Chapter 95 - 94: Dress To Impress.

Chapter 95: Chapter 94: Dress To Impress.

"It was nice of you to walk with me, Master," Rogard says, as Drogger exchanges words in a low tone with the soldiers on guard.

He’s not sure it was strictly necessary, but he appreciated the company. Whatever the captain has to say makes the gates creak open for them, although he makes no move to enter.

If rumours were to be believed, the Second Captain of Crade didn’t reside in the castle, as his station might afford.

Apparently he kept a house down in the city. Down with the commonfolk. To remind him of where he’d come from, and who he fought for.

Rogard finds he believes that.

He hopes his father’s men aren’t on duty tonight.

"These streets aren’t always safe for rich kids," Drogger replies simply, which is honestly so offensive for a number of reasons.

He doesn’t seem to think he’s said anything wrong, which makes it even more annoying.

"...I’m not a kid anymore, Master," he reminds him stiffly, sending him a cool look as he passes him by.

The guards look cold and impatient and currently displeased with their lot in life. The slow, sweeping glance Rogard sends back at him is equally serious, grey eyes somewhat turbulent. Rogard doesn’t quite understand it.

"...No," he agrees after a long moment of consideration, "I guess you’re not." He blinks and the look vanishes as he dips his head into a small bow, so quickly that Rogard might as well have imagined it. "Good evening, Rogard."

He’s being dismissed. The doors are already starting to close again. He thinks he feels fine now. The walk has really helped sober him up.

"...Good night, Captain."

...

"Good morning , Rogard," Montrel greets with a smirk, when Rogard finally sinks to his knees in front of them after a series of particularly excruciating looking laps.

Most mornings he’s fresh-faced, bright-eyed and on time. Not today. Today, he looks a little ill . "Someone looks like they’ve had a good night."

"...And paying for it this morning," Gandy snickers, and Rogard wants to throttle them both.

They used to call him Lord , and look away when he walked by them. Now they’re making fun of the fact that he’s horrifically hungover. And he’s letting them get away with it.

"You went out drinking last night?" Khobi queries, quirking an eyebrow and thankfully saying nothing about the sorry state he’s in.

Which is good of him considering if the roles were reversed Rogard would have a great many things to say.

"Yeah, with Master and some of the other soldiers," he snaps moodily, "We went to this great little tavern. We should go sometime -- oh , I forgot, you’re a prisoner ."

" Hey ."

"Come on, Rogard, that’s not fair," Montrel complains, flicking him in the back of the head because okay, that was a little over the line. He gets crabby when he’s not feeling well.

"Sorry, Khobs," he grumbles, dragging a hand down his face and feeling particularly sorry for himself.

He’d felt so good when he went to bed, too, only to wake up feeling like his head was full of thunder. "I feel awful . That ale was so nice , too..."

"How much did you have ?" Khobi snorts, as Rogard helps himself to some of his water. It tastes like dirt.

"Not even much! ...I uh, I think?" he sighs, and runs the back of his hand across his forehead. He’s sweating way more than he should be. "Ugh..."

"Drogger’s not gonna let you slack off," Gandy points out, "...Might even work you harder."

"I know, I know," Rogard groans, staggering to his feet and willing the pounding in his head to just stop already.

The noise ringing out around them is not helping. At all. He’s just managed to pull himself upright, when Khobs lets out a sound of alarm at a volume that makes his ears really, really unhappy.

"Shit!" he complains, inspecting a gaping rip that’s just somehow opened up in his shirt. It looks like someone’s run it straight through with a sword.

Which, honestly, is fairly likely. Rogard feels a pang of sympathy --he gets upset when he ruins his clothes, too. Looking as good as he does isn’t cheap, or as easy as he makes it look.

"This is my last good shirt," he laments, inspecting the rip and only making it worse.

For some reason, that statement is tragic enough to break through Rogard’s hungover stupor.

"What are you talking about," he demands to know immediately, because what Khobs is wearing is not a good shirt , it’s more like a sack with arm holes.

Which he won’t say, because he’s pretty sure it’s Montrel’s. "That can’t be a good shirt."

"Yeah, it’s my only one that’s not ripped," Khobi replies morosely, as Montrel punches him in the arm for ripping another one.

"Your only..." Rogard can’t hold back the look of sheer horror that blossoms across his face. Because surely he’s not serious. "What are you wearing to the ball?"

Equally alarming, is the vacant expression Khobi is wearing right now.

"The ball?" he echoes, like it’s a word he’s never heard before.

"Yes, the ball," Rogard huffs, hungover sulk over and a new one about to start, "Don’t you listen at all?"

"Not really."

("Can’t fault his honesty," Mural points out helpfully.)

Rogard just rolls his eyes. The people he associates with these days!

"After the tournament, there’s a ball," he informs him impatiently.

"...Oh, like with fancy food and stuff."

"Yes, Khobs. With fancy food and stuff ," he sighs theatrically, "There’ll be music, and dancing, and everyone who’s anyone will be there. To, y’know, see if the rumours about you are true."

"Do I want to hear these rumours?"

"No, probably not. They’re not very nice."

"Figures." At least Khobi doesn’t seem too bothered. By the rumours, at least. The idea of a ball, however, doesn’t seem to sit so well with him. "And I have to go?" He looks at Montrel for confirmation, and the soldier nods, looking grim. Rogard understands completely.

"Yeah," Montrel assures him, "Your engagement party, remember? I think you kinda have to be there."

" ...Right ."

"So, do you have something to wear?" Rogard asks flatly, "Don’t tell me you would’ve just worn that --" Montrel takes a little offence, but seems to understand that linen training shirts are not appropriate attire for a formal gathering. "You have to wear something nice."

The phrase makes Khobi cringe.

"Something nice?" he grimaces, and Rogard’s worst fears are confirmed. "What’s that supposed to mean."

Rogards reputation is already on the ropes by being seen with him here. If he shows up to his own engagement celebration wearing essentially a tailored potato sack, he’s going to be the laughing stock of the castle, and Rogard with him.

All of Crade, in fact. If the princess knew that he had the chance to stop that, and did nothing, well, she’d never forgive him.

"Don’t worry, Khobs, you can borrow something of mine."