Malcolm9:45 PM, local time Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico The club was active at this time of night. That club being some expensive joint popular with the tourists, of course. The decor was fashionable and modern in gorgeous purples and shiny silver, the light show was every bit as entrancing as the music, and the drinks were supposedly phenomenal, and the bouncer was actually choosy about who gained entry. It was a damn high class place to be. But Malcolm? Malcolm didn't really give a shit about all that. Too many people, too much noise, too many risks. Drugs or even a decent drink were out if the question; he was working, dammit. Couldn't even have a smoke, as he'd been trying to quit; the doctor describing his lungs as a tar pit when he first joined up with Eclipse was scary enough to get him off the habit. And he sure as fuck didn't dance. So he stood, quietly, by himself, in a corner with a very virgin soda with grenadine and a fantastic view of both the entrance and the hallway leading to the restrooms and the door leading to the alley out back. His resting bitchface kept most of the idiots from encroaching on his personal space, but couldn't scare off the pounding bass that he traditionally enjoyed but really only pissed him off in a setting like this. It made him antsy, more on edge than usual. Made him want to work out, or fight something. It was a damn good thing he had good self control. Despite the fact he was useless at a place like this, Malcolm had dressed as if he was just another idiot in the crowd, all expensive clothes and flashy jewelry. Ass he may be, but he could blend into a crowd. The shirt was a deep blue button-up, probably silk, that was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a little reddish chest hair without being distasteful, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Fashionable jeans, colored black. Shoes in a matching black that just had to be real leather. And, finally, a classy watch and a silver chain dangling around his neck rounded off the look. Malcolm would have preferred a real suit to flash the wealth killing people for a living tended to bring, but looking like he just got off work at a law firm was not how to blend in at this club. Taking a drink of the soda in his hand, Malcolm leaned his back up against the bar and cast an eye around the club's populace. There was so much to pay attention to, from the dancers on the floor to the people milling about the bar to the idiots outside waiting in line for entrance. Hard to watch for threats or his supplier in a place like this. Ah, Matthew always brought him to the most...entertaining places. Meaning, he's pretty sure he would punch Matthew in the face for making come to a shithole like this and all the others like it if the man wasn't so damn useful to him. That didn't keep him from threatening to do so, however, and he might just do so if the bastard would ever show his face. He wasn't pointlessly impatient. Or, at least, he had some semblance of reason he wanted to see the smuggler as soon as possible. It wasn't just supplies he wanted to talk about with Matthew, after all, as Eclipse needed a reliable supplier for some job they had planned and Matthew, while possessing certain quirks, fit their needs well enough. He didn't bother wondering what they needed an arms and transport supplier for; he wasn't paid to be curious. He was paid to find things, kill things, and occasionally protect things, and he was damn good at all of the previous. Ten more minutes of bass and stress later, Malcolm was done. Done with the noise, done with the people, done with struggling to pay attention to every member of the crowd surrounding him. After draining the half finished soda, he began pushing his way through the people, aiming for the back door and some fucking cold air.