Author's note: I think I may have gotten a lot of the characters wrong. I also may have gotten a lot of other things wrong. But that's why it's called fanfic, innit? I only saw the movie once, so I'm basing my entire knowledge of the canon on that. Just so you know.
I briefly considered writing an "If I Was The Princess" thing, but decided against it. This is the next best thing.
The nation of Rachelia was in trouble. I was down to my last ten nukes, enemy troops were invading our borders, the peasants were staging a coup, and my mother was yelling at me to come downstairs for dinner.
That's the only problem with playing SimNation. Nobody ever seems to understand just how serious your situation is. I could be cowering in my palace, waiting to be assassinated by my former bodyguard, and my mother would want me to fold towels. God, I hate real life.
She was waiting at the table, chewing on a cigarette. "Jesus, girl. I slave over a hot stove all day and you just ignore me right when I got dinner on da table." She stabbed her cigarette at me. "You looking for a beating or what?"
"Slaved for three minutes over a fucking microwave, more like," I muttered, shoveling down the Stouffer's mac and cheese as fast as I could.
"Hey, you want caviar and kitch, you go to your dad's house," Mom instructed me. "Oh, that's right. Your daddy lives way out in California now. Think you can walk all the way over there?" She grinned.
"It's pronounced keesh," I explained to her. "And I'm sort of busy right now."
"Busy stuffing your face with the food I bought from MY money, not that you ever do a fucking thing to EARN any goddamn cash around here." Mom got up from the table. "All you ever do around here is waste time on that computer."
"It's not wasting time. I play war simulation games." I chucked the plastic dish in the garbage can and headed back upstairs.
Mon snagged it from the garbage and tossed it into the sink. "Don't throw these away, girl. You can reuse them."
"For what, eyeliner?" I muttered from the top of the stairs.
Mom stormed up the stairs, still holding her cigarette. "You do NOT make fun of me, chica! You wanna mock me, you...you DON'T!"
"I wouldn't mock you if you weren't such a bitch." I went into my room and slammed my door.
Mom threw open the door and grabbed my arm, hauling me out of there like a bag of garbage. "That's it. I work all day at that dingy stupid resale store trying to be nice to bitchy old ladies for minimum wage just so I can put food on the table, and then I have to come home to a foul-mouthed DYKE of a daughter who don't even say hey Mom, how was work, you just stay cooped up in that room and bitch about the food..." She took a deep breath. "Well, I'm SICK of it! You can go stand on a streetcorner for all I care. Get your money that way, maybe you'll appreciate all I do for you." She pushed me out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door behind me.
Now, I'm a smart girl. I don't mean smart like I have a fast mouth, although I do. I mean, smart like intelligent. I do things to keep my brain in good working condition. I don't use any kind of drug, although God knows most of them are available right next door. I read a lot, especially books on politics. I've read George Orwell's "1984" more times than I can count. I go to art films and museums, whenever I can get in for free. I read newspapers.
But you don't have to be smart to know that hanging around on a streetcorner in New York on a Friday night isn't a very good idea.
I briefly considered writing an "If I Was The Princess" thing, but decided against it. This is the next best thing.
The nation of Rachelia was in trouble. I was down to my last ten nukes, enemy troops were invading our borders, the peasants were staging a coup, and my mother was yelling at me to come downstairs for dinner.
That's the only problem with playing SimNation. Nobody ever seems to understand just how serious your situation is. I could be cowering in my palace, waiting to be assassinated by my former bodyguard, and my mother would want me to fold towels. God, I hate real life.
She was waiting at the table, chewing on a cigarette. "Jesus, girl. I slave over a hot stove all day and you just ignore me right when I got dinner on da table." She stabbed her cigarette at me. "You looking for a beating or what?"
"Slaved for three minutes over a fucking microwave, more like," I muttered, shoveling down the Stouffer's mac and cheese as fast as I could.
"Hey, you want caviar and kitch, you go to your dad's house," Mom instructed me. "Oh, that's right. Your daddy lives way out in California now. Think you can walk all the way over there?" She grinned.
"It's pronounced keesh," I explained to her. "And I'm sort of busy right now."
"Busy stuffing your face with the food I bought from MY money, not that you ever do a fucking thing to EARN any goddamn cash around here." Mom got up from the table. "All you ever do around here is waste time on that computer."
"It's not wasting time. I play war simulation games." I chucked the plastic dish in the garbage can and headed back upstairs.
Mon snagged it from the garbage and tossed it into the sink. "Don't throw these away, girl. You can reuse them."
"For what, eyeliner?" I muttered from the top of the stairs.
Mom stormed up the stairs, still holding her cigarette. "You do NOT make fun of me, chica! You wanna mock me, you...you DON'T!"
"I wouldn't mock you if you weren't such a bitch." I went into my room and slammed my door.
Mom threw open the door and grabbed my arm, hauling me out of there like a bag of garbage. "That's it. I work all day at that dingy stupid resale store trying to be nice to bitchy old ladies for minimum wage just so I can put food on the table, and then I have to come home to a foul-mouthed DYKE of a daughter who don't even say hey Mom, how was work, you just stay cooped up in that room and bitch about the food..." She took a deep breath. "Well, I'm SICK of it! You can go stand on a streetcorner for all I care. Get your money that way, maybe you'll appreciate all I do for you." She pushed me out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door behind me.
Now, I'm a smart girl. I don't mean smart like I have a fast mouth, although I do. I mean, smart like intelligent. I do things to keep my brain in good working condition. I don't use any kind of drug, although God knows most of them are available right next door. I read a lot, especially books on politics. I've read George Orwell's "1984" more times than I can count. I go to art films and museums, whenever I can get in for free. I read newspapers.
But you don't have to be smart to know that hanging around on a streetcorner in New York on a Friday night isn't a very good idea.