oi, these characters ain't ours The Adventures of Tracey, Warrior Tart by The Lurkers Note: The characters of Kennedy Paris and Chandler Ames appeared in "Gay Vampire Cop Fathers Alien Love Child". Somehow they lost their jobs as reporters and became arson cops of long standing tenure. Must have been a time warp, cool, huh? ***************************************************************** "Excuse me, this is my desk," homicide Detective Nick Knight said, raising an eyebrow. A dark haired woman clad in jeans, white shirt and black vest was sitting at his desk reading a Coroner's report. "Oh, sorry, I'm Kennedy Paris from the arson division," Kennedy apologized, standing up and holding out her hand. "Nick Knight," Nick shook the offered hand. He looked around the room. It was far more crowded than normal. Several desks held two occupants rather than the usual one. "I heard your offices burned down. So you're going to be rooming with homicide for a while?" "Just for a few weeks," a voice commented behind Nick. A red-head sipping on a huge cup of strange smelling tea plopped down in a seat near Kennedy. "I'm Chandler Ames, this scum's brighter, cuter and much thinner partner." "Bite me, Chan," Paris retorted, picking up the reports she'd strewn across the desk. "We'll have to find some other place to set up." "Hi, Nick," Tracey Vetter walked into the office and strode over to her partner. Dressed in a pair of blue, pin striped slacks and an angora sweater, she ran a hand through her hair and smiled at the two women next to him. "What's up?" "Overcrowding," Knight smiled and gestured around the room. "Seems we've got guests." "My father told me about your division offices burning down. Any idea yet what caused the fire?" "No, but I'm sure we'll find out. After all, we are arson," Chandler declared confidently. "And I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fart lighting experiment that was running," Kennedy interjected. "Fart lighting?" Tracey squinted her eyes together in noncomprehension. Kennedy and Chandler exchanged a look. It was not a kind, warm fluffy look. It was more the look that said, 'who is this bozo and why is her ass smaller than mine?'. "It's something the department's been working on for quite some time." Paris assured her, face perfectly serious. "Oh? I wish I had more time to keep up with what's going on with other departments. Homicide takes all my time." Chandler and Kennedy exchanged a look. It was the look of 'this person would watch paint peel and eat it, wouldn't they?' They glanced at Detective Knight who was eyeing them now with suspicion. Smiling ingeniously, they picked up the rest of the reports. "We'll clear out." "No, stay. Nick and I can share my desk," Vetter offered, smiling, always happy to do her bit. "Thanks, thanks a lot," the arson detectives responded as they tossed the papers all over the desk's surface and plopped down in the chairs. "Glad to help. Come on, Nick, we've got a lead to check out on the Lewis case." With that comment Vetter and Knight walked away and out towards the parking lot. "That Vetter woman seems a tinny short of a six-pack," Ames declared, using an Australian expression she'd learned at her mother's knee. "Knight seems nice," Paris added, remembering her mother's admonishment to always say something nice and to not hide Diet Coke bottles under the couch. "Good butt," the women said in unison, their long standing partnership having rendered them near telepathic over matters of men's butts. *********************************************** The next week was even more hectic than usual around the station. The arson night shift was small but used to spreading out and were much more boisterous than the homicide crew. But, for the most part, everyone got along well. There was only one problem. "It's an act," Noah Merriweather declared decisively as he reached for his McDonald's chocolate shake. He was sharing a late night lunch with Kennedy and Chandler. He was new to the arson squad. He liked the easy camaraderie of the group. They way they were always willing to help each other. More experienced officers passing on knowledge to the newer members. He especially enjoyed the late night pizza and cheesecake runs and the easy access to incendiary chemicals. "Nobody could sustain an act like that," Kennedy said around a large mouthful of Big Mac. "I think Ken's right," Ames piped up, sucking up French fries in one swift breath. "I've asked around, that's what she's really like, all the time." "You've got to be joking," Noah laughed. "Nobody could function as an adult human, much less a homicide detective acting like she does." "I mean, the woman flinches at least once during every case she and Knight get. Not to mention her appalling lack of informing the station where she's going." "Really. Hey, did you catch Xena, Warrior Princess last night?" Kennedy asked, changing the subject. "Oh, yeah," Noah gushed, a dull look glazing his eyes. It always appeared when they discussed Xena. Something about all that leather... "How does that woman ride a horse in that little leather skirt and not get massive thigh chafe?" "Warrior princesses don't get thigh chafe," Noah declared, banging his shake on the desk. "They have special magical thighs!" "That they can put behind their head, right?" Kennedy smirked back. "Hi, guys, what's up?" Tracey Vetter breezed in to the room and paused momentarily by the arson detectives. "Not much, just discussing thigh chafe," Paris responded, smiling at the look of confusion that appeared on the woman's face. "Oh, is that for a case?" "Yeah," Noah nodded, digging through the McD's back for the last few fries. "You'd be amazed at the complexity of the arson detective's job." "Yeah, I guess, is the Captain in?" "Yeah, came in about an hour ago," Merriweather said. Vetter smiled and took her leave of the group. They sat in silence for a few moments and then Chandler began to giggle. Noah and Kennedy stared at her and asked what was so funny. "I just thought of something to write for our weekly department newsletter." "I thought we weren't going to put that out cause of the fire?" Kennedy questioned. "Well, let's just say we're going to do a special issue for all of us stationed at homicide. An article entitled," Ames said, leaning forward with an evil grin plastered on her face. "What?" Noah and Kennedy chorused. "Tracey, Warrior Tart!" Ames whispered. *********************************************** The day was bright and sunny. Birds were chirping, bees were buzzing, Tracey was singing her favourite song. High atop her warhorse Buttercup, Tracey Warrior Princess (as she always thought of herself), was in fine spirits. Why, just that morning she had done her bit to make the world a happier place. Those poor primitive people in the village she'd stopped at last night would find their lives more fulfilling now that she'd introduced them to that beverage of the Gods, Starbuck's Extra Strength Double Caffeinated. Of course, nobody except Tracey had been able to sleep that evening, and everyone had seemed very crabby the next morning, but she'd mixed up another batch and set things right. Her Daddy (coincidently the sole owner of Starbuck's Coffee Plantations, Inc.) would have been proud. Tracey suddenly realised that her travelling companion and general dogsbody was not singing along with her. She looked back over her shoulder. There he was, skulking in the shadows. She sighed, exasperated. "Nicholas! Oh Nicholas!" she called out, "Do hurry up. We need to get to the next town by nightfall. I'm not spending tonight in the open. You know that morning dew does horrible things to my hair, and I need more of the sacred beverage, or else I will lose my perkiness, and you know what happens then!" Nicholas Knight swore briefly to himself and kicked his donkey Rambo to hurry him up. For the hundred and twenty-first time he asked himself what he had done to deserve his lot. Cursed with a nasty skin disease that caused him to break out in boils if he was exposed to sunlight, he was forced to spend his days with his head inside a burlap sack. Actually that wasn't the worst of it. It wasn't too bad inside the sack, you could stick your tongue out at people when they were looking right at you and they didn't know. He found that very amusing. It was lots of fun and he did it often. In between whining a lot and stuffing his fingers in his ears so he didn't have to listen to Tracey sing. And to think he'd volunteered to be her partner. She'd looked so innocent in her tight leather jerkin and teeny skirt when she'd announced she was off to save the world. He'd thought he'd get to help her lace her bodice every morning. Another dream turned to dust. Maybe it was about time he tried using his brain to do his thinking for him. He'd read somewhere that that was what brains were for. Luckily he was saved from attempting to engage his brain as Tracey suddenly stiffened. Faintly in the distance could be heard a cry. "Help! Help!" "Someone needs me!" cried Tracey, kicking Buttercup into a trot. Nick followed slowly behind. He rarely went faster than a walk. Partly because he was riding a donkey who didn't like to move fast, but mostly because he was riding a donkey with a very sharp backbone, and he preferred to protect certain areas of his anatomy from chafing. Soon they ran into an obvious peasant-type person, running wildly down the path. Tracey gestured for Nick to help the poor man. She didn't mind rescuing peasants, but she really wasn't keen on getting to near them. She suspected they all had lice. "Our village," panted the man, "it's ghastly! You have to save us!" He grabbed into Tracey's leg. "Ewwww!" she exclaimed, "Get him off!" Nick obligingly hauled the peasant away as Tracey fastidiously brushed imagined dirt from her boots. "I guess we should see what the problem is. It is my mission in life!" She took off down the path, yelling her infamous war cry that had terrorized many a bad guy. Nick sighed and climbed back on his donkey as the cries of "Imagoodcop!! Imagoodcop!!" faded into the distance. (continuous to part 2) ********************************************************************************