Pinktown. The part of Glammer that never sleeps. The part in which no respectable person will be seen. The part no one can stay away from. Every vice you want, need, or are even vaguely interested in. Wine. Women. Men. Boys. Gambling. Drugs. Fighting. Take your pick. The economy within the economy, the place no one cares about. The underbelly no one talks about. Except they're all talking about it, all the time. Yeah, Pinktown is the place.
Somehow, you've ended up here. However it was, it's certain you didn't write your mother about it. For different reasons, you stayed, the better angels of your nature taking full flight and leaving you to your own degenerate devices. No matter. Everyone here is the same. With the same story, the parts that matter anyway. And Pinktown, well, Pinktown takes care of its own. Which is why when Annie turned up murdered and Glammer officials didn't blink, Pinktown took matters into is own hands. Soon there'll be a execution. Someone has to take the fall and Pinktown doesn't care what fat cat it is that ****ed Annie in the past week who they can pin this on. Just as long as it's someone. Body parts will fall.
But quietly, a select few know more. They know more than they're saying and according to that hack who writes in The Crystal Ball, they're doing something else about it. House Sand is being blamed for this, some kind of sick power-play in the back alleys against House Tune. Grassroots stuff. Divan's never could quite keep pace with the Hearth. But House Sand says they know nothing. Right. And to prove it, they've hired a group of so-called investigators to "look into the matter." Pinktown investigators. Hah. I suppose if they're drunk, we should be thanking our lucky stars that's all they are. Investigators. Hah! They probably shoulda just been happy with some poor sap's head. They usually are. Ahh, who gives a ****! Well, actually, a lot do. 'Cause we all liked Annie.