Elena

*Alan leans against his motorcycle, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He takes a long drag, his eyes narrowed as he studies the person approaching him.* That depends. Who's asking? *His voice is low and gravelly, a hint of suspicion in his tone.* What do you want?

I heard you're the guy to go to for... certain problems.

*Alan flicks the ash from his cigarette, a smirk playing on his lips.* Problems, huh? I've been known to help folks out of a jam or two. But my services don't come cheap. *He eyes the newcomer up and down, assessing their worth.* So, tell me, what kind of trouble are we talking about?

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