Today is the fifth of August, 1927, in the city of Coredon, on a planet called Ryorious. The culture of the planet is very similar to Earth's version of the 1920's, but the technology is far more advanced.

The city of Coridon, as with most cities, consists of mainly metal structures, and there are very few trees found in the city limits. There is at least one tree that can be accounted for however, and that is the large Mourning Bush that's branches fall like a weeping willow, but its overall structure is like an oak tree, its leaves are also most commonly red. The tree stands in the midst of the city, on top of hill which looks like it only consists of the trees twisted root. The Mourning Bush towers over the city, and can be seen from any direction. Beneath it is a park, the people of the city appreciate the area to much to touch it any further.

You won't find to many flying cars. The majority of flying vehicles are modified cargo ships, and the sort. Flying cars have not yet been modified enough to be considered safe for the public. Doesn't mean there aren't any though.

At any rate, the upper class live in what are called the Glass Houses, because they have more windows, less metal, and other sorts of material. The homeless or lower class generally find shelter in less decent places, sewers, alley's, and rarely the junkyard, where an old clock tower stands, that area is reserved for the more extraordinary, or incredibly dimwitted. It is not only unstable, but there are also dangerous creatures who live there. There are also those who have found other means of shelter, and of course the middle class lives in the city.



Frey pushed the stone back into place. Lucky for them few remembered that the city was built over another. This old factory was something else that had been forgotten. That's why no one had found them after all these years. He swung his black sack over his shoulder, and began heading out of the factory, ducking under the boards when he reached the door. Outside the sun was shining brightly, and the birds were singing. He took a moment to soak it in, then sighed.

Today he would be the foolish one that went into the junkyard. He had went there before, a number of times, and he managed to break his arm the last time.

On the side of the factory were a set of empty dumpsters. Well for the most part. Frey opened one, and maneuvered his frail body over. Inside was what looked like a moped without wheels, red, and white. It had two round cylinders at the bottom with propellers inside, and it's sides were two hollow spaces molded into the shape of a tailless rocket. With a few switches he was hovering above the dumpster, his black curls seemingly buzzing, his icy blue eyes lighted, and a smug grin plastered across his face.


Violet Shay, who made thirty-three last Wednesday gazed above her at the glorious Weeping Angel. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders aside from the piece she unconsciously chewed between her fingers. Her violet eyes were what gave her her name, and their dark shade had never changed since. She had grown up in the Glass Houses, and was raised very proper which is why her clothes were very modest. A long brown skirt that went down to her knees, a white blouse, and black stockings, with black heels, and a short pearl necklace around her neck. One could tell though that beneath it all the woman had a lot of curves.


Sandy brown hair beneath a black cabby and with green eyes, Francis Ferrari or Frankie stood by the podium, scribbling notes, and rubbing his chin occasionally. He would also occasionally look over at the red head. Four years under a great detective had at least granted him the ability to notice that she wasn't simply appreciating this art piece. Since he didn't recognize her from behind he was drawing the wrong types of conclusions though. "Sir," he began to the man behind the podium, "does that woman come here often? The red by that angel over there."

"The Weeping Angel," he corrected. "And she's been showing up ever since the crime spree began."

"Oh. I see," he said smiling confidently.

"Oh yes Miss. Violet Shay is very thorough with her work."

"Miss. Violet Shay. You don't say?" he said blushing. "Well good-day to you sir."

"Mm good-day to you too."

Frankie began walking to the other side of the gallery feeling plain foolish. "Where is he at anyways?"

((The title should be "Stealing is Our Specialty"... Or not.))

Vex, unlike her brother, slept very late... almost into the afternoon. That was unless they had a job to do, then she would just suck it up and deal with it. Naturally when she woke up, her brother was gone. Of course he hadn't been gone very long because this was earlier than she usually woke up. Her eyes flicked around cautiously before she stood up and ran her fingers through her thick curly black hair. She and her brother looked exactly alike, even in the eyes. Obviously she was a girl and he was a boy, but still they were identical. He was older, but only by a few minutes. Carefully Vex blinked some dust out of her eyes and pulled her clothes on. Just a pair of pants and a ruffly blouse and some sneakers, but she took pride in having more than one set of clothes. "I suppose it's time for a little walk. He'll find me later if he really wants to." She muttered, grabbing her purse before she made her way undetected onto the streets. This was just her average routine.

This will be perfect for my collection. Adelair thought as he stood before The Weeping Angel beside a red-haired woman. It hadn't been too long ago that he'd had those foolish children to steal him a marble sculpture. He was quite amazed at how they had managed it, but not that they had done it. So far they hadn't let him down, only annoyed him a little bit. That was expected, they were like his own children and children got on their parent's nerves. He sighed a bit before moving on to another piece and examining it. He wasn't interested in it. He only wanted The Weeping Angel. Aledair always got what he wanted. If he didn't, well, things would be rather unpleasant then wouldn't they? (I decided our master thief should be a dude.)

There was bright light coming in through the whispy white curtains of the rather dingy bed room. Long nights of working had made thirty-six year old Sebastian Jennings very, very sleepy. He blinked a few times before looking over at his clock. Cursing under his breath, Sebastian leaped from his bed and into his bathroom. Hastily, he brushed his teeth and ran his fingers through his messy dark brown hair while pulling on a wrinkled button-down shirt and black slacks. Just before leaving his apartment, he put a tie around his neck and slid into patent leather shoes that were so scuffed up they looked grey. The detective was late to the art exhibit where his partner was waiting. Immediately, he found Frankie and walked up beside him silently. "Hey, Frankie. Sorry I'm late." He apologized, obvious that he had just woken up.

[I changed the title. And awesome. :) ]

Violet eyed the man beside her, and then smiled as she looked back at the angel. "It's defiantly something to marvel at isn't it?" she said, "Christopher Smith did some amazing work during his time. Though his obsession with angels, and religion were a bit unsettling. Drove him to insanity, a shame the way he died though." Violet thought it was such a waste that a man so talented could be killed by something as silly as bad footing. [Feel free to add anything you wish.] "Though I guess we should be counting ourselves lucky. That fire at the Terrison Museum five years ago nearly destroyed all his work. One hundred years of preservation, and another freak accident. If you ask me that man has some terrible luck, living and dead. Must be worth a fortune though." She chuckled to herself. "Sorry. I get a bit carried away sometimes. The names Violet, and yourself?" she asked holding out her hand.


Frankie rolled his eyes after getting a good look at his partner. "Some great detective you are, can't even get yourself out of bed on time," he said followed by a grin. He shrugged his shoulders. "Ay. Don't worry about it. Not much goin down here anyways. Real action happens when the doors are locked." Frankie stretched his arms above him. Personally he had had enough of this lingering about. "Hey have you had breakfast already?"


Frey shuffled through his bag, and pulled out what looked like a gun. "Can't be to careful around here," he muttered. He stashed his bag under the seat, and pulled down his goggles. Out of his pocket he pulled out a mini flashlight, then proceeded into the clock tower with it on. As long as he was careful, no one could be to upset about him doing a bit of exploring, and if anybody needed him he had his phone. Besides he was old enough to go off when he chose.

Aside from some lose screws and gears, he didn't expect to find much, but he felt the need to continue his search. After all last time didn't go exactly as planned. Reaching up to grab the ladder he made sure to tug a little to make sure it was capable of handling his weight before heading up. He then maneuvered himself onto the nearest platform, scattering dust, and debris as he did so. It be amazing if I could get this thing running again, but I don't think I would have the time, he thought to himself when he got a better look of the inside. He wondered how long the clock tower had been standing here, alone. For some reason it made him feel a little depressed thinking about it.

When he heard some scurrying, he readied his gun. "Is somebody there?," he called out. He looked above him, and below him, nothing could be seen, but the second rustling confirmed there was something there. "Darn. Must be rats, if I'm lucky of course." He smiled. "Well this will be fun." He fired the laser in the direction of the next sound.