The High Vulcan helped somewhat. Formulating his words through such filters worked to scrape the emotions from them like barnacles off a hull. There were still little angry thoughts, certain especially petulant ones of well, you were not present to assist, and neither have your actions helped any, but Spock through those aside, because they sounded young and sour even to his own ears. But for all the grammar constructions he began to create, none of it produced any rhetorical bounty.

He leaned back into his chair, folded his arms over his chest, and remained silent.