ARM-WRESTLER
CHAPTER ONE
A curious case of littering
Master Post
An arm was what had caught York’s attention.
He was taking his daily jog around Fancy Town. There weren’t much in the way of alleys here, but the older parts of town had some number of dark nooks and crannies. It was here that York noticed an odd shape on the ground.
It was still there on the second lap. He stopped and looked around. It was getting to be evening, but the brownstones remained quiet, curtains drawn or maybe empty. The irregular lots between them like rotten teeth grew wild with weeds and garbage.
York walked up to the thing on the ground: an arm - as he had thought. He had felt the call to wrestle in his hindbrain before his eyes had even registered it, but if they were lying on the ground, they probably hadn’t got the energy for a good armwrestle. That’s what he had decided on his first lap.
Now, he realized, this arm would never wrestle again. He stood a little longer, then pulled his brand new, refurbished, little flip bone out of his jacket pocket. He was reticent to get an iBone when he couldn't be bothered to memorize a bone number but Rosé way struck with inspiration after their last adventure.
York carefully pressed the buttons marked with stars in the order of the constellation. He had even written orcish on them to help practice the foreign numbers. He figured, in for a phalange in for a femur.
“York!” Rosé said happily.
“Rosé.” York said. “I found an arm.”
“Uh.”
“It’s on the ground, and ain’t attached to no one.” He wanted to hold it up, but Jancy had drilled into him that the crime scene was not to be touched until photos could be taken, and his iBone did not have picture capability.
“Oh no. Uh. Okay, Jancy isn’t in the office - she went to talk to a potential client. UH.”
“Can you call her?”
“Potential client! Her bone is on silent.”
“Can you call Grandma?”
York listened patiently as Rosé muttered something about holding and groups and beep boops.
“Grenda Highforge speaking.”
“Grandma, I found an arm.” York said. There was silence on the other end while Rosé thought of how to rephrase.
“...It’s by itself, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Also Rosé is here. On the bone, not with me. Rosé, I don't know where you are,” York crouched down on the ground to examine the lone arm again.
“Hi, Rosé!”
“Hi. I'm in the office and Jancy isn’t in the office so we don’t know what to do. Can you do your best Jancy for a minute and tell us what to do?”
“Uh! Yeah. Uh. Don’t touch anything!” York nodded; accomplished. “Secure the area?”
York looked around. Still not a soul, as far as he could tell. “Next?”
“Maybe draw a chalk outline?” Grenda suggested.
“I don’t got chalk.”
“Oh, I do! Well, with me.”
Rosé chimed in, “Grandma, I’m heading over there. Let’s all meet up.” York nodded again, unseen.
“Good idea! Where should I go?” There was a sudden silence on the other end. Rosé stopped in her tracks.
“Uh. Yeah. Uh, what do you see nearby, York?”
York listed them the landmarks nearby. The city folks insistence on naming all the places they go instead of just going was still weird to him. Then again, Northern Tribe orcs didn’t tend to plan to go places together so much as just run into each other sometimes.
The other two tell him to stay on the iBone, maybe look for a blood trail.
“Ain’t no blood.”
“What.” Grenda said.
“Don’t like that.” Rosé said. York peered closer.
“Actually, I don’t think this thing ever had blood to begin with.” He held it up triumphantly. “Yeah! It’s metal! It’s a metal arm!”
“What like a prosthetic? Or a mannequin?”
“Or a crash test dummy?” Rosé added.
“A prosthetic?” York said derisively.
“A prosthetic is a replacement limb!” Grandma told him helpfully. A dog yipped in the background.
“I know what a prosthetic is! But this ain’t no prosthetic. It doesn’t even have spikes.”
“Northern Tribes do prosthetics differently, eh, buddy?” Rosé said.
York turned the arm over in his hand. “Yeah! You just stick a weapon in there! Whose gonna make a whole fake arm to put on your arm when you can stick an ax in there?” He looked at the arm again. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Rosé asked
“Even for a leg?” Grenda said at the same time.
“Uh, no, hammer’s best if you lose a leg.” York said distractedly, putting the arm on the ground gingerly. “Swords and axes’ll just stick in the ground.” He pushed the palm a little, then pulled it back again.
“What if you just lost the front of your foot, could you get a dagger and do sick kick flip stabby stabs?”
“Yeah. Classic.” York muttered.
“I’m here!” Rosé said and York stood up sharply. She looked at him, then the arm. She raised an eyebrow. York stared.
“Ooh, in stereo! I’ll be there soon. Plus, I have a client! Maybe she can do a little sniffing?”
Rosé, Grenda, and York stared down at the hand together. A dog panted happily nearby, tied tightly to a stake. A little bowl of water glittered. “So, no blood. No body.” Rosé said. “Does that mean this is a lost item, not a murder?”
“It could still be a missing person!” Grenda said helpfully. “You never know.”
“It’s definitely a prosthetic, though? Even though it’s not a weapon?” York asked.
“I mean, I could knock someone out with that.” Rosé said. “Not that I would, because I am a good girl.”
Grenda nodded. “See the bits here? I think it’s so the arm can move. And the fingers have grippies for... gripping. And up at the end it’s kind of softer? To stick to the person. Not a mannequin, Probably a prosthetic. Definitely missing! I bet someone wants this back.” Grenada beamed up at their friends.
Rosé hummed softly, and stroked her chin. “The rules are different for a missing belonging...” York nodded, Grenda smiled. “So... what if we hunted down the owner and returned the arm?”
“And fined ‘em for littering.”
“Wouldn’t Jancy be proud of us?”
“So proud.” Grenda said.
“So proud.” York agreed.
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