Beware the Tiger

Lars stood outside quietly for the most part, he had done a bit of looking around, mostly memorizing the building, and the area. He leaned his back against the wall, adjusting his armor until Nokomi reappeared. To his surprise, she offered him a handful of the gold she'd just gotten.

He shook his head, "Killing is easy. Keep it.", he said. He didn't want to mention he'd had his fair share of targets, despite the weakness, they were worth a nice bit of gold.

Lars stood still for quite a long time. His greatest hobbie in life was simply being, he would often stand, sit, or just lounge around whenever he lacked a job, and had developed himself quite well at it. Now, as Nokomi scrutinized his armor, he stood still, watching her silently.

When she did speak after her first attempt, it was longer, and more precise than before, and he allowed her eyes to examine him before answering while he decided on his answer. "I suppose that would be the best option, better than splitting up and being forced to search for eachother when this noble arrives.", he said. His face was stern, and usually blank, his eyes betrayed emotion, and his only flaw was a blade scar across his right eye. "Unless you'd prefer I leave you alone."

Lars glanced at Nokomi again, stretching his arms. "Meditation?", he asked, half-seriously, half-saracstically. He could meditate for long periods of time, but he wasn't sure about Nokomi. "It's not like I know of a long list that defines the parameters of what assassins do when they're waiting.", he said.

Lars stood silently, watching the road absently. He seemed to prefer being quiet. Whenever he spoke, he almost seemed to dislike the feeling of words on his tongue.

It was part of his lifestyle, silence. You don't speak of targets, they were there, now they're gone. No need to messy it up by getting empathetic to the dead man or woman. Nor is there any reason to mention their name. Funerals never made much sense to him, people gathering to stare at a corpse, and lament their death. Why not bury them quietly, and celebrate what they did in life?

"Good.", he answered, striding away without waiting. He didn't speak again, even after he reached the bar, retrieved the bottle he'd had earlier, and retaking his seat. Not one word passed his lips, only calm, long, silent breaths.

Lars sat quietly, finishing the bottle he'd started earlier in a matter of moments. He didn't seem to give money much regard, as a second bottle replaced the first shortly after. This was not cheap stuff, it was the kind of liquor the bartender would try to keep secret.

He, having noticed Nokomi watching him, watched her in return. His gaze never wavered, or shifted, and he maintained the silence.

Lars laid his head back against the backrest of his seat. Unlike Nokomi, he continued watching his fellow assassin. It was either a habit, or his way of voicing an opinion without actually speaking. His second bottle was empty before Nokomi had even finished her first. It seemed his opinion in life was feed, meditate, kill, sleep, repeat.

His fingers seemed to dance, tapping lightly against the surface of the table. He had, at one time, been forced to learn how to play piano. It was useless, in his opinion, but he got over it. He usually played to avoid family after he learned, so it had become a nervous habit, one of many.