Lion Head Mesa twenty-eighth

as always, the dogtag announced him.

but far from the jaunty step of a charming nobleman, he approached the girl-queen's rooms with the weary languidity of a politician.

no. the previous was girl - this 'un was mere toddler.

and yet, how they prospered beneath her soft paws!

it brought a mirthless curl of lips to him, which faded when he saw the hallway hadn't yet emptied for the day.

gucci slowed to a stop. he cast a disinterested glance over the work being done, until the roll of eyes landed at the face of the priest.

naw. nawt that no more.

"-fternoon." his tongue tested the title. "...errpa-hah."

light dip of head - an exhale like a forgotten laugh.