[center][h2][color=D2691E]Murdok[/color][/h2][/center]

Music of the city streets hummed and buzzed per usual. Various exhaust smoke trails, steam trails from machines and buildings filled the air. The scents? Ranged from flavorful to foul. Answering yet another phone-call, a similar angered fueled hang-up ends the conversation. Leisurely Murdok exits the second phone booth he's been forced to use today. Generally annoyed and always lacking haste to his step, Murdok decides to take the long route. Enjoy the current walk through the concrete jungle he calls home.

Decent amount of time passed before arrival to the destination told by Tumble. Cigarette poised in mouth, movements didn't cease until Murdok lazily leaned against one of the swing-set poles. Not particularly bothered by anyone he spots, or passes. [i](Though they probably didn't find his faint trail of smoke enjoyable.)[/i] Heck the man hardly gives Tumble a nod upon showing up.

Realizing his surroundings the cigarette is quickly extinguished on his tongue. Flicking the butt onto the ground, fingers are interlaced behind head. Furthering his lackadaisical vibe. Albeit still hosting an expression which seemed very disgruntled over the whole scenario. Coughing or grunting weakly, Murdok clears throat to aid speaking. Saying his voice sounded unenthusiastic would be a horrific understatement. The man's gaze could be seen slowly inspecting every individual who was there. 

"[color=D2691E]Well? Lets get on with it...[/color]"