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The Estate in Sidra, Saturday Fandom Time
Being Consort to the Queen of a Territory in the wake of a war was tiring work. Being the landen Consort, who was just as interested in the well-being of the Territory's non-Blood population as he was in the affairs of the Blood themselves, was extra exhausting. The week had been filled with paperwork and appointments, negotiating fairer exchange rates between the landens and Blood in two neighboring villages, talk of building a better road or coach service between the two, some way to get landen goods to the Blood village easily, while one paid reasonable prices and the other made reasonable money...
And then, on top of that, the appearances that he had to make purely in his capacity as Consort. Some days, he really did just have to serve as a pretty arm for the Queen to take. He didn't mind - it gave him an excuse to take a break from numbers and negotiations - but it was taxing all on its own, the eyes of Blood aristos always half-turned toward him, waiting for him to slip, waiting for some excuse to call him out as the fraud he was, an outsider with no Jewel, playing at being more than the Queen's pretty pet.
He'd been up late last night to try to work off some of the past week's stresses, losing himself in paperwork clear into the small hours of the morning, and had fallen asleep at his desk. When he'd woken with a start this morning to see his papers scattered and a bit more drool on a few of them than he'd ever care to admit to, his priorities were pretty clear. First, coffee. The rest of the world always seemed muddled and a bit wrong before coffee, and today was no exception as he tripped his way into the kitchen.
It wasn't until he had brewed and was halfway through his first mug of the stuff that he became aware of the kitchen staff, standing back and staring at him, mouths agape. And it wasn't until he was finished his first mug of the stuff that he decided he was actually awake enough to look down.
Ah. Yes. That would do it.
He smirked a little to himself and poured himself a second mug.
"Fandom," he explained. "Just be happy I'm not a horse."
[OOC: Open for phone calls or those in Glacia!]
And then, on top of that, the appearances that he had to make purely in his capacity as Consort. Some days, he really did just have to serve as a pretty arm for the Queen to take. He didn't mind - it gave him an excuse to take a break from numbers and negotiations - but it was taxing all on its own, the eyes of Blood aristos always half-turned toward him, waiting for him to slip, waiting for some excuse to call him out as the fraud he was, an outsider with no Jewel, playing at being more than the Queen's pretty pet.
He'd been up late last night to try to work off some of the past week's stresses, losing himself in paperwork clear into the small hours of the morning, and had fallen asleep at his desk. When he'd woken with a start this morning to see his papers scattered and a bit more drool on a few of them than he'd ever care to admit to, his priorities were pretty clear. First, coffee. The rest of the world always seemed muddled and a bit wrong before coffee, and today was no exception as he tripped his way into the kitchen.
It wasn't until he had brewed and was halfway through his first mug of the stuff that he became aware of the kitchen staff, standing back and staring at him, mouths agape. And it wasn't until he was finished his first mug of the stuff that he decided he was actually awake enough to look down.
Ah. Yes. That would do it.
He smirked a little to himself and poured himself a second mug.
"Fandom," he explained. "Just be happy I'm not a horse."
[OOC: Open for phone calls or those in Glacia!]
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Karla's coffee was going to get cold. She didn't care. She had a much better wakeup than coffee.
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"Coffee's gone."
Or, at least, it was out of mind.
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"Good," she declared, before scooping Warren up into her arms. Dense muscles and massive wings aside, hollow bones made for a very light Warren. "I promise to make it up to you. In spades."
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... He only knocked over a few things on either side.
"Well, this is off to a promising start already," he laughed, smiling up at her as he looped his arms around her neck. "I'm suddenly far less concerned about the coffee."
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"That's probably for the best," she teased, carrying him over to the bed and putting him on it. Laying there, all spread out for her, Karla felt like a starving witch at a sumptuous feast. "Your coffee didn't survive the wingflare."
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Because he was totally the sort to brood over spilled coffee.
... He kind of actually was.
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"I think I can do that," Karla purred, climbing onto the bed and kneeling between his legs. "Though, not while you're wearing all that."
And with a thought, his clothes were gone. With another thought, a shield flickered over their rooms: a very effective 'do not disturb' sign.