Work Text:
The four-eyed green monster struck bold, dramatic poses in-front of a large mirror that’d been standing on a wall for quite some time. He was wearing his mother’s coat, and he thought, no, knew that he looked incredible in it.
“College boy could never,” the one in the mirror had muttered to himself. “Ahem. Detective Duncan P. Anderson, in the flesh! Today, I’m goin’ to find me some goods.” He snickered. His words acted as fuel to his ego. Duncan was encouraged to go out and show himself that he was superior to Monstropolis today. He glanced at the key rack beside the main door and squinted. “Mother!”
”Yes?” A higher-pitched voice called out in response.
”I forgot which key locks the door again.”
”It should be the one all the way to the left, deary. You go out and have some fun now, my little supervisor!”
Duncan chuckled. He wanted to hug his mother, but she wasn’t present in the same room. If that was the case, she must had been too busy to come down. That was okay. Duncan left anyways— but he then ran back and out of the building to retrieve the finishing key to his outfit off the table, the hat.
He roamed the streets of the city with a formality certain to convince others that he’d meant serious business. And, generally, this seemed like a sequel to all of the bogus detective stuff that he’d done in the past when trying to bust Tylor Tuskmon’s ‘plan’. Listen. At the time, it worked. Duncan had gotten so far in with the evidence that he’d decided ‘Hey, why not I keep achieving praise like this?’
So that’s what he’s doing.
Eventually, he came to a sharp stop. A walking by-passer ended up bumping into Duncan, no thanks to his unpredictable movement. Duncan, almost falling over, scoffed, “Ugh-“
”You don’t own this side-walk.” The stranger blurted out.
“Go find another side-walk, buddy. You’re in the path of the detective.” Duncan rolled his four eyes at the monster dismissively, a reaction that’s clearly shown Duncan’s spoiled self. The stranger only groaned and walked away. They probably thought he was crazy. “Anywho, I must be sure I’ve got the right address.” Duncan held up a slightly crinkled paper and on it was a poor sketch of the building that he’d plan to enter. “Hm. Nah, I’ve got to go a few blocks forward. I remember it now.”
Using his foot as a pivot, he’d turned back the same way he came from and continued his journey from then on.
Luckily, it’s not often you get scolded for walking the opposite way as somebody on a sidewalk. It’s only if you walk stupidly, and when you walk stupidly, you gain attention. That was the opposite of what Duncan was looking for at the moment. He wanted his performing to be saved for when he was actually at the shop, which, he was now!
A sly smile grew onto Duncan’s face. ”Watch and learn how makin’ a deals done.” He said to nobody in particular before entering the building.
Ring! The shop’s chime went off. The monster at the counter, without using words, waved at the newcomer, Duncan.
Despite the simplicity of the shop, the many collectors items that filled its shelves and display boxes made up for it. It’s a bit more obvious to see why Duncan would be attracted to a place like this now.
Duncan observed what was being displayed on the shelves before he so boldly made the move to slam a couple shabby bucks onto the counter, pointing to the vintage typewriter. The worker at the counter pulled it out for Duncan to look at.
“Yeah,” Duncan nodded, “twenty bucks for that baby.”
”Twenty?” The monster at the counter tilted their head. “Twenty,” this time repeated more sternly, “seriously?”
”Okay, fifteen. I’ll be generous.” Duncan said, already bringing the typewriter towards himself. He rubbed his fingers on some of the keys as if he’d personally owned it already.
”Who do you think you are?”
”I’m detective Duncan P. Anderson, and I’m makin’ a deal with you. You’ll gain my sincerest gratitude once I’m in hands of this item!”
The worker stared at the monster in the coat. “Familiar title. Weren’t you the one who interrupted that… broadcast.”
”Oh, give me a break. I said I was bringing justice. You’ve got no reason to worry.”
The worker pulled the type-writer back to their side, which made Duncan raise an eyebrow.
Duncan didn’t let go of the item, instead, he tugged back on the type-writer. “Ey. One more second, I’m still inspecting it.”
”Do you have an ID, sir?”
Duncan’s hands released from the type-writer as he went to dig in the pockets of his mother’s coat. He didn’t feel a card, which made him sweat a bit. He didn’t realize that he’d actually get this far, and that he’d actually forgotten an essential of his. “Oh. Come on. Don’t worry, sir, it’s somewhere around. Uh.” He almost swore under his breath.
”If you-“
“Psh,” Duncan shrugged, “I don’t need to show you any identification. I’m a detective, you can trust me on this.”
Duncan was forcefully booted out of the building, having his twenty bucks and his fallen hat land right next to him. He grabbed the money and pushed it back into his pocket “Lousy shop owner,” he mumbled, placing his hat back on-top of him. “I wasn’t trying to make a serious negotiation anyways!”
He walked away from the building, earning nothing from the approach he pulled.