“ah, yes, known war criminals: the yves saint laurent fashion house,” parker scoffs, “come on, sutton, it’s not like french people had anything to do with that. if we’re all going down for the shitty things our countries do, are we even allowed to leave the house?” he shrugs, trying to brush it off a bit, but then he thinks of a joke and comes back, “come on, it’s probably all that king dude. uhhh, anthony or whatever - you know he’s like, really into whales? it’s all he could talk about at new years. and he didn’t know who shamu was!” he looks down at the outfit, “uh, dad - dad wore shorts to our great aunt’s funeral, remember? these are high fashion shorts, too - i’m allowed.” he touches at the tiara for a second, “ugh, it’s way lighter than the last one. i won’t lose it! aisling isn’t allowed to pick out my tiaras anymore.”
“ the french people are who he drains money from to fund his bombing of other countries on a whim. would you be so supportive of french brands if he bombed new york ? or dublin ? ” and who was to say one of them weren’t next ? perhaps not from the french, but considering the state of the world, there was always half a chance of another country being emboldened enough to strike out. “ oh parker, please tell me you didn’t try to educate king arnauld on shamu. ” how was diplomacy entirely lost on her brother ? she already knew she’d be using this as an example of why she so desperately wanted emerson here, whitmore’s could have intelligent conversations damn it ! “ it was a summer funeral in the south, our cousins wore t-shirts... ” it was redundant to argue with him, at this rate the best she could hope for was minimal offence. “ let’s not get blame-y with aisling, not to sound mom-like, but if you can’t be responsible for something, might be best to not to borrow priceless jewels. ”
