Get This Party Started
by Purple Mongoose/PallaPlease
Crossover: The first part of a remarkably short series I plan for only eight chapters, possibly, if I get feedback asking for it. It's also another One Piece/Sailor Moon crossover, and yet again, one focusing on Ami (next month: Makoto! *winks*) – but instead of Zoro, I picked Sanji (who I would love to see flirting with Ami, especially considering how shy she is, and how big of a flatterer he is). Now! If you have been reading Viz's (admittedly quick and fun) translation in Shonen Jump, they've just finished translating the entirety of the first OP volume. Sanji (the 'love cook,' natch) doesn't make his appearance until the fifth volume, but I truly don't have the patience to wait that long! :[ Thusly, check out Lyn's for character info and whatnot, as well as nifty character sketches from the anime artbook/sketchbook. (I'll try to see if I can list the sketches as well as some other pics after the story – if not, I'll have to review my own story with them. *sweatdrops*)
Sanji: For those who don't want to check out websites and whatnot…Sanji is a very tall man, and a thin one at that, with short blonde hair styled to lay flat (with bangs hanging over his left eye). Interesting to note is the fact that he has extremely curly eyebrows (or so it would seem, as no one can actually see the left side of his face for the most part), as well as a habit of chain-smoking and wearing carefully chosen outfits. He usually can be seen wearing a blue pinstripe button-up under a black suit (with gold buttons, no less!) and an impeccable tie. As for personality…Sanji is a sucker for women. He flatters women constantly, willingly subjugates himself to serving them without a second thought, and is probably the only character in OP who obviously wants something more than friendship with the various female characters. However, he has a penchant for swearing a blue streak and beating the crap out of people he decides he doesn't like – usually other guys. He acts like an unruly teenager (although, at the risk of spoiling events later in the series, he proves himself completely capable of an almost sadistic 'adult' persona, which involves meticulous planning, actions, and so forth), basically.
Continuity: After SMStars, for sure, and I think it's a mixture of the anime and the manga in my mind, knowing how I work and whatnot. As for One Piece, there is no continuity whatsoever – OP doesn't take place in the modern world and all, which makes it easier for those who have no idea who Sanji is.
Other: Was this rambling unnecessary? Most likely. ;]
Summary: [One Piece/Sailor Moon] When Minako's plan for a relaxing evening after defeating the universe's greatest evil involved a nightclub, Ami was by no means expecting to actually enjoy herself!
Warning: Nothin' but plotless romance here, folks. It's not even a well-written plotless romance. But, hey, it could be worse – I might've written smut. There might even be smut in later parts! Oh, glory! The sheer, unadulterated horror! *grins*
Get this party started on a Saturday night
Everybody's waiting for me to arrive
Sending out the message to all of my friends
We'll be looking flashy in my Mercedes Benz
I got lots of style like my gold diamond rings
I can go for miles if you know what I mean
I'm coming out so you better get this party started…
-Pink, 'Get This Party Started'
"It'll be fun," Minako promised devoutly, crossing her chest quickly with sketching motions that did little to reassure the smaller girl. "I mean, geez, we did just defeat the spookiest," she crooked her fingers and pursed her mouth into an 'o' to best suit her words, "baddie in the entire universe!" Instantly, she had straightened, smoothing the long waterfall of her bright gold hair where it tumbled down her back, exposed by the mini-dress that laced up the bottom half of her spine. "Besides," she continued aloofly as Makoto checked her dark green lipstick and rolled her eyes to the amusement of the others, "I am in serious needing of a boyfriend."
"You always need a boyfriend," Makoto retorted, shaking up the dark red curls of her thick auburn hair and winking at Ami, who absently checked the enveloping neck of her modest dress. "Although, that isn't to say I can't understand the emotion," and she poked Minako in the shoulder. The blonde stuck her tongue out rudely and tossed open the door of her bedroom, motioning for the other two girls to leave before her.
"Artemis," spoke the self-styled goddess of love in a mock-stern voice, waggling her finger at the pure white cat lazily sprawled over her bedspread, "we're trusting you to hold the fort for us. Everyone's not-flashy-dress clothes are in my room, and that means no evil people can break in!" As she moved to follow laughing Makoto and blushing Ami, she paused, swiveling on her arched orange heel and ordering, "And no peeking at our girlish delicates!"
"Minako!" Ami gasped in horror as she tugged the door shut, a smug grin on her blue-eyed face. "That's a horrible thing to say! Artemis would never do such a thing."
"Can't be too sure," Minako shrugged in eloquent reply, checking the stylish swing of her purse against hip, the strap wrapped cutely over her bared shoulder. "Henshin wands, all? No sense in having phenomenal powers if we can't remember our sticks of relative mass destruction." She flipped open the tucked flap of her purse to reveal the peeking star of her sun-bright transformation device, eyes flicking down the sides of the upper hallway to ensure her parents were not in sight.
Makoto lifted her leg back, developed calf pressing gently against her muscled thigh, and patted with a smile her black ankle boot, slipping her finger and thumb inside it to reveal an inner pocket holding her green stick. "I had these boots in my closet for a few years," she explained, dropping her foot back to the floor and stamping it idly to shake the stick into a more comfortable position, "and it crossed my mind that it might be easier than dragging along a purse everywhere I go."
Both turned to look at Ami, and the blue-haired girl, absently tucking a strand of her bobbed hair behind the pale shell of her ear, all but squirmed under their gaze. "Well," she hesitated, drawing the word out and quickly twisting her head around to check for adults, just as Minako had. Biting her lip and looking as if she was about to have a coronary, to judge by the redness in her face, she grasped the stretchy fabric of the turtleneck and pulled sharply, exposing her neck. She angled down a little and gave them the briefest glimpse of a grey sports bra, an odd cylinder attached to the inside of it, and then yanked the neck back up, her face flamboyantly crimson under her dark hair.
"A-mi!" Minako gasped, clapping in wild teasing as Makoto blinked, trying to figure out what exactly had just occurred.
"It's a sort of bra sold in America," the smallest of the trio muttered, tugging down on her ruffled blue skirt and scraping one of her blue pumps across her pantyhose-clad leg. "It comes with a loop inside the bra that holds a can of pepper spray or the like, for self-defense. Mom bought me one at her last conference, as a joke of some indecipherable sort, and I tried it out the last time we had to fight someone after Chaos was defeated." At the matching grins the other girls granted her, she huffed and crossed her arms over her chest in her protectively icy pose of intelligence, tacking on, "It works quite well!"
would explain why you were the first to get in uniform," Makoto mused, and
Minako grabbed both their wrists, tugging them down the stairs with happily
pounding steps. "Minako, we aren't
going to be late, you know!"
"And we need to study, anyway!" added Ami, her cheeks still tousled into a light pink as she popped open the back door of the small faded car Makoto professed to owning. The tall, willowy young woman, green dress flouncing slightly and flashing the smallest bit of her upper thigh as she slid into the driver's seat, snorted with deep meaning. Knowing very well what it was meant to signify, she sighed in the back and settled for picking at nonexistent lint on her smooth dress, sleeveless top clinging uncomfortably to her curves and showing a bit more arm than she wanted it to.
"Studying is for losers!" Minako yelled in the passenger seat on the left, up front, flipping the radio on and sticking one of her English compact discs into the waiting slot as Makoto groaned. "What?" she defended. "So I'm bilingual! It's a fun disc, Jupiter, so just let the music groove over you." Her speech dissolved into an off-key singing of the song pouring from the speakers.
"Beautiful," Makoto grumped, putting the car in reverse and carefully making her way out of the driveway. "Just try to avoid singing publicly at Party's Club, okay? I don't feel like seppuku tonight, just so you're aware of it."
"And let's all pray no unnamed evil of horrific proportions doesn't interrupt us," Ami commented wryly in the back, resigning herself with a frown to a Friday night spent at the club Minako routinely visited.
She refused to admit it to any of the girls surrounding her, but she loathed the chaos and pounding noise the club seemed to adopt according to some unspoken laws. The strobing lights, flashing brilliant waves of blue and green ensued dedicatedly by fiery tones, did little to dissuade her pounding headache and so she nursed a small bottle of crystalline water in her hands. Miserable, she wondered what had possessed her to even remotely think of agreeing, much less not bringing a novel or textbook of some sort to whittle away what time she could. Ami sighed to herself, twisting the white cap from the bottle and setting it gently onto the glistening obsidian table, and lifted the mouth of it to her lips, sipping at the cooled, artificially flavored water. The unwanted taste of synthetic apples filled her mouth and she grimaced, pushing it down her throat and away from her tongue, where it offended her senses greatly.
A small hand, familiar for its congenial gentility and warm grip, tapped her shoulder and she turned slightly to see the silver-gold girl that was everyone's closest friend. "Ami, Ami, Ami!" chirped Usagi in her brightest tone, wrapping the quieter girl in a sweet hug that was both tender and surprisingly strong. Whispering into her ear, cheerful voice softening just a bit into a questioning concern, "Are you having fun at all?" She turned and smiled encouragingly at the gregarious blonde, nodding with a falsely happy expression, and the princess subsided, though her slender eyebrows were still worked together in restrained worry. "If you say so, Ami," Usagi relented, and then she was being tugged into a quick kiss at Mamoru's hands. "Mamo!" she squealed, returning to her usual brilliant self, and she kissed him back.
Watching the exchange with a saddening look, Ami glanced down at her hands, spreading the dainty fingers out over the smooth surface and feeling an embarrassing longing for a relationship akin to those she saw near constantly. Michiru and Haruka, though not present at the time being due to a promised romantic evening together, were just as much proof of the ties lasting affection could bring, as in place as that of their prince and princess. "How very silly of me," Ami murmured, and she found she could laugh at her own thoughts. "I am far too busy with schoolwork, in any case," she dismissed, citing the same excuse both she and Urawa Ryo had used to maintain their friendship outside of a foregone romance.
"Drinkage is disturbingly low!" cried Minako on the other side of the semicircle booth they had chosen, lifting her crystal glass and glaring with a comic expression at the tiny slip of nonalcoholic drink shifting at the bottom. Beside her, a somewhat surly Rei echoed the sentiment, her own glass having been drained at an earlier point as Makoto vanished into the dancing; they had yet to see the strongest one of their group make her way back. "Ami!" she spotted her, offering a whimsical smile and motioning to the empty bottle of sparkling white juice. "Could you go ask the man at the bar," she jabbed her index finger at the large rectangular bar erected on the opposite side of the innumerably vast dance floor, their own booth one of the many lining the wall near the entrance, "for another thing of bubbly?"
"I'm not sure you need anymore," Mamoru said in dry jest only friends could make, and Usagi punched him playfully in the chest, earning another casual smooch for herself. "My apologies, Usako," he spoke petulantly, brushing his lips over her forehead. She promptly giggled and cuddled closer to her boyfriend of the past four years, snuggling his arm tightly to her body.
"Of course, Minako," Ami smiled pleasantly, taking the small Frequent Clubber! card Minako immediately stuck out for her to grab. "I'll be just a moment," she continued, sidling out of the booth and smoothing out her knee-length skirt, nervously pushing strands of hair behind her ears once more.
Making her way along the outside of the dance floor, keeping to the over-peopled booths and apologizing quietly when she nearly knocked into a man carrying several glasses, she averted her eyes from the frantic dancing on the lit floor. Nothing made her feel half as uncomfortable as the proximity many of the teenagers adopted with one another, causing her to blush and work her fingers together as if to protect herself from their motions. A part of her felt an envy that they could be so openly affectionate, if not sexual, with each other, whereas the majority of her was irritated and made upset by it all, and so she sidestepped a flushed young man approaching her. If he wanted to dance with her, she hurried her steps as she approached the swinging glass doors that led the night sky outside into the darker world within, he most certainly would not have that pleasure!
Imagining the teasing words her friends would share with her if they knew she was too shy to dance, she lowered her head briefly, keeping safely away from the dancers who might drag her into their sinful deluges. Thusly, she did not notice the man who had opted to stop walking in the entrance, paused on the invisible line that separated club from hall, until she spotted perfectly shined black shoes right before she knocked into him. She considered briefly the horrible ironies of her life as she heard a masculine, startled exhale, and her fingers reached up, hooking around the first thing they brushed. The lumped knot of a tie was tugged down as she plummeted inevitably to the floor, a pair of long hands desperately catching her, one enveloping her waist and the other clasping the back of her head in unconscious protection. "Oh, God," she heard herself whisper in a nearly voiceless speech, "I'd like it if a daemon would attack mass innocents around this moment, please."
A slightly choked sound from above broke her pleas for improbably exit, and she blinked, realizing her face was being pushed into a fold of black cloth that seemed to be sheltering a long body. The passage of a few more seconds heralded the further epiphany of knowing she was grasping a tie in a death grip, pulling it down with her limp weight and white-knuckled grasp. With a mortifying squeak, she pulled away, releasing the tie and managing to balance herself on her feet, the fingertips of a foreign person still touching her hip in absent forgetfulness. "I am very sorry," she forced out, trying to remind her brain that breathing was a good thing. "I truly didn't mean to hurt you."
Glancing up through her dark bangs, rolling her lips in to smack them anxiously and letting them fall back into her usual expression, she saw the top of a silky gold head and blinked. The man was bending his neck forward, fingers hidden by his chin as he fixed the tie with one hand, and she felt the fingers on her hip pull away. Another sunburst of rosy color tinted her cheeks and she was contemplating whether or not to apologize further when he looked up, lean fingers picking expertly at the redone knot of his freshly tightened tie. "Gurk," she commented wisely, in the manner only she seemed to possess amongst her circle of friends, and she felt a bit idiotic as she stood woodenly on the floor.
He was taller than anyone else she knew, even more so than Makoto, who nearly dwarfed Haruka and Mamoru, and he was impossibly thin, a sort of lean state of grace thrown off-balance by his almost imperceptible slouch and the downy hairs on his chin. A pleasantly interested flicker passed over his decisively european features, one ridiculously curly eyebrow arching up before nestling back down over a heavy-lidded blue eye, its partner obscured by the sheaths of gold over his left eye. "Doth my eyes deceive me?" he said in a honey tenor, hardly accented Japanese with a laughing undertone creasing it as he took a step back and swept into an unexpected bow. Ami felt her face verge on volcanic proportions of scarlet. "Or did I manage to catch a falling angel?"
The slender man straightened into a posture that still held his head far above hers, and she noticed the faint, undesirable smell of nicotine-laced smoke, undoubtedly spawned from the narrow cigarette dangling from his thin lips. "My deepest, sincerest apologies in tripping up such a lady as your self," he added, a purposefully innocent smile on his face that fooled her for not a second.
"N-no," she finally managed to squeeze out from between her lips, checking to ensure she still held Minako's card in her hand; it was present, but dangerously close to slipping from her fingers to the floor. "Okay," she said in singularity, wishing with deep hope that the dance floor would split open and serve as distraction enough to slip away. She had absolutely no idea whatsoever how to deal with any man who did not sport glasses, hefty books, or alien super powers, and the only plan she could bring to mind was the most primitive: run like hell in the opposite direction. It was quick becoming the friendliest of her limited options what with the odd sense of tingling in her body, the way the man was smiling at her with obvious, inexplicable attraction, and she moved to take a hasty retreat back to the table. She figured she could claim the bar was out of the bubbly, as so proclaimed by Minako, but a firm grip around her small wrist stalled her motions.
"Dance with me," the man suggested, and before she had time to do much else but glance, horrified, at the many heinous examples of dirty dancing on the strobed floor, she was swirled out to the floor. "I can assure you I'm not half as indecent or as plague-ridden as your face might suppose," he smiled, a gleaming exposure of a slender whitened spot of teeth, the cigarette still clenched in his lips. It might have been soothing to see his friendly expression had it not been for the sly twist at the corners of his mouth, like that of a sneaking feline or a fox, and she prayed harder than ever before in her life for something, anything. "I am Sanji," he informed her, and she dimly recognized she was nodding and smiling in reply, having apparently struck some form of automatic response.
What was even more surprising was that he was dipping her in a smooth, practiced curve to the floor, in a manner that was better suited for fancier locations. "I am Mizuno Ami," she replied, her cheeks stinging with soft rose shades. All right, so it was not quite half as unpleasant as she had expected, but she assumed her gradual change in judgment was due more to the fact that he was not leading her in a dance such as those around them.
"Beautiful water! How very fitting," he crowed, surprising her, and she noted they were twisting further into the beating core of the crushing bodies shimmying about. He caught the small of her back with his open palm, dipping her once more as the stretching motion tugged her skirt just a bit up her thighs, and he snapped her back up, her arm clenching around his shoulder to balance her weight out. "Divinely fitting, if I might be so aggressive as to say," he winked his one visible eye at her in a warmly flirtatious manner, and she felt her stomach clench, her cheeks reddening fractionally deeper than before. "Oh, be careful, spiral," and she was twisted into a curl, skirt fluttering up as a twining fairy's cap and showing her curved legs, his long fingers woven into her smaller ones. "Perfect!" he cheered, the innocent smile slowly falling to the heels of a marginally darker one.
Against her will, Ami laughed, pulled by his arm into a returning spiral that ended with her being clasped to his chest. "I wasn't expecting to dance like this," she confessed, turning her neck just so to tilt her head back, peering behind her smile at his face, his own smile wider at one end than the other. "At least," she hastened to continue, "not in a place like this." She bowed her head in reference to a pair of teenagers almost passing beyond dancing with their closeness to one another, closing her eyes briefly to rid herself of the image as he slipped her about to face him again. "How embarrassing," she murmured and she heard him laugh.
"Well, if you feel more inclined to such dancing," he left the sentence hanging suggestively, his curled eyebrow somehow conveying a provocative message.
"Um," she answered sagely, feeling as if perhaps her face just might burst straight into flames at some point over the course of the evening. "I, um, don't think so," she ducked her face, just as he tugged her to him so as to keep her from being bumped by a stumbling girl, and thusly ended with her cheek being pushed flat against his chest. "Eep," she heard her voice mumble.
"I don't think we know each other well enough yet," he added, and she pulled back, turning a reddish color for the countless time thus far. "I jest, I jest," he comforted, rolling the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other with a twist of his tongue, and for some reason she felt the tingling get a bit stronger. "Kick your legs," he said absently, hands sliding from her hand and shoulder to wrap about her waist and tossing her up. Shocked, Ami could do nothing else but kick her legs to the side flashily, almost embarrassingly exotically, and his own cheeks were spattered with a butterfly speckling of pink.
He dropped her to the ground gently, hands loosening their tight grip around her waist, fingertips brushing a little lower to cascade briefly along her hips, and she stuttered out, eyes riveted to the face of this foreign man she had only just met, "I need to get a bottle at the bar for my friends."
"Uh huh," he nodded, one of his hands abandoning her hip to grasp his cigarette with two fingers, plucking it from his mouth as he licked his lips nervously.
"Because," dear Lord, she was babbling, and why was she feeling simultaneously excited and nervous, "they're quite thirsty, and that's why I was walking along the booths, you understand."
"Absolutely," he concurred, the hand clutching his cigarette smoothing over her shoulder, gripping the upper part of her bare arm. "Without a doubt, I understand."
"So I think I ought to go, now, before they start wondering, since I wasn't expecting to dance in any case." She stared up at him, and was for some reason not duly startled or frightened, not even overwhelmingly freaked out as Minako would put it, when he lowered his head, back bending to shorten the height distance.
As the pleasant feel of slightly chapped lips, a small breath of smoke audible, touched her mind briefly, the hand on her arm tightening into a gentle clamp, she had presence of mind to consider this was a bit more fun than dancing with Makoto. Even when he took his hand away to drop the cigarette and crush it under his large polished shoe, deepening the kiss with a girl he did not truly know, she only felt a small fraction of nervous hesitation within herself. After a few moments, he took himself away from her, and they stared at one another, both flushed and suddenly shy, and then he bowed his head, stammering, "Sorry, sorry, I'm an ass."
He turned and disappeared into the crowd, merging into the shadowing grip of the hundreds dancing in a collective dance, and she realized, dimly, she had dropped Minako's card at some point.
Notes: See? Me no write plot. ;] I apologize to those who are undoubtedly shocked that I'm writing something with absolutely no deeper meaning whatsoever, but, hey, I can't help it – I'm 15, my friend gave me some questionable Harlequin novels, and I had the worst idea in the world attack me. Besides…I want to write something marginally smutty. Maybe. Just a bit?
Feedback: Very wanted. After all, this could just be a one-shot for all you know, but if the masses ask for it, there might just be a continuation.
Disclaimer: Dirt poor! Don't own 'em.
Call: (555) 555-5555, just to see if it's actually a phone number. Heck, I want to call one day to find out.