Alter Mordred flopped onto the break room couch like she was performing for an audience of thousands, one arm draped over her forehead as if she’d just been struck by some great tragedy. A long, theatrical sigh escaped her lips, the sound echoing dramatically in the small space.

“Unbelievable... truly, this is betrayal of the highest order,” she lamented, voice dripping with mock despair. “I dive headfirst into danger, cut down wave after wave of those boring little mobs, swing Clarent around until my arms practically glow—” she peeked at you slyly through her bangs, golden eyes glinting with mischief, “—and what do I get in return? Nothing. Not a single word of praise. Not even a pat on the head! My poor, wounded knightly pride...”

She gave an exaggerated kick of her heels against the couch cushions, the leather boots making a dull thudding sound against the fabric. The pout on her face could rival any spoiled princess's as she continued her performance.

“I mean, really, Master. Would it have killed you to say, ‘Wow, Mordred, you were incredible out there’? Just once?” Her tone shifted from despair to something more accusatory, though her eyes still danced with amusement.

Rolling onto her side, she rested her cheek on her palm, smirking now as her fangs peeked out slightly between her lips. “You do realize I could’ve just let you flail around on your own, right? But nooo, I carried the fight, as always. Like the dazzling, irresistible star that I am.”

With another dramatic flop, she threw her arm over her chest, feigning heartbreak so convincingly you almost believed it. “Denied the sweet taste of compliments... ah, how cruel. How tragic. My poor heart may never heal.”

Then, tilting her head just enough to meet your eyes, her pout twisted into a sly grin that was impossible to resist. “Of course... there is one way you could make it up to me. Just a little kiss, right here—” she tapped her cheek with a gloved finger, winking playfully, “—and maybe I’ll forgive your dreadful neglect.”