The Pale Prince

Lord of the Family, King of the Thieves

The motorway outside rushed by, eternally busy in the great city of New York, where the Sun was forever joined by the lights of the streets and the lamps inside the offices. The city that never sleeps - people had called it, with a booming night-life during the nocturnal hours of the day and a loud, cosmopolitan atmosphere that perpetuated the city during the sunlit hours all the way until sunset; both earning the city the title, as if the bustling atmosphere of the insomniac city was more of a badge of honour to be held above the other quieter cities in the American Tri-State. Tower blocks laced the skyline, joined with huge office complexes and, towards the centre of the city and the main roads that found themselves frequented by a never ending stream of tourists, museums and other attractions - each were in a seemingly joint effort to block out the sun, only allowing shards of its warm, golden light to slip through the gaps between the buildings - glistening and shining against the vast metropolis and the people that lived within it.

The weather had been sunny during the day, though the air was now cold and flowing through the concrete jungle freely, dancing over the roofs of cars and into the hallways of buildings. One such building was quiet - almost too quiet whilst surrounded by the rest of the cities abhorrent noise and its urban beauty. The curtains remained closed, blocking off the windows from prying eyes - though those outside - if they tried hard enough - could make out the soft singing that flowed from a radio within, the Italian female being played singing deep, beautiful Opera complete with an orchestra behind her. The buildings walls were mostly coloured a deep red and burgundy, with the curtains black and brown and made of a rich silk that flowed freely when the wind blow delicately into its recesses; the furniture was leather and - despite its seeming ancientness - was extremely well kept, a distinct lack of staining or damage being found upon the brown material, carefully sown and varnished until it had formed the long sofa that it was now. Two doors sat either side of a desk at the end of the hall, both leading into other hallways, further leading into offices. The wood of the hallway's floor was rich and dark, seemingly newly varnished and therefore glistening and stainless as the dim, lampshade-covered lights shined down upon them. A darker, less polished wood made up the desk that sat at the end of the hall, the surface of which was covered in office supplies - the station seemingly having no organisation or beauty to it like the rest of the room, instead having a distressing lack of care and placement. The receptionist that stood behind the desk was also - much like the desk that he 'maintained' - seemingly lacklustre in comparison to the rest of the room, so much so that it caused the three guests - all waiting for an arranged meeting - to ignore the gorgeous artwork and statues that lined the gaps between the chairs and instead look towards the man at the end of the hall, his form shrouded by a smart black suit complete with a bright yellow tie - its wearing constantly looking onwards with a cold, dead stare towards the end of the hall, seemingly refusing to regard the visitors. The only time that the man had seemed to move was when he was picking at his long, stained black nails or - comically and rather unsettlingly - a line of spittle had developed and ran itself along his bottom lip, dripping loudly against one of the haphazard piles of paper that covered up the wooden desk in front of him, to which the dumb brute would lift his hand and gently stroke his chin, removing the slick, glistening line from his face before returning to his mundane existence and the familiarity of the still wall that sat ahead of him.

The three visitors however did not seem to fit in with the area that surrounded them, finding themselves not mundane but simply not fitting into the aristocratic settings that surrounded them. The first of the three was a girl, with flowing red locks of hair dropping down from her head and upon her small, narrow shoulders, cresting themselves finally just below her collar-bones; her eyes were dark, chocolate brown and small, darting around looking for any chance to escape in case her and those accompanying her would require an escape. She herself was small and her lack of wrinkles and choice of clothes was telling of her youthful age, with a pair of leggings covering the lower half of her body, joined with a pair of denim shorts that covered the black leggings from her waist down to the middle of her thigh; a loose, baggy t-shirt with a band name upon it covered her torso, and usually - in the winter months - a hooded jacket would join it, covering the parts of her arms that were bare thanks to the short sleeved top. Around her arms were multiple wristbands and pieces of jewellery, whilst around her neck sat a small, discrete necklace.