The fingers drummed on the desk, all triplets and quarter notes. Pointer to pinky, with the thumb resting casually on the wooden surface. The tone was hollow and low, the man sitting across from the drumming fingers wrangled with the annoyance caused by the constant pattering of fingertips on wood.

“Sir, I’m seriously just not interested in the deal.” the man was sweating, little beads collecting on his forehead. The fingers just kept drumming, not fazed in the least.

“You have to understand where I’m coming from in this decision.” The mans nerves were on their last legs, or so one could assume from the look in his eyes. “It’s not like I’m making it on my own, I’m just the coalitions messenger. We don’t like the way you, uh, do some things.”

The fingers stopped tapping, the man behind the desk in his pleather chair sat forward and rested his hands softly on the desk, running them slightly over the grain. He spoke in very calm tones while looking down at the desk, “I’m going to kill you now Mr. Heatherton.”