Being the amazing Lalafell that he is, Jax stands tapping his left arm with the digits of his right hand, arms crossed over his chest. Waiting, waiting. Only waiting for the rest to actually catch up with himself. Like a statue, save for this fingers, he stands. His expression so deadpan it might as well be a mask rather than an actual face. The kind of stillness suited best for sociopaths and professional killers. He's only one of these two things, however. Bentbranch is looking more glum than usual. How about that.