Claus stepped into his office, the sound of his expensive shoes tapping rhythmically against the marble floor of his Swedish consulate. Security were stationed both inside and outside, all with watchful eyes. Claus walked up to a window with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the huge crowd of protesters with mild amusment, a slight grin curling on one side of his mouth. Other then the protests, the only sound audible in his consulate were faint footsteps of employees, and muffled talking.

The Swedish man looked over to a telephone on his desk, which was now ringing with that familiar ringtone everybody knows, his sharp blue eyes narrowing at the device with a mild irritation. The gaze lingered for a moment before he swaggered forward, though his movements not hurried. Reaching the desk, he picked up the phone with a firm grip, bringing it to his ear.

"Hello?" Strandberg spoke, his smug tone a contrast to the emotion he just expressed, though perhaps this is just a charismatic facade.