“Uh huh, uh huh, 4753 Whiteshire Rd, Elunite District. Yeah I’ll be there in 45 minutes…wait the Elunite District, that means your a…” I say as I hear the all too familiar click and dial tone. The witch had hung up on me. The witch, yes that’s right, a witch, I was about to do a revenge job for a witch. What the hell man, I can’t do a revenge job for a witch, I’ll get pinched in an instant. I opened my wallet at that point. Barely enough even for the rail-line to even get over to her place.
“The money better be good on this one,” I say to myself as I fight off the sleep encroaching in on me as a sit in the train car. I always have a sleeping problem on those things. I’m convinced it’s the rocking motion. I could be as awake as day when I jump on, but by minute 3 I’m drooling on myself. This one time I had to take the long ride, all the way from the Island to the Lake. When I woke up I was down to my skivvies. Damn rail urchins made off with everything I was wearing. I was pretty mad at the time, but just the slightest bit thankful that I remembered to wear underwear that day.
“What money, mister?” I hear from my left. It takes a couple ticks of the clock before my head clears enough to realize someone is talking to me. Some dame, actually. Some kid dame, I see as I turn my head to look at her.
“What?” I manage to fumble out.
“You said, ‘The money better be good on this one.’ What money ya talkin’ ’bout?” she said. Now maybe it was the fact that I was tired, or maybe it was the fact that my day was getting more and more odd by the minute and I thought to myself, sure why the hell not tell this kid about my woes, but I went ahead and told her. I left out some of the more risky and gruesome details, but I gave her the basic gist of my situation.
“Huh, sounds like a pickle. If it were me I don’t think I’d take the revenge job. I don’t like orcs much, too scary.” she said. I smiled.
“Smart kid. But I need the money, unfortunately. If you ever get the urge to become a private detective, do yourself a favor and don’t do it. The hours are lousy and the pay sucks.” I say.
“Oh don’t worry ’bout that,” she says. “I think I’m gonna steer clear of law enforcement.”
“Good call,” I say.
“I’m gonna be a witch instead,” she said. If I had had coffee at the time, I would have spit it all over the old lady across the isle from me. Luckily for her I only had enough money to buy the seat on the train, otherwise I’m sure she’d be hitting me over the head with her comically over-sized handbag right now. Before I could muster a response we were at the Elunite station. We stood at the same time, but when the doors opened, she dashed out and I lost her in the crowd. Cute kid, a shame she wanted to be a witch.
Witches weren’t the most respected individuals in society. Not that you didn’t mind your P’s and Q’s in their presence, or when you were under their eye, but outside of that they’re fairly well looked down on. It’s like the mob: you respect them, because if you don’t you’ll end up in the wrong dumpster in the wrong state of being, if you catch my drift. But you don’t like them. Witches, and their male ‘lock counterparts, truck with some strange things. Strange, weird ass, monstrous, evil things usually. The Elunite District is like it’s own little city, partly because of all the weird crap that happens inside the district, but mostly because the neighboring boroughs want nothing to do with Elunite’s inhabitants. Few ordinary people regularly and willingly truck with the Tainted. And the district’s police precinct is famous in the city for having two things, a high turnover rate due to death and disappearance and being heavily recruited by the MCU. Some tough mother’s come out of the Precinct, and that’s the real reason I don’t like being here. A lot of itchy trigger fingered, paranoid, chip-on-their-shoulder cops running around a bunch of tainted, evil magic users. Prefect recipe for disaster.
