Heart Of Smoke

How Long Can Father Brag?

Well, I can't believe I'm saying this, but today's the day my father finally grows a spine. He's going to hold a charity event for poverty in any small nearby kingdoms, and he's about to make the announcement-crap, he tripped. And now his crown's askew. His cloak just fell off, that clasp was pretty wimpy-or maybe he's just had too many drinks, he was wobbling earlier but I dismissed it as old age-and the royal dresser will probably be fired.

While all that garbage fire carriage wreck occurs, I stand in the shadows and do my best not to burst out laughing. Why would I be embarrassed? I'm never going to sit on that throne and try to be as "great" as King Rafal the Rat lookalike. 

I wonder how long it will take him to find his dignity, though. He's still looking for his leadership skills, intellect, sense and that How-to-be-a-King instruction manual, so it's far down on the list.

This is the one time I feel a small drop of emotion for Rhian-standing there in front of the entire kingdom while his Father, the King, puts on a performance better than the court jester's last night has to be painful. Hope those aren't the expectations he has to live up to. Ouch.

By the whole kingdom, I mean the whole kingdom. There's the baker who clearly eats his own creations, the widow who lurks around more than that aforementioned court jester near the children-between him and the guards, Maddox is gonna get some good defense skills-the one guy who always looks like he has a stick jammed up his ass, the one family that doesn't give a shit and is just living in Camelot for the name, the annoying news reporter with way too many quill pens, and all the other citizens who'd rather be in their homes staring at the wall than be given a free show of their glorious leader.

I roll my eyes. It can't take much longer for Father to stagger over to the podium, can it? I hope that one sketchy vineyard just out of town has a new, far bigger cart and a ten-donkey team ready, because his stock's out for sure.

Finally, finally, praise Arthur finally, he takes his place behind the podium, only looking like half the circus as opposed to the whole show. Then he opens his mouth and I just about collapse into a deep sleep.

Blah, blah, blah, let me stand up here and talk for eons because this is the only attention I get since my wife sleeps far on the other side of our four-foot-long bed. Even though I know you have better things to do and would like me to pay more attention to that one broken well on Deauville Road, I'm going to talk about another way to rip your money away from you and only give half of it to the cause I'm going to spend at least 12 hours talking about since I'll be keeping the rest for myself.

Please, tell me something I haven't heard before. Tell me there's one last creative brain cell in your head. Hah, that'll be less likely than those guards admitting that they're perverts.

Give me a raise. Someone, I don't care who you are. I don't care if you keep the body of your cousin's dead mother's uncle's best friend's maid's wine supplier's pet dog's original owner's alien boyfriend's shoe polisher in the back of your closet. Just fork over the money and I'll get back to my more important task: sleeping.

Behind the podium, the Sire of Running Makeup is still blathering on about the craziest nonsense. I'm pretty sure I heard "mad as a March hare". Are all his speeches this bad or is he drunk for every one of them? And here I thought Butterfly Betty was keeping an eye on that particular problem. Guess not.

I need to go home, maybe if I throw up all over the podium it'll work. Father's outfit is enough to make one hurl, maybe I should try to stare at it without burning my eyes out of my skull if I really do carry through with the upchucking plan.

Or I could keep it simple: just sneak off. That, of course, would provide an opportunity for the pedophiles in the town to "use the bathroom" and stalk me. Ew, no. Hard pass, I'll just stay in the shadows and watch my brain trail out of my ears listening to the dull monotone of King I-did-the-meditations-at-the-School-for-Good-and-Evil.