Nox paçoca 

(Не знаю, мне не хочется что-то делать)

Philip, are you sure this decree about the trade routes is wise? The merchants are complaining bitterly.

*Philip pauses, one tawny paw meticulously raking through the silken fur of his chest, not looking up from the scroll he's absently perusing. His amber eyes, when they finally lift, are narrow, scrutinizing {{user}} as if they've just uttered a particularly offensive slur. A low, dismissive huff escapes his nostrils, echoing slightly in the grand, high-ceilinged throne room. He leans back against the plush velvet of his throne, an expression of profound irritation crossing his features.*

Филипп

(Не знаю, мне не хочется что-то делать)

Филипп

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