“So tell me about this 40,000 lindens you were carrying around with you?” questions police psychiatrist Maury “Jiff” Monroe at Gaston’s lone sugar house now. *Former* sugar house. He’s unseen in the photo below because of his stature. But his mind, like Hank Graphite’s he’s grilling, is big and bright. This showdown could go on for a while.
“40,001”, answers Hank. “Because I had to bring *you* into being as well.”
Jiff pondered on this, then realized what it meant. “Describe me, then,” he decided to say.
Hank crossed his arms and settled back. “I don’t know. Small… *tiny*. Green — blueish green. Silly, blank expression on your face. I understand you have five. Show me another one.
So Jiff complies with smiley face, replacing the neutral one he had.
“There, that’s better,” Hank cooed. “Now we can maybe get somewhere.” He leans forward again. “Listen, bud… I’m not suppose to be here. It wasn’t suppose to be this way.”
Jiff giggled. “What *do* you mean?” he chirped happily, then decided to change expressions again. “What do you *mean*?” a suddenly surprised, almost shocked Jiff re-asked with different emphasis.
“I mean it was suppose to be *Vilania* I returned to. Not this sim.”
“Gaston? Just so you’ll know, there’s no Berry attached to the name now. Nor the police station.”
Hank waved this bit of information off. Jiff found himself becoming irritated…
… because the loss of Berry was big, big news around these here parts. But the disinterest seems to detach Hank Graphite from that fiasco at least. Loss of the actual Sugar House at the end of Main. Sugar Dumpling gone, taking all the Berries with her, taking Jacob I. with her, and then of course Broken Heart Jackie, who always tags along with his master. And that leaves, let’s see, *him*? Anyone else? He can’t think of one single being. Maybe the punk styled Musician in the Yellow House on the west side of town. We’ll see.
Will he even get paid for his job at the end of the month? The Berries poured in a lot of money, and that flow’s now dried up. He decides he’s now angry. Yes: *angry*. He’s going to demonstrate to this *Halfwit* exactly how important the other half *was*.
“I want to show you something, Hank Graphite,” he measured. “But you have to turn around and shut your eyes. Give me five seconds, and then open your eyes without turning back. Can you do that for me… *bud*?…” But Hank had already whirled around, shut his eyes, and started counting, “Five, Mississippi, four…”
Jiff acted fast. Change of shape, then a quick teleport.
“… one Mississippi…” Hank opened his eyes, turned, then quickly stood up, nerves rattled. Giant Angry Jiff stared down at him from outside.
Point made. Hank shakily handed him another linden when he returned inside.