9:45 AM - Jane and Bishop
Jane’s body language left no room for interpretation of her feelings on the mandatory brunch meeting between the APD, the military, and the Hellhounds. She stood alone and apart from officers of all factions, her terrible mood radiating off of her like a foul odor. She had her arms crossed over her chest like a suit of armor and wore a sour, defiant expression on her face. It transformed her normally attractive features into something decidedly less pleasant.
Jane had perched herself on the outskirts of the festivities. She leaned her back against a far wall (uncrossing her arms only to occasionally take a sip of her coffee) and scrutinized the tentative and sometimes stilted conversations with a wary eye. She watched for signs of violence or hostility while at the same time making mental notes of overly-friendly encounters, filing the participants away in her mental filing cabinet for future reference.
Jane had balked at the notion of a brunch to foster better connections between the right side of the law and the former criminal element. When the mayor had brought up the idea, however, everyone else had been in favor so she really hadn’t a choice but to attend. Well, almost everyone had been in favor. Ironically, one of the only other people that had expressed concern had been Coldiron. So while Jane could grudgingly deal with the fact that they harbored a similar consternation over the matter, that sure as hell didn’t mean she wanted to talk to him anymore than strictly necessary.
So when she saw his familiar form cross the room and turn in her direction, Jane quickly averted her eyes as to not invite conversation but not before the two of them made eye contact. Coldiron moved purposefully toward her. Jane let out a heavy, disgruntled sigh of frustration.
“Nope,” Jane supplied before he could speak. “Keep on stepping, Coldiron.”
All things considered the brunch had thus far started off better than Bishop had expected it would. He was here in support of the mayor, a woman whom he had a lot of respect for. So while he wasn’t sure this brunch would make any sort of dent on the relationships between the three entities in attendance, he could say he was making an effort (he had even had a mildly civil conversation with Isaac Callahan, a man whom at that moment still had one of his son’s.) so if that wasn’t effort, Bishop didn’t know what was.
Hell, he could at least say he was trying harder than Sergeant Rusten, who looked like she might have been trying to silently will every last Hellhound out of existence. Said attitude wasn’t about to stop him from proving -- maybe to himself and maybe to Nina Clarke - that he was making an effort to turn over a new leaf here. Bishop knew he couldn’t erase the atrocities he and his men had committed in the name of survival and to piss Reeves Olinger off, but he could prove that wasn’t the MC’s M.O. anymore.
With his resolve firmly set, Bishop had made his way over to her and didn’t even falter in his step when she told him to continue moving along. “Now, is that the kind of attitude Nina is looking for today?” he asked with just a hint of his usual charm. Jane rolled her eyes. “Or have you just given up even trying with this thing, Rusten?”