The time was night.
In a dining room, somewhere within a mansion, several figures sat around a long table. To be specific, there were only five of them.
A man with fiery, side-parted red hair sat at the head of the table, dressed in a prim and proper navy blue three-piece suit. Even his tie, a deep burgundy red, screamed of class and peerage.
To his right, a pale blonde woman sat, wearing a wine-red dress that matched her style perfectly. Though she lacked lavish accessories, anyone could tell she was rich at a glance.
One seat further down sat a man with his hair styled into a mohawk, making him look more like a rooster than anything else. A rooster with a golden crown.
Of course, the markings on his face were hard to miss—seemingly fresh, beaten straight into his not-so-handsome features.
The "artist" responsible sat directly across from him.
