When Harry Met MallyThe first thing noticed as Harry passed the building was the sounds of a fight. The second was that the lock was broken, and the door was slightly ajar. And the third was the sound of a heavy thump, and a woman's exasperated voice saying "FINally!"More Like This
After pausing a moment to ensure the fight wasn't going to start again, Harry stuck his head into the room, blinking in the dim light. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a curvy woman with hair just as ginger as his own, pouring herself a drink, and then collapsing theatrically into a bar stool. He nudged the door open slightly, and slunk into the bar.
She jumped up and whirled, groping the bartop beside her, presumably for a weapon. Harry froze, and threw his hands into the air. "Don't hurt me!" he whimpered, admittedly undignified. "I'm just a reporter!"
"That's even worse" the girl muttered, but her posture relaxed minutely. "Get out of here, then. I've got to clean this place up before...uh...my customers come back."
He studied her intently. S
Fleshlings part OneSor prowled the street, looking for the familiar green arm-band that she had come to recognize as the mark of the "good" messengers in this city. A late night pouring over an illicit tome of magic had revealed her next big project, and she needed...supplies.More Like This
"Ah! Hello, you. Do you deliver things?" She crouched next to the street urchin, leaning in the shade of a building on the darker side of Ripton. He gave her the once over, then nodded.
"I work Prescott, yeah. What do you need?"
Sor didn't bother trying to figure out what the hell Prescott was, beyond one of the more rundown streets in the area. She gave the boy a quick set of instructions, pleased by his nonchalance. They worked out a price, and she gave him a folded piece of paper with the address of the shop.
She was almost cackling with glee by the time she made it back to the shop. There sitting on the stoop were two small cardboard packages, bound with green cloth. Two down, only twenty-four to go.
"Sor?" Gabriel entered
Zetta Files: Marge part 2 I ran around the building towards the sound of the burglar alarm. As I rounded the last corner a man shouting for help could be heard above the clamber of the alarm. A middle aged man was lying on the ground outside the steel door that lead into the hardware shop. The door was open, with the deadbolt broken and the frame bent.More Like This
The man turned out to be Henry Grafton, the manager of the hardware store. He had just showed up to prepare the nightly deposit when the door burst open and a thief, wearing a black hockey mask, pushed him down and ran off. He told me which direction the assailant had run off in, but chasing after some thief in the night is not exactly my line of work, and I told him so. I gave him my card. Well, what was being passed off as my card for now. It was a 2 of clubs. I had written "Zetta Detection Agency" on it in sharpie. At least on this one I had printed neatly.
E Ky Sh Shoplifter 3Shootles bent over and started scooping up what he could of the mess from the shotgun wound into a plastic bag. After getting the hallway cleaned up and collecting what he could of the gore, he went downstairs. After putting on a jacket, the hole in his chest was completely out of sight. Shootles was starting to have to work harder to keep things working on their own, but it wasnt going to be a big problem. Sticking a couple ice cubes in the bag and tucking it in a pocket, Shootles walked off to catch a bus over to Ramsey to get supplies for the repairs he was going to have to do.More Like This
Picking a bottle of Vodka off her desk, Erika walked over to the desk chair and broke the top off the bottle with Billys teeth. Billy whimpered quietly before asking Is this going to hurt?
A lot of the times you might here someone tell you, This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you. This is a
The Zetta Files: Enter MargeI stormed into my office and slammed the door shut. Well, that was my intention. I didn't succeed. Instead of closing with a sharp Bang it slid gently shut with a barely audible "hiss". I glanced at the air-pressure controlled spring bolted on to the door and threw the door back open. Well, slowly and angrilly pulled it. You get the picture.More Like This
"What the HELL did you do to my door??" I shouted.
"I installed a pneumatic door closing device." the bitch in the mahogany desk outside my office responded, not even bothering to look up from her stack of redundant papers.
"Why would you go and do a thing like that? I don't need a door closing device!"
"It's so you wouldn't slam the door when you got angry, Swing."
"To hell with that." I responded, and marched over to my desk.
Sometimes you just can't get what you want. All I want is a bit of peace and quiet. And the chance to run my own business without being smothered to death by the secretariest of all secretaries.
I threw open a desk drawer an
Ripton Sam, the Zetta Files 10It was around 12:30 when we burst through the front doors of the bar. Few heads turned, but the fact that any heads turned at all was a message from the patrons that I was being watched. I walked purposefully up to the counter, the two girls following behind, keeping pace. There was a different barman working the floor tonight.More Like This
"The other barman, I need to find him, where does he live?"
"How should I know?" The man behind the counter said. "I just work here when he's off."
"Well, then start by telling me what you know about him."
"Do me a favor." laughed the barman, doing his best impression of a british gangster movie. I followed suit, and drew my weapon.
"I am doing you a favor, by not blowing your bollocks off right fucking now, now you'd better give me some answers or there will be fucking murders!" Cliche, I know. Hey, it works.
This time, the barman raised an eyebrow, and went back to cleaning glasses with a dirty rag. As he did, he held the glass up just right,
Ripton Sam, the Zetta Files 9I insisted on finding my gun before we took off. Luckily the crowd was starting to thin again and it wasn't much trouble. We ran off to my car and climbed in (Amid remarks of surprise from the prostitute regarding the car's color. She wasn't aware they made Lexuses in pink).More Like This
"Where are we going?" Asked Sor.
I didn't know. But driving, walking, whatever, it helps me think. And I figured it might be useful to have wheels readily available.
The prostitute, or dancer, as she claimed, was in the back seat, sobbing. Sor was unable to sit still worrying. I gripped the steering wheel and hit the accelerator. Life is simpler when you're going fast.
"Leeeoooon!" shouted the prostitute.
"Will you shut up? Leon's going to be fine!"
Only I wasn't sure. For one thing, I didn't know if I could track down the killer in time. For another, he'd lost a lot of blood.
"Er, Sor? How was Leon doing, anyway? He didn't look good at all, at first, but he seemed to regain consciousness."
"I'm really not sure. I
Ripton Sam, the Zetta Files 8I drew my pistol and broke out into a run, shouting and forcing my way through the crowds. The man had tied the hands of Leon and Miss Katters behind their backs and was carrying them off, Katters over his shoulder, with a semi-coherent Leon being dragged by his collar.More Like This
The train station has it's own sort of ebb and flow, just like the tides. Like everything in this city the ticketing process is an experiment in organized anarchy. When a train loads people pile on far too quickly for anyone to check their ticket, and so having a ticket is really only useful after the train is already full and you want to convince the doormen to let you fight your way in. Once the train is full, anyone without a ticket doesn't get on. Before that, however, it's first come first serve, and the public knows it, too.
at 11:30 the train had arrived and a wave of people had spilled off. Now, only minutes afterward, the train was re-boarding for it's next destination. The masses were all moving Towards the tr
Ripton Sam, the Zetta Files 7I parked the car and threw on my coat and reluctantly stepped outside. My coat was still damp, and it was a cold, foggy evening. Fog is not helpful when you're trying to trail someone. I headed into the crowds, hoping for a lucky break, but I didn't know what to expect or where to look, and standing in the middle of a train station looking lost for hours doesn't make anyone blend in very well. In fact, it makes them a good target for mugging. I was glad I decided to take my pistol with me tonight.More Like This
The crowd was bustling with activity as people jostled to or from the ticketing booth to the train station to the cars waiting at the road. People dragged suit cases behind them and pushed and shoved their way through the masses of human activity in a sort of mindless frenzy. The noise was almost deafening I checked the clock up on the wall, 11:26, and briefly wondered which train Miss Katters was expected to wait for, if she was even waiting for a train at all.
I was growing impatient. I'd a