[b]Drip, Drop. Drip, Drop[/b]

The faucet played its broken tune, droplets falling with deafening force upon week-old stirfry. With a simple flourish, the metal fixture twisted around itself. [i]”Looks like I’m not getting my security deposit back.”[/i] Cassandra thought, turning and tossing on her cardboard mattress, failing to ward off the cold with thin sheets and cheap sweaters. Maine hadn’t been forthcoming. In six weeks, Cassandra had managed to obtain and subsequently lose three jobs because dealing with her clients’ exes with a pox “wasn’t what they had in mind.” She was living off leftovers and scraps from previous employers, which amounted to bad take-out and a shitty studio apartment with faulty appliances. How the mighty had fallen.

Cassandra hopped out of bed with false enthusiasm, preparing herself mentally by feigning excitement about her day. Well, maybe it wasn’t entirely false. She’d received the call from Markiel Relovski a few days prior, telling her that she’d been accepted to work for Wells and Raick. The tri-tone on her phone told her that today was the day to prove her mettle. She should have hurried, should have made it seem like she had any sort of work ethic, but instead she took her time, powering through her intensely cold shower, applying her makeup in a faded mirror and poor lighting. Despite every physical obstacle, she managed to come out of the bathroom looking as radiant as always. She quickly slipped on her best Elvira dress and tallest highheeled boots, threw on a fashionable, black trench coat (a rather strange combination of words), teased her hair until the scarlet strands had fallen into place, gathered all her magical fixins, and walked leisurely out of the door, down the stairs, and into town. 
[hr]
W&R was imposing, not because the building was anything special, it certainly wasn’t the most beautiful building she’d ever lain eyes on, but because it held within it a great many mages capable of grand feats of magic and mystical tomes and tools aplenty. She wagered that within these four walls, there was magic enough to take out half the country. She sauntered through the front door, her hips swinging rhythmically from left to right. She saw folks rushing downstairs, readying themselves for their current case. Some maniac screwing with the weather, making Maine even more of a frozen hell-hole. Markiel came speeding behind them from his office, likely sensing the witch’s presence. 

“I see the cavalry's already marching off?” she said with a flirty smile. 

“Cassandra! You’re just in time for the action. I’m afraid there’s no time for introductions or a guided tour.” Markiel replied with a sickening amount of enthusiasm.

“Shame, I was hoping to ask you incredibly invasive questions about your accommodations,” she sarcastically replied. Markiel seemed to wave it off.

“I’m sending you with Group One. Your teammates are Jaklo, Jacques, Drake, Mithias, and Atlas.”

“Sound like a lot of testosterone,” she interrupted.

“Don’t worry, they’re some of our best, you’re in good hands with them. I’ve opened a portal to the target location downstairs. Go down once you feel prepared, maybe have a quick word with your teammates, then get to business.”

Cassandra nodded, giving him a quick, sarcastic salute, then following the remaining few downstairs to the portal leading to the storm’s epicenter. Once on the other side, she was greeted by her hoard of male helpers, their ages and appearances fluctuating. They all looked relatively normal and around her age, except Drake who looked more youthful. She tried to size them all up with just a few looks, but she knew that a lot like this would have more buried beneath the surface. Perhaps for the first time, Cassandra decided not to judge these men by their looks alone and would wait until she heard them speak.

“Don’t worry, lads,” Cassandra began as she walked up to the group, “I’ve come to add a feminine touch. Cassandra Owens at your service, pleasure to shed blood with you.”