Oh how dull things had become.

The person in front of his chair continued to speak, but eyes continued to roll without a care as to whether or not the subject had noticed it. Knowing the exaggerated motions of the appointed senshi, the man did notice. Percival, on the other hand, could care even less of less, should such a level of disdain exist.

After all, assuming the role of Dia was supposed to be exciting.

Truly, he’d been excited… at first. For the first two, nearly three years. Then, soulcrushing meeting after soulcrushing meeting, it had become painfully obvious just how trivial gaining such a title had become. Wasn’t he supposed to be the most powerful figurehead in their world? Was he not the son of the Dian Candy Dynasty? So why weren’t there underlings to make these sort of decisions on his behalf - why did he have to bother with the common man?

One leg angled itself outward while the young man slouched in the back of his self-proclaimed throne, one palm tucked under his chin as his free hand continued to strum across the other arm of his chair. He held no royal claim by name, just sweet, sugary success and the lucrative money that followed from it. For generations, his family had brought the galaxy the sweetest of the sweets and it was through their toil and labor that they could obtain the most prestigious reputation for any of the other candy planets that dare to even compare themselves to the Dian glory. They were laughable - paled in comparison to his power, his control.

So why was it that he found himself still stuck, still listening day in and day out to all of this nonsense? So what if overtime had to be put into place to keep production in line. Who cared if there'd been an increase of tourism, creating additional mobs that managed to tear down some of the gumdrop fields designated for next year's harvest?

What did any of it have to do with him?

“THEODORE!”

The name was bellowed, his frustration hitting a breaking point.

It didn't take long for the shadow behind his ridiculously tall chair to appear, ready and willing to serve at his Master's beck and call.

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Finish....this." The young man's nose wrinkled in disgust as he lifted himself up, vacating the seat with an audible huff. One hand moved up to toss back a wave of bubblegum pink hair from out of his face, but the movement did not slow down his exit from the room, leaving his poor, right-hand Mauvian to tend to the remaining issues that needed addressing.