Lost Ambitions

[Anders Nazret]

There was something oddly comforting about hospital ice cream. Detective Mickey couldn’t quite put his finger on why that was, after all it wasn’t particularly good ice cream. Maybe it carried some sort of esoteric quality about it? Store bought ice cream was mass produced and designed to be sold and subsequently consumed by consumers. Of course, hospital ice cream was mass produced too, but it was mass produced for the sole purpose of providing comfort to the sick, injured, and dying. Perhaps it was merely the belief that it was comforting that made it so? Whatever it was, Mickey tried not to think about it too hard, lest he accidentally discover the man behind the curtain and spoil the entire illusion.

It had been a week since the robbery at 7th Tyree National Bank. He tried not to think too hard about that either. That said, ice cream could only distract him so much. Whatever Anders had done to him had left him completely magicless. The doctors had originally assumed that he was merely fatigued and that his magic would return once he recovered, but after a week of rest and recovery he still had nothing. He swallowed another spoonful of ice cream to keep himself from spiraling. What would he do without magic? Paranormal crime was his whole area of expertise. And investigating the paranormal without magic? Well, that was like joining a knife fight naked, and without a knife… and blindfolded.

“Detective!” The Chief's voice boomed as he opened the hospital door, “How are you feeling?”

Mickey leaned up in his bed, “Like I went ten rounds with Maldera, and then jumped off a bridge.”

The Chief was carrying a massive arrangement of flowers. Boxes of chocolate and get-well-soon cards were nestled inside the bouquet. Gingerly he set the arrangement on the table beside Mickey. As expected, The Chief was wearing one of his wacky ties. It had a checkerboard pattern with various types of cookies emblazoned across it. He eased himself into a chair, groaning slightly as if he hadn’t sat down in years.

“Sorry, I would have visited sooner, but…” He shifted uncomfortably, “It’s been a madhouse out there. Civilian casualties were minimized, but there were still civilian casualties. People are asking how something like this could even get off the ground.”

“I mean I was dealing with demonic incursions or blood cults or whatever practically every other week, Chief, I don’t know why people are so surprised that bad guys are out there.”

The Chief nodded, “Yes, but we’re usually one step ahead of them… we didn’t catch wind of the bank robbery until they had already taken and killed hostages… you know that was the bloodiest robbery in years and more than half the perps got away.”

Mickey didn’t feel like finishing his ice cream anymore. That bastard Anders was still running around doing Arbiter-knows-what. His first victim, Sera, had been without her magic for months now. It seemed that his own fate wouldn’t be much different from hers, and he doubted he’d be the terrorist’s only victim.
“We don’t have any leads?” Mickey asked.

“We have a few, nothing that has panned out so far,” The Chief continued, “Their accomplice isn’t being very cooperative, so nothing on that angle either… regardless, I didn’t come here to talk about work - how are you holding up?”

“Physically, fine… I got off light compared to some of the other strike force guys,” Mickey paused, taking a long look at the rapidly melting ice cream, “Chief… what happens if my magic doesn’t come back?”

“You don’t need to be worrying about that right now.”

“But I am - what if I end up just like that college girl and never cast another spell in my life?” He spoke quickly, “I’m not cut out to be a beat cop, and I don’t really have any skills beyond magic, what am I-”

“Mickey,” Chief interrupted, “Relax, I don’t expect you to come back right away… You take as much time as you need and we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Hell, if I have to, I’ll create a brand new position for you titled ‘pain-in-the-ass’.”

Mickey paused, “I do like the sound of that.”

“Good,” He said and stood back up, “Now I’ve got to get back to the precinct before reporters start tearing the doors off the place. You take care Mickey.”

“Take care Chief… and thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

--

That night Detective Mickey was released back onto the streets. The hospital staff offered to call a cab, but Mickey declined. The weather was nice enough to walk and he had a couple stops to make on his way home. First he stopped at the corner store by the hospital and bought a pack of unfiltered cigarettes. Up until that night he had been using the patch. He’d been close to quitting entirely, but, well, hard to quit smoking with the kind of stress he’d gone through in the past few days. So he lit up and trudged along the rapidly-darkening streets of downtown Arcadia.

In his younger years he would’ve gone to the first open bar he could find and drink until he got kicked out. As he walked along he could practically see his younger self reflected in the depressed eyes of every wandering drunkard that he passed. More than once the thought of getting piss-drunk and giving up crossed his mind. After all, what was he without magic? Just a washed up para-detective. But as enticing as obliterating his consciousness via intoxication was, he realized he did have a lead. It was a slim shot in the dark, but a shot he could take nonetheless.

From the outside looking in, Bea’s Parlor seemed woefully out of date. Sodium lamps glowered behind the display windows, casting sharp shadows onto podiums carrying ancient tomes. Naked mannequins posed alongside the podiums, their plastic flesh adorned with geometric patterns. It was hard to see much further into the store, and from an outsider’s perspective they’d just assume it was due to the poor lighting and general clutter. Detective Mickey, however, knew that this particular effect was a glamour produced by several inconspicuously placed charms. In fact, if one wasn’t either magically attuned or specifically looking for the place it was incredibly easy to walk by without even noticing it. This concealment, however, wasn’t for any nefarious purpose. Bea just didn’t care for looky-loos smudging their curious noses against the glass.

Mickey walked in. A series of chimes sounded over his head before fading away to the ambient noises of the parlor. The buzz of tattoo needles intermingled with the low hum of meditating practitioners. Shelves ran along either side of the room, each of them lined with labeled tinctures of various inks. A brass scale sat on the sales counter, besides an abacus. Arcane sigils were carved into every exposed surface. Most of them were just for show, but Mickey knew from experience that more than a few of them were anti-theft measures triggered at the slightest hint of sticky fingers. Mickey sidled up to the counter and rang the service bell twice.

Behind the counter he could just barely see into a side room where a half-naked man was getting his arm tattooed. Mickey recognized the pattern as a modified version of Braco’s Shimmering Safeguard - an enchantment that would protect the bearer by manipulating any would-be attacker’s sense of balance. Besides that room was a large window that opened up into a studio of sorts. Rows of practitioners sat in lotus position, each of them humming or chanting incantations. Occasionally they’d stop, grab the ink pen beside them, dip it in a specialized ink, and draw a single sigil onto a piece of cardstock-like paper.

Before the detective could ring the service bell a third time, Bea appeared from around a corner. She was around Mickey’s age, late 40s. Her black hair was tied back into a short ponytail. Most striking of all, however, was the tattoo wrapped around her upper shoulder. Intricate patterns drawn from black ink formed the body of the tattoo, however they were constantly shifting and forming into new arrangements of patterns. To a layman this would seem to be nothing more than an enchanted tattoo - and it was, but it wasn’t just one enchantment. It held practically Bea’s entire repertoire of magic. With a thought she could activate any number of enchanted inks under her skin to produce whatever effect she desired. Her smile vanished when she realized who was standing behind the counter.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come here?” She said.

“You did,” Mickey said, pretended to be admiring some tricket on the shelf, “But you know how I am with directions… it’s good to see you Bea.”
“No, no, no, don’t ‘it’s good to see you’ me,” She said, snatching the trinket from his hand and putting it behind the counter, “Why are you here, Mickey?”

“I can’t stop by and say hi to an old friend?” He smiled.

She huffed and pointed to the door, “No, you can’t. Now leave.”

“Wait, I…” He trailed off. This wasn’t going well. It had been nearly a decade since their falling out, but things were still tender. What an idiot he was for thinking he could walk in and charm his way back to her good graces. He removed his hat and held it to his chest. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke again, “Bea… I need your help.”

At this she softened, but not by much. She sighed, “Cop stuff or personal stuff? ‘Cause if it’s cop stuff you can still get the fuck outta here.”

“No, not cop shit.”

“Then what is it?”

He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with her. He pursed his lips and said, “I… I can’t do magic.”

“Wait… what?”

He took a sharp inhale and said more confidently, “I got into a scrap with a perp last week, another spellcaster, and he did something to me that… turned my magic off, took it away, something, I don’t know. And, I'm not the first he's done it to either. About a month ago he did the same thing to a promising young pyromancer, she can't even light a candle now."

"Bullshit," Bea said, her tattoos seemingly riled up at the notion.

"It's true," Mickey answered, donning his hat once again, "I wish it wasn't, but it is."

"Well… what do you want me to do?"

"I've got a lead, but it's going to be dangerous," He explained, "I need scrolls, Bea, a good assortment too."

"Fuck," She muttered, shaking her head. The outright hostility had faded, but he could just tell she was agitated. She reached for a pack of smokes under the table and lit one up. She offered him the pack and he waved his hand. She asked, "Since when does the great detective Mickey not smoke?"

"Been trying to quit."

"Mhmm, good luck with that," She exhaled a cloud of cherry-scented smoke and asked, "You got money?"

"Not enough," He admitted.

"So you're just wanting free shit?"

"I'm asking for a favor, Bea," He answered, "Just this one favor and you'll never have to see me again."

"That's what you said last time," She responded and ashed her cigarette, "But, despite what it seems Mickey, I don't hate you… I just hate how things always end up when we're together."

"Yeah… me too."

"Come on back," She said, disappearing back around the corner, "You can have some of the rejects the apprentices have made."

 

[Jester Lavorre]

Jester moved merrily with a spring in her step, hummed as she did so, and swung her arms in the air like she’d just come from a party. She hadn’t, not in the literal sense anyway, though she had come from a gathering. A murderous gathering. …and yet? She felt pretty good, and it showed in the way she carried herself.

The night had thickened the air, though Jester could still see pretty well through a combination of dim street lighting and Tiefling darkvision. She skipped past a shop front, stopped in her tracks, and then backpedaled slowly with a quick double take.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed to herself, drawing the gaze of a quiet couple walking past her.

She stuck her tongue out them, and then strode past a display window poorly lit by sodium lamps. Her hand clamped the doorknob, turned, then pushed, and in stepped Jester Lavorre who looked for all the world like she owned the place. …she didn’t, of course. The ringing of chimes announced her enthusiastically, and Jester grinned widely.

“I am back!” she announced, gesturing grandly with one hand. “And I am here to do business!”

The hand she’d gestured with held a sack of coins that clinked together pleasantly as she thrust them into display. Two heads had pivoted to regard her with suspicious glances. One of them remained suspicious, but the second one shifted into lukewarm recognition. Bea put on a cautious smile when she realized it was Jester who’d entered, though something appeared to have her on the defensive. …probably the weirdo at the counter, who had just stepped around to follow Bea into the back. Whatever that was about, Jester knew it was none of her business, and you didn’t stride into a shop like this poking your nose into every Tom, Dick, and Harry’s business. In a place like this you kept to your own business, and let others go about theirs. Them’s the rules in a place like Bea’s.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Jester,” Bea called from the back, while the hardboiled patron that had been at the well kept counter disappeared around the same corner. “And I really wish you wouldn’t burst in here like that!”

Jester waited, and hummed. Usually her baser urges would encourage her to swap things around on the shelves, rearrange books, or draw hidden dicks on magical equipment; in a regular shop, she would be doing just that, but here things were different. A dick scrawled over a rune on the wrong vase could result in a hex, and Jester had just overcome some rather severe brain damage. She wasn’t anxious to indulge in any more over the top risks just yet. Something about coming back from the dead earlier in the day could do that to a person.

Before long Bea re-emerged and took her place at the counter.

“Jester,” she greeted the Tiefling properly, looking her up and down. “I wasn’t sure if I would see you again.”

“Yeah, I kind of forgot about something that I kept on me that made things a little bit different. I probably could have done a better job of explaining that to some of the people I met. Probably. …but, here I am!”

Bea eyed her speculatively.

“Phoenix Down? Life Apple? …or maybe a small fairy in a jar?” Bea rattled off the questions aptly, her clever eyes sparkling curiously.

“Ring of Revivification,” Jester answered casually, though her blue lips had split into a grin that dimpled her freckled cheeks. “...but I’m here for something different.”

“I’d suspect you are, after what you’ve been through,” answered Bea, revealing to Jester that she’d caught some of the Abyss. Of course she had. Everyone did. “Are you here for some kind of protection enchantment? I can pencil you in for a tattoo, but there’s a waiting li-”

“No tattoo, actually,” Jester cut her off, as she was known to do. “Actually, I’m looking for a weapon. A special weapon. It is kind of like a gun. Kind of. But it is also a little bit different, because it is a magic gun.”

“...the gun you used in the Abyss?” Bea asked, knowingly. Jester could see the woman’s clever mind turning gears as she put together the equation of what creating something like the Caster would take. “I saw what it could do. Something like that is going to cost a pretty penny.”

“I happen to have a sack of pretty pennies,” Jester declared, placing her pouch of winnings on the counter. “I am not quite sure how they found me so quickly, but a boy in a uniform dropped this off to me as soon as I got into the city - it was like he knew exactly where to find me! I do not even know how they knew I wasn’t…”

“Dead?” offered Bea.

“Dead,” agreed Jester. “Weird, but here it is anyway! …what I am looking for is a gun that fires magic bullets. They all did something different - some of the bullets would explode in fire, some would zap-” she jazz handed in the air for emphasis. “-and some would explode into ice! It was pretty crazy. The other thing that was pretty cool was that everytime I pulled out a bullet out of my belt, a new one would appear in its place.”

“Bandolier,” offered Bea.

“No, thank you, I’m not hungry,” answered Jester off-handedly. “Anyway, do you think you could make something like that?”

“Well,” answered Bea, drumming her fingers on the counter. “It would take a couple of days…”

She turned her head over her shoulder and shouted: “KEEP AN EYE ON HIM!” and one of her associates darted around the corner hastily.

“That sounds very reasonable,” the Cleric answered astutely, eyes twinkling. “Take my money, and we can work out the change afterwards.”

“...if there is any.”

“If there is any,” Jester repeated back, her grin faltering a little.

Just then the associate that had ducked into the back popped back out, and in his wake treaded the man who’d followed Bea back there a few minutes earlier. He had a few scrolls scrunched under his arm, while his other hand plunged deep into his jacket. His eyes scanned carefully, and landed on Jester as he emerged from around the counter and took his place on the patron’s side.

“The Tiefling from the Abyss,” he stated observantly. After a moment’s pause, the man offered his hand. “Mickey. Detective. You’re the winner, then?”

“Not quite,” Jester answered, taking his hand and shaking it. “Just a clever loser.”

She would’ve said more, but nearby two folks presumably awaiting the tattoo service, were exchanging words and one of them caught her attention.

“...and that fortune teller at the circus seems to have a trick or two up his sleeve. Heard they’d seen some trouble with Necromancy, too.”

“Circus?!” Jester asked, pivoting on the spot.

“Necromancy?” Mickey asked at the same time, his head swiveling.

They stared at the two patrons, glanced at one another, and then turned finally to Bea whose stern gaze reminded them both that patrons were not to be bothered, and their business was not to be nosed into. Both the Tiefling and the Detective quieted themselves, and conducted the remainder of their transactions without incident.

As she left, Jester heard the chimes announce another presence behind her and she turned in place on the sidewalk to regard Detective Mickey making his way towards her in some haste.

“...you know something about this circus?” the detective asked, giving Jester an imploring gaze.

“Know something about it!? My friend Mollymauk is the guy who tells fortunes there! Oh, he is the best! You really ought to see it, everything he says is exactly correct. They only come around once in awhile, but when they do, I always go and see Molly,” Jester stated, practically shifting on the spot with excitement. She grabbed Mickey around the wrist. “You have got to get your fortune told. Come on!”

“Are you-”

“COME. ON!” Jester yanked him along after her, and reluctantly the Detective followed.

…probably had something to do with the word ‘Necromancy’ that had piqued his interest so quickly.

…probably.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Mollymauk Tealeaf fell out of his bed with a plunk! He stifled a groan and slowly tried to sneak out of his own tent without knocking over any of the wine bottles that amassed to become an obstacle that was proving difficult to maneuver, but he somehow managed without knocking too many over. Emerging onto the circus grounds, he threw his brilliant coat around his shoulders and took in the morning as sun broke over the hilltops beyond.

Mollymauk looked around between the tents and caravans on the edges of where the big top, booths, and his own tarot reading tent were already set up and waited for the morning crowds to start arriving. In the short distance he saw the strongman Ducet and his best friend Marv, an impossibly small androgynous goblin who always sat on his shoulder.

"Great marnin, isn't it! Have no fear, I am awake and ready ta seize this day. Might I have a moment of yer time? " Molly called to the two companions running over. They both smiled when they saw Mollymauk and he gave his best grin back, letting his red eyes do the work for him, as the trinkets and baubles pierced in his horn twinkled as he moved.

"What can we do for you, Molly." Marv replied from their perch, giggling.

"Molly-" Ducet started to say but was cut off.

"Now, you see I got myself into sort of a jam, ya see. Molly began, "I got this wonderful couple back in my tent, just the sweetest pair of lovebirds, on my honor they are, but it was their wedding night and I didn't want ta go and bother them, as it was a celebration of wonders!" And Molly paused to see their reactions.

"Go on…" Marve said

"Molly-" Ducet started.

"See, the thing is, with the new curfew in place we aren't supposed to be inviting people from town back, but how could I say no ta officiating a wedding that was just so, so beautiful. Would be wrong, certainly. Anyway, if you could just thank them for giving me the honor, and tell them they are welcome for everything else in return. Oh! and this card. That'd be just wonderful." Molly said, picking up the pace and holding out one of his self made tarot cards.

"Molly, that's a fish…" Marv said, giggling harder.

"Molly-" Ducet said, a little louder.

"What- oh, sorry, love. Here's the two souls one." Molly replied, fishing for the right card and taking the other back before continuing. "Thank you both for helpin' me out ta this. We get one dead guy walking around, and all this bother. It's like I didn't even take care of it for us. Curfew. Nonsense, dead people come back all the time. It's all these terrible gossips around here, that's how word got out. Eh, you know as well as me, I'm the worst of the lot. Anyway, thank you both again. It's my patrol tonight if you feel like joining in for a little walk and drink." Molly finished, and patted the massive arm of Ducet and he strolled towards the carnival grounds that had been his whole life the past two years.

Molly felt a crisp morning breeze up his back as he walked across the grassy field to start his day's work of giving readings for fun and coin.

"MOLLY!" Ducet shouted to him over the exceptionally freeing breeze that Molly seemed to feel everywhere.

Mollymauk turned around and looked back at the giant campsite as Ducet shouted at him again. "YOU’RE NOT WEARING ANY PANTS" and as the giant man finally finished what he had been trying to say, Marv almost fell off his shoulder with laughter.

Mollymauk sighed and trudged shamelessly across the field back to the caravan and snatched the card from Ducet as he marched on to his tent. He smiled the whole time though, because it made him think of his very good, and like super amazing, best friend, Jester! And Molly was glad he heard her voice in his head anytime he thought of her. She had written back that after the DA tournament she would stop by to see him, and she would still be laughing if she had been there this morning.

Or made it worse, he thought, and lifted the tent flap.

 

[Anders Nazret]

Necromancy. Of course it had to be necromancy. Mickey wondered, if a bit morbidly, on whether he’d rather deal with demonology or necromancy. After a bit of hemming and hawing he settled on necromancy. Demons were cruel and unusual and generally bastards, but the reanimated dead had a particular stench to them that the detective wasn’t going to forget. Even worse? It was the middle of summer and bound to get hot as hell in the coming days. Of course there was legal and even ethical necromancy to consider. Ouija boards and seances sprang to mind. And he had even heard of wealthier Arcadians being revivified into younger artificial bodies. Still, more often than not, it was just some edgy college kid taking dark arts 101 and getting a bit too enthusiastic with their studies.

Regardless, it was worth checking out.

Not that he had a choice - Jester had practically dragged him out of the store. Halfway down the road she had let go after seemingly deciding that Mickey wasn’t going to float away on her. As they walked Mickey stuffed the scrolls away inside the pockets of his trench coat. Scrolls were tricky business. It wasn’t like anyone could just bust out a set of watercolors and doodle their way to a scroll of unbound wrath. It took a baseline level of knowledge and magical aptitude to craft anything with even a hint of thaumaturgical potential - not to mention the specialized inks and parchments. Naturally practice was necessary and these rejects were the necessary byproduct of such practice. Using defective scrolls was like trying to use a gun recently dredged up from a saltwater lake. Most likely it wouldn’t work, but there was a small chance that it’d blow your fingers off, and an even smaller chance that it would do what it was supposed to.

“So… Jester,” He said, her name awkward in his mouth, “Your friend, is he some sort of divination wizard or something? You said his predictions were never wrong, so I’d imagine he’s more than just lucky.”

Jester gave a ‘hmmm’ of thought as the strode double time, and even whipped around to regard Mickey with a grin.

“Well, I am not sure if he is exactly a wizard, but he is certainly something special. His predictions are usually never wrong. Usually. Sometimes they are, but only if he is drunk, or if he does not pay attention or something. Whatever he says, he is probably going to be right. …probably. And he is also one of my best friends, and he looks out for my friends. We are friends, I assume.”

Mickey lit up a smoke and nodded as he listened to her. In a weird way he had already met her from his hospital bed. Dante’s Abyss had been on practically every channel available. And, despite the recent bank robbery, it had managed to shoulder itself into the forefront of every major news outlet on Erde. He didn’t care for it. He had spent a lifetime investigating blood and guts and the thought of watching such violence for fun made his stomach twist. Still, avoiding it entirely was one of life’s many impossibilities.

“Y’know, on our way to the circus there’s this little 24/7 bakery that has the absolute best donuts,” Mickey explained, “The kind with sprinkles and everything, I haven’t had anything to eat since I got out of the hospital, why don’t we make a pit stop? My treat.”

“Oh, that sounds excellent!” Jester exclaimed, “But, I should warn you… I love donuts.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Probably some kind of weird, sick, weirdo probably.”

Spurred on by the prospect of future donuts the two quickly went on their way. Lou’s 24/7 Bakery and Tea House was being manned by a gruff looking fellow. He was reclining in a cheap swivel chair behind the glass display counter, watching the final stretch of the Abyss. Mickey walked up to the counter. Behind him Jester ooh’d and ahh’d at the various confectionery creations. Elegant little pastries sat protected underneath glass domes and the entire air smelled of sweets.

“Lou!” Mickey shouted, “Lou!”

“Is he deaf?” Jester asked.

“Kinda,” Mickey responded and then shouted again, “LOU!”

At this Lou jerked in surprise and looked over his shoulder, “Mickey, ya bastard, ya scared the life outta me.”

“Yeah, well if you wore your hearing aids I wouldn’t have to,” Mickey responded, “Lou, this is Jester. Jester, this is Lou. I’ll take the usual and give her whatever she wants.”

At this Lou’s face exploded in surprise. He clamored out of his chair and walked towards the counter faster than Mickey’d ever seen him walk. Lou was a big hairy man. He was the kind of guy that looked like he flunked outta highschool and took up a job being the town drunk. Course, appearances were deceiving. Every last one of the delicious treats beneath their glass domes were created with own two hands. He had a knack for baking and the passion to share it with the world. Mickey liked that about him. In that moment, however, his passion for baking was only eclipsed by his fangirling of Dante’s Abyss.

“Jester? Thee Jester?! Oh sweets above, I never thought I’d get a chance to meet an actual contestant,” He said, his gravelly voice adopting an excited undertone, “Whatever you want, it’s on the house - Mickey you still have to pay - But, Jester, please whatever you want it is yours.”

“Whatever I want!?” Jester exclaimed, leaning forward towards the display. “ But…I want so much!

She turned her head towards Mickey and saw his face, alight with enthusiasm, and her own enthusiasm died a bit while she remembered the contest itself. Could she really use her status of moderate celebrity to indulge in the world of ill-begotten baked pastries?

…of course she could.

With a veritable sack of cannolis, crescants, and donuts, Jester paid in autograph and the promise of a return visit. Lou seemed, for his part, ecstatic to take the reciprocal celeb card and let Jester off with a bag of goodies. Mickey had to pay his piece for a fraction of Jester’s inherited wealth.

“So, what brought you in Mick?” Lou finally asked as he finished tallying up Mickey’s drink and glazed donut. He asked because this was one of the detective’s rituals. Sort of like how some athletes always eat at the same restaurant before a match. Mickey always had a glazed donut and a piping-hot cup of chai tea.

“You ever been to that circus?” He asked, “Y’know, the one that just got to town?”

Lou thought for a moment, “Yeah, maybe a few years back… if it’s the one I think you’re talking about. Why? You investigating some killer space clowns or somethin’?”

“More like killer zombie clowns,” Mickey answered.

“Yeash,” Lou answered, “Not a fan of clowns, period. But, eh, someone must like ‘em or else they wouldn’t be in business huh?”

“Different strokes for different folks,” Mickey agreed, “Anyways, we gotta get going - it was nice seeing you, Lou.”

The baker nodded and just before they left he shouted, “I heard about that bank robbery, Mick, ya did good… it ain’t fair what they’re saying in the news, that whole thing could’ve been a lot worse.”

Mickey paused in the doorway for just a moment, “Have a good night Lou.”

“Have a good night.”

Mickey’s stomach wasn’t interested in finishing his donut. He simply held onto the half-eaten pastry and followed Jester as she pranced down the street. That was easy for Lou to say. He fucks up and the worst that happens is someone gets a burnt shortcake. People died in that robbery. A lot of people died. Death wasn’t new to him, but it was something he never got used to. Magic was supposed to be the gateway to miracles, and sometimes it wasn’t even enough to stop a damn robbery.

 

[Jester Lavorre]

Two figures crossed the No Man’s Land between the Arcadia’s outskirts and the circus proper, and each moved at different paces. The figure in front rushed ahead, skipping, and then had to hang back while the second figure caught up in a methodical gait. Figure the first had little awareness of her surroundings, while figure the second caught every detail of the landscape with the vigilance of a mile high buzzard.

As they walked, Jester nattered on. Words were to Jester as seed was to the hen, and she would pursue them endlessly until something or someone stopped her. Mickey, for his part, wore an attentive look, and his Tiefling companion seemed not to notice whether or not his attention was fixed on her or the walk.

“...and there is a huge guy, and a tiny little companion, they are very cute. You can buy cotton candy,” her eyes swelled as big as saucers, and she spun around to walk backwards and stare at Mickey while she illuminated him on the joys of the circus. “There are these blue plastic boxes where you can sit down and poop, and draw little dicks on the inside door, and there are all kinds of activities.”

Mickey gave a nod of acknowledgement, while his detective’s eye caught the upcoming circus growing large on the horizon at their approach. An almost indiscernible shift in the way he carried himself occurred, which went right over Jester’s head.

“And wait until you see Molly! He is handsome and beautiful, and he is like some kind of card reading God, almost, or whatever. He has this accent that is like…very cool. It is so cool. And he hangs out with all of these carnival people…I met a lot of them. I come to visit them every year, so we are kind of like best friends. Pretty much.”

They had fast approached the circus while Jester’s noise filled the air, but as they entered what was a canvas jungle with its own intricate alleys and passages, a new noise took its place. The noise was music, merriment, the shouts of children, the shuffle of feet in a bustling community, the squealing of rubber as balloons were tied into intricate shapes, and the shouting of buskers drawing in business.

As they passed a man standing on one hand Jester withdrew a small fistful of coins from a cloak pocket, dropped the coins into his hat with flippant disregard for their value, and flashed the man a big dimpled grin.

“Thanks, Jester!” the man called out, flashing an upside down thumbs up at her back as she disappeared into a crowd of bodies.

Mickey struggled through the same throng of fast paced circus foot traffic, his eyes always trained on Jester who maneuvered through the festival attendees with an uncanny intuition for who would move where and when.

“Keep up!” Jester called over her shoulder, pink eyes twinkling mischievously.

He tried, and almost succeeded, but lost her when she waded through a sea of hungry families lined up in front of a popcorn booth. When Mickey himself had passed through he could catch no sight of the Tiefling.

Jester stood in front of the card reading tent a few tents down when he finally caught up with her. The Cleric chatted animatedly with a shriveled old man seated in a wheelchair, who looked eighty if he was a day. Only a few sprouts of hair struggled out of the wrinkled raisin of his skull, and those few were stark white - barren deserts had yielded finer crops. For all that, he seemed in good spirits, and laughed at something Jester said.

“Oh, my girl,” the old man said, beaming up at Jester with blue eyes that, despite his age, had not lost any of their clever shine.

He took one of her blue hands in both of his feeble ones, cradled it with hooked fingers that spoke of arthritis, and squeezed.

Jester was as gentle as a lamb with him, and stopped to brush her big blue lips across the liver spotted surface of his gnarled knuckles. She rose back up with an almost courtly grace.

“Ike, you old dog,” she whispered coyly, before withdrawing her hand from his. “You are very, very charming, you know?”

Mickey stood rooted, hands in his pockets, and looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Jester Lavorre, goofy, almost a child in the way she behaved - who was that he’d just seen, half-bowing with the magnificence of a courtesan? Who was that, with the mannerisms of a noble? Certainly not the Jester he’d come here with.

…but it was gone in an instant as another Tiefling, taller and purple, emerged from the nearest tent.

“Do my ears deceive me, or is that the voice of Jester ringin’ in my ears? It truly is a splendid marnin’,” and he offered her his most winsome smile.

Jester lit up like a Christmas tree, made a wordless exclamation, and threw herself on him in a full embrace.

“Ya forget yer own strength,” Molly squeezed out breathlessly, though he looked happy as a clam. “Yer likely to crack a rib, Jester.”

She released him reluctantly, stepped back, and scanned the other Tiefling up and down. For a moment Jester looked contemplative, then that familiar smile spread wide across her freckled cheeks. Nearby, Ironsides Ike gave a wistful look at the back of the young woman’s forest green cloak, unaware of Mickey’s eye watchful eyes locked onto him.

“Best be going,” the old man murmured, looking slightly disappointed.

He began to wheel away, but Jester and Molly took no notice, preoccupied as they were with sizing each other up. Only Mickey did. His eyes followed the old man as he departed.

“You’ve gotten shorter,” Molly noted, winking.

“And you’ve gotten skinnier,” stated Jester, her gaze growing stern. “You need to eat more and drink less. Have you been sleeping enough? Look at those rings around your eyes, you look as if you-”

Mickey cleared his throat and both horned Tiefling heads swiveled in his direction. Jester looked as if she’d just remembered the detective was there, while Molly looked as if he’d forgotten if he’d had a customer or not.

“Oh. Right. Uh, Molly, this-” and she gestured at the Detective like Vanna White would gesture at the Wheel of Fortune board. “-is Detective Mickey.”

“A detective?” remarked Molly, giving a low whistle. “Whatever it is, I can assure ya that yer lookin’ at the wrong guy.”

“We have not come here to investigate you, Molly,” Jester asserted.

Mickey’s expression didn’t shift. He looked like he could definitely be there to investigate Mollymauk. Mollymauk, in turn, looked like he probably needed to be investigated.

“...we are here to investigate…” Jester looked from one side to the other furtively. There were an outrageous number of people passing by, but none seemed to pay them any mind. “...dead people.”

“Necromancy, specifically,” added Mickey, and he approached the duo. “Maybe we can go inside and speak more privately.”

Mollymauk swung open his tent flap graciously, and gestured them in.

“Of course, of course. And maybe you can let ol’ Molly give ya a readin’ while we’re at it, wouldn’t ya say?” Molly stated, wearing a wan smile.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

The inside of Mollymauk's tarot tent was meant to hit many senses all at once; with scores of decorations that littered the walls and rugs in a perfunctory style, while the calming smell of various incense came for your nostrils.

Molly held the flap open for his good friend, Jester and the Detective she had brought with her. He gave Detective Mickey a minute to acclimate to the dimmer conditions inside before entering after them; Molly knew Jester would have no problem acclimating with the same Tiefling vision they shared; it meant there would be many new dick-shaped carvings about the place.

“Everything s'always fer sale if ya see something that catches yer fancy, dear detective...and Jester, my sweet Jester...steal whatever ya like; I would that you’d refrain from honoring yer god with dicks on the merchandise, please.” Molly said, staring into her purple eyes from behind his own pair of red orbs, and he took both her blue hands in his lavender ones.

“Molly , I would never ever do such a thing, not on all these beautiful wares…” Jester retorted with the feigned sincerity that she did so well; she grabbed the nearest item to her, and brought a tiny goat’s head up beside her face for effect. She felt the small horn of the pygmy goat brush her own horn and she stared at it for a few seconds before turning back to her good friend. “Molly, this is like, super creepy. Buuuut, You know something that would make this weird little skull even betterrr…” Jester finished smiling up at Molly with her horns now affectionately touching the tiny goats horns that were as big as her own.

“Ah, well. Who am I ta tell a priest not ta worship. But! We are here fer questions and a readin’; and I do think we’ve kept the good detective waitin’ too long already.” Molly said and clapped his hands as he stepped back and away over a ceramic teapot with a picture of djinn and almost tripped on a pair of old, silver plated shackles.

Molly made his way to the center of his place, to one of two chairs with a small round-top table between them. The table itself was simple, made from white pine; but the dark stained carvings dug in expertly; made it a piece of art. The table was meant to match Molly's cloak in the amount of religious symbols it carried, but lacked the vibrant patchwork colors that the cloak bore. The tent, the table, and the cloak had the same quiddity of random that also matched the hundreds of crisscross scars on Molly’s chest, neck, and shoulders, that were all exposed; it showcased scars akimbo still visible on his lavender skin in the dimly lit and smokey room. He sat upon his wobbly stool, and made it his throne, hoping to complete the picture for the newcomer of ‘The Great Mollymauk Tealeaf: The Corybantic King’.

“So’s ya been saying something about some necromancy, but I don’t know how ya could have heard bout that, we’re as sealed as an uncorked bottle round here, we are, you’ll find nah a one gabber round here…” Molly started, and leaned forward on the table, shuffling the deck that was already on it; peering through the twilight room with ease, and really noticing the Detective for the first time. “Well, s’not everyday ya get a Detective who actually looks like a goddamn Detective, well done, mate! Ya gotta love a man in uniform, go on an’ ask yer questions while I deal ya a wee bit o’ fate as we ratiocinate, but I have ta warn ya: ya can’t ever be trusting a devil.” Molly finished, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jester carving something on a post he was sure resembled the carving that she hid amongst the symbols on his table.

Molly continued shuffling as the Detective came and sat on the stool, who was seemingly just humoring the situation. The Detective sighed and went to start to speak, but as Molly flicked the deck from one hand to the other and kept going out further and further before coming back to meet just a short distance apart and started speaking first, as rustling of boisterous shuffling ceased enough for conversation.

“So, anyway, it happened ‘bout two nights after we came ta this fairgrounds; same as last year an the year before that. Nothing out of tha ordinary, and I mean ordinary for us. We were having a bit o’ a craic in the big top, as we do from time ta time. Just a few of us was there and I just so’s be happing ta be having my blades on me ta show tha others a neat trick I’ve been working on…” and as Molly continued he kept the eyes of the Detective, which seemed to Molly to be a sign to continue as he put the deck down on his white pine alter. “So, there we were, an out o’ nowhere we hear a loud groaning, like something filled with despair, an hunger, an hate all rolled into one melodious groan…and then we seen the bloke coming through under the tent, same exact guy that the Big Boss was yelling ta find earlier today. Now, I’m not supposed ta be saying any o’ this, an I’m only telling ya cause ya came with Jester…” and Molly looked behind the Detective to see Jester a few spaces behind with a knife in her hand; the goat’s head was in the other, and she was beaming back at him.

Molly smiled back at Jester, showing the full weight of his hellish canines. Molly then looked at the Detective and he pulled a card out of his sleeve.

“Your first card is The Empty Casket…very interesting, that one. Might think o’ that as a sign, don’t ya think? Unless you’ve been feeling a bit hallow lately, Detective. If ya want ta talk about it with Ole Molly, I'm a very active listener,” Molly finished talking finally, and then gave the same grin he gave to Jester.

“Hm. Fancy work, but maybe let’s just stick to the case for now, Molly…and you can call me Mickey. What happened after the man came into the tent?” Mickey asked, and if he showed anything other than a cool and collected demeanor, Molly took no notice.

Molly did however take a flask out of somewhere on his cloak and pulled a draught from it with a long gulp.

“Well, so this man Jacobsen comes in and he smells of death; that was tha first thing I noticed, but then he did tha moan again. So, he is coming a bit too close, almost stalking forward; then I notice a knife sticking out his chest…I had just seen him this marnin’ at breakfast and he was fine as the day is long. Very capable, lots of responsibility Big Boss had put on Jacobsen as a head groundsman tha past few months; he was a great lad, and it’s a damn shame. Your second card is the The Chase.” Molly said and threw a spinning card onto the table that landed face up and flat, right next to the first card…and all the while he was taking another pull from his flask.

Detective Mickey just stared back with his ice-blue orbs and made for Molly to continue with a gentle gesture of one hand; the other clutched something below the table.

“So, Jacobsen comes stalking forward, as if he was no longer a person at all. I said to him, I said Oi, mate, you’re leaking a bit o’ black from yer mouth an nose, but he just kept on coming on, like he wasn’t a person at all, like he had died an been…been..”

“Transmogrified.” Interrupted both Mickey and Jester at the exact same time.


Mickey looked over his shoulder at his new companion, who just shrugged before going back to carving something into the Goat skull having moved on from any number of posts that Molly would discover at a later date.

“Yes, well that is a fine word. Blessings ta both of ya. So, he comes back, transmogrified into the walking dead, and I used my blades after he came at me…weirdest thing was how fast he moved when he finally got close enough. I know tha sword pretty well, but I’ll tell ya something…if I didn’t have the senses for stuff like that - he would o’ gotten the drop on me, and that’d be tha end o’ sweet Mollymauk. By tha gods, I had to off his head, Detective,” and Molly shrugged and sighed as he stood, showing no effects of the now empty flask he tossed to the carpet next to a mask that looked like it could be used for any number of rituals. As he stood Molly reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, and placed it next to the casket and the feline cowboy humanoid in full gallop on a horse; the third card was also another hand-painted card by Molly like the other two on the reading table.

“Your third card is The Fish? Oh damn, not again. Twice in one day that is! Well, so it goes, doesn’t it, Detective? Well, ya got yer answers, ya got yer reading, now why don’t I go ahead an close up my castle fer the day; that way I can take ya all around and ta meet the fine folks of my demesne. Everybody will want ta see Jester, but if yer both so inclined, tonight is my turn for patrol duty if ya like ta join; I can promise you, it’ll be a craic”!

Molly showed all the shiny red of his eyes then smiled and gave a thumbs up to Jester who held out the goat skull, now complete with a beautifully ornate collage of dicks on both the horns.

 

[Anders Nazret]

“Thank you Molly,” Detective Mickey said, placing a few coins on the table.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Detective,” Molly answered, “Ole’ Molly doesn’t work for free, he doesn’t, but I’m thinkin’ you’ll be paying us back real soon.”

Mickey smiled politely and left the coins there, “Please, I insist… it’s bad luck to get your fortune read without nothing in return.”

“Well, I suppose if the man insists, then who am I to say no to his money?”

As soon as the tiefling lifted the coins, Mickey spoke up, “Of course, if you’re wanting this whole thing resolved, you could always do me the favor of letting me look around where this Jacobsen fellow was staying.”

Mollymauk paused. He tumbled one of the coins along his knuckles. While it wasn’t a bribe per-se, it was totally a bribe to keep the wheels nice and greased. Mickey knew that and he supposed Molly was too clever to miss the implication. A grin appeared on the tiefling’s face, “Oh, I do like ya detective - Jester, ya have good taste in friends. I do suppose we could make a little detour while we’re galavantin’”.

Mickey followed the two of them outside, idly listening to their chattering. Of course he didn’t hear a word they said, not really anyways. His mind was stuck on Molly’s description. If he was to be believed, and Mickey had no reason to think otherwise, then the man was killed and zombified in less than a day. Hell, there was a decent chance the body was still warm by the time it started kicking again. They didn’t even bother to pull the knife out. Necromancers, in his experience, were generally a bunch of death-obsessed weirdos and this one wasn’t sounding any different.

A gout of fire swept the ground in front of them. A clean perfectly white-orange geyser of fire came from above and raked along the ground. Mickey leapt back, reaching into his jacket for one of the scrolls. His companions merely cackled wildly. He paused, his eyes thrown haywire by the sudden brightness. A shape loomed above them, stepping over them with a pair of slender wooden poles. Stilts, adorned with all sorts of feathers and garlands and way-too-flammable things carried a young man dressed in much of the same. He took a swill of, what Mickey could only guess was gasoline, and brought a lit torch to his lips as he walked. Another pillar of flame shot forth from his lips, scraping the night sky before vanishing.

“Careful now Milo,” Mollymauk called after the man, “Ya wouldn’t want ta be settin’ our good friend Jester on fire, now would ya?”

“Is that Jester!? Hey Jester!” The man cried from his perch, nearly losing his balance as he swung around haphazardly.

“Milo! You’ve gotten tall!” She shouted back.
“Yeah, first year on the stilts!” He said proudly, “Big Boss said I was ready for it and here I am!”

“Big Boss is right! That fire trick is so coool!”

Even from so far up Mickey could tell the young man was beaming. The stilt-walker released another belch of fire to which the three of them cheered. Milo shouted, “Well, I gotta keep moving, good seeing you Jester!”

Mickey smiled. It was hard not to. Being surrounded by hardasses all day tended to starve one’s sense of humor. Here, though, Mickey discovered that one would be quite hard pressed to find a single hardass in a twenty mile radius. Who could blame them. If Mickey was a hard ass he’d stay far away from such a raucous place. Colors, lights, fire, and magic were found at every corner. Sword-swallowers and firespitters wowed the crowds while silkwalkers dangled precariously above. Jugglers twisted by, each of them juggling more ridiculous items than the last. Discarded balloon animals, animated via magic roamed the carnival grounds - Mickey found the snakes to be particularly hilarious.

Through it all, however, every single carnival worker paused and graciously greeted Jester and Molly as if they were long-lost friends. They probably were. And, by association, so was Mickey. Though, he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a third wheel. That was fine though, he understood that not a lot of people were all that interested in making friends with a detective (particularly one snooping around their workplace). Finally, almost anticlimactically, they emerged from the chaos to stand in front of a dimly-lit tent. Mickey nearly got whiplash from the sudden lack of stimulation.

“Well, there ya be detective,” Molly said somberly, “Jacobsen’s tent.”

There wasn’t much to look at. It wasn’t a particularly large nor ornate tent, no it was nothing more than dark green canvas draped over a scaffolding. The entry flap sat open, gently flapping in the wind. They were so far removed from the cacophony of the carnival that he could hear crickets chirping. Without the crowds it got cold, real cold out. He reached into his coat pocket and removed a scroll. A moment later he uttered its command word and the paper burst into an ugly green flame which hovered softly above his head. It was supposed to be a bright white orb of light, buuut it was also from the reject bin so a sickly green light would have to do.

“Ah, ya got some magic do ya?” Mollymauk said aloud.

“Something like that,” Mickey answered.

“Guess that explains The Fish.”

“The fish?” Mickey asked.

“Your fortune,” Jester commented, “He is probably talking about your fortune. Probably.”

“Indeed I am, dear Jester,” Molly said.

Mickey asked, “And what exactly does The Fish mean?”

“Now, now, what sort of fun would it be ta ruin the surprise,” Molly hummed, “None at all, none at all.”

“Right…” Mickey answered.

He turned his attention back towards the tent. It remained unassuming, simply sitting in the cold dark. The putrid glow from his spell seemed to make the green tent only greener. With a nod towards his companions he edged forward. He moved slow, craning his neck to try and see inside. The entrance was low and without fully lifting up the flap he almost had to crouch to see inside. Leading into the tent the grass was trampled, but that was not too unusual especially if the carnival had been there for a few days. Jester murmured something about this whole thing being spooky in a tone that belied her excitement. Mickey reached out, grabbing the canvas flap. He could feel the small metal weights sewn into the fabric’s bottom. With a slow breath he peeled back the flap and revealed the tent’s innards.

Everything was bathed in sick green light. There was a simple cot with a wool blanket folded carefully underneath a pillow. Besides the cot, most of the real estate was taken up by a large chest. It was padlocked and ostensibly used to carry Jacobsen’s wardrobe and personal effects. Mickey stepped inside, his feet crunching the sun-starved grass. He simply stood, his breath apparent in the cool night air. He glanced back at Molly, checking to make sure the man wouldn’t have an issue with him going through Jacobsen’s stuff. There was a slight nod and Mickey set to work. He crouched before the cot, slowly and carefully unfolding the blanket.

Normally there were all sorts of investigative spells and enchantments he could utilize. If there was any magical residue he could use it to gather a sort of magical fingerprint. Like the rifling of a gun, each spellcaster’s magical signature was unique and identifiable. Of course, this was all wishful thinking. Given his circumstances, doing much beyond burning a few janky scrolls was out of the question. So, he had to do things the old fashioned way. This paid off as he opened up the folded blanket. It was like cracking open a sun-baked coffin. The stench hit him first, followed by the sticky, greasy sensation of some unknown goop hidden with the folds. It clung to his hand like lukewarm honey. He audibly gagged and tried to smear the foul slime into the grass. By then the entire tent reeked and he realized the blanket was absolutely covered in this slime.

“Disgusting,” Mickey muttered, trying more violently to wipe the shit from his hand.

The question, naturally, was - just what the hell was it?. Ectoplasm was generally more translucent and didn’t really have a scent. If it was some sort of sentient ooze then his hand should have started to dissolve. Symbiotes weren’t so placid. He thought back to how Molly described Jacobsen as leaking black from his mouth. Liquified organs? It certainly smelled like it. But what kind of person has their organs turned to mush, but bothers to fold their blanket before turning into a zombie? Deep in thought his heart nearly jumped out of his throat when he heard a sudden and quite loud *THUMP* behind him. He turned around, but saw nothing. Saw nothing, until the locked chest jumped a few inches into the air and slammed back into the dirt. It rattled and shivered and shook. Something was trying to get out. Mickey looked at the padlock and then back to his companions.

*THUMP*

“Anyone know how to pick a lock?”

 

[Jester Lavorre]

Jester’s pink tongue snaked out from between her blue lips. Her freckled face screwed up in concentration, and her eyes narrowed. Below her chin both hands frenetically worked a pair of bobby pins. It was slow going, though. When she thought she might be rewarded with a click, instead she was thrown off by the jumping chest bucking to the side or leaping into the air; she’d start all over again, get close, lose it, rinse, dry, repeat. None today, ma’am, better try again tomorrow. …it was frustrating, but the Tiefling kept herself draped in a mantle of cheer.

“I thought ya said ya knew how ta lockpick,” Molly teased lightly. They had been watching her for awhile now and his casual drawl was carried away by the undercurrents of boredom.

“I do not think I said I knew how to lockpick, exactly,” replied Jester flippantly. “I probably said that I would try to lockpick. Or something. I do not really remember…”

She trailed off when the chest rocked back on its rear edge and nearly snapped her bobbies. Close call! Without her pins, she’d have to surrender the task to one of the others, Traveler forbid, and where was the fun in that!? Jester sucked air through her teeth and bit back the urge to curse, and waited for the chest to rock back. …it did, and she went back to violating the switchboard of pins in the padlock with her slipshod picking technique.

“You know, I could probably get this done a little bit quicker with-” Mickey began to say.

He was cut off by two quick clicks - the first was Jester bypassing the last of the padlock’s interlocking latches, and the second was the padlock itself snapping open. The chest gave an excited lurch, though the Tiefling barely managed to wrestle the padlock off the chains that bound it before it did so. The links, laced akimbo, slid off the chest while the group watched with a shuddering anticipation that usually belonged to anxious men at a sultry peep show.

Freed of chains, the chest’s lid popped open…

A slavering tongue flapped obscenely, and a snide voice both shrill and nasal yawned from the chest’s insides.

“Thanks, lady! …smell ya’ later!” and immediately it pitched itself towards the opening of the tent.

Mickey shifted to stop it, but Mollymauk was faster. He had already leapt into action, literally, and was a purple bullet streaming flamboyant colors behind him that clapped right into the escaping chest. They were a tangle of dark chestnut and royal purple, then, rolling across the floor of the canvas enclosure until Mollymauk came out on top, sweating, panting, but pinning the storage unit to the ground triumphantly.

“Oh…no…ya don’t…” he breathed heavily, but a smirk played around the corners of his lips.

Mickey was already there, hunkered down until he was face to paneling with the animated inanimate.

Jester sat cross-legged in the pile of chains. She slid a chain idly from hand to hand, feeling the links, and found some reassurance in their cold steel. They might be heavy to someone else, but to her? Easy pickings. She could haul a dozen such chains, dragging them like a lumberjack, and still not break a sweat, she bet.

While the others bore down on their unlikely witness, Jester gazed about the chest. Her gaze was scrutiny, but not in the same way that their detective companion’s was. Where he searched for clues, Jester Lavorre looked instead for opportunity. She became acutely aware of closed drawer in a nearby desk that practically begged for somebody to stuff a snake in there. Then when it was opened up? Pop! - the perfect crime. A snicker slipped from her lips, which she quickly dammed up. With a great deal of effort she turned away from the desk, feeling as if she’d left an itch unscratched, and leveled her devious eyes on her companions.

Focus. Probably better focus.

“Tell us what you’ve seen,” Mickey commanded, and for the first time Jester heard the other side of the detective in him.

There was the investigator, she’d seen that, that was the guy who carefully undressed a situation with his eyes and dug around furtively for the clues that lay beneath the surface. …that was an important part of detective work, of course. But then there was the other guy who had to live in the same skin as that careful investigator, if there was a successful detective to be had. The cross-examiner. The duality of the detective, Jester realized, was in both learning what could be learned from the situation, and then learning what needed to be learned from those involved. She got the feeling that she was about to watch a master ply his trade, and felt a quick rush of excitement.

The chest squirmed, but Molly held fast. After a pause…

“I ain’t seen nuttin’,” the chest stated, its hinges squeaking with the effort to open its ‘mouth’ while it was jammed against the floor of the tent.

Mickey nodded to Jester, who stood and lifted up the slack chains with a jingle.

“Wait! Wait, I’ll ta-”

“Too late,” Detective Mickey cut the talking trunk off curtly. “Maybe a little more time in chains will loosen your lips.”

It shifted like it was going to say something but Molly clamped the animated storage device shut as tight as a clam before a clambake.

As she approached it, chains slung over her shoulder, padlock in one hand, Jester side-eyed Mickey and informed him, “I do not think it has lips, exactly.”

She lifted up the chains, approached the chest, and informed it that it was “time for the ol’ one two, buckle my shoe,” - whatever that meant.

- - -

A short time and one bound up enchanted chest witness later the group made their way across the fairgrounds. Molly led, Mickey trailed, and a little further behind Jester strolled with a merry spring to her step and a chain leash dragging her quarry through the dirt. She whistled pleasantly, while Molly chatted actively.

“-and if this entire thing isn’t reason enough for a drink, I don’t know what in this beauty of a world is. I don’t even know what ta say - our chief witness is a talkin’ pile o’ boards? Can’t help but feel that’s an ill omen when lives could be hangin’ in the balance. …we’ll have ourselves one drink…well, maybe we’ll have ourselves two drinks, and then we can unchain the bastard an’ start gettin’ down ta the real nature o’ this thing. You know, the meat an’-”

Molly lifted up the flap to his tent, looked in, and paled. He took a staggering step back, and then looked back at the group. Mickey was awaiting him, while a distracted Jester jabbed a nimble blue finger with a painted, pointed nail at the clad-iron prisoner. She turned her head when she felt eyes on her.

“Molly?” Jester asked curiously, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye. She rolled up to a stand, drew up close to the tent flap herself, stopped, then handed the chain leash to Mickey. “What exactly is-”

Lifting the canvas flap, Jester took a look inside Mollymauk’s dimly lit quarters and immediately saw what his issue was. A limp form lay spread-eagled upon the ground, limbs splayed, head tilted all the way back. Markings surrounded the dead man, and they were etched in blood. Jester’s eyes widened, and she withdrew from the flap. A sickening lurch shifted her belly, and she felt a hot, dry lump come up in her throat.

“Uh oh,” the words slipped low and slow from her moisture deprived mouth and fell through the silence.

Mickey passed the chain back into her hands and pushed past the two Tieflings, but he did not only open the flap. He went right in. He didn’t come back out, either. No slowing that train, he was all steam and no brakes.

All quiet on the tent front, and all quiet on the Jester-Molly front as well. When Jester stole a glance at Molly’s face, pale purple that was all eyes and a fright-wrought tight lipped expression, his own gaze met hers and a knowledge passed between them.

The knowledge that passed was something private to a Tiefling, and something that other races could understand but maybe none so much as the Tiefling race could. When a crime occurred, blame fell quickly on the nearest Tiefling. In an upstanding community, it was rare to find a Tiefling for this reason. Their Demonic heritage and devilish appearances made them natural targets for blame. For this reason many Tieflings really did turn to a life of crime, and that only drove home the unpopular reputation for the rest of them. It was one of those self-fulfilling properties, Jester supposed. Even Tieflings like she and Molly had a propensity for mischief, albeit it was relatively harmless mischief.

This was something else, though. And what it was, was bad for the long, tall Tiefling performer beside her.

Sure, he belonged to the Circus. Maybe that could give him a little bit of lee-way. Maybe. But…a body in his tent? No, not that much lee-way. The look that passed between Jester and Molly, hung between them like a weight on a tightrope - it was the look that said, ‘oh shit’ or ‘things just got very bad’. No get out of jail free card on this one, Molly ol’ boy. They’ll be stringing you up by the horns and hanging you out to dry in no time…another Tiefling in the books, and who’d be surprised? The circus performers he’d lived with for a couple of years? They liked him well enough, but one little ol’ body in the tent and everyone would be crying the blues - never liked that Tiefling beanpole anyway, they’d say. He’d always been trouble. Funny how the memory skewed things that way, when one’s own reputation was on the line, Jester reflected bitterly.

All that and more in one gaze. …and Mickey still hadn’t come out of the tent.

“Do you…do you think he…”

“Slipped out the back and went ta go tell someone?” Mollymauk finished her sentence. “Let’s hope ta everything beautiful in this world that it isn’t the case.”

They stared at the tent flap for what felt like a long time, that knowledge of Tiefling persecution buzzed in the air between them, and neither of them could shake it.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Mollymauk sighed and rubbed his eyes as the Detective's voice came from inside the canvas.

“Are you two coming?” called Mickey.

“Well Jester, my sweet darlin’…I's say maybe we've left tha good Detective alone fer enough time with my belongings. Age before beauty, as they say…” Molly said, and held the flap open for Jester to enter before him; people seemed less likely to send green balls of fire at her than him, in his experience. She rolled her eyes at him for good measure as she passed into the tent.

Molly's sleeping quarters were everything that his Tarot Tent was not. The green canvas spread out over a high center support made the tent seem large, but the one cot and one chair with a crate flipped upside-down in front of it serving as the only furniture made the empty space appear even larger. The only similarities one would find between the tent he showed the world and this tent were the tripping hazards. Unlike the spread of omnifarious goods and trinkets in the first tent, this second personal tent had a variety of different beer, wine, and liquor bottles that were strewn about the ground and as empty as fitting the dwelling.

Normally the bottles were even harder to navigate, but it seemed to Molly that whoever did this at least swept some of them aside to make room for the body with the partial rune drawn around the murdered man.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf, you need to decorate…and not drink so much. Definitely. Probably,” Jester chastised as she took in the place.

“I found this?” Mickey half-said, half-asked, and offered Jester a signed headshot.

“So ya went through my things, eh Detective? Tha s'bout as close as we’ve come ta flirtin’ all day…” Molly started but trailed off from the look the Detective gave him - a look that seemed even more grim in the hue of the green light source in his hand.

“To ‘Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III’: I will never forget the strong drinks and even stronger horns’. What does that mean? Molly, why do you have a picture of Dorothy Magnolia signed to someone else? That’s like, super creepy…” Jester stated and looked at him.

“She was on ‘Days of our Chocobos’ for forever” Mickey added.

“Oh. she was like, the best! I hope I can someday slap someone in the face after throwing a drink at them half as well as she does. Hm. I probably could, though” Jester added, eyes far away and thoughtful.

Molly interjected “She’s like tha in real life as well, I saw her do it ta a waiter when we were at dinner. Thank tha Arbiters she never caught on before I hightailed it away.”

Jester and Mickey looked at Molly.

“Well, you be thinkin’ she was talkin’ bout some other man’s horns, do ya?” and Molly shook his head. “It was my initiation after joinin’ up proper here. Can’t be havin’ a tarot man who don't know how ta spin a decent yarn…have I never told ya this one, Jester? Well, maybe another time. We’s best be getting on ta what tha good Detective makes of tha dead tattoo artist that we was ta be relievin’ fer patrol duty…” Molly looked at Mickey who was watching him closely. “I might be a fantastic liar, Good Detective, but I ain’t in tha business of cold-blooded murder,” Molly finished and shrugged, indifferent to whether he was believed or not.

“Plus, Tieflings are like super warm blooded, anyway. At least, I’m pretty sure they are,” Jester added helpfully, and smiled until her peripherals caught the corpse on the floor and her face scrunched up.

 

[Anders Nazret]

Two dead in less than a day. Not a good sign, not a good sign at all. Mickey sighed and stared at the tattooist's corpse. The man's body was a collage of kitschy old-school tats. Beyond the tats there wasn't a single scratch on him. It was as if someone just flicked the man's on/off switch. Necromancy, plain and simple. But, snuffing someone's life out completely wasn't an easy task.Necromancy was real nasty stuff, but generally speaking it was more of a slow burn magic. Usually a wasting curse or life sink was utilized to slowly chip away at their victim’s mortal coil, but this, this was something much more direct and powerful. Maybe a power word? Mickey sighed and nodded towards Molly and raised an unlit smoke, asking for permission.

"By all means," Molly encouraged.

Mickey lit his smoke and took a drag. He exhaled a puff of smoke from his nostrils. This was the kind of shit that kept him from quitting. He remembered a hospice worker that'd use a delerium curse on elderly patients to eat away their minds and coerce them into giving away their inheritance. There was another case where some bastard reanimated an entire colony of ants just to go and steal shit from people's homes. Sure there were some legal and ethical necromancers, but as far as Mickey was concerned the dead should stay fuckin' dead. He glanced towards the corpse, probably only a few minutes now.

"Detective… I, er, know what ye may be thinkin'" Molly said, "What with this being my place o' residence and all, but-"

"I know you didn't do it," Mickey interrupted, "You were with me for the past while and this one is fresh."

"Fresh?" Jester repeated, pinching her nose, "Is your nose working properly? This one smells very not fresh at all."

Over the years Mickey had grown used to rancid stenches. It was almost a sort of superpower at this point. His nostrils still registered the rotten almond-like stink of decaying flesh, but his brain refused to process it. That same stinky goop from Jacobsen's tent had begun to ooze out from the tattoist's body. It slithered out from his ears in chunky globs - rotten grey matter. Disgusting.

"You’re right, our friendly neighborhood corpse does smell way past his expiration date,” Mickey agreed, “But, we’re dealing with a necromancer and the defining trait of a necromancer is reanimation.”

It was at this point, that the body began to twitch. As more goop oozed from its body it became more and more alive. A low groan escaped the dead man’s lips and his fingers curled closed into fists. His muscles tense in sequence, starting with the legs and moving towards the head. Whatever evil force the necromancer invoked was worming its way into its host’s body. Mickey ashed his cigarette and looked towards the other two.

“Anyone want the honors?” He asked nonchalantly, “Probably best we put him down before he stands up.”

“I saw your magic, Detective, can ya not just banish the poor bastard?” Molly asked.

“If I had my magic I could, but these scrolls aren’t my magic,” He explained, “And they aren’t exactly what you’d consider safe-for-use. They’re just as likely to incinerate his body as turn him into a ten foot tall giant.”

“That sounds like it would be exciting,” Jester added, “Do you think you could turn me into a giant?”

The tattooist gurgled and sat up, its upper body motile before its lower appendages got the memo. It mindlessly swung its arms outwards, trying in vain to grab hold of anything living. Molly swore beneath his breath and drew a sword. He offered a few words of kindness and then swung. It was a clean cut. The tiefling was very clearly practiced and he managed to separate the man’s head with one slice. Whatever magic had enthralled the tattooist's body quickly dissipated and the corpse once again became a corpse.

Molly exhaled, “Detective, I can’t be killing every one o’ my dear friends and acquaintances.”

“If it’s any consolation, he was already dead,” Mickey answered coldly.

He was right. They were no closer to finding their culprit than they were hours ago. However, they did have one asset, an asset that refused to talk. Mickey looked towards the chest that Jester so easily swung over her shoulder. He’d dealt with mimics before. Despite their reputation they were mostly harmless bottom feeders. Key word, however, was mostly. Their jaws were strong enough to cleave a man’s arm right off. They, however, weren’t dumb and most mimics had come to realization that if they went around munching on humans it wouldn’t be long until they were found and turned into firewood.

“Jester,” Mickey said, “How about we give our friend some air? See if he’s had a chance to think about being more cooperative.”

“Right,” Jester said cheerfully, plopping the chest onto the ground with a heavy thud. She started undoing the chains, “You know, the detective is a lot friendly than you might think, probably, I know he looks like a stuffy old man, but he’s friends with a really nice baker who makes some of the best donuts I’ve ever had, and maybe if you work with him he might introduce you two.”

As the last chain fell the chest shifted, opening and close it’s hinge as one would loosen up their jaw.

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” Mickey said, cigarette hanging limply from his lips. He crouched down in front of the chest and held out his badge before speaking again, “Detective Mickey of the APD. We can start easy, you got a name?”

“Yeah,” It whispered, “None-of.”

“None-of?” Mickey repeated.

“None of your business!” It shouted back.

Jester held back a snicker, “You walked into that one.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t try,” Mickey said, standing up, “Alright, chain him back up, maybe a few days in a holding cell will get him to--”

“Wait!” The mimic cried out, “For cryin’ out loud, can’t ya take a joke?”

“People are dead,” Mickey answered, pinching the end of his cigarette out, “So, forgive me if I’m not in a joking mood, now you either talk or my very strong friend there locks you back up, and this time she’ll make sure they’re tight.”

“Alright, alright, but ya gotta believe me,” It answered, “I didn’t see much. My eyesight ain’t what it used ta be.”

“Well, tell me what you remember.”

“Right, right, well, I was sitting there just minding my own business.”

“In a murder victim’s tent.”

“Well, he weren’t a murder victim when I saw him, so puttin’ it like that is just downright inflammatory,” It continued, “I’m not ashamed to admit I had taken the place of his chest, it’s just what comes natural to me and well, a man’s gotta eat right? Besides, it t’weren’t like I was doing nothin’ but munchin’ on the stray coin or family heirloom he stashed away. Anyways, there I was, just minding my own business when some broad comes in. Didn’t get a good look at her, but she was wearing a green cloak or robe or something. Your murder victim seemed to recognize her, said something about having all the preparations ready and something about the full moon being in a couple days. Course, I wasn’t really listening. If I’m being honest I was trying to nap, but next thing I knew there was a flash of light and your friend picked up his murder victim club card and the lady had legged it.”

It paused.

“Then he got up and left, so I’m not really sure how much of a murder victim he really can be if he was up and walking around. Usually people don’t get up and start walking around after they’ve been murdered, y’know… on account of being dead.”

Mickey looked outside Molly’s tent and up towards the moon, the very full moon. He smirked wryly. It was going to be a long night.

 

[Jester Lavorre]

The full moon kept her eye on them as they made their way out of the tent.

“I think, all things considered, that things could be way worse,” Jester whispered optimistically. “When life gives you lemons…”

Molly tilted his head towards her and offered a smirk, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t looked thrilled when she and Mickey had fed the body to the mimic, but all things considered, it had seemed the best option at the time. Why leave a very incriminating corpse rotting in a tent when there was a perfectly good disposal system at the ready? But if Mollymauk had looked unhappy when the tossed the body in, he’d looked downright miserable to watch it lick the floor of his enclosure clean.

“I mean, it’s really a win-win, right?” Jester continued, taking her companions silence as a cue to keep going. She pantomimed a chomping motion with one hand while she fed her fingers to it with the other. “Nom, nom, nom - and then everything’s good, right?”

The blue Tiefling beamed at her companions while they approached the outskirts of the circus, but neither of them returned her enthusiasm. Her insides squirmed uncomfortably, and she felt a feeling in her belly that made her cringe a bit.

“It seems prudent to start checking the patrols,” stated Mickey analytically, looking at neither Jester nor Mollymauk. “If someone is to have seen something, it’ll have been one of them. Also, if we manage to find one of the patrols that happens to be a lady, and especially if she’s wearing a green cloak…”

“Then we’ll sock her in the jaw,” Jester finished, clapping a fist into an open hand. “Wham, bam. It’s actually a perfect plan.”

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other while they walked, and grinned, then shifted her weight back as if she were compensating for something.

From the center of the tent city the sounds of revelry were beginning to die down but hadn’t tapered off completely. From her visit last year Jester assumed that most of the end of day celebration was drawing to a conclusion, but a lot of the heavier drinkers and debauchees would drink and merry-make into the night. A wistful expression on Mollymauk’s face told her that he wished he was able to be one of them, but the recent occurrences had taken the wind out of his sails. Some parts of Jester wished she could join the merriment as well, but she had two pressing concerns that pushed that wish onto the backburner.

The first was the description of the woman who’d dealt death to the first victim they’d found. A lady in a green cloak? She rubbed the hemline of her own evergreen cloak between thumb and forefinger, and thanked the Traveler that neither Mollymauk nor Mickey had cast a suspicious eye her way…though, it was tough to tell what Mickey was thinking.

The second thought? Something was going on in her, and it didn’t feel great. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead, swept over her jaw, down her neck, and into the fabric of her blouse.

“I…I think I have to pop away for a second,” Jester stated suddenly, standing bolt upright.

“Jester?” Molly asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I’ll come find you!” Jester exclaimed, and she shot away from both of her companions who had both turned their attention towards her abruptly at the interruption.

She murmured something and cast ‘Pass Without a Trace’, and with the brief boost to stealth and anonymity it gave her she weaved past a couple of tents and began to make her way towards Mollymauk’s tent. Something urgent had popped up within her, and it wasn’t something she was willing to share with Mickey, and especially not with Mollymauk. Not as close as they were.

She didn’t want him to think of her this way.

Her gait became frantic as she made her way towards the tent, flung upon the flap, and stepped in. The mimic swung around, tongue lolling. It must’ve just finished cleaning up the mess.

“Don’t look at me,” Jester stated seriously.

Then it began.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Molly and Mickey watched the blue Tiefling strut with a determined purpose back the way of the tent with the now satiated mimic. Molly turned to the Detective and smiled, showing his best devilish grin.

"Well, I suppose that's just gonna be leavin' tha two of us then, Good Detective. Jester must have a good idea on her own. Tha SHEER confidence of a walk like that, well…wouldn't want to be the one steppin' in front of that progress. Shall we then?" Molly said and extended an arm out to the lights and sounds of the carnival at night, a bright pop-up town on a hill.

"The current situation aside, this really seems like a lot of fun here. I can see the allure of coming here for a night out… at least it isn't too cold out, so a green cloak should be easy to spot." Mickey replied, the Detective's bright eyes scanning around with a hawk's sheen, but seemingly effortlessly, looking as though he were simply people watching with middling passing interest.

They made it past the ticketing stand with only a nod from the human working it that night. The stand that would be at waist or navel for most humans, was only above the knee to the the extremely tall ticket taker, their sickly green beehive hair that sat atop an elongated frame made the person seem like a spindly tall spruce in the most fantastic glittering tuxedo of sparkling dark green to match.

"Wow." Mickey said after they were out of immediate earshot.

"It's a wig, you know…" Molly whispered to Mickey as they walked under the threshold to the night carnival. The high arching stone was long past anyone knowing what it might have welcomed before, and now strung with blinking lights wrapped around it and giving it new life and purpose; like so many decayed things on Nona.

"Well, they certainly know how to handle it. Do they keep a club in there to catch the kids sneaking in?" Mickey replied, keeping conversation as he lit up a smoke and took in a totally different atmosphere than he had witnessed during the day.

Performers were showing their craft between tents, both open and the few closed. Mickey and Molly passed by many new faces or offerings than had been there earlier, and Mickey's starting scanning everything all at once. People were swarming through the avenues at a casual pace, going in and out of various tents and wagons that lined the paths, or stopping and watching a performer in an open nook of a space or a small stage. All types were here at night, enjoying the various offers, tangible or otherwise, with the exception of small children who were few. Mollymauk swayed through the crowd, smiling at all faces that caught his eerie shining red orbs, and a glimpse of what may lay beneath.

After walking past two fire breathers on stilts who were moving through the crowd of patrons, Mickey stopped all of the sudden at one of the nooks along a shoulder to shoulder row of tents. It was a man on a podium more than a stage, just between two large tents only separated by a few feet.

On the front of the podium was a sign written terribly that read Alistair's Allocutions. The man was reading out loud, from a large stack of papers, and there was only one chair in front of him. He looked like an accountant or office worker from the neck up; his perfectly clean and boring haircut for his iron gray hair, complete with a well tended iron gray mustache to match. It was the purple and white toga that really threw any sense of seriousness from the older man, who otherwise could have been any office worker in Arcadia, and up way past his bedtime. Mickey got closer and strained to hear what he was saying.

"...beware though, I am not a crazed man looking to pontificate my delirious ramblings. The darkness of Darkseid is real. His thirst is for everything, and only life itself will slake it. Even now his roots of destruction have reached us here, tonight, as with every night, in every corner of the galaxy. How can this be you ask? How can one swallow up planets and the life upon them? Chocobos! For too long has that righteous, self-indulgent, and evil creature been the spies of…" Alistair went on and on in his normal reading voice, but Mickey had walked away and back to a waiting Molly, who seemed to be avoiding getting close like it was a bad smell.

"I noticed that you all used the original foundation when setting up these little rows and avenues. Must help marking the spaces for everyone, very clever. Does Alistair know you gave him what must have been a small room for a toilet?" Mickey asked, smiling.

"Ya know, Detective…I don't really think he even cares. He pays us , and never makes a dime! He used ta read louder but he got yelled at too many times from whoever gets stuck being his neighbor. My tent is just up here, I think I picked what used to be a nicely sized bedchamber. It called ta me fer some reason." Molly said, looking at Mickey and flashing his large canines as they reached his tent.

"Nobody uses your tent space? Does it always stay up?" The Detective asked, ignoring what he had now come to expect of the Lavender colored and scented Tiefling; to be shamelessly flirted with. Mickey suddenly stopped for a moment outside where the tent was set up inside to the borders of a large, square, old foundation. The shallows rocks had been left to crumble for so long that only now at night could Mickey make it out as the lights caught the stone hidden beneath moss and weeds.

"Nobody would dream of taking ole Molly's tent down, not even fer a moment. Ta be honest, I'm usually workin' at night too… till I get bored or too drunk ta read people…or the cards. Hard ta find tha markers I put on them, especially when I start forgetting what tha damn markers are supposed to mean! I usually bugger off an hit up tha big tent fer tha afterparty before we even close
-just to get a head start. Don't be wanting anyone saying I wasn't tha life o' tha party…but seriously Detective, do you really think it's just one woman? My stars and by tha Arbiters, she must be one hell of a gal…" Molly finished and pulled out his flask for a sip, seemingly the only way he stopped talking once he got going.

Mickey lit up another cigarette and for a moment the two of them stood there. Molly starred at his patchwork tent, getting lost in the crisscross and chaotic colors and pictures that the canvas was made of. Mickey was, as always, vigilant and examining as his eyes squinted at the stones that had been laid centuries ago. Molly quietly drank, and Mickey smoked.

"Do you really know Dorothy Marigold?" Mickey asked, breaking the silence after he had come to the butt of his cig and stomped it out. Molly burst out laughing.

"Yes! Well! I most certainly do! She might not know tha real me, but I know her. I also don't know tha real me, BUT WHO HELL DOES ANYWAY, dear Detective." Molly replied with his roguish smile.

"Fair enough…do tell. " Mickey asked, squatting for a closer look at the ground outside the tent, where he received his own reading earlier that day, another cigarette already stashed behind his ear waiting to be lit.

"She thinks I'm some little Lordling, something or other named 'Percy'. Why I even bothered with givin' a false name, I don't know. Ya get all caught up on being true ta tha character an before ya even know it, you have a well fleshed-out backstory complete with a lineage tha goes back ta a split in one of tha royal families. It got a bit messy after a bit, an I figured I already passed my test to get into here as a reader. Mollymauk isn't even my real name either, so I always figure there could be a chance maybe I was some little spoon fed lover of guns with an obsession for fey lore. Arbiters be damned if tha wasn't tha best time I had in Arcadia. Atruly tha best time and truly the best place to be on Nona...Do you see something down there, Dear Detective?" Molly finally finished. He seemed to look around more disinterested now, as he shook his empty flask and put it away, pulling out a small carton of wine. Just like Mickey and his cigarettes, Molly seemed to have endless alcoholic drinks stashed all on his person.

"Just wondering what could have been here…" Mickey replied, and started following the crumbled stonework that now was shorter than the dandelions that grow up around it. "So how long have you been with the circus? Was that the only time you went to Arcadia?" He added.

"Yes, an' I probably shouldn't be spillin' o' so much o' me self ta lawman o' any sort, but seein as we just fed the man who did all my tattoos fer free tha past two years…well, I can't resist a good, decent conversation!..especially when its about my favorite topic. " Molly said. He was now tailing behind Mickey who kept looking down then back ahead as Molly talked. "I only went tha one time, ta be sure, ain't lyin' about tha one. I wanted to set up my tent finally an start makin' some real coins. I learned how to mark the cards and practiced for a whole year how to draw the right ones, and it turns out whoever I was before had some muscle memory when it came to handlin' a deck so I thought it fittin' ta be gracin' tha good folk of the world ta Mollymauk Tealeaf, Tarot and seller of fine relics, or relic like duplicates…Detective, where might we be goin', we're about ta be out of the light o' the carnival. I can see in the dark, but I doubt you have a scroll for that…" Molly finished, and looked back at his tent as its shadow got lost in the darkness they were walking into.

"I might have a scroll for that in here somewhere…but it also might explode my head. I have this though…" Mickey said, and pulled out his lighter. Which promptly lit a cigarette that had already found its way to his mouth from behind his ear ahead of time. Mickey kept the flame up, his blue eyes reflected in it. As he turned around he almost jumped, seeing the pair of embers also shining from the lighter's flame. Mickey's water met Molly's fire, as they made eye contact.

"Just me, Detective. I can see plenty fine all tha way ta tha wall from here…a wee bit o' a walk ta get closer, but looks like it might o' been a fortress. I see a small part still standing about as skinny as you and me together, but I be seein' some crenulations fer certain atop it. Yep! Definitely crenulations. Did you know that some emperor or other from who knows how long ago, put a crenulations tax on all the Lords and keeps and castles all across Nona back then. I saw that bit of information when I was researching being a little Lordling. Fascinating, these old bastards. No wonder so few hardly remain, if you have to pay to keep up your castle, what's even the point?"...

"Is…is that a real story?" Mickey asked, staring back at Molly, and trying to read what absolutely looked like a devil in the small flame light.

"It actually is, tha emperor was called tha Great Conciliator…but I can't remember the name." Molly said, looking ever so pleased with himself.

"Huh. Wow." Was all that Mickey replied. He rubbed his chin as he stood with his collar up on his coat, head down, one had on his cigarette, and the other wrapped around the scrolls. He seemed to have been fully listening and also fully immersed in the stonework all around them. That was fine to Molly who half-listened to himself when he spoke. "Might be best to head back. Don't want to keep Jester waiting. I'll admit, Molly… I have a funny feeling that this was a bad spot for your carnival to set up. Did you come up here last year? The year before?"Mickey asked, turning around and heading back the short distance to a cacophony of exotic sights and mingled orchestra of a variety of sounds.

"Detective, ya sure know how to keep a man who loves ta talk, talkin'. I think this is only tha second year here, hard ta remember yesterday when you're me…" Molly replied, shrugging and tossing the now empty wine carton to the grass as they entered back into the lights. They both had come up to the back of the Tarot tent again. Mickey held up his hand abruptly and pointed to Molly's tent, tapping his ear to show he had heard something. Molly somehow got the gesture and froze instantly, both hands on each hilt of his curved blades at his sides; his pointed ears perking up to listen at what might be intruding in his canvas kingdom.

 

[Anders Nazret]

Mickey couldn’t shake the impression that he was missing something. With all the talks of crenulation taxes and the ethics of using mimics to dispose of evidence he hadn’t been able to consider all of the facts. Regardless he crept towards the tent with Mollymauk in tow. With the full moon bathing the entire fairgrounds in its pale light they were able to pick their way alongside the tent without much trouble. Now that they were close there was no mistaking what Mickey had heard. A dull whine, reminiscent of a cicada’s cry, emanated from Molly’s tent. It was a sound that Mickey had heard many times before. It was the telltale pitch of a summoning portal being opened.

And just like that it all fell into place. The moon, so full that it looked like a silver-coated dinner plate. The ancient ruins, forgotten reminders of a history that stretched back to eternity. The cold-blooded murders. There was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that these three ingredients were integral parts of some demented ritual. A ritual that was coming to fruition just on the other side of a thin sheet of vinyl. He glanced towards Molly who seemed leagues more prepared for whatever they might encounter on the other side.

Mickey reached into his coat pocket and pulled out one of the scrolls. He unfurled the parchment paper and examined the arcane script inside. The brushwork seemed clean and he could spot no obvious blemishes, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an issue with the ink’s composition. The thought of being turned inside out because some apprentice screwed up the proportion of gall nuts to iron sulfate did not sit right with him. Before he could completely lose his nerve, however, Mollymauk strode forth and slipped into the tent. Swearing under his breath Mickey followed after his companion.

“So you’re tha bastard that’s been offin’ my companions?” Molly declared. His voice had adopted a sharp edge that made the hairs on Mickey’s neck stand up.

Across the tent from them was a woman clad in a moss-green cloak. Her eyes were ringed with smeared ash and her red hair writhed about like a nest of snakes. Her fingers danced in the air as if strumming on some invisible instrument. Between them a green vortex swirled like an acidic whirlpool. In the short time they had been away from the tent she had managed to tear open a portal to Arbiter-knows-what. She stared at the pair, silently sizing them up.

Mickey stepped forward, holding his badge up in the air, “Detective Mickey of the APD. Put your hands in the air and don’t move, you’re under arrest for the suspected murder of several carnival employees and for attempting a Class-3 incursion--”

With a flick of her wrist she shot a snake-like bolt of green energy across the room towards him. The words caught in his throat and he raised the spell scroll. Silently he willed the scroll to life, releasing its arcane potential. In the end he wasn’t turned inside out. The scroll didn’t set his lungs ablaze or make his hair fall out or even blind him. It did not do and of these things. In fact, it didn’t even work. Whatever imperfection it had caused the entire thing to become nothing more than a pretty piece of paper. Her magic, however, had no such defect. The bolt of energy struck his chest and vanished with a puff of air.
Mickey pitched forward, clutching his chest. Molly cried out his name, but it did little to stop the magic coursing through the Detective’s veins. Had he access to his magic he might have been able to disrupt the attack or at least dampen it. The reality, however, was that he had no defense against her attack. He sputtered and fell flat. His heartbeat grew slow despite the abundance of adrenaline being pumped into his veins. He exhaled one final time before his heart ceased beating.

“Gotta say, your timing was impeccable,” The Sorceress said with a smirk, “I was one death short.”

With that she raised her hands high and the swirling vortex trembled. It spun faster and more violent as it grew in size. Molly stepped back as the ground in front of him was swallowed up by the tumultuous ritual.

“From the depths of this storied place I summon thee beneath the pallid moon,” She intoned, “With this offering of blood and death I draw thee forth. Rise. Rise and take shape! Rise O’ Great--”

“That’s enough of that!” Molly shouted, flourishing his blades. With a running start he leapt across the portal towards its creator. A normal man would’ve fallen short, but Mollymauk Tealeaf was no ordinary man. The sorceress stumbled back as he flew through the air.

As he reached the apex of his jump the portal beneath him stirred. A spectral hand burst forth, large enough to grab the tiefling about his torso. The hand rose upwards, bursting through the tent top and lifting Molly into the air. Another arm emerged from the portal, followed by a head and then a body. In short order a towering humanoid made from writhing energy materialized into existence. Its roiling body bathed the entire carnival with a pale-green malaise. Overhead the moon took on a sickly sheen. It raised Mollymauk in front of its face and roared loud enough to shake the earth.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

"Get yer hot, big, sexy fuckin' hands off me, ya scary bastard", Molly roared, reaching both his arms up he brought his dual swords down aginst his own skin. His blood sacrifice made each weapon glow with individually imbued power; while leaving two new cuts to join the motley and haphazard scars across his lavender skinned chest.

Molly smiled his own fangy smile back at the arrogant countenance of the large demon who was looking at its new plaything. The sunken, eyeless sockets recessed into the large head that was taking shape; the two holes stayed in place as the features of the creature formed around them and seemed to hunger for everything they locked on.

When the massive curving horns started forming, Molly decided he had seen enough.

"This is a one devil circus, and I can assure ya…I'm more than enough", Molly shouted, as what seemed like a small cannon suddenly went off from the ground beneath them.

Immediately the demon's newly shaped head snapped back at the small explosion that punched their chin; Molly being yanked too with the force as the hellish netherworld creature refused to give up its first prize. The green, glowing and misty giant squeezed a little tighter even as it flailed while stumbling about.

"SORRY MOLLY, I LIKE, REALLY THOUGHT HE WOULD DROP YOU, YOU KNOW," Jester’s voice rang out to her friend as the green horned devil stomped about the remnants of Molly's tarot tent, like a toddler devil with its lavender devil doll. Molly, for his part, was able to have a reply shook out of him in yelling burps.

"SHE- DOESN'T- COUNT. SHE- IS- WHOA- JUST- VISITING- I'M-STILL-THE -ONLY-DEVIL!" Molly shouted up defiantly, and stabbed his swords down into the wrist of the hand that held him. A burst of fire that seemed to not do much extra, and a shower of ice that seemed to do a lot of something, both emanated from his weapons. The hand reared back, dropping his purple, sexy, horned dolly to the ground. Molly sprinted to his friend, the light blue version of the sexy tiefling doll set.

Whatever stomach problems she had seemed to be gone. Jester stood with her innocent swagger, and spun her sparkling and spanking new hand cannon. She caught the handle- perfectly. The many hours of idle downtime in Dante's Abyss had paid off, especially practicing during long walks across a dying wasteland.

She gave the single barrel a smack and popped another shell from her bandolier into it effortlessly; she also did a great job at looking like she knew which cartridge was loaded into it. Molly was definitely convinced and gave a nod and raised eyebrow.

"I could totally work here if I wanted to. Oh man, Molly just think. What if I worked here, wow, we would be even better friends. We could be neighbors, and then there would be two devils, and the Detective could come visit us so people would always think we were up to something…" Jester said in a cheerfully unworried way, given the circumstances. "...Where even is that guy?"

"Tha Lady, evil sorceress lady…she got tha good detective, Jester. He's not moving. I don't know where she is, or where she ran off abouts," Molly said, regretfully. "It's been just the worst sort of day…" Molly sighed, shaking his head as the little trinkets on his horns gave a sad tinkle.

Jester thought a moment, then closed one eye and lifted her weapon, readjusted and pulled the trigger; the single-barrel handgun held firm against the recoil, and Jester flexed her toned and defined blue biceps. The gun was heavy in more ways than one but as Jester always put it, she was 'pretty strong…or whatever'.

The round was some sort of sticky solution and upon exploding it spread out a glue trap of sorts across the now fully formed, but still with a green smoky visage, giant visitor from beyond. It was just standing there in massive bulk, watching them curiously until the new shell had gone off. Then it roared and charged, dozens of other screams came up with it from carnival goers who had gotten near out of curiosity. The beast only had no-eyes for the two Tieflings; the sockets seeming to alight with burning green flame as it stomped towards them, smacking a tent as it trudged with murderous intent.

Unfortunately for the called forth entity, the wind and force brought the canvas of the large blue tent normally used as a souvenir store up across its chest; adhering almost on contact as the green horned giant got caught up in the struggle.

The two smaller devils wasted no time rushing to the remnants of Molly's tent.

"Oh. My things…" Molly bemoaned the passing of his life and acquisitions of the last couple years.

"Oh. All my dick carvings." Jester bemoaned her small shrine to The Traveler which she had turned the tent into over the past couple years.

"The Detective"! They both said simultaneously; they scrambled through a ripped section of the patchwork canvas they got inside. Luckily for them, the center post was only half smashed and the glow from Molly's swords made their hunched search easy as the stomping and frustrated roars came ever closer and at random; the summoned devil evidently struggling with its predicament.

"Do we move the good detective? Jester? Jester, wow. I forget how actually fuckin' strong ya are…fuck an Arbiter, okay I'll follow you then", Molly said in quiet suprise as Jester hoisted the limp body in her arms, a cigarette still lit and to its butt in one of Mickey's hanging hands. Molly gave her directions once they were outside. They looked back after they were out of the lights that just moments before offered comfort for enjoyment in the darkness of the night; but now only lit up the horror of a two story green, swirling, giant devil from hell who was unceremoniously ripping canvas off its face and chest. Molly noticed where it seemed to rip its own skin, a green fog of smoke moted out.

They decided in the short time they had to hide behind the closest wall of the ruins they could find, retracing the steps Molly and Mickey had taken less than an hour prior. While they hustled to the echoing roars left behind for a moment, Jester looked into the dead face of Detective Mickey. He was the first dead person she had seen since the tournament, and she could not help herself from wondering if this small bit of pity she felt was what Doctor Mcninja had felt when she had put the original Caster in his hands to end her misery just a short time ago and very far away. She touched her eye after setting Mickey down in the grass behind the safety of a half crumbled wall; the eye was fine, but she remembered the ringing for a second, and the other pains of her wounds as she recalled her own recent death.

"Everything ok, Jester? Should we leave him here safe and come back when it's over? That green bastard is gonna be out of your trap any second, we gotta move….we can mourn later. He was a good man and a good detective", Molly said with urgency and sympathy at the same time.

"I could bring him back, maybe. It's something I could do, probably. He didn't die with donkey brains, right? I died with donkey brains, but The Traveler loves me so I didn't have to worry about being brought back with my donkey brains, still though…no, no, I am sure The traveler won't bring him back with donkey brains…probably." Jester smiled, shaking the thoughts of other places from her mind.

"It's up ta you, my sweet Jester. Ya want to do it now, or we can do it later, but tha big fucker has stopped roarin' an I dont think that's a good sign. We have friends back there, love"... Molly said with more nervous impatience in his voice despite trying to hide it.