As it turned out we were in the same building as Scott’s flat. Although Elysif was on the first floor and her place was much larger than ours. Did the Agency give shitty pay or did Scott spend it all on booze? I will never know. Of course, I was happy I didn’t have to walk far as my intestines hurt like crazy still. I didn’t realize it when Elysif was chasing me but I was in a lot of pain. She did give a lot of pain relievers though, saying it would hurt like a bitch in a few hours and that if it did to start drinking heavily as she wasn’t going to be giving me any more medicine for a while.

When we walked into Scott’s place I was greeted with the same couch that I slept in earlier and on it a pile of sheets, blankets, and pillows. “What are these?” I asked

“They're yours. I bought them for you to use on the bed in that other room but it’s coming out of your pay.”

“Aren’t there blankets and pillows on the bed already?”

“There are but they are covered in stains and I don’t even know how old they are anymore.” he said walking over to his desk and reaching for a bottle of booze underneath it. He chugged some of it from the bottle and then poured some into his flask. He has a serious issue. Have AA meetings been invented yet? I don’t know but after filling his flask he went into his bedroom and I heard the sound of him almost body slamming the bed.

“I see.” I myself was also tired so I grabbed the pile of pillows, blanket, and sheets to make my bed. After making the bed I fell right to sleep.

* * *

A few days had passed by with nothing notable to mention. Scott has been giving me combat training in the afternoons and then we scout out Whitechapel until four in the morning. It took me a few days to get used to the new schedule but it’s not that bad and Scott is near impossible to hit even when he is drunk. Which is all the time. It’s like he uses that martial art skill from the movies that only drunk people can use. Either way, my training is just me getting my ass kicked and then me teaching myself how to control my knife.

Our patrols around Whitechapel are all-around boring. The only thing we have to worry about are drunks looking for a fight and prostitutes trying to get in our pants. Of course, you show them a badge, and they back off even if it isn’t a police badge. The Agency did send me a badge of my own a day or two after we started this routine and Scott showed me his. They looked the same as both were made of silver and said in bold letters at the top “Agency Officer''. The only major difference was that while mine had one star at the bottom, Scott’s had four. There was enough room for five.

“What are the stars for?” I asked.

“They show your rank. You only have one star because you just started while I have four because I have been with the Agency a while.”

“How do you move up in rank?”

“You could either be with the Agency for ten years in order to move up one star or you could do something that catches the eyes of a higher up. You could also be shady and claim you can’t do something in the field because you have too low of a rank and they promote you in order to get the job done. I used to be five stars along with my wife but that was a long time ago before she died.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you to think about something as sad as that.”

“Don’t be, I love thinking of my wife. She made me happy and it reminds me of a time where I didn’t want to forget everything.”

“I heard somewhat about what happened from Isabell, that either your wife or your partner was killed by a werewolf.”

He stopped and looked at me. “It was both my wife and my partner. I know where this conversation is going to go so let’s stop.” he said continuing down the road.

That was the only notable thing I could get out of him at the time but it was something at least. I also found out he only drinks sailors' rum heavily and that anything else he can only drink a little of. He described sailors rum as rum that was placed on a boat during the fermentation process and the barrels soaked in the flavor of the ocean water while it sat. it was something that would be terribly expensive in modern times and wouldn’t taste as good due to the pollution.