Scamp had heard of a girl with the name Possible back when he’d met Shego for the first time. She wasn’t exactly the cops, but she apparently did know how to snoop around pretty effectively, working exclusively in personal matters that weren’t criminal. Though he hated the idea of going behind his boss’ back, Scamp had begun to feel increasingly shitty for leaving his youngest sisters out of his life after his last meeting with his mother. There was something about Hopper, though, that made him uneasy, dating back to the moment when the two had first met. A meeting with Kim didn’t mean he was going to leave his job or anything anytime soon, but he had to think of Colette and Annette before bringing himself back into their lives. With a knock on the door of her office, Scamp greeted the redhead in her chair with a small wave before extending his hand out to shake. “You must be Kim?” he asked, figuring as much from her unmistakable appearance. “Samuel Tramp, but, uh, you can call me Scamp. I hope I’m not interrupting anything, being a few minutes early.”

She knew the redhead was the expert on things like this, and that she should trust her, but all Rapunzel could think of was the time she’d been scared out of her mind in the supermarket with Kit. All she’d had on then was a disguise, and it had still freaked her out to think that her mother was somewhere in the store. “I used to wear wigs and sunglasses, but I have a lot of hair,” she said sheepishly, letting out a small laugh. “I can’t--well, I guess if you know so much about me already, you can know about the hair.” If Kim was helping her with her mother and finding her, maybe giving her motivation would actually help the search. “I can’t cut it off, or else it won’t work. It’s ... magical, kind of. It heals people.” She paused, looking at Kim as she waited for a reaction. “I sing this song, and it does it, and that’s why she’s looking for me. For the hair.” Instinctively, she touched her braid, the golden locks held close to her. “If I cut it, though, it kind of shrivels up and turns brown, and it doesn’t work then.”

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Ezra kept quiet as he walked down the hall, a few useful things stuffed down his pants. Stolen was a harsh word to use. He preferred unburdened. The mistress he had taken them from didn't need them, she lived in a big enough house to probably not even notice they'd been taken. He felt someone's eyes on him, but let it go.