An expected result not coming, a stash unfound as arcane perception reads over clothing. Simple cotton and wool, casual clothes of youth placed upon it the light sprinkling of glowing contaminants.
Three anomalies spring forth from within the dark space; Underfoot turning to the taller half-orc for retrieval. An exhalation confirming safety, the small form speaking up. “Help me get these bits of clothing real quick kid.”
Jason Ford follows orders, moving towards the items pointed to by his superior. “Y-yes sir.”
“And put’em on the bed.” He continues, rubbing his eyes as he blinks away soreness. “Gods, this is a nightmare alright.”
“Sir?”
“Real quick, see anything unusual about these clothes? I don’t exactly have my full spectrum of vision right now.”
Jason Ford, a color range still maintaining fullness, makes his observation as he places the three articles onto the bed.
Red, white and black; two of the three pieces sharing the exact same coloring scheme and design.
Long sleeves, long pants, long overcoat.
Remind you of something?
“Two of these are school uniforms.” The half-orc makes the connection fast, stopping himself in realization of the assumption. “T-they have the same c-color, and same… same design.”
Underfoot groans in the implication. “I hope this isn’t going straight to a Leap Street Division.”
“S-sir?”
“Undercover in schools, doing busts out there.” The Officer cracks his neck as he pulls an empty chair from the writing desk, carrying it over as a step stool for his short stature. “Actually Jarka did four years in Precinct Two’s juvenile crimes unit; the real Leap Street. But don’t tell her I told you that. She’s a bit sensitive to her early days in the department.”
“Y-yes sir.”
“Alright kid, write this stuff down please.” Hands reaching out to pockets, dictating instructions to both himself and the scribe. “Three articles of clothing showing evidence of dust charged with evocation energy; similar to old magic type found in previous investigation by S.I.D. Submitting to evidence post on-site search.”
Jason Ford barely keeps up, a pen scribbling down notes as he trades handwriting for speed.
“Two articles possible as school clothing. Beginning investigation with article marked as SU-zero-one.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Watching as the mage rustles through the school uniform, Jason Ford stands in silence.
Different colors yet of similar design; a remembrance of his own schooling flashing through his consciousness. The hallways and classrooms, places of learning pushing forth a studious mind against a hostile society.
Father and mother told of a normal school life, a great lie of normality now returning to guilt in his present circumstance.
This kid right here: same type who called you a tukk and threw mud at you.
Don’t feel bad for him.
“Hey kid.” The superior casually snaps his fingers, bringing him back to the real world. “Paying attention?”
Quickly blinking Jason Ford shakes his head. “S-sorry sir.”
Repeating himself, Officer Underfoot pulls forth an evidence bag from his utility belt. Held in one hand alongside a clear, glass vial of black sand. A final nail in the coffin of a troubled upbringing, enough evidence to bury an existence in the institutions for the remainder of youth. “Discovery of uncharged arcanium dust confirmed on SU-zero-one. Continuing search.”
Only three pockets within the uniform, the Police Mage ending the search. “No more evidence for SU-01. Moving onto the school uniform designated as SU-zero-two.”
Less charged than before, the amount of evocational energy decayed from the passage of time. The mage gives a quick check, small hands moving in understanding of a lack of actualized evidence.
“School uniform designated as SU-zero-two, no significant evidence. Moving to search regular jacket, marked as RJ-zero-one.”
A much more dangerous implication in its glow, a recent excursion out to old magical sites evident upon the absolutely coated article of clothing.
“RJ-zero-one has evidence of major arcane contamination of evocation type. Moving to search.”
Deeper pockets with more varied results; leftover coupons, wrappers, and uneaten candy removed and carefully placed upon the bed. Eyes moving with grave care across every single piece of text within each sheet of paper; every avenue of evidence explored by a mind of pure inquisition.
A body flashes pale green for a split second as the mage reaches into the weave in the midst of concentration; a divination background providing an immense asset in the foretelling of a successful investigation.
A morning coffee drank at home in an hour long passed, Officer Pippin Underfoot pausing as the globules of roasted oil within his mug come together in a thin film of coffee scum. A single shape splitting into four separated circles, all inexplicably combining together to the top right relative to his angle of observation.
Across the woven strings of time and space he finds it; completely missable hint forging a path ahead.
The top right pocket on RJ-01; buttoned shape unlatched by the halfling as he reaches in.
Nerves feel the soft roughness of thick gauge paper, an instinct pulling from it a small coupon card. Stained brown, cheaply manufactured cardboard written upon it a sleazy bar with a drawn, cursive name.
Club Dazzle.
5236 Augustine Rd, Diamond Bay, City of South.
Unremarkable, past its implication of half-naked women in the strippage of lingerie.
The halfling police officer calmly flips the thing around; a smile drawn across his face as he spots the writing delicately printed upon the backside. An unusual font for an even more exotic script; the two lines of ancient languages nearly unreadable without the elvish translation of twenty six words beneath it.
“Jack and pot.” Officer Underfoot chuckles.
Jason Ford quickly writes down the idiom, his superior stopping him. “Don’t write that on the report!”
“S-sorry sir.”
“Well, actually…” The police mage smiles. “Write that down.”