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1-800-HOT-STUD

Nov 22 '11

crocker-heiress:

Leaves fell, one by one, in the most boring and repetitive pattern one could imagine. Red, orange, yellow, orange, red. It was almost like nature was toying with the bored young lady gazing out of her window.

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Careful steps on the sidewalk pavement echoed down the busy street, alive with the steady thrum of car engines and chatty, busy people.

It was a sweltering, Saturday evening, and as one of the top Sleuths in the city, you’d been assigned a riveting case involving the kidnapping of a top businessman’s daughter. No biggie, You thought to yourself, feet shuffling on the cement. It’s not like if I can’t solve this my career will be over. No way.

Except, you know, if you couldn’t find her kidnappers and bring her back home safe and sound you were pretty much fucked. Yeah. That was something you wanted to think about for sure. Definitely.

You retrieve a worn carton of cigarettes from your coat pocket, slipping one out of the package and igniting it with an equally worn lighter. Tilting your not so fancy, trusty white hat to reflect the rays of oncoming traffic, it’s nearly blown off your head from a gust of wind that seems to come from an alleyway behind you.

That… was pretty odd. Not like anything you’d experienced; for a while, anyway. You had a bad habit of being around when the strangest of shit went down sometimes, and your weird shit senses were tingling like none other.

Casually striding down the alleyway, you broke into a sprint once you figured you were out of the public eye, nearly tripping over a few sacks of garbage and a kid.

With how quickly you freeze at the thought, you nearly fall forward.

You twist around immediately, head jerking and cigarette flying. She looks totally out of it.

"You alright, kid?" You ask, kneeling and extending your hand to her.