of a dork, but not stupid. Nope! Best-case scenario that shit just happened. Really, really happened. In which case she had a talking book trying to tempt her into using its spells, which from what she had seen all seemed to involve some sort of... Fiendish young females. There had to be a better term than that.
Anyway! Like hell she was letting herself get tempted so easily as that. Hah! Pull the other one. She wasn't born yesterday. The last thing she was going to do was what the book told her, cast one of its spells and damn her own immortal soul. There was nothing in this world that it could possibly offer her that would -
"Oh, hey, Beryl!" said her next-door neighbour who was, as always, red eyed and sleepy, staggering a little through the hall and cheerily waving at her. "Good evening!"
"It's morning," Beryl corrected.
"It is? Huh! How about that. I should go to sleep..."
Honestly, that girl. What she needed was real motivation to do... Something. Anything. She was pretty, she was younger than Beryl, and when she applied herself she was smart. But she was such a party chick - Oh, it truly did irritate Beryl to see that sort of wasted potential -
"Oh yeah, that's right!" her neighbour suddenly said. "I wanted to thank you for lending me that comic book. I really enjoyed it."
Beryl's soul lifted up for a moment. "You... Enjoyed it?" she asked. "Well, of course you did. Among American comics, <i>Watchmen</i> is considered a classic of the -"
"It rolled up real nice. Tasted great when we burned it up. You should come over some time to give it a try, really great shit! Catch you later..."
Beryl began to hiss while her neighbour closed the door. "Morga...!"
<hr>
At the very least it was a change in scenery. That happened so vanishingly rarely these days, being passed around from collector to collector. Years spent wedged between the <i>Necronomicon</i> and <i>The King in Yellow</i>, and if there was anything to take from that experience it was that neither of them could carry a conversation if their -
The door burst open. Beryl stood, hunched in the doorway. It was not a flattering expression she wore on her face. And the way her eye was twitching was probably not especially healthy.
"Book," Beryl hissed at it. "How do I cast these spells?"
<b>"All you shall need do is acquire a part of their body. Hair, blood, spit, a nail. Anything shall suffice. Drop it on the page. Close the book. I shall do the rest. What creature do you wish to become?"</b>
How curious. That laughter did not sound especially healthy, and attempts to read her mind were not forthcoming either. Still, at least Beryl seemed to be in more of a mood to continue with their plan (whatever it was), and was even flicking through the pages with a great deal of energy and enthusiasm. Not to mention high-pitched laughter. Much more promising!
- Back to Usagi and the cat.
- Beryl transforms Morga into a Monster Girl.
- Mamoru is trying to deal with his weird dreams.
- What are the other Senshi up to?
- Something else
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