Roman started to grow rather bored of this talking. Mr. Johnson stated they had a month to finish the objective but he already wanted it done and over with. Watching his little ice drone wander around the table as the street samurai asked about old blueprints. It was a smart idea in which he was about to give the man praise before he snapped about Roman "dicking around". That got his blood boiling. At that point he wanted to set a soul trap underneath the samurai's seat and watch it launch him straight into the second floor. Giving a smirk as he imagined it before he noticed the other "muscle" put a cigarette out on his creation clearly unappreaciated of what he can bring to the table. Roman couldn't help but bust out laughing a slightly disturbing cackle. "156 people..." he muttered to himself. Watching as a few wondered what he was talking about. 
 
Roman leaned forward and spoke a bit clearer. "156 people inside this club right now. The 6 of us plus Mr. Johnson makes seven. The 17 employees including the Orc, elf bartender, Mr. J's poker buddies, the 10 wandering security wandering the dance floor as well as the 2 men watching the security cameras. That leaves 131 patrons packed into a 1600 sqare feet club... a bit over your fire hazard safety regiment Mr. Johnson." Roman said sarcastically. Leaning back in his chair. "Now tell me you overgrown vending machine... who's dicking around?" Just then the sculpture evaporated ito the growing cloud of smoke above them. "I'm good with numbers and logical hypothesies, if you can find an old blueprint than I can estimate how many guards would be in place factoring in personal space, shift changes, and even personal hygene. I'm not your average spell slinger." Roman gave off a cocky attitude as he leaned a bit further back in his chair. A little too far back as he watched in slow motion as his head hit the faux wood floor with a audible thunk. (Reeeal smooth Roman) he thought to himself as he quickly righted his chair and sat back down with a beet red face.