D. Derringer
11-23-07, 12:15 PM
Radasanth. The capital of Corone. The city reminded me so much of New York, minus the cloud of car exhaust that had somehow found a permanent home in my trenchcoat. You had the blocks segregated by class, a vast economical section, a magnificent statue to decorate it, and a river that ran through the place. It also had a relatively high amount of crime, but you wouldn't know that if you took a look at my recent business records. I had to take up a second job as a professional poker cheat just to afford the door to my office: One with a translucent plane of glass that had Dickie Derringer, private eye monogrammed on it in bold black letters. Half of the problem was that nobody here knew what a detective even was, the other half being everyone's eagerness to solve their own mysteries by lashing out at the nearest suspect, usually with a sharpened piece of steel.
I would sit in my lonesome office every night, teaching my young secretary Nikki how to play rummy, crazy eights, or some other card game, dreaming about returning to the Big Apple some day. Unfortunately, I didn't know where to start. This world reminded me of all the fantasy stories I would read as a young'un, the ones with elves, dragons, magic, and the like. So, I decided that finding some sort of temporal mage (or the best alternative) should be my first step. But to my dismay, they weren't standing on every street corner performing neat little magic tricks like in all my stories. Hell, save for the creation of my blue deck of cards, I haven't really seen anything closely related to magic in the months since I arrived here. It was more like the Middle Ages than Middle Earth.
I stood at the window of my office, conveniently located on the floor above The Golden Arches, one of the more popular pubs in this city's financial district. I could hear the noise of patrons celebrating the survival of another boring and predictable day in their lives through the oak floorboards. I walked over to the window, parting the blinds with a finger. The dull amber glow of oil lamps across the street giving me something else to focus on besides the pitch black Coronian night. A thick drizzle was falling from the sky, lightly rapping against my window. It was almost exactly like New York City.
"Thinking about your home again, Dickie?" The childish voice of my secretary shattered the gloomy silence. Nikki had just come up from the tavern downstairs, still dressed in her blue barmaid getup--she too had taken on a second job in order to help pay for the rent my office demanded.
"Yeah," I replied, my eyes fixed on the street below. I let go of the blinds, which snapped back into place, and wearily walked over to my desk. Dropping my ass on the chair with a thud, I proceeded to open the top drawer and pulled out a small glass flask half-full with whiskey.
The blond interrupted me. "Hey, Dickie, I have an idea. Why don't we go downstairs for a drink? I'm pretty sure I could talk Mr. Harvey into letting you have something better than that crap you always drink for free."
I grunted. "Alright, whatever, doll." Nikki led me from my dark office and down the staircase into the noisy tavern below. The place was as crowded as ever--grubby, shifty types that would've been right at home in a Dick Tracy cartoon. I caught a few of them eyeballing me, but I tried not to pay any attention as I weaved my way to an empty table.
I would sit in my lonesome office every night, teaching my young secretary Nikki how to play rummy, crazy eights, or some other card game, dreaming about returning to the Big Apple some day. Unfortunately, I didn't know where to start. This world reminded me of all the fantasy stories I would read as a young'un, the ones with elves, dragons, magic, and the like. So, I decided that finding some sort of temporal mage (or the best alternative) should be my first step. But to my dismay, they weren't standing on every street corner performing neat little magic tricks like in all my stories. Hell, save for the creation of my blue deck of cards, I haven't really seen anything closely related to magic in the months since I arrived here. It was more like the Middle Ages than Middle Earth.
I stood at the window of my office, conveniently located on the floor above The Golden Arches, one of the more popular pubs in this city's financial district. I could hear the noise of patrons celebrating the survival of another boring and predictable day in their lives through the oak floorboards. I walked over to the window, parting the blinds with a finger. The dull amber glow of oil lamps across the street giving me something else to focus on besides the pitch black Coronian night. A thick drizzle was falling from the sky, lightly rapping against my window. It was almost exactly like New York City.
"Thinking about your home again, Dickie?" The childish voice of my secretary shattered the gloomy silence. Nikki had just come up from the tavern downstairs, still dressed in her blue barmaid getup--she too had taken on a second job in order to help pay for the rent my office demanded.
"Yeah," I replied, my eyes fixed on the street below. I let go of the blinds, which snapped back into place, and wearily walked over to my desk. Dropping my ass on the chair with a thud, I proceeded to open the top drawer and pulled out a small glass flask half-full with whiskey.
The blond interrupted me. "Hey, Dickie, I have an idea. Why don't we go downstairs for a drink? I'm pretty sure I could talk Mr. Harvey into letting you have something better than that crap you always drink for free."
I grunted. "Alright, whatever, doll." Nikki led me from my dark office and down the staircase into the noisy tavern below. The place was as crowded as ever--grubby, shifty types that would've been right at home in a Dick Tracy cartoon. I caught a few of them eyeballing me, but I tried not to pay any attention as I weaved my way to an empty table.