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Percival

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Percival

Postby waytanblee » Sat Jun 09, 2012 11:33 pm

This is something else that I have recently been working on. I hope you enjoy.


Percival Piggott was sitting near the fire that evening, smoking his pipe and slouching low in his recliner chair. His hoofs were fairly roasting. The bits of hair and lint that happened to be caught in the cracks were singing. The fire was low now, but Percival still watched it resolutely, squinting at it and puffing smoke in slowly paced intervals.
It was like watching a seedy Smantian circus, with their small jewel encrusted ponies riding around in circles. Smantian circuses were all about alterants and symmetry. They were very weird little things. He’d been here all evening, drinking gin on the rocks and smoking his pipe. A case had just wrapped up and he was celebrating of sorts, but like usual he had no one else to celebrate with besides his own lonesome self.
It was not that Percival really abhorred being alone. He had books and the wireless, and his chemistry sets and his gardens. It was just that he was alone. No one else lived in his house with him, besides the staff. That was something in itself. Still, he presented well as if he were in company. He never wore his blue and white stripped pyjamas outside his bedroom without his purple dressing gown. He was never tardy about the upkeep of his house, directing the cleaners about to spots that needed dusting and sweeping. Cleanliness was just something that had been conditioned into him as a piglet, and he kept it forever by his side.
The house was Percival’s uncle’s house. He’d inherited it when he’d been nineteen. He’d lived with his uncle since he’d been five, and then his uncle had died of a safari game hunting accident, leaving everything to him. It was steeped in riches, this house. Deep reds and polished browns were the constant décor, and there was a rather extensive library. There were also the cook and servants, the butler and gardener. The only way that Percival survived the cost of the place was through the money that was constantly coming in through Mr Treder, Percival’s accountant, who kept him up to date with the various pockets of real estate that Percival apparently owned around town and the surrounding countryside.
You see, Percival didn’t want to leave. He could at any time he supposed sell up and head out somewhere to spend his fortunes in any way he saw fit. Like in a foreign country where gold was the language as opposed to complex curvings of the tongue. It wasn’t stipulated in his uncle’s will that he had to stay. He just didn’t want to leave. It was also out of respect for his uncle that he didn’t. His uncle had been grooming him for the high life, and to be lord and owner of the estate when he died. Percival still had some contact with high society, and when he was younger he’d been constantly looking for favour in high society post the advent of his uncle’s death, but his hobbies had long since taken over now. He was thirty five and he’d been dabbling in the private investigator business since he fell into it over ten years ago. He was well established in the scene now, and well respected—on both sides of the table.
The case had been a long winded affair, and the pay tediously negotiated, like usual. It had been a theft case, a missing jewel from one of his contacts in high society. One Miss Anakie, a jumping mouse who was heiress to a large fortune. It was a jewel that had been bought by her father to be placed into a wedding necklace on the event of her wedding, though she was far too old to get married now, like Percival, and they had often dined together through the length of the case in repose about the failures of the system and of the unlikely hood that they’d ever have liked being married anyway, both of them being far too old to tarry with such ideas anymore. They had even become quite relaxed around each other, Percival imagined as he took another pensive toke through his pipe.
The jewel had eventually turned out to be stolen by Mr Anakie himself, jealous of the capital that it contained within, but it hadn’t been easy to determine this. It had taken all of Percival’s powers of deduction to come to this conclusion after the documenting and studying of the crime scene, and the interrogating of the witnesses. The only sign that anything had been taken from the room was an open window and a note trapped under the jewel box on the dresser of Miss Anakie’s quarters, which read: Death becomes anyone who follows this trail. It had turned out to be a bluff, and since the police hadn’t been involved it was agreed that Mr Anakie would get away with the crime. The Jewel was long gone though, sold off to deal with Mr Anakie’s gambling debts.
Miss Anakie had seemed tender at first. That was Percival’s initial gratification of the situation. She’d come in a simple white dress with a bonnet, laced and frilled. Percival had been in his office on Spencer Street, playing chess against himself, when she’d knocked on the door.
The door to Mr Piggott’s office was on the ground floor of the Zander office apartments building. It had a brass plaque on it, and the glass on the door was opaque. If Mr Piggott was in he’d be able to see her through the glass, Amy thought as she knocked on the door. She hadn’t an appointment, but her source had told her that he was in most days and unless he had a case he didn’t leave the office, and that he didn’t get many cases.
‘Come in,’ was the reply to the two sharp knocks. Amy entered, turning the brass doorknob and peering inside instead of swinging the door open wide. The view that greeted her was a confronting assortment of mess and exotic smells. Cluttered was the descriptive that she kindly used. Inside was a large pig, dressed in a suit of plaid, and as he rounded the desk Amy saw that he wore a kilt of much the same colour as the coat. He then leaned on the side of his large desk, which was piled with books of method and theory, and knocked his pipe tobacco into the metal ashtray, squashing it of any spark once it was in the tray. He was kindly keeping his distance, Amy thought. She was much smaller than he, about a third of his size, though he was a fairly large creature, and she fairly small, so it was an unusual size difference.
‘Percival Piggott, madam, and what a darling dress you have on.’ Percival then smiled widely, showing even his molars.
Amy paused, and Percival was as still as a painting. ‘Good day, sir,’ she trialled, looking at him, consternation growing on her face.
‘Please have a seat,’ the pig said, knowing that she would probably be harassed in some way by his size and apparent ugliness, and also eager to gain settlement.
The mouse sat and then took out her cigarette case, frowning into the silver sheen of the metal, taking a pre-rolled cigarette out of it and striking it up with a match.
Percival was well talked about in high society within the large coastal town of Balmier, which sat cupped in a bay in the country of Aglacia. He was close to the Haringers, who were kangaroos who owned a span of tailoring stores around Balmier and hosted a fashion festival each year, spearheading the style for the upper class that was to stay valid until the next festival. They ran bi-annually. The Jowlers tolerated him, large and foreign tigers that traded in dates. Then there were Percival’s school friends. He kept up with the ones who still pubbed it at The Destiny’s Mead, dined with them every other day at various classy jazz joints around glass town, a section of the city where most of the buildings were filled with glass windows. It was on the pier boardwalk, and it caught the sea breeze so there were not many outside spots. It was an avid attraction for travellers, though too expensive for back packers, who only had a few coins. The Society of Mega held him as an esteemed colleague and venerated scientist of the arcane, and also honoured him with high stature due to his donations to the club. There was a plaque in his honour on a chair in their smoking room, where Percival would sit once a month or so and talk about the world via his exotic newspapers that were sent in through the post from all about the place.
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Re: Percival

Postby Tony » Mon Jun 11, 2012 8:08 am

I am not sure. Is it going to a have steam punk vibe to give it bit more metal in its backbone? I will keep an eye out for the next section.

I've highlighted a few things that could do with a look at:

“The bits of hair and lint that happened to be caught in the cracks were singing.”

What has the cracks in it?


“A case had just wrapped up and he was celebrating of sorts,”

Maybe: he was having a celebration of sorts


“No one else lived in his house with him, besides the staff.”

Maybe: besides the staff who were up in their own rooms under the roof.


“Like in a foreign country where gold was the language as opposed to complex curvings of the tongue.”

“as opposed to complex curvings of the tongue” – I am not sure what you mean.


“and when he was younger he’d been constantly looking for favour in high society post”

Maybe: favour in a high society post


“and well respected—on both sides of the table.”

Maybe: and well respected on both sides of the table.


“It was a jewel that had been bought by her father to be placed into a wedding necklace on the event of her wedding, though she was far too old to get married now, like Percival, and they had often dined together through the length of the case in repose about the failures of the system and of the unlikely hood that they’d ever have liked being married anyway, both of them being far too old to tarry with such ideas anymore.”

unlikelihood

This a rather long sentence and “rather too old” occurs twice.


“The jewel had eventually turned out to be stolen by Mr Anakie himself, jealous of the capital that it contained within,”

Maybe: jealous of the capital tied up in it


“and the interrogating of the witnesses.”

Maybe: interrogation


“It had turned out to be a bluff, and since the police hadn’t been involved it was agreed that Mr Anakie would get away with the crime.”

Maybe: It had turned out to be a bluff and, since the police hadn’t been involved, it was agreed that Mr Anakie would get away with the crime.


“The Jewel was long gone” - maybe just “jewel”


“That was Percival’s initial gratification of the situation.”

Gratification? Did you mean grasp?


“Amy thought as she knocked on the door.”

Is Amy Miss Anakie?


‘Good day, sir,’ she trialled, looking at him, consternation growing on her face.

Trilled?
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Re: Percival

Postby waytanblee » Mon Jun 11, 2012 9:28 am

Thanks for the help, Tony. I'll keep those suggestions in mind. I hope you enjoyed reading it, and yes, steam punk was in mind for the future of this piece =^.^=
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Re: Percival

Postby Tony » Wed Jun 13, 2012 2:35 am

I am looking forward to how this is going to develop. (*v*)
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