The Trickster's Test {Prinxiety}

Chapter 20

Third Person

Virgil and Roman had been left to their own devices indefinitely, the former sleeping well past sunrise and Virgil wasn't in a hurry to interact with other people. So, he passed some time, possibly too much, braiding Roman's short hair. Each one would simply unravel since he had nothing to tie them back with, but it still kept his mind entertained and his hands busy. He immediately stopped his nearly automatic movements, however, as soon as someone knocked on their door.

Not waiting for a verbal response for longer than three seconds, Remy let himself in, "They're serving breakfast down a floor if you two plan on eating," His eyes seemed to linger on the blanket that was haphazardly laid on the floor, though Virgil couldn't really be certain between the opaque lenses and potentially sightless scleras, "Did you sleep on the floor?"

"It's more comfortable than you'd think," He didn't necessarily think Remy cared for an explanation, but even still he felt the need to give one. He nodded, his thoughtful frown not revealing much.

"Can't argue too much with that," He shrugged, "Kind of surprised it wasn't the other way around, or you know."

"He's injured, I'd have to be a pretty sh!tty human being to make him sleep on the floor," So maybe he didn't know, then.

Remy silently noted this as he walked over, only showing a little remorse as he poked Roman in the side, waking him up pretty easily. He personally saw it as a crime to draw someone away from sleep when he himself got so little, but decided it would be worse for them both if he remained asleep, "Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, but if you both want to eat anything other than the 'Sean Surprise,' you should really get going now," He didn't stick around long enough to elaborate on what he meant, or what 'Sean's Surprise' was. The way he said it made Virgil suspect that it wasn't good, though, so he got up and tugged on his boots.

"What the heckity heck," Roman grumbled, sluggishly raising his good arm to his side, as if he still had time to block Remy's jab.

"Morning," Virgil greeted, "They're serving breakfast and apparently it's in our best interest to hurry up," He summarized, not very confident that he would have processed any of Remy's advice.

He got up quicker than Virgil would have expected, making a valiant effort to tidy up his hair without the assistance of a brush or mirror. And if it happened to look like he had just walked through a tornado, then who was the prince to judge? His own probably didn't look much better, quite possibly resembling a bird's nest by this point, and chose to help Roman put on his boots instead of commenting.

"It's nice to see we haven't been taken captive in one way or another overnight, I must say," The guard observed.

"Yeah, it's almost stranger than being kidnapped again at this point, do you think the food is poisoned?" He was aware that it was unlikely, but the alternative theory was that they would be jumped as soon as they went below decks, and there's no way enough people are awake enough to tolerate such a scene.

"If it is, then it better taste good. I am not dying with the mockingly sweet taste of poison hemlock mixed with bitter porridge in my mouth," Roman states calmly, clearly not bothered by the outlandish scenario or too concerned with saying that won't happen. Although, he mostly refrained from refuting Virgil's claim entirely, knowing that he would simply state that it in fact could happen before going off on a tangent about why he was right.

Virgil snorted, "Nice to know you're thinking about only the most important things here," He replied sarcastically, deciding not to tie his shoes together solely because the other was paying attention.

"Someone had to have the guts to say it and, trust me, that someone is not and probably never will be you," He told him honestly, sounding almost empathetic. Any empathy was lost on the prince though as he proceeded to patronizingly pat Virgil's head.

"You realize we are still on a moving vessel and with one working arm your combat skills are severely hindered, correct?" Virgil figured it was nice to ask, so he wouldn't be completely unaware if something were to drive him over the edge of a metaphorical cliff.

"Yes, which is why it's a good thing that you would never throw me overboard," His words were spoken matter-of-factly, and despite the number of protests that sprang to mind, Virgil couldn't find any room to argue.

The duo left for the dining area, having nothing but Roman's blind trust and Virgil's uncertain interpretation of Remy's words to guide them until they got close. They soon hear the collective chatter of the crew, annoyed grumbles mixing with playful jeers as apparently no one considers that the people outside of their own conversation can hear them. Must be nice, Virgil thinks, scoffing internally at the comment that would surely earn him a reprimand and threat of physical violence from Patton. Roman quickly found and dragged him towards who could only be the cook. The guard didn't hesitate to make idle chatter while Virgil debated finding a seat and hoping he wouldn't need help carrying his own food. He quickly decided against it, not particularly wanting to abandon the other in favor of sitting next to salty-smelling strangers.

Roman thanked the chef, who silently waved them off with a small smile, happy to be appreciated. A fair amount of the regular sailors were too busy to show their gratitude until later. They settled down in the spots next to Janus, Remy, and Emile, "How long do you think it'll be until we make landfall?" Virgil asked as soon as he'd settled down, leading Roman to suspect his seating choice hadn't been completely dependent on the fact they already knew them.

"A couple days more at the most, depends on the weather. Eryn would probably have a better idea if you want to try and track him down," He didn't seem too concerned with the fact that they had no way of knowing who Eryn is.

"Where would he be?" Roman questioned not for the first time who was meant to have taught Virgil conversational manners. Although, chiding him now would garner a snarky retort of how it wasn't polite for him to interrupt a literal prince. It was clear from how he insisted people around the castle refer to him informally that he didn't much care around people he didn't feel the need to appear stone cold in front of.

"Right about now? I'd bet he's up in the crow's nest. Heck of a climb, that's part of the reason he likes it so much," Janus casually informs him, and Remy perks up, looking more awake than he had since the conversation had started.

"If we're betting my money's on the storage room. The sun's already risen and Ian's probably taken over for him already, so he's gonna be conked out by a porthole by now," Remy states confidently, "I'm amazed he hasn't fallen into a crate of gunpowder yet."

"So, if you guys don't want to wake him up," Emile cuts in, muttering something about how little sleep Eryn gets with his unhealthy routine, "He'll probably be back up top on lookout again in four to six hours. And, if I were a betting man, I'd wager he's twenty sleepless hours from being dragged to the infirmary yet again."

"If he takes my record for the number of doctor visits in one voyage I'm holding a vote to replace him," Remy warns them.

"No you're not," Janus shuts the idea down with a smirk, "On this ship we're governed by a dictatorship, not a democracy."

Remy matches his impish grin, "Not if we hold a vote and throw you overboard."

Roman awkwardly watches their staredown, eventually breaking the lapse in conversation that was mostly covered up by the bustling dining room that surrounded them, "These eggs are to die for, by the way." 

A/N: Remember kids, A is for Anarchy, the best way to pass your time.