69

"What say you, Tom—you be King Saul, and I'll be Prinxe Hail," you say, bidding your wit serve you well.

"I haven't the faintest idea how to be King," Tom says, cheeks going red as he laughs.

"That's what makes you a perfect likeness! Although," you say, seemingly oblivious to the scandalized laughter that bubbles up around you, "your expression isn't quite right…can you make the face that's one part disapproval to three parts underslept, with a hint of self-loathing?"

Tom, dutiful soft-spoken subject that he is, makes a perfect foil for your uncensored wit as you continue to lampoon the Royals in every way you can figure to do so. The crowd swells as peals of laughter and gasps fill the yard. When a joke lands exceptionally well, you've the sense to take your bow and cash in your applause while it's at its height. [+Renown] [+Knavery]

As the crowd disperses, you can hear them attempting their own bons mots about the vanishing Heir and the hapless King. Well, that's part of a fool's job, you reason, to help the populace feel comfortable saying what they really feel about their rulers. [+Discontent]

By Day's End