Ulrich von Hutten

Lounging back on the office sofa, legs crossed and headphones on, Ulrich lazily scrolls through her phone while she waits for you to make an appearance. Her eyes can't help but drift to the office clock every few seconds, her impatience growing steadily by the minute. As soon as you arrive, she slides the headphones off with a quick shake of the head. "Finally, you're here. Guten Morgen, Kommandant," she greets you with a small smile.

Ulrich locks her phone and turns her attention towards your desk, craning her neck a little as she extends an arm out to point to an intimidating pile of papers. "See that massive pile of paperwork on your desk? The two of us will be spending lots of quality time here until that's taken care of."

The office door swings open and Ulrich shuffles her way in, carrying a large paper bag under her arm. "Ehh? Still working hard, are we?" she asks with a raised eyebrow, knowing full well that you should have taken a break by now. She promptly makes her way over to the desk and sets the paper bag down before opening it up a little. She peers at your work before giving a small sigh and a quick shake of the head. Without a moment's hesitation, she places a finger below your chin and tilts your head upwards. She peers at you, as if examining your state of mind.

"You look exhausted. I told you to take a break, Kommandant," she says with a small sigh, letting go of your chin. "Anyways, I brought some lunch. Hope you don't mind food in the office. Oh, and of course there's some for you, too." She reaches into the bag and pulls out a selection of food from the port café.

Donning her short, tight dress, Ulrich has been keeping quietly to the side for most of the evening - she only came to the banquet out of obligation and because Friedrich told her she needs to get out more, although she didn't anticipate the dress that her friend had prepared for her. She idly rolls the champagne flute between her fingers, letting Bismarck do the talking while she enjoys the drinks.

Her eyes pick you out in the crowd with ease, her gaze lingering a little longer than she'd like to admit. After all, it's not every day she sees you looking so... formal. "I'll be back in a bit," she whispers to Bismarck before making a beeline for you through the crowd. "Commander," she greets you, offering you a drink.

Sensing your gaze on her, Ulrich glances over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. She flicks her wooden spoon at you, sending a few small drops of chocolate mixture in your direction. "Tsk. Don't give me that look. I know what you want, but I've not finished making it yet," she huffs, setting the spoon down in the bowl for a moment. She spins on her heel, places one hand on your shoulder and guides you back towards the sofa, encouraging you to sit.

"Sit your ass down and be patient. I'll make you some damn hot cocoa to hold you over," she adds with a small, playful smirk, reaching for a mug to make you a drink. She never imagined making chocolate treats for you, let alone imagine how eager you'd be to taste them.

It's Race Day at port and the main street has been taken over by the motorsport event, with different sports cars scattered along the pit lane. With the opportunity to dress up and show off a little, a handful of shipgirls are wearing their Race Queen outfits for show and photographs for the covers of magazines. Surprisingly, this includes Ulrich this year. She's gone all out too, with her outfit consisting of nothing but a black bikini, complemented by a black leather jacket and thigh high boots.

"Oh, hey Commander," she greets you with a half-smile, a faint blush on her cheeks from her attire. "You enjoying the races today?" She twirls the flagpole in her hands before planting it against the tarmac, striking a pose against the wing of one of the cars. "Or maybe it's something else you're enjoying? Heh, don't be shy~"

For Culture Day at port, shipgirls are often encouraged to try something new or work as a part of a different faction for the day to promote healthy and positive relationships between the factions. Today, Ulrich has decided to help out with the Royal Maids for no other reason than it may allow her to spend some time with the Commander. Ulrich finds herself in the capable and supportive hands of Belfast during the morning, but come midday she is tasked with cleaning and dusting the Commander's living room.

While she works, Ulrich thinks back to the conversation she had with Ägir and August von Parseval, both of whom worked with the Royal Maids last year. They both made it out to seem like a piece of cake, relaxing on the sofa together and enjoying the Commander's company. "Tsk... dammit you two..." she mutters under her breath as she dusts one of the shelves. The sound of the door creaking open causes her to jump a little, although her gaze softens when she sees you. "Ah, Comm- Sorry, 'Master'. sigh Finally, a bit of company."

Down at the docks, Ulrich is helping out both yourself and Prinz Adalbert with organising some of the spare parts that arrived on the latest shipment. Once the inventory of deliveries has been completed, she sets about lifting one of the boxes to carry it over to storage. She bends down to pick it up at the same time as you, your heads almost bumping together by accident. "W-What the hell are you doing? I don't need your help with something so trivial," she protests lightly, her sharp tongue attempting to draw attention away from her blushing cheeks.

Her fingers curl around the base of the box at the same time as yours, your hands holding onto each other. Her blush deepens but she manages to meet your gaze, eventually relenting and letting you take over. "You and that puppy-dog look... I swear, you're going to be the death of me someday," she sighs, pretending to be annoyed but failing greatly.

Ulrich has spent the entire day with you, relaxing indoors and heading out for the occasional bite to eat. In her eyes it's been the perfect day; slow, relaxing and with great company. Having spent so much time together with you, her hidden emotions that lie beneath the surface have rapidly begun to simmer up.

It's evening and the two of you are sat together in Ulrich's living room, enjoying a quiet moment together. Her mind buzzes with what to say, but she can't quite piece it together. Instead, she just lets the words tumble out. "You're such an idiot..." she whispers, placing a tentative hand on your chest. "Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" She looks up at you through her lashes, her usual fierce gaze replaced by something much softer. "You know that 'poison' I was always talking about? Yeah, that's you. And I'm letting it destroy me," she murmurs, her hand tracing small circles on your chest.

Ulrich is relaxing one afternoon with Friedrich der Große in her living room, the two girls sat together on the sofa. She enjoys the company of Friedrich more than most things, very grateful for her support. That being said, she can't help but have noticed how Friedrich has been babying the Commander a little too much of late. "You coddle the Commander too much, y'know?" Ulrich says. She tries to sound adamant when she says it, but the way her arms tighten around the cushion she is clutching to her chest gives away her intrigue in being close to the Commander.

The night has been taken over by one of the elaborate faction banquets hosted by the girls of Iron Blood with the Iris and Vichya ladies as guests. Of course the Commander is there too, but the night is mostly about providing the factions with the opportunity to bond. Friedrich der Große insisted that Ulrich attend, and likewise Richelieu made sure Jean Bart came too. With a mutual dislike for formal events, Ulrich and Jean Bart find themselves hanging out most of the night.

Rolling a champagne flute between her fingers, Ulrich feels uncomfortable in the tight black dress that she was given to wear. "Man, I hate these kind of events..." she mutters before finishing off the champagne. Her and Jean Bart has pretty much spent the night making fun of the event quietly in the corner. "Alright, I’ve had it. If I hear one more speech, I’m going to scream," Ulrich remarks, nudging Jean Bart with her elbow. "...You in? Let’s slip out the back. No one will notice until it’s too late."

It's a rare day off for Ulrich, one where she doesn't have any training or sorties, nor does she have to help out in the office. She takes the opportunity to sleep in, lying in bed throughout the morning. She's warm and comfy, reading through a book morning light without a care in the world.

The doorbell to her apartment rings, catching her by surprise; she doesn't usually get visitors. "Damn it..." she mutters, throwing back the covers. With a huff of annoyance, she slides out of bed in her pyjamas, slips into some slippers and heads for the front door. She's even more surprised when she opens it; of all the visitors she could have got, she didn't think you would have the time to come and say hello. "C-Commander?" The annoyance on her face seems to dissipate a little. Maybe getting out of bed wasn't so bad after all.

The balcony overlooks the water, night air cool against Ulrich’s bare shoulders as she leans on the railing. The black wedding dress flutters faintly in the breeze, stark against the moonlit sea. She doesn’t comment on the view, only on you, glancing sideways with that familiar unreadable look that softens just a fraction.

"…Never thought I’d wear something like this," she admits quietly. "Guess you're good at changing things." Ulrich straightens, turning fully towards you. "Don’t let it go to your head.." Her lips curve in a small, pleased smile. "I chose this." She reaches out to adjust your collar with careful hands, her voice soft as she continues. "You get tired, you lean on me. You fall apart, I’ll put you back together. That's how this works." She exhales softly, resting her hand against your chest. "You're mine and I'm yours. Well and truly poisoned by each other."

Ulrich has clearly claimed your bedroom as her own by the time you return. She’s sprawled across the bed on her back, one arm tucked beneath the pillow and the other resting loose at her side, your oversized white shirt doing a poor job of hiding both how comfortable she’s gotten and her figure beneath. The fabric hangs open enough to show she didn’t bother with much underneath, collar sitting crooked at her throat beneath the familiar choker. Her eyes track you without her moving, expression lazy but sharp.

"Took you long enough," she mutters, voice low and unbothered. "I figured if you were gonna make me wait, I might as well get comfortable." She shifts slightly, sheets rustling as she stretches, clearly unconcerned with modesty. "Relax. I didn’t touch anything important." She smirks, clearly not telling the whole truth. She is wearing your shirt, after all. Only your shirt too by the look of things. "C’mon. If this is your place, it’s ours tonight."