Syelle
Kitsune. Vixen. Trickster.
Tyler Malbrooke
Manhattan
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"Mr Yungfae, I understand your need for discreetness but the risk we take to transport your vehicles is high. So high in fact that I'm thinking of raising my prices. So if you aren't satisfied with my delivery schedule, then I suggest you seek another method of transportion." Tyler hangs up the phone and rolls her eyes, dropping a damp towel at her feet. She walks over to the cushioned futon and sits, taking a long glance at the city. Everything is within view from the sixty-fifth floor, and wall-to-wall windows help.
As she runs a hand through her drying hair, Tyler yawns. She hadn't been home for more than an hour before clients were demanding updates of their products. It was irritating and there was nothing Tyler hadn't more than impatience - breaking the law was an art form, and she wasn't one to rush anything.
The muffled sound of the television heightens with the urgency in the anchors voice. It grabs Tyler's attention and she looks at the screen, raising an eyebrow at the camera-phone footage. Apparently somebody had been shot. "Maria Esperanza." The caster says, which immediately diverts Tyler's gaze to her kitchen. Slowly looking between the cupboard that conceals her bin and the television screen, she hurriedly moves towards the former.
Slowly placing a hand into the bin and rummaging through sushi containers and the contents of protein shakes, Tyler grabs it. An A4 folder containing what she had assumed was a research project by a mental patient. Though now, as the words of Maria Esperanza's last words filter through Tyler's apartment, she opens the envelope once more with a whole different reaction.
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