Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ How Bad ❯ Hopelessly Optimistic ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters/settings belong to Naoko Takeuchi et al. This is a non-profit endeavor, done just for fun.

 

A/N: A few things I'd like to mention: As the names of Endymion's parents and Princess Serenity's father were not mentioned (as far as I know), I've made them up. These names and any others I've had to make up were all taken from Greek/ Greek mythology, and, with any luck, will `fit' with existing character names. I've also tried to keep the age ratio “correct” (by basing it off of the ages stated in the Sailor Moon Materials Collection). If anyone thinks I screwed this (or anything else) up, please tell me as soon as possible so that I can correct it.

 

Chapter One: Hopelessly Optimistic

 

There I was, standing in the middle of the paint-smeared throne room, covered in at least two gallons of cherry-red watercolor mess, holding a dishrag. A pathetic, graying dishrag.

 

“I can fix this!” I said. Suddenly, I remembered just who I was talking to, dropped into a curtsy, and promptly fell backwards. From somewhere far off, I heard the laughter of the hell-demons—er, I mean children, yes, darling children. I slipped in a peacock-blue puddle, thereby creating a charming peacock-blue stain on my already sopping petticoat. More laughter.

 

“See that you do,” said the king, who thankfully looked more shocked than angry. And then the throne collapsed. One of its legs rolled across the marble floor.

 

“Uh…” Oops, he was definitely angry now.

 

“Oh those children, your Majesty!” I said, trying to sound like I hadn't totally lost control of the situation. His face was turning an unattractive shade of purple. “Always so playful, so energetic, so …” Evil. I thought. So thoroughly and completely evil.

 

“Yes, Amalthea, but…are you sure you can handle this?”

 

“Oh, yes, your Majesty! It's no trouble at all! The children love me!” Love me right over a cliff, that is. I babbled on for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally decided to leave.

 

A wall tapestry crashed to the floor just as the double doors closed. And that was, essentially, my first day at Latmus, the Earth palace.

 

How bad could it be? My own foolish words mocked me. I wished I'd never opened that letter. The letter was where it all began, innocently enough, as these things tend to begin. I was back on the moon, at the time.

 

I worked as a nursemaid, or was going to be. Queen Serenity hadn't had her baby yet, but it wouldn't be long until she did. Serenity and Hyperion, the moon king, hired me early, so all I was doing was loafing around, waiting for the day to come.

 

It might seem odd, that they'd already engaged a nursemaid, but let me tell you one thing about Serenity and Hyperion: they were prepared. And, when I say prepared, I don't mean ordinary prepared, no, these people were Prepared. Capital P absolutely necessary. They read every book they could get their royal hands on about parenting, and had searched out the most venerated tutors at damn near the child's very conception. They had toys crafted and linens stitched and the royal nursery repainted twelve times until it was the exact shade of pink they'd had in mind. (They knew it would be a girl, of course, the line of Serenity had been having girls since practically forever. It was just one more way that they were Prepared.)

 

Everything had to be just so. There had to be just four guardians for their daughter (several recently born princesses of neighboring planets fit the bill), there had to be exactly seven stuffed rabbits arranged in her crib, each with its ears held at an exact 45 degree angle, three and three sevenths of an inch apart. The palace had to be scrubbed top to bottom, the hedges trimmed, the bakers were already being given instructions on the cake preparations for the child's first birthday. (It had been calculated by several court mathematicians that said cake would take the better part of a year to prepare anyway. Now, an average cake would spoil after that long, but apparently this one was not meant to be eaten. ) Exactly one hundred and forty-seven midwives arrived to be interviewed for the position, and exactly one hundred and forty six were promptly turned away. Serenity knew exactly what she wanted.

 

In short, they'd been driving the whole palace, perhaps, even, the whole kingdom, crazy.

 

I was stunned that I'd been chosen as one of the twenty-four nursemaids (one for every hour of the day, although this was somewhat symbolic. We were all to have five hour shifts.) I'd worked with older children, mostly. The only reason I'd gotten the job at all was because, after being told precisely what would be expected of them, most of the prospective nursemaids suddenly had other engagements, magically forgot everything they knew about babies (“So you hold it by the head, right?” said Mrs. Hinglestone, who had raised seven children of her own, and just about half the town's on the side.) or came down with highly infectious long-term diseases.

 

My mother always used to say: “You know what the problem is with you, Amalthea? You are a hopeless optimist.” And she was right. Even after hearing that the princess could only be burped on the left shoulder, could only be bathed at the beginning of the hour, and could only be exposed to direct light for six and a quarter hours daily, I still took the job. How bad could it be? I'd thought.

 

It hadn't gotten bad yet, of course; the girl still wasn't born when I received the letter. Serenity and Hyperion left us nursemaids to our own devices, for the most part. I didn't have anything to do, so I was pleasantly surprised when the court messenger tapped me on the shoulder.

 

“I believe this is for you,” he said, and handed it over.

 

Such little, insignificant words, but they were the precursor to my own personal, cherry-red colored hell. I didn't know it at the time, so I tore open the letter, blissfully unaware.

 

It was from my cousin, Phoebe, who worked as a nursemaid as well. She and I had been close as children, and, when she told me how nicely she was getting paid working at the palace on Earth, I decided to seek out my own employment at the moon palace. Of course, that had been several months before, and her letters came less frequently. When they did come, they were always covered in jelly, or some other sticky substance. This one was no exception. That was my first clue. It's too bad I didn't pay attention, but such is the way of a hopeless optimist.

 

I read the letter twice. It went as follows:

 

Dear Amalthea,

 

Have taken v. ill. Need to stay in bed for at least a month, the doctors say. A month! Well, at least it will give me a few moments peace, I can tell you that! But, King Phaeton and Queen Gaia are livid! At first they were all understanding, “Oh Phoebe, take a few days, I'm sure we can find someone else to fill in!”

 

“Good luck with that, your majesties.” I said, and I really meant `good luck to whatever poor slob you get to fill in', because Amalthea, those boys are the most horrible, rotten little rug-monkeys I've ever—but it's not for me to say, really. Some days I don't know why I stay, but, they grow on you. Like weeds.

 

Anyway, wouldn't you know it; their majesties couldn't find anyone else willing to watch them! Don't know what they're going to do. Don't care, really, so long as I can get a few days rest. Of course, you know how it goes, Amalthea. The children run into my room at the crack of dawn just like they always do! There isn't anyone else, so I'm trying to watch them as best I can from bed, but … who knows what they're getting up to when I'm not around?

 

Scratch that, I know exactly what they're getting up to: trouble. I hope things are going better on your end. Well, I bet they are, yours isn't even born yet. And, there'll be just one of her, thank your lucky stars, Amalthea. I hear that girls are easier, though I wouldn't know. You'll have to write when it happens and tell me. It might take me a while to get back to you, because of my—oh no! I heard a crash. I hope it wasn't expensive. I'm going to go and see. At this rate, I'll never get better!

 

Yours,

Phoebe

 

It wasn't really Phoebe's fault, even though I dearly wanted to blame her. I got my own fool self into this. How bad could it be? I thought and I wrote back immediately, saying that I could fill in for her. I wasn't doing anything, and the princess wouldn't be born for another month or so anyway. Phoebe answered, sooner than I expected, with this:

 

Amalthea,

 

ARE YOU CRAZY?

 

Yours,

Phoebe

 

No, I told her, I'd already cleared it with the king and queen. I liked children, and it'd be nice to get some more practice in before I'd be responsible for a child whose rabbits' ears had to be arranged at a specific angle. She replied:

 

Amalthea,

 

Well, it's your funeral. I'll tell them, I'm sure they'll be falling over themselves for joy.

 

Yours,

Phoebe

 

 

 

And so it was set. I took the next teleporter down to Earth. I arrived in the early morning, and the palace guards let me in immediately, looking somewhat relieved.

 

The throne room was bigger than I'd imagined, filled with expensive tapestries. (Just how expensive, I'd find out later, when I was desperately trying to find replacements after the watercolor fiasco.) It was decorated in green and blue. (And I'd be oh-so-very thankful for those dark colors later, let me tell you.)

 

I met Queen Gaia first. She was tall and tan with dark hair, everything that Queen Serenity was not. By the look of the stack of papers she was rummaging through, I could tell that she was by no means Prepared. I heaved a sigh of relief. I could use a little dysfunction. Or so I thought.

 

“You must be …” she fumbled frantically, until she came upon a wrinkled sheet of paper, “Amalthea?”

 

“Yes, your Highness,” I said, dipping into a curtsey. She probably hadn't noticed; her head was still bent over the papers.

 

She smiled. “Thank goodness you're here!” I thought for a moment that she might hug me.

 

“Oh it's no trouble, your Highness,” I said, curtseying again.

 

“I'm sure you'll find the job very easy,” she said. “The children are such little angels. I can't imagine why we couldn't find anyone else to fill in for Phoebe.”

 

I didn't know what to say to this, but it made me feel hopeful. Of course, I was right in the first place. How bad can it be?

 

“You'll want to meet the children, of course?”

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

She called them in, all five of them neatly coiffed and grinning angelically. This will be no trouble at all, I thought. Look at how good they are, so quiet, so—oh!

I gasped as I felt something cold and scaly on the back of my neck.

 

“Is that a - a SNAKE?!” I yelped, flinging the creature.

 

“Oh,” the queen chuckled, “That's just Mr. Snuffles, Endymion's pet. He's harmless. He always seems to be getting out of his cage, I can't imagine how!”

 

I could. But then I looked at the five boys, with their innocent smiles, and thought Nah. That was my second mistake. (My first being volunteering for this torture at all.)

 

Suddenly, King Phaeton walked in, followed by several clucking advisors in long red robes.

 

“Who are you?” he asked. The advisors flailed their arms behind him; it looked as though they were having some sort of silent argument.

 

“Amalthea, your Majesty.” I curtsied. “I'm here to look after the children while Phoebe is sick.” I added, seeing his blank look.

 

“Oh-Amalthea, yes. Good. May I have a word with you?” he lowered his voice. Confused, I nodded. He sidled over to me, out of his wife's earshot, and said:

 

“Watch out for the little one.” He slipped me a few coins.

 

“Oh, thank you.” I said, shocked.

 

“Yes, good luck. “ And then he muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like `I give her two hours'. I laughed to myself. What a funny man! He sure has a good sense of humor, for a king. Naively, I looked to the children. Surely he must have been joking. Such angelic faces! It would be easy, just as Gaia had said.

 

After all, how bad could it be?