the game's afoot!

[fortheliving]

Harry is really, really glad he didn't go into some depressive fit thing after Susan... you know.

He considered it. It was very tempting. But in the end... what good would it have done? Susan wouldn't want him to do it. Hell, if she'd popped out of the woodwork and he hadn't left the house in four months she'd probably have slapped him. So he forced himself to get his boots on every day and do his damn job. He found lost things. He worked on improving a few of his foci and enchanted objects and stuff. Cries most nights, but doesn't admit it, and that's been getting better. Recently he took a job protecting some kind of monastery from monkey demons.

A factor relevant to that particular job is currently napping in his coat pocket. He found the puppy there afterwards and tried to call that monk dude, but the monastery seemed to have vanished. Which was weird. But he got the puppy vetted by Bob and Father Forthill, and they said the little guy wasn't some kind of hellspawn, so... he kept him. Called him Mouse. Let him nap in his coat pocket. Mister got along with him, because Mouse wasn't big enough to be a threat to the big cat's authority.

Anyway, Mouse is napping in his coat pocket, and Harry just got out of the morgue looking at a corpse. He's pretty sure this is the work of some White Court bastard. The victim doesn't have a mark on him, but he's got the dopiest grin in human history. And Harry, being Harry, knows from dopey grins. So Harry sets out looking for a White Court vampire. Thomas doesn't know of any of his cousins who'd have gone after this guy (their official victims are dumped in a nearby quarry, apparently), so he's out investigating the red light district. And trying to look like someone who would be interested in a prostitute, instead of someone who would rather cut off his testicles with a spoon than lay a finger on a member of the oldest profession.

Comments

[no_return]

"Why are you the guy who knows all about killing stuff?"

[fortheliving]

"Some stuff needs killing. I'm here to protect this city however I can. If that was tea parties and rainbows, I'd know a lot about tea parties and rainbows. Unfortunately, it's usually more about killing things."

[no_return]

"Makes sense."

[fortheliving]

Harry pulls up outside a nice-looking old wooden apartment complex. "Home, sweet home."

[no_return]

"Your place is cute. Why is everything about you so cute?"

[fortheliving]

"I feel like that's unfair. What about my air of masculine ruggedness?"

[no_return]

"What about your air of masculine ruggedness? It's cute too," he says. "And kinda hot."

[fortheliving]

"!"

[no_return]

"It is so adorable when you squeak like that."

[fortheliving]

"I don't squeak!" squeaks Harry.

[no_return]

"You squeak. It's adorable."

[fortheliving]

Harry grumps his way through the door of the apartment building and starts down the stairs.

An elderly Polish-accented voice quavers "Who's there?"

"Just me, Mrs. S."

"Harry! Good! How's Susan?"

"...She's great, Mrs. S."

"Good!"

[no_return]

Since he is apparently not there, Buttercup doesn't say anything.

[fortheliving]

"Oh- I do have a visitor. He'll be staying with me until he gets back on his feet."

"Oh! All right. As long as he's not just taking advantage."

"He's not."

"Hmph. What's his name?"

Harry looks to Buttercup for guidance.

[no_return]

...Buttercup shrugs helplessly.

[fortheliving]

"His name's Buttercup."

[no_return]

He giggles.

[fortheliving]

"...Buttercup?"

Harry cringes. "Yes, ma'am."

"Is he some kind of exotic dancer?"

"Not as far as I know, ma'am."

[no_return]

He winks.

[fortheliving]

(!)

"Well, I suppose it does take all kinds. You and your stripper take care, now."

Harry gestures Buttercup somewhat frantically into the basement apartment.

[no_return]

Buttercup obeys the frantic gestures very cheerfully.

[fortheliving]

Once Buttercup is ushered into the apartment, Harry starts breathing again.

"!"

[no_return]

"What're you squeaking about?"

[fortheliving]

"You- winked. Salaciously. I object."

[no_return]

"I did not wink salaciously," he giggles. "Okay, maybe it was contextually salacious."