Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ The Journal of One, Leon Orcot ❯ March 30, 1999 ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: CrossedScarsX 
Leon finds a spiral notebook. And no, it is not dropped off by a Death God.
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Mystery / Psychological / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.09.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 803 | Visits: 762 | Status: Work In Progress
Leon finds a spiral notebook. And no, it is not dropped off by a Death God.
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Mystery / Psychological / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.09.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 803 | Visits: 762 | Status: Work In Progress
The Journal of One, Leon Orcot.
March 30, 1999
I've never kept a journal before. It always struck me as something only girls and self-important, snooty intellectuals do, to somehow reinforce their own existence and self-worth, or to wallow in self-pity. I've never had the patience for either practice. People always seemed surprised by that. As a homicide detective, most think that the only way I'd keep my own sanity is to write in a journal. To be honest, I found that my own police reports were enough of a journal to keep my thoughts organized.
Actually, I wonder how effective a detective is if he can't put down the important stuff in the actual reports, and has to go and wrestle with his emotional demons in a personal diary. Yeah, my reports were enough. If I needed to reference it, it was all waiting for me in the case files. Say what you want about me, but you won't find a man alive who could fault my reports. I was always incredibly thorough.
So, I bet you're wondering what I'm doing now, writing in a journal of my very own? I can see the confusion. You'll notice that my reflective passages above are written in the past-tense. Yeah, I'm no longer “Detective Leon Orcot.” Now I'm just Leon Orcot. I've become a world drifter, or something like that. Most would probably just write me off as a bum. I definitely look the part, lately. You see, I've been on the road for two years. I am alone. I haven't spoken with my family in all this time. I've thought about contacting my little brother, Chris, a few times...but every time I can't get myself to write that letter, or make that phone call.
So, since I can't get myself to write home, and I no longer have the comfort of a good police report to file, I find myself writing my thoughts in this old notebook that I found by a dumpster. It was lying on top of a pile of junk that looked like the result of some kid's mother, who, disgusted by the state of his or her room, has cleared out indiscriminate piles and tossed 'em outside. Something about this little cheap spiral notebook caught my attention, so I picked it up, and finding it to be in not so horrible condition, I packed it in my knapsack. That was three days ago.
I'm hoping that this notebook will be my new 'case reports'. Only now I'm documenting my journey.
I guess this is where I start talking about WHY I'mtraveling the globe. I'm trying to return something to a man named Count D. Actually, I don't know his name. Count D was his Grandfathers title...but I guess it doesn't matter. It's the only name I have.
Ok...I think I'm going to treat this next part like an actual case file. This prose thing is making me feel like some sappy poet. Ok:
Case file: Count D (real name unknown) Occupation:Pet shop manager, of 'Count D's Pet Shop' Living Relations: Grandfather...and...um, Father? Kid? Thing? There's two of em. (And they're identical. All three of 'em) Last Known Location: Berlin, Germany. Mode of Transport.: A flying ship. Yep, that sounds completely reasonable.
My history with the Count:
...it's complicated.
I'll write more later. It's too long for one entry.
March 30, 1999
I've never kept a journal before. It always struck me as something only girls and self-important, snooty intellectuals do, to somehow reinforce their own existence and self-worth, or to wallow in self-pity. I've never had the patience for either practice. People always seemed surprised by that. As a homicide detective, most think that the only way I'd keep my own sanity is to write in a journal. To be honest, I found that my own police reports were enough of a journal to keep my thoughts organized.
Actually, I wonder how effective a detective is if he can't put down the important stuff in the actual reports, and has to go and wrestle with his emotional demons in a personal diary. Yeah, my reports were enough. If I needed to reference it, it was all waiting for me in the case files. Say what you want about me, but you won't find a man alive who could fault my reports. I was always incredibly thorough.
So, I bet you're wondering what I'm doing now, writing in a journal of my very own? I can see the confusion. You'll notice that my reflective passages above are written in the past-tense. Yeah, I'm no longer “Detective Leon Orcot.” Now I'm just Leon Orcot. I've become a world drifter, or something like that. Most would probably just write me off as a bum. I definitely look the part, lately. You see, I've been on the road for two years. I am alone. I haven't spoken with my family in all this time. I've thought about contacting my little brother, Chris, a few times...but every time I can't get myself to write that letter, or make that phone call.
So, since I can't get myself to write home, and I no longer have the comfort of a good police report to file, I find myself writing my thoughts in this old notebook that I found by a dumpster. It was lying on top of a pile of junk that looked like the result of some kid's mother, who, disgusted by the state of his or her room, has cleared out indiscriminate piles and tossed 'em outside. Something about this little cheap spiral notebook caught my attention, so I picked it up, and finding it to be in not so horrible condition, I packed it in my knapsack. That was three days ago.
I'm hoping that this notebook will be my new 'case reports'. Only now I'm documenting my journey.
I guess this is where I start talking about WHY I'mtraveling the globe. I'm trying to return something to a man named Count D. Actually, I don't know his name. Count D was his Grandfathers title...but I guess it doesn't matter. It's the only name I have.
Ok...I think I'm going to treat this next part like an actual case file. This prose thing is making me feel like some sappy poet. Ok:
Case file: Count D (real name unknown) Occupation:Pet shop manager, of 'Count D's Pet Shop' Living Relations: Grandfather...and...um, Father? Kid? Thing? There's two of em. (And they're identical. All three of 'em) Last Known Location: Berlin, Germany. Mode of Transport.: A flying ship. Yep, that sounds completely reasonable.
My history with the Count:
...it's complicated.
I'll write more later. It's too long for one entry.