Francis found himself thrust towards the door but grabbed both of his arms tightly, if he wanted to push him, they'd go together. He stretched his legs and arms just in case the guy was that much of an idiot, he'd stop it, even if temporary.

"Oh you ARE a murder, and don't care about money." He tried to push him back a little. "Why don't you just .. hear me out.. and have me leave on my own? You .. don't know what you're missing out on. And.." This was failing but he was stubborn. "I can make your dreams come true.. come on.. just..need ot help me.. get home. Is that.. so bad?"

He was almost that much of an idiot. Perhaps he might have even pressed on, were Roderick Carrington not also an absolute fucking mess.

This poor smelled as bad as a corpse! He missed Magnus. Their family was headed for ruin because of Magnus!

He stumbled back at the push, teeth gritted and … eyes watering.

“You’re a POOR!” he screamed. “Even if you WERE a prince, you’re a poor now! You’re nothing without your clothes, your name, your inheritance! The second you lose that-” at least he’d dissolved from screaming to sobbing and slumping back against the other door, “-you’re not, you’re nothing and everyone scorns your name and your- ahahaaaauunghhn!”

Snot ran down his face as he crumpled into incoherent wailing.

The driver glanced back, and whipped the horse faster. He might not be able to outrun the men in his own carriage, but at least he could make them not his problem faster.

Francis managed to get back in and pushed the guy into his seat as he stared down at him. He was a sobbing mess and he realized he was starting to speak about something else. He almost felt bad what he was doing, but nah...

"Hey, I'm not a poor. It's temporary. I still have money and my kingdom, I was separated. And no one can take my royal blood from me." He said gesturing to himself and slapped the crying man, though tried to not do it so hard. "Being filthy is temporary, so are these clothes. Help me, and when I get back you will be rich and admired among the people. Who wouldn't want that?"

He had to snap this guy out of his sniffling mess. "You shouldn't call someone a poor, if they turn their fortunes, they are not likely to like you."

He sobbed, letting his head sink to nearly his knees, and then yelped when Francis smacked him. This only seemed to make him cry more.

“Oh, please!” he moaned through phlegm and tears, rasping for a breath and curling his arms around his waste. “They wouldn’t like me anyway!”

Francis looked at the pitiful man with slight disgust but tried to hide it. He looked him over and pulled out his handkerchief and tossed it to his face to clean up before putting on a sweet, understanding voice.

"Well, yes, they wouldn't if you never wanted them to. But there is no reason they wouldn't if you gave them any reason to like you. I mean, if you want people to like you I can even help you with that. There's no pleasing some people, but over all you can get a general amount of people to like you if you haven't personally done something to put them on your shi- ah.. shiiyah list as we say back home. A list of people you've really hurt or made angry, so they won't forgive you easily. You'll have women at your door and lots of friends with just a little effort. I mean, I've never tried to make friends with the rich in this country since I only recently got my memory back. But I bet it can be done."

He was getting in over his head with this lump.

The only emotion as strong as the grief at no one ever caring about him was the disgust at Prince Dust Cart’s odor. Oh, eugh – was the odor sticking in his mucus?

But then he talked in the kind of voice Mother spoke in when she wanted something: soft, reassuring, and absolutely fake just what he wanted to hear. The words didn’t matter so much.

“… Really?”

That one word, and more importantly, it's tone, gave Francis all the hope in the world that his silly idea could work. He nodded quickly and flashed a huge smile.

"Of course! It's about putting a good foot forward and making people see you how you want. Who cares what you really be thinking inside? You can be very well liked with just a little work. "

He offered in a soothing tone and almost patted the man's shoulder but knew better not to push it as he'd be reminded how dirty he was and ruin whatever was giving him this winning effect.

He wasn’t actually paying all that much attention to what Slum Prince was claiming. He did, however, catch a most unappealing word: ‘work’.

“You do it,” he sniffed, then gagged.

Francis rose a brow. He was barely able to avoid looking at the Carrington like he was an idiot. This could work. He immediately smiled and nodded. "Alright, is it a deal? Clean me up and help me, when you can, to find a way back home. I will use every skill I have to help you get others to see you as very likeable. You will have people fawning over you for attention. I will play the part of the manservant, temporarily. I promise I smell so much nicer when I'm clean." He offered with a large grin.

Luck was on the Dust Cart Prince’s side: it was rather difficult to see through his tears. Distraught, Roderick nodded along the way he nodded along with, well, everyone else’s plans aside from Darius’.

“O-okay,” he agreed, feebly, breathing starting to even out.

… What had he just agreed to?