La Volpe clung to the pillars above the older motel, hearing them creak under his weight. The Borgia guards filed in like solider ants, their spears resembling the forever sharp pincers of the ants that wanted to see his head pop off. Or tear apart from the spinal column.
Their curses filled his ears and a small smirk appeared on his face, as he leaned forward a bit, gradually slouching into a lazy sit. "Where did the bastard go?" one barked, snapping their armored head back and forth.
"He can't have gone far. Search the premises! Look through every barrel of wine that you can find! He must not escape." Ah, but the smirk on the fox's face only grew on his lips as he watched them split up, left and right, to scour through the barrels, the shelves, the tables and around the people who attempted to stay hooded for privacy reasons. One after another, they failed, spouting out curses of frustration.
"He's not here, sir!"
"He must've escaped..." one guard snarled, quite a few suddenly running out with a soft 'ching' of their chainmail. La Volpe stretched with a yawn before he folded his arms, leaning back in his makeshift seat as they scurried about like hungry animals.
'Stupid Borgia. Can't see a piece of meat unless it was placed under their nose.' And he nestled into his seat, hood up as he decided to sleep. Not a single one noticed how his cloak didn't match the hanging curtains what-so-ever.
(I'm stuck at my Dad's. Here. Have this as I do not possess my flashdrive. :'D)