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A man in a black bridge coat over an expensive black suit regarded the many men before him as if he was a general reviewing his troops.
He savored that image for all of two seconds before the room exploded with hurled questions as the hungry press descended like a stooping flock of falcons.
He regarded the men and women, poorly dressed in his estimation, some with microphones, others holding digital cameras and did his middling best to hide a sneer.
“Stop” he said holding up a hand. Questions still came but as his cold silence, backed impressively by the cold stares of the secret service personnel behind him, and the questions eventually trickled to stop.
“That is not how we’re going to handle things anymore. It’s disorderly, and it doesn’t suit the dignity of my office.”
“But having a Nazi propagandist as your chief advisor does?” a reporter hurled out.
The man clenched his fist but didn’t release the spell, the mystic power that eagerly strained to be released. ‘Not yet’ he said as much to the fires inside him as to himself. Instead he nodded to one of his security personnel who grabbed the reporter by the collar and quite ungently but efficiently guided him out of the press room.
