Dear mun

*It's this room again, and Mel is writing in the journal set out on the desk, scowling, ripping the paper when she scores the underlines.*

You. Bitch who types for me.

You're going to do what?

Do you really think it's an idle threat when I say someday we'll find out together just how long-range my Glock is?

[for curtainwizard]