“My liege… the fortress is an abomination to behold. A diabolical palace to the Dark Lord; its vast halls and chambers are built tall and cruel, decorated with the claws and scales of terrible beasts slain in the wastes, mouths gaping and teeth casting monstrous shadows from the trembling candlelight, so choked is the sun. His minions, clad in darkness, stalk corridors of polished obsidian, their dreadful lamentations a drudge upon the soul with the pained cries of the children in the bowels of the dungeons. When I visited the Dark Lord himself, I could scarcely hold his eyes, piercing and blue as the icy wastes his fathers called home, his skin a freakish mess of etchings and fresh scars. No, I would not dare return to that foul place for a thousand gold coins, for I fear my soul would be forever plagued with the despair that presses upon it as a miasma suffocates the weak and strong alike in the marshes. “But it’s his place, so, y’know, you could just leave him be.” “I could,” King Fisher replied, “but then what sort of example would that be setting to everyone else? ‘Oh, it’s okay to do all this weird shit, as long as you do it in the privacy of your own home.’ What was that stuff about children?” “Hm? Oh, that was me taking the piss out of his taste in music,” Geribald said. “Yeah, no, it’s not my cup of tea.” “You see?” the king gestured. “You see the sort of shit you have to put up with, visiting these kinds of people?” “On your orders.” “Gerry, you’re an emissary.” “But not [i]the[/i] emissary,” Geribald countered. Fisher flashed an impish grin. “You saying you’re not the best?” “Ha,” Geribald said flatly. “I’m saying you could’ve sent someone else. Drusilda’s into that kinda stuff, you could’ve sent her.” “No, she isn’t. She’s into death metal, not screamo.” “Poh-tay-toe, toe-mah-toe.” “I wonder what’s for dinner,” Fisher mused. “Oh, I hope it’s egg-fried rice! We only ever have it on my birthday, y’see, and today-” Geribald’s eyes widened. “...is your birthdaaaaaaay, I was getting to that, if you’d just let me finish, really, it’s a bad habit of yours, cutting off your emissaries when they haven’t even wished you a happy birthday [i]on[/i] aforementioned birthday, I mean really, that’s the last straw, I’m going to start writing this shit down so I can give you specific examples, all of which would be on your birthday, thereby making the list kind of redundaaaaaaaant.” “What?” the king blinked. “No, it- I just wanted a treat for dinner.” “Well, then,” Geribald said. “That was marginally embarrassing.” There was an awkward silence. “Very embarrassing, I’d say,” the king added. “Mm.” “In fact, I’d go as far as to say it’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done all day. And I was there when you got a boner in front of Lady Margaryan earlier.” Geribald turned the precise colour of red paint. Maybe redder. It was difficult to say, he wasn’t stood next to any to compare. “These trousers do that however I’m sat or stood!” “Oh,” the king realised. “I thought you were just happy to see me.” “After you made me visit that howling castle of teen angst?!” Geribald frotted. “Careful how you speak to your king,” Fisher warned. “I could have you circumcised for that.” “Huuuuh. Sorry, my liege, I just… I’m gonna go play Banjo-Kazooie, I need some colour in my life right now. Or Yooka-Laylee. What year is it?” “Woah, there, Robin Williams, you’re not done yet.” “Before 2014, then.” They both winced: it was too soon, and they knew it. “Will it ever not be too soon?” Geribald squeaked apologetically. “No. Now, about whiping this grumpy pipsqueak off the map,” Fisher ploughed on with an unnecessary h. “Coolwhip. Can you go tell Prince Barming to get ready to ride off? He’s meeting all the troops out on the field and then heading for the castle to lay siefe. I mean siege.” “My liege?” “InDeeJ. Um, yeah, I’ma go do what I can to ensure their victory.” Geribald pouted his lips dubiously. “...Short of riding with them to battle, which you can’t do because your horse is actually a pinata… what are you going to do?” “What any good king in our times would do, without UAVs to keep an eye on things from above and bark at my troops as though they’re puppies and I’m the parent dog because I’m barking like a dog: I’m going to pray.”