------ @sherrygrysn
alerted to the calamity in the front office, he rises to his feet nobly, adjusting his belt against his hips (a humbling reminder of the toned and sculpted hero he isn’t). he stubs out his cigarette decisively, dismissing the lurkers at his doorway with a waspish wave of his hand before parting them like the red sea and gliding past into the hallway. ambling purposefully, the vehement chatter grows more coherent—- and the opposing voice . . . like a bell ringing in his subconscious, waking the most dormant reaches of his memory: he knows it well. he reaches the threshold of the front office, idling momentarily as he takes in gapes of curious bystanders before catching sherry’s eye. it takes a lot, but he subjugates a boyish grin. son of a bitch. sherry grayson, in the flesh. but another realization hits him soon thereafter, and he furrows his brow. sherry god damn grayson: a certified class act.
❛ hey . . hey, HEY—— ❜ he hisses in an almost whisper toward the clerk, who quickly punctuates her retort to sherry and glances over her shoulder dumbfoundedly at him. ❛ ----you serious? this your idea of ‘damage control’? ❜ he quizzes contemptuously, gesturing toward the waiting area at the crowd eyeballing the spectacle. he cups his slack jaw, stroking his mustache in a solacing manner before backhandedly waving at her. ❛ ----hokaaaay. thank you, candice, you incompetent---- go—— do something productive, will you? file papers, make some . . . small contribution to the full majesty of LVMPD. christ. i’ll take it from here. ❜ he orders patronizingly with a pointed glare before ambling toward sherry in an open-armed, open-palmed gesture—— a real polite ‘what the hell?’ kind of gesture, locking eyes with her briefly before skimming over the audience with an authoritative glance. ❛ a’right, shows over——! don’t worry, we’ll settle it like men, ❜ he commands snappishly at the rubberneckers before turning on his heel and gently ushering sherry in the correct direction with a chaste hand to the small of her back. muttering profanities, he leads her to the threshold, stopping briefly to address his secretary with a sternly pointed forefinger, ❛ ----hey: the next time someone asks for me by name—— you come and get me first . . . ❜ he orders sternly, though immediately retracting. his showboating had gone beyond irrationality. everyone and their grandmother asked for joe rizzo as though they had some sort of ‘in’. sherry was one of the only one’s who actually did. ❛ if . . . it’s—- within reason. jus— ❜ he insists sheepishly through his teeth, lightly taking hold of sherry’s elbow with two gentle fingers to lead her, ❛ c’mon. ❜
leading her to the back, he waits until they’re completely out of earshot before turning to her—— flitting his gaze warily toward the doorway first, he then bores into her distraught expression with a furrowed brow. sherry grayson. fancy him a monkey’s uncle. with characteristic nonchalance, he begins, blinking profusely, ❛ well . . . now that you’ve successfully managed to rile three-fourths of clark county into a state of complete and total uproar, with me being the last to know—— i’’m sure you wouldn’t mind explaining to me what the hell this is all about. no heads up, nothin’? what, you haven’t picked up a phone in the last twenty-some odd years? ‘hi, how’y’doin?’ would’a been nice. ❜ he carps childishly, hands perched on his hips like a father scolding his teenage daughter. ❛ y’know, i’m tryin’ t’ keep some semblance of order around ‘ere for chrissake, sherry----- they think i’m a god damn snowflake as it is. this better be good. ❜