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

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

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

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

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

[color=f26522]"Ey, sorry 'bout the place bein' this awkward. It's a temporary spot"[/color]. the woman spoke, her voice calm, yet it held tones of freidnship and compassion, even though it was hidden behind her accent. She spoke so with a smiling expression to everyone coming in, greeting her new potential allies, [color=f26522]"Please, be welcomed, come in and sit, I was just readin' through ye papers here. Sorry 'bout the furniture, tis' also.. a temporary solution. I am Abigail McCarthy, miste's Montag partner, ye could say. He's about to arrive shortly to greet ye in person."[/color]

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