Jason Flynt was a patient person. He prided himself on that fact. At most times of the day, that meant he could endure the ignorance of the wandering merry souls going about their day as the stupid beings they are. He couldn't help being irritated by people if he didn't know them well. Everyone has their own story yada yada yada... Maybe if he'd knew of those stories he would be able to see past the dumbfounded looks he'd often received every time he initiated a conversation. Or when some think enough of themselves to come and talk to him but he could see past their outer innocence to know all they wanted was a freaky night in.
But that's all just extension of the fact that he can charm his way through any social interactions even if he wanted no part in them. On the other hand, he treated his business partners quite differently. Not as flowery but polite enough, so much so that he wouldn't be mistaken for a hedonistic heathen who was no good at anything but to seduce a deal nor a mannerless crude. Somewhere in between is quite ideal for him. Because that's the professional etiquette and once he can achieve that then he wouldn't have built any undesirable imprint that his ingenious proposals would fail to erase.
That being said, this business deal was already going in the wrong direction. Though he admit he did have a soft spot- or perhaps a sour one- for familial betrayal, he couldn't believe he had let some assassins drag him to their hang out completely out of sympathy because they were having an early existential crisis. Well he certainly could believe it now as he was sitting comfortably but uneasily on the shotgun seat of his own vehicle with two unknowingly unwelcome passengers on the backseat about ready to vomit all over his expensive fake leather. Well, it's fake for ethical purposes but expensive for all the luxurious ones.
Anyway, the important thing was that he could be assassinated right in his own Panther Aeromobile, on his way to a completely unfamiliar restaurant with possibly endless traps and threats and don't even get him started on the food...
He'd always liked to look on the bright side despite his eccentricity for having known things most normal sixteen year olds didn't, couldn't and probably for the best, shouldn't. Like losing your parents at a young age, being violated- raped, getting involved in the criminal underworld and knowing all too much about seemingly righteous people. He always did have it hard but he believed if he couldn't change something then the best course of action would be to learn from it and grow strong. The only thing that kept him going through his pains were the wishes and optimism that were the legacy of his parents and science which kept his childlike curiosity burning through the darkness that was once his innocence.
To him, philanthropy wasn't an enjoyment, it was a necessity. It gave him meaning in life and it was his only thread of finding his place in this sad but hopeful web known as the world. Humans have a penchant for fixing problems, like a bright woman wanting to fix a cold unfeeling man- widely depicted in the form of literature, a doctor wanting to fix a patient, and simply an engineer wanting to fix a car. He was different though, he was a Flynt and if there was something generations of his family liked to do it was fixing the world. But he was also Jason Flynt and he was going to do it like they had never done before, one man can't change the world but he will prove that statement wrong.
He was optimistic, there were so many things in the world to appreciate and so many things to do, his daily schedule was non-living prove of that. That was why he decided to review all that he had observed from said assassins and quietly wait for his approaching demise. If there ever was one. He'd be taking them down with him if there was.
Flynt gently shook his head while looking down, his thoughts were running a million miles per hour again and he wished he would stop having this huge attachment to thoughts about death and specifically, his. He did a colossal amount of research about these fine ladies and knew he should probably trust them but the word assassin still sounded unsavory on his tongue. To trust or not to trust, that was the question. No, it wasn't. He had already accepted their invitation and any retaliation because of his boorish paranoia that he finally accepted to having will cause a discord. That would mean deal off the table, no trust, no cooperation, no mission and no rescue. He understood that much.
The real dilemma was to worry or not to worry, about the situation that he was not likely going to change. The better option, evidently, was the latter. So he snuggled further into his seat, sent the outsiders a concerned look through the mirror and finally reviewed the night's events.
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In the first moments you meet someone, you can form an impression. When you talk to them and observe their mannerisms and clothing so on and so forth, you take in details that will sail you across the shallow seas that those impressions are.
It was almost funny how many things you can judge from by just observing. Jason often tries to deduct whatever he can and form a hypothesis, much like the character Sherlock Holmes from the stories written by Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle. Though he doesn't place himself as high as the eccentric detective in the field of deduction. It is absolutely useless to worry about such things as after all, Sherlock Holmes isn't real and the author always have the advantage in this prediction thing, Sherlock is primarily just solving the cases backwards. That's always a good assurance for one's ego.
Felice was a woman well versed in martial arts as well and armed combat. She truly is the one in charge of her team despite not being as physically powerful as Primrose. She is more assertive, more protective and is well respected by her companion. Wise choice of order in his opinion, she gets over her shock very quickly compared to her panicked partner and her body language shows assurance and comfort to Primrose even if she herself is unfamiliar with the circumstances. She is a practitioner of practicality but just a healthy dose, enough that her style stays minimalistic and not lacking. The lack of jewellery is a show of that. Her accent indicates that she is an american-born but some quirks in her spoken voice also tells that she can speak French like a native and considering neither of her parents are French, it is safe to assume she has been to the country long enough to imitate all of their common oohs and aahs.
Her hair wasn't styled by herself, she had a team of professionals do it for her and judging by the er- smell, not to be creepy, it lacked the burnt of a curling iron so it's probable she had it permanently curled. Although not too long ago judging by her roots. He had seen her with the same hair ever since she had been obsessively ganging on his life and he had to admit it suits her. She has most of herself figured out, very comfortable in her own skin and the confidence you could only expect from a truly mature person. Yes, maturity isn't always the penchant to be stiff and uptight.
Though, her hair looked very orderly today with some expensive gel in it, she did dress up nicely for the occasion. No make up, minimalistic and she truly didn't need it. That would cover up her naturally sharp features and clear skin. Her dress was made of expensive flexible silk and although not invincible, very easy to move in. Her heels were approximately three inches thick and she walked in them as well as a runway model, obviously very good balance but she was no dancer. Her mannerism wasn't as refined as one. She was single, no ring and no signs she had been indulging in any unholy activities recently, or she might just be a virgin. Not probable but she did look very meaningful and her gaze towards him wasn't one of lust but only aesthetic appreciation. Her weapons were pistols, rifles, swords and bow and arrow. She had a plentiful sleep last night, no eyebags and very energetic. She had also eaten her good fill of lunch as she didn't remember about the lack of food until she closely inspected her surroundings.
Her purse was well worn as opposed to her dress or heels, a sentimental gift maybe? Her skin was olive colored and evenly distributed throughout her body so not from long exposure in the sun or a tropical country, she hadn't been traveling to any hot countries then. There were no health problems or injuries as far as his text book, unpracticed medical expertise could tell. no scars either so she was likely the mastermind and not the fighter, no wonder he had never met her in person. Well, her plans would've worked well on others so he could only blame her bad judgement of choosing opponents. Trained in martial arts but doesn't go out into the field herself, that's a situation that would garner less caution from her opponents to believe she was defenseless but that could be her trump card. She had an impeccable straight back and the tip of her fingers were peppered with light calluses, piano player. Very nice fragrance, Pure Poison, Dior. He had smelt the same perfume on his secretary sometimes and on his tailor, Madam Rossi who he considers a woman of great style. He had complimented her on it one day and she had told him the brand.
Well there was another clue about where she usually frequents. All he had to do was do a scan of the security cameras in every shop that sell it and an online skim as well, his A.I was adequate for the job. But he ought not to, it wasn't necessary no matter no much he wants to. That would be an embarrassing invasion of privacy if he was ever to be found and he couldn't explain himself with an "Oh, I'm just making sure" either. He would be accused of perversion. That would not be good.
Primrose's style was more aggressive and child friendly. To say that her attire was appropriate for the restaurant's dress code was completely false. La Plaque often make exceptions but they'v always liked their clientele to dress with consideration of their image. Perhaps it doesn't matter, Primrose was a beauty and he doubts anyone would focus more on her get up more than her face.
Eventhough she didn't fit in in terms of style, she did strangely compliment the odd but attractive table with a dash of handsome and humble attire. It made the table look very unusual and the normal on lookers ought to wonder what on Earth could these people have in common. In his modest opinion, they looked like a racially diverse group of supermodels and the tough bulky military dad with scars. That was only a passing thought though, he didn't want to be compared to a supermodel, he preferred a profession with more- well, recognition for it's academic expertise. Not that there's anything wrong with being a model, he rather thinks it's a clever way to get money. Superficial, maybe. But money is money all the same.
He gathered Primrose to be a little insecure of her dominance and how others perceive her competence. She was raised as a sheltered young miss in her family if his memory serves him right, and she had always been looked upon as a little princess. That was reasonable for her outlook on life then, she always had to prove herself. It also explains her outfit, trying to look masculine because she thinks if she looks even a little pretty, people will underestimate her.
He could sympathize, he did choose an old family friend to run the company and he himself became a regent from time to time while slowly taking the empire back from her. That was because he seemed too young to take seriously. Primrose didn't have that problem although she thinks she does. Lots of people are terrified of her and few the implications of her lineage. She was raised in a powerful cultivation family before it was wiped out. To others, they thought it was a triad group of sorts.
He suspects it was the ancient practice of patriarchy in cultivation families that made the strongest fighter of the mysterious Moon Hunters self doubt. Quite pathetic really, but habits die hard he reckon. Anyway, Primrose had quite a pretty face, contrary to her leader's defined and mature one, her countenance was soft and symmetrical like something out of a painting. Quite like how you'd imagine a Chinese princess would look. It was a sickeningly endearing appearance, in fact, if she put on a dress, she'd look absolutely harmless. Perhaps he could understand her leather boots and jacket after all.
Her face, if inspected closely, looks like it's always on the verge of a frown. In fact, if she were to frown or scowl, he speculated there will be some lines to go along with the expression. Only if closely inspected of course. Who else could catch the premature frown lines of the ice beauty I'd not the man who eerily but secretly observes people all the time to get a read. He's familiar with frown lines himself, though he makes sure to get massages professionally to rid himself of them. Without his dashing looks, his job would be a lot more difficult. Right now, he'd say he's clean of them.
Not only does Primrose frown a lot, she tends to square her shoulders far too much to the point it looks unnatural and hooligan like. It does not look off putting for some reason but perhaps a straight back and slightly raised nose would look more pleasing and regal. Her muscles tense a lot compared to her leader who didn't like to waste energy unless necessary. Quite alright considering how much stress she must've been feeling. She has quite a lot to learn about herself but she is mighty dangerous in the field. His conclusion which will never be voiced out loud is that she acts like she doesn't care but she cares too much. A troubled soul.
As he was semi lost in thoughts, he realized he wasn't quite jumpy anymore. He was still going to make sure everything is alright but he won't mindlessly panic anymore. What kind of idiot would that make him. He convinced himself it's because he has calmed down during the ride but he knew inside that his empathy was overpowering his judgement. He hopes it won't fail him. His understanding of humans will be his downfall someday and he's only glad that right now they're on his side. Beating people down is only satisfying when you feel no compassion, that's why he's always had been nervous and shaky when the next business is conquered. But it's for the greater good.
He took a deep breath and wished he could hug Sasha right then and there. But he had children to save and as soon and the information from his I.T department is fully composed he would have to sit about feeling like a kid procrastinating on his homework. He could be helping them but he figured the two mercenaries are treasure chests of information he could utilise as well as good human resources. So they are his priorities.
He sighed quietly while drooping his head, later hoping others didn't see. How he would like to lay in bed with his little cougar right now. He wondered if his housekeeper had fed Cleo yet. He sighed once more, this time through his nose.
He's getting really hungry. He hoped this restaurant will be adequate at the very least.
