Le Diablo
Legacy Name: Le Diablo

The room is done up in plush reds with faux golden threads braided into curtains and cushions. In the last thirty years this ballroom has seen acts from Drago and the Dragettes to Ruffie Revolution to the Black Eyed Priggles. It's no Saggitarius Towers, but if you want to have a good time and drinks worthy of the Libertine Lounge, you make it a point to spend at least one night of your life at The Velvet Velosotor.

It won't be this night, however. Tonight the stage is silent and there's police tape lining every entry right down to the minion-sized pet door.

The victim is an ontra very recently in the prime of her life. Conchetta Conch had the singing voice of an angel (which she swore had nothing to do with that Angelic Potion she drank in her youth). For the past three years she has cleaned dishes and swept floors and acted as the sounding board for Subeta's little-known musicians and her hard work was about to pay off at last. She was one of five lucky dreamers selected to appear on Subeta's Hidden Talents when it aired next week.

The producer is going to have felis when she hears about this.

The thought pops into Le Diablo's head as the officer on the Field Unit Radio goes on to describe the crime scene in detail. Despite his best efforts, he simply can't focus on Officer Gumdrop's laundry list of technical details. It will all be in the official report. Besides, the body is where all the real answers lie.

Diablo surveys the layout of the lab with pride. So what if the seventh precinct doesn't have direct funding from Saggitarius or custom desks designed by Esmerelda? It's still the very best crime investigation lab in Subeta. More crimes have been solved in this world of sterile surfaces and test tubes than in any of its kind within a fifty mile radius.

Diablo has had a hand in quite a few of those cracked cases, though he'd never be one to boast. He's left his hot-headed years well behind, retaining only his nickname to remind him of more reckless days.

"Hey, Diablo. How much you wanna bet it's another one of these jealous co-stars offs the competition to win themselves their fifteen minutes?"

"Nah, it's totally gonna be the director. Laina von Featherfew has a tongue as sharp as her beak."

Diablo rolled his eyes. Trig, Guava and Squint were some of the best Crime Scene Investigators on the planet but their tired conspiracy theories could get a little old.

Besides, if the killer was of the cliché variety, it was totally going to be the maid that came in to clean just fifteen minutes before the body was discovered. Diablo didn't say anything but that's where he'd put his money.

Even a skilled research detective with a rising star has to enjoy a good murder mystery novel once in a while.

The chatter and gentle razzing disappeared as soon as the victim arrived. You had to have such moments of levity in this field of work but when it came down to finding every hint that could lead to a solution that would give a family closure, you didn't let anything get in the way of doing your best work.

One of the nails on her right front paw was twisted at an odd angle with a chip missing from the end. One eye had a set of false eyelashes while the other was natural. The shade of lipstick she'd been wearing was a few shades darker than a smear on her collar. Bread crumbs that would lead to an arrest or trivial details revealing how the starlet spent her day? Only time and chemical analysis would tell.

Waiting for test results was always the hardest part. It's one thing to watch an hour-long crime drama where everything is instant and they always catch the bad guy in the end. Reality is not always so glamorous.

They all had their way of dealing with the wait. Guava and Squint could play a wicked game of chess, complete with 87 complete rules of their own invention. Trig much preferred a game involving target practice with a pistol of her own invention. Her name had a dual source - her brilliant mathematical mind and her ability to shoot the bullseye of a half-inch target from the deck of a heaving ship.

Diablo used the rare quiet hour to track down his family. His girlfriend Caz had just been promoted to the Protective Minion Unit after years of longing for just such a position. It was her job to see to it officers with trained minions knew how to work with - and how to care for - their highly skilled minion partners. Her own precious wunofur, a genius named Kizzat, had been a gift from Diablo. He'd seen the bright-eyed fellow in a window and recognized his beloved in those beautiful blue and red markings and the eagerness to be in motion.

His own minion, a flying ball of energy he'd named Baemori, could benefit from a few obedience lessons. The booh's latest escapade had him on house arrest for the next two weeks. The custodial staff was still trying to figure out how to get the last of the peanut butter smears out of the air ducts in the break room.

Caz flitted out of the classroom behind her rookie class, praising their efforts and reminding them that a minion partner's needs must never be neglected if the officer hoped to be protected. She smiled when Diablo swooped down to kiss her cheek.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

They didn't like to chatter in public. Those rare weekends when they could sit on the couch eating pizza and watching old episodes of Cadogre Cops were by far the best kind. Someday they would rise to the top of their selected branches and have the luxury to sleep in and schedule their own hours. For now, these rare few minutes of time together would have to be enough.

They talked about the movie they planned to see that weekend and compared notes on their case loads. All too soon, it was time for a new class to begin and for Diablo to return to the think tank.

The key clue turned out to be mundane. Such is often the case. A piece of hair pinned beneath the chipped nail was a perfect match for Chester P. Aenoyed, a constant occupant of the Centropolis City Jail and an ex-boyfriend to the victim. That's the other thing about working in criminal justice. It's not all glam and glitter worthy of a movie. True crime solvers would much rather bring a case to a definitive close than bring home another tall tale of an unlikely villain in postal worker's clothes.

It wasn't their most exciting case but that wouldn't keep Diablo and his friends in the lab from holding with tradition. Only those in the profession could really understand the camaraderie that develops between detectives.

Diablo ordered his favorite meal of waffles, scrambled eggs, sausage, ham, and Divine Perfect Biscuits that are made fresh daily Moosie's Diner, the one and only home of Subeta's best biscuits. The other three joined him in a cup of black coffee, though Guava (always the odd one out) insisted on drowning her good cup of joe in cream. Diablo added a small glass of orange juice. He liked it tart with a hint of sweetness and not a single piece of pulp. The thought of adding vodka or any other alcoholic twist would curl his nose. While he had no issue with a social drink every now and then, he had no tolerance for drunks. Working in the field his first two years on the force, he'd seen far too many tragedies that could've been avoided with a little self-control.

Booh was waiting for him when he got home, flitting around the light fixtures and trying to catch the Vinds that always managed to come in through the attic. The bright blue ball of energy flopped down on Diablo's shoulders and hummed a high note very like a purr. Diablo smiled.

As much as he loved his work, it was always good to come home.

Credits

Profile Code by: Ringo
Edited by: Chrysariel
Recolored Overlay by: Morse
Story by: Pureflower
Background by: dojmt.gov
Hand Print by: StickPNG trans
Handcuffs by: ClipArtMasters
Evidence by: Bentley University
Folder by: PngImg
Blood Spatter by: StickPNG
Crime Scene Tape by: Gallery Yopriceville
Bullet by: lanzshootingsupplies.com
DNA by: Best Animations
Scanning by: VBS Agency
Name Art by: Chrysariel