"What do you think?"

Murina pressed her glasses higher on the arch of her muzzle, attempting to elevate her voice to sound less exhausted than she actually was. She wasn’t fooling Harris for a second, who only gave her a dubious glance before he looked down at the glossies scattered on her spacious office desk. His head gave a bit of a tilt to the side in a halfhearted shrug, brows raised in a showy display of faux interest.

"They’re… interesting," Harris sidestepped, lazily sliding one photo over to reveal another. Another angry, disheveled rat, anyway.

"Interesting I can take or leave. But do you think they’re usable?" Her shoulders couldn’t help but slump forward, reaching for a bottle of aspirin on her desk. Yesterday had been another exhausting day with Mr. Norwich, peppered with the usual threats, insults and unruly temperament she’d come to expect from the time he set foot on American soil. It was a miracle they got everything done they needed to in his short visit, though not for a lack of trying on Alphonse’s part to derail them at every opportunity.

The scrimmage game had not been a disaster, but it had given Murina a good glimpse of Alphonse’s propensity for vulgar and inappropriate sportsmanship. Once again, her smooth, reassuring words and negotiating prowess abated a tense scenario, quelling what could justifiably been a mob to chase them from the gym at Harvaardwak for how Alphonse was acting. In fact, Murina had been cashing in a lot of her good faith chips this weekend, pulling every string and calling in every favor she had to get through this ordeal with as little bloodshed as possible.

But her charms and clout worked; a testament to good networking skills and a strong stomach for paying a lot of out-of-pocket expenses. Once the footage of Alphonse’s playing had been secured, Murina had hoped the remainder of the day would be a breeze by comparison. He wouldn’t be forced to interact with as many other species and perhaps, she thought, his experience on the court would give him a better perspective on playing nice with others. That he wouldn’t need to take a swipe at everyone that crossed his path.

It was more than she should have hoped for, made evident by Alphonse’s loud and crass announcement that the clothing store she had taken him to looked like "the inside of a peakie’s arsehole" She explained the remainder of the day to Alphonse, a lemur attendant nodding at Murina as he went to pick out the clothing she had ordered. A new wardrobe and a haircut and finally a photo shoot.

"A shower seemed like asking too much," Murina admitted to Harris who arched an eyebrow at photo that looked painfully staged. Despite getting Alphonse to put on a clean shirt, and after a tense and less than productive hour and a half at the salon, the time spent at the photography studio was like pulling teeth. Murina had hoped this would be the easy part. It was usually pretty straight forward with all her other clients. They didn’t have to think about contracts, they didn’t have to prove anything on court, they didn’t have to come up with a statement about their aspirations in the FBA. All they had to do was not blink while their picture was being taken. For a lot of them, getting their picture taken was their favorite part of the process, many poorer young athletes never having had the chance to look this good before.

But even sitting still was tough to Alfie, and in this private setting in a quiet photography studio, Alfie found fault and offense in everything he laid his eyes on, and groused the whole time. He had no species-specific insult for an okapi, having never seen one before, but it didn’t stop Alfie from belittling the photographer for the sheer fact he was a "nonnie"; a term Murina came to hear ad nauseum during Alphonse’s visit. He picked at his new organic cotton shirt, complaining of it not fitting right and smelling of "fresh poodle piss" Murina was sure he was either not used to smelling not-as-bad or could not tell the difference and was grumbling for the sake of grumbling. With his electric blue hair combed back, and dressed in brand new clothing that actually fit like a dream and cost more than his plane ticket home, Alphonse looked miserable and entirely uncomfortable. The photos, as a result, were the same.

"I’ve seen worse. There’ve been more outrageous looking rookies than him. More than looking good, he needs to look like himself. He needs to look like the product you’re selling to these teams, and I don’t see that in these staged photos with the brushed hair and boutique shirt." Harris slid a clutch of photos to one side, leaving behind several photos taken after Murina had given up on getting Alphonse to cooperate. When it became evident that Alphonse was not going to be happy unless he wore the decrepit clothing he came off the plane with (and, for all Murina knew, probably never washed in his years of owning them), Murina braced the bridge of her nose with her fingers and relented. The benefit was a better series of photos and a happier, more manageable Alfie.

"To be honest, I wouldn’t be that worried about what he looks like. You have more pressing matters to address." It was Harris’s subtle way of asking to see the footage from the scrimmage game. Murina sighed and leaned back in her desk chair, holding up a remote to turn on the DVD she had cued up in her office’s media display. Thanks to creative editing, the reel was still fairly raw but free of the horrible events that sidetracked the beginning of the game. The result was quality footage, although less of it than Murina had hoped.

"There’s a lot missing from this game," he observed as the tape played, fully expecting Murina not to answer him. He knew what was missing and why, and Murina knew he knew. Her paws tightened around her pen, her fatigued eyes watching Alfie’s every move on screen. She had been there and knew what the tape was going to show, but she held her breath anyway. Even a carefully edited tape seemed to risk going very wrong as long as Alphonse Norwich IV was on it.

When the clips finished, Murina’s eyes shot to Harris, who had been leaning on his chair’s armrest, elbow braced and fingers laced around his chin. His silence had always been cutting to Murina, knowing full well that Harris never minced words with her. She steeled herself for his barrage of criticism as he stared at the now blank screen.

"Well," he didn’t sound as enthused as she hoped. "He can play. He looks good on court. Though I wish you could have gotten him out of those fucking boots." Harris stopped himself, knowing he would just cascade into an argument there was no point having.

He could play. Not only that, Murina could prove he could play, and that was what mattered. Now that they had video evidence, Murina’s marketing department was set to weave together promotional material worthy of any top FBA draft prospect. She was capable of making Alphonse look good, now that she was sure that he had the necessary court skills. It was what Murina lived for. Doing her job well and working with top quality athletes had been this workaholic’s only source of joy since her first internship with Harris so many years ago. She took pride in everything she did for her agency, did it well and sacrificed much to be where she was. But as Harris looked at Murina, wilted in her power seat and starving for rest, she seemed defeated even in her victory. It was only day two and it already looked like Alphonse had sucked the life out of her.

"You really want to go through with this?" It was less of a question and more of an empirical observation. Murina’s sigh was weary, wavering. Her eyes were tired; not the usual bright glow she had after a hard day of well-earned accomplishment. But, she smiled, ever so slightly, letting her chair swivel a bit. Violet tipped nails reached across her desk, flicking the corners of a small stack of folders before her palm comes back to rest on Alphonse’s file, woefully out of date school photo clipped to the inside cover. He was just a kid.

"Harris… I have to go through with this." She looked up at him finally, pleading and tired. The gaze and silence stretched, Harris struggling to read beyond her words. Harris so badly wanted to put an end to this. He could not understand what she hoped to accomplish putting up with this rat, this obnoxious, hateful and more than likely dangerous rat. Surely he could not be worth the notoriety she would not be receiving from this… this nobody. This nobody who wouldn’t give her an inch the whole time he was here, trying to help him. Just trying to help him. Harris realized his jaw was clenched tight at the thought. He sighed, finally leaning back in his chair, folding his fingers together as he looked down at the scowling rat in a leather vest and blue hair.

"Well, then… what’s next?"