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“Hahhhmmm..?” the smile smeared right back onto the lady driver’s face, a rather untoward smugness. “Wonder why. Well, if she’s been actin’ t’ him like to me, she’s askin’ for anybody to put in earplugs. Hear she went to spar some. How’d she do?”
“She sparred with me,” you answered.
“You give her a few lumps on ‘er head then?”
“No,” you said testily, “She is my superior officer, I don’t need her thinking affected by me rattling her brain with an idiotic accident.”
Marcella crossed her arms and made a pout at you. “Jus’ sayin’, probably more likely ta knock some sense back into ‘er skull.” She waved away the thought with a single rise and fall of a hand. “Anyhow. Bonetto, can you do me a favor? Bleach Head won’t stop treatin’ me like a cramp, so if y’ could send some mail for me..?” She reached down her jumpsuit and pulled out a soggy looking envelope.
You stared at her. “Write another letter first.”
Marcella pouted at you and made a put-upon face. “Tell the higher ups ta put pockets on these things if y’ don’t like it. What I was sayin’ was, y’ girlfriend’s stayin’ at Chiara’s place, and I wanted ta talk to ‘er more. Was hittin’ it off real well last she visited, but…” She rolled her eyes and hunched over, squeezing her arms tightly together. “Ain’t too many gals ta talk to out here, Bonetto. Know what I’m sayin’? Jus’, no peekin’, hm?”
You shrugged. All mail was opened anyways, and you and Yena didn’t keep secrets from one another. Not that you were the sort to peep in mail anyways. Though it did seem a bit odd- after all, Yena was very good friends with Chiara, and while the driver and your wife to be knew each other, you wouldn’t have presumed a deep friendship…
>If Chiara found out you were ferrying mail for her rival that she clearly didn’t want sent, you’d surely enrage her. Not a smart or sensitive move. No need to involve yourself at all, that included handling any sweat soaked letters.
>A simple request. Why not? Nobody could reasonably get mad at you for letting women talk amongst themselves…
>Other?
