Garrick: *bumps into Aaric* Sorry, man. No offense to the Crown of Navarre. Aaric: None taken. You’ll want to be showered and in your room before eight tonight.
Garrick: Ok, mom. What do I look like, a first year? Aaric: Trust me. Or don’t. You’re a big boy. *starts to leave*
Garrick: Wait—this some of your crystal-ball shit? Aaric: *stops mid-step, eyes glaze… stares way too long*
Aaric: …On second thought, skip the shower. Aaric: *walking away, muttering* Should’ve known she likes it dirty.
Garrick: …What the hell was that? Aaric (offscreen): Prophecy I did NOT ask for.
Pretty sure he’s about to tell Imogen to go jump Garrick’s sweaty bones at eight. Fake visions fixing sexual tension like it's his royal duty.
Aaric Graycastle—Seer, Shit-Stirrer, & matchmaker against his will. 🔮💀