Hvs.tCF 64:1/Text

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Sleeping in here was a problem.

Prince Albert had only slept one other time in his life so far. Part of popping as Royal heir involved an upgrade to the tower; quarters designed specifically to suit him materialized inside the tower top when he did. And his huge apartment suite had included a magnificent riveted-iron sleigh bed with fine linen dressing.

That bed was not for sleeping, though. It was for other purposes (as that Vanna babe was gonna discover soon).

Instead, there was a closet. And in the ceiling of the closet were two sockets, lined and cuffed with black satin. These were for his feet. He slept upside down, and his first night's sleep had been a great one.

He was rightside up now, though, sitting in a wooden chair, propping his head with his hand. His elbow was planted on top of a chest of drawers. The chair arm was digging into his ribcage. These were lesser quarters than his own, by a lot.

He didn't think he had fallen asleep at all, but he must have, since he woke up when someone knocked on the door.

"What?" he muttered, lifting his head.

Vinny Doombats opened the door a crack and poked his head in. "Y'Highness," said the Transylvitian, "you mind if I come in?"

There was very little light in this room, but Count Doombats had a yellow powerball trailing in the air behind him. Albert gave him a bleary glare. "Why?"

"I brought you something to eat," shrugged the Count. "Possibly."

Albert squinted. "You possibly brought me something to eat?"

"Yeah."

He looked away, at the bed that took up half the space in this room. Then he thought better of that, and looked at the far wall instead. "Fine. I'll allow it."

The door swung wide, and Count Doombats floated inside. He was clutching a duck cloth bag with a drawstring on it. He closed the door with his free hand, and waved the powerball off to a corner. He hovered there in front of the Prince of Faq.

"There's only one chair in here," said Albert, not rising. "You could sit on the bed, I guess."

The Count glanced at the bed very briefly. "Nah. It would be disrespectful. I'll fly."

Something in the heavy white sack that Doombats was carrying moved on its own. Albert pulled himself up out of his slouch and leaned forward curiously, looking at the bag. "Whatcha got?"

The Count smiled. "Game," he said. With his spare hand, he gripped the bag tightly around the middle. Something inside it squeaked. He adjusted his grip, then pushed the bag's opening down, causing the small, furry head of a rodent to poke out.