AN: This was for class. The assignment; write a page-long story in any literary genre. I picked hardboiled/noir. So, this is an AU - modern times, where Hawke evidently has a hate-on for Thrask. I just couldn't resist trying to mix DA into this. :)
Officer Thrask slid on his fedora as he stepped out of the idling taxicab. He tipped the driver with the pockmarked mug and strode away before the man could bid him a nice evening. The streets of Lowtown were anything but pleasant; rain fell in sheets against a backdrop of twilight. A streetlight flicked on above him, offering a refuge from the dim. Thrask ignored it.
"Officer," he muttered sullenly as he lit a cigarette and scanned the warehouse district. A week ago he'd been a Detective, but a slip-up on the job had resulted in his demotion. He was on suspension, which meant he had plenty of time on his hands; time enough to get to the bottom of the bait-and-switch that had landed him there. Thrask knew he had been double crossed by his silver tongued informant. Little did the dwarf know that the scorned man had another ace up his sleeve. He'd learned the dwarf was working for Hawke, and Thrask knew exactly where to find her.
The broad had a bullet with her name on it.
He took a drag of his cigarette as he headed to the alleyway behind the Hanged Man Inn, his mind turning to Isabela. A memory from earlier in the evening, of how her soft arms had circled his waist beneath his battered trench coat and smouldering eyes begged him not to leave, almost thawed the chill in his bones. Almost.
His footsteps echoed eerily as he slipped into the alley. A thud from behind made him tense; several figures stepped out from the shadows. He was surrounded. Quick as lightening, he reached for the gun at his side⦠and pulled a water pistol from the holster. Thrask held the toy up to see the unmistakable imprint of Isabela's crimson lips smeared across the plastic.
The water pistol fell to the pavement. All that could be heard over the pouring rain was the subtle symphony of cocking guns.
