The banquet’s guests shrieked in sheer terror of the primate corpses on the dance floor however, the atmosphere became almost comical at the sight of the prince. There was a platinum age where Prince Olivier was the most eligible bachelor in all the land. Many young women with the daintiness of sprung roses, the riveting energy of bounding does and the competitiveness of she-males darted for the palace gates to catch a prolonged glimpse of their ideal husband. Or in the case of the cougars and pumas, their next toyboy.
But those days were incomprehensible. From the milk maids to the shady ladies of the night to the wondrous beauties of the royal court, the women at the banquet were repulsed of the very presence of the prince. None of them curtsied and none of them scuttled up to him; instead, they advanced upon him in their clacking heels and hoop skirts, shouting at him to let their banquet host go.
Eloi Cairo’s lips split into a smug grin:
“You hear the people. They want me. I am their host. It would be rather rude for you to whisk me away so please put me down. I have a party to run, gotta pester my waiters to bring out the hors-d’oeuvres: chocolate salmon seasoned with chopped chives and fifteen year old Swiss cheese. Be a sport and party with us! You’re in for a treat! Just for you, I would gladly let you stay while you get back on your feet. What do you say?”
Prince Olivier, being the arrogant young man that he was, snarled at the monkey marquis in such angst that you would think that it was that time of the month – a time of which I don’t even know what is going on. The chaos circulating him delayed his plans. The last thing he needed was a whining wall of oestrogen.
“How DARE you think I would take the cheek and the charity of a horrid chimp like you?! You’re going to die. I don’t care if I have to sentence you to death with paper cuts; you’re going to pay for your ignorance and your rebellion!”
The monkey marquis glanced up at the prince, uncertain of whether to take the prince seriously or not. After all, he evaluated months ago that the king’s son was a jolly, young fellow with a kind heart, a good sense of humour, a generous stock of alcohol and scores of bitches all year round. In conclusion, a man with that kind of swag must be a great guy, right?
Observing the prince’s facial expressions in the present day made the marquis slowly realise (as a general fact, the Rhesus monkey species is moreso genetically similar to a human than any other species – the monkey marquis however lacks intelligence) that the prince was indeed serious and that doom was looming across the horizon.
Surprisingly, the singe did not struggle and went silently as his visitors bellowed in outrage, chasing after the duo out of the chateau.
To prevent fool-proof escape tactics, the primate prisoner was forcefully rolled up in a Scandinavian goose down doormat; bound with a thick, copper chain weighed down with a hessian sack of limestone bricks and a book of hypotheticals and stuffed into an iron bird cage shared by a ferret. Thrust into a horse-drawn straw cart that smelt like millet and other grainy niceties, the ape tearfully bade his glorious paradise goodbye.
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The Singe Rigmarole [ON HOLD]
UmorismoThrice upon a time, a mischievous monkey marquis with more mindless tricks than a circus show pony must escape from the rugged hands of an overthrown prince. He may succeed, he may not. But if he's gotten away twice before, will this third turn be h...