@delxsive
the funeral home is quiet tonight. deathly quiet. all the lights are off and so is the heat. misty knows it to be after eleven; when she last checked the time, her phone's external display read 11:14. her work was done long ago, but she's since become engrossed in a text conversation with her digital correspondent. a blanket draped over her lap and legs tucked underneath herself, she relaxes in the armchair nestled in the corner of her office. a space heater hums amid her mechanical clicks, pumping out warm air while the vents do not.
ivory likes to ask questions, and misty does not have qualms about answering most of them. however, her phone is not a nicer model with predictive texting, which makes lengthy explanations laborious. when the question: what is it you like about working on difficult cases? appears on her screen, she knows there is no short answer. her thumb hovers over the dial key for several long minutes before, finally, she presses it – deciding to do what she's been thinking about doing for the past week ( now that she has the privacy ).
