She turns on the bed, flipping her brother off whilst burying her head in the mess of pillows. "Fuck off, you prat," she mumbles, though her head isn't pounding as much as it had been a bit before. "Once you're a dear and get me a cheeseburger. I have, like, a fuckton of shit to do, appearances to make, and I don't wanna. But dad's getting on my case. It's your fault for doing Witchagram and Zach's for taking over the company. Now I have to step up my game," she says, her tone the epitome of whining. She missed those days her biggest concerns were what her professors believed to be acceptable fashion and subsequently disgracing them for it.