Name: Elizabeth "Bitsy" Rose Hobbs
Age: 28
Sex: Female
Sexuality: Pansexual
Relationship Status: Single

The Body

Height: 5'0"
Weight: 110lbs
Hair: Long, chestnut brown, wavy, frizzy
Eyes: Ocean blue
Skin Tone: Porcelain pale
Appearance:
Bitsy is a thin, sprig of a woman. She embodies that boyish shape becoming popular in this era with little curve and small breasts. She dresses in usually decadent, showy, and showy outfits. Her lips are usually painted bright red and her eyes lined in darkly colored shadow to make her blues pop. her hair is typically worn up to give the long locks the illusion of being in the short bobbed style that has become popular.

The Soul

Likes: Pearls, perfume, soft couches, seafood, warm and sunny days, partying, drinking, smoking, a man in a fine suit, and mischief.
Dislikes: Humidity, facial hair, needlepoint, debt, weak coffee, carrots, illusions and falsehood (especially pertaining to mystics), housework, and ripped hose.
Skills:

• Clairvoyance
• Communicating with and seeing the dead
• Charm and wit, using her feminine wiles
• Empathy
• Getting into trouble
• English, French, and Latin

Brief History:

• Born on Aug. 4th to a Mr. Ferdinand Hobbs and Mrs. Rose Hobbs.
• Strange baby who giggles at nothing or cries for no reason.
• Spends many of her early years growing up in a boarding school in England.
• Gets into loads of trouble for imaginary friends. Like the lady with the bloody arms or the man with no head. Learns not to talk about these things.
• Comes back an accomplished lady.
• Spends a few years with her parents. Mother trying to marry her off, father trying to hold on tightly to his only child.
• The Great War starts. Her father joins up and so does she as a nurse.
• For about one horrid year she works to keep men alive as they die beneath her hands. Sometimes she had trouble telling who is alive or dead. Writes it off to others as stress.
• At last, war is over and she returns home without her father who has died at the Somme.
• Mother is in bad shape, refuses to eat. Grows sicker and sicker.
• Eventually she too passes.
• For a year and a half she grieves, alone in the world.
• Comes back to the modern day to learn that her father had made millions in the war.
• Starts investing, earning more. Partying and playing the socialite.
• 1921 she grows bored of this life and decides to start up her own detective agency.

The Story

Miss Hobbs replaced the beautiful mother of pearl listening device back onto its matching carriage. It was of the French design and matched the very modern white and black decor of her penthouse home. There were hints of pastels here and there in furniture, painting, or drapery but she preferred to keep it for the most part quite stark.

She had just finished her last phone call with the potential candidates. She was awed that so many would be willing to work under an inexperienced lady detective. Opening up a pack of Lucky Strikes, she approached the window to watch the world below scrabble about. Among the living, she saw the dead. Sometimes it was heartbreaking to see a mother scream at her son as he works himself to the bone. Her tears as she begs him to relax lest he joins her too soon. Things like this chewed at her and she quickly shook her head to rid herself of the memory.

Rubbing a hand over her face she turned back to the room and sat behind the desk. Bitsy lit her cigarette and began pouring over her notes, carefully searching the words and the feelings she’d felt over the phone. Lovingly she touched each name and let herself get a sense of their futures. Who would be a good fit? After giving her cigarette a good puff she called out, “Mister Foley.”

“Yes Miss?” He was in the office within seconds. Foley was a tall, slender man with sharp features and a countenance that surely would have once been extremely handsome.

“I think we’ll need some good champagne, do you think you could check my stock and see what is available? I think we should have a little party to celebrate when my crew comes together.” She flashed a toothy and charming smile.

“As you wish.” He returned the smile before sweeping from her office.

Bitsy leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the desk like she had seen in a silent picture once. It was rather uncomfortable for her short frame so she brought her heeled feet back to the ground, and picked up the newspaper instead. It was now she saw her advertisement in the paper. They had shortened it! She paid good money for that ad. Bitsy pursed her lips and tossed the paper aside. No wonder so many had applied. None of them knew they’d be working for a woman. She pushed back from the desk and left the office. “I look forward to meeting you all in person,” she said to the papers on the desk and turned off the lights. “What a surprise it will be for all of us.”

The Ether

Color Code: E6C2FF
Theme Song: Rhapsody in Blue - George Gershwin - Fantasia 2000

Name: Edward Foley
Age: 48
Job: Butler
Location Met: Miss Hobbs’ Penthouse
Home: Miss Hobbs’ Penthouse
Appearance: Tall and lanky but with well-built muscles. Salt and pepper hair. Grey-blue eyes. Pale skinned. Always dressed in a butler’s best. Gloves on hands cover burn scars.
Personality Traits: Kind, accommodating, insightful, gentle, “everyone’s dad”
Notes:

Name: Norma Blume
Age: 52
Job: Cook, House Maid
Location Met: Miss Hobbs’ Penthouse
Home: Miss Hobbs’ Penthouse
Appearance: Stout and slightly overweight. Greying, dark hair. Known to wear trousers on occasion. Brown eyed. Expressive.
Personality Traits: Sassy, straightforward, no-nonsense and no filter. Laughs easily. Very creative and willing to do just about anything.
Notes: Was a part of the women’s right to vote movement.
No matter the meal, always delicious.

Name:Mr. Samuel Wu, Esq.
Age: 34
Sex: Male
Sexuality: ”Straight”. It's 1921, after all.
Relationship Status:Confirmed bachelor.

The Body

Height:5'6”
Weight: 138 lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
Skin Tone: East Asian
Appearance:Wu is a well-heeled man of cultivated and genteel appearance. His hair is carefully done, he dresses exclusively in tailored suits, and there is never so much as a speck of dust on his person.

The Soul

Likes: Opera, a glass of wine, the latest investment opportunity, promoting the interests of New York's Chinese population
Dislikes: The Tongs, dirt, racist sentiment (it's 1921 so that is most sentiment)
Skills:

• Skilled banker and investor
• Moderate wealth
• Influence in Chinatown
• Wine connoisseur
• Speaks Mandarin, Cantonese, French, Italian, and English
• Expert knife thrower

Brief History:

• 1887: Born in Chinatown to immigrant parents.
• Schooled in the American tradition, spends as much time as possible in the library. Learned knife throwing from less savory characters in the neighborhood, still practices for stress relief.
• 1912: Rather than join his brothers in running his father's small tailoring shop, Wu instead goes to work for the Benevolent Fraternity of Merchants, a Chinese-American organization that protects local rights.
• Frustrated by the refusal of Chinese custom by local white banks, the Fraternity begins operation as an unchartered bank for the Chinese population. Wu is placed in charge of investments and helps make the enterprise profitable.
• 1900 on: Amidst Wu's slow rise, two local Tongs, the Hip Sing and the On Leong, go to the mattresses. It is a simmering, ongoing war that occasionally explodes into open violence. The Fraternity and the ordinary citizens of Chinatown are caught in between. However, the police and other white authorities largely ignore the brutal gang war. Wu's efforts against the Tong come to naught.

The Story

The phonograph scratched as the needle caught, and the small but comfortable study was filled with the swell of strings. The overture to Bellini's Il Puritani, featuring as Talbo none other than the incomparable Enrico Caruso (may he rest in peace, gone earlier this year).

Mr. Samuel Wu, Esquire nursed a small glass of sherry as he looked over his mail. As he had expected, much of it was letters he had hopefully dropped off at the post office, returned unopened when his Chinese surname and Chinatown return address were noted. Crestfallen, he looked over them. His missives to the New York Post, the Board of Aldermen, the District Attorney, anyone he thought might listen. Despite the perfection and eloquence of his English they had not bothered.

With all the talk of mobsters and racketeers, all the men like Rothstein and Dwyer and Morello, no one in this town seemed aware of the decades-long mob war being fought below 14th Street. The Hop Sing and the On Leong had perfected the art of murdering one another over turf and opium long before any of the Jewish, Irish, or Italians began running rum and trading bullets. So many young men dead, so many parents suddenly childless. Wu was suddenly hit by a wave of powerlessness. There had to be something he could do.

Maybe if the law would not help it was time he acted on his own.

The idea hit him like a thunderbolt. It was silly, it was impractical, of course. But the idea of acting the chivalrous hero, to be a Parsifal or Don Ottavio, it appealed to the child in him.

But where to begin? He knew nothing of policing or detecting. Unless he were to take a sabbatical to somehow learn and practice such skills, and then teach them to other community-minded individuals. . .

Wu picked up the newspaper he had idly leafed through earlier, trying to find the ad he spotted earlier in the day. He found it, read it over twice to be sure. He nodded to himself. This was the right choice.

He wound up the telephone, lifted the earpiece from the receiver, spoke in his most cultured voice, which coincidentally was his standard voice. “Hello, operator? Kindly connect me to Miss Elizabeth Hobbs, please.”

The Ether

Color Code:6A5ACD
Theme Song: Prelude to Cavalleria Rusticana

Name: Rosa Kimbell
Age: 21
Sex: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Single

The Body

Height: 5’2”
Weight: 132lbs
Hair: Black, wavy
Eyes: Dark brown
Skin Tone: Mixed Race
Appearance: Stocky and short with a passion for linen, Rosa dresses in waist high slacks and simple yet modest clothing for most of her day to day life. Her body is spattered with the scars of various bumps and bruises, her freckles show up under her eyes more prominently during the summer and she seems to cut her hair every weekend in an everlasting bid to contain it. She has a gap toothed smile and a wary eye. Her favourite colour is Burgundy and gold - she wears some of each whenever possible.

The Soul

Likes:
Exercise
Good food
Stories
Meeting people
Parties
Naps
Dislikes:
Idleness
Bureaucracy
Cold weather
The countryside
Coffee
Zoos
Skills:

• Psychometry (with no control over it)
• Good with mechanical engineering (Bad at theory)
• Methodical (and stubborn)
• Bilingual in French (but not too good at reading it)
• Quick and agile (but can't take a hit)

Brief History:

• Louisiana born and bred to a francophone African mother and an Irish American father.
• Grew up in a Catholic boarding school.
• Apprenticeship in her father's autoshop.
• Papa died during the Great War.
• Worked in an automobile factory after her mother fell ill.
• Pushed into robbery out of desperation.
• Uncle Joe moves in, looks after Maman and Rosa.
• Maman died 1919.
• Sold the deed to the autoshop to move in with Uncle in New York.
• Psychometric abilities manifested.
• Made pocket change as a shitty repairman in their apartment block.
• Struggled to find work after newfound abilities.
• Applied to the agency on a whim.

The Story

It wasn't that Rosa had drank so much that it was difficult to walk; it was simply a combination of dancing for hours and drinking in the breaks that made coordination a little bit more difficult than it would be during the day. Nevertheless, she trundled on with high purpose; they had ran out of cereal. There was a 24-hour kiosk down the road from where she lived with her uncle, run by a sweet Jewish family and almost always open for business as each family member took shifts. Under the cool fluorescent bulbs, anything was possible, everything was for sale. Rosa regarded the boxes of Quaker oats with a deliberate solemnity that the slightly inebriated seemed to always carry about them.
That's probably why Rosa nearly shat herself when a haggard old woman seemed to literally materialise in the slim gap between the grits and the toiletries aisle, weighed down by the endless layers of dulled clothing and tarnished jewelry. Rosa regarded her with awe and gingerly held out the box of cornflakes as a peace offering. “Never mind that, child,” came the raspy voice of the lady (Rosa clung to her Kellogg's for dear life) “I am here to give you an opportunity.”

“I don't think those are in stock round these parts,” murmured Rosa as she started to take a few tentative steps back. She jolted as those withered fingers hooked around her wrist, and avoided looking into those piercing green eyes. “Listen lady, I fix things, I don't live off miracles. My land’s the land of the broken, smokin’ outcasts of our new automated life.”

The old woman tapped one of her lacquered nails on her stomach. The red claw pierced the coating of tassels on Rosa's dress and sent chills running down her body. “Not recently, for certain,” she hissed. “Not since the incident.”

“You're good at this cold reading shit I'll give you that,” came Rosa's nervous reply. The cereal was the last thing on her mind now. “Go on then. Give me an example of my lil’ incidents.” She blinked - a quiver of fear gave her warning - inhaled, sucking in one last breath of air before being hauled into the musty depths of the old woman's cloaks. Her ear was accosted by the words that the woman spat into them and Rosa recoiled, ripping the hem of her dress on those talons, nearly tripping on her own feet, as she was abruptly let go.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. That'll do it,” Rosa stammered, a pool of orange flakes covering the tiles from the crumpled box hanging loosely in her hand. “You on that voudou shit, aren't you? Maman warned me 'bout you.” Her free hand reached out and numbly grabbed the advertisement that the woman offered her. “So, does Hobbs take a-...a, uh, a telegram?” She called after the retreating figure. “She got business hours? Don't think she'd be awake right now, uh-huh?” She tottered after the old lady but lost her again in the gap between the aisles - the only proof of her existence was wobbling in Rosa's trembling hand.

Rosa sat on the floor. There wasn't enough bathtub gin in the world to make that up, and she didn't know what degree of sober she had reached, but it wasn't enough to wrap her head around the surrealism of the moment. Lost in deep contemplation, she awoke from her musings when bubbe Cohen shuffled down the aisles, pushed the pile of cereal aside with her little feet and wrapped her shawl around the lost girl, asking her with all the warmth of the street's favourite grandma if she was going to pay for that.

The Ether

Color Code: #800020
Theme Song: youtu.be/01wQa0ctK-Y

---

Name: Cecelia "Cece" Tinsley.
Age: Twenty-Eight.
Sex: Female.
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Relationship Status: Newly Engaged.

---

Height: Five foot five.
Weight: One hundred ten.
Hair: Sandy brown.
Eyes: Hazel.
Skin Tone: Pearl.
Appearance: Cecelia has a gentle round face, with large and endearing eyes. Being well manicured and athletic is of the utmost important to Cece when it comes to her appearance. She keeps her hair short and well managed, eyebrows shaped thin and makeup often a bit too dramatic for the occasion. When she was younger her older sister broke her nose and it is something she is very self conscious about.

---

Likes: Home cooked meals. Dancing. The movies. Being independent.
Dislikes: Driving. Winter. Chauvinist men. Too much cigarette smoke.
Skills:

• Decent singer and dancer. Not quite the triple threat.
• Always on time, if not a few minutes early.
• Memorizes numbers and patterns with ease.
• Cooks like a chef, loves like the milk man.
• Organization, alphabetizing, and sorting.

Brief History:

• Born and raised in New York: Small family of four. youngest child. Full bleeding Americans.
• Completed primary and secondary school, but no further education that that.
• Worked as a waitress at a small ma' and pa' diner serving burgers and milkshakes.
• Swooned by her now fiance while she was working at the diner. He is a salesman with an appetite.
• Mother and older sister get her a job offering as a switch board operator.
• Is currently on last warning notice for work due to inappropriate phone behavior.

---

The heavy smell of smoke lined the air of the small living room apartment. "Must you do that in the house?" Cecelia's nose wrinkled, sure her own fingers were stained and her lungs riddled with tar; but she never did it in the house of all places. Otto made a grunt as he looked through the newspaper. He had been having a rough week, and with Cecelia's heavy spending in the last few months- it seemed that with whatever money came in was going out just as fast. When he lowered the paper slightly he was met nose to nose with Cecelia. A dangerous look in her eye as her flat mouth upturned into a smirk. "Come on Daddy. You promised me." Otto returned a raised brow, as he took his paper and rolled it up before smacking her on the bum. "Dinner was meant to be ready wasn't it? Perhaps I should get in line at the soup kitchen? With your spending we will be there by next month." his playful tone quickly had turned sour, and the kiss they had just exchanged lost it's glory.

Cecelia began to speak, but Otto wasn't interested in small talk, he placed the paper down and walked to the kitchen, where the pot roast had been sitting in it's piping hot gravy for only a few minutes. Sitting in one of the living room's side chairs for a moment to gather her nerve; Cecelia's eyes wandered to the crumpled up paper. E z beth Hob was all she could make out of the advertisement before she lifted herself off the chair a bit to reach over to the paper to investigate it much more. They said curiosity killed the cat, and Cecelia was thankful for her nine lives. Elizabeth Hobbs read the advertisement as it came into better view.

"That sounds familiar.." she spoke out loud, as her brain brought her to the telephone call she had transferred earlier while at work. Dancing over the words, the ad was just the right amount of exciting and curious to peak her interest. Were these type of things real? They truly couldn't, but Cecelia had seen enough impressive parlor tricks that if even if this was a facade it would be something good to gossip about at work and home...

"This pot roast is cold." Otto's voice rang out suddenly from the kitchen.

"Heat it up!" Cecelia exclaimed as she stood up, paper in hand as she walked to the coat rack to adorn herself in her lavish black fur coat and matching hat. Shoving the paper in the inner pocket, she opened the door and slammed it behind her. Otto could survive an hour without being doted on. Cecelia had an important woman to speak to.

Color Code: c4df9b
Face Claim: Claudette Colbert
Font: Engebrechtre
Theme Song: ♪
Bessie Smith - Nobody Knows You When You're Down & Out
_{Once I lived the life of a millionaire,
Spending my money, I didn't care
I carried my friends out for a good time,
Buying bootleg liquor, champagne and wine}

Name: Joseph Kimbell
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Sexuality: Homosexual
Relationship Status: Single

The Body

Height: 6’2”
Weight: 190lbs
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Skin Tone:Caucasian
Appearance: A weathered face from the war has made Joseph old before his time. His attire shows an effort being made to maintain his appearance, but his hair isn't so neatly parted as it should be and his shirt is crinkled. He has a forlorn, thoughtful air about him which makes his sleepy smiles all the more precious when they do come around. He wears suits that should have been replaced a year or so ago. There's a faint band on his ring finger. His hands are calloused and his nails are short. He has some scars on his torso.

The Soul

Likes:
Beer
Books
Slow Jazz
Joyrides
Autumn
Peace and quiet
Dislikes:
Parties
Foreigners
New Technology
Sugary Food
Birds
Heatwaves
Skills:

• Ex-sharpshooter
• Disciplined
• Street Smarts
• Irish-American Connections
• Well-read

Brief History:

• Born 1886 to Catholic parents.
• Grew up in New York, went to school and worked part time in the library.
• Discovered his sexuality at a young age.
• Younger brother found out, kept it secret.
• Younger brother dated a black woman, ostracized from the family and moved to Louisiana.
• Married childhood friend Maud McKenzie.
• Bought a house together, no kids yet.
• Great War began - enlisted and received training as a rifleman.
• Met his lover, Samuel Limper, in the war.
• After the armistice, was given a blue discharge.
• Wife found out and left him.
• Lover lived too far away to maintain relationships.
• Younger brother died, left a bedbound sister in law and a niece in prison for a misdemeanor.
• Moved to Louisiana, bailed out his niece and payed for hospital bills.
• Sister in law dies of Spanish flu. Compiles money from inheritance, military pay, and sold the autoshop to move back to New York in shitty apartment.
• Constantly denied work due to blue discharge.
• Kept tabs on ex-wife and her new husband.
• Took on occasional smuggling operations with friends of the family to pay the bills.
• Adapted to his niece's sudden onset of seizures.
• Became desperate - joined the agency on a whim.

The Story

The click and thump of the door woke Joseph out of his reveries with a start. A tittering giggle and the unsteady gait on those creaking floorboards alerted him to the arrival of his niece who was presently leaning on the doorway, hair barely kept under the gel, a tear on the hem of her tassel dress. “So I've been thinking,” she started boldly.

Joseph shifted his tired gaze at Rosa, remaining slouched on his small wooden stool, already annoyed purely for the sake of being annoyed. The young girl was unfortunately lined up in his sights. “What?” he asked plainly, internally begging for her to cut to the point of whatever question she had lined up. Rosa smirked and slapped down the advertisement.

Slowly craning his head down to read the contents of the paper, Joseph didn’t give off much of a reaction. The possibility of his young niece even suggesting something like this was completely unexpected, but not surprising given her temperament. He sat there in a long pregnant pause before looking back up at the girl. “What are we supposed to do with this?” he asked her.

“You used to be a sharpshooter, right?” Rosa sank into the seat next to him and went to work taking off her heels. “So it was your job to spot sketchy shit before it happens. And I can't so much as grab a spoon without having a fit. And we've already been privately investigating Maud, AND we're running out of options here.” She tapped the sheet of paper excitedly. “We ain't gonna lose anything by applying, is all I'm saying. Why would these guys care if you're a homo? If anything that means you know how to hide shit.”

With furrowed brows Joseph redirected his attention towards the advertisement slapped before him. “Where did you get this?”

“A crazy gypsy who lives in the cereal aisle of Cohen's kiosk gave it to me,” Rosa whispered dreamily as she rested her head on the table.

Joseph closed his eyes and shifted his head to give a desperate stare out the window he had planted himself behind. “What the fuck…” he whispered to himself before letting another long pause of silence linger between the two. “Wait- we? You’re thinking of applying too?”

“Mhm,” Rosa mumbled, her voice heavy with the intoxicating cocktail of alcohol and drowsiness. “I can't barely pick up a wrench. At least this way I'll be useful…” she trailed off, her breathing settling into little snores.

“I’ll think about it.” he said but he was already only talking to himself at that point. Rosa was out cold, leaving him alone with the sound of his thoughts and the groaning of the central heating. He directed his gaze back out the window and did as he said he would, think. Rosa had a point, applying would do no harm. Besides, in their situation they had no right to be picky with work.

After helping the unconscious Rosa to her bed and spending several more hours perched back on his stool in thought regarding the offer, Joseph began convincing himself more and more about the plausibility behind applying. She had a point, after all. A cheeky one, but a valid one nonetheless.

Next he found himself restless in his bed, staring at the ceiling with thoughts of the danger the advertised work could entail, building himself little scenarios and playing out his responses to them in his head. Especially since Rosa was looking to apply as well - and he had no doubt that she'd call in regardless of what he chooses.

‘Better then turning back to crime’ he repeated, over and over as he busied himself with preparing breakfast for his niece, sliding eggs onto her plate before staring into his coffee with a hollow look.

By midday he was once again perched on his stool, this time with a phone in his lap as he began dialing the number on the advertisement, foot repeatedly bouncing on the floor tiles as his nervousness grew. Better than letting Rosa go alone. Better than smuggling. Better than waiting in this dingy apartment for an opportunity...or a miracle.

The Ether

Color Code: #f7e7ce
Theme Song: N/A

Name: Emil Buckner
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Sexuality: Asexual
Relationship Status: Divorced, single

The Body

Height: 5'11"
Weight: 178 lbs
Hair: Ginger
Eyes: Grey Blue
Skin Tone: Pale, somewhat tanned
Appearance:
Although not nearly as dapper as everyone else, Emil manages to pull off an air of roguish charm. He often can be seen wearing a full tux when not wearing his trench coat, which is more often then not. His hair is surprisingly difficult to grease down, so his hair doesn't quite match the normal standard. He doesn't smile often, so his gives off a rather intimidating aura most of the time.

The Soul

Likes: Interesting cases, drinking, catchy tunes, throwing crumpled papers at the target on his wall, conversations that go places.
Dislikes: The ocean, criminals and crimes going unpunished, cigarettes, losing his fedora, being stabbed.
Skills:

• Fast Runner
• Decent Brawler
• Can shoot a firearm
• Keen eye for details and out of place things
• High alcohol tolerance

Brief History:

• 1895- Tried to outrun a car at age of Five, succeeded for about a second, (The car was just pulling out of the driveway) then tripped and made a fool of himself.
• 1913- Made an attempt to join the police force, a life long goal he'd had since childhood due to his sense of justice, and against the odds managed to succeed.
• 1914- The world is plunged into war, however, due to being a part of the police force, avoids getting directly involved in the war effort.
• 1916- Married to one "Donna Hendrich," after being coerced into it by several members of the force.
• 1918- Shortly after the war ends, was removed from employment for shooting a suspect under the suspicion of carrying a concealed weapon that they were about to use, yet nobody else noticed this and simply believed it to be a random gun that had littered the ground after the firefight. Divorces wife several months later after finding her with another man.
• 1919- Becomes freelance private eye for hire, and Dewdropper with not much else to do.

The Story

Sunlight peeked through the shades of his otherwise moody home office, prodding at the man to wake up, try and do something for once. The man in question sat at his desk, his legs propped up on the moderately expensive piece of furniture, while he leaned back in his chair. He'd fallen asleep in his office again instead of heading over into the next room where he kept his bed, and now he was suffering the consequences. His tired eyes blinked open, squinting at the light of the rising sun peeking through his windows.

Just his luck.

Stretching his arms out, the private eye's legs slid off the desk with a small thud, and he lazily lifted his arm back up to adjust his glasses, internally groaning to himself. He hated waking up in his office, it always meant it was going to be a bad day. Removing himself from the chair and stretching the rest of his limbs out, Emil Buckner took hold of the bottle that still sat on his desk, a bottle of nondescript whiskey. The harsh taste was always a perfect wake up call, especially during a hangover.

Chugging back the last of the bottle's contents, he sluggishly ankled over to the door, where several slips of paper sat at the base, same as usual. Reaching down and retrieving the cluster, he moved back to his desk and settled himself back into his chair.

There were the daily bills, some hotsy totsy ads for new miracle products, the paper, and...

"I'm gonna need more giggle water for this...somebody's actually on the trolley..." He muttered to himself, his eyes darting across the advertisement. He hadn't been expecting this, not in the slightest. He hadn't had a decent job opportunity in weeks. This however, this looked professional enough that if he broke his way in, he'd be able to get enough pay to maybe keep up with his bills. Buy more giggle water. Drown his misery.

Still staring at the ad on his desk, he reached over for his blower, lifting the listening piece to his ear, and began dialing the number...

The Ether

Color Code: 8882be
Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTkAwk6mnD0

Name: Adeline "Addy" Reese
Age: 30
Sex: Female
Sexuality: Many rumors abound that Miss Reese keeps the company of either sex; she does nothing to quell them. People will talk.
Relationship Status: Single

The Body

Height: 5'9"
Weight: 124
Hair: Black as midnight
Eyes: Green as an emerald
Skin Tone: Colored
Appearance:
Miss Reese is something of a child of controversy least of all because of lingering sentiment from unsavory sorts. The controversy comes more from her preference towards two rather unique schools of thought. She admires the flapper style of skirted dress, short hair, and a rather long cigarette. She, however, can mostly get away with it when she's on stage and the spotlight beams down on her harder than the eyes of the audience. It's when she adorns pants, men's slacks, and the accompanying vest that it becomes a little harder to defend for those who see it as a problem.

The Soul

Likes: The clink of ice as a drink is downed. The electric hum that hangs over a crowd as they await a show worth remembering. The sound of rain pattering off the roof. The first drag of the day. Stimulating conversation.
Dislikes: Crime, even of the organized sort...especially of the organized sort. The ocean, more specifically boats. Zeal of any sort, it's a remarkably bad look. Large cats, even a house cat has her rather wary.
Skills:

• Can charm the hat off of almost anyone worth charming.
• A quick wit betrays a quicker intellect.
• Regardless of how good she is or isn't, when talking fails she isn't afraid to scrap.
• Has a stash of money. Just in case.
• Can't drive a car but she can still ride a horse.

Brief History:

• Born in Louisiana and was considered a real swamp witch given the proximity to the bayou.
• Father was a gator farmer. Brother lost an arm which led to him losing a whole lot more.
• A trip to the city to sell meat and skin had Addy hearing the blues for the first time.
• Stole herself a banjo. Her daddy paid for it.
• Attended Dillard University to learn enough to get by.
• Relocated to Chicago, playing piano and banjo. Worked her way up to singing. Caught the attention of a club owner out east.
• Miss Reese's Quartet becomes something of a staple in the New York nightlife, and yet she wants.

The Story

Even without the setting sun as a backdrop it was easy to tell what time of day it was based on the amount of smoke in the little theater on the corner of 45th. The theater was a green mark location, it was safe for clientele who were liable to get a side glance from the wrong sort just for breathing the same air. Funny, that. Not even a war had colored boys fighting hand in hand, but here? So long as your money was green it didn't matter none what you looked like. Ask anybody who counts themselves a fan of the music, the ambiance, the tickling of the ivories, the toot of a horn and the sultry velvet of a voice that could launch a thousand ships to war and they'd tell you all the same. Man, woman, black, white, yellow, blue, whatever: the place to be for the real jazz blues was wherever Miss Reese was on the ticket.

Adeline Reese put out her cigarette as her band boys were working through their setup. There was Little Boy Roy the wizard on the sticks, he really put his soul into every beat on the drum and if there was ever something that got the toes tapping it was Little Boy Roy when the jazz really started to swing. Leroy Brown was a sax man who kept his nose clean and what was left of his greying hair slick; given his seniority it was no secret that his sax told stories every time he played, and even with his age the boy could still play. Leroy Brown was something of a mentor to Sean O'Dwyer, a young kid roundabout Dublin who barely had a penny to his name but boy did the kid love his music and he'd be a sax man yet. Martin Budd tickled the strings with hard fingers and a harder soul. That left just one, the self appointed mother of the new wave, of swinging jazz and sultry blues, Miss Adeline Reese. Most nights she was under the spotlight, crooning and singing songs that had music and lyrics but a lack of soul; elseways she was playing the piano along with the boys.

The gig was surely good. Miss Reese's Quartet did circuits around New York, always returning to their own little rented theater to play once the wealthier elements had their fill of uppity jazz players and the salacious starlet that stole the center spotlight. Miss Reese preferred it in the smaller location even with the rustles of the Italians and their allies harping about protection. Miss Reese could talk them down, but for how much longer even she didn't know. But her dealings with the supposed sophisticated crime racket was just another in a long line of nuisances. For as many people as liked to hear her and her boys sing and play, there were as many more that resented the fact that a colored crew got the attention - and the Irish kid Sean was lumped in the lot.

But as much as Miss Reese enjoyed the duality of fame and infamy in good measure, she was wanting for more. For something that truly moved the soul. She could sing and play and help people dance the night away, but there were only so many times old numbers remained entertaining. Miss Reese needed that spark, that inspiration to write her own pieces, to regale the audience inbetween numbers with sordid material that was just exaggerated enough to seem unbelievable but with enough reality to be unforgettable. What Miss Reese needed other than her fame...was excitement.

That was what drew her eyes that particular evening to an ad pulled from one of Roy's papers - Miss Reese was so proud of him the day he started reading something other than music. She'd read, re-read, and gone over the information over a couple of cigarettes now. If nothing else it was a way to meet the more human element of the city, the people who might otherwise just be faceless flappers or whisky sours.

"Leroy, darling, fetch me the telephone. I've a Miss Hobbs to ring..."

The Ether

Color Code: CC00FF
Theme Song: Nobody Knows When You're Down and Out

Name: Arthur Donaven
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Single

The Body

Height: 6'1
Weight: 221
Hair: Auburn
Eyes: L eye Green/R eye Blue
Skin Tone: Tanned
Appearance: Arthur has the build of a man who has worked hard his entire life, and has the scars to match. His fore arms are littered in scars ranging from burns to bullet wounds, but the most noticeable ones are the long jagged scar that crosses over his jugular across his throat, and what appears to be claw marks going across his face from left to right.

The Soul

Likes: Liquor of any kind, Sex, Animals of any kind, Honest people, the color green, His hat and Duster, fighting
Dislikes: Rich people, Lies, anyone who attacks the weak, automobiles, electronics, anyone who thinks they are better then anyone else
Skills:

• Can ride horses/bulls/donkeys/mules
• Crack shot with any revolver/lever action rifle
• Can clean any revolver in one minute or less.
• Can make a weapon out of anything in a fight.
• Can stitch up cuts and gashes.
• His left eye is capable of seeing in the dark, and seeing paranormal entity's that would otherwise go unnoticed.

Brief History:

• 1862- Mathius Donovan is born
• 1885- Mathius Donovan becomes Sheriff
• 1883- Mathius Donovan Marries
• 1883- Mathius Donovan retires and buys a ranch
• 1891- Arthur Donovan is born
• 1906- Mathius Donovan is shot down and Arthur Donovan inherits the family ranch
• 1911- Arthur Donovan kills his father's murderer in self defense after confronting the man
• 1916- Arthur Donovan Marries
• 1920- Arthur begins having nightmares
• 1921- Arthur and his wife are attacked by an unseen force leaving Arthur as the only survivor
• 1921- Arthur discovers he can now see things he shouldn't be able too see.

The Story

Arthur had been many things over the last thirty years, all of which lead him here. Riding a horse through the middle New York City, one of the few places on this earth he had sworn he would never end up, garbed in his father's old riding duster and Hat, and a dust caked flannel and jeans. Not more then a month ago he had been a simple rancher, but thanks to life's shitty sense of humor he had lost it all. With everything he now owned saddled to his trusty steed, Arthur knew of one place to go when life got hard.

Thanks to the prohibition saloons were long gone, replaced with speakeasy's but as long as Arthur cold get drunk that's all he cared about. The only problem was they didn't just advertise themselves to the world. But if you knew what to look for you'd find one. One of the things to keep an eye out for were what Arthur had refered to as mules. They were those who spent abnormal amounts of time near any one business, usually on the lookout for the law.

It took a while but eventually Arthur happened upon a young lad who had been circling the same drug store for going an hour. The kid was clearly on edge and the moment he spotted Arthur and his horse he grew even more tense, almost shrinking into himself as if to make himself smaller and less noticeable. Sliding off his saddle, his boots hit the paved road beneath him with a clank of his spurs, and reaching into his duster he pulled out a handful of dollar bills before waving them casually at the boy saying.

"Hey boy, looking to make a quick buck?"

The boy noticed the money first and after checking the surroundings, for what Arthur could only assume was for the law, the boy mde his way to Arthur cautiously saying "Need somethin mister?"

"Listen up boy, I got seven dollars here for you, but first I just need you to answer two questions." The boy nodded cautiously acknowledging him so he continued."First off, as I'm sure you noticed I aint from these parts, and I was hoping you could tell me if the drug store might be selling anything that could wet my whistle?"

The boy eye'd the man over for a long while before leaning in close and whispering "I'd ask inside for the miss."

Arthur thanked the boy for the information before smiling down at him saying "Last question, While I'm inside would you be willing to keep an eye on my horse? She's friendly as the day is long, and as long as you stay beside her you'll be fine." The boy eye'd the horse over slowly before nodding to Arthur agreeing to watch his horse. With a smile Arthur handed the boy the reigns and the seven dollars before slipping a carrot and an apple out of one of the saddle bags, handing the apple to the boy before feeding the carrot to his horse. "Her names Sally. You be nice to her and she'll be nice to you."

As soon as Arthur was finished with the boy and certain he wasn't about to take off with his horse he made his way into the old Drug store. As Arthur entered the drug store the door set off the bell drawing the Attention of a scrappy looking man behind the counter.

"Welcome, welcome! If there's anything I can help ya find just holler." The man said in a sickeningly sweet tone.

"Actually," Arthur began " I was hoping to talk to the miss?" The man behind the counter suddenly lost all of his cheery demeanor as he eyed Arthur over suspiciously for a long minute. "I'm new in town and someone told me she could help me fill my canteen." The man stayed silent for almost an entire minute as he eye'd Arthur over from top to bottom before nodding his head in the direction of the door behind him labeled 'Employees Only'. Arthur thanked the man before heading through the door leading too a old dark stairwell. As the farther down the steps he went the more and more he began to smell the distinct smell of liquor and Arthur knew anything it was that either they had the law in there pocket or they would be found out soon enough. Reaching the bottom of the old cobblestone steps Arthur stood in front of a featureless oak door framed in brick.

Stepping through the threshold Arthur had barely managed to get his hat off his head before one of the patrons glanced his way, spitting disagreeably at his feet. Arthur paused for a moment, debating on weather he should teach this drunkard a lesson, but was drawn from his choice as the voice of a woman rang out through the bar.

"Jessie Miller! What have I told you about spitting at strangers!" Arthur was quick to spot the origin of the voice, a short old woman with a fire behind her eyes, "Your officially cut off!" The old man tried to argue but as he stood from his stool his legs gave out sending him crashing to the ground, asleep. Stepping over the man Arthur took a seat and tapped on the bar saying gruffly.

"Thanks for that doll, I'll have some panther piss." The gruff old woman offered what could only be a warm smile as she filled a glass and slid it his way. As she went to put the bottle away Arthur slapped a crisp ten down on the bar with a smirk saying "Leave the bottle."

Hours passed with as Arthur drank his pain away, until a certain conversation between a father and his son drew his attention.

"But pa! It's good money!" The younger boy protested.

"I said no, and that's final! No son'o mine is gonna work with a women!" the father shouted back angrily.

"Pa! What's wrong with workin with a women?"

"It's not just that son. There's just something not right about that girl. She aint right in the head is all.

Arthur had heard enough at that point. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey beside him Arthur tipped the bottle back downing what was left before making his way over to the pair of bickering family members. It wasn't too hard to get more information and after receiving the phone number from the boy, Arthur made his leave, a nice thrum rushing through his head thanks to the whisky. The next two hours were a blur of faces and voices, swirling around a drink addled brain. Arthur found himself standing in front of a phone in a desolate room, barren of any furniture or signs of anyone having been in that room for years based on the thick layer of dust that covered everything. But the most concerning thing of all was the fact that there were no footprints in the dust leading to the table. The floor was completely undisturbed.

Releasing a breath of air Arthur had been unaware he was holding he reached for the phone saying "I got to find out what's wrong with me."

The Ether

Color Code: FFA500
Theme Song: "My Rifle, My Pony, and Me" By Dean Martin

Name: Edward Preston

Age: 42

Sex: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: Divorced,Single

The Body

Height: 5'9

Weight: 150

Hair: Dark Brown

Eyes: Green

Skin Tone: Pale

Appearance: Standing at five feet and nine inches and weighting in around one hundred and fifty pounds, Having a thinly also skeletal body shape with many scars most of them bullet wounds or bayonet slashes. He also has strange symbols tattooed on his body, Having a dark brown buzz cut on top of his head. Bright green pupils and eyes that seem sunken in, Having high cheek bones with big ears that has three birth marks that are separated a few inches away form each other. A small nose with thin lips and bushy eyebrows, Having a few noticeable scars on his face as well.

Wearing a black business suit jacket, slacks and tie, and leather shoes. Wearing underneath that is a white dress shirt and underneath that is plated armor, And a gold watch inscribed to him by someone named "Lucy". He also has on him two 1911 pistols with magazines, A silver ceremonial dagger, A small mysterious black book.

The Soul

Likes: Cigarettes, Studying the occult, And Dogs.

Dislikes: Black cats, Germans, and Booze.

Skills:

- A photographic memory.
- Well versed in the occult/supernatural.
- Skilled in gunplay.
- Skilled deducing skills.
- Speaks Latin, French and Italian.

Brief History:

- Born April,20th 1877
- Joined the army when he in his 30's as a infantry man for WW1.
- After the war he became a police officer and later on a FBI agent.
- Married Lucy Campbell and had a son named Roy.
- Lucy divorced Edward in 1919 and has not seen his son since.
- As a child he as fascinated by the occult and studied it religiously to the point of getting tattoos on his body.
- Retired form the FBI when he turned 41.

The Story

Edward was at his home with a cigarette hanging form the side of his mouth, Looking though the newspaper and feeling sick to his stomach what he was reading. "WOMAN MURDERED FOR HER CAR", "TWO CHILDREN KIDNAPPED AND VIOLATED", "THREE MURDERS HAPPENED ON 2TH STREET", This sort of thing was both heartbreaking and enraging to the older man. Quickly flipping though the news paper to check the sports section, A smile appearing on his face when he saw that Babe Ruth had one the Yankees a game against the St. Louis Browns. Flipping though again he was looking though some section of the headlines of the crimes he had solved.

Flipping though the pages once again looking at a ad in the papers, Looking at the name and squinting his eyes. He had sworn that he had heard that name before but the exact memory was foggy at best. Closing his eyes for moment thinking back to his pass and what the name Hobbs meant to him, Opening his eyes and realizing the face of Miss Hobbs that introduced him to the supernatural and the occult. Picking up the receiver of the phone and asking to connect him to her detective agency.

The Ether

Color Code: [color=00a651][/color]

Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzrYgDnewSI

Name: Violet LeBlanc
Age: 19
Sex: Female
Sexuality: Homosexual
Relationship Status: Single

The Body

Height: 5 feet 5 inches
Weight: 120 lbs
Hair: Strawberry Blonde
Eyes: Brown
Skin Tone: Pale
Appearance: Despite her lack of muscle, Violet cuts an intimidating figure. Her confident swagger and the manic glint in her eye can set off your danger signals, even if she’s all smiles. Her figure is lanky and boyish, and she dresses the part, wearing exclusively masculine clothing. The most casual outfit she wears consists of a button-down shirt, slacks, and a necktie.

The Soul

Likes: Weapons (mostly knives), Jazz, Pretty Girls, Fights
Dislikes: Cops, Strict People, Genuine Displays of Emotion
Skills:

• Great with a knife
• Plenty of underground contacts
• Almost naturally intimidating
• Quick on her feet
• Intimate knowledge of weapons, injuries, and bodies.

Brief History:

• 1900: Felix LeBlanc is appointed head of the LeBlanc crime family after his father is murdered.
• 1902: Felix and his wife Beatrice give birth to a daughter, Violet.
• 1914: After coming into contact with gang activity, Violet starts learning how to use weapons.
• 1916: Violet starts doing errands for the gang (rum running, shake-downs, etc.)
• 1919: During a deal gone wrong, Violet proves herself capable of “subduing threats.”
• She is appointed as an assassin (her identity is kept a secret from all but the highest ranking gang members).
• During this time, she racks up a body count in the tens.
• 1921: In a police raid, the high-ranking members of the LeBlanc gang are apprehended, including Violet’s parents.
• Violet escapes being arrested, as the investigators can’t connect her to the gang’s activity.

The Story

Violet sighed.

Really, she should have seen this coming.

The sound of her knife on the hard bar surface was the only thing keeping her thoughts from consuming her. She had her hand splayed on the bar, and was bringing the knife down over and over on the spaces between her fingers. She had nicked herself a few times; she wasn’t exactly in top form.

On a normal occasion, she would have been kicked out of the speakeasy by now, especially since she hadn’t bought a single drink. This wasn’t a normal occasion, though, and the intense aura emanating from the girl told everyone around her that she shouldn’t be messed with.

Yeah, it was inevitable. Her parents were bad people who did bad things, and they were caught. She should have been counting her lucky stars that she wasn’t caught along with them. She should have been skipping town, changing her name, leaving her past life behind.

But something was keeping her stuck to the ground.

“Violet.”

She turned her glare towards the source of the interruption, the bartender, Lowell. She didn’t stop her little knife game.

“What.”

“I’ve got something you might be interested in, unless you’re not done scratchin’ up my bar.”

“What is it.”

“A job opportunity. Found this flyer outside for a detective agency. Figured your skills might be of some use; and God knows you need something to make you quit moping.”

“I’m not exactly the crime-fighting type. Seems a little hypocritical, doesn’t it?”

Lowell slid the flyer over to her casually.

“Hey, it’s your choice. But this is the last time I let you stay here all day without buying any drinks.”

Violet winced and looked down as she nicked the side of her middle finger. She glared at her knife like it had cut her on its own. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the flyer, and the phone number written on it.

She shoved her hand in her pocket and found just enough change to make a single call on a pay phone. With a frustrated sigh, she flicked her knife closed and stood up. The door slammed shut behind her, the flyer absent from the bartop.

At the very least, she would ask about the job. If she didn’t get hired, fine. If she did, well, at least she wouldn’t be bored.

The Ether

Color Code: 00CED1
Theme Song: Josie Miles - Mad Mama’s Blues