Mrs. Delarae flipped the sign from closed to open. The first customer arrived with the tinkle of the bell hung over the door. A pile of fabric was dumped on the counter.
"Welcome to Bright Laundry Service! How can I help you? We offer magic and non magic dry cleaning and apparel repair."
"Morning, Mrs. D. I'll take the standard cleaning and blood removal, non magic. I can pick them up tomorrow."
"Oh, good morning Ms. Solare, I didn't recognize you with that hood on. It's a chilly morning today!"
Onyx pulled down her hood so as not to be rude, a reliable dry cleaner was a precious thing. "It is indeed, but no one cleans my laundry better than you. I've got bed linens, three shirts, a skirt, and two pants. I think the pants have a some tears."
"I'll take care of every thing, Ms. Solare." Mrs. Delarae smiled. She got lots of repeat business from this woman. She wrote Ms. Solare her ticket and passed her a copy.
Onyx gave the woman a smile and a wave as she exited. A man walked into the store before the door could close.
"I have a complaint and I want my money back!" The man scratched his collar, the skin was red and raw. "I said no magic! I'm allergic to magic! I've been itching all day!"
Mrs. Delarae was wide eyed, "I'm sorry sir! Do you have your ticket, what name did you have it under?"
"Jerin. Mark Jerin. And no I don't have my ticket. You can't expect me to keep every piece of paper, do you?" The man kept scratching his neck, shifting from foot to oxford clad foot.
Mrs. Delarae checked her box of filed tickets. She never relied on a computer system. "I'm sorry sir, I have no receipt under your name. Are you sure it was Bright Laundry Service?"
"Yeah, I'm sure! Look again!" Scratch, itch, scratch.
"I am so sorry, but I cannot verify that it was us but if you'd like I can reclean your garments at a reduced price to your exact specifications. I can even get the mustard stain off your cuff."
The man stripped off his coat and then his shirt, right then and there. He shrugged his coat back on under Mrs. Delaraes bemused regard. She wrote a new ticket and handed him the receipt. He snatched the pink copy from her hand and stormed out the door. Mrs. Delarae sighed, checking the pockets and embellishments as she always does. Inside the breast pocket she found a wadded up piece of paper that said "Bellisima Laundry Shop".
"Sherri!" At Mrs. Delaraes shout, a four inch blur of wings and sparkles zipped past the counter from the back room, squeaking like a hummingbird.
"One shirt, mustard stain on cuff, EXTRA PIXIE DUST."
Sure she'd get a bad review on Relp, but it would be worth it.
Stories From Behind the Counter
Jennie the Green Nurse
Dear mom,
Sorry I haven't written earlier. Exams are over and I am now a certified Green Nurse! Only Murra and Paul succeeded in graduating with me. Murra is the Blue and Paul is the Red, remember? I haven't lost much of my hair yet, which is good news because that means I can practice until it's all gone. Today a little sylvan boy came in with a broken arm and I set it with only one lock. Thank you for sending me the silver scissors, oh and the herbs!
Stop asking if I am dating Paul! Opposites attract yes, but he works nights and when I get off shift, he's pale with all the blood he's lost. He did ask me if I had any more of grandmothers cookies. I tried making a batch but I'm no good at cooking, just healing.
The hospital garden is going great. Murra makes sure every plant has enough water. We took a tour of the technological side of the hospital. I had no idea how all those machines work just like they don't know how our side operates. HA! Operates! It wasn't long until I took my leave, the metal and electricity gave me a headache.
Tell the boys I miss them. When my hair is used up I'll come home to the glade to regrow it. Until then all my love,
Jennie
Sorry I haven't written earlier. Exams are over and I am now a certified Green Nurse! Only Murra and Paul succeeded in graduating with me. Murra is the Blue and Paul is the Red, remember? I haven't lost much of my hair yet, which is good news because that means I can practice until it's all gone. Today a little sylvan boy came in with a broken arm and I set it with only one lock. Thank you for sending me the silver scissors, oh and the herbs!
Stop asking if I am dating Paul! Opposites attract yes, but he works nights and when I get off shift, he's pale with all the blood he's lost. He did ask me if I had any more of grandmothers cookies. I tried making a batch but I'm no good at cooking, just healing.
The hospital garden is going great. Murra makes sure every plant has enough water. We took a tour of the technological side of the hospital. I had no idea how all those machines work just like they don't know how our side operates. HA! Operates! It wasn't long until I took my leave, the metal and electricity gave me a headache.
Tell the boys I miss them. When my hair is used up I'll come home to the glade to regrow it. Until then all my love,
Jennie
It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack. Not rationality.
-
Devon Goral
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 12
- Joined: Thu Sep 30, 2004 10:36 pm
- Contact:
The Union Rules
Nikolas Papadous sat comfortably behind his desk in the simple but roomy trailer that served as the on-site headquarters for the RhyDin Dockworkers Union Local. Nik occupied an open-air "office" at one end of the trailer, with the remaining space filled with desks for temporary work. The air was a bit musty and the dilapidated furniture harkened back to an era perhaps twenty years previous when the union possessed more power. The building itself was dwarfed beneath the massive loading cranes that dotted the semi-modern harbor, filled with large cargo vessels and barges carrying merchandise in and out of the city.
Now, most of the activity in the building was resorted to politicking and the trading of favors between the union and industrial partners and/or adversaries, as well as the occasional disciplinary procedure.
Nik quickly was reviewing quarterly staffing reports when a knock came at the simple plywood door. He bid his expected arrivals to enter.
The first man to step through the tiny entrance was Peter Russo, Nik's second-in-command. Peter shot Nik a grimace before stepping aside to admit their guests.
Next through the door came a giant of a man. He was massive — roughly seven feet tall, dressed in thick animal skins and furs — except for his chest which was exposed bare to the cool autumn air. A heavy broadsword was slung over his shoulder, and he had to remove the horned metal helmet from atop his head lest it open the top of the trailer like a can opener. His arms were like cannons and his legs looked like tree trunks. The entire trailer shook and wavered with each of his heavy steps.
Following behind the man came another of his kind, also dressed in skins and furs but of a less ostentatious variety. Thinner and shorter than his companion, this man nevertheless was huge and strong and wore two heavy axes strapped to his back.
Nik coughed a bit at the display of force, rising to his feet and putting on his best friendly-yet-serious smile. Neither of his guests returned the expression, instead appearing annoyed.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Nik greeted. "My name is Nikolas Papadous, interim President of the RhyDin Dockworkers Union. You've already met my aide, Mister Russo."
The leader glanced around the tiny, pathetic office, clearly finding little of interest. Finally he returned Nik's glance with nothing more than a grunt.
"Uh, I understand that last night your ship — quite a big one it seems — anchored just off the coast and there were some, uh, issues regarding your paperwork and the procedures we have here. I'm happy to answer any questions you have."
"Questions?" the leader grunted.
"Yes," Nik answered. He gestured at the small wooden chairs in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."
The leader glanced at the chairs, quickly sizing up the fact that he would crush them under his substantial wait. He chose instead to remain standing.
Nik shrugged, and opened up a file folder on his desk. "Can I have your name and title for the record?"
The leader puffed out his chest. "I am Grand Thane Hokrath the Bloodthirsty. Warchief of the Kalimdrim, Savior of the Holy Rings of Gillchries, Heir to the Thrawn of Kael."
Nik cringed, his pen scribbling furiously to get that down on paper, each word a bit smaller than the last as he quickly ran out of space in the room provided on the intake form. Not to mention that fact that he was quite certain he spelled each word incorrectly.
"And will your aide be conducting business with us as well?"
Hokrath glanced at the man behind him, who almost disappeared in his massive leader's shadow. Turning back, he exposed his fang-like teeth with a sneer. "And this is Gorp."
"Gorp. I see. And the name of your ship?"
"Bale's Fury, Vengeace of the Deeps," Hokrath answered.
Nik furrowed his brow. "Sorry, is that two ships? Or just one ship?"
"Bale's Fury, Vengeance of the Deeps," Hokrath repeated.
"Okay, I'll go with one ship." More scribbling.
"Why have my landing boats been turned away?" Hokrath barked. "I demand answers at once."
"Yes, about that. You see, RhyDin law requires that all ships seeking to dock at our ports have a permit. In addition, for security and taxation purposes, you need to provide a complete cargo manifest and crew roster, which is to be submitted to the Dockmaster's office by email or fax no later than forty-eight hours before arrival."
"Fax?" Hokrath asked, appearing perplexed. He glanced back at Gorp, who shrugged.
"I've already spoken with the Dockmaster, and she understands that it was just a misunderstanding. You won't be fined for noncompliance."
"Fined? Taxed?"
Nik sighed, closing his folder and looking up at the massive ship captain. "Perhaps I should start from the beginning. While we try to recognize the spirit of freedom in these parts, over the years certain rules and procedures have been promulgated to make sure that everyone gets a fair—"
Hokrath took a step forward and pounded his fist on the desk, leaving a small dent in the faux wood top. "We unload cargo now. My crew will take leave in your city and you will feed and wine them. In three days' time, we will leave."
With that pronouncement, Hokrath took a step away from Nik and turned to depart. Peter stepped to the side, not daring to get in their way.
"Uh, Captain Hokrath, I don't think you understand."
Hokrath narrowed his eyes, turning back towards Nik. "Grand Thane Hokrath," he corrected.
"Uh, sorry, Grand Thane."
"We unload cargo now," Hokrath repeated.
"Yeah, see, about that, we have very stringent union rules here on the RhyDin docks."
"Union rules?"
"Yes. You will be assigned a union harbor pilot, who will guide you into one of the slips just outside of this trailer. From there, a union inspection crew will board your vessel and look over your cargo to make sure there's nothing dangerous or unauthorized. Once all the paperwork is completed and docking fees paid — we accept gold, credits, or any form of certified funds; union dockworkers will unload your cargo onto the wharf, where it can then be loaded onto union trucks for ultimate delivery."
Hokrath placed two massive hands on Nik's desk, palm-down, as he leaned towards the President. His body smelled of sweat and blood, and his breath of rotting meat. He bared razor sharp teeth, and a growl emanated from deep within his chest.
"We unload cargo. Now."
Nik frowned. "Grand Thane Hokrath, I think perhaps there's a language problem here. In accordance with RhyDin regulations, you cannot unload your cargo until all the paperwork is completed and the union signs off on everything. Quite frankly, sir, you don't unload shit. We will unload your cargo once we're good and ready."
"I have ninety-three slaves from nations I've conquered. I do not need you to unload my cargo. Slaves unload cargo."
"If your slaves are not part of the RhyDin Dockworkers Union, then I'm afraid they will not be unloading your ship. It's just the way things are here."
Hokrath took his hands off of Nik's desk and rose to his full height, his head scraping the simple tin ceiling. "Send your workers to my ship and we will blow them out of the water. Any attempt to board Bale's Fury will be met with lethal force."
Nik leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "The fines for violating the union agreement are pretty steep. In the most extreme of cases, we could seize your vessel and auction it off."
Hokrath again bared his teeth, this time in a smile. "Then send your workers. Send them all. We will welcome them aboard Bale's Fury and feast upon a river of blood."
Nik reached into his desk drawer and produced a stack of forms. He quickly flipped through them and then offered them up to the Grand Thane. "Here's everything you need to get set up in our system. Once all the paperwork is completed, we can begin unloading your vessel of its cargo."
Surprisingly, Hokrath accepted he stack of paperwork into his large hands. He sniffed at the paper and then handed the entire stack over to Gorp, who let the pages rest somewhat awkwardly in his crossed arms.
"My contact information is on the first page, as is the Dockmaster's," Nik continued, rising to his feet. "We look forward to meeting your crew shore-side." He extended a hand.
Hokrath did not take Nik's hand, instead extending his own fist into the air in some sort of salute. "May the blood of our enemies gild our path to Valhalla."
"Right, that too," Nik responded simply.
Now, most of the activity in the building was resorted to politicking and the trading of favors between the union and industrial partners and/or adversaries, as well as the occasional disciplinary procedure.
Nik quickly was reviewing quarterly staffing reports when a knock came at the simple plywood door. He bid his expected arrivals to enter.
The first man to step through the tiny entrance was Peter Russo, Nik's second-in-command. Peter shot Nik a grimace before stepping aside to admit their guests.
Next through the door came a giant of a man. He was massive — roughly seven feet tall, dressed in thick animal skins and furs — except for his chest which was exposed bare to the cool autumn air. A heavy broadsword was slung over his shoulder, and he had to remove the horned metal helmet from atop his head lest it open the top of the trailer like a can opener. His arms were like cannons and his legs looked like tree trunks. The entire trailer shook and wavered with each of his heavy steps.
Following behind the man came another of his kind, also dressed in skins and furs but of a less ostentatious variety. Thinner and shorter than his companion, this man nevertheless was huge and strong and wore two heavy axes strapped to his back.
Nik coughed a bit at the display of force, rising to his feet and putting on his best friendly-yet-serious smile. Neither of his guests returned the expression, instead appearing annoyed.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Nik greeted. "My name is Nikolas Papadous, interim President of the RhyDin Dockworkers Union. You've already met my aide, Mister Russo."
The leader glanced around the tiny, pathetic office, clearly finding little of interest. Finally he returned Nik's glance with nothing more than a grunt.
"Uh, I understand that last night your ship — quite a big one it seems — anchored just off the coast and there were some, uh, issues regarding your paperwork and the procedures we have here. I'm happy to answer any questions you have."
"Questions?" the leader grunted.
"Yes," Nik answered. He gestured at the small wooden chairs in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."
The leader glanced at the chairs, quickly sizing up the fact that he would crush them under his substantial wait. He chose instead to remain standing.
Nik shrugged, and opened up a file folder on his desk. "Can I have your name and title for the record?"
The leader puffed out his chest. "I am Grand Thane Hokrath the Bloodthirsty. Warchief of the Kalimdrim, Savior of the Holy Rings of Gillchries, Heir to the Thrawn of Kael."
Nik cringed, his pen scribbling furiously to get that down on paper, each word a bit smaller than the last as he quickly ran out of space in the room provided on the intake form. Not to mention that fact that he was quite certain he spelled each word incorrectly.
"And will your aide be conducting business with us as well?"
Hokrath glanced at the man behind him, who almost disappeared in his massive leader's shadow. Turning back, he exposed his fang-like teeth with a sneer. "And this is Gorp."
"Gorp. I see. And the name of your ship?"
"Bale's Fury, Vengeace of the Deeps," Hokrath answered.
Nik furrowed his brow. "Sorry, is that two ships? Or just one ship?"
"Bale's Fury, Vengeance of the Deeps," Hokrath repeated.
"Okay, I'll go with one ship." More scribbling.
"Why have my landing boats been turned away?" Hokrath barked. "I demand answers at once."
"Yes, about that. You see, RhyDin law requires that all ships seeking to dock at our ports have a permit. In addition, for security and taxation purposes, you need to provide a complete cargo manifest and crew roster, which is to be submitted to the Dockmaster's office by email or fax no later than forty-eight hours before arrival."
"Fax?" Hokrath asked, appearing perplexed. He glanced back at Gorp, who shrugged.
"I've already spoken with the Dockmaster, and she understands that it was just a misunderstanding. You won't be fined for noncompliance."
"Fined? Taxed?"
Nik sighed, closing his folder and looking up at the massive ship captain. "Perhaps I should start from the beginning. While we try to recognize the spirit of freedom in these parts, over the years certain rules and procedures have been promulgated to make sure that everyone gets a fair—"
Hokrath took a step forward and pounded his fist on the desk, leaving a small dent in the faux wood top. "We unload cargo now. My crew will take leave in your city and you will feed and wine them. In three days' time, we will leave."
With that pronouncement, Hokrath took a step away from Nik and turned to depart. Peter stepped to the side, not daring to get in their way.
"Uh, Captain Hokrath, I don't think you understand."
Hokrath narrowed his eyes, turning back towards Nik. "Grand Thane Hokrath," he corrected.
"Uh, sorry, Grand Thane."
"We unload cargo now," Hokrath repeated.
"Yeah, see, about that, we have very stringent union rules here on the RhyDin docks."
"Union rules?"
"Yes. You will be assigned a union harbor pilot, who will guide you into one of the slips just outside of this trailer. From there, a union inspection crew will board your vessel and look over your cargo to make sure there's nothing dangerous or unauthorized. Once all the paperwork is completed and docking fees paid — we accept gold, credits, or any form of certified funds; union dockworkers will unload your cargo onto the wharf, where it can then be loaded onto union trucks for ultimate delivery."
Hokrath placed two massive hands on Nik's desk, palm-down, as he leaned towards the President. His body smelled of sweat and blood, and his breath of rotting meat. He bared razor sharp teeth, and a growl emanated from deep within his chest.
"We unload cargo. Now."
Nik frowned. "Grand Thane Hokrath, I think perhaps there's a language problem here. In accordance with RhyDin regulations, you cannot unload your cargo until all the paperwork is completed and the union signs off on everything. Quite frankly, sir, you don't unload shit. We will unload your cargo once we're good and ready."
"I have ninety-three slaves from nations I've conquered. I do not need you to unload my cargo. Slaves unload cargo."
"If your slaves are not part of the RhyDin Dockworkers Union, then I'm afraid they will not be unloading your ship. It's just the way things are here."
Hokrath took his hands off of Nik's desk and rose to his full height, his head scraping the simple tin ceiling. "Send your workers to my ship and we will blow them out of the water. Any attempt to board Bale's Fury will be met with lethal force."
Nik leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "The fines for violating the union agreement are pretty steep. In the most extreme of cases, we could seize your vessel and auction it off."
Hokrath again bared his teeth, this time in a smile. "Then send your workers. Send them all. We will welcome them aboard Bale's Fury and feast upon a river of blood."
Nik reached into his desk drawer and produced a stack of forms. He quickly flipped through them and then offered them up to the Grand Thane. "Here's everything you need to get set up in our system. Once all the paperwork is completed, we can begin unloading your vessel of its cargo."
Surprisingly, Hokrath accepted he stack of paperwork into his large hands. He sniffed at the paper and then handed the entire stack over to Gorp, who let the pages rest somewhat awkwardly in his crossed arms.
"My contact information is on the first page, as is the Dockmaster's," Nik continued, rising to his feet. "We look forward to meeting your crew shore-side." He extended a hand.
Hokrath did not take Nik's hand, instead extending his own fist into the air in some sort of salute. "May the blood of our enemies gild our path to Valhalla."
"Right, that too," Nik responded simply.
"Mommy? Where are we going? You said we'd go to Happy Town for lunch! Mommy!" A little voice piped up.
"We will, I just have to finish our errands. One last stop and then we can go have lunch." The long suffering mother reassured her child. "Happy Town again? You had Happy Town for lunch yesterday!"
"But I like the prizes!"
"Will you behave yourself at the bank if we go to Happy Town after?"
"YES! Yes I promise!"
The mother with child in tow went through immensely tall doors guarded by golems. The stony men simulacrums with eyes burning like a kiln stepped aside for the banks customers. Rows upon rows of desks lined sides of the building, tubes ran from each desk to the ceiling, a pneumatic delivery system. Frank Mill was the first open teller. He greeted his customer with a restrained cough. This was an important customer, a really big one. He stood and straightened his suit, bowing formally.
"My lady, how may I help you this afternoon?"
"Just a deposit today, would you mind finishing my deposit slip? My arms are full as you can see." The mother juggled with bags of cash in the form of gold coins and trying to keep her daughter from running amok within the stately confines of the bank.
"It would be my honor" Frank bowed. He wasn't her usual teller but he took extreme pride in his job. With a snap of his fingers he summoned an auxiliary golem to heft the bags. Stone ground together when the bags were lifted to the scale and counter. One by one the coins clanked heavily into slots that verified their content and weight. The scale then dumped pile after pile down a chute that would funnel the money deep below the bank into the vaults. Frank wrote the amount with a flourish of his fountain pen.
"Madam, your signature if you please."
The mother clamped down on her daughters neck just as she was about to make a break for it. "Happy Town? Remember?"
"Sorry mommy."
A few scratches and she signed off on the deposit.
"A thousand thank yous, madam. We welcome your business always." Frank bowed and waved for the guard golems to open the doors.
Mother and child left the bank, the mother trying to slow her daughter from rushing into traffic. "Alright, as I promised, Happy Town."
Thirty minutes later...
Villagers screamed and cursed, scattering in all directions. Chunks of their livestock fell on to thatched roofs and splattered the street. A few hustled what sheep and goats that remained into their own houses. Atop a hill overlooking the valley, the child bounced her toy, a floppy suit of armor perched on an equally floppy horse.
"Clop clop yaaaaaay! I'll vanquish you dragons!"
"We will, I just have to finish our errands. One last stop and then we can go have lunch." The long suffering mother reassured her child. "Happy Town again? You had Happy Town for lunch yesterday!"
"But I like the prizes!"
"Will you behave yourself at the bank if we go to Happy Town after?"
"YES! Yes I promise!"
The mother with child in tow went through immensely tall doors guarded by golems. The stony men simulacrums with eyes burning like a kiln stepped aside for the banks customers. Rows upon rows of desks lined sides of the building, tubes ran from each desk to the ceiling, a pneumatic delivery system. Frank Mill was the first open teller. He greeted his customer with a restrained cough. This was an important customer, a really big one. He stood and straightened his suit, bowing formally.
"My lady, how may I help you this afternoon?"
"Just a deposit today, would you mind finishing my deposit slip? My arms are full as you can see." The mother juggled with bags of cash in the form of gold coins and trying to keep her daughter from running amok within the stately confines of the bank.
"It would be my honor" Frank bowed. He wasn't her usual teller but he took extreme pride in his job. With a snap of his fingers he summoned an auxiliary golem to heft the bags. Stone ground together when the bags were lifted to the scale and counter. One by one the coins clanked heavily into slots that verified their content and weight. The scale then dumped pile after pile down a chute that would funnel the money deep below the bank into the vaults. Frank wrote the amount with a flourish of his fountain pen.
"Madam, your signature if you please."
The mother clamped down on her daughters neck just as she was about to make a break for it. "Happy Town? Remember?"
"Sorry mommy."
A few scratches and she signed off on the deposit.
"A thousand thank yous, madam. We welcome your business always." Frank bowed and waved for the guard golems to open the doors.
Mother and child left the bank, the mother trying to slow her daughter from rushing into traffic. "Alright, as I promised, Happy Town."
Thirty minutes later...
Villagers screamed and cursed, scattering in all directions. Chunks of their livestock fell on to thatched roofs and splattered the street. A few hustled what sheep and goats that remained into their own houses. Atop a hill overlooking the valley, the child bounced her toy, a floppy suit of armor perched on an equally floppy horse.
"Clop clop yaaaaaay! I'll vanquish you dragons!"
It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack. Not rationality.
-
Badge 714
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 1
- Joined: Tue Jan 12, 2016 11:07 pm
- Location: Seaside Precinct, Rhydin City Watch
"This is the city, Seaside district, Rhydin. I work here. I carry a badge."
"It was Monday, it was rainy in Rhydin; we were working day shift out of Seaside precinct. The Captain is an elf. My partner's a troll cyborg. My name's Thursday."
------------------
"Rhydin City Watch, Seaside Precinct, Sgt Thursday speaking. How can I help you?"
"You want to file a complaint? Sure, let me just get my notepad."
"Ok. So, may I get your name, please?"
"Is that with three Rs or four? Ok...thank you, ma'am."
"So what is the nature of your complaint?"
"A kraken you say? That sounds terrible."
"No...no...I'm sorry ma'am, we don't send out folks for that."
"No, it's precinct policy, ma'am."
"No, I'm sorry, it's not allowed. We have a very strict non-interference policy with giant kaiju."
"I'm sorry too, ma'am. No need to get rude. Was there something else I can help you with?"
"Yes, ma'am. Alright, go ahead. A noise complaint? Sure, sure, let me just get the particulars."
"No, no, let me stop you right there, ma'am. I'm afraid we can't do anything about that."
"What? No. Yes, you are right, I am sure it was very loud. But we have a non-interference policy as relates to any activity connected to the Whore of Babylon."
"Yes, yes, I know, I've heard the rumors she's a vampire. I'm sure that's...well...something. But, it doesn't change our policy."
"No, ma'am."
"No, ma'am."
"No, ma'am, I'm sorry. We can't do that. Yes, I think we might have ultraviolet lights we could put in the streetlamps, but it wouldn't do any good."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure."
"Well, in fact, we *did* try it once before."
"I'm guessing you didn't see the news from last year regarding the Marketplace district? The massacre at the post office? No, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."
"The short version is the local post office pissed her off. It took the sanitation teams months to clean up the blood. I'm pretty sure they had to remodel the entire front room."
"No, ma'am. I'm sorry too. Especially since we just got the precinct here remodeled."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure you were being sarcastic. But it doesn't change the policy. We don't have the budget to recruit a new precinct and rebuild again this year."
"No, ma'am. That's just rumor."
"No, ma'am. I'm sure the commissioner being seen at the Seaside Royal Crown Club was just official business."
"No ma'am. I'm sure the commissioner doesn't even know how to play."
"What's that? Gold-plated clubs? No, no. I'm sure you're mistaken, ma'am. I've seen them. It's just anodized brass. I'm certain of it."
"Well...no...I didn't get them inspected. But that's beside the point ma'am."
"Alright..."
"Alright..."
"So...any other complaints you'd like to register today?"
"Sure...let me just... no, ma'am, let me stop you there."
"Yes, yes, I am sure there were dead bodies in the alley. I totally believe you."
"No, ma'am. We're not allowed to investigate."
"What? No. It's just policy, ma'am. We can't go investigating every murder that happens on the streets you know. You know what they say...'a night in Rhydin without murder and mayhem is like a day without air'."
"Yes, ma'am. Please feel free to contact a private security company. I understand G'nort's got a contract for that sort of service. I'm sure he'd take your money."
"What's that? Yes, ma'am. I'm sure they'll be more helpful than I was."
"Yes, ma'am. You have a nice visit to Hell too."
"Have a good day, ma'am! Thanks for calling the Seaside precinct of the Rhydin City Wa...hello? hello?"
Thursday hung up the phone looked over his notes. He nodded, and then tore out the sheet and tossed it into the round file. "Well...so much for courtesy. She hung up on me."
Assorted chuckles came from the nearby desk where a collection of City Watch were playing cards. "Can't please 'em all."
"Alright, deal me back in!"
"It was Monday, it was rainy in Rhydin; we were working day shift out of Seaside precinct. The Captain is an elf. My partner's a troll cyborg. My name's Thursday."
------------------
"Rhydin City Watch, Seaside Precinct, Sgt Thursday speaking. How can I help you?"
"You want to file a complaint? Sure, let me just get my notepad."
"Ok. So, may I get your name, please?"
"Is that with three Rs or four? Ok...thank you, ma'am."
"So what is the nature of your complaint?"
"A kraken you say? That sounds terrible."
"No...no...I'm sorry ma'am, we don't send out folks for that."
"No, it's precinct policy, ma'am."
"No, I'm sorry, it's not allowed. We have a very strict non-interference policy with giant kaiju."
"I'm sorry too, ma'am. No need to get rude. Was there something else I can help you with?"
"Yes, ma'am. Alright, go ahead. A noise complaint? Sure, sure, let me just get the particulars."
"No, no, let me stop you right there, ma'am. I'm afraid we can't do anything about that."
"What? No. Yes, you are right, I am sure it was very loud. But we have a non-interference policy as relates to any activity connected to the Whore of Babylon."
"Yes, yes, I know, I've heard the rumors she's a vampire. I'm sure that's...well...something. But, it doesn't change our policy."
"No, ma'am."
"No, ma'am."
"No, ma'am, I'm sorry. We can't do that. Yes, I think we might have ultraviolet lights we could put in the streetlamps, but it wouldn't do any good."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure."
"Well, in fact, we *did* try it once before."
"I'm guessing you didn't see the news from last year regarding the Marketplace district? The massacre at the post office? No, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."
"The short version is the local post office pissed her off. It took the sanitation teams months to clean up the blood. I'm pretty sure they had to remodel the entire front room."
"No, ma'am. I'm sorry too. Especially since we just got the precinct here remodeled."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure you were being sarcastic. But it doesn't change the policy. We don't have the budget to recruit a new precinct and rebuild again this year."
"No, ma'am. That's just rumor."
"No, ma'am. I'm sure the commissioner being seen at the Seaside Royal Crown Club was just official business."
"No ma'am. I'm sure the commissioner doesn't even know how to play."
"What's that? Gold-plated clubs? No, no. I'm sure you're mistaken, ma'am. I've seen them. It's just anodized brass. I'm certain of it."
"Well...no...I didn't get them inspected. But that's beside the point ma'am."
"Alright..."
"Alright..."
"So...any other complaints you'd like to register today?"
"Sure...let me just... no, ma'am, let me stop you there."
"Yes, yes, I am sure there were dead bodies in the alley. I totally believe you."
"No, ma'am. We're not allowed to investigate."
"What? No. It's just policy, ma'am. We can't go investigating every murder that happens on the streets you know. You know what they say...'a night in Rhydin without murder and mayhem is like a day without air'."
"Yes, ma'am. Please feel free to contact a private security company. I understand G'nort's got a contract for that sort of service. I'm sure he'd take your money."
"What's that? Yes, ma'am. I'm sure they'll be more helpful than I was."
"Yes, ma'am. You have a nice visit to Hell too."
"Have a good day, ma'am! Thanks for calling the Seaside precinct of the Rhydin City Wa...hello? hello?"
Thursday hung up the phone looked over his notes. He nodded, and then tore out the sheet and tossed it into the round file. "Well...so much for courtesy. She hung up on me."
Assorted chuckles came from the nearby desk where a collection of City Watch were playing cards. "Can't please 'em all."
"Alright, deal me back in!"
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