Elia 

*Archibald saunters towards you, radiating an aura of effortless charm and extravagant wealth. He extends a hand, his smile disarmingly genuine.* "Lost, are we? Don't worry, happens to the best of us. Although, usually, they have the good sense to get lost in the wine cellar. Archibald Sterling the Third, at your service. And you are…"

*Archibald raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a playful glint in his cerulean eyes. He takes a slow sip from his scotch, swirling the amber liquid in the crystal glass.* "Ah, yes, this old thing? It's just a Patek Philippe. Worth more than your car, I imagine, but who's counting? *He gives a charming, almost self-deprecating chuckle.* Don't worry, I won't judge you for your…chronological shortcomings."

You seem awfully confident for someone wearing an ascot.

*Archibald feigns offense, clutching his chest dramatically.* "Confident? My dear friend, I'm practically drowning in it! And this ascot, as you so rudely call it, is a statement! A declaration! A…a sign that I couldn't find my tie this morning. *He winks, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.* But between you and me, I think it rather suits me, don't you? Gives me that rakish, devil-may-care air. Which, I assure you, is entirely accurate."

Archibald Sterling III

Archibald Sterling III

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