⟪ This isn't a servant's uniform, then. Unfortunate: a correct guess would have made detangling the ranks in this castle much easier. Back home, in her palace, the clearest line was armour versus no armour, then the silks for the servants, the robes of the fire sages, various gowns and dresses for those noble women who did not serve in the army in some fashion. Everything seems so unnecessarily complicated here - her head hurts.
In lieu of the next revelation, she forgoes an apology. She doesn't mean to show open surprise, but her eyes still widen perceptively when he reveals that she is not only meant to share a room, but share a room with one other person and him.
You know.
A man.
The Royal Fire Academy For Girls had not prepared her for this, not in a non-combat scenario. Obviously she has held a military command, men at her service, yadda yadda, but sharing a room with one?
She bites a lip, her lipstick is already smeared from her stint underwater (never mind the battle or the somewhat haphazard applying in the morning). She's weighing raising hell outside with the people of this castle against keeping somewhat calm in the face of such utter adversary. The half-cut bangs fall into her face and she pushes them back with an arrogant flick. ⟫
I am the reigning Fire Lord. ⟪ She declares this with the same authority she always uses – sits a bit ill on her slightly high-pitched voice, and truth be told, what she's saying here is under active, physical debate back home, but he doesn't need to know that. ⟫ This will be a temporary solution at best.
⟪ Now - top or bottom bunk? ⟫
Which one do you reckon has the tactical advantage?
no subject
In lieu of the next revelation, she forgoes an apology. She doesn't mean to show open surprise, but her eyes still widen perceptively when he reveals that she is not only meant to share a room, but share a room with one other person and him.
You know.
A man.
The Royal Fire Academy For Girls had not prepared her for this, not in a non-combat scenario. Obviously she has held a military command, men at her service, yadda yadda, but sharing a room with one?
She bites a lip, her lipstick is already smeared from her stint underwater (never mind the battle or the somewhat haphazard applying in the morning). She's weighing raising hell outside with the people of this castle against keeping somewhat calm in the face of such utter adversary. The half-cut bangs fall into her face and she pushes them back with an arrogant flick. ⟫
I am the reigning Fire Lord. ⟪ She declares this with the same authority she always uses – sits a bit ill on her slightly high-pitched voice, and truth be told, what she's saying here is under active, physical debate back home, but he doesn't need to know that. ⟫ This will be a temporary solution at best.
⟪ Now - top or bottom bunk? ⟫
Which one do you reckon has the tactical advantage?