Bearclaw Valley saying you're to blame

He flashes a savage and uncharacteristically expressive smile at Merrick, though its gone in a blink. Almost like a tic. He searches Toad's expression for any reaction to Evien's quip and is duly impressed when he sees none. Perhaps this was the centimetre of common ground between them.
Greetings, Merrick. Now that was amusing. Suddenly they're in a conference room populated by a single dark grey oval table, fumbling for their business cards and the laser for the powerpoint. 
Greetings, Merrick. May I ask what's the action plan for this semester?
It's easy to shove down the smirk that tickled and hid underneath his facial muscles. Shoving it all the way back to the nerves, the spinal cord, the synapses in the brain. He does the same with the rest—the anger and shame are shuttled off in the samsonite luggage on a conveyor belt leading to nowhere. Cut to a sign labeled arrivals. Expectant waiting just came to the terminal.