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Part 6
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     *Author Avatar Special!  Do not read unless you wish to see
spoilers for the tournament up to the semi-finals.*
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     Misato snorted and popped the tab on another can of beer.
"Jotarou?"
     The bartender of Club Anipike stepped up beside her.  "Would it
make you feel better if I sent someone to kill them?"
     "Tempting, very tempting.  But the Galaxy Police are still around.
You'd never be able to get away with it."  She passed a hand over the bridge
of her nose and sighed.  "Author Avatars:  I hate them."
     Just then, the front doors flew open to admit Tuxedo Chris,
wild-eyed and tuxedo in disarray, obviously having escaped the clutches of the Galaxy
Police. "Where is my Soulstone?" he bawled.
     Misato rolled her eyes.  "You missed her.  She and her author just
left. Just in time, too.  Another minute of those two making out and even
Jotarou here would be looking less than healthy."
     Losing heart, Chris stumbled forward and plunked himself down on
the corner barstool. "In that case, I'll have a Light."
     "BURNING. . . MANDALA!!"
     Scattered applause came from around the room as the slightly
charred self-insertion Avatar glared at Rei, who was standing at the theatre
entrance.  "Still can't let go of a grudge, can you?" he asked sarcastically.
     "I'm working on it.  And right now, you're just working it off!"
     Misato put a bottle down in front of him.  "Both of you, quit it.
And don't let Haruka see you tonight, Tux-boy.  She's still not happy about your
little "suggestion" to Michiru."
     "Yeah, whatever," Chris grumbled, taking the bottlecap and sending
it spinning through the air.
     Leaving the author Avatar to wallow in his melancholy, the club
owner stepped out from behind the bar to survey her domain.
     Other anime characters dotted the room, which was slowly filling
up. Most of the stars of the various anime shows were returning from the
semi-finals of the Author Avatar Tournament.  Those who hadn't received invitations
had availed themselves of Misato's big-screen TV, which was now displaying
the results of the two semi matches and two grudge matches.  The betting
table was taking odds on the two finalists while paying the lucky people who had
won in the last round.
     Setsuna, Sailor Pluto, was continually being pestered about who was
going to win the belt, but the Senshi would only smile to herself and
occasionally swing her staff to clear the area around her table.
     Then _he_ showed up.
     "A round of drinks, dear bartender!  We have _got_ to celebrate!"
     Calmly, Jotarou folded his arms and made no movement for any
glasses.
	"Misato, shall I take out the trash?"
     Jonathan Brisby smiled his most ingratiating smile and leaned on
the bartop.
	"Hey, come on, big guy.  Sticks and stones, remember?"
     Jotarou angled his head.  "Sticks?  I don't need no stinkin'
sticks." Behind him, the faint outline of his "Star Platinum" Stand began to form.
Behind Brisby, the rest of Team Foxfire shifted uneasily, preparing for a fight.
     Misato glanced over her shoulder at the tiger-demon Tora, who rose
from his crouch in the shadows.  "Gentlemen," he snarled, "Either sit down and
act civil, or I'll be forced to eat someone.  And they'll be pancaked rather
thoroughly first.  Do I make myself clear?"
     Jotarou simply scowled, knowing that the threat was directed more
at Team Foxfire than it was at him.  Brisby, on the other hand, backed down
almost immediately and led his troupe over to a group of tables near the stage.
     Misato leaned over the bar and began stacking glasses onto a tray.
"I'll serve them, Jotarou.  I've got a higher tolerance for Johnny boy's talk.
Besides, they do have a right to celebrate tonight.  Kintobor's proved himself."
     "Avatars," Jotarou grumbled, "prove to be nothing but a headache.
I'm going to go scrounge up some aspirin."  Motioning to Ayanami Rei to take over
his duties, he disappeared into the kitchen.
     As Misato made her way over to Team Foxfire, she stopped at Kodachi's
table and collected some of the cola cans.  "You okay?"
     The raven-haired star in the Ranma cast heaved a sigh and leaned on
the empty chair beside hers.  "It's just not the same here without
Jamie-sama matching me drink for drink.  I hope he's okay."
     Misato reached over and rested a hand on her shoulder.  "Don't worry.
The Powers That Be are watching out for him."
     Kodachi nodded and drained her glass again.  "You're right.  Maybe
I'll even stop by the hospital later, take him a little something."
     Having finished her drink, she tossed a can over her shoulder,
bouncing it directly off the black-framed picture of Pat Lee that sat along the far
left wall.
	"*Hic.*  Bless me, I almost miss the little annoyance."
     Misato grinned.  "That's the caffeine talking.  Time to stop."
     A breeeze blew across her back as someone else came into the Club.
Kodachi leaned to one side, then her eyes widened and she almost fell
out of her chair.
     Spinning around, Misato was all set for trouble.  Her gun, which
had been tucked into her waistband, came out and pointed directly at. . .
     Nav.
     Surprised, she checked herself and pointed the barrel at the
ceiling before putting the gun away again.  "Sorry.  But I didn't think 
you'd be in tonight, not after the beating you took."
     The Avatar grinned weakly and allowed Bane to help him into a seat
near the door.  "Takes more than some freaky monkey. . . uh, whatever . . .
to put me down."  He caressed his rifle as he leaned it against the wall.
	"Familiar territory does help the healing, too."  The grin grew wider.  
"And what's this I hear about Amy and Mina actually _cheering_ for me?  
They should know better that that, huh?"
     Despite herself, Misato smiled back.  Nav had left his mark forever
on the fanfiction world.  And despite his homicidal tendencies, he was one
_good_ MSTer.
	"First drink's on the house, kid.  After that, you'd better hope you've
got some fancy medical insurance or something.  I am not going to assume any
responsibility for your health tonight."
     "As if I did earlier," he joked.  Then he growled as he caught
sight of Tuxedo Chris with his nose in his own drink.
     Following his gaze, Misato set down the tray and placed her hands
on her hips.  "Not tonight.  If you two want to mix it up for the Moon Kingdom
belt, go ahead.  But not in my bar!  This is neutral ground."
     Nav nodded absently, then turned his glance away to talk to Bane.
     Things settled down after that.  Until the MSTers realized that
they still had nine months until their next award banquet and the competition would
be tougher.  Then the dust fairly flew.
     As the doors to the Club slammed open once again, most of the
patrons ignored the person in the long, rain-drenched trenchcoat and fedora.  He
made it up to the bar and sat down on a high-backed stool before anyone tore
their attention away from the literary rumble and noticed him.
     Over in a corner, Kiyone, fresh from the hospital and Jamie Jeans'
bedside, muttered a curse and shot to her feet.  Mihoshi and Nakago looked
strangely at her, but both shivered as they sensed the same thing.
     Rei placed her forearm on the bar and peered under the shadowy
brim. "Can I help you?"
     "No, my dear."  The voice was low, almost soothing.  "In fact, I
doubt any of you could help me."  Then he paused.  Twirling around on the stool,
he leaned back to face Kiyone, who had her blaster out and pointed unwaveringly at
his head.
	"Detective Kiyone," he stated, folding his hands over his stomach, "A
little jumpy tonight, aren't we?"
     "Drop the act _and_ the disguise," Kiyone growled, not taking her
eyes off him.
     The figure hesitated again, but got off the stool.  "There is very
precious little privacy around here."
     The trenchcoat and hat swirled into the air.
     Nav lunged for his rifle, injuries forgotten.  He hit the floor
rolling and came up on one knee, the crosshairs centered on the figure's temple.
     Team Foxfire produced an astonishing array of weaponry.  Mech Tail and
Edward quickly tossed hand-blasters to some of the Scouts while Kintobor sighted
down his Prism Rifle.  With his other hand, he waved for his group to fan out.
     All over the bar, the sound of swords drawn from scabbards shrieked out.
     The doors to the theatre exploded outwards in smoke and debris as Ryoko,
Washu, and Shampoo charged out.  At the same time, the "Star Platinum"
shot out from the kitchen with Jotarou close behind.
     In the midst of all the commotion, the rising hum of ki energy
could be heard.

     Samantha Jones smiled and held up her hands, palms out.  "Nice to
see you guys, too."
     Twin roses thudded into the bar, one on either side of her body.
     Akeya stepped forward, royal robes swirling, and spat at Samantha's
feet.
	"Save it.  How _dare_ you show your face here after tonight!"
     Mihoshi, dropping her ditzy attitude, peered intently into her
former friend's eyes and saw something she didn't like.  "Pippkin," she snarled.
     Samantha's face flickered and twisted itself into a sneer.  "I
_had_ expected a bit more hospitality than this."  Her voice was still 
normal, but the words were definitely not hers.  Somewhere, the demented rabbit, 
Pippkin, was still exerting his control over her.  He had taken possession 
of her body to use as a host while he played his evil mindgames in the 
Avatar Arena.
     A-ko lunged forward in sheer fury, only to be restrained by Nuriko
and Megane 6.7.  "WHERE IS SHE?" she bellowed.
     Ignoring her, Samantha looked over the entire bar, at each gun
pointed at her head, at each swordpoint aimed at her, at every energy blast just
waiting for her to make a wrong move.  "You are all so pitiful," she scowled, 
	"Look at you.  Do any of you honestly think that you would do _me_ 
any damage if you attacked?  You would damage the body, perhaps, but I 
don't suppose anyone here _really_ cares what happens to poor Samantha, 
after all the torture she already suffered with you!"
     Casually, she strolled forward, brushing aside a sword here, a
clenched fist there.  No one made any move to stop her, afraid for 
Samantha's health.
     She walked up to a table right in front of a speaker by the stage
and sat down, putting her feet up on the table lazily.  "I bring a message 
for all the Author Avatars and other fanfiction characters here: You 
will all surrender your wills to me before this tournament is over.  
I mean to rule this puny little multiverse and all the hellish little
inhabitants in it and this Tournament is the first step in doing that.
Once you crown me AAA champion, it will just be the beginning!"
     Foxfire snorted and twitched his rifle.  "And if we refuse?"
     "Well, in that case, I'll be direct."  Samantha glanced up onto the
stage where Michiru had been preparing her violin for a set with some 
of the Seiryuu Seishi.  The aquamarine-haired girl held her instrument 
in one hand and her Deep Aqua Mirror in the other.
     Moving with blinding speed, the Pippkin-controlled girl seized a
glass of water off the table and tossed its contents over both Michiru 
and her plugged-in violin.
     With a horrid crackling and sizzling, the wet plug began sparking,
filling Michiru with an electrical charge.  A choking scream erupted 
from the girl's lungs as the current ran through her body, throwing 
her backwards into the rest of the instruments.
     Samantha smiled and threw the glass away, shattering Pat Lee's
picture. "I will not be happy."
     She got back to her feet and headed for the door.  "See you in the
finals, boys."
	Then she turned back and looked over at Haruka and the other Senshi as
they tried to revive Michiru.  She paused for a second and opened her mouth, but
nothing else.  With a shrug, she shoved the outer doors open and vanished 
into the rain again.

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     Pippkin is from one of David Gonterman's series, I believe.  He can
keep the psycho rabbit.  I'm a Haruka & Michiru fan myself and I hated 
doing that to Neptune, but she's one of the innocents in this demented 
AAA multiverse.  Thanks to Greenbeans, Jamie Jeans, and the members of SVAM.

                              Nightbreak