The femme fatale
Meme created by loweko which I think is hilarious:
Describe the femme fatale who would walk into the office of a hard-boiled PI to investigate your death or disappearance.
Bonus points for the full "It was a searingly hot day, and even the flies seemed content to collapse onto the spinning blades of the office's tired old ceiling fan, the better to die with a good view. Then her shadow hit the window in my door like fine steak on a hot grill... " narration.
Even more bonus points for Nero Wolfe.
Monday, eight AM. The last week had been tough - not a job in sight, the power bill was due, and the winter chill was already starting to whisper it's soft threats about what was going to happen when the heating got cut off. The kettle was taking its time to boil, and seemed to be taking an eternity as I stared at it, when the woman behind me cleared her throat.
I guess I'm just not that attentive before my morning cuppa.
Short, slim, and lightly built in that ever so petite frame of a five foot tall bombshell with golden rivulets cascading down to her shoulder blades, a perfect sylph, a ray of sunshine in the cold winter fog. Dressed in a fur coat, she had something wrapped in cloth under her arm. My senses tingled at the scent of of her perfume... and the prospect of work.
"Hi. I think my toaster is busted?"
Damnit! Why does it always have to be toasters?
Describe the femme fatale who would walk into the office of a hard-boiled PI to investigate your death or disappearance.
Bonus points for the full "It was a searingly hot day, and even the flies seemed content to collapse onto the spinning blades of the office's tired old ceiling fan, the better to die with a good view. Then her shadow hit the window in my door like fine steak on a hot grill... " narration.
Even more bonus points for Nero Wolfe.
Monday, eight AM. The last week had been tough - not a job in sight, the power bill was due, and the winter chill was already starting to whisper it's soft threats about what was going to happen when the heating got cut off. The kettle was taking its time to boil, and seemed to be taking an eternity as I stared at it, when the woman behind me cleared her throat.
I guess I'm just not that attentive before my morning cuppa.
Short, slim, and lightly built in that ever so petite frame of a five foot tall bombshell with golden rivulets cascading down to her shoulder blades, a perfect sylph, a ray of sunshine in the cold winter fog. Dressed in a fur coat, she had something wrapped in cloth under her arm. My senses tingled at the scent of of her perfume... and the prospect of work.
"Hi. I think my toaster is busted?"
Damnit! Why does it always have to be toasters?