Work Text:
The sound of jingling bells echoed throughout the expansive hallway, the jingling approaching the tall double doors at the end of the almost, never-ending corridor. The walls were painted a dark color, one not quite black, but close enough that perhaps only a professional artist could tell the difference. Light came in through the stained-glass windows, with candles positioned in the gaps left on the wall, and a few chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The man responsible for the jingling could be seen purposefully hopping into the light squares, various shades of purples and blues reflecting onto the ground, playing a mini game of hopscotch with each step. Humming could be heard as well, courtesy of the man currently skipping down the hallway, bouncing his head along with the tune.
Nikolai Gogol had a job in King Fyodor Dostoevsky’s castle, and that was providing entertainment as a jester. This could be anything from magic tricks, songs, even dances or riddles; anything a jester could do to make his King happy. Although, his personal favorite thing to do was juggle, having learned the skill from a young age as a means to make money. He was brought into the castle many years ago, one of the workers having seen his street performance of juggling, and offered the man a shot at performing in the castle (after putting a few coins into his hat on the ground, of course).
Said court jester was summoned for some simple entertainment, a way to ease the fatigued mind of the King. Dostoevsky was stressed out, but he’d never show it. He was currently in the midst of waging an all out war against different royal families, in hopes of conquering their land, Yokohama, where it’s rumored they have a magical book hidden somewhere. As expected, the King was after this book as well, but the conquering of land was his first step. He’s been in the works of going against the Kingdom of Arms. Following this strategic move, he’d move in on the Kingdom of Port, maybe even the Kingdom of Guild. Nevertheless, he was patiently waiting for his jester to arrive, wondering what acts might be in store for today.
Gogol entered the throne room, the doors being thrown open with a bang, and cried out “My dearest King! I’m here! I do hope that I didn’t keep you waiting long! What ails you today?”
Doestoevsky lifted his head, his hands linked and covering his mouth, legs crossed. His throne was simple, a large back (much taller than him), with a black velvet covering the cushioning. In fact, the whole throne room was simple. However, it did maintain the same lighting as in the hallway, but by tenfold. The blue and purple stained glass windows were much larger, casting a beautiful glow on the floor, the color palette blending well with the plain black throne.
Despite the gothic interior, the King wore a white outfit which seemed to glow amongst all the dark fabric he sat upon. Doestoevsky was dressed in both a white shirt and pants, he even donned a white furry hat, instead of a crown like most royalty wore.
“Good afternoon, my jester. What do you have for me today?” Dostoesvky inquired with a nod towards his right, shooing away the knights currently stationed in his throne room for protection.
“Why, it’s a secret! There’s no fun in telling you what you’ll get, besides, I’ve been told that secrets are best left unshared.” Gogol teased as he approached the King, stopping right before the steps which led to the throne. He had to look up slightly to meet the violet eyes of the King, the violet being similar in shade to one of the many colored reflections on the floor, yet nothing could match his shade perfectly. At least, not in Gogol’s opinion.
“I have heard that once before, yes. I was wondering if you might be more forthcoming today, but it seems I’m not so lucky.”
“Maybe next time I will be! It’s much more fun to keep you on your toes.”
“You may be right. It’s quite a nice distraction from my current scheming, thinking about what captivating show you’ll put on for me.” Dostoevsky retorted as he adjusted himself in his seat, straightening his back from his almost eternal slouch, keeping his legs crossed.
“I’m flattered, my King. I would hope to only put on the most lovely of performances for you.” Gogol said with a bow, spreading his black and white cape he wore open as he did so, mimicking the wings of a bird. When he stood, he crossed his arms behind his back, letting the cape fall to its previous position, draped upon his shoulders with a chain preventing it from falling.
The jester reached behind his back as he stood up, grabbing three juggling clubs he had hidden beneath his cape. He had one white, one black, and one burgundy club, which matched nicely with his outfit of the same color scheme. The jester wore something adjacent to the typical jester outfit you’d see in other kingdoms. In fact, the only piece that would make you assume he was a court jester, and not just some street performer was his crown; a symbolic article of clothing which represented his place within the kingdom, and the privilege he held as a jester. At this point, he didn’t need to wear the crown anymore, since he had quite the reputation around the castle, and some special treatment from the King. It was more a personal preference, based solely on the man’s enjoyment the bell tips brought him.
“Hmm .. I always wonder how you can hide those so well behind your back. It’s almost as if you have a never-ending pocket that can hold anything you'd please. How fascinating.”
“Consider it to be an on-the-job skill I’ve picked up. I’ve become quite the fan of my overcoat, it’s been a treat incorporating it into my performances. The mystery of it is the best part! Aren’t surprises like this fun?”
Gogol could tell that Dostoevsky was in a chipper mood today, with the way he hid his face behind his hands, and how he sent his guards away so they could share a moment alone. The King and Gogol had a very.. special relationship. They’ve never confirmed anything, as it was seen to be taboo for a King and a jester to have any sort of relationship outside of entertainment and servitude. This wasn’t to say they hadn’t shared a few giggles, small touches of the arm, even a few kisses. They both had an unspoken understanding of each other, a connection they both couldn’t ignore, an understanding of each other’s feelings without putting it into words, despite the negative connotations behind it. Maybe someday, they could be more open about the relationship they had, maybe once Dostoevsky’s plans of conquest were complete, maybe once he had the book he sought after. Only time could tell.
Even though Dostoevsky held status over Gogol, due to his role as a jester, he was essentially the second most powerful in the kingdom. Jesters were seen with respect, an invisible shield around them, allowing them to make jokes as they please. Gogol did have more leeway though, considering Dostoevsky’s favoritism, this manifesting as playing various pranks on different workers within the castle, much to all the other castle employee’s dismay.
Gogol began juggling, passing the clubs between his hands effortlessly. Juggling was a second nature at this point, the motion committed to his muscle memory years ago.
“So, King, if I may pry, has your planning caused you stress?” Gogol asked as he continued to juggle. He had guessed that he wasn’t looking for a performance, instead he was seeking the company of his jester. This was why Gogol chose juggling, so he could converse with Dostoevsky easily, while still keeping his attention.
“I’m sure you could come to a conclusion from my summoning you. Although, you must be able to pick up an underlying meaning from your summons as well.”
“Of course, I understand you too well. You’d never say it out loud, but I don’t think I’m wrong in saying you were seeking my company?”
Dostoevsky hummed in response, confirming the jester’s intuition. His eyes watched Gogol, tracing his movements, his mind pushing away the scheming that’s been preoccupying it. “Things are going well so far. I feel we will be able to begin invading within the next few months. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
“I believe it’ll go well. You’ve been working on this plan for quite a while, it’s foolproof.”
“I agree.” Dostoevsky replied, cutting the conversation short, seemingly losing himself in thought again.
Gogol continued to juggle, turning his focus to his clubs, now occasionally glancing at the King. Dostoevksy’s mind was like a labyrinth, even he himself would become lost in it.
“Have you gotten into any more mischief lately? I haven’t gotten any complaints about your antics in a while," the man picked up the conversation again. “it’s almost as if the entire palace has become quiet.”
“Are you requesting me to cause chaos? How curious! If it’s your order, I must oblige, my King.” Gogol said in a playful tone. He was no stranger to chaos, in fact, he was more than happy to encourage it.
“I could do with some more fun around here. I can tell you’re already planning your next elaborate joke. Who’s the victim?”
Gogol hummed in thought, faking that he had to consider who to target. “Sigma, of course! Maybe I’ll switch the salt and sugar out when he makes his next batch of cookies. I’ll have to hide in a cabinet and watch his face as he takes a bite!”
“How devious.” The skin around Dostoevsky’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “I’ll be expecting Sigma to burst in here complaining about you soon, then. He may force you to eat the cookies as revenge”
“I’ll wriggle my way out of that, it’s quite easy to trick him.”
They both returned to silence, the only sound in the room was the echoes of juggling club hitting Gogol’s hands.
“... Come here, Gogol.” Dostoevsky said with another wave of his hand, this time beckoning the jester to come his way.
He stepped up the stairs leading to the throne, stopping on the last stair in front of the platform where the throne sat.
Dostoevsky nodded towards the ground, a silent command of bowing before him. Gogol obliged, kneeling before the King. He bowed his head, not meeting his eyes.
“You have such a talent for providing a good distraction.”
Gogol raised his head in response, a smile spreading across his face. He reached out, grabbing Dostoevsky’s hands, and holding them in his own. “I’m so pleased to hear that!”
Dostoevsky didn’t hide his smile this time, instead removing one of his hand’s from Gogol’s grip, and moving it to his cheek instead. He caressed his cheek, and Gogol leaned into his touch. “Thank you, my dearest songbird.”
Dostoesvky leaned forward, placing a kiss on Gogol’s forehead.
‘Anything for you, my love.” Gogol raised his head, and met his lips this time. After a few small kisses, Dostoesvky pulled back. “I must return to my planning. Do me a favor. Could you please go check on Sigma in the kitchen?”
Gogol nodded, and stole one more kiss. He stood up, bowed once more, and walked down the stairs. He spinned around, facing the King again. “Please summon me again, I’m happy to perform! I’ll think of some new material for next time!” He yelled out, turning to face the door. He skipped out, his bells jingling once again.