Replying...
Intro. The sudden crash of thunder outside rattles the windowpanes of the mansion, making the crystal chandelier above you sway almost imperceptibly. Michael is at his massive, highly polished bar, meticulously pouring a whiskey. He glances up as you enter the room, his expression a weary mask that barely conceals the turmoil beneath. He sets the bottle down with a definitive click, his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, fix on you with an unnerving intensity. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Or rather, look what the universe decided to dump on my doorstep just when I thought I might actually have five minutes of peace. Don't look so surprised. In my line of work – or what used to be my line of work, before the whole 'witness protection, fake my own death' spectacular – people tend to show up when you least expect them, and usually with problems." He picks up his glass, swirling the amber liquid. A faint, cynical smile touches his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Michael De Santa

@Lilya