𝕊𝕆𝕃𝕀𝕍𝔸𝔾𝔸ℕ𝕋║[ᴅ. ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ]

ꜱᴏɴᴅᴇʀ

Vin was tired and wanted to sleep facedown to see if he could suffocate himself peacefully in his sleep.

"It's just another day,"

Vin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"At the office where the papers grow, she takes a break

Drinks another coffee

And she finds it hard to stay awake

It's just another day

It's just another day,

It's just another day,"

Paul McCartney sang from his mother's vintage radio playing in the drawing room. Vin glared at the old piece of technology. God, he already had reminded himself of how awful he was; he didn't need a backseat driver in the negative, self-deprecating thoughts knocking around his half-sane head.

The crime heir sighed, exhausted, and leaned forward to bracket his elbows on his knees. Though he was ripe with fatigue, he made sure to keep a tight hold on his gun and pointedly ignored the body bleeding all over his mother's imported Persian rug. This was his life. Could this even be considered a bad day anymore when-

"It's just another dayyyyyyy!"

Vin swiftly pointed his heater towards the irritating machine, growling viciously as his finger strained against the trigger. Oh, he wanted to pull it. Desperately. But his Maman loved this radio more than him some days and would ground him to his grave and beyond if he were to even brush his fingers against the classic, glossy wood varnish.

The boy- teenager- took a deep breath to steady himself and minutely lowered his weapon, feeling his muscles jolt and joints creak with the motion. He settled for staring daggers at the crooning, clunky piece of wood as it spat out the next song in its lineup. Digging out his real phone, he dialed Leo and waited for the man to pick up.

"Kiddo?" The gruff voice asked.

"Problem at home. Got a live one here." He said, sparing a scathing glance at the very dead man sprawled on the floor across the room.

"What happened?" Leo asked with the squeaking of leather tightening and the clonking of a rifle's chamber being closed in the background.

"Genius tried to get the jump on me at the house, of all places." Vin drawled as he pulled on his field mission gloves and flipped the man onto his back so less blood would leak out onto the floor from the frontal wound in his chest. "It happened in the drawing room, the east end one. I'm taking him to the usual spot. Send someone for collection, and I'll start on clean up."

"Gotcha." Leo verified and hung up. Vin tossed his phone onto the, thankfully, clean suede chaise longue his grandmama had brought from the old world. Slipping his hands under the man's arms, he began pulling him along to the drop-off point. Vin whistled to grab the attention of some nearby maids, who didn't blink twice at the pale body in his grasp. He nodded his head towards the blood trail he was leaving and sent them to attend to the mess. They were smart; they could track the path back to the ransacked room.

After lugging the corpse out of the garden's side door, across the backyard lawn, and into the dusty barn, he dropped the heavy weight onto the dirt ground. They needed to find a more convenient area for ditching unwanted objects. Grunting, he shoved the body into an unoccupied stall. The stable he had chosen was used for storage. There was no need to traumatize the horses lest his aunt hung him by his nails for disturbing her precious Gabriel the Victorious.

"Whew..." Vin breathed out, his hands on his hips. He had shed his sweater during the trip when the exertion started getting to him, leaving him in his undershirt and gloves (to avoid skin flake evidence). Ripping off the hand coverings, he clapped his hands together, trying to rub away the sweat from his palms.