…a bundle of tattered rags dropped from the roof like a rock just behind the Marshal; a thick cloud of dirt and dust bloomed and from it a wispy figure scrambled and dashed out…
I caught a flash of the Marshal’s fed-up sneer before Eizak ducked out and bolted after our fleeing guest. The pair tore down the commercial street, dodging, vaulting, and weaving, ensuing a buzz of shock and distress amongst the immediate populace.
“Oh, this should be a good one,” Wendy, Marshal Meiborne, started, her voice drenched in venom. I ducked underneath the half opened draw-door and joined the Marshal in a paced pursuit following the commotion left behind in the younger pair’s wake. The simple sight of the Marshal in pursuit put much of the hysteria to rest prematurely.
Wendy spoke in between trained breathes, “Alright, Dalaran,” the adolescents led us down the street and then turned hard left and into an alley, “let’s start with who, this time.”
“Er, not a clue.”
“Right unsurprising, that.”
We stepped through the threshold of modest home, through a hallway and into a kitchen. A woman stood there, against the far wall, priming a rifle, near nude with no britches.
“They went out that way, y’all. ‘Near kicked my dear Francis.” She turned a glance toward a fat dunesloth lazily scratching itself.
“Sorry ’bout that, ma’am,” the Marshal took the situation, “when I nab ’em, I’ll drag ’em by their hind-skin to answer for any damages.” She relayed this without slowing her pace and we exited the home through the opposite door, back into the streets and left at the next corner.
“How and what, then,” she picked up our previous back-and-forth. “How’d your find ’em and what the hell did you do?”
“Hey now, I was just tryna be an honest-to-Sam good Samaritan – I’nt do a damn thing.”
She scoffed, “I’m sure,” and we stopped for a moment at an overturned merchant stand, the worked-up man flailed his arms and demanded an answer for “some gypsy wasp of a girl and her igit boyfriend” deciding to use his jerky stand as a springboard to clamber up to the roofs. He told us that they girl made it up but the boy sent the stand off balance, knocking it over, then took off down the street spewing apologies.
The Marshal turned a glare on me as she activated her wrist-mounted communicator possibly to call for back up before things got truly out of hand. The unit shouted to life before she could get out a word.
“Deputy Ven to Marshal Meiborne –”
“Is it important, Ven?”
“I reckon so, ma’am. We’ve got a report of a stolen sail…”
The wail of a crying motor caught my ear and I turned my head in time to see a speeding hoverboard, a sail, streaking down the street towards us. It blared past, tossing up a dust storm of dirt and sand
“I’m sick of this,” I pulled my goggles from around my neck over my eyes and switched the lenses to motion tracking, but as I aimed Wendy reach out an lowered my arm.
“This way we get answers,” she drew the long rifle from her back, sporting goggles much like my own, and fired a special shot, a net of pulsating energy which streamed forth and embraced both rider and sail.
Daily Prompt: Sail