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- Nov 24, 2007
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This is a excerpt from a crime/fantasy novel I am working on, with a bland of modern day technology, for no apparent reason at all.
Posting this in the hopes for some good feedback and possibly help at watever can be helped with. '
- That, and I hope you like it.
What little remained of last night’s showering rain prickled onto, carried by a chilly breeze, the burnished spectacles of Convic Abra: State agent of the Vizengorthian Bureau of Magical Investigation, Strangers division. He emerged through the main entrance of his house at an hour early in the morning, looking first despicably at a group of children dressed in red, then at his own un-shoed feet. He looked up at the skies and let out a burst of frantic laughter that was so loud and unsuppressed that it scared away the children, and made the neighbours look out through their windows in surprised curiosity.
Tick, tack, tick...
The soothing ticks and tacks of his ticker were relaxing in his dozy state of mid-sleep, mid-awareness. That, however, was quickly ruined by a relentless blast of sound, making the not-so-sober Convic wake up in a flash. Through a cloudy vision he could see that it was his gramobile making the noise, an electronically device made for communication that cannot be eves-dropped on magically, and more thoroughly, he knew who was calling. “Hm?” he grunted upon rolling out the receiver and answering the call, while trying to sound more sober than he really was.
“You’ve been out drinking last night, D, walk to the meeting today.” A very familiar voice told him, it was A – His division leader.
“Meeting, What meeting? Weren’t we supposed to get today...?”
“The meeting you’re attending at seven two-times passed eight point five.” A cut him short with a very clear and demanding voice, then hung up. He always did, for he never expected anyone to protest, nor would any person in his “right” mind do so either. Right in quotation marks as some would argue to the fact that the people of “Strangers division” truly were right in their minds.
D grabbed his ticker and activated it; the time was three five-times to six so he had plenty of time till the meeting down at the office. And thus he decided to lie back down on his bed, shove the ticker away and go through the happenings of last night, while fiddling with the corner of his blanket. Well, at least the things he could remember from last night...
His memory was fractional, but he clearly remembered the beginning; he, V, C and J had decided that the proper response to getting the first two days off in a row in weeks was to celebrate by drinking bucket-loads of alcohol, and thus had crashed on their favourite bar, “Remembrance.” In good Strangers fashion, they secretly challenged each-other to drink more and more, and at some point this part of his memory seemed to fade, for some strange reason. Then, the next thing he could remember, probably much later in the evening. He saw himself, C and J order shots at a new bar, where exactly this bar was, was a mystery to him. But he remembered being very pleased with himself, what being the only guy with two staggeringly beautiful women like them. C is the longest lasting member of the division, and pretty much is the boss when A is sick, or away. J is, along with D, the newest member of the division, much younger than himself though, J is twenty years old while D is thirty-one, though he’d easily... Well, you get the drift. Anyways, he only remembers those ordering shots, then, oddly as the first fraction, it all becomes cloudy to him. The last thing he can remember is he entering his own house, along with a young and beautiful girl, he can’t really make out who the girl is but upon some thinking it through, he decides it must’ve been J.
I really don’t hope something... No, I do hope something interesting happened that evening. D thought to himself. And that just about wraps up what he remembers of last night’s happenings.
Upon this revelation he decided to sit up, get dressed and somehow make his way to the second floor in order to cloy his groaning stomach. He pulled on a gray shirt with light blue stripes and white dots running along the light blue vertical lines, set with silvery filigree at the edges, and matching gray breeches of rugged cashmere, same textile as his shirt. A pair of normal dark purple socks and then stood up from his bedside, manoeuvring his way to the elevator, a part magical part mechanical device that can carry one or more people from one level of a building to another, expensive though it is, the pay of a criminal investigation agent is quite above the average.
When finally, after some swaying this and that way, he got to the elevator he could see a note stuck to the wall on his left side, he hit the button that summons the lift down to his bedroom and picked up the note for reading:
He gazed at the note for several seconds with a puzzled look, unaware of the fact that the elevator doors had opened, and that within the elevator stood a dark shadow of a figure. My dear... This can’t be from J, can it? Was it really her yesterday? Damn me, no relievable information will be found within this useless brain of mine anyways, so why am I wasting time trying to figure it out? He put the note in his pocket and moved into the elevator, from where the phantom-like figure was gone. Captivated within his elevator moving upwards, D found his gramobile to be making noise once more. “Aye?” D answered, upon once more rolling out his receiver.
“Don’t forget shoes, D.”
A told him, and before D could respond he was gone once more.
Posting this in the hopes for some good feedback and possibly help at watever can be helped with. '
- That, and I hope you like it.
[Reserved for Headline]
What little remained of last night’s showering rain prickled onto, carried by a chilly breeze, the burnished spectacles of Convic Abra: State agent of the Vizengorthian Bureau of Magical Investigation, Strangers division. He emerged through the main entrance of his house at an hour early in the morning, looking first despicably at a group of children dressed in red, then at his own un-shoed feet. He looked up at the skies and let out a burst of frantic laughter that was so loud and unsuppressed that it scared away the children, and made the neighbours look out through their windows in surprised curiosity.
Tick, tack, tick...
The soothing ticks and tacks of his ticker were relaxing in his dozy state of mid-sleep, mid-awareness. That, however, was quickly ruined by a relentless blast of sound, making the not-so-sober Convic wake up in a flash. Through a cloudy vision he could see that it was his gramobile making the noise, an electronically device made for communication that cannot be eves-dropped on magically, and more thoroughly, he knew who was calling. “Hm?” he grunted upon rolling out the receiver and answering the call, while trying to sound more sober than he really was.
“You’ve been out drinking last night, D, walk to the meeting today.” A very familiar voice told him, it was A – His division leader.
“Meeting, What meeting? Weren’t we supposed to get today...?”
“The meeting you’re attending at seven two-times passed eight point five.” A cut him short with a very clear and demanding voice, then hung up. He always did, for he never expected anyone to protest, nor would any person in his “right” mind do so either. Right in quotation marks as some would argue to the fact that the people of “Strangers division” truly were right in their minds.
D grabbed his ticker and activated it; the time was three five-times to six so he had plenty of time till the meeting down at the office. And thus he decided to lie back down on his bed, shove the ticker away and go through the happenings of last night, while fiddling with the corner of his blanket. Well, at least the things he could remember from last night...
His memory was fractional, but he clearly remembered the beginning; he, V, C and J had decided that the proper response to getting the first two days off in a row in weeks was to celebrate by drinking bucket-loads of alcohol, and thus had crashed on their favourite bar, “Remembrance.” In good Strangers fashion, they secretly challenged each-other to drink more and more, and at some point this part of his memory seemed to fade, for some strange reason. Then, the next thing he could remember, probably much later in the evening. He saw himself, C and J order shots at a new bar, where exactly this bar was, was a mystery to him. But he remembered being very pleased with himself, what being the only guy with two staggeringly beautiful women like them. C is the longest lasting member of the division, and pretty much is the boss when A is sick, or away. J is, along with D, the newest member of the division, much younger than himself though, J is twenty years old while D is thirty-one, though he’d easily... Well, you get the drift. Anyways, he only remembers those ordering shots, then, oddly as the first fraction, it all becomes cloudy to him. The last thing he can remember is he entering his own house, along with a young and beautiful girl, he can’t really make out who the girl is but upon some thinking it through, he decides it must’ve been J.
I really don’t hope something... No, I do hope something interesting happened that evening. D thought to himself. And that just about wraps up what he remembers of last night’s happenings.
Upon this revelation he decided to sit up, get dressed and somehow make his way to the second floor in order to cloy his groaning stomach. He pulled on a gray shirt with light blue stripes and white dots running along the light blue vertical lines, set with silvery filigree at the edges, and matching gray breeches of rugged cashmere, same textile as his shirt. A pair of normal dark purple socks and then stood up from his bedside, manoeuvring his way to the elevator, a part magical part mechanical device that can carry one or more people from one level of a building to another, expensive though it is, the pay of a criminal investigation agent is quite above the average.
When finally, after some swaying this and that way, he got to the elevator he could see a note stuck to the wall on his left side, he hit the button that summons the lift down to his bedroom and picked up the note for reading:
“Dear D. Have a nice day.
I’ll consider repaying,
the hospitality one day.”
I’ll consider repaying,
the hospitality one day.”
He gazed at the note for several seconds with a puzzled look, unaware of the fact that the elevator doors had opened, and that within the elevator stood a dark shadow of a figure. My dear... This can’t be from J, can it? Was it really her yesterday? Damn me, no relievable information will be found within this useless brain of mine anyways, so why am I wasting time trying to figure it out? He put the note in his pocket and moved into the elevator, from where the phantom-like figure was gone. Captivated within his elevator moving upwards, D found his gramobile to be making noise once more. “Aye?” D answered, upon once more rolling out his receiver.
“Don’t forget shoes, D.”
A told him, and before D could respond he was gone once more.
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