With the first draft proposal finally written and printed, Faustite stopped by his general's abode only so long as to drop it off. He loathed to stay for a visit; she would demean it whether he was there for her judgment or not.
The finely-printed papers sat snug in their binding, and rapped with a satisfying finality against Stroud's work table. An opaque cover sheet prevented any prying eyes from seeing the subject of their contents so easily. He picked a green to match her oppressive attire and damning eyes.
With little more to do, he vanished back to Negaspace to whittle away his idle time.
The proposal sat waiting.
ivynian
first draft is go
