He is impressed by Bianchi's poise and deft handling of the situation, defusing the obvious tension with nothing more than a touch and a few murmured words. He'd expected nothing less, of course, but it was always nice to have his high expectations confirmed. It didn't happen very often, after all.
He watched as the various bosses, subordinates, along with the usual subterfuge of subordinates pretending to be bosses, and vice versa, walked confidently into the room to sit around the plain wooden table, feeling entirely in control of the situation. But it was a brittle confidence, and Reborn had already planned to exploit it.
His usual fedora was tilted forward, his signature dark suit impeccably pressed, his long legs propped up at the head of the table as he sat back in the surprisingly sturdy wooden chair, the perfect picture of easy insolence. He could see as the more hot-headed among the delegation bristled at the insult offered by this calculated gesture. When he judged the timing to be right, he reached for his own can of soda, popped the tab casually and took a sip.
"It's really quite good," he said mildly, when none of the group followed suit, instead watching him suspiciously, and at Bianchi and Alessandro nearby.
"Cut the crap, hit man," one of the men snapped angrily, pushing his offered can out of the way and into the center of the table, where it tilted and overbalanced, falling onto its side. It then rolled, due to a slight tilt, down to tap gently against Reborn's shoe. "Look who your partner is - the Poison Scorpion! Of course we're not going to touch any damn thing you offer us!"
Reborn shrugged and took another sip for himself. "Well, if you didn't want it, you only had to say so."
"We're here to talk terms," another of the group said, with the overblown confidence of a decoy boss overacting in order to persuade. "So talk. We're reasonable people, I'm sure, and we can come to an agreement-"
no subject
He watched as the various bosses, subordinates, along with the usual subterfuge of subordinates pretending to be bosses, and vice versa, walked confidently into the room to sit around the plain wooden table, feeling entirely in control of the situation. But it was a brittle confidence, and Reborn had already planned to exploit it.
His usual fedora was tilted forward, his signature dark suit impeccably pressed, his long legs propped up at the head of the table as he sat back in the surprisingly sturdy wooden chair, the perfect picture of easy insolence. He could see as the more hot-headed among the delegation bristled at the insult offered by this calculated gesture. When he judged the timing to be right, he reached for his own can of soda, popped the tab casually and took a sip.
"It's really quite good," he said mildly, when none of the group followed suit, instead watching him suspiciously, and at Bianchi and Alessandro nearby.
"Cut the crap, hit man," one of the men snapped angrily, pushing his offered can out of the way and into the center of the table, where it tilted and overbalanced, falling onto its side. It then rolled, due to a slight tilt, down to tap gently against Reborn's shoe. "Look who your partner is - the Poison Scorpion! Of course we're not going to touch any damn thing you offer us!"
Reborn shrugged and took another sip for himself. "Well, if you didn't want it, you only had to say so."
"We're here to talk terms," another of the group said, with the overblown confidence of a decoy boss overacting in order to persuade. "So talk. We're reasonable people, I'm sure, and we can come to an agreement-"