#( seth.)

Atmos snickers, teleporting around Seth multiple times.

“Bernadette, where did your friends go?”

He smiles, stabbing Seth at her waist with his nail. One.

“Don’t tell me they’re dead now, that would be such a let down.”

Two. He aims for her back this time.

It’s bad enough that Reina’s been finding herself at the clubhouse more than usual lately  (big thanks to the cops and her incessant need to be in the know, not that the latter is anyone’s fault but her own) but even worse is that more often than not, she’s been there to see Seth of all people. That thought alone is fucking insane to her considering the fact that for the better part of a decade or so, neither of them would have hated to see the other dead. But over the last few weeks they’ve somehow come to an understanding — a business agreement, if you will — and now Reina finds herself actually wanting to work with the man. Sure, it’s purely for selfish reasons, and she knows the money she can bring in from keeping her hand in the club’s pot via Seth is far more than she could ever make on her own, but in a way it’s almost nice to not be at each other’s throats. Weirdly, the two of them have more in common than they realize — not that Reina would ever admit that out loud. 

Their mutual interest in making as much money as possible is why she’s here now, though, with a proposal she knows Seth won’t be able to pass up. It’s a perfect opportunity for them and she can’t help but practically strut into the clubhouse with a shit eating grin, proud as a goddamn peacock as she flaunts around the papers she’s holding. “Fancy seeing you here. Got a little present for you,” she mocks, slapping down the listing she printed out earlier that day. It’s got all the details right there for Seth to see — plain and simple, a hotel and casino for sale right on the bayou in New Orleans — and he’d have to be an idiot not to understand what she’s insinuating. “What do you think? Spark any neurons in that tiny little brain of yours?”