A/N:

Alright, alright, so. I will warn in advance, the premise of this fic might be off-putting.

So, that Velma show. A series that was the thing everyone was mad at for about a week and then immediately forgot about. I won't make a farce, it wasn't good. It was, in fact, really bad.

But…

It had a couple of ideas that I found genuinely interesting, and I wish were executed better. So! Here I am, giving it my best shot at a sort of… rewrite? Idk.

Primarily what I'm taking from Velma is the base character designs, and story structure, it's not going to be 1/1 at all - I kind of want this fic to be it's own thing, but… Yea. That show's a foundation lol.

I won't say I'm a great writer, but I hope it's at least an enjoyable mystery. Much love, everyone.

—-

Minor 9th - LA Noire, Composed by Andy Hale.

( watch?v=_H-gpgL17F4)

It was a hard day's night at the Dinkley Detective Agency. The world outside was nearly pitch-black, with sparse moonbeams providing only the tiniest crumbs of illumination. Raindrops thwacked against the concrete ground, periodically punctuated by claps of thunder.

The only person inside of the cramped corner office was the company's namesake, Velma Dinkley. She was dressed in a long, gray trench-coat - with a fedora covering her eyes, fat stogie between her lips, and a glass of fine Kentucky bourbon in her left hand.

The mood wasn't dower, though. It was a celebration! She'd finally cracked a case that'd been stumping piggies down at the precinct for years. Findin' out the identity of a deranged serial killer, who'd been cutting off girls' skull-caps and extracting their brains.

Her expert analysis was able to bust it wide-open within a month. She didn't blame anyone, though, who could've known it was Professor Wayne - owner of the local aquarium?

Gripping the cigar between her fingers, she held her head back and blew out a puff of smoke. If this wasn't the American Dream, she didn't know what was.

But alas, the world arrived with a frustrating wake-up call.

"Thank god I've found you." A mysterious person whispered to themself, as they drove into the parking lot of a small Laundromat. Their personalized, metallic purple, & fresh off the production line 2003 Lamborghini Murciélago stuck out like a sore thumb against a crowd of beige Toyota Camrys and gray Honda Civics.

The car pulled into a spot, and out stepped the mysterious person. their identity was concealed with pure style - Large sunglasses were the exclamation point on a fluffy winter coat and scarf combo. They walked over to one of the various parked vehicles, a 1960s VW Type-Two MicroBus. As if that style of bus didn't immediately give its age away, it was painted a lively mix of green and blue with a flowery pattern.

Jeez, this thing needed a car wash…and a repaint. And a new interior. Better yet, just sell it to the scrapyard and just buy a new one! They took a deep breath, before knocking on one of the filthy windows.

Inside was Velma. Having intended to just take a quiiick nap while her laundry dried…but then she slept through her timer, and ended up sleeping for at least 4 hours. The knock so graciously brought her back to the land of the living - with a fright, too.

"W-who's there?!" Velma screeched, grabbing her glasses off the floor and putting them on. "I swear, I…wasn't sleeping, just… laying down for a bit!" She tried to swiftly get to her feet, but her back ached from sleeping on that uncomfortable bench-seat. God damned Scoliosis, always making things worse.

Outside the windows was an unfamiliar figure, in a strangely puffy coat, sunglasses, and with burning red-orange hair. Velma tried to be optimistic. Maybe it was a new client! Or the landlord telling her to piss off..

Velma opened up the door and rolled out, stretching as her feet hit the ground. Her back let out an aggressive pop. Looking over at the unfamiliar figure, wait a moment, that hair looked strangely familiar…Could it be? She took off her glasses and tried to clean them on her sweater. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind. "Good afternoon! I'm Velma Dinkley, how can I help?" Said with her best customer service voice and a confident smile.

The unfamiliar other party let out a small sigh, as they grabbed their sunglasses and pulled 'em off. Revealing the unmistakable face of one Daphne Blake. A 24-year-old Taiwanese redhead, with more money than she knew what to do with. She was, to put it frankly- beautiful. Soft, silky, clear skin and the face of an angel.

But Velma didn't care how good she looked! A pretty face can't hide an ugly soul.

"Hi, Velma, uh.." Daphne awkwardly fidgeted.

"What do you want?" Velma sharply asked, crossing he arms.

"Oh, I just wanted to catch up! See how've you been?" Daphne ssqueaked, with an insincere smile. Trying to put on the charm. "You look phenominal, by the way."

Sharply exhaling, Velma pulled off her glasses pinched the bridge of her nose. "Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining…" After years of Daph's popular-girl posse telling Velma that she was the ugliest thing they'd ever seen, it rang a tiny bit insincere.

Velma's appearance was rather…unique. She was 25, and of Indian descent. Rather chubby, 250-ish pounds. Her primary attire consisted of a mustard-yellow sweater and a short red pleated skirt. On her face was a pair of square glasses, without which she was blind as an eyeless shrimp. A bit of a social outcast, an easy target.

Daphne just dropped the whole nice girl act. In fact, her whole posture just kind of drooped. "Look. You're the last person I can turn to, I need your help. Please."

Choking back her emotions, if just for a moment, Velma raised a confused eye-brow and asked "What happened?"

"It's…my parents…" Daphne's voice was shaky, her hands clasped.

"Oh, I heard…I'm really sorry for you." The incident was big news a few months back, unavoidable really. Two famous tycoons just dropping dead out of nowhere, official cause of death was undiagnosed heart conditions. "But, I- what can I do?"

Daphne took a deep breath, readying her sales pitch. "I know for a fact that it wasn't natural causes. They were murdered."

She was very obviously having a rough time grieving, so Velma tried to be sympathetic. Just asking, "But, why come to me? You're like, a millionare. You can afford someone with like, an entire agency of people…"

"Every private investigator turned me down flat..." Daphne sniffled, as she awkwardly reached into her pocket - pulling out a letter. "I-I didn't have any evidence, It was just a hunch, until…this showed up in my mailbox."

"We won't tell you twice. There is no deeper truth about your parents. Stop searching. It won't end well for you." It was a threatening letter, in classic newspaper cutout style.

"Fine." Velma resigned after reading the paper. Clearly, there was something deeper to this.

After a second, Velma continued. "We'll work out the payment afterwards, okay?" Trying to be gracious, even though she was basically flat broke. She ran the detective agency out of her van and so far - all the work she'd gotten was barely enough to pay for gas and food.

Though, In her heart, she knew that this might be her big break. That one serious case that she could prove herself with! Plus, Daphne was like- rich as shit. Maybe she'd have enough for a downpayment on an apartment, or- just at least to keep herself afloat.

"Oh, I, uh…" Daphne let out a small sigh. "Look, I don't really have a lot of liquid income right now. It's all tied up in stocks and assets."

This crushed Velma's spirits. Of course, the person richer than an entire neighborhood was trying to stiff her. "Uh-huh." She grunted, not really knowing what the hell that meant - but got the clear implication. "So, what I'm hearing is you want me to work pro-bono?"

Daphne just nodded.

Velma sharply groaned, but relented. Reminding herself, 'big break.' "Fiiiiine, god. I guess I owe you for covering me at Spooner's all those years ago. But after this, we're even."

Turning around, she gestured for Daph to hop on board, to which she did. The Rich Girl was punched with what felt like rotten air inside the van, she just ssat down on one of the seats and folded her hands in her lap.

Grabbing a trusty notebook and matching pen from the glove compartment, Velma sat down next to her 'old friend'. "Alright, tell me everything you know. Even the smallest detail could be a viral clue."