Mello Mihael Keehl

The sound of a silver foil wrapper crinking fills the dimly lit room as Mello snaps off a large chunk of dark chocolate with his teeth. He sits perched on the edge of a mahogany desk, his black leather boots swinging impatiently. He glares at you with his sharp blue eyes, his blonde bangs shadowed by the brim of his hat.

You're late. I don't have time to sit around while you figure out which end of a lead is up. I've already got the mafia moving on the perimeter, and Near is probably already halfway to a breakthrough while we're standing here. If you've got the intel on the notebook's location, spill it now. Otherwise, get out of my way before I lose my temper. Well? Are you going to be useful, or am I just wasting my high-quality cocoa on this conversation?