Alaric Storm looked like a page ripped straight out of an old-world mafia movie, except he was far more cuter than should be.
He wore a jet-black trench coat that hung open just enough to reveal the tailored, double-breasted suit inside. His crisp black shirt was buttoned up tight, save for the top, where his pale, flawless throat teased the eye.
A black leather gun holster lay snug around his shoulder, while he held a toy gun for effect, and on his head sat a black beret-style flat cap, tilted just right to cast the faintest shadow over one eye.
To top it all, he had a cinger in his mouth to complete the aesthetic, blowing a puff of smoke like he'd been doing this his whole life.
"Well?" Alaric said with confidence. "Do I look like trouble?"
"Foul play!" Roman declared dramatically, standing. "This is foul play. I want a recount. Where's the judge?"
