x || @murderousbitch ♡’d
Sapphire orbs nearly roll right out of her skull, her indignation emphasized with a neck roll and groan fighting its way up the back of her throat, stifles it enough to be released as a low hiss through gritted teeth instead. What do you mean ‘too rude,’ Fred? You nearly blew our cover getting into the trailer park and now this? See if she takes you on a fieldtrip again.
How’s that saying go? If you want something done right, do it yourself? Or never send a man to do a woman’s-- No, that was a little too-- ignorant, even for you, Nance.
A small puff of air is exhaled when she arrives at the front door of the last mobile home in the neighborhood, hands lifting to tug at the lapels of her own denim jacket, to smooth out any wrinkles before brushing fingertips down the hem of her skirt to do the same. She forces a smile, so that her words come through in a receptive manner. It isn’t-- totally bogus-- there’s still some authenticity there-- like a customer service voice that you wear.
A knock, firm and swift. She doesn’t wait for it to open, the knock itself was a warning rather than a courtesy. “Nancy Wheeler from the Hawkins Weekly Streak,” her voice is loud enough to carry through the closed door, and yes, I promise that you can hear the smile there. “I think you met my fr-- my uh-- colleague. I just wanna ask a few questions.” Hands raise again, gesturing idly as if the person behind the aluminum material could see her. “You can even stay in there and I’ll stay out here and you can yell at me through the door.”
