Bzzzzzzzz

The sound caught the great and mighty frog prince by surprise - which in itself was shocking, being that he was always aware and always alert.

Well, you know, almost always - there was maybe a few seconds there when, lost in his own thoughts, singing terribly under his breath and prancing from one side of the room to the other, where mopping the floor was more like a clumsy dance than a chore it was conceivable - though not likely - that he might not have been paying complete and utter attention to his surroundings.

Maybe.

Anyone walking past would have just seen lazy chaos, but that was okay - he knew the last thing he was was lazy! (Well, almost the last thing...) No matter how dumb he might be, you didn't need to be a genius to know that looking Bigby Wolf in the face and uttering

Nope, not done yet, maybe tomorrow?

wasn't exactly a shining example of self-preservation, and was definitely worth at least faking a work ethic. Yes, no matter what was asked of him, by the end of the day, his tasks would be completed.

Just because he wasn't 100% entirely all-the-time positive that the wolf didn't have a taste for French cuisine - or something. (What? No-one said he had to be unshaven and uncultured, did they? Frogs legs were a delicacy!)

Case in point: the prince was already on the last section of this floor, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain (that may or may not actually be part of the overall design) when he heard the sound the interrupted his thoughts. It struck him like a hot poker and he yelped, jumped, and felt the mop slip through his fingers. His head was, at that every moment, snapping around to pinpoint the source of the noise. Too late he remembered what he was meant to be doing and snatched for the mop, trying to catch it before it hit the ground.

He failed on all accounts - but he did it spectacularly, so that was something to be proud of. It came as no great surprise to him and he just offered a sheepish wave to those staring in, silently accusing him, bending to pick up the stick from the new puddle he'd managed to create.

Just his imagination, he decided, when the room was silent except for his own cacophony. That's the only thing it could be - the room was empty aside from him. Time to go a-mop'in!

BzzzzbzzzzZZzz

His hands clenched around the mop handle hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and the prince stood up straight so sharply he could pretty much heard the crack as he broke the speed of sound. He stared hard at the wall, cataloging the imperfections in the paint, and definitely not glancing at the flicker in his peripheral vision.

"Nope," he croaked out, trying to sound tough and in control, but only sounding a bit bewildered. "Nuh-uh - not this time."

Bzzzzz insisted the insect, with a shocking lack of regard for his self-control. It began flying straight into the window, like it thought it could just flit right through the glass - against his will his neck creaked around and he just stared at it, flicking his gaze towards the open window an inch away from it, and back to the fly. There was a look of slack-jawed disbelief on his face.

thump-thump-bzzZZzzz-thump-bzzzzz

He found he was licking his lips, and bit his tongue - hard. The sharp sting brought tears to his eyes and slammed him roughly back into reality; the prince shook himself, like a dog drying itself after a swim, and took breath. He spun around, turning his back on the tempting, innocent, delicious -

See? He could exercise self-control - and it wasn't even that hard! That'd show them!

Which explained why he was now looming over the panicked fly, still holding the mop, his breathing low and shallow.

Wait - no, shit.

The frog prince groaned loudly and slapped his hands over his face in despair, cracking the handle of the mop against the window so hard that he actually forgot his plight for a second. He yelped and jumped again, squeezing his eyes shut, positive he must have broken the glass with that. He peeked through his fingers a second later, unable to help himself, but there was nothing to be afraid of - the window was unharmed, and the fly was -

-now lying there on the windowsill, stunned by his mind-blowingly accurate blow, legs twitching slightly in the breeze.

He took a step back.

"No!" he insisted, and turned away. The door into the room was still closed and the corridor blissfully empty of sightseers - small favours, but at least no-one would hear him reciting phrases from that self-help book he definitely didn't own. "I am the master of my own destiny, and you have no sway over my actions!"

He stepped forward. His lip trembled with the effort of denying every fiber of his being, all of which were screaming that he was making a mistake. Reluctantly, he stopped.

Aw, stuff it.

The frog prince spun back, leapt to the windowsill, and flicked out his tongue - all in one, smooth motion. He didn't pause to savour the taste, or even chew; he swallowed the fly in one hard gulp, wings tickling his throat, and let out a long snort of relief.

Then, belatedly, he froze - he waited for the roar as someone revealed they had seen his little slip, for the inevitable hammer to come crashing down. There would be more community service dropping in his lap any second now (not so bad) and more growls from Bigby (much, much worse) - and for what? For just doing what came naturally! It wasn't even a big deal!

But nothing happened. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and was startled to find he was alone.

No-one had seen anything?

The prince let out a sigh of relief, experimentally - and waited some more, tensed, for the belated axe to come swinging down. When it didn't, he crept back to the bucket and dipped his trusty mop into the water, swirling it around. He began to sing once more, softly at first, gaze darting back and forth for intruders. Slowly his voice raised, gaining more enthusiasm, until he was jumping about and attacking the task with gusto.

He warbled terribly - off-key and out of beat. No-one took any notice. This comforted him.

But - just every now and again, no matter how hard he fought not to - he couldn't help but flick his gaze at the open window, and sigh under his breath.

Good times.