---

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: 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: 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