"No ma'am, you look a little too refined and intelligent for that," Lindsey replied, the faintest of smiles gracing his lips for a moment before disappearing back to the deadpan expression. He picked up the cup again, pausing as she mentioned her dilemma with finding someone trustworthy to do the modification. "Do you have something to write with and on?" he asked before finally taking the drink.
He almost said that he would have loved to have seen someone take the higher powers down a notch. He didn't know them, didn't understand them, and didn't appreciate being collared by them. The confliction with authority came from Lindsey's personal beliefs, that a man shouldn't have to be the tool for someone else if he didn't want to let it happen. The idea had caused some less than kind feelings and a few outright rebellions against his bosses before. The mortal, not the ethereal.
Yet.
"The way they're picking up and dropping, you just might get your wish," Lindsey replied instead, finding the neutral ground to walk on. "I'm surprised no enterprising individual hasn't created a betting ring out of all this." The unpredictability made it a gambler's nightmare and fantasy all in one.
It was convenient that he was a halfway decent actor and could hide the threatening scowl. He was supposed to be one of those "ringleaders" in the circus. If it hadn't turned into a madhouse, the "ringleader" title could have been ditched altogether. Instead it had, forcing Lindsey to look somewhat incompetent that he couldn't keep the Senior Partners's chosen ones in line. He hated that.
He didn't even wave the "evil" flag.
"I don't think they're concerned with much more than collecting the players and building their numbers," he admitted, shifting the styrafoam cup around in his hands. "This won't be a war. There will be battles and fights and truces but I can't see any organization on a grander scale to pit two forces against each other. Too many people stand right in the middle."