Recordings from the Office of Jackal.

[Zephyr]

The office is sparsely furnished. A small desk with a chair behind it, worn and contoured to the back that spends so much time in that seat. The desk has papers everywhere, in neat little stacks and some sit in boxes, for this or that. There is otherwise a painting on the wall of a family, two rickety chairs face the desk, and a bookshelf. There are few books on the shelf, however.
The bald head that can be seen over the chair belongs to Jackal. A large Raven swooping for prey sits forever mounted on his head in ink. His scarred face has an almost constant grimace. The scars pull at his lips and eye on the one side.
The scowl on his face now could freeze dry ice. His eyes almost glowed in fury.
He set the reports down, smacking the desk, making it rumble. Thinking to himself, 'Why? Why can't he simply keep his nose out when it will only cause us more hassles? He knows this. Yet he feels it is ok to do as he will. It is so easy to simply sit back and wait for your prey, yet he wishes to call it to him. Even when when told to stop. To use stealth and patience.' Jackal pulls himself out of his reverie to make sure the small but powerful blaster he keeps under the desk is pointed toward the chair across from him. He moves the other chair to a corner and puts paperwork on it. His countenance never softens while he works through the rest of the replies he needs to make. Still trying to figure out how to handle this once and for all.

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