[It's a little late (but never too late), and the handwriting seems... shaky, childish. The scribe is a man slightly overdosed high on painkillers, mended only on the outside by glamour in a vial, struggling to stop his hand from trembling with every word written, and the message is in no hurry to spawn across the page.
It's ample retribution, he thinks with a bitter smile. A David completely without the use of his hands is a completely useless David - no writing, no phone calls, no guns, no rituals, no seals; nothing. Were you kind enough to teach David a lesson, Mr. Gryffiths, or were you only angry and wanted to share the pain and helplessness?
No codes this month. Not when the Merchant can barely grip onto a pen, let alone write with it.]
9-18/2. Near Brixton market. V-day love pots stock x2.
( Messages for Ces, Saito & Cal )
It's ample retribution, he thinks with a bitter smile. A David completely without the use of his hands is a completely useless David - no writing, no phone calls, no guns, no rituals, no seals; nothing. Were you kind enough to teach David a lesson, Mr. Gryffiths, or were you only angry and wanted to share the pain and helplessness?
No codes this month. Not when the Merchant can barely grip onto a pen, let alone write with it.]
9-18/2. Near Brixton market. V-day love pots stock x2.
( Messages for Ces, Saito & Cal )