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Esprit de Corps [medium:success] - Somewhere in Jamrock a former silk factory is filled with low rumbling, coming up and down like pulse in cellules and lines of the bullpen. A secluded section of the breefing room is filled with people despite a late night hour.
Mack Torson - "So - what are you saying, Jean? 52 shat out a pile and offered us to clean it up?"
Esprit de Corps - Chuckles rupture the smoke-filled air of the bullpen. Sergeant Mack Torson, who was rocking on the chair's legs, slams them down with a loud thud. The chair menacingly creaks under his weight.
Chester McLaine - "By the way, here's the bumf," Chester McLaine's voice is tightened with laughter when he throws his partner a thin pack of yellowish sheets pinned together with a clip, containing all documents they were so generously granted as an addition to the returned case.
Mack Torson - Mack Torson lets out a loud cackle, catching the pack, and pantomimes wiping his ass with it.
Breefing room blows up with guffaws.
Jean Vicquemare - Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare doesn't say a word, watching over the heads of laughing men. It's incredibly late, and they still have to discuss tomorrow's plans on the case. He will let them have this minute anyway.
You - You blink it away.
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