Work Text:
Flamajesty sat utop their awesome castle on their throne, which was currently hovering a couple of meters in midair and being suspended by their servants strapped onto balloons. They had a spatula in one foot and a glass of luscious red wine in the other. It was afternoon in the world of Scrabdackle, the perfect time for some good grilling.
The emperor took a sip of their drink, happily enjoying the sensations as it trickled down their throat. Their esophagus was really long, so Flamajesty had to be careful not to choke, a feat they managed with expertise since they were a flamingo, and it was in their jeans.
“What are jeans?” Flamajesty asked a duck once. They told them that it was something to wear on the lower half of their body, but that the royal couldn’t wear it because they were too large.
Flamajesty was very offended by this. “What! That’s preposterous, I am the emperor of the Ducklands, I can do anything!” They shouted. “Bring me some jeans.”
The duck scurried away and came back a couple of minutes later with some deep blue jeans, obviously way too small to fit on them. “These are the biggest ones we have, your majesty. They belonged to my good friend Humphrey.”
If Flamajesty focused, they could almost hear a distant, anguished cry coming from the floor beneath them, screaming “WHO TOOK MY JEANS?!!”
“So anyways, how do I equip these dapper denims?” They inquired the servant, who was looking rather apprehensive at this point.
The duck showed them how to put the jeans on. They looked very silly, with their tail jutting out awkwardly behind them. “Ok your majesty, now you do it.”
Flamajesty tried to fit one of their slender legs into the jeans, but it wouldn’t budge. The contours of the jeans simply did not complement their enormous stature as the fabric struggled to encompass the lanky mass that is their leg.
“Umm, that’s not..” They stuttered.
“These jeans are broken.” Flamajesty glared at their terrified underling. “You’re fired.”
The servant ran away crying.
The emperor huffed, disappointed at their inability to wear jeans. “Dumb servant, dumb jeans..”
Flamajesty recalled the painful memory, swallowing another glug of their maroon wine. After that fateful day, they had made a public announcement to their entire kingdom that all donning of jeans were to be banned, and any and all ducks that were caught with jeans were exiled from the kingdom instantly.
“I’m such a good ruler.” Flamajesty had thought to themselves, proud of their intuition.
Anyways, grilling. Struck with a desire to engage in the profound activity, Flamajesty ordered their servants to lower the seat, setting them onto the rooftop balcony of their castle. They set their webbed feet onto the soft carpet; the fabric clearing their sober mind. It was their favorite carpet, even more so than the one in their throne room.
A large grill rested in front of them, about half their height. Apparently it was so big it had to be custom made by a witch. Flamajesty wondered if two witches were watching two watches, which witch would watch which watch? They inquired their advisor on the pressing matter, who had fainted on the spot and had to be wheeled away to the hospital wing.
Why Flamajesty had a tendency to scare away their subjects was a mystery they didn’t have an answer to. Maybe they were so regal, so powerful and so great that lowly mortals were unable to bask in their presence for too long without losing their nerve. Perhaps they had the power to control people’s minds, like in that movie with the creature wearing the funny looking hat and the swinging watch. Flamajesty blinked, creasing their brows in deep contemplation.
They should ask their advisor about that sometime.
The emperor switched on the grill, watching closely as it buzzed to life. It was a sight to behold, the 3 meter tall machine growing warm as it shook and sputtered out a puff of smoke.
“A little rickety, but it works..” Flamajesty muttered.
They suddenly realized they didn’t have anything to cook. Flamajesty groaned, annoyed at their haphazard oversight. The entirety of the duck population was vegan. Where were they ever going to find meat?
They could try consuming the local wildlife, but that sounded like a recipe for disaster. The shrups were 90% ears and cartilage, dappalopes were too mid to be edible, and rogs had that unnerving, derpy smile on their face that kept them up at night; not that Flamajesty would ever admit that.
They supposed it didn’t necessarily have to be meat. Maybe some potatoes.
Mmm.. potatoes sounded good right now.
The flamingo decided right then and there that yes, they were going to grill potatoes today and it was going to be banger. The only thing left to do is to acquire some.
They puffed up their chest in authority as they yapped at their servants, who were standing guard at a nearby door, telling them to look for some potatoes or die trying.
The ducks immediately got to work, scrambling around asking each other if they knew where to find any potatoes. Most shook their heads; the elusive vegetable wasn’t exactly in their area of expertise, as the ducklands soil was much too moist for them to reliably grow. Nonetheless, they kept at it and before long, the sounds of chaotic quacking filled the air of the castle.
Flamajesty beamed, proud of how readily their commands were being followed through with. It’s tough being so cool, they complimented themselves.
Despite that, the emperor quickly found themselves getting bored as they impatiently waited for the potatoes. After what felt like an eternity (around 5 minutes), their salvation was answered in the form of a gate slamming open, followed by a big plate being hoisted towards them… with a big potato strapped onto it.
“Wait a minute..” Flamajesty squinted, taking a closer look at the potato before palming their face with their feet, groaning in sheer exasperation.
“This.” They gestured to the creature. “Is not a potato.”
Little Lord had a distraught look on their face as they wiggled around in hastily tied ropes, making diminutive grunts of annoyance. They were covered from head to toe with sprinkles of salt and pepper, the majority of which was now puffing out everywhere as the creature struggled to free themselves. A band of wet seaweed was wrapped around them, looking like the least gourmet thing in existence.
Flamajesty and the servants covered their eyes, trying not to sneeze and failing terribly.
“Bless you, your majesty.” A duck responded.
Flamajesty shook themselves free of the particles, internally wishing that they could jump off the castle right now, if only to escape the sheer stupidity that is their birdbrained underlings.
“In what world.” They took a prolonged, deep breath, before addressing the ducks holding the platter directly. “Is this considered a potato to you.”
“Well, we didn’t know what a potato looked like, so we just grabbed the first thing that came to mind.” They stammered. “Your majesty.”
Flamajesty rubbed their temples, feeling very mentally exhausted all of a sudden.
“Put them down, now.”
The ducks lifted Little Lord off of the large plate and onto the sizzling grill. The creature immediately began to cry out in pain.
“NO NOT THERE, ON THE FLOOR!” The ducks quickly moved them to the floor.
Little Lord finally managed to wiggle themselves out of their bindings. The creature gave Flamajesty the stink eye, making a face before leaping off the edge of the castle without a second thought.
“Will they be okay?” A squire peered over the edge overlooking a very long fall. A delay, followed by a cartoonishly faint thud could be heard from the bottom.
“Eh, I’ve seen them survive worse.” Another one responded.
Flamajesty sunk limply into their throne, totally confused on what the heck just happened. One of the ducks probably anticipated an outburst from the emperor, stepping up and offering them a compromise.
“Well your majesty, at least there's still the seaweed.” The duck picked up the rather lengthy strip of seaweed, still soggy and dripping with water.
Flamajesty plucked themselves up from their sprawling position. “What. Why is it seaweed if it’s from a river?”
The duck opened their beak to respond, but could only shrug awkwardly.
“You know what, I’m too hungry to be mad at you right now. Everyone is dismissed.”
The servants all scurried out the door as Flamajesty picked up the seaweed.. riverweed? Didn’t matter. At least they had something to grill.
They savored the texture and smell of their newfound delicacy. Finally, some good food. Just as the emperor was about to place the weed onto the surface of the grill, the gate to the balcony blasted open again, the sound of an airhorn ringing in Flamajesty’s ears.
“Oh my god what is it this ti — you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Fowlmingo stood menacingly at the door dressed in the entirety of his jester outfit, from his dumb looking mask to his dumb looking cloak and dumb jingly hat. Their brother was holstering his signature airhorn-trumpet-whatever-thing, a goofy smile permanently etched onto his face.
"Fowlmingo what do you want can't you see I'm trying to grill." The emperor grumbled.
The jester skipped towards them with silly enthusiasm, honking his horn a couple times for fun; much to Flamajesty’s lack of amusement. “Bro you gotta check out my new song I just came up with.”
“Fowlmingo please I am very busy right n—“
Fowlmingo rudely interrupted them mid sentence, vibrant voice cracking as he mock whined, placing one foot on his head dramatically and leaning backwards.
“Oh I’m Flamajesty, I’m always so busy doing ruler stuff and I can’t possibly spend time with their sibling anymore.” He said with a disguised smirk, though not one unbeknownst to the tired emperor.
“I do not sound like that...” Flamajesty interjected dryly.
Giggles escaped the jester as he half distracted themselves by balancing a ball with the tip of their beak. He inched closer to Flamajesty, giving them one of those teasing looks that barely teetered on sympathy. “C’mon, just one song? You’ve been cooping yourself up here for the past couple days. You look like you need a breath of fresh air!”
“Where did that ball even come from.. nevermind.” Flamajesty chose not to comment on the fact that they were literally on a balcony with all the fresh air in the world. The emperor was rapidly losing hope in winning this rather one sided battle of attrition. God, they just wanted to get this interaction over with so they could go back to grilling, but Fowlmingo was proving — as usual — to be quite the difficult foe to best.
There was little arguing with their annoying brother, they had learned long ago. Flamajesty gave an indignant, drawn out groan, before turning to face Fowlmingo, who was still messing around with their ball.
“Alright, fine. Just one song." Flamajesty wasn’t proud of caving into their sibling’s sentiments, but they decided that one song couldn’t possibly be that bad, right?
Fowlmingo perked up immediately, dropping their ball and holding out his instrument with electric exuberance.
"Thanks bro!" He moved it close to his beak, poised with bravado. "Now check this out!"
Flamajesty knew what to expect, but that didn't make it any less painful. Shrill noises apparently considered "music" by Fowlmingo reverberated through the castle walls, sending its inhabitants into a frenzy for the second time that day. Flamajesty's glass of wine shattered into pieces next to them, a testament to their brother's musical prowess. The emperor wouldn't be surprised if anyone passing by thought they were waging a war with all the ruckus.
How does it manage to be worse than last time??
After an excruciatingly long couple of minutes, the song ended and some semblance of peace once again fell over duck castle. Fowlmingo gave a performer's bow, before looking up for affirmation.
"So, how'd I do? I was practicing that one for ages." He beamed.
Flamajesty wondered where in Scrabdackle he could have possibly gone to practice, but chose to save that question for another day.
"Well, that was…" The emperor swallowed. If there was one creature they held back their tongue for, it was their brother. "Pretty decent, but maybe you should try the banjo next time. I heard its popular with the folks."
Fowlmingo hummed, seemingly satisfied with the response.
"Ok, I'll try it out next time. Anyways, gotta hop now, bye bro!" He looked up at the sky before waving and spontaneously waltzing back through the door from which he came.
Flamajesty sat dumbfounded on their throne, which now had a spill of wine running off the side. A job for the servants, when they've all recovered from their traumatic injuries at least.
They looked around, counting once, twice, three times.
"Nothing else? Do I have a moment here? I just want to grill for god's sake." They muttered inwardly.
The emperor sighed quietly, glancing back at the grill. The seaweed was still clutched in their feet, waiting eagerly to be sizzled and digested. At last, finally, it was time for them to reap their reward.
They thought of everything that had led up to this point, marveling out into the landscape they held dominion over.
They supposed at the very least, they had this view utop their empire. What’s not to love? The open air, the sense of superiority over the lower lifeforms, that dumb bat that keeps on interrupting their leisure…
Wait.
Batnik crashed into the castle at full speed, knocking over everything including the grill, which then proceeded to smolder and burn as it plummeted to the earth below.
“I’m going to kill myself.” Flamajesty said.