MSPA Fanfiction V: We're Going to Need More Wands

[anonymousComrade]

I'm a bit behind in saying this but

@Stormrunner: I'm going to be sad when canon ends up nothing like this. Did I mention the first story in this series was what made me stop hating Vriska? Because it totally did. A hearty thumbs-up to you

[Stormrunner]

I'm a bit behind in saying this but

@Stormrunner: I'm going to be sad when canon ends up nothing like this. Did I mention the first story in this series was what made me stop hating Vriska? Because it totally did. A hearty thumbs-up to you

Glad it got you over your hate for Vriska . (BTW I enjoyed your work - you should write more :3).

Funny thing is, I never meant for the fiction to end like it did at all (I don't ship the trolls or kids in any manner because they are children). I was going to have Vriska just end up alone, but I had to remember John is one to forgive - in time. Unless she dies, I don't see John leaving her alone - which was how this ended up.

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The kiss came around cuz of the "grown up" comment I had John make and I ran with it *runs off with the words.* I think the hardest part was figuring out how to piss John off enough to break contact with her. I don't think him hearing of the deaths from second hand would do it, and I think it would take a lot to win him back to her side.

And now I'm rambling all over the place again, and you find out my weakness on why I don't comment much XD. I get foaming of the keyboard bubbling over.

[Graven_Image]

So, I think I just wrote my new favorite line in Indystuck. See if you can guess which it is!

Indystuck

Chapter 27

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OPEN CONSORTLOG

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RABBIT: Oh, hello there, stranger!
RABBIT: You don't look like you're from around here!
RABBIT: My name is-
TIM: I am aware of your name, history, and multiple occupations, Floppy.
TIM: I am your civilization's long-sought-after Wizard.
TIM: I've been here before, and I daresay I will be here again.
TIM: I know everything.
FLOPPY: :U
FLOPPY: Um.
FLOPPY: Wow.
FLOPPY: The Wizard of Time. Really?
TIM: Indubitably.
TIM: I've plumbed the depths of your rabbity temples, achieved demigod status among your people repeatedly, and banished Thor many times over.
TIM: So my apologies if I come off as brusque, but I and Time have things to do.
FLOPPY: :|
FLOPPY: I see.
FLOPPY: Welcome to the Land of Gears and Fog, again, I guess.
TIM: Glad to be back, Floppy.
TIM: The name's Tim, by the way.
TIM: Send my regards to the children.
TIM: All eighteen of them.
FLOPPY: You...
FLOPPY: You counted?
TIM: Goodbye, Floppy.

OPEN PESTERLOG

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redMeat began pestering neckwearAficionado

RM: hey there.
RM: i have need of your extensive vocabulary.
NA: Always glad to be of assistance.
NA: What do you need?
RM: what in the sphincter of hell is a jormungander and why is this giant queenie slug insisting i kill one?
NA: By jormungander I assume you mean Jörmungandr.
RM: sure
RM: whatever
RM: just...
RM: what is it?
NA: From what I understand, Jörmungandr is a monstrous bloody snake.
NA: "Bloody" as in the blood-covered sense.
RM: oh.
RM: waaaaiiiit.
NA: From the context, I can infer that you are talking to his mortal nemesis, the Sanguine Matriarch, queen of the Land of Blood and Blades and ruler of the slug people.
RM: uh huh.
RM: why does she want me to kill him?
NA: Simply put, Jörmungandr is the reason for everything bad happening on LOBAB.
NA: He is constantly chasing his own tail in a cavernous tunnel miles below the surface, and it is this motion that drives the cranks and whatnot propelling all of the guillotines and sawblades and other various sharp objects that threaten to chop up unsuspecting bystanders.
NA: Once you kill him, the blades will stop spinning and the slugs will be able to leave their alcoves and venture out into LOBAB, where they will once again prosper.
RM: how do you know all th
RM: you know what nevermind.
RM: time powers, right?
NA: Right.
NA: Suffice it to say, I've an encyclopaedic knowledge of this game and its surrounding mechanics.
NA: As a matter of fact, I'm on my way to defeat the dread knight Thor, who is keeping the gears on my own land, the Land of Gears and Fog, from spinning.
NA: I assume this is bad, since the local rabbits keep making such a fuss about it.
NA: Maybe it has something to do with their temples, I don't know.
RM: wait a minute.
RM: these guys sound like end bosses.
RM: and you're going to fight yours this very second?
NA: Not a problem.
NA: You assume that I am at your level, which I am not.
NA: You, of course will have a few days of quests and combat ahead of you before you can descend into LOBAB's interior and confront the serpent.
NA: But do you really think I would be so foolhardy as to confront a "dread knight" on my first day?
RM: well you're doing it, aren't you?
RM: on your first day.
NA: My dear boy.
NA: I hit maximum level two and a half years ago.
NA: Thor is a dead man.
RM: O_O
NA: I'll talk to you later.

neckwearAficionado ceased pestering redMeat

OPEN PESTERLOG

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redMeat began pestering craftyMiner

RM: hey.
CM: hey
RM: i don't suppose you know where the word
RM: Jörmungandr
RM: comes from?
CM: no
CM: but judging from the umlaut and the r at the end id say its norse
CM: why
RM: what the hell is norse stuff doing in this game.
CM: that is a good question.
CM: that is like the awesomest question anyones ever asked

[DJ-P0N3]

Graven, I bought Braid because of you.
I hope you are happy.
Because I sure am.

MSB Indystuck

[draconicAlgorithm]

Oh man writer's block. I finally pumped out this just to do something. So, have some RainbowDrinker!Kanaya.

Also, blood and stuff. I tried not to be too graphic.

Awaken

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You drift back into wakefulness. Where are you? How did you get here? You don't remember lying down on this cold floor. You're not sure what this odd taste in your mouth is, either. You swallow hastily, but your throat feels dry. You sit up slowly, hold your head in your hands, and try to remember. It's hard, harder than it should be. You feel as though the memories are liquid, trickling between your fingers no matter how hard you try to keep hold of them. Slowly, painfully slowly, images begin to come back.

You remember... you remember Eridan. He fought with Sollux. And then... and then he killed Feferi. The very idea is incredulous, but you're sure of it. He killed her, used that wand of his to shoot a hole in her chest. And then... and then what? You start to blank. You were doing so well, remembering, but it's fading now. An explosion, despair, anger, pain—and the rest is gone, blown out of shape like the desert sands.

You feel strange. Almost cold, though you feel warmth in the pit of your stomach. What's going on? Why can't you remember? You lower your hands and open your eyes.

You're still on the meteor, obviously. Where else would you be? But you aren't in the lab. Eridan is no where in sight. The thought of him brings you anger. How dare he! How dare he kill Feferi, with the weapon you gave him! The anger soon turns to rage, and you briefly entertain thoughts of killing him, of ripping out his throat, watching his amethyst blood flow as his life flickers out...

Realization of what you are thinking finally reaches you. Why are your thoughts suddenly so violent? Were you always like this? Has something changed? You're not sure. Your memories are still fuzzy.

You notice something red in the corner of your eye. Frowning slightly to yourself, you turn your head—

And you see Karkat. Oh, god. Oh, oh god.

He's lying on the floor at an odd angle, as if he was thrown to the side haphazardly. His throat was slashed open, his red blood drenching his shirt and spilling onto the floor. His eyes are still open, glazed over in death, and face is set eternally in a grimace of horror. The ghastly sight brings you to your feet. You take several steps back, sickened.

And yet, something inside you stirs.

Who could have done this? Who could have killed him so horribly?

You raise a hand to your mouth, only to recoil when you find wetness there. You look down at it.

Blood. Some green, some magenta, but mostly candy red.

Your memories finally flood back. Eridan destroying the Matriorb. Your own death. Your awakening afterwards, moving as if in a trance and hungry for blood. You remember drinking from Feferi's corpse. You remember killing Karkat.

Oh god. What have you done? What have you done?

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Why am I always so mean to Karkat? I'd cry if he really died in canon. ;-;

[apocalypticCritic]

Graven, I bought Braid because of you.
I hope you are happy.
Because I sure am.

MSB Indystuck

SHE'S MINE YOU BITCH!

AC MSB

[DJ-P0N3]

Graven, I bought Braid because of you.
I hope you are happy.
Because I sure am.

MSB Indystuck

SHE'S MINE YOU BITCH!

AC [b][b] MSB

I HAVE FAR TOO MANY BLACK ROMANCES

[Doodled]

So, I think I just wrote my new favorite line in Indystuck. See if you can guess which it is!

Indystuck

Chapter 27

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OPEN CONSORTLOG

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RABBIT: Oh, hello there, stranger!
RABBIT: You don't look like you're from around here!
RABBIT: My name is-
TIM: I am aware of your name, history, and multiple occupations, Floppy.
TIM: I am your civilization's long-sought-after Wizard.
TIM: I've been here before, and I daresay I will be here again.
TIM: I know everything.
FLOPPY: :U
FLOPPY: Um.
FLOPPY: Wow.
FLOPPY: The Wizard of Time. Really?
TIM: Indubitably.
TIM: I've plumbed the depths of your rabbity temples, achieved demigod status among your people repeatedly, and banished Thor many times over.
TIM: So my apologies if I come off as brusque, but I and Time have things to do.
FLOPPY: :|
FLOPPY: I see.
FLOPPY: Welcome to the Land of Gears and Fog, again, I guess.
TIM: Glad to be back, Floppy.
TIM: The name's Tim, by the way.
TIM: Send my regards to the children.
TIM: All eighteen of them.
FLOPPY: You...
FLOPPY: You counted?
TIM: Goodbye, Floppy.

OPEN PESTERLOG

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redMeat began pestering neckwearAficionado

RM: hey there.
RM: i have need of your extensive vocabulary.
NA: Always glad to be of assistance.
NA: What do you need?
RM: what in the sphincter of hell is a jormungander and why is this giant queenie slug insisting i kill one?
NA: By jormungander I assume you mean Jörmungandr.
RM: sure
RM: whatever
RM: just...
RM: what is it?
NA: From what I understand, Jörmungandr is a monstrous bloody snake.
NA: "Bloody" as in the blood-covered sense.
RM: oh.
RM: waaaaiiiit.
NA: From the context, I can infer that you are talking to his mortal nemesis, the Sanguine Matriarch, queen of the Land of Blood and Blades and ruler of the slug people.
RM: uh huh.
RM: why does she want me to kill him?
NA: Simply put, Jörmungandr is the reason for everything bad happening on LOBAB.
NA: He is constantly chasing his own tail in a cavernous tunnel miles below the surface, and it is this motion that drives the cranks and whatnot propelling all of the guillotines and sawblades and other various sharp objects that threaten to chop up unsuspecting bystanders.
NA: Once you kill him, the blades will stop spinning and the slugs will be able to leave their alcoves and venture out into LOBAB, where they will once again prosper.
RM: how do you know all th
RM: you know what nevermind.
RM: time powers, right?
NA: Right.
NA: Suffice it to say, I've an encyclopaedic knowledge of this game and its surrounding mechanics.
NA: As a matter of fact, I'm on my way to defeat the dread knight Thor, who is keeping the gears on my own land, the Land of Gears and Fog, from spinning.
NA: I assume this is bad, since the local rabbits keep making such a fuss about it.
NA: Maybe it has something to do with their temples, I don't know.
RM: wait a minute.
RM: these guys sound like end bosses.
RM: and you're going to fight yours this very second?
NA: Not a problem.
NA: You assume that I am at your level, which I am not.
NA: You, of course will have a few days of quests and combat ahead of you before you can descend into LOBAB's interior and confront the serpent.
NA: But do you really think I would be so foolhardy as to confront a "dread knight" on my first day?
RM: well you're doing it, aren't you?
RM: on your first day.
NA: My dear boy.
NA: I hit maximum level two and a half years ago.
NA: Thor is a dead man.
RM: O_O
NA: I'll talk to you later.

neckwearAficionado ceased pestering redMeat

OPEN PESTERLOG

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redMeat began pestering craftyMiner

RM: hey.
CM: hey
RM: i don't suppose you know where the word
RM: Jörmungandr
RM: comes from?
CM: no
CM: but judging from the umlaut and the r at the end id say its norse
CM: why
RM: what the hell is norse stuff doing in this game.
CM: that is a good question.
CM: that is like the awesomest question anyones ever asked

"that is like the awesomest question anyones ever asked"?

"rabbity temples"?

"I hit maximum level two and a half years ago"?

[Graven_Image]

Those are among my favorites, yes. But my most favorite is that third line, and the line immediately following it..

[Rimbaum]

I'd also love some elaboration on the implied Slick/Sleuth/Droog triangle. PLEASE DO SOMETHING FOR THAT. Or I might have to.

Hopefully I've saved you a bit of work. For now.

Note: I am extremely frightened of my headcanon Droog.


Waiting

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You watch Problem Sleuth without a word, without tiring, without losing patience. You look exactly as you always do: exquisitely dressed and completely cold. You don't feel the need for Slick's threats and posturing. You are the most dangerous person in the city, and the perceptive will know it when they see you without you telling them what you'll do to them when they step the wrong way.

You make up your mind what you will do to everyone the first moment you meet them. You have excellent judgement and a superb understanding of pain tolerance, with an instinctive knowledge of whose is where. So stepping the wrong way is truly just an excuse for you to mete out their inevitable fate. Some avoid it, it's true. They are extremely lucky.

You've seen the way he handles himself. He is wary, but not paranoid, and too caught up in his own grandeur to be truly aware. You do not rely on this, but you factor it into your considerations. He will not take you seriously at first- or rather, he will pretend to take you seriously. You will make him stop, and quickly. You have infinite patience but little tolerance.

Fingers, one by one. Tape his mouth... no, gag him. Horrible things, gags. You will wear gloves. There is no way you will touch him. If you could get Boxcars to... but no. This will be just between you and Problem Sleuth, as things used to be just you and Slick, and now are just Slick and Problem Sleuth. You find appealing symmetry in it.

You watch him passively. Unlike many people, you have the ability to hold utterly still when you wish, which is frequently. You find excessive movement a sign of weakness.

Your phone rings. It's Slick. He reminds you of your job, of the plan. You find it painful to listen to, the way he dances around where you are and what you're doing. You are here to ensure Problem Sleuth does not leave his apartment, and thus misses the extremely important business transaction going on just down the street.

Slick was so much better once. Like you. Well, not perfectly, but more so. Callous and cruel and insular, though still raving and forceful and emotional. He was an excellent foil. He was more than that, certainly. He clearly did not ascribe the same importance to your relationship as you did. No, you refuse to believe that. It cannot be correct. You and Slick were brothers, and he drew you out just as you balanced him. It was ideal.

You cannot believe it has fallen apart as it has. It is not permanent; once he's over his infatuation with Problem Sleuth (you can barely bring yourself to say that), things will return to the way they were meant to be. You cannot imagine how it got this way to begin with.

You cannot believe that Problem Sleuth, of all people, has come to replace you. He's weak. He is fragile. You can ruin him so simply. You slipped into Slick's apartment last night and stood over him while he slept, holding a dozen varieties of card. Your heart was seizing with bitter freezing hatred, cold and silent and waiting, and you stood over him as he snored there, arm thrown over Slick's shoulder. Slick mutters something in his sleep, like he always has, and your hatred pulses slightly, your grip tightening on the queen of diamonds. Fingers, one by one...

But no.

This is Slick's decision. Slick was always the boss. You always obey. That's just how it is, and you're going to show Slick that if he wants to throw away what you had, well, you will wait. At the end of the day, you will be there waiting.

And as soon as he's finished with Problem Sleuth, you will be there waiting for him, too.

...
...
...
...
Rimbaum Path

HOW DO YOU DO EET?

[apocalypticCritic]

Graven, I bought Braid because of you.
I hope you are happy.
Because I sure am.

MSB Indystuck

SHE'S MINE YOU BITCH!

AC [b][b] MSB

I HAVE FAR TOO MANY BLACK ROMANCES

Stop being a person people love to hate then. GEEZE BALANCE YOUR QUADRANTS MAN. THAT IMPERIAL DRONE COULD COME AT ANY TIME.

[lucidSeraph]

@Graven: Oh my god everything in this latest installment is fucking amazing. Also, thanks to you, I REALLY want to play BitShift now.

[lucidSeraph]

...
Aradia - Giovanni
Tavros - Tzimisce
Sollux - Tremere
Karkat - Ventrue
Nepeta - Gangrel
Kanaya - Toreador
Terezi - Ravnos
Vriska - Lasombra
Equius - Nosferatu
Gamzee - Malkavian
Eridan - Assamite
Feferi - Brujah

And now the 2.5 people on the board who know what all those words mean will undoubtably tell me how wrong I am.

No man Karkat's totally a Brujah. Tavros as a Tzimizie is a hilarious idea though.

*E* fuck double post sorry

[X15lm204]

No man Karkat's totally a Brujah. Tavros as a Tzimizie is a hilarious idea though.

I actually had him down as a Brujah at first, and Fef as the Ventrue, but this seemed wrong, so I thought about it for a moment and realized that he really isn't.

For all that he rages and lashes out, Karkat's only real act of rebellion is not immediately killing himself. Rather, he puts all his efforts into keeping order, maintaining tradition, and being the best leader he can be.

It's Feferi who's trying to tear the system apart.

Plus, Cerulean!Karkat in RDV. Ain't gonna get no Brujah in Dat Suit.

I will admit that Tzimisce!Tavros was picked almost purely for the lulz.

And also Fidusspawn. Oh god, Fidusspawn.

[Jim Groovester]

What's that? Part one? Yes, part one.

The Sapphire of Alternia, Part 1

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It starts with a phone call.

The phone rings in Problem Sleuth’s apartment, first working its way into his dreams as an annoying ringing before he realizes that it’s actually the phone. He wakes up and starts the slow process of pulling his eyes apart. Purple moonlight filters in through the blinds on the window, illuminating the clock on the wall. Three in the morning. Whoever this is better have a damn good reason for calling Problem Sleuth at three in the morning.

Problem Sleuth: Get that phone to stop ringing.

You know how hardboiled it is to get calls at three in the morning. But you’ve been on a stakeout every night for the past few days trying to catch some john in the act of paying for certain services on behalf of his wife. You think it’s funny that his money is paying for the investigation into his affairs.

But sometimes a guy just wants to sleep in until just after sunrise once in a while, like a normal person. But it looks like tonight isn’t gonna be that night.

==>

You roll over in your bed and pick up the phone on your bedside table. There’s a cop on the other end. You ask what his problem is for why he’s calling at three in the morning. He explains there’s a murder, and Anarchy Repressor wants him on the scene. As a second opinion. You ask him why he wants that since he’s never wanted it before.

He says that he’s calling in a favor.

What favor, you grumble and ask him where it is. He tells you. You tell him that you’re on your way and to tell Anarchy Repressor that he better be damn grateful because you’re going to be pretty damn grumpy when you get there. He says okay, but you can tell he’s just humoring you. You hang up.

Problem Sleuth rubs his eyes. He dials the number for his favorite taxi service. The phone gets picked up in the middle of the first ring.

A cheery voice greets him on the other end. “Hello? Transportation Deferrer’s Cab Service.”

“Do you ever sleep?” Problem Sleuth asks somewhat incredulously as he tries to shake himself into consciousness.

“Is that you, Problem Sleuth? I can’t sleep, not with private detectives like you needing rides. It keeps me up at night!” She says. “What do you need?”

“Come pick me up.” Problem Sleuth says. “At the apartment. I’ve got to get to a murder scene before the cops find and take any useful evidence.”

“I’ll be there in thirty seconds.” She hangs up.

Problem Sleuth immediately jumps out of bed. If Transportation Deferrer says she’s going to be somewhere in thirty seconds, she’ll be there in thirty seconds. Problem Sleuth does a quick once-over of his clothing situation. He fell asleep in his clothes. Again. It makes getting out easy, as he just slips on his shoes and overcoat, and his hat, can’t forget his hat, and is out the door.

Problem Sleuth: Lock the door.

What, with your gun?

The notion that you would lock your door with your gun strikes you as reckless and foolhardy.

Halfway down the stairs from his apartment he hears a car horn honking. He exits the building to see a yellow taxi with its wheels spinning and the car moving from side to side as a result. Tranportation Deferrer is honking her horn. “What are you standing there gawking for? Get in the car.”

Problem Sleuth runs to the door because she is liable to get impatient and leave without him. As soon as Problem Sleuth is halfway into the car, the car screeches into a U-turn, throwing Problem Sleuth inside and closing the door. He resituates himself as she asks, “Where am I taking ya, Sleuth?”

“3050 W 47th. And get me there quick.” Problem Sleuth says and immediately regrets.

The city streets are mostly empty, which is good, because Deferrer doesn’t let a thing like traffic stop her from putting her foot down, in a metaphorical as well as quite literal sense, and the absence of traffic makes the ride marginally less terrifying. Getting a lift from her is the only time Problem Sleuth ever wears a seat belt. After tearing through the streets like a rat in a maze with its tail on fire the car nearly tips over as Deferrer throws the handbrake, bringing the car to a stop at the murder scene.

Problem Sleuth unbuckles his seatbelt and makes a hasty exit. He ducks back into the window and pays her. “Thanks. There’s a little extra for making sure I didn’t die.”

“No problem, Sleuth!” Transportation Deferrer giggles. She gives an informal salute and peels off again.

Problem Sleuth turns around and looks at the murder scene. Cops with black and white carapaces are moving around an alley way, with the majority of the focus on a dumpster with an arm hanging out. Draped over and across and between every available surface is yellow caution tape. Sleuth puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it. Because the best way to gather evidence is to contaminate it with paper ash, but nobody does DNA analysis or anything like that because it’s pointless so it’s not like it matters anyway.

A black carapace in a trenchcoat and tie walks up to him. “You got here fast.”

“There’s a girl who wants me to go places.” Sleuth smirks.

Anarchy Repressor huffs indifferently. “Come on.” The detective leads Problem Sleuth to the dumpster, ducking under no less than three sets of caution tape on the way there. Inside is a dead man with a bullet wound to his gut.

“Has the body been disturbed?” Sleuth asks.

“No, we just got here five minutes ago.” Repressor responds.

“And you didn’t waste any time making sure everybody knows this is a crime scene. Hell, I’m sure the office drones in downtown could look in this direction and know this is police business only.” Sleuth says.

Anarchy Repressor gives him a glare.

“What did you call me here for?”

“Sleuth,” Repressor says, pointing to the body. “My gut instinct tells me this is a hit, and if it’s from one of the gangs, I’d rather you take the lead on this instead of me.”

“Mighty brave of you, Repressor.” Sleuth says. “But if I find the killer you’ll take all the credit.”

“Of course. And then I’ll owe you one.” He smiles. Not like he ever paid back a favor. “Besides, you’re better at getting under the skin of the criminal underworld than I am.”

Sleuth shakes his head. “You’re a damn fine cop, you know that?” He says sarcastically.

Anarchy Repressor is a damn fine cop, but the system is broken. The Midnight Crew’s got a monetary stranglehold on half the prosecutors in the town and the Felt’s got a familial stranglehold on the other half. Sometimes what a cop needs to get the job done is somebody who can operate outside of the rules, and outside of the jurisdiction of a bunch of meddling self-interested corrupt politicians.

Sleuth looks over the body. Anarchy Repressor’s guess was right, but only up to a point. At the very least, it was a hit, because the body had been dumped here from wherever he had been killed. But it doesn’t fit the usual MOs. “The Midnight Crew doesn’t shoot people in the gut. They cut their victims up and then they shoot to kill. Or eat them. But that doesn’t happen very often.” He looked at Repressor, expecting surprise. There wasn’t any. “This guy bled to death in extreme pain. The guy who shoots people only does clean kills, from some sort of pride, and the guy who cuts people up didn’t do anything to this poor fella.”

Repressor looks at him. “What else?”

“The Felt are just brutes. Their victims are all horribly mutilated. There ain’t any finesse in what they do.”

“So, what then? The Midnight Crew didn’t do it, and the Felt didn’t do it?”

“No.” Sleuth says. “If they were involved at all it wasn’t directly. It looks pretty amateurish.” Sleuth shrugs. “Or maybe they suddenly got sloppy for some reason. I don’t really know.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“Nowhere, looks like.”

Problem Sleuth: Make a distraction.

Sleuth turns his head slightly. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I think somebody’s calling you.” Anarchy Repressor turns towards the parked police cars. Sleuth uses the opportunity to fish around in the victim’s jacket and pulls out a wallet. He quickly pockets it.

“You sure? I don’t hear anything.” Anarchy Repressor turns his gaze back to the victim.

“Huh, my mistake.” Sleuth says. “Does the victim have any ID?” Sleuth asks.

Anarchy Repressor opens the victim’s jacket and looks through the coat pockets. “Looks like this guy’s name is Mysterious Carapace until we know better.”

“Whoever did it must have taken the wallet and ditched it somewhere.” Sleuth says completely straight faced. “Have your men canvas the area looking for it. And tell your traffic cops to keep their eyes open for any dried blood they see tomorrow.”

“In this town?” Anarchy Repressor says in an incredulous tone. “If the city isn’t covered in blood by noon that’s a good day.”

Sleuth smirks. “All they gotta do is look for the stains that look a day old.”

Anarchy Repressor gives a beleaguered look. “I ain’t a super hero, Sleuth, and neither are my men.”

Sleuth shrugs. “What about the pants pockets?” Sleuth asks.

Anarchy Repressor fishes around the pants pockets and finds several notes, all with addresses on them. “A list of addresses. Maybe he was a delivery boy?”

“Delivery boys don’t get shot in the stomach. No, I think this guy was a courier of some sort. Might explain why he was killed.”

“But what for?”

“Beats me. Could be anything.” Sleuth says. “Could’ve been a briefcase full of boondollars or little old ladies’ fine china.”

“Dammit.” Anarchy Repressor swears. “This isn’t helping any.”

Sleuth spreads his arms wide in a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you, Anarchy Repressor.” Sleuth says. “You need to ID the body. If you can’t do that, then the trail’s gonna go cold faster than this guy here.”

Anarchy Repressor takes a single step back. He looks dissatisfied, and with good reason. Problem Sleuth took the only piece of useful evidence from the scene while Anarchy Repressor wasn’t looking. “Thanks for your help, Problem Sleuth.” He says a bit sarcastically. He puts his hands on the dumpster and looks at the body. “You’ll look into this for me, right?”

“What do you expect me to do more than you’ve done? I got here just as soon as you did. There ain’t anything more I can do that we both didn’t already do looking at this guy right now.”

Anarchy Repressor grimaces. “Just keep your eyes open.”

“Alright.” Sleuth waits a moment. “Does that mean I can go? I’m dead tired and my cases aren’t going to work themselves.”

“Yeah, get outta here.” Anarchy Repressor says, kicking some dirt on the asphalt idly in frustration. “You need a ride?”

“No thanks.” Sleuth says. “I just gotta make a call.”

Problem Sleuth: Whistle for a cab.

And when it came near the license plate said X368 J39. Were you expecting something else? That's always been the license plate for Transporation Deferrer's cab. You don't know why you think this detail is notable in any way right now.

You get in and she takes you back to your apartment, where you promptly fall asleep.

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I wonder what the Sapphire of Alternia is. It's probably just a pretty jewel, and there is nothing else interesting about it at all.

Transportation Deferrer is one of only two original characters who are going to be in this thing, since Sleuth is going to take a taxi around a lot and there might as well be a character associated with it, just to make things slightly more interesting.

Also, this thing is probably going to be about twenty parts, based on the length of this and how much else I've got planned out for this thing.

[Ganato]

Holy canoly! 20 parts?!
This is gonna be long and awesome.

Also, i love how the fan-fiction thread can guess what Andrew thinks.
Did anyone say, great minds think alike?

[DeadBrain]

...
Aradia - Giovanni
Tavros - Tzimisce
Sollux - Tremere
Karkat - Ventrue
Nepeta - Gangrel
Kanaya - Toreador
Terezi - Ravnos
Vriska - Lasombra
Equius - Nosferatu
Gamzee - Malkavian
Eridan - Assamite
Feferi - Brujah

Tavros should obviously be a Toreador.

I should stop making stupid puns and write something.

[draconicAlgorithm]

...
Aradia - Giovanni
Tavros - Tzimisce
Sollux - Tremere
Karkat - Ventrue
Nepeta - Gangrel
Kanaya - Toreador
Terezi - Ravnos
Vriska - Lasombra
Equius - Nosferatu
Gamzee - Malkavian
Eridan - Assamite
Feferi - Brujah

Tavros should obviously be a Toreador.

I should stop making stupid puns and write something.

Thank you for saying what I wanted to say even though I know nothing about this stuff.

EDIT: I just realized that this was my 200th post.

[egregiousBass]

Tavros should obviously be a Toreador.

I should stop making stupid puns and write something.

Thank you for saying what I wanted to say even though I know nothing about this stuff.

Tavros is a torro, not a toreador.

And shouldn't Kanaya be a nosferatu, in light of recent events?

[Path]

No way, Nosferatu are gross. I'll change my mind when we see dried-out zombie Kanaya. Still Toreador all the way. And I hold up Karkat as a Caitiff for the weird blood thing and his refusal to pay attention to the old standards. I should probably just make my own list rather than arguing with everybody else's.


OH RITE and thanks for the comments guise. Kass, Rimbaum, if I told you my secrets then everybody would be making hardboiled PS/SS fic OH WAIT THAT WOULD BE AWESOME

Wish I had a secret to tell now. >_>

OH DOUBLE RITE Jim, I have another 19 parts of this to look forward to? Everyday is hardboiled detective day.

[emesis]

What's that? Part one? Yes, part one.

The Sapphire of Alternia, Part 1

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It starts with a phone call.

The phone rings in Problem Sleuth’s apartment, first working its way into his dreams as an annoying ringing before he realizes that it’s actually the phone. He wakes up and starts the slow process of pulling his eyes apart. Purple moonlight filters in through the blinds on the window, illuminating the clock on the wall. Three in the morning. Whoever this is better have a damn good reason for calling Problem Sleuth at three in the morning.

Problem Sleuth: Get that phone to stop ringing.

You know how hardboiled it is to get calls at three in the morning. But you’ve been on a stakeout every night for the past few days trying to catch some john in the act of paying for certain services on behalf of his wife. You think it’s funny that his money is paying for the investigation into his affairs.

But sometimes a guy just wants to sleep in until just after sunrise once in a while, like a normal person. But it looks like tonight isn’t gonna be that night.

==>

You roll over in your bed and pick up the phone on your bedside table. There’s a cop on the other end. You ask what his problem is for why he’s calling at three in the morning. He explains there’s a murder, and Anarchy Repressor wants him on the scene. As a second opinion. You ask him why he wants that since he’s never wanted it before.

He says that he’s calling in a favor.

What favor, you grumble and ask him where it is. He tells you. You tell him that you’re on your way and to tell Anarchy Repressor that he better be damn grateful because you’re going to be pretty damn grumpy when you get there. He says okay, but you can tell he’s just humoring you. You hang up.

Problem Sleuth rubs his eyes. He dials the number for his favorite taxi service. The phone gets picked up in the middle of the first ring.

A cheery voice greets him on the other end. “Hello? Transportation Deferrer’s Cab Service.”

“Do you ever sleep?” Problem Sleuth asks somewhat incredulously as he tries to shake himself into consciousness.

“Is that you, Problem Sleuth? I can’t sleep, not with private detectives like you needing rides. It keeps me up at night!” She says. “What do you need?”

“Come pick me up.” Problem Sleuth says. “At the apartment. I’ve got to get to a murder scene before the cops find and take any useful evidence.”

“I’ll be there in thirty seconds.” She hangs up.

Problem Sleuth immediately jumps out of bed. If Transportation Deferrer says she’s going to be somewhere in thirty seconds, she’ll be there in thirty seconds. Problem Sleuth does a quick once-over of his clothing situation. He fell asleep in his clothes. Again. It makes getting out easy, as he just slips on his shoes and overcoat, and his hat, can’t forget his hat, and is out the door.

Problem Sleuth: Lock the door.

What, with your gun?

The notion that you would lock your door with your gun strikes you as reckless and foolhardy.

Halfway down the stairs from his apartment he hears a car horn honking. He exits the building to see a yellow taxi with its wheels spinning and the car moving from side to side as a result. Tranportation Deferrer is honking her horn. “What are you standing there gawking for? Get in the car.”

Problem Sleuth runs to the door because she is liable to get impatient and leave without him. As soon as Problem Sleuth is halfway into the car, the car screeches into a U-turn, throwing Problem Sleuth inside and closing the door. He resituates himself as she asks, “Where am I taking ya, Sleuth?”

“3050 W 47th. And get me there quick.” Problem Sleuth says and immediately regrets.

The city streets are mostly empty, which is good, because Deferrer doesn’t let a thing like traffic stop her from putting her foot down, in a metaphorical as well as quite literal sense, and the absence of traffic makes the ride marginally less terrifying. Getting a lift from her is the only time Problem Sleuth ever wears a seat belt. After tearing through the streets like a rat in a maze with its tail on fire the car nearly tips over as Deferrer throws the handbrake, bringing the car to a stop at the murder scene.

Problem Sleuth unbuckles his seatbelt and makes a hasty exit. He ducks back into the window and pays her. “Thanks. There’s a little extra for making sure I didn’t die.”

“No problem, Sleuth!” Transportation Deferrer giggles. She gives an informal salute and peels off again.

Problem Sleuth turns around and looks at the murder scene. Cops with black and white carapaces are moving around an alley way, with the majority of the focus on a dumpster with an arm hanging out. Draped over and across and between every available surface is yellow caution tape. Sleuth puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it. Because the best way to gather evidence is to contaminate it with paper ash, but nobody does DNA analysis or anything like that because it’s pointless so it’s not like it matters anyway.

A black carapace in a trenchcoat and tie walks up to him. “You got here fast.”

“There’s a girl who wants me to go places.” Sleuth smirks.

Anarchy Repressor huffs indifferently. “Come on.” The detective leads Problem Sleuth to the dumpster, ducking under no less than three sets of caution tape on the way there. Inside is a dead man with a bullet wound to his gut.

“Has the body been disturbed?” Sleuth asks.

“No, we just got here five minutes ago.” Repressor responds.

“And you didn’t waste any time making sure everybody knows this is a crime scene. Hell, I’m sure the office drones in downtown could look in this direction and know this is police business only.” Sleuth says.

Anarchy Repressor gives him a glare.

“What did you call me here for?”

“Sleuth,” Repressor says, pointing to the body. “My gut instinct tells me this is a hit, and if it’s from one of the gangs, I’d rather you take the lead on this instead of me.”

“Mighty brave of you, Repressor.” Sleuth says. “But if I find the killer you’ll take all the credit.”

“Of course. And then I’ll owe you one.” He smiles. Not like he ever paid back a favor. “Besides, you’re better at getting under the skin of the criminal underworld than I am.”

Sleuth shakes his head. “You’re a damn fine cop, you know that?” He says sarcastically.

Anarchy Repressor is a damn fine cop, but the system is broken. The Midnight Crew’s got a monetary stranglehold on half the prosecutors in the town and the Felt’s got a familial stranglehold on the other half. Sometimes what a cop needs to get the job done is somebody who can operate outside of the rules, and outside of the jurisdiction of a bunch of meddling self-interested corrupt politicians.

Sleuth looks over the body. Anarchy Repressor’s guess was right, but only up to a point. At the very least, it was a hit, because the body had been dumped here from wherever he had been killed. But it doesn’t fit the usual MOs. “The Midnight Crew doesn’t shoot people in the gut. They cut their victims up and then they shoot to kill. Or eat them. But that doesn’t happen very often.” He looked at Repressor, expecting surprise. There wasn’t any. “This guy bled to death in extreme pain. The guy who shoots people only does clean kills, from some sort of pride, and the guy who cuts people up didn’t do anything to this poor fella.”

Repressor looks at him. “What else?”

“The Felt are just brutes. Their victims are all horribly mutilated. There ain’t any finesse in what they do.”

“So, what then? The Midnight Crew didn’t do it, and the Felt didn’t do it?”

“No.” Sleuth says. “If they were involved at all it wasn’t directly. It looks pretty amateurish.” Sleuth shrugs. “Or maybe they suddenly got sloppy for some reason. I don’t really know.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“Nowhere, looks like.”

Problem Sleuth: Make a distraction.

Sleuth turns his head slightly. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I think somebody’s calling you.” Anarchy Repressor turns towards the parked police cars. Sleuth uses the opportunity to fish around in the victim’s jacket and pulls out a wallet. He quickly pockets it.

“You sure? I don’t hear anything.” Anarchy Repressor turns his gaze back to the victim.

“Huh, my mistake.” Sleuth says. “Does the victim have any ID?” Sleuth asks.

Anarchy Repressor opens the victim’s jacket and looks through the coat pockets, and then fishes around the pant pockets. “Looks like this guy’s name is Mysterious Carapace until we know better.”

“Whoever did it must have taken the wallet and ditched it somewhere.” Sleuth says completely straight faced. “Have your men canvas the area looking for it. And tell your traffic cops to keep their eyes open for any dried blood they see tomorrow.”

“In this town?” Anarchy Repressor says in an incredulous tone. “If the city isn’t covered in blood by noon that’s a good day.”

Sleuth smirks. “All they gotta do is look for the stains that look a day old.” Sleuth shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Anarchy Repressor. If you can’t ID the body, then the trail’s gonna go cold faster than this guy here.”

Anarchy Repressor takes a single step back. He looks dissatisfied, and with good reason. Problem Sleuth took the only piece of useful evidence from the scene while Anarchy Repressor wasn’t looking. “Thanks for your help, Problem Sleuth.” He says a bit sarcastically.

“Does that mean I can go?” Sleuth asks. “I’m dead tired and my cases aren’t going to work themselves.”

“Yeah, get outta here.” Anarchy Repressor says, kicking some dirt on the asphalt idly in frustration. “You need a ride?”

“No thanks.” Sleuth says. “I just gotta make a call.”

Problem Sleuth: Whistle for a cab.

And when it came near the license plate said X368 J39. Were you expecting something else? That's always been the license plate for Transporation Deferrer's cab. You don't know why you think this detail is notable in any way right now.

You get in and she takes you back to your apartment, where you promptly fall asleep.

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I wonder what the Sapphire of Alternia is. It's probably just a pretty jewel, and there is nothing else interesting about it at all.

Transportation Deferrer is one of only two original characters who are going to be in this thing, since Sleuth is going to take a taxi around a lot and there might as well be a character associated with it, just to make things slightly more interesting.

Also, this thing is probably going to be about twenty parts, based on the length of this and how much else I've got planned out for this thing.

It'll be like TWENTY DAYS OF CHRISTMAS.

[battlerek]

Okay, here's my first MSPA fic that isn't about the troll cops au.

In which Kanaya learns how to be a vampire

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It was midnight, and the moon was full. 2 shadowy figures stalked the rooftops of the city, unseen by its citizens. If one were to look up at just the right moment, you could see two capes sailing through the sky before disappearing under the cover of an old brick building. Eventually they stopped, landing on top of a building overlooking a shop that sold clocks. Both of them wore outlandish yet stylish suits. The smaller, horned one of the pair was even wearing a cravat. The taller, fedora-wearing one placed a placed a foot on the edge of the roof and a hand on hat, with a hard-boiled expression on his face that Clint Eastwood would be proud of. A random breeze made his cape billow, while the light of moon caused his candy corn fangs to glint, but never sparkle.

Kanaya sighed. Vampires were supposed to have a flair for dramatic, but Problem Sleuth's adherence to this verged on the ridiculous.

"Is It Completely Necessary That We Jump From Rooftop To Rooftop In Our Search For Your Colleague's Son?"

"Vat's zat kid? I'm zorry, couldn't underztand your accent."

And that was another thing. Problem Sleuth kept insisting that they should talk in that strange, strange accent that was supposed to be how vampires talked. If she didn't he wouldn't even acknowledge her presence. Of course Sleuth could talk normally, but once he put on that cape and stuck those candy corn in his teeth his Ts became Vs and the letter S was removed from the alphabet.

"Iz It Completely Necezary Zat Ve Jump From Rooftop To Rooftop In Our Zearch For Your Colleague's Zon?"

"It iz, my dear. Ve both know zat that Dick couldn't zleuth hiz vay out of a box. How can he hope to find zat vigilante zon of hiz without our help? If we zon't zearch for him he'z never goink to find him. Vat kind of a friend vould I be if I didn't help him out?"

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Sleuth didn't even care about the fact that Bathearst has been sneaking off to fight bad guys without his father, and only started to search for him to one-up Ace Dick as part of his ever-escalating but supposedly friendly fued with him.

They waited for an hour more, until Problem Sleuth brilliantly deduced that Bathearst wasn't here. He made no mention of the fact that the radio reported him having a standoff with the felt at the bank.

"Okay. Ze bank is at the ozer zide of ze city. Ve vill have to turn into batz in order to get zere on time."

"Turn...Into Bats?

"Batz, yez."

Kanaya X2 facepalmed. While transforming into bats was a traditional vampire power, she was pretty sure they couldn't do that. On the other hand, she wasn't entirely sure about that. She took out a notepad and a pen, so she can write down how Sleuth did it in case his transformation worked.

"Look, I vill demonztrate to you ze art of tranzformink into a bat." Problem Sleuth grabbed the tip of his cape and raised it up to his mouth. He made a flourish, and jumped off the building.

The ambulance arrived in 10 minutes.

"Don't..forget...my teeth..." He managed to say to Kanaya before the ambulance left for the hospital.

Kanaya scooped up some candy corn teeth that fell out of Problem Sleuth's mouth when he landed face first on the ground, and made a note that vampires can't really turn into bats, right above the mandatory vampires don't sparkle note.

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Bluh. Didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped, but it let me do a little experimenting with how Kanaya and Problem Sleuth would interact. I was going for a slightly aloof mentor-curious but skeptical apprentice thing, but PS ended up goofier than I intended.

[Path]

A random breeze made his cape billow, while the light of moon caused his candy corn fangs to glint, but never sparkle.

Kanaya sighed. Vampires were supposed to have a flair for dramatic, but Problem Sleuth's adherence to this verged on the ridiculous.

I love those lines.

[Wigmund]

"Don't...forget...my teeth..."

battlerek, Do you realize how much squirting an omelet out of one's nose hurts?

[morpheoMancer]

"Don't...forget...my teeth..."

battlerek, Do you realize how much squirting an omelet out of one's nose hurts?

Maybe you should cook your eggs longer so they aren't as runny?