Info: In meiner Freizeit schlage ich mir mit einem Sherlock-Rollenspiel auf Twitter die Nächte um die Ohren. Meiner Feder entstammen dabei eine Molly Hooper (MissMollyHooper) sowie ein Charles Augustus Milverton (Milverton_CA).
Da ich für beide Charaktere hin und wieder längere Texte veröffentliche, dachte ich, ich teile diese einfach mal in dieser Kategorie mit anderen außerhalb der Twitter-Rollenspielwelt. ^^
Der erste Post hier ist ein Opener für ein kleines postapokalyptisches Intermezzo, das ich zusammen mit einem Mitspieler in regelmäßigem Wechsel verfasst habe. Die komplette Fassung gibt es HIER auf Fanfiction.net.
So shall the world go on
She called them Zombies for fun. She never paid a second thought to that, never expected that this would become reality.
Molly Hooper was a pathologist, and she loved her job more than anything else. The cold and quiet morgue, where nothing and no one was able to disturb her while she listened to the stories her patients told her. With every cut she made, every layer of skin and every organ she removed, Molly got to know the person in front of her on the slab better.
Heavy smoker? Alcoholic? Drug addict? Wrong diet?
With a few simple movements of her hand holding a scalpel, and some tests later, Molly was able to find an answer for each an every question Scotland Yard and especially DI Lestrade asked for.
And so she did just now.
The body in front of her was a strange one. There was some sort of bite on the woman’s left thigh, quite nasty looking. The woman herself was a prostitute, going by the backround the Yard provided her with. But still.. this was too strange for a lovebite. No one would allow a lover to tore flesh out of oneself. For no money in the world, that’s for certain. At least, it was for Molly. Cause of death wasn’t the thigh-wound, of course. Someone just cut the woman’s throat.
A murder. As simple as that.
Molly stretched herself thoroughly when she finally stepped back from the slab. Working overtime wasn’t new to her, and it didn’t bother her much, but being trapped in her morgue for almost 3 days, barely able to find some sleep, made her appear and feel half dead. She even begrudged the woman on the slab.. a tiny little bit.
A small sigh passed her lips when she finally grabbed her phone to send a message to DI Lestrade. The signal was bad, but that wasn’t new, down here, in the so-called stomach of St. Barts. Like usual, Molly stepped out of the morgue and walked down the corridor to her small office. The signal was much better there.
Typing away quickly, she sent her usual text message to DI Lestrade: „I’ve got one of yours ready. Want to drop by for a coffee so that I can tell you what I found out? I’m in my office, as usual. M. Hooper“