Chapter Text
Epilogue
It is a balmy summer evening. The streets are alive with chatter and abuzz with the latest fashions and gossip. Everyone believes they could be anything, clubs are alive with the blaring sounds of swing jazz, and endless possibilities exist within every single person.
In the sky, the great ogle of GPI passes over his creation and regards it as fondly as ever. He sees that it is good and all is well. In another kingdom far far away, the Weasel King smiles at the peace that seems to last between the four clans, and sets his toothy maw to the task of nibbling away at the succulent centre of an elf egg. In the background, his Queen paints yet another damn mural depicting a scene of a battle once fought - a familiar trio of hard-boiled detectives at the centre.
In his office, PICKLE INSPECTOR tosses a half finished sudoku puzzle to one side and decides that now is as good as any time to visit his favourite tea shop. After all, the criminals aren't in a hurry to be caught, and it's terribly thirsty work pawing over the endless stream of paperwork that being in the same city as the Midnight Crew generates.
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Your name is Pickle Inspector and it has been a while since that game-changing encounter in the imagination realm. Despite your best efforts - and the sheer bundle of constant snark and chattery that is Problem Sleuth - the Midnight Crew are still at large. As red hot as the current case is, you feel that Team Sleuth could really stand to cool their jets a little, and so have taken it upon yourself to have a much needed break.
Things are not the same as they were before.
Even stepping out into the warm air of a delightful summer evening feels different somehow. It's a well established routine for you, especially when the culprits refuse to simply hand themselves over in their usual rude manner, but there's a change that hangs over your head like the clouds that gather ever so slightly across the setting sun to signal the steadily approaching night.
The same people. The same streets. The same routine.
A different atmosphere.
It's been so long since you last saw him. Perhaps that's why you were quick to move when you recieved the carefully folded note with the beautifully crafted script.
How on this world he managed to get in the office when all three members of Team Sleuth were in there all day you have no idea. Sometime between the fight between Sleuth and Ace maybe? GPI only knows.
You've learned to stop questioning his methods. The important thing is the motive.
Across busy sidewalks you lightly stride - well, more like shuffle, you've never really considered yourself the striding sort. Mr Sleuth maybe is the sort of person to stride. Perhaps even Mr Ace, but certainly not you with your odd gait and your crooked back and your stooped shoulders and - until the familiar door of your favourite cafe appears.
Ducking inside, you politely remove your bowler hat and allow the ever so delightful waitresses to take your coat from around your body stature. Dusty hair is combed back (yet you know it will just flop down again as soon as you're not looking) and you nervously wring your hands.
"I...I got your note." You mumble as you duck into the corner of the cafe, able to easily spot the black suit against the bright surroundings.
In front of you, across the table, the newspaper that was being meticulously studied drops and you find yourself caught like a rabbit in headlights within that questioning, calculating, cold gaze.
Diamonds Droog removes the cigarette from his mouth and flicks ash into the tray at his hand. Within those eyes, you catch the slightest triumphant glint of a man who is about to play a winning hand in this particular game of chance.
"Good evening, Inspector." He purrs, the barest hint of a smile crossing his face, "Let me get you a drink and we'll talk..."