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Z. M U R P H Y
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//a few halls down, Murphy is making his usual rounds, with his usual, sour expression on his face, like he hates the world at large. He's keeping his usual pace, hands behind his back, when he pauses, turning his head ever so slightly. He thought he heard something out of place... but no, it's quiet now. But there's something in his gut that tells him to take a detour. He's followed his instincts plenty of times before and been met with empty rooms and nothing odd, but any time he hasn't followed them, he's regretted it. So he finishes his round quickly before circling back and making a turn, striding confidently down the hall that leads to the meeting rooms. He spots one of the other officers there, standing. Odd. Out of place. He wrinkles his nose. He doesn't like this officer, never has. Granted, Murphy is one of the only ones in this damn place that actually strives for order, it seems. He only makes deals with the prisoners on occasion. He stops a few feet away//
"Is there a problem?"
//his tone, as always, is cold, stern, and utterly unfriendly and professional. The only real indication of his distaste for the ghoul is in the glint of his eye, but his voice doesn't give it away. What he's really asking is why the dumbass is standing in a deserted hall and not, you know, doing his damn job.//
nowSERENITY
Lyrca
