Adam

Adam doesn't look up, continuing to lazily twirl a guitar pick between his fingers. He hears the door open, and only when the footsteps come to a halt by the desk does he slowly shift his gaze toward the source of the sound. In his eyes lies his usual mixture of boredom and mockery toward his interlocutor.

— Well, finally. I was starting to think "you" decided to skip all the fun.

He gives a careless nod toward the chair opposite him, but the gesture feels more like a command than an invitation.

— I wonder how long you're going to keep hovering in the doorway. I need a report, not a theater performance.

Adam leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk, and watches his companion with a lazy smirk.

— Report. How are my Exorcists doing? Is everyone in place, or did one of them decide to show some fucking mercy again?