Silence. Dead silence. The only sound was the steady motion of his boots making contact against the glossy marble floor, and the occasional swishing of his cloak around his knees. Any moment now, he kept thinking, I'll find it. He looked down at his feet, as if they held the answer for him. However, he needn't have bothered; it was too dark to see anything. He drew in a breath, the vast amount of darkness making him uneasy. He didn't want to be here, even though he knew he had no choice. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but, as a wanted man, the only other option was to turn himself in. And he wasn't at all sure the others would approve of that. His fingers closed around the parcel in his left hand. His line of work certainly involved a lot of risks.

After wondering aimlessly around for sometime, he stopped, and tapped the floor with one foot. One-two….three taps. All in rapid succession of each other. He waited then, pulling his cloak closer to his body. He hadn't made a mistake, had he? The boss, his boss, had arranged for his arrival, hadn't he? His brow suddenly furrowed beneath the hood masking his face. Stop calling him that, he told himself, shaking his head slightly, you know he wouldn't like it. And that was the truth. The one he and the others called 'boss' was merely a well-acclaimed associate in their business. Why and how he got the nickname 'boss' was a mystery, even to the boss himself. It was just one of those things, and everyone had decided to accept that.

He was suddenly roused from his train of thought as a faint but definite reply came from below his feet. One-two-three-four….five and six. He then stepped aside, well aware of what was to take place next. A low rumbling sound erupted from the ground, which gradually grew in volume, sounding closer and closer to him. Then, almost as soon as it had started, the rumbling ceased, but in it's place came a sharp creaking. His teeth clenched under his hood. No matter how many times he visited, he had never quite gotten used to that sound. However, he was grateful it was at least very brief, and, after waiting for the noise to subside, he walked casually towards what was now an opening in the floor. He hadn't fallen through because, thankfully, the passage was lit with a very dim, pale light, just enough that one could see from close up, but not enough to reveal its location to the enemy. He smiled despite himself, placing his foot on the first leading step, as he prepared for his conference with 'the boss.'

"Ah. Xander. It's about time you showed up."

Face still concealed, he grinned. There was no mistaking that voice. "Sorry," he replied, leaving his position on the final step and moving towards the man in front of him. He was in a large circular room, with a very messily painted sky on the ceiling. The whole room was messy, it seemed. Papers that were scrapped had been tossed needlessly around the room, the occasional one landing in the waste basket. Only the desk where he was sitting at hadn't a piece of paper on it, but instead was inhabited by endless stacks of illegal trinkets, and of course, his feet. Xander sighed. "You do realize that desk was just cleaned a week ago." He said flatly, removing his hood as he continued to walk foreword.

The other man smiled, shifting his position "and do you realize how many times I've told you to do something about your face?"

Xander shot him a look. "These scars are permanent. No amount of healing ointment could fix them." He sighed, throwing back a lock of thick black hair that had come loose from his ponytail. His roomie said nothing, but merely steepled his fingers, something he had recently taken up whenever he was plotting. Xander flashed him another look, then began picking up the pigstye of what the other man called "my office."

After about five minutes or so had gone by, the scheming man spoke. "So….do you have it?"

Xander's expression immediately hardened as he answered "Of course." Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a poorly wrapped package, and tossed it to the man sitting at the desk. Despite all the trouble he had gone through to get it, a sense of pride and accomplishment now swelled in his chest. He grinned, breaking his previous seriousness and crossing his arms. "I take it everything is to your liking, boss?" He asked, then stopped, catching his mistake an instant to late. The other man frowned as he hastily began tearing through the package.

"I told you never to call me that. I'm not your boss, for the last time."

"Yes of course sir," he said swiftly, bowing in apology. Not for long, though, for the clink of metal against polished wood caught his attention, and he instantly looked up. His amber eyes lit up as he gazed at the extensive amounts of euros now toppling from the parcel remains and onto the boss' desk. Even though he had been perfectly aware of the package's contents when he had delivered it, the sight of the little golden coins hitting the surface still mystified him. He chuckled. The boss looked up at him.

"What, may I ask, do you find so amusing?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's just…." He paused, still gazing at the money, "It's been a long time since I've seen cold, hard cash."

The boss smiled then, reaching up to stroke his white-blond beard with a gloved hand. "Yes, yes it certainly has." He brought his hand down again and continued, "With the recent crisis taking place amongst our other associates, I've been finding myself quite broke recently."

"Nice to be on the receiving end for once, isn't it, Rould?" Xander replied, cracking a grin at the man sitting behind the desk. He returned it with a smirk of his own.

"So I see you remember my name then?" He replied approvingly, "It's about time one of you thugs decided to use it."