Battista sunk his hands into his pockets as he stood upon the sidewalk, glancing up and down the street. This was New Orleans, huh? Bullet riddled walls and shards of glass still lingered upon the street, clearly there had been some recent conflict. He'd then lift his hand from his pocket, holding a letter. The letter had come from his father, supposedly he had been in the works of things in New Orleans not too long ago. The paper read an address and it wasn't too far away from where he currently stood. 

...

He'd curse softly under his breath as he soon arrived at the building the paper led him to. The place was boarded up, the walls peppered with bullet holes and ricochets. What had happened here? A chill ran down his spine as he'd linger his gaze upon the building. This was it, his fathers headquarters. 

A heavy sigh tumbled past his lips as he came to realize his loss. His jaws locked and teeth grinded as he stood there, basking in reality. He'd lift his hand to trace over the boarded door, fingertip trailing down its grain. A light shake of his head was given and eyelids lowered to half-mast. He'd linger for a few moments before dropping his hand and turning to continue his way down the street. 

In the letter, his father couldn't stop expressing his love for the city and the people who made it what it was. The man was surely excited to be a part of this city, more so amongst those who populated it. It was his letters that led Battista here to discover New Orleans and the much larger society in which it did business with, this thing of ours. 

The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he wandered into the heart of New Orleans. He'd nod toward the people as they'd pass. The city had clearly seen struggle, the conflict still seemed to wear heavy on the populations faces. He was in an unfamiliar city but his roots ran through here, a city of music, culture and prosperity as his father put it; this was New Orleans.

It's also a city that sits underneath the water level, waiting to be destroyed. Put that in there.

I'm sorry, mate, but I'm having a bad day. I will say these things. Remember, this could be a lot worse, and all of this is OOC.

1. This is an event that is happening.

2. Hurricane Katrina hasn't even been concieved as the merest hint of a thought.

3. I do not like hearing the words destroyed when used in combination with my city.

Your superior intelligentz bewilderz me

Speak into the mircophone

Raises her eyebrow.

I think somebody left their manners at home today.

"He doesn't know any better, he's just a little baby."

McKnighter looks around.

"Where is his mother? Should be near-by."