I’m coming to the conclusion that I need to smack my Frozen Dreams hero around a bit more. Dude’s a arcanopulp post-apocalyptic detective, right? Only stands to reason.
Snippet:
At this point we were grappling for the knife, and I almost thought I heard a giggle as the two of us bounced around the alleyway like the pinball machine at the Royal Museum. I was mad and this guy was crazy; I don’t know who would have won that fight. But I didn’t have to, because all of a sudden the guy’s face went slack as a beanbag smacked him right in the face. Based on the sudden numbness from a drop or two that splashed and hit my skin, it was one of the knockout goop kinds. Not even icemold can fight that one; the guy dropped like a stone.
A second later, Lucas dropped down from the top of the roof, half-leaping, half-bouncing off various fire escapes and pipes and whatnot. His landing was as graceful as the fall, damn the show-off. And from his grin, the elf knew it. “Guess I know what you need me for after all, Shamus.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in.” I was already going through the mook’s pouches and pockets, looking for clues. And wincing a little.