Project X:I
I'm having a bit of a creativity block, so to pass the time I decided to post the first bit of an old story I worked on.
Project X: Chapter I
They say the wicked flee when none peruse, and the righteous are bold as lions. I don't claim to be in either category. My work is often a wicked business, and I'm certainly not a lion. I do however find myself occasionally blurring that line between the good, the bad, and the ugly. We all like to think that right and wrong are like the colors black and white, which in many, many ways they are, but more often they're an unimaginable knot of tangled intentions. I try to keep myself from becoming too involved with those junctions of morality. Funny how life pairs us together with fate no matter what stretch of road is taken to distance ourselves from it. But what can be expected from a Keeper of the Peace such as me?
The alarm is one thing I hate greeting in the morning, not that the music bothers me, T-Surf 87.6 is a place in time I've accepted as part of me and of my daily routine. It's the waking that I find bothersome. As is, at the ungodly hour of six thirty two I find myself awoken to Mexico. Why anyone would bother playing such a tune at this hour baffles me. I enjoy Dale's music, but seriously, at six? My head was jarred by rifts that at any other point during the year I'd loved.
The song ended as I tried to motivate myself into leaving this pleasant world of warmth and comfort, and the DJ spoke into the mike giving his morning jive of this and that's before Surfing Drums began to rip the silence of the air, apparently he had a taste for Dick this morning. I slipped out of bed and promptly flicked the volume a touch higher, enough to be heard through my small apartment. My secretary always asks why for all the money I've collected from my customers do I choose such small quarters. Well for one it's remarkably cheap, and two my profession isn't one involved in the route of settling down. Save the safe houses dotted across country, which I haven't had the misfortune of using, it's in my best interest to buy small and save large.
Instantly I shuddered from the cool of the room as it contrasts heavily with the lovely bed. I folded my arms, tucking my hands into my pits, mental kicking myself for electing to not sleep in my natural state, for then the fire within would've warmed me. Now however I must contend with the human body's mortality and weakness to rising from bed; the one time I'm normally bothered by cold. But what's done is done, and I can't change it all by sleeping till tomorrow, although I wished I could. Steeping across the room I peer out the window at the morning, noting how few people were about this time of day despite the sun having turned the sky a soothing blue.
But then again it had snowed last night, a shallow blanket. Funny thing my taste in music is, so my secretary tells me, why would I have an affinity for surf guitar when I live in a place so fond of snow? To be honest the trait comes from my stay in a more tropic area around the time such music was popular. And it was only through my job's requirements to move every few years that I retained such attraction for it.
Yawning, I turn from the window and go through the morning routine, eat leftovers from last night, drink a glass of lemon juice and honey, then piss and brush my teeth at the same time; I decided against a shower as I had one just before bed. I take the usual attire, black suit and tie, single-breasted, peaked lapel, simple and classy, and tuck it into my briefcase.
To many, I assume, this would be considered ill-dressed for bitter weather, or work day conditions, or even the times. But I'm not human and it doesn't bother me nearly as much, and a suit looks amazing no matter what damn time it is. I also like to outclass my clients. It may be wrong, or egotistical, but opinions are of no concern, rather it is displaying a swagger that shows the client I'm a person quite capable of handling my commission. Though, 'Tia would argue its arrogance that I show when I wear it.
Perhaps she's right. But I've stowed myself into a tradition that my main clients have come to identify me with, mankind has little effect on my business because they don't make the majority of my customers, so why should I bother with mending what isn't broken? I must admit that even though I do have a small fortune, and therefore money is no object, my biggest funds consumer, outside of housing and vehicle repair, it seems is buying suits to replace the ones damaged when the occasion demands I sprout wing. I dress in the clothes 'Tia had bought for me on my birthday, simple but acceptable and turned off the radio.
I shuddered as the cool of the outside touched me, making my skin prickle. This was perfect hunting weather, but alas I don't think it'd look good of me if my neighbors suddenly learned I wasn't the type of creature they believe I am. So I forced down that instinct to change and locked the door. Hearing footsteps coming up the concrete stairway I gave my hello to Martha as she came back from her shift, poor thing, had to be at least fifty five. I had some time before I had to open shop, so I decided to help the lady up the stairs and to her door.
"God bless you." She said in that raspy voice of hers. She wasn't still smoking was she? I grimace, smelling the smoke on her breath and threadbare attire, before nodding along to her statement, out of common courtesy before moving along to my car.
Another vanity of mine, I had to buy a mustang after seeing Gone in 60 Seconds way back in the early seventies_._ Not a movie replica, though I wouldn't have minded if I had bought one, it was the same model, with a black paint job, white interior; which had been stained with droplets of coffee. The car starts with only a slight grumble, and I head into town, silently thanking the light snow for not damning my normal driving route. Only thing that dampened my mood was the shaky radio reception.
I'm a detective, and a damn good one at that. Kane's Inquirer, my place of business sits at the end of a city block on a moderately busy street. The sun had peaked over the horizon a few moments ago and more cars darted about. I knew I had an appointment with an important customer today, so I peered after the cars that slowed before me then grumbled as they sped off. Unlocking the place took but a moment and I stepped into a sauna.
"Tia." I shook my head; the girl had left the heat blasting overnight. I assumed that this was because of her stationing on the lower floor that she felt entitled to coming into a warm environment. I wouldn't cut the flow just yet, but I'd remind her who it was that paid this place's bills. Looking at the clock I judge she'd be here in a half hour, maybe forty five minutes, still plenty of time to walk around my upstairs office in full drakine.
At the top of the stairs I pause to take in the name painted on the glass in the door of my office. 'Robert T. Kane'. It makes me beam a little inside knowing that this, all this was my little fortress of solitude. The apartment is too close knitted together for me to stretch out my draconic tendencies, only enough to sleep in my natural state, but it is here that my office, my roost, towers over all who approach and is sealed off to allow me to be what I am for there are no windows up here. I boarded them up, and the only way in or out is through this door that is always in my vision. I step inside, close the door and flick on a light.
To my immediate right are the loafers I neglected to bring home yesterday, and my fedora sat perched upon its rack, precisely where I left the thing. My desk sits center of the room with a leather chair stationed behind it and a tall mirror further back, surrounded on either side by my bookshelves, of which contain the materials I'm found of reading during working hours, and too lazy to tote home with me. Not that I didn't have room for them, I simply don't like to bring any reminders of work's unpleasantness with me. On the far sides of the office are the plaques and other memorabilia from prior cases I've solved; all of which were given to me by those of my kind. I set the brief case upon the desk, and notice the empty paper rack. How long since my last work? A month? Two? It's amazing how time flies.
Ignoring the vacancy I quickly undress myself and burst into my natural form. I almost roar with delight as that fire in my belly surges to every extremity of my body, instead I begin to bend and flex, helping the fire along so that this pleasuring moment can be enjoyed; I actually start to grow hard as this pleasure pain runs through me. They say from our conception we dragons have vanity instilled into our bodies, always striving to own the best, to be the best, to look the best, for we are the best around.
And I must again admit that I am vain, it's in my nature and I don't wish to change it, I am what I am. I gazed after myself in the mirror and experienced what I believe Narcissus went through when he looked upon his own reflection and fell in love with himself. I'm not blindly in love, but nonetheless I'm attracted to my own form.
I leaned forward, glaring further into my mirror. What had that gent in Spain called me? If I recall it was 'demonio de escala de los azules' or something of the sort, my Spanish isn't as great as it used to be. But I think it meant blue scale demon, and I have to agree, though I think handsome should be in there somewhere.
"Hermoso demonio de escala de los azules." I said to myself, chuckling at the flattery, and partially my own worry I've done a poor spout of Spanish, but I bat it away, who cares if I don't recall other languages as well as I had in the past. I'm by my lonesome now so I've no cause for concern.
"For the moment." I continued my thoughts out loud as I hear the door downstairs being fumbled with. What was 'Tia doing here so early? I look at myself once more in the mirror, longing for more time, but I've a place of business to run, and I'll be able to stretch my wings tonight, I promised myself that much.
A glance at the clock shows it's still an hour till eight, when the sign will be flipped from closed to open, so I threw the street clothes back on I proceed downstairs to great Tia, and whatever that enticing smell is. The girl nearly jumps out of her skin when I enter the room, which I find odd considering my car is parked right out front.
Tiffany is an attractive piece by man's standards, I too find her attractive. Brunette, voluptuous figure, level head, what's not to like? But that's the Dark Age stuff that's made my kind particular to the female human, virgin sacrifice and all, which she is. Her mother had been under my employment for honestly the entirety of her life, I hired her in the sixties before and she'd taught little Tia the ropes since the girl was old enough to be brought along. Funny how both girls where working for me officially at roughly the same age. Poor Jane, died five years ago at sixty-eight.
"Morning Mr. Kane." She spoke with a shaky voice, like she'd been caught red handed doing something illegal. Cute. I noticed a small white box next to two Styrofoam cups of what I assume was coffee. "Sorry about the heat. It must've slipped my mind when I left yesterday." I suppressed a smile. It was a lie but a harmless one at that. First time she'd done it, so no big thing to worry about.
"Hmm, just remember who makes the payments around here." She seems to stumble for words after that, staring up at my face with the most inquisitive stare. I think she is natural curious into how I've maintained such physical appeal, her mother was the same way, but in this day in age I have a feeling that Tia, out of all the other few I've ever employed, would be the one to suspect something supernatural was going on. Besides her and Jane my other secretaries were either fired or quit far too early to tell something was up.
"I brought doughnuts if you want some." I opened the box of pastries, discovering to my delight jammed to the brink with those delectable morsels. At least the girl has a great way of apologizing.
"My favorite." I said, already in the motions of extracting one and munching down on it. She began to speak but I only halfway paid attention. I was enthralled by the sweetness.
"Great. Now, you've got nothing scheduled outside of Mr. Gunther, he called late yesterday after you left and said he'd be here late."
"How late?" I asked between bites, eyeing the coffee.
"Around the time you normally leave."
"Damn it." I say. If my one sure client for the day wasn't going to be here until closing time, then I knew me and Tia had a long, boring wait a head of us. But, somehow stuffing my face made me forget about that for a little while.