Work Text:
“Hey, Raly! How’s it hanging?”
Startling mid-step, Ralsei turns to look at him, eyes narrowed and shoulders taut with distrust. Even as clouded as he is by the thin hazy mist, it’s all too clear to see that Ralsei’s guard is raised: he bristles at the greeting, nettled, wary. Flowery smiles.
Unperturbed by the brush of wind through his hair, Flowery edges closer, swung at will by his handy verdant vine until he dangles before Ralsei’s face. “Taking a dip in my pool, I see!”
“Flowery.” The response is, as expected, forced out through gritted teeth. It leaks the sap of thinly veiled frustration all over Flowery’s tidy, polished floor. “Go away. I don't want to talk to you.”
He arches an eyebrow then, faintly impressed by the boldness even as he remains– pun intended– unswayable. “Feeling tetchy, huh?” He nods, sympathetic, and delights in the way Ralsei’s face twitches. “Such a long face doesn’t belong in the Flower Kingdom, newbuddy! If I were you, I would take that frown and turn it…” With a flick of his wrist, Flowery’s vine twists elegantly upwards, depositing him back onto his feet. “Upside down!”
For a second, Ralsei’s glare bores into him, infused with such flustered intensity that Flowery almost expects steam to start bursting from those long, fluffy ears. Then, stoutly, Ralsei elects to keep walking instead, leaving Flowery with a view of nothing more than his hands clenched tightly behind him.
Sighing audibly, Flowery begins to follow, meandering at leisure behind him. The air is warm and pleasantly humid, refreshing on his face. “You know…”
A palpable pause, he hangs it in the air. By this point, Flowery has mastered the art of casual dramatic effect.
“We’re not so different, you and I,” he finishes, smiling serenely. Ralsei stops short then whirls around to face him, and at his painfully obvious scepticism, Flowery stifles a laugh. “I mean it! All of this–” His arms stretch out wide: a showcase of his delicate, beautiful, curated home. “Is to help my Lightner. We owe it to him after everything he’s done for us. What have Kris and Susie ever truly done for you?”
With perceptible effort, Ralsei takes a measured breath. “Kris and Susie,” he says stonily, frustration ebbing into his coldness. “Are my friends. And besides that, they’re Lightners. I don’t need a reason to serve them. We’re not–”
“Equals?” Cutting in seamlessly, Flowery rests his chin on one palm. “Or have I been reading that wrong?”
Flowery expects Ralsei to splutter, to flounder for a defense and prove he knows this isn’t right, that the rules he abides by are nonsensical. Flowery expects him to crumble. Instead, Ralsei’s brow draws into a furrowed, irate glare, and he speaks again with nothing but conviction.
“Of course not.” Ralsei’s voice is level, and he seems in no way dissatisfied. He really, truly believes he’s lesser than his friends for the sake of having been constructed in darkness. Flowery pities him. “Darkners serve Lightners. That’s how it works. The fate of the world depends on Susie and Kris; I can’t risk either of them backing out now. You have to know about the Prophecy. You know about everything else.”
The last sentence is said in a mutter: sour, petulant, and bitterly resentful. It’s adorable. Flowery beams.
“How are you going to stop the end of the world when we’re all safe and snug in the Flower Kingdom?” He chirps at him, itching to pull off that humungous hat and muss the fur beneath it. Flowery bets it’s fluffy, charming, like a little poof of clouds. “C’mon Raly, it’s simple! Asgore stays here, protected… Kris and Susie are out of trouble and away from the Dark World entirely… There can’t be a Prophecy if there are no more heroes, silly!”
“It doesn’t work that way!” Ralsei argues, his head tilting sharply upwards. Under his glasses, his eyes glint crossly, the tiny pupils magnified by his thick layer of glass. “You can’t avoid the Prophecy, and Asgore can’t stay here. You know this isn’t right. There’s no way he’s really happy here. He has a family, Flowery– a whole life in the Light World, with people who matter. How do you think they feel?”
“Considering how they’ve treated him the last few years…” Pretending to consider it for a few seconds too long, Flowery snaps his fingers. “They won’t care at all! Either way,” he giggles, cheerfully as ever, and thinks to himself, ironic as it is, Ralsei really should learn to lighten up. “I don’t care about them! This is for Asgore. He’s happier here. Of course he is.”
“He’s being selfish,” Ralsei argues, and for the first time, Flowery feels a rush of heated indignation. “And so are you. All of this… It’s a fantasy. Can’t you see how badly this place is affecting him? We’ve seen the way he talks to you– all of you!”
“And I suppose Kris is a saint?” He smiles savagely, leaning in closer to watch the way Ralsei twitches with discomfort. “Come on, newbuddy. Don’t you remember that little mishap with the config menu earlier?” Flowery mimes zipping up his mouth, offering an exaggerated wink. “Good thing I was here to help you out of that one, huh? I sure am surprised your good friend Kris is such a bully.”
“That’s–” Ralsei’s face twists with unease; Flowery savours it, that telltale sign that he’s getting through to him. Entirely expectedly (and disappointing nonetheless), Ralsei straightens, setting his jaw in resolution. “I trust Kris’ judgement. It’s not like they did it without a reason. I was telling them what to do.” A breath, a pause. “It wasn’t my place.”
“You know,” Tilting his head, Flowery smiles at him, deliberately uncannily wide. “Susie sure appreciated my rundowns on how things work down here. So which is it? You talk too much to your Lightner pals, or you don’t tell them enough?”
Ralsei’s face scrunches, fists clenched at his sides. “I tell them what they need to know. What I’m supposed to. You can’t just go around bending all of the rules. You’re the one who manipulated the menu in the first place.”
“Aww, Raly,” Flowery pouts flippantly. “Kris decided to force the good ole’ silent treatment. All I did was give them the option! What,” he moves closer still, and his mouth twists up into a teasing smirk. “Are you worried I might do it again?”
Then, Ralsei stiffens– gotcha, Flowery thinks– and looks away, his jaw tight. “I trust Kris’ judgement,” he repeats, toneless. “Whatever they decide.”
“Ever the dutiful little prince,” Flowery nods at him cordially, all too aware of the backhanded nature of his compliment. Does it seem as such to Ralsei? Perhaps, Flowery thinks, that's exactly the perception he wants. Long and loud, Flowery sighs, deliberate. “Isn’t it tiring? Sticking to that Prophecy all the time, to what Kris wants? Don't try to tell me you've never thought about a little digression.”
Because of course he has. Ralsei, all alone in deepest dark, has to have had some fantasies of what he could do, who he could be, if only that pesky Prophecy would stop governing his life. So caught up in his stresses and rules– as much as he may smile, Flowery doubts Ralsei even knows what happiness feels like.
True happiness, that is. Not the transient comfortable contentedness Susie gives him, or the false fulfillment he finds in self-sacrifice. True happiness needs freedom of the self. Ralsei refuses to unlock the cage.
Closed-off and guarded, suspicion layered thick through his voice, Ralsei says, “I do what I’m supposed to. Any more than that would be…” As though a sudden realisation has hit him, Ralsei shakes his head, eyes cast stubbornly to the ground. When he speaks again, it’s quiet and salty: a mutter to himself, almost vitriolic in its venom. “Not that you'd understand.”
Again, that rush– the thrill of having pushed him, of cracking his patient, ordered facade and watching trickles of viciousness seep through. Of getting through to him, even a little. Ralsei tries to stay composed. Around Flowery, he’s nothing short of disastrous.
“You'll have to face the truth one of these days,” Flowery tells him cheerfully, knocking his hat perhaps a little too roughly. Silently, fluidly, he readjusts his stats, observing the way that mint green fabric dips over Ralsei's eyes, obscuring them. It’s a pleasant colour, viridescent as the world around them, the exact same shade as his robes. Long and tattered and flowing, it fans out at the hem; one could easily mistake the garment for a dress. “I wonder how your prophecy will fare then, hm?”
Silence meets him, though it is not empty. Ralsei glares at him, charged, excitingly unreadable. For one hungry second, Flowery awaits the fire, in his eyes or– better yet– his hands: he wants to see him discard those useless little laws, the ones he so treasures and reveres, and show everyone who he truly is. This Ralsei, Prince of the Dark, is a fake. Flowery knows there’s something more beneath the plastic, if he could only get it to–
“What are you doing here?” Ralsei snaps eventually, voice like a vine, one wound taut around a trunk in the rainforest. “It’s clear you don’t–” his face twitches, he continues, “like me, and you must have better things to do. I would've thought you’d be fussing over Asgore again by now.”
It’s meant to be derisive, but Flowery can’t bring himself to care. To some extent, Ralsei is right– Flowery really should be looking out for Asgore, checking in on his oldbuddy to ensure everything’s a-okay. As long as Asgore stays placid and entertained, he has no reason to leave. Flowery would sooner die than change that. But…
“Us flowers work as a team! That’s what friendship is, Raly. Aren’t your little group meant to be experts?” A laugh from his lips, spirited as it is carefree. All seven flowers want to help Asgore: it’s woven into their being, their conviction, their self-defined purpose. They know what they want. Ralsei’s still convincing himself. “I understand you–”
Ralsei recoils, instantly, hilariously repelled. Alas– there is little time to waste provoking him, not when they’re finally alone, so Flowery instead amps up the earnest insistence when he speaks once again.
“Really, I do! You have a goal in mind, don’t you? A singular purpose you put your all towards. Too bad it isn’t what you really want,” That one’s pointed, Flowery will openly admit, but then isn’t all of this? “I help Asgore because I love him! And he needs me. This whole big, beautiful world does! I love it, and it loves me. And I love being me!” He scans over the dark fluff of Ralsei's face, peeking out of his vividly pink scarf. “Do you?”
“You have no idea,” Ralsei’s seething, simmering, and panicked under the ire. Flowery reads him like an open book. He really had underestimated how easy it’d be to get under the little guy’s skin. “What you’re talking about.”
“Sure,” Flowery kneels intentionally to meet his eyes, resting a hand heavily onto the prince’s shoulder. It stiffens under the weight. “Whatever you say, newbuddy. After all,” simpering, sarcastic, he speaks: “you know best, right?”
Ralsei’s eyes dart downwards in what might be anger or shame. He struggles for a second, clearly looking for something to say. Patiently, Flowery waits.
“You had no reason to tell Susie about the voice clips.” Ralsei settles on, the bite in his words growing sullen. “She’s not–” Abruptly, he shakes his head, voice hardening with resolve. “We have to close the dark fountain. It’s the only way.”
Tutting against his leftmost molars, Flowery feigns a wince. “Sorry, little guy. I can’t let you do that. Asgore may be my king, but you know as well as I do who runs this place,” he takes a pause to wink exaggeratedly. He delights in the tiny twinkling noise that accompanies it; it’s like he and Ralsei share a special inside joke. “So from one chieftain to another… I see what you’re doing. You want to give your people a happy world! I want the same thing. I guess we’re both looking out for our best friends, huh?”
Almost– and this is a stretch– almost sad, Flowery laughs, moving away to give Ralsei some space. He doesn’t miss the relief in the little guy’s sagging exhale. It’s almost comedic– like a plant with no water or punctured party balloon.
Flowery focuses on the silly image, and brightens up his grin. “What I’m trying to say is– it’s your home or ours.” An even breath, out then in. Confidence. “We’ll see if your friendship can out-match my jarona.”
Perplexed, Ralsei stares after him, like the phrase is something ridiculous. Flowery doesn’t let up his smile, not when his vine returns to his waist, wrapping around snugly like a hug from an old college friend. He waves peppily, still flaunting that winning smile.
“Enjoy your bath!”
And up through the mist of the hot water springs, Flowery returns to his business. Prodding at Ralsei is one thing– a venture of its own– but he, of course, has his priorities straight. There’s a lot to get done if he wants Asgore to stay. Beaming ever-still, Flowery thinks to himself: it’s the very least he can do.