Alastor leaned back and tapped his finger on the rim of the glass of whiskey, leaning back in his seat. "Business is... heh- it's excellent," he said quietly, crossing one leg on the other. The room's silence was broken by the creak of the chair. The studio suite he used was on the third floor, but the blinds were down in the window to obscure the view of nighttime New Orleans. "Hurricane's stirring up in the Gulf again. Kòm toujou." He let the eerie silence continue, a small smirk on his face despite the creepy energy he gave through his stare. "You're not the first person who's visited. Lots of people worried about stocks nowadays. I'm well-off myself. Considering... most people don't seem to support it." He lifted the glass and took a small sip before placing it on the desk gently. A bit of a drink buzz made him less giddy and loud and more... creepy. Calm. Intimidating. At least when it was quiet and there was no jazz and dancing around him. The clock on the wall... tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.