𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆. Impetuous rumbling permeating the air every bit as much as the sudden rain, the clouds invisible above the blackened sky. At first, it was a crack, violent to the ears, but only a few moments later came a rolling sound that dissipated through the surrounding buildings.

Shaking her umbrella from the pouring rain, she raised a hand to brush stray hair away from her face, groaning as she realized the look she so meticulously cultivated every morning was most likely ruined, despite her taking extra precautions on her way to work, her sweet perfume flattening and her clothes drizzled with water, likely not to fully dry out until well into the afternoon.

Nodding at the intern tending to the front desk, she made her way toward her office, noting the way her heels clicked on the hard surface with satisfaction, echoing through the wide halls, yielding a pleasing sense of authority that never failed to make her feel powerful in any setting, regardless of her position.

A fairly sized room with both an equal mixture of comfort and professionalism, her office had intentionally been designed by a friend in order to make personal guests and prospecting customers feel at ease in her presence, details that, as she had been told, allowed for optimal cognitive focus, proven through science and design to have quantitative beneficial effects in the long run. Of course, she hadn't relied on other peoples' word to plan something as significant as her personal office, taking the necessary time to fact check what she had been told, seeking second and third opinions, always making sure to be thorough.

She was almost glad of the foul weather, because it gave her a quiet day to think and prepare for busier days, the sound of rain pattering on her window yielding calmer moods, the curtains drawn open to reveal the souls unfortunate enough to commute via more undesirable methods, rather than taking the subway or a cab.

As a community advocate and a seller of art, she typically spent a good portion of her work day involved in aspects of that particular venture, in addition to organizing events and creating and maintaining exhibitions, interacting with artists and business people on a regular basis. Seeing as she often needed to negotiate prices to buy certain pieces of art, she had spent years building up her ability to dominate the conversation, forcing people to take her seriously and see things her way, typically resulting in a good-natured handshake—although there certainly those who tried to take her deposition for granted, of which whom received immediate consequences.

It was hard not to let the things people said get to her, but it was with a shrug of her shoulders that she reminded herself to keep her head high, to discard anything that might keep her from doing her job correctly and efficiently, because that was the best way to prove them wrong.

Just as she was getting settled in, a knock on the door startled her from where she had been stuffing her purse in the compartment under her desk, calling out for whoever it was to come in, taking a deep breath and momentarily composing herself, an instinctive smile already on her face.

"Good morning, Ms. Moore," the intern greeted, entering and leaving the door slightly ajar before reaching into a stack of manila folders, "How are you?"

"Good, thank you," she replied easily, thanking her as she reached for the paperwork, giving a good-natured groan as she saw what was in store for her, "At least it's a slow day, this might take all day to finish."

The intern gave a quiet laugh, as if unsure how to behave in the vicinity of such a presence, instead opting to simply remind her, "You have a meeting at six with Vanessa Fisk, she was interested in creating a conjoined exhibition last time you spoke."

The mention of her meeting with Vanessa made her nervous, despite the fact she had known the woman for years, the two first meeting at an guerrilla art show while she was still in college, bonding over a cup of coffee and their shared passion for the arts. But with all that had gone down with her husband, Wilson, she had been cautious to keep in touch, as was the rest of the world, despite the events occurring nearly four years prior.

Deep in thought, she hadn't noticed the intern's exit, pausing when she realized she had been alone for a few minutes, glad the door had been left ajar, taking a deep breath as she surveyed her workspace and got ready to get to work. Finding it much easier to work with a to-do list, she began to write down exactly what needed to be done, in order of urgency—administrative paperwork topping the list.

In addition to professional reasons, Mercy prided herself on her meticulous records of acquisitions and sales, as they were needed to assess the profitability of her business, with the bottom line used to evaluate how well her budget was doing—not that it was in any danger, seeing as how well she drew in sales—in order to keep costs in line while still striving to operate as efficiently as possible.

As the hours wore on, she slowly made her way through her list, the feeling of satisfaction growing as she checked items off one by one, answering the phone on occasion to speak to prospective clients about visitation and meetings, her instinctive smile gradually dwindling as she continued to speak to more and more people. The familiar feeling of exhaustion was beginning to overtake her, and she found she wasn't in the mood for any more interaction than she was able to expend her energy on.

Meaning her meeting with Vanessa was not going to be as pleasant as it could be.

"It's been too long!" She declared enthusiastically, shaking her head at the woman's offer for a handshake, instead hugging her tightly, leading her to her office, where the woman smiled and made herself comfortable on one of the chairs opposite the desk.

"How have you been?" Mercy asked, pouring the woman a tall glass of water, sliding a thin coaster under the drink before placing it beside her, sitting in her own chair and crossing her legs.

Vanessa pursed her lips and sighed. "Ah, you know how it is. The press has died down since everything that happened with Wilson, which I'm very thankful for, but life has been the same, as it always has been."

"I know what you mean," Mercy agreed sympathetically, "Although days like today have made me rethink, it's been so peaceful these last few hours."

"And I hope you thought over my offer," Vanessa said, leaning forward in anticipation, "It's such a rare opportunity for me to work with someone as constructive as you are, and I'm confident it will be good for business."

She nodded, mulling over the woman's proposal; in reality, she had made her decision well before Vanessa stepped into her office, but making it seem as if she were still pondering the offer forced her to squirm, if only a little bit. The few moments that had gone by in silence were all she needed, and she smiled widely, sticking out her hand.

"I look forward to doing business with you," Mercy said reaching to shake her hand, "I'm sure we'll have a lot to talk about in the future."

Vanessa nodded. "I'm sure we will."

It was smooth sailing from then on out. Regardless of how tired she was, or however she felt, it was second nature to talk business, finding herself schooling her facial features and her voice in a subconscious attempt to uphold even more power within the conversation—and, just like always, it was working.

Walking the woman out of her office with the understanding that they were to meet again sometime in the near future, she made sure to engage in pleasantries, inquiring about her personal life, while still staying respectful, promising to keep in touch in order to begin discussing the fine details of the event they were planning on holding.

After Vanessa had driven away, she made her way to the front desk, forcing yet another smile as she asked how things were going with their new social media platform, the young woman avidly proposed various suggestions regarding improvements towards their current strategies, Mercy pleasantly surprised at her initiative, promptly given her permission to go forward with her ideas.

It was nice, to see someone so young eager to take on additional tasks, especially a project that had been bogged down by permanent staff.

After ending the quick conversation with the intern, she re-entered her office and sat down, glancing at her watch to see how much longer she would have to stay at work; on normal days, she would have no problem staying as late as needed, often leaving hours after the rest of her staff did, but there was something about today that made her want to speed off in her car and simply decompose at home, despite the limited interaction she had with other people in comparison to other days.

Even so, she decided there was no harm in trying to finish her last bit of work, opting to focus on the professional writing piece on the gallery's newest artwork, knowing she wouldn't have the patience to sit down and write in the future—granted, she hardly felt like doing it at the moment, but what she felt like doing was irrelevant, if she wanted to get things done.

Doing things whenever she felt like it would never have gotten her to where she was today, either.

As both a supplier and presenter of art, she needed to write announcements of both artists and their work, in addition to critiques and petitions for artistic support in the community, once even visiting a community college in the area in an attempt to promote funding for the arts at a time when school districts felt the field was the most unnecessary. Along with a number of documents that supported and promoted the gallery itself, there were a number of funding grants and publicity writings she had to create--she had to admit, it was sometimes enjoyable writing up the preliminary ideas before submitting them to another employee for revision, it made her feel like she was accomplishing even more, especially in a different field.

"If you need me, I'll be in my office," she called, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor, "You're welcome to go home early, it's been a slow day."

Hearing the small gasp from the intern brought a small smile to her face, the young woman thanking her as she hurriedly finished what she was doing, gathering her coat and checking to make sure she had her things. Satisfied with the encounter, she made her way to her office, before stopping when she heard the revolving door open once again.

"Um, Ms. Moore?" The intern called, her voice shaking slightly, "You have a visitor."

Frowning, she took a deep breath before pivoting on her heel in order to learn which one of her clients would be interested in meeting so late, fully prepared to raise her voice in case they weren't willing to listen to her policies. Instead, she was in for a surprise.

A woman with ginger hair elegantly styled on the top of her head held out her hand. "I think it would interest you to speak to me, Ms. Moore. We have a lot to talk about."

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

I'm sorry there wasn't a lot of dialogue, not much happened until the end, and the delivery could have been far better, but I'm glad we got to see Mercy just at work, because she's a different person around a large number of people and when she's alone, as well as around certain people. I am happy with the ending, though, because it mentioned the catalyst of the story, which sets up the next chapter, so things are happening, albeit slowly!

Thanks for reading!