"Award"

Leona settles into her seat. She can feel her new alabaster uniform glowing around herself. Golden sunlight enters her office, sparking an ember in each liquor bottle's sheen. Her right hand rests against the smooth mahogany in front of her. A sigh escapes her lips.

"You're not happy," Hansel notes.

Leona nods.

"I wouldn't be, either," he says.

"In all legal definitions, I should be considered a murderer," says Leona. There's a distinct tone in her voice bordering on disappointment and total lack of emotion. Hansel supposes he'd probably feel the same way in her position.

"The Old Maid always had some strange ideas," he paces to the office couch, "If it helps, you ought to see it as her suicide."

"Can't believe I played along," Leona shakes her head.

"I didn't expect you to, honestly."

"Hm."

Leona catches a wrinkle on Hansel's face. Fuck, are they really getting old?

Hansel observes a streak of grey hair flowing back to Leona's bun. Has she noticed it yet?

"Do what I pay you to do," Leona leans forward and rests her head on the desk.

"Yes, Ma'am," Hansel swipes through the tablet in his arms, "The current time is 7:46 AM, Central Time, on the 27th of January, 2030. The most urgent matter is dinner at 8 PM with Senator Douglas."

"Eh," Leona waves, "Cancel it."

---