Anything would.

is that my *coat*?

"Good," Rathore said, taking it in his stride. "People tend to look a lot more fondly on a brown man asking questions when he's got a sick child with him. Can you ditch the crutch and lean on me?"

You said it!

( Well, that's a tough one. On the one hand, there's now five or six things on his mental to-do list to do *yesterday*, a detective's work never being done and all. But on the *other hand* . . . Just how often do you get to talk to a girl like this? ) Nothing important.

What was that? I was, uh, elsewhere.

. . . You could say that.

Eureka.

"Yes, I think I will." Rathore folds up the paper and puts it under his arm. "There's something here. I can feel it on my neck." He strides toward the building. After a few steps, he stops, turns around to Crutchie. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

"Let's see . . ." He opens the paper with a flourish, flicking his wrists, the paper rustling in his hands. "Scoop Vance. What kind of a nickname is *Scoop* . . . ? Reporters for you, eh?"

He dives out of the way without looking, onto the busy sidewalk, right into a pile off trash bags left for collection. Rathore climbs out visibly ruffled & cringing at the stench. He had right of way! "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" A tut, wiping himself off. "I *have* to get out of this city . . . "

For giving you the attention you wanted. As a matter of fact, I-- Hold on. I recognise you from somewhere, don't I?

I'll take that as 'thanks'.

"Call me Rathore. Lead the way, *Crutchie*!"

( A tired sigh. ) Is *everyone* going to make me do this . . . this *party trick* today? Alright. Where to begin? Your sensory obsession? Why not. You're right-handed, as your pen-callus tells us. But that's elementary. I notice you've mostly used your left hand to adjust your jacket, or

I'm not *trying* to impress you. I don't really have to, though you're easily pleased. To a *man of method*, you're an open book, printed in bold type!

"A rather big 'if'. Alright then," he says, tossing the boy the coin. "And there's more if the information's useful. Do you have a name, boy?"

You've told me everything I need to know, *pal*. Got a biting kink, by any chance?

There's a case coming. Rathore can feel it on the hairs on the back of his neck and hands. He takes another coin from his pocket, tossing it pointedly. "And, uh . . . D'you know who might know if it is?"

Big deal. Go on, the floor's yours.

"Just about all of it. I have a knack for sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. If something's wrong, or unusual, chances are I'll find it. Or it'll find me . . ." He says, eyes the color of cold coffee in the smoky light raking over her coyly. He thinks he knows the type. Thinks. --

How crazy are *you* talking about?

"Is that so?" He says, smiling. Flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Voilà qui tombe bien, madame. Les ennuis, c'est mon métier." His business card somehow finds itself in her hand. The detective - Rathore, he calls himself - winks.

The crazy broads are always the best.

📚Guardian of Masterpieces 📚Lover of Mysteries and Tragedies 📚Witch in Hiding #MV/MS Selectively #SmutFree

Sounds like trouble. I'm listening . . .

Some gifts are far too much to bear. #TheVampireChroniclesRP #OC #MV/#MS #VerySelecively #PennedByTheShenanigator #SmutFree

The crazy broads are always the best.

Rathore flicks through the paper, skimming the story. "I'm not so sure myself. It's not their modus operandi." He looks up at the vendor, now a little interested. "What else are folks saying?"

*how much*?! well . . . alright. ( taking some change from his pocket and handing it over: ) but you should *tell your bosses* that there's *no news* worth thirty-- ( reading the headline. ) though perhaps i spoke too soon. a missing heiress, mmm?

If I do, will you stop *shouting*?

*Vacilarle*? Vamos! No se me ponga digno, que no tengo el cuerpo para bromas! Se lo pregunto *de veras*. Me viene usted con ese . . . cuento del 'text message' . . . como si fuera el *último grito de la ciencia*, y resulta que me sale por peteneras con un asuntillo *de pájaros*?

( In his element now, showing off. He steps forward, the light above them almost seeming to lend him a spotlight. Rathore leans forward, enunciating his words clearly. ) Very good. Listen closely, because what I am about to tell you has all the answers. There is no deceit on my part, and all

Podría ilustrarme? Qué vendría a ser... un 'text message'?

I think they are brilliant. Do you know how much of life is solving riddles? No, I suppose not. Very few people do. But it's good exercise, and it pays the bills. A good party trick, too. I've dined on many a good riddle, drank my fair share and impressed enough women. Want an example?

Those are much more interesting propositions. Why didn't you start with those? What do you know about riddles?

A high standard. I have strong opinions on a great deal of things. Perhaps even most things. Who doesn't? You ask me to list them, well, where would I start?

( If Rathore is perturbed, he doesn't show it. ) What kind of question is that? Too broad, vague, and shallow. Try again.

( A proud smile. ) You could say that.

Strictly imports. Do you know what the problem is with this country? It settles for less. We've the poorest, costliest tobacco worldwide, because we accept it. Of course, beggars can't be choosers; in a pinch, I'll smoke anything. But I'm not a beggar. And neither are you, sir. I can see that.

Of course. ( Taking it out for him; it glints in the rainfall, reflective amber crystals falling to the ground outside. ) What's that, Camel? You can do much better than that.

Sir, if they ever ban cigarettes from the theaters, I think I'll simply die.

Sure, they're a treat. Tuppence for a whole day of entertainment -- *And* women love them. What's *not* to like?

Perhaps a holiday is in order.

Yes I did . . . ( Looking up at her. The kind of profile you see on a Hellenistic coin, out of place and time, all wonderful and full of wonder, eyes like honey and not a worker bee in sight . . . ) . . . Ma'am. And that's a perfect pronunciation. Uh, keep it, I've got a few.

█▓▒▒░░░"Truth bends under the weight of magic—or maybe it’s the other way around."░░░▒▒▓█ -𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚁𝙿 -𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 -𝙳𝙼𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 -𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆/𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 -18+ 𝙼𝚞𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 🎨: Ástor Alexander

Damn! That was meant to land on the table!