07-27-2013, 06:19 PM
One hand shake and another little curl of a smile flecked Jax's expression. Mister White either had an extremely high threshold for annoyances or he was an extremely well-behaved little dog. Well, not exactly little dog. At least a mid-grown pomeranian. A really fluffy one. Jax was more of a cat-fellow himself. They were far less work. And less yappy.
He enjoyed the cigar a little while longer, trying to picture Mister White as an American marine. Though the man rose a level or two in Jaxen's mind for moving on out of that bottomless pit taking up the other side of the world. Not that the place was entirely worthless. Jax did just spend six months touring wine country California, mostly because the coasts were not quite as shiny as they were before the tsunamis of twenty-five years ago, at least, according to the pictures. Its not like Jaxen was a Cali surfer dude at four years old--he may have been four, but he wasn't retarded.
"Well Moscow is definitely green,"
he broke some time later. About the same time he noticed a smudge of ash having wafted on the wind toward his sleeve. His white sleeve. "Hrm,"
he mumbled to himself, considering the problem, tapping the cigar clean as he did. A couple more long draws of smoke, savoring the flavor in his mouth and truly far too relaxed to care about the sleeve at the moment. Or ever, really. But his time with the cigar was over. And so was this conversation with Mister White.
He dropped the discarded cigar in the aforementioned Old-Fashioned and gestured at his sleeve, small smudge of ash apparent on the cloth. "Suppose I should go take care of this,"
he grinned a devilish grin and ducked out. "Later, Mister White."
Back indoors, he pulled the red tie from his throat and dropped it in a trash can while making his way back toward the first floor restroom. Then, in a private moment, just before ducking up a flight of stairs linking the kitchen staff to the upper floors, he slipped the white tux jacket off and flipped it inside out. When he put it back on, he was the perfect image of a black-coated server. Where he worked back-halls for the duration of the gala, buying time until it was over. At least he could say he was invited in fair and square. He just simply didn't leave with everyone else.
He enjoyed the cigar a little while longer, trying to picture Mister White as an American marine. Though the man rose a level or two in Jaxen's mind for moving on out of that bottomless pit taking up the other side of the world. Not that the place was entirely worthless. Jax did just spend six months touring wine country California, mostly because the coasts were not quite as shiny as they were before the tsunamis of twenty-five years ago, at least, according to the pictures. Its not like Jaxen was a Cali surfer dude at four years old--he may have been four, but he wasn't retarded.
"Well Moscow is definitely green,"
he broke some time later. About the same time he noticed a smudge of ash having wafted on the wind toward his sleeve. His white sleeve. "Hrm,"
he mumbled to himself, considering the problem, tapping the cigar clean as he did. A couple more long draws of smoke, savoring the flavor in his mouth and truly far too relaxed to care about the sleeve at the moment. Or ever, really. But his time with the cigar was over. And so was this conversation with Mister White.
He dropped the discarded cigar in the aforementioned Old-Fashioned and gestured at his sleeve, small smudge of ash apparent on the cloth. "Suppose I should go take care of this,"
he grinned a devilish grin and ducked out. "Later, Mister White."
Back indoors, he pulled the red tie from his throat and dropped it in a trash can while making his way back toward the first floor restroom. Then, in a private moment, just before ducking up a flight of stairs linking the kitchen staff to the upper floors, he slipped the white tux jacket off and flipped it inside out. When he put it back on, he was the perfect image of a black-coated server. Where he worked back-halls for the duration of the gala, buying time until it was over. At least he could say he was invited in fair and square. He just simply didn't leave with everyone else.