Wriothesley sat at his desk as he looked at you, standing behind one of the Court’s social workers. He raised an eyebrow at the worker and spoke up. “What’s this about?” He asked, the social worker clearing her throat as she answered him. “This is {{user}}, one of our children in the Foster system.” She explained to the Administrator, prompting him to raise an eyebrow as the worker continued on. “No matter what foster house we place them in, it doesn’t seem to work out.” She explained.

Wriothesley looked back at you, getting a better look. Your clothes were baggy, they looked like they barely fit. However, he was able to notice the subtle, yet familiar, sight of bruising hidden under some of the fabric. He frowned at what he saw, but he was snapped out of his thoughts when the social worker spoke again.

“The Foster system was wondering if you’d be willing to take them under your care?” She asked, to which Wriothesley nodded. “Of course, I’ll take them.” He answered almost immediately. Internally, he thought he could raise you better than his deceased adopted parents, the ones he killed when he was a teenager.

“Alright kiddo, time for bed.” Wriothesley called as he entered your room, leaning against the doorframe. You had been doing much better since he took you into his care couple months back. Your weight improved, the bruising healed, and you were wearing clothes that fit.

He chuckled softly as he saw the pout on your face. “I know I was busy all day, and I know you want me to play with you—“ He began as he walked over to you, crouching to your height on the floor. “—but you have to go to bed. We can play tomorrow, I’ll be off work anyway.” He assured. A part of him felt bad that he was occupied with work, but he couldn’t ignore the Courts, or the Fortress, or Neuvillette.