▌◊ Tatum - Blog Posts

Even without her having said a fucking word to him, he knew she was 'on one' today. The cleaner always seemed to be at odds with…cleaning, or at least, usually when he had seen Tatum, it seemed to happen enough times that just the look on her face told him what was on her mind, sometimes. As she finally spoke, he offered the best smile he could muster, given how his, well, life was going at the moment. She almost looked as ragged, and he momentarily wondered if it was job-related. But, of course, it was, “Ah. Four cups.” Nodding along with that, he only wished multiple cups of coffee could help with his situation. Though he'd be lying if he hadn't tried to down a couple of pots of coffee in an attempt, “Long night, doing your job? That's so horrible, Tatum. Here.” He kicked lightly at the opposite side of the booth from him.

“You should take a rest. You're going to work yourself into an early grave.” With that, he looked away, back to whatever he had been doing at that moment, learning about frogs, going by the title of the book in front of him on the table he sat at. Turning the page over, he lifted his free hand up, holding a fork, scooping up some hash browns onto it and taking a bite. As she continued, he continued to keep his attention on his book, “Hmm.” That was his only response, initially. But after a couple of long agonizing moments of silence, he answered, “Well, as long as you do it quietly, I can tell you the correct number to set your frequency to 'dog only' status.” Finally, he looked over at her, giving her a pointed look. Joking back a bit.

OPEN: to everyone @boneyardstarters

LOCATION: the waffle cottage, morning

Why did mob types always seem to have a nasty habit of, ehem, making messes that needed cleaning up at ungodly hours? Just once, Tatum would love to have a call be at like, 4pm on a Thursday. But no. Apparently, high noon in mob terms was 2am, or whenever Tate was dead-to-the-world asleep. Which was why now, she was positively exhausted, having failed to get back to sleep after her cleaning gig the night prior. She was doing her best to not appear like an extra from Night of the Living Dead, but it was a struggle. “I think it’s gonna be a 4 cups of coffee kind of day today.” Tate groaned, the sound dropping off into a laugh. She nodded to her companion, or rather, the person opposite her in the booth who she’d invited for a late breakfast. “Be honest, how many coffees can I have before you think I start buzzing at a frequency only dogs can hear?” She joked.

The Tatum storyline in Foreign Affairs is better than the entirety of Witness.