Macavity approached the door of his brother's flat, rapping the back of his paw on the door, and considering the bottle of scotch he held in his other paw. The door opened moments later, Munkustrap glancing from his older brother to the bottle and back before stepping aside and motioning for him to enter, "Good to see you, Mac."

"'Straps, always a pleasure," Macavity replied, stepping inside and setting the bottle down on the table before heading to the kitchen to find glasses.

"Can I take your coat or get you anything?" The silver tabby closed the door and then followed his brother into the kitchen.

"It's a bit of a chilly night," Mac replied. "Just some glasses I'm thinking. They are where they were last year?"

"I haven't rearranged anything in the kitchen since then, so yes. And chilly or not, you look as though you're prepared to retreat if you keep your coat. I was just going to add another log to the fire."

That got a laugh out of Macavity and he shook his head before handing Munkustrap the coat. "In that case," he said with another shake of his head before getting three glasses down from the cupboard. "I'm sure another log would not go amiss. I'm assuming our beloved littlest brother is running late?"

Munkus took the coat, checking his watch and then nodded, "Based on his general tardiness he should be here within the next five minutes or so. Perhaps ten." He slipped out of the kitchen and went to hang Mac's coat up before going and adding another log to the fire, sidestepping around the table and chairs in front of the hearth.

While he was doing that Macavity sat himself at the table, looking the bottle over, not quite opening it yet and glancing around the flat. Neither 'Straps nor his flatmate were the types that enjoyed change but it was good to check anyway.

Almost five minutes later to the dot, there was another knock on the door, as loud and brash as the tom behind it. Munkus looked up from where he'd been making certain the log caught before rising and weaving between the chairs and making his way over to answer the door. He offered his younger brother a cordial smile and stepped aside to let him in, "Good evening, Tugger. You're late."

The tallest but youngest of the three brothers nodded as he stepped inside, glancing once at Macavity and back to his middle brother. "Hullo, Munkus. Not later than usual, I'm sure. I was held up at the office."

"The office?" Macavity chirped in. "That's a rather grandiose title for that dump that calls itself a publishing house?"

Munkustrap glanced between his brothers, giving the older one a "please don't start that yet, he's hardly in the door" look before turning to the youngest, "Can I take your coat while you make yourself comfortable?"

Tugger shrugged, before handing him the coat. "Sure, if you like. You sure you didn't miss your calling as a maid?" Macavity opened his mouth, recalled 'Straps' look and shut it slowly.

The middle brother hung up the overcoat, his smile thinning, "And you missed yours as a charwoman, considering the filth you work with on a daily basis."

That got a grin out of Macavity, as well as a raised eyebrow at 'Straps, as if to question, "and you said not to start anything?"

Tugger meanwhile had narrowed his eyes, pulling a chair out and turning it to straddle it, folding his arms over the back. "Oh har, har. When did you grow a sense of humor? No, really, I want to know how much it cost you."

"Far more than yours, as evidenced by the quality of the tripe that you spew. I don't think you could afford a good one," came the reply as Munkus settled in the third chair and opted not to respond to Mac's look or Tugger's method of treating his chair.

Macavity shook his head, settling in deeper to the chair and opening the bottle of scotch, working on pouring three equal glasses. Their younger brother glared at both of them. "At least I'm doing something noble with my time, unlike you two."

"Being a lawyer is an entirely noble profession," Macavity protested with a full toothed smile. "Besides, I'm not sure why living above a press and constantly being stained with ink is in any way shape or form a noble pursuit."

"I'm doing something meaningful," Tugger said, chin jutting out.

"You're a rabble rouser," Munkus responded. "Do you know the sort of people that 'noble press' of yours is read by?"

"The people of the city," Tugger replied. "The ones that really matter."

"You mean the ones that I end up arresting by the end of the week for drunkenness, or the ones that I bring in for attempted murder?"

Macavity held up a paw. "Alright, you two, before we go any deeper into an argument about whether socialism is a meaningful political system and whether or not it leads to crime, or whether or not newspapers in general are worthwhile, I propose a toast. Mostly so I can then drink the rest of this bottle with impunity."

Munkustrap drew a deep breath, consciously calming himself down before nodding, "Agreed. It is why we're here after all."

Macavity doled out the other two glasses to his brothers before raising his own glass. "To the old bastard, on the anniversary of his death. He left us a name to work with."

The middle brother raised his glass, nodding, "For what little it's worth. He left us his name and a legacy. To him."

Hesitating Tugger raised his own glass finally as well. "The world may never see his like again," he drawled, meaning it in the best way possible. They all paused to take a sip of scotch.

"Saints be praised for that," Munkus murmured, setting his glass aside. He glanced at his elder brother, "How is life as a solicitor treating you?"

"As well as could be expected," Macavity replied, taking another swallow of the drink. "The work pays well and only lasts so long as the work day, which I consider quite the bonus. It's rare for a client to follow you home, though the paperwork sometimes does." Tugger's ear flickered back slightly, and he downed the entire glass he held in his paw.

Munkustrap nodded slightly, "Good to hear." He hesitated for a long moment before asking grudgingly, "And you, Tugger? How goes the publishing?"

"Noblely," he replied primly. Macavity rolled his eyes and poured himself another drink.

"Right. Of course it does," the silver brother's skepticism was palpable, but he kept himself from saying more.

Narrowing his eyes again, Tugger drained another glass and Macavity looked a little mournful at how his good scotch was being treated. "You savor it," he told his brother. "Savor. You don't gulp it like badly brewed beer."

Tugger ignored him for the moment, reaching over for the bottle to pour himself another glass. "I'm not sure why you two seem to think it such a bad ideal," he said, a bit bitterly. "Looking at the world, you really find it to be functional? When has capitalism ever worked?"

"Isn't it working?" Macavity asked, looking over at Munkustrap. "I'm sorry, our entire system is broken. Whatever shall we do? Who will inform Queen Victoria?"

Munkus hid his smile behind his glass as he took another sip, "Well, my suggestion is for Tugger to waltz up to the palace and see how far he gets. On the other hand, I'd rather not have it bandied about the 'Yard that my younger brother was arrested for trying to break in. I see little trouble with the capitalistic society we live in. Certainly, there are flaws, but there are to all ideals. Including yours, Tugger."

"We've tried this system for years," Tugger said. "Isn't it time to give another system a try? There's not need to talk to the Queen about it, but rather the people."

"Yes, any government made by the drunkards on the street must be valid!" Macavity declared. "Move to France, Tugger."

"Because we saw how well that went across the channel," their middle brother agreed. "Anarchy comes long before your socialistic paradise, and during that time people die brutally in the streets."

Tugger opened his mouth to protest not it everyone was aboard with the idea first, but snapped it shut again, hunching his shoulders. "Any progress comes with a price," he muttered, though it didn't sound like his soul was entirely behind it.

"A price?" Munkustrap's blue eyes narrowed, "You call that much possible bloodshed a price? Worth paying?"

"There are thousands suffering in dire poverty today," Tugger exclaimed. "Would you not want to do at least something for them?"

"Isn't that what the workhouses are for?" Macavity drawled and his brother looked about ready to murder him in front of their police brother.

"Only if you're a heartless bastard," he replied. "But you've just about been that from the cradle, haven't you Mac?"

"Oh for the love of all that is Holy!" The third brother cut in, "Yes, there are people suffering in poverty, yes it often leads to crime. How in God's name would that change?"

"The entire point of socialism is to get rid of poverty!" Tugger protested.

"So was the French Revolution," Macavity said again, pouring himself another glass. "Look how well that worked."

"The American Revolution worked," Tugger muttered.

"Yes," Macavity agreed. "But remember the bit where they are like the worshipers of capitalism?" Tugger made a face at him. "Oh that's mature."

"I'll grant you that in theory socialism could be a noble enterprise. But that's in theory. The fatal flaw is the assumption that there are people honest enough for it to work. Do you honestly believe that there are?" Munkus shook his head, "And the Americans very nearly tore themselves apart a couple of decades ago, anyhow."

Tugger crossed his arms over his chest and subsided into sulky silence. "There aren't people honest enough," Macavity informed him anyway. "I'm a lawyer, remember? I know these things."

"And I'm a policeman," the middle brother added. "Believe me, Tugger, there might be one or two people honest enough for your idealized society, but the vast majority of them would stab one another in the back rather than work together to improve things. And I'm talking about at all levels of society, not just the wealthy."

Tugger just about growled at that. "Fine, believe what you will," he said with a shrug. "But stop thinking you know better than me."

"But we do," Macavity made sure to add before holding his paws up. "Alright, alright, shutting up."

"You've got to come down off your high-horse at some point, Tugger, but I'm done for the night," Munkus conceded.

Tugger shook his head and swallowed down another glass of scotch, Macavity giving him a tragic look. "Alright, if we're done for the night then?" he said, standing. "I'm sure I have more work I could be doing."

Munkustrap sighed, "Very well. Have a good night, Tugger."

He nodded to the pair of his brothers before going to fetch his coat, murmuring a goodnight before closing the door behind him. Macavity looked over the empty scotch bottle a bit mournfully. The flat owner glanced at the bottle, "You should know by now better than to bring a good bottle of scotch. At least it was only one bottle this year."

"I figured limiting the bottles was a good plan," Macavity said and finally shrugged. "Besides, good scotch at least has the appearance of showing respect, whether we actually feel it or not."

"I suppose that's true, but we do know that it'll all be gone within an hour, two at most," he shook his head. "Ah, well. At least we're done til next year."

"There's still Christmas between now and then," Macavity reminded him with a grin.

"But on Christmas we don't have the stipulation that we're not going to kill one another, remember?"

"Point," Macavity conceded, rising and placing the glasses back in the kitchen. "Now that our beloved black sheep is gone, how are things, truly, with you?"

He shrugged, "They really haven't changed all that much. Still dealing with the joys of policework. I have a new partner as of three months ago, so I suppose not all that new. Not currently working on anything of any real note. What of you? How are things?"

"The same as they've ever been," he said, raising one of the empty glasses in a mock salute. "Work and work and all the same in my personal life."

"So continuing to be dull, hm? Nothing of note then?" The silver tabby picked up the fire poker and stirred the coals, getting more heat for a moment.

"Nothing but gossip," Macavity replied. "Which is a habit that my partner is trying very hard to clear me of. But our clients have such interesting lives and issues, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to give it up."

That garnered a laugh, "Gossip can be useful at times, I will grant it that. Who have you been gossiping about now?"

"The Baron Jones, and his nephew newly returned from school," Macavity replied, voice pitched a bit lower as if declaring something grand.

His younger brother's brows rose as he picked up another log for the fire, "Careful what you say about that family. The Baron is known for not taking kindly to much gossip around them."

"Oh, I know," Macavity replied. "I'm hardly spreading this around town, though it's obvious enough for anyone to find if they looked. Like the fact said nephew's father was a Scottish merchant who's been dead over twenty years, but the kit still had his name though he's Jones' designated heir."

"That is quite the news," Munkus whistled lowly, "I can't see the Baron being especially pleased with any of that. Especially the merchant bit."

"He's probably not," Macavity nodded. "Years ago, when this all went down, he pretty much disowned that entire line of the family, but his sister came back with the kit and no husband, and he's named said kit his heir, though probably due to a lack of any other choices. It's an interesting situation, and I should probably stay as far away from as possible." He was grinning by the end of the sentence however.

His brother shook his head, a grin playing about his features, "Which of course means you'll do nothing of the kind. Just be careful, hm?"

"Always am. I've lived to quite the ripe old age already," he said with another grin. "At least, compared to the predictions of my school teachers. I'm down right ancient."

"Considering your antics during your school years it's little wonder that they predicted your death by age twenty."

"Seventeen," Macavity replied. "It was hanged by seventeen, or run over by twenty. Among many other such predictions."

"Right, that was it. Though, not that I'm asking to hear about it, hanged still may be in the cards for you if the number of thefts from clients of yours is true," his blue gaze moved to his older brother.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about," Macavity replied, shrugging.

"Good. Do keep it that way."

"I try my hardest," Macavity said, finally turning away from the sink.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat stepped out of the cab he'd gotten from Bailey and Co Solicitors, making his way up the steps to the door of Baron Jones' townhouse. He paused for a moment to gather himself together before knocking. The door opened moments later and a butler showed him in, telling him to wait while the servant checked to see if His Lordship would see him today. He carried the final sale papers with him so as to deliver a copy to the Baron and let him know that it had gone smoothly.

Moments later the butler returned, showing Coricopat up to Jones' office where he did all his own formal work. Mistoffelees was standing inside the door, leaning a bit hard against the wall as his uncle had been in the midst of lecturing him on business techniques. He perked slightly when he saw someone enter, but was unsure on realizing it was the lawyer.

Jones looked up over his small spectacles as the lawyer entered. "Ah, Mr. Zimmerman. What can I do for you today?" His tone fully expressed what he really was asking was, 'what can you do for me today?'

Coricopat offered the Baron a bow at that, "My lord, I just came to deliver the final copy of the sale papers for your northern properties. The sale went smoothly, and the buyer paid full price for the lands. I do hope that it is to your satisfaction." His grey gaze strayed momentarily to where the Baron's heir stood near the door.

Baron Bustopher Jones arched a brow at that, gaze going to his nephew as well before back to the mottled tom. "Oh? That is excellent to hear, especially since I did not recall signing those final papers."

The solicitor returned his full attention to the cat behind the desk, withdrawing the papers, "I assure you, milord, that I have the papers here, with your signature affixed to them."

Accepting the papers, Jones glanced them over, and nodded. "Yes, it appears all is in order here. I must have let it slip my mind with the bustle of recent times." By the door Mistoffelees bit the inside of his lip hard.

"Is there anything else you wish me to see to, milord?" Coricopat inclined his head enough to show continued deference.

"I believe for the time being, that is all," Jones declared. "If I need the services of your office again, which I am sure I soon shall, I will let you know." He waved one hand in a clear dismissal.

Cori offered the baron another bow, "Very good, milord. Good day to you." With that he slipped out of the study, pausing for a moment in the hall to see if the nephew would be exiting or if he would be required to remain within.

Inside said room, Jones glanced up, as if surprised to still see the black tom in the room. "You may leave as well," he said, voice changing to a slightly harsher tone. "I have no more need of you."

Still biting the inside of his lip, Mistoffelees inclined his head and left the room, gently closing the door behind him. His brow rose slightly when he noticed the mottled tom still in the hallway, and he made sure the door was fully closed.

Coricopat's brow quirked slightly in response and he inclined his head to the smaller cat, "Well done with the business, Mr. Quaxo, if I might say so."

"Would you like to come to the library?" he asked, motioning down the hallway, figuring he would prefer this conversation, or what might turn into a conversation, as far away from servant's ears as possible.

"As you wish, sir," the lawyer offered him a slight bow, indicating for him to precede him if he so wished.

"Please don't call me that," Mistoffelees murmured, heading down the hallway and up the flight of stairs, holding the door of the library open.

"What should I call you then? I fear any term of address I can think of might be a little too informal for someone of your standing," Cori slipped into the library ahead of the other cat.

"Mr. Quaxo would do fine," he managed after a moments thought. 'Sir' was too formal for him to stomach at that age. "After all, I'm not a teacher or an old banker." He closed the door behind him, and really would have preferred to stand leaning against it, but sat in one of the chairs instead, motioning for the other to do the same if he liked.

"As you will, Mr. Quaxo," the mottled tom settled into the chair opposite. "As I was saying, you handled the business very well. I admit I hadn't expected it to go nearly so smoothly."

"I like to believe I try my hardest at everything I'm asked to do," he replied, voice a bit soft and a good deal wary.

"I admit that I have never seen a signature that well written short of an actual copyist's hand."

That time when he bit his lip it was much more obvious. "Well, then I can pride myself on doing very well, can I not?"

"You very much can. My partner and myself couldn't hardly tell the difference, and your uncle certainly couldn't."

"Are you trying to make a point with this?" Mistoffelees asked, voice a bit harder than it had been. "Because I had been asked to deal with the business, and I dealt with it rather than go back to him saying I could not do it."

"No, I was simply making an observation. And, well, asking you not to do it again if possible. I have now lied to my employer, and my client, and the business associate of said client about whose signature is actually affixed to those documents. I would much prefer not to end up with my head in a noose for that, if you don't mind," Coricopat frowned as he finished.

For several long minutes Mistoffelees just blinked slowly, before glancing away. "I shall keep that all in mind," he managed finally.

The mottled tom drew a calming breath, "I apologize. I didn't intend to actually say all of that..."

That drew out another long blink on the smaller tom's part. "But you did. At quite a decent length no less. However, you are correct, and I had not thought the action as through as I might have, and I suppose for that I should apologize as well," he said, voice very formal and as cold as he could make it. After all, he thought it better to have dealt with the business than express to Jones he'd given his heir an impossible task. Which meant he hadn't been thinking of anyone else who could have been affected.

Coricopat's ears lay back slightly, "I...I do understand why you did it, I just honestly wanted to ask you to avoid it in the future. Truly that's all I meant to say."

"But it's not all you said," Mistoffelees replied, brow going up a bit more. "Does that happen to you often?"

"Not around cats who aren't my partner."

Mistoffelees' expression just got more and more confused. He really had no idea what to make of this, and from the mottled tom's expression, which was verging on horror, he didn't either. "Well, I shall certainly keep what you said in mind, especially if we have to work together again in any capacity."

Cori managed a flickering smile, "Thank you. I...should probably be on my way back to the office..."

"Yes, of course," Mistoffelees murmured. "I would hardly wish to keep you from your work. Good day."

The solicitor rose and started toward the door, pausing at the sight of a chess game in progress, "Do you play?" What in heaven's name? Usually he had a control over his tongue and didn't ask anything of the clients he worked with. Especially not if they happened to live on St. James Street.

Tilting his head slightly in confusion, Mistoffelees turned the motion into a nod. "Yes. Currently against myself. Do you?"

"I...oh, yes. I do. It's quite the game you have going here so far." Stop. That's what he needed to do. He needed to stop, go down the stairs, hail a cab and return to the—oh hell Macavity was at the office.

Mistoffelees truly had no idea what to do with the lawyer at the moment. "Thank you, I believe? Except it looks like black is about to win, and I dislike knowing how a game is going to turn out."

"Really? I see mate in three with a victory for white," Coricopat's grey eyes widened as he realized that he'd just contradicted the heir to the Jones estate. He needed to leave. Now.

That got another blink, before Mistoffelees leaned forward to peer at the board better. "Really?" he asked, actually showing the most interest since seeing the lawyer at being contradicted.

"I, well, that is, I believe so?" He glanced toward the door, "I-I really must be going, Mr. Quaxo. I do beg your pardon."

"Yes, of course," he replied, one ear flickering slightly. "I would hardly wish to detain you." It looked more like he would rather do exactly that and discuss chess moves. "Good day to you then, Mr. Zimmerman."

The solicitor dipped another bow before slipping out and returning to the office of Bailey and Co. He hung up his coat and hat and quickly settled at his desk, burying his head in his paws, his ears flat against his skull, "Which case am I working on now?"

Macavity blinked at him, and blinked again, case file held up in front of him where he had been in the process of putting it away when his partner entered. "I, Cor? What the hell happened to you?"

"Language," he replied automatically. "Which case, Mac?"

"Hell if I know," the ginger tabby replied, deeply unhelpful.

"Devil take it, Macavity! You're working on Smith, I just finished with Jones, damn it if I'm working with someone called Johnson I think I might go mad."

"Barton, I think it was," Macavity replied, eyebrows making a break for the top of his head. "No, really, the hell happened?"

"Nothing." He got to his feet, brushing past his partner to locate the file and return to his desk.

"I believe that like I believe socialism is a workable system, Cor. You're not walking out of here on your own two paws without telling me first."

"So how did that evening with your brothers go?" The mottled tom queried as he settled at his desk and opened the file.

"You ain't changing the subject and getting away with it," Macavity told him. "Though it went as fine as ever, thanks for asking. Now what happened at Jones? I might wither away from anticipation."

"One can only hope."

"Cor..." the ginger tabby said, voice getting dangerously low.

"Nothing damaging to the firm, I don't think, and the papers were delivered. My meeting with Lord Jones went without a hitch."

"So was it the daughter, the sister, or the nephew that got you in a twist?"

"I never see the women of the family, are you out of your mind? I had a brief conversation with his nephew is all. I'm fine. Nothing happened."

"You're verging on a panic attack," Macavity replied. "I'm sorry, I mean one of your 'Im-not-panicking' attacks that look like panic to anyone else."

"I don't panic," came the reply that sounded rote even to Cori's ears. "Fine. I might have asked him not to forge his uncle's signature again."

Macavity blinked once, long and slow. "You did what?"

"Well, that was my intent anyhow... What I ended up doing was listing the cats I've lied to in the past week and mentioned the fact that doing it again, should it be discovered might well get me the noose. In all honesty it was less than half the thoughts that have been going through my head for the last week." He swallowed, "And I may have contradicted him on a chess game he had in progress, but in all honesty that was probably the less pressing matter."

"Less than half?" Macavity gaped. "I'm limiting you to a sixth, no, an eighth of your thoughts around clients. And then you brought up his chess game? You sure that whole incident isn't getting you the noose?"

Cori paled, "Mac, you do realize that about two thirds of the thoughts that I didn't include involved the tensile strength of the average hanging rope and the pros and cons of unoiled hinges on trapdoors, right?"

His partner just gave him a long look. "Right, new plan. You avoid the nephew, and we'll do fine from there, alright?"

"I-I'm good with that plan. As long as His Lordship doesn't require me to work with him again, that will go perfectly smoothly. But of course, I never have warning as to whether I'm going to be encountering him or not, so perhaps it won't work quite so...Oh to hell with it, I have work I have to do."

"Alright, you do that work," the ginger tabby agreed. "But you see said nephew, here's what you do. 'Yes, Sir, of course, Sir, will that be all, Sir?' You limit yourself to tried and true phrases."

"I can't. I've been instructed not to call him 'sir'."

That got another long blink. "The gist remains the same. Tried and true, Cor, tried and true."

Victoriousscarf adds: Alright, here's your introduction to Tugger. Who's very much a socialist newspaper editor/writer. I enjoy this character way too much. Also, this chapter marks the first time Misto and Cori end up having a far too honest conversation. Except more of these that usually turn themselves into train wrecks.

Now, as an author I usually don't get down on bended knee to beg for reviews, but I am for this story. Just some sort of feedback would be really appreciated, especially since I feel like we've been putting a lot into this story. Thanks to everyone who's read though and we hope people continue to enjoy it.