Genre Breaking
by MagisterAthena
FADE IN:
INT. DETECTIVE'S OFFICE – NIGHT
Moonlight streaks through the blinds, painting the office in stripes of light and dark. Occasionally, the light will vanish and everything in the office will rattle as a train passes by outside. A lazy curl of smoke traces through the room from a bent cigarette in the ashtray.
Near the door of the monochrome office is a coatstand, with a trilby and trench coat tossed thoughtlessly onto it. Behind the desk, painted in grayscale tones, is THE DETECTIVE. Her dark hair goes to just under her neck, the strands half-covering her face. Her tie is crooked, and a half-opened bottle of whiskey sits on the desk. The shadows of more bottles can be seen from under the desk.
Footsteps sound from outside, a shadow falls across the frosted glass of the door. THE DETECTIVE's head snaps to look, and a hand goes to a desk drawer.
THE DETECTIVE speaks, her voice husky, like it's picked up all the rougher edges of the city.
THE DETECTIVE: You might as well come in.
The door to the office opens slowly, hesitantly, and a head pokes around the corner like a mouse emerging from a mousehole. THE DETECTIVE's hand goes away from the drawer and back to her bottle. The figure steps through, and we see THE DAME, dressed to the nines in an elegant flapper dress and long gloves, her long pale hair adorned with a simple circlet.
THE DAME: H—Hello? I heard there was a detective looking into all the recent missing persons cases?
THE DETECTIVE: You've found her, lady. Step on in.
THE DAME stands hesitantly in front of THE DETECTIVE's desk.
THE DAME: You see, my wife's gone missing. She didn't come home last night, hasn't been home since.
THE DETECTIVE grunts.
THE DETECTIVE: You know my rates?
THE DAME nods.
THE DETECTIVE: You got a description?
THE DAME: S—sure thing. She looks a lot like you, same hair, same style of dress. Goes around wearing a trilby and suit all the time.
THE DETECTIVE raises an eyebrow. That could describe half the city.
THE DETECTIVE: Got anything more specific, lady?
THE DAME nods, looking more confident. Her voice gets smoother, less hesitant, a contrast to THE DETECTIVE's rough tones.
THE DAME: Yeah, she's got a habit of zoning out. Keeps sitting there, looking like she's listening, but inside her head she's just drifting away, not noticing what's being said to her as the other person just drones on and on, and her expression just gets blanker and blanker, and she doesn't even realise it until—
THE DAME snaps, and THE DETECTIVE starts.
THE DAME: —she just suddenly realises she hasn't heard a word for the last minute.
THE DETECTIVE's voice is an angry growl.
THE DETECTIVE: Lady, you'd better not do that again. And that's not exactly a helpful des—
THE DAME: Oh, I'm sure it is, after all — you'll be wearing that same expression in a moment.
A pause, as THE DETECTIVE blinks in surprise.
THE DETECTIVE: Lady—
THE DETECTIVE is interrupted by THE DAME pulling out a pocket watch — a golden pocket watch, the only spot of colour in the monochrome scene, and THE DETECTIVE stares at it, not understanding how this can be.
"Lady—" the DETECTIVE stumbled over her words, surprised at how her speech had changed. "Lady, you want to go right back the way you came."
The Dame just grinned widely. "Awww, I don't think she understands yet. Look at the pocket watch, detective," she said, her voice like syrup. "You know you want to." And somehow, the Detective did. But then—
"Like hell!" THE Detective growled, yanking open her desk drawer, and levelling her .44 at the DAME. "Last chance, lady!"
The Dame just raised an eyebrow. Her thoughts already sluggish, the pocket watch filling her vision, the Detective summoned up her willpower, pulled the trigger—
A dry click.
"Awww," the Dame cooed. "You thought this was a Noir, with you as the big, bad detective." Her voice dripped with condescension, and her grin widened, a vicious gleam colouring it as she gained colour, looking more real than anything else in the office.
"I'm afraid you're in the wrong genre, detective. This is a hypno-fic, and you're in my genre now. That's why your gun doesn't work — too realistically violent. That's why you can't look away from my pocket watch. Why you're succumbing so easily, just like all the others. I've already taken three action heroines this week — all their strength did nothing for them outside their genre."
"Ah, the unfortunate weakness of this genre, the monologuing. Still, it's not like you mind, do you detective? Your brainwashing's already made a good start, hasn't it?" The detective, barely a thought behind her eyes, blankly nodded.
"Perfect!" The dame crowed. "Now—"
SLEEP
She snapped her fingers, and the detective's world went away.