Death sentence is easier to deal with. [Elliot]

None of the chief's moods were particularly good as of late. Nobody could blame him. And nobody dared. The footsteps through the PD were unmistakably his: a rhythmic, steady tempo, almost loud, borderline ominous, though hardly intentional in that respect. Perhaps that's why some people cowered, like he was some kind of monster. But as far as moods were concerned, today the man felt a little less grim, a little more optimistic. Not great, but not terrible... which was kind of out of the ordinary. A bad omen, one might say.

Elliot was on the later side for arrival to his duty today, but seeing as he was in charge of this circus, he could afford to be late on what one could expect to be a 'slow day'. He gave the most smugly polite grin to the department receptionist, who just smiled back sheepishly. "Good morning, Chief," she said, and quickly returned to her work (or perhaps more likely, the work she was pretending to do).

Down the hall to his temporary office, people played dodgem with one another to avoid getting in his way. That was almost annoying. Nobody was going to be executed at his hand, not this day. He just wanted to finish up some fucking work, with the off-chance (please god, please) that nothing too exciting was going to happen for the rest of the day. Speaking of bad omens...

As he rounded the corner to the hallway that housed his new office, Elliot was blindsided, and nearly knocked over, by a clumsy blur.

"Whoa, shit! Tim," he snapped, stabilizing himself, "watch where you're going!"

"I'm sorry, sir, I was just going down t-"

"I really don't care, Tim. Just get out of my way." He shouldered past the young man in a rough manner and threw open the door to his office, not bothering to take a good look at it through the red screen of slowly-rising anger in front of his eyes. He sighed, akin to the warning of a provoked Pamplona bull, and as he slid his jacket from his shoulders he lifted his head to examine the room.

Now that was confusing.

Elliot could tolerate administrative-level department employees being in his office without prior notice. Hell, he could even tolerate basic ranks in the room alone. He kept nothing of great personal value in his old office, and certainly nothing of the sort in this temporary shithole. And he didn't collect random strangers, anyway. Someone had a sense of humor letting her in here, he pondered over the smirk on her face and her posture. She thinks she owns the place. The temporary security cameras worked last he was informed, so who would have just let her saunter her way in here and make herself at home?

Tim, you stupid son of a bitch. The chief's blood pressure elevated a bit and he clenched his fists at his sides, almost growling at the floor in agitation before making his way across the room to the desk, standing in front of it with his arms crossed. He looked her in the eye, past the insolence of her legs cluttering his desk, and spoke with his voice modulated to just under a bark.

"Your best bet is to tell me who you are, who let you in here, what you want, and why I shouldn't arrest you."

// bethany

If sending attractive, insolent women to trespass in his office was someone's best idea of a joke, Elliot did not find it funny, and in response his hands subconsciously tightened their grip on either of his crossed arms, fingertips pulling tight wrinkles into the white fabric of his shirt. He sighed again in that prior bull-like way, very slowly disintegrating whatever horrible maelstrom continually threatened to break loose all hell from the pit of his many moods. He really ought to put a secretary in here to keep an eye on the comings and goings of guests, but the last time he tried that it ended no less than horribly—and quite certainly no one was likely to volunteer for the opening (Elliot found that kind of amusing, to be honest).

Presently, however, he was not the least bit entertained, and the knit of his brow and hardness of his scowl might actually be enough to give him a headache. He might have reached for the bottle of Excedrin at the back of the bottom-left hand drawer of his desk... but the desk was clearly occupied, and the Excedrin had been in his old desk, anyway. How he managed to achieve a semblance of organization with the temporary one was nothing less than miracle: a miracle being undone in front of his very eyes. He was only the slightest bit relieved when the woman removed her legs from his work space.

He used that as an opportunity to close the gap between the two of them, briskly stepping forward and placing both hands on the desktop, crouching down not unlike a cat to meet the unknown woman at her own eye level. He peered sharply, as if she were a spider crawling across the table.

"Read the plaque on the door. I can have you incarcerated for fucking around in here," he said, voice edging on a growl. "And I have half a mind to just get it over with, if I don't get some answers." He gave the desktop a look. Something was definitely out of place...

// bethany