Arthur was in the meeting room, sitting on the largest seat, the throne. Dame Primus was to his right, flipping through the pages of the Agenda.
"I don't see why I have to attend those fights. They're cruel and bloodthirsty. It's violent and stupid." Arthur was angry at Dame Primus, as usual.
"Her Superiority created those fights. If you want to be Lord of the Upper House, then you should do what Her Superiority did. After all, my lord would not want his citizens to rebel, if their favorite sport was abolished." Dame Primus was smooth with her words.
Arthur sighed. He'd try to get out of stuff he didn't want to do, but Dame Primus had a way with words that suavely persuaded him into the direction she wanted.
But he couldn't just fire her. Primus knew all the rules of the house, and was an invaluable advisor.
"You know what? I think I'll go now. Meeting suspended until tomorrow." Arthur pushed his throne back. It used to be hard, but now that he was a Denizen, he had the strength to do it. It made a loud scraping sound on the marble floor. Without a look behind him, Arthur passed through the twenty foot arched doors.
He didn't even push his chair back, like a good little boy. He was sick of being a good little boy, following Primus's rules and regulations, obeying her "suggestions". He wanted to go home and visit his family. He hadn't been to Earth for almost a year.
But his family thought he was gone for a few hours.
That was the problem with the House. The time differences.
He went to his chambers, where Mister Monday had had his Roman villa. Now it was a drab looking museum, with busts of him (no surprise there; Primus had outfitted the House with representations of the Lord of the Universe.)
But Arthur's room was his sanctuary. No one could enter without permission, or be blasted by the powers of the Keys. Arthur smirked.
When Arthur was within a foot of the door, it swung open by itself. Magic was always useful.
His room had a four poster bed, with curtains. The blue cover was embroidered with golden suns, his symbol.
There was a desk, a sturdy oaken affair, cluttered with papers and other items. On his walls hung a sword, and some posters.
There was guitar propped against the bedpost. Arthur picked it up and jumped on the bed, tuning it.
It had been ages, but he remembered the notes. Decades of practice in the House had honed his skills. He had learned to play to pass the time between endless days.
As Arthur played, his thoughts wandered to the tickets on his messy desk, tickets to the Annual Championship Match in the Upper House. Dame Primus was certainly going to force him to watch that.