I woke up to my alarm one morning and heard the ghost-memory of my deadbeat oracle alcoholic mom yelling at me to get up. she wasn't there because she left when I was fourteen and I'm [redacted] now but I thought about her anyway. I got up and stood in front of the mirror but didn't see my three purple orbs staring back at me because the mirror was covered because I hate mirrors. I had to get ready because this was the day the sheriff's secret police were selling me, so I put my dirty blonde hair with natural purple hightlights up in a messy bun, threw on my radio hosting unitard and a pair of cat ears, and went to leave. when I opened my door, there he was, my new owner. the violet head of literal five headed dragon hiram mcdaniels.
the thing is, mobius has no idea; sometimes he hears whispers about some "silver fox" whose charm is apparently widely admired at the office but he never connects the dots with the occasional sighs that follow him or the suspicious conspiratorial shoving junior analysts do with each other when he passes by or the rare tripping over their own feet some hunters get caught in on when he gives them orders. there's a betting pool about who'll have the guts to ask him out first. loki on the other hand is acutely aware of every dreamy look, lingering and way too friendly touch thrown at mobius. he hovers behind him constantly just staring at whoever comes close. this one time he literally hisses at a hunter calling mobius sir five times in one sentence