A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, but I'm coming out of a tough couple weeks. To answer your question, Mouse Avenger, Miss Pearl is the barmaid from the movie, yes. Thanks for reviewing, too! Enjoy chapter 4, all. This is where things start to pick up, with the appearance of well, you'll see!

"Upon meeting Miss Pearl, it was not long before I considered myself separate from the world I had once been so completely a part of. The allure and intrigue of the forbidden rodent world that lies beneath the streets pulled me in and I did not resist. Precious little of my earliest days there remains in my memory. They are all melded together into long days and longer nights. For lodgings I did not want, as I had my own room made up at the end of a hallway behind the barroom. Inside, I kept my meager wardrobe along with the few possessions I brought along with me. The room was bare save the bed in the corner and the mirror that rested on a chest of drawers. Miss Pearl had a larger room next to mine, and although she was my boss and rather intimidating at times, I got on fairly well with her. It was the customers I could have done without.

"Perhaps I should have known what I was getting into when Miss Pearl insisted that I change from my plain, modest house dress into something more appropriate for work. More fittin', she called it. My first day before work, she held out to me a little pink dress, quite little indeed. When I hesitated, she brushed me off. T'ain't nothin' t'worry about. I took the measurements from t'other one ye brought n' made it meself. Come now, put it on.' I sheepishly did, not wanting to affront this woman who took me in off the streets and gave me a job when she had no need to. The least I could do was do as she asked.

"I don't believe I need to elaborate on this. All I shall say is that the dress she gave me may have been appropriate for working in the Rat Trap, but certainly nowhere else. Despite trying to imprint on my memory that I could not lean forward and remain decent, I was uncomfortable. That wasn't how I was brought up, you see. Miss Pearl seemed pleased, so I said nothing. All this before my first day on the job.

"Not that the actual work was all that difficult. That morning, Miss Pearl gave me a crash course in serving drinks, and as far as she was concerned, I would be able to handle it from there. She was right, and while I knew it would take some getting used to and a lot of practice, I saw my new means of work should suit me in time. Suit me in the sense that it was something I could do without being hindered by my limited education. The negative side of working at the Rat Trap was, as I have said already, the customers.

"Until I began my days there, I was used to not having much of an identity. A field mouse, in a family such as mine no less, does not have all the luxury of respect one might wish. At the Rat Trap, I came to discover disdain of another kind. Miss Pearl had warned me (or, at least hinted at) some customer's attitude toward the barmaids. Ye got ta understand, dearie. Our best customers aren't always our best. They'll be delighted to meet a lovely young mouse like yeself, but they don't have the most gentlemanly way of showing it. All I can say is, don't be put off; it's a business.'

"Early on, it was entirely true what she said, and my world was turned quite on its head. I didn't work during the day when the Rat Trap was open under the guise of a restaurant aimed at sea rats who had just come in off a cargo ship or barge from the Thames. Those were the hours I slept, which was surprisingly easy despite the beams of sun pouring in through my window. At eight o'clock sharp every evening, the restaurant became a bar, and Sundays were no exception. At six I had to be awake and preparing for work. I had to make sure all the beer mugs were clean and in order, and that our shelves were well stocked with every brandy, sherry, and liqueur that any hard heart could desire. The rest of the time was making myself presentable, although standards for that were low. It was imperative that I look desirable to promote the Rat Trap's image of a virile, strong-willed rodent, of course. But there was no importance placed on the class of my appearance.

"Often while serving a guest, I would be hesitant, barely able to force my voice to raise itself above a squeak. What's your pleasure?' I would ask dutifully. Responses usually began in the form of lecherous sniggering, or occasionally something more explicit. Once receiving the order, I would quickly return with the drinks, ready to be done with it. Still I would end up with a paw brushing against my arm or spanking my bottom more than I would have liked.

"Unfortunately, I often seemed to unknowingly provide most of the entertainment for guests. Sure, we had a stage show, but the only real purpose that held was preventing fights. Most of the acts were so bad they were lucky to be booed off the stage, as opposed to the alternative: being chased off with knives, oaths, and a few gunshots for good measure. Miss Pearl firmly believed that it was a safer bet to have the guests taking out their natural aggressions on the entertainers; it prevented many a real bar fight.

"I can clearly picture one performer who was an exception to the rule. Miss Kitty Mouse was her name, I believe. She was a singer just starting out. A cute little bit of a thing, a few years older than myself. I couldn't help but pause in whatever I happened to be doing to watch her sing and dance on stage, with the eyes of every mouse in the place focused intently on her. Their eager eyes were filled with lust, but at the same time admiration. Even in a drunken stupor, they wouldn't shamelessly try to grab her as they would me as I shuffled awkwardly by juggling an armful of pints. As she prowled the stage in lingerie, she had a presence about her, an elegance that she carried with her always. My natural uneasiness made me not so much desirable, but nevertheless young and an easy target for mice and rats on the floor at my level. I wanted so desperately to be up there with her, bathed in stage lights and singing like no one could imagine.

"On one instance, I spoke to her. It was in the wee hours of the morning, when the place was nearly empty. I had been sweeping the stage clean of crushed tomatoes and stray bullets when I saw Kitty, almost unrecognizable dressed as ordinary as could be, pass by backstage. I called out to her, and she waved warmly to me. Inexplicably, she approached. I've seen you on the floor, serving drinks. They do keep you on your feet around here.'

I grinned nervously, unsure of what to say to this mousemaid who I want desperately to be like. That they do, although I'm sure they would just as soon keep me off my feet.' We shared a grim giggle, well familiar with the company we kept there.

"'I know what you mean. It wouldn't be any easier for you, down there.'

"Unable to keep it to myself anymore, I let myself say anything. How did you make it to the stage? You're a wonder up there! It might sound foolish coming from me, but you are living the dream I've had since I was small.'

"To my surprise, she didn't laugh. Well, my mum always said selling my voice was just one step shy of selling my body, but she wasn't about to stop me from doing what I do best. Being up there with music, and my dancing, and my voice.' Jealous though I was, she seemed every bit content of what she had accomplished and I couldn't bring myself to dislike her. Never mind that she was singing in the confines of an underground bar, she had an act all her own. Take care of yourself, Mag,' she said, slinking away into the shadows at the back of the stage again. That was the day I further nurtured the hope that I would someday be where she was.

"Not long after, I can't say whether it was the same night or another following, I had a discussion with someone else. This time it was Miss Pearl, deeply frustrated. She called me into her room once we dimmed the lights and guests had all swaggered off elsewhere. Once I was seated beside her, she guiltily informed me rather bluntly of something even bigger than my aspirations to be a stage singer. M'dear, there's no good way to say this, but we're all in for it.'

"'How do you mean?' I asked, immediately concerned. It was unlike Miss Pearl to show any emotion besides anger or sarcasm. We have so many customers every night, we get along well enough.'

"'You are a little girl, aren't you?' She asked to the stale air, running her stubby fingers through my tangled hair. I was ill at ease, but said nothing, not wanting to upset her further. Before I could ask her to elaborate, she did. Payin' fo' the Rat Trap's upkeep an'the stage performers at the same time is quite a job. We're on the brink o' losin' the place.'

"'Couldn't we just stop hiring performers? We can get on without them. And I'm sure Kitty Mouse wouldn't say no to doing a few numbers without pay just because she loves it that much.'

"Miss Pearl was not about to be set right so easily. If only it were that simple. We need entertainers; otherwise the place would be shot to pieces. Look like Swiss cheese.' She went silent and stroked the wooden walls, currently bullet free. Then she turned to me. I hate to tell ye this, but there is only one way I've been able to make ends meet.' This time she seemed to wait for me to ask.

"'How? What other way is there?'

"'I work after hours. But I don't serve drinks, but rather something that can only be sold late at night.' She leaves it at that, as if it would protect my youthful mind. Understanding her meant clearly that there was no use in trying to shield me; it was too little too late.

"I was horrified by the thought. Surely there's something that can be done! You can't give yourself to any sewer rat who walks in the door like you were a bottle of Rodent's Delight.' This was the mousemaid who took me in, and I couldn't bear to see her tear herself apart trying to keep the Rat Trap together. Can't we just leave the place, start new somewhere else?'

"Pessimistic, Miss Pearl shook her head. It wouldn't matter. If I don't do wot I do, I'll lose me ome anyway. Can't pay. Besides, where else could we go? No one would want us.'

"Although I can't remember saying so, I had inwardly decided I would not see Miss Pearl suffer alone. The next night, after hours, hidden in the dark of midnight, I joined her in her desperation to preserve the shanty Rat Trap. You don't want to hear of it, of the numbers of mice I took by the hand and led to my room at the end of the corridor. Their faces all blurred into one in my mind, a scowling face with stubble and a scar or two. Old, young, mice, rats, rich, poor; I knew them all. They were all the same in bed. They spoke harshly to me, exploring my body as I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling. All were equally cold, yet taking advantage of the situation, and me as well. At the worst of times, I stubbornly clung to the notion that I would someday be a singer. According to Kitty Mouse's mother, I was only a step away.

"There began a dark stretch of days. I felt like part of the bar, and not in a familial way. I was part of the drab furnishings, for mice to place orders to, in and out of the bedroom. I was seldom spoken to by anyone other than Miss Pearl. I thought that was the way things would proceed forever – having no identity, but having only one phrase I could ever say and be heard, What's your pleasure?' After a time, I barely noticed that. It was simply what my life had been reduced to. I knew nothing better. Years of being ordered about by Mr. Gloucester had been little better. What difference did it really make? I was pinned down either way, whether it was as a child Mr. Gloucester was bringing up as a servant instead of a daughter or earning desperately needed money lying on a bed, hating everything that had put me there.

"One day, everything changed. It must have been eight years ago. As I was waiting on customers, I noticed a face in the crowd I had never seen before. Our usual customers, and even those who only appeared once or twice a month had become imprinted in my memory, but this one stood out as unique. I would definitely have known if he had stopped by previously. His appearance struck me. In place of the shabby seafaring clothes that most customers wore, he sported a suit and ascot. A well-dressed gent compared to the rascals who frequented the place. Despite his civil appearance, he was obviously strong; his size gave this away. Even as he sat at a table by himself, chin resting on gloved hand, he still looked intense and muscular.

"But the thing that captured my attention was his face. An odd match for his well-clad figure, his face was plainly that of a rat. Large ears, eyes golden and piercing, a strong jaw, and long nose all added up to a rat, for certain. Perhaps he wasn't traditionally handsome, but he had an attractive air about him. He was intriguing to say the least, and I was eager to approach him. Had I known who he was, I could not have done a thing differently. Positively bewitching, he was. His eyes were aimed at the wall, and his mind was somewhere else when I placed a hand on the edge of his table. Becoming suddenly bolder than I felt, I asked him, What's your pleasure?'

"For the first time, asking the question didn't create the dull ache in my stomach. It was natural. Then came an answer to my question that I will never forget. A glass of sherry for me,' he answered, his words as elegant as his appearance. Admiring my face, he added, And one for you as well, if you shall have it.' I accepted his gracious offer. That, Basil and Dawson, is how I met Professor Ratigan."