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Ms. Inkwell's ride through the city had been, for the first time in a while, a bumpy one. The secretary herself was rather used to a smooth commute - travelling from her penthouse apartment to the corporate offices of Big Business Inc; well in advance of the gridlock of rush hour traffic caused by the legions of employees clogging up the winding, twisting highways of the city.

And yet - her commute was largely through the uptown district of the city - the nicer, cleaner part of it. She rarely had a reason to travel far from that part of the city; as her job, as well as most of her associates and necessities were rather close by. But, today, she finds herself driving - rather, driven by one of her employees - far from her typical route, and far from her typical comfort zone.

Her trip began at a railroad crossing - the side Inkwell's ride approached was rather nice - the barriers had clean paint upon them, the road was smooth leading up to the tracks - and the rail on that side was a brilliant shade of chrome, as if freshly-laid by the railway crews. However - to look even slightly beyond the crossing was to see a clear divide. The opposite rail was densely rusted - and the barriers on the opposite side had paint that was chipped and peeling; one of the barriers themselves was snapped off. The road that led onward was cracked and riddled with potholes - the lines upon it, as well, were faded and even warped, forming an oblong guide through the maze of small pitfalls leading the way deeper into the city.

This was, unfortunately, the gateway to her destination - the wrong side of the tracks. When Inkwell's ride passed through it, the entire city seemed to change. The buildings were a far cry from the neat, even, and sometimes active and lively structures of uptown - these, instead, were twisted, uneven and menacing, cast with gritty textures and drab grey tones. Shades hung unevenly in the lit windows - giving the impression of the architecture itself glaring down upon the utilitarian sedan Inkwell was being escorted in.

The drive was rather stop-and-go - between the sheepish employee at the wheel trying to avoid potholes or simply avoid the more menacing features or denizens of this side of the city. Casting a glance beyond her window, Inkwell could see curvaceous toons leaning on the crooked lamp posts that lined the sidewalks and huddled groups of disheveled-looking folks in the midst of plotting some nefarious deed... The car came to an abrupt stop when they arrived at a large, diamond-shaped sign - the word X-ING was scrawled upon it; set under a rendition of a rat wearing a domino mask and a striped shirt, carrying a bag with a dollar sign on it. Not a moment later, a group of similar looking toons ran across the street - dollar bills drifting in the air behind them as they cascaded out of the moneybags they were hauling.

With no more acknowledgement to the event than turning the windshield wipers on, to knock off the bills that fell upon the windshield, Inkwell's ride resumed.

The ride, mercifully, didn't last terribly much longer - with the car eventually pulling up to a towering, crooked building. A torn awning extended above the entrance, and the numbers - and, in one case, the shadowed outline of the spot a number used to sit upon - marked it as 456 Seedy Place.

Sitting in the back seat, Ms. Inkwell reached into her breast pocket, pulling out a business card. Her thumb ran over the somewhat coarse texture of the paper it was printed on - feeling the embossed text upon it.

|

Ms. Monica Leading

Shyster, Charlatan, Pettifogger, Forger, Cheat, Attorney at Law

456 Seedy Place, Big City, USA

|

This seemed to be the place. Ms. Inkwell stepped out of the car and made her way to the driver's side window, leaning closer. "Stay here," she began to the employee, who immediately began to nod in affirmation. "make sure nothing goes missing - especially not the whole car. If it does... It's coming out of your paycheck." The mousey employee yelps and nods quicker as Ms. Inkwell rounds the hood and makes her way onto the cracked, uneven sidewalk - passing under the awning and up to the front stoop of the building itself.

She perused the directory before she found the name Leading_listed under... Apartment 3C? It definitely seemed strange to operate a legal practice out of a residential building, but... Somehow this felt characteristic of the lawyer Ms. Inkwell was here to meet with. By all accounts - this Ms. Leading was not a very... _Uptown sort of woman. And yet, if she were - Ms. Inkwell wouldn't have been half as interested in courting her talents.

True to the business card's testimony - Ms. Leading was a decidedly... Unscrupulous woman. She was a deft navigator of the legal system with a keen eye for loopholes to safely guide she and her client through, and onward to safety... And mutual profit. Of course, there were _plenty_of lawyers that were just as talented, but considerably closer to Ms. Inkwell's neck of the woods - they were a dime a dozen; but the problem with them was that they were all... Cut from the same cloth, so to speak. Bold, driven, holding true to lofty ideals like 'justice'...

Ms. Inkwell wasn't looking to pad out her company's roster with idealists - especially those that might get uppity about things like 'unlawful practices' or 'lying under oath'. There were... Contenders that Ms. Inkwell had her eye on - those that were open to such things, especially when offered a hefty paycheck, but she'd never found anyone as... Eager to field underhanded practices as Ms. Leading was. Her reputation preceded her - hanging around the woman like a stormy cloud.

Hell, sitting in on one of her trials, thunder crashed around the courtroom when she showed up - and it's been a clear, sunny day up to that point.

Her talents were exceptional; but it was her desires - her nature - that truly won Ms. Inkwell's respect. And so, the secretary kept Ms. Leading's information on file for a rainy day, when they might need legal counsel... And, of course, today was that day.

Stepping into the building was like stepping into another world. While the city outside was unwelcoming, malicious and dour - it was rather quiet. In here, though - the drab grey halls, though empty, were rife with the sounds of those that lived within them. Inkwell could hear rustling, conversations, laughter, and occasional shouting from the rooms she passed on her way to the stairwell - passing a grated elevator that bore a faded sign, declaring it to be Out of Service Since... July 21 1931.

Rounding her way up to the second floor, she was greeted to more noise - this time a little louder. The walls themselves seemed paper thin - an observation Ms. Inkwell was willing to test. Pulling a pen from her breast pocket, she prods it against one of the walls - and with a sharp rip - the pen pokes clean through it. Experimentally, the secretary peers through - only to see a hippo woman bathing on the other side... In a tub she has to squeeze into in such a way that her broad belly hangs like a muffin top over either side. She notices the peeping bunny and gives a dainty finger-wave - prompting Ms. Inkwell to quickly move on.

Arriving upon the third floor, the first thing the bunny's ears pick up on is shouting - and the first door she approaches suddenly flings open; narrowly avoiding smashing the secretary between it and the wall behind it.

"And stay out, chump!" a voice belts out from within, and soon a dog comes tumbling across the floor - rolling until they hit the opposite wall with a harsh thud. The impact comes with such force that a chunk of the ceiling cracks off and, adding injury to the preexisting insult and injury, comes down upon the dazed-looking canine's head, knocking him down for the count.

Ms. Inkwell smiles and puffs out her chest as she passes. She didn't exactly feel at home around here - but she didn't quite look down upon the folks from around here, either. They weren't being driven the same way she demands excellence from her employees - in occupational respects and in the shenanigans that are a necessity of a toon's existence - but they still managed to remain true to what she'd demand of her own underlings.

... Of course, she wouldn't mind if they endeavored to be a little more cleanly... But, she pocketed that gripe as she moved on to apartment 3C. The door had a crooked nail hammered into the middle of it, upon which a sign was suspended. Sloppy brushstrokes painted the words Leading & Associates upon it - delivering Ms. Inkwell to the very terminus of her journey. She eyes a little peephole sitting above the sign - then gently raps upon the door.

Clearing her throat, the rabbit leans a little closer to the door, calling - above the din of the hallway - "Good afternoon - is Ms. Leading available?"

Ms. Inkwell can hear hurried footsteps coming from inside - getting closer to the door; followed by a soft bump. The peephole seems to come to life - bulging out and developing a pupil of its own, which glares toward Ms. Inkwell. "Who's askin'?" a voice demands from the opposite side. "You a cop or somethin'?"

Ms. Inkwell chuckles, shaking her head - and withdrawing a handkerchief from her breast pocket, wiping off her hand. "Oh, of course not." she begins matter-of-factly. "I-"

"You from downstairs? That scumbag's already sent five thugs up here lookin' for money, and I don't care how big they are, he ain't gettin' it!" The peephole seems to deform, as though glowering down at the secretary.

"I'm not quite from around here," Ms. Inkwell admits. "In fact, I'm here to-"

"The Perellis, then? You tell Vito attaccati a sto cazzo, eh?"

Furrowing her brow for a moment, Ms. Inkwell clears her throat again. "I represent Big Business Inc - and I'm here seeking legal counsel." After a moment of silence from the door - which seems to blink in surprise - the rabbit concludes. "I hope I'm not imposing."

The peephole seems to shrink again - and with a sharp _click-clunk-clack_of several locks being thrown, the door opens a little - only to be held back by a chain. A muzzle pokes out from behind it, and after a moment of struggle, Ms. Leading pokes the whole of her head out from the undersized aperture. The weasel looks Ms. Inkwell up and down - first skeptically, then in surprise. When her oval-shaped pupils reshaped into dollar-signs, the rabbit understood full well that she'd earned the lawyer's attention.

"Oh no, I'm always eager to talk business!" Ms. Leading chimes, blinking a few times; her pupils returning to proper form. "Where're my manners - c'mon in!" There's a soft thump from her side of the door as she braces her hands and feet against the door and wall to help pull her head back through the cracked door - and once she's through, she releases the chain and spreads the door wide, waving Ms. Inkwell inside.

The office - though it could only graciously be referred to as such - was... A hybrid living room and kitchen, with an oak desk plopped into the middle of it. There were a few papers scattered across it - as well as an open briefcase, out of which poked a number of papers... And was that a flask? Averting her eyes, the rabbit minces her way in with quick, shallow steps.

"Can I getcha somethin'?" the weasel offers, closing the door behind Ms. Inkwell. "A drink? A smoke?" She runs a hand through her hair - slicking it back further. Her voice drops to a sultry purr as she offers "The night of your life?" With no response from the rabbit, Ms. Leading rounds her desk and plops into a beat-up looking recliner on the opposite side. "Offer's on the table, miss..."

"Ms. Inkwell." Ms. Inkwell begins, approaching the desk - but steering clear of the seats set before it. "I appreciate the hospitality, but I'd prefer to get straight to-"

The rabbit flinches at the sound of a lighter being flicked - only to see the weasel across the desk lighting a cigarette - just one drag is enough to reduce half of the thing to ash. "Business?" she muses; wisps of smoke escaping her lips as she does so. Ms. Inkwell nods in affirmation, and the weasel leans back in her seat, gesturing toward her desk. "Well! Whatcha got for me? I mean, for Big Business - I'm willin' ta play ball with you... Uptown types; if we gotta do things... Your way..." She gestures distastefully toward a nearby shelf - where a series of legal texts are presently collecting dust.

Ms. Inkwell turns up her nose, huffing. "If I wanted things done our way, I would have sought counsel from Rex, Victor, and Hiro, and saved myself the... Scenic drive." the rabbit explains. "In the interest of transparency - it's by your merit that I, and those whom I represent, are interested in procuring your services."

Ms. Leading perks up a little - trails of smoke escaping her lips and nose. "Hm- no offense, but I ain't used ta catchin' tha eye of somebody so..." She gestures toward Ms. Inkwell, uneasily raising her hand upward and downward. "Y'know what I mean?"

"Vaguely." the rabbit admits. "Would that jeopardize your interest in working with us, then?"

Ms. Leading throws the lever on her recliner, propelling herself forward and leaning on her desk. "Not if you're payin'." she admits. "Listen - I'm just a humble weasel, but I'm supportin' this practice all by myself! Tha others haven't pulled their weight in a while - but outta tha kindness of my big ol' heart, I'm workin' for all of us. Ms. Leading, Ms. Direction, Ms. Terry, Ms. Conduct, Ms. Guide, Ms..." As she continues, Ms. Inkwell follows the weasel's eyes to a rack resting beside the door, holding a number of accessories upon it - various coats, hats, glasses, eyepatches...

"I understand your situation entirely, ma'am." Ms. Inkwell interrupts, raising a hand. "I'm aware that... Those whom I represent may not have a reputation for generosity... But believe me when I say we're well inclined to show our appreciation for those that stand at our side." she explains, lowering one hand to rest upon her chest. "Supposing you'd be willing to work alongside us - and supposing your services are deemed adequate - you will be handsomely rewarded, and your information will be kept on file for future necessities." Ms. Inkwell looks away, reaching up to scratch behind her ears. "Additionally, the boss seems to be mulling over creating an opening in the legal department... An opening with a rather generous salary, but they don't seem particularly swayed to fill it with any immediate candidates..."

The draw the weasel takes of her cigarette is enough to evaporate the thing into ash - prompting her to cough and sputter. "Well," she begins harshly, trying to clear her throat. "let's hear what you've got on your plate - and we'll see if we can't hammer out a solution to both our problems, huh?

Ms. Inkwell smiles, reaching into her breast pocket again - this time pulling out a white sheet, and laying it upon a nearby chair before settling into it. "Well, it appears a... Disgruntled ex-employee seems to have designs to attack Big Business Inc on the grounds of negligence in regards to workplace safety..."

"And, lemmie guess - it's their fault, right?"

"No, in fact, we're rather negligent with workplace safety." Ms. Inkwell admits. "We would simply rather not be held accountable for it."

The weasel clicks her tongue, giving a fanged smile. "Now you're talkin' my language. What happened?"

"As it was reported, it seems they were an employee at one of our warehouses. It seems several barrels of waste product were suspended high upon the warehouse shelves without any means to secure them - as the employee put it, it was an accident waiting to happen. When it did - the barrels tumbled to the ground, and..." Ms. Inkwell, purses her lips for a moment. "Well, the report says the employee was rendered 'flat as a pancake', but truthfully she was closer to being painted onto the warehouse floor."

Ms. Leading raises her hands. "We'll go with pancake. What they don't know won't hurt 'em."

"In any case, she was returned to a proper state of two-dimensionality, resigned from her position, and now seeks damages against our company." Ms. Inkwell concludes. "As aforementioned - we would prefer to avoid such an outcome."

The weasel leans back and steeples her hands, thrumming. "And that's what was reported?" she muses.

"Yes."

"And that's what happened?"

"As far as we're aware."

Ms. Leading snaps her fingers. "Exactly." The rabbit tilts her head curiously in response. "That's what you think happened, right? No telling if that is what went down. So, let's think outside the box - what could've really happened in that warehouse? What's this gal look like?"

"She's a sheep. The biological kind, sadly not the psychological kind. That would have made things considerably more manageable."

"Sheep, okay. Big?"

"Petite. 'Wouldn't hurt a fly', the warehouse manager said."

Ms. Leading shakes her head. "Well why would she work in a warehouse, then?"

The rabbit furrows her brow. "I'm sorry?"

"Why would she work in a warehouse if she wasn't built for it? That's physical work. Heavy lifting is just part of the job. Picture, in your head - what kind of person works in a warehouse?"

Ms. Inkwell leans back in her seat, obliging the weasel - the first thing her mind conjures is a vague, ill-defined silhouette of a rather burly laborer.

"So, that's the kinda sheep that works there."

The laborer in Ms. Inkwell's mind develops thick layers of fur over their body - conforming to what she would imagine of the sheep... That would work in that warehouse. "I think I understand what you mean. That... Makes sense."

"Good - now for our purposes, it's harder to sympathize with a plaintiff if they look like they could pulverize the jury rather than bein' some four-foot-nothin' pipsqueak. So - that's the image that we present."

Ms. Inkwell nods in affirmation, thrumming. "An interesting tactic - though with Big Business' reputation; I would imagine that sympathy might not be the easiest thing to earn..."

"Or the cheapest - I know ya've got that on your mind." the weasel says - though there's not an ounce of judgement in her tone. "But that's not tha only trick up my sleeve. There's gotta be a reason tha problem happened - so, who's ta say it was your fault that it did?" She claps her hands, continuing. "So, she's big, beefy, and strong. Ya wouldn't think a gal like that would have a delicate touch, right?"

Ms. Inkwell nods along. "I suppose not. Grace isn't exactly a necessary quality in her line of work..."

"Yeah, so she don't bother. Or - if she had an ounce a' delicacy in her, it's buried deep under mountains of muscle. Gal stomps around like she's ready to bring down tha whole room around her... When ya look at her, ya only think a' one word..."

Ms. Inkwell perks up. Goon? Thug? Brute? Dullard? She can think of many words to describe what she's imagining - and each one she applies to the burly sheep brings her mental image even lower. Her soft, cherubic features turn hard - her posture goes slack and a sneer appears upon her face. Ms. Leading never quite gives her the word she's 'supposed' to think of - but the rabbit can only assume that's deliberate.

"So, a gal like her swings inta a rack, and down comes _everythin'_it was holdin'. Is that supposed ta be your fault for not buildin' your whole warehouse around one knuckle-draggin' employee?"

Ms. Inkwell smiles, nodding "Of course not," she begins... But quickly frowns. "however - there's still the question of why the barrels weren't secured to begin with..."

Ms. Leading reaches over to her briefcase - brushing aside papers and beginning to dig around. "Yeah? Well, what if... Hn- damn, it was here somewhere..." She leans closer to the briefcase - going deep enough that her arm was immersed in the piled-up papers nearly up to her shoulder before she seems to secure something in that suspiciously-deep piece of luggage. "Aha! Consider this, oh fair member of the jury!" From her briefcase she pulls out a plastic bag with a black band of fabric secured to a buckle - but, clearly cut on both ends. "Who says it wasn't secured?"

The rabbit perks up. "Who indeed!" she chimes, thoroughly pleased by the development. "I was in attendance of a trial where you attempted such a... Revelation within. You can't introduce new evidence in the courtroom, you know..."

Ms. Leading shrugs. "Don't matter to me. All that matters is that tha courtroom sees it. It plants a seed in their heads - an', if I've been doin' my job right, it's gettin' dropped in fertile ground. I set tha scenario, give 'em reason to believe it, and while all a' that's been cookin' in their eyes - I give 'em somethin' to put their eyes on. When the see that - everythin' becomes real."

"Masterful." Ms. Inkwell applauds.

Puffing her chest out, Ms. Leading continues. "So, your report tells us what they say happened, but I'll lay it out for ya straight, sister. It's a dark night, and everybody's closin' up shop n' punchin' out. Last one out is our gal. Before she punches out, she's gotta take care a' somethin'..." The weasel leans across the desk, looking around shiftily. "You can see it in her eyes. There's a wit that her bulk n' clumsiness don't show. Nothin' short of... Devilish."

Ms. Inkwell raises a hand to her lips. "Is that so?" she muses.

"Mmhm. Her eyes - bright n' yellow. Pupils shaped more like a snake's than like yours or mine. All of that thick fur, black as the night - broken by that bright red skin beneath it. When you see a gal like that clopin' around on heavy hooves, when you see her head sinkin' under the weight of those big, curly horns, and when ya see that big, spaded tail lashin' around like it's got a bone ta pick... She's _always_gotta be up to somethin'." Retreating across her desk, Ms. Leading smiles. "So, that thuggish-but-sly devil clambers up the shelves like she's ol' King Kong, bears those big, sharp fangs of hers, n' gnashes through the ropes keepin' all a' your innocent lil' workers safe. And, if I can get anythin' outta that report... How did they describe that whole situation again?"

The rabbit chuckles lowly. "Like an accident waiting to happen."

"Now ain't that convenient?" Ms. Leading declares, reaching up to her jacket and adjusting it. "I think I've made my case clear."

"Rather convincingly, I might add." Ms. Inkwell affirms, raising a hand to her chest, hovering over her cleavage. "And all you had to do was misconstrue the facts of the situation, demonize the victim - quite literally, I might add - manipulate the scenario to fit a more convenient narrative, forge evidence, improperly submit it, and I'm sure a litany of other legal missteps and crimes..."

"But, do ya think we could win with that angle?"

"Of course - and that's all that matters, doesn't it?" Ms. Inkwell chuckles out. "I have to say - I'm thoroughly satisfied with this little exercise."

"Well, I aim to satisfy," Ms. Leading says - slicking her hair back again. "In the courtroom, in the office, and in be-"

The sound of shuffling papers escapes Ms. Inkwell's garments as she begins to withdraw a contract - rather typically of those she penned herself, it extends several yards before she's finished retrieving it. "Of course, before anything is official, I'm sure you won't be opposed to reading this over - contracts like these are of the utmost importance, I'm sure you understand."

"Oh yeah, yeah..." the weasel sighs out. A little daunted, Ms. Leading leans closer to the mammoth document, squinting as she trails through the indecipherably-small fine print - eventually withdrawing a magnifying glass from her briefcase to help her work through it. Eventually, she perks up, giving a confounded look toward Ms. Inkwell. "Well - okay, we're gonna haveta work on this before I sign anythin'."

"Is that so?" Ms. Inkwell challenges. This had been going so well up to this point... Surely the weasel wouldn't balk at a bit of... Disproportionate favoritism in the contract's terms...

"Yeah, okay-" she begins, withdrawing a pen from a nearby pile of papers, and dabbing it on her tongue before beginning to go through the contract. "Section 3A, under subsection I - this loophole works out ten times better for me than it does for you. Subsection IV ain't much better, sure, on paper it sounds like it's protectin' your ass, but if ya bend over backwards and squint juuuuust the right way, ya might see tha right way for someone to really pull one over on ya. Let's not even talk about section 15B..."

Ms. Inkwell wasn't quite used to someone railing one of her contracts, but... Somehow, it was welcome. She hadn't even asked for advice, and here, the weasel was just giving her ammunition to take advantage of others, and that...

That was almost sweet.

The pair would spend the next several hours in that dingy little "office", shooting ideas back and forth about their contract, both eager to bend the law itself over Ms. Leading's desk and double-team it from both ends...

And all throughout - the two toons couldn't help but think it was the start of a long and prosperous relationship.