Though his arms remained loosely folded, one golden eye half-opened as the female voice rang through the dim interior. Now<span style="font-style: italic">this</span>was a surprise. The young man had quite intentionally set up his "main source of income" in a high-class but little-trafficked part of the Market District, for a very specific reason; he needed to be found, but only by certain people. It was the odd shopper that wandered past the plasma glass shopfronts of the fancy electronic stores, the newest model of communicator or android glittering at them from the pristine packaging and holding a price tag that could make a man vomit, only to take an interest in his seedy little hovel with the half-functional sign. It was the even rarer shopper that dared to venture inside.<br/><br/>He didn't recognize the voice, nor did he have any appointments or expectations for this early in the morning. So who was the hiccup in his routine that beckoned so cluelessly?<br/><br/>Finally, Xen's other eye flickered open and his arms dropped, body languidly rising. In the dim lighting of the shop, he knew he tended to have an almost ominous appearance; his straight nose often cast more shadow, high cheekbones and long face giving causing a gauntness that was almost entirely contrived. His square jaw and stubborn chin were amplified, but that effect tended to be lost when his head tilted down to see his clients of small stature, though his thin, expressive brow remained hidden in the thick fringe of bang. In short, the lighting had been calculated to give him a more intimidating presence than he could have maintained in broad daylight, particularly with his unimpressive musculature (made more so by his wardrobe choices and constant slouch). With an air of resignation, his fingers curled around a pair of black, half-moon glasses with a rather thick rim and placed them low on his nose; his eyesight was actually quite good, and very few people actually wore spectacles rather than receive simple ocular correction, but this particular accessory served two purposes and neither one of them had to do with his vision.<br/><br/>He rolled the sleeves of his sweater back to his elbows, muttering a short<span style="color: #FFBF40"><span style="font-weight: bold">"Back here,"</span></span>as he did so. She may not have been able to see him so clearly yet (admittedly, the shop was full of crap and he blended in well), but he could see her well enough, silhouetted against the still-growing light of the Market District.<br/><br/>A girl, which he had figured based on the voice. He guessed her of average height and build, but that seemed to be where "average" ended for this random customer; the pale pink hair, styled and cut in a fashion that had been out of date for a while but still held near-maximum intimidation factors, tapered down into a body dressed like something from a historical documentary hologram. Nothing seemed to match or know its place, no rhyme or reason that he could tell to any part of it. He noticed her bulky knapsack and his own hawk-like eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but rather curiosity. An unexpected customer, and it seemed she had wandered in with an actual purpose... an unexpected purpose.<br/><br/>His head tilted slightly to the side and down, eyes relaxing to fix on her from above the top rim of the half-moons.<span style="color: #FFBF40"><span style="font-weight: bold">"What can I do for you, miss?"</span></span>he intoned politely, gesturing vaguely to the counter in a half-welcome. The words were scripted and quite casual, but there was the slightest quirk to the left side of his thin lips; a mischievous, almost knowing little smirk that was barely noticeable.<br/><br/>She must have come to sell. Selling so early, and without an appointment, and to be unknown to him... she was either the latest hireling for one of the higher-ups, or she was a street thug. It seemed unlikely that she would wander in here without knowing, but it seemed equally unlikely that one his usual clients would send a hireling for a transaction without an appointment. If she was just an ordinary criminal, then what she had to offer him would no doubt be garbage- probably some transponder bits or fibernetic wiring that she had scavenged or pickpocketed. Still, her glaring contrast with his usual clientele peaked a curiosity he was unused to feeling so early in the morning.