New York's Finest

If you're reading this then something terrible has happened. The note's letters were difficult to focus on. The flashing lights tried to draw his eyes from the page, though he fought to keep them fixed upon the words that had been penned, tucked oh so needly beneath a laptop. The chatter of others around him seemed to be nothing more than background noise as he tried to digest the severity of what he read.

My name is Jamie Narrick, an investigative reported, and if you're reading this then you probably know that I am dead. The man's gut twisted. This person knew she was going to die, and took the time to comprise a note. His eyes were pried from the page as he looked into the other room. There was darkness, but the flashes from SCI cameras revealed vicious arterial spray patterns that drenched the walls like a splattered paint brush throwing red paint across the wall. Looking back to the paper he continued to read. If this is true then you couldn't get here in time to save me. But you can still save her.

This is important, so I hope you find this in time. This was NOT an animal like the NYPD believed it was. It was a killer and I AM NOT it's target. This thing arrived in our city over a month ago, when the first "rabid animal" attack was reported within the sewers, and now here we are. 5 murders later, more than one a week and still it's all attributed to animal attacks in NEW YORK CITY! His eyes brushed through the remainder, ignoring the scrawlings of hatred and disgust with the ongoing investigations. He might have defended them, but in his heart he knew that this woman deserved every word she said to be heard. But he could reads this later, he was searching for a name. A name for this "killer" or for it's target. Finally he saw it. Sara Mitchell. He lowered the note to the table, placing it back to the table as he walked towards the cruiser, his mind reeling as he picked up the handheld attachment to the radio, pressing the button in.

"It's real. It's come to New York..."


Three people sat upon the cushioned seats of their posh and luxurious furniture. There were two men, dressed in black with a trinket with a faux-golden glistening to it. The emblem was easily identifiable as one stood taking notes upon a pad, the other with his thumbs looped through his belt, the pepper spray and other utility attachments shifting. This was not the first complaint they've had of random phone calls coming to their home, the sounds of breathing on the other end of the line, but no words exchanged. But each and every time the uniformed officers were left to scratch their heads. People sitting on their phones and calling were common place, or perhaps there were issues within the phones or the corresponding connections. This was the first time that a family had been so adamant about an investigation.

"I understand your anxieties ma'am. But the phone rang and your daughter answered. There were no threats made, there was no actual affirmation that someone knew they were even trying to contact your daughter. Lines do get crossed." The officer with the note pad stated as he looked to the more senior member of the force. The stern look that the older man gave him was nothing short of disapproving. After a solid moment of a stern glare from the older officer, they returned their gaze to the middle aged woman, whose blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, pearls lacing her neck. Her stern face was a clear indicator that she was unimpressed.

"Let's run through this one more time. The phone rings and neither of you were available. Miss Sara here picks up the phone and all you can hear is rasping breathing. You attempted to engage the caller with conversation, but all you got was more rasping. Are you sure there's nothing else? " The older man asked, the little girl shook her head, looking almost apologetic that things had escalated to this degree.

"No sir." The teenager would reply.

"Are either of you actually on the police force? Have you not heard about the outbreak in California? An entire trail of...." The matriarch began to seethe from her chair as she stood up. Her daughter looked to her as her father pulled her close. The moment that she noticed her daughter's recoil, the woman stopped and cleared her throat. "Gerald, why don't you and Sara go to the kitchen and get ready to set up the sunroom. I'll be in to make lunch."

"Alright." The man said as he stood, placing a hand on his teenaged daughter's shoulder. "Come along, Sara." He said, ushering her away from the conversation. Once they were out of earshot, the matriarch of the house reached into the pocket of her pencil dress and withdrew her cell phone.

"There is a killer on the loose, whose M.O matches this EXACTLY. He strikes at random to the last person he called. So unless someone else has been called reporting this, my daughter is the LAST person called. She is the target of this thing. If the fine gentlemen of the NYPD aren't willing to protect and serve, I'm certain we can hire someone who will." She said as she began to punch upon the touchscreen, a text message being sent out to three different people she knew would get the results done. The younger officer looked confused for s moment as the older man rolled his eyes and sighed, holding a hand up as if to stop the woman's rant.

"Calm down, Mrs.Mitchell. We'll cross all calls made in and out of the house between the hours of 10am and 12pm and we'll be looking into it." He explained, this seemed to warrant a glare from the woman, though she quickly nodded and turned around to walk away.

"I trust you boys can see yourself out." She called over her shoulder as she seemed to disappear into the kitchen. It was the beginning of a chain reaction, a start to the sequence of events that became a tragedy. The officers would see themselves out of the Mitchell estate, the large gated mansion sitting in a more private community. Their fortune had been built upon blood and lies, as far as either of the police were concerned they were just as bad as any killer on the streets. But in the end they knew that the little girl had nothing to do with the sins of the mother. They protected and they served, so they would do that for her.

All the while, there was a message sent out from the manor. The text would hit the criminal underworld and spread like a wildfire in Australia. The Mitchell family was looking for "talent" in order to protect their daughter and they were willing to compensate anyone with the capability to do so. If they could make her daughter vanish from the killer's sight, if they could hunt the hunter which sought her, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that their daughter survived. Their promises of rewards were simple. Money and influence, though they had much more to offer than just these things. Gems, and relics that belonged to only the most esteemed collectors hidden within the vaults of their home were all options.

Even outside the criminal underworld there were whispers of bodyguards being needed by the Mitchell family for a private detail. Similar promises of reward and compensation were promised, as their daughter was their most valuable asset within their lives. Whenever anyone had an interest within this position, they were to meet with the family at the Estate, away from the main house and at the pool house that sat just far enough away.

Refreshments were set out as people of all kinds had showed up. A man with a single bulging arm dressed head to toe in denim was the first. Next was a young woman with black hair, a reported that the Matriarch scorned at, but tolerated. The rest had arrived and filtered in. There were a grand total of 6 "applicants" to this detail, though it would be interesting to see just what they had to offer. Finally the woman began to hit her wine class with a fork, garnering attention.

"I suppose introductions are in order. I am Jaquiline Mitchell, your prospective employer. I have need of three individuals whom can ensure my daughter's safety at all costs from a relentless killer...so who are all of you, and what makes you the best candidate?"

"Shit." Ash growled as he pulled the phone from the claw of his thumb. Sometimes he was just the dumbest garbage he knew, and Hazel was, as far as he knew, still alive. "Hey, your phone. Give it to me." Ashford told the currently crawling away idiot, who paused when he realized he was being talked too.

Impatient, Ashford walked over and picked the man up by the idiot's coat, grimacing at the broken jaw. "Ahh. I'm not sorry. Phone. Come on." Ashford rushed the man, who weakly pulled his phone from his pants pocket. "And password." Ashford reminded, watching as the man slowly unlocked the phone before Ash took it from him with his human, if bandaged hand, dropping the man to crawl away, he looked at the messages.

"Same thing huh." The same message. A cry and plea for help. Protection. Not for the sender, but their daughter. He didn't know the name. Hell, he barely knew a name in this city beyond his own, but he recognized a mother who wanted nothing more then the protection of her daughter. "There's been one death too many... Sorry boys. Guess I judged too soon.. You're not... animalistic enough to be the killer. I think I'll be taking your place anyway. You two idiots couldn't protect a girl." Ashford threw the phone away, the address memorized. He'd find it. A book, those computers. He'd find it.

He wasn't sure he could protect the girl himself. But he'd do a better job then those two.


Yet he wasn't prepared when asked why he'd be the best fit. He almost wanted to say that he was better then the others, but that didn't seem right. Who was he anyway. A man with a completely bandaged arm, one metal arm with sharp claws attached to the fingers, a sword wrapped in clothe, a rapier attached to his belt, a dagger. He wasn't the normal body guard of this realm. Maybe back in his own.

But he had to say something, didn't he? Been a while since he'd considered his profile. He had been so famous before. The burner. Now, he was a strange man with strange taste. Maybe this woman would like strange. Strange was unpredictable. Dangerous. And she seemed like the kind of woman who'd prefer that when it came to her daughter's protection. Or maybe he was reading her completely wrong. He wouldn't want someone like himself to protect anyone he knew. He'd protect them himself.

"Ashford Narric. And I can't die easily. Or stay dead. My arm is more dangerous then any gun you have and my coat can't be broken. Put me between your daughter and this killer. She'd be safer then putting a wall... No. A tank between her and said killer." Ashford spoke calmly and with a little gruff. His one good eye focused on this Mitchell woman. The other closed and scarred, maybe hurting his chances, sure, but then he wasn't here to win. He was here to find the bait, follow the bait.

Never hook it. No. He'd never do that to Jules, so he isn't going to start now. But the bait would attract the killer. And she wouldn't need a body guard or three then. Not if the killer was dead.

Zachary Porter was a thief. He may not have been the best thief, or even a very good one; but when it came down to it, he certainly tried. That's why he was in New York. He was going to nab a painting from one of the local museum. It was a crummy painting of some cats playing chess. It was clearly derivative, but someone had commisioned him to steal it. All he had to do was finish his drink, and get to the museum. "In other news, a painting has been stolen from the Cress Museum. "Cat's Playing Chess" was a popular attraction for the muse-" Zachary threw his mug at the screen. "Dammit!" He yelled out. When other patrons looked at him, he just blushed and said "...Sorry... Just one of my favorite paintin's." Which recieved some nods around the room. Apparently taste couldn't be accounted for in this city.

He walked out of the pub and walked around the streets of New York for a time. Eventually, he got a text. But it was to one of his disposable phones. Usually people couldn't get into those... He saw that it was an address in New York. That's... Odd. Well, what's the point of questioning? He hailed a cab and got moving.

Eventually arriving at a home that was rather nice. He walked inside, wearing an overcoat and top hat with a mask that had red and blue lenses.  It was what he wore when he wanted to conceal his identity. The lenses had no functionality outside of letting him see movies in 3D...right now.

He glanced around the room, and was soon ushered toward a woman. He looked at the other people in the room. They were all pretty intimidating. He reached up and grabbed his shirt collar, pulling it gently. He tried to go for the snack table, but was sneered at by a man covered in denim and he quickly backed away. He crossed his arms and attempted to look intimidating.

Eventually, the woman asked the group in the room exactly what they could do to protect her daughter. So this was a bodyguard mission? Not exactly what he was used to, but... Hell, maybe he could earn a few bucks. "Hi there. My names Trilby. I have a uh... certain set of skills. Skills I have honed over a long career. I understand the mind of criminals, and to be quite frank, I really just don't see that being true of the others here. Not only that, but if push comes to shove; I'm more than willing to take a grenade for your girl. I don't suppose anyone else could say the same." He then looked at the mother. "Except you, of course. Nothin' quite like a mum whose afraid for her daughter." He tapped his cane against the ground nervously. Nobody needed to know that he couldn't die. That was just another giveaway to his identity that he didn't feel like sharing.

”Alright, guys, that’s cute and all, but you can sit down now.”

From behind one of the much taller individuals, a … strange looking man walked. Or … boy? He had long hair, easily capable of being tucked into his belt if he wanted to, and it was dyed all sorts of colors; though primarily pink, streaks of white, green, and blue were prominent. ‘Peacock’ would come to mind just looking at him. A series of earring pierced through both ears, and combined with the stud visible as he talked, combined to make him look like … well, a punk. Even his clothes failed to dispel that notion; a loose, baggy T-shirt, ill-fitting, and similar pants with dirty sneakers that were once white.

Yet despite his appearance, he simply oozed confidence; or perhaps arrogance would be a better word. Everything from his vaguely-Asian appearance to the smirk to the words coming out of his mouth told the story of a man who thought he was simply the best the world had to offer. He presented himself in the middle of the room, bowing deeply and vaguely sarcastically to this Jacquiline Mitchell, hair flipping dramatically before he straightened.

”Name is Haru. Haru Shiba. And what you need isn’t an individual, Mrs. Mitchell, but a group of professionals.”

From within the pocket of the jeans, he pulled out a card, made of metal and embossed with what looked like gold, and this he handed over to the matriarch of this family. ‘The Spider’s Web’, it said in bold letters on a background of webbings. ‘Purveyor of artifacts and custodian of all things mystical.’ His hands slipped back into his pocket, his grin only widening.

”Ya see, we’ve been doing this for ages now. It’s what we specialize in. And protecting a little girl ain’t no different from, I don’t know, delving into ancient ruins or fighting off a horde of pissed-off elves trying to get their religious artifacts back. True story, maybe I’ll tell you about them someday.”

He winked at Jacquiline, an altogether, incredibly flirty move; the short man simply had no boundaries, it seemed. As if on cue, the door to the pool house opened and three individuals entered. Leading the pack was an absolute mountain of a man; easily over six feet tall and built like a bear, tattoos covered the visible skin on his arms and neck, while on his back a shield rested, matching the sword at his hip. Old-school, but they looked sharp, and they looked effective. Behind him was another man, this one a … cowboy? Or he certainly appeared like it, a star-spangled cowboy. Slung over his shoulder was a powerful-looking rifle, and at his hip a pistol. Taking up the rear was a tall, dusky-skinned woman with rabbit-like features; tall ears twitched, following each noise as it was made, and a little fluffy tail bounced with every step. A wooden staff topped with amber was slung across her back.

”This is my crew, Mrs. Mitchell. A professional, each and every one. Now while I don’t have powers, they certainly do.” He gestured first to the man armed with a sword. ”Barret here is incredibly strong and durable. Plus, he has magic! Well, of a sort. Ask him about it, he just loves talking about it.” The glare shot towards him implied this was probably not true. Haru ignored this, and instead gestured towards the cowboy to his left. ”And Balthazar here, well … he is simply the best shot you’ll ever encounter. Plus, he’s a god with machines. You won’t have anyone bugging your phones with him around.” Balthazar flushed, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment at the praise, and Haru moved on. ”And Florian here? Well, she’s a rabbit.” Florian hissed at Haru, black eyes narrowing, and Haru hid his smirk. God, it was fun irritating people. ”But, she also has some incredible magical powers of her own. You wanna talk defenses, she got that. Nobody will be able to touch your little girl so long as she’s around.”

Haru slid his hands behind his back, letting his playful facade fade a bit. Slowly, he turned, focusing first on … what was his name? Ashford Narric? What a name. Can’t be killed, huh? Could be an interesting asset. And then to this Trillby. Why name yourself after a hat? The minds of criminals will always surprise him. Still, he had all the markings of an asset, even if he was suicidal … or was that all a facade? Hmm. Completing his survey of the room, Haru turned back to Jacquline.

”But if I may, Mrs. Mitchel, I think you’re thinking too small. Hiring me and my crew could ensure the safety of your kid, sure, but we have no fuckin’ clue what we’re dealing with here. Could be a group of assholes trying to make a quick buck. Could be a lich, or an archfey, or a wizard of some kind. No way to know. So the more we have …” He gestured towards Ashford and Trillby. ”Easier it is to ensure these bastards are stopped.”

Well there had been introductions passed about. Jaquiline listened to each person, giving them the time of day, eager to see the skill set that had been brought in. The first was an individual by the name of Ashford. He certainly stood out like a sore thumb with a bandaged arm and a metallic set of claws upon the other. He was armed tooth and with several bladed weapons of choice, and one in particular wrapped in what seemed to be a pennon banner. This man looked as if he had simply stepped out of a Dungeons and Dragons session, if such a session were a hardcore, live-enacted life or death fight for the amusement of onlookers. This thought was immediately bookmarked, her daughter so loved such games with the silly dice. Perhaps when this was all over they could hire such entertainment.

"Thank you, Mr. Narric." She said politely, as she looked to the next individual. This one was equally awkward, yet somehow they took their odd level of fashion to a different end of the spectrum. A top hat upon a rounded head, overcoat resting upon him like an old detective, while his mask was adorned with dichromatic lenses of red and blue. It was as if someone pushed a gentleman thief, a detective and a chic 90's 3-D raver into one person. Their name was even more awkward...Trillby. Jaquiline was with this man until he said about fighting off ruins of pissed off elves, in which case her expression went from stoic and stern to a visible level of being left speechless. "Thank-You? Mr.Trillby." The man was named after a hat? If she hired this man she would need to also give him the number of her psychiatrist....

It wasn't much so much as a confused thank-you later that someone had come to steal the spotlight from the rest. It was as if they had rehearsed this entrance, like some kind of mastermind that walks in with his suave and charisma to snatch the prize form under the heroes noses. It was almost ironic that this young man had been quite observant, only minor sarcasm. With three spots that the woman wished to fill she was, indeed, looking for a crew. What she had not anticipated, however was a functional crew being offered to her in one grandiose presentation. She had to hold in an audible groan, however as a cowboy walked into the room. She began to look around rather discretely, as if looking to see if she was being video taped and whose family she would need to have disemboweled for mocking her in this way.

"I assure you, The Lych has nothing to do with the murderer. He's actively..." After she was talking she stopped. She realized for a moment that she had misheard the young man. She shook her head and seemed to hush herself a moment before correcting her train of conversation. "Thank you, Mr.Shiba. You and your crew are acknowledged." She said as she let out a sigh, realizing that this man may have a point about hiring the entire group. It would set them back a little bit, but this was a worthwhile investment, wasn't it?

"Very well...let's talk compensation." Jaquiline said. The sound of the phone ringing in the distance caught her ear, looking behind her to her husband. The man quite quickly made his way out of the room and over towards the house. "Time is a precious resource, so we should be done with this quickly. What are your prices?" She asked, a few more of the generally well dressed men putting their fingers to their ear before turning and making their way toward the house, causing Mrs.Mitchell's face to scrunch in irritation.

Well, seems Ashford had been wrong when he thought himself the weird one in the group. The one in the hat and weird get up? That was a level of weird the man avoided actively. And the small army of four. The ring leader wasn't much worth any attention compared to the bear and the rabbit. One figuratively and the other almost quite literally. The middle one wasn't worth much attention as well.

Ashford didn't like this. Too many people. Too many people could protect someone but if the killer decided it wasn't worth it... maybe not. The killer was an animal. A murderous one. Still. He preferred working alone. One or two others would have been fine. Not five others. But the lady in charge didn't seem to care so it was this or nothing.

But a price? Ash hasn't considered that as a thing, which was stupid. Before New Hope, prices were how he survived. But money was a fickle thing here. One hundred coins sounded silly now. But he couldn't say no. Oft someone preferred that their hunters be paid... But it came to him what he wanted. His price.

"One thousand cash. In my hand when this is over... And an identity. I'm a ghost madam. My name is Ashford Narric and thats the truth, but you will never find that name in any document. I am as I said. A ghost. And I've found being a ghost is annoying. So make me a person. Whatever is required. That's my price. Ash had spoken. Silly how the greatest ask was that the world know his name as it is.Or that his name be allowed to do things.

Trilby waited for the man to finish saying what he was to say. It sounded like he was in the same line of work as Trilby, but he had sounded sort of... What was the word for it? Edgy? I mean, come on. Calling yourself a ghost, even if that was the proper term for it, was a seriously dramatic way to put it. Also asking so little seemed like a mistake. If he was wanting to leave the country... Trilby pulled out his phone and checked the price for a ticket back home.

"Alright, 2000 dollars up front, a private plane to leave the country on, and..." Trilby looked around the room until he spotted a painting that he liked. "I want that too." He couldn't leave the country without some sort of art work after all, and if he could get his art from a rich person; maybe that would be better than from a museum?

Trilby then turned around to walk toward the snack bar and almost ran head first into a rabbit girl. "Wait, when did you get here?" He stared her up and down. "Oh wait. You're probably part of that one guys team. The show off-y guy. You wouldn't happen to be single, would you?"

”Yes, compensation.”

Haru snapped his fingers, and the cowboy - Balthazar, as he introduced as - walked out, only to return moments later with two suitcases. Both were handed to Haru and slammed on a nearby table. This was the moment his brilliance shown through, he thought; his silver eyes twinkled as he slowly, deliberately, unclasped the suitcases. As he pulled them back, lights on the inside flicked on, illuminating the contents; cold, hard cash. Crisp, brand-new hundred dollar bills, kept in bundles with rubber bands, and filled to the brim. He lifted one, showing it around the room, before clasping both again. With easy grace, he slid one to land at the foot of Ashford, the other to the foot of Trillby.

”A hundred thousand American. Have to be honest, didn’t realize you guys would be so cheap. I could have saved myself a pretty penny.” He laughed lightly, slapping Barret on the shoulder, who looked at him with distaste. ”Oh, cheer up, Barret.” The smile slid from his face suddenly, and he was all business, as if he hadn’t just been laughing and joking around.

”Mr. Ashford Narric. Mystery man.” He over-pronounced each syllable, like tasting them in his mouth. As Haru turned towards Narric, he smiled, but the expression failed to lend any warmth to his eyes. ”I have to say, you impress. The money’s yours. I also happen to know people who can get you documents. Legal documents, work history, a social security number. Whatever you want. Work for me, one job only, and its yours.” His eyes glittered as he laid out his offer, but it wasn’t a pleasant one; more like the kind of eyes you see on a spider coming in for the kill.

”And now, Trillby.” Again, the humorless smile spread across his face. As Haru turned to face him, he realized he moved and spun in place, simply raising an eyebrow as he saw him, with what was obviously flirting, talking with Florian. The smile filled with humor; oh this would be good.

”No. I am not. I am … married, is the term used, yes?”

Her voice was thick, as if unused to talking in this or any language. Her ear twitched, and suddenly she turned, almost hitting Trillby with the staff held magically on her back, free of straps or any mechanism to keep it in place; it just kind of floated there. Her glare was directed at Balthazar, who had acquired a pistol from nowhere and was pretending to use it to ‘blow his brains out’. Seeing his wife glaring made him stop; instead, he started twirling the pistol on his finger.

Haru sighed. About time to intervene before they start bickering.

”Mr. Trillby. The money, as you requested, is yours. I happen to know several individuals with planes who owe me favors. I can very easily take you anywhere you want. As for the painting, that’s up to the matron of the house, or that specific painting. Of course, expensive artwork is a dime a dozen in my line of work, so I can get you practically any painting you want. In fact, I just … acquired one here. Cat’s Playing Poker, I think it’s called? Cute, but a little derivative.” He chuckled to himself.

”And now, for me.”

He turned towards Jacqueline then, the smile on his face growing absolutely predatory; it was obvious this is what he was aiming for the entire time. He had reached his goal, finally.

”You have a necklace. An heirloom, really. Passed down in your family for generations, the rumors say.” The way he spoke, it was obvious he knew she had it. ”I want it. Just one measly necklace for your daughter’s life.” Though his lips were stretched in a smile, it never reached his eyes, the silvery orbs instead glistening with a greedy malice that couldn’t be matched. ”It’s a steal, if you think about it.”

This would seem to be far more easy than she had anticipated. They wanted money in cash, as to be expected from mercenaries. This Ashton Narric wished to have an identity of his own, something he could fall back onto. He was a ghost of a man, though he seemed to be almost so straight forward and blunt...he was not a haunting type. Simply one that existed and remained that way. A false history, a false background... would take time to come up with, but for her prized daughter she would pay the price quite willingly.

"Consider yourself hired." She had said to Ash, her eyes them moving to the rather eccentric but somehow quite magnetic Trillby. She would have spoken to him as well but it seemed as though this man had just hired these two to work under him. She looked to this "Eccentric Skills Salesperson" as he certainly seemed the type. He was a seller of snake oil, but she didn't care at this moment in time. He certainly knew how to take control of a situation. She seemed to swallow as he bought out the competition right form underneath her, then turned to her with his own price for the collective.

Her mind flashed directly to the heirloom that his man spoke of. It was suddenly clear to her that her renowned accessory was now quite coveted, and while not many knew of it's magical origins she had her suspicions. She, of course, did not care. Her most prized possession would leave this loss inconsequential. There would be a price to pay for this, and she was prepared to pay. She looked back to the man, his greed and avarice only causing her lips to curl.

"Oh Mr.Shiba, you have no idea just how much of a steal it really is." She smiled, her tone slightly betrayed the friendly face before she acknowledged him with a nod. "It's agreed. The Daeva Sigil is your, once this creature has been successfully protected, and the beast hunting her has been dealt with." Mrs.Mitchell said, she proceeded to look to the house. A strong sense of urgency was still impressed upon her. Her men on their earpieces had left already, and yet after all of this discussion of price, they had yet to return. She quickly stepped over, making her way to Haru and extending her hand.

"The Daeva Sigil for my daughter's life. Those are the terms." She left her hand out there, waiting for Haru to take it. She would accept no other hand, but Haru's. The deal was made and it would be between the two orchestrating events. Once her hand was taken he would begin to realize just what had happened here. When he looked to the woman she would appear to have an almost gentle lavender colored flesh tone, ragged stone-like protrusions from her legs and arms, though her hands remained as soft as silk, but seemed to bend with the flexibility of what one might have equated to an octopus tentacle. Her hair was a maroon color and her eyes a pitch black, her black lips parted and tendrils of shadow seemed to slip out for a moment. In an instant the visage would instantly vanish once she removed her hand from his.

"I don't do paper contracts." She said simply, clearing her throat and looking at the others. They'd have seen nothing, but for one to see her true form was an unbearable fact. She had always felt so exposed to everyone. Thankfully that awkward moment didn't last long as the sound of shattering glass could be heard, a man screaming was propelled out of the second story and onto the pavement, a pool of his blood forming behind him, several puncture marks and savage claw marks seen.

"It's here..." She said, quickly everyone seemed to be moving out. There were the sound of gunfire, then loud crashes. To even enter the house it always seemed like something was in the room just next door. A faint scent filled the house, it was a rather musky smell that had not been there previously. The sound of gunfire from several different rooms came at once, and there was a tapping noise coming from inside the walls, like scratching. It was time for the individuals to shine their brightest.

Ash's one eye made it's way to Mr Shiba, who already seemed a step ahead of madam Mitchell. Trying to buy the strange one with the hat and Ashford himself out from the lady who had invited them here. Now, Ashford wasn't sure about his friends, but he found himself not liking the apparent businessman. Standing, the only one of note bigger then him was the bear. Barret. The others were ether slightly smaller. Or the man with the hat and Haru Shiba, who both shared a rather small height... Only the latter was more interesting now that Ashford really looked at him.

Markings shown with style. Metal in and out of his body. He wasn't someone to look down on by no means. But that was mostly because despite his appearance. He had powerful looking friends.  "No offense Mr Shiba, but I came here to work for Miss Mitchell. Not you." Ashford made quick to note. Eye narrowed as he glanced around. Wasn't there more people here before? Ignoring the rest of the dealings, he glanced over the other merc's, but none of them seemed to be too great of bother to focus on, he brought his metal hand to his chin, careful to not rip his face open with the claws as he trailed a smooth cold metal thumb over his stubble.

Then it started. The sound of glass shattered and a body fell into the open grounds of where they had met. His body that of someone mauled by a wild animal. "I see." Ashford muttered. It wasn't a man he realized, as the sound of gunfire spread throughout the building. As a smell unrecognizable spread through the air. Not a man nor a an animal one might expect. No... Whatever it was threatening the life of this woman's daughter was. It was far more dangerous then he had given it credit.

And by the sounds of it, the woman might have had an idea of what it... Or perhaps better said. They were. "Mr Shiba, I don't think I need to tell you to get your circus to spread out, no offense to them. Hat man. Do whatever you're good at. Madam." Done speaking, Ashford would take the chair he was sitting one and drag it near the body, writing a strange rune into the air, followed be a second, before grasping what would have been thin air to any eye that wasn't able to see the magic of his ice bolt rune. Taking the sword of demonic flesh and bone, wrapped in clothe to hide it's deformed look, he'd throw it away and kick the chair, sending it skidding to the wall at the base of the window.

Chasing the chair with a speed that didn't seem to fit his form, he'd easily catch up to the chair and jump onto it, using it as a stepping stone before lunging off the chair and towards the wall, the rapier now in his hand, a blue trail following it's tip as he slammed blade and claw into the wall. With an athletic lunge up, the man would easily catch the window with his metal claws, cracking hard wood as he quickly pulled himself up and rolled into the room all in one motion, coming upright to  face whatever it was that had pushed that poor sod out of the window, the rapier already finding it's way back into his belt and the dagger finding it's way into his clawed grip, his thump resting over the polished gem, it's fire just waiting to be unleashed. "Alright then. Let us prove our worth."

Trilby knee when he was rejected. He also knew when he was outgunned. That didn’t mean that he had to be necessarily happy about it. Just because Trilby couldn’t technically die, didn’t mean he enjoyed the experience. Dying hurts! Plus, the cleanup of his body was just… not fun.

Trilby felt goosebumps run up his arm at the mention of his lost score. So… honor amongst thieves really had just become an expression rather than a rule. He clenched his fists a couple times. ‘Fine. I’ll work with him.’ Thought Trilby. ‘He brought too many guns and I don’t think I can psychologically handle dying that much. But I’m going to talk to this guy about stealing from thieves.’

He nodded his agreement to the offered deal. “I really don’t care who pays me. I’m here for the free food, and the payment. Plus I’ve already given my word that I’d try to help to the best of my ability, so I can’t exactly turn down the best offers.” He rested on his cane, and then… all hell broke loose.

“What is that smell? Gas leak? Wait, no those are odorless… So that means…”

Trilby pulled out his gun, and swung his cane; allowing the silvery blade to be released to the air. “Stay behind me, ma’am. If all else fails, I’ll protect you.” He looked to Ashford and Shiba meaningfully, as if to say “For the love of god, don’t make me fight this thing.”