EXAMS ARE NIGH! REVISE! REVISE!
So for my Detective Fiction class, we had to come up with a detective as a group project, based off characteristics from books that we read. Our group read Guards! Guards! and The Eyre Affair. PTerry and Fforde. Our detective is weird XD
James Middleton is a midlevel detective at the recently established Spread Eagle Police Department (SEPD) in Wisconsin. He has a boyfriend named Bob, but they're not exclusive. Bob buys him diamond earrings from Jared's.
James is fucking the coffee boy, Chris, on the side. He is bitter because he used to be an intern, so he bosses the poor kid around all the time. Like Smecker and Greenly. He used to be bisexual, rather than flat out gay. But a few years back, his girlfriend fell off the bed and landed on his pet weasel, killing the poor creature. Since then, James has sworn off women forever.
On the weekends and after work, James goes by Jaymie, dressing in drag and frequenting a little known gay bar in the next town over, Iron Mountain. Few people in the office know about his secret life, or so he thinks. Dundunduuuuun...
The reason James became a detective was that when he was seven, his parents were poisoned and hospitalized for two weeks. Suspecting a murder plot, he launched an investigation. Turns out they were very allergic to yams and didn't know it. Yes, yams.
If anyone's intrigued, this is a rough draft of the first chapter:
“Ya hey dere, Jimmy!”
James Middleton cringed and leaned closer to his paperwork, as if it would protect him from the overly cheerful greeting of his boss. Though he’d spent most of his life in the Upper Peninsula, he never could stomach the slang. “James, please. If you value my sanity, call me James. Good morning, Paul.”
Paul blinked a few times, then shrugged and wandered over to Larry, at the coffee machine. “Well gee, he’s sure touchy today.”
Larry nodded and sipped his coffee, the both of them watching James out of the corner of their eyes. “Ah he’s always touchy. Kind’ve a jumpy guy, ya know? Wound up pretty durn tight. You should see’im with a client.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Oh sure, you betchya.”
James glanced up at them, frowning faintly. “I am still here, you know. I can hear you, you’re not that far away.”
The poor, abused coffee boy, Chris, chose that moment to carefully set a fresh mug of coffee on the corner of James’s desk. “There you are, sir. Fresh coffee, like you asked.” The young man smiled brightly, eagerly awaiting seldom given praise, or even a thank you.
James barely glanced at the mug before giving Chris a pleading look from under his eyelashes, “Christopher, dear. I’ve changed my mind. I would kill for a latte right now.”
“But --” Chris sputtered, flailing his hands uselessly. “We just have coffee!”
“Mm, yes, this is true.” James propped his chin on his hand, his eyes not leaving Chris’s face. “There is, however, a coffee shop not to far away. About fifteen minutes, if I remember correctly. Would you be so kind as to go and fetch me my latte? Extra hot, so it’s warm when you get back.”
“But -- sir --”
“Thank you, Chris, that will be all.” James smiled pleasantly and went back to his paper work. The poor boy headed off dejectedly, on a mission for a latte.
Suddenly, a distraught woman barged into the office of the SEPD. “Somebody please -- my husband, he’s been murdered!”
“You did it!” James cried, jumping up from his desk and pointing accusingly at the poor woman.
“What’d I tell ya?” Larry whispered, amused.
“Ya, sure. I gotchya now.”
The poor, startled woman put a hand to her chest, flustered and out of breath. “Beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” James glared suspiciously, leaning over his desk. “I think you did it. You had the motive. You did it.”
“Well I -- no! That isn’t it at all! We were just coming home from Thanksgiving dinner at his parent’s house when a man in a ski mask made us pull over. He killed my husband and stole all our money!”
“Thanksgiving?” growled James, sitting at his desk again, his eyes never leaving the woman’s face.
“Ya sure, Thanksgivin’,” Larry chimed in from the coffee machine. “Ya know, the turkey and the yams and whatnot. Pumpkin pie. Thanksgivin’.”
“YAMS?” James roared. “You dare speak to me of yams?” Enraged, he threw his coffee mug against the wall and stormed out of the station, leaving everyone to boggle at his sudden outburst.
“Yams, huh?” Larry asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yams,” answered Paul, sighing. “Don’t get him goin’ with the yams. Always bad news dere.” He shrugged and set his coffee aside, heading over to the woman to question her further. “Where did this happen, ma’am?”
The woman fluttered her hands nervously for a moment before answering, “Up -- up the road. By the Riverside Liquor Store.”
“Ooooh…” Paul whistled and shook his head. “Oh dear, okay. That is not our jurisdiction, ma’am. That dere’s in Michigan, this here’s Wisconsin. Not much we can do.”
“I WILL TAKE THE CASE!” came the declaration from the back room. James stalked back in with a determined look on his face.
“But Jimmy, Michigan ain’t in our jurisdiction, you can’t just --”
But James held up his hand to silence any protests. “Nevermind. I want the case. I will take it.”
James Middleton is a midlevel detective at the recently established Spread Eagle Police Department (SEPD) in Wisconsin. He has a boyfriend named Bob, but they're not exclusive. Bob buys him diamond earrings from Jared's.
James is fucking the coffee boy, Chris, on the side. He is bitter because he used to be an intern, so he bosses the poor kid around all the time. Like Smecker and Greenly. He used to be bisexual, rather than flat out gay. But a few years back, his girlfriend fell off the bed and landed on his pet weasel, killing the poor creature. Since then, James has sworn off women forever.
On the weekends and after work, James goes by Jaymie, dressing in drag and frequenting a little known gay bar in the next town over, Iron Mountain. Few people in the office know about his secret life, or so he thinks. Dundunduuuuun...
The reason James became a detective was that when he was seven, his parents were poisoned and hospitalized for two weeks. Suspecting a murder plot, he launched an investigation. Turns out they were very allergic to yams and didn't know it. Yes, yams.
If anyone's intrigued, this is a rough draft of the first chapter:
“Ya hey dere, Jimmy!”
James Middleton cringed and leaned closer to his paperwork, as if it would protect him from the overly cheerful greeting of his boss. Though he’d spent most of his life in the Upper Peninsula, he never could stomach the slang. “James, please. If you value my sanity, call me James. Good morning, Paul.”
Paul blinked a few times, then shrugged and wandered over to Larry, at the coffee machine. “Well gee, he’s sure touchy today.”
Larry nodded and sipped his coffee, the both of them watching James out of the corner of their eyes. “Ah he’s always touchy. Kind’ve a jumpy guy, ya know? Wound up pretty durn tight. You should see’im with a client.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Oh sure, you betchya.”
James glanced up at them, frowning faintly. “I am still here, you know. I can hear you, you’re not that far away.”
The poor, abused coffee boy, Chris, chose that moment to carefully set a fresh mug of coffee on the corner of James’s desk. “There you are, sir. Fresh coffee, like you asked.” The young man smiled brightly, eagerly awaiting seldom given praise, or even a thank you.
James barely glanced at the mug before giving Chris a pleading look from under his eyelashes, “Christopher, dear. I’ve changed my mind. I would kill for a latte right now.”
“But --” Chris sputtered, flailing his hands uselessly. “We just have coffee!”
“Mm, yes, this is true.” James propped his chin on his hand, his eyes not leaving Chris’s face. “There is, however, a coffee shop not to far away. About fifteen minutes, if I remember correctly. Would you be so kind as to go and fetch me my latte? Extra hot, so it’s warm when you get back.”
“But -- sir --”
“Thank you, Chris, that will be all.” James smiled pleasantly and went back to his paper work. The poor boy headed off dejectedly, on a mission for a latte.
Suddenly, a distraught woman barged into the office of the SEPD. “Somebody please -- my husband, he’s been murdered!”
“You did it!” James cried, jumping up from his desk and pointing accusingly at the poor woman.
“What’d I tell ya?” Larry whispered, amused.
“Ya, sure. I gotchya now.”
The poor, startled woman put a hand to her chest, flustered and out of breath. “Beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” James glared suspiciously, leaning over his desk. “I think you did it. You had the motive. You did it.”
“Well I -- no! That isn’t it at all! We were just coming home from Thanksgiving dinner at his parent’s house when a man in a ski mask made us pull over. He killed my husband and stole all our money!”
“Thanksgiving?” growled James, sitting at his desk again, his eyes never leaving the woman’s face.
“Ya sure, Thanksgivin’,” Larry chimed in from the coffee machine. “Ya know, the turkey and the yams and whatnot. Pumpkin pie. Thanksgivin’.”
“YAMS?” James roared. “You dare speak to me of yams?” Enraged, he threw his coffee mug against the wall and stormed out of the station, leaving everyone to boggle at his sudden outburst.
“Yams, huh?” Larry asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yams,” answered Paul, sighing. “Don’t get him goin’ with the yams. Always bad news dere.” He shrugged and set his coffee aside, heading over to the woman to question her further. “Where did this happen, ma’am?”
The woman fluttered her hands nervously for a moment before answering, “Up -- up the road. By the Riverside Liquor Store.”
“Ooooh…” Paul whistled and shook his head. “Oh dear, okay. That is not our jurisdiction, ma’am. That dere’s in Michigan, this here’s Wisconsin. Not much we can do.”
“I WILL TAKE THE CASE!” came the declaration from the back room. James stalked back in with a determined look on his face.
“But Jimmy, Michigan ain’t in our jurisdiction, you can’t just --”
But James held up his hand to silence any protests. “Nevermind. I want the case. I will take it.”