The Investigator
They says I can'ts be good. They says I has to be bad. Really bad.
I knows I'se cans be good. I knows deep down in my heart thats I cans be good.
Peoples tells me otherwise. Peoples says lots of scary things, like me's being evil because of original sinses. That koboldkindses is bad and is always bad. Maybe that's why I'se had to fight uphills just to be what I wants to be. Not another thief or a funny little sidekick, but something that tieses into the rich history of koboldses.
My name is Killy Brambleberry and I'se an investigative journalist. I lives in The City - not as big as other cities, but it's good. Good enoughs for a kobold like me. Lots of cool foods, cool stores, and cool buildings - a city that's the best shiny. A city of glass.
My apartment is my apartment. Forgotten rich uncle gives me lots of monies at discorporation and I buy a nice place. Studio apartment - a bedroom with an open kitchen with a grand view of The City. The city I'se investigates. I'se the watchkobold over The City - the one who shows peoples all the bad things within. I busts crime with my wordses and peoples live in safety. Doom is averted.
I don'ts writes like how I speaks. AP Styleses and all. Peoples don'ts know that koboldses has been writing stuffses for dragons for long time. Since the beginning of time, my mom and dad says. We're secretarieses for dragons - and sometimes, the dragons makes us do really bad things. So we steals for them. We defend the golds for them. Peoples come in and kills us. I understand - life-or-death situation - but peoples has a bad view of koboldses. For long time we didn'ts gets to vote in the elections. Too many evil peoples come in and do bad things. They'se do it to themselves - anybody who isn't pale or male or make-damn-sure-they're-male-or-female is pretty much their target. Too many discorporations for nothings but power. They'se as bad as the dragons half the time.
I cans try to speakses all normal - all Common-like - but kobold vocal cords don'ts allows for that. They'se looked into everything - physiology is draconic; brains is better than peoples and dragons; koboldses raised by peoples - but at the end of the day, we'se speak funny. That's okay. I likes it that way.
I sits at my desk, ready for the next case, when the phone rings. I prefers the landline, so it rings first. If I'se not at my desk and I'se in my shower, where I cleans myself with scaly wash, my smart phone rings. Either ways I pick it up - it's a human. They speakses like us, but without the lisps and the siblancesses. They'se don't have to deal with a dragon tongue.
"Killy," the human speakses, "Is this Killy?"
"Killy is at your service," I speakses, "What can Killy do for you?"
"I need help.Go to the Mermaid Café and order a bottle of Merlot. I'll know it's you," the human answers.
"Who is this?" I askses.
"That's not important right now," they answers, "They're listening."
I looks around - nobody out there. No red reticles. No laser pointers. No mages with a Magic Kompressor.
"They're not here," I speakses, "I will come. Killy will come. At there, tell me more."
"Okay, but remember: time is of the essence. Leave now," the human says. Click.
So I has to go to the Mermaid Café and order a bottle of wine. Good song. But I just got clean! I has to puts on my clothes.
Normally koboldses don't wear clotheses - a people thing, more or less - but since it makes koboldses easier to spot, we put them on anyway. On goes my T-shirt. And my boxer briefs. And my blue jeans. And my flannel overshirt. And my shoes. Kobolds don't like shoeses. Too weird even for kobolds. But places say we must. And we listen because we're good at following orders.
I knows where the place is. On the corner of Euripides and Barbossa - right across the street from the In-N-Out with the Mexican spicies on the burgers. So I runs like a thief in the night down the street, past all the peoples who tower over me - though they're not as big as dragons. I'se tall for a kobold too - four feet high - but most people my age is six feet high. I'se a scaly kid comparatively.
The Mermaid Café. Not a café, but a bar. Bar with raconteur-troubadours. All play the same song - the song about the wonderwall. They tries to speak like that British guy too - but they sounds like a cartoon. And I'se know what it means to speakses like a cartoon - it's my life. I'se come in there and I orders a bottle of merlot from the barkeep. His name is Ranch Dressing Bartender, R.D. for shorts.
"An entire bottle of merlot, eh?" R.D. inquireses, "Aren't kobolds lightweights?"
I shakes my head. "Killy intends to share it with somebody."
"Is that so, Killy? Well, this ain't happy hour, so chances of anybody comin' 'round here to partake in your graces are slim to none," R.D. speakses and hands me the bottle. A Goodboy Tyler Vineyards 2000. Good smoky flavor, with hintses of strawberries and coffee.
The human comes in and looks at me and my bottle of wine. She sits down.
"Glad to see you could make it. However, I have very limited time," she speakses.
"Killy is listening," I says as I pour her a glass.
"Something's about to go down here. People - really, really bad people - are murmuring about the Ides. I think it has to do something with the mayor," she speakses as she sips on her glass.
"The Ides?" I asks her, "I thought that was a fairy tale to put koboldses to sleep!"
"Apparently it's an actual thing now. I hear rumors that they've been underground for years, but now that society's where they want it to be, they can go back to prominence. And it doesn't look good for ANY of us," she speakses and looks around.
"Who does Killy ask first?" I asks.
"Try talking to John Shoeshiner," she speakses and gets up from her stool, "He seems to know everything on the street - for a price."
The human walks out. R.D. looks at me.
R.D. speakses, "Looks like the horny little kobold got his wish-"
"Shut the hell up," I interrupts.
I knows I'se cans be good. I knows deep down in my heart thats I cans be good.
Peoples tells me otherwise. Peoples says lots of scary things, like me's being evil because of original sinses. That koboldkindses is bad and is always bad. Maybe that's why I'se had to fight uphills just to be what I wants to be. Not another thief or a funny little sidekick, but something that tieses into the rich history of koboldses.
My name is Killy Brambleberry and I'se an investigative journalist. I lives in The City - not as big as other cities, but it's good. Good enoughs for a kobold like me. Lots of cool foods, cool stores, and cool buildings - a city that's the best shiny. A city of glass.
My apartment is my apartment. Forgotten rich uncle gives me lots of monies at discorporation and I buy a nice place. Studio apartment - a bedroom with an open kitchen with a grand view of The City. The city I'se investigates. I'se the watchkobold over The City - the one who shows peoples all the bad things within. I busts crime with my wordses and peoples live in safety. Doom is averted.
I don'ts writes like how I speaks. AP Styleses and all. Peoples don'ts know that koboldses has been writing stuffses for dragons for long time. Since the beginning of time, my mom and dad says. We're secretarieses for dragons - and sometimes, the dragons makes us do really bad things. So we steals for them. We defend the golds for them. Peoples come in and kills us. I understand - life-or-death situation - but peoples has a bad view of koboldses. For long time we didn'ts gets to vote in the elections. Too many evil peoples come in and do bad things. They'se do it to themselves - anybody who isn't pale or male or make-damn-sure-they're-male-or-female is pretty much their target. Too many discorporations for nothings but power. They'se as bad as the dragons half the time.
I cans try to speakses all normal - all Common-like - but kobold vocal cords don'ts allows for that. They'se looked into everything - physiology is draconic; brains is better than peoples and dragons; koboldses raised by peoples - but at the end of the day, we'se speak funny. That's okay. I likes it that way.
I sits at my desk, ready for the next case, when the phone rings. I prefers the landline, so it rings first. If I'se not at my desk and I'se in my shower, where I cleans myself with scaly wash, my smart phone rings. Either ways I pick it up - it's a human. They speakses like us, but without the lisps and the siblancesses. They'se don't have to deal with a dragon tongue.
"Killy," the human speakses, "Is this Killy?"
"Killy is at your service," I speakses, "What can Killy do for you?"
"I need help.Go to the Mermaid Café and order a bottle of Merlot. I'll know it's you," the human answers.
"Who is this?" I askses.
"That's not important right now," they answers, "They're listening."
I looks around - nobody out there. No red reticles. No laser pointers. No mages with a Magic Kompressor.
"They're not here," I speakses, "I will come. Killy will come. At there, tell me more."
"Okay, but remember: time is of the essence. Leave now," the human says. Click.
So I has to go to the Mermaid Café and order a bottle of wine. Good song. But I just got clean! I has to puts on my clothes.
Normally koboldses don't wear clotheses - a people thing, more or less - but since it makes koboldses easier to spot, we put them on anyway. On goes my T-shirt. And my boxer briefs. And my blue jeans. And my flannel overshirt. And my shoes. Kobolds don't like shoeses. Too weird even for kobolds. But places say we must. And we listen because we're good at following orders.
I knows where the place is. On the corner of Euripides and Barbossa - right across the street from the In-N-Out with the Mexican spicies on the burgers. So I runs like a thief in the night down the street, past all the peoples who tower over me - though they're not as big as dragons. I'se tall for a kobold too - four feet high - but most people my age is six feet high. I'se a scaly kid comparatively.
The Mermaid Café. Not a café, but a bar. Bar with raconteur-troubadours. All play the same song - the song about the wonderwall. They tries to speak like that British guy too - but they sounds like a cartoon. And I'se know what it means to speakses like a cartoon - it's my life. I'se come in there and I orders a bottle of merlot from the barkeep. His name is Ranch Dressing Bartender, R.D. for shorts.
"An entire bottle of merlot, eh?" R.D. inquireses, "Aren't kobolds lightweights?"
I shakes my head. "Killy intends to share it with somebody."
"Is that so, Killy? Well, this ain't happy hour, so chances of anybody comin' 'round here to partake in your graces are slim to none," R.D. speakses and hands me the bottle. A Goodboy Tyler Vineyards 2000. Good smoky flavor, with hintses of strawberries and coffee.
The human comes in and looks at me and my bottle of wine. She sits down.
"Glad to see you could make it. However, I have very limited time," she speakses.
"Killy is listening," I says as I pour her a glass.
"Something's about to go down here. People - really, really bad people - are murmuring about the Ides. I think it has to do something with the mayor," she speakses as she sips on her glass.
"The Ides?" I asks her, "I thought that was a fairy tale to put koboldses to sleep!"
"Apparently it's an actual thing now. I hear rumors that they've been underground for years, but now that society's where they want it to be, they can go back to prominence. And it doesn't look good for ANY of us," she speakses and looks around.
"Who does Killy ask first?" I asks.
"Try talking to John Shoeshiner," she speakses and gets up from her stool, "He seems to know everything on the street - for a price."
The human walks out. R.D. looks at me.
R.D. speakses, "Looks like the horny little kobold got his wish-"
"Shut the hell up," I interrupts.
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