"Thank you, but you really shouldn't have gone to the trouble." Reaper said, rescuing the dangerously swaying cup of tea from the kindly old woman, who waved her words away with a veiny, wrinkly hand and a soothing reassurance. "It's no bother, dearie. Keeps me moving about. Good for my circulation."
The assassin took a cautious sip, her eyebrows shooting up in pleased surprise at the taste. Not the watery Earl Grey she'd expected. She couldn't quite place it, but whatever it was, it was good. It tasted of the warm summer days of her youth, of time spent around a crackling winter's hearth, and suffused her with a feeling of contentment. Happiness, even, something she hadn't experienced in... decades.
She frowned, and cast another sidelong glance at her target. Having now met the tiny old raisin with surprisingly clear and lively eyes, it was even harder to understand why so many people'd requested her particular services.
Was it the hooked nose? Did her cookies taste too dry? Were her animals in the yard outside too much of a nuisance?
The sheer volume of identical requests made Reaper suspicious, which was why she'd come here to investigate in person. She might be an assassin, but she still had standards. Rules she followed. Lived by. Was she being stitched up?
She just couldn't figure out why so many clients would want this good soul dead.
