02 $$ [action for anywhere] (fourth wall!)

[whitehairedprettyboy]

[ He's dreaming. He has to be.

But even once Valmont's done rubbing his eyes in disbelief, they're still there. All twelve talismans, lined up nice and neat on his nightstand.

Well then. He still doesn't know what's going on with this world, but if it brought the talismans here, to him... he might not dislike it quite so much as he did before.

And so, if you see a guy this weekend levitating around town, occasionally shooting fire out of his hands and/or laser beams out of his eyes, and looking giddier than anyone here has ever seen him... Well. That's probably V. Feel free to talk to him/try to keep him from blowing up something of yours. He's in a good mood. He might listen. ]

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[whitehairedprettyboy]

[ He scoffs. ] Heroes. So boring. Please don't lump me in with that lot of do-gooders. Where's the profit in doing the right thing, I ask you?

[ And yet they always do seem to get in his way. Bloody hero types. Bloody Chan, more to the point. It takes him a moment to realize that he's burning a particularly savage hole in the ground. Thinking about Chan will do that. ]

[clockworktorch]

Relaax, just a joke. Nothing more villainous than destroying public property.

[Something about seeing Valmont continue to burn things like that gets the urge to smoke going, so in the pause that follows the man reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to get a cigar and a lighter, sticking it between his teeth before lifting a hand and cupping it around the flame of the lighter to get it lit.

While all that is taking place, he talks around the cigar in his mouth, his gaze shifting from the cigar, to the burning buildings, to Valmont, and back again.]

To whom do I owe the pleasure of this ballistic display, by the way?

[whitehairedprettyboy]

Thank you.

[ He didn't build up an entire international criminal empire just to hear himself be called a hero, after all. ]

It's Valmont. Must you smoke? [ Belatedly: ] Er, and your name, then?

[clockworktorch]

[Roman elects to ignore the quip about his smoking for the moment, puffing a few times on the cigar once it's lit before pulling it from his mouth.]

Nasty habit, I know.

Roman Torchwick, at your service.