Rupert's Nightmare

((ooc: Credit for this idea goes entirely to Sapphire, lol. I just wrote it up. Contined from the events at Emmy's Secret Spot. And Raina—I swear, this takes place before he met you! *grin*))

Rupert knew he was dreaming, because Captain Cynthia Myers didn’t typically wear a silver pin-striped suit to work. And she usually left her feathered hat at home.

He was at his desk doing paperwork when she walked in, and tapped him on the head with her crystal-topped cane. “Com’on, Alice, it’s time to go down the rabbit hole. I’ve got a pretty little something you’ll just be dying to meet. Time’s a wastin’.” She took out a large golden pocket watch and watched the hands chase each other around.

Do paperwork for the rest of this dream, or follow Captain Pimp? It was a tough one, but Rupert managed not to knock his chair over as he got up. “I like the suit,” he commented.

“Everyone likes the suit,” Captain Myers replied, hopping out of his office and into her harem. It was darker than he’d pictured. Shadow tendrils seemed to be crawling along the walls. “No turning back now, my pigeon.” She said, and waved her cane. A door appeared. “The throne room,” she announced. “The Queen awaits.”

Rupert pushed open the door, and walked down the red carpet to the golden dog bed at the far side. To be honest, the first thing he noticed was the lounging woman’s stunning lack of clothes. Umm, he thought, Cynthia, you can be my dream pimp anytime. That was some seriously fine—

Rupert’s gaze finally traced its way up to her face.

A tastefully arched eyebrow perched above a regally composed face. Cold eyes were watching him with a little too much amusement for a dream. A dingo tail wagged stupidly. “Your forty minutes are up, cop.”

Rupert woke up with a yelp, sometime after the crucifixion but before the skinning.

“Good morning, Detective,” Cassandra Elliot droned, not looking out from behind her paperwork. “Sleep well?” There was a water bottle sitting on her desk. Without a word, Rupert stood. Walked over. And doused himself. That got his partner’s attention. “What the Hell?”

“Bad dream,” Rupert said. He turned, and walked back to his desk. “Very, very bad dream.”

Hot damn, that dingo was hot when she was torturing a guy to death.