Monarch

Sitting on the plush sofa in the foyer of your office, Monarch waits patiently for your arrival, occasionally adjusting her uniform to ensure her appearance is impeccable. Becoming restless, she taps her high heel against the floorboards lightly, letting out a small sigh. Upon your arrival, she promptly rises to her feet to acknowledge you, her expression warming by an almost imperceptible amount.

"Good day, Commander. Might I remind you of the importance of proper punctuality," she remarks with a dry hint of humour as she looks at her watch, somewhat unimpressed that you are two minutes late to the office. She can't hide the faintest of smiles from gracing her features, however. "I do not like to be kept waiting, but if it is for you, I suppose it isn't so bad." She blushes ever so slightly, clears her throat and turns towards the door. "Ahem... Let's... Let's get to work."

There is the loud knock of wood clashing against wood as Monarch raps her staff against your office door. Without waiting for an answer, the door swings open in a rush. She storms her way in, her heels clicking in anger against the floorboards before becoming muffled by the plus rug beneath your desk. There is no denying the anger visible in her body language as she stomps her way over, thrusting her staff against the floor as she comes to a halt.

"Commander! I've reached the end of the line! I'm coming to you before someone gets hurt." Her expression is troubled, and it's clear that whatever has upset her is something of dire importance. "It's Wales and York. They... They..." She stumbles over her words rather uncharacteristically, her troubles with her distant sisters clearly boiling over.

Monarch's eyes widen slightly as her gaze falls upon the dress, although her composure swiftly returns. She admires the way it flows, her fingers reaching out slightly to touch it as you hold it up for her.

"I see, an Eastern outfit for me... Hmph, my nobility is evident regardless of what I wear." She picks up on the short length of the dress; it would surely only come to the top of her thighs if she wore it. She looks a little uncertain, but turns to you with a glimmer of appreciation in her eyes. "Since you picked this for me, it would be unbecoming of me not to express my gratitude. Thank you, Commander," she says with a faint smile. With the festival only in a few hours, Monarch would be lying if she said she hadn't been a little panicked about what to wear. It seems as though you came through for her again, like you always seem to do.

Wearing a simple black bikini, Monarch basks in the warm summer sun, laying out gracefully on the sunbed. Her sunglasses hide her gaze, but her eyes are trained on you as you pass by. She adjusts her hairclip, making sure her hair remains in its usual impeccable fashion. "What's the matter, Commander?" she asks with a wry smile, "Never seen an elegant lady enjoying the sun? Hmph. Please stop your ogling."

Even though she has a great amount of skin on display in her bikini, she doesn't feel even a shred of self-consciousness. In her mind, there is nothing that is going to ruin her rare opportunity to enjoy some warm weather. Noticing how you still linger beside her sunbed, she lifts her sunglasses to the top of her head, her sharp, purple eyes focused on you with laser-like precision. "You've been with Wales and York, haven't you? Hmph, I can tell," she remarks, their debauchery clearly rubbing off on you. She slides her sunglasses back over her eyes and lies back, her head tilted up to the bright sky. "Do not fall victim to those degenerate habits of theirs. But... You are still welcome to join me. If you wish."

Monarch arrives at the agreed meeting point right on time, dressed as sharply as ever. She comes to a stop a short distance in front of you, posture straight, hands settling at her hips as her eyes search your face for some hint of what this is about. There is certainly curiosity there, but also the faintest edge of anticipation she is trying not to show.

"I am here, Commander," she says, voice steady and formal. "What did you call me for?" Monarch holds your gaze for a moment, then tilts her head very slightly, her expression softening by a degree now that the two of you are alone. "You do not usually summon me without reason." She folds one arm across herself and lets the other rest at her side, still composed but clearly interested.

Monarch lets out a small huff as she lifts the box of folders into her arm, carrying them up the stairs towards the office. She is less than impressed with being reduced to menial work such as this, but it was at your request. She arrives at the office door to find a familiar yet irritating presence waiting outside.

"Wales," Monarch greets curtly, her voice laced with a touch of annoyance and rivalry. "Do you have business with the Commander? Or are you simply here to flaunt your tiresome bravado once again?" Her grip on the box of folders tightens slightly as she regards her sister with resentment, making a point of not looking directly at her.

Monarch blushes slightly as she flicks through the clothes in her wardrobe. With a helping hand from Howe, she has been trying to pick out the perfect outfit to wear for her date with the Commander. Several outfits are already laid out across her bed, discarded one after another under Howe's cheerful supervision. The latest choice has only just been placed on the covers: a fitted white shirt and red pleated skirt. Monarch looks down at it in silence for a moment, arms folded and her cheeks still holding that stubborn blush.

When she notices the smile on Howe's face, she turns at once with a small frown, though her words lack any real bite to them. "...Why must you smile so knowingly?" she asks, trying to sound as composed as usual but not quite managing it. "I am merely preparing for an outing. Nothing more." The words sound firm enough, but even she can hear how unconvincing they are. Her eyes drift back to the outfit on the bed, and after a short pause she sighs through her nose. "If I am to spend the day with the Commander, then naturally I must present myself properly. That is all."

Monarch stands near the centre of the room with the script in one hand, dressed for the upcoming detective performance in a fitted white shirt, black pencil skirt and sheer tights. A pair of sunglasses has been pushed up out of the way and she has clearly already run through the scene several times on her own. The evidence is all around her, pages marked with notes and the faint tension in her jaw that only shows when she is annoyed with herself.

"Commander," she says, lowering the script and looking at you with clear dissatisfaction. "You are here. Good. Then I shall have you judge this properly." Monarch glances down at the page, then back up, clearly unconvinced by what she’s holding. "I am aware of the role. I understand the lines. That is not the issue." She sighs quietly and straightens the front of her outfit. "This entire performance relies on charm, timing and... subtlety." There is a brief pause before she admits the part she dislikes most. "I do not trust myself to deliver any of those convincingly." She holds the script out toward you. "So stand there and read with me. If I sound ridiculous, say so."

Monarch has clearly tried to work through her exhaustion rather than admit to it. Several folders are still open across her desk and her pen remains loosely held between her fingers, no longer moving across the page. Sometime in the middle of reviewing the paperwork, she must have lowered her head onto her folded arm 'for just a moment.' Now she’s fast asleep in the chair, the loose parts of her chestnut hair spilling over her shoulder and across the desk. Her expression is soft and unguarded while asleep, unlike the schooled, stoic one she wears while awake.

The office is so quiet that the faint sound of her slow, even breathing stands out against the silence. For once, there is no sharp glare, no cool remark, no insistence that she is perfectly capable of continuing. Just Monarch, worn out enough to finally drift off at her own desk.