October 16th, 2015


An office tower in Chicago, Illinois, Friday afternoon, FT

Eliot adjusted the cuffs of his suit and made one last swipe of his hand over his pulled back hair to make sure everything was in order. His character had to be sleazy, but in that creepy rich guy classy way. All aging college frat boy instead of used car salesman, like Nate tended to play. He gave his reflection a quick once over in the glass window in the mark's office door, then plastered on a confident grin and entered, making a beeline for the bored looking receptionist.

"Hey," he said, distractedly flirtatious. "Galen Tyrol, here to see Deon Walker."

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[ooc: preplayed with the ever delightful age_of_the_geek and whoisalicewhite]