Maxwell sat upon his 'luxurious' in a somewhat laidback manner, his legs propped up on his table, and a slight flush present on his face. In his left hand was a cup of blood red wine, and in his right, a Cuban cigar.
One of the finest in the world. It had a creamy, rich flavor, it was earthy, sweet, and also contained a spice that would announce itself once on the palate. There were quite a few on the floor. Maxwell took another puff and relaxed once more.
His tired eyes stared at the ceiling; it was unknown what he was thinking about. Perhaps he was just relishing the taste of fine wine and the best cigar, or perhaps he was thinking about the mountain of work he had to do, or something else.
Maxwell was a bit special; he had a great poker face. Even if drunk, he hardly let his thoughts run rampant on his visage. He would always have an air of control, a calm air that told everyone he was still in control. No matter how much he indulged himself, or how tired his eyes appeared to be.
He would always be calm, a trait developed in his traumatic childhood. Even in the most dire of situations, he would somehow always be able to think clearly. Maxwell emptied his cup of wine, throwing it on the ground.
His shadow leapt from the ground, caught the glass cup, and lightly whacked Maxwell's head with it, before putting it on the table. Maxwell scratched his head and muttered in a weak voice.
"Thanks."
It was at that moment that Alan entered the room, his nose twitched, not from disgust, but rather pleasure. The scent in Maxwell's office was sublime, the scent of the finest cigar! Alan was about to ask for one when he saw the empty box on the table.
He sighed in dismay and sat down on the couch, waiting for Maxwell to look at him. He wanted the man to get out of his drunken state, whether by his own will or by Alan casting a spell on him.
Eventually, as time passed, He shrugged his shoulders, and his mana began to stir. But before he could cast anything, Maxwell's shadow leapt up and slapped him on the face, forcing him to look in Alan's direction.
Alan almost burst out laughing, but barely managed to contain himself. However, his shadow was unable to contain itself. You could see it on the floor, smacking its knee and laughing out loud in whatever realm of shadows it existed in.
Maxwell rolled his eyes, took another puff of his cigar, and asked with a flushed voice.
"What?"
He turned his head to the ceiling once more, waiting for Alan to talk. He wondered what the man had to say to him... Was he going to ask for money for some things? That shouldn't be the case; he should still have all his cards on him.
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