From a distance the city had looked rather impressive and shiny, a miniature New York, almost. The closer he got the less the resemblance held. While he’d never been out of the U.S., he’d almost have to guess that if one were to mix Paris and Manhattan together, tossing in the odd bit of London and Istanbul, one might get the Courts of Chaos. It wouldn’t hurt if one also projected them into some sort of neogothic future. The whole place was a rather chaotic jumble of science-fantasy and cyberpunk. The sort of place where the ideas of a lot of really bad authors came together, or drunk game designers.
He had just avoided stepping in the waste from something that looked like gryphons pulling a coach, when he’d nearly been ran over by a De Lorean. Every nook and cranny in the buildings seemed to hide some shady-looking character. He didn’t know what these characters were doing, and, if they were anything like those at home, he knew he didn’t want to know.
The reddish twilight seeping over the towers didn’t seem to help the atmosphere much. Or maybe it did, depending on what ambience one was trying to achieve. Garbage collection seemed to be about on par with New York though; he stepped over several bags that may have contained formerly living beings. As a demon walked by with a green Mohawk, he decided maybe the place wasn’t that different from home.
Overall, though, the general seediness of the locals, the curious mix of medieval and hi-tech, the apparent crime rate, what appeared to be a demon slave market, the rather over-obvious places of ill repute, everything he’d seen, made him decide that despite a lot of amazing similarities, this place sort of made New York look like Des Moines. Sure, his home town had some areas just as bad, or maybe in parts worse than some of what he saw here, but the whole City wasn’t a cesspool; the same couldn’t be said about the Courts. There didn’t seem to be any good neighborhoods, any ritzy zones. New York, at least, had a lot of very glamorous places. This place just looked nasty all over.
To be honest, not having much to fear for himself, given size comparisons between himself and the local demons, he might come to enjoy the place. It did seem to be the adventurer’s paradise, if said adventurer happened to be named Arnold. The only problem was Rupert.
Not that the place intimidated Rupert. Far from it, the kid was gawking like a tourist. Which, Tom supposed, he was. Unfortunately, such behavior was exactly the sort of thing to get one in trouble. Tourists wanted to see everything, and they were always very obvious about it. Survival, on the other hand, demanded that one notice everything and see nothing. More importantly, even if you see something, don’t look like you’re seeing it. Rupert, being from small villages or maybe a farm even- Tom realized he didn’t actually know where Rupert was from- had obviously never learned this lesson.
Thus, it was that Tom found himself continually trying to distract Rupert from staring all over the place. Given all the ears around, he didn’t want to come out and say, ‘Don’t gawk,” because that would have required enough explanation that everyone would have known they were tourists. Thus, he tried covertly to keep Rupert from staring straight up with his mouth open and drooling. Small chat here and there, trying to point out more harmless distractions than the demons around them.
Actually, maybe he was being paranoid, Tom decided. After all, almost everyone had given them a wide berth, at least those not in vehicles. Tom had to admit, that if he looked like an overgrown version of Rupert, then they would have to present a rather fearsome spectacle. Nonetheless, looking tough would only take you so far.
Even as he contemplated this, he noted Rupert had disappeared. Quickly looking around, he found that Rupert had veered off, attracted by some sleazy-looking purple demon in a trench coat. If the man tried to sell Rupert a watch... Tom hurried over to retrieve the boy.
The purple demon glared in annoyance at Tom, but said nothing as he dragged Rupert away. Rupert protested the entire way back to their previous path. “But Tom, he was going to sell me a genuine Vestal Virgin!”
“You can’t trust street dealers,” Tom snapped. “You don’t know what you’re getting. If she’s here, I doubt she’s the real thing.”
“But Tom... I’ve never had a Vestal Virgin!” Rupert complained.
Tom stopped and looked down at the boy, frowning. “Do you even know what to do with a Vestal Virgin? Assuming she doesn’t have any nasty diseases?”
Rupert looked down shyly at the ground, tracing circles with his hooves. “No,” he admitted, “but you could teach me!” He looked up hopefully at Tom. Tom just groaned, shaking his head. He hurried on, ushering Rupert. He wasn’t even sure what a demon would do with one. Rape it? Eat it? Sacrifice it? All of the above?
