<div style="text-align: center">《Miles》<br/>
Location: Leavenworth<br/>
Present: Carla <a class="username" data-user-id="288" data-username="Flannel King" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/288/">Flannel King</a>​</div><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--left js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/large-1598473238-e908776a59dcdce06c33d52939dad74b-jpg.133344/" title="large-1598473238-e908776a59dcdce06c33d52939dad74b.jpg">
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</div>Miles' eyes went to the flowers. Word traveled fast when it traveled on Wilson feet, and Carla had gotten the message. "I see," he leaned his forearms on the gate, then swung it open to admit the woman and her dog. "Count on them keep everyone up to date," he observed. But he didn't blame the boys. They knew that Loretta and Carla had been friendly.<br/><br/>"Yeah, if you know anyone who'd rather help raise a fence then tend to a garden, let me know. I can pay in wine." He began to lead her around the large house, tossing sticks for Rookie as they walked. "Yeah, it was an easy parting," he said of her death. "She just…gave a little surprised sound, and then she was gone. There wasn't nothing to be done for it. She didn't have her nitro on and nothing I did made a difference." There was a sad, disconnected acceptance in his voice. It was the sound of a man who had lost often enough to have grown familiar with the emotion.<br/><br/>He didn't have to tell her that he waited until she turned. It had become customary when people they cared about died to give them every last chance to come back. It started when a logger down at the mill had died, or so they thought. Turned out he had a seizure, and no one, including him, knew that he was prone to them. Luckily the fellow who was going to grant him mercy was having trouble bringing himself around to doing it and the man lived.<br/><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--right lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fthumbs.dreamstime.com%2Fb%2Ffreshly-dug-grave-cemetery-flowers-top-ground-beautiful-floral-bouquet-laid-dirt-covering-casket-142467473.jpg&amp;hash=308cb789b7cf795ec144c002794a1d06" title="freshly-dug-grave-cemetery-flowers-top-ground-beautiful-floral-bouquet-laid-dirt-covering-casket-142467473.jpg">
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</div>Loretta's grave was still a darker brown than the dirt around it, and a small cluster of flowers topped the soil. It was near the back porch where she and Miles spent their mornings. "It seems odd," he admitted. "I thought I'd be the one to go first."