The Lady In Red Really Wants Me Dead

Episode 2: All Elves Are Posh Bastards And Nobody Trusts Snakes

"Well... you know what they say about elves. And snakes."

                                                                                    Jack O, Halfling Detective

Jack was never exactly keen to spend three days on a train, and by the time he arrived in Vernasee County he remembered precisely why he felt so justified in his misgivings. It didn't help that the city he was arriving in looked like someone had built a ten mile ashtray on the side of the mountain. It smelled like one, too.

Verensburg, capital of the county, was known mostly for coal mining, fierce winters, and a regional kind of frost-bell liquor that could put an insomniac ogre to sleep. Not to forget there were stone-trolls in the northern mountains, which everyone thoroughly agreed were the worst kind of troll, by quite a long measure. Jack had never seen one, and didn't feel eager at all to make that acquaintance.

He watched the gray buildings rush past, barely outlined against the night sky by a thousand aether-lights and their timid blue shine. Even this far north, he still caught the occasional billboard. Be it the impossibly tall models sporting the latest Arkerion fashion, or a juicy looking advertisement for the local Grok's Chop Shop, they all looked more than a bit out of place in the middle of an ash-tray.

Jack was still holding the damned letter.

Mister Holdenflame had unfortunately not been able to come on the trip. You couldn't really blame him. Still, he had graciously left instructions with the conductor, in the form of the letter which Jack had read over a few dozen times by now, at the very least. It was marginally more interesting than the newspaper, which had been read over twice as much, by virtue of being longer.

In said letter, Mister Holdenflame assured he had hired an aether-weaver to send word ahead. Jack was to wait at Moondragon Station, where someone would pick him up for the rest of the trip to the family's estate.

The train came to a halt with a series of exceptionally annoying convulsions, which forced Jack to plant his hairy feet against the back of the chair in front of him, or slide right off. Once he was certain the engine had sputtered its last, he checked his breast-pocket to make sure Sting was still sleeping.

The bastard was crashing hard after having downed two dozen glasses throughout the journey. Jack had even had to go to the restaurant-wagon to get his hands on some sugar packets, mix him up some more. Not that he had a choice in the matter. If Sting went without his dose he was likely to get rowdy, maybe even attack someone. Anyone with the required security clearance knew a tactical combat hummingbird could be extremely deadly. Jack couldn't take that chance.

Hopping off his seat, he reached down for his duffle bag. When he was halfway under the seat, someone bumped into his rear end. Sting woke up at the commotion, darting out of his pocket in a rather groggy blue-green blur.

"Pardon me! I hadn't seen you hiding under there. How fascinating, a Hriivindi! I haven't seen one of you before."

Jack gave a rattled groan. Just by the sound of her, he could tell she was an elf. Her sweet, luxuriant smell confirmed it.

"First," he said, crawling out with his bag,"I'm no Hreivendi, or whatever it was you called me. And second, nothing to worry about, miss. Just a bump on the train."

"Hriivindi."

"Pardon me?" Jack looked up at her with a sideways glance, which forced him to twist his neck rather awkwardly, but still got the point across.

He had expected her to look just like all of them: pointy ears, tall, slender frame, and a nose you could use as a skewer. And she did. But this elf had gone through quite a lot of effort to make herself look particularly conspicuous, in the most unimaginative way possible.