Even with his face a mask of seriousness, he managed to quickly flash a smirk to the ninja. "Chere, I'm very good a' high speed..." He let a salacious tone creep into his voice before he turned around and dashed off.
His coat trailed behind him; the brown leather flowed like a cape as his long-legged strides quickly picked up in pace.
As he lept over the windowsill and through the door to the corridor, he gritted his teeth. Creed... disgus'ing pack animal... no' a man, jus' a mons'er... He remembered the stench of the creature that once had a hand around his throat and.. don' t'ink abou' dat Cajun. Jus' find him.
The soles of his boots made muffled thuds against the carpet as he bounded down the hallway. The sounds echoed from the wooden walls like a muted bass drum. His face returned to its steely, ruthless coldness... You weaker den usual Creed... you always been weak, in de way dat ma''ers...