Genvieve
The fact that Jameson doesn't even give the barest flinch at the sound of gunfire is a good indicator to me that it isn't out of place in this home. I, on the other hand, have tensed to the point that my shoulders are next to my ears as I crane my neck around to glance at the doorway, but the air in the room stays the same-- tense and disquieting.
A big part of me resents the fact that despite the fact I just basically gutted his organization and named him on television he seems cool as a cucumber. Though I suppose he does strike me as the kind of man that would be terrifyingly calm right before murdering you. The idea doesn't do much to calm my nerves.
Tossing back the rest of the brandy in his glass, he stands, moving across the room with a lackadaisical stride, opening the drawer to his desk and pulling out a firearm and checking the magazine before bringing it back to his chair, and sitting calmly.
