It was early in the morning. A young boy dressed in red clothing slept on a bed, while another boy, one with a disc for a head, stood silently beside the red clothed boy. The inn room they were in was small, with a single bed, a drawer and some candles to light the place up. Pieces of paper littered the ground, with what appears to be a chalkboard that was clearly stolen from somewhere pinned up against the wall; clearly, a classic case of the “pin up a board and connect a bunch of papers on it” that (self-proclaimed) detectives and lunatic conspiracy theorists do. The sun shines through the windows and-

“Oh no.” silently murmured Trouble Inspector, the older brother. Absolute fear tinted his voice.

“?” Discboy, the...well, the one with the disc for a head, looks at Trouble Inspector.

“How long has it been since we paid for this room?” the inspector asked. Discboy starts counting with their fingers, then shrugs.

“That doesn’t help.”

Discboy nods in response. Trouble Inspector is unsure if that was sarcastic or not.

Trouble Inspector rolls off the bed and onto the floor, a loud THUD echoing across the halls. He gets up, scrambles towards the drawer and grabs his tophat that was standing on top of it. As he wears it, he opens the drawer and starts putting on his vest. Discboy looks at the papers that were sent flying across the room thanks to Trouble Inspector’s scrambling. Discboy takes one and begins reading it as his older brother frantically struggles to put their clothes on, like an animal trying to escape from a bear trap.

'Hey, DB, TI. I know you guys don’t have anywhere else to go, but you’re seriously testing my patience. Maybe you can help that witch friend of yours or something, but I’m not waiting any longer for you to ‘finish a case’ and get your payment. You have til next day’s midnight. Signed, Innkeeper (yes, that’s my name, I told you that 7 times already.).'

Oh no. It dawns on Discboy that he and his brother were dangerously close to committing tax evasion (or straight up not paying someone which is also illegal but not as bad as tax evasion). Discboy folds the mail and puts it under his clothes in a breakneck speed, rushes to the door and briefly contemplates slamming it, before refusing as it is someone else’s property.

Discboy then opens the door in a mix of carefulness and speed, signaling for the Trouble Inspector to follow him. The inspector gets the message and follows him, as Discboy rushes down the stairs of the inn. Trouble Inspector instead opts to do what would have been a grandiose jump from the second floor of the inn to the ground floor, but he just falls to the ground; an even louder THUD accompanies his failure.

Discboy would have facepalmed if his face wasn’t a literal DVD. Or CD. He helps TI up, before leading him by hand to the Innkeeper, who was at the counter.

“Oh, there you guys are. I assume you’re here to pay?” Innkeeper looks at the Trouble Inspector.

“... uuurgh…” groaned the Inspector, still reeling from the fall from earlier.

Discboy gives Trouble Inspector a shake.

“WHUH- Right. Yes. We are here to pay. How much gold is it again?”

“4 thousand gold. Must be pocket change, I always see you guys outside selling weird and strange things you find on your adventures., so I presume you have it?”

“Um. Uh.” Trouble Inspector looks to the side awkwardly.

“So you don’t have it.”

“Look, I tried. I even followed your suggestion. Can’t we negotiate?” spoke the Inspector with a nervous grin.


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