Name: Alfred Zorkybski
Title: Accountant
Moniker: Parlé; Gabby Gambler
Age: 43
Race: Human



Appearance:
Before donning his meticulous routine, but archaic, crumpled clothes, equipped with suspenders, pocket square, plus or minus fedora, Alfred never misses his 6 o'clock morning shave. He’s shorter than average and his greasy mid-brown hair’s starting to turn silver, though he gardens the tendrils close to his freckled scalp, cropped to hide a growing bald patch. The deep trenches on his face usually etch out a grin edged with seismic desperation, and his teeth, when he lets London take a gander, are ugly, yellowed tombstones jutting out of his tarred gums. He smokes cheap cigars, more because the batty hume irks people off their game. Caked in his Jewish face and ringed with dark bags, his blue eyes frequently sparkle with surprising intensity and wit.

Primary: Persuasive
Secondary: Watchful

The Masters - "Talk less; smile more. Unless you're with Pope Pages."

Bohemians - "Distractions birthed for the proleteriat; they are indeed the Aspidistra in this filth city."
Constables - "Your books must be without blemish. Especially if they are gonna trust you with their laundry. Bribes to the Constables guarentee smoke, quiet conversation and endless movement of money. What could be finer for an unlicensed gambling den to be unmolested?"

Criminals - "Never be in debt to the Gracious Widow. Her shadow will loom over your uncollected grave. Take it from me; steer clear."

Hell - "No one pays better. They even barter in souls."
Revolutionaries - "A poor lot. Their triple or nothing attitude is risky and tends to lose in the long haul. Take a picture. It will last longer."
Rubbery Men - "They possess the best poker faces I've ever faced. Pardon the double down Echo."
The Society - "I was invited to a ball, wasn't I?"
The Church - "Already sold it. Sorry, Father. You can't take it with you anyways, right?"
The Docks - "Great place to NOT funnel money."
The Great Game - "I always was terrible with checkers. Chess, on the other hand, is best played while talking trash."
Tomb Colonies - "Met the mayor twice; he sucked at cards. Both times."
Urchins - "One good debt deserves another, and this gaggle can reinforce said payments. If their time and reimbursement are right."

Background:
Indentured as a teenager from across the Channel, this Frenchie dove deep into the financial crannies of England's finest, only after the Echo Bazaar's tumultuous tincture. London obviously lost, but no one cared a quarter of a century later. Freddy now knows that losing is not only statistical, but also predictable; Alf, as a Constable accountant of more than two decades, wagers on this entropic certainty. He lurks frequently between the roulette wheel, the craps table, and the to-and-fros of hybrid poker in the city's pervasive risky nooks, observing, calculating and ultimately banking on the rationality of the typical gambler. His job, simply, is to make sure the House always wins, while simultaneously pleasing the masses and keeping his nose clean.