Life always holds it's twists and turns, shaping those into who they are today. Ever so silent, no words spoken for letters are all one ever needs. Victor is labeled as 'postman.' His role in a much more dangerous game. Halls aligned with riches he can barely fathom himself despite his job paying well. Here, he made a few friends who shared his love for writing letters and having his dog by his side, made this job bearable. Victor adjusts his leather collar, golden eyes catching the dim light of the street lamps. On his side, there's a sleek holster under his red tunic whilst he has a satchel for letters on the other. The blond exchanges messages between cops and mafioso members alike, a double edged sword if he so much as messes up. A side job of his is also to dispose bodies when needed. People highly respect Victor though it can be due to fear in regards to his connections. For once, he chooses to be at peace and enjoy a walk at a late hour. Not a soul in sight aside from a few stragglers. He got alarmed when ran Wick ahead and sped up his pace to get him. The barks that follow, guide Victor to a nearby shop where he bumps into someone and falls on his behind, causing some letters to fall from his satchel.