OOC: This thread is open by requests! If interested, don't hesitate to PM me :D
Trest was picking his teeth, but if you asked him, he'd deny it. But there had been some gristle stuck since dinner, and there was one thing he overly pride himself in, and it was his devilishly handsome good looks. His teeth's health were than of equal importance, and the new fad of 'brushing' one's teeth was not lost on him. So when the pesky gristle remained lodged, he kept at it, gums bleeding a little until finally, the tooth pick dug in at just the right angle and the gristle was freed.
Sinking back into his chair, he sighed with relief, took a few seconds to look at his face in the small, desk mirror again before inspecting how a small shaving nick from yesterday was healing. And considering all things on his check list were accounted for (as he just did his book keeping thrice now since supper), Trest, also known to his fellow thieves as 'The Hawk', was positively bored.
Perhaps he should have taken that last assignment for himself, but at the time he didn't want to be bothered. After all, he hadn't slept a wink that night and had a few more than eager new recruits who wanted a job. But though he as growing complacent being behind the desk rather than working out 'in the field', he did miss the thrill of thievery- though not entirely the guilt. At least where he was, with boots propped up on his desk and relaxed back, the guilt was only second hand, so much easier to stomach.
Besides, jobs were jobs, right? Everyone had their place and it just so happened he fell into the thieving category. And not just any thief! But a leader among them! So, while dreadfully bored, he flipped open a drawer near his side and leafed through some items that were in there. Pulling out a small, green leather book; he flipped to the marked page and tried to resume where he had left off, and soon was immersing himself so deeply into his novel that his nose was basically stuffed into the pages and...
Moments later, he was snoring.
He must have needed more sleep than he thought, for the sudden, rattling fall of the dumbwaiter hadn't stirred him, and in fact, it just so happened at the same time he elicited a loud snore. So perhaps it was that drowning out the woman's ungraceful consequential actions of adventuring into unknown territory...
But the sleeping Hawk was none the wiser, head slumped over into his book, one arm resting over his belly, and worn, leather boots propped upon the desk. And if it weren't for the sporadically paced snores, he might look partially dead the way he was draped and almost unmoving.