Thread: Killers Affair —  [LackingInHeart & Death by orgasm]

Jillian sat confidently erect in the chair about eight paces from Mr. Ingle, which provided the room with a stern estimation of what absent tolerance level Jillian would have set aside for the little dork today. She drew the dull grey scene from her surroundings and the nostalgic memory of not too long ago and suddenly seemed to employ an investment in this criminal meeting situation. You're here for a reason. Jill... She would try her best to approach him civilly with interest of his speech, open to hear him out, to see what he was about. She had not yet fully decided on that, but all together had supposed that if she were to see him today she would allow him the opportunity to at least humor her with whatever spill of words vomit from his mouth. Preferred if he kept his spit inside it this time. He still did not stand a chance for her interest though. She was not one to be fussy when it came to the assigned criminals regarding these temporary interviews. But to hell with it all. The line had to be drawn when concerning this dork- technically criminal, vaguely so, aware she was- and the objective for her thesis statement. Which remained unclear. That was when she reminded herself of her lack of desire to conduct her thesis on something perpendicularly personal in her life. Concurrently it was painfully obvious that this was indeed a splendid topic to diverge her thesis on accounting her unusually curious interests on death, murder, and rape. But for some reason Jillian could not pin point a statement. Nothing came to mind. So when he purchased an heavy eye roll from Jillian Grant with his trite frat-boy ego of her missing him, she rewired her bored eyes to her right hand that held the pen to the same pastel yellow paper provided like last week. Her hand looked dead. Face fixed into a calm focus. She smiled at the thought of returning his spit gesture. Otherwise there was something impenetrably calm in her demeanor. Today was a lovely dark morning. The sun a dark orange. The clouds a dark blue. She reset the scene with implications of his probable lack of dawn and dusk knowledge since prison would not allow such luxuries. My father was good friends with your director. Maybe the only reason I am seeing you again is to hear your apology for his benefit. It was not a lie. The greater part of this second meeting though was... well, why was she here again indeed? Jillian could not deliver a consensus on the matter other than the inarticulate idea that this second meeting signaled her negligence regarding his impulsive spit act of rebellion.. Yes, guilt. An emotion I'm sure you understand. I know you only committed unintentional crimes. Of that there was no doubt in her mind. Her delicate face searched with a faint strain to even imagine what she said next, Or here, I'll humor you, if 'intentional' your 'crimes' were... her face sauntered to her free left hand, stifling a throaty chuckle with her palm, remorse still racks you. Don't worry though, your time is almost up in here, plenty of time to mend your mess ups of life and get back to your failing grades in school. You seem like a nice boy, a little troubled, but you're just a bit of a trouble boy. She did not dart her eyes to his. She assumed he would have a hint of disdain or perplexity and uttered, I'm sorry, was I being too subtle? and clarified for him in case he needed it, You can go back to normal life after prison and forget the mistakes you made to land you here. Mr. Maximilian Ingle was not heavy fleshed or grossed body as one or two of the other prisoners she had met. Like him, some of the other inmates were young, though Maximilian had a more spaced out distance from reality in his eyes and his face more intelligent than the others. Now it's your turn to humor me. Help a student with her thesis. Your only chance. What are your mistakes, Mr. Maximilian Ingle? Asked Jillian with a malignant smile painted from the same brush as their first meeting.