Severity is, here, defined as harshness
“It’s not right,” Yori said, shaking his head. He crossed his arms around the files he was holding, clutching them to his chest. Glancing over one shoulder, he said, “Isn’t a punishment supposed to fit the crime?”
Rune shrugged. “You don’t think this fits?” he said. A sly smile touched his lips. “How would you punish such an offense in your division?”
Yori’s brows furrowed. “It seems a bit harsh for such a harmless prank,” he said. “After all, no one was hurt. They were just having a little fun.”
“At the expense of their captain,” Johannesen snapped.
Yori shot him a glare and rolled his eyes. “Only you would pillory people for adhering your office furnishings to the ceiling,” he said.
“I suppose you’d laugh it off and send them on their way,” Johannesen returned. He rolled his own eyes then and shook his head. “This is exactly the reason why you’re not suited to being a captain.”
Yori’s glare darkened. “I never said that I wouldn’t punish them,” he said, his voice as soft as always, but his tone carrying all the anger he felt. “I just think public humiliation is excessively harsh punishment for a prank that never had to be known by the group at large.”
“You never answered my question, Bellissima,” Rune said.
Yori gave him a faint smile. “If they were in my division,” he said, “I would have made them repair the damage they had done.” He sent a knowing look to Johannesen and added, “The end result would have been the same: they never would have tried such a prank again.”
“There is something to be said from instilling a sense of respect in your men,” Johannesen pointed out.
“And there’s a world of difference between respect and fear.” His point made, Yori pushed passed Johannesen and continued on his way.