"Please. Just one more day. I'll have your money by then. I promise."
Lips twitched into a deformity of repugnance, aggravation, and stone- cold loathing. She offered many an opportunity that foretold to be an impossibility - a chance to be rejoiced with the deceased of loved ones - and her gratitude was chewed and spit out beneath her feet. This disappointment didn't ride well with her superiority complex. Every excuse would embed deeper and deeper before she lost control, and put this woman in her place. Time was money, after all. If she offer any sympathy it could tarnish her reputation, so she had to be the strong-willed which came natural to her as herbal tea. The inferior individuals were her juice that kept up the persona she spent years building. Those unworthy weren't allowed penance. Yes, ever the heartless bitch - some would say. But Abel considered herself a humanitarian - to the right person. Those who deserved it would be graced with a kinder side to her - one less inconspicuous. "Now, Gracie. I rose your beloved husband, who should of forever remained resting in peace, but since I'm such a humanitarian - I gave you both a second chance. But that's only if you agreed to pay the price. I'm a very impatient woman, and I don't like my intelligence insulted." Gracie spoke in many stutters and incorrect pronunciations that she let slide since she had a heavy Australian accent, but her patience was being tested and she wasn't sure how long it would be before the fuse was cut. "I know. I'll get you the money, as promised. I just need a few more days to - -"
"You dyed your hair," Abel commented, inquisitively.
"What?" She stared admiringly at the perfect glow of golden locks that shrouded around Gracie's should blades. "Your hair, Gracie. It was red last time we spoke. And now it's blonde." Gracie smiled timidly, cheeks blushing from the - mistaken - compliment. "That wasn't a compliment, Gracie. I think it's funny how you have enough money to hightail yourself in a salon to dye your hair, yet you can't even think to pay me back. Is your looks more important just to show off to your living dead husband, or maybe you want some other dead guys attention. Huh? Is that it, Gracie. You a corpse hooker now?"
"No, I - -
"I believe I was talking. You're behavior has really disappointed me lately. And I really hate liars. So, what I want to know is one reason why I shouldn't snap my fingers and put sweet Charles back six feet under in Oaksville Cemetery."
Bipolar tendencies would be the death of her. Obviously, her poker face was starting to shatter in a matter of seconds. "No, please! I need my Charlie. His..His all I - -" Abel lifted her finger, cutting through Gracie's pleas. She heard a few grunts and shuffling of feet a few yards in the distance. "Great," she muttered. She hated an audience and more importantly - being interrupted. "I have to go. But don't think this is over. We'll be in touch." She turned fleetly, blonde layers of hair streaming behind her as she strided over towards the series of noises. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know a fight was occurring somewhere in the park. She saw a vampire and a man fighting for a good few minutes, before the man dusted the vampire with puffs of dust decorating the grass. Abel was impressed - not many could handle a vampire. She crossed her arms over her chest, took broad and confident steps forward, but paused when she noticed the man tense his hand around a wooden weapon. "Neat-o, Batman. But haven't you heard? Swords are more sufficient." Plus, decapitation looked much more impressive and was always a sure way to kill a vamp - in case you miss the heart. She was never that accurate with stakes to begin with. She tiptoed around the gentleman, sized him up, and studied him as if he were a lab rat. He didn't seem demonic, or held any magical powers - otherwise she imagined he would exchange the stake for a combustion spell; fire pretty.