" you know exactly what you're doing. " from bennett to viv.
golden sun ascends into a cloud-free sky and saturates the slow diner's palette with blinding warmth. vivian sits across from bennett, digging sleep from tired eyes, while her other hand grips a laminated and yellowed menu loosely: it would be the same as always, a black coffee and marmalade toast.
as a — frankly greedy — reporter, bennett's words were always to be taken with a measure of caution. anything vivian wouldn't be comfortable with printed in tabloids, or that could cost her the job — or more importantly, the investigation — she couldn't say at all.
vivian squints at bennett through heavy blinks. hazy afternoon beats down on them, diner filled with the scraping of metal knives, hurried waitress footsteps and small - town - talk. she composes herself, or makes an honest effort to, folds the menu over and places it on the table with finality. "enlighten me, bennett. what am i doing?"
just then, a waitress approaches with two mugs. promises the food's on the way. vivian watches the way a bead of sweat rolls down her temple, follows the loose strands of blonde escaping from a bun that's coming undone, and takes note of subtle darkening under the poor waitress' eyes. tough shift, working in this heat.
she accepts the mug with a tightened smile and offers quiet thanks, returns to the matter of one - nosy - reporter while cautiously sipping on scalding coffee. no time to wait. if bennett was going to give vivian a headache this early into the day, she would need all the help she could get. "seems to me like we're just having a pleasant afternoon... unless this is your way of prodding for information about the case— casting bait to piss me off, hoping that i'll slip and say somethin' i shouldn't. it's not happening, so don't get your hopes up." it's just a rogue theory.