[Turnabout Redemption] || [Jacus ☝ Lang]

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Jacus then spent the next hours until the present 4 o'clock researching their target.

And in this instance their is being used as a plural pronoun.

Hence his guest.

Who was now late. Good way to make first impressions.

Thankfully, Jacus was monitoring Monitor #14, otherwise known as the security camera for the lobby of the high riser. Also thankfully his SA level was pretty high, and he could see the only Threadless person aimlessly pacing around the lobby clear as his monitors' high definition pixels would allow.

With a sigh he zipped up his jacket and stepped into the elevator, humming to himself as the numbers bleeped downwards. He stopped when two other people got on at floor 9. Youngsters (even though they were at least the same age as Jacus was, well when he died that is), sucking face as soon as they got in, even though they knew full well that there was a camera watching them. Maybe because they knew full well. Jacus rolled his eyes.

When they reached the ground level, Jacus clapped his hands, then after seeing their eyes widen and arms stiffening, he got up on his toes and blew some air into the taller one's ear. He screamed and then she screamed and they both screamed as they sprinted out of the elevator. It turned a lot of heads, tuttings were heard from the aunts with perms getting their mail, clipping at it with their long, red, fake nails, chihuahuas yipping at their heels.

It smelled like fake fur and expensive jewelry, which by themselves didn't really have a smell, but the funny thing is that they tend to be accompanied by people. And people do smell. It's subtle, but in a building, it builds.

The building in question was the textbook definition of wasteful luxury. Golden tiles you can see the reflection of your face in (not real gold), checkered with silver (actually very polished crystal), crystal chandeliers, bellboys at every corner, uniform so crisp they're probably still warm from the iron, maids dusting things that would make a mother-in-law proud. Plump leather chairs littered the edges, the kind you don't sit on because it'd be a shame to dirty it with your dead skin cells. There were usually some people milling about, chatting away in any number of languages, cellphones flashing with updates on the stock market or the latest celebrity gossip, the slight squeak of trolleys being pushed across the halls. And added to that, the muffled thuds of Jacus' boots as he crossed the lobby, straight towards the wide eyed Threadless.

He looked kind of like an idiot. Didn't they all.

"You. You without the Thread," Jacus snapped when he stopped behind his 'guest', crossing his arms and wearing his usual scowl.

Jacus pursed his lips. They never send anyone who speaks Polish to work with him.

With a theatric huff, he began again.

"You're Threadless. My... 'partner' for this mission," he loathed that word. Partner. Bah. "I've come to collect you because you can't seem to collect yourself."

With a sweep of his hand, and without waiting for his guest to reply because really this was all just for etiquette not for confirmation of identity, Jacus strode back to the elevator, pressing the " ↑ " button with the proximal interphalangeal joint of his left hand (I had to google this I just wanted to say the first knuckle joint on his pointer finger that's not the knuckle that your finger comes out from, you know?).

He stepped in a beat after the "ding" of the doors opening, without even checking to see if his guest had followed. He even started tapping his foot on the ground.

It was almost comical.

Almost.

"My name is Jacus Zielinski. The fact that Clem's paper pushers didn't give us each other's names I won't fault you for," he said, like he was meeting a prospective business partner in a coolly lit cafe. He turned to look at the other, panting against the railing inside of the elevator. Jacus smiled. He was taller than his guest.

"You can introduce yourself on our way up. I have drinks and appetizers ready in my apartment, and there we will talk business, got it?" Jacus instructed, tapping the highest number on the uh.. what do you call them in an elevator? A keypad??

Jacus squinted.

"I'm not an airline," he clicked his tongue, stepping out of the elevator as soon as the ding sounded. "If you must, use the toilet," Jacus unlocked his door, swung it open and stepped aside, pointing a thin finger to the direction of the bathroom.

As he waited for his 'guest', Lang did he say his name was? To finish.. hopefully not barfing into his pristine toilet, he brought out his laptop, opening it as he fluffed the cushions again. Then he sat down, and waited.

Jacus raised a brow, looking even more unimpressed than he was earlier. Yes. That is possible.

"You didn't do any more research yourself?" Jacus rolled his eyes. Stop being an ass Jacus. He patted the spot on the couch beside him.

"Sit," he commanded, typing some things into his laptop.

"We have a kill mission. A hunter turned out to be a turncoat, whispering all our delicious secrets back to Death's sweet ear," Jacus had a mocking tone, gesturing with his hands between typing. "He's been on the run, but Clement's investigators have an idea of where he is," Jacus paused.

"You at least know his name, don't you?"