The guy had some sense of humor. And he was rough around the edges a bit, for a businessman. On a normal day, Kael might have liked him. This hadn't been a good day, however, and the fact that maintaining consciousness between adrenaline bursts was becoming a painful, arduous task didn't do much to help it. A muscle in one of his eyes twitched when Charlie pounded on the desk, but the rest of him seemed still as stone, like he might not have heard it at all. In a moment, however, he relaxed against the wall, leaning part of his weight into it and watched the guy berate himself. He didn't find it necessary to cut in to harp on the guy as well, nor to try and alleviate it. He just watched him, bloody red eyes still, lines under them turning pronouncedly dark by now, two black blades that accentuated the less friendly aspects of his eyes at the moment.<br/><br/>He nodded when Charlie started discussing what Mulligan had said about how they had no way of contacting Celeste. Oh, but this guy was also actively getting frustrated about the fact that they'd sent her out in that state. His eyes were getting sharper, but for the moment he was keeping calm. It could have just been from the exhaustion, but the lack of the wall of frustration as before helped, as did his putting his mind to work, running the facts over in his head and analyzing. He wouldn't be the sharpest tool in the shed in this condition, but the reptilian parts of the brain were surprisingly resilient. Even the "talk" for later only got a offhand shrug.<br/><br/>A small taste of that adrenaline surge came as the other man told him to grab his things to go.<br/><br/>His movements were crisp again, and when the boss-man looked back over his shoulder, what he'd see was practically a different person.<br/><br/>"Only what you heard. You can debrief me on the way."<br/><br/>And with that he slipped out by him. Kael wasn't a tall man- more squarely average stature- but he walked quickly, a habit of extending his legs further, longer steps than most people took, the lazy way of covering ground quickly. Now, though, his feet snapped out one after another, and in a moment he'd vanish, blowing out of the place without ever rising above a walk, turning his shoulders to brush his way by where necessary, right out to the lawn, grabbing up his gun and knife, rearming, and finally the duffel. But before putting it on, he discarded the bag.<br/><br/>Charlie might not have known who he was, but anyone who had seen the guy on television- Heaven or Hell repeatedly meant more publicity than he cared for by a long shot, among those who cared for the bloodsport- they wouldn't be surprised to see the sheathed sword come up, strapping on tighter than the duffel it'd been hidden in had. He'd join whatever was gathering to move out as soon as it showed itself, or someone took him along.