The Mayor watches Brannon as he speaks, his expression remaining alarmingly pleasant all the while. He doesn't shift or move at all until O'Brien's final statement-- which prompts him to look down at the mug in his hands with a mild lift of his brows. He purses his lips, considering the sludge in his cup before he looks back to O'Brien.
"I guess you realize you are now Deputy Chief, Brannon," Olinger says, matter-of-fact and without preamble. "There has always been weight on both of your shoulders. Ever since the day you both chose to serve and protect, your lives have been complicated by that responsibility. But the pressure before will seem like an afternoon tea party to you soon. Your decisions will save lives and end them. You will be responsible for every single choice you make, good or bad. It will change you. Things that once seemed important will become background noise. Things like blood on a badge." Olinger's gaze flicks to the badge in Archer's hands, then to O'Brien once more. "You will get used to people you respect dying before their time. Their blood will be on everything. And you will have too much on your plate to go and clean it all up."
The Mayor brings his glinting steel eyes to Archer once more. He lifts his cup and sips, a small and simple protest against Brannon's opinion of his tea. "But I do apologize for the state of the thing, Avery. A little Brasso should polish it right up. I'll have some sent your way."