Length: 100 words.
Drab looked around the small sitting room, with its plush carpet and stuffy portraits, in disgust. He’d take an open, grassy field over it anytime. Vapor Island was the preferred meeting place for rich clients wishing to intimidate Ravens and Chromas with their wealth. He remembered the letter, on scented parchment in fancy script with violet ink, and allowed himself a derisive snort. He pictured some scrawny owl or scrabbit with a pocketwatch, forever clearing his throat. He knew the type so well. But when the doorknob turned Drab plastered a smile on his face and rose to greet him.