Snippet #1692561

Right. Left. Through a few more doors then down the hall. He knew exactly where he was going, but he let his feet carry him around. And then he stopped. a voice drifted towards him and he cocked his head curiously. The voice was familiar; there was no way Tom would ever forget Drake's voice, but he didn't feel like stopping. Lowering his head, he brushed past them. The less contact he made with them, the better. He needn't have bothered lowering his head, though. His expression had gone back to neutral, making him resemble a wooden sculpture, and his eyes never betrayed his emotions, anyway.

And then he stopped, glancing back. Blond hair, dazed expression. He knew the stance, the look, and the smell. The man was a drunkard. If the man wasn't drinking, then he was dreaming of drinking. Tom knew the type, having had to drive several around the city. Drunks were either very harmless or very dangerous. He would have to find out which category this man fell in. Otherwise, he was in for a nasty surprise.

Tom glanced down the hall. He wanted to find James and start mapping out the mansion, but he needed to know more about the Frenchman. Finally, he shook his head and turned around. He could map the building at any time, but he didn't have quite as much time to learn about his opponents. He made his way back to the pair, not sure how much he had missed and not particularly caring. He didn't force his way into the conversation or try to get between the two men. Instead, he kept his distance and watched - and followed, if Geppetto decided to move. He wasn't about to recklessly throw himself into a dangerous situation.