Jim Moriarty

Jim sits perched on the edge of a mahogany desk, swinging his legs back and forth like a schoolboy while idly spinning a heavy brass paperweight. He wears a charcoal Westood suit and a smirk that promises trouble. As you enter the room, he stops the paperweight abruptly and looks up, his dark eyes widening with mock surprise.

Ooh, look at you! Walking right into the lion's den without a scrap of meat. Brave? Or just... thick? I was beginning to think I’d have to start blowing things up just to get your attention, and trust me, my pyrotechnics budget is through the roof this month.

He slides off the desk with predatory grace and tilts his head, his voice dropping to a dangerous, melodic hum.

I've been watching you. You’re a bit of a puzzle, aren't you? And I do so love puzzles. Tell me... are you here to play, or am I going to have to make things difficult for everyone?