07-22-2013, 03:08 PM
Hood let out a long exhale of cigar smoke, absently worrying at the uncut end to savor the taste of it. The technological security of the yard seemed about what he would expect of so rich an establishment. Undoubtedly, some high-end security company. He had to hope they had a separate system, that no outside organization knew of.
His gaze slowly swept from right to left; scanning left to right, much like when you were trying to read, was an ingrained motion and people missed details. Right to left required more attention, and details were more likely to stand out.
Details like a familiar face in a fresh change of clothes. A quiet harrumph of annoyance, and he pulled away the cigar long enough to tap some ash clear while watching the man's meandering around the room. At first glance, the man obviously hadn't seen a day of work in his life. The sort of spoiled rich brat that paid people to do things for him. Perhaps his interest was entirely artistic in nature. And maybe he just really enjoyed the feel of glass. Yeah, right.
And that probably would have been the entirety of Hood's opinion of Jaxen, had they not crossed paths at that damn book store. Jaxen knew a pick pocket, fairly well apparently. The lad had listened to the pretty-boy without a fuss. So what did that mean? That Jaxen had risen to riches through hard work from a life on the streets? Unlikely. Maybe he was paranoid...he was probably paranoid...Hood frowned briefly...yeah, he was paranoid. But it was usually for good reason. So Jaxen wasn't just some flimsy useless rich kid who loved art.
By the time Jaxen wandered outside, Hood's cigar was down to a well-chewed nub. A passing waiter's eyes bulged in surprise when Hood dropped the dead cigar into an empty wine glass on the man's tray, but like before, the waiter took one look at Hood and continued on his way rather them voicing an objection.
He adjusted his tie, tightening it a bit now that he was done with his cigar, and half turned towards Jaxen. "Got two pieces of advice for you. First piece. Let that idiot runt of yours know, he causes me any more trouble, I'll cut his index fingers off."
To exemplify the comment, he produced a second cigar and neatly cut the tip off with the same snip as before; it would take little imagination to figure out that that tool, with a strong hand, could easily take a finger off. "Second piece? You want to visit the Baccarat Mansion again, best way to do it? Front door, with an invitation in hand."
Out came his zippo and he lit his second cigar; they were middle-of-the-road things. Probably from an actual dedicated smoke shop, but definitely not off the top shelf. His tone was quiet, such that it wouldn't be overheard by any other guests; he wasn't out to publicly embarrass Jaxen, after all. Just some friendly advice, of the sort meant to steer someone away from a bullet between the eyes.
His gaze slowly swept from right to left; scanning left to right, much like when you were trying to read, was an ingrained motion and people missed details. Right to left required more attention, and details were more likely to stand out.
Details like a familiar face in a fresh change of clothes. A quiet harrumph of annoyance, and he pulled away the cigar long enough to tap some ash clear while watching the man's meandering around the room. At first glance, the man obviously hadn't seen a day of work in his life. The sort of spoiled rich brat that paid people to do things for him. Perhaps his interest was entirely artistic in nature. And maybe he just really enjoyed the feel of glass. Yeah, right.
And that probably would have been the entirety of Hood's opinion of Jaxen, had they not crossed paths at that damn book store. Jaxen knew a pick pocket, fairly well apparently. The lad had listened to the pretty-boy without a fuss. So what did that mean? That Jaxen had risen to riches through hard work from a life on the streets? Unlikely. Maybe he was paranoid...he was probably paranoid...Hood frowned briefly...yeah, he was paranoid. But it was usually for good reason. So Jaxen wasn't just some flimsy useless rich kid who loved art.
By the time Jaxen wandered outside, Hood's cigar was down to a well-chewed nub. A passing waiter's eyes bulged in surprise when Hood dropped the dead cigar into an empty wine glass on the man's tray, but like before, the waiter took one look at Hood and continued on his way rather them voicing an objection.
He adjusted his tie, tightening it a bit now that he was done with his cigar, and half turned towards Jaxen. "Got two pieces of advice for you. First piece. Let that idiot runt of yours know, he causes me any more trouble, I'll cut his index fingers off."
To exemplify the comment, he produced a second cigar and neatly cut the tip off with the same snip as before; it would take little imagination to figure out that that tool, with a strong hand, could easily take a finger off. "Second piece? You want to visit the Baccarat Mansion again, best way to do it? Front door, with an invitation in hand."
Out came his zippo and he lit his second cigar; they were middle-of-the-road things. Probably from an actual dedicated smoke shop, but definitely not off the top shelf. His tone was quiet, such that it wouldn't be overheard by any other guests; he wasn't out to publicly embarrass Jaxen, after all. Just some friendly advice, of the sort meant to steer someone away from a bullet between the eyes.