Margrave sat in the dark corner of a sleazy saloon where a shapely girl danced suggestively on the stage. It was too dim and most of the inhabitants were too drunk to care about the cake-y makeup that was slapped across her face that made her more of a clown than an actual girl, and they were too entranced with the sloppy moves of a clearly lackluster girl. But you didn't come for quality in these parts of the town, and you certainly didn't come to the Drunken Hound to find the girl of your dreams.

Sipping on straight up moonshine--the Drunken Hound was unapologetic about the dubious origins of their homebrewed moonshine and their lack of standards for...anything--, Margrave was lost in his thoughts about what to do. He was one of the fortune souls to come out of the Great War in relatively one piece, while his mind could be best described as fractured. What else would he be doing with the worst degenerates of the city at this awful drinking hole.

That being said, Margrave came from a rather prestigious background, although he abandoned all of that when he left England and came to the States. It was difficult for him to attempt at masquerading as a posh noble once again, like many of his fellow upper class veterans had. But many of those lived in relative comfort, in the safe backlines of the battlefield, sending droves of men to die simply because of performance reviews and the desire to be promoted. In hindsight, that may have been the most optimal choice for Margrave's sanity and continued blissful ignorance, but he was comforted by the fact that he tried his best and had saved many lives by being one of the few competent heads on the front lines.

But all that didn't matter, the war was over, the government didn't care much for heroes to bolster morale, and any rewards from the war boiled down to a shiny metal, a pat on the back, and the solace that you either saved lives or the burden that you had killed so many more.

He downed the rest of his glass of moonshine, which either had a near lethal amount of wood alcohol which would provide him a swift end or was safe to drink and slowly chip away at his health. Today was the first time he visited the Drunken Hound and this part of the city, and he doubt it would be his last.

A man cloaked in a large overcoat slide into his booth and waved at the bartender. Margrave looked up from his now empty glass, his face flushed and his face slack, his eye drooping. He looked at the man and noticed that underneath the overcoat was a neat suit which was horribly misplaced from his surroundings and he spoke out, "What you want."

The man did not respond as the bartender walked up with a fine bottle of whiskey, which was just as out of place as the man, with a fancy crystal glass. Pouring himself two fingers of whiskey, he motioned for Margrave's empty glass. Nodding, Margrave said, "Well I'm not one to say no to a free drink. Haha."

He laughed, maybe a little more hollowly than he intended as he remember his past life. Drinking fancy whiskey on imported, hand carved ice while sitting by the fireplace of his grand manor. Drinking a mouthful and feeling the warm burn trickle down into his stomach, he smacked his lips and responded, "Well thanks for the drink."

The man smiled, taking a sip of his own glass, the shadow and dim lighting of the bar obscuring a good part of his features. But he looked like a sharp and well-dressed man, probably gaining the attraction of many admirers. But the glint in his glasses had a particularly foreboding feel that irked even the battle hardened Margrave. The man stated, "I've heard a little bit about you. A veteran, eh? I could use the discipline."

Margrave waved dismissively. "The war is over, discipline is worthless. Times are getting tough and most people would rather hire a young strapping lad than a battle shocked and dusty vet. Even if I'm only a few years older."

Chuckling, he took a long sip of his glass and let out a content ahh. The man responded in kind, before he stated, "Well, I'd appreciate your skill. Why don't you stop by my office and we can talk more about it. I got a job coming up and I could use a man like you."

Raising up the glass, Margrave laughed. "Sure, sure. I could use the work, no one else will hire me anyways."

Finishing the glass, he slammed the glass on the table. The other man smiled again and left a business card on the table. "The bottle is on me, meet me tomorrow night at 5:00."

"Cheers mate, 5:00 it is." Margrave responded, unceremoniously pouring himself a new drink and finishing it. The man swiftly departed and Margrave capped the bottle and stuffed it in his jacket. It would make him a quick buck and would give him some cash to pay for a few more days at the shack he currently called home.

The Drunken Hound wasn't normally the sort of place Kates would visit. She was from from fanciful, but she tended to draw too much attention in a place of such ill repute. But sometimes it couldn't be helped. In this case, she'd worn a large, bulky coat and a hat to try to blend in with the crowd. She drank slowly and kept her eye out for her target- a man who'd be hitlisted by a Consigliere in New Orleans. Her target hadn't showed, but there were still a couple interesting characters about. 

One of those interesting characters was Margrave, who'd just slipped a bottle into his jacket. He'd just had a brief conversation with a man in glasses, but now he was alone. Kates studied him, curious. At first glance, little stood out about him, but he carried himself with a kind of presence that set him apart from the other denizens of the Hound. Jack had asked her to keep an eye out... maybe tonight wouldn't be a total bust after all.

Kates twisted in her barstool, speaking to Margrave with an arched eyebrow and a smirk.

"That bottle seems a little big for one."

Wearing a dusty jacket, stained jeans, a solid pair of boots, and a white shirt that was worse for wear, he looked like your typical laborer. He had sewn a hidden pocket in the inside of his pants to hold onto his savings, as he barely had enough dough to go to the bank without making a fool out of himself.

So when Kates called out to him, Margrave coughed in embarrassment, irritating his throat with a mix of cheap moonshine and expensive whiskey that was left over in his mouth. He questioned whether prior plan of selling the bottle was a bit too lowly, and it would be uncourteous at this point to try and hide the bottle away. So, he decided that sharing a drink was the right way to return whatever luck he had spent receiving the bottle in the first place.

Looking up, he saw a woman sitting at the bar top, dressed up with a heavy coat and a hat that hide away most of her features. Clearing his throat, he picked up his empty glass and sat to the empty stool to her left.

"Hey there, it'sss Margrave." He nodded off, his eyes closing for a few moments as waves of tiredness washed over him. Shaking his head to keep himself sharp, he slapped his face and spoke with a bit more clearheadedness, "Would you like a drink?"

Taking the bottle out and placing it on the bar top, he poured himself another finger of whiskey and offered to pour one for Kates.

Kates considered the man in front of her. He looked like a common working man, but in her quest to find her target, she'd noticed the suit who'd met with him. That guy hadn't belonged here, and he'd beat feet out of the place as soon as he could. But why had he been there in the first place? Talking to this drunk? It didn't add up, and she was inclined to indulge her curiosity. She crossed her legs, resting a hand on the knee of her black slacks as she studied Margrave.

"Don't see too many suits in here. Your friend seems like he got lost."

Kates nodded in thanks as Margrave poured her a drink. She drank and cursed the burn; at least Jack had helped her get somewhat used to it, but she still didn't see how others could find it enjoyable. Well, at least until she'd had a few.

"Thanks, Margrave. Good, uh, good stuff there. I'm Katherine- most call me "Kates". I appreciate your generosity there."

She raised an eyebrow as the man slapped himself.

"Maybe you need a coffee instead, huh?"

Margrave looked over at Katherine, or Kates, as she referred to herself and chuckled. There were very few people you could call a friend these days and he doubt he had anyone like that in the States. Times were rough, especially for an immigrant like himself, and work was even harder to find. He did recognize that suits were rare and it was even rarer to be offered a job, and so he explained.

"Yeah, I don't actually know him too well myself. But he cited a job and asked me to meet him at his office."

He searched his pockets for the business card and pulled it out.

"James Brooke. Manager of the River Club." he read out loud, seeing some address in the swanky part of the city. He looked over at Kates.

"Know of him? Although the vague nature of his inquiry into hiring me makes the work sound...ambiguously legal."

He gave it some more thought and wondered what exactly they would make him do. Lots of people these days needed people to shift from one place to another, nameless workers to handle goods that required discretion. He looked on over to Kates and addressed the last point with a smile.

"Anytime Kates. Glad to get to know you. To be fair, today is my first time at a drinking hole. Let's say I was doing some limit testing, haha, although it definitely isn't my cup of tea."

Looking her over, she seemed much better dressed than the rabble around these parts and inquired, "So what brings you to these parts? You don't seem like the type to be looking for the cheapest liquor in the city."

Kates nodded as she listened and sipped her whiskey.

"Never heard of him, but "The River Club" sounds a hell of a lot fancier than this place. If you don't know well, curious that he tracked you down. You must be in high demand. Or you've got a guardian angel out there."

She smiled at Margrave.

"Ambiguously legal sounds interesting, though. As for myself, I prefer to avoid ambiguity, both in legality and everything else. When the government breaks the law every day, what does it matter being a criminal? That's what my dad said, anyway."

Kates sipped her whiskey again, changing the subject away from her father. 

"Well, I'd say you found your limit. As for me, I didn't find what I came here for. I was looking for a man."

Her eyes roved around the room. Still nothing.

"Uh, not like that. A target. Someone who pissed off a Consigliere in New Orleans. The guy is big, six-four or six-five, almost three hundred pounds. Usually drinks in shitty bars. No offense."

She smirked, drinking her whiskey.

He looked on over to the bartender and motioned for a cup of coffee, which was water-downed and probably brewed with dirt rather than actual coffee but would suffice. Hopefully he didn't get sick off of whatever hot cuppa he got.

Rolling his eyes as Kates mentioned a guardian angel, he stated, "I wouldn't be drinking here if I had a guardian angel. But I wouldn't mind the work, whatever it is. As you say, it's not about breaking the law but about who breaks it."

He thought about his experiences dealing with the upper society in Britain and he knew how often they teetered around and blatantly over any legal boundaries. But money smoothed over all problems, and perhaps it was time to earn a pretty penny himself. It was certainly better than living out in a hovel day by day.

"And yeah, I think I'm done drinking for today. Moping around ain't going to help me much. But a man?"

He grinned but took a contemplative look. Big guys were rare and he doubt that Kates would be looking for a fatass. He recalled prowling through the streets and bumping into a man who matched the profile. New in town. Mean mugging. And big.

"On second thought, I might need another drink to remember something."

Margrave poured a hearty amount of whiskey into his glass, and downed it in one. Hiccuping, his face gradually became slightly redder and he rubbed his temple. 

"Ahhh, yeah. I bumped into a similar guy outside some night club. I remember because his wallet was filled with bills, and he was wearing a brand-new suit straight out the shop."

Drinking gulps of the coffee, which was surprisingly good and well-brewed, he eyed the bartender and left a big tip.

"I don't remember what the name of the club was but I remember where it is. I could lead you there, besides, it would be far better than wasting away here."

Kates watched as Margrave switched to coffee, then back to whiskey again; she perked up as Margrave mentioned someone who could be her target. Jimmy Fitzgerald, also known as Jimmy Fitz or Jimmy Fists, had had quite a lucrative bounty posted. She leaned forward with interest, placing her glass on the table. Her muscular forearms snaked out of her jacket and rested on her knees as her brown eyes looked at Margrave.  

"You help me find him, and I'll give you a cut. Or owe you a favor."