Mar. 4th, 2007

fighting_mad: (bald - lethargy)
The days are running together. They all pass the same.

Once upon a time, Plourr would wake early in the morning (with the help of several alarms and a husband) and trot off to work out or take a ride. With that out of the way, she'd shower, grab a quick breakfast and a mug of strong caf with Rial, and set to work.

The days were long and occasionally boring, but usually not so bad; several audiences, some comm calls with leaders of other planets in the system, several committee or Cabinet meetings, constant updates on various situations from aides, all sorts of proclamations and bills and laws to sign -- the process of running a planet was not exactly glamorous, but Plourr found that she liked it a hell of a lot more than she'd thought she would. Sometimes Rial was there and sometimes he wasn't; they tended to split duties as close to half-and-half as possible. Often, there were diplomatic functions or dinner parties to host or attend even after the day was through, and Plourr enjoyed those less than the work, but she had Rial on her wing, and if all else failed -- some very fine wine to fall back on. Maybe she was getting better at this whole diplomacy thing. Sometimes life was entirely different; sometimes she traveled through the capital city, sometimes she went to various parts of the planet to meet with local leaders or oversee special events, sometimes they had dinner with her in-laws. Some days, she went to the capital city hospital to visit a man with one arm. But, for the most part, her days played out similarly, though with enough variety to keep her interested, and by the time that she returned to the royal quarters at night, there was time to enforce a 'no paperwork in bed' rule, and if that enforcing sometimes turned vigorous -- well.

It's different now. Rial doesn't have the heart to wake her, and Plourr sleeps late, beyond when she'd have the time for a work out, except for when she is woken by a sour taste in her mouth and a desperate need to bolt for the 'fresher. Those mornings, thankfully, don't happen often (but she's getting better at handling them; sometimes, now, she gets out of bed so quickly and quietly that Rial doesn't even wake), and on those, after rinsing out her mouth, she'll go for a run. No early morning rides now, racing the sun out into the grasslands; it's one of many new rules.

It's a struggle to get through the day. At the end of it, on days when she absolutely can't stay on her feet any longer and feels like she might just collapse of fatigue and sleep forever, Rial kindly but firmly makes sure she goes to bed, and he makes excuses for her at their evening engagements. Thankfully, she doesn't usually feel that badly, and she attends dinner parties and balls, and she stares rather longingly after the servers carrying wine glasses. It begins to rustle through the palace that the empress is refusing alcohol; maybe they won't be able to keep this to themselves, Plourr thinks, dispirited. At the end of those longest days, she comes home, kicks off her shoes, takes off her earrings, and falls into bed. Rial leaves a light burning sometimes so he can look over reports and things on his side of the bed, and she is too tired to tell him to knock it off. There is no enforcing, vigorous or otherwise. Just sleeping, so that she can wake in the morning and do it all over again.
fighting_mad: (any - asleep)
Flopped facefirst into the pillows, blankets hauled up nearly over her head, Plourr hasn't moved in a while. These days, this means that she is asleep.

Tonight, however, that is not the case.

She has been silent and still for some time when she cracks an eyelid and sees that the light is still on. She hits out in Rial's general direction. "Rial," she mumbles into the pillow. "Give it a rest. Go to bed."


fighting_mad: (Default)
Plourr Estillo

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