Leona Kingscholar: The Mane Event
I’m laughing at the fact that Leona has a voice line that teases about taking the hat off AND he actually takes his hat off during the vignettes (to get his hair done)… yet we don’t get to see it 😭 Those dastardly devs know what they’re doing…
Let them eat cake.
Eating with a king--even one as slovenly as this--is impossible. Leona radiates an unmatched aura, swagger in every stride, his lace jacket trailing behind him like a glorious cape. Even the fedora (an accessory dragged by Ignihyde and the internet) is worn with the same confidence as a crown, the rim of it shading his luminous green gaze and curled bangs.
The instant he enters the room, Leona commands attention and respect. A simple wave of the hand, and his needs are dutifully tended to. Dessert and silverware manifesting like magic, staff servile as they wish him a good meal and skitter away.
What a guy.
“… Speak.”
Leona’s order is smooth and languid, like tempered chocolate coating the tongue. You gasp and take the defensive, wielding your spoon like a sword to parry his blow.
“What makes you think I have something I want to day?”
“You’re staring,” he points out, jabbing his own spoon at you, "and you’ve been staring.”
“Would you kill me if I said it?”
"Just spit it out already. I’m not getting any younger here.”
“Well, it’s nothing major. I was thinking that your hair looks really good, especially after that fancy treatment you had done.”
It's true. Whatever they had done in that barbershop was nothing short of casting an enchantment. You'd witnessed how his tresses, matted from the heat, had transformed into voluminous, shiny umber waves--not that you could tell anymore, not when it was all pulled back.
You gesture to him. “But then why tie it up and cram it all under a hat? It seems like a waste to me. If you’ve got it, then you might as well flaunt it.”
"You're soundin' an awful lot like Vil," Leona snorts. “It’s hot out. If I let my hair down, sweat’ll collect and plaster it to my skin. It’s the worst feeling.”
“We’re in an air-conditioned pâtissière, Leona.”
He arches a brow and takes an indignant bite of his jelly. "And? What's your point?"
“It’d be completely fine to let your hair down now. Besides, didn't you once tell me that lion beastmen take pride in managing their manes?" you say with a huff. "You're the most prideful guy I know. I didn't think you'd be so shy about showing off."
"Hah! Is that supposed to be a compliment? Pride and shyness has got nothing to do with it."
His sharp laugh quickly dissipates, replaced by a solemness seeping into his expression. Lowering his head, he runs fingers along the brim of his hat. His face is unreadable from where you're sitting.
"Some things aren't destined to see the light of day," he murmurs. "They're forever trapped in the shadows."
Your chest tightens. You don't know the true meaning behind those words, but they fill you with an immense sadness all the same.
You can see it now.
There's a lion cub tucked behind a column, listening in on the advisors bathed in the sun. Hidden, but forced to bear witness to the truth. One throne, one king. The other, banished to the dark
You abruptly rise from your seat. The cutlery rattles, the jelly shakes. But Leona does not move.
"... You're brooding again. That's not allowed on your special day."
And then it happens in a flash. Your hands, reaching for his hat and snatching it clean off. The hairband, following soon after. His mane tumbles past his shoulders, free at last.
Exposed to the waiting day.
"There!" you declare triumphantly, ruffling his head. When you pull away, his hair sticks up. "Much better."
"You'd be dead meat if I wasn't so gracious," Leona glowers, smoothing his mane back down. (Translation: You're lucky I like you.) His fluffy ears twitch in irritation, and you have to actively hold yourself back from squealing.
"Alright, alright, Mr. Sunshine," you reply, fitting yourself with the stolen fedora and tipping it. “I thank you for your forgiveness.”
He sighs deeply, but makes no effort to argue. Another spoonful of jelly disappears behind his lips.
Happy birthday, Leona. Maybe you’re not fully comfortable with it yet, but… One day, you’ll be where the light touches.
