New Haven was always a city wracked with the strange and the unnatural. Its reputation far proceeded it and with that came darkness to be explored by all walks of life. It wasn’t long before that opportunity was capitalized and from it spawned the birth of Montag Detectives Ltd. They had quickly gotten themselves entangled in something far greater than themselves in their first case.

A month had passed since Montag and Abigail's adventure in the Mayor's villa. The results of that story left a crippling impact on the city around them. They had succeeded in sparing Marie from her fate given by the Gods above, but at the cost of her father and mayor's life which left the city in even greater turmoil. The cult of discord had succeeded in their mission of sowing dissent, and had unleashed the forces that be. A month had passed and the now three detectives had come together under the conclusion that these supernatural occurrences could not go ignored any longer. With the government and political bodies busy with the street violence and other turmoil, there's no one else to mantain this frontline.

This easily proved to be a task larger than the up and coming agency could handle, and a recruitment drive was in order. Although initially they had not wanted to involve others it came upon them that they'd have no chance of addressing these problems if they lacked the manpower. After putting out offers in the paper and through word of mouth in the city's underground they had gotten a diverse cast of candidates.

Using an abandoned dock warehouse, an 'office' had been set up in the large empty spaces between cargo and old shipping vessels.
Humid air clutched over people passing by, winds coming from the waters beside infest the blowing air with sharp shapes, feeling as if they are ready to cut through the skin. Forcing people to pull their collars high up, protecting their faces. It gave away the city's scent of breath, massive industrial lungs circulating air through the streets, seeping around, made to become messengers of words to come from places yet unseen for a human eye. For the recruits entering inside they'd see a smoke clouded bar inhabiting the warehouse - abandoned by the lack of any job and work as that had dried up from the depression, all that remained is a hollow husk of its past purpose. The building if was not all too steady, offered new visitors and inhabitants a shelter and protection from the whaling winds and did well as a quiet place to observe new hires.

The candle lights inside gave the shape of walls almost a comfortable and cozy ambience, their temporary base seemed isolated enough from the world outside; warehouse finding some comfort for itself as well - in having to serve once again. Behind a makeshift table made of several crates and planks left from the past, a redhead woman sat, carefully browsing through the papers laying before her: the first thing all the visitors would see upon the entrance into the warehouse, aside from a few puddles left from the yesterday rain, gathered by the water which found its way through the cracks in the rooftop. She wore clothes with no color or appeal, clutched into her coat which served basic purposes of protecting her from the weather, a coat which would soon fade away from memory of its shape and color. Not so unmemorable was her hair though - bright and burning shade of red carefully tied in a tail on the back of her head - even carefully put together like so, it was not enough to hide their shape, crying of the passion of their holder. Papers flickered in her hands; her fingers in quick and habitual motions flipping pages, the appearance of her delicate fingers despite the work she often did. Blue eyes shifting in their gaze between the words on the papers and people sitting in front of her of whom these words spoke; and sometimes she gazed into somewhere - or somewhen - else, disappearing behind a veil for a second, only to return again with a soft smile.

"Ey, sorry 'bout the place bein' this awkward. It's a temporary spot". the woman spoke, her voice calm, yet it held tones of freidnship and compassion, even though it was hidden behind her accent. She spoke so with a smiling expression to everyone coming in, greeting her new potential allies, "Please, be welcomed, come in and sit, I was just readin' through ye papers here. Sorry 'bout the furniture, tis' also.. a temporary solution. I am Abigail McCarthy, miste's Montag partner, ye could say. He's about to arrive shortly to greet ye in person."

There are some chairs arranged and some drinks of water offered, it's simple and primitive but a kind gesture nevertheless. The recruits are to take their seats and await to be judged like the final judgements that await all humans in life.

"Nothin' sweeter than the ocean wind..."

Robyn would mutter as her eyes gaze upon the darkened horizon. Montag Detectives LTD, a most interesting opportunity for the still rookie detective and yet... All Robyn could think about was how- "-Terrible this place is." Her desire to wear something formal to first meet her, hopefully, future co-workers had only harmed the rookie as the industrial wind slices along her skin, carrying gods-know what soot-ridden disease might just lurk in the corporate lungs the people of New Haven use to breathe.

The girl wouldn't stand still for long, her desire to find some form of shelter had only increased as she's reminded of the hardships she faced when young as the air chips away at her skin some more. It wouldn't take her long to reach her destination, a shabby looking warehouse that looked as if it was about to collapse under the weight of the heavy air. After checking her watch to make sure she was on time, she'd take the first steps inside. The familiar smell of smoke would fill her lungs as she looks towards the bar, long abandoned by any of it's caretakers and lit sparsely by candles so weak one might mistake it for a crack den. Even so, the meagre light provided was... Comforting.

Though, comfort seemed to be thrown out of the window as she looked towards the ruby haired Madame sat behind a hodgepodge of wood and crates. This set-up certainly didn't seem the most appealing and she wasn't afraid to raise her brow about it. The lady sat behind the mess of a table however, caught her interest, she seemed far too out of place for the environment she was in. Almost.. Sterile. Angelic. The pure white of her coat and the rest of her attire seemed odd to the detective. How someone could keep their clothes so clean in this city was... Astonishing, to say the very least. It would contrast with Robyn's own attire, wearing a completely black suit and shirt. The only pop of colour being her eyes and a red tie around her collar, not too dissimilar to her usual attire.

"This place is for Montag whatever ya call it, right?"

Her voice would echo into the almost empty chamber the warehouse provided. The lady didn't seem to move from the task in-front of her. One that had her flicking paper... Robyn had gotten curious about what it was the paper held, but shrugged off the thought of looking any closer as she assumed it was information on the "candidates" that Montag Detectives LTD had been searching for. Given a few minutes Robyn would finally enter the room, having been welcomed by the lady in a soft, friendly and yet... All too calm voice.

At least she was right about the papers being about the candidates, she thought to herself.

Robyn approached the girl slowly, the set-up in-front of her looked so rushed and yet the air in the room felt just as professional as a well-crafted interview room would. She noticed the girls eyes, odd as they seemed. And made a mental note of each detail about the lady and the situation they're in that intrigues her. While her mind would race to put these thoughts into a list, she'd offer sincere smiles and greetings to those that enter after her, choosing to make herself comfortable on one of the chairs on the outside.

"Y'all alright? Horrible weather out there, as usual. Pleasure to meet you all." Robyn would say to her to-be companions with a smile, all but hiding Robyn's truer emotions behind an outgoing mask. Though that may be how the girl thinks, excitement would only grow deep within her as she awaits Montag's own arrival.

---

To some people, Montag Detectives LTD looked nothing more than a half-baked shamble, a desolate attempt to salvage something that should have died off some time ago. It would have been fitting if it met that fate, as fitting as the grim and grimy atmosphere that long since overtook New Haven. Despite the fancy name and prospect of promise, the whole place somehow just felt dirty. Maybe it was the bearing pressure of hard times on its inhabitants or the, literal, dark forces at play here just beyond their sight. It was a shithole all the same.

But that perspective was only held by some people. To Jane, the warehouse looked like proverbial heaven. “Oh wow, so cool!” she said to no one in particular, unphased as foamy spray from a nearby dock wave almost soaked her completely were it just a few feet closer. She spent some time marveling at the wretched piece of a building before finally entering the warehouse. This was to be her new office after all so it was always better to look at the glass half-full. Her expectations only soared higher once she finally looked around the rinky structure.

Were those actual chairs? She never had chairs at her old place. “Woah, hey, is that water free? We never got free water at my old place,” Jane said, rapidly taking a seat nearby another new girl without thinking. She waved a big happy grin over at the redhead who looked to be the company’s secretary before beaming forward at Robyn. “Hiya! Good to meet you, name’s Jane Nace and don’t let that old city name fool you, I’m here to get the down and dirty, rough and tumble as they say!” Her up of water was already downed by the time she finished speaking.

“Hey do we get refills too or do we have to pay for those?” she asked over to Abigail.

---

Rain slicked stones. A storm above. The crash of thunder. Lightning splits the scene; illumination lingers in the still-shot. Then, a neon glow; a streak of color against the monochrome world. A streak of blue falling onto a body. A woman. Rea Markouli. Her eyes? Wide open. Staring straight through my soul.

Cathal shook himself. The large man shifted from foot to foot, as if passing the tremor wholly through his body and back out the other leg back into the earth below. Lifting a hand he pulled the cap down more firmly, a sea draft having caught under the brim and woken him from his reverie. The salty sting in his eyes left him wondering if it was ocean air irritation, or his own tear ducts begging to be uncorked at last. Refusing to come up with an answer to that question, Cathal focused back on the newspaper in hand as he secured the cap just over the ridge of his brow where it'd shield his eyes from the sky and breeze alike.

Montag Detectives, Ltd. Hiring Now.

His eyes scanned the rest of the advertisement. He'd already read it a dozen times. Woken up to it on top of his face. Found it beneath bottles of whiskey. Seen it in dreams, floating there like a neglected band aid overtop a gushing wound. Was it holding the tide back, or was it about to get lost in the drift? Another question he didn't want to think about. Another vision to blur the waking world and sleeping into that of prophecy. This ever growing list of questions took the shape of an outline in chalk, the title of the quiz 'Rea Markouli', and Cathal's swaggering soldier's gait carried him right over it and across this wayward dock. He felt Rea Markouli at his back as he stepped into the Fateful Warehouse. He stood in the door and let his gaze adjust to the candlelight within.

"...Not quite the Sandra..." He laughed to himself. "...but it'll do."

Lowering the collar of his heavy coat, Cathal enjoyed a reprieve from the sea breeze and the cutting winds that the industry of the city produced. The latent smog and haze of the city was second nature to him, and a far cry from the artillery smoke and gas screens of the battlefield. As he took his first proper steps in, his gaze swept the room and landed on a redheaded woman-

Outside, a rogue wave washed over the dockside and slammed into the side of an abandoned junker, creating a resounding clang. Cathal went rigid, his eyes focusing on the woman in a sudden and deep clarity brought about by the triggering noise.

The cry of thunder; the neon glow; the woman; the woman's eyes. Rea Markouli. Her body strewn across the city, the city torn asunder, her eyes wide open. Always open.

He lifted a hand to his eyes and rubbed them, forcing a barking laughter as he calmed himself. Letting his hand fall away with a heavy limbed fatigue that permeated every bone of this man's being was easy; forcing the next step was hard. Montag Detectives, Ltd. The fluttering band aid of his dreams. The frayed cloth holding together the modesty of New Haven. The last train home, its light beckoning in the dark. Every footstep took him closer to that lantern. When he finally sat down, the woman's voice caught up with him. His gaze finished its sweep as he clasped his hands together in front of his groin and adopted a casual sitting stance- but one relaxed and prepared to move, a man accustomed to spontaneity and danger alike. His shoulders bounced rather than his knees, and as her words fully registered in his head so too did the presence of the others in the building. He shifted forward, a more friendly demeanor rising over his casual one, and propped his elbows on his knees and flashed a dazzling smile that peeked out from above a grizzled jawline of beard and below a trimmed moustache of minimalist intentions.

"Eh, ain't awkward a bit, missus." He chimes in. "We're all a bit on the temporary side, I find. Nobody knows what tomorrow brings; you know where you stand with a warehouse with crate tables and clean water." He takes a cup and runs a hand over his beard as he looks down into it. "...At least I hope it's clean!" He laughs that barking laughter, as he drinks deeply of the cup. He clears his throat and raises the cup to Robyn when she speaks up.

"I've been worse, and trust me there's a helluva lot worse weather to be in." He winks in a compassionate manner, rather than flirtatious, to show his sympathy at the climate. "Name's O'Molloy, formally Cathal. Don't much mind what you call me."

He finds himself swept up in Jane's enthusiasm and energy, and his introduction takes a walk out the door as he studies the girl and her frenetic state.

"Girlie, if yer worried about payin' for water, I'll cover the tab; drink, I say, drink!" He encourages her with that barking laugh again- the callousness of his laugh a stark contrast to the smooth and honeyed tones of his voice, a voice that some may find quite familiar if they were regulars in the music clubs of the city.

.

Weeks had passed now since the events at the villa, and yet its events remained no less vivid in Eduard Montag's mind. From entering the Arnault estate to the moment the Mayor was shot before his very eyes, the detective's crystal clear recollection of every second from that evening was something that had plagued his thoughts near-constantly for the past month. He didn't doubt that it had something to do with that strange woman he'd encountered, the one who had managed to drive his mind to the very brink of decay, but it was clear that day had left an imprint on him, internally at least. He didn't doubt that the same applied to Abigail and especially Marie, now left with little to hold onto after the sudden death of her father, no matter what relationship she'd had with him. That imprint on the three of them represented a sort of microcosm of the effect on the rest of New Haven that the death of Thomas Arnault had produced.

Even now, amidst the chilled wet air that spread like miasma through the cobbled streets, Montag still couldn't push those images out of his mind. As well as the potential consequences that had yet to come to fruition. Now more than ever it felt as if something was brewing within and beneath the confines of this city. Things stirring that everyone, even those leading as regular a life as you could lead in this place, feared but dared not speak about. Paranoia was now embedded in the very foundation of New Haven.

It was for this reason that Abigail and Marie had suggested branching out. Up until now Montag had remained a completely solo detective. Never asking for help and barely acknowledging others who worked close to him. If he'd been asked only a couple of months prior, the idea of working with a partner, let alone an agency, wouldn't have even gotten a response from the young man. Even still, after taking on Abigail and Marie as his first associates, the suggestion of a whole agency was something he'd been very reluctant to give any sort of mileage. People, let alone strangers, couldn't be trusted easily in a place like New Haven. Some would stab you in the back figuratively and literally with the same ease that they would shake your hand and give you a smile. That's just the kind of moral void this city was. And yet, nonetheless, he'd given in. Perhaps he was getting soft, he thought, lighting up a cigarette as he now approached the docks where they'd arranged to meet. This place had been Abigail's idea actually, and he had to admit it wasn't a bad spot. Out of the inner city, an area of the outskirts most didn't go out of their way to hang around unless they worked here, but with the state the warehouse they'd chosen was in Montag severely doubted anyone was working in this particular nook. Plus, this was well out of the way of his actual office, meaning that if there were any bad eggs showing up today then they wouldn't know where to find him afterwards. Not that easily at least.

Montag Detectives Limited is the name he'd chosen for their agency. A basic name, as Marie had pointed out almost immediately after he'd chosen it, but the detective wasn't here to be creative. He was here to do a job, and besides he figured the name could always change later. At least this way people knew what they were signing up for.

The waves crashing against the rickety, deteriorating wooden boards along the dock was surprisingly therapeutic, tempting the detective to stare out at the vast stretch of water ahead just a little longer, until he'd finished his cigarette at least. In a weird sort of way it was quite a beautiful evening, something you didn't always notice until you found your way out of the inner city. But, conscious of his own and other peoples' time, the quick decision was made to save the private viewing for later. Montag stamped the half-finished cigarette out on the deck, he found it rude to smoke in front of strangers as you greeted them, and stepped through into the open warehouse.

He entered to relative bustle as the prospective members settled themselves down. Montag was surprised to see this many here already to be honest, in fact if he was the last one to show up today he might almost be impressed.

"Evening." He finally spoke, his tone cutting right through whatever other conversations may have been continuing. If his entering hadn't caught everyone's attention yet, it had now. He hung around the doorway for now, just about inside, a short distance away from everyone else while being able to see them all. In his own time he'd give each of them an acknowledging, but discerning, look.

"I'm Detective Montag, but you may simply call me Montag. You may have already spoken to her but this is my associate, partner, whatever you want to call it, McCarthy. She's the one who arranged this whole thing, for better or worse." Montag nodded half-appreciatively to Abigail. Unlike his partner he wasn't up to saying first names quite yet in front of these people, especially not his own. He wasn't even sure if even Abigail or Marie knew what his first name was.

"Now I'm sure you've all had a short amount of time to get to know each other in the time it's taken me to get here, but before we go any further I'd like to hear an introduction from each of you. It's been only a few seconds but since I arrived I've already made judgements and observations about each of you that have given me an idea of what your character is. Maybe even the way you live, where you come from, your personal circumstances, perhaps even more than that. This is your chance to prove me right or prove me wrong. Tell me your name or alias, your age, where you come from, and why you want to join this agency. Anything else you want to add is extra, just don't go on for too long. Give me as concise of an idea of who you are as you possibly can."

Montag paused for a split second, looking to each newcomer as well as Abigail to gauge their individual reactions to his instructions, before continuing.

"We'll go in order of arrival. So whoever arrived first, now's your time to speak up.

The dancing melody of rain emerged from out of nowhere and further echoed in a soft spoken tone across the warehouse in which the detectives - potential and whatnot - gathered; as the raindrops tapped at the rooftop of the place with a soothing mesmerizing rhythm, as if some higher being took a rest there on the roof and tapped on it with its fingers, leaving water marks to gather up and trail across the metallic shape where the small gaps were, to further find some entrance inside the building.

Abigail could only roll her eyes at it and shake her head, mumbling under her breath something about endless rains and docks; even though she could not deny the fact that this endless rain of a season reminded her of home some; making it all easier to think and feel through. After a moment of that thinking gap, as some nostalgia touched her heart with the shape of the rain, it soon after touched her again as she listened to everyone gathered, giving out a faint smile listening to Cathal’s all too similar shape of an accent. It was something else in his words that made her heart tingle, but she gave it no attention at the moment.

“Ay, the place’s… proved to be some of a home one day, but tis’s not a day yet.”, Abigail said with the same smile, responding to Cathal, “Ain’t no worry, miste’..”, she took a pause to rush through the papers, but the man gave his name himself, “Miste’ O’Molloy, yes.Excuse me, ye personally and all of ye in here before me, I haven’t got ye names memorized yet.. Water’s clean, cups are as well. And no, tis’s just water, no need to pay for it. A friend from the docks kindly offered us a hand with it. So at the matter of wate’ we’re well and fine.”, the redhead said to Jane, affirming that the water was indeed here to be drinken freely.

“So ye be… Jane, ay, miss Nace. Thanks, nice to meet ye, and ye too, miss, uhm…”, this time Abigail was fast enough to find the needed name in the paper first, “..Robyn”. Just Robyn, would be easy to remember then. The redhead looked over the people gathered once again, admiring the stern look of how Robyn held herself, as much as the enthusiastic energy of Jane, careful tones of Cathal’s voice.

“Oi, and in case ye need to warm yeself up, we’ve some liquor here. Is not much, so don’t think of it as a drink, more of a warming thing”, Abigail spoke with a light smile and put a bottle of whiskey on the table. It indeed looked cheap, and rather uninviting, clearly coming here by passing from hand to hand of docks workers, a bottle slipped out carefully from a shipment cargo, a bottle or two, shared by the outcasts fighting for their survival in the areas usually unseen by the eyes who wander in the city.

“Ay. Tis’ miste’ Montag. Welcome, welcome!”, Abigail stood up a little, only to sit back as quickly due to her almost dropping the piles of papers scattered right in front of her, ready to slip from her hands and lap onto the floor she quickly reached for them and stood for a second awkwardly as she pulled the papers back in her hands. None touched the floor thankfully. All while Montag entered just in time to not to get washed up by the rain building up in its strengths, another rain casted on the town by the waters crashing at the docks around.

“Seems like the weather just made it worse. Just as ye said, as usual, ay, miss Robyn?”, Abigail asked with a smile and greeted Montag with a nod as he made his way to greet everyone present and give his introduction. Abigail listening to him sorted the papers again and once Montag finished, offered it to him: “I’d say that we can skip through things of names and ages, as tis papers say tis well as they are”, blue eyes rose up from the filled out blanks which held the basic information that applicants themselves offered some time earlier, also giving an example of their handwriting.

“I’d say we rather talk on why we’re here, what d’ya think on this.. endeavor… How have you come to 'ere, what drives ye, maybe ye skills? What'ye good at, bad at, if ye did tis kind of job often before or ye're doing tis for the first time..”, Abigail shifted her jaw left and right as she was making sure that the words she was about to speak were not giving out a different taste of meaning compared to what she had in mind, “...And if ye’ve maybe felt or saw some things.. strange or out of place as well. Tis’s a weird question might appear to ye, but it’ll make sense soon enough, I promise. Tis case.. ain't an ordinary thing, it ain't a thing ye'd be used to, no matte' what ye've seen before.”

She carefully looked over the gathered in this room again, clear blue eyes seemed as focused as ever and the little shade of the past and present veiling over her suddenly fell off - the redhead in front of them was not cracking a joke with this answer and certainly meant what she just said; and more than that - it clearly made the very direct connection to whatever events and cases the Montag agency was ready to take.

A sneaky poke of her elbow followed at Montag’s side as she whispered to him: “Don’t be so stiff.”

Although all had gathered together, there's of course one left who's fashionably late. She'd consider herself the most important of the bunch, but hardly had any experience or skills to her name.

Kicking the door open, first came a rain soaked umbrella that charged on ahead, followed by a coat clad figure. The soaked umbrella is cast aside with an annoyed huff from its wielder. Rainboots are abandoned by the side, along with several belts and another layer of coating. Once finally entangled from the baggy and soaked garments, a female figure is finally revealed.She's shrouded in a heavy gloom, a grim intensity resting on her face with a pair of eyes that seemed ghostly and always elsewhere.

"Blasted rain, straight from hell..."

With no greeting offered to the gathered attendees, the black haired woman stomped over to sit down by the bar. She'd pull the tarp that hid it from view, revealing quite an extensive stock of assorted alcohols on the shelves. The warehouse still hid many open secrets left over from the prohibition era. The woman focused first on getting a heavy swig of whiskey into her system to inflame her heart and lungs. She'd cough and sputter afterwards, clearly not an experienced drinker as she forces the hard liquor down. Only then, as she examines over the crowd before her does she finally realize she should probably introduce herself.

"I'm Marie. Yeah, that one, the mayor's daughter. Yea, my dad got killed because of the strange stuff going on. I fund this agency and I help where I can, trying to solve cases that is. Don't ask me anything else."

Another swig, and another cough as Marie forces down another drink. Perhaps it's just a show she's putting on to make herself seem tough and intense for the newcomers, she figured now it probably wasn't working.

"Montag is our leading detective man, Abigail makes sure we're not going to hell, literally speaking nowadays. Anyways, our first case is here and it's already a complete mess."

She'd pull out some sheets of paper, spilling a folder out on a nearby desk. On the sheets, details of several known criminals meeting violent grisly deaths with selected newspaper stories speaking on the killing spree currently ongoing in New Haven.

"Serial killer of criminals. Gang wars are getting more intense now, and something is getting involved. Something that isn't using guns, and using claws instead to rip people apart. Police suspect it's some sort of animal, but I'm sure we all know here it's gonna be something more than that."

Thinking she had said enough, Marie sat down and leaned up against a wooden chair with her feet kicked up on the same desk. She'd nearly stumble and fall, but keep herself steady. Clearly unwell, she was going to keep trying to get by anyways.

---

Robyn would look from Abigail to Jane upon her entrance, offering a smile towards the eccentric lady, finding difficulty reading her body language from all of the excitement clearly overwhelming her senses. "Careful not to pass out, love." She'd smirk at Jane, a nice change from the regular gruff and depressing folks she had to work with while training, like a breath of fresh air in this toxic city.

Her attention would then turn to Calthal as his hearty laugh fills the desolate warehouse, She didn't have much to say to or about that man, but as she looked in his eyes, the man who looked back had seen many horrors and been through trial after trial, ending up here, a fitting place for someone so experienced, or traumatised, Robyn couldn't tell through his brighter character.

Montag had made an unimposing impression on the young detective, he looked stiff, on guard almost, who wouldn't in a room full of people trained to catch the worst of the worst. Of course, despite that, he managed to catch the rookie's attention long enough for her to raise a brow at his 'order' towards the group, if their paper before them didn't have enough information to satisfy the detective, everyone in the room knew that now.

"I had hoped you read that information already, Mister Montag!" With a chuckle Robyn was about to stand to appease the man's orders, only for Abigail to have other plans in mind, seemingly changing Montag's order without a second thought. Robyn wasn't about to protest the change, it only made the ordeal that much easier for the three of them. Robyn was preparing herself to answer, this time hoping to get a few more words in and end her turn.

But of course another person enters, this one far more rugged than the last, a cold air about her that seemed to linger wherever she went. "Fuckin' hell there's a lot of you. Did you all come in a clown car or something?" The rookie chirps as she's interrupted one last time, or so she would hope it's the last time. Her eyes; however, remain fixed upon the immense amount of alcohol the new arrival had unearthed. If she could hold her alcohol as well as hide it, Robyn knew she'd get along with her.

"Hell couldn't be worse than this city." Robyn would add as her eyes scan the papers in front of her. Details of criminals mutilated by... Something, she could tell with a glance that no normal animal could do this and certainly no human. Marie seeming to echo that sentiment as she finishes her thought. "Careful before you end up like these guys." Robyn would chirp as she watches Marie almost fall off her chair.

"Is this all the information we have?" Robyn picks up one of the sheets, bringing it over to her lap where she can take a closer look, it certainly looked like your ordinary news article, but the details were far from normal. Robyn only read the first name of the victim, Sean.

"Sean... Allegedly Mauled to death, limbs were found near the body... The fuck?" Robyn would continue to scan the paper in front of her, turning to her cohorts, her once stern demeanour now showing a hint of concern. "Right, no chance in hell a person could've done that, no less a gang member, it's too primitive for them. Each of you grab a paper, could we confirm what gangs they're from? We may have some leads if we can discover their affiliations with the other gangs in the area. There's certainly something greater at hand but we can't jump around without ground to stand on, I'm hardly experienced in stuff of this calibre."

Robyn would perk up leaning forward to place her paper back on the makeshift table in front of them, waiting for the others to gleam what they can from their papers. "But, two heads are better than one and we've far more than that, unless you both end up being brainless."

---

Montag Detectives Limited was almost a boring place. It fit the dry and unassuming atmosphere of its locale and choice of residence with a scenery that fit more into a docking sailor’s novel than anything short of detective work. But Jane found herself captivated and surprised by the strange and humorous faces about her, especially when told the water was free. “Oh no way! Thanks mister, I right really appreciate that,” she told Cathal. She’d down her cup of water before scrambling out her seat like some limber-legged arachnid to fill her cup again before taking her spot once more with a grin at Robyn too. The man of the hour soon arrived while she sipped.

Mr. Montag himself; honestly, Jane expected someone older to be running the place, maybe around Cathal’s age. She kept those thoughts to herself though, more amazed someone so young could hobble together a business like this. As he paced about and strode past the newbies, giving his orders and expectations, Jane tilted her head. “Introductions? Um.…sir, didn't you read our resume?" she asked. Robyn shared the same sentiment; even Abigail changed up the instructions. Did that sort of freestyle chain of command happen often around here?

Before Jane inquired about that, someone else burst out through the front door. The wood rattled, the place already rotting and decrepit and Jane held her cup tightly to keep the water from spilling. Such was Marie’s loud racket of an introduction. “Hey that’s not…I thought that was for everyone…” she said with some deflation as Marie broadly took the liquor bottle and practically downed all that was left. Jane’s frown lasted only a heartbeat before curiosity spiked her interest and the first case was revealed. So much for an evaluation of their skills. Perhaps a trial by fire was best.

“Oh wow, lemme see that.” Jane crept up behind Robyn to peak at the pictures, casually sipping her water just over her shoulder. “That guy got totally totaled! And that guy….are his eyes missing? Er, are you sure we’re really up to something like this as our first case? This seems kind of hardcore and I don’t have any experience with murderers….” All the same, Jane grabbed a random paper if only because she was forced to, wondering what connection there could be.

A paranormal gang? Some monster going after organized gangs out of vengeance?

---

A whirlwind of dialogue and energy washed over Cathal, and so he composed himself to handle things in his own flow. Marie's lackluster and depressive existence weighs on him and slows him down, his attention focusing on her. The way she handled the liquor, the way she lurched for it, the way she seemed to need it and didn't give a damn about how it looked...

He'd been there. Hell, he was sure that everyone had been there. The others all looked at their paperwork first thing, and their ghastly responses to the material didn't exactly hurry Cathal's own desire to look at the news and macabre happenings. He lifted a hand and slid his cap off, holding it to his chest in a dual natured maneuver; a formal greeting, and an obscuration of the newspaper in his other hand from his own eyes.

"Cathal O'Molloy, begging yer pardon. And that sounds like a crock o' shit, to be blunt with ya." he laughs heartily. "But I've seen stranger things than a boy who can guess all that without even hearing a man speak." He pauses, and nods to Abigail, then apologetically offers a smile to the other women present. "Eh, pardon the language, ma'ams. Old habits." He flashes that dazzling smile again as he focuses his attention back on Montag.

"But I'll play yer game. Yer the boss, after all. Cathal O'Molloy; Immigrant, if yer so keen ye can make the guess; Trying to wean off the liquor, though I dare say that's gonna be a slow battle. If I had to take a wild guess, I'm twice your age. Word of advice? Relax, you're only going to wear yourself out with all that bluster."

He eases back into his seat and shifts his physical posture to land his attention fully on Abigail.

"Now here's a miss with some sense in her head." He appraises her quietly for a moment. "Aye, I've seen some strange things. More than my fair share, and it's got me rather miffed to be honest with you." He rolls his shoulders, belying an underlying nervousness. "Trenches will do that to a man." He finally says, before flashing a more tame and reserved grin and continuing; "But to actually answer your question...Yes, New Haven's given me new headaches. I've always had vivid dreams, mind you, but ever since I nearly got my head torn off me shoulders by lass who was all leg and step-danced on me chin I've been seeing dark things indeed. I'm here because my dreams said to be, and because I've got a ghost of my own that I'm chasing."

Finally he looked to Marie, raising his cap back to his head. He studied her quietly. Weighing her words and actions finally. He folded the newspaper in his hands without looking at it.

"Well, sounds to me like you've already got a lot of this sorted out. Unnatural happenstances, vicious murders, hutning down unsavory sorts..." He shudders. "Murder's murder, someone being on the wrong side of the street doesn't change that."

He shuts his eyes for a few moments. Last night's dream flooded his mind; that gushing wound. Montag Detectives, LTD, a bandage. The bandage soaked through. Falling loose. The image expanded, the body was ribbons. The bandage was on an arm- but the arm had no accompanying body. So much blood. A fanged maw gorged itself on the entrails of a man nearby. A man Cathal knew. His eyes snapped open, his hands tight on the newspaper in his steel-grip. His clenched teeth parted and he whetted his lips deliberately.

"Let me guess..." He said with the appropriate dismay in his voice. "Lad by the name of..."

He flips the newspaper open finally, smoothing it out in his lap.

"Aye, Timothy Jones. Bastard." He pauses. "Ach, sorry, just assume I don't mean to do it in the presence of the fairer folk." He offers with his barking laughter as a blanket apology. "But I'd known one of these lads in passing. Mister Jones here used to be a bootlegger. Don't fret over why I knew of a bootlegger, now, but I've got a suspicion he was more than just ripped apart."

He lifts his gaze to Marie, Montag, and Abigail.

"He ran with the mob, organized bunch. Won't let their folk get gutted like that without doing their own legwork. I can start with that angle- one of me haunts was supplied by Mister Jones."

He'd expected Abigail to butt in at some point, but Montag was thrown off slightly as the redhead interrupted him in an attempt to get the newcomers to focus more on the 'extra' part of the detective's introductory criteria. He spared the sheets that each applicant had written a quick glance as Abigail and a couple of said applicants pointed them out to him, but he wasn't going to pay any real heed to them. Anyone could write anything just as anyone could say anything, but at least you could look a liar in the eyes as they spoke, not as they wrote. The young man wasn't going to dispute his associate however, after all this had been her idea. She could run the show. But that didn't mean he had to be comfortable with it.

Abigail was the people's person for better or worse, not one to put strangers up to scrutiny as the more sceptical Montag was, and soon pretty much any kind of introduction was thrown out of the window. The detective tutted under his breath, sharp eyes half-glaring around the room as the atmosphere grew a little too relaxed for his liking. "Leave it to a woman of the cloth to be too trusting. Typical." He thought, already half-tempted to call this whole thing off.

Before he could, however, another interruption came. And certainly not the most welcome one, in Montag's perspective. Suddenly the atmosphere was even tighter than before, the sound of rain outside becoming deafening white noise that Marie's numb and disdainful tone cut right through. He didn't even realise Abigail had invited her, and if he'd known she had then he would've put a stop to it, for various reasons. Reasons that were fully on display now as the young woman, bordering on instability, drank herself even deeper than she probably already had that evening, before tossing onto a desk a file filled with newspaper clippings detailing gruesome deaths throughout New Haven from recent weeks. Interlinked deaths that Montag and his two associates had been starting to investigate. In fact the file was probably from his office.

While Abigail dealt with the initial reactions of their motley crew, Montag approached the slumped and eerily pale-faced Marie who now reclined away from the rest of the group in solitude, save for the bottle of liquor held loosely in one hand.

"Stop that." He'd say to her, softly and bluntly, easing the alcohol from her grasp and placing it back on the table it had come from. "You shouldn't be out here. Drink this." He continued in short and concise sentences, offering her one of the cups of water instead. If it anything it would at least stop whatever hangover was coming from being too dramatic.

With that out of the way his direct attention could now turn back to the newcomers once again, and almost immediately Cathal caught his eye. Not least because the older man was the first to address the detective.

"Believe what you wish Mr o'Molloy - the word of a detective is one of the flimsiest you can find after all." Montag remarked before listening to rugged fellow introduce himself. Though you could tell there was some deep-seated brokenness within him, behind the words he spoke and that outgoing personality he unashamedly shared with others, he seemed an honest man at heart. Honesty that can only come with age, much like whatever darkness he chose not to speak about in the company of strangers. His final words of advice even brought a slight smile to the young man's face, a sharp exhale through the nose indicating the starts of a chuckle.

"My thanks for the advice, Cathal o'Molloy." The smile was broken by a cigarette Montag raised to his lips, a sign now that the detective had settled at least somewhat. The subsequent account Cathal gave of his summarised experience at New Haven was the subject of Montag's pondering as he burned through the straight, the room becoming misty equally with smoke as it was with freely floating thoughts. It was also a chance to observe the others in the group as they sunk their teeth into the information presented before them to varying reactions. None of them shied away from the gore at least, which was a good sign. But that was to be expected of New Haven citizens. Everyone in this city seemed to be desensitised to brutality.

"Unfortunately we'll have to be up to it." Montag responded to Jane's concern with an exhale of smoke, before putting out the cigarette on a damp wooden beam. He'd walk over to her, casually inspecting the newspaper clipping she'd been looking at just before. "The truth is these papers are useless. They report the problem, which is just about all they can do, but people became apathetic to this a long time ago. Even the police don't try with these cases anymore. They could put any old thing on the front page, even if it wasn't true, because no one would care. No one would bother to check. So that's why it's our place to investigate where no one else will. To live any other way in this city is a waste of life."

Montag circled around next to Robyn, not saying a word to her but simply observing as she worked and discerned what she could from the information in front of her and her own knowledge. There was impressive initiative shown in her suggestions and instructions to her fellow newbies. Enough to spark interest within the detective at least, before he was back to Cathal as he made a discovery of his own. The two men met gazes as the elder one spoke of the victim. A Timothy Jones. Montag couldn't say he'd heard that name before, but there was always a chance he knew a mutual connection of his.

"Did this Timothy Jones ever speak about his work or connections with the mob at all? Any names he might've brought up?"

Once again the door swung open and once again a person entered the warehouse, progressively getting more and more drenched, humid air slipping inside and reaching through all the clothes to clutch at the bones and shiver along them. None was spared from that, Abigail included - she shivered, getting a deeper breath as she rubbed her hands together one against the other in an attempt to produce more heat close to her.

Marie took of little time to introduce herself and introduce the others with the details of the case on their hands - her words cutting akin to that raining wind slipping through the cracks in the wall, her behavior was just like that dark cloud hanging and looming over them all, pouring water and coating the entire city into the mist of murky gray. Abigail could not help but to feel deep scratching regret for the way things went down and the bitter empathy for the girl who had her life turned upside down in the course of a single night, in the course of a few hours, or minutes even; that empathy demanded Abigail to embrace the girl in the warm comfort, but the girl put the grief around her in shapes of spikes, making it difficult to reach out for her.

The priest put her hand on Marie’s shoulder nonetheless, trying to comfort her somewhat still, while the newcomers took their time to introduce themselves and inspect the papers Marie brought. Montag pulling the bottle out of Marie’s hands and putting it back on the table received a short nod from Abigail, before she turned her attention to other detectives once again.

“When ye put it tis way..yes. We’ve all been brought ‘ere together, by some chance some say. Or by something I’ve heard been called “fates”. But…”, Abigail responded to Robyn as the latter noted the amount of people involved in the agency’s life; the priest wanted to add something else to this, but feeling the shoulder of Marie under her hand, she put a soft pause and with a sigh just shrugged, “..We’re in tis together now, one way or another.”
Higher purpose she thought. Believed so at least.

Cathal introducing himself among all of them in a proper manner made Abigail to chuckle - for a second alas as the fellow irish mentioning the trenches of the civil war made priest’s eyes to go dim and covered in some veil once again - though she blinked it away, like an annoying fly who started to buzz somewhere on the back of her head, where silence rested just a moment prior to. It came to silence quick enough again and she raised her eyes up once again, as if nothing bothered her. Instead she reached for the papers and scanned through it.

“Tis’s not the information as we know it, tis are just fragments”, Abigail said, answering Robyn’s question and following along with what Montag said: “As miste’ Montag pointed out, tis are but the.. aftermaths.”. Abigail shifted her glance at Jane, shaking her head a little, “Tis doesn’t matter, yer lack of experience. As a matter of fact, police’re at the same position. Unknowing. None’s encountered anythin’ like tis. One would say tis’ just a beast lurking, but.. it has too much thinkin’ going on for a beast.”

While Robyn scanned through the one of the papers, Abigail offered her attention to Cathal once again, giving a few nods to the man as he explained his dreams: “Then we’ve nothing much to explain to ye. Things’re changing, and faster than we can see. As miste’ Montag said, the public prefers to ignore.. all of tis events. Police’re at halt, they don’t know how to handle it, nobody does.”
A deep sigh followed once again and the priest raised her eyes on everyone present, as she gathered the thoughts in her mind and the words that would fit for these thoughts: “I’m sure ye understand what I’m to say. We’ve to fill in. Ain’t nobody else going to. You know it, you’ve seen it. Ain’t gonna be an easy job, but that’s the job that.. that just must be done. To help us, ourselves, these people.”

After that short speech, Abigail once again looked at the detectives, a blank paper note put onto the table to put the information accordingly - one coming from Cathal specifically:

“No trouble ‘ere. I know of some people who tend to be the clients of folks like you mention, so that ain’t a surprise for me. What ye say though is very important.. we’d really need to check tis, his agenda, tis band of his.. I think it’d be a good way for ye to form a team and investigate the connections, meanwhile I an-”

Before she could finish speaking though, a loud knocking appeared on the front door of the warehouse - surprised clearly as she was not expecting anyone else, Abigail stood up and approached the door which opened wide before she even reached it: a giant man with as giant hands, drenched wet from the rain as the drops fell from his simple working clothes, eyebrows and ears perking slightly on the bald head, gave a somewhat clumsy bow to everyone present as he entered:

“Miss Abigail! Mister Montag! Bad, very bad thing happened!”
Kaspar, the dock worker, another immigrant who came from the country that lost its original shape on the maps of Europe after the conclusion of the Great war, spoke in a deeply low, but contrastfully gentle tone, panting heavily, as he pointed with his massive hand at the direction somewhere outside.
“You told me to tell you if something wicked happens. And it is very wicked! At the bar..! The man was… I think ripped apart, blood all around! And his guts! This is some devilry!”, the giant man said, crossing himself.

Abigail blinked a few times, gasping at yet another realization that some consequences were in fact too coincidental to be just some random chance. She could swear she got used to it, but it took her like that every time.

“Calm yeself down, Kaspar. Wha’ happened?”, Abigail asked, inviting the big man inside, for all the detectives to have a good look on him, as he awkwardly bowed again and sat down on a crate.

“Some devilry..! I don’t even know how to..!”, the big man took a deep breath. It seemed some more direct questions would work better.

---

“Oh. I see….”

She really didn’t see, but by the way these people talked and the confidence that backed up her words, Jane was hard-pressed to deny them. Everyone spoke so much more seriously than her, with an air of dour melancholy that spoke levels of their experience. Even Cathal, light as he was, still held the tinge of age in his voice, no stranger to dark dealings by his own admittance. It made the girl suddenly feel small among all these other detectives, inconsequential.

Abigail and Montag himself both gave their pieces, pointing out the grim realities that painted this town in shadow and blood. If these cases were so simple to solve, then obviously the police would have done something about it a long time ago. The fact they didn’t, or couldn’t, no, wouldn’t was all the indication they needed specialized people. Jane internally critiqued herself for not figuring that out, common sense in this line of work. Even so, tracking down a murderer was not appealing and her energy lowered, not adding much to the discussion.

She didn’t need to. Intruding on the musings of this Timothy Jones and Abigail’s latest speech was a new voice. Jane nearly jumped out her skin when a new man barged through the door; the looks of his clothing indicated a local dock worker. What he said made Jane pale over briefly more so than anything else prior. A murder just took place? Her heart raced an inch quicker at that prospect. Now there was no time to debate or even prepare in their investigative work. Fear gripped her chest and yet….

“We should start our investigation now, right? If the murder was recent then that means the killer should still be around? Nearby?” What was she saying? Every sense in her head screamed at her to shut up and keep quiet, panic inducing her tone; she hoped no one noticed. Still, the idea of preventing another tragedy was much too great and she was already heading out the door, trying to get past Kasper.

“Maybe split up? There’s a lot of us so we can cover more ground that way?” she asked the others, knowing full well she had little right to order them around.

---

"Murder is murder. Right. But then everything changes when your father gets shot over some dispute between 'gods' supposedly up in the sky above. I think it's all bullshit, but what these people believe drives them to do the most insane shit I've ever seen. If even a bootlegger could get tangled up in these things then god help us all."

Marie explained with harsh crassness to the well-intentioned Cathal. In her eyes the involvement of the supernatural was all but guaranteed and the poor humans tangled up in their greed would suffer tragic fates for no greater purposes. Abigail's speech calmed her nerves and reassured her that the attempt to understand and bring these forces to justice was worthwhile still, despite her pessimism. She'd never admit it openly to the preacher, however.

Her attitude is reinforced as Kaspar arrives with the bad news. She could no longer believe in coincidences and the timing of yet another murder confirmed her suspicions. She'd glance down at her pocket watch, a tiny heirloom from her late father. The words of a friend repeating in her head. At once a great energy overtook her and compelled her to stand up from the bar.

"Yeah we should start our investigation alright! If we split up we're as good as dead if the guys who did this are who I think they are!" Marie shouted at Jane's question, coming up to examine Kaspar herself and getting face to face with the man.

]"What else did you see? Was there any strange spirits or did you get asked to do somethings you wouldn't normally do by strangers? Did any of them have snakes on their neck, like tattoos? You have to answer this now!"

The woman was angry and overwhelming the poor man. Abigail and Montag knew full well what she was referring to and what had caused this explosion of passion.

---

In the midst of all of the chattering, the clambering to check out the newspapers to find any shred of evidence, Robyn's attention would shift to Jane, who previously seemed to be rather loud, eccentric, a cheery girl. Innocence that Robyn could only hope would continue throughout the girl's career, the world needed more like her after all, yet there wasn't an ounce out of the girl besides a few words, before she falls into silence, uncharacteristic from their first meeting, it seems something was going on deeper there, but Robyn would leave it at that for now. After all, her attention would only shift once more thanks to Marie's incredibly pessimistic speech, one that has Robyn's family rolling in their graves.

"You're a bright character, aren't you? All sunshine and rainbows in that head~" The rookie would joke. Of course, Marie didn't leave the greatest impression upon Robyn, but she wouldn't make it her duty to disregard her words, she was just as much a part of the operation as the rest of them. "Still, I can't blame you, do try to lighten up, though. Rough line of work, don't want to make the office depressing as-well." Would be her final words towards Marie, or so she thought.

Robyn jumps, startled at the sudden intervention of Kaspar, a dock worker, traumatised by what they had seen. A big man, brought to a grovelling mess in front of the group, worried for his life, it seemed. While Robyn's first instinct was to stay quiet, working out at first as Abigail does her best to calm the man down, even bringing him inside where it would be far safer, warmer. All until Marie rushes towards the man, a burst of energy springing from seemingly nowhere. Just what was that alcohol laced with?

The poor man seemed to be overwhelmed by Marie's presence, exacerbated only by the tone in the girls voice, not the most welcoming voice, almost as if he was being interrogated by the police. There was a time and a place for her emotions to overwhelm her, for her to let them out, but in-front of this poor worker was not the place. "I don't know what's going on Marie, but shouting isn't going to get you the answers you want, start slow." Robyn would begin to approach her, holding onto the angered girl's shoulder lightly. "Try your best to take a calmer approach, okay? We can always take you outside and investigate the scene instead, if you can't." She would finally add, reaching for her glass of water, untouched. She'd hand it over to Kaspar, offering him the chance to drink something and calm his mind first.

Robyn didn't intend on listening to Marie, despite her warnings. Not out of distaste, but because that's the first thing a detective should do, in her mind. "Jane's got a good idea, I'm not great at interrogating witnesses, only criminals, so I'll go take a look at the crime scene, see what we can gather there, maybe find some more witnesses to help back up Kaspar's claims." The rookie confidently states, now looking over to Jane, a warm smile covering her face. "You're coming with, anyone else that wants to, follow me."

Robyn would begin to walk her way over to the exit, a cigarette sliding out of her pocket between her fingers, finding itself lodged between her lips. She thought this would be a cool way to exit, until she had to turn back to the party, a with a little defeated look on her face. "Oh and someone that knows the way to the bar, please."

Robyn had never taken initiative on an investigation, her heart was racing and she knew that one wrong step could end this whole investigation in an instant. But she wasn't planning on backing down either, she never had after all. Besides, if the perpetrator left any traces behind it would be best to find them now, before they can get further, She did have a knack for that after all. One could only assume she had the help of divinity with her high success rates in apprehending suspects that are on the run.

Kaspar's entry immediately took Montag away from his conversation with Cathal, the look of fear and sheer panic in the dock-worker's expression enough to set off anyone's instincts, let alone a detective's. Before there was even a chance for Montag to approach the gentle giant about the gruesome occurrence he'd witnessed only minutes before, the room suddenly erupted into a frenzy of impetuosity and raised voices. Marie was on her feet confronting the poor Kaspar as if he'd committed the act himself, the dock-worker clearly frightened half to death by her sharp line of questioning. Meanwhile, Jane and Robyn were halfway out of the door without even knowing where they were going, let alone what they might face when there. Now Detective Montag was beginning to seethe, just a little. His eyes narrowed and sharpened like kitchen knives, his countenance going from relatively expressionless to clear frustration at the display from his new team. And he was about tired of it.

"That is enough." Montag raised his voice for the first, and hopefully last, time as he stepped in between Marie and Kaspar, clamping his hands down on the intoxicated girl's shoulders to shove her back and hold her in place, separating her from Kaspar. Following a slight pause he'd continue, addressing the whole room as he spoke, stoic and blunt as ever. "I only want to explain this once. This is an agency for detectives. If you are incapable of keeping a level head in this kind of situation, then you are not welcome in this investigation and should just leave now. When you don't keep a level head, things get more complicated. And when things get more complicated, more people end up dead. This is a murder investigation. One with sinister forces behind it that we can't even comprehend right now, so you should damn well take it seriously. Stop fooling around like this is some kind of farce and remember the reason why we're here. As a group."

Montag paused again, finally letting go of Marie to step to the side and speak Jane and Robyn directly. "There's a fine line between initiative and stupidity. Know where that line is and don't cross it again. As I said, we're a group now. If you think running off alone will achieve anything other than ending up like the victims we're investigating, like I said, this agency isn't for you. If you want to be part of this, if you want to be a proper detective, you need to have enough of a head on your shoulders to keep yourselves safe, at the bare minimum. After that you can start worrying about other people." Even the detective surprised himself referring to those in the room, with the exception of Kaspar of course, a 'group'. That being said, he didn't have much of a choice in the matter at this point, whether he liked it or not. But that didn't mean he was saying it completely out of obligation. He wouldn't say it, otherwise.

"Now, if you've understood that, you two can come with me to the bar. And anyone else who wants to come. I know the place he means." Montag tugged his sleeves down to his wrist in preparation for venturing outside again. The 'place' in question was a bar frequented by those who worked around water: dockworkers, seamen, merchants and fishermen, the like. A place where bowls of chowder and sea-shanties flowed as frequently as pints of stout and lager. 'The Rusty Clam' was its name, located conveniently only a short distance from the warehouse the group were currently in.

Before he left, Montag would lock eyes with Abigail once more to get her attention, gesturing with a nod to Marie. "Keep an eye on her. If anything happens, or you want to come along, then you know where to find us." With Abigail's relations with the working class and homeless of New Haven, there was little doubt in the detective's mind that she knew where Kaspar had been referring to as well.

With one final check to make sure that those who wanted to be first on the scene were at his side, Montag stepped out into the solemn, heavy rain of the night. The first destination of Montag Detective Ltd.'s investigation: The Rusty Clam.