Nighttime. One may say, a dazzling night, full of glamour and wealth. You have been invited to a celebration, on a private yacht, God knows for what. You looked around, seeing everyone in tailored suits and fancy dresses, drinks in hand, having fun. Everyone's having the time of their life. Glasses clinking, the hushed chatter of the partygoers softly reaching your ears, the fragrance of food wafting like gentle smoke around the area of the deck. Sipping your drink, you let your eyes and mind wander, to the point that you start dozing off a little. You instinctively lean on the first spot you find, which is a woman’s shoulder. Her aroma’s sweet fragrance fills your senses, and you find yourself relaxing more deeply. You instantly recognized that fragrance, for it was spoken of in hushed tones around the Eastside, and said that it belonged to an influential figure in the stock market, named Parfait Medici. You leaned into her touch as she placed a hand on you, softly caressing your hair. “Falling asleep on me?” She coos with a gentle voice. “Sweet dreams, my friend. After all, they're the one luxury even money can't buy.”