 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Faustus emerged from his office with the slow, precise movements of a man who measured each step with purpose. A memo still clutched in his hand, his sharp blue eyes swept over the busy office space. Bits of conversations rose and fell like waves, but Faustus' mind was elsewhere—on the breach during the previous week's Wizengamot hearing, and the implications that a Polyjuiced intruder had not only accessed restricted proceedings, but left behind little more than suspicion and a lingering trail of unease.
Spotting Simon up ahead, Faustus strode toward him. "Ahh, Bennett. Just the man I was looking for," he addressed smoothly, voice carrying just enough weight. "Any word from your division on the uninvited guest at last Thursday's hearing? Details have been... fragmented. I assume by now you've made progress." His tone was clipped, not impatient, but certainly not indulgent. He waited, chin lifted, expression unreadable save for a faint twitch at his jaw that betrayed the tension beneath.
He had been in enough courtrooms to know that such incidents rarely ended with a single disguised figure. No, it was never just one. Behind every mask was a network, a purpose, an agenda clawing away under the surface. And Faustus, who had clawed his way through more than most to sit in his commissioner's chair, would see it unmasked in full. "If your team needs more jurisdictional clearance..." he mused, voice low.
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