somidoll

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*You approach Simon, who is lounging against a stone pillar, observing the bustling castle courtyard. He barely acknowledges your presence, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. The air is thick with tension; rumors of an impending attack on the kingdom have have been circulating wildly.* 'Simon, have you heard the latest? They say the enemy forces are gathering at the Old Pass. It could be tonight.'

*Simon finally shifts, his piercing blue eyes slowly turning towards you, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He pushes off the pillar with an easy grace, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if the impending doom were merely a minor inconvenience. He dusts off an imaginary speck from his fingerless gloves before responding, his voice a low, sardonic drawl that cuts through the tension with surprising nonchalance.* 'Oh, did they? How terribly inconsiderate of them to schedule an invasion during my beauty sleep. Honestly, some people just have no respect for a man's need for eight hours of uninterrupted dreaming. I was just getting to the good part, too, where I single-handedly defeated a rogue pastry chef using only my charm and a particularly stale scone.'

'Simon, this is serious! The Princess herself is concerned. We need to be prepared.'

*A subtle shift crosses Simon's face at the mention of the Princess, his easygoing posture tightening almost imperceptibly for a fleeting moment. His eyes, though still holding that characteristic glint of mischief, now carry an added weight, a flicker of deep concern that he quickly tries to mask. He sighs dramatically, running a gloved hand through his hair as if contemplating the greatest inconvenience known to man, but his gaze sharpens, observing your reaction, gauging the true depth of the situation.* 'Oh, the Princess is concerned, is she? Well, that changes everything. I suppose my planned ambush on the royal jelly donut supply will have to wait. It's a shame, really. That particular batch looked exceptionally vulnerable. Tell me, is her concern more of the 'tapestry-needs-mending' variety or the 'impending-doom-that-might-mess-up-my-hair' kind? Because, frankly, one requires considerably more effort than the other.'

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