“Away? Ah, you wound me, your majesty! Here I thought we were friends if not excellent acquaintances! Do you think my company so vile that you must run?”

          “Are you volunteering, your majesty?”

          “Oho! Thank you, dear anon. I shall have to use these on my outer-world science friends.”

Insert amused chuckling here.…Which lasts all day long.

He’s still giggling about it at dinner.The staff are confused.Everyone is confused.

Spluttering ensues. “Really?! Really–?!” It’s the trenchcoat, the trenchcoat! But it doesn’t stop him from poking at his waistline experimentally. Ouch, Edgar.

“Pah, half-baked or not, it still remains an excuse!” He retorts, though he’s grinning still; look at them, they’re twelve. “Even if it is all in a day’s work for those such as us.” Crossing his arms, he smirks, though it turns into a grimace when he’s elbowed swiftly, and he yelps, elbowing him back.

“Alright, alright, I suppose I can oblige with something of note,” he says finally, lifting his hands. “Would ‘taking custody of said fair maiden’ be enough, my friend? After all having a daughter does tend to…limit one’s free time activities.” The dreaded D-word, the horror! (But he’s not sorry, though.)

         “...I -- I’m sorry?”

Hold up. Forget the waistline. ... Is this a prank? Is he being tricked right now? He looks left, then right -- as if expecting there to be some sort of upcoming punchline.

When it doesn’t come, Edgar furrows his brows, quite genuinely confused.

“Of course you can multitask,” he says, clearly not believing it for a second, before, cue pout. “Excuse you! Gods, a man swaps knives for a gunblade and everyone makes it sound like he’s suddenly turned into a lumbering behemoth!” 

Pout pout pout, he’s offended. (But not really. He’s kind of missed this.)

“Oh, you know,” he adds, grinning again. “Saving the world, fighting a cavalcade of nasty beasts, foiling evil plots, rescuing fair maidens…the usual escapades. Such is life, and all that.” Shrug. Boy, that’s sure putting it casually, isn’t it.

          “Behemoth--? Now that you mention it, I did think that you’d put on a bit of weight.”

Be offended. He’s living for this roasting session.

          “My dear friend, that’s a half-baked excuse if I’ve heard one. Saving the world and all that is standard and natural for us handsome, dashing adventurers. I can do that, even with a Kingdom to care for!”

Of course, he knows the pressures that come all tied up into such a vague story, but is it not the way of these two idiots to keep pushing one another’s boundaries? His elbow digs straight into a rib.

“The wind or your overactive imagination, your majesty.”

Can he give as good as he gets? Darn straight.

“Do you? Huh. You could have fooled me, given your antics— pot and kettle and all that, how many of your ‘kingly duties’ have involved such admiration?” He grins, though. “Contrary to what you might presume, I’ve been busy myself of late. With things that aren’t such storied pastimes, I’m afraid, thus the lack of any letters of invitation. You’ll have to forgive me.” 

          “I can multitask... Unlike YOU and your loud feet, you--!! YOU!!!”  ‘You’ what? He hasn’t the heart to genuinely insult a friend.  “You may as well be wearing WOODEN CLOGS!”

Ah. Some things never change, do they? It’s barely even been a few minutes and he’s already riled up. Oh, how easily he falls into these traps!

“Excuse you, you’ve heard nothing.” Hmph! “And who’s the fool, me or the man who seems to have a habit of vanishing into the aether? ‘Tis good to see you haven’t simply ceased to exist, I suppose.”

          “Oh. I suppose it was just the wind, then?” 

Snort.

“…Mm.”

-Well Terra wasn’t about to turn away the offer of free snacks, now would she?-

          “Attagirl. Eat up, get some meat on those bones.”

Not that she’s too small, or-- You know what? He’s not going to shoot himself in the foot by voicing that.