As War Pulse settled into the overly soft and supportive cushions on the chair and the waiter left there would be nothing save the faint chatter of several other customers and the sound of the band playing in the distance. The place he had been instructed to sit in was well out of the way even in this upper class lounge of luxury and as such it took a moment after the waiter had vanished for anything to change. A few minutes passed in the stillness of the luxury lounge in High Spire before they were at last broken as a man approached the chairs in which War Pulse now sat. 

He was a tall man with sandy blonde hair, pale skin and faint blue eyes. His face had a slight irregularity to it as if it had been the subject of a few too many procedures designed to alter it. He wore a formal suit that put the mercenary's ratty clothing to shame though his eyes did not seem to hold any disdain, or in fact much at all. They were blank and so was his face, utterly lacking expressiveness as the pale blue eyes took in War Pulse. The man's right hand was covered by a black glove and it gripped the handle of a briefcase as he walked over to the chairs and sat down in the one directly across from the mercenary soldier for hire. The briefcase was set down on the floor.

The man leaned forwards and extended his right hand to shake. War Pulse would likely notice that the grip was abnormally hard and unyielding. "I am Randall Weims." The man began as he pulled his hand away. "And I represent our mutual employers. They are pleased that you agreed to this meeting." The tall man cracked his fingers and gave a somewhat predatory smile. "Your track record is quite impressive."

"But on the whole your work has been done alone and has been less than discreet. Our employers require appropriate discretion in many situations. How well prepared are you to act in less public ways?"