Shrugging, you decide to pick a house at random and head for it...well, maybe not quite at random. You may have had a little bias going when you headed for the nicest house on the block, that didn't raise any red flags in your head about (yet another) potentially crazy neighbor. Or at least one that wouldn't keep trying to sit on you. Then again, you muse with a smirk, I DO in a tree out in a Lovecraftian giantess's front lawn. The house was definitely a looker, though: a two-storey townhouse of whitewashed stucco, with a polished slant-metal roof and a balcony on the second floor overlooking the freshly-cut lawn. You whistled when you spotted French doors up there, complete with what looked like fancy lace drapes. This place wasn't just nice, it was downright ritzy! It looked like it belonged in a richer neighborhood than this part of town. Maybe two tax bracket higher; three at a stretch. Idly, you wonder just how much this place had cost. More than your payroll, definitely.
But such modest grandeur was marred by the sound of an argument coming from the back yard. You couldn't make out many words, but it sounded like things were getting heated. Raising an eyebrow, you cross the street--checking the way twice, once for cars, once for monsters--and walk around the skyscraper-size fenceposts, looking for a way in the backyard. By now, the argument (presumably involving your new neighbors--is coherent.
"--think I'm some kind of jumped-up pirate or something? Kid, you need to lay off the movies and read a newspaper." A grizzled male voice intones, laced with annoyance and snark. "First off, I'm retired. Second, the name of my job was private military contractor, goddammit. NOT 'mercenary'!" The last bit was all but shouted, and...more than a little angry. "Mercs are thugs and killers, I had rules to follow and standards to keep!"
A growl--definitely from a monster, a werewolf by the sound of it. "You weren't in a REAL army, you carried a gun and you got paid to kill...sounds like a mercenary to me! Yeah, you had rules....so long as they don't get in the way of your paycheck!"
You finally found a human-sized gate, but hesitate with your hand on the handle. Whatever was going on in there, it wasn't pleasant--and what was all this about mercenaries, anyway? Walking in on this argument could just make things blow up...
It was then that you hear a new voice break in, this one female and carrying a slight Middle Eastern accent, as well as a light chuckle. "You mean like how the only reason my husband isn't in your gut right now is that eating him would get in the way of your paycheck? --Don't give me that look, I saw you sucking in drool when you thought we weren't looking! ...Quiet now, aren't you? Not even denying it; Ra above... Just do us all a favor and get out. Now. You've done your job and we're already paid you, you have no reason to even be here antagonizing Frank."
A short silence, some grumbled profanities, and a gate slamming on the other side of the fence. You count to ten in your head to make sure the antagonistic monster--who was he?--isn't coming back, then knock on the gate. "Um, pardon me? My name is Rick Rowling; the mayor sent me to welcome you to Screamtown. Ah, if this isn't a good time--"
"Oh, don't worry--we're fine, just one of the moving crew talking trash. No need to stand out here, please come in!" The apparent "wife" invites. Shrugging, you open the gate and walk through onto what looks like a pool area in progress: the brick floor had already been laid out, but the pools haven't been dug yet. Only outlines painted on the bricks hint at them (one sized for humans, the other for monsters). When a shadow suddenly covers you, you look up...and find a titanic were-croc woman in a red dress, at least 1200 feet tall, towering over you like a scaly skyscraper.
"Gah!" You reflexively cringe away and take a step back. With her that close, you had almost (accidentally) looked up her dress, which wasn't the best first impression, but more important...how had you not noticed her before? It was almost like how regular crocs could float by unnoticed until they snapped at their prey. You try to toss that comparison out of your head, looking up at her and smiling awkwardly. "Er, sorry about that, ma'am..."
The were-croc woman simply chuckles at your reaction, moving a clawed hand in front of her snout. Her friendly smile nonetheless reveals fangs the size of train cars, and she had a lithe, slender frame and a graceful air about her. But she wasn't scrawny, either--as she bent her knees, reaching toward you with her clawed fingers, you could see the muscles subtly rippling in her arms beneath her dark green scales and their muddy-brown spots and stripes. And while not as prominent in the....ahem, chest area....as most of the other women in town, she wasn't exactly "flat".
Wait...why is she reaching for me?
Before you can protest, you're gently--but firmly--pinched between the werecroc woman's fingers and gently set down in the palm of her free hand, sitting across from a generously-muscled black man a head taller than you, and dressed in a grey jacket and black trousers. A military "dog tag" hanging from a wallet chain hooked to his left pocket and a scar running from his left ear to the corner of his mouth give the man a piratical appearance, but his posture is easygoing and relaxed. "So you're our welcoming committee, eh? Well, I'd take you over that punk from the moving crew; that's for damn sure." He extends his hand with a grin. "Frank Sobek. The lovely croc-lady is my wife, Azzah Sobek."
You shake his hand, trying not to wince at his tight grip. "Rick Rowling. And yeah, like I said, Phyllis sent me." You feel the "ground" sway beneath you as Frank's werecroc wife heads inside, humming a tune. "And pardon me, but the name...Sobek? Like the Egyptian river god?" You raise an eyebrow, just as a cool gust of AC washes over the three of you as Azzah opens the door with her free hand.
You and Frank both look up when Azzah laughs: a sort of musical hiss. "Well, what do you expect for an Egyptian were-croc? One has to show pride in their heritage...or at least go for a name with a little prestige." She winked a reptilian eye at Frank, who snorted.
"I still don't see what was wrong with 'McCarren'..." he retorted, in a tone that sounded half-kidding. "And we both know you don't really buy that 'descended from an old god' line your parents kept feeding you, Azzah. You told me yourself."
Azzah giggles again, setting you and Frank down on a granite countertop. A quick look around confirms she brought you to their kitchen: boxes in various states of 'unpacked' are neatly arranged around the room, and you spot what looks like decorative hieroglyphics made of bronze hanging on the wall. Fancy, you muse, I might even want some of my own...
A brief scraping noise catches your attention, and you look back at Azzah as she pulls up a chair and sits down, leaning over the counter. Her laughter dies down, the light flashing off the gold wedding ring on her right hand as she uncovers her mouth. "It's just the principle of the thing, dear!" She quips, patting Frank on his broad shoulder with a huge finger. "And besides, it was more my parents than me who insisted on it." She shrugged. "Oh, but we're leaving Rick out...sorry about that, dearie." She subtly flicked a clawed finger at you: politely getting Rick to shift the conversation back to you, no doubt.
You couldn't help but chuckle at their banter. Frank and Azzah seemed a pretty young couple (Frank couldn't have been older than thirty, Azzah not much older than that), but they bantered like they'd been married for quite a while. But there was something else on your mind...
"No problem, ma'am. But there's something I need to know: Frank, what was all that about earlier? I...heard you say something about your, ah, job?"
"Former job," Frank insists. He sighs, mumbling something you don't quite catch. Azzah seems to pick up on something, and slowly reaches her head down to give Frank a quick nuzzle. He smiles at the gesture, kissing her snout as she pulls back. "...Sorry, that punk just riled me up more than I thought, I guess. Anyway, I worked for Taurus Security Operations. They hired both humans AND monsters; only PMC outfit that does that." He squared his shoulders, cocking a proud grin. "Even met Azzah on the job in Egypt...we got called in about a giant croc woman using the Suez Canal as a hot tub..."
Azzah blushes bright crimson, at her husband's memory yelping something in what sounds like Arabic. "F-Frank! We have a guest!"
But it was the name Frank mentioned that made your eyebrows go up. Taurus Security Ops...you didn't keep up with the news all that well, but you'd heard that name before. Especially what its operatives were known for....
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