I have some clues, a suspect, and a therapist appointment for Calla (to say nothing of getting attacked by flamingos)
As I traveled to the address I’d been given, I asked myself, How could someone have kidnapped a troll, anyway? At least, in the method Mr. Jorgensen described? Because it sounded like whoever had done it had been using magic. Sorry, that’s kind of a ‘duh!’ statement; whoever it was had definitely been using magic. Trolls, despite not having any powers of their own most of the time, have the inherited trait of being resistant to any magic used against them. I’m serious; you can’t put any kind of spell on them, because it’ll just bounce off or something. Besides that, trolls are really big, and powerful, so anyone who tried to capture one would probably wind up with his head torn off. And yet someone had managed to kidnap one? I’d have to see if I could smell any chloroform or potions on the scene to show how he’d been subdued.
I found the homestead of Gunnar Skald, Mr. Jorgensen's brother-in-law. It was in one of the nicer districts of town, which made sense, since Jorgensen was rich enough to afford expandable pockets. It was 3 stories tall, with 12 windows on the front of the house, a neatly-cut lawn with two pink, plastic flamingos on it, and a sign with the words HOME SWEET HOME on the front door. All nice and normal, almost human. Except, of course, that the house was twice the size of a human house, the better to accommodate trolls, HOME SWEET HOME was written in Jotun, and the flamingos had fangs. And one of them had a piece of cloth dangling from its beak. I concluded that they were magically enchanted to guard the house against trespassers. My suspicions were confirmed when they simultaneously raised their heads and hissed at me as I approached. I held up my hands defensively, to show that I meant no harm. However, their beady black eyes still watched me with clear suspicion.
As I came close to the area where the newspaper was typically thrown, I scanned the ground. I surmised that, as protection from the territorial flamingos, the newspaper monster probably tried to land it on the sidewalk, and as far away from them as possible, so I checked at the very edge of the lawn. There was no newspaper there, but presumably it had already been taken indoors. I felt some annoyance at the removal of evidence from the crime scene, but decided to let it go, considering that I had been guilty of the same thing earlier. I could smell grass, troll (which is best described as a combination of mountains and grizzly bear), the very faint whiff of newspaper, proving my deduction correct, and- At the same moment as I recognized the smell, my eyes caught two other clues that distracted me from it. Floating in the air was some magical residue. Unlike Calla's, it was red shot with black, and very oily in nature. Quickly I pulled out one of my magically enhanced baggies, and ensnared it. It beat against the plastic walls for a moment, and then sagged limply to the bottom. Odd.
The other piece of evidence was just as interesting, and I crouched on my haunches to examine it better as I stuffed the baggie in my pants pocket. It was a set of footprints in the grass that started close to the sidewalk, and then vanished. The tracks were oddly unmatched; the left was that of a cloven hoof, and the right shaped like the claws of some bird of prey.
As soon as I saw that, my hands clenched themselves into fists, and my vision became tinged with red. I knew who those tracks belonged to, all too well. So he was involved! Funny, I would have thought a petty kidnapping was beneath him, but hey, who can fathom the mind of a felon? Pulling myself together, I gave them closer scrutiny. The footprints were several hours old; I would place them at about the time of day when Mr. Skald had disappeared. That was certainly incriminating. I reached out a hand to touch the tracks, in order to see if I could learn anything else, such as how he could have been there, anyway- and was immediately set upon by those bleeping-bleep-of-a-bleep flamingos!
Let me just say that I think it is very wrong of people to keep magic attack flamingos. It is not only inconvenient and obnoxious, but it is just plain rude! The stupid things completely misunderstood my intentions, and, assuming that I was attempting to desecrate their lawn, they began trying to peck my eyes out! Of course, I began defending myself, gouging and slicing, but it is very hard to destroy plastic enchanted flamingos that keep healing themselves. Finally, as a last resort, I pulled myself to my feet, and, hands over my head, I ran like heck across the lawn, with the blighted creatures right behind me. When I reached the front door, I slammed a fist against the doorbell, and then promptly turned and grabbed one bird around the neck, and used my foot to pin the other to the ground by the throat, thus halting the attack. The one in my hand squirmed furiously, stabbing again and again at my unprotected throat. Its metal legs were braced against my chest, and I could feel some burning pain there. Regardless, I hung on for dear life. Finally, the door opened, revealing a maternal female troll, about 7’11”, with long gray fur, and red-rimmed, orange eyes. Her gigantic ring finger had a gold wedding ring on it.
"Mrs. Skald, I presume?" I panted.
As I traveled to the address I’d been given, I asked myself, How could someone have kidnapped a troll, anyway? At least, in the method Mr. Jorgensen described? Because it sounded like whoever had done it had been using magic. Sorry, that’s kind of a ‘duh!’ statement; whoever it was had definitely been using magic. Trolls, despite not having any powers of their own most of the time, have the inherited trait of being resistant to any magic used against them. I’m serious; you can’t put any kind of spell on them, because it’ll just bounce off or something. Besides that, trolls are really big, and powerful, so anyone who tried to capture one would probably wind up with his head torn off. And yet someone had managed to kidnap one? I’d have to see if I could smell any chloroform or potions on the scene to show how he’d been subdued.
I found the homestead of Gunnar Skald, Mr. Jorgensen's brother-in-law. It was in one of the nicer districts of town, which made sense, since Jorgensen was rich enough to afford expandable pockets. It was 3 stories tall, with 12 windows on the front of the house, a neatly-cut lawn with two pink, plastic flamingos on it, and a sign with the words HOME SWEET HOME on the front door. All nice and normal, almost human. Except, of course, that the house was twice the size of a human house, the better to accommodate trolls, HOME SWEET HOME was written in Jotun, and the flamingos had fangs. And one of them had a piece of cloth dangling from its beak. I concluded that they were magically enchanted to guard the house against trespassers. My suspicions were confirmed when they simultaneously raised their heads and hissed at me as I approached. I held up my hands defensively, to show that I meant no harm. However, their beady black eyes still watched me with clear suspicion.
As I came close to the area where the newspaper was typically thrown, I scanned the ground. I surmised that, as protection from the territorial flamingos, the newspaper monster probably tried to land it on the sidewalk, and as far away from them as possible, so I checked at the very edge of the lawn. There was no newspaper there, but presumably it had already been taken indoors. I felt some annoyance at the removal of evidence from the crime scene, but decided to let it go, considering that I had been guilty of the same thing earlier. I could smell grass, troll (which is best described as a combination of mountains and grizzly bear), the very faint whiff of newspaper, proving my deduction correct, and- At the same moment as I recognized the smell, my eyes caught two other clues that distracted me from it. Floating in the air was some magical residue. Unlike Calla's, it was red shot with black, and very oily in nature. Quickly I pulled out one of my magically enhanced baggies, and ensnared it. It beat against the plastic walls for a moment, and then sagged limply to the bottom. Odd.
The other piece of evidence was just as interesting, and I crouched on my haunches to examine it better as I stuffed the baggie in my pants pocket. It was a set of footprints in the grass that started close to the sidewalk, and then vanished. The tracks were oddly unmatched; the left was that of a cloven hoof, and the right shaped like the claws of some bird of prey.
As soon as I saw that, my hands clenched themselves into fists, and my vision became tinged with red. I knew who those tracks belonged to, all too well. So he was involved! Funny, I would have thought a petty kidnapping was beneath him, but hey, who can fathom the mind of a felon? Pulling myself together, I gave them closer scrutiny. The footprints were several hours old; I would place them at about the time of day when Mr. Skald had disappeared. That was certainly incriminating. I reached out a hand to touch the tracks, in order to see if I could learn anything else, such as how he could have been there, anyway- and was immediately set upon by those bleeping-bleep-of-a-bleep flamingos!
Let me just say that I think it is very wrong of people to keep magic attack flamingos. It is not only inconvenient and obnoxious, but it is just plain rude! The stupid things completely misunderstood my intentions, and, assuming that I was attempting to desecrate their lawn, they began trying to peck my eyes out! Of course, I began defending myself, gouging and slicing, but it is very hard to destroy plastic enchanted flamingos that keep healing themselves. Finally, as a last resort, I pulled myself to my feet, and, hands over my head, I ran like heck across the lawn, with the blighted creatures right behind me. When I reached the front door, I slammed a fist against the doorbell, and then promptly turned and grabbed one bird around the neck, and used my foot to pin the other to the ground by the throat, thus halting the attack. The one in my hand squirmed furiously, stabbing again and again at my unprotected throat. Its metal legs were braced against my chest, and I could feel some burning pain there. Regardless, I hung on for dear life. Finally, the door opened, revealing a maternal female troll, about 7’11”, with long gray fur, and red-rimmed, orange eyes. Her gigantic ring finger had a gold wedding ring on it.
"Mrs. Skald, I presume?" I panted.
Love, love, LOVE the attack flamingoes!
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