Magnus himself was annoyed with the whole "fancy dress" thing. He felt that he cleaned up well, but despised putting actual effort into dressing fancy when he would rather not. Or really dressing fancy in general. He could dress nice, wearing the jeans that didn't have stains or some slacks and a sleek button down or sweater, but that was different than dressing fancy. Dressing fancy was a chore, something that reminded him of funerals, seeing as that was one of the main occasions he dressed up for when he was younger. His parents had never been the church-going sort, and they weren't close to much of Magnus's extended family, but they did feel the need to attend any family funerals, regardless of the relationship between them and the deceased. It was a practice Magnus hated; only seeing his cousins when it was time for mourning, and they surely thought him a weird kid. He hadn't spoken to any of his family in years. His parents had already burned enough bridges to ensure there was no reason to.
He swallowed the feelings that had always come with dressing fancy and shook his head. It wasn't as if this was the first time in his adult life he dressed up this much, otherwise, he wouldn't own any sort of suit and tie. He had showered since meeting up with Mercy at the coffee shop, making himself dinner (a simple spaghetti because he couldn't be bothered to cook anything more intensive), and then combed through his hair as it dried. He rarely cared enough to give it more than a passing brush through just to keep it from getting knotted, but he might as well play this part thoroughly to ensure the police had no reason to go back on their word. Or, Mercy's word. He couldn't be certain that the rest of her colleagues would agree, but at least she seemed honest enough. The irony of that thought nearly made him laugh. She had already lied to him a substantial amount, why wouldn't she be lying about this? Well, for now he would cooperate, but he was a slick one, and he was already making a backup plan in case Mercy decided to arrest him after all. At least he would be able to buy himself some time, hopefully.
This whole endeavor, or rather, his whole life felt like a game of chess. A game with hidden pieces being shown to the light at any given moment, but Magnus had always been an adept chess player. He could roll with the punches while keeping his mind in the game.
Magnus stared down his reflection in the mirror. He looked so much different than the kid who had sat numbly in the pew next to his parents during the various family funerals (how did he have that many extended family members?). It had felt like so many funerals, though it was possibly the drudgery of his childhood that exaggerated it all. Now, though, few traces of who he had been as growing up remained. His shoulders had broadened considerably, and he had gained some musculature from working out regularly. His gaze was more empty, more cavalier than it had been in childhood, blue eyes piercing. Even his features seemed sharper, icier then they used to. He rolled his shoulders, putting these thoughts aside before he tied up his hair into a half ponytail, keeping it neat. He often did this since his hair wasn't long enough to tie into a full ponytail without a good chunk falling out.
The doorbell startled him, though he quickly recovered and laughed at himself, checking the time on his phone. Of course his companion was right on time. She was so predictable. He stretched, giving himself one last glance in the mirror before heading to open the door. His house was no great mansion, merely a more modest, but comfortable, place. It was clean enough, though disorganized, with little in the way of decor mostly because Magnus didn't care enough to decorate. He honestly didn't care what Mercy thought of it, and he was certain it showed in his expression as he opened the door to her.
"Come in," he said simply, boredly. She did look nice, but he was not about to give her the satisfaction of admitting that.
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