Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Moonlighting ❯ Moonlighting ( Chapter 1 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: Miss Mary Mack 
Contrary to popular belief, there's not a lot of cash in taking over the universe. The REAL reason why Jadeite hasn't defeated the Sailor Senshi.
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 02.25.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 515 | Status: Completed
Contrary to popular belief, there's not a lot of cash in taking over the universe. The REAL reason why Jadeite hasn't defeated the Sailor Senshi.
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 02.25.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 515 | Status: Completed
Moonlighting
Contrary to popular belief, there’s not a lot of cash in taking
over the universe. Especially if you work for Queen Beryl. Frugal
bitch.
So, it wasn’t surprising that Jadeite had been forced to take a
second job. Of course, money wasn’t really needed in the Dark
Kingdom. (At least, not for the four Kings. Having the power to
blow someone’s brains out was, predictably, a great way to get
lots of free stuff.)
Still, it was near impossible to get a good hard drink in the Dark
Kingdom. And Jadeite needed a drink. (He worked for Beryl, remember.)
Some days, it was just too much effort to appropriately brainwash the
local bartender.
Because of all this, Jadeite had no choice.
Because of all this, Jadeite was currently sitting in a very uncomfortable
chair.
“Jay Daito?” The frizzy-haired woman behind the counter drawled.
“Mr. Andretti will see you now.”
Yes, Jadeite had decided to take a job in middle management, with a
small American company known as AndrettiCorp.
He shuffled into the office and plunked down onto yet another
uncomfortable chair. Jadeite shifted. Was that a spring-coil poking
him? How could a flat seat feel so pointy?
“Well,” huffed Mr. Andretti, leaning over the oak desk. He had a little
brown splotch on his upper lip. A coffee cup proclaiming him to
be “World’s Greatest Dad” sat forlorn in the far corner of the desk.
“I think you’ve got a little something…” Jadeite motioned to his own upper
lip, in the universal gesture for ‘you’ve got something there,
please remove it quickly and end the humiliation for us all’.
“That’s my moustache.”
“Oh.” Not the most auspicious start to a job interview.
“Now, let’s get down to business. Where do you see yourself, say in
five years?”
Jadeite considered this. It would probably be inappropriate to say
‘ruling your pathetic planet with an iron fist’.
It would probably be inappropriate, but he said it anyway.
Needless to say, the interview did not go well. Soon, Jadeite found
himself wandering aimlessly down the streets, kicking at a tin can.
Well, maybe middle management just wasn’t his deal. He needed something
easier, something lighter, something … with animals?
Jadeite stared at the help wanted sign in the pet shop window.
Why not? He strolled inside.
And promptly strolled back out.
Upon entering the pet shop, Jadeite realized that he hated animals, and
animals hated him. He first began to suspect this when the
smell hit him and knew it for sure when the parrot pooped on his head.
Okay, not animals.
Beauty salon? This time, Jadeite decided to forgo the interview. He
poured on some of that old Dark Kingdom charm and sweet-talked the owner.
It was easier than he thought it would be, likely due to the amount of chemicals
the woman was exposed to daily. She was rather taken with him, and agreed to let
him have a trial run.
“I’d like it colored blonde, not too light, but no darker than hers,” the
brunette pointed to a celebrity’s picture in a magazine. “And, I’d like it to
look like hers,” the woman pointed to yet another celebrity, who, due partly to
the benevolence of nature, partly to the magic of plastic surgery, was prettier
than the brunette would ever be, hair cut or no.
It was because of this that Jadeite felt the woman’s reaction to her new hair
cut was very unfair.
“B-but,” she sputtered, staring at her reflection, “I wanted to look like her.”
Well, what did she expect? He’d done his best, but he wasn’t a miracle worker.
“Now, now,” said Jadeite, trying to be comforting. It went against his general
nature, so it was hard, “You can’t look exactly like her, no matter what I do to your
hair.” He felt proud that he hadn’t mentioned how much more plastic surgery she would
need than celebrity did; it would likely be inappropriate. Let no one say that Jadeite
didn’t learn from his mistakes.
“Yes, I understand that,” the woman said, through clenched teeth, “But her hair
isn’t green!” She flounced out of the shop.
Oh well, you win some, you lose some.
As it turned out, Jadeite was destined to lose this one consistently. As more
and more green-haired women left the salon, the owner began to realize that something
had to be done. No matter how cute she thought he was, she understood that Jadeite
simply needed to go.
Jadeite was back to square one.
He wandered around the town until he came to yet another help wanted sign,
this time in the window of a pizzeria. This looked promising.
“Alright,” said the manager, a greasy man named Carl. “So you wanna work
in a pizzeria?”
Jadeite nodded emphatically.
Carl looked him over. “Booze money, right?”
“How did you—“
“The Carl knows.” He jerked his thumb to his chest.
Alright, the third person thing was a little off-putting, but at least he
wasn’t threatening to kill him. (Jadeite was at home with death-threats; it
was another one of those things that came with working for Beryl.)
“So, do you know what a pizza is?”
“Well, yes.”
“Good, you’re hired.”
Working for Carl had its benefits. At least it must’ve, though, after
his second day, Jadeite couldn’t think of any. Actually, Carl was a lot like
Beryl, only greasier. Jadeite thought that the two of them would get along
quite well.
While Carl was making him clean the ovens with a toothbrush, Jadeite
considered setting them up on a blind date. While one
of the customers was berating him for getting his order wrong, Jadeite remembered
Beryl’s legendary reaction to rejection.
Remember that whole destroying the lunar civilization and bringing an end
to the Silver Millennium thing? That was actually about a guy. (And,
Jadeite knew, if it hadn’t been for the ginzinshou, it would’ve gone a lot
farther than the moon.)
No, Jadeite decided that it would be unwise to meddle in the romantic affairs
of a woman whose response to a failed relationship was to
attempt to destroy the man’s planet.
Carl, for his part, was a singularly unattractive man, anyway. (Then again,
Endymion wasn’t much in Jadeite’s estimation either. Of course, Carl made a giant
marauding slug-creature look like Prince Charming.)
All in all, the second job plan had worked out. Despite the backbreaking
labor,despite Beryl’s irritation that he hadn’t yet destroyed the Sailor Senshi,
he felt satisfied. Carl paid on time. Jadeite was rolling in sweet, sweet
alcoholic beverage. For medicinal purposes, of course. Of course.
As long as Beryl didn’t find out he was moonlighting, he’d be in the clear.
He shuddered to think of her rage, upon learning the real reason
why he hadn’t disposed of Sailor Moon and her companions. She didn’t
even suspect, though, and for that he was grateful.
So, it was with a light heart that he flitted into Beryl’s throne room, awaiting
her latest orders.
“And we’ll need more energy for Metallia. Go somewhere other than Japan this
time, will you? Maybe then we can circumvent those Senshi,” she bellowed. Beryl
always bellowed, her voice box ranged from screech to scream.
Right, Jadeite noted. Go to Japan. He hadn’t really been paying attention;
he was too busy wondering if that cut he’d gotten from slicing pizza was infected.
“Jadeite?”
Well, it wasn’t oozing pus or anything, still he didn’t know that Carl’s
advice, to rub some dirt in it, would do any good.
“Jadeite?”
It looked a little red and puffy around the edges, was that normal? Perhaps
Carl didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘infection’.
(Actually, Jadeite was wrong on this count, Carl knew infection all too well.)
“Jadeite!”
He jerked, “Oh, sorry, m’ Queen. What was it you said?”
“I SAID: why does it smell like pepperoni in here?”
“Uh …”
Jadeite had some explaining to do.
Contrary to popular belief, there’s not a lot of cash in taking
over the universe. Especially if you work for Queen Beryl. Frugal
bitch.
So, it wasn’t surprising that Jadeite had been forced to take a
second job. Of course, money wasn’t really needed in the Dark
Kingdom. (At least, not for the four Kings. Having the power to
blow someone’s brains out was, predictably, a great way to get
lots of free stuff.)
Still, it was near impossible to get a good hard drink in the Dark
Kingdom. And Jadeite needed a drink. (He worked for Beryl, remember.)
Some days, it was just too much effort to appropriately brainwash the
local bartender.
Because of all this, Jadeite had no choice.
Because of all this, Jadeite was currently sitting in a very uncomfortable
chair.
“Jay Daito?” The frizzy-haired woman behind the counter drawled.
“Mr. Andretti will see you now.”
Yes, Jadeite had decided to take a job in middle management, with a
small American company known as AndrettiCorp.
He shuffled into the office and plunked down onto yet another
uncomfortable chair. Jadeite shifted. Was that a spring-coil poking
him? How could a flat seat feel so pointy?
“Well,” huffed Mr. Andretti, leaning over the oak desk. He had a little
brown splotch on his upper lip. A coffee cup proclaiming him to
be “World’s Greatest Dad” sat forlorn in the far corner of the desk.
“I think you’ve got a little something…” Jadeite motioned to his own upper
lip, in the universal gesture for ‘you’ve got something there,
please remove it quickly and end the humiliation for us all’.
“That’s my moustache.”
“Oh.” Not the most auspicious start to a job interview.
“Now, let’s get down to business. Where do you see yourself, say in
five years?”
Jadeite considered this. It would probably be inappropriate to say
‘ruling your pathetic planet with an iron fist’.
It would probably be inappropriate, but he said it anyway.
Needless to say, the interview did not go well. Soon, Jadeite found
himself wandering aimlessly down the streets, kicking at a tin can.
Well, maybe middle management just wasn’t his deal. He needed something
easier, something lighter, something … with animals?
Jadeite stared at the help wanted sign in the pet shop window.
Why not? He strolled inside.
And promptly strolled back out.
Upon entering the pet shop, Jadeite realized that he hated animals, and
animals hated him. He first began to suspect this when the
smell hit him and knew it for sure when the parrot pooped on his head.
Okay, not animals.
Beauty salon? This time, Jadeite decided to forgo the interview. He
poured on some of that old Dark Kingdom charm and sweet-talked the owner.
It was easier than he thought it would be, likely due to the amount of chemicals
the woman was exposed to daily. She was rather taken with him, and agreed to let
him have a trial run.
“I’d like it colored blonde, not too light, but no darker than hers,” the
brunette pointed to a celebrity’s picture in a magazine. “And, I’d like it to
look like hers,” the woman pointed to yet another celebrity, who, due partly to
the benevolence of nature, partly to the magic of plastic surgery, was prettier
than the brunette would ever be, hair cut or no.
It was because of this that Jadeite felt the woman’s reaction to her new hair
cut was very unfair.
“B-but,” she sputtered, staring at her reflection, “I wanted to look like her.”
Well, what did she expect? He’d done his best, but he wasn’t a miracle worker.
“Now, now,” said Jadeite, trying to be comforting. It went against his general
nature, so it was hard, “You can’t look exactly like her, no matter what I do to your
hair.” He felt proud that he hadn’t mentioned how much more plastic surgery she would
need than celebrity did; it would likely be inappropriate. Let no one say that Jadeite
didn’t learn from his mistakes.
“Yes, I understand that,” the woman said, through clenched teeth, “But her hair
isn’t green!” She flounced out of the shop.
Oh well, you win some, you lose some.
As it turned out, Jadeite was destined to lose this one consistently. As more
and more green-haired women left the salon, the owner began to realize that something
had to be done. No matter how cute she thought he was, she understood that Jadeite
simply needed to go.
Jadeite was back to square one.
He wandered around the town until he came to yet another help wanted sign,
this time in the window of a pizzeria. This looked promising.
“Alright,” said the manager, a greasy man named Carl. “So you wanna work
in a pizzeria?”
Jadeite nodded emphatically.
Carl looked him over. “Booze money, right?”
“How did you—“
“The Carl knows.” He jerked his thumb to his chest.
Alright, the third person thing was a little off-putting, but at least he
wasn’t threatening to kill him. (Jadeite was at home with death-threats; it
was another one of those things that came with working for Beryl.)
“So, do you know what a pizza is?”
“Well, yes.”
“Good, you’re hired.”
Working for Carl had its benefits. At least it must’ve, though, after
his second day, Jadeite couldn’t think of any. Actually, Carl was a lot like
Beryl, only greasier. Jadeite thought that the two of them would get along
quite well.
While Carl was making him clean the ovens with a toothbrush, Jadeite
considered setting them up on a blind date. While one
of the customers was berating him for getting his order wrong, Jadeite remembered
Beryl’s legendary reaction to rejection.
Remember that whole destroying the lunar civilization and bringing an end
to the Silver Millennium thing? That was actually about a guy. (And,
Jadeite knew, if it hadn’t been for the ginzinshou, it would’ve gone a lot
farther than the moon.)
No, Jadeite decided that it would be unwise to meddle in the romantic affairs
of a woman whose response to a failed relationship was to
attempt to destroy the man’s planet.
Carl, for his part, was a singularly unattractive man, anyway. (Then again,
Endymion wasn’t much in Jadeite’s estimation either. Of course, Carl made a giant
marauding slug-creature look like Prince Charming.)
All in all, the second job plan had worked out. Despite the backbreaking
labor,despite Beryl’s irritation that he hadn’t yet destroyed the Sailor Senshi,
he felt satisfied. Carl paid on time. Jadeite was rolling in sweet, sweet
alcoholic beverage. For medicinal purposes, of course. Of course.
As long as Beryl didn’t find out he was moonlighting, he’d be in the clear.
He shuddered to think of her rage, upon learning the real reason
why he hadn’t disposed of Sailor Moon and her companions. She didn’t
even suspect, though, and for that he was grateful.
So, it was with a light heart that he flitted into Beryl’s throne room, awaiting
her latest orders.
“And we’ll need more energy for Metallia. Go somewhere other than Japan this
time, will you? Maybe then we can circumvent those Senshi,” she bellowed. Beryl
always bellowed, her voice box ranged from screech to scream.
Right, Jadeite noted. Go to Japan. He hadn’t really been paying attention;
he was too busy wondering if that cut he’d gotten from slicing pizza was infected.
“Jadeite?”
Well, it wasn’t oozing pus or anything, still he didn’t know that Carl’s
advice, to rub some dirt in it, would do any good.
“Jadeite?”
It looked a little red and puffy around the edges, was that normal? Perhaps
Carl didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘infection’.
(Actually, Jadeite was wrong on this count, Carl knew infection all too well.)
“Jadeite!”
He jerked, “Oh, sorry, m’ Queen. What was it you said?”
“I SAID: why does it smell like pepperoni in here?”
“Uh …”
Jadeite had some explaining to do.