Inspector I. M Clueless

A pile of green fabric resting on the corner of Kikuyu's display shifts and stirs. Inspector I. M Clueless pokes his head out from under the robes, then stands and brushes off a few skull caps that cling to his dark green cloak. The Inspector steps off of Kikuyu's display in a daze, glancing left and right at his unfamiliar surroundings. He digs a detective recording device out of one of his cloak pockets and clicks the "On" button. "Date unknown, time unknown. After a very very very peaceful sleep, I awaken in what appears to be a police headquarters gearing up for a costume party. I'm in luck, for this is the next spot I was planning to visit in my continuing investigation for the missing detective overcoat. The people gathered here may provide new leads on my primary suspect: that dastardly no-do-gooder and personal archrival, Wyvern." Clueless clicks the "Stop" button on his recorder, then hits the "Rewind" button, then presses "Play." And then realizes that there's no tape in the recorder. He mumbles something to himself and pulls out a magnifying glass with no lens. I. M Clueless then nods to the others in attendance and proceeds to examine the articles of clothing strewn out on Kikuyu's display, tapping his foot and clicking the "On" button on his tapeless recorder again... "Hammers, stretchy black suits, mints, little round pieces of cloth... by my calculations, the display is all standard police gear."

Inspector I. M Clueless adjusted his dark green travel coat in the most detective-ly manner possible, aware that the color wasn't Private Eye compatible but finding the thick fabric better than no detective suite at all. After traveling for days in search of clues pertaining to the bio-literary weapons that he'd heard of on the Mighty News, Clueless had finally arrived here, at the scene of the crime. It was a disappointing sight: a couple of gathered pennites, a broken cart, and what appeared to be a bright yellow test tube. Clueless stared at the glowing tube, noting its odd ressemblence to "bling" as he slowly approached it. "G lib lib?" I. M Clueless eyed the label through a lensless magnifying glass. "Must be one of those new terms that the youth corrupted by that 'hip hop' culture uses. Ruffian music that promotes gangsters who should be behind bars, locked away by hard-working Private Eyes like myself..." Inspector I. M Clueless grumbled a few words of frustration over his inability to decypher the slang of "G lib lib," then grabbed a nearby sheet of paper to jot down his thoughts on the subject: 1) [A Vehicle] - diamond-encrusted Mercedes found on the "music television" 2) [Verb, Past Tense] - mack daddy-Oed 3) [Plural Noun] - unjustly accused police officers 4) [Verb, Past Tense] - broke danced 5) [Adjective Ending in “-like”] - thug-like 6) [A Number] - prison inmate number 7) [Plural Noun] - women referred to as "them hos" [Feature of Said Plural Noun (7)] - "Fly ass bitch" T-shirts 9) [Article of Clothing] - platinum "grill piece" for teeth 10) [Adverb] - criminally 11) [Adjective] - hooligan-related 12) [A Hair Accessory] - Sherlock Holmes detective hat 13) [Adjective] - previously incarcerated 14) [Part of Body] - seventh bullet wound 15) [An Artifact] - platinum record plaque 16) [Noun] - corrupted ear of the youth 17) [Plural Noun] - vigilante graffiti "taggers" 18) [superlative Adjective (i.e longest, lowest, etc.)] - most ethical 19) [Formal Title for a Person] - Chief 20) [Adjective Ending in “-like”] - RIAA-like With that, Inspector I. M Clueless tucked his quill back into one of his coat pockets and turned to sleuth out the rest of the Cabaret area...

"..." "I see." Inspector I. M Clueless gives the curves of the rock bidding podium a long hard stare, then jots a note or two on his loaded pad. "Well, if you have nothing to say on the case of the missing detective gear, I suppose I'll simply have to move on. But don't think that I've marked you off of my list of suspects yet." Clueless turns to depart towards the Pen's Codex and Lists in search of more clues, but stops short as he notices the green cloak that Sweetcherrie displays on the podium. The Inspector tilts his head to examine the item more thoroughly, then raises a hand to his forehead in contemplation. "Hmmm." Clueless whips out his pad again as he steps closer to the podium. "That green cape would be an excellent way to disguise myself while looking for a cloak to replace my old one. I just hope I'm not narrating my thoughts out loud again." Sweetcherrie and Patrick both stare at the idiot sleuth with blank expressions. "Now, if only I could find the 20 geld needed for bidding..."

Inspector I. M Clueless stood his ground and jotted down notes on his pad, leaning against a tree and not noticing Falcon's Reply Raven as it landed on his hair. He watched the flying lizard in the distance as it screamed and hit the illusion of the stream/lake with a *THUD*. He continued to scribble notes as he watched the lizard crawl along a patch of Gwaihir's thorns disguised under the image of water, and nodded as the lizard began running back towards the chaos of hurtled sheep. Clueless flinched as he watched the scaly figure get clobbered from all angles by Evangeline and Mynx, then adjusted his pad and jotted down a final thought. And it was at that moment that Clueless realized he had been writing with his eraser. "Hmph." Clueless blew the eraser dust from his pad, ignoring the faint markings of the previous notes that he'd accidentally deleted. He turned to face Sweetcherrie and cleared his throat. "Good day, ma'am. Inspector I. M Clueless, Private I.D. Sorry to be a bother, but I'm in the middle of a vital investigation concerning a missing detective hat and trenchcoat. Do you know this feline?" Sweetcherrie frowned as I. M Clueless pulled out a manilla envelope labeled "TOP SECRET" and handed it to her. She opened the envelope, only to raise a brow at the picture of Mynx inside, which had been tagged with the name "Katzaniezi" in red. Her face went blank when she found the single sentence "Nickname Kat" written under the heading for "Top Secret Information." "A bit of background, though it's not a pretty tale." Clueless took out a cigarette and stuffed it in one of nostrils while his other hand searched for a light. "As you may be aware, a large magnifying glass convention took place not too long ago at the Pen, around the time when the moon took a few minutes off. I believe I saw this furry figure chatting with one of the many frogs that were out in front. A suspicious frog, with a tongue a little too long for his own mouth. It was around that time that the trenchcoat and hat went missing. Any info you might have is appreciated." "Errrr." Sweetcherrie stared at I. M Clueless in disbelief, then slowly shook her head and handed the file back to him. "No, sorry." "Ah, understood." Clueless folded the envelope and stuck it in the front of his pants. "In that case, does anyone know of any incidents involving... Theme: Astralis Taboo Words: investigation, detective, plane "REPLY," spoke the Raven, taking wing. "ALWAYSMORE."

Peachy Jennings and Apricot O' Donnel take their seats as a fruit bowl flashes across the screen, highlighting the words "Harvest at 9:00." A small cherry applies peach make-up to Peachy's peach fuzz while O' Donnel rehearses not falling over on her side. The cherry scurries away as the lights dim and a camera turns to Peachy. "In today's news, local cauliflower hero Tom Atoe continues to make a name for vegetables everywhere in the popular Pen Beauty Pageant. Yet, with controversy surrounding his name in the tomatoe family, will safety be the cost of fame? Apricot with the report." "Keen, Peachy." Apricot sways back and forth uneasily. "Reports have surfaced that rebel tomatoe terrorist organization 'Ripe Rotten' passed a threat to Beauty Pageant officials today, mentioning the possibility of suicide tomatoes willing to throw themselves on stage during Tom Atoe's appearences. The threat is likely a hoax, but Pageant safety measures are still under works." "Thanks, Apricot." Peachy shuffles through papers with her stem. "In further news, a burnt citrus tree was found outside Katzaniel Court early this morning. Celery stick officials say that this burning is one in a long line of burnings from the rebel apple group "Hard Core," which has been dubbed "The Anti-Kist" by local orange syndicate Sunkist. Hard Core is also accused of peeling crimes, including one instance of beating a young orange to a pulp. If you have any information on these individuals, please contact your local pineapple authorities immediatly" Several images flash across the screen that show pictures of apples that look like any other apples. The final image shows a picture of the Portrait of Zool, who looks rather confused. "And now, Apricot with the soil report. Apricot?" The camera wavers for a moment, then turns to reveal that Apricot O' Donnel has fallen over on her side again. ---- "Will justice never be served?!" Inspector I. M Clueless stomps his foot on the ground. He momentarily catches the attention of the court janitor, who is the only other person remaining in the darkened room. "Arrest this painting!" I. M Clueless continues to point at the still-life painting of a juicer that he had pointed at earlier. The janitor ignores Clueless' rants, and cringes upon noticing a juice stain on the carpet. "Awwww man, not another one of these stains." He lets out a dismal sigh, then reaches into his mopping pouch for some soap. "You drop a glass of O.J here or something?" "Simpson had nothing to do with this murder." Clueless pauses and considers. "At least nothing that I've uncovered yet. That stain is evidence from the assassination, don't tou-" "Another orange bit the dust?" The janitor begins cleaning the stain, ignoring Clueless' protests. "Man, with the number of orange casualities they get in this court, you'd think Sunkist was tryin to kill them oranges or something..." "W-what have you done?!" Clueless sobs and stomps his feet on the ground. "You've destroyed all of the evidence, my investigation is ruined. Now how am I supposed to catch the person who murdered this poor orange and kidnapped my hat, hmmmmm?" "Geeze, chill out man." The janitor rolls his eyes as Clueless continues to sob. "Look, uhhh... listen, didn't you say that that portrait over there was guilty or something?" Inspector I. M Clueless perks up from his despair and jumps to his feet. He turns and glares at the still-life of the juicer. "You're right, it's not too late... Justice will be served!" I. M Clueless dashes at the portrait hanging on the wall, only to bang his head against it's frame by accident. The Inspector sways for a moment, then drops down unconscious on the court rug. The janitor watches as a trail of drool dribbles from Clueless' open mouth. "I don't get paid enough for this."

The stands of the courtroom murmer with a buzz of excitement as Judge Katzaniel takes a seat at the front podium. In the witness booth on her left sits a small orange, innocent in its near-ripeness. Paparazzi begins surrounding the orange, taking photographs and inquiring about the fruit's association to the elite corporate organization "Sunkist." Katzaniel waves a hand, and several armed guards begin shoving the reporters out of the room. "No interviews, no reporters!" shouts one of the guards. "Strict orders, the orange is an eye witness." "Can't take any chances." The second guard shoves the final news rat out of the door. "Last reporter that got close tried to pull an assasination using a straw." "Order in the court! Order in the court!" Judge Katzaniel slams her hammer down twice, causing the orange to break into a nutritious sweat. "This Mighty Pen Debate will now come to order. The subject at hand: can apples and oranges be compared? May I call to the stand the individual against the comparison of oranges and apples, one I. M Clueless?" Inspector I. M Clueless freezes in his seat as every eye in the courtroom turns to him. He hesitates, then shifts positions until stands on top of his chair. "Inspector I. M uhhh, Cluelittle. Now standing, your honor." Katzaniel takes one glance at the Inspector, then rubs her forehead. "Would the Inspector please move forward?" 'Yes, your honor!" I. M Clueless takes a step forward from his poisition on top of his chair. He loses his balance and crashes into an innocent spectator seated in front of him. Katzaniel observes the scene with a blank expression, then waves a hand. The two guards carry I. M Clueless and dump him at the front of the court. "Mr. Clueless." Katzaniel shifts in her seat. "Your argument." "Oh, yes." The Inspector lifts himself to his feet, then bows to the crowds. "Well, first, allow me to say how many fine hats I see in the audience today. Having recently lost a hat of my own, I hope that you all appreciate the hats you have on your heads. Like you ma'am, with your beautiful little fez. And you, son, with that ever-reliable thinking cap of yours. And lets not forget you sir, with your, errr... your furry... sorta... "It's not a hat," grumbles Zool. "It's a toupee." "Order in the court!" Katzaniel slams down the hammer, causing the orange to jump. "On wth the argument, Clueless. We haven't got all day." "Yes, of course." Inspector I. M Clueless clears his throat. "Apples and oranges. Well, they may both belong to the same food group, and they may both produce popular fruit beveraes, but there's one issue that will forever remain between them: the issue of color." A murmer breaks out in the audience, and defendent Zool raises a brow. Katzaniel slams her hammer down twice for silence. "Yes, that's right, color." The Inspector's voice trembles, brimming with emotion. "Why, even in this courtroom, the issue still remains. You need only ask the court jury!" Inspector I. M Clueless waves a hand to the jury booth at the east end of the courtroom. The orange in the witness booth faints upon noticing that the jury is composed entirely of apples. ;-p

Inspector I. M Clueless examines the debate sign-up sheet with a magnifying glass and grumbles to himself. He traces his fingers along Katzaniel's listed instructions. "Hmmm... 'stance,' yes. A discussion of colors. Tricky losses. A lead?" The Inspector reaches into his overcoat and pulls out his personal "mini-recorder," which is in fact a PA system microphone. He speaks into the mic, unaware that his voice is being broadcast through several loudspeakers hooked to corners of the Conservatory. "Detective log, week seven. Case of the missing detective hat. Search has proven difficult, and the lack of haircut is beginning to show. Have finally identified a lead, and will be pursuing it. Infiltration will probably be necessary." With that, Inspector I. M Clueless turns off the "recorder" and writes his name on the debate sign up sheet. He then scratches his chin, hesitates, then writes "Not a Private Eye" in parenthesis next to the name.

Inspector I. M Clueless watched as the crowds poured out of the Conservatory doors, patient with only two princes standing in his way before the entrance. The Inspector shivered in his unusually light attire and adjusted his dark and mysterious sunglasses, unaware of the fact that an eclipse had even occured. The princes departed one at a time as their escorts left out the doors, and Clueless finally found himself at the entrance to the Quincuinox party. "Sorry" grunted the leather-jacket sporting troll bouncer, shutting the door and tagging it with a "Closed" sign. "We're closed for the evening. Skidaddle." "Hmm... I see." Clueless stood silent for a long moment, then let out a long sigh and turned back in the direction of his car. He passed by several angry men in dark overcoats, who spoke in sinister tones about Orlan, but ignored them as he searched for his vehicle. After four hours of thorough searching, he found his car totalled against a brick wall. Another byproduct of Xradion's dream. Seating himself on a stray wheel that had seperated from his vehicle, Inspector I. M Clueless scratched his chin and began searching for clues about car insurence... particularly deals that offered free Private Eye trenchcoats. And far off in the horizon, a slither of Sun began inching its way over the hilly Pen frontiers, signaling a new day. - The End -

Yellow police line is drawn around the thread as Inspector I. M Clueless examines the scene of the first riddle, scratching his chin thoughtfully as he raises a magnifying glass to inspect the word "dactyly" and mutters: "An intricate riddle indeed... judging by the stanza shape and the number of syllables involved, I'd say that the culprit this riddle is referring to is fluid and crafty in his ways. This word, "dactyly," has me particularly intrigued... "dactyly," child slang for "dactyl," which must be an abbreviation for "pterodactyl." Pterodactyl, a distant dinosaur relative of birds, a genre of animals that include such species as the crow. Crow, a bird that is fluid and crafty, like the wind. Yes, this case is as good as solved. There can only be one culprit that this riddle poem is referring to, one culprit intimately connected with crows and crafty like the wind. A culprit named Nyy-" Inspector I. M Clueless is interrupted as Sexy the Elder Dwarf enters the Banquet Hall, clearing his throat as he approaches the "politce-protected" area of the thread. The dwarf raises a brow curiously as he ducks under the yellow taped area of the first riddle, casting a worried glance towards the detective who seems to be talking to himself as he mutters: "My... what a fine riddle about Cerulean this is." With that, the suave Elder Dwarf promptly departs, leaving a disgruntled Inspector I. M Clueless to contemplate the second riddle in a daze of confusion...

Inspector I. M Clueless sighs as the enormous party line moves forward at a snail's pace, raising his head as he notices Melba arrive back at the Conservatory entrance for a short moment in order to inspect Sorciere's entry fee. As the obese Almost Secretary of Initiates heads back to make a few final carrot-statue observations and add a pinch of salt, the Inspector observes that he's once again managed to almost reach the entrance of the party after countless hours of waiting. Smiling to himself and whistling to the tune of "Inspector Gadget," I. M Clueless barely manages to contain his excitement as he dreams of the numerous activities and foods to be found within the party. His fantasy is interrupted, however, as he turns his gaze towards two very suspicious-looking individuals, who seem to be chatting and taking notes while observing the remains of Knight's spacecraft. "Hmmm, fascinating Daliarus, simply fascinating. I don't think I've ever seen a comet made out of such a... mysterious metallic substance." "Yeah, agreed Vert. But then again, I dunno if we'd be the most knowledgable in the field of comet components, given the number of comets we've analyzed in the past." "Well, at least we managed to trace this thing down and observe it. Master Calzoo won't be using our hides as telescope cleaning rags, thanks to me. Am I the brains of this operation, or what?" "Yeah... say though, Verteniun, why does the moon look so odd this evening?" "Elementary, my dear Daliarus. Tonight is the night of the vernal equinox lunar eclipse, which will be occuring in a few..." There is a long moment of silence in which the two astronomers pause. "... hours." "Hours?! B-b-but, how are we going to be able to get back to the observatory in time to witness it?!" "Dear God... I hadn't thought of that!" "Great Vert, just great! Now we're even more doomed!" "N-n-now wait just a minute Dali, don't panic. There must be some logical solution to this problem." The two astronomers stand in nervous contemplation for a moment, then simultaneously turn their eyes to the Pen's Conservatory, suddenly noticing the stargazing roof that's available at the party. At that very moment, Inspector I. M Clueless speaks up from his position in line. "Excuse me... did you two just say that that "comet" you observed was made out of a mysterious material?" "Y-yes" answers Verteniun. "Why so we did." "The name's Clueless, I. M Clueless. Inspector, Clueless, I. M that is. Not that I. M Clueless, but that I'm an Inspector, and that my name is I.M... errr... Clueless, sorry." Verteniun and Daliarus turn to one another for a moment and grin. "Would you mind if I observe that "comet" thing for a moment? I'm a man of mystery, so I enjoy mysterious thi-" Inspector I. M Clueless is interrupted as Verteniun and Daliarus pratically shove him out of the line, stealing his position near the entrance of the party and exclaiming: "Certainly! Take your time in observing it, plenty of mystery to be found there!" Inspector I. M Clueless smiles to the two astronomers and then heads over to the site that they were observing, thankful for their kind-heartedness. It takes the Inspector a full twenty minutes to realize that the "comet" is in fact the remains of the spacecraft that he had seen Knight crash, and that his position in line had been stolen yet again. "Oh brother..." mumbles Inspector I. M Clueless glumly as he commences another long trek to the very end of the enormous line.

Meanwhile, near the front of the endless lines leading towards the entrance of the Conservatory... Inspector I. M Clueless sighs and fidgets in his place, jamming his hands into the front pockets of his grey overcoat as he watches Tempest, Mira and Boaz make their ways into the party with only minor difficulties. Sniffing at the air and catching the scent of Boaz's trout-dolphin hybrid/boxer short gift, the Inspector hears a low growling sound as his stomach mournfully yearns for something to eat. The hardened detective frowns and raises a hand to his chin in the best "contemplative detective expression" he can muster, glancing towards Tempest's animal curiously as the growling sound continues. He couldn't quite pinpoint the source of the sound, and the animal ressembling a stegasaurus seemed like such an obvious option for it... but then, he doubted that an animal of that stature would emit such a faint growl. He hadn't even entered the party yet, but something fishy was going on here... something very fishy indeed. The Inspector's thoughts are suddenly interrupted as a young man dressed in a plain tunic taps him on his shoulder in order to get his attention. Standing on the outskirts of the line and pretending to ignore the extremities of its length, the man clears his throat and says: "Excuse me, good sir... but are you a detective by any chance?" The low saxophone cues up once again in the background as Inspector I. M Clueless breaks into a cooly composed grin, and nods his head in one swift motion. "Yeah kid..." mumbles Clueless in his best Columbo impression. "You want a detective, you came to the right man. Allow me to introduce myself... Clueless. I. M... errrr... Cluelittle. No, wait, that's not right... start over. Hold on, what was the first name I said again?" The young man in the tunic suppresses a massive grin, and nods his head in a serious manner as he says: "Excellent... I need a detective to, ummmm... to inspect that illegally parked car over there, and search it for clues. And don't worry, I'll save your place here in line while you go out to inspect it." "Deal." answers Clueless suavely, giving his place in line to the snickering young man and heading out towards the car. Upon arriving at the car, the Inspector slowly comes to the realization that it's actually his own vehicle, and that it's parked right at a "No Parking" zone. Grumbling to himself glumly, the detective proceeds to quickly enter it and drive his car to another area, only to accidentally park it at another "No Parking" zone located at the other side of the line. After he's done so, the Inspector heads towards the man that had saved his place in line, only to be met by confusion when the man whistles innocently and claims he's never met him. Frowning and scratching his chin, Inspector I. M Clueless commences his five mile journey back towards the very end of the enormous line...

As the line leading towards the Conservatory entrance grows steadily longer and frogs begin swarming into the party like some gigantic advertisement for a three-dimensional version of Atari's "Frogger," a calmly composed man in a grey trenchcoat and a tipped hat casually leans against the outer wall of the building, slowly shaking his head and sighing to himself as he views the commotion. A low saxophone blows somewhere in the background as a random streetlight illuminates the man's face and torso, casting his silouhette along the length of the wall and gaining the attention of several people standing in line in the process. Even Gnarlitch briefly pauses in his slaughtering of frogs to curiously glance at the mysterious man, and one of the massively built troll guards that had assaulted Finnius earlier cries like a baby and runs away in fear of the man's large shadow. The saxophone in the background hits a higher pitch as the cloaked man produces a pack of cigarettes from his overcoat with a flick of his wrist, and whispers a non-chalant sigh as he opens it with a single movement of his index finger. Reaching into the pack, the man proceeds to pull out a small, extensively folded piece of paper, which he then quickly unfolds into an enormous map. At this point, the street lamp light suddenly buzzes to a halt and the saxophone in the background is choked by the "ribbit" of a frog. "Excuse me..." stammers Inspector I. M Clueless as he approaches Gnarlitch, rudely shoving through several people in line as he does so. "Would you happen to know the directions to the Annual Detective Magnifying Glass Convention by any chance?" With that, I. M Clueless directs Gnarlitch's attention towards the "map" that he's holding, which displays an odd series of buildings at different stages in their developement. "That ain't no map!" exclaims Gnarlitch as he lands his axe on yet another frog. "That's a blueprint for a building." I. M Clueless glances at his "map" once again and raises a brow, then rubs his forehead and sighs to himself dismally. "Well... I suppose that this party will just have to do. Hopefully, they'll have an extensive variety of glasses available." With that, the Inspector swiftly begins making his way to very back of the endless line leading to the Conservatory, unaware of the priveleges provided by his "Honored Guest" status...

Unaware that the mystery has drawn to a close, Inspector I. M Clueless gently rubs his aching neck and carefully flips through the pages of the Wolfgang Puck cookbook Modern French Cooking for the American Kitchen. There were many people he was beginning to suspect, but there still seemed to be some element that was missing from the puzzle... something that he had overlooked. Sorting through his notes, he rubs his chin and considers the potential culprits... Vert Gressam, the alleged butler of the party. He had acted in a particularly sensitive manner to Clueless' pouring red wine onto the rug. Red wine... an ingredient found in many of Wolfgang Puck's dishes. There was certainly a connection there, though he couldn't quite establish what it was. Tyrion the Zombi, the messanger of the mysterious host of the party. He had been the first to mention Wolfgang Puck, and then had mysteriously disappeared from the scene. Clueless had noticed something suspicious about his demeanor when he had announced the death of the Mighty Maroon Monkey Man, and knew very well that one could substitute the roast beef in "Wolfgang’s Bacon-Wrapped Meat Loaf" with monkey meat... Oh yes. As much as Clueless hated to admit it, Georgia was also a suspect... Sighing and placing an empty carton of cigarettes into his mouth, the Inspector falls into a state of sorrowful contemplation. He knew her type... the girl was smart. Too smart. If there was one thing that Clueless had learned from all those nights of watching detective films, it was that the smartest dames were usually the murderers. The only person that Clueless was absolutely certain had nothing to do with the murder was Jim, who had no connections to Wolfgang Puck whatsoever. Yet there was still something wrong... something missing. Running down the list of ingredients for Wolgang Puck's "Corn Chowder with Littleneck Clams and Jalapeño Cream" recipe, Inspector I. M Clueless sighs and shakes his head in exhaustian. It didn't make any sense, there was nothing connecting the recipes, all of them used different ingredients. Rubbing his forehead and glancing at the picture presented for the dish, the Inspector suddenly notices an interesting detail that had previously slipped by his attention. The dish was visible because of light. Clueless' eyes widen as he turns to the picture on the next page, only to find that it's also visible because of light. Turning to another random page, Clueless is once again shocked to find the same result. Flipping through the cookbook, the Inspector's eyes widen further and further as he notices that every single recipe's picture is visible because of light. Of course! People who cooked needed light to see their ingredients! At night, they even needed- Inspector Clueless drops the cookbook he's holding in shock and stutters as the truth suddenly hits him like a freight train. Wasting no time at all, the Inspector screams "of COURSE!" and immediatly rushes as fast as he can towards the entrance of the Party hall. The spot where a certain suspect had deliberatly chosen not to answer any of his questions... Arriving at the entrance, the Inspector is horrified to find that the lamp is gone. "No..." whispers Clueless, his clenched fists turning white as anger mounts due to his realization that he's too late "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Hearing a sound behind him, Clueless turns only to find Vert leaving from the room, holding the lamp in his arms. "AhHA!" cries Clueless, pointing a finger at Vert and rushing towards him. The butler turns around startled and stares at the Inspector in a confused manner. "W-what-" "It's over Vert." says Clueless coldly, grinning while reaching for one of his handcuffs. "The lamp is through, he's caused enough harm as it is." "Why, that's the very reason I'm going to change it's lightbulb." responds Vert. "I agree that it was shining too brightly..." "I should have known the two of you were in cohoots." mutters Clueless while letting out a cold laugh and snatching the lamp from out of Vert's hands. "Just cooperate, Vert, and I'll see to it that your sentence is reduced by a few years." "Why..." manages Vert in a mixture of anger and confusion "Whatever are you doing?! Put that down!" "You're under arrest!" exclaims Clueless to the lamp, trying to lock his handcuff onto it but finding once again that it doesn't fit. The Inspector tries to hook on the handcuff from various angles , only to once again break down into a fit of crying when he finds that he can't attach it in any way... ;-p P.S: I enjoyed roleplaying with you guys in this. ;-) Recipe and cookbook sources credited to www.wolfgangpuck.com

Inspector Clueless rubs his chin thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes and glancing suspiciously at all of those involved in the argument at hand. Quickly snatching a glass of wine from the banquet table and nonchalantly pouring out it's contents onto the recently vacuumed rug, the Inspector proceeds to carefully glance through the glass in the hopes of it magnifying some barely noticable clue... He quickly abandones this idea, however, as the distorted images seen through the glass quickly make him dizzy... Mumbling something under his breath about how Sherlock Holmes must have had a strong stomache, Inspector I. M Clueless lifts his head as Vert mentions once again how the horse-driven carriage is now in the river. Quickly pulling out a messy portfolio labeled "Wolfgang Puck," the Inspector rapidly flips through it until he comes across a particular page and exclaims: "This is just like Wolfgang Puck's television show "Seafood Adventurers..." only the tuna is being replaced by horse meat. Interesting indeed!" Rushing up to Miranda and grabbing her by the shoulders, Clueless begins roughly shaking her and exclaims in a trembling voice: "Miranda, where were you the night that Wolfgang Puck's show "Potato Perfection" was first aired?!?!" Miranda stares at Clueless in confusion, pulling herself away from his grip as she responds: "What the-? How could you be talking about cooking at a time like this, Mr. Clueless?! Have you even noticed Nathaniel's current state yet?" "No, I haven't..." growls Clueless, turning towards the motionless body of Nathaniel lying on the ground. "But I certainly will now! Nathaniel, where were you the night that "Potato Perfection" was aired?!" Miranda and the others glare at Clueless in speechless shock (with the exception of Georgia who contents herself with simply drinking Scarlet's beverage). After a long moment of silence, Clueless stares at Nathaniel's body and continues: "Ahha, so you're giving me the silent treatment are you Nathaniel? Well... let me ask you this: it's been noted that you're classified as a Wolfsbane. Are you aware, Nathaniel, that Wolfsbane is a herb that is sometimes used in cooking?" Still no response from the motionless body of Nathaniel. "You're acting mighty suspicious, Nathaniel..." mutters Clueless, pulling out a handcuff out of his left pant pocket. "I'm gonna have to take you down to the station for further interogation..." "Clueless!" cries Miranda finally through sobs and tears. "Can't you see that Nathaniel is dead?!" The Inspector pauses upon hearing this and scratches his head for a bit, standing for a long moment in silence before stuffing the handcuff back into his pockets and quietly muttering: "I see... he must have eaten the horse meat seafood platter..."

Still completely ignorant of the current deathtoll and all of the mentionings of werewolves, Inspector I. M Clueless continues to investigate the mysterious connection to the chef Wolfgang Puck. Stroking his chin thoughtfully and flipping through the pages of a tattered second edition of the famous chef's novel Adventures in the Kitchen, the Inspector's eyes skim over the recipes as his brain slowly processes the information... "Marinated and Glazed Swordfish"... "Chinois Chicken Salad in Wonton Cups with Chinese Mustard Vinaigrette"... "Wolfgang's Classic Chicken Pot Pie"... There had to be some hidden connection, some fact that was right at the tip of his fingers but was cleverly concealed... Sighing to himself and deciding that this would be another long, hard investigation, I. M Clueless wanders up to the table under which Mr. Eeeek hides and raps on it briefly with his knuckles. After a moment of silence, Mr. Eeeek stutters: "Y-y-y-yes? Who's there?!" "Inspector I. M Clueless." responds the detective as he tries to light a cigarrette with a pack of chewing gum that he mistakes for a lighter. "Private Eye." "Wh-what do you want?" "I was wondering if I could come into your humble abode underneath the table and ask you a few questions. It shouldn't take too long..." Mr. Eeeek considers this for a moment, then nervously motions with a hand from his spot to the Inspector. Ducking down and crawling under the table, I. M Clueless looks around and gruffly mutters: "Nice place you got here... I love the gum wad ceiling decorations." "Get to the point Inspector, wh-what do you want from little ol me?" The Inspector smiles, then murmers: "Straight to the point, is it? I like that in a man, shows that he's brave and not afraid of anything." Mr. Eeeek trembles and chatters his teeth as Inspector I. M Clueless continues: "Mr. Eeeek... what can you tell me about this recipe?" With that, Inspector Clueless holds up a picture of a plate of Wolfgang Puck's "Fettucine Wolf-Fredo (Grilled Chicken Breast with Fettucine in Parmesan Cream Sauce with Pancetta and Garlic)" recipe. Mr Eeeek raises a brow in confusion as he stares at the picture uneasily... "Does this picture frighten you, Mr. Eeeek?" "I-I-I'm allergic to parmesan cream sauce!" stutters the palid man "Please don't hurt me!!!" Inspector Clueless sighs and slowly nods, staring at the ground for a long moment in silence before placing the picture back in his pocket and thanking Mr. Eeeek for his time. Turning to exit the spot underneath the table, it takes Clueless a full 40 minutes before he manages to find a way out...

Inspector I. M Clueless pats Georgia on the back as she cries into his trenchcoat sleave, gently informing her that the coat was just recently washed and thus that her offer to wash it for him with her tears was appreciated but unecessary. Glancing at the Inspector in a confused manner, the volleyball girl sniffs and blinks as she ponders just what in the hell the detective could possibly be talking about... Clueless completely ignores the fact that someone has been murdered and instead focusses on Tyrion the Zombi's mentioning of Wolfgang Puck. After all, the famous chef mysteriously fit right into the investigation's equation... wherever a hamburger helper was to be found, Wolfgang Puck's recipes were sure to follow. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, I. M Clueless takes Georgia by the hand and exclaims: "Come Georgia, I'll need someone of your intelligence for interogating people. I'm certain that you'll easily be able to distinguish whether someone's bluffing or not, and will also be able to help stop me from walking around in circles..." Slowly scouting about the room and approaching Barclay B. Scarlettenniavordsmanville, the Inspector clears his throat to get the pompous man's attention and then mutters: "Mr. Barclay... where were you the night that Wolfgang Puck's Live, Love, Eat! book was first published?" "Wolfgang Puck...?" responds Scarlet in a haughty tone "Why, I never read books on the cuisine of common folk! I don't know what night it was published, and doubt that I would remember what I did on that night regardless. Unless of course it was one of my polo nights..." Inspector I. M Clueless considers this excuse and glances towards Georgia in a concerned manner. Noticing this, she looks up and chirps: "Like, I heard that polo is totally for rich folks, but it's sooooo lame compared to volleyball!" Inspector I. M Clueless carefully considers this statement, then nods and jots down a few more notes on his pad. Leaving Scarlet and thanking him for his time, the Inspector proceeds to wander up to the waiter, Vert Gressman. "Mr. Gressman..." starts Inspector Clueless "... I see that you've made a particularly charming plate of apple pie." "Errr... it's custard salad." responds Vert. "Yes... well, would this salad recipe come from a Wolfgang Puck cookbook by any chance?" "Why no sir... it's a recipe I invented myself." Inspector I. M Clueless turns once again towards Georgia. "Salads are groooooss."

Inspector I. M Clueless reaches into the left pocket of his pant trousers, searching for a spare cigarette and accidentally coming across a small device with a speaker and a flashing red light attached to it. Glancing at the contraption curiously and completely forgetting about the wiretap that he had set up earlier, he holds the speaker up to his ear and listens intently only to hear the sounds of static. Confused by the strange frequencies, he takes the contraption up to the person whom he judges will be the most intelligent of those who have gathered, that person being Georgia... Approaching the volleyball girl and handing her the device, Clueless clears his throat and says: "Well, despite my obvious intelligence and fine sense of judgement, I'm a bit stumped as to what this sound could be. Since you appear to be the most intelligent of the bunch that have gathered here tonight, perhaps you could aid me in finding out what it is..." Georgia glances over the device curiously, wondering what it could possibly be... She couldn't spike it, it didn't fit in her mouth, and it was a bit too small to be a cell phone. Holding the device up to her ear, the answer slowly comes to her: "Like, this is totally the beach! What a neat seashell!" Inspector Clueless nods slowly, jotting down notes. Beach... Willow... Mr. Eek... the hamburger helper... It all was starting to make sense to him now.

Inspector I. M Clueless looks over a tattered map of Disney Land as he hobbles into the doors of the Halloween party, bearing an awkward ressemblence to Professor Plum in his tasteless purple attire. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully and turning towards a nearby lamp resting on a table, Clueless taps the lamp on the shoulder and murmers: "Excuse me... I take it that this is Ayshela's Fall Ball, and thus a place where I might be able to capture Wyvern...?" After a long moment of silence, Inspector I. M Clueless grows angry at the lamp's lack of response and growls: "Excuse me, perhaps you didn't hear my question, thus allow me to reiterate: can I find Wyvern here?" Still no response from the lamp. "That does it... you're acting awfully suspicious, I'm gonna have to take you downtown where we can discuss these things further. You're under arrest! Now, please sit still..." The lamp doesn't move or talk as I. M Clueless attempts to handcuff it, only to find that the circumfrence of the cuff doesn't fit around the lamp. Cursing to himself, the Inspector tries fastening the cuff from numerous angles before giving up in frustration, and collapsing to a sobbing heap on the ground...

*ahem* Inspector I. M. Clueless casually trots into the Cabaret Room, practically barging into a potted plant as he clumsily wanders up to Ozymandias and whispers: "I'd certainly be willing to partake in this investigation... though I must warn you, I already know who did it." With that, I. M. Clueless swiftly locks a handcuff onto Ozymandias' wrist and exclaims. "I'm fully aware that you're behind the entire extravanganza, even before it's started... MR. WYVERN!!!" Ozymandias looks over the Inspector in a confused manner. "Errrr... Inspector... I'm not Wyvern..."