#shiv 001

[bloody-deliverance]

Closed starter - @cutthroat-service

Location: Wash Tub Laundry

The laundry machine in Quin’s building has been on its last leg for a couple of months now, but tonight, it seemed to be well and truly dead. 

Awful timing, of course. Blood wasn’t very easy to clean out in his sink, and letting it dry onto one of his favorite shirts wasn’t going to end well. He’d tried taking a crack at fixing the buildings machine up himself, but only ended up stealing $7 worth of quarters from the coin slots (which he promptly decided was his payment for even attempting to fix this damn thing) and dodging the arc of sparks that had shot out at him while poking around the electrical parts. 

He had no other options. The one and only 24-hour laundromat was basically on the other side of town, but that wasn’t much of an issue now that he’d finally bitten the bullet and bought a shitty secondhand car. 

Wash Tub Laundry was small, remote, and nearly deserted. The handful of quarters he’d grabbed jangled in his pocket crossing the parking lot, laundry basket in hand. The smell of detergent hit him as he shouldered the door open, just in time for someone to walk out of the back room with a mop. Someone just familiar enough to set off every red flag in Quin's mind.

Eight years in this town spent keeping his head down and now, for the second time in two days, Quin was confronted with yet another familiar face. One much less friendly than the first. 

Fuck. He’d really liked that shirt, but running with a laundry basket would only slow him down, and he knew from his last close call that Shiv was fast. He dropped the basket, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he ran across the parking lot, trying to reach his car.

[tressashaw]

@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?"