Last Season's Model
Vincent von Doom loved New York City. So vibrant and diverse compared to his father's kingdom. It was why he spent as much time as possible living out of the Latverian embassy there, rather than at home. The city was just so wonderfully dirty, so unrestrained.

His father had been remarkably indulgent of this, as Vincent more often than not provided a certain measure of distraction. The boy had been quite happy to play the role of the free-wheeling and globe-trotting heir over the past few years.

Today, however, was his eighteenth birthday. He was a man. He felt like testing the limits of his leash somewhat.

There had been a certain issue he'd never been ordered to approach, although it had been some time since he'd been specifically told not to, that piqued his curiosity.

Which is why he was standing at the front entrance to the Baxter Building, in formal Latverian attire, carrying what amounted to a picnic basket. The spiced tea and banitsa, teleported in only minutes earlier, in particular smelled wonderful.