seoul spy ; pafp ; semi-advanced to advanced ; male or female needed

[img width=150 height=180]http://i.imgur.com/BSlAQxd.gif[/img][img width=380 height=180]http://i.imgur.com/e27EPHf.gif[/img]

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| ♕ | Name ■ ■ Gideon d'Aviv Wolfgang
| ♕ | Age ■ ■ 23 years old; born on October 28th, at approximately 3:23 AM.
| ♕ | Gender ■ ■ Male
| ♕ | Height ■ ■ 6'4.43" ft
| ♕ | Weight ■ ■ 223.42 lbs
| ♕ | Hometown ■ ■ Dubai, United Arab Emirates
| ♕ | Brief Biography Summary ■ ■ Was born in the UAE whilst his father was on a prolonged business venture, thus was technically born under the jurisdiction of a United States citizen, and upon returning to the United States, with his knew Arabian love, Gideon's father made sure Gideon got the best education possible; much of his studies took place in Europe. Gideon later enrolled in the Central Intelligence Agency, and during a field mission, things went terribly wrong. His partners were caught and tortured by the Iraqi forces while Gideon had narrowly escaped detection. Unable to return to the United States for fear of being caught and causing more tensions between the U.S and Iraq, Gideon basically threw himself into exile. He has recently arrived in Seoul via a cargo ship, and his only way of surviving is through illegal blackmarket activity and drug selling.

| ♕ | Role-play sample ■ ■

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Obscured morality; and was his life quite full of it, and he both guilty as a participant and a witness. His family was a quite powerful one, ranging from politics to under-wordly ties, and he was right in the middle. From technologic and pharmacologic industries and corporations, to luxury brands and vehicles — he was their corporate father, and they kneeled to him like bastard sons and daughters. To some degree, he'd monopolised media; newspapers and television and radio networks. Corporate power meant political power, and it was political power which made his sources unlimited.
His father had told him that the notion of good and bad was a concept conjured in human minds via religious texts written thousands of years ago by schizophrenic men; the reality, as his father put it, was merely virtue and excess. Such that happiness and wisdom are virtues, and sadness and foolishness are vices. "Good and bad" was an ethical judgement of "decent" persons, and criticising was their vice. He'd hated the man on multiple occasions, but he adhered to his principles for all intents and purposes. Las Vegas was the city of murky morality; a city that could either bury sins or exhume tragedies.

Albeit unlike many, but alike to some, he was here on a proposition of a business venture; he expected to go home with money and opportune, whereas many that merely visited went home with sexually transmitted diseases and empty pockets. Upon entering the designated rendezvous point, he was met with two familiar faces opposed to one. "Chassagne," he vaguely remembered, recognising the sultry brunette bent over with the intent to get a drug-induced fix. Chassagne's purpose for being present in this meeting was beyond him, albeit he wrote her off as an uninterested bystander. Chassagne sure as hell couldn't have been some type of living, breathing accessory to the room, as she was a "masterpiece" that he, admittedly, took for granted.

What he had gathered from the few times he had met Chassagne was that she spoke as if her body was a temple and she could speak for everyone who supposedly worshipped inside her walls; coined as a heiress of a prominent chain of hotels, he could understand her eagerness to generalise a public she saw as her's. Still, it didn't distract him from how utterly exasperated it made him feel. His lithe albeit capable digits curled around the cold glass of the alcoholic beverage handed to him, and he eyed it with slight conviction; to drink or not to drink so early in the day, that was his question. In response to hers, though it might've been rhetorical, he set the glass down on the nearest table, wiping what condensation of the glass that had gathered unto his fingers off unto his other, un-tainted, hand.

"There are no 'subtle nuances' betwixt corporations and wealth; corporations beget wealth, and as a form of bureaucracy, there is a hierarchy; not all persons are useless as you seem to coin them." Whilst she was all too ready to disregard people, Sebastian saw people as opportunities; people were worthy so long as they had something to offer, and that was where he drew the line with her. For the first time, he actually addressed the business associate who had been meant to grab his attention when he walked in, but he had been distracted with Chassagne. Before he could even so much as part his lips to greet Mme. Roquelaure, Chassagne intervened with an unrelated topic. Sebastian would be lying if he'd said he wasn't somewhat interested in the information; Sebastian had never been arranged anything when it came to courtship, but his father was not a strong believer in keeping rich blood "pure," whatever that meant.

Sebastian, himself, did not see royalty and wealth as the same thing, and it was royalty that worried about what blood coursed through their veins; that was why incest wasn't an odd occurrence in such cases. The reasons for wealthy peoples' desire to pair their children with like class was beyond him; he was a prideful individual, but marrying money wasn't something he saw pride in — seemed redundant if anything. His eyebrows arched at the mention of "deceit and emotional dishonesty," and mainly because they had come out of Chassagne's mouth. Perhaps he'd written her off as something she's not, but he would've figured that, as a woman who thought so lowly of people, what was in them as an individual meant nothing to her.

“I just hate when people play dress up with their identities..." Sebastian gave her a wry smirk in response to her own. At such a point in time, even with Eisley as some sort of centre for his rediscovery, he still couldn't pinpoint what was real and what was a façade when it came to who he was. He acted differently around particular persons, literally took on a fake identity for CIA related assignments, and actively lied to himself to escape complex emotional situations. He didn't know who the hell he was anymore, and it could be deemed odd that it didn't bother him. "Then you'd definitely hate business." So then, why was she here?

“You know, coke talk.” Actually, he didn't know, but he'd just go along with it. "Mrs. Roquelaure," he began, immediately taking on a deeper, more assertive tone opposed to the lax tone he had been using with Chassagne. "I want to align myself with people who are successful in the luxury hospitality business; I'm making an effort to pique awareness among luxury consumers; one way to do it is through a partnership." He cast Chassagne an intuitive sideways glance before resettling his contemplation on the older, look-alike mother of her's. "Think of it as turning a corporation into a charismatic entity, much like your daughter." He didn't see her as charismatic — not for his tastes — but it worked with the general public, apparently.

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You're welcome!
Anyway, I edited my previous/first post; do you post first or do I?
And if I'm posting first, I need to know exactly where my character needs to be and what he's doing.