Work Text:
It was two years since the selkie was banished from his clan. Twenty months since the kelpie traded his bridle for a set of keys. Seventeen months since the two water creatures met. Fourteen months since the pyromaniac river horse burnt down the old church, adding the stain-glass gargoyle to their team. One year since they crowned their king. Five minutes since they started arguing about their name.
King Sips relaxed on his throne, a battered, tan armchair, with his bottle cap crown resting on his head. Ross sat, cross-legged below him, with his almost transparent blue tail wrapped around his legs. Stroking his large hands across his equally azure horns, the balding man gazed across the decrepit apartment lounge at the bickering boys. He examined Trott's bowl-like brunette hair in comparison to Smith’s messy ginger locks. It was amazing how similar yet different the two were. The height difference alone was something to be admired.
Suddenly, Sips felt the gargoyle at his feet stir
"What about 'The Outcasts'?" Ross started. "I mean, it's basically what we are,"
The two creatures across the room turned at the outburst, surprised as though they's forgotten the other two were there. Both of them pondered the name for a moment, tilting their heads as though they were tasting a fine wine, before Trott spoke up.
"Too elegant," He decided, shaking his head. "We need something a bit more grimy, like..." he paused. "Gutter Boys!"
Smith scoffed. "Really? 'Gutter Boys'? We may as well call ourselves 'Filth'"
Trott nodded. "Y'know that's actually not that bad,"
"No, no, that's far too simple," The boys turned to watch their King.
"Well do you have anything better?" Smith asked, frustrated. "You must have something after sitting there silent for the past hour,"
Sips fixed the impatient man with a piercing glare. "Coming up with the perfect name take time," He answered. "You gotta wait till it comes to me,"
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Smith collapsed on the broken couch, swinging his long legs over the back, causing it to let out a very similar noise. Ross tracked Trott with his eyes as the selkie began pacing the tiny room. A thoughtful quiet filled the room (a rare occurrence in this house hold). The only sounds came from the gentle "click clack" of Trott boots and the "tick tock" of the broken-faced clock barely hanging on the stained wall.
Things continued like this for another half hour; Smith shifting around on the couch, Trott pacing, and Sips stroking Ross' horns as he watched.
Suddenly, Sips paused, resting his hand in the indent between Ross' horns. Ross shuffled slightly to gaze up at the balding man through his turquoise eyes.
"What is it?" he asked. The rest of the group turned and fixed their eyes on their king as a large grin stretched across his face.
"The Garbage Court"