A Lead

”Hey hey, Mister!!” A voice spoke, slightly grating, but child-like at worst. He bore no verbal response.

The day was frosty, a bit breezy. The prior rain made the housing level of the City damp and puddle-ridden, but with thick boots, it was hardly an annoyance. The air smelled of rain water still, as the parted clouds laid lazily in the sky. Whatever it be, the morning was peaceful, for the most part. And then Preston was approached.

”Hey, c’mon, don’t ignore me,” he huffed, being no taller than five feet tall. Which was taller than Lemonshoe. Most people were. He wanted to sigh, but just looked at the kid instead.

”Quiet, huh? Suspicious...” he murmured, beating around the bush. ”Right, anyways, I have a lead for you!” Upon a pause, the blue color coded child sighed. ”This is no fun when you don’t talk!”

Lemonshoe wasn’t hurt, just appalled the child hadn’t been shown how to be properly respectful. Was he a child from here? The foreigner population was increasing, after all…

The boy stomped his foot, before pointing at P. Lemonshoe.

”You weren’t even listening that time! I said I’ll tell you over coffee! Your treat, of course.” A smirk never tried to hide, but with the cape and the getup, the Detective could almost assume, or at least ponder slightly where his parents were. He seemed too naïve to be left on his lonesome.

Another investigation another day.

The boy was followed to the elevator, the two-way box to the shopping district of this city and arguably, it’s main attraction. For the elevators had windows, showing how the morning sky turns to a collage of nightlights, bedroom lights, and party lights galore. There was not a centimeter of the location that had no light in some shape or form. Whether it be recreational crystals reflecting light, patterned street lights, or something of the sort. It’s all a world of a fake, stary blanket.

That’s how Lemonshoe thought of it, anyways.

All the lights always bothered him.

Long was the elevator ding, and now came the departure and the arriving into the heart of the district. A food wagon rolled on by, Nimysians walking and shopping about, and the small boy running head-first into the darn main artery of it all. And all for some coffee. It wasn’t even that good. When the Deanimalistic reached the small Witch by his snow-scent alone, the boy seemed to have stars in his eyes. Has he never been in the city? Or a coffee shop? How?

Well, if he lived in Gilam all his life, with it being an isolated little island, no wonder. Anyways.

Did any of that matter when the menus were so shiny that he could see his own reflection in them? And how much he really did need to sleep himself? Or how his father would be disappointed by how his blonde fur was disheveled and- right. Anyways.

So he sat across the other, and cleared his throat; not to speak, just to get the other’s attention. Ordering a regular cup and one with cream for the kid, (he complained, but who’s the one of them who’s underage and will probably risk an addiction and dependency of the two? Not Preston.), the two sat down and had a one sided conversation about practically nothing. What were they to talk about anyways?

”Oh, right! The lead!” The Detective put a finger to the other’s lips, which got him to lower his voice. ”Geez, okay okay. So I know the group personally, and I can mayyyybe………….... get them all in your evil evil clutches?”

Preston pinched the bridge of his snout.

”I am not evil.”

”HOLY SHIT YOU CAN SPEAK!”

The mumbles of the shop rose to a head, and the Detective patted the kid down on the head only to receive a grumble. Well, at least that is Nimysian in nature; disliking stranger’s pats, anyways.

“Right, anyways it- uh.”

“What? Aw c’mon, talk!“

Like a trained puppy, Preston almost found himself whimpering, not wanting to be commanded around. But there’s no way around it, is there?

“They are considered vagabonds and criminals by the Queen, which is something I was hired to sort out after their capture. I was not given a hefty price tag; I am simply taking on this case because I know the streets better than the guards do themselves.“ The words fell from his snout, and luckily, the child listened, though was clearly confused by the language the other used. Maybe some further elaboration? Gilam did have bad education and was rather close-minded to everything. So maybe-

“So they’re homeless?“ The caped boy murmured to himself, before looking into the cop’s yellow eyes. The sea and the sun. “So… it’s just that more important that Mister Ruins comes back home!”

“Mister Ruins? Is that one member?“ Taking out a notepad from an inside pocket of his jacket, he began to listen to the other as opposed to how he was prior.

“He’s a little older than me, but yeah. Sixteen. He was always really easy to be friends with, actually.“ The boy spoke with a small smile. It was unlike a smirk, but instead, more of a nostalgic curve of the mouth. Which was something Lemonshoe chose to prod. Nodding, that caused him to continue. “Well, uh, he’s like- a nerd. He loves History, especially Nimysian History. He wants to explore the world, which I think is stupid since he gets sick so easy, especially with that Inked Magic of his. He always gets back up, though. He’s a tryhard dummy.“ The cotton-blue-hued haired boy looked into his drink that he received during the moment, holding it in his hands.

Pretty Latte Art, his being of a simple Lotus flower. Preston had asked for his cup to have no art. The art makes it harder to stomach that he’d have to ruin such beauty. The aroma of coffee was always so comforting to such an old dog at the ripe age of Twenty-Seven, which was far old enough. His ear twitched, picking up on a mumble and a sigh.

“What..?“ P. Lemonshoe looked over, having forgotten the child was even there.

“I said...“ He hummed, seeming much calmer, but still in a daydreaming haze. “I said you spaced out again.“

Right. He did do that.
But he also knew the child had lied just now. What was there to hide?

“Anyways, you don’t have to talk anymore,“ The child exclaimed, but reached out his prosthetic hand (how did Preston not notice that arm earlier?) to shake. It was cold, unsurprisingly (was that unfiltered magic within the canister?), but a firm handshake it was. That was a surprise.

“Oh, and my name’s Plasma! And I wanna help you, Mister Detective!“

“Absolutely not,“ Lemonshoe spoke immediately, commanding the other to take his claim to the waste bin with his remark. “It’s far too dangerous, and you are a child,“ the Detective lowered his voice, before drinking his coffee down, paying their bill, and walking out. 

His tail gained a tail.

“That’s not a good excuse! C’mon!“

“This is not to be discu-“

“I need to make sure my friend is safe!“

The silence was palpable, but not long enough.

“I’ll see what I can do.“

Lemonshoe turned on his heel and walked away from the child. And the puddle he stepped in reflected no one as he left, just a ripple of events soon to unfold.