You're late, he says, the disgust palpable in his voice.
It's not the kind of disgust you're used to from Jacks though. It's not a disgust laden with misanthropy, it's a disgust that is tinged with disappointment.
In his day, unpunctuality got you put in the dipshit clown outfit. What kind of government office can't even get going on time, he gripes through gritted teeth.
You don't really have a response. It was a long night, you say sheepishly. He sneers at you and gestures at the two carapaces sitting in the entry way.