May 21, 2021
The scalloped ends of his cloak scrape the manky floors of this particular wing of the asylum; where the real crazies are. The ones that can execute plan from the inside. That's why he's here. With squinted eyes, white as a n emptiness but filled with rage. Butt cheeks clench as he struts down the hall, his fingers playing cowboy at his sides.
He stands at the cell of the prisoner he's here for. Puts a hand to the door and when he hears the latch being released, forces the door open and slams it behind him, closes the slider to the little window and turns and faces.
" Talk. " saying with an air that the other knows exactly what it is he means.
