"Give that back!" Alastor bellowed, his regal composure slipping as he attempted to reclaim his outfit.
Hale, clutching the suit with an iron grip, shot back, "No! Give me something to wear, then!" His annoyance was evident, eyebrows knitting together in a way that made him resemble a particularly disgruntled cat.
Rowan, standing off to the side with arms crossed, watched the spectacle unfold with an expression that was a mix of amusement and disbelief. He had seen many things in the palace, but this was a new level of absurdity.
Alastor yanked on the suit again, a determined glint in his midnight-blue eyes. "There are plenty of suits out there! Just grab another!"
"I did check!" Hale huffed, exasperation lacing his tone. "You only have black, black, and more black. Are you attending funerals all the time, or what?" His expression was a mix of disbelief and annoyance, trying to comprehend the enigma that was Alastor's wardrobe choices.
"I just like black!" Alastor shot back, his cheeks flushing slightly.
"Then wear it this time too!" Hale insisted, his grip tightening around the suit. "Why isn't this one black? Give this to me!"
Alastor felt a vein throb at his temple. "How can I wear black for my daughter's ball? Why the heck didn't you bring any clothes for yourself?" He pulled harder, desperation fueling his efforts, but Hale remained unyielding.
"I didn't think I would be a man! I brought a dress, not a suit!" Hale exclaimed, exasperation coloring his voice.
"Then just transform it!" Alastor suggested, his tone bordering on desperate. "Don't your clothes always change when you change?"
"That's when I'm wearing clothes made from magic, dummy!" Hale snapped back, frustration evident in his tone. "I brought that dress on the way, from your powerless kingdom!"
Alastor's eye twitched at the mention of 'powerless,' his patience wearing thin. "Can you stop with the powerless?!"
Just then, a sharp sound cut through the bickering—a tear echoed in the room. Both men looked down in horror as the suit, caught in their tug-of-war, had given way, a jagged rip now marring the fabric.
"Great!" Alastor exclaimed, throwing his hands up in despair. "Now what am I supposed to wear? A potato sack?"
Hale's expression shifted from annoyance to something akin to guilt, though it was hard to tell if he was genuinely remorseful. "Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you refused to lend me something decent," he retorted, crossing his arms in mock defiance.
Rowan could no longer contain himself. He burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach, thoroughly entertained by the unfolding drama.
Alastor shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite his irritation. "This is all your fault, Hale!"
Hale stared at the torn suit, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, as he looked away, the suit dangling limply in his hands.
Alastor blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected sincerity. He had half-expected a witty retort or a cheeky jab.
"Ah, well…" he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed deeply. "Why didn't you just go to a boutique here?"
Hale turned to him, frustration creeping into his tone. "I already did. You know how long it takes for me to choose?" He sighed dramatically, clutching the remnants of the suit like a defeated warrior holding a broken sword. "It took me five hours to choose the dress I brought."
Rowan couldn't help but smile at the shared plight of the two royals, both notorious for their indecisiveness. His king had once spent an entire afternoon debating the merits of different shades of black.
Alastor slumped onto the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. "What do we wear, then?" he sighed, sounding more exhausted than a soldier after a long battle.
Hale plopped down beside him, the bed creaking under their combined weight. "Can't believe we're royals having an existential crisis over a suit," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Tell me about it," Alastor replied, a hint of laughter in his tone despite the ridiculousness of the situation.
Rowan blinked, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Is it really a big deal?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. After all, wasn't this the kind of thing that could be resolved with a wave of their hand or a flick of their finger?
The two royals turned to him, their expressions flat, as if they had just been asked if the sky was blue. "You don't understand," they said in unison, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them.
Hale, contemplating for a moment, broke the silence with a mischievous smile. "Perhaps we should put your wardrobe to good use," he suggested, his tone lightening as he nudged Alastor playfully.
Alastor's eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head, a grin breaking through his earlier frustration. "So much for dignity."