Baron mused over the briefing. All in all, nothing he hadn't expected. Honestly boring, and he would've considered it to be a waste of his time if he wasn't getting paid for this. Considering he was on Seph and Markiel's payroll, he had a duty to do as instructed, which meant going with this group, even if they were far from his first picks. Certainly in this field, one couldn't be too picky when it came to coworkers. Those of adequate talent were rare, even rarer those who shared ambition enough to work in tandem. He casually thumbed through his notebook, finding pages with hastily scribbled notes on his (hopefully) temporary comrades as he mentally reviewed them each in turn.

[color=9966CC][i]"Jaklo... Wright? Wright. Right. Hunter, right? Something like that, the man is always carrying guns and the like, and I can't say I've ever seen him cast a single spell. Hell of a lot of toys, though. Tolerable, if a bit grating socially. I'll keep him close."[/i][/color] Baron thought to himself as his eyes surveyed the young man. 

Meeting adjourned, Baron made his way to his desk, pulling open a drawer with his bionic arm. It slid smoothly, revealing the bright white shine of his magnum, reflecting in the light. He took a hold of it in his good arm, turning it side over side. His mind flooded with memories brought by the weapon -the enchantment a gift from a woman he had known for all of a month. Just as quickly as the warm memories flooded his mind, they were dashed by a gory bang from deep within his subconscious, images of nostalgia replaced by the gore of those he had taken shots at. Baron grimaced as he stuffed the pistol back away in the drawer, instead pulling out a set of lustrous blue gems. The octahedral crystals, teeming with energy, moved of almost their own volition up Barons arm along his tattoos. They settled in the areas of high focus on his tattoos, sinking deep into his flesh. His eyes darted briefly to the spot where Drake had been lying earlier, which he had tried oh so very hard to ignore.

[color=9966CC][i]"I can't say that he's not talented at what he does, and pyromancy certainly won't hurt in this situation."[/i][/color] The Frenchman thought, summing up his positive thoughts for the shifter. [color=9966CC][i]"But no grace, no elegance, and honestly I'd rather take intellectual advice from a broken printer. Honestly just the man opening his mouth makes me cringe."[/i][/color] He thought, shuddering at the fear of having to hold extended conversation with the wannabe dragon. 

Tentacles erupted again from Baron's back as he leaned over one of his spellbooks, searching for a spell he remembered from long ago. As much of his magic, inspired by that of demons, the spell was found written in shaky handwriting with red ink used to highlight the important points. He remembered writing the specifics of the spell, and the sheer agony that the incantation itself brought with apprehension. While channeling raw arcane energy itself fell under the jurisdiction of Diabolists, Baron had all but perfected the art of honing this energy like light through a prism. Baron read through the page thrice before looking away, muttering the incantation under his breath. He was glad that there was no particular rush -he had never quite gotten used to using these situational spells with any haste, and he'd be surprised if it took him any less than ten minutes to successfully perform the spell. As he finished murmuring the incantation, his eyes turned to Atlas.  

One of the older among those employed at W&R, though still young in comparison to Baron (technically. The line was always blurred.), Atlas could've been fourteen years old as far as Baron was concerned. [color=9966CC][i]"Is there a single magic user in this age that doesn't have the social skills of an emo high schooler? Other than that Max guy. He's got... what is the word? Game?"[/i][/color] He pondered. Though Baron had a fairly strong grasp on the conventions of this age, some references and slang were beyond him. If interacting with Drake was cringe worthy, an encounter with Atlas would be nothing less than mortifying.

As arcane energy flowed through Baron's body, he felt a feral flame erupting within his body. Like the sensation when one strikes their 'funny bone', a warm pain flowed through his body, burning at his very soul. Though his entire body tensed and strained in pain, he stood still and silent, not wishing to make a scene. Almost in response to the pain, tentacles pulled out of his body into existence, thrashing violently as they appeared before calming down to a gentle wave. Baron hadn't checked, but he was relatively sure that there were few people near enough his desk to take notice of the momentary weakness. The spell complete, Baron tied the surprisingly small spellbook shut with a ribbon of cloth that wrapped many times around the leather cover -inscribed with a crude image of a smiling man in what seemed to be a wasteland. As the book found itself being shoved to the side by an errant blue tentacle, Baron turned his eyes up as he tried to recall detail of his final teammate. Mithias the vampire. 

This one was actually older than Baron, something impressive to say the least. [color=9966CC][i]"Fucking Mithias I -I actually don't know too much about this one."[/i][/color] That being said, his general demeanor was chivalrous -not a quality that one could ever accuse Baron of possessing, but one he admired in others. Possibly naive, but respectable. For the moment, Baron chose to reserve judgement on this one, hopefully for the better. 

As a magical warmth pulsed throughout his body, Baron spent one final moment at his desk before leaving. A locked drawer beneath the one holding his magnum contained his one most valuable possession. Overly careful with the artifact, Baron dug it out of newspaper packing with the ginger touch of a tentacle. The object was attached to his belt, still in it's sheath. Feeling far more complete with the artifact at his side, Baron finally elected to leave his desk and join the others in the basement. All of his gear in hand, the Frenchman had no need to visit the armory or chemical lab. He instead made a beeline for storage, where the portals were to take them to their destination. On his arrival, he saw Jaklo and Atlas waiting already. His tentacles shifted uncomfortably, shifting through an array of colors before finally settling down -the majority shone bright [color=orange]orange[/color] as they lazily drifted in and out of existence, while a few could be seen waving in between with a striking [color=aqua]blue[/color]. He nodded to the two as he approached, taking mental note of Drakes rather rushed exit. He had left about ten minutes ago on some urgent errand. Left the oven on at home, perhaps? In all honesty, Baron wouldn't terribly mind if the shifter didn't show up for the mission.

[color=9966CC]"It appears we drew the short end of the stick, gentlemen. I don't suppose anyone has some words of... motivation before we get our hands dirty?"[/color] He asked with an utterly stony expression, using his tentacles for support as he leaned back.