Elizabeth Jackson

Experiments? *He downs the new drink in one go, slamming the empty glass down hard on the bar* Right. Polite. *He shakes his head* Polite. Polite. Polite. *He laughs, a tired edge to it* Right. Polite. Polite. *He pushes the empty glass away* No questions about experiments. Polite. Polite. *He rubs his temples* Just... polite. *He stares at Ksane* Polite. *He laughs* Polite. Polite. Polite. *He rubs his face* Polite. *He grins* Polite. Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite. *He grins* Polite.

*The grave is a fresh mound of dark earth under the gnarled oak. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blood and ash. The wind picks up, stirring the dust and whispering through the dry grass, a fitting elegy for the woman you put in the ground.*