Django Durango

My Dearest Violet,

You can’t imagine the agony with which I write this, as I do love you so and could not imagine my life without you. I had always thought that we would be together forever. That our children would be as siblings and our husbands as brothers. That our families would be as one.

After yesterday, I cannot see how that could ever be. I have tried to embrace your husband, but he finds threat in everything about us. And I fear what he might do if we persist. I looked upon our savaged lilies, how he ripped them apart and pulled them from their earth, and I know that is what he would do to us if he could.

Read on…

Miss Byng had obviously gone on holiday and would not be returning. That left him with the most seniority in the department. That entitled him to her office.

Clive turned the knob and swung the door open.

He would need to redecorate. All this heavy antique furniture and all these paintings of people on horses. She always was a little princess, wasn’t she? So high and mighty, walking around with her riding crop as if she might smack you with it for daring to question her command. Acting like a military leader, like her father, when she’d had everything handed to her on a silver platter. He would be much a better head of the department than she ever was. He understood what it was like to be everyone else. He knew what it was like to have to actually earn things. He’d be more approachable, more common!

He shut the door behind him and locked it.

Clive approached the window. A room with a view. That was how you knew you’d made it. And now he finally had.

He pulled the curtains open and looked down upon the Parade.

Read on…

“Would you two stop already with the Bonnie and Clyde shit already?” Phryne spat out to her teammates. “Roleplaying on the job ain’t ain’t gonna save your marriage!”

Sure, Pumpkin and Honey were annoyingly saccharine in their displays of affection and sure, maybe they were so overt about it because they had something to prove. Nonetheless, Cleo thought Phryne was more the problem here. Phryne had been so focused on her disgust for the two lovebirds’ behavior that the civilians she was meant to be subduing were testing their boundaries. Cleo saw one inching away, trying to sneak out of sight when Phryne was busy sneering at the other two, who were winking and blowing kisses to each other but otherwise had their civilians under control. Another of Phryne’s civilian’s eyes kept darting around, looking for an opening to cause trouble no doubt.

“Why do you think their marriage is in trouble?,” Cleo said as she zipped up the duffel bag. “It’s rather presumptuous.”

“Yeah, we just got back from our honeymoon, for fuck’s sake,” Honey said.

Phryne glowered.

“I almost wonder if you’re not projecting a bit,” Cleo said. “Maybe you have some baggage that’s distracting you?” Cleo lobbed the duffel bag to Phryne, whose expression went even more sour, but who was grateful for an excuse to extricate herself from this call-out. She was quick to take the bag out to their waiting van.
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“They’re still nitriles, what’s the fuckin’ difference?” Banshee complained. He crossed his arms obstinately.

“It creates a Mr. Black situation, Banshee,” Wintour explained with steely patience. “If you show up to a job wearing black nitriles when everyone else is wearing blue like they’re supposed to, then your crewmates get jealous of you and resentful of the uniform. Then all of three of those crewmates are going to show up to their next jobs wearing the wrong color gloves, which perpetuates the disruption in team morale. It creates a ripple effect that could lead to people trying to disregard the uniform entirely, which would in turn create problems with crews being recognizable as such to civilians. And if civilians cannot immediately recognize you as a Syndicate agent, they’re more likely to resist and interfere with your work which could lead to casualties.”

“Besides, the pattern on the tie was designed specifically to embrace the blue in the nitriles,” Wintour added. “Without that blue for it to draw on, you look like you can’t dress yourself. You may as well be out there wearing black shoes and a brown belt.”
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“I don’t know, man. I feel a little iffy about this job,” Savoy said. “But I can’t tell if it’s a gut feeling or if it’s just because working in places decorated for Christmas feels like a bad omen.”

“Bad omens? We got fuckin’ Rudolph up here guiding the sleigh tonight. There isn’t a better omen than that,” Nero smartassed.

“Wow, that’s an original fuckin’ joke,” their driver, the aforementioned Rudolph grumped. “Why don’t you tell one I ain’t heard a million times before?”

“Damn, Scrooge, who pissed in your porridge?” Nero asked. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.”
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