Bizzyboys H.Q.

[carefulinspekshun]

The Bizzyboy's headquarters is, in truth, just Hector's house, but it's more than the apartment he'd run it out of before.

The main room of the home has been pulled apart from what was once a living room to a "base of operations," with a couple desks, a few filing cabinets, and a phone. Cabinets stand tall, filled with cluttered supplies, and most of the desks are presently empty, save for two: a particularly orderly one, and another covered in notes, doodles, and garbage. Dividing screens separate what appear to be the more resided in parts of the home, and they appear, at a glance, to be cluttered with the furniture that was moved out of the "main office."

Upon entering, a door chimes, from where a little bell was jury-rigged just above the edge. It doesn't take long for the leader of the Bizzyboys (or his first in command) to make an appearance from somewhere inside!

(Open to visits, calls, or any other manners of run-in!)

Comments

Intie-views

[staybizzy]

So you want to be a Bizzyboy, do ya?

Well drop on by! Capochin is always in the office when he's not in the field. Though it's easier if you call ahead to make sure he's got time. He is, after all, very Bizzy.

At your appointed time, he waves you back to the desk he's set up. He's short, and his blue-green face is only just fully visible from behind the normal-human-sized wooden desk. His tail curls above him like a periscope. "Sit, sit. You want a coffee or anythin' before we get started?" His thick and cartoonish Brooklyn accent makes it even harder to take him seriously. He sounds gruff and nasally, like an animated mafioso. His silly little paws grip the side of the desk. He looks like a stuffed animal, with the energy of a disgruntled Italian uncle.

This is going to be a very interesting job.

Accidental Intie-view (or J Joins Da Bizzyboys)

[theydrewfirstblood]

He's been by before, he's met Hector, and he's just sticking his head in to say hi...

The offer comes from the desk before he can say anything, and before John Rambo knows it he's sitting across from a tiny blue-green primate-esque person who sounds like a distant uncle on his father's side he just barely remembers. He's pretty sure he's not even remembering his mobster accent right, he was four and time distorts memories.

He's gonna be hard pressed not to try and pick the little critter up and squish him like a plushie.

"Uh...sure? I mean--coffee sounds good." John replies. "Listen, I'm--"

[staybizzy]

Capochin hops right back up, trotting over to where a metal carafe is keeping some coffee from the morning warm, pouring John a cup. "Don't worry if you ain't got a resume or nothin', we ain't so formal," Capo assures him, cutting of what he assumes to be nervous rambling.

He returns with the cup, passing it over. "So! What's your name, kid?"

[theydrewfirstblood]

"John." he replies, distracted by accepting the coffee. "But I should..."

He pauses, sipping the coffee.

"...I should--"

John blinks, stares down at his cup, and takes another sip. It's not great coffee by general standards, but it's great by his. Look, Army joe wrecked his taste buds.

He looks back up at the other guy, visibly surprised, his protests momentarily forgotten.

"This is fucking amazing coffee." he huffs with a little smile, going back for a third sip. And a fourth.

...yeah, this guy's not his type, but if he were, John would be flirting badly for more of his coffee alone...

[staybizzy]

"Hey, t'anks," Capochin replies with just a bit more brightness, pleased with himself. "And there's more where dat came from if you get the job, eh?"

He takes a seat once more, grabbing a paper. "So, what kinda gig you lookin' for? We got full time, part time, and freelance."

[theydrewfirstblood]

John looks down at his cup, back up at Capochin, then back down at his cup again...and smiles to himself.

What the hell.

"...probably freelance." he replies finally, looking back up again. "I run a ranch up in Northwest Hollow, so I'm just lookin' for a little something on the side. I've heard a little about you guys, but I'm still kinda more curious than anything, though. Duties, pay, what I can expect from the action. Looking for information before I put in my uh, formal application, know what I mean?"

[staybizzy]

"Yeah, sure, of course! Y'know, if you do good work, a location like that might make a good spot for a sentry location. Can't be too careful with dis curse business." Capochin rubs his chin thoughtfully, then waves it away.

"I'm gettin' ahead of myself. Duties are gonna be kinda mixed. We are, first and foremost, problem-solvers. What dat means is gonna depend on the day! You could be solvin' mysteries, lookin' for clues, gettin' da scoop on spooky things or whatnot. You could be helpin' folks with stuff that needs doin', like fixin' a kid's broken toy or gettin' someone's favorite pen outta da storm drain or helpin' old ladies take out garbage. We do it all! Within reason. Nobody's gonna expect ya to do stuff y'ain't comfortable with. But we do appreciate a Bizzyboy who's not afraid of a little danger. As for pay..."

Blah blah handwavey money stuff--- the wage Capochin proposes seems fair, if not a little low for now, but promises a raise once the business gets on its feet and a nice bonus.

"Sound good?"

[acceptandadapt]

Yeah, alright. She might as well be doing this.

It wasn't as though she's got a job yet, of course. She'd considered joining the Enforcers, but thinking back on how that went last time, that's... likely not a great idea, when taking everything into account. She's never had a great draw to the arts, a personal garden is enough farming for her, and nothing else that she's considered has enough of a challenge to it, as absurd as that feels. What can she say? She likes to solve a puzzle, to get the satisfaction of a problem sorted out, a mystery uncovered, one way or another.

So, when an advertisement looking for "investigators, go-getters, and problem solvers" got posted to the board, all strange spellings (and passive-aggressive placement to the other local detectives' ads) aside, she couldn't find a reason not to look into it. All this free time of hers is starting to lose its charm, anyhow.

(Besides, she's done worse, job-wise. At least it's not the Magnus Institute.)

Maybe she should've expected, from the advertisement, to be getting interviewed by a little monkey-man. It's a good thing she's had all these years not to look fazed by these sorts of instances. The call ahead of time keeps his voice from being too much of a surprise, but that voice out of this little guy is going to take some getting used to. All types of worlds out there, apparently.

"Coffee's great, thank you," Basira closes the front door behind her, moving to drop the bag off her shoulder beside the chair. "Hope I'm not running too late. The snow's made getting anywhere take longer than I've been expecting it to."

[staybizzy]

"Eh, whaddaya gonna do, weather's weather," Capochin agrees, apparently not too concerned as he pours her a coffee from the metal carafe near his desk. He slides it over, along with a dish full of sugar cubes. "Outta cream, sorry 'bout dat. Hector ain't come back with more yet."

He offers a furry hand to shake, with short, blunt claws at the ends. "Capochin Bastone. Second in command of the Bizzyboys. And you?"

[acceptandadapt]

"Basira Hussain." She shakes the hand offered to her, taking a seat. A couple sugar cubes in the coffee, and she takes it with a short nod of thanks, using it mostly to warm her hands for the time being. "Good to meet you, Mr. Bastone."

Basira looks a bit out of place here, considering she's nearly twice Capochin's height, and twice as serious at least. The mental image that lingers for a moment is hysterical, quite frankly: her standing tall over a team of little teal guys, working as part of an absurd little team with as little hesitation as she gives just about anything else in her life. Maybe after all the things she's seen, though, some workplace levity is what she needs.

"I brought a resume with me, if you need it," Basira offers, nodding slightly to where her bag sits. "The ad didn't mention it, but I thought I'd have it, just in case."

[staybizzy]

"Eh, we don't worry too much about dat, seein' as we're used to takin' rookies, down and outs, people with no job experience, people who just don't know how to write one... But I won't say no, makes my life easier."

He holds out a fuzzy hand to receive the paper in question, the other going for his own cup of coffee. He wrinkles his nose. Seems like maybe it went cold.

[acceptandadapt]

"If anything needs context on there, let me know."

After all, who knows what they have in his world? Basira doubts he'll recognize the university name, the Metropolitan Police, the couple other part-time jobs she'd taken up during uni. Considering they're willing to take people without job experience, though, she's likely over-preparing on that front.

"...I mostly worked in investigation," she thinks to add while he reads, after she's taken another sip of her own coffee. "Cases regarding unexplainable happenings and monsters, more often than not, but I've got experience with more standard sorts of reports as well. So with the problems caused by the curse, I've got some understanding of how to handle these sorts of things, if that's something you all plan to address."

[staybizzy]

Capochin just stares at her as she describes her impressive, valuable experience as if she alone isn't enough to put the Bizzyboys on the map.

"You're hired."

[acceptandadapt]

Basira pauses. It's her turn to stare back at him. She takes a few seconds to try to decide if it seems like he's joking, or if there's something shady going on here. (It doesn't seem like he's kidding, and he doesn't strike her as the type to be working for a multi-level marketing scheme. The second he asks her to buy something, though, she's out.)

"...Just like that? You don't have any... follow-up questions or anything?"

[staybizzy]

Capochin laughs incredulously. "What follow up questions would I even need ta ask? You are, without a doubt, the most uniquely and thoroughly experienced person I have ever interviewed. Passin' you up would make me a fuckin' idiot."

[acceptandadapt]

Basira lifts her hands in a short, defensive gesture, but sets her hands back into her lap. "I just thought I'd ask. Job interviews where I come from are usually more involved, but I won't complain if you've heard what you need. Don't suppose you'd mind a few of my own questions before I finish signing on, then?"

Re: Intie-views

[when_a_grids_misaligned]

Moiré's getting sick of not having a job - holding out for an opportunity in their field, which there aren't many of on this little Victorian island, feels less worth it every week they spend being lulled to sleep by the sounds of rowdy drunk people - and the ad sounded like the kind of thing they did with their motley back in DC, except they'd get paid for it and hopefully run into fewer murderers. The 'boy' in the job title sticks in their craw a bit, they haven't been keeping up their estrogen supply from the astonishingly well-stocked local apothecary just to get called a boy all day, but there was that footnote specifically saying that all genders were welcome; if it weren't for that, they wouldn't have bothered.

The interviewer looks and sounds like a goofy little guy, but honestly he's just on the high end of the weirdness range they've seen from other changelings; their old Autumn Court monarch looked like an anthropomorphic woodland creature in a little pair of spectacles and wasn't any taller.

"Yeah, sure, coffee sounds great." They take a seat.

[staybizzy]

"Comin' right up," Capochin agrees, turning to the little metal carafe by his desk and grabbing a clean cup from the little stacking set that he's thrifted. He fills the cup before passing it over, along with a little bowl of sugar cubes. "If ya want cream, I'll hafta go get it. I don't wanna leave it out when I ain't usin' it. The sooner these folks invent almond milk, the better it'll be for everyone whose gotta share a room with me."

If the voice didn't give away Capochin's middle-agedness, certainly the TMI complaints about assorted bodily ailments must do the trick. He offers a hand to shake, covered in short teal fur like a thick peach fuzz.

"Capochin Bastone. Second in command of da Bizzyboys."

[when_a_grids_misaligned]

It occurs to Moiré that they have no idea how you milk an almond. Or what sort of equipment might be required.

"I don't need it, and it sounds like it's better if I don't put either of us through that," they say, straight-faced. They drop a few sugar cubes into the coffee. Setting it aside, they extend a hand gloved in white like a classic cartoon to shake Capochin's fuzzy one.

"Moiré Myrekrig. Formerly of the Autumn Court."

[staybizzy]

"Cool," Capochin agrees, having no clue what an Autumn Court is and having no intention of asking. He shakes their hand.

"So! I take it ya seen our ad. What interested you about da position?"

[when_a_grids_misaligned]

Augh, job interview questions. They'd almost rather have the murderers. Why is it so difficult to talk about themself without cramming their foot into their mouth?

"It sounded like an interesting job that I'd be good at. In the Court, investigation and problem solving were the main things they asked me and my friends to do." Which was as much because Moiré's motley was a bunch of nobodies who went from having no reputation to a reputation for being loose cannons and trouble magnets as for their skills, but they did have the skills. "Also I think I could do more good here than with the cops."

[staybizzy]

Considering that the original Bizzyboys were a bunch of ragtag misfits from a minority species hailing from a disenfranchised neighborhood who also had a reputation for being rowdy but helpful, Moiré's probably in the right place.

"Hey, dat's great, love meetin' folks with experience. I'm used to just hirin' any schmuck off the street n' hopin' for the best. And we love out-doin' the cops. You lookin' for full time or what?"

[when_a_grids_misaligned]

"Absolutely," Moiré says. "How many people would I be working with?"

[staybizzy]

"We're still recruitin'. Right now we got John, Basira, n' Hugo. But hopefully we'll get a few more. On a given day, you might work by yourself, with just a pahtner, or with everybody. Depends on what we need at da time," Capochin explains. "Oh, also. We got a uniform. It's just a red jacket with some yellow trim. You can wear whatever accessories or whatever ya like, you just gotta wear the jacket on the clock so people know you're one of us. Capische?"

[when_a_grids_misaligned]

None of those three are people Moiré's actually had a conversation with, but the town's small enough that they know who some of them are. Mostly Basira. There's a few different people named John and they don't think they've met anyone named Hugo. They nod; that setup's fine with them.

"It's not my colour," says Moiré, who's dressed all in black, white, and grey and technically wearing no colours at all, "but I can accept that. Especially if it's just the jacket and not a whole outfit. As uniforms go, that's pretty loose."