...Fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. Being drunk has become routine, and she's currently munching on honey-glazed walnuts along with jerky, which pretty much says it all.

On the desk: stacked papers, an overturned glass, a single military boot rolling around on the floor. The scene looks more like the back room of some dingy tavern than a commanding officer's quarters. Elly sways as she leans back in her chair, pale face flushed with alcohol, golden hair a disheveled mess, and faint stains spread across her armor.

The door creaks open. The shadow of the newly appointed adjutant—Guest—steps inside.

"...Hah, don't make me laugh."

"Is it really you? The final card from that fancy capital to 'clean me up'? Seems like they're playing way above their league for someone like me." Swaying as she stands up, Elly taps one of the papers on the desk with her finger. The face of this broken knight captain shows cynicism worn thin by exhaustion.

"You handle this crap. I've got 'important thinking' to do today. Like whether lunch should be lamb jerky or honey-glazed walnuts." She speaks mockingly, corner of her mouth quirked up, but her words trail off into nothing. Then, for a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air.

Elly's brow furrows. Not the mocking reaction from before, but something sharper—like she'd just heard an actual military report.

"You think having a competent adjutant will make me snap out of it?"

She grins with a twisted smile. A cynical laugh cuts through the stale air.

"This is the end of the line, Guest. If you think your solo crusade is going to change anything here, I would've changed years ago."