Who needed sunshine in the famed Times Square? Well, not those people he was looking for, of course. A towering forest of concrete harbored a glittering array of depravities and debauchery. New York City, the home of Wall Street, where the 'weak and undeserving' apparently come to be punished. Money could buy anything in this town, it seemed; except for mercy if you were one of them.
He had spent almost three nights in an exclusive residence within the Westin presidential suite, putting up this guise of worldly wealth and power. There he would waste endless nights wandering Broadway into the early hours of the morning, often retiring to his room while turning several 'entertainers' away. Indulgence to its highest degree, demanding the best of the best, a reckless display of extravagance. All in an effort to lure out the real reasons he came to this city.
On this particular evening, Luca sat alone at a table in the far corner of a dimly lit room, reading the subtitles on the local news program with a frown. More fanatical anti-mutant propaganda.
Dressed to the nines, he wore a pitch black Armani suit. He elegantly sipped water from a crystal glass while listening to whisperings that no one else could hear, until a hotel attendant approached him and asked if he was interested in a glass of wine.
"Not tonight." he spoke disinterestedly, in an arrogant tenor peppered with Russian history. Nevermind he wasn't actually old enough. Children often drank at dinner with thier parents where he was from, and it wasn't as if anyone would question him.
Tonight, he would find them.
A short time later, the young man was perusing windows of name-brand stores, garnering a small amount of interest from some passers-by. Other than being attractive himself, he had a certain presence of wealth and importance. Little did anyone know it was mostly borrowed. The name he gave at the hotel was of a dead American man, one who shared the information willingly for a favor that would put his soul to rest:
Make contact with people of 'his kind' willing and capable to avenge his abduction, torture, and eventual murder at the hands of a certain mutant control agency.. and pay them handsomely for their trouble.
He had spent almost three nights in an exclusive residence within the Westin presidential suite, putting up this guise of worldly wealth and power. There he would waste endless nights wandering Broadway into the early hours of the morning, often retiring to his room while turning several 'entertainers' away. Indulgence to its highest degree, demanding the best of the best, a reckless display of extravagance. All in an effort to lure out the real reasons he came to this city.
On this particular evening, Luca sat alone at a table in the far corner of a dimly lit room, reading the subtitles on the local news program with a frown. More fanatical anti-mutant propaganda.
Dressed to the nines, he wore a pitch black Armani suit. He elegantly sipped water from a crystal glass while listening to whisperings that no one else could hear, until a hotel attendant approached him and asked if he was interested in a glass of wine.
"Not tonight." he spoke disinterestedly, in an arrogant tenor peppered with Russian history. Nevermind he wasn't actually old enough. Children often drank at dinner with thier parents where he was from, and it wasn't as if anyone would question him.
Tonight, he would find them.
A short time later, the young man was perusing windows of name-brand stores, garnering a small amount of interest from some passers-by. Other than being attractive himself, he had a certain presence of wealth and importance. Little did anyone know it was mostly borrowed. The name he gave at the hotel was of a dead American man, one who shared the information willingly for a favor that would put his soul to rest:
Make contact with people of 'his kind' willing and capable to avenge his abduction, torture, and eventual murder at the hands of a certain mutant control agency.. and pay them handsomely for their trouble.