(http://www.navecorsara.it/wp/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/ben_kingsley.jpg)<br/><br/>Dimitri Artino strode out of the elevator as if he owned the place.  He was very familiar with the Masquerade, one of its oldest guests.  He'd even attended a time or two in its past incarnation.  There was a pleasure to be found in slumming it at times, at plucking a girl up and showing her a more exquisite world, it its pleasures and pains.  However, Dimitri much preferred this version of the club.  He nodded in satisfaction at the decor, at the neatness, the way the dark wood gleamed.<br/><br/>It was obvious that Dimitri also took such pains with his own appearance.  He had been shaved with a straight razor moments before in the resort, just before donning a tailored suit made for him in London by a personal friend.  Everything was perfect about it, from the positioning of his cufflinks, the knot of his tie, the carefully grooming of his facial hair.  His mask glittered like dull steel, a hint perhaps of the kind of man one was dealing with in Dimitri.<br/><br/>He curtly ordered a drink from the barkeep, leaving her to flirt with the guest who had her attention.  Taking his drink he sat himself at a small table with a commanding view of the surroundings.  Dimitri was not a large man, but he filled the space somehow, looking somehow like an Old World lord, waiting for his supplicants.  The girls here knew that he was not a coy man, but straightforward and demanding.  Yet it was known that he had the skill to take women to places they'd never been.  If they dared.