steadfast immortal -- joining

[charlie luciano]

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Charlie watched as the stranger opened his mouth to say something to Dylan but didn't end up speaking a word. He peered from the Proxy and to the taller man, realizing just how much trouble this guy was in. How had he even survived this long? If you were in Canada and didn't speak English (or French, perhaps), then you were pretty much screwed. He blinked his brown eyes as the focus was directed back onto him, and he had been replied to. Ambrose. Ambrose? He couldn't say that he had ever heard of that name before. It didn't sound Italian, either. Though the name slightly threw him off, the New Yorker replied, "Charlie." He went by another name often times, "Lucky", though he allowed the members of the Badlands to use his real name. He usually used his nickname when meeting people from other groups or doing business with visitors. He wanted to make a name for himself, and frankly, "Lucky" Luciano probably stuck in the minds of other people better than Charlie did.

So, he didn't speak English but he understood it? Well, there wasn't really a need to speak Italian anymore, then. Good, there was no more rattling his brain and trying to make sure that he said things right. Charlie could say things in a different language on the spot, but carrying on a full and in-depth conversation would probably cause him to overthink. Alright, then.

"There's room here, but you gotta' pull your weight, eh? Times have been tough around here lately." Charlie informed Ambrose, referring to the wildfire that had scorched dozens of homes on the outside of the city (not that he would know about that, of course). Ambrose could probably make it just fine here if he understood what the hell was going on. Charlie had been in his shoes once, all alone in the crumbling world and trying to find a better life for himself. He hadn't received a proper education, though his brother and mother tried to help him out the best that they could when he was a child. As he got older, things progressively grew worse. Charlie, along with his older brother and street buddies, had resorted to a life of crime. They formed a "gang" of sorts, though they weren't even close to the real mafia. God, the real mafia, the famed five families of New York. Charlie had been told stories about them growing up, and he wondered what it would've been like to roll with the "big boys" if it hadn't been for the power outage. He could've been rich and (in)famous, never having to labor a day in his life. That's why Charlie still strived for power to this day, to aspire to have real power. He had already gotten a good headstart as a teenager, with he and his friends trading and bringing in looted cases of liquor and drugs from all over the area. If that's what it took to gain power in the new world, then he'd have no problem with it.

Charlie cocked a brow as a rather familiar voice sounded from behind him. Margaux. She was speaking... Italian? What in the hell..? Since when? He watched her handle things for a moment, though Charlie still wondered when she had managed to learn how to speak Italian. He remained silent, though he truthfully wouldn't mind translating for the guy if he really needed it. Charlie was the only gateway between Ambrose and the rest of the world, it seemed, so he'd have to. At least until he learned some goddamn English. "Alright, the city's back there. You can find whateva' you need, just keep it safe or else it'll get stolen." Charlie tipped, gesturing over his shoulder towards the skyscrapers.

charlie "lucky" luciano

[DYLAN,]

[color=black]Dylan had watched the entire exchange in curious silence, his hazel gaze flickering back and forth between the different voices and languages. He, obviously, had no clue what the hell they were saying, but it was fun to watch. From what he could gather, Ambrose managed to understand English but couldn't speak it which was unusual but useful. Dylan didn't feel like playing charades every time he spotted the other tall boy. "I'm Dylan." He explained to Ambrose with a polite smile; he decided to keep his words short and simple around him, just to make his life easier. It must be hard to not be able to communicate with anyone properly and Dylan could only imagine the annoyance he was feeling. For an unknown reason, he felt himself want to help this guy out more than the average joiner, probably because he was out of place entirely with the language barrier. He held up his own switchblade and shook it side to side slowly then said, "Do you have a weapon? You might want one if you're going to stay."

[ambrose m.]

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