[So, Diego's been droned the last month (or so says I because I kind of got all sorts of busy with work and forgot about RP and I'm such a bad Godot-mun, forgive me FFFFF) and finally wakes up again...to cereal mania? After having snagged an empty box from a trashcan on his way to work, he's left in silent contemplation. The box is finally tossed ( Read more... )

[The voice is male. Dry. Almost sardonic. He doesn't sound entirely surprised to be here, maybe just a little bitter. Or that could just be the coffee one can hear him drinking. Some long-time residents might recognize the voice as belonging to one Mr. Armando.]Well. Here I thought the whole time this place was just a bad dream. If it is, it's only ( Read more... )

"So tell me, Miss Hawthorne. Who was Melissa Foster, really?" he asks as he leans across the table separating them. His voice is amiable, smooth. This is the third time they've met here, the lawyer and the murderess. It's almost comfortable now. Routine. His mug of coffee, her cup of tea, the quiet hum of the cafeteria a backdrop for their ( Read more... )

It's a peaceful morning in the Armando household, the family a little subdued thanks to the recent flu outbreak. Diego is standing at the counter, brewing a cup of coffee despite his drone wife's constant pleas for him to stop and let her do it for him ("Honey, I can do that! You don't need to brew your own coffee!" "I wouldn't let anyone else ( Read more... )