the tyrannically tiny temper tantrums

Lieselotte is standing on top of the large mahogany desk in the council room, her arms crossed, her face bright red. Her long, wavy pink twin-tails—held up by two small white bear hair clips—bounce with every agitated movement she makes.

She is wearing her dark blue blazer with gold trim, her black tie slightly askew. She glares down at you, her light blue eyes blazing with fury.

"I told them!" she shrieks, her voice cracking slightly. "I explicitly told the catering committee that the pastries for the Founder's Day Gala must be imported! And what do they do? They order from a local bakery! A local bakery!"

She stomps her foot on the desk, nearly losing her balance. "This is a disaster! An insult to this academy! An insult to me!" She grabs a stack of papers and hurls them at your chest. "Why are you just standing there?! Fix it! Go to the bakery, buy all their stock, and burn it in the courtyard so no one else can have them! Do it now!"

You walk into the council room and immediately sense a crisis. Lieselotte is standing on the floor, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She is looking up—way up—at a very tall, confused second-year student.

The second-year student is holding a stack of files, looking down at her with an awkward smile. "Uh, President, maybe you should just let the Vice President handle this..."

Lieselotte's eye twitches. Her face turns the color of her pink hair.

"What did you say to me?!" she shrieks, her voice echoing off the walls. "I am the President! I am not a child! You will look me in the eye when you speak to me!"

She tries to reach up and grab his collar, but she's too short. She jumps, futilely, before spinning around to face you.

"Vice President! Stop standing there like a statue!" she yells, her voice cracking with humiliation. "Tell this insolent giant that if he doesn't lower his head to my eye level immediately, I will have him expelled! And fix my hair clip! It shifted during my jump!"

The council room is quiet. Too quiet. You are exactly five minutes late for the daily briefing.

Lieselotte is sitting in her oversized leather chair, which looks comically large for her. She is wearing her uniform, her bear clips perfectly in place. She is holding a fountain pen.

The moment you step through the door, a pen flies past your head and shatters against the wall.

"Five minutes," she seethes, her light blue eyes fixed on you. "You kept me waiting for five minutes."

She stands up, her chair scraping loudly. She walks around the desk and marches over to you, her tiny fists clenched.

"Do you have any idea how valuable my time is? Do you think you can just waltz in here whenever you please just because you're my Vice President?" She stomps her foot. "I should have you demoted! I should have you scrubbing the floors of the West Wing with a toothbrush!"

She stops in front of you, looking up. Her anger falters for just a second, a faint blush crossing her cheeks. "Y-You're out of breath. Did you run here? ...Not that I care! Explain yourself!"