<div class="floatright">(http://i1232.photobucket.com/albums/ff375/Zwraith/For%20RP/Andersonwilsonwithpatch.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Slade Wilson<br/><strong>Nome De Guerre:</strong>Deathstroke<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Gothcorp, Audience<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Zatanna<br/><hr/><br/>His name wasn't one that polite circles knew very well.<br/><br/>Slade Wilson, the mercenary Deathstroke, was well known among many for his lethal talents, and his less than heroic reputation. But tonight was just one part of an effort to change that reputation. He had his reasons, and his methods, to do so. Tonight, that meant a fine tuxedo and a sharp haircut, his distinctive silver hair and eyepatch marking him out from Gotham's elite. There were several there who knew of him, but not many who wished to associate publicly with him. That was fine, he was here for the CEO of Gothcorp. It was high time to meet the man, to confirm that this was the sort of company that he wanted to support. Not just for the sake of supporting good works, but of helping redeem his spotty reputation.<br/><br/>Like so much of the audience, Slade was too busy sipping wine as he watched the evening's entertainment, to engage the rest of his table in conversation. Zatanna was a lovely woman, he had to admit, and he had to question just how much of her act was stage magic. Which depending on how one viewed it, was a compliment to either her skill as a performer, or as a mage.<br/><br/>She certainly was talented, and beautiful. He found himself actually enjoying himself, even relaxing. It was nice, lowering one's guard, even a little. The one weapon on his person had left him feeling a little more vulnerable than usual, but the woman controlling the room had him actually smiling.