"It's not even been a bloody hour," Kate snaps back, voice sharp as a whip. What is with everyone and operating so damn fast? City-slickers, all of them. It could take longer than this just to round up everyone in village, let alone start a systematic search.
Graves stands still and steady, a middle-aged man who has built his own world and knows how to issue commands and yes, yes, she can read him. It doesn't matter to her if he was born with enough wealth to go to good schools, climb ranks, or if he worked himself up from further down the social chain. It doesn't matter because he's all ice and coldness and looking at them as if their questions are nothing but annoying. Flies to swat away. Settle the hoi polloi, then get back to work, oh yes she knows his type. The same type who stared out dispassionate and annoyed when the people of Greta came in search of their arrested husbands, brothers, sons. The same type who labelled her brothers monsters, the same type that ordering the shooting up of the Glenrowan Inn, no matter that there were women and children inside.
Mr Graves talks of responsibility and repaying, and it sounds empty. Sinister, if she lets her mind get away with her.
Mr Graves is still, steady, and she stares back in simmer anger, his authority merely added fuel to her fire. But she's not uncontrolled. She breathes in and she breathes out, she feels Benedict's solid warmth at her back and she tries to get her temper under control. She's not some fainting, hysterical upper-class lady, and she'll be damned if she's going to be dismissed as such.
no subject
Graves stands still and steady, a middle-aged man who has built his own world and knows how to issue commands and yes, yes, she can read him. It doesn't matter to her if he was born with enough wealth to go to good schools, climb ranks, or if he worked himself up from further down the social chain. It doesn't matter because he's all ice and coldness and looking at them as if their questions are nothing but annoying. Flies to swat away. Settle the hoi polloi, then get back to work, oh yes she knows his type. The same type who stared out dispassionate and annoyed when the people of Greta came in search of their arrested husbands, brothers, sons. The same type who labelled her brothers monsters, the same type that ordering the shooting up of the Glenrowan Inn, no matter that there were women and children inside.
Mr Graves talks of responsibility and repaying, and it sounds empty. Sinister, if she lets her mind get away with her.
Mr Graves is still, steady, and she stares back in simmer anger, his authority merely added fuel to her fire. But she's not uncontrolled. She breathes in and she breathes out, she feels Benedict's solid warmth at her back and she tries to get her temper under control. She's not some fainting, hysterical upper-class lady, and she'll be damned if she's going to be dismissed as such.
"Who are you to claim all this?"