@samuhelll : " revenge is a dish best served. " | ✱˚。⋆ ↪ 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 . ( accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚
Palm stays locked over her mouth, stuck like glue to sequester a scream that should have sounded minutes before when finding the body of a client — lifeless, hunched over in his office chair, a half-filled mug of cold black coffee on the desk, the room seemingly untouched. A scheduled meeting, no young assistant to greet her as is usual, several knocks, and an unconsidered decision to enter the office to check. If not for running in the same client circles, she’d find Mister Croker’s presence in the waiting room a bit alarming. Rather than question it, she’s glad to not be alone.
Her back stays turned from the grim scene, her mind racing — they can’t call the authorities. Bad business, too many questions, but can they leave? Meanwhile, Sam ponders his way through it, analytical and seemingly unperturbed.
“Revenge is a dish best served.”
The life insurance salesman muses in his usual stream-of-idioms sort of way, but this one seems unfinished. Missing “cold,” isn’t it? Brianne’s sight corners, her palm drops, and cold fingertips fidget with the red-patterned silk scarf tied Parisian-style around her neck; she dares not turn around. “Well, it's uh ... a likelihood in this business perhaps. Unless it was a heart attack. I. I didn’t notice any blood.” Discomfort makes her voice breathy, lightheaded; she needs to sit down.













