"Precisely like cupcakes, potentially a similar color, too?"

I felt an emotion similar to humor rising, hoping to excavate a place in my chest where a knot of discomfort had lodged some hours earlier. The woman's attempt at conversation was flattering, especially because I was doing a piss-poor job of keeping up. It had been extremely hard to keep harsher words from slipping out of my mouth because apparently, whoever was manning the filter left post and let my lips fly. Granted, I don't think the job of 'filter' ever truly existed for me... Never wanted one. Sometimes it would have left things unsaid, and maybe I'm a better man for expelling all of that? Maybe not, yeah... Maybe some things would truly be better left unsaid, such as "yes, sir, I'd love to do that for you", which had come unbidden out of my mouth earlier.

Perhaps blood thirst was simply in the air.

It was possible that what I assumed blood thirst was truly anxiety, apprehension over the evening. Perhaps not, and maybe it was only the heavy air of a new deal filled with unfamiliar faces and a lot of small talk that I wish I hadn't been able to engage in. Silly thing, manners. Fuck 'em if you have 'em and if you don't? Equally fucked. Etiquette was important, even though I was clearly showing like I'd never been taught anything. Maybe I seriously was born in a barn... I made a mental note to ask what exactly the scenario around my birth had been before I sighed and brought my attention back to the unfortunate woman running the shop.

As I stepped past her for that open chair, I heard the quiet words under her breath. They made me smile, unabashedly. I couldn't have told you in my own words, but I absolutely loved hearing a woman question me. Hearing a woman who might just be able to get me to knock off whatever the action that irritated her was, by far, the most attractive thing in the world. And at the end of today? The fucking miserable never ending Monday? I laughed, unable to keep it back. It wasn't the kind of chuckle that I might have stifled, no.
"Sugar, I don't leave my name etched into diamonds I make or knives I sell, either. But good work is reputable."

The compliment dangled for a moment, probably erased very quickly by my assumption that my ass was more than welcome to plonk on down in one of those absurdly comfortable chairs. Where the hell did these come from? Why don't we have any? Better yet... Where the hell could I get one? I sighed, feeling myself becoming more human and less robot with the professional veil lifting.

"My wallet is about as deep as the cut on your dress. Name your price, and I'll pay it," I started to say, cutting her off shortly when she began to speak about extra assurance. Did I need it? In truth, there would be a knife waiting, and back up plans A,B,C, and D waiting on the other side whether she gave me assurance or not. But said extra assurance might not be a terribly bad thing. It meant that there was a possibility that in the future? I didn't need to do everything myself. If I was being completely honest, I wanted to learn the art myself so I wouldn't have to rely on anyone but that wasn't something that was in the cards for me. Instead, my fingers were busy playing with the diamond I had been working on in my pocket. It could have used some refining; especially because she was visibly uncomfortable with my gaze on her.

What did I want? I wanted accuracy, and to get it the fuck over with.

"I need a potion to kill a man in a way that looks accidental. Give him kidney failure, drown his lungs, something creative. Make it pink, if you want, I don't care. I can handle the body afterwards, but I need to do all this by oh, y'know... Shortly. The less I tell you, the more fortunate we will both be. I assumed I would wait for it, considering the uh, unfortunate timing of the dinner party that hosts his demise."

Matter of fact, right? I straightened, though it was coupled with a long exhale. The taste of cigarette in my mouth was long stale, making me long for another. Part of me wanted to get up and give the woman space to work. Her discomfort with my presence didn't shock me, but it felt old. Old enough that I shut my eyes, and rubbed a hand over my face tiredly.

"I'm well aware you didn't say yes. It is not a light request, so I will be unsurprised if you tell me no. Typically, my own 'art' serves me well, but like I said... Good work becomes reputable." I looked up at her, knowing I looked tired but the way my lashes shaded my eyes had always done wonders for making me look a lot more sincere than the devil on my left shoulder who was constantly tugging my chains. The woman was vagely familiar, as I'd been told recounts of her before from customers, co-workers, and even some of the local politicians. "As do beautiful women like you. Serafina ... Right?"