<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Avery Burnam<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Law Dogs (1)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 17th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Burnham Detection Agency<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Nicodemus Whateley; Closed<br/><hr/><br/>Fate was not often kind to Avery Burnham.  At least he did not feel that it was, although in truth he didn't normally give much credence to superstitious notions like fate and destiny and such drivel.   Every man in his heart believed in luck though, no matter what he said in public.  Some men were born princes, some were born paupers, some girls grew up to be visions in lace, and others had faces like broken vases.  Avery could not credit luck with his accomplishments and successes of course, those were clearly the result of his own innate talents and brilliance.  His failures and misfortunes however…all compelling proof of the sheer malevolence of the universe towards him.  Give with one hand, take back with the other, with a parting slap on the cheek for thinking it would be any different.  Indian giving is the colorful expression the yanks used for it.  And if there was a Power That Be up there -- and Avery did not believe that for a minute -- then He was most certainly an Indian giver, if nothing else.<br/><br/>So it wouldn't have surprised him that a potential client would show up now of all times when he was least ready for it.  Despite the late hour, Avery had only just woken up, and was still but vaguely aware of the time of day and the date.  What<em>was</em>the date?  Something in the back of his head, that part always so damnably eager to fill in blanks, said the seventeenth.  What had happened to the sixteenth then?  He couldn't quite remember what he'd done, which meant he knew exactly what he'd done, more the pity.<br/><br/>Seated on the edge of his cot, gazing at the wan reflection in his shaving mirror with red-rimmed eyes, he barely heard the soft click of the front door closing.  He might not have bothered emerging from his room at all but for the tic-tac-ing of the cane that followed.  Peering around the corner still in his shirt sleeves, he spied a man standing in his waiting room and blinked curiously at him.  He did not appear to be lost, which meant…<br/><br/>"Oh.  Pardon me, sir.  I'll be right with you."<br/><br/>Avery emerged a moment later, still buttoning his shirt cuffs and the front of his navy-blue vest.  A terrible way to start things but how was he supposed to hear a man slipping in soft as a footpad at this time of night?  Perhaps he needed to attach one of those little bells to the front door, so it would ring when anyone stepped inside.  And hire a secretary to announce them for him and take down their information.  Both of which cost money, for which he needed clients, for which…  Avery glanced over at Nicodemus.  Just what the doctor ordered then.  Although hopefully not the previous doctor.  If the man was looking for him they were both going to be terribly disappointed.<br/><br/>"Please, sir, take a seat," he said with a cordial smile and a wave of his hand as he stepped behind his desk, quickly clearing it of yesterday's -- well, no, make that the day before yesterday's -- newspaper.  "An unusual hour for business but you are most welcome."  He offered up a hand to shake before seating himself.  "Avery Burnham, detection and security, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Please tell me what you're in search of and I'll see if I can't help you find it."