Macavity breezed back into the office after the weekend, having rescued his store of pencils from Cor's desk drawer Friday night. Hanging his coat and hat up, he settled behind the desk, looking around the impeccably clean room and considering what exactly he could do to bring disorder and chaos to the space before his partner arrived.

His window of opportunity was extremely brief as Coricopat entered only a couple of minutes behind him. The mottled tom hung his coat and hat up before moving over and checking his desk. His grey eyes narrowed and he looked at his partner, "You broke into my desk again after I left, didn't you?"

"Me?" Macavity asked, face schooled into an expression of innocence. "I would never have to break into your desk, Cor, if you didn't hold my poor pencil's hostage."

"If you didn't throw them at me I would cease to be inclined to lock them away," Cori's response came as he settled behind his desk.

"But where oh where would I find my joy in the working day?" Macavity asked. "Besides, you give me so many openings."

"You throw them at me at all hours, for no reason whatsoever. There is never a legitimate opening for hurling a pencil across the room."

"Would you prefer the fountain pen?" Macavity asked, voice sweet. They both feel silent except for murmured greetings as their boss strolled through their office on the way to his. Bill Bailey hardly paid either of them any attention before closing his door.

Once Bailey's door was closed, Coricopat returned to the conversation that he knew he was going to come out the loser of, "No, I would not prefer the fountain pen. I just see no cause for using me as target practice, is all. There are other things you could do to pass the time."

Macavity arched a brow. "Billiards is boring by yourself and I don't think you'd enjoy me taking up darts."

"You use me as a dartboard daily, so why would you need to do it when not at the office as well. But I did mean during the workday," Cor responded.

"Well, yes, but you were saying I needed to find things to do during my day. And all my other options are boring or would only irritate you more, so I believe you shall have to deal with occasional pencils. Oh, but in other news, my after work hobby of snooping has revealed some interesting things."

Coricopat rose from his desk, moving over to find one of the files he had been working with the previous day, "Oh? It usually does, but dare I ask why you're sharing them with me? Or mentioning them as the case may be?"

"Well, they have to do with your client, so I figured you might like to know," Macavity replied, arching a brow.

"Are you going to share or are you just going to hint at it?" he returned to his desk and located some reading glasses before turning his attention to the file.

"Hinting is ever so much more entertaining, but if you insist I suppose I can share with the class. Your little forging nephew is a rather interesting case all told. His father wasn't of noble blood at all."

Cori looked up in surprise at that, "He wasn't? Well, I suppose it does explain the surname, but he wasn't?"

"No, apparently he was of the merchant classes. So little Quaxo's mother ran away with him. However, as far as anyone can tell when he died she brought her little son back with her into the care of our dear old friend, the Baron Jones. Probably driven back in some way or another. Quaxo was all but instantly shipped off to boarding school, and said mother is nearly as bad as our beloved Queen, since she still wears mourning clothes. She's also never married again."

"If the only mark against her in society is her penchant for prolonged mourning I suppose it could be worse. Do you know anything more about his father?"

"Well, I would saying marrying a merchant is a mark against her, but since then she's remained pretty much out of the public eye entirely except at Jones' events. As for the father, as I said, they ran away and she came back. What happened to him in the in between I don't think anyone has yet discovered. From what I can gather he was a rather likable type, a little too warm hearted, and well known for his generosity. A solid type fit for any community. The just about opposite of anything I've ever heard about our Baron," Macavity replied, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his paws.

"Hm, interesting. I can't suppose her family much cared for him at all. It makes sense I suppose, but still more's the pity. That is quite the dearth of information you located, though, Mac. I will grant you that. Did you have to speak with several cats or did Hunt know all of this?"

"Hunt and a visit to the library archives," Macavity replied. "Though, Hunt certainly knows more than his fair share. As I said, he's not terribly fond of Jones and I think enjoys gathering dirt on him in his spare time. However, if he never finds anything particularly damning that would ruin Jones forever, he'll never be allowed to publish anything. But back to the subject of the nephew... I was thinking. He still has his father's name, right? How thrilled do you think Jones is with that? Either he is very stubborn, is loyal to a fault, or just likes annoying his uncle as much as Hunt probably would like to. Or all three. Either way, he paints an interesting picture."

"He does indeed. Well, it's been an interesting and enlightening conversation. I suppose we probably shouldn't gossip quite as much as we do about the clients, after all they do pay us for discretion as much as for the work we actually do," Cori mused. "Ah well, it does make the hours go by at a faster rate."

"You may harp about propriety as much as you like, but you know as well as I do you're just as interested," Macavity teased. "Besides, think of the memoirs we could write someday."

"Once all the people we have gossiped about are dead, so will we be, Mac. Memoirs about things like this are a great way to end up on the wrong end of a lawsuit should one of the noble families dislike what is written about them, and should it give them a threat of scandal. You know that as well as I do."

Macavity laughed. "That's why we do it from the safety of another country, Cor."

His partner shook his head, "And when do you think we'd actually leave for another country, Mac? We both have lives here."

The ginger tabby rolled his eyes. "When you put it that way... Ah well. Someday I will write and make thousands of pounds for my trouble. Between now and then, I work slavishly at a desk."

"You're not working for a shop or for a bank. I would hardly call this slavish."

"You're right, we have the time to gossip like old church women. We must be doing well for ourselves," Macavity replied, darting a glance at Bailey's door before back to Coricopat.

"Say that a little louder, I don't think he heard you," Cori commented drily. "We do have work we should be doing."

"Work, work, work," Macavity remarked. "See, this very attitude is why you have no life."

"I have a life. It just happens to include quite a lot of work. I am perfectly content in that, and shall continue to remain so. I want nothing to do with anything outside of it, thank you very much."

"Your tombstone will have the most boring epitaph known throughout the country side," Macavity drawled. "You are completely lacking in any sense of adventure or excitement or passion aren't you? Drier than a book written by the Greeks even." He was feeling extra poetical.

"I have no desire for adventure or excitement and passion is an illusion in our day and age. And there are worse things to compare me to than something written by the Greeks," Cori shrugged, his attention returning almost fully to the work in front of him.

Macavity just rolled his eyes, finally bending his own head over his work. "Just wait," he drawled as a parting shot. "One of these days you're going to find something to be really passionate about, and having no practice with the feeling what so ever, you're going to have no idea what to do."

"And what of you? You spend your days working with other peoples' wealth and marriages and deaths and at night you orchestrate the taking of goods, but really Mac, are you any better off than I am?"

Something twisted in Macavity's face for a moment. "Come now, Cor, you should remember the answer to that," he murmured softly. "How can you say passion is an illusion in our age to me? It may burn itself to pieces, but it's there. Most people prefer not to see it though, like you refuse to. Besides, you also know as well as I do there will be no orchestrating of taking of goods tonight. Tonight is almost a scared night in my family after all. It's the one night of the year we sit in the same room and don't try to kill each other."

Cori pinched the bridge of his nose, "Mac, I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean that... at least not in regards to you." He latched onto a possible change of subject, "Surely the three of you don't try to kill one another on Christmas, at least."

"You were there, three Christmas ago," Macavity replied, accepting the change in topic. "I believe 'Straps offered you champagne and chestnuts as the drawing room went to hell."

"Oh, that's right he did. We considered betting on which of you would come out more intact, but decided it would be a futile bet."

"We both came out intact," Macavity replied. "So it would have been difficult to gauge who would have won. We barely scraped one another, though I suppose we got the points for trying."

"You both were trying rather hard," Cori agreed. "I still don't see why you two had such a set-to, but I do suppose it's not really my business."

"Well, the vase certainly suffered more damage than either of us," Macavity mused, thinking of the memory. "At any rate, I believe we shall try to avoid such a repeat tonight. We've even managed to spend the last two Christmas without any such incidents."

"That is good at least. Well, wish your brothers well for me, hm?"

"I suppose I can be pressed upon to do such a thing," Macavity said, nodding once.

v.v.v.v

Victoria Jones, only child of the Baron, quietly entered the library, making her way over to one of the shelves of books, her skirts whispering across the floor. She didn't spend much time there, but once in a while could be found among the shelves. The white queen skimmed the books for the particular volume she was seeking.

Mistoffelees blinked in surprise from where he was sitting, legs curled up in a somewhat un-gentleman like manner. He was not much used to others being in the library, especially not his cousin. They barely knew each other, having met only in formal situations since he first went to school, and they had not grown up together. He closed the book he was reading, considered the title and slid it under the cushion of the chair before sitting up straight as well. How exactly was one supposed to greet another in a private room of the house?

His cousin startled at the sound of the book closing, nearly dropping the book she had just taken from the shelf. She turned, her blue eyes wide, before she dropped her gaze, "I beg your pardon, I did not mean to intrude."

Well, that worked well enough he supposed. "It's alright, I'm sure," he murmured. "I could hardly keep you from entering, well, the majority of the rooms of the house, especially a public one. You've lived here much longer than I have after all."

"That hardly excuses my appearance here, or my not acknowledging you when I entered, cousin." She darted a glance toward the door, "I can leave if you wish?"

"You were focused on your book," he replied with a faint, if a little unsure, smile. "That's admirable, if nothing else. You may stay or go as you please," he added. "Perhaps company would do me good but I would hardly wish to infringe upon your time."

"I have no engagements elsewhere, I only intended to pick up the book." Victoria's gaze moved to a chair, "If you're certain you don't mind, I might stay."

"You're certainly welcome to, if you'd like," he said, following her gaze and waving slightly to the chair. "I still feel I could hardly demand you leave a room in your own house, even if you're appearance is slightly unexpected. Not, horribly so," he amended quickly. "I'm just suppose I never thought you you in this room before. Do you often read?"

She settled in the chair, smoothing her skirt down, "When I'm not working with my music or embroidery. There's only a limited number of things I can do that are permissible, after all." The petite queen glanced at her cousin, "And in many's eyes it's more your house than mine."

He inclined his head, having not actually thought much about what took up a queen's time before. It was rare to really encounter one privately after all at all male schools. He did almost flinch back at the comment about the house however, shrugging. "You've lived here longer. It would be terribly rude of me to attempt to dictate your actions, especially concerning something as bettering as reading."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment of his comment. She had grown up there, it was true, but it was not then, nor would it ever be her house, "It is nice to know that you consider reading a pursuit to be encouraged, or at the very least not one to be discouraged."

"Well," he said with another faint smile. "I find it particularly enjoyable, not to mention at least on some occasions educational, or at least thematic. I do, after all, seem to spend most of my time in the library. It would seem hypocritical to try and deny that same pleasure to anyone else."

"What do you like to read, if it is not too much of an intrusion for me to ask?"

His ears flickered slightly, a sign of some sort of embarrassment. "Various things," he hedged. "I am particularly fond of descriptions of antiques and history, and there are several books on ruins and other such sites I enjoy going back to." And the Thomas Hardy novel currently hidden under the cushion, but he was not entirely sure how his well bred and very proper looking cousin would react to a book and author that only seemed to cause scandal.

Victoria offered a faint smile at that, "That does sound interesting. Aunt Sera mentioned you'd spent time on the continent? What was that like?"

The black tom blinked once at the mention of his mother and smoothed right over it. "Fantastic," he replied to her question about the continent. "There really was not enough time to see as much of it as I would have preferred, though my tendency was to go to all the places no one else really had much interest in so I would love to go back sometime. It's quite worth the trip however, and if you ever get the chance to go, you really should take it."

"Unfortunately, such opportunities rarely arise. Especially to travel outside of any metropolitan area," she smoothed a hand over her skirt, implying the unstated mention of her sex. That was disregarding her father's tendency to keep a tight rein on the women of his household after her aunt's marriage to Mistoffelees' father.

Mistoffelees nodded, having actually mostly expected that answer. "Perhaps someday they shall, or you'll find someone who enjoys traveling as much as you do that would be willing to take you," he said, not quite implying himself but rather voicing a hope for any future husband.

The corner of Victoria's lip quirked into an almost bitter smile, "Yes, one can hope."

Biting the inside of his lip, he nodded, having more than caught the expression. "Hope, despite its reputation as being foolhardy, can sometimes be the only course of action," he murmured. "And sometimes it even works out as it should."

"It can often be the only course of action, cousin, but rarely works out as it should," Victoria corrected quietly.

His brow quirked slightly at that, black tail twitching itself around for a second. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But do you blame those who hope anyway?"

"I can hardly blame them since I am one of them. Just because it rarely works as we wish, and the Fates are unkind does not mean it always ends that way."

"The Fates seem rather jealous of human dreams," Mistoffelees murmured. "Besides, there is a law of probability to the universe as well, to some extent. Eventually something has to work out for the better."

"Even a small thing," his cousin agreed softly.

"Small things are better than none," he said. "And something that seems small may in fact be far from it. Or so the philosophers are fond of telling us at any rate. But, they're fond of telling us many things."

"I must admit to not having much experience with the philosophers."

"Probably for the best," he replied. "Despite their lofty ideals, they rarely make anyone happier to have read them."

"Perhaps so." She glanced around the room again, her gaze sweeping over the carefully arranged books, "You mentioned you spend a lot of time here?"

He nodded. "It's perhaps the one room in the house I feel at all comfortable," he admitted softly.

"I can see how that might be, I suppose."

He shrugged. "Well, it's one of the few rooms that my uncle seems to have never set foot in, or at least his aesthetic sense has never been let loose on the room. Every other room seems thoroughly lived in by someone else, where as this library seems rather impersonal, as if it was a room added because it felt like it needed to be had for appearances sake but no one really cared for it. I suppose it just makes me feel like it's a room I can then make to suit myself, whereas the other rooms suit others." It was perhaps too clear from that statement that was he disproving of his uncle's taste, though trying his hardest not to come right out and say that.

She smiled faintly, recognizing but not acknowledging the implication regarding his feelings about her father's taste in ornate decoration, "A fair assessment. I don't believe I've seen my father near this room in years. You could probably do just about anything to the arrangement in here and no one but perhaps a couple of the servants would be the wiser."

The short tom smiled faintly at that. "That is good to know. The shelves have been meeting a different variety of books of late than I believe they are used to, but otherwise I have not been making too many changes. A few more comfortable chairs might not go amiss though," he mused, glancing around. "The ones here aren't particularly ones for sitting in for any length of time."

She nodded her agreement, "Well, I'm certain it would be possible to attain some new chairs, especially considering that it is important for a certain level of comfort to be present while reading."

That got another smile out of him, a bit less faint then the first but not quite comfortable with being on his face yet. "Yes, rather," he said with a small nod. "So long as you think no one would mind?" He was actually asking her, since she seemed to be the only other one to set paw in the room. "Or, rather, do you have any ideas which chairs might fit best?"

"The only concern might be expense, but I can't see anyone minding. As to the sort of chairs which would fit best, the style is of course up to you, but considering the carpets and the general air of the room I would say something in a dark green or blue for the upholstery."

"It's not like I have many other expensive hobbies to support," he said with a faint smile. "My allowance is wallowing in the bank somewhere, begging for something to do." He considered the colors suggested and nodded, adding mentally that a dark wood would perhaps work well with that.

She smiled a bit at that, "Then I really do see nothing standing in your way. Besides the color scheme, the rest should be chosen based on preference and comfort, really."

He nodded again. "Thank you kindly for the advice then," he said, offering her what had come to closest to a real smile. "And you are, of course, more than welcome to come in when you like, so long as there is not some sort of business going on."

"Thank you for the invitation. I shall try not to intrude too often, and certainly not when you are conducting business." She glanced toward the door again, "Shall I leave you in peace then?"

The small tom shrugged. "You may do as you like. I don't mind the company if you're reading, but as I said earlier you're as welcome to leave if you have any thing else or would like to." Of course if she stayed that would mean finding another book or at least admitting he was reading something borderline scandalous. He no longer thought she would react like his uncle but he was still unsure how she would.

A faint, but grateful smile played around her lips, "I think I might stay then. As I said I have nothing to do this afternoon." She settled back just a bit more in the chair she was perched on and opened the book in her paws, her gaze moving to him again.

For another moment he paused for shrugging more to himself than her and pulling the Thomas Hardy book back out from where it had spent the conversation under one of the pillow cushions.

Victoria's brow rose sharply at the sight of the novel, but she kept her mouth shut and dropped her gaze to her own book. His tail twitched slightly but he turned his own gaze to the last page he was on. They spent some time as such, reading quietly together.

This is just about the point where our muses start getting away from us, and about the point we should have figured out that they're a bit more broken then they let on. Mac's mentions of a past affair are certainly going to come back up again.

Also, Misto and Vic really have no idea what to do with each other, but at least they like each other. This is pretty much the first time they've ever had an actual conversation with the other. Cheers all, and remember, dropping your authors a line if you enjoyed the story is greeted with squeeing and other joyful reactions.