When Andrea returns to the flat, she sinks into one of the bar stools in the kitchen, leaning her forehead on the cool countertop.
And then she hears a rustle, and her hand snaps to one of her concealed blades, drawing it while sliding her hand along the handle of another one, catching it as it launches into the air.
When she's got a knife in each hand, she advances to the little balcony, determining that the sound came from there, she opens the sliding door, watching the figure.
He stays still, and her gut feeling tells her to drop her weapons.
She does so.
Turning around, the boy drops his cigarette, flicking it to the ground and grinding it into the floor with the toe of his boot.
She leans against the doors, having closed them behind her. "Whaddya want?"
His face is angular, with sharp cheekbones and a defined jaw. His hair is shaved around the nape of his neck, the undercut nearly covered by the long hair hanging over it. Some of it's so long that it's tied back in a small ponytail at the very back of his neck.
Gunmetal eyes peer out from beneath the hair that's been swept into his face by the tilt of his head. There's a slice across face, right over his cheekbone. That's going to leave a faint scar, Andrea knows from experience.
He's wearing black lace-up boots, dark dark gray skinny jeans, and a white button-up shirt, the collar flipped up. There's also a brown waistcoat, accenting his narrow waist. The sleeves on the button-up are rolled up about halfway up his forearms. There's also a suspicious scar running around his neck, but Andrea doesn't comment.
He... has eyeliner on.
She waits for him to say something.
"I'm Cassius, ma'am." He holds out a calloused hand that's covered with a white silk glove, and she grips it. It feels rough and heavy in her hand. She lets go.
The look on his face is unnerving. "Just Cassius."
She allows it to slide. "Andrea Carlson. What can I do for you?" She asks professionally, calm and precise.
He barks out a laugh. "I think we'd better talk inside."