Grimoire’s Return. discussion

Here, the royals perform the duties and perhaps, create a little chaos, too.

Malory hadn’t been one for remembering names in this place. It wasn’t his home. Never was, never will be. It was just a place full of people who acted like they knew him and laughed too loudly and spilled their wine. He’s sick of it. He’d been sick of it ever since he got here. It’s so loud. You’d have to be in on the joke or long past drunk to be able to enjoy it. So Malory supposed thats why everyone always seemed a little dazed, a little off balance at the galas. They were never able to give straight answers, never even able to find their shoes from when they’d discarded them hours ago because ballroom dancing barefoot is much more fun.
Mal pressed his palms into his eyes. His golden crown hung down to his brow, his messy black-brown hair falling into his eyes and everywhere else but where his parents wanted it. Sometimes he’d thought that if he succumbed to the alcohol (it could never be JUST alcohol, there must be something in there), things would be a little more bearable. But he didn’t want to find himself becoming someone who fell out of their seats because they’re too tipsy to understand how they’d gotten there or what they’re doing. He didn’t want to be someone who laughed too loudly at jokes or someone who found themselves wiping tears from their eyes because someone had so much as spoken.

Duke Herbert loved this place. The laughter, the beauty, the MANY eligble women. Perhaps that was why The King held him in such high respects. Cause Duke's cousin sure as HELL hated this place. Speaking of which... Duke stumbled over to said cousin (Mal, despite Duke's constant calling of Malory) and smiled. "Join us, Malory. Come on, you could get THE girl." Duke was referring to the game everyone played, that involved 7 minutes, and dirty things.

“I don’t want to indulge in your sick fantasies, Duke.” Mal spat, pressing somehow even further against the wall. He’d made one of the servants make him tea instead of the endless array of alcohol that happened to be available.
But he hadn’t lied. He felt as if this game was sick. Loving someone for 7 minutes and 7 minutes only felt.. barbaric. So he’d never participated. Even when he first came, and all he’d wanted was to belong. He’d never crossed that line.

Duke snorted. "Yes," He said. "We know. You loooooove Blanque." It was Blanque this and that with Malory. It was a wonder that they hadn't fucked each other yet. Duke raised a brow. "What is your problem?" His words slurred.

“Blanque and I aren’t.... that. And my problem is everyone in this palace. Is that enough of an answer for you?” Mal tilts his head, scowling as he drummed his fingers along the head of his cane.

Duke just grinned wider, knowing it would piss his lovely cousin off. "You heard His Majesty. You must abide to every royal event." He swigged from the beer. "Trust me. Idon't want to be your fucking babysitter, but here we are."

Mal’s hands tightened around his cane. He had half a brain to beat the living shit out of Duke with it now, but that would be barbaric. And he wasn’t a killer.
“You’re not my babysitter by any means. If anything, I’m yours. After all, I’m the one who’s staying sober.”

I am here for the duke/mal famiy relationship*

*HAHA-*

"And I ," Duke immediately retorted, "am here to make sure you follow your duties." His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. "We wouldn't be in this position, had you just done. Your. Fucking. Job." Then, he stepped away, and was all smiles again.

“My job? What do you mean my job, you wretch?” Malory spits. He’d always had a short temper. Always. He’d also never been smiles. At all.

"You are a prince. You don't listen to His Majesty, also known as your goddamn uncle. You don't even TRY to see the women he has for you in a possible marriage. Do you NOT see the political value you have? We are a country that is constantly warring, and on the brink of it. All you do is go to the people, and tell them you'll do something, that war won't break out. But you don't do shit."

“I have a sister who can marry. And no, I don’t see it. What am I supposed to tell the public? That we’re all losing our shit? Yeah, that’ll comfort them, Duke.” Mal spat, his eyes dark.

Duke breathed out of his nose, in his mouth. He was 2.5 seconds away fron cracking open Mal's head with the beer. "Malory." He said calmly. "You are a prince. ACT like it."

“If that involves me feeling up various women and getting drunk out of my damn mind, I’ll pass.” Mal smiles, and with a swish of his midnight black cape, was gone.

Duke sighed, and ran after him. Malory knew damn well that Duke needed to watch him, and he knew DAMN WELL that Duke was drunk. "Fucking asshole." He whispered.

Lowkey want Blanque and Duke to interact*

“Make sure you can walk straight!” Mal called back, his limp doing practically nothing to slow him down.

Duke was going to commit murder by the end of the night. He marched after FUCKING MALORY, his vision blurring. He was actually going to kill his cousin. He stumbled, then cursed, because he knew exactly what Malory would say. "'Told you not to drink alcohol.'" He mimicked.

“I heard that!” Mal shouted from the far end of the hall. He was leaning against a pristine white pillar now, most of him cast in shadow.
“I should wait for you to catch up. The chase is much more fun that way.”

Duke breathed and breathed and breathed. "Don't choke him." He whispered. "Don't--" His stomach lurched. He stumbled over to a large bowl; likely the King's, but gave 0 zero fucks about him anyway, and puked.

Mal laughed. Hard. He held his stomach and doubled over, practically cackling.
“Wow, what a show!” He giggles.

Duke wiped his mouth. Half of the party was staring at him, and his eye twitched. He hoped Malory knew Duke was going to kick his fucking ass.

Malory did know that. But he cared less than none about that. Right now, he was basking in the knowledge that he made Duke puke his fucking brains out.

Duke gagged, then turned around to face his father. A fake smile appeared on his face. "Father!" The King wasn't for his games. "OUT. NOW." Duke faltered. It was always like this.

Mal didn’t. He didn’t care to listen or show fear to anyone who believed they had power over him. He just raised an eyebrow, giving a look like, ‘really?’

Duke bowed, nodding his head, and made his way to the door. Stupid... he was so fucking stupid. He shoul have watche Malory closer, control his drinking. He yanked a beer from someone's hand and swigged it. Time to forget.

“Duke..” Mal sighed, speeding after him, past the king. His cane thumped against the polished floor, reminding him how he got here with every step.

Duke slammed open the doors. His crown was about to fall, but who cared? The King would rather a dog rule than him. He swigged the bottle again, calling out to people. "Don't get TOO drunk! Otherwise the King might hate you. You. His son."

Mal snagged his arm, eyes wild.
“What the fuck are you doing? You complained about me being unroyallike, but here you are, drowning your sorrows.” He spat, but.. with a lack of his usual malice.

Duke snatched his arm out of Mal's grasp. "Why the hell do you care? Should be happy I'm leaving you alone." The people were watching. Good. They could see how much Duke was a ass, someone who wasn't meant for shit.

“I care because you’re family. You’re the only piece of family I have left that actually gives a damn.” Malory mutters. You could tell he hated to say it.

Duke rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that bullshit. You hate me, fine. But don't blantantly lie about it." He was being a hardass, and he fucking knew it. But with Mal.... Duke could barely look his cousin in the eye. He hated the confidence, the way didn't let to be talked down. He HATED it. Because he didn't have an inch of it. Duke curt his head. "Goodnight, Malory."

“I never said I hated you.” Mal murmurs, but sighs anyways, knowing there was no way he could convince Duke otherwise. He just waved, and started down the corridor.
“Goodnight, Duke.” He called.

Duke stumbled into his room. And he cried.

Mal just sat there, at his desk, trying not to think. He could always write better if he didn’t. But it was harder today, when so much had happened and it all still gave him an uncomfortable feeling.
Uncomfortable with himself, if anything.

Duke stared at the ceiling. Maybe he should apologize. Go to Mal's room and say shit. His eye twitched. This was going to bother him for the rest of his life.

Mal had never been a good prince. He knew that. Tried not to think about it most days. Hell, he’d tried not to think about anything but being an asshole to everyone around him so he could get revenge.

Duke grinded his teeth. He swung off the bed. Fucking Mal. He swung open his door, and storned his way to Mal's door.

Mal was just sitting at his desk, scribbling nonsense onto a paper that was already wet with ink and, since he was left handed, already covering his hand in black.

Duke slammed the door open. "You. Fucker." He said to Mal. "You just have to bother me, don't you? Even in my SLEEP."

“I didn’t even bother you at all.” Mal furrowed his brow, but didn’t turn, utterly confused.

Duke's eye twitched. "I'm sorry. There. You win."

Mal smiled. He couldn’t believe that this fucker had the courage to apologise to him. He turned around, leaning back, still grinning.
“Wow.”

Duke walked over and flopped down on the bed. He looked at Mal. "Are you writing ? What are you, Shakespeare?" He snorted.

ANS*

*FUCK*
Mal laughed dryly, leaning onto one knee.
“I write plans. Dimensions, diameters. Numbers. Things you wouldn’t understand.”

Duke raised an eyebrow. "I'm the Diplomat. Of course I don't do numbers, that is the Treasurer's job." He propped himself up. "Plans for what?"

Mal sighed, seeming a bit embarassed.
“Nothing of your interest.”