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There was no police system in the new world. In town if a crime or dispute was small enough one dealt with it themself and Can Land had the protection of the Mayor’s partner and closest confidant Peregrine Mendicant. If someone was in need of a detective the doors to Jane Crocker’s residence were always open, if a Strider or Lalonde was the one causing trouble the only person you could call was another different Strider or Lalonde (or in Rose’s case, her wife), and if perhaps the Englishes, Caliborn and Jake, were not getting along, as they are want not to, there was only one man you could call in to handle the situation.
Crowbar was currently booking it to the residence of that man, it was late at night, perhaps three or four am, but he couldn’t care because the bar he runs with the lady Snowman was in grave danger of being leveled, along with that darling Ms. Paint’s quaint shop that sat next to it. The door he knocked on said ‘Roxy Lalonde & Dirk Strider’ in cheery lettering. He was met at the door by the Lalonde in residence still in her pajamas, grey shorts and an oversized, grapefruit colored sweater.
“Wassup at this hour Crowbar?” She asked rubbing her eye.
“Sorry to wake you at such a late hour Ms. Lalonde, but we’ve got a code green.” She widened the eye that wasn’t being rubbed, and nodded knowingly.
“I’ll wake him, you can come in if ya want.” Crowbar declined, preferring instead to lean against the doorframe while Roxy went to knock on Dirk’s door. “Yo Strider we got an English problem and only you can solve it.” Her voice was loud and Crowbar doubted the neighbors could sleep through that. Dirk burst through the door, hair messy and clad in a tank top and pool ball printed pajama pants.
“Goddamnit at this hour? Where are they?” His brows were furrowed above pointed glasses and he exuded a pissed off aura, Crowbar knew he wasn’t one to trifle with normally but he would certainly think more then twice about crossing him in this state.
“Crowby’s saloon.”
“Let’s get this fucking over with, I do not want to deal with their shit when I am trying to sleep.” It was well known that Dirk did not sleep well, or often, and that when he did it was a wise decision not to wake him. Dirk stalked over to Crowbar, nodding pleasant-enough at him. Crowbar began walking, not too calmly, in the direction of his livelihood. Luckily, due to Dirk’s notoriously long legs and a little hustle on Crowbars part, they reached the establishment just in time to hear a disastrous crash from inside it accompanied by a distinctly cherub roar. Dirk rolled his eyes.
“He does that when he wants to seem tough, it expends more energy then he likes to admit, he’s all bark and no bite.” Dirk walked into the bar nonchalantly and happened upon a rather predictable scene. Caliborn’s fist was strangling Jake’s shirt and holding him up to his snarling face, intimidating as it was with its sharp teeth and alien, even to trolls, features. Jake’s right hand danced on the clasp to his right thigh holster and his left one was careening towards Caliborn’s abdomen. The scene around them was complete disarray, chairs knocked over, a table broken in half, a hole in the wall, and one of the pillars was singed with the offending fire still raging across the felt of one of the pool tables. Dirk could tell the fight was just getting started, and he knew it would get so much uglier, last time the two fought two city blocks of forest was chopped/burnt/shot down. Just as Jake’s fist connected with Caliborn’s abdomen (thorax?) with a frightening sort of clack-crunch Dirk loudly cleared his throat. Two pairs of eyes, bright green and bright red, locked themselves on Dirk’s sleep deprived frame.
“Strider!” Jake smiled, showing that one of his teeth was definitely cracked, if not about to fall out. “What are you doing here?” Dirk didn’t grace him with a response, instead walking though the ruins of the bar to stand in front of them.
“Cal get off him.”
“Caliborn.” He grumbled, as he always did when that nickname came up, but stood up anyway. He had blood, both Jake’s and his own, on his shirt. Cherub physique was reminiscent of a reptile, tight, coiled ropes of muscle stacked atop skinny bones, teeth sharp and menacing, hands and feet tipped off with long resilient claws and they stood taller then any human; Caliborn was only more menacing because he lacked the cheery demeanor of his sister. Dirk held a hand out to Jake, who grasped it a bit too tight as he stood up, his other hand still resting protectively on his pistol.
“Boys, boys you’re both plenty pretty, no need to be fighting over it.”
“Strider you should have heard him, disrespecting gran-Jade,” he corrected “and other such fetching females, he was all but asking for fisticuffs and my fists were itching for a scrabble.” Dirk nods, a headache beginning to bloom behind his shades.
“This male bitch was the one with the disrespect.” Caliborn snapped, both he and Jake moving to go back to fighting but they were met with Dirk’s hands firmly on their chests. He pushed them both away, stepping between them.
“You both need to go home.” A rant stayed on his tongue, one about how he doesn’t want to be here and how the both of them need to calm down. He felt two different hands, one human and one very much not, land atop each of his shoulders. “I can’t take both you jezebels home and kiss you both on the porch but you need to leave and keep out of each other’s business because you’re making it mine and I do not want it to be.” Caliborn and Jake kept their eyes locked while Dirk’s shifted his between their loaded gazes.
“Cut the drama.” He said, pushing both of them to snap them out of their stare. “Cal, I’ll call up Calliope and Jake I will get Roxy and Jane down here.” Jake looked at him sheepishly, but nodded and removed his hand from Dirk’s shoulder, walking out of the wrecked saloon. Dirk turned towards Caliborn who slid his right arm around Dirk’s hip on the left side, so he was facing him eye to eye with his arm across Dirk’s chest like a sash.
“It was his fault.”
“I don’t care, go home.” Caliborn trailed the pads of his fingers down Dirk’s hip, dropping his arm to a natural position before slinking out of the bar. “Love you both too.” Dirk muttered bitterly to the mess of the room. He turned towards the door, watching the Englishes stalk off in separate directions, and sighed.
“Thank you Mr. Strider.” Crowbar said as he examined his space. “Snowman certainly won’t be happy with this scene.”
“You’re welcome, but next time, call the police.”