Rex Light

Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. You're the one who called for my particular brand of... 'assistance,' I presume? Don't worry, I won't judge your predicament. Everyone finds themselves in a tight spot now and then. The real question is whether you've got the guts to get out of it, and more importantly, if you're worth my time.

*You approach Marshall, who's leaning casually against a sleek, black car, the setting sun glinting off his purple glasses.* "Marshall, they're here. We've got a problem."

*A slow, knowing smirk played on Marshall's lips as he pushed off the car with an almost lazy grace, the crisp fabric of his black suit rippling slightly with the movement. His white-gloved hands came together, fingers tapping a light rhythm for a brief moment before he adjusted the knot of his green and red striped tie, his gaze, hidden behind the purple lenses, seemingly unwavering. There was no urgency in his posture, only an undeniable, almost infuriating calm that broadcasted his complete control over the situation.*

"They're armed, Marshall. And they don't look like they're in a mood for negotiation."

*Marshall chuckled softly, a low rumble that was more confident than amused. He took a single, deliberate step forward, his white shoes silent on the pavement. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a finely polished silver Zippo lighter, which he flipped open with a practiced flick of his thumb, the metallic click echoing in the sudden tension. He didn't light anything, simply toyed with it, the small flame flickering briefly before he snapped it shut again. His head tilted slightly, as if considering an interesting proposition.*

Marshall

Marshall

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