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It was a dark night- moonless, foggy. The kind of night where you could barely see your flipper two inches from your face, even if you were wearing one of those radioactive Hawaiian shirts. The kind of night for whispered secrets and mysterious packages handed off by tall men in overcoats.

My name is Frobisher. The sign on my office door says ‘Prvt nvstgtr’. It would say Private Investigator, but my last case didn’t go so well and I had to hock a few vowels.

Private investigator’s the dressed-up job description. What I am is a spy, a snoop, a bloodhound of the underworld, a penguin with pizzazz. When Little Bo Beep lost her sheep, I’m the guy she went to. When Little Red Riding Hood needed someone to look into the untimely death of her dear old grandmother, she came to me. And when you need someone to ferret through your trash cans, I’m the PI who’ll ferret for clues- for the right price.

That’s what I was doing that night. Ferreting through a trash can. It’s not what you’d call a glamourous job, but someone’s gotta do it. )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 203 - Intrigue
Word Count: 876
Note: ...Part 2/?.
eleventh_doctor: (the neutral icon)
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It was a cold night; just right for a penguin like me. It was raining outside. It didn’t make for a pretty picture, but I can’t complain: it’s the only time my office gets a little wash.

I’m Frobisher. Frobisher to my friends, Mr. Frobisher to my enemies. I’m a private investigator. I’m the guy you go to when the chips are down, when the cows make it home, when the pickle jar won’t open and you can almost taste the cucumber-y goodness inside. It’s not the glamourous life you see in the movies. I spend a lot of time chasing runaways, hiding in alleys, and ferreting through trash cans. You name it, I’ll do it. For the right price.

I was having a slow day. It was just about time to close up the office, and I had just poured my last glass of bourbon. Then she walked in. Five-foot-nine inches, and all of it was legs. I couldn’t have kept my eyes off her if I tried. She took one look at the chair growing three kinds of bacteria, then sat down on one of the few clean spots on my desk. She was a smart dame as well as a classy one; the things that had sat on that chair, no dame deserved to see. The minute I could talk without my voice going up an octave, I offered her my last drink.

Dial P for Penguin )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] oncoming_storms
Prompt: 1.9 - I will remember this moment forever
Word Count: 743


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May 2010

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