#from aomeone who had never commented on the 60+k word fic or even left a kudos

[lethalhoopla]

“Dance for me, jester, wherefore do you not dance?” spoke the little king. Goblet in hand, eyes glittering, he lounged upon a throne of his own design. A dying fire crackled nearby; it could be tended to soon enough, if only his entertainment would proceed.

“But sir, your jester I am not; no wage have you paid me, nor offer have I taken,” replied the figure before him, words carefully chosen from their place on the floor on bent knees. Their rags of clothing hung loose, unkempt. Whether a measure of miserable protest, or mark of their poor work ethic, the king did not know.

“Fool, you have been caught dancing in the town square,” the king levelled his goblet in the direction of the performer. There was no scepter in sight, but the way he wielded even so common an object spoke volumes.

“… During the town festival, you mean?” The jester-who-wasn’t spoke slowly.

“Naturally,” the king grinned. He had them now. “So you do not deny it?”

“The festival, where many people dance,” the jester-who-ought-to-be said, each word heavy with the weight of their foolishness.

“Yes, yes- I understand your dancing it what I ask for, but must you truly be so slow in other matters?” The king waved his hand. His drink sloshed, staining the floor below. Damned jesters, always making him make a mess.

“I see. Well,” and they dared meet the king’s gaze. “You are going to leave now,” the ungrateful fool declared all too calmly. They stood, dusting off their pajamas- their rags, their rags.

“We were having a conversation, you cannot simply end it!” The king stood, slamming his drink down. Tepid tea splashed out, dampening his sleeve. He shook it out angrily, glaring at the jester in their living room. Wasn’t even that nice a room, really. Certainly ought to be better prepared for visitors of taste, he thought. “I simply asked you perform the way you clearly like to!”

“You showed up at my house in the middle of the night, dragged me out of bed, and demanded I dance for you!” The jester-who-must-be-shitting-him spat. “Who even are you!”

“I am your audience,” hissed the king. “You dance in front of others as you please, yet feel insulted when asked for more?”

The jester-who-falsely-advertised stared at him for more of a pause than someone ought to require in such simple conversation.

“Ah,” they finally said. “You cannot be reasoned with.”

They were backing away now, lacking the deference in their step they ought to have.

“You jesters, always so touchy-“

“Kindly fuck off, your majesty,” they retorted cheerfully, picking up a poker from beside their fireplace. “Do let the door hit you on your way out.”

“I see how it is,” the king spat, regally stepping out of range of the advancing fool. “Really, what did I expect from a common jester-“ he quickly dodged a mutinous jab towards his middle, dropping his commandeered mug of tea in his deft haste. “Can’t handle the heat, get out of the festival-“

“You’re mixing your metaphors,” the jester-who-was-looking-awfully-stabby interrupted. The king’s back hit the front door, and the unjesting jester hefted the fire poker over their shoulder, looking perhaps like they dabbled in more sports than the king appreciated. “Go dance for yourself if you’re so keen on personalized performances.”

“Maybe I already do,” the king hissed, hand scrabbling for the door knob behind him. With much grace, he yanked it open, only slightly throwing off his balance.

“Right, excellent, good for you,” the un-jester replied, stepping forward and gripping the door. “Bye now, never come back!”

“True artists wouldn’t hesitate to perform at the slightest hint of great honor in expressed interest-“

The door slammed in his face, sending him sprawling into the dirt and stone outside their door.

After a few stunned moments, he stood, the high moonlight of midnight outlining his form and the fine way he straightened his fancy hat.

“Really, some people are just so rude.”