Smoke and Mirrors : Royal Angels I

Prince hates Pixar

~Victoria~

Biscuit sang about as well as a pigeon.

A goth pigeon that OD'd on heroin after spending five years in pigeon juvie.

Boy could rap but give him Sweet Child O' Mine and you'd shoot yourself with a Gun and lay some Roses on your own grave.

I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry as I watched him singing karaoke in the bar, thoroughly drunk. His friend strode into the bar right then and literally stopped in his tracks.

I raised a glass to him, deciding to play nice.

"Top of the evening to you, Your Royal Bästerdliness."

He rolled his eyes.

"Good one, Lady Bîtch Face of the Not-so-Assassin's Creed." He shot back, sitting on the furthest bar stool from mine. "What the flying fück did you do to him?"

Clearly, Prince Blue Eyes - Xavier or Danny or whatever his name was - hadn't gotten Biscuit drunk enough to see this miracle.

"I gave him the adult dosage of whiskey." I answered. "I think he deserves a Grammy, wouldn't you agree?"

Right then, Biscuit climbed on top of a table, ripping the buttons off his shirt in what I could only assume was the start of a strip dance.

The Prince was mortified.

"I don't know what's funnier." I told him, downing a tequila. "Him singing like a drowning dog or you gaping like Nemo's dad."

"Odd." He said, shuddering. "Because I'd like to forget this is happening. You know, like the weird blue fish?"

"Dory?" I was outright offended. "Wow, you really do have memory loss."

"Well, that's not possible mostly because I haven't seen the movie." He admitted.

"It's official then." I pronounced. "You will henceforth be referred to as Princess Dory of House Living-under-a-rock."

He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry I didn't spend my time watching Disney Princess rip offs." He nursed his Cognac. "Some of us actually have a country to run."

"You sure make time for ripping vampire Princess's clothes off. Careful, Disney's going to feel neglected."

He glared at me.

"It's not like that." He hesitated. "With her it's never been about that. It's on a different level, I guess."

He thought about it real hard like he was trying to explain Planck's constant to me.

"I'm in love with the way she always hesitates before she talks. The way she looks at a child like they're all little miracles. The way her eyes sparkle when she gets lost in her own world.

I don't know if I'm in love with her yet but I'm certainly in love with simplest things she does."

I looked at the idiot on the table, smashing a bottle on the ceiling, thinking he was juggling.