undergrounds | Spycat

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Spycat

It's been decades since Mogget has wandered around London this freely. It's almost like discovering the city all over again. At first he sticks to exploring mainly at night, keeping his nose to the ground and sniffing out magical activity. During the day he switches to crow form for a bird's eye view of the city, updating the mental map in his head. He has a specific mission, however, and so in the latter half of the month he begins to target certain locations:

Bromley and Bexley
Despite being in enemy territory, Mogget trots through the suburbs as if he has every right to be here. The fae presence is strong and every once in a while he senses a door to the Other Realm and raises his hackles, approaching with caution. While he may sniff around the edges of a door, he will never go through; that is forbidden to him.

But he's not here looking for doors. He's here to scope out the area and identify the resident fae. Maybe even talk to some of them, if they will talk to him.

Hillingdon House (17th-19th February)
Mogget hangs around the house for an entire weekend, watching who comes and goes. He's here to talk to the hunters, although you might not believe it if you find him in the kitchen, but anyone who seems like a promising prospect will hear a voice at their feet:

"Looking for work?"

Abbott Mill, The East End Den (around end February)
Mogget hates dogs. He doesn't want to be here, his small white cat face wrinkled in disgust at the stench of werewolf that permeates this place, but he's under orders and so he must pad with great caution into the den.

He's here to deliver a message to the alpha, Katherine Moore. Hopefully that won't take long and then he can just sneak his way back out without being noticed...

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While Sirius has noticed the cat about the house the past days, he hasn't really inquired about it. The house was full of strays anyway, or the cat belonged to another hunter. Either way, who was he to make any sort of judgement. As long as someone was feeding it, he figured.

He didn't expect the cat to talk though. That was a new one. Not unsurprising all things considered, but new.

"Depends on the job."

"Who brought a fucking cat?!"

So much for not being noticed.

Ghoul's turned a corner and spotted Mogget. His hollering goes unanswered by the rest of the pack scattered around the building (as he half-expected it would) so he sighs and makes his way towards the animal, reaching out for it as soon as he's close enough. "Fuck's sake. Come on, kitty, we gotta have a talk with your mom. You're gonna be somebody's cute little snack if she doesn't get her shit together." He'd seen Edith fluttering around the other day, so he assumes the cat is hers. He's got to catch it and get it back to her, obviously.

Mogget will get a surprise one of those days as a squirrel tears through the kitchen, getting as high as it can before it transforms into a 4 year old girl and yells very forcefully at the doorway "No!" when a rather harried man in his 40s appears there. He growls low in his throat before stomping through and wagging a finger at her, "Dammit, don't you 'no' me. Get your ass down here and put on your clothes. We're going home and you're getting a bath."

"No." She declared again before transforming once more and this time darting off to hide on the other side of the white cat she spotted before her caretaker.

Daryl, seeing who she was behind, let out an in-human hiss. Which startled the little girl, but it wasn't directed at her. He hovered in the middle of the room and glared at Mogget, "The hell are you doin' here?"

Because a familiar had no business in the kitchen even if they did have business with someone in the house.

The Dodger is always around, and you know what he's never seen? A cat this deep in wolf territory. Oh, there's always the odd stray who risks it but never one that looks aware of just where it is. They're just a bit away from the den, and he isn't even sure himself why he's there but he is.

"What you lookin' for then, moggie?"

Ugh, dogs. He doesn't like them but Mogget does have to concede that they have certain skills in tracking, hunting, etc. Hence approaching this one.

He jumps up onto the nearest couch so that he can address the stranger eye-to-eye, flexing his claws. "Recon in potentially hostile territory. A week, perhaps two. Interested?"

He had hoped to sneak in without being noticed. Hoped. Mogget recognises his would-be kidnapper, but apparently the wolf is too dumb to remember him. There's no way he's going to let this idiot pick him up so he shies out of the way the moment the wolf gets anywhere close, turning tail to run behind a couch and then crawl underneath a nearby armchair.

It's from the safety of the space beneath the armchair that he glares at his pursuer. "It's me, you oaf. Try looking before you leap."

He might have searched the kitchen for fish, Daryl. Might have. If there had been any before, there wasn't now, but who's to say that's his fault? Anyway, Mogget did startle when the squirrel came tearing in, his green eyes following her progress and transformation into a girl and back again.

He was perched on the kitchen table when the squirrel darted up to hide behind him, Mogget glancing around to sniff at her. Too young to be of any use for the task at hand. He decided to ignore her.

Turning back to Daryl, Mogget looked quite unfazed by the whole thing. "Isn't it obvious?" he drawled. "I'm looking for a hunter. I don't suppose you know any."

He's on his way out from the den and Mogget narrows his eyes when he spots the scruffy-looking fae. What's he doing so deep in wolf territory?

"Not for you," he replies, slowing down as he looks to cross the street away from the boy. He ought not to have let himself be spotted at all, especially by a fae, but too late to worry about that now.

He chases after it, naturally, because that's what dogs do. Especially dogs on a mission to deliver wandering cats to nice old ladies.

As soon as the cat speaks, however, he freezes. A few seconds later, he drops down to his knees and flattens himself against the floor so he can glare right back at Mogget while he hides under the chair. "You again?" He's suddenly very, very disappointed that this isn't one of Edith's after all, because now he's going to have to legitimately argue with a cat in a place where others could potentially see it happen. "What're you doing? Is Samantha here?"

Arthur doesn't have as good an eye for cats as he does for human faces, and he has no sense of magic whatsoever, so when Mogget speaks to him he thinks it may be the same cat that was sitting on Samantha's lap at Imbolc but it could just as well be a shifter from the clan or some other magical being here to disrupt his peace.

Either way he spares the cat a frown and looks up and down the hall. "Depends who's hiring," he says, sounding very much like he's doubtful Mogget has an answer he's going to like.

"Don't be silly." He squints at the wolf. As if Samantha would ever set foot here. "Now, can I come out without you pouncing on me? I am rather busy and would like to leave this place before noon."

He'd like to leave this place as soon as he can, in fact. But even Mogget is capable of some small level of decorum.

"That would be me," says Mogget, because who wouldn't expect to be hired by a talking cat. He leaps up on a side table and almost knocks over a vase of flowers in the process, but though the vase wobbles it does stay upright. "Who are you?"

He may have neglected to mention that he's hiring on behalf of the Mother of Witches, but that's a small detail.

"Arthur," he says. His tone is equal parts bored and impatient, an efficient way to weed out people who aren't serious enough to demand his attention for any significant length of time. He checks his phone as if he's waiting for an important e-mail or something and then looks back at the cat.

"You're not here on anyone's behalf?"

"I didn't say whether I was." He winds around the vase, a petal falling on his head. The flowers are starting to wilt. They could really do with replacing. "I'm looking for a fae hunter. I don't suppose you qualify?"

He sounds dubious, mostly because Arthur doesn't smell like anything other than human and humans are generally terrible at identifying fae. They're useless at most things, really, though he'd expect a human in this place to be rather more aware of supernatural goings-on.

Arthur's familiar enough with people dodging answers, but still all he knows for sure is that the cat doesn't want to answer that question, even if he suspects he knows what the cat doesn't want him to.

"We mostly hunt vampires here," he says, "but it depends on the job and how much money's on the table."

"A wise strategy." He has no love lost for vampires and their ilk. "As for the job, there's no killing required. I require reconnaissance in fae territory. Hideouts, movements, defences, that sort of thing. The pay is in line with work of this type, plus a bonus if you can provide names of individuals. The more the better."

He flicks his ear and the petal falls off, floating down to the floor.

Arthur doesn't show much in the way of a reaction to that, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall near the table Mogget's sitting on. "Why?" he asks flatly, like it's a statement rather than a question.

"Does it matter? I thought you hunter types followed the money."

His tone is nonchalant. Really, they're not paying anyone in Hillingdon to ask questions. They'll be paid to carry out the task as required.

"Morality clause," Arthur says, equally nonchalant. "I call jobs off if I don't like them. I make enough money hunting people who actually deserve it."

Oh, he's one of those types. The hunters who believe they're doing what they do for great justice or some such. Ridding the world of vampires etc etc. Mogget has worked with a number of witches like that in his time.

He could make a scathing comment about playing the morality card but he decides he'd rather not bother. If Arthur is a dead end, there are bound to be others willing to make a deal.

"In that case I require a hunter who either despises fae or doesn't care. Any suggestions?"

"Nope. You come out from under there and I'll be on you like a fat kid on cake." Ghoul rests his chin atop his crossed arms, watching Mogget calmly. "Unless you wanna be agreeable and tell me what you're doin' here. Then maybe we can work something out."

Potentially hostile territory. It's not a set of words that Sirius is particularly fond of, as potentially almost always evolved into definitely, and not necessarily because of anything he'd done.

"I might be, but a few questions. One, where exactly would this be taking place? Two, what's in it or me?"

Rude.

"My business here is none of your business." His green eyes gleam beneath the armchair. "I am here to see your alpha. Not some scruffy hanger-on."

The scruffy hanger-on is Ghoul, by the way. In case that wasn't obvious.

"Bromley," is the answer. "And a reasonable fee, plus a bonus if you can bring back the names of any fae you follow."

He's watching the man closely to observe his reaction. Is the offer attractive enough or is he going to get cold feet at the mention of fae? Surely at least some of these hunters must be willing to venture into fae territory.

Ghoul responds with a disdainful hiss of air between his teeth, reaching an arm beneath the chair and swatting at Mogget. He'll show that little fucker scruffy hanger-on. "What if she ain't here?"

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Spycat

HIllingdon House

mogget's favorite wolfden

Hillingdon

NEAR the East End Den

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