“The team employed the use of nightshade to get the information they wanted from their captive. Are you sure you want this is in your report, sergeant?”
“Poisoning a prisoner is generally considered a huge no-no.”
“Sir, have you met Roma Tedesco?”
“That new sergeant on the front desk? I have.”
“She’s an Italian knockout, looks a lot like Sophia Loren. We brought in Vinnie Fin on a weapons possession charge, but he doesn’t speak much English. Sergeant Tedesco volunteered to help translate the Italian. By the end of the shift, Vinnie was confessing.”
“What does that have to do with your report?”
“Well, Vinnie kept staring at Tedesco and muttering ‘Bella Donna,’ over and over. Then he started signing confessions.
“Word got around at the station, naturally. When the guys asked Tedesco what exactly ‘Bella Donna’ meant in English, and she just laughed and replied ‘nightshade’.”
The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits. Even they won’t be around much longer.
I’m more of a transient, so I don’t count.
There really isn’t any word for what I’m doing. You might go with “Exorcist” as a rough approximation, I suppose, except I’m not a priest. I’m cleansing the town of spirits one at a time, proceeding uphill.
Atop the hill is a government building, see the one that looks like a hotel but isn’t? That was once the State Asylum.
Before the mine and the radon gas release and So. Many. Dead.
I learned how to make lenses. I stumbled on a combination of polarized coatings that could render the essences of the recently dead visible. Whatever your brand of religion calls them. Then I developed my cleansing lamp using essentially the same effect.
“Pizza anyone?” The crowd answered with an enthusiastic roar, and I ducked a tankard as it flew past my ear.
My name is Collen, and I schlep pies for Cosmic Stan’s Any Time Any Place Pizza and Catering. (Here, have a menu.)
We mean what it says. With Cosmic Stan’s, you’re guaranteed fresh, hot pizzas delivered anywhere in space-time, for any size party. Causation and Entropy are optional; if we don’t deliver half an hour before you place the order, your pizza is free.
This party is a big one. Open field, hundreds of big dudes (hairy biker types) already partying, busty waitresses deftly dodging ass-pinches and delivering frothy mugs for the boys.
The invoice calls for six thousand pies. (I’ll be duplicated pretty heavily to cover that many.)
Some event called “Ragnarok.” There are special order notes: “Ask for Wotan,” “Beware of Dog,” and “Leave early.”