It's a distinct possibility. Plourr has, after all, proved herself a master of silently mocking dull people during horrific conferences and meetings and state dinners, and Rial is usually the one on the receiving end of that prowess.

He's also usually the one left having to hide laughter with coughs and harrumphs, and the one enduring odd looks.

"Good," she says, and she pulls away and walks back to her desk, picking up her datapad. "Then you can help with this." She hands the 'pad to him. "They want us to make decisions on what the crowns will look like." Her expression is equal parts incredulous and 'they've got to be kidding me, right?' and -- slightly uncertain. "They tell me the old ones were lost." She holds the datapad out to him. The screen displays a dizzying array of options and sample pictures.