[centre][color=386467]𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗢 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗢[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/z4xMNW2.jpg[/img]
[sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/VcLJQ6H.png[/img][/sup][/centre][right][sup]Arriving at the office and sending a message to Doctor Alston; [@MiddleEarthRoze][/sup][/right]

Like many people, Renato Carvallo's first reaction to waking up was to groan and wish he hadn't. Unlike most people, he didn't then move to snooze his alarm and snatch an extra five minutes of slumber but instead leapt from the bed and proceeded immediately with the day. It was his policy that an unpleasant ordeal was to face head on and powered through, not delayed until it became all that much more unpleasant with the anticipation.

His morning routine was nothing unusual, though he spent more time grooming his moustache and selecting his suit than could possibly be necessary. When he was certain that the jacket's shade of teal complimented his eyes properly and had broken his fast on cream cheese and salmon, Renato stepped out of his front door to face the day. He could feel the tension itching under his skin, the desire to tell that pillock in accounts how stupid he was and the need to scream at the 'expert witnesses' he was corralling into a semblance of coherency yearning to be free, and it was almost too much to contain.

But he knew that today was Friday. Only one short day at the office to hold in his temper and then he could let loose. As he started his car and began the drive to the Prosecutor's Office, he was already thinking ahead to the night's revels. Where to go, what to drink, who to kiss, when to stagger home. A few weeks ago, he'd ended the night with a trip to a nightclub named 'The Ace of Spades' and remembered liking the atmosphere. Of course, he'd been at least three sheets into the wind at that point and had no idea if he'd like it tonight... but he was willing to give it a go. At the very least, it would surely be a break in this interminable discussion of the Other.

Traffic was, as always, a nightmare but eventually he pulled up outside the Prosecutor's office, his temper ratcheted up a notch or two by exposure to London's more creative drivers. It was an old building but well maintained and well staffed. Renato was only one of a dozen or so lawyers that worked within and then there were a host of interns, secretaries, janitorial staff and general functionaries. On a good day, the office's occupants felt like a group of allies that would keep him going should he falter and have his back in a close moment. On bad days, they surrounded him on all sides, got under his skin and made him want to scream.

Still, Renato felt confident that he could keep any irritation he felt today under wraps. After all, the preparation for the Bloodfang case was going well, there was a new little Italian restaurant a few streets away to get lunch from and soon he'd be free of the office for the entire weekend. All he had to do was make it through the day without snapping at anyone or making a snide remark.

Renato's first test came after he had installed himself in his office and called up his PA and understudy, a nervous young man named Bartholomew, to arrange and double check his schedule for the day. Bart was impressionable, eager and often more naive than Renato's practised cynicism could bare but he meant well. Unfortunately, he often didn't do very well and today he'd forgotten a folder of notes on past cases that he was supposed to spend the morning marking for his superior to review. To compound that error, he couldn't remember whether he'd actually left a message at the Coroner's Court asking for someone to come down and talk Renato through the results of the autopsy and had to leave the room in order to double check.

Pinching his nose, Renato counted to ten under his breath as the young man hovered nervously with the address book held in front of himself like a shield.

"Uhm... I made sure, I did send them a message, they said that one of their people could come down after lunch. Is... is that okay?"

[i]7...8...9...10. And go.[/i]

"That's fine Bart, don't worry about it. Sometimes we all need to make extra sure but drop them a line to confirm the time will you? Last time we had one of them down she arrived forty-five minutes late and claimed our office had the time wrong." Renato delivered the last line with a conspiratorial grin and roll of the eyes, which Bart picked up on with great relief.

"Oh, yes, of course! I'll make sure they know it's at one o'clock and no later!"

The young man went to dash from the office but Renato called him back.

"Before you do that, do you know which of the examiners is coming down? From memory, there's the blonde one that can't keep a straight face to save her life and the other one, the one who never looks like she's paying attention."

"Uh..." Bart's finger ran down the page. "I think that it's... yes, it's Doctor Alston. She'd be the, uh, the second one."

Renato sighed. "Well, any port in a storm. Thanks Bart."

The younger man practically bowed as he left the room and left Renato to stare at the file on his desk. It was Renato's hope that with a little researching and preparation, he could suggest that Bloodfang had attacked people while transformed before and that this was not his only attack, just the only one that had ended in multiple deaths. And so the file contained a list of cold cases from Edgetoun and the local boroughs that had been marked for reevaluation due to new information. Most of them were thought to be animal attacks or pranks, a couple having been chalked up to the actions of a very specific serial criminal.

Or rather, it should have contained those records. Instead, it was full of... bills? expense reports? a montly invoice for digestive biscuits? Just as Renato made to shout for him, Bart leapt back into the room, face a picture nervousness and brandishing a nearly identical file.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry! I left the wrong file!"

It was a small thing, a tiny thing, just a very minor irritation in a world that presented many major ones. It wouldn't do to shout at Bart over such an inconsequential thing, not when the boy was trying so hard. That would be mean, cruel even, and not reflect accurately on the person Renato was or on the atmosphere of professional courtesy and cooperation that the Prosecutor's office maintained.

At least, that was what he told himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose and began, again, to count to ten.

[i]1...2...3...[/i]