Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ How Bad ❯ Don't Eat That ( Chapter 3 )

A/N: Here, for anyone who cares to know, are a few notes on patterns I'm liable to use and where the story is going. Each planet's culture will be based (very, very loosely) off of an Earth culture. Earthen nobility will have gemstone names. The Senshi's names, regardless of their respective planet's cultural base, will remain the same for recognizability. Plus, I personally find it annoying when they are referred to by different names, even though it makes sense to do it that way. I will do my best to make sure all names are fairly prounoucable to the English speaker's toungue. (Not that you'd have to say them aloud, but I dislike it when characters are named things like `Fgukhxx'; I think it makes it hard to remember the character and disrupts the narrative.)

 

 

Chapter Three: Don't Eat That

 

Somehow, I managed to explain the situation to Gaia. She seemed willing to let it go, but I suspected that she still believed that I was a wino. (Indeed. After that day, I often caught her making little drinking motions in the air whenever she thought I wasn't looking.)

 

Oh well. We ended up in the playroom, where I made the fateful watercolor suggestion. Not my best idea, needless to say.

 

I don't want to go into the sordid details, so I'll leave you with this advice: never EVER provide several rowdy children with several gallons of paint. They just don't mix.

The throne room will likely never be the same again.

 

However, I woke up on my second day of employment at Latmus feeling quite cheerful. The way I saw it, there was no possible way that today could go any worse than yesterday. I figured the boys had already destroyed everything of both monetary and sentimental value in the entire palace.

 

Oh how wrong I was.

 

The hell-spawn ran into my room at the ass-crack of dawn, and, again at around seven, after I'd shooed them out the first time.

 

After breakfast, Phaeton stopped by to talk with me.

 

“I want to give you the itinerary for the next few weeks,” he said. “Numerous foreign dignitaries will be stopping by, so try to keep the children far, far FAR away from the meeting hall. At any cost. The last thing we need while conducting intense international negotiations is a repeat of yesterday's … fiasco.” He heaved a sigh. “And also, in a week's time, you'll take the children to the I-N-T-E-R-P-L-A-N-E-T-A-R-Y G-A-M-E-S.”

 

It took me a few moments to work out this amazing piece of air-spelling, which never was my strong suit anyway.

 

Then it hit me.

 

“You mean you got tickets to the Inter-“

 

“Shh! Don't say it aloud!” He cast a haunted look at the children. I half expected him to add `you'll invoke their wrath'.

 

The Interplanetary Games. I was impressed. The event took place once every four years, and you had to sell your house, all your possessions, and possibly your soul to get in. Being King definitely had some perks.

 

Now if only I could survive the rest of the week.

 

By midday, it wasn't looking too likely. For one thing, remember Mr. Snuffles, Endymion's snake? He went MIA at around nine-thirty. I advised everyone I met to check inside their shoes before putting them on. The noblewomen all looked at me funny when I passed by, after that.

 

“'Maltheeeaaa,” whined Jadeite, “we're bored.”

 

“Really bored,” added Nephrite.

 

I glanced out the window. No torrential rain.

 

“We'll go outside, then.” I said, grandly.

 

“Can we bring these?” Nephrite held up four wooden swords. I twitched involuntarily.

 

“No.” The last thing I wanted was to be smacked with wooden swords for two or three hours.

 

“Kunzite gets to bring his!” said Endymion.

 

“That's because he has lessons.” And also knew better than to whack me with it. Whose bright idea was it to make wooden swords popular presents for the under-seven crowd, anyway? What next, explosives?

 

Uh-oh. The lower lip thing. Not going to work.

 

“How about we bring a ball?” A nice, safe ball. So soft and round and non-pointy. Why can't more toys be like the ball?

 

Twenty minutes later, after the ball had been repeatedly hurtled at my head, it became apparent that the ball was a tool of evil.

 

The dastardly creation flew over me and into some bushes, no doubt to spite me. It was just that cruel.

 

“I'll get it, “ I sighed. “Stay here.” I walked backwards toward the bushes. I already knew better than to take my eyes off of them. So far so good. Kunzite was practicing his sword fighting, and Jadeite was examining some little flower. Endymion was pulling up grass. Nephrite and Zoisite seemed to be arguing over something, but eh, a little healthy rivalry is good for a person. It's not like they'll kill each other. At least, not while I go get the ball.

 

Faster than a speeding boomerang, I reached into the bushes. Ha-ha, I thought, gazing upon my round foe. I grabbed the ball.

 

“Got it!” I cried, spinning around. At first, it didn't register. I stood there for a moment, shocked. I couldn't understand how they had gotten down to it so quickly. My back had only been turned for a second. Finally, my senses returned to me.

 

“Stop that!” The argument had degenerated into a fistfight. I pulled Nephrite off of Zoisite.

 

“Now, Nephrite, “ I said, “You should know better; you're bigger than him.”

 

“But he bit me!”

 

“He started it!”

 

“Nuh-uh! He did!”

 

“Alright, well, either way, no more fighting,” I said, exasperated.

 

“Amalthea! My sword is stuck!” Kunzite called, from a few yards away.

 

I turned. “Stuck in what? It's made of wood.”

 

“It's caught in this bush!”

 

“Okay, I'll be right there.” I turned back to Nephrite and Zoisite. “Why don't you two just play with this ball?” I held up the round menace hopefully. They looked less than enthusiastic, but agreed.

 

I ran to go help Kunzite. “Jadeite, don't eat that!” I called, over my shoulder. He dropped the caterpillar with a start. It scuttled off, presumably in search of a less dangerous habitat. Like a bird's nest.

 

“Let's see,” I inspected the sword-eating bush. Spiny needles protruded from every branch, glistening wickedly in the sunlight. Of course. Gingerly, I reached for the handle. I tugged on it with all my might, grunting. “Er—think I've got it!” I twisted it to the left, then to the right. No dice.

 

Buzz!

 

“What's that noise?” I asked, exhausted from the effort. He shrugged. It was a familiar, droning sound, not entirely unpleasant in and of itself. Still, something about it reminded me of the way a glass of grape juice looks just before it falls off the table onto the white carpet. Ominous.

 

I looked down.

 

A bunch of small, buzzing insects had swarmed the bush. They alighted on the sword, but didn't come near the handle. Uh-oh.

 

“Is that - are those … bees?” I sounded much calmer than I felt.

 

“No,” said Kunzite, bending down. He tilted his head to the side, examining the winged creatures. “Wasps.”

 

“Wasps?” I said, faintly.

 

“Looks like it.”

 

“Wasps.” At first I couldn't quite believe it. “So, this bush is not only prickly, but also infested with wasps?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh.” The wasps crept ever-closer to the handle. My skin prickled. “So, now would be a good time to…”

 

He nodded.

 

Wasps, I realized, as we fled the scene, are a bit like bees. A bit like bees, only, wasps never die. Never. Not after they sting you, not even after you step on them. Wasps are immortal. Wasps are also very, very vengeful. Do not attempt to remove unwanted wasps from clothing with your fingernails. This only serves to enrage them.

 

And wasps, remember, are immortal

 

I learned this lesson the hard way.

 

Ow.

 

Kunzite, of course, remained unscathed. Because wasps enjoy harming me, especially. I'm their favorite. Whoo.

 

Good thing I'm not allergic.

 

I sent Kunzite inside to get his spare sword. Yes, spare sword, so help me. If I had only known of its existence sooner… I shook my head. Best not to dwell on it.

 

I glanced at the others. Well, at least Zoisite and Nephrite weren't fighting. In fact, they seemed to be getting along quite well. They were huddled in a circle with Endymion. Jadeite was sitting in the middle and the four of them were apparently having some sort of conversation.

 

Oh dear.

 

Even I could tell that something must be wrong. Slowly, I walked over, afraid of what I might find.

 

“Guys? What are you doing?”

 

“Go Jed, go!” laughed Endymion, egging him on.

 

My eyes widened. “Don't eat that!” Weren't wasps enough?

 

“Go, go!” The others cheered.

 

“Jadeite,” I warned. But he wasn't listening to me. The helpless caterpillar dangled between his fingers, green and wriggling. He tilted back his head.

 

“No!” I lunged, grabbing for it. I skidded, sliding across the grass. Arm outstretched, I aimed for the furry little caterpillar.

 

Face meet dirt. Scrambling to my knees, I spat out bits of mud. But where was the caterpillar?

 

“Where'd it go?” My fingers raked the grass in vain.

 

“Oh, I can't believe he did it!” Nephrite squealed. My stomach churned.

 

“He did? He -he—“ I stammered, whirling around to face the child in question.

 

“Jadeite ate it!” Zoisite informed me.

 

I swallowed. This couldn't be good. Weren't some kinds of caterpillar poisonous?

 

“Uh, hey Jadeite?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice even, “Could you … un-eat the caterpillar? I mean, you didn't swallow, right?”

 

“Mmph,” Jadeite made a face. His cheeks bulged.

 

“You didn't, did you?” I breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Aw, you said you were gonna eat it!” said Endymion, disappointed. “It doesn't count if you don't swallow.”

 

“Yeah, swallow!” urged Nephrite.

 

I shot them a look. Thankfully, they quieted. “Spit it out, now, come on.”

 

“Mmph.” He shook his head.

 

“C'mon, it can't taste that good. Spit it out.” I coaxed. “You don't really want to eat a caterpillar.”

 

As it turned out, he really did want to eat a caterpillar. I clapped him on the back, though, and, surprised, he spit it out.

 

“Gross!” said Endymion, appreciatively. I felt ill.

 

“Alright, I think it's definitely time to go inside now.”

 

I hustled them inside, a considerable feat considering that there were four of them and I had a ball in one hand. We met up with Kunzite at the door.

 

It was close to noon, by then, and lunch was looking pretty good. Of course, it looked a lot worse when Mrs. Pease and I were scrubbing it off the walls. I staggered out of that kitchen like an army veteran returning from the war. Oh the horrors! The deep and threatening quiet before the food fight, the chaos of the fight itself, the squashed fruit in piles on the floor, casualties of a violent battle… I think they ate. I'm not entirely sure how much eating went on. Everything happened so fast.

 

This explains my general dishevelment, which, I guess, excuses some of what followed. Sort of. But I maintain that the first part of it wasn't my fault at all.

 

I herded the children into the play room, arguing all the way. They wanted to paint. I, of course, knew that they had already painted—all over the kitchen. And, let's not forget the watercolor fiasco. There was no way I'd give them oils. They insisted that they'd be good. I was not fooled by this.

 

“Now how about we read a nice book?”

 

“No!” They whined, as I jimmied the door. It seemed to be stuck.

 

“It'll be fun. You all could sit down, and I could sit down, and you could be quiet.”

 

They made faces.

 

“Hey, don't knock it `til you've tried it. I shall read you … um,” I thought back to the picture books I'd read as a child. `The Pinkest Unicorn” clearly wouldn't be a crowd pleaser here. Then I thought of the books on Queen Serenity's approved list. I didn't think they'd enjoy “The Longe and Short Historie of the Lunare Royal Family, Complete with Notes on Heredity, Diplomacie, and War-Crafte”, either. The ancient spelling alone made my eyes water. Still, Something had to appeal to them. “Well, we'll just look around and see what you've got.” I said.

 

They pouted. Why wouldn't this door open?

 

“I'll do funny voices and everything!” I threw up my hands. If that doesn't get them, nothing will.

 

They sighed, but begrudgingly agreed. Ha-ha! I thought. And now to this door! I heaved with all my might and the door swung open. I jumped two feet back. By this time, I'd been expecting a bucket of water to drop on my head, or a slingshot full of oatmeal to be launched full-force at my face or something. When it became apparent that no bucket or oatmeal was forthcoming, I cautiously walked inside.

 

And was confused. I looked at the boys. They shrugged. Even Kunzite didn't seem to know what was going on.

 

“Um,” I said, addressing all of the people that shuffled bemusedly about the room, “Is there—is there something I can help you all with?” I wondered if I should curtsy; they were all dressed magnificently.

 

“Yes!” boomed a huge man, with a thick yellow beard. “When are we going to get down to business?”

 

“Business?” I repeated. Was there something King Phaeton forgot to tell me?

 

“Such darling children!” cooed a woman. Her long, blue-green hair glittered with thousands of glass beads. She pinched Zoisite's cheek. He bit her finger.

 

“Uh … sorry about that.” I said, and for a second it looked like she was going to freak out. Luckily, her expression changed and she laughed it off. I noted, however, that she wouldn't come within a foot of any of the children after that. I didn't blame her, although I do believe that there's a special tour bus through the underworld reserved for those who pinch children's cheeks.

 

“We have much to discuss,” a soft-spoken man in long crimson robes said.

 

“We do?” Alright, this was now, officially weird.

 

“Not with you, dear,” laughed a blonde woman, garbed in gold.

 

“You do know why we're here?” asked another, dark haired woman. This one was tall and well-muscled.

 

“Hmph,” growled a man wearing a strange black headdress from the corner. “Everyone knows why we're here.”

 

“Oh … of course I do,” I stuttered, because, really, what do you say to that?

 

“Good,” said a man in white. He looked somewhat familiar, though I couldn't place where I'd seen him before. “So we'll be beginning soon?”

 

“Some of us have labs to get back to,” added a wild-haired man in an oddly cut blue suit.

 

“Oh, well, yes. I—“ The children were huddled around my legs, unused to so many imposing people.

 

“We all have duties to attend to,” said a woman. I recognized the figure as the soldier of time. The long green hair and the sailor uniform were unmistakable. But what is the soldier of time doing, my mind asked, in the playroom? It was odd certainly. Here it is, only my second day, and already they're springing the soldier of time on me? Shouldn't they wait until at least the third day? Give a girl time to acclimate?

 

“Of course,” I said, finally. It seemed like the right thing to say. Kunzite tugged on my skirt.

 

“These,” he whispered, seeing my distress, “are the foreign dignitaries.”

 

“The what?!” I nearly yelled. Excuse me? This is not in my job description! I don't do dogs, I don't do windows and I don't do foreign dignitaries!

 

“They're here to discuss the asteroid thingy. You know, with the boundaries and such,” he continued.

 

Oh yeah, that `thingy' is right. There'd been a whole row over it; people have been talking about it for months. Four new asteroids had been discovered and all the planets wanted to claim the new territory. The asteroids were tentatively named Vesta, Ceres, Pallas, and Juno; some plants grow there that have amazing healing properties, sort of the `rainforest' of the universe. That's pretty much all the common people knew about the asteroids themselves.

 

What we did know was that everyone wanted something from the asteroids. The Mercurians want to preserve and research, the Venusians want timber and resources, the Jovians and Uranians want to colonize, the Martians want to build temples. Earth wants a piece of the land for resources/colonization, and doesn't care what happens to the rest of it. Saturn wants slaves, and nobody knows what Pluto wants; she hasn't said. The moon wants the rest of them to get along. The asteroid people just want to be left alone.

 

“Here?” I asked, flabbergasted.

 

He shrugged.

 

“Surely they aren't discussing this here?”

 

“Earth is, as of now, a neutral territory and—“

 

“Yes, yes,” I whispered. Obviously someone had been paying attention to his lessons. “But right here in the playroom?”

 

He shrugged again.

 

“Well?” said the man with the beard.

 

“Uh …” Something was clearly amiss. I couldn't imagine Phaeton would consider conducting business in the playroom. And he'd have told me if he'd meant to have them meet the children. They were in no state to be presented to anyone anyway, all covered in dirt and grass, and, in Jadeite's case, little bits of chewed up caterpillar that I hadn't noticed.

 

“Did I hear you say `playroom'?” asked the man in the crimson robes.

 

“Playroom?” yelled the yellow-bearded man.

 

“Surely we're not expected to conduct intense international negotiations in a playroom?” the woman with the blue-green hair tossed her head and the glass beads jangled.

 

“Well, I—“

 

The woman in gold interrupted me. “We must have gotten the wrong room.”

 

“All of us?” said the wild haired man. “We didn't come in together.”

 

“I'll say,” said the man in the black headdress, ”I was waiting here for ages.”

 

“It seems a tad odd,” agreed the tall woman, “that we would all be in the wrong room.”

 

“Surely King Phaeton knows the layout of his own castle?” said the man in white, who I realized must be the lunar dignitary. I had seen him around the moon palace from time to time.

 

“Well, I don't know about the rest of you,” said the tall woman, “but I received a notice to come to this room at the door.”

 

“So did I,” said the soldier of time, “but it had King Phaeton's seal.”

 

“It must have been a last minute change, then,” said the man in crimson. “Perhaps, he made a mistake?”

 

“A mistake!” bellowed the yellow-bearded man. Apparently, he was one of those people whose voices never ebbed below a roar. It seemed an unusual quality for a dignitary, but then, I had never met a dignitary before. The whole experience left a rather bad impression upon me.

 

Suddenly, one of the red-robed advisors burst through the door. “Goodness, that door sticks!” he exclaimed, “I've been trying to get to you for almost five minutes! Hello all! If I may speak to the nursemaid? We'll have this straightened out in a hurry.” Even though I hadn't done anything, I felt insanely nervous as I made my way towards him. (Not an easy task, as the children were all but clinging to my legs as I went.)

 

“Err…yes?” I said, in a low voice. I looked down guiltily, sure that I was going to be blamed for this somehow.

 

“Right, Amalthea is it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay, well, there's been a small accident in the west wing of the palace…”

 

“The entire west wing?” That would explain why they wouldn't go to the throne room (which was supposed to be centrally located but was slightly westward due to an architectural error), and it explained why they weren't in any of the numerous meeting halls, but why here? And what could fell the entire west wing? The children were with me.

 

“Wasps,” he said. I shuddered.

 

“Wasps?” I said, trying to sound innocent.

 

“Yes, apparently someone disturbed a bush of them, and they got in through an open window. They have taken up residence in most of the meeting halls. We've closed off the west wing. The exterminators are on it.”

 

So much trouble over wasps? If I hadn't been the victim of a wasp attack just recently, I wouldn't have understood.

 

“Um, okay … but why are they here?” I nodded to the dignitaries, who were grumbling in the opposite corner of the room. It certainly wasn't the grandest room in the palace. Crayon and watercolors stained the walls. Grape juice colored the rugs. There were toys and books on every available surface, and on top of that, everything, absolutely everything, was smeared with raspberry jam. (Don't ask.)

 

“Maybe it was the first room the King could think of, on such short notice?” Ah, so this was a `pick-on-the-new-girl' sort of thing. “Or, wait a minute … I actually think this was Queen Gaia's idea. Yes, that's it. She wanted them to `meet the little angels' while they were waiting.” Oh so it was merely a poor judgment sort of thing. Gotcha. The `little angels' in question were currently trying to remove my legs from their sockets. It was working.

 

“Oh.” I grunted, struggling to remain standing.

 

“Listen, you're to keep them occupied while we get rid of the wasps. Shouldn't be more than an hour.”

 

An hour? Just great. I made a mental note to put `does not do foreign dignitaries' on my resume in large type.

 

“Alright,” I whispered. What more could I do? He was just closing the door when another red-robed advisor barreled into him. As the new guy huffed and puffed I realized that I'd never in a million years be able to tell these advisors apart. They all looked exactly the same, with their thinning hair, and tired expressions.

 

“What is it now?” The original advisor said, irritably. “Out with it!”

 

“Assassins!” He gasped.

 

“What?” yelled one of the dignitaries.

 

“Nothing, nothing, “ the original advisor said, “Not to worry.” He waved them off. “Go on,” he urged the second advisor.

 

“Well, it's a lucky thing about those wasp, as it turns out,“ he panted. “While the exterminators were searching for signs of wasp-like activity, they discovered several assassins. The hard way.”

 

I winced.

 

“I won't go into the gruesome details—they'll be plenty of time for that when this leaks out to the public—but a couple of the exterminators just barely escaped. We're sending in a few of our best men to get rid of them, the assassins that is. The west wing is still, thankfully, sealed off. The assassins probably meant to kill some of the dignitaries -we don't, as of yet, know which ones.” He paused for breath. “Keep them here, “ he said to me, “No one must know anything about this.”

 

I nodded dumbly. The advisors left, door closing behind them. A thought struck me.

 

“Wait!” I said, jiggling the door handle, “How do I know when to bring them—“ I jiggled the handle harder. Some of the dignitaries were staring. “No problem!” I called, hesitantly. “All's well … just, “ I grunted, pressing against the door, “a slight delay.”

 

Yep, the door was definitely stuck. It was made to be solid, too, no way less than ten strong men could break through it. (This was, of course, a necessity in reigning in the children.)

 

Okay, so here I was, stuck in a room with nine foreign dignitaries, and five young children. Outside, we were surrounded by wasps and assassins. And now, all the dignitaries were staring at me, looking for an explanation. An explanation, which, by the way, I was forbidden to give.

 

Oh crap.