- Good work. You captured my essence. ❞

The hand at her side gives a big thumbs up. There can be no greater honor bestowed from her than those sets of words.

- suddenly reminded by some annoying, candy-colored nip at her conscience, she turns back around and awkwardly mumbles out a quiet..

❝ Thank you for your assistance. ❞

Then she turns around again, her mouth briefly tensing and squirming up like she ate something that didn't agree with her.

❝ Four knocks... ❞

She repeats, taking one of the business cards and briefly looking it over. Sometimes her stubbornness paid off. Other times, it fabulously backfired in her face. She'll see what kind of luck favors her in time.

Wednesday turns, not saying a single word to her helper. But as if -

- with an attentive gaze.

❝ I saw her. In a vision. She's alive. I need to know all that I can about her. ❞

❝ Ophelia... ❞

The slightest hint of... gasp. Emotion? A mix of many, to be precise. Interest, excitement, uncertainty, fear.

She was providing her with far more than she could have asked for. Like robbing a cemetery and finding a diamond alongside a moldy skeleton.

Wednesday leaned forward -

- slightest sense of fatigue, and it caused her perfect posture to falter ever so slightly to the left where a wall waited for her. Her shoulder leaned upon it -- looking like an awkwardly positioned book on a shelf.

Her eyes briefly scanned her surroundings. For a moment, it almost seemed as if she were about to say something insightful. Though, when she turned towards the redhead, only those dull eyes stared back.

❝ With or without butter? ❞

❝ Yes. ❞

The deathly child replied, always in that blunt and seemingly uncaring fashion. She wore ice on her visage and in her voice. Not a hint of warmth or compassion present, but still, mild intrigue.

❝ I can only hope I won't be the center of the chaos this time. ❞