[b]Name:[/b] Alfred Zorkybski

[b]Nickname:[/b] [i]Parlay[/i] amongst the proletariat

[b]Age:[/b] 50

[b]Description:[/b]
Before donning his routine, but archaic, crumpled clothes, equipped with suspenders, pocket square and fedora, Alfred never misses his 6 AM shave. He’s shorter than average and his greasy mid-brown hair’s starting to turn silver, though he gardens the tendrils close to his freckled scalp, cropped to hide a growing bald patch. The deep trenches on his face usually etch out a grin edged with seismic desperation, and his teeth, when he lets the world take a gander, are ugly, yellowed tombstones jutting out of his tarred gums. He smokes cheap cigars, more because the hume irks people off their game. Caked in his Jewish face and ringed with dark bags, his blue eyes occasionally sparkle with surprising intensity and wit.

[b]Syndicate Class - Financial Management[/b]
Losing is not only statistical, but predictable; Alfred, as a Syndicate accountant, wagers on this entropic certainty. He lurks frequently between the roulette wheel, the craps table, and the to-and-fros of Texas Hold-em in Regalia's only comprehensive casino, the Xerxes, observing, calculating and ultimately banking on the rationality of the typical gambler. His job, simply, is to make sure the House always wins, while pleasing the masses.