gift for @closecry 🥰
for the fc5 anniversary gift exchange by @quentinbecks 💞
The (Almost) Perfect Day feat. everyone's favorite King of Kyrat
warning/s: just language
It was weird to not hear screaming, gunshots or even the occasional dynamite exploding in the background. For the first time in, what was it? Well it was Thursday so…
For the first time in an astounding six and a half hours, it was quiet. One could even hear the birds without having to shush or shoot people in the vicinity, whichever got them to keep it the fuck down first.
Pagan sat at the head of the dining table, expecting to see fire rain down or what other poetic visual you could compare the backdrop of a raging civil war to, yet there was absolutely nothing.
Nada. Zip.
He might as well had been in, I don’t know, Hawaii or something. Even Yuma reported a whopping figure of only three prisoners captured that morning, and that was only because they fucking tried to sneak into the prison to rescue their friends.
Hilarious.
And with Eric making all of his public appearances and touring around the different forts in Kyrat, Pagan was actually free to relax, not having to manage anything behind the scenes.
Because there was nothing to manage. It was just so damn… He laughed. He couldn’t even say it.
Peaceful!
Ha, there!
Peaceful and Kyrat? Two things that shouldn’t even be in the same essay, let alone in the same fucking sentence.
Pagan glanced at the television in front of him, seeing his body double wave at the Royal Army and shake hands with the superior officers. Hmm, it seemed the camera did add ten pounds.
Note to self, have Eric lose ten pounds.
Maybe twelve to be safe.
The chef arrived with the delicious-smelling Crab Rangoon and Pagan’s first instinct was to glare at him. He tapped on his wrist impatiently, obviously not actually on his watch. That thing cost a fucking fortune.
“There you are!” he yelled. “Where have you been? You’re already five minutes lat- wait hang on.”
Either he had to fire his watchmaker and go through the trouble (AKA ask Yuma to do it) of finding a new one, or, and this one clearly couldn’t be the right answer…
The chef was actually on fucking time.
The chef - JR or something or other - smiled all weasel-y at Pagan as he carted the Crab Rangoon to the head of the table and placed it in front of the self-proclaimed King. “It’s still fresh,” he said quite nervously and honestly, what was there to be so nervous about?
Hesitantly, Pagan reached out to the still steaming and delicious smelling Crab Rangoon like how one would approach a dinosaur they wanted to pet.
At least, that's what he thought approaching a dinosaur would be like. Elephants he could pet without worry. But a fucking t-rex?
Hmmm note to self: find a Jurassic Park scientist.
Anyway where was he? Ah yes! Crab Rangoon!
He took a small piece - and wow it was still hot! - and popped it into his mouth.
He chewed.
And chewed.
And oh heavens, yep. Yeah, that was good Crab Rangoon.
He didn't even realize he'd scooped up some more on his plate and was already reaching for the rice.
Yeah, Eric was definitely going to have to make more appearances for him, at least until the real Pagan got some exercise in.
Which reminded him to hire a trainer.
He loved Yuma, she was an angel, but he wasn't going to ask her to do it after the last time he brought her along as his, quote unquote gym buddy. They would not have a remake of the treadmill incident. He still shivered just thinking about it.
He gobbled up his meal quickly and topped it off with some fresh orange juice. Ha, see! He could be healthy.
He used the napkin to carefully wipe his mouth and only then did he realize that the chef was still in the room with him!?
Pagan blinked at the man who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but around him. Oh the silly man, he was basically invited to the cool kids table. He should be honored!
Pagan gave a boisterous laugh. "This was an excellent meal, my good sir! Give my compliments to the chef, which, you know, in this case is you!"
The man gave this little hesitant squeaky laugh that reminded Pagan of a mouse and oh my God he still needed to talk to Gary about setting up mouse traps around his room.
"T-thank you, sir," the man squeaked out.
Pagan waved his hand. "Well go on, you're dismissed. No dessert for today." Look at him, on a diet already!
The chef bowed before taking the plates and carting them off quicker than the Golden Path retreated during raids.
Alone once more, he pondered on how much of a damn relaxing day he had. One in a million really. Not one of those "I'm taking a day off but I still need to work" days, it was just… quiet.
Pagan hummed thoughtfully before deciding to stand from his seat. He did hear standing after a heavy meal helped stop bloating for the day. Hopefully not another lie he read on some fitspo's Instagram post.
He breathed in the air of Kyrat. Quiet, unpolluted with the sounds of gunfire Kyrat.
And he smiled, a genuine one this time.
For all the days Kyrat chose to leave him in peace, it had to be that day, huh?
Taking a deep breath, Pagan took one last look at the clear blue sky of his kingdom before walking. He had a date to keep, after all.
So with no one around to bother him, he stopped by his little angel's shrine, bringing a fresh bouquet of flowers with him, pink and purple in color.
He placed it on the altar, pausing to stare at Lakshmana's portrait.
He had several others with him but this one… She looked exactly like the royal princess she was always meant to be.
"The only thing that would make this day perfect was if you and your mother were here to celebrate it with me." Pagan whispered. "Happy birthday, my darling."
