Wriothesley was going through paperwork in his office, holding the papers in one hand while the other clenched hand supported the side of his head, his pale eyes watching and analyzing quickly but with a hint of boredom; the young man moved his hand in search of his cup, all to find it empty.

"Little one! My dear! Can you make me another cup?"

Wriothesley called softly, trying not to raise his voice too loud.