The room was dark, lit by a small candle on the table. In a rustic office, nestled on the waterfront of Ravenport, two world-weary men stared at a job applicant with incredulous scrutiny. Outside, the office sign swing in the wind, a storm was coming or so the darkening clouds indicated. It was just after sunset, the streets of the waterfront becoming darker as city workers prepared to make their rounds to light the street lamp torches. The office smelled of wood, ink, and tobacco smoke. Of the two men, the one sitting at the desk held a rolled up cigarette in his fingers, putting to his lips and taking a deep puff. His partner, a slightly younger man with a long coat wrapped his body, also had a smoke of his own, though his was a pipe. The first man, looking grizzled and in need of a shave, took a deep breath, the sound of it indicating a deep and gravelly voice before he finally spoke.

"So you're the applicant? Can't say I'm relieved, you don't look like much to me." his tone was flat, pessimistic even. Clearly he was a man who always expected the worst to happen. Supposedly there was less chance of disappointment that way, or so he claimed on numerous occasions. His free hand reached over to a glass sitting on the desk. He put it to his lips and took a good swig of the drink, its smell and color indicating a liquor of some kind. After that he began thumbing through a dossier of the applicant that lay opened on the desk.

"Come now, Rolfe, begger's can't be choosers." the other man sounded a bit more hopeful and optimistic, though inside he also had his doubts. His voice wasn't as deep as Rolfe, and no where near as gravelly if at all. In fact his tone and even accent indicated a Middle or Upper-Middle class upbringing, as opposed to Rolfe sounding like he grew up in the streets or surviving out in the wilderness. The two were quite different when one looked at them next to each other in the same room, and yet they appeared to get along rather well, a mutual trust and respect that only two business partners could share.

"So you wanna join the Wolf's Den, do ya?" asked Rolfe, reaching a hand up and brushing his fingers through his rough brown hair with a bit of an exasperated sigh, "Wanna save this city from the filth infecting it?" it sounded like a harsh criticism of the city, and truth be told it wasn't entirely invalid. Ravenport was clean, though that mostly applied to the inner districts where the Middle Class and Upper Class lived. The outer districts and especially the Waterfront were practically like slums, home to the lower class, the homeless, and probably more than a few shady characters. But the way Rolfe talked, it was like the "filth" he mentioned was referring to something other than crime, "This job's not for the faint of heart... or the weak of stomach for that matter. If you're serious about this, then you better be ready for anything, and I do mean anything."

"Right then, I think I'd better take my leave. The case against Ratigan isn't going to finish itself. I'll call on you if I need any extra help." said the younger of the two partners before he pocketed his pipe and stepped out the door. Ominous timing too, the rain was beginning to fall and thunder could heard in the distance.

"What's that? Ratigan? Don't bother, you aren't ready for the big leagues. I'm startin' you out on some of the smaller cases that've been piling up lately. Get some of those cleared up, and then maybe I'll give you something bigger. Welcome to the Wolf's Den, Pup. Now get out there and do some work... and try not to die."

---

It was raining, yet again. An annoyance, to be sure, but not unexpected. Near-constant rain throughout half the year was just a fact of life for anyone living on the coast. But tonight seemed especially dreary. The rain clouds blocked out the view of the moon and stars, casting the city in an even darker shadow than usual. At the Wolf's Den, the tired and grouchy Rolfe was reviewing all the cases that had been closed that week. It was the usual grind of paperwork that no one in their right mind would find enjoyment in. And yet, it had to be done sooner or later. It also helped that the recent hires made Rolfe realize that the paperwork would only pile up more if they were able to clear up the backlog of cases.

At the thought of the new hires, Rolfe rubbed his temples and let out a low growl of a sigh. He didn't exactly have a high opinion of them, in fact some more than others seemed like the type that were going to instantly grate on his nerves. But the would-be detective grit his teeth and calmed his nerves with a swig of whisky. It wasn't uncommon for him to drink on the clock, in spite of Basil's constant warnings against such behavior. But anyone who knew Rolfe well enough knew that he was a man who could take his liquor quite well... almost too well some might even say. Rolfe had a pair of case files opened up on his desk. They were fairly recent clients that had come to the Den earlier that week. At that time, Rolfe couldn't promise immediate results, but the new hires would theoretically change that.

The first of the cases was a old woman named Mildred. She owned several cats, 12 of them in total, and every single one of the fleabags were missing. The old bat swore up and down they were cat-napped, but that could have also just been the ravings of an old lady worried sick about her missing pets and overreacting. Either way, it was a good enough starter case, so a couple of the new hires were given it as their first real assignment earlier that day. Assuming they weren't goofing off somewhere, they should have been searching the neighborhood for these cats at that very moment. At the very least this would give Rolfe a good idea of how capable they were at picking up a trail around the city, even if that trail in this case was a litter of cats.

He glanced over at the second case, picking up the file to read it a bit more closely. This one was a little more... touchy. Mary Merkle, owner and proprietor of the Crabbyshack Pub on the Waterfront, came into the Den yesterday swearing up a storm about how that slimy-no-good Bludd was trying to sabotage her business. She of course was referring to Isaac Barker, or Captain Bludd as he insisted on being called. He owned an interesting little oddity called the Bloated Barge, a ship converted into a floating inn/tavern. Barker of course themed after pirates and high seas adventures. The old guy even claimed to have been a fearless sailor in his youth, which would probably explain how he came to own a ship in the first place. Barker and Merkle hated each other, competed fiercely for customers. In fact this wasn't the first case with these two at the center of it. Last month Barker came in accusing Merkle of trying to send his establishment out to sea during the night. It of course turned out to be weather damage, but even that didn't seem to convince the salty old dog much. Now it seemed to be Merkle's turn. One of her main gimmicks was keeping tanks of crabs and lobsters that customers could choose to have for their meal, but the feed for the animals had apparently been tainted and now half the stock were either sick or dying. Merkle, naturally, was convinced that Barker was behind it. For this case, Rolfe was actually glad to have the new hires, as he was in no mood to deal with Merkle or Barker's idiotic feud this week. So a couple of the new bloods were put on the case. And at the very least, this would be a suitable test of people skills and information gathering.

The slamming of the front door got Rolfe's attention and he looked up to see an especially frustrated Basil. Basil yanked off his coat and practically flung it to the floor rather than hang it up properly. He yanked off his had and flung down on a nearby coffee table. Rolfe didn't react, clearly this wasn't the first night he'd seen Basil get like this, "Went well, I take it?" he asked, the sarcasm in his tone was pretty evident.

"Another dead end... AGAIN!" Basil slammed his hand on the armrest of a chair that he sat down in, "I was certain I had him this time, certain I tell you! But the slippery bastard covered his tracks too thoroughly."

"Well what did you expect?" Rolfe sounded almost incredulous, "All that wealth and influence, of course he won't leave a trail. Wasn't he recently awarded the Key to the City for exposing a Counterfeit Operation?"

"An operation he started himself!" Basil retorted with anger, "The only reason he 'exposed' it was because I was about to connect it to him and his office! So naturally he erases his involvement AND plays the hero to save face! Bah! I really do hate that man..." by now Basil was beginning to calm down.

"By the way, I gave our new Pups their first cases." Rolfe said, changing the subject and lighting a fresh cigarette for himself, "Take a look."

With a sigh Basil leaned forward to read the files, "Missing cats and..." he groaned, "...Merkle? Again? How many times is this now that we had to keep these two from killing each other?"

Rolfe just shrugged, "Dunno, stopped keeping a count a good while ago. But I didn't wanna give the Pups anything too heavy on their first night, so I figured these would do."

"I suppose so..." Basil had lit his pipe now. After a taking a puff from it he got himself a clean shot glass and a bottle of scotch. He needed a rest. His case took him nowhere and that meant he had start over from the very beginning, but before that he needed a break, not to mention a drink, "They'll work out, I'm sure of it. It was either this or lose clients, and I'm guessing you have no desire to go back to your old life, yes?"

Rolfe said nothing, but he did shoot a glare at Basil, one that told him not to bring that up... and with the smallest hint of a threat even.

Squelch

"Ugh, filthy..."

Pulling her boot out of the muddy puddle, Elizabeth gave a small grimace. The dreary day outside was no consequence. The city of Ravenport was always like this. The coast it was built on seemed to always have near constant rain. There was an odd calmness to it, really, and if she was doing anything other than walking through it, she was quite sure she'd be relaxing to the sound of rain on the window with some tea. What was of consequence however, was that she was walking. Walking. With just an admittedly well made cloak to protect her from the rain. Pathetic that's what that was. If anyone from her old life saw her, she'd be a laughing stock.

"Working at some shady detective agency no less..." The noblewoman muttered quietly. Had she a choice, she'd be doing anything but this. She wasn't someone who should have too. Chase down criminals, crawl through mud and muck to reach a goal. No, that was what her maids, attendants, and subordinates were for. Or at least, they would have, had she any left. At least what she was being told to do was somewhat easy and up her alley. She was nothing, if not studious about her objectives and goals. She read the files backwards, forwards, and asked Rolfe about the temperaments of each people involved to get a general idea of their attitudes.

She did not have confidence this could be resolved quickly and cleanly after what she had been told, that much was certain.

By now, Elizabeth had reached the waterfront, stopping for a moment on the docks to look out over the sea. Smelled like fish, and would otherwise be fairly picturesque in the melancholic gloomy way. Hm, perhaps when she had her titles and fortunes returned she'd commission a painting? Idle thought. Back on the task at hand. Making her way along the dock, eyeing one of her destinations in the distance. A ship by the name of the Bloated Barge. A rather detestable looking den of degenerates and lowlifes, also known as a tavern. An establishment she'd normally not be caught dead in. She'd head there after the Crabbyshack pub and getting the details from Merkle. As long as she kept a level head this should be easy enough to deal with some unruly plebs.

"Nothing you can't handle Eliza..." Finally reaching her destination, Elizabeth looked up at the sign hanging above the door. One of her 'colleagues' should be here soon, but she'd only wait for a few moments before heading inside and taking care of this herself.

Rain was like a way of reminding people that god cried too.

At least, that's how Gordon sometimes saw it, most of the time however, all he could see was pouring rain coming from the clouds above as constant reminder that life went on, and that he was glad he wore a trench coat.

The droplets of water would hit him, only to slide off like tiny waterfalls, as the wind occasionally swiped at his scarf. Wind was never really an issue in a city such as Ravenport, as even on windy days the buildings gave some cover from it. Windy days were chilly, at least that's what he had heard others complain. The only thing he could possibly complain about was his new position in the sketchy detective agency and the case file he'd been handed. Earlier that day, he'd been given his first assignment, an investigation into a possible act of sabotage over at a local pub. It was a place he'd been at least once before, though he hadn't been there long. Something about live sea creatures unsettled him, and although he had been hungry, he decided to skip lunch and left before he'd even heard the specials.

Tugging his hood slightly more over his head, the young man stepped over one of the larger puddles that had formed on the road, his boots hitting the wet cobblestone with muffled thuds. He was looking forward to the case, at least in some sense. From the look of Rolfe when he handed him the files, this kinda thing had happened before, he could tell that much even before he looked the two characters over. Neither one looked the type, but competition sometimes changed people, but for all he knew, it really could be just another stupid coincidence that Barker's seafood were dying.

He'd find out sooner or later, as he rounded a corner and out from the dark buildings of the main streets, his eyes landed on another figure, standing just outside the pub known as the 'Crabbyshack'. Crabby was right, the woman who ran it didn't sound to cheerful. Judging from the way they stood, and the fact that he knew he had a partner on this particular mission, Gordon lightly jogged towards the figure, his boots kicking up small splashes behind him.

Slowing to a stop before the figure, He nodded at them, as he pushed open the door to the better off tavern. Comparing the Crabbyshack to it's competitor, the Bloated Barge, there was honestly no real contest, though he wasn't fond of either. Stepping inside and throwing off his hood with one hand while leaving the door open with the other, he gestured for his college to follow, while running a quick once over of the one he'd be working with.

She seemed somewhat impatient, obviously not fond of rain, or being in such a place, not to mention, even under his cloak, she seemed to be of noble birth, not exactly someone he'd expect to see working such a job, but she was there, she was easy on the eyes, and she seemed to have an air of intelligence to her. Good, he'd been worried he'd be sent in with some mindless brute who ended up breaking everything.

"Sorry for the wait." His voice was sincere, though he meant it as more of a formality then anything.

Location: Ravenport Central Square

Mission: Cat Herding

---

Harry gripped the small bottle tied about his neck. It contained several ingredients including herbs and a tiny tuft of his fur. A service provided by a witch for a price. For the mundanes, the bottle necklace appeared to be a plain trinket. No worth or significance to its purpose, other than his personal attachment. The actual truth was that it was the only thing allowing him to walk around without a lynching mob hot on his white cottontail.

He had been worried all day about his glamour failing. When he originally bought the thing, he felt the price was far too cheap for the quality. Even for the bare minimum requirements, the more you had to change then the pricier it got.

Most the time he could make do. A bit of his voice behind a corner, dash underneath the furniture or out of sight had saved him lots on needing a glamour. However, he couldn't interact directly without one.

At the thought, Harry ran his fingers through his light brown hair. The locks unfurled then fell to frame his face’s soft curves. This glamour failed to hide everything from his original form though. His figure was still considered rather short for a human and pretty lanky. The face was cleanly shaven for a youthful appearance, but his two front teeth stuck too far past his lip. He tried not to look at anyone for too long because he knew his eyes were a bit too golden causing his anxiety to rise. He couldn't risk Basil and Rolfe deciding he was too much of a liability to their business before deciding to let him go.

Idly he continued to hold the trinket for a few more moments before he shoved it underneath his shirt, hiding it from sight. Harry swallowed a tightness at the back of his throat as his right foot thumped the dirt. A bunch of time had passed now, but no sign of any fellow co-workers. His ears swayed about alongside his eyes, both sight and hearing were surveying the scenery.

When he received the case, Harry thought it was some sort of cruel joke. A hare chasing cats was not likely to go over well.

He doubted the glamour would cover his scent and the feline fiends might start chasing him instead. That’s when all bets were off. Cats liked to play with their prey and that fact disgusted him, his lip curled up with a twitch.

"Where the hell are you?" Harry muttered.

Location: CrabbyShack
Sabotage investigation

---

At least she didn't have to wait long for her colleague. A man, slightly older than her and more than a little rough around the edges was running towards her. Not fond of the rain, was he? Should probably move somewhere else in that case, but she spared little thoughts on such a matter. He probably though she wasn't cut out for this job, and likely expected someone such as herself not to be working on something so mundane. It was easy to tell she wasn't a common rabble. A pleb, a merchant or a slum dweller. Well, she'd just prove this man wrong.

"No matter," She said, stepping inside the so called tavern. At least he had the proper manners to hold the door open for her. "Just be sure to be faster next time." Immediately her nose was assaulted by an unpleasant odor, causing her to grimace and scrunch her face slightly. Ugh. Smelled of fish, wasted life and sweat. Definitely a place where dockworkers and laborers would hang out. Sharply exhaling, she brushed her nose with her hand, doing her best not to appear too put off. Didn't want to make an unpleasant impression on madam Merkle.

"Elizabeth Keeler." She said to Gordon, boots dully thudding against the floor as she walked. "In case you forgot. Lets make one thing clear before we start this. I don't want to be here, but due to certain circumstances I am obligated to put forth my effort into this little detective agency." She turned to face her colleague, a bored expression clear on her features. "So I'm going to be calling the shots here, understand? I'm not going to have some uneducated commoner to muck things up for me."

Ever since the street performer had arrived in Ravenport, the town square had been a regular location where she would entertain crowds with her acrobatic skills as well as play an occasional game with those who would decide to bet their wealth on one. They would always pick the correct shell, until the stakes were sufficiently raised, of course. Things had been rather routine for her at Ravenport before hearing about the Wolf's Den Agency jolted her memory about that mysterious, deserted town she had come across before ending up here. It had been rather convenient that they were hiring, and Roxana had decided to take up the offer in hopes that they would one day stumble upon some clues about that neighboring town.

That was exactly why she was currently at the town square for a reason that was completely different from the usual. She had just been assigned her first case - one about an old woman's missing cats, and those working on it were instructed to meet at this very place. However, she had hardly strayed from her usual manner of dress, and few of the folk who passed by recognized her and shot her confused looks, wondering why the performer was present yet not up to her usual antics. She soon spotted a small, brunet man who looked as if he was waiting for someone, and skipped over to him. He seemed to be rather on edge, but she would dismiss that observation for now.

She gave a theatrical bow before gesturing to herself while she began with an introduction. "Roxana Tolbert. We shall be working on Granny Mildred's case, yes?"

Roxana could not help but feel that the case was way more than it appeared to be. A bunch of missing cats did not seem like much on the surface, but figuring out the 'why', 'how', and possibly 'who' could lead to something a whole lot bigger.

@Fallenreaper

The Crabbyshack, investigating a possible sabotage.

---

She had certainly stepped up to the plate quickly. They both were out of the rain, and the smell of the ocean instantly hit him square in the face like a surprise tax collectors visit. Seafood practically reined supreme in the building like cats marking their scent, and it was almost overbearing. A strong stomach was certainly required for this job, it made Gordon glad he didn't mind the smell to much. He'd witnessed others turn greenish hues the last time he'd been in there.

With a light bow, the man grinned at Keeler, but said nothing. She seemed like a spoiled one, but the kind that made up for it with their wit and smarts. The insults were going to annoy him though, so he pretended not to have heard the comment about his education or his birthright. Still, if she was going to be rude about it, he'd hold off on his own introduction for now.

Running a hand through his hair, Gordon raked his eyes around the establishment, until his eyes fell on the tank that contained the precious namesakes of the pub, the crustaceans. Without waiting for Elizabeth to follow, he swiftly advanced towards the tank, staring into it with intent. From what he had read, normally the tank was filled with the buggers, but as also stated, nearly 50% of them had gotten sick or died, neither of which was good for business, and now the tank only had a few within it's glassy confines.

His presence at the tank hadn't gone unnoticed, and one of the few waiters who worked the place came dashing up to him, almost in a panic.

"Hullo! Welcome to the Crabbyshack! I see you've taken an interes' in the lobster' n' such, but we're low at the moment and these ones are for disply' only!" His accent was thick, and his demeanor clearly pointed to a person with a dire need of money who had no experience working such a position, but regardless.

Gordon's head moved from the glass tank, to the troubled employee, grinning internally to himself for tricking a staff member into coming to him instead of hailing one over like he normally had to, then jabbed a thumb towards his lovely female companion.

"We're here to speak to your manager about the lobsters actually. Go alert her to our presence if you will." His voice was surprisingly smooth, but an edge in it made it clear he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Mister!" The waiter flailed a bit, "S-She's b-busy at the moment! Y'can't jus'-"

"Your boss complained to the industry we work for, she'll be expecting us, so stop making excuses and bring us to her."

The waiter clammed up, and with a nod gestured for the two to follow him into the kitchen.

@Rune_Alchemist

---

Location: Central Square
Mission: Missing Cats

---

A complete mess. That is the perfect term to describe how Robert’s appearance. What started out as a sip grew into two. Then from two, it got to four. And from four to half a bottle… While he is still able to work, his breath stenches with alcohol and his cheeks turn red from knocking a whole bottle in such a short time. His eyes become bloated red, as if he on the verge of killing someone he sees on the road. The finely combed hair returns to its natural state, just like all things in life, of chaos and disarray. And no matter how hard Robert tries, something like a feral growl was coming from his mouth. He knew he should not have a drink before work, especially drinking a whole vial of whiskey in such a short duration. His friends had warned him. The pub owner had also discussed with him out of concern and friendliness. And he didn’t listen.

Forcing a soft growl in his throat, almost inseparable from the footsteps of others, Robert smiled bitterly as he reaches the Central Square. It wasn’t hard to find a particular nervous male and a flamboyant person in this gloomy city. If he was still able to talk, Robert wouldn’t mind rushing over there and welcoming them with a crushing handshake. But now? Why can’t they be a little bit more gloomy so he could use the excuse that he didn’t notice them?

After making some hesitation on how to greet them, Robert just decided to go with what he knew best. And if he can’t speak for the next week or so, he knows who to blame. Himself. Just like her.

“ Hello. Sorry to keep you guys waiting. The name is Robert. Robert Ackerson to be precise. And you are?” Robert smiles, trying to keep his voice as natural as possible despite how stressful it is on his vocal chord. A handshake offered to both, showing his friendliness and the hope to successfully cooperate on this first mission.

---

Harry wasn't fully used to this form. He'd rather sprint and hide, which didn’t make him an obvious target for anyone aiming to harm him. Being a Hare, that was nearly any meat eater. His paw continued to fiddle a moment longer with his jacket before his ears caught a sound. Promptly he became still while his nose twitched causing his head to tilt to better identify the source. He kept forgetting his eyes, in his guise, were positioned forward rather than on his head sides.

So to Roxana it might’ve seemed like he was ignoring her, but he wasn’t. Harry was sizing her up before he spoke. He described her outfit as flamboyant and showy, something you would find in a carnival rather than walking around in town in. Memories sought to recall any news about a new traveling circus in town. Nothing came to mind causing his nose to scrunch up and twitch on alert.

She skipped his way then made an elegant bow toward him. Her dice earrings bounced a bit as they dangled from her ears. When she stood back up, he noticed she was considered average in height with a painted white face and decorated with markings.

He nodded at her greeting, confirming what she stated. Politely Harry made a smaller, less flashy bow in respect to the woman. Before he could speak, a larger and older man approached the pair. Harry’s head tilted toward the man’s direction as he took another note over his fellow co-worker. The man was an obvious drunk from his matted up hair to his shabby clothes, the alcohol fermenting on his breath.

Harry had doubts about the man’s ability to plausibly construct a sentence. He was surprised by the apologized for his lateness and raised a hand to shake causing Harry to raise an eyebrow. The hare didn’t raise his hand to touch the man’s hand. He wasn’t sure how well this illusion would hold, especially since due to its cheapness, before he spoke.

“I’m a bit paranoid about touch, so I’ll pass on the handshake. Sorry friend,” Harry stated, not taking the hand.

He continued to address the other two, “I assume you’re also a pup in the Wolf’s Den Agency too? Like her? The name’s Harry Harlan. So let’s head off to Granny Mildred and see where her silly little fleabags went off to.”

With those words, Harry began to lead the way toward the old woman’s home.

Roxana flashed the small man a smile as he responded with a nod and bowed back. In spite of the slightly irritable demeanor she had observed him to to project earlier, he seemed polite enough towards her. She had expected that he would introduce himself as well, but another individual then arrived - a worn, disheveled older man who did not look quite well. He first addressed them with an apology, speaking in a way that was not reflected by his appearance. He too, was polite, and gave them his name before asking her and the other man for theirs.

She raised an eyebrow at the short man when he refused the handshake offered by the newcomer, admitting his supposed paranoia. Was a handshake not a common gesture performed by the 'normal' folk upon meeting for the first time? He did not elaborate on that, and she could not help but wonder what his story was. Perhaps she was not as out of place as she initially though she would be, though, it was still rather difficult for her to tell what kind of 'quirks' were considered socially acceptable and what were not, for she had not spent nearly enough time in such situations.

"Roxana Tolbert," she said, taking 'Robert's' hand before stepping closer to him out of curiosity.

The smell of alcohol hit her as she did so, and she tilted her head at the condition he appeared to be in. She stared at him for a moment, non verbally expressing some sort of care for his current state. Doing so felt rather strange for her. As a performer, she was rarely affected by the well-beings of the people in her audience. The 'normal' people were merely strangers who would toss her coin when she did her job, and that was to entertain. Now that she had to actually interact with them on a personal level, such things will begin to be of concern.

'Harry' then introduced himself to them and she nodded in agreement when he suggested that it was time to start work, grinning in amusement at the humorous way in which he had referred to the old woman's cats.

@Fallenreaper @Darth Shadow

Location: Central Square -> Granny Mildred’s House
Mission: Missing Cats

---

“It’s alright,” Robert nodded, putting his hand back to his pocket before shifting his attention toward the lady, who is staring at him intently. And although it is not his first time being this close with the opposite sex this, somehow, Robert just realizes how red his face currently is. He could feel the droplets that is slowly making its way toward his chin and neck. The index of the right hand shake vehemently in short burst with the rhythm of drunken heart. But moreover, he could feel the blushes slowly spreading from both of his cheeks toward the rear ends of the ears before making its way toward his scalp.

Fixing his attire so that he could enjoy the warmth that the trench coat providing against this strange storm, Robert flashes a smile toward the girl, who is looking at him quite intently.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca. Now, although I would love to have a chat with you, I would rather do it somewhere that is more cozy and warmer than here, don’t you think?” Robert said, motioning her to follow Harry, who has made quite a distant and about to be lost in the crowd that is hurrying to make their ways home.