Remember how my first "Save the King" story told more than it described? Here's the reason: I tend to go overboard on the descriptions. Just remember that as you read. Oh, and I didn't bother using King Candy's lisp; it would've made my check-overs more difficult.

All elements of this story belong to Pixar and Disney.

Ah, salmon.

I always liked the color salmon. Oh sure, it's more or less a code thing, my preference. But that's okay. Even without programming, I'd still like that color with all my heart.

It's bold. It's bright. It's cheery. And did you know that it even, in certain fields, means the discovery of one's own true talent and content with said talent?

It's true—at least I like to believe it is...especially since content is kinda fleeting for me nowadays.

Why am I not content, you ask?

Well, it doesn't have anything to do with being stuffed down in that smelly dungeon (excuse me—Fungeon) for about fifteen years (although that did sort of screw up my social skills).

It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that my only daughter had to put up with undeserved exile for the duration of my sentence (even though the thought of her being alone for so long is runner-up in the surefire ways to send me into a guilt-trip).

But it's got plenty to do with how everyone gives me a sort of guarded look every now and then—at least that's what the people from outside this game do.

All I need to remember why is to look at my reflection. That alone is enough to give me nightmares.

Like last night.

Which is why I've been hauled up in my overly decorated bedroom past noon by now, still decked in my white, knee-length and wrist-length nightgown and pointy white cap, elbows leaning against the balcony's golden butterscotch railing as I observe the tiny, colored dots streaming across the vast stretch of pinks, blue, purples, yellows, and other childish hues.

Everything shined and stretched out before me like a rug leading me to a long-awaited welcome home party— the chocolate lake (just in front of the castle) that bore the game's name in curvy, sparking green letters...the rounded truffle hills nearby and their brother mountains in the distance, each either tipped by sweet sauces or decorated with stripes...the candy-cane forest, thick and copious with its bare, red-and-white striped trees...the dark figure of Diet Cola Mountain, its unmistakable, brown coloring blotted at the tip by the many, rosy cotton clouds so common in this game...the lollipop trees scattered all across the land, their green and red colors dotting the colorful swirling patterns of the terrain...and all of these details surrounded by the minty fresh, blue wintergreen ocean that marked the borders of this world...

So much beauty laid out for me after so many years in the dark...

I love it.

And I hate it.

I don't deserve to see this.

A week ago...

Everything felt so "unreal" (as Vanellope put it) after she and I calmed down from our reunion.

I didn't even register that Stinkbrain (the ham-handed, spiky, auburn-haired, brown overall-wearing, orange-shirted giant), the tiny man in the blue overalls, shirt, and cap, and the blonde, black body-armored, psycho-babe with the giant, glowing gun were staring at us as if we were freakshow rejects.

That's why I nearly jumped out of my skin, glitching as I did, when the tiny man tapped me on the shoulder. He put his hands up in a "take it easy" gesture and nervously smiled at my guarded glance before hurriedly saying, "We're awfully sorry for the scare there...uh, your majesty! Your sudden appearance just sort of spooked everyone, is all."

I didn't let my guard down, but I could tell this man meant me and my vanilla bean no harm; he'd have to be well-meaning—or at least harmless—for Vanellope to let him in the castle so soon after the Turbo nightmare; and if that lady and big gorilla were with them, then that meant...

I scrunched my eyebrows at them. "Are you three the ones who helped my little girl save our kingdom?"

All three strangers nodded in response, each of them with different expressions that spoke volumes about themselves and their personalities.

Tiny Guy was a cinch. He had this sort of smile that you only have when you're trying really hard not to offend or worry someone. I could already tell he wasn't one to rock the boat too much.

Psycho-babe, on the other hand, was a whole level harder to read—on second thought, make that ten levels harder. She still had that deep scowl on her slim, pretty face that had been there ever since she fired at me—a tough nut to trust someone, no doubt.

Stinkbrain ended up being the most interesting to read, though. He didn't show too much emotion or too little of it. I only saw the same painful look from when Vanellope called me "Dad" –and nothing else. His eyebrows slightly creased, his lips went straight, and something about the way his body sagged ever so slightly caught my attention so much, the big lug might as well have just shouted at the top of his lungs at me.

Tiny's voice snapped me out of my daze quickly enough.

"We were a little surprised when Miss Vanellope notified us of you being a prisoner. We didn't really expect for there to be an actual King Candy in this game, much less one that was her father."

Psycho-babe rolled her blue eyes at the last bit. "Thanks for the late update, Princess."

"President!" my little girl retorted in a "duh" tone. "And, a-doy, Turbo wiped out the memories of everyone in this game, including mine." My little gumdrop's words stung me even though they weren't supposed to...but they were nothing compared to the heartbreaking pout she got seconds later.

"I forgot my own past," she softly uttered as her eyes went downcast. "All I had left was a future that kept steering away from me. I didn't even have memories to be sad over."

Everything grew dead silent after she admitted that. Even the army-lady lost her scowl for a second, a little shocked at the idea of having no memories at all, painful or not. I held Vanellope even tighter than before.

'My poor baby...you don't know how lucky you were.'

Turbo at least got one thing right. By including Vanellope's memories in the lock-up, he actually saved her a world of heartache.

Imagine. Fifteen years to remember that the only person left who cared about you—your only family—was locked up in a place you could never reach. Throw in forced exile and Vanny would have given up a long time ago as long as it meant being with me again.

Thank goodness things turned out so differently.

"So...," Stinkbrain suddenly spoke to break the tension, twiddling his massive fingers, a nervous grin on face. "I guess that means this will be the shortest time a president's been in office, eh, Fart-Feathers?"

"President?" My gray eyebrows had to furrow at the word. What was he talking about?

Vanellope suddenly got this bashful look in her eyes as she started to fiddle with the licorice laces of her hoodie. "Oh yeah, about that, Dad...I sorta, kinda redid the system a little once we got rid of Turbo."

"How much of 'a little' are we talking?" I slowly ask, slightly narrowing my eyes at her. I'm not angry, mind you. On the contrary, I'm quite proud of my little girl making such a big decision on her own. I just wanted to know what her change entailed. Being kept out of the loop was never my thing.

Vanellope rolled her eyes to and fro, probably wondering how to best break the news to me. "Oh, not much—just a teeny switch from monarchy to constitutional democracy."

"Oh...," That's not as little as I thought it'd be...on the other hand...I stifled a chuckle at an amusing thought. "Well, I guess that means I'm out of a job then, huh?"

...

"That's it?"

That came from Stinkbrain, who seemed thoroughly surprised. Big surprise. I titled my head at him. "What's it?"

He looks at me as if I didn't know we were part of a bunch of games all along. "Uh...the fact that you're just fine with losing your throne...?"

He thought I was going to have a temper tantrum over that? I couldn't help snorting. "Believe me. That's nothing compared to what else I could have lost."

Nobody dared to contradict me on that, not even Vanellope. I know for a fact fear wasn't the reason. They really agreed with me about my words.

But there were other pressing matters to discuss.

"Where's Sour Bill? I need to know how badly the kingdom needs fixing." Vanellope had been my first priority; Sugar Rush was my second. And in spite of the reset, there were still some scars left over from Turbo's reign. And something in my code told me Vanny and I were going to need some help.

"If the three of you would so kind as to accompany me and my daughter, there are a few issues we need to discuss."

So without a moment to lose, the five of us walked down the expansive, sugary, pink and green arched hallways, the bubble-tape carpeting scraping from our footsteps. Before long, we reached a pair of large, white doors at the end of the hall. The doors were etched with sparkling, gold designs that meet in the center to form a crown.

I quickly parted the doors and made my way inside, Vanellope and her friends following close behind...

"Geez, staying in bed past noon...? Some kingly behavior ya got, Your Royal Puffiness."

Wreck-It Ralph—there's no mistaking his oversized foot-thuds or his impregnable body odor. But company is the last thing on my mind right now. Well, his company anyway. His sarcasm almost tempts me to retort after I look back and catch his smirk, but I manage to staunch the urge.

Come to think of it, his popping in here is kind of welcome. At least he's a break from the memories.

"Oh, is it noon already?" I exclaim in feigned shock, looking at my wrist for a watch that isn't here, "My word, where does the time go? Hoohoo!"

"Uh-huh...," he's nodding his head and he's got his arms crossed over his chest. He's not buying a word of this, is he? Fudge.

'Oh, alright, I'll bite already.' I drop the façade for a neutral expression and let my shoulders drop. "So to what do I owe this impromptu visit?"

Ralph puts a finger to his chin then starts humming to himself as if in serious thought. "Um, I'm pretty sure being invited to a party in the DDR per your daughter's request is a pretty darn good thing to owe."

Wait...what did he just say? I turn to Ralph in confusion. "DDR?"

"Dance-Dance Revolution," he explains for me, "it's basically teenagers dancing to New Age music; it's not exactly my cup of Joe either," he continues, waving his right hand in a circle once he caught my incredulous stare, "but, hey, it beats staying holed up in my room all day."

I look at him blankly.

"...in my pajamas..."

My mouth starts to frown a bit.

"...staring out the window..."

I wish I wasn't royalty, right now. Then I wouldn't feel so reserved about giving this jawbreaker-head a raspberry. "Alright, alright, I get the point, Mountain-Head. I'll go."

"Sweet!"

"GAH!"

I jump back at the sudden feel of somebody's hands ripping off my hat from the top of my head. Guess who. On second thought, never mind, I'd rather not insult your intelligence. "Vanellope, how long were you standing there?!"

"Oh, long enough to hear my old man admit he's gonna stop acting like a mole." Her smirk dropped, replaced by a more serious expression. "Seriously, though, Dad, me and the other racers have barely seen you all since last week and Sour Bill only got to see you once this morning. Have you even walked out of this castle once after you've been back?"

I almost answer but she cuts me off, already knowing what I'm about to say. "And no, the Random Roster Races don't count."

She has me there. And Ralph made a good point, too: I can certainly do better than hide here from the world all day. Besides, I might as well play along; otherwise these two will never get off my back, so I throw my hands up in the air in defeat.

"Fine, ya got me. I'll go."

Vanellope nodded, Ralph doing the same, and leans towards me with a glint in her eyes that I remember all too well. "And another thing..."

I crane my neck at her with playful suspicion. "Yes, sweetie, what is—"

"Gotcha!"

I jump back so much from her surprise tackle that I ended up landing face-up on my bed. I leaned on my elbows just in time to catch her running and glitching out of the room, her cackles echoing down the hallway as she got further away.

Ralph simply shrugged his shoulders at me when I shot him a bemused look for not catching her. "Don't look at me. She's your daughter."

There still come times when I start to doubt my hold on reality, as if everything I'm seeing is only part of a wishful dream, as if any moment now I'll jerk awake to find myself back in that cell.

Then again, if you told me fifteen years ago my daughter and I would be hanging out at a dance club with a human bulldozer, a Space-Age army woman, and a platform-jumping construction man someday, I'd have most likely questioned your hold on reality.

Guess the yolk's on me.

Speaking of Vanellope's friends, I can't help but feel as if they're accepting me too easily. Don't get me wrong; I'd rather be on the good sides of my jellybean's new friends (especially the ones that can eighty-six me in no seconds flat). It's just...how can they take my addition into their lives in stride so well? It's a mystery that baffles me to no end.

And those three—Ralph, Calhoun, and Felix—weren't even the exception.

The racers treat me well enough, too. I just needed to get back in touch with my inner sassiness and they warmed up to me quickly enough, even Taffyta.

Not as much luck with everyone else, though—I could catch out of the corner of my eye a few characters that eyed me as if they were half-expecting me to glitch into Turbo any second.

But I already learned to pay them no mind. I'm much tougher than that. I'm here among friends and family, and the five of us are here to have fun! So I suck up my whining and brave the DDR club with the goofiest smile I know and waltz in like I own the place!

'That's right, ladies and non-ladies! The king has arrived.'

"Isn't walking like that a bit much, your majesty?" Felix bemusedly asked me as we walked in.

I wave a hand at him dismissively. "Oh please, Felix, this is my first out-of-game public gathering in years. At least give me a little leeway. And for candy corn's sake, just call me Candy! We're not in Sugar Rush anymore."

He freezes in mid-word for a moment, thinking over what I said, and shrugs tactfully. Looks like he couldn't come up with a proper argument for that—good, nobody likes a party pooper. Now what would be a good place to sit?

"I see a table with five chairs, right near the corner," Sergeant War-hammer points out a decent place by the windows.

"Good," Ralph sighs with relief as we walked over to our table, "my feet are killing me."

"Aw," Vanellope coos, "I think Ralphie's starting to get a little long in his years."

"Hey, hey, hey, you and Poppa Puffy-pants over there kept hop-glitching from game to game! It's a good thing me and the Sarge nabbed the two of ya in time, otherwise we would've been an all-night chase train."

Calhoun eyes the wrecker with an amused smirk. "Correction, Wreck-It: I nabbed them. You were still busy trying to dodge every Surge Protector that popped up in front of you."

Ralph threw his hands into the air in exasperation. Vanny is right. He does look funny when he's annoyed. "I'm telling you. I'm the only one that got stopped by them!"

Believe it or not, the Surge Protectors didn't stop the rest of us after their initial check. Ralph, on the other hand, couldn't walk two feet without one of those blue bureaucrats fizzing right front of him time and time again to question him about "contraband fruits" or something. I don't know; I wasn't listening. At least you know where Vanellope got her short-attention span for non-racing things from.

"Yeah-huh, right," Vanellope replies with a roll of her eyes, "and, by the way, is 'hop-glitching' even a word?"

"It's called hyphenating, President Fart-feathers."

"Well thank you very much for the grammar lesson, Mr. English. Personally, I find this 'hyphenating' craze pretty lazy."

"First off: it's not a craze," Ralph pointed one finger up, then two, "And second: lazy...?"

"Sure," my little girl says as if the answer were obvious, "if you can't come up with one word to describe something, you might as well use something different."

So that's basically how the five of us spent our time before one of the waitresses came by to take our order: Ralph, my Vanilla Bean, and I tossing playful insults and jokes back and forth, Felix sharing stories of mishaps he used to get into back in the 80's, and even Calhoun venting about her troop's latest blunders.

Needless to say, I can hardly remember why I felt so moody earlier anymore. Maybe this outing wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"Hoohoo, ya don't say? I didn't think Pac-Man would be so...daring!"

Felix tries to hold in a blush—to no avail. "Well, everyone was a little crazy back then."

That gets Ralph snorting in no time. "Crazier is more like it."

Our conversation cut short when one of the waitresses stopped by our table. "May I take your folks' order?"

From what Vanellope told me, this game had a secret cooking mini-game that got finished but never made the cut in the end. Don't ask me how it got in in the first place; programmers are such oddballs.

Anyway, a few seconds after the waitress got all of our orders written down and had skated away, a sudden bang and a yelp catch our attention.

Sounds like someone couldn't hold their fries. (Ha ha, I'm so funny.)

Sure enough, that turns out to be the exact case once we finally catch sight of the source.

A young lady who looks about the Sarge's age is kneeling on the floor, trying to get all of her fries into her napkin so she can throw it away. She's a rather dark-skinned woman—Filipino, I think—and she's got on a rather straight-forward set of clothes: black-and-red sneakers, blue skinny jeans with a brown belt (yellow buckle included), a dark green T-shirt, a high-collared, navy blue jacket with long sleeves, and sapphire star earrings.

"Alex...?"

"Oh hey, Ralph," she moodily returned with a brief look over her shoulder at him. This Alex lady looked too annoyed with her bad luck at the moment to bother with pleasantries. "Idiot teen, knocking me over like that..."

I figured I'd help her out, like Ralph seemed to about ready to do. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, after all. Besides, she looked like a lady of not so mild disposition so perhaps having her mess cleaned up faster would cheer her up, even if only a smidge.

So the big lug and I walked over. Felix ended up following us. "Sorry, it's sort of in my programming," he explained with a blush when we caught him out of our peripherals.

I had to roll my eyes, but, eh, what can ya do?

Unfortunately, Mod behold, somebody else had it in his mind to help this lady up as well—a giant, muscular, hair-ridden man sporting a mohawk and wearing nothing but red spandex underwear and matching boots. He looked like some sort of wrestler.

"My love, what has happened?" the man worriedly asked, his Russian accent evident, as he bent down to one knee, "Here, let Zangief help you with—"

"TIME OUT!"

Everybody in the eatery, Tapper included, had their eyes on us and the severely peeved-looking woman, who now stood up and had her hands risen over her head the same way a referee would to halt a game.

"Okay, you three—back to your table," she pointed to me, Ralph, and Felix, her glare making all three of us feel very on the spot, "And you" then to the Russian man, "Back to yours because the four of you all up at once just to help one person for a stupid cart of fries is complete and total overkill."

None of us objected. To add salt to the wound, Vanellope and Calhoun looked ready to deny that they knew us once we sat back down.

"Gee thanks for embarrassing us, guys."

"Hey," Ralph retorted at Vanellope, "we were just doing a good deed."

Calhoun smirked. "For a very pretty face, I might add, Wreck-It."

"That was not why we did it!"

"Well, not why we did it," I saucily added, pointing between myself and a still bashful Felix. Ralph merely crossed his arms and huffed like a diaper baby. "By the way, I take it you know her."

"Yeah, Alex Reyes," the wrecker griped, his tone of voice slowly returning to being casual, "She's the main protagonist of this environmental game called Jungle Trek. It's older than Hero's Duty and a little older than Sugar Rush but nowhere near as old as my and Felix's game."

'An environmental game...,' I wonder with curiosity, my eyebrows raised. 'I should go see it some time.'

"She's also Zangief's girlfriend." Ah, so that was the wrestler-man's name. I'll give his programmers points for creativity, at least. On the other hand, I had some trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that that sort of lady and that sort of man were a couple. This isn't me trying to be mean; I just found the idea unexpected, is all.

Ralph rolled his eyes, sharing similar thoughts. "Why, I don't think I'll ever know."

"Ralph," Felix gently admonished, "she's just a little eccentric, is all."

The big lug shoots his brother one of those 'you can't be serious' looks. "She slapped a wad of chewed up gum into my hand the first day we met."

Vanellope and I had to snort when we heard that. She even elbows me to get my attention. "I gotta remember that one."

Me, too—that sounds like a great way to tick someone off.

"HEY!"

Uh oh...trouble coming our way...

There were five of them—bikers, from the looks of their clothing—and they were huge...very huge. Ralph was the only one who could look them in the eye without having to tilt his head back. And they looked just as burly as him, too.

"Excuse us, folks," the leader had this Brooklyn-accented tone that sounded like it should be pleasant but came off more as threatening. I put an arm around Vanellope as he continued. "I'd hate to ruin yers perfect evening, but I'm afraid that's our spot all of ya are sittin' in."

Felix spoke up on our behalf. "I'm sorry ta hear that, gentlemen. To be fair, though, we were here first and, for that matter, we've already ordered. Besides, there are plenty of other seats you can take."

Leader smirks in a cat-like way that reminds me way too much of Turbo. "Aw, it looks like we got a failure to communicate, eh, boys?"

His cronies' laughter seems to really increase the tension. Vanellope looks ready to bash some heads in, in fact.

"I'll show you communication, ya overgrown—"

Whatever my Vanilla-Bean meant to say, she stopped when she felt my hand on her shoulder. I couldn't blame her for getting sassy in this situation but I didn't want these goons to find a reason to hurt her—or the others for that matter.

"Look guys. There's no need for this."

The leader gave Ralph such a sneer that my blood boiled even harder than the lava in Diet Cola Mountain. "Sorry, garbage-dump, but rules are rules."

Calhoun stood up next, cracking her knuckles. I could tell by the smirk on her face that she was just itching to pound these morons' heads in. "Tch, like the Surge Protectors would give goombas like you reign over the rules."

None of this looked good...not at all...

'And just when we were having such a lovely evening...' Why couldn't these thugs grow some brain-cells and leave us alone?

Things became even worse when one of the goons took a closer look at me.

"Hey boss," he nudges his leader in the side and points at me, "doesn't that old prune look a lot like..."

Oh boy...Leader's eyes go bug-eyed at me. He throws his hands up in the air like a referee. "Hey, stop everything!"

"What? What is it?"

Leader stares at me harder...then smirks even nastier and doubles over in laughter. Yep...just what I was afraid of...

"HA, OH MY MOD! This is just too rich! Hey everybody, check it out!" I swear he shouts out for the whole arcade to hear. "It's the Viral King!"

Everyone in Tapper's goes dead silent.

But I'm the most silent of all. I feel the last fifteen years coming down on me, crushing me harder than punch or kick these brutes could've given me.

"TAKE THAT BACK, SYRUP-FOR-BRAINS! MY DAD'S NO VIRUS!"

"Oh wake up and smell the coffee, midget! Your old man let Turbo take over for fifteen years! All of ya are idiots to accept a pushover like 'im back so easily!"

What...did...he...just...call...my...baby...girl?

I didn't focus on how ready to pound these delinquents into the ground Ralph, Vanellope, and Calhoun looked.

I didn't focus on how desperate Felix looked as he tried in vain to hold all three of them back.

All I could focus on was one thing: breaking something.

And I had the perfect target in mind.

"So which of you losers wants ta take us on—"

BOOM!

CRASH!

I barely even notice Vanellope holding me back by the arm, much less the look of awe and admiration on her face.

Neither do I hear what she and the others have to say.

"Pops..."

"Whoa..."

"Sweet Mother Teresa..."

"Your majesty..."

It was only until the surge of destructive/homicidal rage drained out of me that I finally realized what I'd just done: I glitched into the air and gave the leader an upper-cut so fierce that it sent him flying straight all across the restaurant and into the window. I guess I don't even know my own strength!

All of the other goons were staring down at me with even wider eyes than the others were. Hang on! This could work to my advantage! With a proud grin, I remove my arm out of Vanellope's grasp and put it around her shoulders.

"That, my boys...," I point a finger at the broken window, "is what happens when you insult royalty. Any objections?"

All of the goons panic and frantically shake their heads with nervous smiles. Then they rushed out like mad, making complete and total idiots out of themselves to the amusement of every onlooker. Well, they at least have a good sense of self-preservation.

I turn around, only to come face to face with all of the gang staring at with that same wide-eyed stare. They're sort of freaking me out at this rate. "What?"

"Dad...," Vanellope stutters at me in disbelief, "you...were...freaking...AWESOME!"

Calhoun throws in her own two cents as she sets her hands akimbo. "Seriously, old man, you got one helluva arm there."

"Oh! Well, thank you, I'm flattered. But really, those ruffians went over the line when they insulted my little Vanilla Bean. And of course you as well, Ralph."

"Ah I'm touched, your majesty." The big lug puts a hand to his heart with a joking grin. But his sarcasm can't fool me. I know his feelings are genuine.

"Well, far more touched than my stomach, I assure you. Now where is our waitress? I hope all of that excitement didn't scare her off."

And that's how we spent the rest of evening—chatting up, living it up...

What can I say?

No one ever said a king can't be a knight.

Don't expect there to be a sequel. I don't want to make the same mistake I did with "How the Caged Bird Sings."