Life is good.
( from Troikaowned)
I've just woken up, and life is rather good at the moment. It's not even seven A.M, to be sure, but this has no effect on my current mood. I've never been a late sleeper anyway, and thanks to the alarms I've got set up around the castle I'm living in right now, very few of my regime are either. I'm sure that by now all my soldiers and artists and intellectuals are up bright and early, and at this thought a twinge of pride shoots through me. My coffee tastes sweeter than usual this morning.
As soon as I opened my eyes, I glanced over at the pretty blonde boy lying in bed beside me. There are no sleep alarms in my soundproof suite, which was done deliberately so that my Andrew could sleep as late as he wishes. I tire him out often.
And sure enough, he's dozing peacefully beside me on his stomach, one arm tucked under his head, one slung across my bare stomach. I rarely sleep in much, but as I gently push him away and slip out of bed, I pull on my ankle-length, dark purple silk bathrobe over the sweatpants I'd slept in. It wouldn't do at all to be interrupted by one of my soldiers. Of course, the only members of my regime that live in the castle with me are the elite, the ones I consider important enough to want them around me all the time.
Nevertheless, it takes me less than a half hour before I've showered and washed up, and dressed in one of my simple suits, a dark blue blazer over a pearl-gray silk shirt and matching slacks and tie. Class is crucial, refinement integral. I drink my sweet coffee and toss down a muffin right before settling myself at the huge desk that I've got set up in one corner of our master suite bedroom. It's comfortable here, and I could think of no better place do to my early-morning work when I was renovating the place.
I expect to hear morning reports from some of the higher-up regime members any minute now. They know what time I like to wake up, and when I'm ready to talk to them. They're good soliders, and I treat them well. Every one of them is treated with the respect they deserve, something I like to think of as a reward for their unwavering loyalty. Of course, should any of them waver, life for them will change quickly and drastically.
But it's hard to think about that right now, because Andrew is stirring adorably in bed and I've got a stack about waist-high of Michigan tax profit reports to look over. Lifting the classy silver pen from my ink blotter, I start making notes. It's early, but considering that I'm currently the unquestioned ruler of all that is America there's plenty of work to be done
I've just woken up, and life is rather good at the moment. It's not even seven A.M, to be sure, but this has no effect on my current mood. I've never been a late sleeper anyway, and thanks to the alarms I've got set up around the castle I'm living in right now, very few of my regime are either. I'm sure that by now all my soldiers and artists and intellectuals are up bright and early, and at this thought a twinge of pride shoots through me. My coffee tastes sweeter than usual this morning.
As soon as I opened my eyes, I glanced over at the pretty blonde boy lying in bed beside me. There are no sleep alarms in my soundproof suite, which was done deliberately so that my Andrew could sleep as late as he wishes. I tire him out often.
And sure enough, he's dozing peacefully beside me on his stomach, one arm tucked under his head, one slung across my bare stomach. I rarely sleep in much, but as I gently push him away and slip out of bed, I pull on my ankle-length, dark purple silk bathrobe over the sweatpants I'd slept in. It wouldn't do at all to be interrupted by one of my soldiers. Of course, the only members of my regime that live in the castle with me are the elite, the ones I consider important enough to want them around me all the time.
Nevertheless, it takes me less than a half hour before I've showered and washed up, and dressed in one of my simple suits, a dark blue blazer over a pearl-gray silk shirt and matching slacks and tie. Class is crucial, refinement integral. I drink my sweet coffee and toss down a muffin right before settling myself at the huge desk that I've got set up in one corner of our master suite bedroom. It's comfortable here, and I could think of no better place do to my early-morning work when I was renovating the place.
I expect to hear morning reports from some of the higher-up regime members any minute now. They know what time I like to wake up, and when I'm ready to talk to them. They're good soliders, and I treat them well. Every one of them is treated with the respect they deserve, something I like to think of as a reward for their unwavering loyalty. Of course, should any of them waver, life for them will change quickly and drastically.
But it's hard to think about that right now, because Andrew is stirring adorably in bed and I've got a stack about waist-high of Michigan tax profit reports to look over. Lifting the classy silver pen from my ink blotter, I start making notes. It's early, but considering that I'm currently the unquestioned ruler of all that is America there's plenty of work to be done