> Imagine the feeling of hugging someone you love. That usually calms me down.
>Sing to yourself.
That works for me. :)
She's ok. She's ok.
She's got this.
Lets. Lets look around.
Ok, look at the waste paper bin. Discarded documents may prove useful.
Many years of crime fighting television makes Bina check the garbage bin first. It is empty, save for some orange peel and a faint smell of cigarettes.
> Examine those big books up on the shelf.
They're unlabled, thick, and bound in leather. Judging by their proximity to the safe, she's guessing accounts ledgers. She doesn't think she could get one down with her hurt arm without dropping it.
>Examine the safe.
Bina takes a closer look at the safe.
If this is the office for the whole factory, they probably keep payroll in there. Wait, no, this factory is, judging by those huge smokestacks, really big. They'd never be able to keep all the payroll in here. This place must employ hundreds of workers.
This safe would be for deliveries maybe, or important papers. Contracts and things.
It's an almost perfect cube and like all the other flat surfaces in here, it's covered in stacks of paper and envelopes.
It looks heavy.
Attached to the face of the door is a woodcut of a winter farm field, at night, ringed in forest.
A bright star hangs in the cloudless sky.
Beneath the dial, the words "Astre Sucre" are etched into the metal.
Bina guesses that this answers the mystery of the words on the smoke stacks.
Hey, Bina. I know it's rough going for you right now, and I'm sure pulling a cable out of your hand and forearm is the worst experience you've ever felt in your life. But girl, absolutely nothing compares to having to listen to clients complain. Nothing.
Well played my friend. Well played.
Also, I am not entirely sure, but I -think- crunch is over for at least a week or so. Hurrah for breathing room.