The Trottingham Gutters

Chapters

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

Chapter 1

Her hooves skidded against the cobbles as she galloped down the street. The little filly dashed through the crowd, feeling the chill autumn wind whip against her purple mane and dig into the orange fur that covered her scrawny frame. Her eyes registered the faces of surprised shopkeepers and pedestrians as she ducked and weaved through crowds of ponies. A small pair of wings lay flat against her sides. Not for the first time, the filly wished that she could simply take to the air, but her tiny, stunted wings did not give her the natural pegasus gift of flight.

Behind her, wearing a face contorted in anger, a finely dressed, black-maned stallion pursued her across the road. He was driven to catch her and it seemed nothing was going to stop him. His target’s dexterity let her weave through the crowds with ease, but he simply barreled through anypony not quick enough to get out of his way.

“Get back here, child!” the stallion said, managing to get across the thick, condescending accent of a noble-blooded pony even as he gasped for breath. One only had to look at his clothes to verify that he was one of the privileged members of the Trottingham elite. He wore a clean cotton shirt, a pressed dress jacket and a black well-to-do bowler. Unfortunately, his attire was not doing him any favors as he ran towards the filly.

Scootaloo grunted through her teeth as she picked up speed. She knew why this noble was chasing after her. In her mouth she held the stallion’s coin purse. Judging from the sounds of the coinage inside, it was probably going to be the best haul she had gotten all month.

“Unhand my pouch this instant!” the stallion yelled. Scootaloo rolled her eyes and quickly rounded a corner to gain some ground on her pursuer. She noticed, just in time, a fruit vendor’s stall right in front of her path. Scootaloo acted quickly. She leapt forward, effortlessly passing over the rows of fruit for sale and drawing out a gasp of surprise from the mare watching the produce. The stallion was nowhere near as agile as the filly. He slipped against the cobbles and slammed hard against the side of the stall. Pears, apples and plums splatted against the ground, causing a fierce verbal assault to issue forth from the salespony.

The stallion’s mind was more focused on keeping his balance and catching the now rapidly escaping filly. He kept on galloping, just barely managing to keep her in view. He was lucky the little thief was apparently flightless. Otherwise, his earth pony self would stand no chance at catching up.

Scootaloo dashed forward as fast as she could. She knew that, compared to other ponies, she didn’t have much speed. But that didn’t really matter when you knew the terrain as well as she did. Past the buildings racing by her, Scootaloo spied a multitude of tall, angular silhouettes. She grinned; she was close to the Stacks.

They were the closest thing that Trottingham had to ruins, and the closest thing Scootaloo had to a home. It was filled with dangerous, crumbling buildings that stretched far up into the sky. Most ponies called it a deathtrap, but if you knew your way around it, it was a great place to live. Most of the time. This stubborn stallion wouldn’t dare follow her there. None of the “proper” ponies ever went down into the Stacks.

Still rushing down the wide market streets, Scootaloo suddenly turned and dove into a nearby alley. It seemed random, but Scootaloo knew better. The alley was the quickest and nearest route to get from the markets to the Stacks.

After several more minutes of running, Scootaloo cautiously slowed down to a trot. Her ears picked up only the sound of her own hooves and the gentle creaking and crumbling of the decrepit structures that surrounded her. Like all her previous marks, her pursuer must have heard what happened to ponies who went into the Stacks and wisely decided that a bag of bits wasn’t worth his life.

Her hooves finally stopped. She let the bit bag drop from her mouth and clink against the ground. She felt the adrenaline in her fade let herself smile. She had been so nervous about stealing, back when she had just started; taking from other ponies had rubbed her the wrong way. But it was like what her sister had told her a long time ago: If you weren’t willing to take, the world wasn’t willing to give.

Scootaloo undid the strings of the bag and the glitter of coins greeted her eyes. It seemed the stallion wasn’t just well off, he was positively loaded. This wasn’t just the most she’d make all month; this was the best catch she’d seen all year. Scootaloo’s mouth watered. She pictured a dazzling array of cakes, sweets, and cupcakes which she would soon be able to enjoy. She wouldn’t even be fishing them out of a dumpster!

Her reverie was short lived, however, as an unexpected sound suddenly broke through to her perception.

“There you are m’dear.” said a polite, masculine voice which was very nearly right behind her.

Scootaloo’s head turned just enough to catch a glimpse of the stallion whom she had thought she lost mere moments before. The stallion’s eyes were smoothly trained on her. His appearance was a little worse for wear: sweat drenched his fancy clothes and his hat had been lost somewhere along the way. If Scootaloo was any judge, this appeared to be one determined pony. He charged straight down the alley.

Scootaloo didn’t waste any time. She scooped up the bit bag and bolted away from the enraged stallion. This was weird. Nopony had ever tried to follow her into the Stacks. Maybe he was stupid or something? Regardless, there was one surefire way to lose him, even if he was crazy enough to follow her.

“Slow down, child!” the stallion entreated. “While I am slightly cross at your filthy behavior, I only wish to reacquire my belongings! Afterwards, we may both go about our business!” Scootaloo didn’t say a word as she led him further into the Stacks.

She was nearly there. She just needed to go a little bit further. Her dexterous hooves glided on the pavement, as she performed a hairpin turn and made her way into a very thin and claustrophobic passageway.

The stallion followed, smashing against the opposite wall as he struggled to copy the thief’s maneuver. He soldiered through it. It was only a matter of time before he caught up to her. The filly may have had more agility, but he had his earth pony endurance. He galloped into the alley. To his distaste he found it was a tight squeeze; brickwork flanked him with barely two inches of space on either side. Still, he had seen what was up ahead. It seemed that this young cutpurse had just run herself into a-

Dead end. “I have you now.” they both thought simultaneously.

She gently slowed to a stop, as the alley terminated in an abrupt wall of shoddy masonry and flaking stone. Very carefully, she managed to turn her body around in the cramped quarters and faced towards her pursuer. The stallion also slowed. He looked at Scootaloo with an expression of relief and took a moment to catch his breath.

“It would appear you have trapped yourself, child,” he said, no trace of malice in his voice. He stepped forward until he was just short of Scootaloo’s small frame and gave her a gentle smile. “Now, if you would just be so kind as to hand back my property,” he said, extending a hoof. “we may go our separate ways.”

Scootaloo eyes scanned over the stallion’s body. Fit, but not too fit; probably not used to sudden movements. It was the perfect scenario. She nodded before speaking, “Alriffht,” the bag in her mouth garbling her speech. “You gotsch me.” With a small “plyeh” sound she spat the bag onto the cobbles, not quite close enough for the stallion to reach. “I know when a pony’s cornered.”

“Good,” the stallion chipperly replied. “It is pleasant to see one’s lessers act in such a reasonable manner.” He gave Scootaloo another warm smile and let it drop when Scootaloo did not return it. “But yes, if you would just return my belongings, m’dear.” He motioned his hoof back and forth.

Scootaloo let her ears droop ever so slightly and subtly flexed her wings, working out the kinks. She kept her eyes fixed to the bag, not making eye contact with the stallion. “Alright, mister. But I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take pity on a poor, hungry foal and just let me have the bag?” Her voice sounded meek and faltering. At least, she hoped it did; it had taken weeks of practice to get it just right.

“I think whatever pity I may have possessed evaporated when you made off with my pouch,” the stallion replied. “Though if you are truly in need, there are several houses for the poor. I would be more than happy to direct you to them,” as he spoke his tone dipped. This was taking entirely too long, and the trapped filly seemed far too calm given the circumstances. The looming buildings and his current, cramped situation screamed at him to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Scootaloo heard the stallion’s honeyed words. But her sisters had told her all about the poorhouses. She was never going to step hoof in them for as long as she lived. Her eyes still glued to the ground, she continued, “Really? There are houses for ‘lesser’ ponies like myself? I had no idea there was a place for me.”

There was a small pop from Scootaloo’s back. Her wings gently fanned out.

The stallion didn’t notice. “It’s true, child. I know of just the place.” he dipped his head lower, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I can show you right where it is.” Scootaloo slowly tilted her head up and appeared to return the stallion’s smile. His neck still dipped low, he gave a couple of quick nods. “You will be able to leave these filthy buildings behind you and we will find you place where you will do some good. So just give me back my pouch and everything will be al-”

Without any warning, Scootaloo smacked her right hoof into the coin bag in front of her. The bag slid through the legs of the stallion, coming to a stop several feet beyond him. The stallion’s muzzle tilted to watch the bag slide past him. He turned his head back up just in time to see a tiny hind leg heading straight towards his forehead.

Wings buzzing furiously, Scootaloo impacted the distracted noble’s head. He let out a shocked “Hrrk!”, as her hoof made contact in the center of his face. The sudden weight caused the stallion’s chin to smash against the ground. He cried out in pain. Scootaloo extended her hind leg and leapt off, her wings providing just enough lift to propel her right in front of the bag of coins. She swiveled her head back and took in the sight of the groaning stallion.

“Like I said, I know when a pony’s cornered,” she quipped, her voice resuming it’s usual high-pitched and scratchy candor. “And right now, you seem pretty cornered.” She scooped up the pouch with a happy smirk.

The stallion blinked dazedly, trying to regain his bearings. He rubbed his sore chin. “That was quite painful...” he growled. He was still facing the now vacant dead end where the little thief had been, moments before. He prepared to turn and resume his chase, but it only took a second for him to realize a simple fact of the cramped passage: it was too tight for him to turn around in. The filly’s small size had allowed her to turn around and perform her little trick, but his larger size simply wouldn’t allow it.

Scootaloo watched with satisfaction as the large (and in her opinion, rather stupid) pony thrashed against the brick walls. “You...” the embarrassed noble began. “You little rat! How dare you trick me! Return to me the goods that are rightfully mine, or I swear your life will become very unpleasant!” Lacking any other options, the stallion started to slowly back out of the long corridor, a task hindered by his lack of posterior vision.

Scootaloo could barely contain her laughter at the threats coming from the slowly advancing hindquarters. He could certainly talk, but she was going to be long gone by the time he managed to worm his way out from where he was stuck.

She transferred her ill-gotten gains from her mouth to her back. “Oh, I’m real scared,” she mocked. “I just love ponies like you: deep pockets and the brains of a brick!”

The stallion’s face reddened. “You don’t even understand the importance of what you have taken from me, you foolish urchin!” He grunted in frustration as his flank lightly clipped the bricks at his side.

“You think you’re better than me? Just ‘cause you speak fancy doesn’t make you any less of an idiot who ran right into a trap! You and your type are so full of yourselves!” she sneered. “Just keep on thinking I’m some type of worse pony, just cause I wasn’t born in a golden stable! I’m gonna make better use of this money than you ever would!” With that, the filly flicked her tail and stuck out her tongue. The gestures went unseen by the struggling stallion, but Scootaloo didn’t really care. She checked to make sure her recent acquisition was safely balanced on her back, then smartly trotted away.

He had only gotten halfway out when he could no longer make out the echoes of the filly’s footsteps. He had underestimated her, letting his concern for those beneath his station cloud his judgement. Still, this was, at most, only a setback. This uncultured, little gutter filly, whatever her name was, was not going to get away so easily. It was absolutely crucial that he retrieved his property. After all, his current failure notwithstanding, how difficult could it be to track down one orphan foal?

“You lousy varmints!”

The sturdy, orange mare with the blonde mane yelled and shook her hoof furiously as the black maned stallion sped off. It was no use. He was already out of earshot amidst the shouts of the other marketplace hawkers.

“When I find you, you’re payin’ for every last pound ah produce!” She yelled again, but she knew it wasn’t going to do her any good.

The orange mare, wearing a stylish stetson, surveyed the squashed produce that had so recently tumbled from her stand. Most of it was ruined, which deepened the frown on the freckled mare’s face. Her family depended on her to bring in the bits, at least while her brother was still looking for work. But how was she supposed to sell bruised pears and crushed apples?

The mare’s name was Applejack. She and her big brother and little sister had moved into Trottingham not more than six months ago. Adjusting to a new life in the city had been difficult for everyone, but they had to move where the money was. Her cutie mark, three delicious red apples, marked her special talent for farming, but the closest thing she could find to farming in a city was working the fruit stands. She didn’t even grow what she sold anymore, the entire situation, well...

It was a load of horse-apples. If you could pardon the language.

That stallion had been chasing after that little filly – the one with an orange coat, just like hers , and a purple mane. Applejack had seen her stalking around the market before, occasionally buying but mostly just idling around. She had never taken the little one for a pickpocket, but that seemed the most likely explanation for the way she was being chased like a sheep in a wolf den.

It was a shame really, but Applejack would need to report her to the proper authorities. Soon as she figured where exactly the proper authorities were, in this place. She’d always prided herself on trying to make an honest living. It just wouldn’t sit right with her if that filly continued her dishonest activities. Especially if those activities led to angry ponies crashing into her stand.

Anywho, her future plans could wait for the more pressing matter of rescuing the day’s profits. Piling up what little she could salvage from the remains of the fruit back onto her stand, she plodded back behind her stand to her post.

“Get your fresh fruit here!” Applejack yelled. “Slightly bruised and somewhat used! Special clearance price, fillies and gentlecolts!”

Chapter 2

Gentle snoring emanated from behind the closed door of Police Constable Rainbow Dash’s office. Inside, a pegasus snoozed. Her light blue coat and rainbow mane rendered her in striking contrast to the browns and whites of her surroundings. Her rear hooves were laid out on top of her wooden desk. She was leaning backwards in a chair that was situated precariously on it’s two back legs.

There was a sudden knock on the door.

Rainbow Dash opened her eyes with a short gasp and felt the pull of gravity tilt her backward. She crashed to the ground her arms flailing in a vain attempt to arrest her fall. Overdue forms and half-finished paperwork flew everywhere. The ground met her body and she let out a short yelp. The pain evaporated the haze of sleep. Someone was just outside her door. Displaying the talent that earned her her lightning bolt cutie mark Rainbow Dash shot to her feet.

“Just a minute!” she called out. She began to gather up the papers now splayed across her floor, cursing herself for falling asleep on the job... again.

She bent down to retrieve a district report from under her desk and heard a door knob turn.

“Uh, scuse’ me, Officer, is everything alright in here?” A concerned, freckled face of a mare poked through the door frame.

Rainbow Dash’s head shot up to address her office’s intruder but was stopped short by the bottom of her desk.

She yelped a second time. She moved her head out and gave the mare her best winning smile. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine! Just, uh, the, uh,” her words floundered for a moment. “Standard emergency office response drill!”

The mare gave Rainbow Dash a confused nod as she stepped through the door’s threshold. “I see,” she said slowly and carefully. “Looks like to me you responded pretty darn well.”

“Yeah, heh, gotta be ready for anything, anywhere, y’know?” She let out a small, forced chuckle.

“Ah’ can see that.”

A brief silence passed between the two.

“So,” Rainbow Dash began, “what can I do for you Miss...?”

“Right, where are my manners? The name’s Applejack.” She extended her hoof.

“Rainbow Dash.” She took the offered hoof and gave it a firm shake.

“Nice to meet ya, Miss Dash. The colt at the front told me you were the one I needed to talk to.”

“He did?” Dash gave her a look of disbelief. She’d only been on the force for a month, she didn’t understand why he would send this mare to her, specifically.

“Sure did,” Applejack continued, “said you’d be pleased as punch to hear me out. Ya see, I’m having a little problem with a criminal down in the marketplace.”

“Problem? Criminal?” Dash echoed, an unmistakable tone of excitement creeping into her voice.

“Exactly. See, I sell fresh fruit down there, at my stand. So I’m just trying to earn a living, hawking my wares. All of a sudden this stallion knocks down my stand while he was chasing a fi-”

“Say no more, Applejack!” Dash interrupted. She stamped her hoof on the ground. “They don’t call me Rainbow ‘Danger’ Dash for nothing! I’ll find this stallion and make him pay! I’ll hunt him down and tie him to a street pole! I’ll charge him with property damage and conspiracy to resist arrest!”

“What?” Applejack blinked at the now grinning constable, “No, I don’t want you to arrest the stallion. I don’t want anyone arrested. I’m talking about the-”

“This is going be so awesome! I bet there’ll be a huge chase and he’ll try and get away and I’ll just tackle him and say something snappy!”

“You’re not listening to me, Miss Dash. If you’d stop interrupting me I could tell you-”

“Something like, ‘Hey stand-smasher! Meet the crime-smasher!’ Yeah, that’ll show him!”

Applejack groaned and smacked a hoof onto her forehead.

“I’m just itching to get started! Tell me what the punk looks like and I’ll nab him in no time!” Rainbow sifted through the pile of papers scattered around her office and emerged with a pen in her mouth. She trotted over to her desk and grabbed a sheet from the top of one of the many piles on top of it. She looked expectantly at a now-glaring Applejack.

“Alright, Miss Dash.’ Applejack started to dictate. “Pegasus, messy orange coat, purple mane, fast as a whip, pretty scrawny, no cutie mark, about the height of my little sister.”

Rainbow Dash nodded after each item and added it to her list. Once her irked informant had finished she finally took in what she had written.

“What the heck kind of stallion is this?” she shouted after several moments, “This sounds more like some kind of kid!”

“I reckon that’s because it is, Miss Dash.” Applejack deadpanned.

“What? What are you trying to pull here? You want me to find your perp or not?”

“No! I mean yes, but the stallion isn’t who I’m talking about! I’m here about the little filly who stole from him! If you had just listened to me for ten seconds, instead of going off wherever it was you were going, you would know that by now!” Applejack’s voice steadily gained volume as she talked, by the time she reached her final words she could be heard throughout the police station.

There was a long silence.

“Oh...” Dash sheepishly replied. “gotcha.”

Applejack cheeks turned red as she realized just how loud she had gotten. “Listen, Miss Dash, I didn’t mean to shout like that. I’m just a bit ornery from all that’s happened today.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Dash said. “I just got a little carried away, thinking I’d finally be able to do some real police work.”

“Whaddya mean?” Applejack asked.

“Real police work, chasing down crooks, running through the streets. Y’know, all the cool stuff. Not spending all my time,” she motioned to the carpet of forms around her, “filling out paperwork.”

“Not what you expected when you got here, huh?” Applejack said sympathetically.

“Not at all. I mean, I haven’t even been here very long, but this city is already leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Blech!” Dash said, punctuating her sentence with a retching noise.

“I know what you mean. Me and my kin came here after that parasprite infestation in Ponyville ruined our farm. It ain’t easy living here.”

Both mares looked at each other with a kind of sad, mutual understanding. Nothing felt quite right about this city, or about anything really. Neither could shake the feeling that their lives were meant to be different, somehow.

“So,” Dash said, shaking off the moment. “You’re looking for a filly?”

Applejack nodded. “That’s right. Near as I can tell, she made off with the purse of the stallion that knocked over my fruit. I can’t say I got much tolerance for ponies stealing from other ponies.”

“And you want me to arrest her? Stallions and mares, sure, but I don’t want to throw a kid in the slammer!”

“No. Like I said before I don’t want anyone arrested. Can’t you just find her, give her a stern talking to? Tell whoever’s looking after her what she’s been up to.”

Dash gave Applejack a blank look. “Tell... whoever is looking after her?” she repeated.

“Yep.” Applejack said. A moment later she noticed Dash’s lack of an expression. “Is something wrong Miss Dash?”

“Uh, Applejack, what makes you think that this filly has someone taking care of her?”

Applejack frowned. It struck her as a silly question. Of course she had someone looking after her. A child fending for herself would be just plain uncivilized.

“I’m not really understanding your meaning.” Applejack said. She must’ve misunderstood what Miss Dash was saying.

“If she’s stealing from ponies on the street,” Dash rolled her eyes and blithely continued, “it’s a pretty safe bet to say no one’s keeping track of her but herself.”

“What? How would you even know that?”

“I grew up in Cloudsdale. I’d see foals like that all the time. I mean, Trottingham is an earth pony city, but it can’t be that different.”

The small town mare looked completely dumbfounded. “There must be someone! What about her parents, her family, heck, ain’t the government supposed to step in when things get really bad?”

“I don’t know why it happens! It just does.” Dash’s words started tumbling out of her mouth. “Some ponies don’t have anybody, and it sucks, but that’s just how life works. You just have to do the best you can.”

Applejack didn’t reply straight away. Instead she stood, lost in her own thoughts. She had come here with the intention of seeing justice met, but now it seemed that it was a foreign concept in the city. All the customer’s she had met in her time here seemed like decent enough folk, but they must’ve all seen the filly. Did they know? Did they just walk on by with their lives, while there were ponies out there who had to steal to survive?

It was a lot to take in, a lot to think about.

One thing was certain though.

“Now I have to find her.” Applejack said resolutely.

“Huh?” Dash responded.

“I’m part of the Apple family, Miss Dash. An Apple doesn’t sit idly by when there’s a pony that needs help.” Applejack turned towards the door. “Thanks for the information, Miss Dash. I’ll get out of your way now.” Her hooves grabbed the doorknob.

“Hey, wait!” Dash called.

Applejack released her hold on the door. “Something the matter, Miss Dash?” she said.

“Two things: One, cool it with the ‘Miss Dash’ stuff. Just call me Rainbow. Two, just because you’re looking for a kid, doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

“I thought you were looking for some ‘real’ police work.” Applejack said.

“Hey, it’ll get me out of the office,” Dash countered. She gave a short shrug with her wings and added, “It’s not like I’ll be doing anything important here.”

“Your superiors would be fine with you helping me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dash said, averting her eyes for a moment. “They’ll be fine with it because I’m... helping the community. Yeah! That’s what the police are all about.”

“Well shoot. In that case,” Applejack said, giving her companion a cheek-to-cheek grin, “it’d be a pleasure to have your assistance, Miss Da- uh, Rainbow.”

“Glad to help,” Rainbow said. She smoothly trotted in front of Applejack and pushed open the door. She walked down the hallway with Applejack following behind.

“Hey, Book-Em.” Rainbow said in greeting as they approached the front of the building, where a bored-looking colt was seated at a receptionist’s desk.

“Constable Dash,” he replied. He didn’t even look up from the copy of the Trottingham Times he was reading. He briefly wondered who the other pony she was with was, and why the newest pony on the force was leaving halfway through her shift. But it really wasn’t any of his business.

The two mares exited the building. As soon as they had left, Rainbow Dash looked to Applejack. “I know this place a little ways away, we’re going there first.”

“Really? Where are we going? Some type of investigative hotspot?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dash replied with a smirk. “It’s called ‘The Broken Stool’. It’s a pub I’ve been to a couple of times, perfect place to relax after work.”

“Relax? I thought you said you were gonna help me find a filly, Rainbow!” Applejack said, stopping in her tracks.

“And I am.” Dash said smoothly. She didn’t even pause her stride as she continued, “Think about it. There’s always tons of ponies there, one of them’s bound to have seen your blue maned-”

“It was purple.” Applejack corrected.

Dash rolled her eyes. “Right, purple maned filly. Listen, are you coming or not?”

Applejack sighed, but trotted after Rainbow. “It seems a little, well, unorthodox,” she mused, “ but you’re the constable after all.”

“Exactly,” Dash said. “And as an added bonus, we can always get ourselves a couple of drinks while we’re there!”

Applejack considered this. It had been a trying day after all. What with the hard day of sales and the uncomfortable revelations. And, contrary to what her brother kept telling her, she always did work better after a mug of cider.

“I reckon,” the former farm-pony said, “that that’s a mighty fine idea.”

The sun slowly made its way down towards the horizon. The towering buildings that made up Trottingham’s slum blocked most of the sun’s rays, ensuring that the lighting down below was always a perpetual gloom.

But Scootaloo didn’t mind the gloom, not anymore. The most important part was to act confident, like nothing could hurt you. Ponies thought twice about taking on a confident filly. It always made them think she knew something they didn’t. Head held high, Scootaloo purposefully walked through the debris-ridden roads. Trouble didn’t follow.

Eventually she arrived at her destination. In contrast to it’s neighbors, the squat building was only a single story in height. There was a sign situated atop it, painted with faded yellow letters, but Scootaloo had never been able to decipher it. A mural of smiling foals and older ponies with knowing smiles had been painted across the front, though it was defaced both by time and by misspelled graffiti. As near as Scootaloo could tell, it had been some kind of art studio. She had found the building one day, during her explorations, and had been living in it ever since.

Scootaloo stepped up towards the double doors and pushed them open into the building’s lobby. After a short trip through a hallway and another pair of doors, Scootaloo was finally home.

It was a large room, easily dominating half the building. The windows, which were situated near the top of the room’s high roof, didn’t let much light in, but it was enough to navigate by. Rows and rows of tattered chairs were laid out in a repeating semi-circle pattern, which wrapped around a raised, wooden stage. The humid atmosphere gave the entire chamber the thick smell of mold; though it had stopped bothering Scootaloo a long time ago.

The stage itself had been empty when she had arrived, but now nearly all her belongings were piled atop it. A pile of rags and stolen cloth were piled up against the back wall of the stage. On the left, next to a makeshift bed, was a broken fragment of a mirror, a fired clay cup, and what appeared to be two-thirds of a stuffed, plush bear. Farther off to the right was a chipped kitchen knife, useful for when her mane got too unruly and when the rats were a little too curious. Some smooshed-together remains of old candles lay on the top of an empty tin in the stage’s center. Though until she found some more matchsticks it wouldn’t do her any good. An old pail was stationed in the back of the stage below a dripping pipe. Droplets of water that had once been slowly soaking through the floorboards were now used for both drinking and bathing.

Personally, Scootaloo felt she had done pretty well for herself. She had found all the items by scavenging wherever she could. If her sister was still here she would’ve been so proud at Scootaloo’s resourcefulness.

Not that she needed her sister’s approval. Or her presence, for that matter. In fact, she didn’t even care at all that her sister had left.

That she had just disappeared one day.

Disappeared without a word goodbye.

Disappeared and left her all alone.

Scootaloo shook her head. Thoughts like that weren’t going to do her any good. Besides, there were much better things to think about.

She trotted over to the stage and hopped onto it in one, short motion. She made her way over to the bed and sat her haunches down on the slightly scratchy fabric. She gave a small frown to the area in front of her and swept away the dust with her hoof. A proper area cleared, she reverentially placed her most recent acquisition onto the ground and once again undid the strings of the bag.

Metallic glittering greeted her once again. Scootaloo exhaled slowly, letting out a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding. Part of her feared that the coins might have disappeared since the first time she saw them. It was silly of course. She had felt their heft all the way here, but it was reassuring to see them all the same.

She reached into the bag and stirred the coins around. She had never had so much money at one time before; it was always too risky to hang onto it for too long. Maybe this time she shouldn’t spend it all on just food. As tempting as cakes and fresh vegetables were, maybe she should get something a little more permanent. Something that would improve upon her life. Not that it needed improvement, naturally.

She had seen something matching that fit that criteria just a couple of days ago, sitting in the window of a pawn shop. She didn’t know why, but it had spoken to her. Well, not actually spoken to her, but she didn’t know how else to describe it. She had wanted it, right then and there, but she knew the shopkeeper had eyes like a hawk, and the windows were reinforced with those thin metal bars. She had reluctantly moved on then, but now that she had the money, why not?

She didn’t want to get too hopeful though. She had to make sure she had enough to buy it first. The coins were removed from the bag in sets of five, and piled up in front of Scootaloo like little towers. About halfway through her counting her hoof reached into the bag and connected with something much softer than a coin. She cocked her head to the side and lifted out a small rectangle. It looked like a book, or a pamphlet, colored the same deep brown as the bag. She set it off to the side and continued taking out the remainder of the coins. Once the container was finally empty, she added up the piles and found, to her elation, that there was more than enough.

She scooped the coins back into the bag and turned her attention back to the other object she had found in the bag. She picked up the book. It was no bigger than her hoof and it had an unfamiliar texture to it. Which wasn’t that surprising considering Scootaloo didn’t have much experience with books. That too wasn’t surprising, considering she had never learned how to interpret the little squiggles other ponies drew.

Scootaloo regarded the blank cover with unimpressed eyes. She opened it up and flipped through the yellowed pages. It was always the same page after page: On the left there was a bunch of totally incomprehensible scrawlings, and on the right a bunch of neat little boxes filled with numbers, equally indecipherable. Shrugging, she tossed the still-open book behind her. It made a dull, sliding sound as it hit the stage behind her. The stallion she took this from must have been one really boring pony; his stupid book didn’t even have any pictures. Maybe it would come in handy if she ever needed to wipe something up or needed to stuff a crack in the wall.

She checked the bag once more. Reassured once more that all the bits were well and truly there Scootaloo cinched the bag up tightly.

She considered her time frame. It had been a long journey home. If she went to the pawn shop right now, she would be headed back home in the darkness. Part of her was aware of how dangerous it was travelling blindly through the streets of The Stacks - muggers couldn’t see a confident stride in the darkness.

Another, much larger part of her knew that she could get out of any trouble she found herself in. It also suggested, quite reasonably in the filly’s opinion, that she didn’t have anything else to do for the rest of the day. Was she just going to let her time go to waste?

Still, it seemed a little bit risky. Irresponsible even.

She eyed the closed bag. Outlines of coins were bulging against the container’s material.

Maybe it was even more irresponsible to hold onto these bits for any longer than necessary. They could be lost or stolen at any moment. What was it her sister had said? They can’t take what you don’t have. The context of the phrase was a little different, but the words rang true.

Scootaloo scooped up the bag and hopped off the stage. Despite the assurances she had given herself, she felt a pit grow in her stomach as she stepped out of the building. She shook off the feeling of foreboding, as she made her way through crisscrossing alleyways towards her destination.

Her sister’s advice had never steered her wrong.

Chapter 3

The front door swung open. A large muscled earth pony grabbed the two mares and tossed them outside, into the night.

A slightly tipsy Applejack was the first to hit the ground. She was followed by a very inebriated Rainbow Dash, who had attempted to arrest her fall by flapping upside down.

“And stay out!” the stallion sneered. He spit on the ground and the door slammed shut.

“This was a dumb idea.” Applejack said, struggling to get onto her hooves.

“What?” Rainbow Dash dazedly replied. The world wouldn’t stop spinning, so she elected to remain where she was.

“I said,” she grunted as she finally managed to get upright, “that this was a complete disaster. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Sh’hey,” Dash slurred, “it’s not my fault there wasn’t nopony in that shtupid pub that knew anything about nothing.”

“It certainly didn’t help when you challenged that pony with the knife cutiemark to a hoofwrestling match. And then, after a couple more drinks, you challenged him again, but this time to tag-team karaoke!”

“I thoughtsh we sang pretty good.”

“What in tarnation do you think we just got kicked out for!?” Applejack yelled.

Dash’s eyes appeared to focus on Applejack for a couple of moments. Dash vaguely waved a hoof in a wide arc front of her, “Woah, where’d the roof go, Jacky?” she said.

“Jacky” sighed and massaged her temples. Usually the headache came after the onset of sobriety, but her companion appeared to be accelerating the process.

“Come on, Rainbow,” Applejack said, her rage subsiding. She walked over and helped her friend upright. “We need to get you home. Where exactly do you live?”

Dash, now on her hooves, screwed up her face in concentration. “I think,” she pointed down the street, “it’sh that way.” The motion caused her to nearly trip. Luckily, Applejack caught her before she ended up on the ground again.

Seeing as how Rainbow Dash was in no fit state to walk home by herself Applejack carefully grabbed Rainbow’s shoulder, lending support to the stumbling mare. Together they made their way down the street, their only guide the sparse illumination of the street lights that lined the road.

“Y’know what, Jacky?” Rainbow said after they had been walking for a few minutes. Dash’s head was uncomfortably close to Applejack. The air around was heavy with the scent of alcohol.

“I can’t say that I do,” Applejack replied, wrinkling her nose. She tried to withdraw her face as far away as possible from Rainbow without removing her hoof.

“I like you.”

Applejack felt her cheeks bloom red. “P-pardon?” she replied, nearly tripping on her hooves. She realized just how close she and her companion were at this moment.

Rainbow Dash did not appear to notice Applejack’s discomfort. She continued on. “I like you, Jacky. You’re the closest thing I have to a... whaddya call it? Friend. Yeah. You’re the coolest pony I’ve met. No one at the station wants to hang out with me.”

The color in Applejack’s face faded back to normal. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Bunch of stuck up stallions, all of them. I mean, if I’d known it was gonna be like this, I would’a just stayed in Cloudsdale! And don’t get me started on those top-hat ponies...”

Applejack gradually tuned out Rainbow’s ramblings. She turned her attention to the city around her. She had never been out so late. Usually it was straight home after work for a good night’s sleep. Maybe she had been missing out. Trottingham at night, well, it wasn’t quite beautiful – nothing here was – but it had this sense of mystique.

Buildings she always assumed were either empty or abandoned bustled with activity. Some sported hoof-painted signs in the windows, advertising sights such as, “Curious Oddities for the Discerning Pony”, “P. P. P/P Investigator”, and even “Madame Clare’s Palace of Reasonably-Priced Pleasures”. Applejack wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what was inside any of those places.

She was about say some comment to Rainbow when a sudden movement grabbed her attention. Further up the street and off to the side Applejack saw a small, darkened outline poked its head out. The figure seemed vaguely familiar to Applejack, had she seen that tiny form before?

Before she could ponder further the little shadow departed from the alleyway. It moved quickly and crossed the street in a matter of seconds. It was near the front door of a building Applejack didn’t recognize. It stepped up the door and opened it. The shadow became illuminated for the briefest of moments –Applejack just barely spotted a flash of purple mane– then the door closed and the figure vanished inside.

Applejack stared at the front of the building. The gears in her mind slowly clicked into place.

She supposed going to the pub had gotten her a lead after all, in a roundabout sort of way.

She made her way over the building. Like all the others it had a sign hanging in the window. It read, “Cherished Wish’s Pawn Emporium”. Piles of knick-knacks filled up the display window completely. There wasn’t anyway to see inside.

“Hey Rainbow,” Applejack said, “wait here a minute.” She carefully removed her hoof from her oblivious companion’s body. Dash swayed from side to side, but, against all odds, managed to remain upright.

“S’not a problem, Jacky. I gotsch this,” Rainbow replied.

“Only for a minute,” Applejack said, a little concerned at Dash’s actions. “Just got to check something out.”

The inside of the building was not as captivating as the outside. As Applejack stepped inside the lights above flickered on and off intermittently. Metal shelving placed seemingly randomly throughout held an endless variety of items; most of them were broken and nearly all were coated with a thick layer of dust. In the corner was a very old mare, presumably named Cherished Wish, with a pale purple coat and white mane. Set in her wrinkled face was a pair of small, beady eyes which she had fixed upon Applejack as she set foot in the store.

Mrs. Wish looked like she was ready to say something to Applejack. A greeting, maybe, or a threat. She was stopped short, however, by another voice.

“Hey lady!” the voice shouted. It was loud enough that it fully captured Mrs. Wish’s attention.

The owner of the voice definitely sounded like a filly. Though even if Applejack craned her neck the accumulated junk of the store blocked her view of whoever was speaking. She walked further in to try and confirm her suspicions.

She caught sight of her target as she rounded past an entire stack of cracked picture frames. Before her was the little pony who had, on the morning previous, raced past her stall holding a stolen pouch. She was only a little ways away from the display case. She was glaring just as resolutely at Mrs. Wish as Mrs. Wish was at her.

The filly didn’t look much different. She was still as ragged as ever. Resting on her back was the stolen bag of bits along with what looked like a polished wooden box.

“Hey lady,” the filly repeated, “I want this.” With a deft flick of her hindquarters, the box went flying through the air, landing with a clatter on the counter.

Mrs. Wish put her hoof onto the box and leaned her head closer to the filly. “That’s great. I want a mansion, and a handsome stallion to go with it,” she said. “Do you have the bits to pay for this, you little brat?”

The filly scowled. “Cram it, you old hag.” She tossed over the pouch. “That should be enough.”

Mrs. Wish undid the drawstrings. Her eyes lit up in surprise, as she took in what was inside the bag. “What business does a little guttersnipe like you have with so much money?”

“She doesn’t,” Applejack interrupted. “That money’s not hers to give.” No matter what her feelings were towards this child’s supposed situation, she wasn’t going to let her reap the fruits of someone else’s labor.

“Oh really? This little poppet is a thief?” She tightened her grip on the bag and slowly clamped a hoof down on the wooden box. “Can’t say I’m surprised; she has that look about her. I suppose you’re the lucky mare she nicked it from, then?”

“Not exactly,” Applejack said. Though she spoke to the old mare, her eyes were fixed on the pony in front of her. Her target was still turned towards the counter, her back facing Applejack. The filly was standing stock still, like her entire body had frozen right when Applejack first spoke. If Applejack had been able to get a good look at her eyes, though, she would have seen that the filly’s gaze was dancing like mad all around the room.

Scootaloo’s mind was racing, running itself in circles, as she desperately tried to consider all the possibilities. She had been so close, but her prize had been snatched from her by that stupid orange mare. Scootaloo had seen her come in, of course, but hadn’t recognized that she was the one running the fruit stand from before. Hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Now she was trapped. If she ran, she’d have to leave the money and her prize behind. If she tried to make a grab for the box she’d have to contend with two ponies in close quarters. What was she supposed to do?.

Luckily, it seemed that the two other ponies were still talking to each other. That would at least buy her some more time to think.

“Not exactly?” the old crone said. She considered the drab state of the wallet in her hoof. “Took it from your husband then?”

“What? No! Just consider me a... a concerned Equestrian citizen.”

“Whatever floats your boat, sweetheart. I knew this girl would be nothing but trouble as soon as she stepped inside, I should have known she would try and use stolen coin.” She gave a particularly sadistic glare towards Scootaloo. “I suppose I’ll go down and fetch the police, then. If you would stay here, sweetheart. Make sure the girl doesn’t try and run.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the orange mare said quickly. “In fact, there’s a policemare standing outside.”

The hairs on Scootaloo’s back stood straight up. The police were already here? This was bad. Really, really bad.

“Just give me a moment,” the mare continued. “Then we can sort this whole mess out.”

“Certainly, sweetheart, but it seems the brat has gone and paralyzed herself with fear.”

She could push over the shelves, try to distract both of them. Would she be able to grab the box quick enough? Should she attack while she had the element of surprise?

Scootaloo felt a hoof fall on her shoulder. “You alright there?” the mare asked. Scootaloo shot down the urge to bolt and turned her head.

She really didn’t look angry at all. No, the look she wore on her face was much worse.

Concern. Scootaloo was prepared for a lot of things, but not this.

The mare looked her square in the eye. “You’re not in any trouble, kiddo. I promise. I just want to talk.”

“Not in any trouble?” Scootaloo said incredulously. “Says the pony who brought cops. Says the pony who has me boxed in a corner. Right.” Whatever game this mare was trying to play, she wasn’t about to buy it.

“Now I admit this whole situation seems a mighty bit suspicious. But believe me; I just want to help.”

“If you wanted to help you could’ve just minded your own business!”

“That’s not what I– I mean–I... shoot!” The mare rubbed her eyes with her free hoof for a moment. “I reckon this got off to a bad start, let’s try this again.”

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. The mare took a moment to compose herself.

“My name’s Applejack,” the mare said. “What’s yours?”

“I’m not telling you my name!” Scootaloo yelled.

“I ain’t gonna force you to tell me. I’m just asking if you’d be willing to tell me.”

The filly considered this. It’s not like it really mattered whether or not she knew her name. She already knew what she looked like. Maybe she could still turn this around if she humored whatever particular brand of crazy this “Applejack” was working under.

“...Scootaloo.”

Applejack smiled. “Nice to meet you, Scootaloo.”

It was a bad idea to give out her name. She felt the beginnings of queasiness in her stomach. This was the first time another pony had said her name since her sister had left. “Yeah, great, nice to meet you too,” Scootaloo said, “You gonna let me go now?”

Applejack ignored her question. “Care to tell me why you were picking pony’s pockets, Scootaloo?”

Her name again. The pit in her chest grew. “T-that’s a stupid question. I needed the money!”

“I see.”

Scootaloo narrowed her gaze down into a glare. “A-are you making fun of me?”

“No, that’s not what I’m trying to do.” Applejack’s voice took on a delicate tone, as though she was afraid she might break something with the wrong words.

“Do you got anyone looking after you, Scootaloo?” she asked.

The world seemed to go flat. Scootaloo’s throat suddenly felt very dry. Now she knew what game Applejack was trying to play. No. The gentle crease of frown that wasn’t directed at her, but for her. No. The eyes that even now were filling with pity. She wanted to lie to her, tell her yes, make her go away. The words wouldn’t come.

“Somepony like your mother or father?” Applejack continued, “Grandmother? Maybe a brother or a sis-”

She was unprepared. She had been caught. Compromised. Exposed. Applejack had kept saying her name. That, of all things, probably did it. She knew what Applejack wanted, but Scootaloo wouldn’t give it. Never again.

She felt herself collide with smooth glass.

“Scootaloo? Are you okay? Scootaloo? Scootaloo? Oh horseapples.”

Applejack wasn’t sure how to respond beyond that. She had gone in without a plan beyond a vague idea to establish the filly’s situation. Everything seemed to be going alright but then Scootaloo had let out a strangled gasp, turned tail and slammed headfirst into the display case. She was lying on the floor now, eyes closed and teeth clenched. She didn’t appear to be bleeding, at least.

“Well,” Mrs. Wish said, “You certainly have a way with words.”

“Ma’am,” Applejack said, “I think there’s something wrong with her.”

Mrs. Wish gave an unimpressed look to the crumple of filly on the floor. “Trust me, sweetheart. She’s faking it. I know the type. They’ll try every dirty little trick in the book if they think it’ll save their rotten little hides.”

“She’s only a filly!”

“You haven’t been here very long, have you, sweetheart?”

Applejack resolved to ignore any further comments from Mrs. Wish and strode over to Scootaloo. The filly was groaning slightly. Her hooves were reflexively gripped against her head. Lacking other options, Applejack gently shook Scootaloo’s shoulder.

“Can you hear me, Scootaloo?”

To Applejack’s surprise, Scootaloo’s eyes opened up a fraction of an inch.

“Oh thank goodness!” Applejack sifted through the hair on the filly’s forehead, “Are you ok? How’s your head feeling?”

Scootaloo shook her head and mumbled something Applejack couldn’t make out.

Applejack leaned in closer. “Pardon?”

Scootaloo said something, louder this time, but Applejack still didn’t hear.

“What was that, Scootaloo?”

She grabbed the hoof that Applejack had on her head. “I said,” she began, her voice shaking, “Get your stupid hoof off of me!” Without waiting for a response she swung her free foreleg towards Applejack’s face.

Applejack wasn’t expecting it. She recoiled backwards with a holler, tipping over a pair of shelves. The pain was incredible, Scootaloo had hit her right in the eye. She reopened her one good eye just in time to see Scootaloo on her feet and bolting for the door.

“Scootaloo, wait!” Applejack called out.

“Shut up!” Scootaloo screamed, “Stop saying my name!” She was already at the door. She wrenched it open only to find her path blocked by a cyan mare.

“What’s going on here?” Rainbow said, slowly focusing on the filly in front of her, “I heard a bunch’a yelling.”

“Outta my way!” Scootaloo said. She dove between Rainbow’s legs.

Rainbow tried to move to intercept the filly. Her balance was quickly lost, however, and she landed unceremoniously on the cobbles, pinning Scootaloo beneath her.

“Let go!” Scootaloo said. Her hindlegs were trapped under the cyan mare’s bulk. She kicked and struggled and finally freed herself just as Applejack appeared at the door.

“I’m sorry that I upset you!” Applejack said, trying to find a way past the mass of pony blocking the door, “I just want to help you!”

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need anypony’s help! Just go away!”

Scootaloo ran.

“Please!” Applejack shouted.

To her fascination, Scootaloo stopped. The filly stood stock still for several more seconds. Applejack was afraid she would decide to bolt again. But then she twisted her neck to face Applejack. She was just a few steps away from the alley she had originally appeared from. Her expression was unreadable in the darkness

“I... uh...” Applejack tried to say something, anything, but found she was at a loss for words.

Scootaloo was silent. When it became clear that Applejack had nothing to add she began to slowly walk away.

Applejack tried to think. What was she supposed to say? She still wasn’t sure what to make of Scootaloo. But she knew that something must have happened to her, something to make her so angry.

Suddenly, the words came to her.

“I know it must be hard,” Applejack said, “whatever is it you’ve been through.”

Scootaloo stopped.

“You’re scared, because you’ve lost everything that matters. It’s like all the things you thought you knew just got flipped upside down and you’re scared cause’ you don’t know what to do. Only you don’t want anyone to know you’re scared, isn’t that right Scootaloo? So you hide your fear, hide it deep inside yourself. Maybe you pretend it doesn’t bother you, maybe you tell yourself it wasn’t really that important to you. But nothing helps, you’re still scared all the time.”

“How would you know?” Scootaloo said. Her voice sounded strained, like her words were stuck in her throat. “What makes you think you know anything?”

High above, two shooting stars streaked through the night sky. Applejack thought about the farm, so many miles away.

“I’ve walked that road before. Please, let me help.”

Silence stretched out between the two. Applejack had nothing more she could say.

“You don’t know me, Applejack." Scootaloo said, "I’m just fine. I have never needed anyone.”

With that, she vanished down the alley.

Author's Note

For those unaware: Applejack and Shooting Stars

Also a thank you to all the viewers who are reading this story. Out of all the multitude of subcultures out there, the MLP fandom is the friendliest one I have ever experienced.

Chapter 4

This entire affair was distasteful. A stallion of his pedigree, skulking about in the darkness. All because there was no one else he trusted to keep discretion in this matter but his own personage.

His name was Hedford Figures. And if there was anything to know about the Figures family, it was that they always had plans for every conceivable setback. Even if said plans involved a small filly and less than pious intent.

Still, he really wished this plan hadn’t brought him, in the middle of the night, into one of the filthier parts of the city.

His short, measured pace soon brought him to his destination. The building ahead was plain, and if it wasn’t for the small sign in the window he could have missed it entirely. He checked to make sure that his tie was straight and then rapped sharply on the door.

“Ooooooh!” said a bright, peppy voice from inside the building, “A customer! Just a minute!”

Mr. Figures frowned. There was a commotion just behind the door akin to a miniature tornado working very hard to make things presentable.

“Okay!” the voice chimed in again, “You can come in now!”

He opened the door and stepped inside. Inside the room was a pair of chairs situated on opposite sides of a dented coffee table. The source of the voice he had just heard was nowhere to be seen.

“Hello?” he said, walking further inside.

When that did not seem to provoke further action, Mr. Figures snorted in irritation and turned to leave. If this mare was not strictly present then he would just take his business elsew-

“Surprise!”

There was suddenly a very pink pony at the threshold he had walked through only moments before.

Mr. Figures nearly leapt out of his exquisitely brushed coat. He was certain the scream wasn’t his though; a gentleman never screamed.

“Oh, whoops. Sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d be that jumpy!” His would-be assailant gave him a sheepish grin.

The mare before him was entirely pink, from the tip of her mane all the way to her fetlocks. The fellows he had spoken to had said her name was "Pinkie Pie" but he had not expected the moniker to be so... apt. Adorned on her flanks was a cutie mark depicting a trio of balloons in flight. That sealed it, this was definitely the right mare.

He took a moment to compose himself. Pinkie Pie's outburst hadn't rattled him the slightest, of course; he had only been temporarily caught off-guard.

"Miss Pie," he said, "I am here to request your services. I have a task that I need you to perform."

"Of course you are, silly!" Pinkie Pie said, exuberance seeping into her every word. "Why else would you be in my office? It would be really weird to walk into here and then not ask me to do something. Unless you just wanted to chat, I guess. But why would you want to chat? We barely know each other! I mean sure, I know that when you were nine your mother threw away your stuffed iguana, that you're an accountant for the Trotswright Firm, that you take your coffee black, that you have a fear of sharp objects, that you can't whistle, – Pinkie Pie paused for a split second and took a deep breath – and that you never forgave your mom for the first thing I said! But just because I know these things that doesn't mean we know each other. Although I guess we're getting to know each now, but how could you have known that was going to happen when you walked in here? Oh! That reminds me, I also know that you're really jumpy! I like to learn new things about ponies I know, even if they don’t know me! I guess that's why I'm so good at this job. Oh! That reminds me a second time. Take this!"

Pinkie Pie paused the seemingly endless flow of words from her mouth and gave Mr. Figures a small card.

It was pink and covered in glitter. Emblazoned in sparkling letters were the words:

Pinkie Pie: Private/Party Investigator

Ponies Found - Items Identified - Parties Planned

"Don't find me, I'll find youuuuu!"

The flipside of the card held a stylized image of a magnifying glass positioned over a cake.

"One of my other clients told me I would get a lot more business if I gave these out to ponies! Only the ones she made were super boring so I made a bunch of better, sparklier-er ones! Oh, I just figured out something about you again! I can't believe you still don't have your-"

"Miss Pie." The stallion said, cutting the manic mare off and pocketing the card. "I need you to locate a certain pony for me. Preferably as quickly as possible."

"Well why didn't you say so?” Pinkie said. Her eyes narrowed conspiratorially, “I trust you know my rates for rush jobs?"

Mr. Figures nodded.

"Okie dokie lokie! Who's the perp?"

"A pegasus filly, no more than eight or nine years of age. Orange coat, purple mane, bare hindquarters, flightless. She's crafty, though, and I would imagine she has been living on the streets for quite some time. I last lost sight of her in the more unseemly portion of this city."

If Pinkie Pie thought it was an odd request, her face didn't show it. "You got it, Figgy! I'll find her for you so fast not even I'll be able to keep up with me! No stone will be left unturned, no pony unpoked, no candy uneaten, no–"

"I can tell you will be more than up to the task." Mr. Figures said, "Once you have located her, please inform me of her whereabouts immediately."

Pinkie Pie sped out of the door in a pink blur. Mr. Figures being the gentleman that he was, made sure to close the door as he made his way out.

Mr. Figures had full faith in Miss Pie's abilities, despite her eccentricities. Though seeing her and her methods firsthoof had been a bit worrisome, her long list of pleased clients assured him that they were foolproof.

He walked down the darkened streets back to the sanctuary of his home. After Miss Pie had located that brat of a filly he would finally be back in the clear. He and several of his associates would ensure that the filly would cooperate in returning his book. Willingly or otherwise.

If he could have, Hedford Figures would have whistled as he walked.

Elsewhere, in pitch blackness, a small bundle of orange fur was lying on the creaky wooden stage of the only place she could call home. She had been crying for awhile now. Her sister had always told her that big fillies weren't supposed to cry, but she couldn’t help herself.

Everything had gone wrong. It had all gone wrong because she had been careless. By all rights, things should have been much, much worse.

The thought that it hadn't been didn’t do much to make Scootaloo feel any better.

The wood beneath her was now slick with tears. It had been for awhile. She didn't like the dampness on her face, or the reminder it brought. She inched across the floorboards with a solitary hoof until she found another dry spot.

Scootaloo figured she must have looked pathetic. For once she was glad she was out of matches for her candle. She didn't want to look at any part of herself right now.

She had made her way back home after the incident at the pawnshop. There had been only anger as she ran. It had felt like white-hot fire coursing through her veins. How could that stupid mare, Applejack, think that she could understand her? Applejack knew nothing about her. The burning fury of that statement had propelled her all the way to the front door of the art studio she called home.

She had looked up then, rage still burning in her gut, and seen, for what was probably the hundredth time, the old mural painted on the building. The full light of the moon barely lit it, but Scootaloo could still see it clearly. Drawings of happy foals smiled down on her. Beside each one, in pairs or alone, were older ponies, all of them just as happy. Some were playing with the children. Others, the couples, leaned against one another in warm, mutual trust. Most of them just grinned, watching the foals around them, with pride shining in their eyes.

She had stared at the faded images, unsure as to why now, of all times, they would transfix her so. Bit by bit, the heat under her skin faded away. The fire of her anger began to die to down. She was surprised to find how hollow she felt. Like an empty tin cup.

It was then that she had made the mistake of thinking of her sister.

It was only an idle thought – she wondered if maybe her sister had ever felt like this. But one thought was all it took for the tears to start flowing. Her barely choked-back sobs had followed her as she ran inside.

Here, in the darkness, whatever meager comfort she had hoped this space would give to her was not present. Her thoughts cycled through every decision she had made. She had messed up, lost her payday, and every step she reviewed only further condemned her actions.

Finally, her thoughts turned to the last thing Applejack had said to her.

Please, let me help.

Scootaloo had refused the offer. She had followed what she knew, what her sister had taught her. There weren't any ponies like Applejack, like what Applejack claimed she was. There weren't any ponies that would help you from the goodness of their hearts. She had saved herself a lot of trouble, she was certain.

But if she was so certain of it, why did thinking about it make her feel so empty?

The tears pouring down Scootaloo's face began to slow. She was exhausted, her body was sore, her throat gripped tightly against itself and her head ached with every beat of her heart. The darkness around her seemed inviting now, a journey away from her own thoughts and feelings. She would think about this later, in the morning.

Suspended in the black void, she let her eyelids drop down. Sleep took her almost instantly.

It was morning now. The sun shone high up above. The buildings around her jumbled about, hazy and indistinct.

She saw herself walking alongside an emerald unicorn mare in a shabby leather coat.

"Are you sure about this?" Scootaloo asked.

"I'm certain, my sweet little thing; your sister told me she was waiting just over here." The unicorn mare ruffled Scootaloo's shortly cropped mane as she spoke.

"But I last saw here over there!" Scootaloo motioned in the opposite direction of where they were walking.

"Don't worry," she said. Her voice was sweet, like honey. "I remember seeing your sister standing just around the corner."

Scootaloo eagerly walked with the unicorn. When she had gotten separated from her sister, the mare had spotted Scootaloo and offered a helping hoof. Scootaloo really appreciated the help even if the mare was acting a little strange. It was kind of weird the way she kept messing with her hair, but maybe that was just the way all unicorns acted. This was the first one she had ever met, after all.

"What's your name?" the mare asked after only a couple of seconds of walking.

"It's Scootaloo," she replied.

"That's a lovely name. How old are you, Scootaloo?" The mare gave her a grin that seemed a little too lopsided to Scootaloo.

"Um, six-and-a-half." Scootaloo said. The mare was now stroking the fur on Scootaloo's back.

She and Scootaloo turned the corner. It sharply terminated into a brick wall.

"Where is she?" Scootaloo asked, she couldn't see her sister anywhere.

"Oh dear," the mare said, "she was just here a minute ago." Slowly, the mare's horn began to glow with a pale green shimmer. From beneath her jacket, something stirred. "I know what we can do. My house isn't too far from here, Scootaloo. How about we go and wait for your sister there?"

Scootaloo, oblivious to what the glow from a unicorn's horn meant, frowned slightly. "Well, okay," she said, "but how's my sister going to find me when I'm in a building?"

"I'll leave her a note," the mare said quickly, "to tell her where we are."

"Alright!" Scootaloo said. The mare began to push her forward, urging Scootaloo to walk ahead of her.

"Let's get going. There's a lot I need to do."

Scootaloo nodded absently. She wondered what a unicorn's house would look like. It was probably way better than where she and her sister lived.

They walked on for a little while longer.

"There," the mare said at last, "This will do." She pointed out the door to a small apartment complex. On the doorway, painted in bright red letters was the word, "CONDEMNED".

"This is your house?" Scootaloo asked. It really didn't look much nicer than where her and her sister lived, although the squiggles on the front door were pretty.

"Yes, it is," the mare snapped, "Now get inside."

Scootaloo ear's drooped. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to say your house was bad." She felt ashamed. This lady was letting her into her home and she was just making fun of it.

"It's fine, my little sweetie," the mare said. She was entirely behind Scootaloo now, and the filly had to crane her neck backwards to look at her as she talked. "Just get your rump in there." The glow on the unicorn's horn intensified and there was the sound of wind chimes. The knob in front of Scootaloo was enveloped in the unicorn's green aura and the door swung open.

"Wow..." Scootaloo said, taking her eyes off the coated mare and stepping up to the building's threshold. She had no idea unicorn magic could make things move like that.

"In you go, sweetie." She felt a rather forceful shove from the mare's magic and found herself propelled unceremoniously beyond the door.

The mare's house didn't look like a very good place to live. It looked very empty, with only dust and broken glass populating the rotting wooden floorboards. This was confusing – unicorn houses were obviously nothing like where she lived with her sister. Where was the bed of fluffy clothes? Where was the little heat lamp and the wash basin? Where was the Mr. Bearington who kept the mare company when her sister had to leave?

It didn't make any sense at all.

Scootaloo was about to turn and ask the mare where all her things were when she heard the door slam shut. The entire room became shrouded in darkness.

There weren't any windows, it seemed, in the unicorn’s house. The open door had been one of only two sources of light.

The other was the soft pale green glow around the unicorn's horn. She was standing just in front of the door. At least Scootaloo thought she was, she couldn't make anything out beyond the faint aura that hovered just at pony-head height.

"Miss Unicorn?" Scootaloo asked, "Why is it so dark in your house?"

For some reason, the mare didn't say anything. Instead, Scootaloo heard the gentle creaking of floorboards and saw the green light shift and bob towards her direction.

When the light was barely a pony's length from her, Scootaloo started to get nervous.

"Miss Unicorn, your house is really nice and all, but-" Scootaloo began.

"Quiet," The mare hissed. Gone was any sort of warmth from her voice. Her voice sounded like a sword now: hard as steel and straight to the point.

Scootaloo did as she was told.

The mare stepped closer. Scootaloo could make out the barest outline of her form. The coat that had been tightly wrapped around her was now open. Something glinted inside its folds. Scootaloo wasn't sure what was going on. She tried to back away, her hooves scrambled backwards in the darkness.

"Stop," the mare said.

Scootaloo skidded to a halt. Her eyes still locked on the dancing light in front of her.

"Just do what I say," the mare said, "And you won't be hurt. Do you understand, Scootaloo?"

What was happening? Why had this mare suddenly turned so mean? Scootaloo could feel the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but big fillies didn't cry. She pushed them back and instead gave a shaky nod towards the mare.

"I, u-u-unde-, o-okay, Miss Unicorn."

"Good." The mare said. With her magic, she raised the glinting metal object Scootaloo had seen previously into the air. Illuminated by her magic, Scootaloo could finally see it clearly.

The filly screamed. At the same time, there was a sudden, precipitous drop in air pressure and the door exploded.

Sharp splinters of wood flung themselves in all directions as a billowing funnel of air broke through the door. The now-fully illuminated unicorn turned just in time for her jaw to smash against a wind-propelled doorknob. The impact was so great that she spun slightly on her legs, dispersing the supplies held in her magic and coat, before crashing hard to the floor.

Scootaloo shielded her eyes from the wood flying all around her. Hooves touched down right next to her and a light pink hoof grabbed her, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

Her sister.

"Firefly!" Scootaloo shouted, returning the hug and looking up to her sister's face with a broad smile. The air around them still swirled, jostling Firefly's normally immaculate deep blue mane.

Firefly didn't reply to her kid sister's exclamation. Instead her eyes flicked across the room, to the unconscious mare, to the wood still flitting about. Her gaze was level and calm, taking in the contours and dangers of the room around them. Her large wings folded themselves protectively around Scootaloo.

Eventually the winds around them began to die down. Only then, when the air was still, did Firefly unfurl her wings from Scootaloo’s body.

"Tell me what happened." Firefly said evenly.

Scootaloo pushed herself closer into her sister's warmth and recounted what had happened. She told her how she had gotten separated from her in the twists and turns of the Stacks. How the nice unicorn said she had seen Firefly. How Scootaloo had gone with her and suddenly the unicorn had turned not-so-nice.

Firefly listened as Scootaloo talked. The big sister of the pair wore the same muted expression she always wore around Scootaloo: eyes level and lips curved into a slight frown. Firefly had always been unreadable, nothing in her face ever gave away the barest hint of emotion.

Finally Scootaloo finished her recounting.

"You acted very foolishly today, Scootaloo." Firefly said.

Scootaloo winced. Her sister always made sure to discipline Scootaloo when she messed up, but it was always her sister’s words that hurt the most.

"I'm sorry, Firefly." Scootaloo said.

"Saying, ‘sorry,’ will not change what happened here today. Why did you go off with this mare?"

"I dunno," Scootaloo said, her eyes downcast. "She said she could help me."

"And you believed her?"

Scootaloo's hoof scuffed against the floorboards. "Yes?" she ventured.

"I taught you better than that, Scootaloo. There is no such thing as a pony that will help you from the kindness of their heart. If they are offering you help, they want something from you."

Firefly walked away from Scootaloo and picked up something in the corner.

"This is what that mare wanted you for, Scootaloo."

Two things clattered on the ground near Scootaloo's feet. A coiled length of rope and a kitchen knife speckled with dots of rust. At least, Scootaloo thought it looked like rust.

"But," Scootaloo began, "S-she said that if I just did what she said she wouldn't hurt me!"

"Ponies lie," Firefly said matter-of-factly, "If you want to survive, Scootaloo, then listen to what I'm about to say."

Scootaloo tore her eyes away from the things on the ground and stared up into her sister's deep, purple eyes.

"The only pony you can trust is yourself, Scootaloo. Anypony else is only trying to use you. They'll take what they want from you and leave your corpse to the griffons."

Scootaloo nodded glumly. She turned the newly acquired lesson over in her head.

"But I can still trust you, right?" Scootaloo said after a moment.

Her big sister stared at her.

"Right, Firefly? I can trust you, right?" Scootaloo said.

For just the barest of moments Scootaloo saw something indecipherable flash across her sister's face.

Firefly turned her head away from Scootaloo's gaze.

"We're leaving," Firefly said, "Let's get moving."

She turned around and walked out of the room.

"Wait!" Scootaloo said, "Firefly! Wait for me!"

Scootaloo ran after the only family she had.

Light cracked through the filthy windows above.

Scootaloo blinked her eyes and felt the slightly scratchy softness beneath. Somehow she had ended up lying on her bed, the remains of Mr. Bearington gripped tightly in her arms.

The events of her dream had happened several years ago. She remembered what had happened when she and Firefly had made it back home. The stinging red marks on her flank afterwards had been a very physical reminder of Firefly's lesson. Maybe the most important one she had ever told Scootaloo.

The only pony you can trust is yourself.

Even in the bright light of morning Scootaloo knew she had made a lot of mistakes last night. But she couldn't afford to beat herself up about it any longer. She supposed she could take some small comfort that she had held firm to that lesson. She hadn't folded, she hadn't fallen for Applejack's trap. She had gambled on the kindness of a green unicorn once. She wasn't going to do the same for some orange earth pony.

But even though she knew she had done right, she couldn't stop the dull ache she felt in her heart. It felt just as bad as it had last night, like there was something wrong inside of her.

Scootaloo's stomach rumbled. Regardless of what she felt inside, she needed to get some food. She hadn't eaten anything yesterday, or the day before that, now that she thought about it. Well, at least she hadn't taken all the bits with her to the pawn shop. She could still get something to eat.

Of course that mare Applejack would be there, probably. She would just steer clear of her. If she saw her again, she wouldn’t give her the chance to say anything, she would just run.

The missteps of yesterday were behind her. She wouldn’t let anymore of Applejack’s words get to her. She would carry on.

Alone.

Anypony else was just trouble.

She gathered up the rest of the bits and headed off the stage.

Chapter 5

“A pleasure doing business with you! Come back any time, y’hear?”

Applejack gave a wave of her hoof as the customer walked away. Once he had fully turned around, Applejack let her salesmare’s smile droop. She let out a tiny groan and scooped the stallion’s money off the counter.

The sun hadn’t even reached the top of the sky and already Applejack was feeling exhausted. Her hooves felt like lead as she trod back to the front of her stand. Even her back was aching, which was hardly ever a problem, not even after two-and-half days straight of applebucking. No, she wasn’t really tired, it was just her body’s way of telling her that there was something on her mind.

Something that she was going to have to do something about.

It was a quirk of the Apple family line. Whenever her or one of her kin had something bothering them, even if they didn’t realize it, their bones were always there to let them know.

After the incident at the pawnshop last night, she had tried to get it out of her mind. She had gotten back the money the filly had taken and would be able to return it as soon as she saw the stallion with the tophat again. She had even tried to reach out to the filly, but it was clear that whatever it was she wanted, she didn’t want Applejack’s help.

Besides, Rainbow had told her that there were other foals out there just like her, living out in the streets. Rainbow had talked about it like it was just another fact of city life. It was just how things worked in the city. Sure, it felt wrong to see it happen, but so many things about this place felt wrong to Applejack, who was she to judge?

Bottom line: it wasn’t her problem to fret over. She had a family to look after. She didn’t have time to waste worrying about a filly who didn’t even want anything to do with her.

Applejack felt the beginnings of a crick in her neck.

Applejack sighed, who did she think she was trying to convince? She could send whatever thoughts she pleased rattling around in her mind, but she’d never be able to fool her bones.

Idly, Applejack massaged the muscles just above her collarbone. She had always prided herself on being one of the most dependable of ponies back in Ponyville. Held herself up to a higher standard than even the other members of her extended family. Why was she trying to shy away now?

Heck, the answer to that one was easy. She wasn’t sure who she was being dependable to anymore.

Her eyes wandered down to the shelving built into the sides of her stand. Normally she’d use them to hold money, bills of transaction, writs and everything else needed to run a business. Today, though, it held something extra. If Big Mac ever found out how much money she’d had to pay, she would never hear the end of it. Heck, she was probably gonna be berating herself for weeks.

It was wrapped in brown craft paper and tied with twine. The old mare at the pawn shop had been kind enough to tie it up with a water knot so Applejack could easily transport it with her teeth. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it obviously meant something to that filly. Well, she hoped it did, at least.

Her bones had her cornered, even then. Maybe it was just this city getting to her, but things back in Ponyville had seemed so much… well, maybe “easier” wasn’t the right word, but they sure were a heck of a lot less complicated.

A sudden burning sensation in her ears snapped Applejack out of her problems. There was a customer standing in front of her. The mare had her eyes locked on Applejack with a discomforting amount of determination.

“Ah!” Applejack flinched back from the face mere inches from her own. She skittered back a few paces before regaining her composure. “Ah, I’m mighty sorry about that.” Applejack said, “I didn’t see ya there. Can I get you anything, ma’am?”

The only thing that moved on the mare was her slightly messy, very curly, and altogether pink mane as it shifted slightly from the breeze blowing through the street. The mare’s (equally pink) body stood rigidly still. The stare the mare gave Applejack was almost comical in the amount of intensity it conveyed.

“Uh, ma’am?” Applejack’s mouth contorted into a nervous grin, “Can I help you with something?”

The mare continued her impression of a statue. The sounds of other market vendors drifted around them, but the pink pony held her silence. Finally, right before Applejack was considering saying something else to break the silence, it was broken for her.

“No thanks, Applejack!” the mare said. Her eyes relaxed and the previously rigid stance she held suddenly conveyed only smiles and cheer towards Applejack. “I mean you’re orange, sure,” she said, “but you’re way too big, your mane’s all wrong and you don’t even have wings! It’s a good effort but I really just think you did a sloppy job overall. Nice try, though!”

“Uh, thanks?” Applejack said, still a little dumbstruck by the sudden transformation she had just witnessed.

“No problem!” the mare let out a short giggle before bouncing away down the street.

Applejack watched her as she left. What did she mean by big? Applejack wasn’t much taller than most other mares. And why did she care whether or not she had wings? Applejack really hoped she wouldn’t have to add “racism” to the list of things that happened in this city. Though frankly, it wouldn’t come as a surprise. Actually, how did she know her name. She could’ve sworn she had never seen that pink pony before in her life.

Her neck throbbed again.

Applejack winced. Maybe it was kind of odd for a mare she’d never met to know her name and to be asking such weird questions on top of that. She gingerly turned her neck, the pink mare was still visible, her poofy mane bobbing up and down like an extravagant beacon amongst the throng of ponies performing their shopping. Her head darted to and fro, searching the crowd around her. Occasionally her eyes would dart up towards the rooftops and down iron grates that lead into the sewers.

It was obvious what her bones wanted. Applejack considered following the mare.

“Excuse me, miss?” said a young stallion walking up to her, “Could I get a pint of strawberries?”

The thought of bits, of Big Mac and of Applebloom dragged her back.

Applejack’s face flickered briefly before settling into to her familiar salesman’s smile. “Right away, sir,” she said, “Excellent choice, our strawberries are the freshest and largest in all of Equestria!”

She didn’t have time for fool’s errands. Her family was relying on her, she couldn’t abandon her post. No matter what.

The pain in her neck intensified. It travelled down to her back, manifesting as a white hot prickling sensation. Applejack didn’t let her smile waver as she got the stallion’s strawberries.

Even with the grin as wide as she could manage, Applejack knew she wasn’t fooling anypony.

Scootaloo waited at the back of the line, willing the ponies in front of her to move faster. The wondrous scent of freshly baked bread and perfectly cooked jam touched her nostrils.

Any trace of anxiety or sadness from the events of yesterday had vanished. In no small part to the previously mentioned scent that permeated every foot of the bakery.

On other days such a beautiful smell would've taunted her. A tantalizing treasure barred from her grasp. Today though, with her remaining bits in a bag firmly gripped in her mouth, she would plunder this warm and flaky booty.

Finally the pony in front of her received his order and trotted away. Scootaloo walked up to the counter.

The pale blue stallion taking the orders was a little on the tall side. He craned his neck over the counter, looking down at Scootaloo.

Scootaloo gave him a small frown and spat the bag of bits down at her feet.

"Aw, hello there, little filly. Can I help you?" he said. His voice held a high, condescending tone and his lips were curled into a wry smile.

Scootaloo's frown deepened into a scowl. "A bag strawberry jam wheels and two orange fritters," she deadpanned.

"That's a lot of food for a filly like you," the stallion said. The way he spoke made Scootaloo want to buck him in the face.

But that could wait until she had the fritters in hoof.

She settled on a verbal assault for now. "Yeah, I'm sure you'd know a thing or two about lots of food, wide-flank. Just take my order."

The stallion looked taken aback, "Woah there, kid," he said, "Do your parents know you're talking like that?"

Scootaloo rolled her eyes, "Uh-huh, they sure do. Can I get my food now?"

The stallion snorted derisively. "Kids today..." he mumbled before turning around to get Scootaloo's order.

As soon as he turned around, Scootaloo stuck her tongue out at the stallion. Ponies were all alike, they'd walk all over you if they thought they could get away with it.

Jerks.

Scootaloo's eyes wandered across the crowded bakery. The flames of malice danced behind the neutral or smiling expression each pony wore. They were just waiting for a chance for someone to make themselves vulnerable and they'd pounce on them like wild animals.

At least she wasn't gonna be that pony. She was tough and ready for anything. She wouldn't make any more mistakes.

The stallion returned, two paper bags balanced expertly on his back that carried with them that beautiful smell.

Scootaloo stared at the food greedily. Without a word she counted off the bits needed, put them on the counter and snatched up the bags.

"Your folks need to teach you some manners, kid." The stallion muttered darkly.

Scootaloo was already walking towards the exit, but she turned her head and gave the stallion a parting glare. "Whatever wide-flank, who asked you anyways? I don't need your-"

Thud.

Intent on her verbal retort, Scootaloo didn't notice the pony in front of her path. She gently impacted against pink fur. The bags on her back wobbled and toppled to the floor.

"Oopsie!" said the mare in front of Scootaloo.

Scootaloo gasped and started picking up her precious cargo, "Geez, watch where you're going, lady!" she said.

"Sorry about that," the ridiculously pink mare said, her face still all smiles, "I guess I wasn't looking where I was standing!"

"Yeah, right." Scootaloo said, restoring her bags to their original positions. She hoped this stupid mare hadn't ruined any of her food.

The mare giggled a little bit. She looked like she was about to say something else but the words died on her throat as she finally took in exactly who she was speaking to. Her eyes widened in sudden recognition.

“We have a winner!” she shouted, loud enough that the other ponies in the bakery turned their heads. “Oh wow, you have no idea how lucky you are!”

“Huh?” Scootaloo said.

"Oh, it's nothing," the mare said with a dismissive wave of her hoof, "Don't worry about it."

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. This pink mare was weird. Not only was she entirely too cheerful, but she wasn’t even making sense. "What's your freaking deal?” Scootaloo said, “Are you crazy or something?" She started walking past the mare's bulk. The mare didn't to make a move to stop her, only turned her head to keep her gaze trained on the filly.

"Stop that!" Scootaloo said.

The mare giggled and still kept her eyes on Scootaloo, "Stop what?" she asked.

“You know what!” Scootaloo shot back.

“Ooooh, is this a guessing game?”

“What? No!”

“Is it... my smile? My hair? Are you upset because I’m naked? No, wait, that’s just silly...”

It was rapidly becoming clear to Scootaloo that this mare was a couple of sprinkles short of a cupcake. There were ponies like that in the Stacks, of course. Heck, that was probably why they were in the Stacks. But none of those ponies were this crazy.

“...but I don’t even have Gummy with me right now! Are you allergic to alligator fur? Do alligator’s even have fur? Maybe you can’t stand to not be around alligators...”

Scootaloo geared her mouth up to give another biting reply to the mare, but the warm pressure on her back and the rumbling in her stomach reminded her there were more pressing matters to attend to. Instead, she grumbled out something unintelligible to the weird pony and stalked out through the door.

She had already found a safe place nearby before entering the bakery. It had been a good find, close enough so she wouldn’t have to wait too long, but secluded enough to be away from prying eyes and grabbing hooves. She never understood how other ponies could eat with other mares and stallions around them. Maybe no one was looking to steal your meal from right under your snout, but why would anypony ever take the chance?

Scootaloo turned the corner.

The alcove in the brickwork was a minor error from the work of an architect, overworked and underpaid. From the inside, it was nothing but wasted space, but from the outside, it was the perfect spot for a little privacy.

She sat down on her haunches and opened the bag.

She savored the brief puff of warm air that hit her face and removed one of the orange fritters from the bag.

Slowly, she lifted up the treat to her mouth and –

“There you are, silly!” said a voice that was, judging by how loud it sounded, two or three feet behind Scootaloo.

Scootaloo flinched in surprise; her fritter dropped to the ground with a dry plop.

“Hey!” Scootaloo yelled and turned around in annoyance.

The pink mare’s smile gleamed down on her. Scootaloo scrambled to her hooves.

“I found you again!” the mare trilled.

Scootaloo snarled and snatched up the dirtied pastry. “Not you again! Are you following me?”

“Maaaaaybe.” the mare replied.

“What, why?”

“Come on, Scootaloo, what would be the point of a guessing game if I just told you?”

“What kind of mule do you take me for? Do you expect me to just sit around and guess –” Scootaloo began, only to be short-circuited by an errant thought entering her brain.

“Wait a minute, how the hell do you know my name?!”

The mare giggled again.

“Don’t be silly, Scootaloo. I’m Pinkie Pie,” her face grew a grin so wide Scootaloo thought her face might split, “I know everypony.”

Scootaloo’s ears drooped, her eyes transfixed on the mirthful gleam on Pinkie Pie’s face.
“Everypony.” she repeated.

Scootaloo took a step back.

Pinkie Pie took a step forward.

Scootaloo turned and and ran as fast as her terror-stricken body would take her..

“Everypony!” the mare practically cackled as Scootaloo fled.

Her legs took her out into the bustling streets where she dived into a throng of ponies. Thanks to her small size, it was one of the better way to lose pursuers, at least temporarily.

Scootaloo let herself move with the crowd and scanned the area to make sure that Pinkie Pie hadn’t followed her again. A cursory inspection revealed no trace of her and her ridiculously poofy mane.

Scootaloo had dealt with crazies before. The best bet was to stay far, far away from ponies like that. You could never know what they might do to you in a darkened room.

Scootaloo unconsciously shuddered. She worked her way deeper into the crowd.

As she did, Scootaloo’s stomach grumbled discontentedly. She had left all the food she had bought back in the alleyway, that was probably the worst part. Her earlier windfall had dwindled away, spent on stupid decisions and unlucky circumstance.

Maybe a weaker pony would’ve despaired, but not her. She was strong. Something like this wasn’t even going to affect her.

At all.

That was another lesson from her sister. Emotions are a luxury that can rarely be afforded. She was right, of course, getting emotional right now would just mean more chances to make mistakes.

She let the crowd decide where she was headed, for now. She would break away from the group a little further on, once she was certain that pink menace was nowhere to be found. Yeah, that seemed like a smart plan.

Half an hour passed before Scootaloo was certain that Pinkie Pie hadn’t followed her. She was farther into the main market streets by now, it meant a little backtracking through the little-used roads, but that suited her fine. Scootaloo slipped away from the crowd, diverting herself down a lane that smelled faintly of something foul. She trotted briskly through, so far so goo-

“Hrry thrrer Sschoots!”

Scootaloo whipped around in disbelief. Behind stood Pinkie Pie holding in her mouth the bag of pastries she had left behind.

“I thrink you drrpped thrsh!”

She let the bag drop from her mouth and gave Scootaloo a bright, cheery, smile.

“You’re a really good runner, Scootaloo! But it looks like I’m a better finder!” Pinkie paused for a second, then rubbed her chin thoughtfully, “Which I mean, makes sense I guess, considering that’s most of my job. And no one ever asks for party investigations, which is weird because I’d rather find a bunch of ponies at a party than just one pony somewhere else…”

The filly ran.

“Hey wait!” Pinkie yelled, “Where’re you going? You forgot your food!”

Scootaloo’s hooves pounded against the cobbles, a near perfect match to the thundering in her chest. Pinkie Pie had found her again, but it seemed her tendency to talk gave Scootaloo another chance to slip away. But her little speech also pointed out another disturbing implication. Somepony had hired Pinkie Pie to track her down.

Who would do that? What pony would want to find her?

Scootaloo blinked, if she wasn’t currently sprinting down the road she would have face-hoofed.

Applejack. That evil pony from the night before. She had already tried to ensnare Scootaloo with her smooth talking. Looked like she was trying a different tact this time.

How dare she? Scootaloo knew there was no way she could trust that pony! She felt a burning wellspring of anger rise up in her throat and tried her best to choke it down.

Behind her, she heard a frenzied, giggling gallop.

“Wrrt up srlly!” Pinkie Pie said, a mere eight or so feet behind. Her long strides were easily keeping up with the filly’s pace and she still had Scootaloo’s hard-earned food held in her mouth.

They were both moving so quickly that passersby had only a second or two’s warning to get out of the way. Scootaloo struggled to increase her speed, her tiny wings buzzed like mad, hoping to gain even a tiny increase in thrust.

It wasn’t enough. Slowly but surely, her pursuer was gaining ground on her. Unless she did something drastic, she was going to get caught.

Up ahead was her chance. A slender young mare, casually strolling. A pair of draftsponies lifting a wooden crate marked “FRAGILE”. A hastily erected trinket stand, it’s high and shoddy roof just barely within jumping distance of a clothesline strung between the two sides of the street…

She would have to be perfect, but she knew she could.

No more mistakes.

Pinkie Pie was very nearly on top of Scootaloo. Her eyes blazed with determination and cheer. “Lrrk rrt Schoots!” she said, “I’rm gnrrra gretcha! Rwar!” Her last statement was punctuated by a muffled giggle.

No more mistakes.

With a growl of effort Scootaloo jumped forward. She landed right on top of the slender mare, who gave out a yelp of indignation. “Get off me you little whelp!”

Scootaloo obliged. She leapt off again, the extra height letting her forehooves latch onto the top of the crate in transport. Her body crashed into the side, eliciting some cracking sounds from within. The draftsponies lurched at the sudden impact, nearly losing their hold on the cargo. “Whaddya think you’re doing, kid?” One of them yelled. Scootaloo’s legs kicked fitfully for a moment or two before she finally managed to scramble onto the top.

She turned briefly towards Pinkie Pie, who stopped and was looking at her with a look of confusion.

With all the dignity she could muster, Scootaloo sneered at the mare and stuck out her tongue.

With all her might, she pushed off the crate. Several ponies looked up in alarm as she sailed above. Several more looked sidelong in shock as the crate tilted precipitously from the ponies clutches, smashing down onto the street in a cloud of glass and splinters.

The tarp stretched over the trinket stall held her weight only briefly. The ratty material split and ripped just as Scootaloo flung herself off.

Her hooves flailed wildly, but one hit the mark and she grabbed ahold of the taut clothesline.

She hung there, precipitously, ten or twelve feet above the cobbles. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. A dozen or more ponies, Pinkie included, looked on.

Scootaloo other hoof gripped onto the line and she turned to her destination: the roof. With her above the streets she’d outrun anyone below without even breaking a sweat.

With a heaving swing of her body, she locked her hind legs above the clothesline and started to drag herself across to the roof’s edge.

Shirts, bowties and various lacy things drifted to the ground as Scootaloo progressed. She didn’t mind, she was practically home free.

Down below, Pinkie Pie’s tail twitched.

“Look out!” A frantic voice called out from the crowd.

Scootaloo frowned and looked ahead.

She looked just in time to see the last fraying strands of the ancient clothesline –

Snap

Scootaloo felt weightless.

She saw the line snake past her, broken tension propelling it past her.

Somepony shouted, “Catch her!”

Falling wasn’t so bad, Scootaloo thought with an odd kind of serenity. It was a lot like jumping, or flying. The only difference was the ending.

More noises from below. A scream. A ripped shirt fluttering past her.

This never would’ve happened to her sister.
The cobbles were close now. She closed her eyes.

Scootaloo hit the ground.