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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: sober to death - car seat headrest
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The cold breeze of Small Heath wrapped around Marianna like a shroud, the chill cutting through the green velvet of her nightdress, a colour that shimmered darkly against the worn wooden frame of the open window. The receiver pressed tight against her ear; she could feel the static hum of the telephone line, and as the voice on the other end crackled to life, it sliced through the silence like a blade.
"State your name." Came the gruff, unfriendly tone.
"Crimson Sparrow, speakin'." Marianna's voice was smooth, almost playful, as she flicked her cigarette out the window, the embers catching the moonlight before they vanished into the night. A deep inhale filled her lungs, the smoke curling around her like a serpent. She could feel the familiar stir of adrenaline—a heady mixture of danger and defiance. "Now, put me through to Mr. Churchill."
She was acutely aware of the risk of using that name over the line, but tonight the stakes were high, and she wasn't about to let caution tether her down.
"I'm afraid that—" the man on the other end hesitated.
"I know yer sorry, pet, but I don't give a shite. You'll connect me to Mr. Churchill, right bloody now." Her voice climbed, sharp as a knife, slicing through the tension in the room.
There was a sputtering sound, then a muted conversation before she heard the unmistakable mutter of 'fuck' that cut through the air.
"Evenin', Mr. Churchill." Her tone dripped with sarcasm, a sweet poison that masked her underlying fury.
"Well, well, Crimson Sparrow." Churchill's voice rasped through the receiver, low and gravelly, laced with a hint of amusement. "Still among the livin'. Can't say I'm shocked."
"So much for surprises, sir." Marianna's retort was dry as dust, each word crisp with biting clarity. "Got somethin' I'd like to ask, though."
"At this hour, Miss James?" Churchill's tone shifted, intrigue sparking through the crackle of the line.
"Am I free?" The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning, the undertow of their shared history threading through the words.
