For Review
Fishing for some feedback on some fiction. My main question is, would you want to read more? Also this piece may be too short to tell, but are the characters inconsistent?
"Those things'll kill you," Jonas said with a knowing nod from across the narrow alley. He had this bad habit of making small-talk when he was nervous. "Had a cousin. Ate right, exercised, and smoked all day. Died a week before his thirty-second birthday."
Lyda had never seen Jonas when he wasn't nervous, and hated small-talk. She narrowed her eyes at him like she was lining up a shot before snapping the striker on her fire ring, lighting the fumette hanging from her lips. The look made Jonas more nervous, nervous enough to shut up. Lyda took a drag and snorted it out. The smoke drifted up twenty feet and mingled with the soot and factory stink of the industrial district around them, doing its own small part in blocking out the warm spring sun.
She took pity on the poor rookie and said something. "This job's easier than drowning," she said, smoke twisting from her lips. "We meet our contact, we get the data spool, and we get lost. So relax."
Jonas was about the complain about her simile for ease when they heard footsteps coming down the connecting alley to the right, footsteps and a walking cane tapping out their contact's code. Lyda threw down her fumette, put on her knit cap and tucked in her ears as Jonas whistled the response and listened for the confirmation. It wasn't a perfect disguise, the tips of her ears strained away from the top of her head leaving two unexcused points on her crown. Most people wouldn't notice; elves didn't exist, right?
Jonas marked his face with a glamer that made him look respectable and they stepped around the corner, coming face-to-face with a banker. His long double-breasted jacket, open against the polluted spring heat and bowler were lost in this part of town. He smirked and said, "You're late."
Lyda sniffled at the joke and crossed her arms, her left hand under her duster. "Do you have the data spool?" Jonas demanded. He had balls when he wanted to, and it always surprised Lyda.
"Right to business then, is it?" the banker said as he started unscrewing the shaft of his cain from the head. In one flick of his wrist Lyda drew Frigga and shot him in the throat. As he fell, blood dribbling from the hole in his larynx, the banker finished drawing the gun from his cain. His finger clutched the trigger but the shot was wild and ricocheted off a brick wall at the end of the alley.
Jonas opened his eyes and put his arms down. "Could you do me a favor and tell me when you're going to pull that shit? Maybe let me know that we're in a damn fire-fight before it starts? Most of us mortals like to take cover, after all."
Lyda had already holstered her gun and was lighting another smoke. She looked at him, a little lost for words. She shrugged out a "Sorry," and walked over to the body to start going through the dead man's pockets.
"How'd you know he had a gun, anyway?" Jonas said as he ventured a few steps closer.
"It was weird that he was taking the cain from the handle not the other way around, and the trigger wasn't hidden very well." Disaffected by the two hard candies and spare change in his over-coat she started at his waist-coat. "That and I could smell the gun oil when I turned the corner." Jonas snickered at the joke. Lyda looked at him confused. She hadn't meant to be funny.
She took out and opened the corpse's pocket watch, then held it up by the chain against the backs of her fingers for Jonas. The cover had a snake eating it's tail around a slit-pupilled eye engraved on the inside. "Dragon's Eyes," she said, "internal police for the Ororoborans. Come on, we have to clean this place up and get out of here. Someone may've heard the shots."
Jonas helped her prop the body up against a wall, then cast a glamer, making the body look like a passed-out wino, the blood a piss-puddle. The alley was out of the way, between the back-ends of two warehouses. No one would have any reason to check too close even if they saw him there. "Forensics'll come get him, right?" Lyda nodded, enjoying the benefits of working with a Mirage. Less heavy lifting for her.
They started walking back to the manhole they'd come up through. "What would their internal police want with us?" Jonas asked as they lifted it on-edge.
Lyda shrugged. "I'm betting he fingered our snitch and thought he could bag us himself. Taking a snitch and his Disciple contacts'd look pretty good on a promotion review."
"No tac squad? No back-up?"
"Maybe there just wasn't time to get any. We don't know when our boy got himself found out. That shit's the Hounds' job anyway." The Hounds were who you called when things went wrong, internal affairs or not.
Jonas started down the ladder, jumping into water at the bottom with a mildewy 'splish.' He called back up, "Too bad for his promotion you're a good shot."
Lyda quirked an eyebrow at the darkness, confused. "But I was aiming for his head," she muttered to herself as she slipped her fingers into the holes of the cover. She jumped into the darkness, slamming the manhole behind her.
"Those things'll kill you," Jonas said with a knowing nod from across the narrow alley. He had this bad habit of making small-talk when he was nervous. "Had a cousin. Ate right, exercised, and smoked all day. Died a week before his thirty-second birthday."
Lyda had never seen Jonas when he wasn't nervous, and hated small-talk. She narrowed her eyes at him like she was lining up a shot before snapping the striker on her fire ring, lighting the fumette hanging from her lips. The look made Jonas more nervous, nervous enough to shut up. Lyda took a drag and snorted it out. The smoke drifted up twenty feet and mingled with the soot and factory stink of the industrial district around them, doing its own small part in blocking out the warm spring sun.
She took pity on the poor rookie and said something. "This job's easier than drowning," she said, smoke twisting from her lips. "We meet our contact, we get the data spool, and we get lost. So relax."
Jonas was about the complain about her simile for ease when they heard footsteps coming down the connecting alley to the right, footsteps and a walking cane tapping out their contact's code. Lyda threw down her fumette, put on her knit cap and tucked in her ears as Jonas whistled the response and listened for the confirmation. It wasn't a perfect disguise, the tips of her ears strained away from the top of her head leaving two unexcused points on her crown. Most people wouldn't notice; elves didn't exist, right?
Jonas marked his face with a glamer that made him look respectable and they stepped around the corner, coming face-to-face with a banker. His long double-breasted jacket, open against the polluted spring heat and bowler were lost in this part of town. He smirked and said, "You're late."
Lyda sniffled at the joke and crossed her arms, her left hand under her duster. "Do you have the data spool?" Jonas demanded. He had balls when he wanted to, and it always surprised Lyda.
"Right to business then, is it?" the banker said as he started unscrewing the shaft of his cain from the head. In one flick of his wrist Lyda drew Frigga and shot him in the throat. As he fell, blood dribbling from the hole in his larynx, the banker finished drawing the gun from his cain. His finger clutched the trigger but the shot was wild and ricocheted off a brick wall at the end of the alley.
Jonas opened his eyes and put his arms down. "Could you do me a favor and tell me when you're going to pull that shit? Maybe let me know that we're in a damn fire-fight before it starts? Most of us mortals like to take cover, after all."
Lyda had already holstered her gun and was lighting another smoke. She looked at him, a little lost for words. She shrugged out a "Sorry," and walked over to the body to start going through the dead man's pockets.
"How'd you know he had a gun, anyway?" Jonas said as he ventured a few steps closer.
"It was weird that he was taking the cain from the handle not the other way around, and the trigger wasn't hidden very well." Disaffected by the two hard candies and spare change in his over-coat she started at his waist-coat. "That and I could smell the gun oil when I turned the corner." Jonas snickered at the joke. Lyda looked at him confused. She hadn't meant to be funny.
She took out and opened the corpse's pocket watch, then held it up by the chain against the backs of her fingers for Jonas. The cover had a snake eating it's tail around a slit-pupilled eye engraved on the inside. "Dragon's Eyes," she said, "internal police for the Ororoborans. Come on, we have to clean this place up and get out of here. Someone may've heard the shots."
Jonas helped her prop the body up against a wall, then cast a glamer, making the body look like a passed-out wino, the blood a piss-puddle. The alley was out of the way, between the back-ends of two warehouses. No one would have any reason to check too close even if they saw him there. "Forensics'll come get him, right?" Lyda nodded, enjoying the benefits of working with a Mirage. Less heavy lifting for her.
They started walking back to the manhole they'd come up through. "What would their internal police want with us?" Jonas asked as they lifted it on-edge.
Lyda shrugged. "I'm betting he fingered our snitch and thought he could bag us himself. Taking a snitch and his Disciple contacts'd look pretty good on a promotion review."
"No tac squad? No back-up?"
"Maybe there just wasn't time to get any. We don't know when our boy got himself found out. That shit's the Hounds' job anyway." The Hounds were who you called when things went wrong, internal affairs or not.
Jonas started down the ladder, jumping into water at the bottom with a mildewy 'splish.' He called back up, "Too bad for his promotion you're a good shot."
Lyda quirked an eyebrow at the darkness, confused. "But I was aiming for his head," she muttered to herself as she slipped her fingers into the holes of the cover. She jumped into the darkness, slamming the manhole behind her.