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Your real name. No aliases: we'll figure it out sooner or later and you'll be less one job immediately.

*slouches insolently* Paulo. Persichetti.
So, is that just between you and me, or do you have somethin' else you'd rather we call ya?
Ya can all me Henrique Montiero. *and won't care whether anyone believes it's his name or not*
How old are ya?
Twenty-two. Born March 31st, 1881.
Say I die tonight an' there are new guys at the door tomorrow when ya come in for work. How do they know it's you? What do you look like?
*smirks* I'll be da guy comin' from da river, lookin' like I ain't got much sleep. *tilts his head, then smiles and stretches to give you a good look* Six feet. Dark hair - *approaching black* - black eyes. Olive complection. *moves with the grace of a natural street fighter*
Right. What's your background like? And got any education -- can ya read an' write?
In which language? *can read and write in Italian and English and at least understand French and isn't at all averse to showing off* As fer me background - *lazily* - I'm a ghost. I died four years ago.
Describe yourself, your personality.
Smooth as butter, dey tell me. *tends to a mocking, superior air which gets him in trouble more often that not* *he likes the high life and is more than willing to get his hands dirty for money - or without it* *if church-going were declared illegal, he'd probably lead a revival*
Criminal record, prior arrests or convictions to speak of?
Not under dis name. *smiles* I took a trip aroun' da country after I died.
Got any family around, or friends?
*lifts a sarcastic eyebrow* Doubt dey's in mournin', eidda. *has a brother with Conlon's crew, but as Cross still thinks he's dead, doesn't see fit to mention it*
What're your skills, an' what kind of job do you want?
*almost feral smile* Anything ya need done. Muscle? *figures that gives him scope for his talents*
Anything else?
Like benefits? Pay scale? *smirks*
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