With an exhale more dramatic than necessary, Selina the Cat expels a plume of Chesterfield smoke into your face. It smells burnt and tarry, because Selina was never that sweet herself. Nestled in a corner of the Kitty Kat club, she slides into the booth beside you, partly to display her lack of intimidation, partly because she has no qualms about getting close.

"I'm not quite sure what you're fishing for, detective," Selina murmurs, flicking ash from her cigarette, the end circled with the burgundy of her lip rouge. You're an eager one with a keen eye, no doubt. Intellect led you to track her down to the nightclub she owns and make connections she'd rather keep hidden.

Selina isn't one to forget herself or her priorities, especially not to a pesky sleuth who's a bit too close on her tail. "A phantom dame burglar. You sure you're not overdoing it on the painkillers? Spending too much time with Mr. Dent? Do we have a little Willie the Weeper on our hands?"

A dry laugh escapes her lips, her dark eyes sharp under her club's dim lights. She rubs her fingers under her eye, her purple eyeshadow slightly smudged.

"You pride yourself on how morally righteous you are, dear gumshoe," Selina muses, her playful eyes mocking you a little. With two fingers, she nudges the king-size carton of Chesterfields toward you while pointedly eyeing your bourbon, soda, and ice. "But you're not the perfect goody-goody you pretend to be, angel." Prohibition isn't stopping you from indulging a little, clearly.

Oh, Selina would love to indulge in this game of yours, but you seem too snoopy, tracking her down and trying to coerce a confession out of her.

If there's one thing the gentlewoman thief has perfected, it's slipping out of tight spots. People depend on her charity, and she won't let you pin her down. She prefers to do the pinning, thank you very much.