Cankerby walked to work with unusual thoughts in his head. He wasn't really sure what got into him last night. All he knew was his fatigue got worse, and he defended the person who caused the debt towards Cornucopia. He pondered until the gates of the castle were open.
"And I was quivering! Y'know? That Ickabog surely isn't coming here anymore!"
The first thing Cankerby heard was speech from the dining room. He looked over to see the three royal figures sitting down, very distanced. Spittleworth was unintersted of the conversation, continuing to eat his pheasant. Flapoon was filling his mouth as always, too hungry to use his ears. The king rambled on and on as he talked about his experience in the Marshlands. He then rested his gaze on Spittleworth, pausing where he was. He then realized what he was doing, and walked away before Spittleworth could notice. Why the hell did I do that?! Cankerby said to himself, embarrassed and frustrated.
He sat in the parlor with elbows on his thighs. He wasn't supposed to be there at that time of day. He needed a few moments to think. A few moments to just breathe. He did not like Spittleworth.. I really don't. He slapped his forehead multiple times, conflicted and confused. He leaned his head on the wall, hating how complicated his life has turned into.
A maid came in. Unfortunately, it was a maid who he traded a long time ago. "And what are you doing here? No sulking is allowed.." she chuckled, entertained of Cankerby's mental state. "I'm not sulking!" he declared, soon turned into a mutter.
He sighed, finding it a bad time to interact with one of the people who hate him. "Just shut up."
The maid quit her teasing, knowing that he's already in a bad mood. "What's wrong with you..?" she pinched his cheeks as she sat beside him. The maid's name was Hetty, to make it a lot easier.
"Quit touching me." he slapped her hand lightly, not enough to hurt. "That bar again, isn't it?" Hetty pointed out, smelling the scent of vodka on his uniform. "It's different, okay?" he despised her existence at this point. Hetty looked at him with a questioning smile.
"I just feel a bit weird." Cankerby mumbled.
"You look weird."
She bursted out laughing, finding the worst times to tease. For the first time in this conversation, he hummed out of amusement. He still couldn't figure out why, but his heart ached in some kind of desire.
The type he would experience.
YOU ARE READING
british gay problems
Fantasy"I like you. A lot." he said as he looked away. He leaned in so their faces gazed upon eachother. "You're being shy.." Cankerby is a nosy footman who loves being traded in gold. His sober afterwork is visible by personality. Soon, his drunken demean...
