Sins hand never lifted from the envelope that was laid out on the table.  It wasn't that he didn't trust his contact....although he naturally didn't, but he had the upper hand as long as he had it in his hands.  The mans exclamations had his brows furrowing in ignorance, why was he so taken aback?  But what surprised him the most was the frankly unrecognizable language the man was speaking.  Sin had been taught most, if not all recognized languages in existence, but he didn't recognize that one.  He made a note to himself to ask what the mas had been speaking later, if for no other reason than to gather more information.<br/><br/>Putting his contacts odd behavior aside, he looked back down.  To most it would be considered an act of submission, the smaller animal acknowledging the superiority of the much larger animal.  But to Sin, it was just his way of gathering his thoughts. He found that if he allowed himself to look around while thinking, that his mind would wonder, and his concentration would split.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i292.photobucket.com/albums/mm18/undisclosedtoyou/Prettyboy02Cresized.jpg)</div><br/>The mans words had Sins eyes snapping back up, and his brows furrowed again before clearing.  And the meaning of his words sank through.  This stranger, his contact wasn't asking if he was a middle man, oh no; he was asking who had given him the envelope because he thought that Sin himself couldn't possibly be<em>his</em>contact.<br/><br/>Grinning down into his drink, he settled further into his chair, getting comfortable in preparation for clearing the misconception up.  Clearing his throat, because that was how all the cool characters in films started off their explanations he locked eyes with his companion, and suddenly an odd glint entered his gaze.  He had unconsciously hardened his features, in preparation of taking this situation under control.<br/><br/>"I'm pretty sure that the name of the guy who sold me the envelope was a Mr. Coolridge.  Owner of the mart with peeling red and white paint.  He has three children, fifteen grandchildren with another on the way, and he has an odd scent of pine and....lacquer."  He paused for a moment, letting his recognition of the old man slip away.  "Now as for the contents within....they came from me, and no one, as you put it 'gave me that.'  If you wish to walk that is your own prerogative.  But you can believe that the failure of an unfinished job will rest squarely on your own shoulders.  I for one have, and will do my own part, if your the sort to not do yours than it's no skin off my nose."  He grinned, he had wanted to use the skin on nose saying ever since he had seen in on a television sitcom.<br/><br/>His gaze lowered to the glass that was sitting in front of him and shrugged.  If the man didn't want it than he was more than happy to take it.  Picking up the drink he slowly raised it towards his companion in a small salute and took a large swallow.  The beverage was cool on his throat, and even though it couldn't beat blood, it was slightly comforting.<br/><br/>His other hand, still resting on the envelope twitched, and he contemplated shoving it back into his coat, but he didn't think that the situation called for that just yet.<br/><br/>"I'm sure that I can pick up another, more dedicated contact..."  He let his words trail off, allowing for the meaning to sink in.<br/><br/>