Finch lifts the glass to his lips when it arrives, breathing in the sultry smell of the ordered scotch. It's certainly much nicer than the swill he was swigging and he takes an appreciative sip, letting the rich liquor linger on his tongue before swallowing it down. It's not often he drinks anything this nice, or with such dashing company, and he forces himself to truly savor it. Even if it happens to be poisoned, it's not a bad way to go.
Setting the glass gently down on the counter, Finch gives a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "Of course you're taking me home," He smiles, eyes glimmering with mischief. Even if this ended only with a pocket full of poisons and no other gain, he at least got a interesting conversation with a handsome conversation partner. "I'm easily bought," He toasts Mateo with the scotch, taking another long sip.
He allows his mind reluctantly to wander back to business, eying the pot of soil and seeds that sits in front of Mateo. A man with that extravagant of a home and little to no fear of the wandering fingers of their customers is one of two things; one, fabulously wealthy and therefore not one to care about prices; or, fabulously wealthy and therefore very likely to care about prices. Finch was planning on bartering some sort of thiefly services in exchange for a poison, pilfering something of an enemy or a friend or even doing it for entertainment if he wanted. He could do one thing rather well, and it was the height of what he could offer (or, if requested, he could do a backflip).
"Once you're done buying me drinks and taking me home -- which, no take backs, by the way--" He took a jovial swing of the drink and leaned forward a touch, "How much for those plants for my garden? I'm a little low on material assets, but I'd be happy to lend you a favor."
Setting the glass gently down on the counter, Finch gives a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "Of course you're taking me home," He smiles, eyes glimmering with mischief. Even if this ended only with a pocket full of poisons and no other gain, he at least got a interesting conversation with a handsome conversation partner. "I'm easily bought," He toasts Mateo with the scotch, taking another long sip.
He allows his mind reluctantly to wander back to business, eying the pot of soil and seeds that sits in front of Mateo. A man with that extravagant of a home and little to no fear of the wandering fingers of their customers is one of two things; one, fabulously wealthy and therefore not one to care about prices; or, fabulously wealthy and therefore very likely to care about prices. Finch was planning on bartering some sort of thiefly services in exchange for a poison, pilfering something of an enemy or a friend or even doing it for entertainment if he wanted. He could do one thing rather well, and it was the height of what he could offer (or, if requested, he could do a backflip).
"Once you're done buying me drinks and taking me home -- which, no take backs, by the way--" He took a jovial swing of the drink and leaned forward a touch, "How much for those plants for my garden? I'm a little low on material assets, but I'd be happy to lend you a favor."
