the darkest nights produce the brightest stars
Fennick didn’t know why he did half the things he does. It appeared to be an uncontrollable impulse to embarrass himself that overrode his otherwise good judgement and common sense. Like when he opened that damn sphere in the woods. He needed to open it, and he had. Yet, now he couldn’t help the feeling that he was Fennick no longer, and in the place of Fennick was a giant blob of grape jelly vaguely molded to look like a horse.
The only upside was that he was so entirely ridiculous that he found embarrassment all but failed him.
Perhaps, because he would totally shammed, he could speak to Demian a little easier. Or perhaps he was just warming up to his monarch. After all, even Fennick could see that he had been very nearly rude, and Demian was still here, willing to spend precious moments talking to his most humble, and bizarre, of subjects. He smiled hesitantly, and instantly the stallion goes from black to a charming, delicate shade of pink. Good lord, is this how he blushes now?
“Yes..erm..and on that subject I would rather like you thank you.” Fennick coughed awkwardly and tried to turn himself black again. He had but mild success.
"For my job, that is.” He is unreasonably proud, of being promoted to fidais. It is not the grandest position, to be sure, but Fennick is not that grand a man. Besides, nobody had ever seen any potential in him before. Surely, that was what Demian saw, at least in some small measure, and Fennick still couldn’t quite believe it.
That bit of awkwardness out of the way, Fennick tried to follow Demian’s conversation. They were wading into the waters of political maneuvering, and in those waters Fennick found himself a weak swimmer covered in fish blood. Any minute the sharks would come to devour him. But, they did not. He did, however, momentarily turn into a fish. The once horse, now fish, gasps frantically for breath, gills flapping wildly, until he managed to turn back into a horse. When he did, he was ragged looking, tired around the edges. He cast a wary, embarrassed look at Demian.
“Politics, I must admit, make me feel like a fish out of water.” Fennick paused in his conversation to let that sink in. When he was convinced that yes, he really did just do that, and then say that, he continued.
“It seems like an awful amount of work, to first gain kingship only to recruit a replacement and give it up again. What if one does not appear? Perhaps you could have a son, and hoist the responsibility off on him once he shows potential. We’d have to find him a suitable mother of course…” He looked at Demian through narrowed eyes, as if squinting at him would help make Demian’s purpose more clear. Again, Fennick is not sure if what he is saying is abominably rude. Nor does he mean to imply that he intends to set Demian up with a lady he considered suitable. The whole idea, is perhaps as absurd as Fennick himself. To try and salvage the situation, Fennick continued.
“It seems a thankless job, you’re quite right to want to be rid of it. Only, you did such a fine job of acquiring it.” He was babbling a little bit, and he hoped Demian would forgive him for it, he just waned to get all the words out before he turned into something that couldn’t speak. Fennick briefly considered that, should he actually intend to be Demian’s wingman in the begetting of a royal son, he would have to up his game considerably.
Fennick was still trying to think of some eloquent way to express himself when Demian complimented him, and the large stallion stiffened a little, trying to keep himself from turning that delicate shade of pink. He was rather flattered.
“Well thank you sir. I hope I won’t too quickly prove your confidence misplaced.” Thankfully, mercifully, his mouth decided to stop there. It is the best outcome that could hoped for, for him to both maintain his shape and not say another word that might prove dreadfully embarrassing.