"Your Highness?"

Bob rummaged through one of the royal dressers, putting back a multitude of blue jackets and some... tight white underwear. Does he even wear them? He didn't ponder it too much. "D'you need em sorted by colour, or...?"

But then, when the fat weasel went over to the window to give the bedsheets a good pummeling... an unpleasant surprise, laying limply on the rocks way below, crept into his field of vision.

Bob grit his teeth, not sure how to react. "Oi. He's feckin' dead."

When Conker awoke, he had to jostle his brain like he hadn't done in a long time. What happened? That was one hell of a night out. He was sure of one thing, and that was that it was definitely more than alcohol this time... he raised a gloved hand to his forehead, feeling it pound in his fingertips. "Ouugh..."

He expected a load of sunshine to his tired eyes, but got none of the sort. It was pure darkness. The only sound audible were some eerie, very distant moans.

Oh god. Did he.. die?

"Conker!" yelped a very shrill, high-pitched voice. Unmistakably the tiny grim reaper, out to do his job. He seemed to have lost his megaphone. "You soddin' idiot!"

Conker opened his eyes entirely, and saw the dimunitive skeleton ambling towards him, scythe in hand. He was scowling at him with those empty eye sockets. Instinctively, the squirrel uttered a groan. He's been here before. The hangover was worse on him than dying at this very moment.

"Bother me not if you still have your tails, I told ya a hundred times! Where do you keep finding them?" Gregg went on his little tangent, not even pausing to take a breath.

Though in this dire situation, Conker had to sigh in relief. Not quite dead yet, once more. For better or worse... He carefully stepped over his tail to stand up, and dusted himself off. "What's the status quo, ol' chap?"

Gregg halted his rant, and glared at Conker with bewilderment visible on his skeletal face. "Don't act all buddy-buddy with me, ya li'l prick! I told you last time. You had at LEAST six. And here you are, out on a bender? What'd they slip you to make you jump out of a bloody, sodding window?"

Uh... did that happen? Sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, Conker stretched out his arms. He chuckled, awkwardly. "Stuff happens!"

Gregg was at his last nerve. "It's bad enough I gotta do this shitey gig all on me own... well, alright, there's another fellow but he just moans and plays guitar on his scythe. Hate him. It sounds like a cat gettin' skinned alive. Eugh... cats."

Conker tried to sneak away from the tiny grim reaper, but he quickly noticed. "Get yer arse back here!"

"But I don't wannaaaa!" Conker whined like a child. "I need ta sleep...!"

Gregg moaned in annoyance, giving the squirrel a few forceful prods with his scythe's sharp end. That only made him jump and give a small yelp. "Piss off and leave me alone, today was my only free day of the year and you blew it!"

"Look, Gregg, my boy, I was going to offer you a drink on me onna these days, but if you wanna be like that..."

Not about to be swayed, Gregg waved his scythe and before Conker realized it, he was hauled up into the void by a giant skeletal hand.

8888

"Dearly beloved... we have gathered here to mourn the passing of our dear king Conker The Squirrel the First, small of stature but big of heart..."

The small but tight-knit castle crew - that is, Rodent and the guards - had gathered around the spot where their king supposedly fell to his untimely death. Bill was giving an eulogy for his monarch, holding back his tears as much as he could (and failing). Bob was patting his back in comfort, and Rodent bawled into a napkin. The rain came in, dampening their spirits and fur.

"Can I... can I have one last look at him?" Rodent piped up between sobs. "He's... well, we go back a while..."

Gently, Bob ushered him closer, and lifted a small tip of the blanket that was covering what they thought was Conker.

But Rodent stopped crying, and sounded confused.

"Where is he?"

"What'd you mean, where is he? e's Right there... bloody hell?"

As Bob pulled back the blanket with one fell tug, the trio of upset underlings discovered that there was absolutely nobody under the blanket.

A very familiar voice piped up from behind them. "'Sup, guys? Why so upset? The sun's gonna come out in a few minutes, y'know!"

Indeed, there was Conker, flawless and unscathed, and with an annoyingly bright glow to his red fur.

Rodent stomped over and throttled him. "Why you scare us like that? You absolute freakin' maniac!"

Well. That went about as well as expected. Conker was going to say "I thought you'd be happy to see me!" if he wasn't in the progress of being shaken to and fro. Thusly, the trio chased him all around the castle for scaring them like that. Only after a good ten minutes did they calm down to ask what happened, and Conker all-too-gleefully explained his little stash of tails.

"And dis is why we put bars in front of castle windows, sire." Bob spoke in a deadpan afterwards. "Now go to sleep before that happens again."

Conker's ears perked up and he gave a frown. "But I'm not tired at all!"

"Sleep. Now."

Conker could protest all he want, but Bob was not having any of it. He tugged the king by his tail into the royal sleeping chamber.

It wasn't even that late. Bob just had a knack for being that sort of friend.

Bill hobbled behind, still trying to process everything that still happened. "How's that even work, sire?"

Grumbling to himself, Conker meekly let himself get dragged along. "Find a tail and I live extra. Also, I'm part vampire, apparently. It's best to not think of it too much. Where'd Rodent go?"

"He's in his room. Seems angry. Something about a funeral he was planning."

"Ouch," said Conker. "Uh... I'll talk to him later."

Surprisingly, the rest of the day went a lot more relaxed than anticipated... although Bob did make it a rush job to add extra bars to Conker's windows just in case.