Hi ho silver lining

rubbishrobots asked:

Meg. Your hair. So pretty. I can't stop picturing you as unlicensed detective in 1920s/prohibition-era Chicago. It started as a way to avenge your fiancé's murder, but you realised there's 100 dames in this town with dead lovers. All the cops are dirty. So you decide to take the law into your own hands. People find you at The Anxious Pineapple bar & grill. They have one minute to tell their sob stories, and you decide if you'll take the case. You've got no badge, no jurisdiction, and no mercy.

anxiouspineapples answered:

Hot damn I sound so cool.

This is so entirely my jam.

rubbishrobots

Mr Brinkly’s hands were clutching his hat, wringing and twisting it into a crinkled mess as he approached the bar.

“Welcome to the Anxious Pineapple,” was the emotionless greeting of the bartender, who barely glanced up from his task of wiping down the counter. “You drinkin’ or eatin’ tonight, sir?”

Mr Brinkly cleared his throat and willed his voice to be steady. “Neither, sorry.”

The bartender stopped his wiping and finally looked up at Mr Brinkly, his stubbled face taking on an annoyed expression. “Those are kinda our only two options, buddy.”

“I’m not here for leisure. I’m here because…” His voice cracked. The bartender frowned in confusion. “I’m sorry, it’s just… my son.”

Understanding swept across the bartender’s face. He returned to wiping his counter, but not before nodding to the far side of the bar.

“Corner booth,” he said. “Try and get to the point as quick as you can. She ain’t as patient as myself.”

Seguir leyendo

rubbishrobots

Meg was barely aware that her eyes had closed when she was rudely awoken. The train jerked suddenly, and her head bumped against the window. She groaned and shifted away from the glass in her seat.

“Careful,” said a voice, “I’m not sure there’s a first aider aboard.”

Meg’s eyes were open instantly. She sat up straight in her chair, and her hand grabbed the silver cutlery knife she had left resting on the seat next to her.

But the gentleman who had spoke was at least ten feet away, on the other side of the dining car. He was pouring himself a cup of coffee at the unattended counter, and gave her a friendly smile over the steam coming out of his mug. Meg didn’t return it.

“Thought I was the only one still awake on this thing,” she said.

“I wish you were,” the man replied. “I’ve been tossing and turning for the last hour. Can’t drop off.”

“Not sure the coffee will help with that,” said Meg, relaxing slightly in her seat but keeping her hand within snatching distance of the cutlery knife.

The man shrugged as he took another sip. “Well, if I’m up, I’m up, you know?”

Meg gave the most polite smile she could muster, and turned. Ostensibly, she was looking out the window, but in reality, since it was way too dark out there and way too light in here to see any of the surrounding scenery, she was watching the reflection of her late night companion.

He was smartly dressed, three piece suit, no creases. Not like somebody who’d been restlessly turning over in a bed for an hour. But he did look tired. His shoulders were low, his eyes heavy. He took deep swigs of his coffee and his gaze was never pointed at the same place for more than a few seconds.

He’d be a crappy hitman, if that’s what he was here for. Meg liked her chances.

“So where ya headed?” he asked, suddenly peppy.

Meg turned back to give an evasive shrug. “Same place as you, since this is a one stop train.”

The man smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Fair point.”

“I just needed to get out of the city for a little while,” Meg said, taking pity on him. “Work got… a little too much.”

“What business are you in?”

Meg’s mind went blank, and after a few seconds the best she could come up with was “Uhh, museums. I work in museums.”

“Interesting. Sounds fun. Not like something you’d need to get away from?”

“Oh,” Meg waved a hand, “it can be murder, sometimes.”

“I’m in finance, myself,” said the man, and then as if only just realising that ‘the man’ was all she knew him by, his offered his hand. “Dwayne.”

Meg shook his hand. “Sharon,” she replied. “You on a business trip?”

“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Lots of old guys around a table talking about numbers they barely understand.” He paused, glancing down at his nearly empty cup. “Still, I enjoyed it.”

Past tense, Meg noted. Not a hitman, she concluded. Just a lonely guy who can’t sleep, she guessed. Not worth my time, she decided.

“Well, I love smashing my head into panes of glass much as next gal, but I think I’m gonna try the bed in my cabin.” She slid out of the booth, deciding to leave the knife on the cushion, and headed for the door. “Have a nice night, Dwayne.”

“You too, Meg.”

Shoulda kept the knife, she grumbled.

“Sharon,” she said, turning around slowly.

“I heard you,” said Dwayne, sat her in her seat and twirling her knife around his fingers. “I also heard you say you work in museums. But we both know that’s not true either.”

Meg calmly walked back to the booth and settled in across the table from him. “So. Kelly sent you?”

“Nah,” said Dwayne. “I’m not exactly on the Dutton family’s Christmas list. And neither are you. That’s why I’m here.”

“Alls I’m saying is, if there’s to be a fight, can we skip to it? Because I was serious about needing some shut-eye. I’d like to bash your head in and then hit the hay, as soon as possible.

“You don’t listen,” said Dwayne. “I’m not here to fight you, Meg. I’m here to hire you.”

“I’m on vacation - you don’t listen too hot either.”

“Someone is going to be murdered on this train. Tonight.”

Meg laughed. “Oh no. No way. This isn’t a murder mystery dinner show, buddy. Now either you know somebody’s about to get killed or you’re the one doing the killing, either way it’s nothing to do with me.”

Dwayne finishing twirling the knife and slammed it blade first into the table “Kelly Dutton means it’s absolutely about you.”

Meg would have loved to live in a world where that name didn’t mean she was interested. But she didn’t.

“Talk,” she ordered.

“You’re on her tail. She’s tying up lose ends. Tonight is one of them.”

“So get the person off the train. Easy peasy.”

Dwayne shook her head. “Not that simple. They’re calling it the Dutton Method, I think. She doesn’t just kill you, she kills your friends, family, your co-workers…”

“…any loose ends,” Meg finished bitterly.

“Yeah. We gotta stop this murder, or at least catch the killer, otherwise a whole lot of people are gonna suffer. Innocent people, who haven’t done nothing except know this person.”

Meg sat very still for a while, her fingers gradually curling inwards until she was clenching both her fists. “Crap,” she seethed. “Fine. I’m in. Going on the run never sat well with me anyway. We find the killer, I make him tell me where Dutton is hiding out, and her and me finish this once and for all.”

“Glad to have you on board,” said Dwayne.

“Wait till you see my daily rates,” she replied. “Now let’s start at the beginning. Who’s the poor schmuck marked for death?”

Dwayne smiled again. “Well that’s easy. It’s me.”

anxiouspineapples

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.