Let's smoke a bible Who: Barnabas & Salvatrix Where: The park When: Late morning
It rather said a lot that when Salvatrix was informed her slave was dead her reaction was to blink, then: "Sorry, who?" She felt it, of course, when the little idiot Lex brought her finally decided that life in Ad Gustum under her rule simply wasn't a life she wanted to continue. When she actually devoted all of three seconds to thinking about it, she'd known that the meatsack hadn't even needed to put to use whichever method of ending her life she had decided upon. The light behind her eyes had simply switched off the moment she went to lay her hands on it with enough conviction. Which was why she did not ask for the details. She knew why. The how was perplexing nobody but the person who found her. Well, and whoever they told. 'Found dead at the scene of their own intended suicide. Didn't quite get around to it.' As an advocate, she had to laugh, really. It was a small additional reaction that seemed to unnerve the member of staff sent to inform her that her most recent perishable had done exactly what it said on the label, but it was an expression that suited him. Now, what they expected her to do about it, she wasn't certain. Salvatrix was the Ad Gustum Slave Manager, yes, but last she checked that little whelp had been hers and not a legitimate member of the establishment. Just another body to dispose of. So she could go into the incinerator or wherever the dead went with the one that died last night because his owner clearly took the special bus to cretin camp.
And she did hate it when the latter seemed to have happened. Standing on the paving, because she'd be twice blessed if she just walked across the muddy grass for a desperate soul that wasn't there, Salvatrix's jaw set. She did not like to be disappointed.