Leaning against the wall, one leg kicked back, the other poised leisurely, Altair stared at the open door where he waited for the old man’s kid to show. Taking a drag of the cigarette he had pinched between his fingers, he exhaled and lazily watched the smoke form a dense gray cloud and settle in the air before him. No matter how many times he’d said no he was still being offered drinks, such as coffee and/or tea, and Altair finally wondered if it was a code for him to stop smoking and occupy himself in a different manner, or this was how this family and its maids and butlers acted around guests. He wouldn’t exactly consider himself as a guest, though. Guests were temporary. He was permanent until either he or the kid died; only then would the cycle falter, and restart in rhythm shortly later. Either he gets shipped off to watch a different kid, or somebody else comes in his place to watch this particular kid. Altair didn’t give a damn about it except for the pay, which was very, very reasonable.
Sucking in another lungful of smoke he slid his eyes over to Mr. Bishop, who patiently awaited his son’s arrival. From what he’d so far picked up about the gentlemen, it seemed Mr. Bishop was very prioritized and had certain things on his mind from one time to another. Once an idea or opinion struck, it stayed, and he refused to let it go. Sort of like the way the servants don’t understand the word no and keep coming back for more. I guess I’m that popular. Altair smiled to himself at his humor, only to have it vanish when he saw a woman step toward him. He slowly turned to face her, and though she couldn’t see his eyes which were shielded behind his unusually long bangs, it was clear from the petulant shape of his mouth that his answer to coffee or tea had not yet changed. It’s not going to, either. He shook his head slightly and returned the cigarette to his lips.
Just then the kid they’d—him especially—had been waiting for appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms. Altair’s eyebrows rose, and his mouth curled in a smirk. Swallowing he refrained from commenting at the sight before him. This is who I’m meant to protect? The thought came again as soon as the kid, Alexander, very clearly stated that he did not appreciate his father’s attempt at protecting him. Turning away Altair took a quick drag, stifling the growl in his throat. Already he knew this was going to be a very interesting job he’d been assigned with. Good thing the money is worth it.
Clearing his throat, Altair decided to step in. Lifting a hand he ran it through his hair, pushing back the blond strands that hung in his face, revealing startling bright blue eyes. Scraping the cigarette in the proffered ashtray the butler near him so graciously held out, Altair walked forward toward the boy with a swagger in his step that seemed inappropriate for one of his job description. “Alexander,” he said in way of greeting. “It’s nice to meet you.” The curl to his mouth and the lip in his voice suggested otherwise. “I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on you from now on, so you better get used to it, kid.” He smiled, trying to appear pleasant, but his eyes and his smirk denied all that.