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Charlotte Norwich sniffed unhappily, looking away from her eldest son. The last few days had been rather icy between Alphonse and his mother. She had let him know in no uncertain terms that she didn't think inviting that mouse inside and spilling his guts to the media was a good idea, that it would lead to trouble. For a few weeks, it seemed like nothing would come of it. Out in the Alley they didn't get many channels on television, so the Norwiches had no idea what was going on Stateside.

Eventually, the letters started showing up. As it turned out, the AFC was not the only organization who were interested in having a talk with Alfie. There were other promotions hoping to pull him out from under the AFC's nose, agencies offering their services in representing him, and other media outlets eager to score an interview of their own. Where there was buzz, the vultures would come circling.

"It wuz 'at mouse, 'e gave out our address, th' dozy twat..." Alphonse's mother groused as another small pile of letters landed on their doorstep. "I told you not t' talk to 'im!" she lectured, waving her slender finger at her son.

Alfie laughed, taking the stack and leafing through them, as if he knew anything about the names on the envelopes. "Pretty sure I met 'im first, mum."

She handed the whole lot over and sniffed, raising her nose up high. "Well. If I'd been able t' tell ya not to talk to 'im, I would 'ave!"

At first, most of the family found the novelty of so much mail coming in from the outside world rather amusing. Letters came with pamphlets and business cards, which his younger siblings enjoyed drawing on and seeing how many different species there were. The older had fun reading the letters themselves, trying to come up with comical voices that matched the pictures, acting them out as dramatically as possible.

"Oh ALPHONSE," his younger sister Emma gushed, approximating a voice to pair up the rather overweight raccoon on the business card. "I just know you and I can embark on a successful journey together! Why, work with me, and you could be the next Shane Rufus!"

Alfie laughed, balling up the letter he'd been reading earlier and tossing it as his sibling. "Silly cunt sounds like 'e wants me to shag 'im! An' what in th' fuck is a Shane Rufus, eh?"

Then the phone started ringing.

Letters could be set aside or thrown in the trash and forgotten about. A telephone that spends more time ringing than sitting quietly cannot be ignored nearly so easy. That particularly novelty ran out almost immediately, and the family eventually decided to just unplug the thing. If anyone actually needed to talk, all they had to do was come by for a visit. There wasn't anyone outside the Alley that any of them wanted to talk to.

What none of them realized was that across the pond, Alfie's refusal to answer any attempts to contact him was only increasing the hype around him. While the family was treating the incoming mail like a faint nuisance, nothing more than junk mail to toss in the bin, actors in the States were scrambling all over themselves trying to figure out why Alphonse was rejecting their proposals. Unable to get answers from him directly, they came up with answers of their own. Maybe he was waiting for a juicier offer. Maybe he was playing hardball.

The truth was, Alfie just wasn't taking them that seriously. As dazzled as he may have been by that little mouse's claims, after a few days went by and he settled back into his normal routine, that high faded and the big rat figured all that chatter of million dollar contracts was nothing more than a hook to get him to say yes to an interview. He was kicking himself for letting his guard down, but at least no one was literally knocking at the door just yet.

Dinner in the Norwich household was always a bit of a scattered affair. With so many mouths to feed and nothing that quite served as a "dining room," Charlotte's meals more closely resembled buffet lines. Oversized plates stretched across countertops, while her sons, daughters, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren took their shares (and more if they could get away with it). Once everyone had their meal, the rats would scatter about the house, eating wherever they liked.

Most of the time, Charlotte would stay in the kitchen, eating at the small table there with Alfie and his oldest siblings. The younger ones would mill about elsewhere, watching TV or scurrying upstairs while they ate, giving the elders a bit of quiet time.

"Y'know we can't just keep ignorin' these letters," Emma said from around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Of all of Alfie's kin, Emma was the closest mirror to himself. Five years his junior, she may not have had his height or masculine build, but the short mohawk on her head and the line of piercings in her ear combined with a hard-nosed attitude that rivaled any of the Alley's men.

Alfie laughed, washing down a bite of his own with a heavy sip from his beer. "What ya mean, Em? Th' triplets jus' about got a li'l fort built with 'em!"

To his other side, his younger brother Terrance snorted. Though he was known as the wild drummer of the Fucking Rat Bastards, Terry was something of a yin to Alfie's yang, softer spoken and harder to get riled up. "She's right, Alfie. I don't think 'ese fuckin' Yanks is gonna let up 'less they get an answer, eh?"

Emma nodded in agreement, shoving a forkful into her mouth and making a muffled grunt. "'Sides," she barely managed to get out before swallowing. "Kinna tired of keepin' the phone unplugged. Ain't fair makin' Trev haul 'isself down 'ere every time 'e wants t' talk, eh?"

Charlotte glanced at her daughter, picking at the fruit on her plate. "If 'e has th' energy t' get you pregnant 'e can move 'is legs t' come visit."

Emma gaped at her mother while the others nearly fell out of their chairs laughing. If there was one thing Charlotte Norwich was known for, it was certainly not her subtlety.

Once everyone had settled again, the topic returned to Alphonse and his new fanbase. The oversized rat grunted, leaning back in his chair and popping it up onto its rear two legs. He absent-mindedly swirled his beer in its glass, watching it spin around while he thought it over.

"I mean... fuck me, what ya expect me t' do, eh? Write a letter t' each one of th' cunts and say thank ya but no thank ya?"

Olivia, Alfie's one and only older sibling, twitched her nose. In a sense, she was the second mother of the household, frequently taking charge when Charlotte was overwhelmed. Alfie certainly had been little help, with as much time as he spent out in the Alley doing whatever it was Alley rats did. She certainly looked like Charlotte's mirror image, right down to having a weathered look in her eyes at most times. Just without quite so many years of them.

"Ya thought maybe they ain't just pullin' ya tail?"

Alfie snorted. "Oh aye, Liv, good point, they's jus' beggin' to give ol' Alfie a sack o' cash."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "I ain't sayin' they're doin' out o' the kindness o' their hearts ya tit. D'ya really think we'd be gettin' 'at many letters if some of 'em wasn't serious?"

Alfie furrowed his thick brow. He rocked back on his chair, lifting it off of its front two legs. He swirled his beer around, peering down into the glass and watching the drink foam up on its surface. He didn't like being on the spot like this. He also wasn't the world's biggest fan of knowing someone else was right and that he was going to have to actually do something he'd rather not.

"What, like... actually take 'em up?"

Olivia shrugged, turning her attention to her plate. "Why not, eh?"

Charlotte huffed. "Ohhhh no," she said flatly. The accusatory pointing finger came out again, aimed at all of her children this time. "It's bad enough t' have a stack o' mail comin' in, I ain't 'avin' our 'ouse turn into a bloody circus o' reporters an' who knows what else. Quit puttin' ideas in Alfie's 'ead."

Terrance chuckled. "I dunno, mum. Think Liv's got a point. Wouldn't be this much fuss if at least a couple of 'em didn't mean it. 'Sides, once word gets out Alfie agreed to somethin', maybe th' rest'll back off, eh?"

The table quieted a moment. For the first time in the past month, the reality of Alfie's situation began to sink in. No words passed between the Norwiches, and they didn't need to be. Each one was thinking the same thing. That image they'd all been laughing about, the one in all those letters and voice mails about Alphonse sitting at a podium with a dozen television cameras all pointed at him and his face on ads for energy drinks and video games... it was starting to feel like it wasn't so out of reach.

As he so often did, Alie was the one to break the silence. "...right, so what, eh? Ya wanna 'elp me figga out which o' these cunts isn't just lookin' t' bend me over a table?"

Terrance rolled his eyes at his older brother, while Emma snickered into her dinner. "Ya sure those ain't the ones ya want us savin', eh?"

Alfie looked aghast. "Oi! Not without gettin' me a fancy dinna, first! I got me pride!" he laughed.

Across from him, Olivia nodded towards the kitchen door. "Oh, we got us a visitor."

Alphonse turned to look over his shoulder. At first, the doorway looked empty, just offering a view into the living room where a few of the younger Norwiches were laughing at their television show. A closer inspection found one tiny difference, a twitchy nose and whiskers peeking in from nearly out of view.

"Ohhhh, who's at, 'en? C'mon in, li'l man!" Alfie called, waving a broad hand encouragingly. He knew exactly who it was.

Most of the younger rats paid little attention to the unspoken rule of staying out of the kitchen during meal time to let the grownups eat, but one always did. There was some hesitation, but then that nose entered the kitchen, with the rest of the undersized rat following just behind. He scurried his way over to Alphonse, making a straight line to his big brother and tugging on his sleeve.

Alfie chuckled, scooting his chair back and hoisting the boy up to sit on his thigh. "Awright, ya got me ear, Colin, what's on ya mind, eh?"

Colin looked around at the table a moment, seeing all the eyes on him and looking sheepish that he'd interrupted, but then he held up a letter.

"She looks pretty," he said simply, his young voice soft enough that Alfie would have needed to lean in if he hadn't been long adjusted to little Colin's low-volume tone. Even among the din of the household, Alfie was always sure to keep an ear open for Colin. It was easy for him to get lost with his more boisterous cousins and siblings commanding attention, and Alfie made sure that never happened.

"Oh? An' who is she, eh?" he asked, taking the paper from his brother and opening it up. It was a letter like so many of the others, and not much of it stood out. The text of it had the same bland chatter about contracts and the importance of proper representation that the others had. What had apparently caught Colin's eye, though, was the small photograph stapled to the upper corner of it along with the business card.

It was a portrait was a rat. A black rat, to be specific, with a sharp suit and a pair of spectacles rested on the bridge of her muzzle. Age was always difficult to tell when fur covered up any creases in the skin, but she seemed to be on the younger side. Older than him, but not by that much. She had a stern look on her face, like she was letting him know she wouldn't let anyone bullshit him. The image made Alfie think of a strict teacher, the type to slap a ruler across a student's knuckles if they misbehaved during class.

Alfie liked her immediately.

He squinted, leaning his head in to read the name on the card. "Murina... Booba... bee-au-bon-i-kweh?" he slowly sounded out, tackling it phonetically as best as he could.

Olivia reached over and took the letter out of his hand, looking down at it. "Beaubonique, ya big oaf. S' French."

Alfie's browline popped up. "French? Well oo la fuckin' la," he chuckled, looking at the picture and trying to imagine the rat in it speaking with an that sexy accent. "Might 'ave t' give 'er a ring just t' see if she wants t' help spread a bit o' the plague, eh? Eh?"

The big rat laughed, clapping his broad hand down on the table, the family around him groaning, chuckling, shaking their heads at him. All except for the small one in his lap, though, who visibly shrank down at the loud noise, causing the elder Norwich to immediately pull his sibling in close.

"Awww, sorry lad, didn't mean t' give ya a jump. So. Ya think 'is one's a winner, do ya? Think ya big brotha should call 'er up?"

Colin nodded silently. Around the table, the other Norwiches put in their votes.

"I dunno much 'bout the French, but betta t' talk with a rat if ya got the choice," Olivia said.

Terrance chuckled, reaching over and tussling Colin's head. "If 'is one thinks she's the one, I trust 'im."

Emma shrugged, ambivalent. "Long as it means I can plug th' bloody phone back in."

There was only one left. Alphonse turned towards the one Norwich who had yet to chime in. "Mum? What ya think?"

Charlotte's eyes bounced from one rat to another. As chaotic as the household often was, and as little control as she often felt she had, there was no denying that mother's approval still meant a lot to her children. Though she was visibly holding back a thousand objections bouncing around in her head, Charlotte Norwich relented. With a huff and a dramatic roll of her eyes, she stood up to begin gathering dishes for cleanup.

"Well... go ahead! Give 'er a call! I'm goin' on record an' sayin' I take no responsibility for this if it all blows up on ya face, Alfie."

Alphonse clapped, victorious. "That's a yes t' me!" He laughed and deposited Colin back on the floor, hoisting himself up and heading to the living room. The big rat waded through the crowd of brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, snagging the phone from its perch on the table next to a couch and taking it upstairs. He had an important business call to make.

---

The din of the bustling Boston airport was nothing but white noise to Murina Beaubonique and Harrison Wheeler as they stood, waiting for Alphonse Norwich IV to arrive. The nearby baggage claim whirred beside them, currently empty of luggage. The rat's eyes flicked all over, to the massive screen showing arrivals and departures, to her phone, to her friend, to the crowd at large. The older cheetah took a slow breath, doing his best to be the calm yin to Murina's anxious yang.

"I'm gonna be honest, I'm shocked you got him to agree to this," he said, his own gaze staying fixed straight ahead.

Murina, meanwhile, was a drum-tight bundle of nerves. "Well, if I'm being equally honest, so am I. The phone call didn't exactly go as I'd expected it to."

Harris raised a brow, glancing sidelong at his partner. "And how exactly did you expect it to go?"

The small rat huffed a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket and tapping away on the screen, just to give her hands something to do. "I don't know, but I hadn't exactly planned on spending the first half of it trying to convince him that I wasn't my own secretary."

That one caught Harrison off guard, making his brow crease as he tried to sort through it. "Did... he not know who he was calling?" he asked.

Murina reached up under her glasses to press her fingers softly at her eyes in a vague attempt at making her headache subside. "He had apparently gotten it into his head that I was French. It took quite some convincing before he believed me that, yes, I am in fact Murina Beaubonique."

Harrison had to, quite literally, bite down on his tongue in order to keep a straight face. He swallowed the bubble of laughter attempting to burst out of his mouth, and nodded firmly. "Yes. Well. At least he got the right country. Credit where it's due."

The rat shot a surly look at him, which did nothing to bat away his obvious amusement. Silence fell on the pair once again, leading to Muri's anxiety to gradually ramp back up. She scanned over the arrivals for the thousandth time, double checking the flight number with the itinerary saved on her phone. Even for the occasionally neurotic agent, she had been more adamant than usual that she have every single piece of information about her prospective client's travel. If she'd been able to, she would have send him a GPS tracker to wear.

"He's late. They should have landed an hour ago."

The cheetah beside her chuckled lightly. "Muri, he flew here, he's not driving. It's not his fault if the plane is behind schedule."

The pair of them caught each other's glance.

Harris's expression tightened, unsure. "...right?"

Inside Murina's head, a thousand worst-case scenarios played out at once. Alfie caused such an incident that he was kicked off the flight. Or maybe it happened when they were already in the air and the plane had to take an emergency landing. Maybe he just changed his mind. Maybe he sold the tickets. Maybe he got drunk and overslept. The fact that, of all of the hypotheticals, the ones involving him just being irresponsible were the preferable ones didn't sit especially well in her stomach.

Cat and mouse stood for a moment, each of them doing their best not to let their minds drift to worst-case scenarios. A clunk to their left made them both jump and whip their heads to see what the commotion was. The answer came in the form of a large suitcase sliding its way down the baggage carousel, the first of many. Murina tensed up, forcing a breath out through tightened lips to try and keep her pulse steady. Though it was late, at least Alphonse's flight had arrived.

"Hey, Harris?"

The cheetah glanced down at his friend.

"Yes'm?"

The word choice got a small snicker out of the rat. "Just wanted to say thank you for coming with me. Normally I'd hate feeling like I have a chaperon, but sometimes it doesn't hurt to have a little backup."

Harris chuckled. "You think I'd miss the fireworks?"

Murina rolled her eyes. "I just mean he might be less... flamboyant if he's not just dealing with me by myself." She huffed, occupying her paws by taking off her glasses and cleaning the lenses. "You think he'll know who he's looking for? I sent him our cards so he should know who we are."

The older feline peered down at his anxious coworker. "Muri... he's a six and a half foot tall rat with a blue mohawk. I have a feeling you could recognize him from space."

That broke the tension well enough, and even got a laugh out of the otherwise tightly-wound Murina Beaubonique. They took a few steps away from the carousel to let incoming travelers take their bags. As curious as she was to see the rat's approach, she also wondered if she could recognize his luggage. Bags slid their way down, fancy leathers and utilitarian hard shells, one that looked like it was carrying a tuba, but nothing that screamed "punk rat from England." She was wondering if there had been a flight mixup when...

"FUCKIN' 'ell! Oi, if ya gonna get me plane tickets, mebbe try'n put me on one with some bollock room, eh??"

Muri's eyes closed and her lips tightened at the voice from well behind her, ringing loud through the terminal. Alphonse had arrived.

She spun on her heel and put on her business smile, a small expression that she'd practiced and perfected over the years. Just enough to let a client know to relax, but not so much they'd forget that this was, in fact, a professional relationship.

"Ah! Alfie," she began, recalling his disdain for being addressed more formally. It was time to get things started. "I'm glad you made it, we were worried there'd b-ACK!"

Before she knew it, Murina's face was pressed against the other rat's chest as he yanked her in for a hug. She'd only barely been able to register his sight before she got a full sample of his smell, which was... less than pleasant. Muri was hoping it was just from being on the plane for so long and not that he'd gone terribly long without a wash, but the less-than-white shirt against her nose indicated otherwise.

"Ahhhh, finally good t' see ya, luv!" the big Brit laughed. The big rat's voice was throaty, breathy, and his accent made it that much harder to wade through the sounds to glean the words and intentions. He gave Murina a squeeze that was enough to give her an impromptu back adjustment before letting go and pausing to look over at Harris. "Oi, who's th' kitten?"

The "kitten" should have been offended by being referred to as such, but he was far too entertained by watching the frumpled Murina trying to straighten herself back out after the surprise embrace. Harrison grinned, extending a friendly paw toward Alphonse.

"Harrison Wheeler. One of Muri's oldest friends, and I wasn't gonna let her meet the infamous Alphonse Norwich IV without me."

Alfie's attitude turned on a dime. His expression fell flat, all warmth gone from his eyes. He looked down at Harris's paw and snorted. "Aye, s'a fuckin' pleasure," he said, causing Harris's pupils to briefly narrow to a slit before withdrawing his paw. The immediate shift in Alphonse's demeanor was enough to chill the blood. From laughing and hollering to just an empty stare. A cheetah staring down a rat, and it was the former feeling like the prey. As overwhelming as Alphonse's exuberance had been, it was preferable to that frigid stare.

Muri coughed once and dusted herself off, finally getting a look at Alphonse Norwich IV up close. "Big" was the first word that came to mind. Online videos didn't tell the whole story, the rat's size was difficult to fully appreciate without seeing him nose to nose. Or, in her case, nose to sternum. Tall and broad-shouldered, muscular in a way that didn't come across as a mirror-obsessed bodybuilder. He was dressed in nearly the exact same outfit she'd seen on him in the various photos and videos. A dirty white t-shirt under a black denim vest with a handful of band patches on it, heavily worn jeans and a heavy pair of boots that likely added to his height. She suddenly had this image of a closet full of nothing but a dozen copies of the same outfit and had to stop herself from laughing aloud.

Hoping to bring Alphonse back around, she took a small sideways step, placing her body in between the two. Murina, the buffer zone. She made sure to get into Alfie's line of sight to get his attention again. "Yes, Harris and I go way back, and I was hoping you two could meet as well."

The big rat's eyes went from Muri to Harris and back again, a vaguely suspicious look on his face. The rusty wheels in his head were nearly audible as they turned. He snorted. "Ohhh I git ya. Been ah... workin' together a while, 'ave ya?"

Murina nodded, not catching his meaning at first. "Yes we... wait, no! We're not... we're business partners!" she squeaked indignantly.

While Harris went back to holding back his amusement, Alphonse continued to look unconvinced. "Izzat right? Well... th' fuck we stannin' around for, eh? Ain't WE got business?"

Muri and Harris exchanged glances. "Don't you uh... don't you think we should wait for your luggage?" Murina asked, looking back at the baggage claim and having a feeling she was going to get a reply she wouldn't like.

Alfie barked a deep laugh, immediately proving her right. "Th' fuck I need luggage for, eh? Got th' clothes on me back, 'otel should 'ave a toothbrush. C'mon 'en," he said, nodding towards the big sliding doors of the airport and walking to them.

Both black rat and cheetah wrinkled their muzzles, watching as Alfie strode off toward the parking lot, reluctantly following along.

Harris leaned over. "Okay, one, ew."

Murina sighed, her ears folding flat to her head. "I know, I know. I'll get him cleaned up and take him somewhere to get him an outfit for when we meet up with the AFC brass. What's two?"

The older cat chuckled, still keeping his voice low. "How long do you suppose we can let him lead the way before he admits he has no idea where he's going?"

A sudden honk of a car horn followed by a burst of heavily-accented swearing made its way through the doors. Murina rubbed the bridge of her muzzle and groaned.

"I feel like I'm gonna need a leash for that one. Do you think they make shock collars in his size?"

Harris laughed. "You want me to tag along?"

She shook her head, much as she might have considered it a good idea. "No, I have a sneaking suspicion this will be best if I keep things rats-only until he gets more adjusted."

The feline grinned, "Damn. Promise you'll keep me updated, at least. This could be a whole reality show. I should call up Netflix."

They hung back a moment longer, watching their guest make it a bit into the parking lot before stopping, turning around, and waving back at them to "come th' fuck on." Through the glass, it almost did look like they were watching him on television. Or maybe in a museum exhibit. The Wild Alphonse. Harris glanced sidelong at Murina.

"Well, at least he's comfortable being off his home turf," he teased.

Another heavy groan sounded out from the smaller rodent. "If I don't survive, tell my parents they were right and I should have just married a doctor," she said, before chasing down her charge to make sure he didn't get into any trouble. It was going to be a long weekend.