insidiose: (for the feast and the promise of gold)
credence. ([personal profile] insidiose) wrote 2017-05-04 05:44 pm (UTC)

[ ah is right.

credence drags his fingers through his hair impatiently when graves shows no recognition for why he would be angry. he actually snorts in a way that's almost derisive and he's never been angry like this, not at graves. ]


Yes, something happened. Something like me trying to call you when you were late getting home and going straight to your voicemail. I left you three, if you'll check them later. The driver hadn't heard from you, no one at your damn [ practically spit out - he's already tired of this administration, obviously-- ] work wouldn't even tell me if you were alive or dead.

[ he breathes out harshly and this time it's shaking. it's becoming quickly clear that he's not angry out of anything self-serving but because he's upset, because he's spent several hours worried with no recourse. ]

I deserve to be able to know that someone's not going to come by with a canned apology for my loss, Percival.

Post a comment in response:

This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting