The year was 1922.

Paul Verlaine was a mafioso and crime lord with a reputation of ruthlessness. Currently, the mafia boss was sitting in his private study, looking over increasingly dull paperwork. He yawned before carefully setting down the ink pen he had been writing with. He had only gotten through about half the documents so far, and really wasn’t in the mood to keep going. Verlaine stood up, walking to look out the window to the grounds of his estate. His study was on the second floor, and just below him he could see the rose gardens. There was a small group of mobsters who worked for him all congregating and having a smoke. He didn’t really care to tell them off though, it’s not like they had much better to do. Things were peaceful in France’s criminal underworld for the time being. Verlaine sighed and glanced back to his desk. He really didn’t want to do that paperwork. Maybe he would just get someone else to do it…

Verlaine shook his head. No, that just wouldn’t do. These were important documents, he couldn’t just have someone else sign them. Though, he really wished he could in that moment. It would be worth it in the end, though. He was doing this for a little extra political sway, after all. But the process was horribly dull. Maybe he should go check on his younger brother, Chuuya. Verlaine sighed again before stretching. It was a nice day, it would really be a shame to waste it inside.