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Gartharop the Benevolent

Gartharop the Benevolent, Magnanimous and Wondrous, First and Only Eternal Emperor of the True Realm, had ruled over the land of Palinas for almost three centuries. It had been an interesting three hundred years, with many great changes sweeping over the land, so it was with great pride indeed that Gartharop knew, during his reign, that no one could deny things had become much Better.

Of course, some of the common folk seemed to believe that they were a lot hungrier now, but as the Master of the Purse reminded them, that was only because there was less food. And yes, some imagined that the realm was in a state of constant war, but as the Royal Commander insisted, that was only because the Squelchonians refused to accept that they had already been defeated. And naturally, some were under the delusion that the Squelchonians had once lived alongside the Palinese in peace, but as the Emperor's Personal Food Taster explained, that was only because Gartharop hadn't yet revealed what an excellent source of protein the Squelchonians were.

Yes, things had become far, far Better under the rule of Gartharop. Only treasonous 'scholars' and so-called 'historians' questioned that, and even they didn't question it for long.

Such was Gartharop's benevolence that he had decreed an entire hour every year to hearing the troubles and hardships of his people. In these hours, the Emperor proved his wisdom by offering his clear and masterful solutions that had become the stuff of legend in Palinas and beyond. All knew that no resolution offered by Gartharop had ever been overturned, and none in 286 years had even been petitioned. Admittedly one nobleman had raised concerns 287 years ago, but by the time the walls had been wiped down, everyone else realised that he had been very, very mistaken. Since then, all who came before Gartharop knew what a good idea it would be to follow his wise advice.

Today was one such session, and in the main hall Gartharop reclined in his enormous throne and lazily admired his talons. He truly was a magnificent specimen; his rust-red scales ran from the padded underside of his paws to the ridged tips of his eyebrows, flanked on either side by curved horns that could impale a horse. His snout jutted from his skull to end in raised nostrils capable of spitting out fire, and beneath them was a jaw filled with razor-sharp teeth that glinted in the light of the torches lining the sides of the hall. He wore no clothes, meaning his very well-endowed manhood lay on clear display (and he had developed the habit of sitting with his legs widely apart, as he found this made those speaking to him amusingly uncomfortable), but across his chest hung a single heavy medallion with his own image engraved upon the front.

Beside his throne was a tall table, and on that table was a glass currently filled with a swirling blue liquid. A straw rose out of the glass, both of which were specifically designed for use by the Eternal Emperor, but what was most interesting about the drink was what could be seen within it; every now and then, a face would press against the glass, and if one got too close, mournful wailing could be heard emitting from the open top. As well as being Gartharop's favourite meal, stirred Squelchonian was his favourite drink, and it mattered nothing to him if his advisors failed to share his enthusiasm for the concoction. Out of boredom, Gartharop felt his gaze drifting to the glass, as it often did, to watch the faces whirl and scream their way through the liquid.

Far below, at his paws, two of the pale, soft-skinned common folk that made up Palinas were fighting over a screaming bundle of rags.

"I am the mother of this child!"

"No, I am the rightful mother!"

The two women clung tightly to the baby, and plead with equal intensity that the child should come home with them. They had appealed to Gartharop for his wise judgement, and he cleared his throat with a booming cough to indicate that he had listened to their arguments for long enough, and was ready to make his pronouncement. He leaned in and breathed a puff of smoke over the two women.

"My pronouncement is thus," declared the Eternal Emperor, "Since neither claimant can prove that they are the mother, the child will be cut in half, with one half going to each woman."

One of the women nodded solemnly.

"A wise and just decision," she conceded.

The other woman screamed, "You can't! Please, don't hurt my child! She can have him, just please don't hurt him!"

"You didn't let me finish!" Gartharop snarled, "Cut the child in half, then cut the women in half. Then feed them to their families. Next!"

As the women were dragged out of the room, Gartharop sat back in his throne and reached for the enormous glass beside him. He casually began to stir the giant straw, and when he did the Squelchonians inside began to scream. The guards and advisors in the hall fought to hide their revulsion as the pained wailing rang along the walls, but Gartharop seemed not to notice. He slowly brought the straw to his snout and began to suck. The screams intensified. At first, they came from the glass, but as Gartharop drank, they rose up one by one and rang out of the straw, then could be heard, muffled, from his mouth, and finally they couldn't be heard at all. After half a minute, the last scream made the journey, and then the voices were silent, replaced by the loud noise of suction from a straw lapping up the last droplets of an empty cup. Gartharop breathed happily, and gently replaced the glass on the table beside him. Patting his vast, scaled stomach, he beckoned the final figure forwards to speak.

The messenger was drained of all colour - he had not witnessed Gartharop enjoying his favourite drink before - but he spluttered and stammered through his report as best as he could.

"My... my Excellency..." he began, clutching onto his cloth cap as if it were a life-jacket, "some of... there is talk that... the... the common folk are... restless, my Emperor, Lord, sir..."

"Restless?" Gartharop hissed, "Are those witless peasants planning a rebellion?"

"No, no, not at all, Emperor Gartharop, your Majesty!" assured the messenger desperately, "It's just that... they spend day after day toiling in the forests and fields... and it's been... not that this is a problem of course, but... but it has been some time since you toured your realm, or since there was a parade, or national games... and they grow... restless."

Gartharop scowled, and General Vanessa stepped forwards, hoping to save the messenger from becoming a burning crisp (if only to save the trouble of clean-up, which was notoriously hard when the Emperor was in a foul mood). The General was a decorated veteran of more than two dozen Squelchonian conflicts, though as this was Gartharop's idea of being decorated, that meant that she had several bottles filled with woeful-looking Squelchonians strapped to her lapel. Her face was covered in dark splotches where she had been scalded by the unique weaponry used by the Squelchonian army - weaponry which couldn't penetrate Gartharop's scales, although asking why the Emperor never fought on the front-lines himself was a very quick way to get yourself set on fire or swallowed alive. Or both.

The General cleared her throat. "Perhaps a round of public executions are called for, your Highness?"

Gartharop stroked his chin with a taloned finger. After a moment, he nodded.

"Yes," said the Emperor, "it has been too long since I've had Palinese meat. Eating those peasants ought to remind them to know their place..."

General Vanessa's face fell, but the moment she opened her mouth, she closed it again, realising it would be a very poor idea indeed to point out to Gartharop that he had misunderstood her suggestion. She glanced quickly around the room, hoping for another to explain the Emperor's mistake without having it sound like he had made a mistake. Most of the advisors suddenly found their own feet very interesting, and just happened to avoid her glance.

Just as she was about to give up, her eyes rested on a young man stood by Gartharop's paws - Francis. Francis was Gartharop's favourite advisor (in that the dragon usually remembered his name and hadn't killed him yet), and at 23 years old, he was approaching record longevity for advisors in the Emperor's service. It was a record Francis very much hoped to be alive to celebrate, but nevertheless, he met Vanessa's stare. Francis cringed, but nodded. Sometimes one had to take the risk...

He bashfully attempted to gain the dragon's attention by gently shaking one of his enormous claws.

"My Benevolency?" he began, "I believe that General Vanessa was suggesting an execution of Squelchonians. As... you know... entertainment. To appease the masses..."

Gartharop leaned back in his chair with a disgruntled impression, and Francis realised that the dragon had clearly set his mind on eating the villagers. He tensed under his robes, ready to run for the exit if his Emperor's paw started to rise up ready to fall back down on top of him, but before Gartharop settled on a response to his advisor, Vanessa spoke up again.

"We could gather some Palinese prisoners for you to consume, your Wonderousness. Actual criminal ones, who have committed crimes. Bad crimes."

There was a tense pause, and then a satisfied rumbling from high in the throne. Gartharop's paw pressed heavily into the ground, without Francis under it.

"Mmh, a lot of them?" asked the Emperor, eyeing up his General.

"That can be arranged, your Magnanimousnessy."

"Excellent! Have them ready at the palace immediately following the executions. Eating Squelchonians always gives me such an appetite."

The advisors let out a collective sigh of relief. It wouldn't have been the first time Gartharop had eaten an entire village, but Francis sometimes still got nightmares from the last one, and he had no wish to burn more incidents into his subconscious. As the great dragon strode from the hall to prepare for the executions, Vanessa gave Francis a subtle nod of appreciation. He almost dared return it with a smile.

*

Despite the short notice, everything was set up when Gartharop arrived in the village with his retinue. A wooden stage had been erected, looking large and firm enough to take the dragon's weight, and six Squelchonian prisoners had been marched out onto it to await their deaths. A crowd of common folk was already beginning to gather, and though it was more out of fear of seeming uninterested in the Emperor than any real wish to observe the execution, it could at least be passed off as enthusiasm.

As Gartharop arrived, he licked his scaly lips with a long forked tongue and flashed a toothy grin.

"Excellent choice, Francis," the dragon practically purred, "I can hardly wait to consume those Squelchonian fools. Nice, big, plump ones... yes, a wonderful selection indeed."

Francis decided not to correct his Emperor by pointing out that the prisoner selection had nothing at all to do with him; he would have chosen to execute some Squelchonian warriors or spies, and not the whimpering band of civilians who had been rounded up at the last moment. Besides, he had another response he was eager to make before Gartharop got carried away with his execution.

"Ahem... my Fantabulousness?" he began, glancing nervously at the gathering common folk. Gartharop shot a meaningful glance down at his advisor.

"That face again? What is it now?" the Emperor sneered.

"It's just... my lord, you talked of eating the prisoners. I'm not sure that will go down very well with the crowd. They all look very... hungry..."

The dragon scoffed. "And?"

"Well... you do always tell them how nice Squelchonians taste, and eating some in front of the hungry commoners might make them..." Francis trailed off under Gartharop's irritated glare, "I just think, perhaps another execution method would less tempt fate?" he squeaked. For once, the dragon seemed to give the suggestion some actual consideration. Eventually, the great beast nodded.

"Very well," he said to his advisor, before clambering onto the stage and addressing the crowd, "Attention subjects! In my Benevolence I have decided that it would be unfitting of me to consume these morsels while you all hunger so, due to your poor management skills and atrocious understanding of agriculture," (Francis mentally slapped his forehead) "and so I have chosen to eat only the first five of these Squelchonian meals. The sixth shall be handed over to you for consumption. Not only this, but the peasant who proves himself worthy by gathering the most goo will be automatically promoted into my palace guards!"

The sixth Squelchonian, a particularly rotund specimen, looked almost as horrified by the prospect of this as General Vanessa did.

With this announcement made, and the subsequent bowing and praising over with, Gartharop turned to the six Squelchonian prisoners. Five of them cowered back as much as their specially-made, goo-resistant chains would let them. The other, a tall and thin Squelchonian with as gaunt a face as Francis had ever seen on one of the creatures, was regarding the looming Emperor with disconcerting calm.

After a moment, Gartharop slammed down on all fours, sending a tremor through the stage and the ground beyond, and peered closely at his lunch. He slowly opened his enormous maw, revealing rows of spear-like teeth that drippled with thick saliva and the remnants of a dozen meals. Even from his position behind the dragon, Francis felt the stench of his Emperor's breath wash over him, and could only imagine what it must be like for the prisoners taking it in right from the source (though, of course, he desperately tried not to imagine that). Once his taunting display was finished, Gartharop smacked his jaws together hungrily and clawed lines backwards and forwards in front of the prisoners, as if pretending which to choose first. All could see that his mind had already been made, though. He was staring at the one brave Squelchonian in front almost as much as the prisoner was staring back at him.

Eventually, he smiled, lowered his head close, and simply whispered, "You."

Then he reared back, opened his mouth and readied his tongue. The crowd drew a deep breath and leant forwards. Francis however clamped his eyes shut. He had seen this too many times before...

"Wait!" shouted the Squelchonian.

Gartharop merely chuckled.

"You imagine you are in a position to plead for your life, tiny morsel?" the Eternal Emperor asked, prompting nervous laughter from the crowd (helped along by subtle jabs from the guard's halberds). The Squelchonian shook his head.

"No, my great and wondrous Lord," he said, dipping into a sweeping bow, "I know that I am nothing to you, and have nothing to offer that could possibly change your mind. I accept my fate as your meal. But if it pleases you, I wish only that my final action be to give you a gift that provides you with even greater enjoyment of me."

A ripple of confused mumbling spread through the watching common folk. They had never seen this before. Some prisoners accepted their fate, some plead for their lives, some even appealed to the empathy of the Pilanese themselves (which of course meant the crowd had to immediately hurl insults and rotten fruit at the poor Squelchonian, to absolutely and conclusively prove that they _hadn't_considered overthrowing Gartharop), but none had ever offered gifts while still expecting to be eaten.

It seemed that Gartharop himself was also intrigued. A deep rumbling emitted from his throat as he turned his head to peer closer at the confident prisoner.

"Go on..." hissed the dragon.

"Erm... my Eternal Lord..." squeaked Francis timidly, tugging at Gartharop's forepaw, "I urge caution with -"

"You are aware," Gartharop interrupted, addressing the Squelchonian prisoner so closely that some of the poor man's goo was blown off of his head by the Emperor's breath, "that even if your gift is the greatest I have ever received, you will still be my lunch?"

"There is no higher honour," the prisoner insisted, smiling warmly.

A tense pause followed. General Vanessa was already issuing quick, gestured orders, while Francis simply shook his head numbly. But Gartharop was nothing if not confident, and he responded by opening a heavy paw in front of the prisoner. The Squelchonian, who Francis began to realise must have been one of the race's famed inventors, pulled from seemingly nowhere a strange, metallic container embedded with glass panels and containing a deep purple liquid (where he had been holding this, Francis cared not to speculate, since Squelchonians wore no clothes and as such had no pockets to speak of). He held it high for the Emperor to examine.

"It will enhance my flavour a thousand-fold," he explained, before placing the container reverently within the dragon's paw.

Francis practically leapt forward, as the common folk (and several of the guards) began muttering wildly amongst themselves.

"Your Incrediblenessy, I must strongly object!" he squawked, "This is _clearly_some kind of trap, or weapon, or -"

The dragon chuckled, and shook his head.

"Francis, you naïve fool. You know as well as I do that no Squelchonian weapon has ever been able to harm me, nor any poison kill me."

The Squelchonian smiled, and Francis could only stand and gape as Emperor Gartharop threw back his hand and popped the device into his mouth, smashing it easily between his teeth. Everyone held their breath, and the enormous dragon ran his tongue along his mouth and swallowed the contents of the container.

The moment stretched.

The dragon's eyes widened.

General Vanessa opened her mouth to issue the execution orders.

Then Gartharop smiled.

"Oh," he said, with an expression of pure joy, "ooh. That... is exquisite. Such an... unusual flavour... it is everything he promised and more!"

The Squelchonian grinned, and bowed low.

"Yes..." breathed Gartharop, "yes, this shall make the prisoners taste truly divine! I may even leave this one until last, as a rewar -"

He stopped. It was as if the word got jammed in his throat, and immediately a clawed hand shot up and held onto his long, scaled neck. Gartharop began to gag, and then retch, and as the guards and the crowd stood terrified and unmoving, the dragon's enormous talons gouged deep, desperate holes in the wooden stage. The Emperor began to sway fitfully, knocking Vanessa off of the platform and sending Francis running to avoid being crushed under the scrabbling feet of his master. And all the while, the Squelchonian simply watched with that calm smile.

Then things got really strange. One moment Gartharop was gagging and clamping his eyes shut, the next moment they were open, but... blue. His eyes had suddenly changed from a dark black to a swirling light blue.

His horns were next; they began to droop and sag as a soft blue light rose from their base and ran up to a suddenly dulled tip. From there, the light spread down across his head, down his back and along his tail. Before long, the crowd could see that, not only was his body turning soft and blue, but it was also becoming transparent. As the transformation reached the Emperor's paws, the entire village could be seen through his body, cloudy and blue, but unmissable.

Just as Francis was scrambling to his feet, trying to get to grips with what was happening, Gartharop seemed to find his voice once more, looking down in horror at his new body.

"What... what have you... how have you done this? I cannot be harmed!" hissed the dragon.

"I have not harmed you, Emperor," assured the Squelchonian, "I have simply _changed_you."

Gartharop gaped at his new, gooey paws, and a thick silence fell over the village. No one dared speak. No one dared move. No one dared breathe.

Until a voice rang out.

"Look mummy! The Emperor's a Squelchonian!"

Gartharop's head snapped to the source of the noise like a clap of thunder, and an expression to match. He locked his beady, blue eyes on a small boy, no more than eight years old, tugging on his ghost-pale mother's ragged dress and pointing at the Emperor with a mucky finger. The dragon snarled a snarl that sent shivers down the spines of Squelchonian and Palinese alike, and the child finally realised he was the centre of the Emperor's attention. His little mouth dropped open.

Gartharop reared back, and bathed the poor child in a storm of fire.

Or... at least he tried to.

Evidently Squelchonians were no more capable of spitting fire than Palinese common folk, and as Gartharop breathed out heavily in the little boy's direction, he succeeded only in spitting a slimy globule of himself down the child's burlap shirt. Francis, who was watching all of this in the manner that one observes a bizarre dream just before waking up safe in bed, couldn't tell whether the boy or the Emperor was more surprised at what had just happened.

Certainly it was the child who recovered quicker, because he looked down at the goo, up to the Emperor, and then back down to the goo. Then, with a small hand, he scooped it off of his clothes and raised it to his mouth. Gartharop's mouth fell open, and he stared at the child numbly.

The child looked Gartharop right in the eyes, and took a bite.

He chewed once.

Twice.

Three times.

Gulp.

Francis heard the boy swallowing from what felt like a world away. The moment dragged on until he suddenly realised he hadn't remembered to breathe, and he gasped.

"Wow," said the young boy, staring up at his mother, "He was right, Mummy, Squelchonians taste great!"

Gartharop spluttered, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Guards!" he screeched, angrier than Francis had ever seen him before, "Give that woman your halberd and have her execute her child! Then kill her and anyone who doesn't spit on the corpses!"

But the guards didn't move to follow their orders. In fact, they took a big step backwards. General Vanessa took a big step backwards. Francis the advisor took a _very_big step backwards. The common folk were looking at their now-gooey leader with a particular look in their eyes, and it was a look that any advisor of Gartharop saw before too long. Francis had seen it when the carriages full of meat and vegetables were slowly carted through the palace gates every morning; he had seen it when they had salted every turnip field in Palinas after Gartharop had got one of the vegetables stuck in his teeth; more than anything, he had seen it whenever he read out one of Gartharop's proclamations on the excellent and incomparable taste of his favourite food in the entire land.

The taste of a Squelchonian.

Yes, every advisor had seen that look in the eyes of the common folk. But Gartharop had never been skilled at sensing the mood of his subjects, and as they began to advance on him step by step, he resorted to what he knew best; screaming death threats and demanding executions. By the time he realised that his guards were no longer listening, the common folk were all around him, and as he screeched for the last time, the people fell on him like a pack of beasts. They clawed and snatched and grabbed handfuls of soft blue dragon, shoving it in their mouths and swallowing greedily. Living drips rolled down their chins, cursing them in tiny voices as they slurped him back up.

Francis could only stand and watch. The guards all around did nothing to intervene, although some were licking their lips and staring hungrily. Even General Vanessa's stomach was rumbling, though she made no attempt to join the feeding mob. What Francis found most interesting was that, as a Squelchonian, each part of Gartharop seemed fully aware of what was happening. A man on the edge of the crowd was sweeping up globules of the Emperor that had splattered onto the ground, and as he shovelled them into his mouth and chewed noisily, Gartharop's enraged voice squeaked out from between his teeth, complaining about the smell of his breath. A woman dressed in rags had filled up an old bread-basket with quivering lumps of the dragon lord, and was now rushing home, presumably to prepare a feast for her family, as the basket issued chilling threats of what would happen to "treasonous peasants" like her. On the edge of the stage, swinging his legs and licking his fingers happily, the child who had started it all was giggling as his blue-coated fingers yelled at him to "cease all transgressions".

It was certainly a spectacular end to the reign of Gartharop the Benevolent.

After the feasting was finally over, and nothing at all remained of the dragon Emperor (on stage or anywhere else, it would seem, aside from several hundred digestive tracts), it was some time before the crowd dispersed. Given the exceptional circumstances, it was decided that the Squelchonian prisoners should have their execution delayed, and so, with a promise to the guards 'not to break any rules or try to run away or anything bad like that', they were welcomed into the homes of the Pilanese common folk to share stories of their collective joy at Gartharop's demise.

Yet not everyone was expressing their happiness. Francis had spent his entire life under Emperor Gartharop's thumb (sometimes literally, when the great dragon was bored), and it was hard for him to accept that his Eternal Lord was gone for good. What trouble he would be in if he was caught celebrating if Gartharop were to somehow come back! The Emperor had never needed much excuse to execute so-called 'traitors' before, but after being eaten alive by his own common folk, Francis reasoned that the old dragon would be even crankier than usual.

So it was with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that Francis decided not to return to the palace, but instead to stroll around the village, passing houses that blared celebratory music and drunken songs, and occasionally bumping into those who were dancing wildly in the streets. He appreciated their pleasure, but felt a heavy cloud hanging over him that prevented him from joining in. That was why he decided to take a turn into a darker part of the village, away from the parties. He walked for quite a few minutes before finding himself, with surprise, back at the scene of Gartharop's demise. It was deserted now, and Francis felt incredibly alone as he slowly approached the stage and laid a gently hand on the corner of it.

Can he really be gone...?

"Francis!" shouted Gartharop.

Francis leapt several feet into the air and screamed. He glanced around quickly but couldn't see his master anywhere. How could he? The dragon had been torn to pieces hours ago.

Was he imagining it? Was he going losing his mind, hearing phantom voices?

He heard it again.

"Down here you cretinous fool!"

Francis stared at the stage, where his master's voice seemed to be coming from. Very slowly, with a horrified realisation, he leant down and peered into the shadowy underbelly of the wooden platform.

Sure enough, there he was; a miniscule blob of glowing blue, no larger than Francis' fist, staring up at him with beady goo eyes.

"Took you long enough, you idiot!" barked the glob in a voice that was, while much squeakier, undeniably that of his Eternal Emperor, Gartharop, "I've been lying here waiting for you to get me for hours! Now pick me up and take me back to the palace. We've got hundreds of executions to order, and if we don't start soon it's going to take all night!"

Francis stared with wide eyes as his stomach did somersaults. Numbly, he reached out and picked up his master, feeling the light half-liquid roll over his fingers as he did so. The bright blue globule was already starting to reform and take on the shape of a tiny dragon, with a stunted snout poking out of the front and the beginnings of what looked like legs poking from the sides. If Gartharop was reforming here, then based on what Francis knew about the Squelchonians that meant that this was the biggest remaining piece of the Emperor.

Possibly the only _remaining piece,_insisted an odd and rarely-used part of Francis' brain.

"Vanessa will have to go, of course," rambled the Gartharop glob casually, "and all of her guards. They did absolutely nothing while I was being eaten by those disgusting peasants, so I think I'll return the favour. Which do you think is worse, rats or leeches?"

Francis didn't respond. He simply stared at the blob in his hand as a million thoughts raced through his mind.

"Francis!" snapped the Emperor. The advisor jumped, and shook his head.

"How are you..." he stammered, before regaining his composure, "I mean... you were... eaten!"

"Yes," hissed the dragon-glob venomously, "I had realised that, thank you".

"Did... did it hurt?" Francis asked. The glob seemed to calm down slightly, and (as much as a glob could do so) frowned.

"What is 'hurt'?" it asked.

Of course, Francis reminded himself, immortal dragon...

"I mean to say... did it feel... bad?"

"Bad?!" screeched the glob angrily, "Of course it felt bad you colossal imbecile! I was being chewed and digested by hundreds of peasants! Do you realise how Squelchonian goo works? I could see from each part of me. Hundreds of different mouths, hundreds of different stomachs, it was disgusting!"

"You can see from each part of you?" blurted the shocked advisor, bringing his Emperor close to his face and peering intently.

"Could see," corrected the bitter glob, "it seems that this is the only bit of me left now. But Squelchonians grow back - I've just got to eat enough. This village ought to do for starters...."

At the mention of food, there was a loud rumbling from Francis' stomach. The advisor hadn't eaten a thing since leaving for the execution almost half a day ago. Gartharop didn't notice; the gooey dragon was too busy listing execution methods and how to prepare the Squelchonian scientist who started all of this for desert. He only stopped when Francis lifted him to eye level, and slowly opened his mouth.

"Francis, what are you - close your mouth! Why are you looking at me like -"

The advisor flicked his wrist, and his Squelchonian Emperor slid pleasantly from his fingers and plopped into his open mouth. The moment the dragon hit his tongue, Francis' taste buds exploded. He had never tasted Squelchonian before - somehow it had never seemed right - but now that he was experiencing the flavour, he realised that everything Gartharop had said about it was, for once, absolutely true. It was sweet and light, naturally cool and smooth, and the protesting flails of Gartharop felt like a gentle massage that relaxed his jaws and opened up his throat. It would be such a simple thing to lean his head back slightly and...

"Let me out this instance! Don't you dare - I WILL DESTROY YOMmmmph mph mmmnn mmbph..."

Gluck.

"Aah..." Francis breathed a deep sigh, and with that, the Emperor was gone for good, left to howl his last few minutes away impotently in his advisor's now-comfortably full stomach. It wouldn't be long before the protests fell silent, but Francis didn't mind; he had to admit, the rolling and kicking felt quite nice, spreading a warmth through his body that he had never experienced before. Or perhaps that was simply the feeling of a new day soon to dawn.

In any case, Francis continued his walk, allowing himself the slightest hint of a smile, and whistling a happy tune into the night.