raspberryturk | Room 429, Saturday Morning

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Room 429, Saturday Morning

Timon Berkowitz was, as Timon Berkowitz always had been, a particularly sound sleeper. And really, one had to be, when one's bed was usually atop the backside of a snoring warthog.

The warthog had never minded, of course. Pumbaa had been Timon's bestest best friend for years, and nothing about that was ever going to change. Ever. Heck, judging by the particularly warm squishiness of his favoritest sleeping spot today, the little meerkat found himself waking up with a grin.

"Been packin' on the pounds again, huh, Pumb--" He blinked. This certainly wasn't the jungle. And he certainly wasn't sleeping on Pumbaa's back. "Huh."

Being a meerkat of great courage and loyalty, naturally Timon was terribly concerned for the well-being and safety of his misplaced buddy.

"I wonder what kinda grub they have to eat around this joint!"

... Mostly.

[Open like an open thing! Yes, Reno is Timon the Meerkat, from The Lion King continuity- But with a few tweaks. He's from the Timon and Pumbaa cartoon show, as Quinton Flynn does both Reno's voice and season one's Timon. And people can understand what he says! Hooray, talking meerkat!]

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Prince Edmund of Narnia was not used to such disturbances. He flung back the covers and stood up, fully clothed in black leather and a black cloak. The dark circles under his eyes framed a look of confusion and suspicion. Where had his Queen sent him now? Did she suspect his soon-to-be betrayal of her? Is that why she'd sent him here?

And why was he sharing a room? "Who are you?" he demanded of the meerkat. Talking Animals were beneath him, but he needed information. "Speak now, beast, and I may spare your life."

[OOC: Ed is Prince Edmund of Narnia, darkfic!Ed]

"Beast?" Timon blinked at the guy who was wearing way too much animal hide for his own good. Really, the only ones who should be allowed to wear that much skin were animals, and theirs tended to be less on the shiny side. "The name's Timon, and this here is my buddy--" He gestured to the corner of the room in which the ferret cage was situated.

Mako was staring at them. What the heck?

"Actually, no, that ain't my buddy, Pumbaa. He's significantly less swine-shaped. Force of habit, you know?"

[Your brain is wrong and I love you omg.]

"You speak as though you don't know who I am. Don't you know your Prince when you see him?"

"My prince?" Timon narrowed his eyes, leaning forward to look this guy up and down, and then walking a circle around him to be sure. "You know, pal, I'd love to say I did, but the only royalty I know is a lot more hairy than you are. Bigger teeth. Roars. You know the type, I'm sure."

Prince Edmund narrowed his dark eyes, made darker by the shadows cast by the dark circles under his eyes. He knew only one who fit the description the meerkat had given. "Are you admitting to being a follower of His?" he asked with a dangerous tone. Well, mostly dangerous. It was hard to be fully dangerous when your voice hadn't entirely dropped yet, but he'd had practice.

Huh. The attempt at sounding dangerous kind of reminded Timon of Simba trying to roar, back when he was still a cub.

Awww, he wanted to just reach up and pinch his cheeks or something!

"Well, I use the term follower pretty loosely, here," the meerkat mused, pacing the room. "More like his chamberlain, if you will. I'm the guy the big guy learned everything he knows from, if you know what I mean." Mostly, how to eat bugs and shirk his responsibilites. "I'd call myself his majordomo, but that guy has a bigger nose."

Prince Edmund's expression darkened even more, meaning he tilted his head down even further so that he had to all but roll his eyes to even see the meerkat now. It was very, very menacing and made him look like the fierce dark prince that he was. "You're lucky I don't turn you to stone right now. Admitting to following Aslan is a crime punishable by stoning or death. Silence yourself and I may let you live." It had nothing to do with not being very good at wand-work.

"Aslan?" Timon blinked up at the kid. Huh. He was maybe a little on the crazy side. That would explain a lot. "Look, buddy, I don't know this Aslan guy, and I'm not a huge fan of being stoned or dying. I was talking about a different lion, actually. So, how about we forget this conversation ever happened, and you can take the weasel, instead?"

From the cage, Mako honked excitedly. They were talking about him!

He was a little relieved that this meerkat wasn't a follower of Aslan. That would mean actually having to do something about it, and Prince Edmund of Narnia was a big fan of leaving the actions to others while he took all the credit. "You would sacrifice someone else in your stead?" Maybe this meerkat had merit after all.

"Better them than me," Timon agreed. "And I mean, seriously. 'Honk?' What kinda mook goes honk anyhow?"

Mako honked! Mako honked very well! Honk honk hiii!

"Listen to me, buddy, I got real far in life by goin' nowhere at all. This guy over here, he's got even less travelling done, I'm thinking."

After all, he was the one in the cage.

"Honking is undignified," Prince Edmund agreed. "Perhaps you are of some use if you are willing to sacrifice this 'mook' for your life. If you pledge your loyalty to me, Prince Edmund of Narnia, I will treat you well when this land becomes mine."

Timon considered that one for a moment.

"We're not in Africa right now, are we?"

Really, how much loyalty-pledging he did depended entirely on whether or not he'd end up having to betray Simba.

Simba did have bigger teeth than this Edmund kid, after all.

"Africa is a long way from here." He was guessing, but it was what the meerkat wanted to hear, so he went with it. "The only authority here is mine."

Oh, good!

"Well then," Timon said, entirely too chipper for his own good, "where do we begin! Should I start with the bowing and grovelling, or would you prefer I just polish your boots?"

"You can start by bringing me breakfast," Prince Edmund said, looking very pleased with himself.

"I can do that!"

Timon could do that!

"What kind of grub does his majesty prefer?" A beat. "I, for one, am a fan of dung beetles. Don't let the name turn you off. They're surprisingly pleasant, and they have a very exotic tang to them."

Prince Edmund scrunched up his royal nose. "Bugs? You expect me to eat bugs?"

"Well, of course." Timon raised an eyebrow and crossed his wee little arms over his wee little chest. "Breakfast of kings, champions, and meerkats and warthogs, you know. Kind of like Wheaties, but without the nifty box."

Prince Edmund paused in thought. "Kings eat bugs for breakfast?" he asked, then hastily recovered. "Of course they do. I knew that. Bring me the finest bugs in the land!"

"The finest in the land! That, I can do!"

Timon didn't have the foggiest notion as to where he was supposed to start looking for the finest bugs in the land. He didn't even know where he was, really.

... But it certainly beat being stoned to death. Or whatever it was.

"I'll be back! With bugs! Only the finest, for royalty!"

A beat.

"Just as soon as I figure out how to open the door from down here."

Prince Edmund rolled his dark eyes and opened the door for the meerkat. "I'm going to look around. Meet me back here when you've found breakfast."

"Yes, sir!" And at that, Timon clicked his heels together and shot off a salute before parading his way out the door.

A few bugs in exchange for his life? Timon was on easy street, today.

Prince Edmund of Narnia sighed and stalked out the doorway, resisting the urge to turn the mook in the cage into stone. Maybe later.

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Room 429, Saturday Morning

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