((Trying something a little weird, here. Think film noir meets Mystery Dungeon and they get into a drunken brawl. Or go home to play Snakes and Ladders together, whatever. Basically, a Weavile and Mothim go solve some mysteries, wackiness ensues. I'm not too used to writing first person, so feedback's appreciated. Um... enjoy?)) Thierry Blackwell, Private Eye. The sign wasn't too pretty, by any means; I couldn't help noticing a trickle of still-wet black paint trickling down the rough wood, an inky teardrop being shed by the end of Blackwell. If I was gonna expect any success in this line of business, I had to be able to make a good first impression. A sign that vaguely reminded one of a drooling Slowpoke was not apt to inspire thoughts of a devious mind and a rapier wit. Well... such was the small price to pay for keeping a Mothim off one's back for a few minutes. I suppose I ought to have been thankful that Basil had managed to spell everything correctly, though. I did my best to wipe the underwhelmed stare off my face and nodded. "Yeah, it's a real great sign, all right. One glance at that thing and the troubled masses will be lining up at our door." A baldfaced lie if ever there was one, but Basil looked tickled pink to hear it anyway. "See? I thought so too, Thierry. I'm gonna hang it up right now! Just you wait, we're gonna be household names soon. Thierry Blackwell, Weavile extraordinaire and remarkable sleuth... and, of course, me. Basil, his faithful sidekick and detecting aide. I was gonna put my name up on the sign too, but then I ran outta room. I thought about writing it on the back, but then I realized... hey, no, if I hang the sign up nobody will see the back! Pretty smart thinking, right? Right, Thierry? Right?" Mew Almighty, that bug never quit. There weren't a lot of things that Basil could do better than I could. Flying was one of them, and blabbering was another. Only one of the aforementioned talents were useful, and you can guess which one that was. He could have a bright future as somebody's yes-man, though. Maybe not me; I'm not the type that's easily flattered. I won't hesitate to admit that I'm a brilliant detective, perhaps even the most brilliant one around. Or only one around, which would of course make me most brilliant by default. But Weavile extraordinaire? I fit the Weavile part of the bill, and that was about it. I have a "lithe build," which is a polite way of saying I'm scrawny as a twig, and I'm pretty pale by Weavile standards. Most Sneasels native to the northern regions are born with a lighter blue coloration, to help us blend in with the snow, but it looks pretty outta place when you're down in the sunny south. That, and my ears are just... massive. Basil doesn't notice them much, since he's got brows the size of Caterpies sticking out of his face, but then again... eh, there's a lot Basil doesn't notice. Prime choice of "sidekicks," this one. Which, it's worth noting, he wasn't. My sidekick. It doesn't even make sense to have a sidekick. I may be severely lacking in the trenchcoat and fedora department, but I also don't own a cape and tights. "Whatever you say, kid. And by the way... you're my secretary, that's it." Geez. Basil looked positively crestfallen at that. He must have been real keen on tagging along on my daredevil detecting capers. Action-packed stakeouts, thrilling investigations involving attempting to collect fingerprints from a Wooper, being constantly reminded that Pokemonkind is not exactly the gleaming diadem of brilliance and morality, and all that wonderful stuff. Not that I'm terribly experienced in such matters, to be honest. My new headquarters was just that. Brand spanking new. Today had been our moving day, and we'd done a pretty good job. A nice cave, secured with a solid wooden door over the mouth. Two snug little beds inside; a nice little nest of straw for me, and a weird-looking case Basil had made himself out of mud and leaves. These were against the northern and eastern wall, respectively, and a quaint little table and chairs took the western side. A cupboard occupied that corner, though there wasn't much more than a couple apples inside. Yeah, it was technically our home. but it had a nice, professional desk and chair taking center stage. I'd even picked up a typewriter off of one of those Kecleon merchants. Claws aren't much use for typing, it turns out, but Basil's got a knack for it. Hence the secretary title. "Secretary... well, okay, but that's only when we don't have a case. When we have sleuthing to do, though, I get to be the sidekick." "Oh... very well, Basil. When we get a case, you can be my sidekick. But that's only if we get a case." That cheered the little guy right up. He went right back to putting up the sign, and I went right back to watching him, hands on my hips. Yes, it was a nice cave, in spite of the ugly sign, but that didn't guarentee business. The area was home to many rescue teams, after all, and Pokemon tended to feel much safer unloading their problems on experienced fighters. Sigh. Most Pokemon did, anyway. "You're looking for a case, are you?" From behind me, a low, breathy voice. Little more than a seductive purr, really. Now this sounded promising. "Maybe I can be of help."