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fic_promptly's Dresden Files, Harry, A wizard existence chops an undesirable after an am salesman. Okay, title stolen from Breaking Bad. Also based the salesman on a pushy roofing salesman who would not leave our house and whom my dad nearly pitched out into the yard.
My first day off in months and I had decided to spend some of it catching up on the much-needed sleep I hadn't gotten much to speak of in the past few days. And promptly at eight a.m., someone had started beating on the door to my apartment with a sledgehammer. Or so it sounded to my sleep fogged ears.
I managed to drag myself to the door, peering out through the peephole. A short, nondescript, sandy haired guy in a suit carrying a salesman's pack stood there, looking around, then peering at the door before knocking again. I pulled the door open, intending to send him on his merry way.
"Hello, are you the gentleman of the house?" the guy asked. "If so, could I interest you in buying replacement windows for your home?"
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, rubbing the last of the sleep from my eyes.
The guy blinked up at me. "I'm sorry?"
"Excuse my rudeness, but I just got out of bed after not a lot of sleep," I said. "I'm anything but the gentleman of the house: I just rent here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I tried the main door, but no one answered," the salesman said. "Do you think your landlord or landlady would be interested in getting replacement windows for the house?"
For all the times that things had worn down the my wards and trashed my apartment, I've had to replace my windows several times. Even still, I suspect his wares fall out of my pay grade. "Sorry, chief, but there's no place in the budget for replacement windows. I really don't need any, unless the neighborhood kids put a ball through one, and that doesn't happen very often."
"Oh, I guarantee that you'll never have that problem for the life of the windows or as long as you live here," the guy said, unzipping the canvas cover of his sample case, uncovering a model window in a white vinyl frame. "And if one should break, we'll replace them free of charge, as part of our easy warranty."
"Thanks, but no," I said, starting to shut the door. "I don't think it'd fit into my meager detective's budget."
Naturally, he put his foot in the door. Literally. I was half of a mind to slam the door shut on it, but I didn't want to entertain an assault charge and a possible injury lawsuit. "We have an excellent installment plan, and getting replacement windows will greatly reduce your energy costs and your heating bills --"
Something roared overhead. We both looked up: something with a lot of grey hair and too many legs and teeth lunged down from a nearby rooftop. I grabbed the salesman by his collar and hauled him inside.
"What is that thing?" the guy squeaked, his eyes already the size of saucers.
"Something from the Never-Never," I said, pulling the door shut behind me and throwing up a shield that covered me and part of the doorway. Lacking my blasting rod, my focus was off, but adequate.
The thing lunged at the shield and bounced off it, falling back, dazed.
"Where did it come from? Some experiment gone wrong?" the salesman asked.
"You don't want to know," I said, gathering my power as best as I could. Boy, would Jedi mind tricks come in handy: I could have summoned my blasting rod from across the room, and told the salesman this wasn't the house he was looking for.
"Forzare!" I shouted, releasing my power. A ball of energy the size of a watermelon hit the eight-legged freak in the middle of its back, sending it falling over backwards.
Glancing down, I spotted the hatchet I'd left in my chopping block after breaking up some logs for the fire the night before. Grabbing the handle, I yanked it free and lunged at the stunned thing, whacking it several times squarely in the back. Green ichor spurted out from the cuts like a gak geyser, and the thing let out a wavering death scream before collapsing in a heap of legs and ichor.
"Is it dead?" the salesman asked, peeking around the door.
I yanked the hatchet free and wiped the blade clean on the chopping block. Already, the thing had started to collapse and dissolve into ectoplasm. "Yeah, it's dead. You all right?"
"Yes. I think. My heart's in my throat," the salesguy said, shuffling back out into the light, staring at the remains of the thing, then looking up at me. "Who *are* you?"
"Harry Dresden," I said. "I do this for a living."
The guy nodded, recovering, then took a card from a case in his breast pocket. "Marvin Holleger: if you ever need your windows replaced, give me a call; they're on me."
At least he made it worth the hard sell, and knowing the kind of things that come knocking, I could use the offer.
fic_promptly's Dresden Files, Harry, A wizard existence chops an undesirable after an am salesman. Okay, title stolen from Breaking Bad. Also based the salesman on a pushy roofing salesman who would not leave our house and whom my dad nearly pitched out into the yard.My first day off in months and I had decided to spend some of it catching up on the much-needed sleep I hadn't gotten much to speak of in the past few days. And promptly at eight a.m., someone had started beating on the door to my apartment with a sledgehammer. Or so it sounded to my sleep fogged ears.
I managed to drag myself to the door, peering out through the peephole. A short, nondescript, sandy haired guy in a suit carrying a salesman's pack stood there, looking around, then peering at the door before knocking again. I pulled the door open, intending to send him on his merry way.
"Hello, are you the gentleman of the house?" the guy asked. "If so, could I interest you in buying replacement windows for your home?"
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, rubbing the last of the sleep from my eyes.
The guy blinked up at me. "I'm sorry?"
"Excuse my rudeness, but I just got out of bed after not a lot of sleep," I said. "I'm anything but the gentleman of the house: I just rent here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I tried the main door, but no one answered," the salesman said. "Do you think your landlord or landlady would be interested in getting replacement windows for the house?"
For all the times that things had worn down the my wards and trashed my apartment, I've had to replace my windows several times. Even still, I suspect his wares fall out of my pay grade. "Sorry, chief, but there's no place in the budget for replacement windows. I really don't need any, unless the neighborhood kids put a ball through one, and that doesn't happen very often."
"Oh, I guarantee that you'll never have that problem for the life of the windows or as long as you live here," the guy said, unzipping the canvas cover of his sample case, uncovering a model window in a white vinyl frame. "And if one should break, we'll replace them free of charge, as part of our easy warranty."
"Thanks, but no," I said, starting to shut the door. "I don't think it'd fit into my meager detective's budget."
Naturally, he put his foot in the door. Literally. I was half of a mind to slam the door shut on it, but I didn't want to entertain an assault charge and a possible injury lawsuit. "We have an excellent installment plan, and getting replacement windows will greatly reduce your energy costs and your heating bills --"
Something roared overhead. We both looked up: something with a lot of grey hair and too many legs and teeth lunged down from a nearby rooftop. I grabbed the salesman by his collar and hauled him inside.
"What is that thing?" the guy squeaked, his eyes already the size of saucers.
"Something from the Never-Never," I said, pulling the door shut behind me and throwing up a shield that covered me and part of the doorway. Lacking my blasting rod, my focus was off, but adequate.
The thing lunged at the shield and bounced off it, falling back, dazed.
"Where did it come from? Some experiment gone wrong?" the salesman asked.
"You don't want to know," I said, gathering my power as best as I could. Boy, would Jedi mind tricks come in handy: I could have summoned my blasting rod from across the room, and told the salesman this wasn't the house he was looking for.
"Forzare!" I shouted, releasing my power. A ball of energy the size of a watermelon hit the eight-legged freak in the middle of its back, sending it falling over backwards.
Glancing down, I spotted the hatchet I'd left in my chopping block after breaking up some logs for the fire the night before. Grabbing the handle, I yanked it free and lunged at the stunned thing, whacking it several times squarely in the back. Green ichor spurted out from the cuts like a gak geyser, and the thing let out a wavering death scream before collapsing in a heap of legs and ichor.
"Is it dead?" the salesman asked, peeking around the door.
I yanked the hatchet free and wiped the blade clean on the chopping block. Already, the thing had started to collapse and dissolve into ectoplasm. "Yeah, it's dead. You all right?"
"Yes. I think. My heart's in my throat," the salesguy said, shuffling back out into the light, staring at the remains of the thing, then looking up at me. "Who *are* you?"
"Harry Dresden," I said. "I do this for a living."
The guy nodded, recovering, then took a card from a case in his breast pocket. "Marvin Holleger: if you ever need your windows replaced, give me a call; they're on me."
At least he made it worth the hard sell, and knowing the kind of things that come knocking, I could use the offer.
