{Illustrated}
Once upon a time Pagne planned parties in a palace of fungus, now he is planning a revolution.
Success requires a cunning plan, hinging on the element of surprise, careful catering, and colourful costumes.
However, an unfortunate ser...
Pagne had sat down to two dinners since his arrival at Vrye's manor, so it was time he had himself a nice soak in the bath. Unfortunately, it was completely spoiled by Saloonka wandering in on him without the slightest care for his privacy.
The fiend's skin looked quite raw and he had an armful of bird-shaped items. He was also wearing a peculiar pair of trunks, but did not remove them as he climbed into the tub. Not quite prepared to share such an intimate space with Saloonka, trunks or no trunks, Pagne leapt out immediately.
He gathered all the towels he could to cover himself, but they were not enough to cover his blush.
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"I need a full status report, Franz," Saloonka said as he arranged his floating birds into battle lines.
One, lonely, white fowl floated away to the opposite end of the tub.
"Uh... err..." Pagne stammered. His tongue had tied itself in a knot.
Saloonka's eyes locked on him as he squeezed one of his yellow birds at the white one. A small dart shot from its mouth and brought the white bird to a bubbling demise. The fiend lifted another and pointed it at Pagne.
"Your father is taking you to Drakanyuur!" he yelped and ducked as Saloonka squeezed it, but instead of firing another dart, it made a ridiculous squeaking sound.
The fiend hummed and slid down below the water. He resurfaced and took in a puff of smoke.
"Is there an army there?"
"Hopefully not," Pagne murmured and tried to maintain his modesty while drying himself off.
"They want to be ruled then?" Saloonka squeaked another bird at him.
"I don't think so, but you'll be safe there."
Pagne turned around to gather his clothes just long enough for Saloonka to dart him in the exposed rump, sending him speeding away to the kitchen, hastily dressing himself along the way.
"He shot me, Vrye!" Pagne shouted at the Master, who was preparing a selection of foreign vegetables. "And kicked me out of the bath! I'll never be clean again while he's around."
There were dried fruits, herbs, and roots that were neither black, white nor purple like those native to Tyrunvern, and not a single one leapt up or thrashed about.
"Alphonse?" Vrye said as he peeled a silent potato. "You should be careful, strange things might start growing out of you."
"No, it was Saloonka," Pagne said, rubbing his rump.
"I'm glad to hear he's feeling himself again." Vrye smiled and set aside the skun spud. "Do you want me to kiss it better?"
"No. It was in the backside, while I was getting my clothes," Pagne huffed.
