Fuck it. My name's Michael, and I'm American.After the meeting, 'Michael' had learned of the eleventh generation candidates' whereabouts, and in correspondence, decided to seek them out directly. He had decided to don an American persona; it was one of the many accents and mannerisms that he could mimic with ease. Hell, who couldn't pretend to be American? All you had to do was either talk as if you were some intelligent yet crooked salesman trying to get people to buy a product that you could've gotten for free called exercise, or wear your pants low to show off the backside of your undergarments and talk about getting money and smoking drugs.
Welcome to America, home to a bunch of slobs, overweight people, and nine year olds on their consoles shouting faggotnigger [no offense to anyone but it is true I know from experience ask Twilight] through their shooting games.Though, one thing was for certain: Michael was complacent about having to change his attire completely to fit the profile.
Yuck, commoner clothing, he thought as he looked from up his toes to his chest. He felt even more disgusted at the thought of having to have changed his hairstyle to make it shorter and altering his eye color to blue. He was wearing a pair of camoflauge cargo shots and some random white t-shirt which had
your average American on the front."Ugh, if it weren't for his goddamn call, I would've just been able to kill them, quick and clean," Michael complained within his mind as he, devoid of his usual hoodie, strode towards the place where, supposedly, the magician kid was supposed to be, as well as the rest of the Vongola rats.
Weaklings gather in crowds, he thought as he thought back to the past, remembering when he forced the kid to watch him kill his father.
Oh yeah, the runt who does the magic stuff and his father are American, as well! Hah!Laughing to himself at the coincidence of memory, Michael pressed onward, struggling to navigate through Trespiano.
"Slummy society breeds slummy people. I wonder."
Daisuke was unable to contain his excitement – this was the first time, in his entire life, that he would see a
magic show. In person. I mean, who wouldn't be thrilled about that?!?The Japanese boy could not remember anything after the vision he had of pineapples invading the world, and taking over the brains of the people; it was too surreal, almost like it had been a dream. Maybe he was a prophet? Or, maybe...
it's my hidden potential as a magician?!"HOUDINI! Daisuke blurted out randomly as the show began, and he cheered excessively loud. Throughout the entire magic routine, his arms were fixed above of his head, waving around and shouting
"ME! ME! ME, ME, ME! PICK ME!" whenever the magician asked for volunteers, even though they were in the far back of the crowd and there was doubt that he would see them, and vice versa.
Though, when the last trick of making the entire crowd disappear except for the people playing mafia, Daisuke squealed like a prepubescent fangirl meeting their favorite prepubescent artist.
"I'm playing mafia, too! PICK ME-""Uh... hey there, um.."Daisuke froze completely as he turned around to face the person establishing contact, seeing a teenager start up the street and towards them. His face grew wide as his eyes met the person's shirt, pointing at it in excitement.
"Oh my god," he said.
"I have that shirt too!"The teenager laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah... I'm a tourist from Pennsylvania," he replied, looking at each member of the group individually.
"But, I'm kind of lost, and I was just asking if I can stick around with you guys.."Daisuke squinted his eyes and, hopping up to the boy, looked deep into the boy's face with an observing manner.
"Hmm..." he thought, his mind deciphering a million thoughts before suddenly breaking into more excitement.
"More friends!! I'm so happy!" Daisuke proceeded to grip the teenager's shoulders and hop in a circle around him, the two of them laughing as it quickly faded.
"But, I think I should get permission from your friends, too..." the teenager considered, a frown falling on his lips at the threat of being dismissed.