Magical Girl Reunion

Inspired by a Tumblr Post, and enabled by my Beloved, who really should know better by now and fully deserves to spurt her caffinated beverage of choice out of her nose...

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Every night for the past month, the same phenomenon. An omen. A warning.

For the first week, we'd tried to ignore it. Tried to continue with our lives like it wasn't happening. After a month of this odd occurence, with new omens popping up every day, we gave into the fact that someone was trying to get our attention.

That didn't mean we were happy about it. "Damnit, I thought we were done with this crap!"

I glanced over my shoulder at my life-long best friend, Amy, who had been keeping up a steady stream of complaints as we attempted to remember/re-discover where we had stored our magical artefacts, last used during our early teen years. "So did I, yet here we are. On the bright side, if they aren't in my old room, they're somewhere in yours, and your parents don't require an inter-state trip like Michelle's did."

By process of elimination, said artefacts were not in either of our apartments, nor in the various accommodations of the rest of our team. Now, we were reduced to searching our childhood bedrooms. Cleaning my room had been an unappealing chore in High School, and it was even less so now, half a lifetime later. Technically, it was still my childhood bedroom, but in the *mumble mumble* years since I moved out, my old room had done time as a guest room, a room for my grandmother to stay while waiting for a Nursing Home vacancy, a storage area, and a playroom for the grandkids once my sisters started reproducing.

Digging past a pack of Adult Depends, a pile of broken toy trucks, and a dress that I'm not sure I ever fit into, I finally located the battered, sticker-covered shoebox. Brushing off a layer of glitter, the remnants of glitter-glue that had long-since lost it's sticking power, (and praying that my mother didn't notice and make me vacuum it up) I pulled out the miniature weapons. "Oh, good grief, I can't believe we actually used these!"

A bright pink sword, still faintly luminescent even in it's disguise as a keychain charm, smirked up at me from it's place next to the magical staff doing time as an imitation-Chinese hairstick, if Wish.com had been a thing in the late 90s. Michelle's Arrows of Feminine Justice looked like they'd been broken off a LOTR action figure, and the less said about Hannah's Whip of Divine Righteousness and Girl Power, currently resembling a survivor of the thankfully-brief finger-knitting craze of '97, the better.

I tossed Amy her keychain-sword, and pocketed the rest. "Come on, I want to be gone before Mum gets back from Bridge and wants to know what we're doing here."

Amy snickered, "Wouldn't that be ironic? We spent all of High School spouting lame excuses to avoid discovery, only to be outed by a retiree wondering why you're going through the closet now."

She could laugh, having never been the focus of my mother's interrogation powers. I firmly reminded myself that wiping the glee off her face would not be worth my mother trying to ground the both of us for youthful misdeeds (apparently, parents are unaffected by statutes of limitations). "Yeah, yeah. Just pray that our magical weapons take the hint and update their disguises to something more appropriate for career women in their 30s. Hairsticks are disallowed under the office dress-code."

"I wouldn't wish our High School years on anyone, but I did kind of hope we could step into the Mentor roles this time around."

Didn't we all. When the portents started and grainy 5-second footage of magical portals were posted on TikTok and other Social Media, hinting at the return of The Enemy, we'd all guiltily hoped that some plucky Gen Z teenagers would appear to combat the Ultimate Evil. Part of us hoped that they wouldn't - the burden of protecting the world should never have fallen on shoulders barely into puberty - but far larger were the parts that wanted our duty to be over.

We wanted the call to be a wrong number, to tell Destiny to choose again. Amy still woke screaming from half-remembered nightmares three nights in five. I still walked with a cane, and a walker on the bad days, my youthful Olympic dreams and half of my future Career plans crushed before they could begin. Michelle trusted exactly three people on this earth: me, Amy and Hannah, who still flinched at sudden moves made too close to her.

"Gifted Kid Burnout", my therapist called this burning desire for normalcy, once I managed to explain it in ways that wouldn't give away my former secret idenity.

The first therapist had tried to hold me hostage in exchange for my staff. The second had been a little too focussed on how we had defeated the Dark Power before retiring. It took a long time before I was willing to try again, this time with the resolve that my secret identity stayed secret.

Amy patted Hannah on the hand, carefully telegraphing her approach. "We all did, possum. We all wanted it to be over."

Hannah did look a little like a ring-tailed possum, all wide eyes and pert nose and features that managed to be both angular and soft at the same time. It wasn't her codename, though; Amy called everyone 'possum' if she wasn't legally obligated to use their actual name or title. I smiled wistfully, as the 'hairstick' expanded into it's full size.

My magical staff was a thing of beauty; Mahogany, Buckthorn and Peltogyne wood spiraled together, inlaid with gold, pink amber, and jade, and topped with a large sapphire that would have made me a millionaire (or at least paid off my University Loans) if I'd managed to detach it from the staff and auction it off.

Nevertheless, the thought of actually using Rainbow Twinkle Wand again made me cringe. Maybe if our Eternal Foe had the grace to attack a D&D convention - at least there we wouldn't look too out of place - but waving it around in public and shouting the activation phrases? If our opponents didn't kill me, I might actually die of sheer embarrassment.

Our weapons and activation phrases weren't the only thing that needed an update, either. I'm not sure who - outside of pervy teenage boys and anime creators - thought gravity-defying short skirts and skintight bodysuits were a good idea. I hadn't had the curves or the build to pull off either even when I'd been an actual teenager, and aside from a foot or so in height and a few inches in the chest region, my body type hadn't changed that much in the intervening years.

Rainbow Twinkle Wand gleamed happily at me, and I fixed it with the Receptionist Stare that I reserved for people trying to explain why their bloody nose really did deserve priority over the incoming ambulences carrying an internal bleed, a barely-responsive overdose, and an elderly stroke patient. The sparkle dimmed slightly, almost sheepishly, and I softened, too. Our weapons might be some form of sentient, but it was the sentience of a particularly clever animal, or a small child; knowledgable in some ways, and utterly ignorant in others.

Amy had pinned Atomic Sparkle Smite, her sword (almost Tolkienesque in form if you discarded bit where it glowed bright pink, with or without the presence of Evil) with the same stare she used on unruly teenagers. "The bodysuit might have worked when I was twelve, but if you want me - any of us - to set foot in public while transformed, we're going to need to talk wardrobe changes."

The Arrows of Feminine Justice pulsed unhappily, almost like a pout, but quickly subsided. The Whip of Divine Righteousness and Girl Power briefly flopped like wet spaghetti, but revived quickly when Hannah moved to deactivate it. "Good to see we're all in agreement."

Our costumes weren't seperate objects, to be forgotten under a pile of dirty laundry or shoved to the back of a closet. They manifested in some bizzare disregard of physics and matter displacement, replacing whatever we were wearing before we transformed, and vanishing when we deactivated our powers. I suspected some kind of pocket dimension, but mostly tried not to think about it too hard. "I am in my mid-30s with a career and a home loan; why is this my life? Rainbow Sparkle Wand!"

Light swirled around me, with the faintest strains of Peppy Theme Song music that hopefully only I could hear. I'm sure the transformation sequence would look great in a movie or cartoon, shot from a dozen angled culminating in a dramatic pose, but somehow, that knowledge never managed to dispell the creepy feeling of the transformation itself. If I had to compare it to anything, it would be like ants crawling over my body as the clothes chosen specifically for texture changed into a material that didn't come with the chance to sensory-test.

At least the look was improved. In High School, I'd transformed into a garishly-coloured skater dress and tights, and a short capelet. Now, the colours were more subdued, darker hues that complimented the main colours of my staff, brightened by jewel-toned accents. The cut was more like a long jacket over exercise leggings, very fitted from the waist up, but flexible, with the opportunity for dramatic flaring without getting in the way like a cape.

My friends were similarly-styled, Michelle and Amy had clearly been inspired by various Middle-Earth cosplays, Elven and Dwarven, respectively, while Hannah could have stepped off the set of any number of Wild West movie sets. At least the Whip of Divine Righteousness and Girl Power fit right in.

Hannah sighed, "I'm judging all of us right now, myself included. Let's get this over with."

The battle was quick and brutal.

Our teenage selves had worried about things like looking cool in front of our peers, and not doing permanent damage to the people we fought. Our adult selves worried about thing like getting back to our day jobs before we were missed and got written up or fired, and had figured out that barring mind control, our opponents had brought this on themselves.

Then the actual Boss Fight worked out that their Minions weren't facing a bunch of uncertain teenagers, and that overwhelming us with numbers wasn't working.

Sinister laughter echoed across the park (the best thing about secret identities was that we couldn't be held liable for damage to public infrastructure) and shadows darkened, swirling together with Void magic to form a portal, and a menacing figure stepped out, all spiked armor and oninous soundtrack and Aura of Doom And Destruction.

In short, every reason I preferred to make my own custom miniatures. That level of artificial bulk just looked like overcompensation.

Maybe I was just jaded. The civilians who had stuck around to film on their phones, despite our yelling at them to clear off, certainly looked like they were finally ready to take our advice. The Enemy laughed, "I am the Harbringer of Despair! The Monstor of Mortification! The Embodiment of your Fears! Look upon me and - ACK!"

Amy's cry of "Strawberry Lipbalm Ray!", a joke that Atomic Sparkle Smite had taken seriously, had been mostly concealed by the bone-rattling Evil Monologue, but it worked, and her expession as she lowered the pink sword could be used for any number of Dead Inside memes.

The thing that people forget about fears? They're actually quite subjective, and there's a distinct difference between rational and irrational fears. We'd all put ourselves through enough therapy to have a decent handle on our irrational fears, like spiders and dreams where you show up to an important event in your underwear.

Rational fears, like the consequences of losing this battle, or the effects a return to heroism would have on our mundane lives, were far easier to deal with.

The Harbringer of Despair picked themselves up, a little unsteadily. "You can't do that! You're supposed to be paralysed with fear!"

Amy's existential crisis faded into just looking angry. "I work in Retail and Hospitality! You think you're worse than Coupon Karen and her horde of screaming brats waving booklets that expired last year and demanding to speak to my manager?"

I could work with that. Hopefully my heavy leaning on Twilight Sparkle Wand looked more of a casual lounging posture than a desperate attempt to stay upright (thank Fate I'd thought to bring my walker in the car!) "Whatever, can we just get this over with before my lunch break is up? I have a home loan to pay off."

The Embodiment of Fear spluttered indignantly, and missed Michelle taking aim with the Arrows of Feminine Justice. "Intersectionality!"

A barrage of a dozen magical arrows hit The Ultimate Evil in the back, sending him staggering into another blast from Atomic Sparkle Smite. "The things I thought were cool when I was twelve and hoped I'd never have to revisit are being livestreamed across the globe! That's about as mortifiying as you get!"

That took the Enemy down for the count, and Hannah's Whip of Divine Righteousness and Girl Power had him trussed up like a boneless roast in a supermarket display in short order. Amy wrapped an arm around me, physical support while I used Twilight Sparkle Wand. I still hated to admit how much I needed it. "Magic Anime Girl Restoration!"

Michelle and Amy were right; having to shout my old catchphrase made me want to bury myself alive as the Monster of Mortification was sucked back into the portal, and magical rainbows swept through the city, fixing the damage our Epic Battle had caused.

Sirens wailed in the distance; nice for the actual Law Enforcement to show up now that everything was over, instead of an hour ago when we could have used their help. Most of the remaining crowd dispersed rather than sticking around to answer questions, leaving four teenagers in uniforms I recognised from a local public school standing awkwardly about.

I sighed, planting Rainbow Twinkle Wand firmly in the grass and trying not to faceplant in the process. Amy kept her arm around my waist, just in case. "You four should probably get back before you're marked tardy, too."

One of them shrugged, "The Principal dismissed everyone for the day when the sky started to look like descriptions of an LSD trip. We figured that we owed it to you to bear witness... or something."

Hannah blinked, coiling her Whip of Divine Righteousness and Girl Power and placing it back on her hip. "Why?"

Another of the teens squirmed guiltily in place. "We... we actually did start to gain powers, and had these items appear..."

A third took up where the second trailed off. "It's just that... I mean, we aren't even teenagers yet, and we kind of hoped you were still around, since, you know, actual adults, and all."

That made a lot more sense, and for all that we'd desperately wished the same, we couldn't blame them. We remembered being a pre-teen and scared and tasked with saving the world. Michelle walked over and placed a hand on the shoulder of the fourth, who looked ready to burst into tears. "It may not always feel like it, but you did the right thing."

I was sure that I would hate myself for this decision later, but these children deserved better, and what were Heroes for, if not to create a better world for the generations that followed? "The one who chose us died not long after he did so, and the rest of his boy band was long gone. We didn't have any kind of mentorship to speak of, but if you wanted it..."

Hannah looked like she wanted to glare, but refrained. "I work as a freelancer. We'll work out a time when you can come to my office space to do your homework, and get some unofficial Mentoring in on the side."

Amy groaned in agreement. "Make it pre-Girls Night. We all knock off early that day, and we can go out and drown our sorrows over the fact that we're actually dragging more kids into this trainwreck of a life afterward."

I shot my best friend a reproving look. "It's 2022; we support healthy coping mechanisms. Do you have a WhatsApp chat or mobile number we can contact you on?"

I might not like the thought of more childhoods sacrificed to a cause they never actually volunteered for, but if we had to do this, then we'd do it right.

Someone had to break the cycle, and it might as well be us.

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