"Come in!" Her Imperious Condescension chimes in from behind the door. She's lounging on her chair, legs crossed and basking in the light reflected from her pile of gold. "I came here to report this week's-" You start, but she interrupts you with a waving of her hand, frowning. "Da fuck happened to you?" She blinks. "Lowblood life spans are wack. Y'all are grubs a second, an' geriatric the next."

"Eh, whatever. You're not dyin', cause I said so. Can't keep going through First Mates." She shrugs. “Uh, not sure that’s how it works.” You reply, tilting your head. “It is, tho. I’mma make sure you live at least a dozen more sweeps.” She replies.