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Three in the morning. Jazzy music leaks out from the open window of a casino. Your silhouette is only just visible in the shady alleyway.
Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you're on the prowl tonight.
Granted, you doesn't really have a reason to be here. But you're hoping a reason will find you. All manner of things might happen here. The lighting, the music, the setting: the tone is almost asking for some gritty crime to play itself out.
And where there is crime, there must then be justice.
Except this stereotypically shady alleyway is significantly lacking in both crime and justice right now, and it frustrates you. You're on edge: you should be DOING something, not standing around flipping your coin. Being an inspector with nothing to inspect just feels wrong.
But you know if you wait long enough, someone is bound to--
Someone turns up.
Suspect: mostly hidden from view by low brim and high collar. Tattered fedora, large wraparound coat, well-cut trousers. Lacking horn holes in the hat; probably human.
Investigating further, you call out: "Who goes there?"
The reply comes, in a voice trying too hard to be deep and hardboiled: "The gutsiest gumshoe this town has to offer. And if you've got any plans of any mischief tonight, you better beat it or you'll have me to answer to. Any questions?"
Crime: impersonating a private detective.
Sentence: having the truth revealed.
"What's with the rasp, Jane? Sore voice box?"
Just as expected, she lifts the brim of her mucky old fedora: glaring out from underneath it is a rather cheesed-off Jane Crocker. "Darn it, Terezi, why must you ruin this? I thought you liked roleplaying!"
"I'm into serious business at the moment. I'm on a case." Hey, it's kinda true. Anything to get her out of your business. "And you turning up provided me with a rather distracting cherry red herring."
But she's nosy. Of course she's nosy, she's a detective. Or at least, she tries to be one. She keeps trying you, trying your patience: "Oh yes? Then what's the case, might I ask?"
"The case, currently, is me investigating whether there actually is a decent case around here."
"Hoo hoo! I thought so. You're not the only one who can smell lies!" She hesitates: "To be frank, I'm on the same case. And I haven't found a lead yet."
"Sucks to be us. Private detectives in the blandest town in Alterniearth. Vanilla, tasteless. Bluh." It should probably be mentioned that this is the town's only shady alleyway. The casino? More shitty than gritty.
"Then obviously you haven't been sniffing hard enough," grins the gutsy gumshoe. "With personalities like our motley crew in town, I'm surprised nothing big has flared up yet. And I'm sure that when it inevitably does..." Dramatic pause. The absence of sound joins the absence of light. "I might need a partner."
You snort derisively. "Nah. Got one already."
"We all know Dave doesn't do any detective work. He stands around looking cool, being the normal one of the pair while you snoop around sniffing all and sundry."
True, but you slam the brim of her hat down on her face anyway. Well, she was asking for it wearing a hat like that. "If I wanted a partner, an actual detective partner, I'd have asked you earlier."
"You'd have asked me?"
Shit, she's got you. Truth is, you respect her more than you'd care to admit. Girl's got brains in her head. But you're a tough detective, and she's competition. You change the subject: "Nothing big's happened yet. Why do you think it will?"
"Changes in the wind? Stars aligning? God playing dice, rolling boxcars?"
The Crocker pranking spirit's stronger than ever. You don't have time for that. "I don't believe any of that bullshit. And neither do you."
"Oh, I might not. But I believe the evidence of my own senses! I've seen things. I've heard things. Soon, you'll start smelling things. Hopefully before people start dying!"
"People are already dying. People always die. Old age isn't worth investigating. Where are you getting all this?"
"Places." And nothing more. She's enjoying this, isn't she? All her dumb, coy riddles -- no, not even riddles, just fragments of the things. She's the archetypal trickster, leading you on for her own amusement.
"If you're going to keep being vague, I'm going to go." And she lets you. You stroll off back the way you came, trying to look cool and uninterested.
But for fuck's sake, you are interested. She's piqued your curiosity, god damn her. It takes a lot to get Jane Crocker to believe something: if she believes there's something going on, there's something going on. And hell if you're going to miss out on the fun.
The stars are aligning. You smell it on the wind.