London, December 12th, 1852 Victoria sat at the dark wooden desk, folders, books, paper and notes scattered about the small room. Her long back hair was hidden in a black cap, dark thick lashes and pale hiding her deep red eyes as she sat with her fingers pinching her nose bridge. She let out a sigh, and in a deep voice ordered her counter part to get her a shot of whiskey. Victoria went by the name Vincent around these parts, after all women weren't allowed the joys of holding too many decent jobs such as these. When Victoria opened her eyes she stood, her long trench coat covering her taped in chest and shorter legs. It was obvious she was part albino, her nails see through and skin a translucent white color. Victoria opened a folder on her desk, murderers were starting to become part of the norm here. How annoying, and ridiculous. Although she was upper class, and delt with only large scale criminals, it seemed there were even more of those then normal. She had just caught a canablistic male only a few days ago, as well as a raging sexist female cutting open little boys, and still the rate of murderers hadn't gone down. Newspapers had a different, awful headline everyday. Zachary came back in with a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, closing the door behind them. "Are we gonna have to travel again to a different city to catch a criminal?" He asked, nervously, Victoria gave him a glance. "What's it matter?" She asked, taking the glass and downing it. It warmed her to her core. "The wife wants to know..." Zach muttered, a little embarrassed. Victoria tapped her foot. "Well she'll find out later on, won't she?" She laughed, placing the glass down on the desk. A red headed man popped his head into the office. "Eh, Vincent. We got'cha a new case." He said, holding up a cream colored folder. "It's a good one too!"