A snort that began in the man’s nostrils became a deep chuckle, and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, more as a reflex than to rid his lips of any residue. Perhaps to brush away the beginnings of an insult that had formed there, instead masking it as sardonic mirth. He finished another glass, as if in response to the comment Nocturne made, then followed it with a sigh as he briefly straightened his back to stretch. The action was short-lived; he raised his hand for yet another drink, then slouched over the glass once more.
“You may be right,” he began conditionally, “but I’d argue a business not willing to make money wouldn’t be much of a business.”
After all, Asher wasn’t belligerent - not in public, anyway. Not even after a few drinks. There was some benefit to the general population of Greenbrooke believing that he was some charming, quiet, tall glass of water who mostly kept to himself. Mystery was intriguing, and the charming aspect meant that he was approachable enough to make up for the glower he often sported, albeit unintentionally. Mostly. Truly, though, those who did approach him still had to overcome the fact that he was a massive, indomitable figure who likely looked as though he was capable of breaking bones by accident, even if he did smile every once in a while.
“We haven’t established anything. You said a whole lot of nothing.” There was nothing quizzical about the commentary - the statement was plain and insinuated that he wouldn’t be answering any questions - or if he did, he’d be mirroring the deflective nature of Nocturne’s responses. He gave what he got, to a point. “You have a strange way of defining humour,” he muttered. “But I’ll bite.” Maybe literally. “I’m here looking for … talent. Are you talented?” Any mundane who was entirely unaware of their world would be baffled by the question - or perhaps assume Asher was implying some kind of sex work. But a preternaturally aware individual would understand - and the alpha considered himself shrewd enough to determine what he needed out of whatever Nocturne deigned to offer in response.
Perhaps the other man would be caught off guard, or perhaps he’d be capable of hiding his understanding without a tell. Either way, Asher would get what he wanted out of someone who seemed as though he might not understand the danger he was in, mundane or not. But that was the charm of the man quietly sitting in the corner of a nightclub with no name to himself outside of the circles he ran in: he was harmless until he wasn’t.
“You may be right,” he began conditionally, “but I’d argue a business not willing to make money wouldn’t be much of a business.”
After all, Asher wasn’t belligerent - not in public, anyway. Not even after a few drinks. There was some benefit to the general population of Greenbrooke believing that he was some charming, quiet, tall glass of water who mostly kept to himself. Mystery was intriguing, and the charming aspect meant that he was approachable enough to make up for the glower he often sported, albeit unintentionally. Mostly. Truly, though, those who did approach him still had to overcome the fact that he was a massive, indomitable figure who likely looked as though he was capable of breaking bones by accident, even if he did smile every once in a while.
“We haven’t established anything. You said a whole lot of nothing.” There was nothing quizzical about the commentary - the statement was plain and insinuated that he wouldn’t be answering any questions - or if he did, he’d be mirroring the deflective nature of Nocturne’s responses. He gave what he got, to a point. “You have a strange way of defining humour,” he muttered. “But I’ll bite.” Maybe literally. “I’m here looking for … talent. Are you talented?” Any mundane who was entirely unaware of their world would be baffled by the question - or perhaps assume Asher was implying some kind of sex work. But a preternaturally aware individual would understand - and the alpha considered himself shrewd enough to determine what he needed out of whatever Nocturne deigned to offer in response.
Perhaps the other man would be caught off guard, or perhaps he’d be capable of hiding his understanding without a tell. Either way, Asher would get what he wanted out of someone who seemed as though he might not understand the danger he was in, mundane or not. But that was the charm of the man quietly sitting in the corner of a nightclub with no name to himself outside of the circles he ran in: he was harmless until he wasn’t.
