Artichoke Alley

…right near where it crosses Mayonnaise Boulevard

The Fiction Experiment

Ok, boys and girls, here’s the deal: I’ll write a bit, then stop and ask you to suggest something. The suggestion I like best gets used. I’ll post story sections on Mondays, so you have a week to impress me. So, here we go.

Part 1

It was nearly 10 in the morning when Arielle Ames got back to the office. Her partner Bob was lounging on the couch, chewing on a Milk Bone and thumbing through a 6 month old copy of the Smithfield Labs catalog.

“You look like hell, Ari. Cemetery stakeout go badly?” Although he could have used any telepathic voice, Bob always chose to sound like Bogart. He figured it made him sound tough and when you’re a 12 pound terrier mix, any veneer of toughness was good.

Arielle groaned as she sank into her chair. “Badly doesn’t even cover it,” she said as she ran her through her hair. “I’m expecting one, maybe two, ghouls and I end up in the middle of fuckin’ Ghoulstock. Sixteen of ’em and I’m armed to deal with two. Yeah, it went badly.”

Bob had rolled over on his back and was using his Phantom Hand to scratch his belly. “So what did you end up doing?”

“Well, after I used my two Final Death potions to take out the first pair, I switched to wand power. If anyone ever asks you, tell ’em that a Violent Disruption spell is the thing to use when you want to kill ghouls wholesale.”

She reached inside her black leather jacket and pulled out a flask of scotch. After taking a couple of swallows, she set it on her desk and began looking through the morning mail. There were bills, mortgage offers she didn’t need, credit card offers she didn’t want and a letter from the SFPD telling her that she needed to fill out some more reports regarding last months little incident on the Powell Street cable car. Nothing important, which was ok by her since she really wanted to catch a few hours sleep.

“Bob,” she said, as she put her feet up on the desk and got ready to nap, “don’t wake me up unless a client walks in or I catch on fire.”

“Will do, sweetheart,” Bob whispered. She was already snoring.

An hour later, there was a short knock on the office door and in walked…

Ok gang, who walks in? Friend? Foe? Client? Cop? Let me know.