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bardiphoukaContest:Brigit;s Plame
Prompt: Marked
Rating:R..violence.
Word Count 2035
The Marking
She had never been able to adjust to the Sky over Resettled Britain. She knew it was most likely the Incident, but still it seemed could never settle. It was not just the weather, which never had been the steadiest thing even before the Incident. But the colour of the Sky could change at any moment. Sometimes it all seemed random. On the other hand, sometimes it seemed like it was reflected what it saw on the ground below it. Which made no sense but it was still how she felt.
She looked at the trampled green grass with its dark stains that had been bright red such a short time ago. The Constables had come and gone, the Morgue wagon with its huge, armoured black horsed had come and the huge men, with surprising gentlness had carried the marked and scarred body off. There had been some talk of seeing of any of the balloons had been ready to store memories, but they were already too late. There had even been talk of seeing if Falcon was available, but their budget was tight this year. Certainly for an unknown corpse, She had to admit she was glad that he had not come. Yes, he looked like normal man in his 30s. But if you looked in his eyes you could feel the centuries and the history he had gone through. And perhaps the power he always claimed he did not have.
She felt a breeze shifting from the orchard. That was something else that was borrowing her. There was something inherently wrong with an act of violence this close to a Balloon Orchard. Especially back here where the trees seemed to be full of juvenile balloons. They were smaller than the ones along the path and still had that bright sheen of the young. Eventually this part of the orchard would mature and would drift just about the ground, waiting to be used before they themselves started developing memories. They did, she had been told, have a sort of personality like the household pets she had read about in books. Until then they grew. Here and there were the occasional windfalls. Some of them would not make it, while some would be gathered for small memories. Meeting plans and such, where a large capacity or extended life span were not needed. The colours and the breeze through the branches seemed to care a happy sort of innocence that was the antipathy of the woman whose body had been marked over and over again in Roman counting the length of her body. Something pinged in her head that there was something wrong with the picture that she could not quite catch. She knelt down by the trampled grass as if the hours had not passed. Still nothing came to her. Finally she stood up and brushed dust off her well worn uniform pants.
She walked down the path toward her bicycle, with its blue and white Police colouring. She had been given it as a gift when she first joined the Force. And Jamie has painted the double diamond on it when she had made Inspector. Jamie had been forced to retire, his leg devastated by a pack of wild dogs who were at last put to the run by the Force's adopted Wolf Pack. Looking at the bicycle, she realised not for the first time that the bicycle was not too far behind. The chain was getting shaky without the availability of oil, and the tires were on the last bit of dread. She thought wistfully of stories she had heard of Police Locations with horses just for the Inspectors. In fact there were rumours of some where the Inspectors had their own horses. She sided wistfully and slung her leg over as she mounted.
She felt a slight bump on her Wellie. Looking down she saw an obviously immature balloon. Not even half grown, it was the colour she had been told the sky could be without clouds. She bent down and the balloon seemed to float jump into her arms, She has never actually held one before. Not only did she not have the need or use for one, but her District did not have the funds for one. Plus, her CO was apparently from a time-line where the Police were paid by the criminals as well as the Crown. And the lessor paying was the one that got the attention.
The first thing she noticed the texture of the balloon. She had always assumed that balloon would be smooth. But the fact is that this balloon had an almost pebbly surface. It was almost like walking along the waters edge by the cliffs. Sand and pebble mixed together for a not unpleasant texture. Except that the balloons surface was warm.
The second thing was the she had not realised the sound of the orchard was not just the wind, The balloon itself was making a soft, gentle sound that seemed relax her. “Well what am I supposed to do with you,” she chuckled as found herself stroking the surface as though it were a reflex action. “do you have a name, I wonder?”
The balloon seemed to quiver, and then it felt almost as it had grown a fraction of centimeter at the question. She felt something that brushed against her brain that had the feeling of her mother's kiss when she was a child, followed by a whisper of “Quanta”
She almost dropped the balloon. Nobody had ever said anything balloons talking. Or was it really talking. She looked up and realised she was running late. She slipped Quanta into her bag and she could feel it cuddling in. She flicked the kick stand back with her heel and tried to make up time getting back to the house.
She slipped the chain through the bike when she got to the House and locked the bike. She might complain about Silver (the name Jamie had given her) but bikes were rare themselves, and she could not see converting her area on foot.
She slipped through the massive double doors. Sgt Harris was sitting behind the desk today, which she appreciated. Harris was one of those rarities, a Police Sgt who had always been one and liked being one. “Morning Fionna,” He said while pouring himself a cup the one real perk of Police life; coffee. He lifted up her own handmade mug and she nodded. There may be a lot of people with fancy pre-Incident mugs, she smiled to herself, but it was the contents that counted. With that she slipped a hand into her bad but then stopped. For some reason she wanted to keep Quanta's existence a secret for now. Almost in response Quanta snuggled up against her hand with that strange, but comforting vibrating.
Sgt. Harris handed her the mug and she removed her hand from the bag with some reluctance. He started to go back to his desk but then turned for a moment. “The Old Man wants to see you. And your paperwork.”
Fionna knew she only has a small window of opportunity to solve this crime before it was handed over to another officer. Or worse, one of the Extended was called in. She had to understand what had been bothering her, and she had to do it quickly. “Well then, Sgt Harris, you should be sure to tell me that. Say in thirty minutes when I walk through that door.”
Sgt. Harris smiled. “You know, people do not realise that you can build up an appetite even sitting at a desk. In fact I was just thinking the other day about the last time I had your wonderful scones.”
“It's funny you should mention that. I was just thinking this morning that it is time for me to make some more.” Harris chuckled and gave her a sort of salute before buzzing her through. He knew she had to go up to the Morgue and take a look at the body. She also knew he really hated her scone. But it was in the nature of things that there must at least appear to me mutual back scratching.
At the top of the stairs she slid the door open to the Morgue. Some of the windows that surrounded the room were opened and scented candles lit to help mask the odour of the corpse. As she slid the door shut, she could hear Dr Linton go “aha!” as he shuffled through a catalog of fingerprint cards.
He looked over and saw her standing at the door. “Ah, Inspector Doherty, you are just in time. I have our dear guest's name. Inspector Doherty, meet Sophia Petrilla.”
She walked over to the body as it lay on the table. Dr Linton had circled the deepest of the markings. She pointed to them.
“Ah yes,” He said with that constant gentle tone of his. “I think one or more of those is most likely the cause of death.” She nodded, her hand sliding into her bag again. This time Quanta seemed upset. She could feel that movement had become erratic. And a word began forming inside her head over and over the colour of midweek. “Wrong” Quanta created more than said “Wrong” She patted it. Looking again at the body she was sure she could understand what the issue is if she had a moment.
One of the Constables Slid the door open violently. “Inspector Doherty, er Sir, I mean M'am? There is some sort of disturbance down the block. He has said everyone is hands on deck for this one”
Fionna nodded, and after thanking the Doctor, came down the stairs at a double time. She noticed that Sgt Harris was not at his desk. Which meant this had to be serious. She came out the front doors. And heard the storm of anger down to the right. She didn't even bother with the bike it was so close.
When she got there Sgt Harris was trying to control one of the Italians while two of the recruits were trying to keep the Italians seperated from the Roman Legionaries. It was odd that they were in town,.
It took awhile but she finally got that the Italian in Sgt Harris' beefy arms was a Tony something and was accusing the Romans of killing his girl friend Sophia. Sliding her hand in her bag, Quanta quivered at all the anger but soon delivered another of his one word feeling, a blue one that said Tony was lying. Suddenly Fionna realised what had been bothering her. She motioned over to the Legionaries and asked for one who spoke English. She did not find it odd that the one who responded was young and quite handsome. And agitated. “You knew Sophia, didn't you,”
He nodded.
“In fact you were lovers,weren't you”
Marcus, for she had found his name also, nodded his head again.
“Tony strained in the arms of Sgt Harris. “That is why he killed her! He knew we were to be married.”
Fionna walked over and put and in his pockets. She pulled out a pocket knife, not really that unusual these days. But when she opened it, she could see dried blood in the slot where the knife fit.
“Tony,” she said softly, let me tell you a secret. The Roman Legion that was stationed marked off five like this. “and she harked off five stroked against his cheek/ “The killer, who was you, didn't know that and made the traditional 4 and a slash.”
She handed the knife to one of the recruits. “Take this back to the House and give it to the Doctor. See if he can match the blood somehow.” The other recruit and Sgt Harris removed Tony from the scene and the crowd dispersed.
She slid her hand in the back “We make a pretty good team Quanta.” Quanta vibrated happily, and in shades of green she felt the word form in her thoughts “Team”
Prompt: Marked
Rating:R..violence.
Word Count 2035
The Marking
She had never been able to adjust to the Sky over Resettled Britain. She knew it was most likely the Incident, but still it seemed could never settle. It was not just the weather, which never had been the steadiest thing even before the Incident. But the colour of the Sky could change at any moment. Sometimes it all seemed random. On the other hand, sometimes it seemed like it was reflected what it saw on the ground below it. Which made no sense but it was still how she felt.
She looked at the trampled green grass with its dark stains that had been bright red such a short time ago. The Constables had come and gone, the Morgue wagon with its huge, armoured black horsed had come and the huge men, with surprising gentlness had carried the marked and scarred body off. There had been some talk of seeing of any of the balloons had been ready to store memories, but they were already too late. There had even been talk of seeing if Falcon was available, but their budget was tight this year. Certainly for an unknown corpse, She had to admit she was glad that he had not come. Yes, he looked like normal man in his 30s. But if you looked in his eyes you could feel the centuries and the history he had gone through. And perhaps the power he always claimed he did not have.
She felt a breeze shifting from the orchard. That was something else that was borrowing her. There was something inherently wrong with an act of violence this close to a Balloon Orchard. Especially back here where the trees seemed to be full of juvenile balloons. They were smaller than the ones along the path and still had that bright sheen of the young. Eventually this part of the orchard would mature and would drift just about the ground, waiting to be used before they themselves started developing memories. They did, she had been told, have a sort of personality like the household pets she had read about in books. Until then they grew. Here and there were the occasional windfalls. Some of them would not make it, while some would be gathered for small memories. Meeting plans and such, where a large capacity or extended life span were not needed. The colours and the breeze through the branches seemed to care a happy sort of innocence that was the antipathy of the woman whose body had been marked over and over again in Roman counting the length of her body. Something pinged in her head that there was something wrong with the picture that she could not quite catch. She knelt down by the trampled grass as if the hours had not passed. Still nothing came to her. Finally she stood up and brushed dust off her well worn uniform pants.
She walked down the path toward her bicycle, with its blue and white Police colouring. She had been given it as a gift when she first joined the Force. And Jamie has painted the double diamond on it when she had made Inspector. Jamie had been forced to retire, his leg devastated by a pack of wild dogs who were at last put to the run by the Force's adopted Wolf Pack. Looking at the bicycle, she realised not for the first time that the bicycle was not too far behind. The chain was getting shaky without the availability of oil, and the tires were on the last bit of dread. She thought wistfully of stories she had heard of Police Locations with horses just for the Inspectors. In fact there were rumours of some where the Inspectors had their own horses. She sided wistfully and slung her leg over as she mounted.
She felt a slight bump on her Wellie. Looking down she saw an obviously immature balloon. Not even half grown, it was the colour she had been told the sky could be without clouds. She bent down and the balloon seemed to float jump into her arms, She has never actually held one before. Not only did she not have the need or use for one, but her District did not have the funds for one. Plus, her CO was apparently from a time-line where the Police were paid by the criminals as well as the Crown. And the lessor paying was the one that got the attention.
The first thing she noticed the texture of the balloon. She had always assumed that balloon would be smooth. But the fact is that this balloon had an almost pebbly surface. It was almost like walking along the waters edge by the cliffs. Sand and pebble mixed together for a not unpleasant texture. Except that the balloons surface was warm.
The second thing was the she had not realised the sound of the orchard was not just the wind, The balloon itself was making a soft, gentle sound that seemed relax her. “Well what am I supposed to do with you,” she chuckled as found herself stroking the surface as though it were a reflex action. “do you have a name, I wonder?”
The balloon seemed to quiver, and then it felt almost as it had grown a fraction of centimeter at the question. She felt something that brushed against her brain that had the feeling of her mother's kiss when she was a child, followed by a whisper of “Quanta”
She almost dropped the balloon. Nobody had ever said anything balloons talking. Or was it really talking. She looked up and realised she was running late. She slipped Quanta into her bag and she could feel it cuddling in. She flicked the kick stand back with her heel and tried to make up time getting back to the house.
She slipped the chain through the bike when she got to the House and locked the bike. She might complain about Silver (the name Jamie had given her) but bikes were rare themselves, and she could not see converting her area on foot.
She slipped through the massive double doors. Sgt Harris was sitting behind the desk today, which she appreciated. Harris was one of those rarities, a Police Sgt who had always been one and liked being one. “Morning Fionna,” He said while pouring himself a cup the one real perk of Police life; coffee. He lifted up her own handmade mug and she nodded. There may be a lot of people with fancy pre-Incident mugs, she smiled to herself, but it was the contents that counted. With that she slipped a hand into her bad but then stopped. For some reason she wanted to keep Quanta's existence a secret for now. Almost in response Quanta snuggled up against her hand with that strange, but comforting vibrating.
Sgt. Harris handed her the mug and she removed her hand from the bag with some reluctance. He started to go back to his desk but then turned for a moment. “The Old Man wants to see you. And your paperwork.”
Fionna knew she only has a small window of opportunity to solve this crime before it was handed over to another officer. Or worse, one of the Extended was called in. She had to understand what had been bothering her, and she had to do it quickly. “Well then, Sgt Harris, you should be sure to tell me that. Say in thirty minutes when I walk through that door.”
Sgt. Harris smiled. “You know, people do not realise that you can build up an appetite even sitting at a desk. In fact I was just thinking the other day about the last time I had your wonderful scones.”
“It's funny you should mention that. I was just thinking this morning that it is time for me to make some more.” Harris chuckled and gave her a sort of salute before buzzing her through. He knew she had to go up to the Morgue and take a look at the body. She also knew he really hated her scone. But it was in the nature of things that there must at least appear to me mutual back scratching.
At the top of the stairs she slid the door open to the Morgue. Some of the windows that surrounded the room were opened and scented candles lit to help mask the odour of the corpse. As she slid the door shut, she could hear Dr Linton go “aha!” as he shuffled through a catalog of fingerprint cards.
He looked over and saw her standing at the door. “Ah, Inspector Doherty, you are just in time. I have our dear guest's name. Inspector Doherty, meet Sophia Petrilla.”
She walked over to the body as it lay on the table. Dr Linton had circled the deepest of the markings. She pointed to them.
“Ah yes,” He said with that constant gentle tone of his. “I think one or more of those is most likely the cause of death.” She nodded, her hand sliding into her bag again. This time Quanta seemed upset. She could feel that movement had become erratic. And a word began forming inside her head over and over the colour of midweek. “Wrong” Quanta created more than said “Wrong” She patted it. Looking again at the body she was sure she could understand what the issue is if she had a moment.
One of the Constables Slid the door open violently. “Inspector Doherty, er Sir, I mean M'am? There is some sort of disturbance down the block. He has said everyone is hands on deck for this one”
Fionna nodded, and after thanking the Doctor, came down the stairs at a double time. She noticed that Sgt Harris was not at his desk. Which meant this had to be serious. She came out the front doors. And heard the storm of anger down to the right. She didn't even bother with the bike it was so close.
When she got there Sgt Harris was trying to control one of the Italians while two of the recruits were trying to keep the Italians seperated from the Roman Legionaries. It was odd that they were in town,.
It took awhile but she finally got that the Italian in Sgt Harris' beefy arms was a Tony something and was accusing the Romans of killing his girl friend Sophia. Sliding her hand in her bag, Quanta quivered at all the anger but soon delivered another of his one word feeling, a blue one that said Tony was lying. Suddenly Fionna realised what had been bothering her. She motioned over to the Legionaries and asked for one who spoke English. She did not find it odd that the one who responded was young and quite handsome. And agitated. “You knew Sophia, didn't you,”
He nodded.
“In fact you were lovers,weren't you”
Marcus, for she had found his name also, nodded his head again.
“Tony strained in the arms of Sgt Harris. “That is why he killed her! He knew we were to be married.”
Fionna walked over and put and in his pockets. She pulled out a pocket knife, not really that unusual these days. But when she opened it, she could see dried blood in the slot where the knife fit.
“Tony,” she said softly, let me tell you a secret. The Roman Legion that was stationed marked off five like this. “and she harked off five stroked against his cheek/ “The killer, who was you, didn't know that and made the traditional 4 and a slash.”
She handed the knife to one of the recruits. “Take this back to the House and give it to the Doctor. See if he can match the blood somehow.” The other recruit and Sgt Harris removed Tony from the scene and the crowd dispersed.
She slid her hand in the back “We make a pretty good team Quanta.” Quanta vibrated happily, and in shades of green she felt the word form in her thoughts “Team”
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:28 am (UTC)Quanta is a curious name for a pet balloon; I wonder if you will reveal more details in the (presumably) forthcoming installments. And I also enjoyed the thoughts and feelings having color assignations. Very creative of you. :)
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Date: 2011-08-22 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-22 12:48 pm (UTC)I'd love a little one like Qanta. My damn things all bulge out of the huge wicker laundry baskets I keep them in! They have floating dates, and some can be most active, popping up when least expected. Gather some windfalls when you go, they all need to be preserved.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-26 12:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-26 12:48 am (UTC)