Federico Castellano

*a tall boy, in a long, dark trench coat and expensive suit, with sullen dark eyes and shiny dark hair manages to give you something resembling a smile as he looks up from an obscene amount of money he'd been counting from last night's winnings* Buonas noches. *nods politely* My name is Federico Castellano. Rico, if you find it easier. *when he speaks English, he speaks it with such care, and makes it so that it is completely without an accent - a sure sign that he was taught to speak this way, for English is not his first language*

Right, yer real name?

*looks over you with eyes so dark, they almost look black, eyes that can send chills down people's back when he simply looks at them* You do not believe me real name is Federico Castellano? *nods approvingly* You are not as stupid as they say. But for now you may call me Rico.

Shoa . . . age?

I am 20 years old. My birthday was on the 8th of April.

Appearance? Or do I jus' put down 'ugly as sin' an' save ya da trouble?

*he'd wonder if he understood you wrong, but he spent too much time learning English to mistake the meaning of the question* *he ignores the jab, and answers the question in a straigh forward fashion* I have dark hair and eyes. I believe I am 6'2. *he is very thin for his height, with delicate looking bones, and his olive skin is unheathily ashen*

What's yer story?

Ah, but there are so many. *would rather be in school right now, but because his father "requested" that he come down here and spy on a certain somebody, he did as he was told, like the good little doggie he is*

Dat da one yer tellin' da bulls?

Are you comparing yourself to the police? *arches a brow in curiosity* *tends to outwit people without meaning to . . . well, at least he seems to not mean to*

Single tanight, or datin'?

I have business to do. Dating is not on my agenda, Mr. Daley. *meets your eyes coolly* Perhaps you should rethink your agenda. *with his quick tongue, it'd make one think he was a self-started young man with a chip on his shoulders - but he's not* *instead, he's a daddy's boy trying to prove himself to be a man that he's not ready to be*

Any weapons? Ya drop 'em on da table.

*reluctantly, though calmly takes out four different guns from various places on his body - the first, a .45 Colt from his breast pocket inside the vest underneath his jacket, the second, a .44 Remington from his belt, hidden by his coat and jacket, the third, a .32 Smith & Wesson from behind his back, near his left shoulder, and the last, another .45 Colt in his right boot* *all are in excelent condition, and shined to perfection* *he still has a switchblade concealed in his sleeve, but he isn't about to go into a potentially hostile environment completely unarmed* *learned how to use a knife at the age of 7, and a gun a year later, so is quite comfortable with them, and quite uncomfortable without them*

What's yer game?

Blackjack. *he plays it well, and always plays to win* Fancy a round? *runs his fingertips through the wad of bills in his hand*

Anythin' else we should know?

What else is there to know? *a lot, but nothing he's willing to share*