I should expand on this setting some day.
Ahh, Mimeville. World capitol of monochomaticism, striped shirts, charades world-champions, and face paint; infamous for its nearly non-existent imports, exports, or noise pollution.
A particularly dreary winter day had robbed Mimeville of colour. The sky was white instead of blue, the grass and trees were covered with a thick fluffy carpet of alabaster snow. The citizens that shuffled back and forth were adorned in their stereotypical fashion, the occasional crimson lips providing the only flashes of colour on the whole landscape, while the Model T's of less experienced mimes provided the murmering of engines that echoed across the monotone skyscrapers.
One Anthony P. Renameme (pronounced 'Ren-ah-meem', also known as 'not a cop-out, honest!', which is rather ironic in that Renameme IS a cop) tilted his head back with his mouth open, his shoulders hunching visibly. The window fogged up, but his sigh was definitely inaudible - mimes are very good at being silent. He fiddled with his chrome badge before turning back to his partner. His hands swung about, speaking a language that was still silent. "Let me guess. He got another one?"
The partner in question, Charles A. Smith, a portly fellow with diamonded cheeks and an ever-present bowler hat, nodded grimly. His shaking hands handed him something. Or at least suggested that. Anthony took it, and moved his hands as if he was holding a piece of paper. He scanned it with a furrowed brow, then signed "it all looks in order. Bring her in."
Anthony almost gagged as Charles led her in. The first bit of colour was introduced to his morning, in the form of a red stained bandage wrapped around where her eyes were. Her lips were terse with obvious fear, but the worst part - by far, the worst part - was that she looked oh so familiar. It was Lucy Renameme. Anthony's wife.
Screw pretense. Screw regulations. Anthony threw himself into her arms, and gave the most reassuring embrace in the northern hemisphere. This was his wife and that sicko was going down.
Especially since his wife happened to have a somewhat savantic talent in that she could draw amazingly well with her eyes closed. Anthony rustled around under his desk for a bit, and pulled out a pencil and paper. Real ones. He sat her down, put the pencil into her hand, and ushered Charles out of the room to give her space.
Going blind is especially bad in Mimeville. There's no spoken language here, so it's like being struck blind and deaf at the same time. Most of the citizens don't even know a spoken language, since it's literally impossible to teach it school. You see, a couple decades ago, the founder of Mimeville grew frustrated with his neighbours and wrote up a petition to 'shut them up'. The rest of the town council, who were also fed up with their noise violations, didn't bother even reading the charter. Said neighbours hired a lawyer from the big city to claim persecution. The town was made mostly of uneducated settlers, and were no match for the legal-fu of the hired help. Said hired help convinced the town with a flurry of fast talking and convincing arguments that the new bylaw would have to apply to EVERY ONE in the settlement. Which, in turn, meant that speaking aloud became outlawed. Mimeville citizens are now quite proud of their unique culture, and as such changed the name to 'Mimeville' as well as repealed any attempts to change that ancient legislation.
Anthony noticed Charles sweating furiously, and asked him why. "Look, man, this sicko obviously knows we're after him. He got your *wife*! What if he comes after my daughter next? Or one of us?"
"Charles, we can't give up now. We need to stop this guy immediately." Anthony knew that Charles was lying, though. You don't have a partner for twenty four years without noticing that he was always the one that forged ahead, that kept trying to take out the bad guys. Heck, that's why he has a daughter but no wife - and that traumatic event only made him more resolute in his convictions in the past.
The two men finished their cigarettes outside, the flares of red being the most vivid sight in the city. It was time to go back in. Charles was a nervous wreck, and when Anthony took a look at the drawn picture he knew why. It was Charles' old look, before he lost his wife and revamped his life. The bare hair - definitely an anomaly and easy to recognize, but even more so with an arrow pointing to it that said 'brown', the painted on moustache, and the rounded figure...
"Take your hat off and then place your hands behind your head, Charles," signed an expressionless Anthony. His gun was pushed straight into Charles' face.
"C-Can't we talk about this? I mean, I mean, it could have been any one. I've been your friend fo- I've been framed! Framed!"
"Charles. You are acting just like every other perp caught in the act. Give. Yourself. Up. Now."
No wonder he was so nervous. But why? Why would he - no. It's not worth asking now. Just do your job, and lock this... this traitor up.
"He was keeping them. He was keeping their eyes in his basement, in little jars full of oxygenated fluid. Every single one was still capable of seeing, assuming it could be reattached."
And look! (Pardon the pun.) A doctor in India had recently found a way to do just that. Reconnect severed nerves using stem cells. That relied on another new breakthrough - turning the live skin cells into stem cells had been achieved in 2007.
I'm retiring, Lucy. I won't ever let something happen to you again, I promise."
A particularly dreary winter day had robbed Mimeville of colour. The sky was white instead of blue, the grass and trees were covered with a thick fluffy carpet of alabaster snow. The citizens that shuffled back and forth were adorned in their stereotypical fashion, the occasional crimson lips providing the only flashes of colour on the whole landscape, while the Model T's of less experienced mimes provided the murmering of engines that echoed across the monotone skyscrapers.
One Anthony P. Renameme (pronounced 'Ren-ah-meem', also known as 'not a cop-out, honest!', which is rather ironic in that Renameme IS a cop) tilted his head back with his mouth open, his shoulders hunching visibly. The window fogged up, but his sigh was definitely inaudible - mimes are very good at being silent. He fiddled with his chrome badge before turning back to his partner. His hands swung about, speaking a language that was still silent. "Let me guess. He got another one?"
The partner in question, Charles A. Smith, a portly fellow with diamonded cheeks and an ever-present bowler hat, nodded grimly. His shaking hands handed him something. Or at least suggested that. Anthony took it, and moved his hands as if he was holding a piece of paper. He scanned it with a furrowed brow, then signed "it all looks in order. Bring her in."
Anthony almost gagged as Charles led her in. The first bit of colour was introduced to his morning, in the form of a red stained bandage wrapped around where her eyes were. Her lips were terse with obvious fear, but the worst part - by far, the worst part - was that she looked oh so familiar. It was Lucy Renameme. Anthony's wife.
Screw pretense. Screw regulations. Anthony threw himself into her arms, and gave the most reassuring embrace in the northern hemisphere. This was his wife and that sicko was going down.
Especially since his wife happened to have a somewhat savantic talent in that she could draw amazingly well with her eyes closed. Anthony rustled around under his desk for a bit, and pulled out a pencil and paper. Real ones. He sat her down, put the pencil into her hand, and ushered Charles out of the room to give her space.
Going blind is especially bad in Mimeville. There's no spoken language here, so it's like being struck blind and deaf at the same time. Most of the citizens don't even know a spoken language, since it's literally impossible to teach it school. You see, a couple decades ago, the founder of Mimeville grew frustrated with his neighbours and wrote up a petition to 'shut them up'. The rest of the town council, who were also fed up with their noise violations, didn't bother even reading the charter. Said neighbours hired a lawyer from the big city to claim persecution. The town was made mostly of uneducated settlers, and were no match for the legal-fu of the hired help. Said hired help convinced the town with a flurry of fast talking and convincing arguments that the new bylaw would have to apply to EVERY ONE in the settlement. Which, in turn, meant that speaking aloud became outlawed. Mimeville citizens are now quite proud of their unique culture, and as such changed the name to 'Mimeville' as well as repealed any attempts to change that ancient legislation.
Anthony noticed Charles sweating furiously, and asked him why. "Look, man, this sicko obviously knows we're after him. He got your *wife*! What if he comes after my daughter next? Or one of us?"
"Charles, we can't give up now. We need to stop this guy immediately." Anthony knew that Charles was lying, though. You don't have a partner for twenty four years without noticing that he was always the one that forged ahead, that kept trying to take out the bad guys. Heck, that's why he has a daughter but no wife - and that traumatic event only made him more resolute in his convictions in the past.
The two men finished their cigarettes outside, the flares of red being the most vivid sight in the city. It was time to go back in. Charles was a nervous wreck, and when Anthony took a look at the drawn picture he knew why. It was Charles' old look, before he lost his wife and revamped his life. The bare hair - definitely an anomaly and easy to recognize, but even more so with an arrow pointing to it that said 'brown', the painted on moustache, and the rounded figure...
"Take your hat off and then place your hands behind your head, Charles," signed an expressionless Anthony. His gun was pushed straight into Charles' face.
"C-Can't we talk about this? I mean, I mean, it could have been any one. I've been your friend fo- I've been framed! Framed!"
"Charles. You are acting just like every other perp caught in the act. Give. Yourself. Up. Now."
No wonder he was so nervous. But why? Why would he - no. It's not worth asking now. Just do your job, and lock this... this traitor up.
"He was keeping them. He was keeping their eyes in his basement, in little jars full of oxygenated fluid. Every single one was still capable of seeing, assuming it could be reattached."
And look! (Pardon the pun.) A doctor in India had recently found a way to do just that. Reconnect severed nerves using stem cells. That relied on another new breakthrough - turning the live skin cells into stem cells had been achieved in 2007.
I'm retiring, Lucy. I won't ever let something happen to you again, I promise."