Chapter Text
It starts shortly after the butter painting fiasco, really truly starts, even though it’s far from their first encounter. Almond’s been chasing Phantom Bleu for some time now, called in to track down a thief that could move so fast and change their face so well that there had to be illicit magic at work. He’s still not entirely sure how they do it. It doesn’t matter how many exits are covered, how many rooftops are stationed with officers, he’d still only ever managed to get close enough to see flashes of turquoise and flax and the glint of a monocle staring down in the moonlight before vanishing in a puff of smoke and spores.
Except that isn’t true, and he knows that now. He’s seen them before too many times to count, at the end of the bar listening to Sparkling's friends recount their latest misadventures, or sitting with Latte and Espresso at the coffee shop, or catching him staring on the train with a hint of amusement in their bright teal eyes. He’s seen them a thousand times on the street, passing through unnoticed like a pretty ghost. He's caught them staring, and he's wondered why their presence felt so familiar, but he hadn't known for sure…
(“You really never told me? You knew this entire time and didn’t think to tell me?”
“You didn’t ask!”
His look should be withering, but Latte’s never been very weak to it, giggling and waving it off.)
But now Almond knows. All the rumors were true. The enigmatic last heir to Blue Cheese Manor and the elusive Phantom Bleu and that oddly pretty stranger really are one and the same. The person of interest they’ve been seeking out for a lead has been having coffee with his ex-girlfriend, for Moonlight’s sake. And he’d finally gotten them, after all this time, because frame job aside, they have a list of charges a mile long, and yet they’d slipped out of the station so easily that Almond feels like they’d allowed themself to be caught in the first place. He’d finally gotten a good look at the shadow he’s been chasing in the sunlight, saw those bright eyes up close from behind iron bars, and now…
Now he’s waiting on a rooftop, binoculars in hand, watching the museum like a hawk. Walnut, curse those big pleading eyes, is on the scene with Butter Pretzel and the other attendees. He’s honestly not sure anymore if he expects the group to be safety in numbers for her, or if she’s there to guide them through this whole affair. A lot of things have changed in the last few days; he’s finally realized how much Walnut takes after him, how much she’s surpassed him, even. It’s not enough that she’d confirmed Phantom Bleu’s real name ages ago while the adults were still chasing leads clear across town, she’d gotten to know them well enough to recognize when they were being framed, for Moonlight’s sake! He’d be embarrassed, if he wasn’t so damn proud. He’s learned his lesson. He trusts his daughter to know what she’s doing.
(He doesn’t want to admit it, but the fact that he’s willing to let Walnut out of his sight means he trusts Roguefort too, if only enough to know they aren’t a danger to her. Their only known modus operandi is to steal from the rich, after all, and as much as he has to acknowledge it as a crime, he at least has the sense to recognize that nobody’s actually gotten hurt.
He hopes it stays that way.)
“Bzzt. Ya seein’ anything up there, Detective Almond Cookie?”
Almond hums to himself, tracking a bird hopping around the museum’s skylight with his binoculars (unlikely, surely, but they are a master of disguise, so-) as he fumbles for his radio. “Nothing of interest yet. Any activity on the ground? Over.”
“Not a peep. Have you tried looking behind you, Detective?”
Almond pales, dropping the radio, and when it hits the ground at his feet, dislodging the compartment cover and revealing a void where a battery should be, his stomach drops with it. “What in the FUCK-?”
There’s a giggle behind him as he whips around, and his fight-or-flight instinct only slightly ebbs when he recognizes the cookie perched on the HVAC unit across the roof. Roguefort seems as cheerful as ever, idly swinging their legs and humming a jaunty (and oddly familiar) tune as they roll the stolen battery in their hand. “Hm, I just realized I forgot to say “over”. Forgive me, my radio etiquette is a bit rusty.”
“What are you doing here?” Almond demands, his hand automatically drifting to rest on his handcuffs.
“Surely you expected me, dear detective! You don’t make it a habit to wait on rooftops for anyone else, no?” They put their hand over their heart, sighing dramatically. “And here I thought I was special!”
Almond would roll his eyes in better circumstances, but he knows better than to break eye contact with them right now. The cuffs hum gently with magic as he unclips them from his belt. He knows they can hear them. He knows they’re aware of his next move. Still, they refuse to look away as well, though their smile seems to widen at the bottom edge of his vision. “Roguefort Cookie, you’re under arrest-”
“On what charges?” they chirp, tilting their head curiously, “I was under the impression that the little detective proved my innocence in that whole silly painting matter.”
“Do you even realize just how many warrants you have out?”
“Oh, of course! I can’t exactly lord my winning streak over Chili Pepper this weekend without a concrete number, can-”
Their eyes flick to the side for just a second, and Almond takes his opportunity, flinging his cuffs at-
A puff of smoke. Damn it! The song returns as a whistle piercing the sky, and he turns to face the building next door, glaring at the silhouette standing on the mechanical shed. “Now that wasn’t very polite, was it? Latte was right, you really can be so brash, can’t you?”
The cuffs return to Almond’s hand, and he scans the area between buildings. There. Minimal gap between the rooftops. He had hoped he could make it home tonight without a hearty round of parkour, but witches forbid anything be that easy. The jump is simple enough, even if he stumbles a bit during the landing, but Roguefort’s reaction makes him scowl. Their applause isn’t exactly sarcastic, but he’s pretty sure at this point that nothing short of them jumping down and offering their wrists could do anything but piss him off right now. “So is that just part of your game, then? Weasel your way into the lead detective’s social circle?”
Their chuckle is just as infuriating as their laugh, especially paired with a flamboyant toss of their braid over their shoulder as they walk across the shed roof. It’s like they expect him to follow, jogging down below to keep up with their long strides above. The smug bastard.
He does, of course, but that’s not the point.
“Oh please, detective, no need to flatter yourself! Leave that to me.”
They hop across to the top of the next roof as effortlessly as stepping onto a curb, and Almond has to catch himself before he can fall, clumsily leaping to the fire escape with a harsh clang. Roguefort doesn’t even flinch, continuing their leisurely stroll as he struggles to catch up. “If you must know, I’ve been acquaintances with Miss Latte for some time now. Imagine my surprise when I found out the lovely lady detective assigned to my case was her former partner! Small world, isn’t it?”
“Oh sure, and I’m sure you had nothing to do with her deciding not to tell me.”
There. The next roof is level with his position. He just has to beat them to it. The metal of the fire escape is obnoxiously loud underfoot, and he can faintly hear residents of the building swearing and clicking on their lights as he passes, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that. Vaulting over the railing is a sickening rush, but he makes it across to the other side, spinning on his heel to search for his adversary’s inevitable shocked face. His exhilarated smile drops at the sight of an empty rooftop, though, leaving him huffing in the cool night air.
“Would you believe I’ve actually suggested she invite you out with us? She was worried you might react-”
Almond whips around with a growl, and at least now Roguefort, perched atop a vent in waiting, has the decency to look a little worried. “-like that, actually!”
The puff of smoke stings Almond’s eyes as he charges through it, and now it’s a proper chase. Pounding feet and pounding heartbeats compose a soundtrack worthy of a heist movie, two silhouettes weaving between structures and leaping across rooftops. It’s hard to tell if Roguefort is truly taking it seriously, or if every instance of Almond nearly catching up, only for them to slip away with a graceful flourish, is them toying with him. It should be infuriating. It shouldn’t be so thrilling.
Better than desk work, at least.
It could be hours, it could be minutes, but finally, Almond sees his opening. An unexpected landing on a loose slip of discarded plastic. A stumble. Arms wheeling to catch balance. He rips the cuffs free almost automatically, tossing them with a wordless yell, and with a cry like a bird struck by a hunter’s bullet-
(he’ll realize that later, and he’ll hate how much it turns his stomach to picture the resemblance.)
-Roguefort crashes to the ground.
Almond finally manages to catch up, struggling to catch enough breath to speak as Rougefort wriggles and forces themself upright on their knees and around to face him.
“Roguefort Cookie, you (huff) y-you are under a-arrest, for attempted robbery of the museum.”
They glance up at him, and the angry red scrape on their cheek sends a pang of guilt down Almond’s throat, but the unfamiliar look of surprise (fear? he honestly hadn't expected them to be
capable
of fear-) on their face abruptly shifts into a cool, effortlessly satisfied grin.
“What
museum, detective?”
Almond blinks, and his jam runs cold when he realizes how much larger the icy tower on the horizon has become. Sure enough, when he glances over his shoulder, the city stretches far behind him. If the museum is even visible from the rooftop they’ve landed on, it’s lost in the fuzzy glow of distant lights. By the time he turns back around, Roguefort has adjusted themself to sit cross-legged, looking far too content for someone with their cuffed wrists resting politely in their lap. They tilt their head with a pleased hum. “Well? I can see the gears turning, detective. Go on.”
“...You did that on purpose. You wanted me to chase you.”
They look almost proud, and it’s a testament to how fast the night has shifted that he can’t even find the time to be irritated. “You,” he continues, unable to keep the note of disquieted awe from his voice, “planned this from the start, didn’t you? You…you wanted to get me alone this whole time? Are you serious?”
“Brilliant deduction, detective,” Roguefort trills, wincing a bit as they reach up to prod at their injured cheek experimentally. “I apologize for the subterfuge, but I wasn’t too keen on the possibility of our conversation being interrupted.”
It takes a moment for Almond to even formulate a response, cocking an eyebrow in utter disbelief. “You’re telling me that you threatened a heist, tricked us into setting up a stakeout, and led me on a wild goose chase, all because you wanted to talk?”
They shrug as best as they can. “You know how much I love my theatrics, dear detective!”
The thief shakes their head with a chuckle, before shooting him a look that almost makes him feel like the unreasonable one. “Besides, would you really have given me the time of day…or night, rather, if I had sent a straightforward note? Or would you have shown up with a wire under your shirt?”
He doesn’t have to answer, because they both know Roguefort is right. That doesn’t make it any less frustrating, though, and Almond pinches his temple with a sigh. He should be tossing them over his shoulder and trying to find a way to call for backup. He should not be humoring them.
…Moonlight damn his curiosity. “Alright, you want to talk? Talk. What was so important that you felt the need to do all of this?”
It’s subtle, but their eyes seem to widen just the faintest bit; their smile melts into something more thoughtful, and they seem pensive for a moment, as if they hadn’t expected to actually get the chance to ask. As if they hadn’t given any thought to how to word their thoughts. The silence is unnerving, more so because Phantom Bleu is never unprepared. Almond’s about to voice his own concerns, but-
“You mentioned my family. You…know of me.”
Almond blinks, taken aback. He’d honestly almost forgotten he’d brought it up, a brief aside more to himself in passing than anything he’d actually meant to voice. “Yes? I mean, you had to have known you were a person of interest.”
“Naturally. But it was still a shock to hear Blue Cheese Manor brought up in association.”
The name leaves their mouth like something barbed and bloodied. Almond chooses to file that away for later, and presses on while he still has the chance. “There wasn’t much else to associate with you, aside from the House title. Your brother and cousin didn’t have much to say about you-”
(Roguefort visibly tenses at that. Another detail to save for later.)
“-and we couldn’t find any records on anyone else. Just rumors, and those aren’t much help either. Half of the damn internet seems to think your family ran off to hide out in the Golden Cheese Kingdom, somehow. Not exactly a lead we could follow.”
Roguefort snorts at that. “You have a point. Even Pure Vanilla doesn’t have a clue where to start looking, unfortunately, though he did asure me after my last visit that if anything comes up I’ll be among the first to know.”
…Huh. Almond blinks at them incredulously, waiting for a “just kidding” that clearly isn’t coming, before sighing deeply, pinching his temples. “Right. Okay. You just…casually visit an ancient warrior king between heists. To ask him about a missing kingdom of gold. Makes sense.”
“Mm. It helps to have friends in high places, dear detective. Have you really never wondered how entire ballrooms full of witnesses always have no helpful information when the investigators arrive on scene?”
“Of course I have. Did you really think nobody ever noticed you don’t wear a mask?”
They hum, leaning forward to rest their chin in their hands as they bat their lashes. “Well, heaven forbid I hide a face this pretty. Distance and the shadows are enough of a mask for me. Nobody sees my face unless I want them to, detective.”
Almond pauses for a second to absorb this information, and the implications thereof, before asking the question he knows they’re waiting on. “So…why me?”
Roguefort tilts their head. “Why did you look up my family? You had your curiosities. I had mine.”
“...And are you satisfied?”
“Are you?”
…No. He’s not. And they clearly know it. “...I think we’re done here.”
Roguefort frowns, and sighs deeply, holding up their wrists. “What a shame. But if you insist…”
Almond reaches down to help them up, only catching the gleam in their eye at the last second. Shit. He jerks back, not sure what to expect, though he’s had enough experience to know he’d rather not risk a face full of smoke. With a smug grin, like they’re performing a magic trick they’ve practiced for years, they sharply yank their wrists apart, and the cuffs-
(the magic cuffs, the cuffs with more enchantments on them than a Parfaedia Institute professor’s favorite amulet, the cuffs that very much should be impossible to unlock without his permission-)
-swing open and fall to the ground with a pathetic clank.
Almond looks at the cuffs. Roguefort looks at Almond.
Almond sighs weakly, glancing up at Roguefort wearily. “The entire time, huh.”
The look they’re giving him should be infuriating. Maybe he’s just too tired to appreciate how much of a bastard they’re being, because he’s certainly too tired to jump when they vanish in a puff of smoke. Nor does he flinch when he hears that damn whistled tune again from behind him, turning to catch the familiar sight of their silhouette framed by the moon on the ledge overlooking the street.
(It feels different this time, though. There’s less of a shadow over their face, an ease to their pose that hides less of their figure behind their cape. They’re still every bit the mystery. But he’s starting to wonder if they meant for tonight to be a hint. If they’ve decided to spice up the game by asking to be solved.)
“The entire time,” they chirp in confirmation, dipping into a dainty bow, before allowing themself to tilt back.
He’s seen this move before nearly a dozen times. He knows they’re going to be just fine, that this is nothing new. Still, it’s become a habit to hurry to the edge of the building, watching them twist in midair like a slender cat and glide to the nearest low rooftop as their cape catches the breeze. They alight as smoothly as a feather drifting to the ground, turning to meet Almond’s gaze one last time with a smile, and he wonders if it’s a trick of the distance that makes it seem less smug than he’d expected. Still, there’s a familiar playfulness to it, and the reason why becomes evident when they produce a small device from their pocket with a flourish, tapping a button on the side and grinning expectantly.
Almond finally does flinch when his phone suddenly erupts in his pocket, fumbling to pull it out and wincing at dozens of missed calls and frantic texts from Walnut.
Phone jammer. Very much illegal. The ass.
By the time he looks back up, they’re shrinking into the distance of the rooftops, followed by a little blur of fluff. Almond shakes his head, nearly swearing as his phone goes off again, and spends the next several minutes promising a panicky Walnut that yes, he’s fine, no, it’s not her fault that everyone else was chasing the cat and he didn’t have backup, sorry, they got away. Again.
“Detective Almond?”
He sighs, but there’s a hint of fondness to it. It’s cute that she insists on addressing him by title on the job. She tries so hard to grow up too fast that it loops back around to reminding him how much growing she has left to do. “Yeah?”
“Did they steal anything?”
She sounds disappointed, and Almond has to hold back a sharp bark of laughter, because Moonlight knows it’ll make her the type of mad that can only be solved with ice cream. “Well…” he muses, pacing as he searches for a way down, “they did take my radio battery-”
“THAT FIEND!”
She’s so loud that he has to pull the phone away from his ear, and this time he can’t hold back a laugh. Ah well. He was already planning on picking her up and heading for the nearest parlor after he files his report.
If he can find a ride back, that is.
~*~
“Oooooh, don’t look now Bleu, but trouble just walked in.”
Roguefort does look, actually, because they’re nothing if not curious by nature, but they at least have a sense to keep it subtle. Brief glance to their peripheral. Just a quick flicker of turquoise, long enough to get a glimpse. Hopefully not long enough for Almond to know they looked.
(He does, and his brow furrows, but he says nothing.)
They aren’t bothered, naturally. It’s not the first time they’ve been here at the same time, nor will it be the last. He knows just as well as anyone else here that the bar is strictly a neutral zone; leave all grudges at the door. Try anything, making an arrest, indulging in an old feud, anything, and have fun getting dragged out by Sparkling, or tossed out by that odd little boyfriend of his with the silly laugh and affinity for dangerous plants. Sparkling is very pointedly giving him a Look already, and following his eyes tells them that Almond has very wisely decided to pass by their rowdy group to move further down the counter.
“You looooooked.”
They scoff. “Is there anyone here not looking, Chili Pepper? Heaven forbid a lovely lady entering a hole in the wall like this goes unnoticed.”
Sparkling swats them lightly with his notepad for that comment, before detaching from the group to take the newcomer’s order. Hopefully he’ll be a distraction; as cool as Roguefort is playing it, they’re starting to find it rather difficult to ignore the detective’s fascinating stare the longer they feel his eyes on them. “Now then, I believe that you were about to recap your monthly activities? I really would like to know how much I’ve beaten you by this time.”
That does it, and the redhead is off to the races now, hastily slapping down a stack of wanted posters and launching into a detailed breakdown of exactly how many lawpersons she’s pissed off recently. As always, Rye is across the room at her preferred booth glaring daggers when Roguefort sneaks a glance. It’s amusing, and her tales are as animated as always, but for some reason, they find it hard to pay much attention. The night has just felt…off, and they’re not entirely sure why.
Maybe it’s just been a long week. Timekeeper hasn’t provided any updates on potential sightings of the heirloom. Eclair has very cooly been replying to their inquiries with a suggestion to spend less time chasing sparkling things and more time in the library if they’re so concerned with history all of the sudden. The last visit to the hotel was at least eventful, if a tad more exhausting than expected; perhaps Earl Grey isn’t much in the mood to speak to them more than necessary these days, but the twins are more than willing to make up for it. And that’s not even taking into account the whole painting affair, and escaping jail, and their little rooftop game with…
“Are you satisfied?”
…but surely it isn’t Almond’s doing. He only just got there. They’ve been off their game all night. That’s all. It has nothing to do with the healing scrape itching up a storm under their makeup, either.
“-‘ey ROGUEFORT! Ya listening?”
They manage to not react, merely blinking back at her casually, though they are a bit unsettled how easily their mind wandered. How long have they been lost in their own musings? “Of course I am. You just had such a busy month that I seem to have lost count.”
Chili Pepper looks more smug than they’ve ever seen her, grinning like she just discovered a seven figure bounty on her latest poster. “A hundred and twelve, cheesy. Everyone else is outta the running. What did you say your count was again?”
A hundred and twelve? How long have they been zoned out?
They finally wince when it sinks in. They must’ve been off their game for a while. It’s a new experience to lose this little running game of theirs, and a neat little blow to their pride. Still, they at least have enough dignity to not be a sore loser. “Mm, well then…I may have to concede this time, unfortunately. By my last count, I’ve only managed one hundred and eleven charges this month. What a shame.”
Everyone, including a newly-rejoined Sparkling, is reacting to that with surprised whistles and squabbles over won or lost bets, and Chili’s eyes are practically glittering with excitement, but before she can start celebrating a long-awaited victory-
“One-thirteen.”
Now Roguefort reacts, quickly turning in their stool to where Almond is looking over his shoulder at the group. When on Earthbread had he walked by? And what had he just said?
“One-thirteen,” he repeats, answering a question none of them had asked, “you got a hundred and thirteen charges. Using an illegal signal jammer on my phone for one. And someone at the precinct was petty enough to put “theft of one two-way radio battery” on the rap sheet. Your final count is one-thirteen.”
The entire bar has gone utterly silent, so much so that the sudden sharp peal of laughter Roguefort lets out startles even themself, though they’re too tickled to care.
“THAT IS SOME BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT! YOU NEED TO FILE A COMPLAINT OR SOMETHING ROGUEFORT, THAT’S A TRUMPED UP CHARGE IF I’VE EVER HEARD ONE-”
Roguefort tries their best to dial back their amusement, though it’s hard to when Chili Pepper is having a conniption, and the regulars are egging her on, and Rye is audibly losing her shit in her booth. They wipe at their eyes, hazy from the force of their laughter, and when they glance up at Almond, their smile only spreads when they see one tugging at his own face. The detective gives the thief a subtle nod, before turning back to head for the door, and Roguefort stares after him with a sudden sense of wonder.
How utterly fascinating.
They turn around to address their very displeased friend before Almond gets out the door, which means they completely miss his hesitation when his hand lands on the handle. The night outside and the inside of the bar are different worlds, almost. When he steps out he’s going back to a brief weekend reprieve before returning to endless incident reports and biding time between the moonlit chases that frustrate him endlessly but give him the adrenaline to move for once. The bar is nothing like the office, with warm lighting and decorated walls and sweet drinks and life. The bar has life, and energy, and plays host to a living mystery that almost seems to demand his attention and, as he’s just found out, has a lovely laugh, and…
…Oh, do not even start with that bullshit, woman. You’re not doing this.
Almond shakes his head, shoulders through the door, and heads for home.