Take Pity On The Opening Band - Week[e]man Oneshots

Princey & The Bitchketeers

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Enlisting help from a group of vigilantes may be Prince Ryan's only chance at making the royal life a little less hellish.

Set in Medieval France.

Christmas Drag Era

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Prince Ryan's cloak swishes back and forth with each step he takes down the dark, foggy cobble stone streets. He's tried many times to get over the smell, but it lingers in this kingdom. How nice for him.

To put it simply, times are tough.

A famine's set in, the economy is wrecked, the farmland soil is brittle and suffering from malnutrition, the place seems to be coming apart at the seams. An up and coming ruler like Ryan can't have that. Desperate times call for desperate measures. This is Ryan's last resort.

With the hood of his cloak concealing his identity, he approaches a mother trying to bath her two children in dirty rain water. She flinches when her eyes land on his hooded figure. She protectively stands before her kids, hiding them behind her.

"So you're him," she says wearily. "I'd heard the rumors of a cloaked man roaming the streets at this time, but you can never be too sure..."

She still looks scared. As she should be during times like these.

Ryan digs into his cloak before extending his arm, holding a small pouch. He drops it in the mother's hands.

"Don't spend it all in one place," he says. He's already continuing his route by the time the mother opens the pouch and gasps in shock.

The townspeople know his route by now. Monday, he's by the river. Tuesday, the forest. Wednesday, the outskirts of noble territory. Thursday, the town square. Finally, Friday's like tonight, he drifts around in the streets of the town. This kingdom is too big for him to give to everyone, but he can't sit up in his bedroom knowing how many people were in need.

Friday's were his favorite, for he's not stationary those days. Walking along the streets, he has an opportunity to clear his head of all the royal bullshit he puts up with in a week. Doesn't have to listen to the King and Queen fussing over him or the nobles, their daughters, and their endless flirting. (Seriously, Ryan's surprised he's been able to keep his little secret this long.) Doesn't have to fake a smile during ceremonies. Just him, himself and he.

Ryan's finished his route by now. He begins to slowly make his way back to the castle when unease washes over him.

He stops first, his own footsteps no longer filling his ears so he can listen out. He whirls on his heel, cloak swirling around with him to see...

The wind blowing around a bit of trash.

The prince rolls his eyes and huffs. As if someone could've figured out his identity. He continues to walk, but he can't help being a bit more brisk with his movements.

"Why the rush, hm?"

Ryan jumps, startled by the smooth new voice and searching frantically for the source.

"My apologies, monsieur..." A tall shadowed figure approaches from the other end of the street, seemingly parting he fog. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Surely you will forgive me."

The figure steps out into the dull light of the moon. Ryan rolls his eyes. The boots, the armor, the emblem on the blue cape, the wide brimmed hat with the excessively large feather, the fabric pulled up from the neck over the nose. This is one of The Musketeers. And from the looks of it, this is the leader.