@cutthroat-service Embrace
Tressa's sat in the office, engaging in the relaxing zen of paperwork while she scripts her scrawl onto disposition and funerary consent forms. It's a gleeful bit of mundane activity that she finds grounding in comparison to the nominally more breakneck pace of the morgue work, which is something that requires far more precision and far more timeliness, given that there are often active investigations at play.
Even with the relaxing nature though, she finds her pen's a bit more heavy given the day. Jude heads out soon - might even be in the air at this very moment, if the radio silence from his phone's anything to go by.
Knock knock knock, the sound comes from the front door. Never not unnerving, to Tressa, whose entire life was changed by that rhythm when she was a child. Doubly so, given the hour. Usually, night-time activity at a funeral parlor is preceded by a call from a hospital or hospice nurse. Cold knocks are cause for concern.
And so she moves to the door, unlocks it, and pokes her head out, offering a pleasant smile. A grim looking individual stands before her, and almost immediately Tressa's easy grin turns into a false smile, because something just crept, like a spider, up her backbone.
"Hello! Can we help you tonight?"
