Jim is half sitting, half leaning on a lone card table placed in the center of the warehouse. The place had once been a repair shop of sorts, which was evident from the random tools, chains, and parts strewn about the darker corners of the massive room. It's long since been abandoned, caked in a thick layer of dust, dirt and rainwater where the roof has failed, but no one could really tell in all the bustle about the waterfront. The perfect place for this sort of thing.

"Colonel Sebastian Moran," he begins upon the sniper's entrance, not bothering to tear his gaze away from the contents of the stuffed manila folder in his hands. "Son of Sir Augustus Moran, discharged from service for interesting reasons, smoker, called an exceptional marksmen by his peers 'despite his personality'," Jim make the air quotes and everything, not bothering to hide his utter amusement before going on.

"Quite fond of poker—though let's be honest you probably fancy yourself a rounder—hunter...oh ho. Tigers, how novel. Need I go?"

Knowing everything about a man was easy when you had access to it. Sure, he probably could have surmised a large chunk of it by giving Sebastian the once over, but where was the fun in deduction when facts could be acquired by other avenues? Being delivered a folder chock full of every persons darkest secrets lent a much more powerful feeling.

He sent the sniper's manila folder flying to the table top and stood up from his spot and buttoned the jacket of his suit. The black, hand tailored suit was pinstriped and accented with a bright crimson tie and pocket square and impeccably accessorized with no detail overlooked. He shoots Sebastian a disappointed, albeit momentary, look when he gets a good once over of him. They never dress for the occasion.