This Is A Detective Story

Langhuie, Neptune, 10 years since cryo-stasis.

I sip at my black tea as Regulus, my black cat, leaps onto the coffee table beside me. Last night I had another one of my… well, my ‘therapist’ (which is basically the books I read and the voices in my head) calls them ‘unpleasant dreams’.

Though, if that’s what you want to call dreams that show an old friend dying over and over again by sacrificial ritual for a well-known “demon”, then who am I to stop you? I’d rather call them nightmares. Fitting name for a series of recurring scenes that haunt me even as I lay awake.

Eh, oh well. I have more important things to focus on. Such as feeding Regs and visiting the shopkeep today. I’m running low on cosm-ores and star-fish anyway. Might as well attend to the business I have in town while I’m out and about, right?

Reg growls as I slowly stand and set my tea down near him. He hates it when he can’t just stare at me with those wide golden eyes for the whole day. But he also hates it when I’m still for too long. So I try to keep myself as busy as I can. Wiping the counters, washing the last bit of the dishes in the sink, and sweeping the already swept and mopped floors. I suppose it’s also due to the fact that this friend of mine… My restlessness, I mean. I haven’t seen him for over fifteen years, after all.

A knock on my door and a hiss from Regs startles me out of my thoughts. At first it seemed like one of those salesmen always trying to get me to buy a “Mysterious Contraption Used When the First Humans Left Earth,” which is just another spacepod they had back in the twentieth century. But after a few more rather harsh knocks, I figured it was something -or someone- more important.

I walk over to the door and crack it open, only to see the goddamned salesman that came by last night to sell me some fucking ice. Ice goddammit. And at ten-thirty, when I have my evening tea with Regs.

“Hel-” I cut them off by slamming the door in their face, but they knocked again. This time much, much harder, making both Regs and me jump. So I open the door again.

“Hello, esteemed customer!” They say in that eerily bright tone of theirs with that creepy smile they always seem to have. I wonder if it hurts or if it’s just natural at this point... “I’m here to show you our NEWEST prooooo-DUct!”

“Oh, really now?” I mutter sarcastically and lean my shoulder on the doorframe, eyes rolled to the heavens.

“YES! It’s the all new-”

“Not interested.”

They blink, probably surprised at my bluntness they start to stammer, but I cut them off again with a stern no.

“Bu-but, sir, I-” They stammer with a nervous chuckle.

“No,” I say. Firmly.

I step back from the doorframe and close the door, the lock clicking into place as an indicator that the conversation was done. Hopefully they won’t come back. I don’t like how pale they are and how I never see them with a frown. It’s creepy, like everything else on this godforsaken planet.

A small huff from Reg turns my attention to a gold amulet in his mouth.

That amulet…

“Regulus, put that back.” I hiss, sounding harsher than I meant to sound.

Regulus drops the amulet on the floor and takes two steps back, then meows in a way like he’s trying to scold me for avoiding my past. I admit, he has a point. I should probably go see High Mage Librarian, but that requires time and energy and the mental capacity to deal with your future beholds and watch for these signs and whatnot.

I don’t feel like doing it.

It’s quite literally on the bottom of my To-Do List.

٠ ࣪⭑

So here I am, standing in front of the mirror with my hands in my pockets. Staring back at me is a tall, skinny boy with olive skin and silver piercings. Hair all messy and eye bags under heterochromic eyes. I never really liked the way I felt when I saw myself in the mirror, but it’s more bearable than when I was a kid. At least now I look somewhat how I wanted. Tall, skinny, ears and nose and lips pierced, short curls in place of my long ones… I find I like how I look right now; messy, tired, and depressed but in the way hot pretty boys are.

I slip my boots on, and throw on my trench coat. I look out the window near the front door to see if the salesman is still there. Thank God they aren’t.

My eyes slowly travel back to the mirror, but this time, I brush the curls that cover my forehead out of the way. My third eye is there, closed as usual. If I open it, I see the future… something I’d rather avoid looking into, since it’s part of the reason I lost Angel. It’s also why I’m so comfortable living like this, alone and in a quiet place (aside from the salesman, but they don’t come by often).

From what I remember, it’s gold, like the tattooed wings on my back. God blessed my wings as well as my eye, and her girlfriend taught me some useful things I could do with them. Not that I’ll ever use it ever again, but I still appreciate her advice.

I open the door and step out, greeted by the cool, slightly damp air of Langhuie.

The only city able to survive Neptune and its gas.

The only city able to be built in Neptunes gas.

The dome around the city protects it from the gas, and provides shelter from the ever-lasting storm that goes on outside. Leaving is dangerous, unless you either have magic or money, neither of which I use nor have at this moment. The streets near the markets are always filled with ‘aliens’, which here are just normal people.

I go around the side of my complex, to a bush I’ve hidden my bike. I crouch down, and grab the handlebars, tugging it out from under the branches and propping it up. I swing my leg over and sit on it, placing my feet on the petals and riding out onto the street. The markets are one or two miles away, so I could walk, but I’ve encountered too many muggers. So I take my bike. Plus it’s faster than walking.

The streets are quiet, with the rumbling of the storm in the background. What everyone calls a sky here are just the storm clouds crowded around the dome, casting blue hues down on us with small flashes of white. I remember when I was on Earth, and the sky was a bright blue, or soft hues of pink and orange and purple. I remember when autumn would come and I’d sit in my library with a book and some tea while… my friend would watch and giggle about how ‘soft’ I looked, how comfortable I was in my element.

I take a turn and petal into the markets. It’s crowded and loud, all different beings here selling all kinds of different things. All I need is cosm-ores and star-fish, then I’ll go to High Mage Librian. The markets are normally slow-moving, but the High Mage is always free if one really needs her. (Keep in mind that I DON’T need her… I just want the nightmares of my dead friend gone.)

I get to one of the stands and picked out some cosm-ores, pay for them, then continue on to look for the star-fish stand. I push past people, wheeling my bike beside me until I find the stand I’m looking for. Beside a stand selling something in some jars, glowing softly with star-fish. They’re not that rare, but they are very valuable; caught from the Sea of Stars. It’s a ways away, so most don’t try to go. However, I need them for Regulus.

The vendor raises his eyebrow, looking me up and down. He must be new, because I know the owner of this stand. Must be the owners kid.

“Don’t see a lot of you often,” he comments, his voice disoriented and low, “human.”

“I hear there’s more humans on Mars,” I park my bike and select a bright looking star-fish. Its glow is more vibrant than the others; it must be good.

He makes a small hmn sound, then clicks his tongue, “my father said you’d be a bit… snippy.”

I pause, then slowly look up at him. His blue lips are quirked in a smug smirk, and his eye is trained on my hands. He’s trying to get me riled up, isn’t he?

I hand the star-fish to him, raising my eyebrow. “Well, your father knows me well, it seems,” I smile politely, “we’re good friends.”

He narrows his eye, then takes the fish. He only has three fingers… his father has four. Must either be a genetic deficiency or one of his parents cheated.

“He also said you weren’t one to smile.”

“That I’m not. But I’m in a good mood today,” I pick out three more fish. I am not in a good mood, but what’s it more than a little white lie?

He grins and tilts his head, “really now?”

“Yup,” I say, handing the fish to him and paying for them. “Got some of my work done today, so I’m feeling good.”

“My, my,” he snorts, taking the fish and my payment, putting the fish into a box and the payment into a jar. “Wait ’til Pops hears about this. Corvus Oblitus, in a good mood.”

“Hah, bet he’ll be surprised enough to have a heart attack,” I chortle, taking the box from him, “when’ll he be back, you think?”

“Next week, just in time for your weekly shop,” he leans on the counters with a smirk, “also, don’t think I missed the fact that you paid less than what those stars cost ya, little crow.”

My eyes widen and my back straightens. Looks like he’s more observant than I thought… I must applaud him for that.

“Surprised?” he tilts his head, resting his cheek on his hand. “Names Kolr. Nice meetin’ ya, love.”

“Nice meeting you too, Mister-”

“Nah nah, don’t bother with formalites,” he chuckles, “I like you. And I see why my father likes you, too.” He pokes my chin with a grin.

I can’t say I hate this. Been a while since I flirted with anyone, or since anyone flirted with me. Being a detective had the ‘charming mysterious brooding’ vibe to it and plenty of people absolutely loved it. Ate it up, really.

“Well, nice meeting you too…” I pause, tilting my head, “Kolr.”

He nods, leaning back, “I’ll keep the stealin’ from my old man for ya, hun.”

“Thanks, dear,” I reply as I load the box onto my bike and swing my leg over.

“Looks like pretty boys catchin’ on, huh?” he laughs.

I grin, looking at him with a tilt to my head and raising my eyebrow, “I was a detective, love, I caught on as soon as you started.”

He scoffs and walks around the side. I gotta say, he’s pretty good-looking for a species that’s usually not conventionally attractive.

“My, look what we have here,” I tease.

He plays with a strand of my hair, curling it around one of his fingers and letting it un-coil on its own. I can’t remember the last time someone played with it, let alone ran a hand through it. “Huh...” he chortles

“What?

He leans closer and grins, “I think we’d be able to pull off a lot more back at my place.”

I suppose Librian can wait a bit longer…