Mentioned before Mr. Johnson began speaking, Sorry, I won’t be making a habit out of going back in time like this. I just didn’t have time to make my post before.
“Boy, you all sure talk a lot,” a tall-ish young man opines lazily, his body reclined lazily on the black leather sofa in the room. Straightening slightly, he utters: “So, Mr. Johnson,” he rolls his chin slightly towards Goethe, “how may we help you today?”
Nail listens patiently. He rolls a cigarette through his fingers, looking a bit bored, but not so much as to seem rude or impatient. After Mr. Johnson’s spiel and Goethe’s fast question, he addresses Mr. Johnson,
“Sounds risky. . Not that that’s a bad thing.” A wry smile escapes his lips as he pauses briefly, flicking a coin through the knuckles on one fingers and a cigarette in the other. “Although, how do we know you won’t pin the kidnapping on us? You know, make your shiny corp look the hero, tie up loose threads.” He lights his cig with a flick motion of his zippo, but instead of putting the zippo back in his pocket, it seemingly vanishes in his hand. He smiles briefly, as if amused at himself. Narrowing his gaze while simultaneously releasing a single, lazy puff, “After we bring back your wigwam of course.”
Nail is a runner. Tall, a bit too thin to be called athletic, but certainly no couch potato, he could be best described as somewhat lanky. Lackadaisical , he can move with a swiftness that betrays his lazy tendencies. A close inspection would reveal that one of his eyes is a different color than the other, one blue and one grey. His brown hair is wavy and carefully unkempt. He is currently dressed casually, in a blazer, jeans, and a t-shirt. At his side is a holster. There’s plenty more to know of course, but he’s not sure if you need to know it, and he doesn’t mind it that way. Talking too much has a way of making one stick out, and, as his mom always said, the Nail that sticks up will inevitably get hammered down."