LEBLANC, OF THE 𝕭͟L͟A͟C͟K͟ ͟𝕽͟O͟S͟E͟.͟ ——————- &&. ) trapped in the everlasting cycle of 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 LIES.

You see the sad in everything, a genius of love and loneliness.

— And as you should know, I can't do anything before you write it formally. Offering him an oficial document and a pen. — I'm not doing this to make you lose more time, or to just not talk to Vi. You know how the law works, so get to writing.

A soft hum as she takes the paper, looking over the handwriting she used to be so familiar with before. Times change, she supposes. — I'll talk to her when she returns, worry not.

— Perhaps it is. When I next see Vi I'll make sure to have a talk with her, rest assured. A hum, taking the teacup and placing it back on the tray to wash later. — Do you need anything else, Marcus ?