Deep in the allieways of Spite, the ragged old market known for its silk-weavers and its pickpockets, the constant fluttering noise of people people haggling, smuggling and stealing, not that the stealing do most of the huge number of pickpockets good, since they most often will get pickpocketed themselves in a never ending cycle.
The shadows are extra thick here, hiding places far outnumber the places lit by candles and gas light.

You have all received a letter, delivered by a stuttering and blank eyed urching, who disapired back into the eternal night as suddenly as he had showed up. The letter caries the seal of a master, you dont know witch one, all the seals look alike unless you are used to receiving various ones.
As you open it, you find the letter, a neatly folded piece of paper, the writing on the page is nigh perfect, exept from a few strangely jumbled sigils mixed in, witch averts the eyes, and hurt if you try and look to them for too long, and each ending with a simple signature: Mr. M

The letters have instructed you to go to Spite, the fourth alleyway south from the giant rookery at Flowerdene street, you are expected to be there at 13 pm precisely, and failure to comply will cause much ire.

So here where footpads and urchins run thickest, in a half lit allyway, you will meet up for something life changing, or unlife changing for that matter.

@TuskatheDaemonKilla @GobMaw_HellSmasha @High_Adept_Zeth @GoreWrencha @Vulpas @Maleth @bossaroo

(now you are free to meet up and interact for a bit before the mysterius master shows up )

@TuskatheDaemonKilla

Whisks LeTrounce, in his usual place being his large undead companion's coat pocket, was surprised to receive a letter at the same time of his corpse-like friend. He was even more surprised why one would go through all the trouble of making an extra small message for someone of his diminutive rat size. Before he can even ask the little urchin a question they were gone as almost as quickly as they appeared, which only perturbed the Rattus Faber even more. Poking his head out of Manfred's pocket, Whisks took a moment to look around to try to spot anyone watching them.

His first thoughts upon receiving the note was intially fear. Someone went through a lot of trouble to contact him directly. And if someone could track the location of pickpocket like him, potentially so could all the marks he's had over the years. Which could be a problem for poor Whisks, as he wasn't exactly one to resolve conflicts over a fist fight. Mainly because he was about the size of someone's fist himself, which gave him quite a handicap in any bout of fisticuffs. That's what he had Manny for anyway, heavy lifting, heavy beat downs, the sorts of things Whisks was physically incapable of doing himself. And so he looked up toward his death-like pal with a raised eyebrow and a puzzeled expression on his face.

"Da bluddy 'ell is fis all 'bout ten?" he asked, shaking his own miniature letter in his hand, "OI, dis sum sort a invitation? Or is fis some sorta threat an' we shuld jus...steer cleer ov fis wun, hmmm? Wat's yur take onit Manny?" Truth be told, Whisks-being more of a hanger on at the moment-had little decision on whether or not Manny went anywhere or not. Didn't mean he couldn't persuade his pal to assist him in distracting some of the more profitable "fat cats" while he relieved them of their more extravagant valuables and currencies. But when it came down to whether they physically went somewhere together, Whisks was a simple passenger in a coat.

Manfred walked along the streets calmly with his cane in his right hand holding the letter in his left. It had been a while since the last time he had gotten a letter of any kind and the first one to be from a master. The messenger that had given it to him was quite the strange child too but given he's a walking corpse he wasn't too concerned with the physical appearance or speech habits of others. As he approached the designated alleyway he folded the paper back up and put it into one of his left coat pocket as the right one was currently occupied by his rodent companion and housemate. When the little chap spoke up in confusion about the strangeness of the situation Manfred chuckled under his mask.
@GobMaw_HellSmasha
"Oh my little companion so suspious of the world you are if it were a threat it wouldn't be telling us to go somewhere at a certain time it's clearly an invitation of sorts. To what exactly I'm not sure but it's a reason to get out of the house and I don't want to be late to something I've been invited to it would ruin my reputation as a gentleman." Manfred reached into a pocket on his vest and took out a gold plated pocket watch to check the time. "Non the less we appear to have arrived early so all we need to do is wait." He said as he flipped the watch's cover and put it back into his vest pocket. In Truth Manfred knew the seal of a master when he saw one and that this invitation is likely to some form of job offer which he had no right to refuse. This was going to be an opportunity to not only bash some heads in but to maybe get the favor of a master which was something one needed in this city if they had ambitions for the kind of power he craved.

He leaned against a brick wall of the alley and watched the streets as urchins and beggars walked by going about their business. Every now and then one of them saw his mask and realied in surprise of the strange mask but also noticed the eyes underneath didn't blink. A well dressed corpse was all he was now with no recollection of his past before he woke up in an open grave covered in bandages. About the only thing he really had now was that he rather enjoyed beating people that insult him or stare at him for too long. Which suited him just fine.

When Clarissa Cartwright received the letter from the urchin when resting at home without a case to work on, she was sure that it had to be an absurd twist of events, as what could she have done other than pry her nose into other's business that could have warranted a letter from a Master? Still, after reading the curious document, she slipped her hat and boots on and set out to this meeting, partly motivated by her own intrigue and partly not wishing to bring about the ire of a Master upon her head.

While her mind puzzled on the enigma of being sent such a strange child to give her a letter, along with those strange, eye averting symbols also placed upon the letter, Clarissa arrived at the location in Spite specified by the letter with her Neathglass goggle firmly on, to find someone else also present, leaning against one of the brick walls of the alleyway that she was supposed to be at as well.

Curiosity trumping a reasonable assumption that he could just be a well-dressed ner'welldoer that happened to be waiting in the same location that she was meant to be, she carefully, yet eagerly approached the alleyway and leaned against the wall opposite the man to see who else might be turning up, but she remained quite for the moment, trying to get a better measure of what type of person he was before deciding if she should strike up a conversation or not.

@TuskatheDaemonKilla

Whisks was not entirely pleased with Manny's nonchalance about the letter and it's apparent purpose. His nose twitched as he looked toward the tomb colonist, "Jus cuz you 'ave nuttin ta worree 'bout dozeint meen I don't. If I kick da buckit, I stay ded ya know. An I plan on livin a bit longah den jus tadaye."

Whisks looked over his own note again, the sigils of which made him scratch his eyes and overt his gaze after awhile. A Master's seal or not, there were far better locations to meet a potential employer then in a dark alleyway in Spite, especially if the letter was legitamate. The pickpocket knew very well the various means of concealing oneself amongst the shadow there. Specific time, specific place, this all seemed like an elaborate ruse to set them up for something. Was it another pickpocket's scam, a constable's sting operation, or something far more sinister. Whatever it was, Whisks took special interest in being concealed in his friend's pocket

@Maleth

Almost to affirm his suspicions, a lady in all black decided to lean up on the wall just opposite them and look at them. Among all the rabble of everyday Spite, this dame happens to stop where they need to meet. Whisk's little eyes looked into hers, he wasn't sure what to think, and he was already on edge about the whole situation. He couldn't keep quite about it any longer.

"OI! Betcha ya fink yur so smart, dontcha luv!" Whisks couldn't help but shout from inside Manfred's pocket, "well ya aints da furst ta try, an you aints gunna be da last! GahrinTEE ya dat missy!"

@GobMaw_HellSmasha
Manfred just nodded and sighed at his little friend being suspicious of everything like he usually was and patted the little creature on the head softly. "Oh hush I wont let anything happen to you. You're a good friend and in this city that's rather blood hard to come by." When the woman came into the alleyway Manfred simply just tipped his had in greeting and since she didn't say anything neither did he. Mostly because he felt they had nothing to talk about with a total stranger and if she tried to mug him, well he might be a gentleman but he's not above some heavy handed self defense even against a woman. He was perfectly content with just standing there until his furry companion decided to have a rather rude outburst. "Whisks are you daft that's no way to address a lady and where do you get off yelling out like that and disturbing the silence. At this rate people are going to think I'm just some mad bloke that stole some rich fool's cloths and is trying to play the part." He said in a completely calm manner not raising his voice over a casual tone once.
@Maleth
He then turned to the woman to try to dissuade any assumptions on his mental state by opening up his trench coat and showing her the small rat man in his pocket. "I'm terribly sorry for my companion's outburst ma'am but you see he's not as trusting as I and thinks every other person in the city is trying to either stomp on him or eat him and sometimes both in that order." He looked down at the rat man his dead eyes blank and unfeeling as ever. "Now apologize so she doesn't harbor any ill will towards us."

Matthew Crabtree hop walks across the cobblestone streets, stepping heel first on the moist pavement. The black dress shoes, spit shined, set contrast to the grey stone and occasional splatter of whatever liquid thrown from above windows. His step is light, almost dance-like. There isn't anything weighting him down.

Hopefully whoever summoned him there won't expect him to show the letter as proof. Can't blame but itself for arranging a meeting in den of pickpockets. Pockets where meant only for hands in these parts of streets. Everyone knows you should hide your valuables in your socks. It would actually be rather amusing if somebody else would appear as claiming to be him. That would be real mess.

Still, getting summoned by order of a Master is exciting. Matthew has no idea what he has done to attract such attention to himself. Well, he knows well what he has done, but he doesn't know what of those things has landed the summon on his head.

Seems that the unilaterally agreed meeting has already some occupancy. Without breaking his pace, Matthew hops onto the street. He greets the black dress wearing lady by tipping his hat with eye contact and charming smile, still stepping forth, causing him to gyrate slowly as he passes her, eventually turning him around so that he continues to move backwards. Matthew steps backwards till hallway the alley at which point he spins around fast to face to the direction he is moving. Just in time to greet the tall gentleman in similar fashion. When he finishes his greeting of the alley occupants, Matthew finds himself at other end of the alley. Standing at the mouth of the alleyway, he lifts his top hat with left hand and swipes his blonde hair with right before placing the hat back. Turning around in the spot, he poses one hand under his chin, other across his abdomen.

"We seem to have a group meeting, dont'cha agree gents?"

@TuskatheDaemonKilla

"Manny MANNY! Wotcha doin ya bleedin-bluddy fool!" Whisks exasperated as he was exposed to the lady in the black dress. The worst thing for any pickpocket was to be out in the open and be clearly visible to everybody, let alone someone who could potentially be a danger to him. And being a rat just made the rule of thumb of staying concealed more then just a career tip, but a means of survival. Whisks gripped onto his bowler hat as he tried to desperately bury himself further into Manfred's coat pocket, only to realize after his struggling that his back half or atleast his tail would still be visible to the black dressed lady. Stubborn to the last, Whisks reorientated himself to poke his head back out of the pocket. Glaring back at Manny's masked face before looking back to the lady in black.

@Maleth

He looked over the woman again, paying close attention to her outfit. Conservative looking dress, nothing too fancy looking, certainly nothing that a common harlot would usually wear. Boots, strangely enough, also black, not one usually wears to a dance or fancy gala of any sort. Pair of Neathglass goggles, could be decorative, but yet her entire attire screamed practicality for being out and about. She wears them with purpose, as she does the rest of her outfit. At least as far as his own personal assessment of the woman was. So was she looking out for something, for someone? For what reason?

"I ain't sayin sawree till dere is sumtin ta be sawree 'bout." Whisks stated looking back at Manny before going back to address stranger.

@GoreWrencha

"Watcha-" was about all Whisk could get out when some dapper looking bloke began to tap dance and move up and down the alley way like an escaped mental patient. Whisks couldn't help but be bewildered by the absurdity of this man's very existence, and even more so by his apparent impeccable timing of being here at the meeting place. The man's attire would easily place him as an easy mark, but his demeanor and attitude spoke whole another story. Whisks wasn't sure if the man was a rube trying to look the part or just thought of himself as the greatest thing and wasn't afraid to flaunt it.

Though, why not both at this point.

"An whoose dis sawree sod, eh?" Whisks addressed the entire group in question to the new arrival, "dis a chum ov yurs, luv?"

Masters were unsavory folk to begin with with a particular penchant to make those that irk their will....disappear.Declining their offers was sadly not an option.

Saying goodbye with his companion for the night Quentin prepared for the meeting.The hows and whys of the meeting were a mystery of course...which was a secondary trait of the Masters in their shadowy game as far as Quentin understood.He did not care much to begin with and as he put on the worn...but well cared-for Edwardian suit with a black bow-tie to go with it and a white club shirt he wondered whenever this will be a last day of his life.
To be honest he never had much to his name...but he always tried to make best of it for himself and others around him.After all...that is a main trait of a gentleman.And being corteous is a first step on a road toward the high class of folk.

As his shoes click-clacked down the pavement road Quentin observed the environment around him he quickly realized he was attracting too much attention...so he sped up to the destination at hand.He knew most of the London and after four decades living in it, one gets strangely accustomed to its forever-dark alleyways and shadows of Flowerdene street promised much.

As he walked around avoiding large crowds and popular market stands he quickly spotted several figures keeping to the shadows in one of the alleys.If he was not mistaken the said alley was the one mentioned in the letter,south of rookey,fourth in Flowerdene street.

Stopping next to a particulary attractive shop front that sold all kind of candy and sweets,Quentin drew from his coat a beaten brass watch and checked the time.

Just in time.He cared much for punctuality.A man that cannot keep his word is afterall...a lesser man.
Deciding to meet these characters, the fear of the Masters outweighting the fear of getting robbed,he walked into the alley.

Tipping his derby hat to the gathered,his middle-aged face quickly painted surprise at the presence of a woman then disgust at the presence of a inhumans.Clearly...it seems they were all brought here by one purpose and...from various walks in life.
Chained by etiquette he coughed lightly into his gloved fist before speaking:

"I presume we have all gathered here for the same reason."Quentin spoke,his well-cared for whiskers shifting as he moved his lips in disgust clearly disappointed.Careful not to provoke anyone he slowly reached for the inner pocket of his coat, showing the letter to the others.

"Top o' the morning for y'all."

The clock was closing in to one, but that didn't mean it wasn't morning to someones. Someones who woke up to urchin staring directly at their face within reaching distance. It wasn't that unusual, this city is full of single mothers, but the Matthew had gone to sleep alone last night. And usually he tries to at least prevent urchins from entering his current residence, more determined fellows find their ways in anyway.

"Matthew of the Tree of Crabs. Crabtree. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to explain to some more... amphibious members of our society that it means crab apple tree, especially when they haven't ever seen a tree. Nor apples. Awfully short temper some have."