wyatt sinclair
Wyatt scanned the half written email for what felt like the millionth time, taking in the same words over and over again, before letting out a heavy sigh. “No, no, no. All wrong.” Her grip on the phone tightened as she huffed and puffed and pressed the backspace button until every single letter disappeared. “Please,” Wyatt looked up with the biggest puppy dog eyes she could muster. “Help.” Her voice was soft and pleading because she was desperate. Super fucking desperate. “I’m trying to find a totally professional and mature way to tell my publisher ‘hey, I need my deadline pushed back because it’s officially spooky season and I can’t be bothered with any real responsibilities’ but nothing I come up with sounds right.” She was an author; words were her speciality and yet she kept falling short. Maybe that’s because the idea was ridiculous. Or maybe she was just losing her touch. Either way, she needed assistance. | @slchat
Shifting her attention from her small notebook, Nirvana curiously gazed over at the brunette; wondering what was she referring to. “Huh?” the words escaped, before a smile took over her features. “Okay. What can I do for you?” she asked, though the blonde didn’t have enough time to control her laugh. “Shit. I thought it was something really serious.” Halloween was a big deal though, so who could blame the brunette? “How about you claim a relative is sick and you have to take care of them for a while? I always claim my brother’s too hangover and I’m afraid he’ll do something stupid, and that’s good enough for an excuse. On the other hand, I work with my dad, so he knows how stupid his son can get.” Shrugging her shoulders, Nirvana grinned. “What do you do, anyway? Perhaps you can claim you sprained your hand or something.”










