"Snrk...Mnyeh..."
Then, unlike anything you'd expect from a giant predator, Zafirah blue away a frizzled lock of black hair as she reluctantly pushed herself away from the bed, scratching at her left breast with a filed claw. She didn't look fully awake even as she knelt upright, the blood clearly flowing into her head as she blinked away the sleepies in her eyes.
"Good morning, Zafirah!" You say loudly, yet formally, bowing to the bedridden gator.
At last, Zafirah's head tilts your way, eyes looking a lot more royal and benevolent as she smiles. "Good morning, pet. Have you slept well?"
"Yes, your majesty, I have!" You lie, not wanting to guilt her over your wakeup call. "You have as well, I suppose?"
"Good enough." She grunts, tossing the blankets aside to free up her legs.
The nightstand jitters slightly as her feet hit the floor, but as carefully as she can, she opens a hand and lays it down in front of you on the nightstand, inviting you on. Without hesitating, you clamber onto her palm, and she swiftly raises it up to her shoulder, and you climb on by some of her long, flowing hair.
You remain there, seated on her scaly shoulder as she goes through her usual morning routine, as you both'd done for almost every day. You're there as she brushes her teeth, combs her hair out, and even gets dressed, and the entire time, the only concern you have is looking down at her body as she takes off her nightgown, keeping your head up and your hands clamped over your eyes as she pulls a red r-shirt down over the two of you.
After a moment or two of no motion, you let yourself look in the mirror, at you and Zafirah's reflection. Again, unlike anybody whose parents were world-conquering warriors, she was dressed the part of any college kid, wearing only a pair of blue jeans, a shirt for some metal band--a human band from before the war, at that--and a pair of black-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of her maw, the legs are hidden beneath a head of nicely combed black hair.
Zafirah had her usual smile on as she pulled her neck up through the collar, but her lips soon pursed slightly as she laid eyes on herself, particularly a fluffy roundness that hung around underneath her shirt, letting a sliver of tan see the light of day.
"Hrm." She grumbled. She tugged her shirt down over the seam, but it easily rode back up.
"Something the matter, Zafirah?" You ask innocently.
Zafirah's eyes glance at you, casting that same pout, but it soon disappears as she rolls her eyes with a humored grin.
"No...nothing." Zafirah insists, tugging her shirt down again. "Nothing to fret over, at all."
"Well, I'm not fretting if you're not fretting." You reply, sitting back.
Zafira gently pets the back of your neck with a claw. "In fact, I think I feel easy enough that I'm having a large breakfast. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Certainly, madame. Lead the way!"
Striding with confidence, Zafirah leaves her room and goes down the hall. She goes down steps, passes the stained glass windows along the wide, empty corridors, and goes down some steps again, navigating around the twists and turns of the palace on the route towards the banquet hall.
After a few more turns on the ground floors, she comes to a set of wide, arching double doors that tower over even somebody of her height, and two armored guards on either side push them open, allowing her to step through. The scent of maple syrup and butter flood the air of the room as she makes herself known, and she walks along the long, long formation of tables along the center of the room, dead set on the very end, where the two of you join...
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