Note: This thread is an import of a thread from the old Zetaboards site. The original thread can be found here
Hugo's head was sore, and his first thought was at how much he really drank last night. He remembered pretty quickly that it wasn't that much, and he sat there on the street corner wondering just why his head was splitting. Then, the policeman who was standing over his mostly unconscious body roughly grabbed him by the shoulders, and dragged him into a standing position. After a confused greeting, the officer politely informed him, gently, that sleeping in public places is a civil crime. And by "politely" I mean "viciously," and by "informed him" I mean "beat him," and by "gently" I mean "over the head," and by "that sleeping in public places is a civil crime" I mean "with a billy club."
Once he was on his way, 3 stitches richer and 15 marks poorer by the local clinic, he dug around in his pocket to find a note with a couple of addresses, and a couple of tiny hearts that made him red around the ears. Or maybe that was the dried blood. He remembered what he was going to do this morning, and happily set off.
A half hour later, he found himself in front of a small apartment complex, run by a scraggly old lady. It was fairly clean, but still cheap. He asked the woman, who looked like she was also the owner, at the front desk, "Where can I find Violet Fletcher?" She replied, "Down the hall, in door number 9. It's the 4th door on your left. And honey," She grabbed his arm to restrain him, "don't be a stranger..." She winked. And blew a kiss. He walked as quickly as was polite away and down the hall, and then checked the number again, and knocked on the door.
Hugo's head was sore, and his first thought was at how much he really drank last night. He remembered pretty quickly that it wasn't that much, and he sat there on the street corner wondering just why his head was splitting. Then, the policeman who was standing over his mostly unconscious body roughly grabbed him by the shoulders, and dragged him into a standing position. After a confused greeting, the officer politely informed him, gently, that sleeping in public places is a civil crime. And by "politely" I mean "viciously," and by "informed him" I mean "beat him," and by "gently" I mean "over the head," and by "that sleeping in public places is a civil crime" I mean "with a billy club."
Once he was on his way, 3 stitches richer and 15 marks poorer by the local clinic, he dug around in his pocket to find a note with a couple of addresses, and a couple of tiny hearts that made him red around the ears. Or maybe that was the dried blood. He remembered what he was going to do this morning, and happily set off.
A half hour later, he found himself in front of a small apartment complex, run by a scraggly old lady. It was fairly clean, but still cheap. He asked the woman, who looked like she was also the owner, at the front desk, "Where can I find Violet Fletcher?" She replied, "Down the hall, in door number 9. It's the 4th door on your left. And honey," She grabbed his arm to restrain him, "don't be a stranger..." She winked. And blew a kiss. He walked as quickly as was polite away and down the hall, and then checked the number again, and knocked on the door.