100 words: They Fight Crime!

"Take your hand off my ass before I turn it into BBQ," Syd growled. Alabaster Idol or no Alabaster Idol, I'm ready to toast this flake.

"Sorry," he muttered. "You had some ectoplasm."

"Davies, did you forget your Haldol again?"

"No. Did you?"

His hand shook as he lifted his Thermos. He's hallucinating, she thought. Too little medication, or too much coffee?

"Quitzicumbi requires a pure vessel for His divine seed," she reminded him.

"So you're really going to fuck this statue?" He snorted. "You're crazier than I am."

She smiled. "A hard Mayan is good to find."



He's an oversexed coffee-fuelled paranormal investigator who must take medication to keep him sane. She's a psychotic tomboy archaeologist with a flame-thrower. They Fight Crime!
 

whine

if anybody really loved me, they'd send me a case of guitar picks. Dunlop nylon standard, .88mm.

(don't actually do it. i was just bemoaning the dearth of picks in my immediate vicinity, and i don't feel like getting up to look for them on the floor. which is where i usually keep them.)