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"the *non-fairy*. your, uh, what's his name . . . the *cactus*. "

100

"uh, okay." he nods. then the two of them are left alone in the quiet. monday's at a loss for words. "so, uh . . . how's your man?"

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he hesitates. "i dunno, i've got . . . paperwork to do, an' . . . you know how it is, evidence to sort, and . . . police work. and the amos 'n' andy repeat is on soon . . ."

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he takes the coat and puts it on. "i *mean it*. i don't wanna find your bloated frozen *corpse* out there, y'hear?"

he scratches his neck, looking anywhere but her. "should be more careful. both of you. young lady walkin' the streets at night durin' a storm. what did you think was gonna happen? and you should know better, banks. lettin' her out like that."

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— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 18h

and there he is, ol' frankie monday, uncomfortable as ever as he takes his hat off in the doorway. looking around. "uh . . . alright, sure. i just came to get my coat."

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there's a knock on @mskittybanks.bsky.social's door while she's entertaining snowball and @universejumping.bsky.social.

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— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 06/10/2026

looks like we've got ourselves another monday monday on our hands.

000

— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

"concentrate on getting home dry, all right? you can . . ." his jaw working for a second. "give it to kitty." a shrug, trying to get rid of the stink his face makes when he talks about her. "i'll come 'round. or something." a beat. "anyway, don't worry about the coat. just get yourself home."

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— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

he begins to take things out of his coat pockets: his badge, his gun, food tokens, some small change -- but he puts the change back. draping the coat over her shoulders. "scram, kid. 'fore you get pneumonia."

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he considers her for a second, then another. the rain has plastered valerie's hair to her face; soaked through her little coat; left her looking like a ghost of little italy, a girl of the always night. “christ,” he mutters. "come here."

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he doesn't take it from her. he's no fan of cold coffee anyway. "people tell you a lot of things."

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"oh, i been around. ain't much to check on." he shrugs. "walk the beat, put in my hours. then i go home." a pause. "keep myself occupied."

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— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 27/09/2026

"Ahh, you're not gettin' outta that one so easy." He smiles, enjoying his cigarette. "I mean it, watcha doin'?"

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looking down at her, his face philosophical behind the waterfall stemming from the brim of his hat. "yeah, sure. 's cold anyway. what're you doin' out here, kid? this ain't exactly walkin' weather."

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— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 27/09/2026

it's another rainy night on the beat. monday's on his fourth cigarette, nursing a cold coffee for his health. any more of this and he'll catch something, damnit.

110

— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 13/09/2026

another monday monday . . . they're gonna start askin' me for signatures at this rate.

— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 12/09/2026

sure. i ain't underestimatin' him, pal. there ain't nothin' like ambition. i give you that. but i ain't terrified of him either. 'sides, he wanted me *dead*, he'd have tried his hand by now. he's just tryna warn me off, 's all.

000

— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 05/09/2026

what? i-- now what gives you that idea, kid? anklebiters, is what i mean. sure, he's got the muscle, but five'll get you ten it won't last. give it ten, fifteen years, tops.

aw, that? that was nothing. try falling down five flights of the manifold 'cause the floor's given way beneath you. try narrowly escaping an oxy-leak. the isb ain't for the weak. i met dusty's type all the time during the War.

000

seems to me like there's nowhere dusty loves more than the rim, if you know what i mean. ( he has his sad little smile. thinking unhappy thoughts. ) it was alright. broke the news myself. can't make the boys do that. me and the old farts. like kincaid -- he's older than me, can you imagine that?

000

they send us wherever 'cos i keep my department in shape. even sent fellas up the rim a coupla times. hey, bet your pal dusty would like that.

000

oh, i bet he would. dead kids rough. whole school went up, like *that*. ( he snaps his fingers. )

000

same as always. just a coupla rough days at work. an' i'll have you know i'm a, uh . . . what's it, uh, y'know . . . a, a . . . spring chicken! yeah. so i ain't goin' anywhere just yet.

alright. ( he closes the door for a second to grab his keys and hat. locking up, taking his drink. ) feels like not so long ago i was doin' this with you. takin' you outta that hallelujah hutch, coasting down nine . . . now look at us, huh? you doin' it for me. ( head shake. ) just ain't right.

— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 01/08/2026

sure as hell some spacebug . . . he's heard tales about coffee down in mare-idyllis. well, why not? he's the boss, and god knows half his force takes bribes. call it an honesty tax. not that he says this stuff aloud. all stealing is wrong, not to mention *illegal*, in the eyes of the law.

100

— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 01/08/2026

"kid, we live in smog." that much was true. the coffee's isb-issue. one of monday's allowances is skimming a little of the bureau's coffee for himself. it's just a little less watery and it's got a kick from whatever they grind up in it.

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— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 01/08/2026

"well . . . i guess if you hurt yourself it's alright." he knows as he explains it to her that she'll just ignore him. so it goes. but as a role model he has to take a stand all the same. "bad for your health too, y'know." taking out a pack of smokes and lighting up.

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— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 31/07/2026

"says . . ." he grasps for an answer. "says *me*! and i'm an officer of the *law*, damnit, so you oughta do as i tell ya. it just ain't nice language. matter of fact, it's *dirty* language. and you ain't dirty, so don't use it, young lady, *y'hear*?"

100

— 𝗗.𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬. @dsmonday.bsky.social · 31/07/2026

"hey, you shouldn't say that word, it's unladylike."

100

"Same old, same old." He fills the cup up and offers it back. "Busy as always. Finish one job, five more turn up. I'm telling ya, the folks who built this place didn't know s--" Looking at her. ". . . . tuff. Not to *mention* the caseload on the social side . . . We do a good job, considerin'." "

100

he's lying, he's sure of it. he just can't work out how. well, by omission, obviously. whatever. he'll turn the heat up, ask him a few straight yes or no questions. like punches to the gut. "so, yes or no: you're absolutely sure that you spent all that night . . . *'tinkering'*?"

100

"they'll keep turnin' up." he says. "i'll give dusty *this*:" his jaw tightens as he pauses. this is not a man that the detective likes. on the contrary -- he finds him incredibly dangerous. "he knows how to get people listening. the faces might keep changing, but they're all the same folk."

110

"she's a good kid. she just doesn't want to think that. you've gotta let her *think* she's doing somethin' purely outta self-interest, see?" offering her his cup. "meet the rest of her crew yet?"

100

ladies feed the birds. sometimes there is calm. sipping from his thermos. "how goes it with banks?"

100

he doesn't look up until he's done. he folds his notepad up and puts it away, pencil and all. it's a bright enough day. light has travelled all this way to be with them, real light, high-foot light. monday is thankful for it. across the street children play with their parents in the park and old

100

why's everyone telling him that today? none-too-pleased. he folds up his notepad, looking across the desk at V. with a knowing smile. "some men have very high pain tolerances. alright, where were you on the night of january nineteenth?"

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as it happens, he's on a bench as she turns the corner, writing in his own.

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well, i'll leave that part out. 'then the fella left real suddenly'. sounds pretty suspect, don't you think?"

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