so was the life of an international thief - now a dead thief leaving all of his fortune to a cousin. amusing right? no, just damn lucky. that's all puck was. lucky to own the rolling, rich plot of vineyard in italy, lucky to be alive, lucky to have moved on and landed himself in this. what do you call this .. life? nothing close, nothing like what everything was. enlightened and ready for life puck entered, smoke abound as he tossed the remenants of what was to be his last cigarette to the ground, grinding a sigil of sorts into the turf with his gabana clad foot. his eyes were vibrant and set off by the rich raven of his hair, four o'clock shadow about five hours early. precious metals littered his knuckles and represented his wealth status. classic sicilian looks making him appear like none other than a pureblood lassiter, not the degraded faux americans that had come years earlier, but the true rogue. he had arrived.

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