Alfheim, Capital City of the Elflands
"That shit-covered, toad-faced, cock-pustule!" Leda shouted. "And I suppose his followers will swallow the worm-infested manticore vomit he's feeding them, because to do otherwise would require them to admit they were wrong!"
She took a deep breath, centered herself, and remembered where she was.
"I am so sorry."
The nobles of the council stared at her, aghast. Leda had gone off in the past, but not for some time, and never quite this abruptly. They couldn't even effect a proper Elven Stoneface.
"Don't sugar coat it your Majesty." one said. "Tell us how you truly feel."
Leda smiled ruefully. "Better, actually."
"May I take it then, that you're in favor of the proposed trade sanctions?"
*****
Meanwhile...
"Ron your father and I are very proud of you. We'd also like it very much if you did not get killed by a crazed mob, homicidal cop, or disappeared into some privately owned gulag....No, I don't think I am exaggerating. At least go visit Canada or Europe or something."