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Petpet Name: Charlemagne
Pet Name: Zoorit
Breed: Royal Mallard
"Chaaarles! Charles? Charlie..? CHARLEMAGNE!" the little mallard could hear the prince calling from across the courtyard. Charlemagne quacked once, sped off toward the sound of the voice, and promptly tumbled all over himself. He had gotten his robes tangled in some reeds while grazing for Moquots at the edge of the pond.
"You come here this instant!" Prince Ori cried indignantly, with just a hint of panic in his voice. Charlemagne quacked again, this time feebly, as he was currently stuck fast and folded in upside-down on himself. Charlie squirmed, trying unsuccessfully to get himself upright, and his little crown with attached toupee flopped down into the water and disappeared. He gasped, then let out a defeated squawk. The prince had given him his robe and crown in a rather bombastic display one evening, declaring Charlemagne King of the Courtyard, bestowing upon him ~The Royal Dressings~ and gleefully sending him off to survey his newfound kingdom (which consisted of a small pond, an outdoor tea patio, and some rose bushes).
Charlemagne decided this was surely the end, as he sat tragically, still tied heels over head to the reeds. He could hear the prince flouncing around the courtyard, letting out small, melodramatic cries as he delicately perused the rose bushes for any sign of the small petpet. Charlemagne started imagining all kinds of gloomy scenarios. He pictured himself left out there all night, the poor prince looking for him until dawn, fingers pricked from thorns, catching a fever and subsequently dying of course. Then soon Charlie would join him, his final resting place this infernal clump of reeds. How undignified! What a tragic end! Charlie moped as he longed for the warmth of the castle and company of his owner.
"Where are you Charles? It’s time for tea!" Prince Ori called, growing increasingly worried by the absence of his Mallard. Charlie snapped out of his thoughts of doom and gloom and began to squirm again, enough to rustle the reeds and alert Zoorit to his whereabouts.
"There you are— Charles! You’ve got your robe all soiled! And where is your crown?" Charlemagne looked up at Zoorit pathetically, and the Acara let out a warm laugh. "It’s alright, I can see you’ve had quite the afternoon. We won’t worry about it now, it’s time for tea and scones," Ori said as he gently untangled the petpet from the reeds. Charlemagne instantly perked up, and before Ori could lift him, scurried into the pond and dove from sight.
"How crass!" Ori harrumphed, gazing at the empty surface of the pond. Before long, Charlie reemerged, crown in beak— toupee and all. "Oh, you’ve found it!" Zoorit exclaimed delightedly, as the petpet proudly held his head high. Zoorit gingerly picked up the sopping and muddied wig and crown between his index finger and his thumb. "We’ll go ahead and set this out to dry," he mumbled, and hung the set on a sunny branch of a tree. Charlemagne then leapt into Zoorit’s arms, snuggling into the Acara’s robes. "Noooo, you’re all sodden!" Zoorit sobbed, then finally let out happy sigh. "Alright, we don’t want the tea to get cold. Come now," He said brightly, hugging Charlie and walking off back toward the patio. Charlie let out a contented quack.
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