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The ache from a too-fast mana drain had all but immobilized Kryst and drained his relic dry. He'd relinquished it for recharge and was now back at his desk popping aspirin like candy and attempting to fill out his report with a hand that trembled and fingers that creaked like old rusty hinges.
His witness was alive, but carried no identification and hadn't uttered a peep since she had been carried to the hospital. She floated in and out of consciousness, but even at her most lucid, she kept quiet.
“This is where I'm supposed to lecture you about going off and investigating things on your own, Lieutenant.”
Kryst was busy trying to tic off boxes on his report sheet in a manner that wouldn't get his yearly drug test bumped up a few months early. “But you're not going to, Colonel, because I'm working my case.”
Anderson leaned on the wall of the cubicle again. “As long as it was worth it. I hate having to replace good officers, Stretch. And I hate having to call their mommas and daddies and wifeys and whatever the hell else to tell them that their baby is on the slab ready to be made into a pinky-ring.”
“My momma and daddy know they have a cop for a son, Colonel. Hell, they'll probably use my insurance payout to buy a boat or something. Dad always liked fishing.” The rat stopped his work to massage his hand. The motion brought the sensation of pins and needles dancing up his arm.
The bear shook his head. “Do you at least know what we're dealing with?”
Kryst's whiskers flexed. “Relic level, something remotely controlled. You might want to see if pets are vanishing anywhere. It's probably taking some heavy shit to power the spirit. The thing almost beat down my shields.” He paused, resting his fingers on his wrist as if checking his own pulse. “Unfortunately the only person who might be able to tell us where it came from is in East Memorial with a punctured lung and a right to remain silent.”
Anderson huffed noisily. “I'll get you a warrant. We'll get permission to scry and find out who the hell she is at least.”
“Thanks, colonel.” The rat sank back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes.
“Go home, stretch. I'll have a shiny new warrant and a fresh pot of coffee waiting for you after you've gotten some sleep. An empty officer is a useless officer.” The bear smirked, flashing his canines. “Besides, you need to wash off the whorehouse before someone propositions you.”
Kryst breathed out. Anderson has just told him, without telling him, that he was off the roster for the next day. It was standard procedure when an officer had burned through all his magic but he still hated it.
“I'll be back in the morning, Anderson.” He pulled himself up and grabbed his coat. “But if our silent princess decides to talk...”
“...you'll be the first person I call, stretch.” The bear stepped aside to give the rat room to leave. “Eight hours, twelve if you can keep yourself down.”
Kryst flashed a pained smile. “I'll call you in six, Colonel.”
Copic marker and gelpen on canvasboard. Original is for sale.
The ache from a too-fast mana drain had all but immobilized Kryst and drained his relic dry. He'd relinquished it for recharge and was now back at his desk popping aspirin like candy and attempting to fill out his report with a hand that trembled and fingers that creaked like old rusty hinges.
His witness was alive, but carried no identification and hadn't uttered a peep since she had been carried to the hospital. She floated in and out of consciousness, but even at her most lucid, she kept quiet.
“This is where I'm supposed to lecture you about going off and investigating things on your own, Lieutenant.”
Kryst was busy trying to tic off boxes on his report sheet in a manner that wouldn't get his yearly drug test bumped up a few months early. “But you're not going to, Colonel, because I'm working my case.”
Anderson leaned on the wall of the cubicle again. “As long as it was worth it. I hate having to replace good officers, Stretch. And I hate having to call their mommas and daddies and wifeys and whatever the hell else to tell them that their baby is on the slab ready to be made into a pinky-ring.”
“My momma and daddy know they have a cop for a son, Colonel. Hell, they'll probably use my insurance payout to buy a boat or something. Dad always liked fishing.” The rat stopped his work to massage his hand. The motion brought the sensation of pins and needles dancing up his arm.
The bear shook his head. “Do you at least know what we're dealing with?”
Kryst's whiskers flexed. “Relic level, something remotely controlled. You might want to see if pets are vanishing anywhere. It's probably taking some heavy shit to power the spirit. The thing almost beat down my shields.” He paused, resting his fingers on his wrist as if checking his own pulse. “Unfortunately the only person who might be able to tell us where it came from is in East Memorial with a punctured lung and a right to remain silent.”
Anderson huffed noisily. “I'll get you a warrant. We'll get permission to scry and find out who the hell she is at least.”
“Thanks, colonel.” The rat sank back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes.
“Go home, stretch. I'll have a shiny new warrant and a fresh pot of coffee waiting for you after you've gotten some sleep. An empty officer is a useless officer.” The bear smirked, flashing his canines. “Besides, you need to wash off the whorehouse before someone propositions you.”
Kryst breathed out. Anderson has just told him, without telling him, that he was off the roster for the next day. It was standard procedure when an officer had burned through all his magic but he still hated it.
“I'll be back in the morning, Anderson.” He pulled himself up and grabbed his coat. “But if our silent princess decides to talk...”
“...you'll be the first person I call, stretch.” The bear stepped aside to give the rat room to leave. “Eight hours, twelve if you can keep yourself down.”
Kryst flashed a pained smile. “I'll call you in six, Colonel.”
Copic marker and gelpen on canvasboard. Original is for sale.
Category Artwork (Traditional) / General Furry Art
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 747 x 500px
File Size 110.6 kB
A lot of it is simply not wanting to play on stereotypes. On television we usually see the rogue cop and his superior who is always yelling at him for screwing up. I wanted Kryst's colonel to be someone who had been hardened and desensitized by years of service, but who also really cared about his men. Kryst in the meantime actually does go by the book, and he gets plenty done that way. (Thankfully his job affords him a great deal of freedom, which is why he's turned down several promotions.)
You make the dialog so natural though. There is no pretense in how people respond to each other, so it flows so well. This gives your characters a lot of believability that I find hard to capture in my own attempts in writing. It does help that you don't go for the stereotypes that TV and Hollywood have hammered into us over the years. That kind of diversity is nice in written works.
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