Revolting Rose

Chapter 3/Part 3 - Masterful Deception

Pagne had been sound asleep, as peaceful as a pebble, when he was startled by a thump so violent his door was almost blown through the window. The noise was immediately followed by someone leaping onto his bed, and what he assumed was an attempt to eat the side of his face.

"Saloonka, no!" he screamed and kicked the intruder away.

"No, it's Vrye," he heard the Academy's pimp croak from the end of the bed. "Wild dreams, Bubbles?" He pulled himself off the floor and took a comb and mirror from his coat, not pausing for a moment before combing his heavily waxed hair back into shape.

"I thought you were something else. Must you come in while I'm trying to sleep?" Pagne grumbled and pulled the duvet up to securely cover him as Vrye made a second attempt to infiltrate his bed.

Thankfully, he was promptly removed and thrust against the wall when the fiend made an appearance.

"Did you touch him?" Saloonka snarled and prodded the underside of Vrye's chin with what looked to be a sewing needle.

"Only a little." Vrye smirked, clearly unaware that he was flirting with danger. "That fine father of yours is sending guards now is he, Bubbles?" he asked Pagne as he walked his fingers up Saloonka's chest.

The fiend had changed into a new outfit which was fashioned from leather, bone and fur chunks. Beastly as it might sound, the workmanship could hardly be called shabby. Not that Pagne appreciated such style choices, regardless of how skilfully they might be made.

"As adorable as the boy is, I'd rather be touching you. You're stronger than you look and with such a small sword I'm supposing that you don't need to compensate for anything," Vrye said to him and tweaked his silly little moustache.

Saloonka lowered his needle. "Very well then, you strange little fellow. You may touch all you like," he said and gave Vrye a deliberate flash of his teeth. "As long as you don't lay a finger on Franz."

"Does that mean I can still touch Pagne?" Vrye asked, but Pagne grabbed a pillow for protection before he could do any touching.

"Pagne? What a daft name. You may as well touch this Pagne character, because I certainly won't," Saloonka said as he walked on over to the bed. "You called, scrumptious little Tiramisu?"

"What?" Pagne clutched the pillow to his chest and glowered. How dare Saloonka call his name daft, even if everyone had their own way of pronouncing it.

"Look alive, First Marble! Your commanding officer is present," Saloonka smiled far too brightly and tried to tug the pillow from Pagne's grip, but he was not about to let him have it.

"I think you're mistaken," Vrye interrupted, "the lad would never join the army and around here he goes by Bubbles, not Marble." He seemed to be trying to get a better look at Saloonka's face, but had to climb onto the bed to do it. "You look handsomely familiar. Have we met before? I wouldn't mind joining your battalion either way. And is that the new fashion for guards? I don't mean to tout, but I would look mouth-watering in that sort of thing."

Saloonka dropped Pagne and his pillow then turned back to Vrye.

"Brilliant," he said and stabbed his needle into the Master's collar. After searching his many pockets, he produced a little black book and proceeded to scribble something in it.

"That's Master Vrye. Vr-r-r-rye," said Vrye, rolling his r to excess. "So, what do you say we go to my room and you give me some lessons with the whip?"

He leaned over to sneak a look at the drawing, but lost his balance and fell off the bed.

"And ropes?" He added after an attempt at a smooth recovery.

Pagne had no idea why he would have such an interest in these lessons. Vrye was far too cowardly to be a guard, and as a Wyverk he would never be employed as one.

Saloonka scribbled a little more, then threw his notebook at Pagne and scored him square in the nose. "Franz, we have our second piece of cannon fodder! Isn't that nice?" he said and patted Vrye on the head. His hand came away with a clod of wax that he then wiped into the black section of his own hair.

Pagne squinted pensively at the pair of them. Vrye had his mirror and comb in hand again to repair a few stray strands, then Saloonka snatched them from him and copied every stroke with his own hair.

"Who is Franz?" Pagne asked Vrye, knowing he would get no sense from Saloonka. "And what's cannon fodder?"

"How am I supposed to know?" The Master shrugged. "But I'll be whatever he wants me to be," he added with a devious eyebrow wiggle.

Seemingly satisfied with his mimicked hairstyle, Saloonka moved Vrye out of the way and rapped his knuckles against Pagne's forehead. "Franz, are you in there?"

"There are no Franzes in my head," Pagne growled and slapped his hands away. "Go away. I'm trying to sleep."

The fiend ignored his order and started rattling his head by the horns.

"STOP THAT!" he shouted when he started to feel like blowing chunks halfway across the room. His eyes ran rings around his head while he tried to focus on one of the four disturbingly similar noses in his room.

"Franz, get a hold of yourself. You're presenting yourself in bad form in front of the troop," Saloonka hissed and held Pagne's head steady.

"Who is Franz?" he repeated, far too tired for the fiend's antics. "I'm—"

"Franz. Yes, you are." Saloonka said and gave his cheeks a painful pinch.

"Why am I Franz now and why do you—"

Pagne's vision returned to him, but it was lost again as Saloonka pulled his face into his chest in very much the same manner as his mother had.

"I was watching something on the television while making your new outfits about a fellow named Franz. Some idiot killed him so the whole world went to war. Twice," Saloonka told Pagne while stroking his head. "If some idiot killed you... I'D MAKE THE WHOLE WORLD BURN. Twice."

"That's nice," Pagne replied, though his attention was fixed on Saloonka's nose and not his words. "Vrye... You two look horribly alike. Please tell me it's just a simple coincidence." He frowned at one, then the other. Their noses were identical in point and length, and now with their hair swept back there was no mistaking the cruel joke of familiarity.

It was not until Saloonka's blue Nonsensical fringe broke free from its wax casing and sprung forward that something seemed to click inside Vrye's head as well. "By Kyos' nostrils! Hair and eyes the colour of Nonsense? My dear son is not dead after all!" He began to weep. It was astonishing that he had failed to notice the fiend's fringe earlier, despite it being so very blue and more lively than hair should be. "I trust Kabech has been keeping you well, then? I apologise for not visiting, but I'm rather not welcome in the palace."

"Please tell me you're not who I think you are," Pagne said, though he really did not want to know the answer. With Saloonka being the son of the lost Wyverkiiri King and the dragon, one was marginally more likely but Vrye had no business being either.

"Don't be so glum, dear boy. I was the King long ago, but this profession suits me so much better." Vrye beamed with pride as if renouncing a royal title for a life of debauchery was nothing to him. "Now, my son— Where did he run off to?"

"He probably couldn't stand the shame of being the son of a pimp," Pagne sighed to himself and laid back.