Pretentious Prince, Lurking Lion

Initially, the war had seemed to be a rather boringly ordinary affair, Thorns versus Suns, and may the best man (the last one standing, naturally) win. But, recent events, as yet mostly small things here and there, too minor for most to even notice, let alone connect to one another. A few missing things here and there, not enough to attract too much attention, and similarly minor but pervasive happenings.

But Ratigan was too canny, too experienced in the ways of clandestine operations, to be so easily fooled. No, there was another active element involved in this war, moving behind the scenes. As he ascended the interior of the grand cathedral, his mind was hard at work reviewing every facet of information he'd managed to pick up concerning what had gone missing, as well as the occasional reported act of defiance that tended to lead to a merry chase than went nowhere.

For a moment, he had to stop and laugh at the irony of his present situation. Him, the Napoleon of Crime, putting his talents to use in the service of a public organization in opposition of a shadowy group. The only way it would be more ironic would be if one Basil of Baker Street were to be in the employ of said organization.

The thought of his hated rival put an end to Ratigan's good humor, and he scowled as he resumed his ascent of the cathedral. As he did, he made a mental note to have a new airship constructed for himself in a timely manner. All this climbing up of massive towers and the like was simply too time-consuming. he knew it would help him stay fit, but that had never been an issue for him. Physical fitness was simply too important a thing for him to ignore.

By the time he reached the topmost floor, secluded among the bells and gears of the tower, he'd made up his mind to speak with somebody about his airship as soon as his business here was concluded. He paced across the wooden floor, footfalls sounding firmly but faintly, and raised his ornate cane to rap at the door when a voice from within beckoned him enter before he had a chance. It was...impressive, to say the least, that he'd been heard. And good information for the future.

Since the door in question was simply too big to even consider trying to open on his own, not to mention the latch being far overhead, Ratigan simply slipped underneath it, doffing his hat and stooping, taking care not to let his clothes brush against the wood as he entered the room that John had claimed as a makeshift throne room. He brushed at his clothes to ensure there was no stray dust on them, before offering the lion a deep bow.

"Your Majesty's hearing is certainly most impressive," he observed, his tone oily, though his unctuous smile his a smirk. He'd heard about John's predicament, so it wouldn't hurt to butter the lion up. As he strolled across the room, however, he saw an all too familiar expression upon the lion's face. One that he'd worn more than once, thanks to Basil. Curious. He idly wondered what might be the cause as he scaled a rather rough table, again taking care not to muss his clothes.

"Tsk tsk tsk, I know that sort of face all too well," he offered, his tone and expression sympathetic, and this time, it was only half-feigned. "That's the expression of somebody forced to share a world with a miserable, insufferable thorn in one's side that never gives one a moment's rest." he doffed his hat again in a calculated gesture of respect as he walked across the table. "If I may be so bold, just who is it that offends you so, Your Highness?"