Alphonse Norwich IV laid in the bed of his hotel room, still wearing the clothes he had on the day before and on top of the covers. He was awake, but hadn't actually made the effort to get up and moving. His head was pounding, a morning-after feeling the big rat was well used to, but this time broke tradition in that he didn't have the satisfaction of it being the result of a party or night on the town with his friends. Sure, he'd been drinking the day before during his "business meeting" with Murina Beaubonique, now his agent, but not enough to justify his headache. Alphonse was feeling a mental hangover.

It had taken Murina several hours to take her explanation of just what she would be doing for him and why Alphonse needed it and break it down into terms simple enough for him to understand. What was initially intended to be a quick rundown of services followed by a sign and a pawshake turned into a session of Basketball Agency 101. Not every client of Murina's was college educated, she was used to some needing extra clarification, but Alphonse needed even the basics spelled out for him. It was exasperating work for the pair of them.

By the time it was over, the bars of Boston had closed (a situation which baffled and infuriated the street rat), and so the surprisingly forgiving turtle who'd carted him to Murina's office took him to his hotel.

Checking in was itself an ordeal. Alphonse had spent his whole life in Toxteth, the last five of them solely in the Alley. Suddenly he was dropped into a multi-species cauldron, alone, and had to deal with non-rats all around him. When Woodrow dropped him off at the front door of the hotel with nothing but his single bag and whatever he had in his pockets, Alphonse just stood there for a few moments, muzzle wrinkled up in a sneer. Earlier that day Muri had acted as a combination buffer and shepherd, guiding him around and doing the business end of things while he'd sat behind and voiced his opinions. Now, he was going to have to actually DEAL with these... these nonnies.

So the rat went into the hotel and clomped up to the front desk. As late as it was, the lobby was empty, saving everyone the headache of the Biter Boy rat having to stand in line and wait his turn.

"Oi! I'm here f-"

A cheery-faced skunk smiled broadly. "Ah! You must be Mr. Norwich! Ms. Beaubonique said you'd be by. Your room is all ready. Seventh floor, when you step out of the elevator it'll be the third door on your left."

Alphonse looked at her a moment before swiping the keys unceremoniously from her paw. Without another word he stormed his way over to the elevator and took it up to his floor, muttering angrily to himself about how all the rats were probably stuck working in the basement or cleaning toilets. As if the universe had heard him, he was greeted by the site of an older pot-bellied black rat exiting his room with a large cart covered in linens.

"Oi! Mate! You work 'ere?" he asked, as if it were a valid question.

Still, the older rat was just as bright and friendly as the clerk. He nodded. "Yessir! Been here at the Mark for many years. You know we get an awful lot of you basketball players!" He patted the frame of the open door with an almost proud expression on his face. "Room's all ready for you!"

"An' how long's that spraya been down at th' desk?"

The old rat hummed and twitched his nose in thought. "Tiff? Lessee... she came in just after Thanksgiving I think. Hard for me to keep track, I've seen so many over the years!" he answered, leaning on his cart.

Alphonse nodded, as if he'd heard just what he wanted. "An' you're still cleanin' rooms? Some new cunt comes right in and they put 'er in 'at nice job down there, but not you?"

The housekeeper laughed, making his mustache flutter. "Son, nowadays I'm just happy I have a job at all. You look tired, get some sleep." He gave Alphonse a clap on the shoulder and made his way further down the hall, whistling a happy little tune to himself. Quietly, though, so as to avoid waking the others.

Alphonse just shook his head and spat, grumbling a "stupid old codger" to himself and slamming the door closed behind him. The room was immaculate, if not especially spacious. For most, it would have been an acceptable arrangement for a single night, but for Alphonse it was an upgrade. A bed to himself, new sheets, flat-screen television, bathroom where everything worked like it should. He found himself turning things off and on and messing with the thermostat just to see it all hum and whir before tossing his bag into a corner and dropping himself onto the bed.

Sleep didn't come easy that night for Alphonse Norwich IV. Having spent his whole life in a tightly-packed house with over a dozen relatives, he'd gotten used to the "white noise" of snoring, shifting bodies and hushed conversations, the warmth of a few rats crammed onto a single bed (Alphonse always shared space with the youngest due to his size). He could have spread out, but years of making room for siblings, cousins, nieces, or nephews left him unable to. He had a king-sized bed to himself, and Alphonse spent the night curled up on one side of it. The silence and stillness of the room was crushing. After over an hour of listening to nothing but his own breathing, Alphonse drifted to sleep.

Alphonse's dreams were a whirl of cameras and dollar signs. Murina had spent hours explaining the league, contracts, media, and management in painstaking detail, but he only barely understood it all. As he slept, his brain cooked up muddled images of press conferences and interviews, faceless figures in business suits thrusting papers and pens at him. One thing that didn't show up in his dreams, however, was the actual game itself. So much time had been spent going over logistics about the draft and what would happen after, or if, he got signed that the rat's visions about being a professional baller had nothing to do with playing on the court.

The next morning, it took a knock at the door to finally stir him and force him upright. Alphonse looked at the clock. Ten in the morning. He grunted and made his way to the door.

"'Ang on, 'ang on, I'm comin', fuck sakes."

When he opened the door, the rat was greeted with yet another smiling face, this one belonging to a young girl, a raccoon this time.

"Good morning! Breakfast is served!" she said, handing Alphonse a rather large tray with a silver cover over top of it.

"I didn't order no fuckin' b-"

She cut him off. "Compliments of Ms. Beaubonique! She said you might not be awake yet, but to tell you that you have a long day ahead, so you need a ful-"

He took the tray and closed the door on the raccoon mid-sentence. Muri had bought him breakfast. He sat on the bed and took a look at what his 'free' meal was. A plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and fried toast with a glass of orange juice. Alphonse couldn't help but laugh. It was a traditional fry-up, save the orange juice instead of tea.

After tearing through his meal in record time, Alphonse finally took that morning piss that had been waiting patiently while he ate, and then stood in front of the big mirror that covered the bathroom door. It was an awful lot to take in. A month ago he was just a rat in the Alley, scraping by and enjoying his time on the ramshackle basketball court with his friends. It had taken them nearly a year to talk him into sending the submission letter in to the FBA, he figured the powers that be would just toss it in the trash. Then that mouse showed up asking questions, and next thing he knew he was on a flight to the States to meet with a possible agent, eating out a fancy restaurant and riding in a limousine.

"Alfie, ol' boy," he snickered to himself, "'ope you're ready, 'cause things are about to change for you."

[i]Not unless you make some changes yourself.[/i]

Alphonse heard Murina's voice so clearly, right down to how sharply she punctuated the syllables, he nearly turned around to see if she was in the room with him. It reminded him of the real source of his headache. It wasn't the tidal wave of legal jargon or his struggle at getting his mind around the structure of the FBA and its management. It was Muri telling him that if he wanted that contract, he was going to have to "soften" his image, to be less "threatening". To be, as she put it, "a little less Alfie."

"Sorry, luv. I ain't changin' for nobody," he snorted back to the rat who wasn't there.

He knew Muri was wrong, she just had to be. The FBA had taken enough interest in him to send a reporter to hunt him down and an agent had come to HIM about signing a deal. He hadn't reached out to anyone. He wasn't begging to be picked up or get someone to take notice, it was the other way around. He was the hot item, he was what they wanted. He didn't have to change a goddamn thing. Alphonse's snarl gradually changed into a grin as he kept repeating his reassurances to himself. The ball was in his court. He was in control here. Not Murina Beaubonique, not that stupid cat she worked with, not the FBA. He was.

The ring of his phone snapped him out of his ego stroking. He grunted a brief "what?" into it when he answered.

"Ms. Beaubonique is waiting for you at the front desk, Mr. Norwich."

Not even bothering to change his clothing, Alphonse put on his boots and left his room, double checking to make sure it was locked. He didn't trust that raccoon not to sneak in and steal from the room. The fact that she probably had a key of her own didn't occur to him.

As he rode the elevator down, Alphonse's confidence level was back to full. This would be his day. Now that he knew what he was doing, now that he was officially a draft candidate with a signed agent, it meant he could start calling the shots. When the doors opened and he saw Murina standing in the lobby, looking as impatient as ever, he only grinned more. "That's right," he thought to himself, "You wait on me." Then, putting on his best smile, Alphonse strode out of the elevator to meet with his agent. They had a lot of business to discuss.