Saga Of The European King

Will Smith took Roxy Tripfoot and Bernadetta Leathervest to a sweet beach party that was happening on the coolest beach in Miami. Nobody had organised the party or anything, it had just happened spontaneously. That's how everything happened in Miami. People just did what they felt like and it was romantic.

They could do this because Will Smith was goddamn loaded. He was the exiled Prince of the United States. His family had been kicked out of power by the President many generations ago and they had taken their massive amounts of pure money with them when they fled to the United States' penis region. There, they had invented tomatoes and potatoes and smoking and had traded with the local tribes and the crazy people on the Southern Continent of the United States and, later, the Vikincas that had displaced them. Not long after their exile, the Smith dynasty had branched out into the widespread trade of flame-liquid, sickness metal, the finest slaves, crack cocaine and these little assemblages of detritus called dreamcatchers. This gave young Will, the regent, plenty of time and cash for him to run about on the beaches with his son making beautiful rhyming poems about running around on the beaches with his son. He impressed a lot of ladies because of this. Ladies are impressed by beaches and guys with sons. When he saw Roxy Tripfoot and Bernadetta Leathervest, he saw two ladies who he had never impressed before. True, one of them was kind of square and homely and the other was starving and a few days away from death, but he had money and could fix these things. They weren't into the beach party very much because they had been floating around in a life raft for a few weeks and they had nearly been eaten by an octopus. Will was cool with them not being cool with it, so he took them to one of his beach mansions, ordered some spare honies to clean the guest bedrooms, cracked open a low-alcohol beer and just chillaxed while the two Daughters Of Europe were washed, fed and put to bed. They slept for two days. Will Smith got up to all sorts of stuff in those two days. He wrote a new song (It was about having fun and girls liking you), drove around in a topless car with his son (his son would point at famous things and then childishly mispronounce their names or make contrary assumptions about their nature) and spent a lot of time making dinners for his wife, whom he loved more than life itself. Will Smith had been married for years and years but his marriage still worked. He didn't even want to sleep with all the honies on the beaches that he impressed all the time, even though they were jiggy and fly. He knew that they could not possibly fill his heart with love the way his wife did. He didn't even want to sleep with Roxy Tripfoot, even though she was jiggy and fly and completely in his debt. He didn't want to sleep with Bernadetta Leathervest, even though she presented a huge challenge and he could tell all the guys about it later. He just wanted to impress them with his wealth and generosity and good looks and easy charm and jokes. That's all.

When Roxy Tripfoot at last awoke she thanked Will Smith very vigorously. She asked him what had happened when he had found them, for her memory of the event had faded.
“I had long run out of magic and hadn't been able to summon even the tiniest rabbit-kitten to eat,” she explained. “Bernadetta hadn't caught a fish for days, despite her tireless efforts and her magnificent spear.” She looked to one side and shot a rabbit out of her sleeve just because the feeling of doing so was so wonderful and she never wanted to be unable to do it again. The rabbit skipped away to the nearest beach, happy to be freshly alive and determined to wreck the ecosystem as quickly as possible.
“Now y'all don't have to worry about a thing, kay?” said Will Smith to Roxy Tripfoot. “I've sent my guys out to look around for your friends and I know they'll find something. So, until they come up with something, I'm going to treat you and your stocky friend in the next room to the best my cheque book has to offer, a'right?”
“That won't be necessary, Prince Smith. Bernadetta and I are going to be on our way immediately. You see, we came to your land to find our King – the King of Europe – who is in terrible danger and needs our help. The future of our very land depends on it.” said Roxy Tripfoot. Will Smith frowned. Roxy did not sound very impressed.
“A'ight, but one beach party, okay? All the beach parties in Miami are the greatest, I aint shitting you.” he said, letting his voice get really high.
“No, Prince Smith. I have only very recently discovered that Europe is my true homeland. I owe it to my people, who have suffered so much during my absence, to keep the King of Europe safe so that they can at last reclaim their home and ancient birthright.” she said.
Will Smith was shocked. Roxy Tripfoot had slept for two days in what was scientifically the jiggiest house in the Northern Hemisphere. She had eaten the finest foods (tomatoes and potatoes, mostly) and basically been kicking it the whole time. He'd even been just as nice to her chunky companion and not left her out or anything. And now she had to leave because of some dinky King. He would find a way to impress her even if he had to get drastic.
“Ah'll help you find your King, baby. Hell, I find kings all the time. King-finding was my major in college, didn't you know that? They celebrate me on King-Finding day. But then I guess you are new here. You might not have noticed.” Roxy Tripfoot smiled thinly at this.
“Prince Smith, my King has been captured by the Vikincas of the Southern Continent of the United States. Mine and Bernadetta's goal is to retrieve him by guile or force or both.” said Roxy Tripfoot.
“Damn, girl! Vikincas? Jeez, I can't mess with those guys. They're nasty! They're built like – they're huge!” screeched Will Smith.
“I see. Then do you have any skills or powers or special abilities that will aid us in our quest? Do you even have a Class?” snapped Roxy Tripfoot. Will Smith mocked a recoil from her words, then made an elaborate recovery and puffed his chest up in retaliation.
“I've got a whole lot of money, Roxy. That's what I've got. I'm a Millionaire. W. Smith – MILL Level 40. Those are my credentials.” Roxy's eyes widened. She had never really known industry before. Trade, sure. Privilege, certainly. But never had she encountered a class of people who existed simply to own everything.

“So how about I call up my customers the Vikincas and buy your King back, huh?”

Will Smith open his mouth into a wide grin of victory. He had impressed her.

End Of Chapter 68