“Did you cut your hair, Nikolas?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I don’t like it.”
The teapot was lifted daintily, and poured in a similar fashion so as to not spill a drop.
“Hopefully this new man replacing you will know a thing or two about appearances.”
“Indeed, sir.”
The china cup was handed over, and he brought it to his lips.
“This is bitter Nikolas. You messed this up, too.”
“No, sir. It is a different brew, made especially for you.”
A second sip entered between his pursed lips.
“What is in it, then?”
“Rat poison, sir.”
Phil Slattery, Writer, Publisher 