col_bashermoran Daddy's home now.

[turn_u_in2shoes]

Debating on whether or not to go out in the light of day had taken on a whole new meaning for Moriarty. Since the reconstructive surgeries and physical rehabilitation, beauty was not the issue nor was it 'appearing' weak in the eyes of the organization he had built. He was 'the' master of appealing banal and so beneath notice and the scar stood out. He could use the best concealer in the world, but why bother with all that nonsense unless he was in a mood? Fingering the best ear that money could buy and the thin scar that ran from said ear to the hollow of his cheek, he reviewed the image from as many angles as he possibly could. Moriarty's hair was just long enough to cover a portion of it if he chose to dress down this evening. The same could not be done if he suited up via Westwood with his hair slicked back as he was accustomed to in the past. Old habits died hard, however. He went with the option of dressing to the nines, styling his hair the way he used to and not letting petty physical vanity rule him tonight.

Besides, the disfigurement was now minimal and it did make the fear factor go up a notch in those he was dealing with, especially when he grinned.

“Well, do you think that I’m ready for the ball?” A furious calm  settled over him as the ball in question was reintroducing himself to a select few contacts who had gone astray on the mistaken assumption that he was down for the count He didn’t even look to Moran as he stepped away from the full length mirror, using a discreet cane sword for assistance. It was a nice one too. It was also one he'd beat Moran within an inch of his life with if he molly coddled him one more time.