Post by Tristan Emilian on Feb 2, 2012 16:19:35 GMT -5
America truly was the "Land of Opportunity" as they say. It held even more true for Tristan, ever since his boat arrive here he had found boundless 'opportunities'. Some of these were illegal, well to be honest, they were all illegal. In fact, he hadn't made an honest dime since he came to this great nation, and he hadn't even gone to jail yet! Yet being the key word, but regardless, money was plenty here and those that thought like he did were even more plenty. Considering he had been here for a few months and hadn't even left New York yet, who knows, he might actually stay here for a while.
Speaking of like minded individuals, he was currently in a part of the city that the natives called "Hell's Kitchen". From what he understood, it was a very bad neighborhood filled with drugs, sex, murder, and crime. Most honest people only came through here during the day, but when night came around it was supposedly the "Devil's Playground" as some had called it. Though Tristan didn't see what all the fuss was about, it wasn't even that bad. In fact, it reminded him a lot of his home in Romania. Perhaps that's why he hung out here so often, being around losers, cheats, and outcasts like him made him feel more comfortable than those rich snobs uptown.
So, there Tristan was, completely in his element as he was surrounded by the dregs of society in the pub known as "Hell's Gate". It was a mutant hang out, from what he understood, though humans were allowed so long as they didn't cause any trouble. Somewhat of a back alley place, quite literally in fact, you wouldn't exactly find a bunch of nuns hanging out here. Foul language, loud music, and cheap alcohol; was there anything else a person could ask for in life? Hardly.
Amid the haze of cigar and cigarette smoke, sitting at a table not to far from the bar, sat the dark haired, dark eyed, Tristan. He was doing what he did best, taking peoples money. This time though, it was fairly, well, as fair as a game of poker with a bunch of mutants could be. A decent amount of money was sitting on the table in front of Tristan, a far larger pile than any of the other players. Yet, despite his good luck tonight, Tristan could shake the feeling that trouble was on it's way to the crowded little pub.
Speaking of like minded individuals, he was currently in a part of the city that the natives called "Hell's Kitchen". From what he understood, it was a very bad neighborhood filled with drugs, sex, murder, and crime. Most honest people only came through here during the day, but when night came around it was supposedly the "Devil's Playground" as some had called it. Though Tristan didn't see what all the fuss was about, it wasn't even that bad. In fact, it reminded him a lot of his home in Romania. Perhaps that's why he hung out here so often, being around losers, cheats, and outcasts like him made him feel more comfortable than those rich snobs uptown.
So, there Tristan was, completely in his element as he was surrounded by the dregs of society in the pub known as "Hell's Gate". It was a mutant hang out, from what he understood, though humans were allowed so long as they didn't cause any trouble. Somewhat of a back alley place, quite literally in fact, you wouldn't exactly find a bunch of nuns hanging out here. Foul language, loud music, and cheap alcohol; was there anything else a person could ask for in life? Hardly.
Amid the haze of cigar and cigarette smoke, sitting at a table not to far from the bar, sat the dark haired, dark eyed, Tristan. He was doing what he did best, taking peoples money. This time though, it was fairly, well, as fair as a game of poker with a bunch of mutants could be. A decent amount of money was sitting on the table in front of Tristan, a far larger pile than any of the other players. Yet, despite his good luck tonight, Tristan could shake the feeling that trouble was on it's way to the crowded little pub.
