[img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/733486328964186133/1010224630432280647/Montag_2.png?width=896&height=606[/img]

He'd expected Abigail to butt in at some point, but Montag was thrown off slightly as the redhead interrupted him in an attempt to get the newcomers to focus more on the 'extra' part of the detective's introductory criteria. He spared the sheets that each applicant had written a quick glance as Abigail and a couple of said applicants pointed them out to him, but he wasn't going to pay any real heed to them. Anyone could write anything just as anyone could say anything, but at least you could look a liar in the eyes as they spoke, not as they wrote. The young man wasn't going to dispute his associate however, after all this had been her idea. She could run the show. But that didn't mean he had to be comfortable with it.

Abigail was the people's person for better or worse, not one to put strangers up to scrutiny as the more sceptical Montag was, and soon pretty much any kind of introduction was thrown out of the window. The detective tutted under his breath, sharp eyes half-glaring around the room as the atmosphere grew a little too relaxed for his liking. [color=goldenrod][i]"Leave it to a woman of the cloth to be too trusting. Typical."[/i][/color] He thought, already half-tempted to call this whole thing off. 

Before he could, however, another interruption came. And certainly not the most welcome one, in Montag's perspective. Suddenly the atmosphere was even tighter than before, the sound of rain outside becoming deafening white noise that Marie's numb and disdainful tone cut right through. He didn't even realise Abigail had invited her, and if he'd known she had then he would've put a stop to it, for various reasons. Reasons that were fully on display now as the young woman, bordering on instability, drank herself even deeper than she probably already had that evening, before tossing onto a desk a file filled with newspaper clippings detailing gruesome deaths throughout New Haven from recent weeks. Interlinked deaths that Montag and his two associates had been starting to investigate. In fact the file was probably from his office. 

While Abigail dealt with the initial reactions of their motley crew, Montag approached the slumped and eerily pale-faced Marie who now reclined away from the rest of the group in solitude, save for the bottle of liquor held loosely in one hand.

[color=goldenrod]"Stop that."[/color] He'd say to her, softly and bluntly, easing the alcohol from her grasp and placing it back on the table it had come from. [color=goldenrod]"You shouldn't be out here. Drink this."[/color] He continued in short and concise sentences, offering her one of the cups of water instead. If it anything it would at least stop whatever hangover was coming from being too dramatic.

With that out of the way his direct attention could now turn back to the newcomers once again, and almost immediately Cathal caught his eye. Not least because the older man was the first to address the detective.

[color=goldenrod]"Believe what you wish Mr o'Molloy - the word of a detective is one of the flimsiest you can find after all."[/color] Montag remarked before listening to rugged fellow introduce himself. Though you could tell there was some deep-seated brokenness within him, behind the words he spoke and that outgoing personality he unashamedly shared with others, he seemed an honest man at heart. Honesty that can only come with age, much like whatever darkness he chose not to speak about in the company of strangers. His final words of advice even brought a slight smile to the young man's face, a sharp exhale through the nose indicating the starts of a chuckle.

[color=goldenrod]"My thanks for the advice, Cathal o'Molloy."[/color] The smile was broken by a cigarette Montag raised to his lips, a sign now that the detective had settled at least somewhat. The subsequent account Cathal gave of his summarised experience at New Haven was the subject of Montag's pondering as he burned through the straight, the room becoming misty equally with smoke as it was with freely floating thoughts. It was also a chance to observe the others in the group as they sunk their teeth into the information presented before them to varying reactions. None of them shied away from the gore at least, which was a good sign. But that was to be expected of New Haven citizens. Everyone in this city seemed to be desensitised to brutality. 

[color=goldenrod]"Unfortunately we'll have to be up to it."[/color] Montag responded to Jane's concern with an exhale of smoke, before putting out the cigarette on a damp wooden beam. He'd walk over to her, casually inspecting the newspaper clipping she'd been looking at just before. [color=goldenrod]"The truth is these papers are useless. They report the problem, which is just about all they can do, but people became apathetic to this a long time ago. Even the police don't try with these cases anymore. They could put any old thing on the front page, even if it wasn't true, because no one would care. No one would bother to check. So that's why it's our place to investigate where no one else will. To live any other way in this city is a waste of life."[/color]

Montag circled around next to Robyn, not saying a word to her but simply observing as she worked and discerned what she could from the information in front of her and her own knowledge. There was impressive initiative shown in her suggestions and instructions to her fellow newbies. Enough to spark interest within the detective at least, before he was back to Cathal as he made a discovery of his own. The two men met gazes as the elder one spoke of the victim. A Timothy Jones. Montag couldn't say he'd heard that name before, but there was always a chance he knew a mutual connection of his. 

[color=goldenrod]"Did this Timothy Jones ever speak about his work or connections with the mob at all? Any names he might've brought up?"[/color]