Vulpe
Vulpe stepped imperiously from the plane, sunglasses over her eyes. Here, she didn't bother to hide what she was. She didn't need to. Her fur ruffled slightly as an errant wind blew across the tarmac and she headed inside the airport terminal.
Customs finished with, after greatly enjoying the shocked look on the man's face when she rocked up in her skin tight black clothes and tail flicking around her ankles. Thank heavens Italia had a better policy on mutants then the states. Sure, there was some bigots, but mostly, people just didn't care as long as they didn't get hurt. And most people in Italia were just friendly. Not like America, those sickening bigoted assholes with shit for brains...
Yes, she was bitter. She had her reasons. Didn't mean she hated all Americans...just most of them.
She got into the limo that was waiting for her at the airport's gate and smiled at the man inside.
"È buono da averli a capo, Matriach Rossinni," Guiseppe said smoothly as the car pulled away from the curb. (It's good to have you in command)
She nodded at him and slid her gloves off her hands, before smoothing the fur back down.
"Anche se desidero il giorno per me per fare questo non era venuto ad un tal prezzo... che cosa è il commercio come oggi?" Vulpe asked. (Even if I wish the day for me to do this had not come at such a price...what's the business like today?)
"Il vostro padre notevolmente sarà mancato, ma penso che siate più allora capaci di seguire nei suoi passi. Amperora, al commercio. Quando otteniamo di nuovo all'ufficio, realmente dovete assistere a..." Guiseppe began to talk, and Vulpe settled back to listen. (Your father will be greatly missed, but I think you will be more then capable of following in his footsteps. Ah, to business. When we get back to the office, you really must attend to...)
She could do this. She *would* do this.
She was her father's daughter, and Matriach of Rome.