"Your Majesty," Penelope replies, barely glancing up from her scrutiny of the paperwork, as if it's going to tell her something useful. To be perfectly honest, she has no earthly idea why Nuala has showed up for this, but she'd be a fucking idiot not to recognize the benefits she'd get from having someone as visible in the city as her associate herself with her campaign. Penelope Lane is many things, but she is not a fucking idiot.

"So." She places the application face down on the table, folds her hands on top of it, leans forward, takes a breath. Holds it a minute. Releases it.

"Would you feel more comfortable walking my runway in heels, or flats?"